Alex the Great, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  THE SELF-COMMENCER

  There's nothin' the world loves so much as a good tryer. I don't meanthe birds that havin' everything in their favor, includin' a ten-milestart, finishes first in the Big Race--I'm talkin' about the guys thatnever get better than second or third, but generally land in the money.The old Consistent Charlies that, no matter how many times they'rebeaten, figures the time to quit is when you're dead and buried!

  Did you ever stop to think that the tryers which never get nowhere isresponsible for the other guys' success? They're the babies that makea race or a fight out of it, and if it wasn't for them dubs there'd beno successes at all. In order to have winners, we got to have_losers_, don't we? And don't forget that yesterday's losers areto-morrow's winners and vice-president or vice versa, whatever it is.

  A fighter knows that these birds which come up smilin' no matter howmany times he drops 'em for the count is as dangerous as dynamite,until he knocks 'em cold. No matter how bad this loser may be batteredup, he's always got a chance while he's tryin'. I've seen guys thatwas winnin' by two miles curl up and quit before a dub they had beatentill the crowd was yellin' for mercy, simply because this poorbunged-up simp kept comin' in all the time--battered, bloody, drunkwith wallops--_but tryin' up to the last bell_!

  Now these guys may never get nowhere, but they're the birds that's putmost of the guys that _do_ where they are. Why? Think it over! Yougotta be _good_ to beat them birds, don't you? They make competitionkeen, they keep the other guys on their toes, they're the gasoline thatkeeps the old world goin' forward on high and the birds that get overare only the chauffeurs. You gotta have both to run the car and theuniverse wouldn't move forward six inches if we didn't have one failurefor every success.

  So if you've failed to set the world on fire up to date, don't walk outon the dock to see what kind of a jump it is. If you can't be awinner, you can be a good loser and it's a toss-up which is the biggerthing! A guy who can beat the yellah streak we all pack somewheres,every time he fails to register a win, and will keep rememberin' thatto-morrow has got yesterday beat eighty-seven ways, is no loser! Onpaper he mightn't be a winner, but he _is_. He's a bigger winner thanthe bird that gets over, because he's whipped the quit in him withoutno kind applause to cheer him on. I've seen losers that attracted moreattention in runnin' _last_ than any six winners in the same precinct.

  Them kind of birds can't help tryin'. They couldn't quit if theywanted to, which they don't! They got somethin' in 'em that keepsshovin' 'em along whether they're regrettin' the breaks or not.They're always full of the old ambish no matter what the score is inthe ninth. They're what you might call self-starters in the automobileof life--they don't need a _win_ now and then to crank 'em up, theykeep goin' forward hittin' on all cylinders from the nursery to theembalmer!

  Alex was one of them guys.

  The Big Town fell for his stuff because it was _new_, the same as itwill fall for _yours_ to-morrow if you get somethin' it never seen andthe nerve to try it out!

  About a month after Alex was workin' as head salesman for the GaflooeyAuto Company at a pittance of ten thousand a year, he come up to theflat for dinner one night. I seen right away that somethin' was wrong,because he only eat about half of the roast duck and brung along hisown cigars. After nature could stand no more, and we had draggedourselves away from the table to let the servant girl make good, weadjourn to the parlor and the wife gets ready to punish the neighborswith the victrola.

  "Well," says Alex, sittin' down in the only rocker, of course, "itlooks like they have finally gimme somethin' that even _I_ can't do!"

  "Can that be possible?" I says, pickin' up the sportin' final.

  "Wait till you hear this one!" remarks the wife, crankin' up thevictrola. "John McCormack singin' 'If Beauty Was Water, You'd BeNiagara Falls!' It's a knockout!"

  "Say!" snorts Alex, gettin' peeved. "Can't a man find no attentionhere?"

  "Look in the telephone book under the A's," I says.

  "Never mind, dearie!" the wife tells him. "I'll listen. What's onyour mind?" She goes over and sits on the arm of his chair, knowin'full well it gets my goat.

  "I see you're the only one in this family that's got any sense!" pipesAlex, pattin' her hand.

  "Yen," I says, "I ain't got enough sense to turn on a radiator. AllI'm good for is to get the dollars, which of course is nothin' at allin keepin' up the home!"

  "Well, you'll never have Rockefeller and that crowd gnashin' theirteeth with all the dollars you'll get!" says Alex, "and that ain't nolie!"

  "Now, boys," butts in the wife, "let's all be friends even if we dobelong to the same family. What is it, Alex? Speak up like a man."

  "Well," he says, "the Gaflooey people has started to make tourin' carsand roadsters! What d'ye think of that?"

  "I'm simply dumfounded!" I says. "Has Congress heard about this?"

  "There you go again!" snorts Alex. "Always tryin' to ridiculeeverything I do. It's simply a case of sour grapes with you--jealousy,that's all!"

  "Sour grapes ain't jealousy," I says. "Sour grapes is brandy. Go onwith your story, Alex."

  "Don't mind him," whispers the wife in his ear. "He'd laugh in church!"

  "Why not?" I says. "I ain't done no gigglin' since you and me firstwent there together."

  "Will you let go?" she says. "Go on, Alex."

  "Well," he says, "they called me into the president's office to-day,and the former begins by tellin' me I'm the best salesman they everhad."

  "He don't care what he says, does he?" I butts in. "I suppose youadmitted the charge, eh?"

  "After that," goes on Alex, snubbin' me, "he tells me they have decidedto get into the pleasure car game, instead of just makin' trucks andthe like. Their first offerin' is gonna be one of them chummy,clover-leaf roadsters which will hold five people comfortably."

  "If they're well acquainted!" I says.

  "Will you leave the boy alone?" asks the wife. "I never saw anybodylike you in my life!"

  "Don't I know it?" I says. "Otherwise, how would we ever of gotmarried?"

  "Now," goes on Alex, "they want me to go up and see Runyon Q. Sampson,the well-to-do millionaire, and get him to buy the first car. You canimagine what a terrible good advertisement that will be for us if heshould buy it, can't you?"

  "It'll be O.K. till he tries to ride in it," I says, "and then thechances are you'll have to leave town and the Gaflooey people will befacin' a suit!"

  "There ain't another car on the market that can hold a match to theGaflooey!" hollers Alex, his goat prancin' madly about.

  "What's it made out of--celluloid?" I says.

  "You may think you're funny!" he tells me, "but that's nothin' more orless than ig'rance. Here I am wastin' valuable time tryin' to explainsomethin' to Cousin Alice and you keep interruptin' till a man don'tknow where he's at! Let's see now, where was I?" he asks the wife.

  "The beautiful and good-lookin' princess had just promised to wed you,"I says, "but the crusty old king couldn't see into it!"

  The wife throws a pillow at me and it busted a vase that cost me threehundred green certificates. After a short brawl over the remains, Ilaid off Alex and he went ahead.

  "As I said before," he goes on, "the president of the Gaflooey Companyhas selected me to go up and sell old Sampson this here chummyroadster. If I land the order, which naturally enough I will, it meansI get made manager of the New York salesrooms. Then me and EveRossiter will prob'ly get married and--"

  "What?" squeals the wife. "Are you and Eve engaged? And she neversaid a word to me!"

  "How could she?" I says. "When he prob'ly had her doped?"

  "No, we ain't engaged," says Alex. "I ain't even asked the girl willshe be mine yet."

  "Then how do you know she'll marry you?" asks the wife.

  "Well," says Alex, "I figure if you married this here pest, I ought tobe able to marry anybody! But what I'm up against is this--I got totake o
ne of them roadsters up there to-day and demonstrate it toSampson. They have gone to work and made an appointment for me, andwhat I don't know about automobiles would fill seven large libraries.Here I'm supposed to show Mister Sampson the points on our car which isbetter than any other and I can't tell the windshield from the magneto.Now d'ye blame me for bein' worried?"

  "I thought you was the world's greatest salesman," I sneers. "Youdon't mean to say this job has got you yellin' for the police already,do you? What are you gonna do, quit?"

  "Speak English!" he comes back. "That word quit don't belong in ourlanguage. Who said anything about quittin'? Even though I don't knowa thing about automobiles, I'm gonna sell Runyon Q. Sampson a Gaflooeychummy roadster. A feller don't need knowledge to be a success half asmuch as he needs confidence and I got more confidence than a fellershootin' at a barn with a double-barrelled shot gun. Anyhow, I'llbetcha a rich millionaire like Sampson don't know any too much aboutautomobiles himself, bein' too busy with makin' money and the like, eh?"

  "I suppose you're gonna make him think that you know more about themgas buckboards than the guy which wrote 'em, eh?" I says.

  "You'll never get nowhere!" he answers, lookin' at me like how can aguy live and be so thick behind the ears. "You'll never be nothin' butan average citizen, because you never get a new idea! No, I ain'tgonna make Sampson think _I_ know more about automobiles than anybodyin the world--that's what has queered many a sale. I'm gonna make himthink _he_ does, and that him buyin' our roadster proves it!"

  "I'll bet you could make Rockefeller think they wasn't a nickel inoil!" says the wife admirin'ly.

  Alex gets up and reaches for his hat.

  "If they was enough money in it for me, I'd try it," he says, "and thatain't no lie!"

  I didn't see Alex till the next mornin' and then he blows in the flat.

  "Hello!" he says. "Here you are as usual, loafin' away the hullmornin'. It's almost eight o'clock, d'ye know that?"

  "Sure!" I says. "You can't get me on that one. The answer is sevenfifty-five!"

  "What d'ye mean, seven fifty-five?" he asks.

  "Ain't seven fifty-five almost eight o'clock," I says, "and didn't youask me if I knew it?"

  "Ain't he clever?" says the wife, pattin' me on the back.

  Alex looks at me in open disgust.

  "If that's bein' clever," he says, "I'm a professor from Harvard!Where d'ye get that stuff?"

  "It's a gift!" I says. "What are you doin' here this hour of the day?"

  "Hurry up and git through eatin'," he says, "I want you to take a ridewith me."

  "What have you been pinched for?" I says.

  "Will you leave him be?" butts in the wife. "Don't mind him, Alex,he'll go with you. Where are you going?"

  "Up to Runyon Q. Sampson's to sell him a Gaflooey roadster," says Alex."I got the car right outside now. Just wait till you git a look at it,you'll be crazy to buy one yourself!"

  "You said it!" I tells him, puttin' on my coat. "I certainly would becrazy if I bought one of them! Who's gonna drive this up there?"

  "I got a mechanic from the shop," says Alex. "A feller which knows somuch about automobiles that he could take a pair of pliers and a lugwrench and go clear to Frisco with nothin' else!"

  "Not even a car, eh?" I says. "_Some_ mechanic!"

  "Be still!" says the wife. "Well, Alex, I certainly hope you have allkinds of luck. Let me know how you make out, will you?"

  "Sure!" I tells her. "Call up police headquarters in about an hour andyou'll prob'ly be able to get all the details, right off the blotter."

  We go outside and there's the Gaflooey chummy roadster leanin' right upagainst the curb. It looked like it might be a regular automobile whenit grew up, but just then it seemed like it had been snatched from thecradle before its features was fully formed. Two of them roadsterswould of made a nice pair of roller skates and the expense for tiresmust of been practically nothin', because the ones that was on itlooked like a set of washers. The body was painted yellah and thetrimmin's was in Alice blue and catsup red.

  In the front seat is this guy which Alex claimed was the world'sgreatest mechanic. You could see that at a glance anyhow, because hewas dressed in a pair of overalls that had lasted him ever since hefirst broke into the automobile game and he carried about three quartsof medium oil on his face and hands.

  "Well," says Alex, throwin' out his chest, "what d'ye think old RunyonQ. Sampson will say when he casts his eye over that, eh?"

  "You'd only get sore if I told you," I says, "but I'll say this much,Alex. If you can sell him that mechanical toy there on the pretensethat it's an automobile, I'm goin' up to-morrow and sell him Grant'sTomb for a paperweight!"

  "Git in," pipes Alex, "and stop knockin'!"

  "I won't have to knock after we get started--that's if we do," I tellshim, forcin' myself into the rear, "the motor will look after that!"

  Alex nudges the mechanic.

  "This here's my cousin," he tells him. "He ain't a bad feller in spiteof that."

  He turns around to me, "Joe," he says, "I want you to meet Mister EddieWorth, the best man on gas engines that ever burnt his hands on anexhaust pipe!"

  "Greetin's, Eddie!" I says, shakin' hands with him and gettin' a halfpound of grease for nothin'.

  "Gimme a cigarette!" answers Eddie. "I been waitin' here an hour foryouse guys. The motor is prob'ly all cold now and the starter maygimme an argument."

  He gets out and monkeys around the front of the car.

  "Ain't it nice and roomy back there?" Alex asks me.

  I moved my knees away from my chin so's I could talk.

  "Great!" I says. "Only the Gaflooey people is liable to get in troubleon account of them coppin' the design from somebody else."

  "What d'ye mean?" he asks me, lookin' puzzled.

  "Well," I tells him, "you gotta admit that the seatin' arrangementsback here is a dead steal from a can of sardines!"

  "Did you ever see anything you couldn't find fault with?" he sneers.

  "Yeh," I says. "I once got three nickels in change for a dime."

  At this critical moment, the mechanic gets down on his hands and kneesin the street and begins to worry the car like a dog with a bone. Thenall of a sudden he crawls underneath it and disappears from the publiceye. A lot of shippin' clerks, bookkeepers, salesgirls, brokers,lawyers and the like, on their way downtown to their jobs, figures thatyou can go to work any day, but an auto bein' fixed calls for immediateattention and gets around us in a circle. This seemed to get Alex'sgoat, but it was huckleberry pie to the mechanic. He crawls out fromunder, rolls up his sleeves, ruffles his hair, looks over the crowd andrubs his hands together.

  "Gimme a cigarette!" he says. "And reach down in that tool box thereand hand me up them pliers, a couple of S wrenches, the hammer and ascrewdriver!"

  The crowd sighs with delight, but Alex leaps off the seat like they wasbees in the upholstery.

  "What d'ye want all them there tools for?" he yells. "Stop this monkeybusiness, I'm an hour late now! What's the matter with the car?"

  The mechanic looks around at the crowd and shakes his head pityin'ly.They give Alex the laugh, and a manicure tells her friend that if shewas the mechanic she wouldn't bother with it, but would make Alex fixit himself for gettin' so bold.

  "What's the matter with the car?" repeats the mechanic, waggin' hishead from side to side with a sarcastic movement. "It's been abused,that's all! I ain't had time to go over it carefully; it'll have to betowed down to the shop where we can git it up on jacks and take itapart. I found a leak in the radiator, the bolts is missin' from themuffler, there's a crack in the rear housin' and the clutch seems togrind a bit."

  Alex grits his teeth and grabs hold of the windshield.

  "Is that all?" he hisses.

  "Well, not _all_, no!" says the mechanic, scratchin' his chin. "Theymust be a couple of pins sheered off of the differential and the--"

  "They ain't no
sich a thing!" roars Alex. "This here's a brand newcar, right from our factory--you wooden-headed fule! It ain't been runa mile and they ain't a thing the matter with it, not even a scratch onthe paint! You was sent up here to drive this car, not to wreck it.You--"

  "Hey, don't git to callin' me no wooden-headed fool!" hollers themechanic, jumpin' around and wavin' the pliers. "That's against theunion rules, and you'll get the worst of it if I bring it before theboard. They must be some mistake here. I thought you wanted me tolook over this boat for your friend here and see what it needed. How'dI know you only wanted me to drive? I ain't no mind-reader, I'm amechanic and--"

  "Shut up!" says Alex; "and drive us out to Tarrytown. As a matter offact, the car's all right, ain't it?"

  "Certainly!" says the mechanic. "Ain't it a new one? Gimme acigarette and I'll see if I can get this tin can here to roll."

  It's just about eighteen miles as the pigeon soars from where westarted to Runyon Q. Sampson's country home at Tarrytown, and we fledup there in two hours. This car was a wonder on hills, that is it's awonder we got up 'em at all. We climbed most of 'em with the emergencybrake on so's we wouldn't slip back to the garage, and I figured thatthe car must of been painted yellah in honor of the motor, which quitlike a dog every time the goin' got rough. The mechanic drives us inthrough the entrance of Sampson's domicile, as we remark at the garage,and then stops for encouragement before goin' further. Alex elects meto go up and notify Sampson that we're all set to show him the Gaflooeychummy roadster, while he and the mechanic stays behind to look overthe car and see that everything is workin' fairly perfect. I got asfar as the porch and a guy in a drum-major's uneyform without the hatnails me. He was as big as the Woolworth Buildin' and just asemotional. He looked like what them stage butlers tries to.

  "What would you wish?" he asks, friendly as a traffic cop to ataxi-driver.

  "Well, if I thought they was any use," I says, "I'd wish I had amillion bucks, but as it is, I'd like to see Runyon Q. Sampson, yourmaster."

  "Step this way!" he says, startin' to walk ahead.

  "I can't step that way!" I says, watchin' him close. "It must be agift. I'll have to folley you in my own way on account of havin' ablowout in my rubber heels an--"

  Just then a little bald-headed guy with one of them short graymustaches which the wealthy banker wears in the movies, crosses ourpath and the big feller stops and salutes him.

  "Gentleman to see you, sir," he says.

  "Hmph!" grunts Runyon Q. Sampson, which is who the little guy was, asthe gentle readers has prob'ly guessed. "I can't see any one now. Ihave an appointment this afternoon to--"

  "I guess I'm that appointment," I butts in, "or part of it, anyways.Was you expectin' to look over a Gaflooey chummy roadster?"

  "Well, what of it?" he snaps.

  "My lord, the carriage awaits!" I says, makin' a bow. "Folley me andyou'll go motorin'!"

  "Are you the agent?" he asks, as we walk back over the lawn.

  "No," I says, "I'm his cousin. He's carryin' me along for luck orsomethin'. We also have a mechanic with us in case of fire. Are youfond of automobilin'?"

  "Much more so than of conversation!" he barks.

  "That stops me!" I says. "I'm dumb from now on. What is it who's thissays? Silence is golden, speech is human--ain't it?"

  We have reached the car by this time, and Alex steps forward.

  "Good morning, Mister Sampson!" he says. "I want to thank you for thecompany and myself, for volunteering your judgment as to whether ournew model chummy roadster is a good car or not."

  Sampson walks around it a couple of times, opens the hood, looks at themotor and sniffs.

  "It's entirely too small!" he announces. "The body is grotesque, thepaint is a horrible color and the chassis seems out of alignment."

  "Exactly what I thought you would say!" agrees Alex, noddin' his headlike Sampson had raved over the car. "We will make any changes yousuggest. After all, you'll be the one to use it and that makes you theone to be pleased. We have custom made suits, shoes and shirts--whynot custom made automobiles?"

  "Hmph!" grunts Sampson.

  "I'll fall," I says, hopin' to break the embarrassin' silence. "Whynot?"

  "Shut up!" hisses Alex. "Would you allow us to give you a littlespin?" he asks.

  "Ha, ha!" pipes the mechanic all of a sudden. "That's a hot one, ain'tit?" he grins at Sampson. "Sure, old top, we'll give you a spin!" hesays, jabbin' the floor board with his feet. "That's if this boilerwill roll. Some of you guys will have to give the motor a little spin,if you want to go away from here. She's gone cold on me again! Gimmea cigarette, will you?"

  Alex presented him with a glance that would of froze boilin' oil.

  "Step right in, Mister Sampson," he says. "We'll run around the roadshere and--"

  "We'll do nothing of the sort!" snaps Sampson. "I've got to be at myoffice by three o'clock and you can drive me down there. In that wayI'll be wasting no time and I can see what your car can do throughtraffic as well as on the road."

  "Elegant!" says Alex. "Step right in."

  Runyon Q. Sampson steps right in and after gettin' a cigarette from me,the mechanic steps on the gas. We run every bit of a hundred yardsacross the lawn and then all of a sudden the Gaflooey roadster stopsdeader than Columbus. The mechanic tried everything from blowin' thehorn to crawlin' underneath it again, but they was nothin' stirrin'.

  "Well," he says to Alex, finally, "there's only one way we can get awayfrom here now!"

  "What's that?" asks Alex, bendin' down so's Runyon Q. Sampson won'thear it.

  "By freight!" says the mechanic. "It seems to me that one of them rearaxles has gone to work and busted on us."

  "Listen to me," says Alex. "Get us away from here right away andthere's ten dollars extry in it for you!"

  "Now you're talkin' sense!" says the mechanic. "Gimme a cigarette."

  He grabs up the tool box and hides himself under the car again, whileRunyon Q. Sampson begins to fidget around and look at his watch like itwas the first one he ever seen.

  Twenty minutes passed, folleyed by thirty more, and still this mechanicis under the car, makin' sounds like he was fillin' a rush order fortin pans. Alex is as nervous as a cop makin' his first pinch and ourfriend Sampson begins sayin' things about the Gaflooey roadster thatwould never of been used by the builders as testimonials. Finally,Alex whispers to me will I get underneath and see what the world'schampion auto mechanic is doin' to while away the time.

  I got out and looked under and--Oh, boy!

  This bird is layin' on the ground under the car, readin' a dope book onthe races! He's got the book in one hand and a hammer in the other andevery now and then he reaches back and wallops the dirt pan, withoutlookin', so's it'll sound like he's fixin' things up.

  "What seems to be the trouble?" I asks him.

  "I think Dimpled Dan is like money from home in the first race to-day,"he says, "provided they--what--what are you doin' here?" he winds up,droppin' the book.

  "Git outa there!" I hollers. "If you're a mechanic, I'm ChristopherColumbus!"

  "What d'ye expect for seventy cents an hour--Edison?" he growls.

  Runyon Q. Sampson has took it all in and now he lets out a beller andleaps from the car.

  "You infernal idiot!" he bawls at poor Alex. "You've made me miss myappointment. What do you mean by taking up my time with this travestyon an automobile? Why, the thing can't even move! If this is the wayit performs when it's fresh from your factory, what can a man expectwhen it's a few weeks old?"

  "Maybe it ain't ripe enough yet," I butts in, hopin' to save thesituation. "It does look kinda young, don't it?"

  "Silence!" roars Runyon Q. "I wouldn't buy one of your cars if theywere selling at three cents a carload! That's final! Don't you darecome up and bother me again. Get this pile of junk off my place herejust as fast as you can, or, by the eternal, I'll have you all arrestedfor trespassing!"

&nbs
p; With them few remarks he stamps off across the lawn, bellerin' like abull.

  "Well, Alex," I says, "at last you have hit somethin' in little old NewYork that you can't do, eh?"

  "That old boob gimme a pain anyways!" remarks the mechanic. "What doeshe know about machinery? Gimme a cigarette!"

  Alex sits down on the runnin' board of the Gaflooey chummy roadster andlights a cigar. He puffs away, lookin' off in the air kinda sad andmournful, like he had just been handed a wire readin', "Father has toldall. We are lost.--Agnes," or somethin' to that effect. Even thoughhe was a relative of the wife's and had spent every minute since he hitNew York confessin' to bein' a world beater, I felt sorry for him!Runyon Q. Sampson was off the Gaflooey people for life, and Alex hadfell down on the biggest thing he'd tried yet. I knew how he must offelt about it, so I went over and slapped him on the back.

  "Cheer up, Alex," I says. "I know that was a tough one to lose, but aguy can't finish in front all the time! You know you ain't up in dearold Vermont now and this town's much harder to beat than the average.I told you that when you first come here. I knowed it was only aquestion of time before you'd hit the bumps--everybody does sooner orlater in New York--and then you--"

  Alex gets up and throws away the cigar.

  "All I hope," he says. "All I hope is that the one they deliver to himworks all right!"

  "Deliver to who?" I says.

  "Runyon Q. Sampson!" he comes back. "I come up here to sell thatfeller a Gaflooey chummy roadster and that's what I'm a goin' to dew!I'll have his check before the end of the week. I don't know how I'mgonna do it now, but in some way this here sale is gonna occur, you cangamble on that! D'ye think a little thing like this can discourage me?Why if the car had exploded and blowed us all up in the air while wewas sittin' in it, I would of sold Sampson the speedometer for a watchbefore we had hit the ground again!" He turns around on the mechanicand rolls up his sleeves. "The faster you git away from here, thelonger you'll live!" he snarls. "What art was you follerin' before youtook up automobiles?"

  "Well, to be on the level with you," says the mechanic, "I was secondman in a cigar store on Twenty-third Street. I got fired because meand the cash register could never agree on the day's receipts. I seenan ad for a mechanic at the Gaflooey service station and I got took onthere as a helper. A feller has got to do something don't he? Gimme acigarette."

  Alex makes a dash for him, but I hold him back.

  "Fade!" I warns him. "You're gettin' away with murder as it is, and ifI let this bird go they's no tellin' what'll happen to you!"

  "What do I get for my mornin's work, heh?" he hollers.

  "You're gettin' immunity!" I says. "Beat it!"

  "All right!" he snarls. "I oughta knowed I'd only get the worst of itgoin' out on a job with a coupla boobs like you guys. This fellerclaims he's a salesman, hey? Well, I'll lay the world eight to five hecouldn't sell ice cream sodas in Hades! Gimme a ciga--"

  Alex throws the tool box at him, and he blows.

  While we're standin' there tryin' to figure out some way to get thischummy roadster to make good, a guy steps out from behind a hedge andjoins our little party. He had just about passed the votin' age and hewore a raincoat with one of them cute little belts around it, adare-devil soft hat and carried a suitcase. His feet dragged like theywasn't used to such heavy exercise as walkin' and he steps in front ofus with a cigarette droopin' outa the corner of his mouth.

  "Pardon me," he yawns. "Are you having some difficulty with the car?"

  "Oh, fluently!" I says. "You must be a fortune teller. Somedifficulty is right! We been attemptin' to get away from here allmornin' and it's the same as makin' the Russians think the Czar was agood feller--there's nothin' doin'. I don't think the motor is tryin'and--"

  He sets down the suitcase and yawns some more.

  "I know something about autos," he says. "Have a couple of my own andoccasionally I have to fuss around 'em a bit. Do you mind if I look atthe motor?"

  "We'd just love it!" I says. "Go to it."

  He opens the hood, yawns a coupla times and monkeys around for a minute.

  "Try her now," he says.

  Alex gets in and pushes a button with his foot.

  I don't know what this handsome stranger did, but whatever else it was,it was a success, because the motor immediately begins to tear holes inthe peace and quiet of the surroundin' country.

  "She'll be all right as soon as she warms up now," says our savior."The gas was disconnected--coupling jolted off evidently--and one ofthe cylinders was missing. Must have given you trouble on hills,what?" he yawns some more. "Nice little bus," he says, "and, now, Iwonder if you'd do a favor for me?"

  "I only got four bucks on me," I says, "but you're welcome to that ifyou can use it."

  He grins.

  "It isn't money," he says. "It's something more important than that."

  "Fudge!" says Alex. "There ain't no sich thing in this town!"

  "Yes there is!" says the newcomer, steppin' back to a hedge, "and hereit is!"

  With that, out steps the Venus de Milo wearin' both arms and a set ofscenery that must of enabled some Fifth Avenue store to move over toEasy Street. She looked like what the press agents claim is in thechorus of every musical comedy that hits Broadway and she's wearin'enough diamonds to have keep the Alleys in tooth powder. After I hadgot over bein' dazzled by the first look, I give her the East and Westagain and recognize her. She's nothin' less than Margot Meringue, thebig movie star.

  "I'm Arnold Sampson," says the young feller, "and this is Mrs. ArnoldSampson. My wife was formerly--"

  "I know," I butts in, "I seen her the week before last with the missusin Marvelous Margot's Mistake. She was vampirin' around and--"

  "How did you like me?" smiles Margot.

  "Well," I says, "we seen the pitcher three times runnin'--is that goodenough?"

  "We have just been married," goes on Arnold, throwin' out what chest hehad with him.

  "Congratulations!" pipes Alex, shakin' his hand.

  "Pretty soft!" I says, doin' the same.

  "I saw you and father in the car here," explains Arnold, "and as youappear to be friends of his, I wonder if you'd come up to the housewith us? Father is less liable to make a scene, if there is some oneelse present. You see, he doesn't know that we're married as yet."

  Alex suddenly looks interested and nudges me to keep quiet.

  "I can see the whole thing in a nutshell," he says. "Your fatherobjects to you--oh--now--marryin' an actress, heh?"

  "No," yawns Arnold. "In this case the traditional is reversed. Myfather objects to the actress marrying me!" he bows to Margot. "He ispersonally quite fond of my wife and his objection is based solely uponhis own unflattering opinion of me. He declares I'll never be able tosupport Mrs. Sampson in the manner she is accustomed to living, as herincome is something like fifty thousand a year. Father allows me abare five thousand and he refuses to increase it until I go to work inhis office, or something equally as silly. Can you imagine anythingmore idiotic than that? Dad is worth millions and he expects me towork!"

  "What an inhuman parent!" says Alex. "What have you got against work?"

  "My dear fellow," says Arnold, "I don't really know. I don't seem ableto get enthusiastic about it--that's all. I wouldn't mind going downto Dad's office and toying with an adding machine or driving nails inpacking cases, but I'm sure I'd fall asleep on the job, or somethingidiotic like that! You might say I lack the urge," he yawns and grins."I guess I wasn't built to hustle. I haven't got the pep, as we usedto say at--"

  "Listen!" butts in Alex, his eyes beginnin' to glitter. "You was builtthe same as anybody else, only thinner. I know what's the matter withyou--c'mere, I'll show you!" He takes Arnold by the arm and leads himover to the Gaflooey chummy roadster. "D'ye see that automobilethere?" he says. "Look at it. What is it--nothin' but a pile of metaland wood! It can't talk, it can't think--but it's got a little buttond
own there in the dash and when you push it, that car will keep onrunnin' till the gasoline gives out or it hits a tree! That button'scalled a self-commencer and that's what you need! Ain't there nobuttons up in your head that you can push and get yourself goin'? Isthat pile of metal better than you? You can go down now and take a jobwhere you won't get your hands dirty, but if your Dad hadn't been aself-starter fifty years ago, _you'd_ be callin' a Wop foreman 'Boss'to-day and likin' it!"

  Arnold stops yawnin' and looks interested, where he don't look mad.Margot nods her head and puts her hand on his arm.

  "Arnold dear," she says, "he's right! It's time you did try to dosomething, especially now. I don't want to lecture you, dear, but--"

  "I don't know whether he's right or not," says Arnold, "but I do knowthat extraordinary speech of his has me thinking. Also, it soundedgreat to me and there's no reason why it shouldn't sound just as greatto Dad! He loves that sort of thing and I'm going up and repeat it,word for word! I'm going to tell him we're married and that I'll startto work for him whenever he likes. I can try it, anyhow!"

  Margot looks at Alex like she would kiss him if it wasn't for the looksof the thing, and Alex whispers in my ear that the Gaflooey roadster isas good as sold. We all got in it--it was runnin' like a watchnow--and roll up to the house. The newly-weds goes inside, while meand Alex stays out on the porch, and in about half an hour they comeout again, bringin' old Runyon Q. Sampson with 'em. The old gent walksover to Alex and holds out his hand.

  "My boy," he says, "I want to thank you for what you've done to thiscub of mine. I don't know what you told him, but he's a differentperson from the time I saw him last. He sounds like a real man, now!I'm going to do something for you in return. I won't buy one of theseinfernal cars of yours, wouldn't have it for a gift! But, if you'lltell me what your commission on the sale would have amounted to, I'llwrite you a check for that figure."

  Margot looks at Alex, and then she looks at the car.

  "Why, I think its a perfect dear!" she says, "and those colors realharmony itself!"

  Alex bounces forward, his eyes glitterin' again.

  "We were thinkin' of callin' this model the Margot Meringue," he says,"and--"

  "Come, come!" interrupts old Runyon Q., "let's straighten this matterup." He takes out his check book and fountain pen. "I want to takeyou children down to Tiffany's and have Margot pick out a suitablewedding gift. We have--"

  "May I have anything I want?" asks Margot, kinda innocent.

  "Of course you can!" beams the old boy, pinchin' her cheek.

  "Then buy me a Gaflooey chummy roadster!" she says. "I think this oneis a perfect love of a car!"

  Oh, boy!

  Alex tries to look unconcerned, but he couldn't help droppin' his hat.The old man coughs and gets red in the face, but he was game.

  "All right!" he snorts at Alex. "You win. You can say you're the onlyman that ever got the best of Runyon Q. Sampson! What's the amount?"

  I went into the office of the Gaflooey Company with Alex when he wentback and the president is waitin' for him with blood in his eye.

  "You needn't begin your excuses!" he says to Alex. "The mechanic hastold me how you made a mess of everything and Sampson refused to buythe car. I didn't think they made any ten-thousand-a-year-men up inVermont when I hired you, but I took a chance. New York's too big foryou fellows; I guess you were only a flash in the pan! Just think whatit would have meant had you sold the car to old Sampson! Why, theadvertising alone would--"

  "I guess you're right about me bein' a flash in the pan," butts inAlex, "but I found another pan! I don't know whether this is any goodfor advertisin' or not, but I sold that chummy roadster to Sampson andhe has give it to his daughter-in-law for a weddin' gift."

  The president jumps from his chair, very light for a man of his heft.

  "Great!" he hollers, "great!" He looks at Sampson's check which Alexhands over. "I knew you'd do it! I saw you had the stuff in you theminute you first walked in this office. That's the place to get firststring men--right from the country, and Vermont has furnished more thanher share. They told me you'd fall down because New York was too bigfor you, but I knew different. They can't fool me when it comes tojudging men! I'll get our advertising men right to work on this copy,and we'll hit the morning papers with it. This is great! Now ifSampson's daughter-in-law was only in the public eye, know what I mean,this would be wonderful! We've had a man after Margot Meringue for amonth, but she's away somewhere. You probably won't know her; she's abig movie star and we'd _give_ her a car if she'd only endorse it.Why, if we landed her--"

  "That's who Sampson give the car to," says Alex. "His son and her justgot wed and he give her the Gaflooey roadster for a weddin' gift. Howabout that New York manager job--do I get it?"

  "Do you get it!" shrieks the president. "Why, say--you're _it_, rightnow!"

  "That's fine!" says Alex. "I'll take the job the day after to-morrow!"

  "I see!" says the president, breakin' his neck tryin' to make himself agood fellah. "You want a day off after your labors, eh?"

  "No!" says Alex, "I got to go out and see Sampson again to-morrow,because havin' give this roadster to his daughter-in-law, naturallyhe'll need one for hisself now!"