by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER IX
DOWN THE BUMPS WITH CLIFFY
Say, if you read in the papers to-morrow about how the Chicago Limitedwas run on a siding and a riot call wired back to the nearest Chief ofPolice, you needn't do any guessin' as to what's happened. It'll be acinch that Clifford's gettin' in his fine work; for the last I saw ofhim he was headed West, and where he is there's trouble.
But you mustn't tear off the notion that Clifford's a Mr. Lush, thatgoes and gets himself all lit up like a birthday cake and then begins tomix it. That ain't his line. He's one of the camel brand. The nearest heever gets to red liquor is when he takes bottled grape juice for aspring tonic; but for all that he can keep the cops busier'n any thirstyman I ever saw.
First glimpse I gets of him was when I looks up from the desk and seeshim tryin' to find a break in the brass rail. And say, there wa'n't anydoubt about his havin' come in from beyond where they make up the milktrains. Not that he wears any R. Glue costume. From the nose pinchers,white tie, and black cutaway I might have sized him up as a crossbetween a travelin' corn doctor and a returned missionary; but the earmuffs and the umbrella and the black felt lid with the four-inch brimput him in the tourist class. He was one of your skimpy, loose-jointedparties, with a turkey neck that had a lump in front and wa'n't on goodterms with the back of his coat collar. Two of his front teeth was seton a bias, givin' him one of these squirrel mouths that keeps youthinkin' he's just goin' to bite into an apple.
I watched him a minute or so without sayin' anything, while he waspawin' around for the gate sort of absent minded, and when I thinks it'sabout time to wake him up I sings out:
"Say, Profess, you're on the right side of the fence now; let it go atthat."
"Ah--er--I beg pardon," says he.
"Well," says I, "that's a good start."
"I--er--I beg----" says he.
"You've covered that ground," says I. "Take a new lead."
That seems to rattle him more'n ever. He hangs his umbrella over onearm, peels off a brown woolen mitt, and fishes a card out of his insidepocket. "This is the--ah--Corrugated Trust Building, is it not?" sayshe.
"It is, yes," says I; "but the place where you cash in your scalper'sbook ticket is down on the third floor."
"Oh!" says he. "Thank you very much," and he starts to trot out. He hashis hand on the knob, when a new thought comes to him. He tiptoes backto the gate, pries off one of the ear muffs, and leans over realconfidential. "I didn't quite understand," says he. "Did you say CousinRobert's was the third door?"
"Chee!" says I. "Willie, take off the other one, so you can get a goodhealthy circulation through the belfry."
The words seemed to daze him some; but he tumbled to my motions andunstoppered his south ear.
"Now," says I, "what's this about your Cousin Bob? Where'd you losehim?"
Watcher think, though? I gets it out of him that he's come all the wayfrom Bubble Creek, Michigan, and is lookin' for Mr. Robert Ellins. Withthat I lets him through, plants him in a chair, and goes in to the boss.
"Say," says I to Mr. Robert, "there's a guy, outside that's just floatedin from the breakfast food belt and is callin' for Cousin Robert. Here'shis card."
"Why, that must be Clifford!" says he.
"Then it's true, is it, the cousin business?" says I.
"Certainly it is, Torchy," says he. "Why not?"
"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I wouldn't have thought it, though."
"It isn't at all necessary," says Mr. Robert. "Bring him in at once."
"I guess I can spare him," says I. Then I goes back and taps CousinClifford on the shoulder. "Cliffy," says I, "you're subpoened. Pushthrough two doors and then make yourself right to home."
Course anyone's liable to have a freak cousin or so knockin' round inthe background, and I s'pose it was a star play of Mr. Robert's, givin'the glad hand to this one; but if I'd found Clifford hangin' on myfam'ly tree I'd have felt like gettin' out the prunin' saw.
Maybe Mr. Robert was a little miffy because I hadn't been a mind readerand played Clifford for a favorite from the start. Anyway, he jumpsright in to feature him, lugs him off to the club for lunch, and doesthe honors joyous, just as though this was something he'd been lookin'forward to for months.
I was beginnin' to think I'd made a wrong guess on Clifford, and theawful thought that maybe for once I'd talked too gay was just tricklin'through my thatch, when we gets our first bulletin. Cliffy was due backto the office about four-thirty, havin' gone off by his lonesome afterlunch; but at a quarter of five he don't show up. It was near closin'time when Mr. Robert gets a 'phone call, and by the worried look I knewsomething was up.
"Yes," says he, "this is Robert Ellins. Yes, I know such a person.That's right--Clifford. He's my cousin. No, is that so? Why, there mustbe some mistake. Oh, there must be! I'll come up and explain. Yes, I'llsign the bail bond."
He didn't have a word to say when he turns around and catches megrinnin'; but grabs his hat and coat and pikes for the green lights.
There wa'n't any call for me to do any rubberin' next day, or ask anyquestions. It was all in the mornin' papers: how a batty gent who lookedlike a disguised second story worker had collected a crowd and blockedtraffic on Fifth Avenue by standin' on the curb in front of one of theVanderbilt houses and drawin' plans of it on a pad.
Course, he got run in as a suspect, and I guess Mr. Robert had histroubles showin' the desk sergeant that Clifford wa'n't a Western crookwho was layin' pipes for a little jimmy work. Cliffy's architect talewouldn't have got him off in a month, and if it hadn't been that Mr.Robert taps the front of his head they'd had Clifford down toMulberry-st. and put his thumb print in the collection.
He was givin' it to 'em straight, though. Architectin' was what Cliffywas aimin' at. He'd been studying that sort of thing out in Michigan,and now he was makin' a tour to see how it was done in other places,meanin' to polish off with a few months abroad. Then, after he'd gothimself well soaked in ideas, maybe he'd go back to Bubble Creek, rentan office over the bank, and begin drawin' front elevations of ironfoundries and double tenements.
That's what comes of havin' rich aunts and uncles in the fam'ly, andduckin' real work while you wait for notice from the Surrogate to comeon and take your share. It wa'n't a case of hustle with Clifford. Isuspicioned that his bein' an architect was more or less of a fad; buthe was makin' the most of it, there was no discountin' that. He'd laidout a week to put in seein' how New York was built, high spots and low,and he went at it like he was workin' by the piece.
Now, say, there ain't no special harm in goin' around town gawpin' atlib'ries and office buildin's and churches. 'Most anyone could have doneit without bumpin' into trouble; but not Cliffy. It was wonderful how hedug up ructions--and him the mildest lookin' four-eyed gent ever letloose. And green! Say, what sort of a flag station is Bubble Creek,anyway?
Askin' fool questions was Cliffy's specialty. You see, he'd made out alist of buildin's he thought he wanted to take a look at; but he hadn'tstopped to put down the street numbers or anything. And when he wantsinformation does he hunt up a directory or a cop? Oh, no! He holds upanyone that's handy, from a white wings dodgin' trucks in the middle ofMadison Square, to a Wall Street broker rushin' from 'Change out to adirectors' meetin'. He seems to think anybody he meets knows all aboutNew York, and has time to take him by the hand and lead him right wherehe wants to go, whether it's the new Custom House down town, or Grant'sTomb up on the drive. Throw downs don't discourage him any, either. Twominutes after he's been told to go chase himself he'll butt right insomewhere else and call for directions.
The worst of it was that he couldn't remember what he was told formore'n three minutes on a stretch. We found out these little tricks ofClifford's after he'd been makin' the office his headquarters for acouple of days.
First mornin' we started him out early for the Battery, to size up theBowling Green Buildin' and the Aquarium. About noon he limps in with hishat all dirt and ashes up and down his back. From th
e description hegives we figure out that he's been somewhere up on Washington Heightsand has got into an argument with a janitor that didn't like being rungup from the basement and asked how far it was to Whitehall-st.
Well, we fixes him up, writes out all the partic'lars of his route on acard, and gives him a fresh send-off. It wa'n't more'n half an hourafterwards that I was out on an errand, and as I cut through 22d-st.back of the Flatiron I sees a crowd. Course, I pushes in to find outwhat was holdin' up all the carriages and bubbles that has to switchthrough there goin' north. Somehow I had a feelin' that it might beClifford. And it was!
He was in the middle of the ring, hoppin' around lively and wavin' thatumbrella of his like a sword. The other party was the pilot of a hansomcab that had climbed down off his perch and was layin' on with his whip.
I hated to disturb that muss; for I had an idea Cliffy was gettin' aboutwhat was comin' to him, and the crowd was enjoyin' it to the limit. ButI see a couple of traffic cops comin' over from Broadway; so I breaksthrough, grabs Clifford by the arm, and chases him down the avenue,breathin' some hard but not much hurt.
"Chee!" says I, "but you're a wonder! Was you tryin' to buy aneight-mile cab ride for a quarter?"
"Why, no," says he. "I merely stopped the man to ask him where thenearest subway station was, and before I knew it he became angry. I'msure I didn't know----"
"That's the trouble with you, Cliffy," says I, "and if you don't getover it you'll be hurt bad. Where's that card we made out for you?"
"I--I must have lost that," says he.
"What you need is a guide and an accident policy," says I. "Better letme tow you back to the office, and you can talk it over with Mr.Robert."
He was willin'. He'd had enough for one day, anyhow.
By mornin' Mr. Robert has lost some of his joy over Cousin Clifford'svisit. Come to find out, he'd never seen him before, and hadn't heardmuch about him, either. "Torchy," says he, "I shall be rather busyto-day; so I am going to put Cousin Clifford in your care."
"Ah, say!" says I. "Hand me an easier one. I couldn't keep him straightless'n I had him on a rope and led him around."
"Well, do that, then," says he, "anyway you choose. You may take the dayoff, show him the buildings he wants to see, keep him out of trouble,and don't leave him until you have him safe inside my house to-night.I'll make it right with you."
"Seein' it's you," says I, "I'll give it a whirl. But if Clifford wantsto travel around town with me he's got to shake the ear pads."
Mr. Robert says he'll give him his instructions, and all that; but whenit came to springin' the programme on Clifford he runs on a snag.Somewhere back of them squirrel teeth and under the soft hat there was astreak of mule. Cliffy balks at the whole business. He's a whole lotobliged, but he really don't care for comp'ny. Goin' around alone andnot havin' his thoughts sidetracked by some one taggin' along is what helikes better'n anything else. He's always done it in Bubble Creek andnever got into any trouble before--that is, none to speak of. But he'llpromise to cut out janitors and cab drivers.
As for the ear muffs, he couldn't think of partin' with them. For yearshe's been puttin' them on the first of December and wearin' 'em untilthe last of March, and he'd feel lost without 'em, just the same as hewould without the umbrella. Yes, he knew it wa'n't common; but thatdidn't bother him at all.
Right there I gets a new line on Clifford. He's one of these guys thatthrows a bluff at bein' modest; but when you scratch him deep you getsnext to the fact that he's dead sure he's a genius and is anxious toprove it by the way he wears his clothes. There's a lot of that kindthat shows themselves off every night at the fifty-cent table d'hoteplaces; but I never knew any of 'em ever came in from so far west asBubble Creek.
Mr. Robert wa'n't on, though. He still freezes to the notion thatCousin Clifford's just a well-meanin', corn-fed innocent; so before heturns him loose again he gives him a lot of good advice about notgettin' tangled up with strangers. Cliffy smiles kind of condescendin'and tells Mr. Robert he needn't worry a bit.
With that off he goes; but every time the telephone rings that forenoonme and Mr. Robert gets nervous. We don't hear a word from him, though,and by three o'clock we're hopin' for the best.
Then Aunt Julie shows up. She's a large, elegant old girl, all got up inPersian lamb and a fur hat with seven kinds of sealin' wax fruit on it.She's just in from Palm Beach, and she's heard that Brother Henry's boyis here on a visit.
"He was such a cute little dear when he was a baby!" says she.
"He's changed," says Mr. Robert.
"Of course," says Aunt Julie. "I do want to see if he's grown up to looklike Henry, as I said he would, or like his mother. Where is he now,Robert?"
"Heaven only knows!" says he. "It would suit me best if he was on hisway back to Michigan."
"Why, Robert!" says Aunt Julie. "And Clifford the only cousin you havein the world!"
"One is quite enough," says he.
That gives her another jolt, and she starts to lay out Mr. Robert good,for givin' the frosty paw to a relation that had come so far to see him."I shall stay right here," says she, "until that poor, neglected youngman returns, and then I shall try to make up for your heartlesstreatment."
Aunt Julie didn't have a long wait. She hadn't more'n got herselfsettled, when the elevator stops at our floor and there breaks loose allkinds of a riot in the hall. There was a great jabberin' and footscufflin', and I could hear Dennis, that juggles the lever, forkin' outthe assault 'n' batt'ry language in a brogue that sounded like rippin' asheet.
"What's up now?" says Mr. Robert, pokin' his head out.
"Two to one that's Clifford!" says I.
There wa'n't any time to get a bet down, though; for just then the doorslams open and we gets a view of things. Oh, it was Cliffy, all right!He was comin' in backwards, tryin' to wave off the gang that wasfollerin' him.
"Go away!" says he, pushin' at the nearest of 'em. "Please go away!"
"Ah, it's you should be goin' away, ye shark-faced baboon, ye!" saysDennis, hoppin' up and down in the door of the car. "You an' yer Polackfriends may walk down, or jump out the winder; but divvle a ride do yezget in this illyvator again. Do ye mind that, now?"
You couldn't blame him; for the bunch wa'n't fit for the ash hoist. Theywere Zinskis, about twenty of 'em, countin' women and kids. You didn'thave to look at the tin trunks and roped bundles to know that they'djust finished ten days in the steerage. You could tell that by thebouquet. They didn't carry their perfume with 'em. It went on ahead, andthey follered, backin' Cliffy clear in until he fetched up against thegate, and then jammin' in around him close. Chee! but they was a punkylot! They had jack lantern faces and garlic breaths, and they looked toknow about as much as so many cigar store Injuns.
"Did you have your pick, Cliffy," says I, "or was this a job lot you gotcheap?"
"Clifford," says Mr. Robert, "what in thunder is the meaning of thisperformance of yours?"
But Clifford just keeps on tryin' to work his elbows clear and looksdazed. "I don't know," says Cliffy, "truly I don't, Cousin Robert.They've been following me for an hour, and I've had an awful time."
"Maybe you've been makin' a noise like a wienerwurst," says I.
About that time Aunt Julie comes paddin' out. "Did I hear some one sayClifford?" says she.
"You did," says Mr. Robert. "There he is, the one with the ear muffs. Ihaven't found out who the others are yet."
"Phe-e-e-ew!" says she, takin' one sniff, and with that she grabs outher scent bottle and runs back, slammin' the door behind her.
"Cliffy," says I, "you don't seem to be makin' much of a hit with yourEllis Island bunch."
"What I want to know," says Mr. Robert, "is what this is all about!"
But Clifford didn't have the key. All he knew was that when he startedto leave the subway train they had tagged after, and that since then hehadn't been able to shake 'em. Once he'd jumped on a Broadway car; butthey'd all piled in too, and the conductor had made him sh
ell out anickel for every last one. Another time he'd dodged through one of themrevolvin' doors into a hotel, and four of 'em had got wedged in so tightit took half a dozen porters to get 'em out; but the house detective hadspotted Clifford for the head of the procession and held him by thecollar until he could chuck him out to join his friends.
"It was simply awful!" says he, throwin' up his hands.
And then I notices the rattan cane. After that it was all clear."Where'd you cop the stick, Cliffy?" says I.
"Stick!" says he. "Why, bless me! I must have taken this instead of myumbrella. It belongs to that gentleman who sat next to me in the subwaytrain. You see he was leaning back taking a nap in the corner, and I wastrying to talk to him, and when I left I suppose I took his cane bymistake."
"Well," says I, "the Zinskis goes with the cane."
It's a fact, too. Most all them immigrant runners carries rattans whenthey're herdin' gangs of imported pick artists around to the railroadstations. It's kind of a badge and helps the bunch to keep track oftheir leader. Most likely them Zinskis had had their eyes glued to thatcane for hours, knowin' that it was leadin' 'em to a job somewheres, andthey wa'n't goin' to let it get away.
"Gimme it," says I; "I'll show you how it works."
Sure enough, soon's I took it and started for the door the whole pushquits eatin' cheese and bread out of their pockets and falls in rightafter me.
"Fine!" says Mr. Robert, grabbin' my hat and chuckin' it after me. "Goon, Torchy! Keep going!"
"Ah, say!" says I. "I ain't subbin' for Cliffy. This is his gang."
But Mr. Robert only grins and motions me to be on my way. "If you comeback here before to-morrow morning," says he, "I'll discharge you onthe spot."
Now wouldn't that bump you?
"All right," says I: "but this'll cost Cliffy just twenty."
"I'll pay it," says Mr. Robert.
"It's a whizz," says I, wavin' the cane. "Come on, you Sneezowskis! I'llshow you where the one fifty per grows on bushes."
What did I do with 'em? Ah, say, it was a cinch! I runs 'em down sevenflights of stairs, marches 'em three blocks up town, and then rushes upto a big stiff in a green and gold uniform that's hired to stand outsidea flower shop and open carriage doors. He and me had some words a coupleof months ago, because I butted him in the belt when I was in a hurryonce.
"Here," says I, rushin' up and jammin' the cane into his hand, "holdthat till I come back!" and before he has time to pipe off the bunch ofPolackers that's come to a parade rest around us, I makes a dive inamongst the cars and beats it down Broadway.
Nah, I don't know what becomes of him, or the Zinskis either. All I knowis that I'm twenty to the good, and that Cousin Clifford's been shippedback to Bubble Creek, glad to get out of New York alive. But, as I saysto Mr. Robert, "What do you look for from a guy that buttons his ears upin flannel?"