Chapter II
"_A goodly, portly man, i's faith, and a corpulent: of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or by'r lady, inclining to three score_."
It had been a good morning, thought Mendenhall. If only more citizenslike this big, talkative, prosperous looking stranger would settle inElmsdale! Over a thousand dollars' worth in one bill--not bad, that,for a little rural New York town. Moreover, the stranger had evinceda taste in his selection of furniture and carpets scarcely to beexpected from his slightly overdressed appearance and his loud,dominating talk. His choice had been always swift and certain, whollyunaffected by prices. Obviously, a self-made man, with a long purse,this.
The big man threw up his hands in mock surrender. "Time--King'sX--'nuff!" he bellowed, a pervading and infectious smilespreading over his broad, jovial, smooth-shaven face. "Police!Nine--eleven--twelve hundred, sixty-eight. I'll pay you a hundred tobind the--No, I'll just pay you now and have done with it. Don't wantthe stuff delivered till some time next week, though. Wife'll run upto-morrow or next day to take her choice of the two houses I've beenlooking at. Then, paper-hanging, mantels, plumbing and all that--Makeit even twelve-fifty?" he demanded, pen poised in a plump, white hand,eying the dealer with shrewd expectancy.
"Certainly, certainly," Mendenhall murmured, rubbing his hands with athought of future custom.
Scratch-tch-ch! The check was made out with a flourish. "Here you are.I'll come round when I'm ready and tell you where to send the stuff.By the way, where do you bank? Want to send in checks for collection."
"At the Farmers' and Citizens', mostly. The First National is rightaround the corner, first turn to your left. Thank you very much,Mr."--he glanced at the check--Britt--Mr. N.C. Britt. I hope for thepleasure of your better acquaintance, Mr. Britt."
"Oh, you will!" laughed Britt. "Nice little town, here. If I like itas well a year from now as I do to-day I'll stick. Time for an oldfellow like me to settle down. I've worked hard all my life. But I'vegot enough. What's the good of more? No dying in the harness for mine.I want to retire, as they call it, and let the young bucks do thework."
"Oh, you're not an old man," protested Mendenhall with reason. "Youramazing vitality--your energetic----" Britt pulled at his luxuriantwhite hair.
"Oh, good enough for an old has-been!" He laughed with pardonablevanity. "Pretty hearty yet, owing to having lived a clean andwholesome life, thank God; but aging, sir--aging. 'The evil days drawnigh!'" He shook his head with a sober air, which at once gave way tothe satisfied smile habitual on his round, contented face. Briskly, heconsulted a heavy gold repeater, replacing it with the quick movementof one to whom seconds are valuable. "Well, well! Twelve-thirty! Beenhere all morning, picking and choosing! Take luncheon with me? No? Allright--see you later!" He swung out through the door.
Turning the corner, he crossed the street to the First National,bounced in and presented himself at the teller's window, lighting acigar, puffing like a tugboat. "To open a small account--two of 'em.Checks for collection," he announced. Tone and manner were breezilyself-assertive; the president, from his desk, turned and looked. Heindorsed, blotting with a swift dab, and a final fillip through thewindow. "Chicago, thirty-three hundred--credit to Britt & Stratton.Here's our signature. Denver, eight hundred, to private account H.E.Stratton. He'll be here next week. I'll bring him around and identify.Draw on this by Wednesday? Good! Gimme checkbook. Excuse haste; yourstruly!" He popped out.
The president smiled. "An original character, apparently," he said."He doesn't aim to let grass grow under _his_ feet."
Between two and three Britt bustled into Mendenhall's, making for theoffice.
"Oh, I say!" he puffed, as Mendenhall rose. "Banked that check yet?"
"Not yet," replied the other sedately. "It is our custom to send theday's checks for deposit just before three. Nothing wrong, I trust?"
Britt dropped into a chair, mopping his face. "Oh, no, nothing_wrong_; but I'm afraid I've made a little mistake. I'm not a goodbusiness man--not systematic--though I worry along. Like the youngwife's bookkeeping--'Received fifty dollars from John--spent it all.'Fact is, I never entirely got over the days when a very short memorywas enough to keep track of all my transactions. Always forgettingto fill out my stubs," he explained. "So I don't remember what bank Ichecked on. But I'm pretty sure 'twas the Commercial, and my balancethere is low--not enough to cover your bill, I'm thinking." He leanedback, his portly sides shaking with merriment. "By Jove!" he roared."It would have been a good joke on me if I hadn't remembered. Niceintroduction to a town where I expect to make my home. Oh, well, evenso, you had the furniture safe in your warehouse. Guess you wouldn'thave been much scared, eh?" He poked Mendenhall playfully with astubby finger. "Well, let's see about it."
Secretly, the other resented the familiarity, deprecated theboisterous publicity with which the stranger saw fit to do business.Business, with Mendenhall, was a matter for dignified and strictlyprivate conference. With stately precision he took up the neat bundleof checks which he had just indorsed, ran them over, slipped one fromunder the rubber band, and scanned it with great deliberation. Hecould not afford to offend a good customer, but he could thus subtlyrebuke such hasty and slipshod methods.
"Yes, it is on the Commercial." He held it out inquiringly.
"Thought so!" snorted the other. "Dolt! Imbecile! Ass! I'll apply fora guardian. Fix you out this time!" He whipped out fountain pen andcheckbook. "National Trust Company (guess I've got enough _there_).Pay to J.C. Mendenhall & Co.--how much was that?"
He took the check from the unresisting Mendenhall, spread it out onthe desk with a sprawling gesture, tore it to strips with the sameimpetuous vehemence, and threw it in the waste-basket. After thisbrief outburst of anger his good humor returned. "Twelve-fifty. Hereyou are. No mistake this time. Say, old man, that's the drinks onme--come along!"
"Thank you, I never drink," returned Mendenhall primly. He had notrelished the roughness with which the other had snatched the checkfrom him, though making allowance for the natural annoyance of one whohad been betrayed into a mortifying mistake.
"All the better, all the better. Seldom do myself, but sometimes--Havea cigar? No? Well, I must toddle along!"
It may here be mentioned that during his moment of impulsive vexationMr. Britt had inconsiderately substituted for the "Commercial" checkanother, precisely similar save for the important particular that itlacked the Mendenhall indorsement. The original had slipped betweenthe leaves of Britt's check book, under cover of his large hands.Those hands were most expert in various amusing and adroit feats oflegerdemain, though Mr. Britt's modesty led him to a becoming, ifunusual, reticence in this regard. The substitute, as we have seen,was in the waste-basket.
Just before three Britt ran heavily up the steps of the FirstNational, puffing down the corridor, cocking a hasty eye at the clockas he came.
"Hey, there, sonny! I was almost too late, wasn't I?" was hisirreverent greeting to the cashier. "Time to cash this before closingup?" he demanded breathlessly, but with unabated cheerfulness. Heflopped the check over. "Mendenhall's indorsement. Hi! Mr. President!Just a minute! I'm a stranger here, but if you'll let us slip in ata side door I'll trot around and fetch Mendenhall. Need this moneyto-night."
The president took the check from the indignant young cashier, noddedat the familiar signature with the cabalistic peculiarities whichattested its authenticity, glanced indulgently at the bobbing whitehead in window, with difficulty suppressing a smile.
"It will not be necessary, Mr.--Mr. Britt," he said courteously. "Notnecessary at all. You have an account here, I believe?"
"It won't be here long," retorted Britt, with garrulous good nature."Draw it all out next week. Eleven, twelve--_and_ fifty. Thanks to_you_. There goes the clock. Good day!"
"Quite an odd character, that Mr. Britt?" said the president casuallyat the club that night. "Boyish old chap."
"Yes, isn't
he?" said Mendenhall, folding his paper. "I sold him apretty stiff bill of goods this morning. Warmish, I take it. He'sgoing to settle here."
"Friend of yours?"
"Oh, no, I never saw him before."
"Why, you indorsed his check for twelve hundred and fifty," saidthe president, interested, but not alarmed. Doubtless the man hadreferences. Besides, his face was a letter of credit in itself.
"Oh, yes," said Mendenhall unsuspiciously, thinking of the check sentto the Farmers' and Citizens' Bank. The president, thinking of theother, was fully reassured, and was about to pass on. Here thematter might have dropped, and would in most cases. But Mendenhall, amethodical and careful man, wished to vindicate his business prudenceby explaining that he had taken no risk in indorsing for a stranger,since he retained possession of the goods.
The rest is too painful.
"I do not rhyme for that dull wight" who does not foresee that NewYork, Chicago and Denver checks were returned in due course, legiblyinscribed with the saddest words of tongue or pen, "No funds." Or thatMr. Britt fully justified his self-given reputation for absence ofmind by neglecting to call for his furniture.
Meanwhile, Mr. Britt unostentatiously absented his body as well,taking the trolley for an inland village. At the time of Mendenhall'sinterview with the president he was speeding southward across countryin a livery rig, catching the Lackawanna local for Binghamton aboutthe time the wires were working and he was being searched for on allLehigh Valley trains.
"Hello, Kirkland!" he said to the night clerk at the Arlington. "Backagain, like a bad sixpence! Have my trunk sent up, will you? No--nosupper!"
"Letter for you, Mr. Mitchell. Just came," said the clerkrespectfully. "So we were expecting you. Haven't seen you for a longtime."
Britt-Mitchell thrust the letter in his pocket unopened. "It'll keeptill morning. I'm for bed. Good-night, Frank."
He turned in, weary with his exertions to be sure, but with thepleasing consciousness that
..._some one done Has earned a night's repose_.
Elmsdale never learned these particulars, however. His genial andexpansive smile and the unobtrusive manner of his fading away arethere vaguely associated with Cheshire Puss, of joyful memory, whosedisappearance, like his, began with the end of the tale.
The Desire of the Moth; and the Come On Page 8