by Sewell Ford
XVII
WHEN SWIFTY WAS GOING SOME
Say, I don't play myself for any human cheese tester, but I did think Ihad Swifty Joe Gallagher all framed up long ago. Not that I ever madeany special study of Swifty; but knowin' him for as long as I have, andhavin' him helpin' me in the Studio, I got the notion that I was wiseto most of his curves. I've got both hands in the air now, though.
Goin' back over the last few months too, I can see where I might havegot a line on him before. But, oh no! Nothin' could jar me out ofbelievin' he wouldn't ever run against the form sheet I'd made out.The first glimmer I gets was when I finds Joe in the front office oneday, planted before the big lookin' glass, havin' a catch as catch canwith his hair.
"Hully chee!" says he, dippin' one of my military brushes in the washbasin. "That's fierce, ain't it, Shorty?"
"If it's your nerve in helpin' yourself to my bureau knickknacks," saysI, "I agree with you."
"Ah, can the croak!" says he. "I ain't eatin' the bristles off, am I!"
"Oh, I'm not fussin'," says I; "but what you need to use on that thatchis a currycomb and a lawn rake."
"Ah, say!" says he, "I don't see as it's so much worse than others Iknow of. It's all right when I can get it to lay down in the back.How's that, now?"
"Great!" says I. "Couldn't be better if you'd used fish glue."
Maybe you never noticed how Swifty's top piece is finished off? He hasa mud coloured growth that's as soft as a shoe brush. It behaves wellenough when it's dry; but after he's got it good and wet it breaks upinto ridges that overlap, same as shingles on a roof.
But then, you wouldn't be lookin' for any camel's hair finish on a nutlike Swifty's--not with that face. Course, he ain't to blame for theundershot jaw, nor the way his ears lop, nor the width of his smile.We don't all have gifts like that, thanks be! And it wa'n't on purposeSwifty had his nose bent in. That come from not duckin' quick enoughwhen Gans swung with his right.
So long as he kept in his class, though, and wa'n't called on tounderstudy Kyrle Bellew, Swifty met all the specifications. If I waswantin' a parlour ornament, I might shy some at Swifty's style ofbeauty; but showin' bilious brokers how to handle the medicine ball isa job that don't call for an exchange of photographs. He may have anoutline that looks like a map of a stone quarry, and perhaps his waysare a little on the fritz, but Swifty's got good points that I couldn'tfind bunched again if I was to hunt through a crowd. So, when I findhim worryin' over the set of his back hair, I gets interested.
"What's the coiffure for, anyway?" says I. "Goin' to see the girl, eh?"
Course, that was a josh. You can't look at Swifty and try to think ofhim doin' the Romeo act without grinnin'.
"Ahr, chee!" says he.
Now, I've sprung that same jolly on him a good many times; but I neversee him work up a colour over it before. Still, the idea of himgettin' kittenish was too much of a strain on the mind for me to followup.
It was the same about his breakin' into song. He'd never done that,either, until one mornin' I hears a noise comin' from the back roomthat sounds like some one blowin' on a bottle. I steps over to thedoor easy, and hanged if I didn't make out that it was Swifty takin' acrack at something that might be, "Oh, how I love my Lulu!"
"You must," says I, "if it makes you feel as bad as all that. DoesLulu know it?"
"Ahr, chee!" says he.
Ever hear Swifty shoot that over his shoulder without turnin' his head?Talk about your schools of expression! None of 'em could teach anyoneto put as much into two words as Swifty does into them. They're awhole vocabulary, the way he uses 'em.
"Was you tryin' to sing," says I, "or just givin' an imitation of asteamboat siren on a foggy night?"
But all I could get out of Swifty was another "Ahr, chee!" He was toohappy and satisfied to join in any debate, and inside of ten minuteshe's at it again; so I lets him spiel away.
"Well," thinks I, "I'm glad my joy don't have any such effect on me asthat. I s'pose I can stand it, if he can."
It wa'n't more'n two nights later that I gets another shock. I wasfeelin' a little nervous, to begin with, for I'd billed myself to do astunt I don't often tackle. It was nothin' else than pilotin' a fluffdelegation to some art studio doin's. Sounds like a Percy job, don'tit? But it was somethin' put up to me in a way I couldn't dodge.
Maybe you remember me tellin' you awhile back about Cornelia AnnBelter? She was the Minnekeegan girl that had a room on the top floorover the Physical Culture Studio, and was makin' a stab at thesculpture game--the one that we got out to Rockywold as a ringer in thesnow carvin' contest. Got her placed now?
Well, you know how that little trick of makin' a snow angel brought herin orders from Mrs. Purdy Pell, and Sadie, and the rest? And shedidn't do a thing but make good, either. I hadn't seen her since shequit the building; but I'd heard how she was doin' fine, and here theother day I gets a card sayin' she'd be pleased to have my company on aWednesday night at half after eight, givin' an address on Fifth avenue.
"Corny must be carvin' the cantaloup," thinks I, and then forgets allabout it until Sadie holds me up and wants to know if I'm goin'.
"Nix," says I. "Them art studio stunts is over my head."
"Oh, pshaw!" says Sadie. "How long since you have been afraid of MissBelter? Didn't you and I help her to get her start? She'll feel realbadly if you don't come."
"She'll get over that," says I.
"But Mrs. Pell and I will have to go alone if you don't come with us,"says she. "Mr. Pell is out of town, and Pinckney is too busy withthose twins and that Western girl of his. You've got to come, Shorty."
"That settles it," says I. "Why didn't you say so first off?"
So that was what I was doin' at quarter of eight that night, in my openface vest and dinky little tuxedo, hustlin' along 42d-st., wonderin' ifthe folks took me for a head waiter late to his job. You see, after Igets all ragged out I finds I've left my patent leathers at the Studio.Swifty has said he was goin' to take the night off too, so I'm somesurprised to see the front office all lit up like there was a ballgoin' on up there. I takes the steps three at a time, expectin' tofind a couple of yeggs movin' out the safe; but when I throws the dooropen what should I see, planted in front of the mirror, but Swifty Joe.
Not that I was sure it was him till I'd had a second look. It wasSwifty's face, and Swifty's hair, but the costume was a philopena. Itwould have tickled a song and dance artist to death. Anywhere off'nthe variety stage, unless it was at a Fourth Ward chowder party, itwould have drawn a crowd. Perhaps you can throw up a view of apin-head check in brown and white, blocked off into four-inch squareswith red and green lines; a double breasted coat with scalloped cuffson the sleeves, and silk faced lapels; a pink and white shirt stripedlike an awnin'; a spotted butterfly tie; yellow shoes in the latestoleomargarin tint; and a caffy-o-lay bean pot derby with a half-inchbrim to finish off the picture. It was a sizzler, all right.
For a minute I stands there with my mouth open and my eyes bugged,takin' in the details. If I could, I would have skipped without sayin'a word, for I see I'd butted in on somethin' that was sacred andsecret. But Swifty's heard me come in, and he's turned around waitin'for me to give a verdict. Not wantin' to hurt his feelin's, I has togo careful.
"Swifty," says I, "is that you?"
He only grins kind of foolish, sticks his chin out, and saws his neckagainst his high collar, like a cow usin' a scratchin' post.
"Blamed if I didn't take you for Henry Dixey, first shot," says I,walkin' around and gettin' a new angle. "Gee! but that's a swelloutfit!"
"Think so?" says he. "Will it make 'em sit up?"
"Will it!" says I. "Why, you'll have 'em on their toes."
I didn't know how far I could go on that line without givin' him agrouch; but he seems to like it, so I tears off some more of the same.
"Swifty," says I, "you've got a bunch of tiger lilies lookin' like afaded tea rose. You've got a get-up
there that would win out at aCakewalk, and if you'll take it over to Third-ave. Sunday afternoonyou'll be the best bet on the board."
"Honest?" says he, grinnin' way back to his ears. "I was aftersomethin' a little fancy, I'll own up."
"Well, you got it," says I. "Where'd you have it built?"
"Over the bridge," says he.
Say, it's a wonder some of them South Brooklyn cloth carpenters don'tget the blind staggers, turnin' out clothes like that; ain't it?
"Must be some special occasion?" says I.
"D'jer think I'd be blowin' myself like this if it wa'n't?" says he."You bet, it's extra special."
"With a skirt in the background?" says I.
"Uh-huh," says he, springin' another grin.
"Naughty, naughty!" says I.
"Ahr, say," says he, tryin' to look peevish, "you oughter know better'nthat! You never heard of me chasin' the Lizzies yet, did you? This isa real lady,--nice and classy, see?"
"Some one on Fifth-ave.?" says I, unwindin' a little string. But hewhirls round like I'd jabbed him with a pin.
"Who tipped you off to that?" says he.
"Guessed it by the clothes," says I.
That simmers him down, and I could see he wanted to be confidential theworst way. He wouldn't let go of her name; but I gathers it's some onehe's known for quite a spell, and that she's sent him a special invitefor this evenin'.
"Asks me to call around, see?" says he. "Now, I put it up to you,Shorty, don't that look like I got some standin' with her?"
"She must think pretty well of you, that's a fact," says I, "and Ijudge that you're willin' to be her honey boy. Ain't got the ring inyour vest pocket, have you?"
"Maybe that ain't so much of a joke as you think," says he, settin' thebean pod lid a little more on one side.
"Z-z-z-ipp!" says I. "That's goin' some! Well, well, but you are acute one, Swifty. Why, I never suspicioned such a thing. Luck to you,my lad, luck to you!" and I pats him on the back. "I don't know whatchances you had before; but in that rig you can't lose."
"I guess it helps," says he, twistin' his neck to get a back view.
He was puttin' on the last touches when I left. Course, I was somestunned, specially by the Fifth-ave. part of it. But then, it's a longstreet, and it's gettin' so now that all kinds lives on it.
I was a little behind sched. when I gets to Sherry's, where I was topick up Sadie and Mrs. Purdy Pell; but at that it was ten or fifteenminutes before they gets the tourin' car called up and we're all tuckedaway inside. It don't take us long to cover the distance, though, andat twenty to nine we hauls up at Miss Belter's number. I was justgoin' to pile out when I gets a glimpse of a pair of bright yellowshoes carryin' a human checker board.
"S-s-s-sh!" says I to the ladies. "Wait up a second till we see wherehe goes."
"Why, who is it?" says Sadie.
"Swifty Joe," says I. "You might not think it from the rainbowuniform, but it's him. That's the way he dresses the part when hestarts out to kneel to his lady love."
"Really!" says Mrs. Pell. "Is he going to do that?"
"Got it straight from him," says I. "There! he's worked his courageup. Now he takes the plunge."
"Why!" says Sadie, "that is Miss Belter's number he's going into."
"She don't live on all five floors, does she?" says I.
"No; but it's odd, just the same," says she.
I thought so myself; so I gives 'em the whole story of how I come toknow about what he was up to. By that time he was climbing the stairs,and as soon as we finds the right door I forgets all about Swifty insizin' up Cornelia Ann.
Say, what a difference a little of the right kind of dry goods willmake in a girl, won't it? The last I saw of Cornie she was wearin' askirt that sagged in the back, a punky lid that might have come off thetop of an ash can, and shoes that had run over at the heel.
But prosperity had sure blown her way, and she'd bought a wardrobe tosuit the times. Not that she'd gone and loaded herself down like shewas a window display. It was just a cucumber green sort of cheesecloth that floated around her, and there wa'n't a frill on it exceptsome silvery braid where the square hole had been chopped out to lether head and part of her shoulders through. But at that it didn't needany Paris tag.
And say, I'd always had an idea that Cornelia Ann was rated about thirdrow back. Seein' the way she showed up there, though, with all thatcinnamon coloured hair of hers piled on top of her head, and her bigeyes glistenin', I had to revise the frame up. It didn't take me longto find out she'd shook the shrinkin' violet game, too. She steps upand gives us the glad hand and the gurgly jolly just as if she'd beendoin' it all her life.
It wa'n't any cheap hang-out that Cornie has tacked her name plate on,either. There was expensive rugs on the floor, and brass lamps hangin'from the ceilin', and pieces of tin armor hung around on the walls,with nary a sign of an oil stove or a foldin' bed.
A lot of folks was already on the ground. They was swells too, andthey was floatin' around so thick that it was two or three minutesbefore I gets a view of what was sittin' under the big yellow sik lampshade in the corner. Say, who do you guess? Swifty Joe! Honest, fora minute I thought I must be havin' a nerve spasm and seein' thingsthat wa'n't so. But it was him, all right; big as life, and lookin' asprominent as a soap ad. on the back cover of a magazine.
There was plenty of shady places in the room that he might have picked,but he has hunted out the bright spot. He's sittin' on one of thesefunny cross legged Roman stools, with his toes turned in, and themgrid-iron pants pulled up to show about five inches of MacGregor plaidsocks. And he has a satisfied look on his face that I couldn't accountfor no way.
Course, I thinks right off that he's broke into the wrong ranch and iswaitin' for some one to come and show him the way out. And then, allof a sudden, I begins to remember things. You know, it was Swifty thatCornelia Ann used to get to pose for her when she had the top floorback in our building. She made an embossed clay picture of him thatJoe used to gaze at by the hour. And once he showed me her photo thatshe'd given him. Then there was the special invite he'd been tellin'me about. Not bein' used to gettin' such things, he'd mistook thatcard to her studio openin' as a sort of private billy ducks, and he'dbuilt up a dream about him and her havin' a hand-holdin' session all tothemselves.
"Great cats!" thinks I. "Can it be Cornelia Ann he's gone on?"
Well, all you had to do to get the answer was to watch Swifty followher around with his eyes. You'd thought, findin' himself in a bunch oftop-notchers like that, and rigged out the way he was, he'd beenfeelin' like a green strawb'ry in the bottom of the basket. Butnothin' of that kind had leaked through his thick skull. Cornie wasthere, and he was there, dressed accordin' to his own designs, and hewas contented and happy as a turtle on a log, believin' the rest of ushad only butted in.
I was feelin' all cut up over his break, and tryin' to guess howCornelia was standin' it, when she floats up to me and says:
"Wasn't it sweet of Mr. Gallagher to come? Have you seen him?"
"Seen him!" says I. "You don't notice any bandage over my eyes, doyou? Notice the get up. Why, he looks like a section of a billboard."
"Oh, I don't mind his clothes a bit," says she. "I think he's realpicturesque. Besides, I haven't forgotten that he used to pose for mewhen hiring models meant going without meals. I wish you would seethat he doesn't get lonesome before I have a chance to speak to himagain."
"He don't look like he needed any chirkin' up," says I; "but I'll gogive him the howdy."
So I trots over to the yellow shade and ranges myself up in front ofhim. "You might's well own up, Swifty," says I. "Is Cornie the one?"
"Uh-huh," says he.
"Told her about it yet?" says I.
"Ahr, chee!" says he. "Give a guy a chance."
"Sure," says I. "But go slow, Joey, go slow."
I don't know how it happened, for all I told about it was Sadie andMrs. Purdy P
ell; but it wa'n't long before everyone in the joint wasnext to Swifty, and was pipin' him off. They all has to be introducedand make a try at gettin' him to talk. For awhile he has the time ofhis life. Mostly he just grins; but now and then he throws in an "Ahr,chee!" that knocks 'em silly.
The only one that don't fall for what's up is Cornelia Ann. She getshim to help her pass out the teacups and the cake, and tells everyoneabout how Swifty helped her out on the model business when she waslivin' on pickled pigs' feet and crackers. Fin'lly folks begins to digout their wraps and come up to tell her how they'd had a bully time.But Joe never makes a move.
Sadie and Mrs. Pell wa'n't in any hurry either, and the first thing Iknows there's only the five of us left. I see Sadie lookin' from Joeto Cornie, and then passin' Mrs. Pell the smile. Cornelia Ann sees ittoo, and she has a synopsis of the precedin' chapters all in a minute.But she don't get flustered a bit. She sails over to the coat room,gets Swifty's lid, and comes luggin' it out.
"I'm awfully glad you came, Mr. Gallagher," says she, handin' out thebean pot, "and I hope to see you again when I have anotherreception--next year."
"Eh?" says Swifty, like he was wakin' up from a dream. "Next year!Why, I thought that--"
"Yes, but you shouldn't," says she. "Good night."
Then he sees the hat, and a light breaks. He grabs the lid and makes adash for the door.
"Isn't he odd?" says Cornelia.
Well say, I didn't know whether I'd get word that night that Swifty hadjumped off the bridge, or had gone back to the fusel oil. He didn't doeither one, though; but when he shows up at the Studio next mornin' hewas wearin' his old clothes, and his face looks like he was foreman ofa lemon grove.
"Ah, brace up, Swifty," says I. "There's others."
He just shakes his head and sighs, and goes off into a corner as if hewanted to die slow and lingerin'.
Then Saturday afternoon, when it turns off so warm and we begins thenoon shut down, I thinks I'll take a little run down to Coney and hearthe frankfurters bark. I was watchin' 'em load the boys and girls intoa roller coaster, when along comes a car that has something familiar init. Here's Swifty, wearin' his brass band suit, a cigar stickin' outof one corner of his mouth, and an arm around a fluffy haired Flossiegirl that was chewin' gum and wearin' a fruit basket hat. They waslookin' happy.
"Say, Swifty," I sings out, "don't forget about Cornie."
"Ahr, chee!" says he, and off they goes down the chute for anotherten-cent ride.
But say, I'm glad all them South Brooklyn art clothes ain't goin' to bewasted.