The Maharajah jumped away in disgust.
Then another lucky accident occurred. When Lem bent awkwardly to pick up his teeth, the glass eye that Mr. Hainey had given him popped from his head and smashed to smithereens on the floor.
This last was too much for the Maharajah of Kanurani. He became enraged. Wu Fong had cheated him! What kind of a pretty boy was this that came apart so horribly?
Livid with anger, the Indian prince ran out of the room to demand his money back. After he had gotten it, he left the house, vowing never to return.
Wu Fong blamed the loss of the Maharajah’s trade on Lem and was extremely vexed with the poor lad. He ordered his men to beat him roundly, strip him of his sailor suit, then throw him into the street with his clothes after him.
20
Lem gathered together his clothing and crawled into the areaway of a deserted house, where he donned his things. His first thought was to find a policeman.
As is usual in such circumstances, a guardian of the law was not immediately forthcoming and he had to go several miles before he found a “peeler.”
“Officer,” said our hero as best he could minus his oral equipment, “I want to lodge a complaint.”
“Yes,” said Patrolman Riley shortly, for the poor lad’s appearance was far from prepossessing. The Chinaman had torn his clothing and his eye was gone as well as his teeth.
“I want you to summon reinforcements, then immediately arrest Wu Fong who is running a disorderly house under the guise of a laundry.”
“Wu Fong is it that you want me to arrest? Why, you drunken fool, he’s the biggest man in the district. Take my advice and get yourself a cup of black coffee, then go home and sleep it off.”
“But I have positive proof that he’s keeping a girl in his house against her will, and he did me physical violence.”
“One more word out of you about my great good friend,” said the officer, “and off you go to jail.”
“But…” began Lem indignantly.
Officer Riley was a man of his word. He did not let the poor lad finish, but struck him a smart blow on the head with his truncheon, then took him by the collar and dragged him to the station house.
When Lem regained consciousness several hours later, he found himself in a cell. He quickly remembered what had happened to him and tried to think of a way in which to extricate himself from his difficulties. The first thing was to tell his story to some superior police officer or magistrate. But no matter how loudly he called, he was unable to attract the attention of anyone.
Not until the next day was he fed, and then w small man of the Jewish persuasion entered his cell.
“Have you any money?” said this member of the chosen people.
“Who are you?” countered Lem with another question.
“Me? I’m your lawyer, Seth Abromovitz, Esquire. Please answer my first question or I won’t be able to handle your case properly.”
“My case?” queried Lem in astonishment. “I’ve done nothing.”
“Ignorance of the law is no defense,” said Lawyer Abromovitz pompously.
“Of what am I accused?” asked the poor lad in confusion.
“Of several things. Disorderly conduct and assaulting a police officer, for one; of conspiring to overthrow the Government, for two; and last but not least, of using the glim racket to mulct storekeepers.”
“But I didn’t do any of these things,” protested Lem.
“Listen, bud,” said the lawyer, dropping all formality. I’m not the judge, you don’t have to lie to me. You’re One-eyed Pitkin, the glim dropper, and you know it.”
“It’s true that I have but one eye, but…”
“But me no buts. This is a tough case. That is, unless you can grow an eye overnight in that hole in your mug.”
“I am innocent,” repeated Lem sadly.
“If that’s the line you intend to take, I wouldn’t be surprised if you got life. But tell me, didn’t you go to the store of Hazelton Freres and make believe you lost your eye?”
“Yes,” said Lem, “but I didn’t take anything or do anything.”
“Didn’t you offer a reward of one thousand dollars for the return of your eye?”
“Yes, but…”
“Again, but. Please don’t but me no buts. Your accomplice went around the next day and made believe he had found a glass eye on the floor of the store. Mr. Hazelton said that he knew who it belonged to and asked him for the eye. He refused to give it up, saying that it looked like a very valuable eye to him and that if Mr. Hazelton would give him the address of the man who owned it, he would return the eye himself. Mr. Hazelton thought that he was going to lose all chances of collecting the thousand-dollar reward, so he offered the man a hundred dollars for the eye. After some bargaining your accomplice went out with two hundred and fifty dollars, and Mr. Hazelton is still waiting for you to come and claim your eye’
“I didn’t know about all that or I wouldn’t have taken the job even if I was starving,” said Lem. “I was told that it was a promotion idea for a glass eye company.”
“O.K., son, but I’ll have to think up a little better story. Before I begin thinking, how much money have you?”
“I worked three weeks and was paid thirty dollars a week. I have ninety dollars in a savings bank.”
“That’s not much. This conference is going to cost you one hundred dollars with ten per cent off for cash or ninety dollars. Hand it over.”
“I don’t want you as my lawyer,” said Lem.
“That’s all right with me; but come through with the dough for this conference.”
“I don’t owe you anything. I didn’t hire you.”
“Oh, yeh, you one-eyed rat,” said the lawyer, showing his true colors. “The courts appointed me and the courts will decide how much you owe me. Give me the ninety and we’ll call it square. Otherwise I’ll sue you.”
“I’ll give you nothing!” exclaimed Lem.
“Getting tough, eh? We’ll soon see how tough you are. I’ll tell my friend the district attorney and you’ll get life.”
With this last as a parting shot, Lawyer Abromovitz left our hero alone again in his cell.
21
Several days later the prosecuting attorney paid the poor lad a visit. Elisha Barnes was that official’s name, and he appeared to be a rather good-natured, indolent gentleman.
“Well, son,” he said, “so you’re about to discover that crime doesn’t pay. But, tell me, have you any money?”
“Ninety dollars,” said Lem truthfully.
“That’s very little, so I guess you’d better plead guilty.”
“But I’m innocent,” protested Lem. “Wu Fong…”
“Stop,” interrupted Mr. Barnes, hurriedly. He had turned pale on hearing the Chinaman’s name. “Take my advice and don’t mention him around here.”
“I’m innocent!” repeated Lem, a little desperately.
“So was Christ,” said Mr. Barnes with a sigh, “and they nailed Him. However, I like you; I can see you’re from New England and I’m a New Hampshire man myself. I want to help you. You’ve been indicted on three counts; suppose you plead guilty to one of the three and we forget the other two.”
“But I’m innocent,” repeated Lem again.
“Maybe, but you haven’t got enough money to prove it, and besides you’ve got some very powerful enemies. Be sensible, plead guilty to the charge of disorderly conduct and take thirty days in the workhouse. I’ll see that you don’t get more. Well, what do you say?”
Our hero was silent.
“I’m giving you a fine break,” Mr. Barnes went on. “If I wasn’t too busy to prepare the state’s case against you, I probably could get you sent away for at least fifteen years. But you see, elections are coming and I have to take part in the campaign. Besides I’m a busy man, what with this and what with that…Do me a favor and maybe I can help you some time. If you make me prepare a case against you I’ll get sore. I won’t like you
.”
Lem finally agreed to do as the prosecuting attorney asked. Three days later he was sent to the workhouse for thirty days. The judge wanted to give him ninety, but Mr. Barnes lived up to his part of the bargain. He whispered something to the judge, who changed the term to the thirty days agreed upon.
A month later, when Lem was set free, he went directly to the savings bank for his ninety dollars. It was his intention to draw out the entire amount, so that he could get himself another set of false teeth and a glass eye. Without those things, he could not hope to get a job.
He presented his passbook at the paying teller’s window. After a little wait, he was told that they could not give him his money because it had been attached by Seth Abromovitz. This was too much. It took all the manliness of our hero to suppress the tear that started to his good eye. With the faltering step of an old man, he stumbled out of the bank building.
Lem stood on the steps of the imposing edifice, and looked blankly at the swirling crowds that eddied past the great savings institution. Suddenly he felt a touch on his arm and a voice in his ear.
“Why so blue, duckie? How about a little fun?”
He turned mechanically and to his amazement saw that it was Betty Prail who had solicited him.
“You!” exclaimed both of the hometown friends together.
Anyone who had ever seen these two youngsters on their way home from church in Ottsville would have been struck by the great change that only a few years in the great world had made.
Miss Prail was rouged most obviously. She smelled of cheap perfume, and her dress revealed much too much of her figure. She was a woman of the streets, and an unsuccessful one at that.
As for our hero, Lemuel, minus an eye and all his teeth, he had acquired nothing but a pronounced stoop.
“How did you escape Wu Fong?” asked Lem.
“You helped me without knowing it,” replied Betty. “He and his henchmen were so busy throwing you into the street that I was able to walk out of the house without anyone seeing me.”
“I’m glad,” said Lem.
The two young people were silent, and stood looking at each other. They both wanted to ask the same question, but they were embarrassed. Finally, they spoke at the same time.
“Have you…”
That was as far as they got. They both stopped to let the other finish. There was a long silence, for neither wanted to complete the question. Finally, however, they spoke again.
“…any money?”
“No,” said Lem and Betty answering the question together as they had asked it.
“I’m hungry,” said Betty sadly. “I just wondered.” “I’m hungry, too,” said Lem.
A policeman now approached. He had been watching them since they met.
“Get along, you rats,” he said gruffly.
“I resent your talking that way to a lady,” said Lem indignantly.
“What’s that?” asked the officer lifting his club.
“We are both citizens of this country and you have no right to treat us in this manner,” went on Lem fearlessly.
The patrolman was just about to bring his truncheon down on the lad’s skull, when Betty interfered and dragged him away.
The two youngsters walked along without talking. They felt a little better together because misery loves company. Soon they found themselves in Central Park, where they sat down on a bench.
Lem sighed.
“What’s the matter?” asked Betty sympathetically.
“I’m a failure,” answered Lem with still another sigh.
“Why, Lemuel Pitkin, how you talk!” exclaimed Betty indignantly. “You’re only seventeen going on eighteen and…”
“Well,” interrupted Lem, a little ashamed of having admitted that he was discouraged. “I left Ottsville to make my fortune and so far I’ve been to jail twice and lost all my teeth and one eye.”
“To make an omelette you have to break eggs,” said Betty. “When you’ve lost both your eyes, you can talk. I read only the other day about a man who lost both of his eyes yet accumulated a fortune. I forget how, but he did. Then, too, think of Henry Ford. He was dead broke at forty and borrowed a thousand dollars from James Couzens; when he paid him back it had become thirty-eight million dollars. You’re only seventeen and say you’re a failure. Lem Pitkin, I’m surprised at you.”
Betty continued to comfort and encourage Lem until it grew dark. With the departure of the sun, it also grew extremely cold.
From behind some shrubs that did not quite conceal him, a policeman began to eye the two young people suspiciously.
“I have nowhere to sleep,” said Betty, shivering with cold.
“Nor have I,” said Lem with a profound sigh.
“Let’s go to the Grand Central Station,” suggested Betty. “It’s warm there, and I like to watch the people hurrying through. If we make believe we are waiting for a train, they won’t chase us.”
22
“It all seems like a dream to me, Mr. Whipple. This morning when I was set free from jail I thought I would probably starve, and here I am on my way to California to dig gold.”
Yes, it was Lem, our hero, talking. He was sitting in the dining room of the “Fifth Avenue Special” en route to Chicago, where he and the party he was traveling with were to change to “The Chief,” crack train of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe, and continue on to the high Sierras.
With him in the dining room were Betty, Mr. Whipple and Jake Raven, and the four friends were in a cheerful mood as they ate the excellent food provided by the Pullman Company.
The explanation of how this had come about is quite simple. While Lem and Betty were warming themselves in the waiting room of the Grand Central Station, they had spied Mr. Whipple on line at one of the ticket booths. Lem had approached the ex-banker and had been greeted effusively by him, for he was indeed glad to see the boy. He was also glad to see Betty, whose father he had known before Mr. Prail’s death in the fire.
After listening to Lem’s account of the difficulties the two of them` were in, he invited them to accompany him on his trip to California. It seemed that Mr. Whipple was going there with Jake Raven to dig gold from a mine that the redskin owned. With this money, he intended to finance the further activities of the National Revolutionary Party.
Lem was to help Mr. Whipple in the digging operations, while Betty was to keep house for the miners. The two young people jumped at this opportunity, as we can well imagine, and overwhelmed Mr. Whipple with their gratitude.
“In Chicago,” said Shagpoke, when the dining car waiter had brought coffee, “we will have three hours and a half before The Chief’ leaves for the Golden West. During that time, Lem, of course, will have to get himself a new set of store teeth and an eye, but I believe that the rest of us will still have time to pay a short visit to the World’s Fair.”
Mr. Whipple went on to describe the purpose of the fair, until, on a courteous signal from the head waiter, the little patty was forced to leave their table and retire to their berths.
In the morning, when the train pulled into the depot, they disembarked. Lem was given some money to purchase the things he needed, while the others started immediately for the fair. He was to look for them on the grounds, if he got through in time.
Lem hurried as much as he could and managed quickly to select an eye and a set of teeth in a store devoted to that type of equipment. He then set out for the fair grounds.
As he was walking down Eleventh Street towards the North Entrance, he was accosted by a short, stout man, who wore a soft, black felt hat, the brim of which was slouched over his eyes. A full, brown beard concealed the lower part of his face.
“Excuse me,” he said in a repressed tone of voice, “but I think you are the young man I am looking for.”
“How is that?” asked Lem, instantly on his guard, for he did not intend to be snared by a sharper.
“Your name is Lemuel Pitkin, is it not?”
“It is, sir.�
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“I thought you answered the description given me.” “Given you by whom?” queried our hero.
“By Mr. Whipple, of course,” was the surprising answer the stranger made.
“Why should he have given you a description of me?” “So I could find you at the fair.”
“But why, when I am to meet him at the depot in two hours from now?”
“An unfortunate accident has made it impossible for him to be there.”
“An accident?”
“Exactly.”
“What kind of an accident?”
“A very serious one, I am afraid. He was struck by a sightseeing bus and…”
“Killed!” cried Lem in dismay. “Tell me the truth, was he killed?”
“No, not exactly, but he was seriously injured, perhaps fatally. He was taken unconscious to a hospital. When he regained his senses, he asked for you and I was sent to fetch you to ‘him. Miss Prail and Chief Raven are at his bedside.”
Lem was so stunned by the dire news that it required some five minutes for him to recover sufficiently to gasp, “This is terrible!”
He asked the bearded stranger to take him to Mr. Whipple at once.
This was just what the man had counted on. “I have a car with me,” he said with a bow. “Please enter it.”
He then led our hero to a powerful limousine that was drawn up at the curb. Lem got in, and the chauffeur, who was wearing green goggles and a long linen duster, drove off at top speed.
All this seemed natural to the lad because of his agitated state of mind, and the rate at which the car traveled pleased him rather than otherwise, for he was anxious to get to Mr. Whipple’s bedside.
The limousine passed rapidly under one elevated structure and then another. There were fruit vendors on the street corners and merchants peddling neckties. People moved to and fro on the sidewalks; cabs, trucks and private vehicles flitted past. The roar of the great city rose on every side, but Lem saw and heard nothing.
“Where was Mr. Whipple taken?” he asked presently. “To the Lake Shore Hospital.”
Miss Lonelyhearts and a Cool Million Page 7