CHAPTER III.
JOHN HENRY GETS BUSY.
We were a half-hour early for my appointment with SignorPetroskinski when Bunch and I strolled into the cafe of the HotelAstor the next day.
"Bunch," I said, when the waiter had forced a confession from us,"there's doings out home. Clara J. tipped me off last night that Imust hand over my five thousand plunks to be properly invested bythe Mayor of Ruraldene."
"Uncle Peter!" chuckled Bunch.
"Now I can't tip my hand to the old gentleman and have him lectureme all over the place, can I, Bunch?"
"Not unless you want your wife to know that you sprained yourpromise."
"Then it's up to me to press the button and start my get-rich-quickconcern," I said. "I simply can't go home and hand them a saddrool about being coaxed into the Street and being trimmed for mycoin--nix! The only thing to do is to go out and get it back, andget it quick, eh, Bunch?"
"You bet, John," Bunch agreed. "I spent last evening with Aliceand I felt like phony money all the time. She's going right aheadwith the wedding preparations and I simply hadn't the nerve to tellher that I lost nearly every penny I had. Uncle William Greytiptoed into the parlor for a few moments and began to congratulateme on the good reports he had had from Alice with regard to myability to save a bit of money. I could feel myself shrivelling upas he talked and the parlor began to turn around and start for theBennings track."
"I know the feeling," I said earnestly. "There was a time, Bunch,that whenever my wife mentioned the word money to me I could see ahorse come into the room and shake his mane at me."
"And then," Bunch continued, "Uncle William said to me, 'Jefferson,my boy, Alice tells me you've already saved up five thousand, andI'm proud of you. I didn't like you at first, because I thoughtyou were a harum scarum like your friend, John Henry; but now thatyou've developed such manly traits of character I'm going to takefour thousand of your money, put the same amount in for Alice, andstart you in business.' Say, John, I wanted to go through theparlor floor and on through the earth and then out through thebusiest fort at Port Arthur, and let a Jap shell knock my sillyhead off."
"We're both up against it for fair," I said; "and we'll have to getin the ice-cutting business right away. As I told you, this SignorPetroskinski is the marvel of the age, and we can simply coin moneywith him. Two thousand dollars will start the driving wheels--gi'me your thousand and I'll put it with mine."
Bunch dug out his last bundle of big bills and I gave him thepartnership articles I had framed up.
"We'll open up in New Rochelle," I said, "next Thursday night.Charlie Osgood is a friend of mine and he's laid out a gilt-edgedroute for me. Mamaroneck Friday night, and then into Cos Cob forSaturday matinee and night."
"That doesn't sound like a glad hosannah to me!" Bunch grumbled.
"What, Cos Cob!" I answered. "It's aces. Charlie Osgood says CosCob is a great Saturday night town because it's pay-day at the gasworks. From there we jump to Green's Farms for the Monday nightshow."
"Is that place really on the map?" Bunch asked.
"Sure it is," I said. "Charlie says it's a good Monday night townbecause two through freights lay over there till daylight. Tuesdaynight we have to double back to Greenwich, and that's where Charliegave us the bum deal. This gag of chasing us back over the sameroute is rotten, because somebody may be sitting up for us with arock. But Charlie says Greenwich has developed into a great showtown since five new families' moved there last summer. Wednesdaywe get into Stamford for a run--two performances. Friday we arebooked at South Norwalk and Saturday we play matinee and night atSaugatuck Junction. Charlie says Saugatuck is a cinch money-makerbecause it's a Junction. When I asked him what there is about aJunction that makes it a safe play Charlie excused himself and wentto lunch. After Saugatuck we are not booked, because Charlie sayssomething may fall down in New York and he may want to yank usright in. And, say, if Signor Petroskinski, the Illusionist andWorker of Mystical Magic, ever gets a crack at a Broadway audienceit'll be a case of us matching John D. Rockefeller to see who hasthe most money."
"No, we better not bring Skinski into New York," Bunch advised."I'm afraid of the critics."
"What critics?" I inquired. "There are only four people in NewYork city who can write criticisms--the rest of the bunch areslush-dealers, and a knock from any one of them is a boost."
"I mean Mr. Stale," Bunch put in. "If he were to roast our Skinskiit might hurt our business."
"It would--among the Swedes and Hungarians," I cross-countered."I'm wise to Mr. Stale, _nee_ Cohenheimer, the Human Harpoon! Say,Bunch! he's a joke. I caught him the day he first left theblacksmith shop, some ten years ago, with a boathook in each handand a toasting fork between his teeth. That duck isn't a critic,he's only a Foofoo."
"What the devil is a Foofoo?" Bunch asked.
"A Foofoo is something that tried to happen and then lost theaddress," I explained. "Did you ever pipe Stale's cheery bits ofhumor as exemplified in one of his burning criticisms? Well, I'llput you wise, Bunch:
"I went to the Kookoo theatre last night, I and myself. _Voila!tout bien_! I have seen lots of shows before, I have, but I havenever, I solemnly declare, seen any show so utterly banal as this.The libretto was written by some obscure person who never reads mycriticisms for if he did he would know that I abhor Dutch dialect.One reason I hate it so much is that some people can write it sowell that they make more money than I do writing Englishundefiled--oh! the shame of it! _Voila! tout suite_! But toreturn to our muttons, as we say in Paris whenever I go there.Tottie Coughdrop played the principal part but a mercifulProvidence gave me a cold in the head so I couldn't hear what shesaid! _Voila! tout fromage de Brie_! To my mind Tottie lookedlike one of yesterday's ham sandwiches, and a 'gent' sitting nearme said she was all to the mustard, so you see great minds run inthe same channel--oh! la, la, la! But to return to our muttons.The show is said to have cost $25,000, but what care I? _Voila!tout coalscuttle_! I'd roast it if it cost $50,000, otherwise howcould I make good? _Voila! tout blatherskite_! But to return toour muttons. I went out after the first act and never did goback--great joke on the show, wasn't it? Oh! la, la, la! Still Iinsist that Tottie Coughdrop looked like a ham sandwich. _Voila!tout fudge_!"
"So that's the kind of piffle that managers and actors have to goup against," laughed Bunch.
"They don't go up against it any more, Bunch," I said. "They areshifty young guys in the theatrical business nowadays, and theysidestep the hammer-throwers. Mr. Stale is a back number, and hisharpoon can't stop a dollar bill from flutering into any man's boxoffice."
"He thinks he can, all right," Bunch muttered.
"Well, there are two thinks and a half still due him," I said."Who ever gave that guy a license to splash ink all over aproduction and hold actors, authors and managers up to ridicule?Did you ever hear of an actor or an author or a manager getting outa three-sheet which held a newspaper up to ridicule?"
"Not on your endowment policy," Bunch chimed in.
"Well, isn't a newspaper just as much of a public institution as atheatre? Suppose a manager were to call in a rubberneck, hand hima tool box and send him to a newspaper office to look for a splashyproduction on a busy night. Suppose, further, that after the paperwent to press Mr. Rubberneck opened up his tool box and began topound on the leading man in the print shop for having a bunch ofbad grammar in his editorial column, and after that, suppose ourfriend with the glistening eyes jumped on one of the sub-editorsbecause the woman's page was out of alignment, or made a ravebecause the jokes in the funny column were all to the ancient, whatwould happen to Mr. Rubberneck, eh, what? Sixteen editors,fourteen reporters and twenty-three linotype men would take arunning kick at old Buttinski, and there wouldn't be enough of himleft to give the coroner an excuse to look solemn."
"I thought Stale used to write books," Bunch put in.
"He thought so, too, but the public passed him the ice pitcher," Isaid. "
He started in to be a successful author and then he bit histongue."
"He'll get after you good and hard if he hears you talking thisway," Bunch admonished.
"Say! Bunch! he's been after me for five years and he hasn'tcaught up with me yet. Every time he's had a chance he's tossed afew sneers in my direction, so I made up my mind the other day I'dcoax him down to the foundry and throw the anvil at him. If ever Ido cut loose on that Birmingham gent he'll think he has swallowedone of his own harpoons. He's a case of Perpetual Grouch becauseit gets the dough for him on pay-day.
"If somebody ever steals his hammer he'll be doing hotfoots for thehandout thing and he'll eat about once a week.
"It's a brave and glorious spectacle, isn't it, Bunch, to watchthis mouldy writer, with a big newspaper behind him and columns ofspace at his command, throwing his hooks into actors and actresseswho haven't a chance on earth to get back."
"I'd hate to have to make my living by trying to drag the bread andbutter away from other people," Bunch butted in.
"Yes, and the nickel-plated nerve that goes with it," I went on."Every time this Stale guy goes to a theatre he makes it appearthat he was forced into a den of thieves and everybody he can pointout with his fountain pen is either a criminal or a dirty deuce.What has he ever done that finished one, two, nine?"
"He's been fourflushing around for years about the pitifulcondition of the 'drammer,' but did he ever write a play that sawthe light of day? Nix.
"I'll bet eight dollars if he ever does get a play producedthere'll be nobody left in the theatre but the ushers and the spotlight after the first act."
"Lots of people think he is very clever," Bunch suggested,
"So is a trained goat," I came back. "If you stood a crowd ofhandcuffed actors and authors and managers up in a corner and madefaces at them and called them names and blew spitballs in theireyes you could get a laugh from the low foreheads, couldn't you,Bunch?"
"Surest thing you know, John."
"Well, that's Grouchy Stale's line of endeavor. Say, Bunch, if itwere not for the knocks contained therein one of that guy's essayswould read like the maiden effort of a lovesick jellyfish.
"Did you ever pipe the pure and lofty and highly ennoblingsentiments, the spiritually beautiful inspiration whichcharacterizes that book of his--that deft little dip intodegeneracy--something about a frozen wedding! Oh, slush! Percy,pass the cigarettes!"
"There must be a certain class of people who read that kind ofcriticism," Bunch said.
"That windy stuff Stale hands out is supposed to be criticism,Bunch, but it isn't--it's typewritten egotism."
"Yes, but it's useless for you to go after him, John; he'll onlyhand you another javelin."
"Well, the next time that dub throws the gaff into me I'll know hehas a reason for it. Hereafter, every time he bats an eye in mydirection it's me for a swift get-back, I'll tell you those!"
"You should bear the ills of the flesh with Christian fortitude,"grinned Bunch.
"Nix," I said. "I'm tired holding up something fat for a mutt likethat to paddle with a slapstick!"
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