by Sewell Ford
XIV
A HUNCH FOR LANGDON
Say, the longer I knocks around and the more kinds I meet, the slower Iam about sizin' folks up on a first view. I used to think there wasonly two classes, them that was my kind and them that wa'n't; but I'vegot over that. I don't try to grade 'em up any more; for they're builton so many different plans it would take a card index the size of aflat buildin' to keep 'em all on file. All I can make out is thatthere's some good points about the worst of 'em, and some of the besthas their streak of yellow.
Anyway, I'm glad I ain't called on to write a tag for Langdon. Firstnews I had of him was what I took for inside information, bein' as itwas handed me by his maw. When I gets the note askin' me to call up inthe 70's between five and six I don't know whether it's a bid to a teafest or a bait for an auction. The stationery was real swell, though,and the writin' was this up and down kind that goes with the giltcrest. What I could puzzle out of the name, though, wa'n't familiar.But I follows up the invite and takes a chance.
So about five-thirty I'm standin' outside the glass doors pushin' thebell. A butler with boiled egg eyes looks me over real frosty frombehind the lace curtains; but the minute I says I'm Shorty McCabe hetakes off the tramp chain and says, "Yes, sir. This way, sir." I'mtowed in over the Persian hall runner to the back parlour, wherethere's a lady and gent sittin' on opposite sides of the coal grate,with a tea tray between 'em.
"I'll be drinkin' that stuff yet, if I ain't careful," thinks I.
But I didn't even have to duck. The lady was so anxious to get totalkin' that she forgot to shove the cups at me, and the gent didn'tact like it was his say. It was hard to tell, the way she has thelights fixed, whether she was twenty-five or fifty. Anyway, she hadn'tgot past the kittenish stage. Some of 'em never does. She don'toverdo the thing, but just gushes natural; usin' her eyes, andeyebrows, and the end of her nose, and the tip of her chin when shespoke, as well as throwin' in a few shoulder lifts once in awhile.
"It's so good of you to come up, professor!" says she. "Isn't it,Pembroke?"
Pembroke--he's the gent on the other side of the tray--starts to saythat it was, but she don't give him a chance. She blazes right ahead,tellin' how she's heard of me and my Studio through friends, and theminute she hears of it, she knows that nothing would suit Langdonbetter. "Langdon's my son, you know," says she.
"Honest?" says I.
"Te-he!" says she. "How sweet of you! Hardly anyone believes it atfirst, though. But he's a dear boy; isn't he, Pembroke?"
This was Pembroke's cue for fair. It's up to him to do the boost act.But all he produces is a double barrelled blink from behind theglasses. He's one of these chubby chaps, Pembroke is, especiallyaround the belt. He has pink cheeks, and a nice white forehead thatalmost meets the back of his collar. But he knows when to let thingsslide with a blink.
"I guess some one's been givin' you the wrong steer," says I. "I ain'tstarted any kindergarten class yet. The Y. M. C. A. does that sortof----"
"Oh, dear! but Langdon isn't a child, you know," says the lady. "He'sa great big fellow, almost twenty-two. Yes, really. And I know you'llget to be awfully fond of him. Won't he, Pembroke?"
"We-e-e-ell----" says Pembroke.
"Oh, he's bound to," says she. "Of course, Langdon doesn't always makefriends easily. He is so apt to be misunderstood. Why, they treatedhim perfectly horrid at prep. school, and even worse at college. A lotof the fellows, and, actually, some of the professors, were so rude tohim that Langdon said he just wouldn't stay another day! I told him Ididn't blame him a bit. So he came home. But it's awfully dull for ayoung man like Langdon here in New York, you know."
"Crippled, or blind or something, is he?" says I.
"Who, Langdon? Why, he's perfect--absolutely perfect!" says she.
"Oh, that accounts for it," says I, and Pembroke went through somemotions with his cheeks like he was tryin' to blow soap bubbles up inthe air.
Well, it seems that mother has been worryin' a lot over keepin' Langdonamused. Think of it, in a town like this!
"He detests business," says she, "and he doesn't care for theatres, orgoing to clubs, or reading, or society. But his poor dear fatherdidn't care for any of those things either, except business. AndLangdon hasn't any head for that. All he takes an interest in is hismachine."
"Singer or Remington?" says I.
"Why, his auto, of course. He's perfectly devoted to that," says she;"but the police are so dreadfully particular. Oh, they make such lotsof trouble for Langdon, and get him into such stupid scrapes. Don'tthey, Pembroke?"
Pembroke didn't blink at that. He nods twice.
"It just keeps me worried all the time," she goes on. "It isn't that Imind paying the absurd fines, of course; but--well, you can understand.No one knows what those horrid officers will do next, they're sounreasonable. Just think, that is the poor boy's only pleasure! So Ithought that if we could only get Langdon interested in something of anathletic nature--he's a splendid boxer, you know--oh, splendid!"
"That's different," says I. "You might send him down a few timesand----"
"Oh, but I want you to meet him first," says she, "and arouse hisenthusiasm. He would never go if you didn't. I expect he will be insoon, and then-- Why, that must be Langdon now!"
It might have been an axe brigade from the district attorney's office,or a hook and ladder company, by the sound. I didn't know whether hewas comin' through the doors or bringin' 'em in with him. As I squintsaround I sees the egg eyed butler get shouldered into the hall rack; soI judges that Langdon must be in something of a hurry.
He gets over it, though, for he stamps into the middle of the room,plants his feet wide apart, throws his leather cap with the goggles oninto a chair, and chucks one of them greasy bootleg gloves into themiddle of the tea tray.
"Hello, maw!" he growls. "Hello, Fatty! You here again?"
Playful little cuss, Langdon was. He's about five feet nine, shortnecked, and broad across the chest. But he's got a nice face--for amasked ball--eyes the colour of purple writin' ink, hair of a lovelyripe tomato shade growin' down to a peak in front and standin' up stiffand bristly; a corrugated brow, like a washboard; and an undershot jaw,same's a bull terrier. Oh, yes, he was a dear boy, all right. In hisleggin's and leather coat he looks too cute for any use.
"Who's this?" says he, gettin' sight of me sittin' sideways on thestuffed chair.
"Why, Langdon dear," says maw, "this is Professor McCabe. I wasspeaking to you of him, you know."
He looks me over as friendly as if I was some yegg man that had beenhauled out of the coal cellar. "Huh!" says he. I've heard freightengines coughin' up a grade make a noise a good deal like that.
Say, as a rule I ain't anxious to take on new people, and it's gettin'so lately that we turn away two or three a week; but it didn't take melong to make up my mind that I could find time for a session withLangdon, if he wanted it.
"Your maw says you do a little boxin'?" says I, smooth and soothin'.
"What of it?" says he.
"Well," says I, "down to my Studio we juggle the kid pillows once inawhile ourselves, when we ain't doin' the wand drill, or playin' beanbag."
"Huh!" says he once more.
For a parlour conversationalist, Langdon was a frost, and he hasmanners that would turn a subway guard green. But maw jumps in withenough buttered talk for both, and pretty soon she tells me thatLangdon's perfectly delighted and will be down next day.
"Me and Mr. Gallagher'll be on the spot," says I. "Good evenin',ma'am."
At that Pembroke jumps up, makes a quick break away, and trails alongtoo, so we does a promenade together down West End-ave.
"Charming young fellow, eh?" says Pembroke.
"Sure!" says I. "But he hides it well."
"You think Langdon needs exercise?" says he.
"Never saw anyone that needed it much worse," says I.
"Just my notion," says he. "In fact I am s
o interested in seeing thatLangdon gets it that I am quite willing to pay something extra for----"
"You don't have to," says I. "I'm almost willin' to do the payin'myself."
That pleases Pembroke so much he has to stop right in his tracks andshake hands. Funny, ain't it, how you can get to be such good friendswith anyone so sudden? We walks thirty blocks, chinnin' like brothers,and when we stops on the corner of 42d I've got the whole story of mawand Langdon, with some of Pembroke's hist'ry thrown in.
It was just a plain case of mother bein' used as a doormat by her dear,darling boy. She was more or less broke in to it, for it seems thatthe late departed had been a good deal of a rough houser in his day,havin' been about as gentle in his ways as a 'Leventh-ave. bartenderentertainin' the Gas House Gang. He hadn't much more'n quit the game,though, before Langdon got big enough to carry out the program, andhe'd been at it ever since.
As near as I could figure, Pembroke was a boyhood friend of maw's.He'd missed his chance of bein' anything nearer, years ago, but wasstill anxious to try again. But it didn't look like there'd be anyweddin' bells for him until Langdon either got his neck broke or wasput away for life. Pemby wa'n't soured, though. He talked real niceabout it. He said he could see how much maw thought of Langdon, and itshowed what good stuff she was made of, her stickin' to the boy untilhe'd settled on something, or something had settled on him. Course, hethought it was about time she had a let up and was treated white forawhile.
Accordin' to the hints he dropped, I suspicions that Pembroke wouldhave ranked her A-1 in the queen class, and I gathers that the size ofher bank account don't cut any ice in this deal, him havin' more orless of a surplus himself. I guess he'd been a patient waiter; buthe'd set his hopes hard on engagin' the bridal state room for a springtrip to Europe.
It all comes back, though, to what could be done with Langdon, and thatwas where the form sheet wa'n't any help. There's a million or so leftin trust for him; but he don't get it until he's twenty-five.Meantime, it was a question of how you're goin' to handle a youngsterthat's inherited the instincts of a truck driver and the income of abank president.
"It's a pity, too," says Pembroke. "He hasn't any vicious habits, he'srather bright, and if he could be started right he would make quite aman, even now. He needs to be caged up somewhere long enough to' havesome of the bully knocked out of him. I'm hoping you can do a littlealong that line."
"Too big a contract," says I. "All I want is to make his ears buzz alittle, just as a comeback for a few of them grunts he chucked at me."
And who do you suppose showed up at the Studio next forenoon? Him andmaw; she smilin' all over and tickled to death to think she'd got himthere; Langdon actin' like a bear with a sore ear.
"Maybe you hadn't better wait," says I to her.
"Oh, yes," says she. "I am going to stay and watch dear Langdon box,you know."
Well, unless I ruled her out flat, there was no way of changin' hermind; so I had to let her stay. And she saw Langdon box. Oh, yes!For an amateur, he puts up a fairly good exhibition, and as I didn'thave the heart to throw the hook into him with her sittin' therelookin' so cheerful, about all I does is step around and block hisswings and jabs. And say, with him carryin' his guard high, andleavin' the way to his meat safe open half the time, it was all I coulddo to hold myself back.
The only fun I gets is watchin' Swifty Joe's face out of the corner ofmy eye. He was pipin' us off from the start. First his mouth comesopen a foot or so as he sees me let a chance slide, and when I missesmore openin's he takes on a look like some one had fed him a ripe egg.
Langdon is havin' the time of his life. He can hit as hard as helikes, and he don't get hit back. Must have seemed real homelike tohim. Anyway, soon's he dopes it out that there ain't any danger atall, he bores in like a snow plough, and between blockin' and duckin' Ihas my hands full.
Just how Langdon has it sized up I couldn't make out; but like as not Imade somethin' of a hit with him. I put it down that way when he showsup one afternoon with his bubble, and offers to take me for a spin. Itwas so unexpected to find him tryin' to do somethin' agreeable that Idon't feel like I ought to throw him down. So I pulls on a sweater andclimbs in next to the steerin' wheel.
There wa'n't anything fancy about Langdon's oil waggon. He'd had thetonneau stripped off, and left just the front seat--no varnished wood,only a coat of primin' paint and a layer of mud splashed over that.But we hadn't gone a dozen blocks before I am wise to the fact thatnothin' was the matter with the cog wheels underneath.
"Kind of a high powered cart, ain't it?" says I.
"Only ninety horse," says Langdon, jerkin' us around a Broadway car sofast that we grazed both ends at once.
"You needn't hit 'er up on my account," says I, as we scoots across thePlaza, makin' a cab horse stand on his hind legs to give us room.
"I'm only on the second speed," says he. "Wait," and he does somemonkeyin' with the lever.
Maybe it was Central Park; but it seemed to me like bein' shot througha Christmas wreath, and the next thing I knows we're tearin' upAmsterdam-ave. Say, I can see 'em yet, them folks and waggons andthings we missed--women holdin' kids by the hand, old ladies steppin'out of cars, little girls runnin' across the street with their armsfull of bundles, white wings with their dust cans, and boys withdelivery carts. Sometimes I'd just shut my eyes and listen for thesquashy sound, and when it didn't come I'd open 'em and figure on whatwould happen if I should reach out and get Langdon's neck in the crookof my arm.
And it wa'n't my first fast ride in town, either. But I'd never beenbehind the lamps when a two-ton machine was bein' sent at a fifty-mileclip up a street crowded with folks that had almost as much right to belivin' as we did.
It was a game that suited Langdon all right, though. He's squattin'behind the wheel bareheaded, with his ketchup tinted hair plasteredback by the wind, them purple eyes shut to a squint, his under jawstuck out, and a kind of half grin--if you could call itthat--flickerin' on and off his thick lips. I don't wonder men shooktheir fists at us and women turned white and sick as we cleared 'em bythe thickness of a sheet of paper. I expect we left a string of cusswords three blocks long.
I don't know how far we went, or where. It was all a nightmare to me,just a string of gasps and visions of what would be in the papers nextday, after the coroner's jury got busy. But somehow we got throughwithout any red on the tires, and pulls up in front of the Studio. Ididn't jump out in a hurry, like I wanted to. I needed a minute tothink, for it seemed to me something was due some one.
"Nice little plaything you've got here," says I. "And that was a greatride. But sittin' still so long has kind of cramped my legs. Don'tfeel like limberin' up a bit with the mitts, do you?"
"I'd just as soon," says Langdon.
I was tryin' not to look the way I felt; but when we'd sent Swifty downto sit in the machine, and I'd got Langdon peeled off and standin' onthe mat, with the spring lock snapped between him and the outside door,it seemed too good to be true. I'd picked out an old set of glovesthat had the hair worked away from the knuckles some, for I wa'n'tplannin' on any push ball picnic this time.
Just to stir his fightin' blood, and partly so I could be sure I had agood grip on my own temper, I let him get in a few facers on me. ThenI opens up with the side remarks I'd been thinkin' over.
"Say, Langy," says I, sidesteppin' one of his swings for my jaw,"s'posin' you'd hit some of them people, eh? S'posin' that car ofyours had caught one of them old women--biff!--like that?" and I letsgo a jolt that fetches him on the cheek bone.
"Ugh!" says Langdon, real surprised. But he shakes his head and comesback at me.
"Ever stop to think," says I, "how one of them kids would look afteryou'd got him--so?" and I shoots the left into that bull neck of his.
"S-s-s-say!" sputters Langdon. "What do you think you're doing,anyway?"
"Me?" says I. "I'm tryin' to get a few points on the bubble business.Is it more fun
to smash 'em in the ribs--bang!--like that? Or to slug'em in the head--biff!--so? That's right, son; come in for more. It'swaitin'. There! Jarred your nut a bit, that one did, eh? Yes, here'sthe mate to it. There's plenty more on tap. Oh, never mind the noseclaret. It'll wipe off. Keep your guard up. Careful, now! You'reswingin' wide. And, as I was sayin'--there, you ran into thatone--this bubble scorchin' must be great sport. When youdon't--biff!--get 'em--biff! you can scare 'em to death, eh? Wabbly onyour feet, are you? That's the stuff! Keep it up. That eye's allright. One's all you need to see with. Gosh! Now you've got a pairof 'em."
If it hadn't been for his comin' in so ugly and strong I never couldhave done it. I'd have weakened and let up on him long before he'd gothalf what was owin'. But he was bound to have it all, and there's nosayin' he wa'n't game about it. At the last I tried to tell him he'dhad enough; but as long as he could keep on his pins he kept hopin' toget in just one on me; so I finally has to drop him with a stiff onebehind the ear.
Course, if we'd had ring gloves on he'd looked like he'd been on thechoppin' block; but with the pillows you can't get hurt bad. Inside often minutes I has him all washed off and up in a chair, lookin' notmuch worse than before, except for the eye swellin's. And what do youguess is the first thing he does?
"Say, McCabe," says he, shovin' out his paw, "you're all right, youare."
"So?" says I. "If I thought you was any judge that might carry weight."
"I know," says he. "Nobody likes me."
"Oh, well," says I, "I ain't rubbin' it in. I guess there's whitespots in you, after all; even if you do keep 'em covered."
He pricks up his ears at that, and wants to know how and why. Almostbefore I knows it we've drifted into a heart to heart talk that a halfhour before I would have said couldn't have happened. Langdon ain'tturned cherub; but he's a whole lot milder, and he takes in what I'vegot to say as if it was a bulletin from headquarters.
"That's all so," says he. "But I've got to do something. Do you knowwhat I'd like best?"
I couldn't guess.
"I'd like to be in the navy and handle one of those big thirteen-inchguns," says he.
"Why not, then?" says I.
"I don't know how to get in," says he. "I'd go in a minute, if I did."
"You're as good as there now, then," says I. "There's a recruitin'office around on Sixth-ave., not five blocks from here, and theLieutenant's somethin' of a friend of mine. Is it a go?"
"It is," says Langdon.
Hanged if he didn't mean it too, and before he can change his mindwe've had the papers all made out.
In the mornin' I 'phones Pembroke, and he comes around to lug me upwhile he breaks the news to maw; for he says she'll need a lot ofcalmin' down. I was lookin' for nothin' less than cat fits, too. Butsay, she don't even turn on the sprayer.
"The navy!" says she. "Why, how sweet! Oh, I'm so glad! Won'tLangdon make a lovely officer?"
I don't know how it's goin' to work out; but there's one sure thing:it'll be some time before Langdon'll be pestered any more by thetraffic cops.
And, now that the state room's engaged, you ought to see how wellPembroke is standin' the blow.