by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XII
A FIFTY-FIFTY SPLIT WITH HUNK
"And believe me, Shorty," goes on Mr. Hunk Burley, tappin' a stubbyforefinger on my knee, and waggin' his choppin'-block head energetic,"when I get behind a proposition yuh goin' to get some action."
"Sure, I know, Hunk," says I, glancin' up at the clock uneasy andsquirmin' a bit in the swing chair.
You see, this had been goin' on now for near an hour, and while it mightbe more or less entertainin' as well as true, I wa'n't crazy aboutlistenin' to it all the afternoon. For one thing, I wa'n't comin' in onhis scheme. Not a chance. I can be bilked into buyin' tickets for araffle, even when I wouldn't take the junk that's put up as a gift, andI'm easy in other ways; but when it comes to any gate-money game, fromlaunchin' a musical comedy to openin' a new boxin' club, I'm Tight Tommywith the time lock set. None in mine! I've had my guesses as to what thepublic wants, and I know I'm a perfectly punk prophet.
Besides, it was about time for J. Bayard Steele to show up with thisgent from Washington, Cuyler Morrison De Kay, and--well, I'd just assoon not be bothered to explain Hunk Burley to a pair like that. Youknow the kind of bygone friends that do need explainin'--well, Hunkneeded it bad; for as far as looks went he was about the crudest partythat ever sported a diamond elephant stickpin or chewed twenty-five-centcigars for a steady diet.
Built wide and substantial, Hunk was, with the longest arms you ever sawoutside an iron cage, and a set of rugged features that had the Old Manof the Mountain lookin' like a ribbon clerk. Reg'lar cave dweller'sface, it was; and with his bristly hair growin' down to a point justabove his eyes, and the ear tufts, and the mossy-backed paws--well, ifthere ever was a throw-back to the Stone Age he was it.
As a rubber in my old trainin' camp outfit, though, Hunk had his goodpoints. I've gone on the table to him with a set of shoulder muscles asstiff as a truck trace and inside of half an hour jumped up as limber asa whale-bone whip. And I'd never sign up for more'n a ten-round gowithout sendin' for Hunk first thing after the forfeits was up. Course,when it come to society, there was others I liked better, and I expectafter I quit the ring I didn't take any particular pains to keep hisname in my address book.
But Hunk was one of the old crowd that didn't need much dodgin'. He wenthis way like I went mine, and I hadn't seen him for years when hetramps into the studio here the other noon, treadin' heavy on his heelsand wearin' this suit of peace-disturbin' plaids. He hadn't climbed thestairs just for any Auld Lang Syne nonsense, either. He was there onbusiness.
That is, it seemed like business to him; for, in his special way, Hunkhad been comin' along. He hadn't stuck to bein' a rubber. He'd done astrong-man turn with a medicine top for awhile, then he'd worked intothe concession game on the county fair circuit, managed a Ferris wheeland carrousel outfit, and even swung an Uncle Tom troupe, with six realbloodhounds, through the town halls of fourteen States.
"Pullin' down the kale by the double handsful, mind you," says Hunk."But no more! The movies has queered the Topsy business. Absolutely! Iseen it comin' just in time, and I've been layin' low until I could findsomething to beat it. Say, I've got it too. Not for this territory. I'llgive the film people two years more to kill themselves in the North,with the rot they're puttin' out. But in the South they ain't got such ahold, and the folks are different. They're just old style enough downthere to fall for a street parade and fifty-cent seats on the bluebenches. They got the coin too--don't make no mistake about that. Andthis Great Australian Hippodrome will make 'em loosen up like a Rubeshowin' his best girl what he can do throwin' baseballs at the dummies.Yea, Bo! It's the biggest bargain on the market too. Come in with me,Shorty, on a half int'rest, splittin' fifty-fifty."
"Too big a gamble, Hunk," says I. "I've seen more money dropped on ringshows than----"
"But we carry a pair of boxin' kangaroos," he breaks in eager, "thatpulls an act they go nutty over. And our tribe of original wild Bushpeople has never been shown this side of Melbourne."
"Sorry, Hunk," says I, "but if I had all that money tied up in billboardsheets and smoky canvas, I couldn't sleep well on windy nights. None ofyour flat-car hippodromes for me. That's final! Besides, I got a datewith a couple of swells that's liable to show up here any minute, and Iought to----"
What I really ought to have done was to have chucked a table cover overHunk and played him for a piece of statuary; but before I can make amove in walks J. Bayard and this Washington gent. Next minute we wasbein' introduced, and all I can do is stand in front of Hunk with onehand behind me, givin' him the fade-away signal energetic.
Does he get it? Not Hunk! The one real sensitive spot in his system canbe reached only by sluggin' him behind the ear with a bung starter, andI didn't have one handy. He shoves his chair back into the corner andcontinues to gawp; so I just has to let on that he ain't there at all.
Course I'd been put wise to who this Cuyler Morrison De Kay was. He'swhat Mr. Steele calls an object of altruism. In other words, he's No. 7on Pyramid Gordon's list, and our job is to frame up for him some kindand generous deed, accordin' to the specifications of the will. As usualtoo, J. Bayard had got all balled up over doin' it; for while Mr. De Kayain't quite the plute he looks, it turns out he's holdin' down one ofthem government cinches, with a fat salary, mighty little real work, andno worry. He's a widower, and a real elegant gent too. You could tellthat by the wide ribbon on his shell eyeglasses and the gray suedegloves.
I could see in a minute that he'd sort of put the spell on Steele, mostlikely because he was a genuine sample of what J. Bayard was givin' onlya fair imitation of. You know, one of these straight-backed,aristocratic old boys that somehow has the marks of havin' beeneverywhere, seen everything, and done everything. You'd expect him to beable to mix a salad dressin' _a la Montmartre_, and reel off anecdotesabout the time when he was a guest of the Grand Duke So and So at hishuntin' lodge. Kind of a faded, thin-blooded, listless party, somewherein the late fifties, with droopy eye corners and a sarcastic bite to hisoffhand remarks.
I may as well admit that I didn't take so kindly to Cuyler from thefirst. Also I was a little peeved at J. Bayard when I discovers he'slugged him up here without findin' out much about him. Hadn't even askedDe Kay how it was him and Pyramid Gordon had bumped up against oneanother. So I fires that at him straight.
"Let's see," says I, "where was it you and Mr. Gordon got mixed up?"
"Gordon?" says he, shruggin' his shoulders and smilin' cynical. "Really,I can't conceive just why he should remember me. True, during our briefacquaintance, he showed a most active dislike for me; but I assure youit was not mutual. A man of Gordon's type---- Bah! One simply ignoresthem, you know."
"You don't say!" says I. "Now I had an idea that wa'n't so deadeasy--ignorin' Pyramid."
Cuyler humps his gray eyebrows as if he was slightly annoyed. "I wasreferring merely to his offensive personality," he goes on. "One doesnot quarrel with a bulldog for its lack of manners."
"Ah, come!" says I. "Maybe he took you for one of these parlor spanielsand was tryin' to throw a scare into you with a few growls."
I could hear J. Bayard gasp protestin'; but Cuyler shrugs it off withoutwincin'. "Just how he regarded me was a subject to which I gave not theslightest thought," says he. "I was concerned only with his enterpriseof crossing the Peoria & Dayton at grade in the face of an injunctionissued by the State supreme court. You see, I happened to be presidentof the road at the time."
"Now we're gettin' to the plot of the piece," says I. "You blocked himoff, eh?"
"I did my best," says Mr. De Kay. "Of course I was not a practicalrailroad man. I'd been somewhat of a figurehead, you understand. But inthis emergency I was called back from Europe and at the urgent requestof the directors I assumed active charge. My first step was to securethe injunction."
"Which worried him, I expect?" says I, winkin' at J. Bayard.
"Quite as much as if I had sent a note by my office boy," says Cuyler."He rushed a construction train with two hundr
ed men to the spot andgave the order himself to tear up our tracks. Well, it was rather aspirited contest. I mobilized our entire working force, had them swornin as deputy sheriffs, and kept three switch engines moving up and downthe line. For forty-eight hours we held them back."
"And then?" says I.
Cuyler executes that careless shoulder shrug once more. "Rifles," sayshe. "I suppose I should have retaliated with machine guns; but Ipreferred to put my trust in the law of the land. Of course I found outhow absurd that was later on. Gordon crossed our grade. After four orfive years of expensive litigation we gave up. By that time our road hadbecome part of the Gordon system. I was glad to get 48 for my holdings;so you see his victory was quite complete. But the only real personalcontact I had with him was during those two days of the crossing warwhen we took our meals at the wretched little hotel, facing each otheracross the table. Fancy! His coarse attempts to treat the situationhumorously were more offensive, if anything, than his guerrilla businesstactics. An ill-bred, barbarous fellow, this Gordon of yours."
"Huh!" says I. "He wa'n't any parlor entertainer, that's a fact; buttake it from me, Mr. De Kay, he was a good deal of a man, for all that."
"So, I presume, was Captain Kidd," sneers Cuyler, "and Jesse James."
"Maybe," I comes back kind of hot. "But Pyramid Gordon was white enoughto want to divide his pile among the poor prunes he'd put out here andthere along the way. You're on the list too, and the chief object ofthis little tete-a-tete is to frame up some plan of givin' you a boost."
"So Mr. Steele gave me to understand," says Cuyler. "In my case,however, the reparation comes a little late. The fact is, Gentlemen,that I--well, why quibble? I may be good for another ten or a dozenyears. But I shall go on just as I've been going on, following my dailyroutine in the department, at my club, at my bachelor quarters. You getinto it, you know,--bath, breakfast, desk, dinner, a rubber or two ofbridge, and bed. A trifle monotonous, but a comfortable, undisturbed,assured existence. I may have had ambitions once,--yes, I'm quitesure,--but no longer. After my--er--my elimination, I got this place inthe department. There I've stuck for fifteen years. I've settled intoofficial routine; I'm fixed there hard and fast. It's so with many ofus. Most of us recognize the hopelessness of ever pulling out. At leastI do, fully. As I sometimes confess, I am merely one of the unburieddead. And there you are!"
Kind of took me off my guard, that did. And me about to knock him sohard! I glances over at J. Bayard sort of foolish, and he stares backvacant and helpless. Somehow we'd never been up against a propositionlike this, and it had us fannin' the air.
"Unburied dead, eh?" says I. "Oh come, Mr. De Kay, ain't that drawin' ita little strong? Why, you ought to have lots of punch left in you yet.All you got to do is buck up."
"The optimism of youth!" says he. "I suppose I ought to feel grateful,Professor McCabe, for your well intentioned advice. And I can almost saythat I wish I might----"
He don't get a chance to finish; for this is right where Hunk Burley,that I'd almost forgot was in the room, suddenly kicks into the debate.I'd felt one or two tugs at my coat; but this last one was so vigorousit nearly whirls me around. And as I turns I finds him blinkin' andsplutterin' excited, like he'd swallowed his cigar.
"Eh?" says I. "What's troublin' you, Hunk?"
"He--he's the guy," says Hunk, "the very guy!"
"Wha-a-at?" says I, followin' the look in them wide-set pop eyes of his."Who is?"
"Him," says he, pointin' to Cuyler. "He's a reg'lar guy, he is; the spitand image of what I been wantin' to connect with these last six months.Say, Shorty, put me next."
"Gwan!" says I. "You ain't supposed to exist. Paint your funnels blackand run the blockade."
At which Cuyler, who has been starin' curious through his glasses, stepsforward. "What is it?" says he. "Do I understand that the gentlemanwishes to speak to me?"
"You're hootin'," says Hunk. "Only I ain't no gent. I'm just HunkBurley, managin' producer. Tent shows is my line, ring or stage, and I'mcarryin' a proposition up my cuff that means a lot of easy money towhoever grabs it first. Do you get me?"
"Ah, stow it, Hunk!" says I. "Mr. De Kay ain't one of your crowd. Can'tyou see he's----"
"But with him out front," breaks in Hunk eager, "and pullin' that swellline of patter, we could pack the reserved benches from dirt to canvas.Honest, we could! Say, Mister, lemme put it to you on the level. You buyin with me on this Great Australian Hippodrome, a half int'rest fortwelve thou cash, leave me the transportation and talent end, while youdo the polite gab at the main entrance, and if we don't lug away thedaily receipts in sugar barrels I'll own the boxin' kangaroos for firstcousins. Why, it's the chance of a lifetime! What do you say to it?"
And you should have seen the look on Cuyler Morrison's aristocratic mapas he inspects Hunk up and down and it dawns on him that he's bein'invited to break into the circus business. But after the first shock haspassed off he ends by smilin' indulgent.
"My good fellow," says he, "you flatter me. My qualifications for such apartnership are entirely too limited."
"If you mean you couldn't get away with it," says Hunk, "you got anotherguess. Why, in one forenoon I could coach you up for a spiel that wouldset 'em mobbin' the ticket wagons! And with you in a white silk liddrivin' four spotted ponies and leadin' the grand street parade--saythey'd be lettin' out the schools for our matinees."
Out of the tail of my eye I could see that J. Bayard was speechless withindignation. But what could I do? The only way of stoppin' Hunk was tochoke him, which wa'n't any pink tea proceedin'. Besides, Cuyler seemsto be mildly entertained at it all.
"A fascinating picture, truly!" says he. "I have often envied thoseimportant personages at the head of street parades without ever dreamingthat some day the opportunity might come to me of---- But alas! I haveno twelve thousand to invest in such an estimable enterprise."
"Ah, quit your kiddin'!" says Hunk.
He wouldn't believe for a minute that Cuyler couldn't cash a check fortwice that, wouldn't even listen to Mr. De Kay while he protests thatreally he's a poor man livin' on a government salary. Hunk knew better.The ribbon on the shell-rim eyeglasses had got him, too.
"Very well," laughs Cuyler, givin' up the attempt. "But I must insistthat I have no surging ambition, at my time of life, to drive spottedponies in public. In fact, I've no ambitions at all."
"Then that's just why you ought to hook up with me," says Hunk. "Waituntil you've been out a week on the road; that'll be enough to get youinterested. And take it from me, there ain't any game like it,--pilin'out of your berth at a new pitch every mornin', breakfast in the messcar on the sidin', strollin' out to the grounds and watchin' the pegssunk, drivin' around town to take a glance at the paper display, formin'on for the parade, sizin' up the sidewalk crowds, and a couple of hourslater seein' 'em collectin' from all sides around the big top; then atnight, when you've had two big houses, to check up the receipts andfigure out how much you are to the good. Say, don't make any mistake,that's livin'! It ain't layin' back easy and havin' things handed you ona platter: it's goin' out after what you want, your jaw set and yourshoulders braced, and bringin' home the bacon."
Cuyler, he's still listenin' sort of amused; but he's inspectin' thiscrude specimen in front of him with a little more int'rest. He shakeshis head though.
"I've no doubt the life is all you describe," says he. "However, it isnot for me."
"Why not?" demands Hunk. "Didn't I just hear you tellin' how you wastravelin' with a bunch of dead ones? Ain't stuck on it, are you? And theanswer is, Come out of your trance. I take it you ain't anybody specialwhere you are now; just one of the cogs. Buy in with me, and I'll makeyou the main belt. That's right! Say, I'll tell you what! We'll featureyou on the four-sheets--De Kay & Co.'s Grand Australian Hippodrome. Yourpicture in a wreath of roses,--no, a horseshoe's better,--and we'll playup the show as a refined, educatin', moral exhibition. They'll believeit when they see you. You'll be the big noise, the man in front. You
'llhear 'em passin' the tip along the curb as the parade swings by, 'That'shim--Mr. De Kay!' And you'll be the one to receive the Mayor and hiswife and show 'em to their arena box. Every day a new Mayor in a newtown. And you'll know 'em all, and they'll know you. What! That'll bebein' somebody, eh?"
He'd stepped up, right in front of Cuyler, talkin' free and easy, as oneman to another. But then he always was that way. Not fresh, you know,nor cocky; but just as if he was as good as anybody, and allowedeverybody was as good as him. He's lookin' Mr. De Kay straight inbetween the eyes, good-natured but earnest, and all of a sudden hereaches out a big paw and slaps him folksy on the shoulder.
"Well, Brother," says he, "how about it?"
I don't know how it struck J. Bayard Steele, but as for me, right thenand there I got wise to the fact that, in spite of the ear tufts andlow-brow manners, Hunk Burley, man for man, would measure up with De Kayor anyone else; that is, within his limits. For he'd found his job. Hewas there with the goods!
The same thought must have hit Cuyler too. Couldn't help it. He waslookin' level into them steady eyes, hearin' that husky, even voice, andwatchin' that calm, rugged face that had so much strength behind it. Aparty to depend on, to tie to. Anyway, something of the kind got him,got him hard.
"By George!" says he. "I--I wish I could!" And with that he gives Hunkthe grip, quick and impulsive.
Which was when I developed this foolish idea. I looks over to J. Bayardand grins. Then I turns back to Cuyler. "Well, it can be fixed," says I.
"Eh?" says he. "I beg pardon?"
"Your bit from Pyramid's pile," says I. "If you'll take the chance ofchuckin' your salary and quittin' the ranks of the unburied dead, we'llstake you to enough so you can buy in with Hunk. Won't we, Steele?"
J. Bayard gulps once or twice and looks sort of dazed. "If Mr. De Kayreally wishes to connect himself with such a venture," says he, "ofcourse I----"
"I do," breaks in Cuyler. "And I assure you, Gentlemen, that I feel morealive at this moment than I have for the last twenty years. My friendBurley here has done that. I want to go on feeling that way. I amwilling to follow him anywhere."
"Then it's a go," says I. "Steele, write a voucher and I'll O.K. it."
"Good work!" says Hunk, givin' Cuyler another bone crushing grip. "Andremember, we split fifty-fifty on all the net. I'll close the deal byto-morrow noon, and three weeks from to-day we open in Savannah."
Half an hour after they'd both gone J. Bayard still sits there gazin'vague and puzzled at the silver crook on his walkin' stick.
"Just fancy!" he mutters. "A circus!"
"Oh, well," says I, "maybe it's better to be keepin' step to 'Rockin'the Boat' than draggin' your heels along in the wake of the unburieddead."
One thing I'm sure of, Cuyler wa'n't indulgin' in any momentary fit. Hemeant business. I saw him last night, just as he was startin' for thesteamer.
"How you and Hunk comin' on?" says I.
"Excellent!" says he. "We've made some compromises, naturally. Forinstance, he is to drive the spotted ponies, and I am to wear anordinary black silk hat when I lead the street parade."