by Sewell Ford
XVIII
PLAYING WILBUR TO SHOW
It's all right. You can put the Teddy sign on anything you read in thepapers about matrimony's bein' a lost art, and collectin' affinitiesbein' the latest fad; for the plain, straight, old,love-honour-and-cherish business is still in the ring. I havePinckney's word for it, and Pinckney ought to know. Oh, yes, he's anauthority now. Sure, it was Miss Gerty, the twin tamer. And say, whatdo you suppose they did with that gift pair of terrors, Jack and Jill,while they was makin' the weddin' tour? Took 'em along. Honest, theytravels for ten weeks with two kids, five trunks, and a couple of maids.
"You don't look like no honeymoon couple," says I, when I meets 'em inJersey City. "I'd take you for an explorin' party."
"We are," says Pinckney, grinnin'. "We've been explorin' the westernpart of the United States. We have discovered Colorado Springs, theYosemite, and a lot more very interesting places, all over again."
"You'll be makin' a new map, I expect," says I.
"It would be new to most New Yorkers," says he.
And I've been tryin' ever since to figure out whether or no that's aknock. Now and then I has a suspicion that Pinckney's acquired somenew bug since he's been out through the alfalfa belt; but maybe hisidea of the West's bein' such a great place only comes from the factthat Gerty was produced there. Perhaps it's all he says too; but Inotice he seems mighty glad to get back to Main-st., N. Y. You'dthought so if you'd seen the way he trails me around over town thefirst day after he lands. We was on the go from noon until one A. M.,and his cab bill must have split a twenty up fine.
What tickles me, though, is that he's the same old Pinckney, only moreso. Bein' married don't seem to weigh no heavier on his mind thanjoinin' another club. So, instead of me losin' track of himaltogether, he shows up here at the Studio oftener than before. Andthat's how it was he happens to be on hand when this overgrown partyfrom the ham orchard blows in.
Just at the minute, though, Pinckney was back in the dressin' room,climbin' into his frock coat after our little half-hour session on themat; so Swifty Joe and me was the reception committee.
As the door opens I looks up to see about seven foot of cinnamon brownplaid cloth,--a little the homeliest stuff I ever see used forclothes,--a red and green necktie, a face the colour of a ripe tomato,and one of these buckskin tinted felt hats on top of that. Measurin'from the peak of the Stetson to the heels of his No. 14 Cinderellas, hemust have been some under ninety inches, but not much. And he has allthe grace of a water tower. Whoever tried to build that suit for himmust have got desperate and cut it out with their eyes shut; for it fithim only in spots, and them not very near together. But what can youdo with a pair of knock knees and shoulders that slope like a hip roof?
Not expectin' any freaks that day, and bein' too stunned to make anycrack on our own hook, me and Swifty does the silent gawp, and waits tosee if it can talk. For a minute he looks like he can't. He juststands here with his mouth half open, grinnin' kind of sheepish andgood natured, as if we could tell what he wanted just by his looks.Fin'lly I breaks the spell.
"Hello, Sport," says I. "If you see any dust on top of thatchandelier, don't mention it."
He don't make any reply to that, just grins a little wider; so I giveshim a new deal.
"You'll find Huber's museum down on 14th-st.," says I. "Or have yougot a Bowery engagement?"
This seems to twist him up still more; but it pulls the cork. "Excuseme, friends," says he; "but I'm tryin' to round up an eatin' house thatused to be hereabouts."
"Eatin' house?" says I. "If you mean the fried egg parlour that was onthe ground floor, that went out of business months ago. But there'slots more just as good around on Sixth-ave., and some that carry stockenough to fill you up part way, I guess."
"I wa'n't lookin' to grub up just yet," says he. "I was huntin'for--for some one that worked there."
And say, you wouldn't have thought anyone with a natural sunset colourlike that could lay on a blush. But he does, and it's like throwin'the red calcium on a brick wall.
"Oh, tush, tush!" says I. "You don't mean to tell me a man of yoursize is trailin' some Lizzie Maud?"
He cants his head on one side, pulls out a blue silk handkerchief, andbegins to wind it around his fore finger, like a bashful kid that'sbeen caught passin' a note in school.
"Her--her name's Zylphina," says he,--"Zylphina Beck."
"Gee!" says I. "Sounds like a new kind of music box. No relation, Ihope?"
"Not yet," says he, swingin' his shoulders; "but we've swapped rings."
"Of all the cut-ups!" says I. "And just what part of the plowed fieldsdo you and Zylphina hail from?"
"Why, I'm from Hoxie," says he, as though that told the whole story.
"Do tell!" says I. "Is that a flag station or just a four corners?Somewhere in Ohio, ain't it?"
"Sheridan County, Kansas," says he.
"Well, well!" says I. "Now I can account for your size. Have to growtall out there, don't you, so's not to get lost in the wheat patch?"
Say, for a josh consumer, he was the easiest ever. All he does isstand there and grin, like he was the weak end of a variety team. Butit seems a shame to crowd a willin' performer; so I was just tellin'him he'd better go out and hunt up a city directory in some drug store,when Pinckney shows up, lookin' interested.
"There!" says I. "Here's a man now that'll lead you straight toZylphina in no time. Pinckney, let me make you acquainted withMister--er----"
"Cobb," says the Hoxie gent, "Wilbur Cobb."
"From out West," I puts in, givin' Pinckney the nudge. "He's yours."
It ain't often I has a chance to unload anything like that on Pinckney,so I rubs it in. The thoughts of him towin' around town a humanextension like this Wilbur strikes Swifty Joe so hard that he most hasa chokin' fit.
But you never know what turn Pinckney's goin' to give to a jolly. Hedon't even crack a smile, but reaches up and hands Mr. Cobb the cordialshake, just as though he'd been a pattern sized gent dressed accordin'to the new fall styles.
"Ah!" says Pinckney. "I'm very glad to meet anyone from the West.What State, Mr. Cobb?"
And inside of two minutes he's gettin' all the details of this Zylphinahunt, from the ground up, includin' an outline of Wilbur's past life.
Seems that Wilbur'd got his first start in Maine; but 'way back beforehe could remember much his folks had moved to Kansas on a homestead.Then, when Wilbur tossled out, he takes up a quarter section nearHoxie, and goes to corn farmin' for himself, raisin' a few hogs as aside line. Barrin' bein' caught in a cyclone or two, and gettin'elected junior kazook of the Sheridan County Grange, nothin' muchhappened to Wilbur, until one day he took a car ride as far west asColby Junction.
That's where he meets up with Zylphina. She was jugglin' stop overrations at the railroad lunch counter. Men must have been mightyscarce around the junction, or else she wants the most she can get forthe money; for, as she passes Wilbur a hunk of petrified pie and drawshim one muddy, with two lumps on the saucer, she throws in a smile thatmakes him feel like he'd stepped on a live third rail.
Accordin' to his tell, he must have hung around that counter all day,eatin' through the pie list from top to bottom and back again, untilit's a wonder his system ever got over the shock. But Zylphina keepstollin' him on with googoo eyes and giggles, sayin' how it does hergood to see a man with a nice, hearty appetite, and before it come timefor him to take the night train back they'd got real well acquainted.He finds out her first name, and how she's been a whole orphan sinceshe was goin' on ten.
After that Wilbur makes the trip to Colby Junction reg'lar everySunday, and they'd got to the point of talkin' about settin' the daywhen she was to become Mrs. Cobb, when Zylphina gets word that an auntof hers that kept a boardin' house in Fall River, Massachusetts, wantsher to come on East right away. Aunty has some kind of heart troublethat may finish her any minute, and, as Zylphina was the nearestrelation she had, there
was a show of her bein' heiress to the wholejoint.
Course, Zylphina thinks she ought to tear herself loose from the piecounter; but before she quits the junction her and Wilbur takes onelast buggy ride, with the reins wound around the whip socket most ofthe way. She weeps on Wilbur's shirt front, and says no matter how faroff she is, or how long she has to wait for him to come, she'll alwaysbe his'n on demand. And Wilbur says that just as soon as he can makethe corn and hog vineyard hump itself a little more, he'll come.
So Zylphina packs a shoe box full of fried chicken, blows two months'wages into a yard of yellow railroad ticket, and starts toward thecotton mills. It's a couple of months before Wilbur gets any letter,and then it turns out to be a hard luck tale, at that. Zylphina hasfound out what a lime tastes like. She's discovered that the FallRiver aunt hasn't anything more the matter with her heart than theaverage landlady, and that what she's fell heiress to is only a chanceto work eighteen hours a day for her board. So she's disinheritedherself and is about to make a bold jump for New York, which she likedthe looks of as she came through, and she'll write more later on.
It was later--about six months. Zylphina says she's happy, and hopesWilbur is the same. She's got a real elegant job as cashier in ahigh-toned, twenty-five cent, reg'lar-meal establishment, and all inthe world she has to do is to sit behind a wire screen and make change.It's different from wearin' an apron, and the gents what takes theirfood there steady treats her like a perfect lady. New York is a bigplace; but she's getting so she knows her way around quite well now,and it would seem funny to go back to a little one-horse burg likeColby.
And that's all. Nothin' about her bein' Wilbur's on demand, oranything of that kind. Course, it's an antique old yarn; but it wasall fresh to Wilbur. Not bein' much of a letter writer, he keeps onfeedin' the hogs punctual, and hoein' the corn, and waitin' for morenews. But there's nothin' doin'.
"Then," says he, "I got to thinkin' and thinkin', and this fall, beingas how I was coming as far east as Chicago on a shipper's pass, Ireckons I'd better keep right on here, hunt Zylphina up, and take herback with me."
The way he tells it was real earnest, and at some points them wheycoloured eyes of his moistens up good an' dewy; but he finishes strongand smilin'. You wouldn't guess, though, that any corn fed romancelike that would stir up such a blood as Pinckney? A few months back hewouldn't have listened farther'n the preamble; but now he couldn't havebeen more interested if this was a case of Romeo Astor and JulietDupeyster.
"Shorty," says he, "can't we do something to help Mr. Cobb find thisyoung lady?"
"Do you mean it," says I, "or are you battin' up a josh?"
He means it, all right. He spiels off a lot of gush about the joy ofunitin' two lovin' hearts that has got strayed; so I asks Wilbur if hecan furnish any description of Zylphina. Sure, he can. He digs up aleather wallet from his inside pocket and hands out a tintype of MissBeck, one of these portraits framed in pale pink paper, taken by awagon artist that had wandered out to the junction.
Judgin' by the picture, Zylphina must have been a sure enoughprairie-rose. She's wearin' her hair loose over her shoulders, and agenuine Shy Ann hat, one of those ten-inch brims with the front pinnedback. The pug nose and the big mouth wa'n't just after the Venusmodel; but it's likely she looked good to Wilbur. I takes one squintand hands it back.
"Nix, never!" says I. "I've seen lots of fairies on 42d-st., but nonelike that. Put it back over your heart, Wilbur, and try an ad. in thelost column."
But Pinckney ain't willin' to give up so easy. He says how Mr. Cobbhas come more'n a thousand miles on this tender mission, and it's up tous to do our best towards helping him along. I couldn't see just wherewe was let into this affair of Wilbur's; but as Pinckney's so set onit, I begins battin' my head for a way of takin' up the trail.
And it's wonderful what sleuth work you can do just by usin' the 'phoneliberal. First I calls up the agent of the buildin', and finds thatthe meal fact'ry has moved over to Eighth-ave. Then I gets that numberand brings Zylphina's old boss to the wire. Sure, he remembers MissBeck. No, she ain't with him now. He thinks she took a course inmanicurin', and one of the girls says she heard of her doin' the handholdin' act in an apartment hotel on West 35th-st. After three trieswe has Zylphina herself on the 'phone.
"Guess who's here," says I.
"That you, Roland?" says she.
"Aw, pickles!" says I. "Set the calendar back a year or so, and thencome again. Ever hear of Wilbur, from Hoxie, Kan.?"
Whether it was a squeal or a snicker, I couldn't make out; but she wason. As I couldn't drag Wilbur up to the receiver, I has to carrythrough the talk myself, and I makes a date for him to meet her infront of the hotel at six-thirty that evenin', when the day shift ofnail polishers goes off duty.
"Does that suit, Wilbur?" says I.
Does it? You never saw so much pure joy spread over a singlecountenance as what he flashes up. He gives me a grip I can feel yet,and the grin that opens his face was one of these reg'lar earconnectors. Pinckney was tickled too, and it's all I can do to get himoff one side where I can whisper confidential.
"Maybe it ain't struck you yet," says I, "that Zylphina's likely tohave changed some in her ideas as to what a honey boy looks like. NowWilbur's all right in his way; but ain't he a little rugged to springon a lady manicure that hasn't seen him for some time?"
And when Pinckney comes to take a close view, he agrees that Mr. Cobbis a trifle fuzzy. "But we can spruce him up," says Pinckney. "Thereare four hours to do it in."
"Four weeks would be better," says I; "it's considerable of a contract."
That don't bother Pinckney any. He's got nothing else on hand for theafternoon, and he can't plan any better sport than improvin' Wilbur'slooks so Zylphina's first impression'll be a good one.
He begins by making Wilbur peel the cinnamon brown costume, drapin' himin a couple of bath robes, while Swifty takes the suit out to one ofthese pants-pressed-while you wait places. When it comes back withcreases in the legs, he hustles Wilbur into a cab and starts for abarber shop.
Say, I don't suppose Cobb'll ever know it; but if he'd been huntin' forexpert help along that line, he couldn't have tumbled into better handsthan he did when Pinckney gets interested in his case. When theyfloats in again, along about six o'clock, I hardly knows Wilbur for thesame party. He's wearin' a long black ulster that covers up most ofthe plaid nightmare; he's shook the woolly lid for a fall block derby,he's had his face scraped and powdered, and his neck ringlets trimmedup; and he even sports a pair of yellow kids and a silver headed stick.
"Gosh!" says I. "Looks like you'd run him through a finishing machine.Why, he'll have Zylphina after him with a net."
"Yes," says Pinckney. "I fancy he'll do now."
As for Wilbur, he only looks good natured and happy. Course, Pinckneywants to go along with him, to see that it all turns out right; and hecounts me in too, so off we starts. I was a little curious to get aglimpse of Zylphina myself, and watch how stunned she'd be. For we hasit all framed up how she'll act. Havin' seen the tintype, I can't getit out of my head that she's still wearin' her hair loose and lookinglike M'liss in the first act.
"Hope she'll be on time," says I, as we turns the corner.
There was more or less folks goin' and comin' from the ladies'entrance; but no girl like the one we was lookin' for. So we fetchesup in a bunch opposite the door and prepares to wait. We hadn't stoodthere a minute, before there comes a squeal from behind, and some onesays:
"Why, Wilbur Cobb! Is that you?"
And what do you guess shows up? There at the curb is a big, opentourin' car,--one of the opulent, shiny kind,--with a slick lookingshuffer in front, and, standin' up in the tonneau, a tart little ladywearin' Broadway clothes that was right up to the minute, hair doneinto breakfast rolls behind, and a long pink veil streamin' down herback. Only by the pug nose and the mouth could I guess that it mightbe Zylphina. And it was.
There wa'n't any gettin' away from the fact that she was a littlejarred at seein' Wilbur lookin' so cute; but that was nothin' to thejolt she handed us. Mr. Cobb, he just opens his mouth and gazes at herlike she was some sort of an exhibit. And Pinckney, who'd beenexpectin' something in a dollar-thirty-nine shirtwaist and a saggedskirt, is down and out. It didn't take me more'n a minute to see thatif Zylphina has got to the stage where she wears pony jackets and ridesin expensive bubbles, our little pie counter romance is headed for theash can.
"Stung in both eyes!" says I under my breath, and falls back.
"Well, well!" says Zylphina, holdin' out three fingers. "When did youhit Broadway, Wilbur?"
It was all up to Cobb then. He drifts up to the tonneau and gathers inthe fingers dazed like, as if he was walkin' in his sleep; but he getsout somethin' about bein' mighty glad to see her again.
Zylphina sizes him up kind of curious, and smiles. "You must let meintroduce you to my friend," says she. "Roland, this is Mr. Cobb, fromKansas."
Mr. Shuffer grins too, as he swaps grips with Wilbur. It was a greatjoke.
"He's awfully nice to me, Roland is," says Zylphina, with a giggle."And ain't this a swell car, though? Roland takes me to my boardin'house in it 'most every night. But how are the corn and hogs doin',Wilbur?"
Say, there was a topic Wilbur was up on. He throws her a grateful grinand proceeds to unlimber his conversation works. He tells Zylphina howmany acres he put into corn last spring, how much it shucked to theacre, and how many head of hogs he has just sent to the ham and lardlab'ratory. That brand of talk sounds kind of foolish there under thearc lights; but Zylphina pricks up her ears.
"Ten carloads of hogs!" says she. "Is that a kid, or are you justhavin' a dream?"
"I cal'late it'll be twenty next fall," says he, fishin' for somethin'in his pocket. "Here's the packing house receipts for the ten, anyway."
"Let's see," says she, and by the way she skins her eye over themdocuments you could tell that Zylphina'd seen the like before. Alsoshe was somethin' of a ready reckoner.
"Oh, Wilbur!" says she, makin' a flyin' leap and landin' with her armsaround his neck. "I'm yours, Wilbur, I'm yours!"
And Wilbur, he gathers her in.
"Roland," says I, steppin' up to the shuffer, "you can crank up.Hoxie's won out in the tenth."