Shorty McCabe on the Job, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  A FEW SQUIRMS BY BAYARD

  Say, take it from me, this job of umpirin' a little-deeds-of-kindnesscampaign, as conducted by J. Bayard Steele, Esq., ain't any carelessgladsome romp through the daisy fields. It's a real job!

  He's the one, you know, that poor old Pyramid Gordon--rest hissoul!--picked out to round up all the hangover grouches he'd strewedbehind him durin' a long and active career, with instructions to soothethe same with whatever balm seemed best, regardless of expense.

  And the hard part of it for Steele is that he has to get my O.K. on allhis schemes before he can collect from the estate. And while I don'tbill myself for any expert on lovin'-kindness, and as a gen'ral thing Iain't of a suspicious nature, I'm wise enough to apply the acid test andbore for lead fillin' on anything he hands in. Course maybe I'm too hardon him, but it strikes me that an ex-pool organizer, who makes a livin'as capper for a hotel branch of a shady stock-brokin' firm, ain't hadthe best kind of trainin' as an angel of mercy.

  So when he shows up at my Physical Culture Studio again, the day afterLawyer Judson has explained for us the fine points of that batty will ofPyramid's, I'm about as friendly and guileless as a dyspeptic customsinspector preparin' to go through the trunks of a Fifth avenuedressmaker. He comes in smilin' and chirky, though, slaps me chummy onthe shoulder, and remarks cordial:

  "Well, my trusty coworker in well doing, I have come to reportprogress."

  "Shoot it, then," says I, settlin' back in my chair.

  "You will be surprised," he goes on, "to learn who is first to benefitby my vicarious philanthropy."

  "Your which?" says I.

  "Merely another simile for our glorious work," says he. "You couldn'tguess whose name was in that envelope,--Twombley-Crane's!"

  "The Long Island plute?" says I. "You don't say! Why, when did Pyramidever get the best of him, I wonder?"

  "I had almost forgotten the affair myself," says Steele. "It was morethan a dozen years ago, when Twombley-Crane was still activelyinterested in the railroad game. He was president of the Q., L. & M.;made a hobby of it, you know. Used to deliver flowery speeches to thestockholders, and was fond of boasting that his road had never passed adividend. About that time Gordon was organizing the Water Level System.He needed the Q., L. & M. as a connecting link. But Twombley-Crane wouldlisten to no scheme of consolidation. Rather an arrogant aristocrat,Twombley-Crane, as perhaps you know?"

  "Yes, he's a bit stiff in the neck," says I.

  "He gave Gordon a flat no," goes on Steele. "Had him shown out of hisoffice, so the story went. And of course Pyramid started gunning forhim. Twombley-Crane had many interests at the time, financial, social,political. But suddenly his appointment as Ambassador to Germany, whichhad seemed so certain, was blocked in the Senate; his plans for gettingcontrol of all the ore-carrying steamer lines on the Lakes were upset bythe appearance of a rival steamship pool; and then came the annualmeeting of the Q., L. & M., at which Gordon presented a dark horsecandidate. You see, for months Pyramid had been buying in loose holdingsand gathering proxies, and on the first ballot he fired Twombley-Craneout of the Q., L. & M. so abruptly that he never quite knew how ithappened. And you know how Gordon milked the line during the next fewyears. It was a bitter pill for Twombley-Crane; for it hurt his pride aswell as his pocketbook. That was why he quit Chicago for New York. Not abad move, either; for he bought into Manhattan Transportation at justthe right time. But I imagine he never forgave Gordon."

  "Huh!" says I. "So that's why they used to act so standoffish wheneverthey'd run across each other here at the studio. Well, well! And what'syour idea of applyin' a poultice to Twombley-Crane's twelve-year-oldsting?"

  "Ah-h-h!" says J. Bayard, rubbin' his hands genial, and at the same timewatchin' me narrow to see how I'm goin' to take it. "Rather difficult,eh? I confess that I was almost stumped at first. Why, he's worth to-daytwice as much as Gordon ever was! So it ought to be something handsome,hadn't it?"

  "That depends," says I. "Have anything special in mind, did you?"

  "Oh, yes," says Steele. "Now what do you say to presenting him with anice, comfortable steam yacht, all equipped for cruising, with a captainand----"

  "Flag it!" says I. "Twombley-Crane ain't a yachty person, at all. He's apunk sailor, to begin with. Besides, he's tried ownin' a yacht, and shealmost rusted apart waitin' for him to use her. Nothing like that forhim."

  J. Bayard looks mighty disappointed. He'd planned on spendin' a coupleof hundred thousand or so of Pyramid's money at one lick, you see, whichwould have been some haul for him, and my turnin' the scheme down soprompt was a hard blow. He continued to argue the case for ten minutesbefore he gives up.

  "Well, what is the objection, then," he goes on, "to a handsomelimousine, with one of those luxurious French bodies, solid silverfittings, and----"

  "He's got a garage full of cars now," says I, "and hardly ever stepsinto one himself. His fad is to stick to horses, you know."

  More long-face business by J. Bayard. But he's a quick recoverer. "Inthat case," says he, "suppose I send over for a pair of Arabs, the bestblood to be found, and have them put into his stable as a surprise?"

  "Steele," says I, tappin' him encouragin' on the knee, "you've got thespendin' part down fine; but that alone don't fill the bill. As I takeit, Pyramid meant for us to do more than just scatter around a lot ofexpensive gifts reckless like. 'Some kind and generous act,' is the wayhe put it. Let's remember that."

  "But," says he, shruggin' his shoulders eloquent, "here is a man who haseverything he wants, money enough to gratify every wish. How am I to doanything kind and generous for him?"

  "That's all up to you," says I. "As a matter of fact, I don't believethere ever was anybody, no matter how rich, who had everything hewanted. There's always something, maybe so simple as to sound absurd,that he'd like and can't get. I'll bet it's that way withTwombley-Crane. Now if you don't know him well enough to find out, myadvice would be to----"

  "Oh, I know him well enough," breaks in J. Bayard, "even if he doesn'tknow me. I share the distinction with Gordon of having been, on oneoccasion, barred out of Twombley-Crane's office; only I got no fartherthan his private secretary. It meant a good deal to me at the time too,and wouldn't have hurt him at all. I merely wanted his firm to handlesome bonds of a concern I was trying to promote. With merely a nod hecould have opened the door of success for me. But he wouldn't. Oh, no!Played the role of haughty aristocrat, as usual, and never gave meanother thought. But I managed to get back at him, in a small way."

  "Oh, you did, eh?" says I.

  "It was a couple of years later, in Paris," goes on Steele. "I wasdining in one of those big cafes--Maxime's, I think,--when I recognizedhim at the next table. He was telling a friend of a find he'd made in anold printshop,--a pencil sketch by Whistler. He collects such things, Ibelieve. Well, this was something he wanted very badly; but he'dhappened to be caught without cash enough to pay for it. So he'd askedthe dealer to put it aside until next day. There was my chance. I knowsomething about etchings; own a few, in fact, although I'd neversplurged on Whistlers. But I was on hand next morning when that shopopened, and for a bonus of twenty francs I persuaded the old pirate tosell me the sketch he was holding for Twombley-Crane. It was a beautytoo; one of the half-dozen Whistler did in working up that portrait ofhis mother, perhaps his most famous piece. It's about the only sketch ofthe kind, too, not in a public gallery. How Twombley-Crane must haveraved at that Frenchman! So, as the English put it, I did score off hima bit, you see."

  "You sure did," says I. "That picture collection is what he's daffyover; even more so than over his horses. And right there, J. Bayard, isyour cue."

  "Eh?" says he, starin' puzzled.

  "Simple as swearin' off taxes," says I. "Send him the sketch."

  Mr. Steele gasps. "Wha-a-at!" says he. "Why, I've been offered ten timeswhat I paid for it, and refused; although there have been timeswhen--well, you understand. My dear McCabe, that little pencil d
rawingis much more to me than a fragment of genius. It stands forsatisfaction. It's something that I own and he wants."

  "And there you are," says I. "Been rackin' your nut to dig up somethingkind and generous to do for him, ain't you! Well?"

  Say, you should have seen the look J. Bayard gives me at that! It's amixture of seven diff'rent kinds of surprise, reproach, and indignation.And the line of argument he puts up too! How he does wiggle and squirmover the very thought of givin' that picture to Twombley-Crane, afterhe'd done the gloat act so long!

  But I had the net over Mr. Steele good and fast, and while I was aboutit I dragged him over a few bumps; just for the good of his soul, asFather Reardon would say.

  "Oh, come!" says I. "You're makin' the bluff that you want to scatterdeeds of kindness; but when I point one out, right under your nose, youbeef about it like you was bein' frisked for your watch. A hot idea ofbein' an angel of mercy you've got, ain't you? Honest now, in your wholecareer, was you ever guilty of wastin' a kind word, or puttin' out thehelpin' hand, if you couldn't see where it might turn a trick for J.Bayard Steele?"

  Makes him wince a little, that jab does, and he flushes up under theeyes.

  "I don't know that I have ever posed either as a philanthropist or asaint," says he. "If I seem to have assumed a role of that sort now, itis because it has been thrust upon me, because I have been caught in aweb of circumstances, a tangle of things, without purpose, withoutmeaning. That's what life has always been to me, always will be, Isuppose,--a blind, ruthless maze, where I've snatched what I could formyself, and given up what I couldn't hold. Your friend Gordon did hisshare in making it so for me; this man Twombley-Crane as well. Do youexpect me to be inspired with goodness and kindliness by them?"

  "Oh, Pyramid had his good points," says I. "You'd find Twombley-Cranehas his, if you knew him well enough."

  "And who knows," adds Steele, defiant and bitter, "but that I may havemine?"

  I glances at him curious. And, say, with that set, hard look in themnarrow eyes, and the saggy droop to his mouth corners, he's almostpathetic. For the first time since he'd drifted across my path I didn'tfeel like pitchin' him down the stairs.

  "Well, well!" says I soothin'. "Maybe you have. But you don't force 'emon folks, do you? That ain't the point, though. The question before thehouse is about that----"

  "Suppose I hand back Twombley-Crane's name," says he, "and try another?"

  I shakes my head decided. "No dodgin'," says I. "That point was coveredin Pyramid's gen'ral directions. If you do it at all, you got to takethe list as it runs. But what's a picture more or less? All you got todo is wrap it up, ship it to Twombley-Crane, and----"

  "I--I couldn't!" says J. Bayard, almost groanin'. "Why, I've dislikedhim for years, ever since he sent out that cold no! I've always hopedthat something would happen to bend that stiff neck of his; that a panicwould smash him, as I was smashed. But he has gone on, growing richerand richer, colder and colder. And when I got this sketch away fromhim--well, that was a crumb of comfort. Don't you see?"

  "Kind of stale and picayune, Steele, it strikes me," says I. "Course,you're the doctor. If you'd rather see all them other folks that youdislike come in for a hundred and fifty thousand apiece, with no rakeofffor you--why, that's your business. But I'd think it over."

  "Ye-e-es," says he draggy. "I--I suppose I must."

  With that he shakes his shoulders, gets on his feet, and walks out withhis chin well up; leavin' me feelin' like I'd been tryin' to wish a doseof castor oil on a bad boy.

  "Huh!" thinks I. "I wonder if Pyramid guessed all he was lettin' me infor?"

  What J. Bayard would decide to do--drop the whole shootin' match, orknuckle under in this case in the hopes of gettin' a fat commission onthe next--was more'n I could dope out. But inside of an hour I had theanswer. A messenger boy shows up with a package. It's the sketch fromSteele, with a note sayin' I might send it to Twombley-Crane, if thatwould answer. He'd be hanged if he would! So I rings up another boy andships it down to Twombley-Crane's office, as the easiest way of gettin'rid of it. I didn't know whether he was in town or not. If he wa'n't,he'd find the thing when he did come in. And while maybe that don'tquite cover all the specifications, it's near enough so I can let itpass. Then I goes out to lunch.

  Must have been about three o'clock that afternoon, and I'd just finisheda session in the gym, when who should show up at the studio butTwombley-Crane. What do you suppose? Why, in spite of the fact that I'dsent the picture without any name or anything, he'd been so excited overgettin' it that he'd rung up the messenger office and bluffed 'em intotellin' where the call had come in from. And as long as I'd known himI've never seen Twombley-Crane thaw out so much. Why, he acts almosthuman as he shakes hands! Then he takes the package from under his armand unwraps it.

  "The Whistler that I'd given up all hope of ever getting!" says he,gazin' at it admirin' and enthusiastic.

  "So?" says I, non-committal.

  "And now it appears mysteriously, sent from here," says he. "Why, mydear fellow, how can I ever----"

  "You don't have to," I breaks in, "because it wa'n't from me at all."

  "But they told me at the district office," he goes on, "that the callcame from----"

  "I know," says I. "That's straight enough as far as it goes. But youknow that ain't in my line. I was only passin' it on for someone else."

  "For whom?" he demands.

  "That's tellin'," says I. "It's a secret."

  "Oh, but I must know," says he, "to whom I am indebted so deeply. Youdon't realize, McCabe, how delighted I am to get hold of this gem ofWhistler's. Why, it makes my collection the most complete to be found inany private gallery!"

  "Well, you ought to be satisfied then," says I. "Why not let it go atthat?"

  But not him. No, he'd got to thank somebody; to pay 'em, if he could.

  "How much, for instance?" says I.

  "Why, I should readily have given five thousand for it," says he; "ten,if necessary."

  "Not fifteen?" says I.

  "I think I would," says he.

  "Huh!" says I. "Some folks don't care what they do with money. We'llsplit the diff'rence though, and call it twelve and a half. But it don'tcost you a cent. It's yours because you wanted it, that's all; and maybethe one that sent it is glad you've got it. That's as far as I can go."

  "But see here, McCabe!" he insists. "Delighted as I am, I must know whoit is that----"

  Just here the front office door opens, and in walks J. Bayard. For asecond he don't notice Twombley-Crane, who's standin' between me and thewindow.

  "Oh, I say!" says Steele, sort of breathless and hasty. "Have you sentthat away yet?"

  A freak hunch hit me and I couldn't shake it: I guess I wanted to seewhat would happen. So I nudges Twombley-Crane.

  "Here's the party now, if you must know," says I. "This is Mr. J. BayardSteele."

  "Eh?" says he, steppin' forward. "Steele, did you say? Why, my dear Sir,although I must admit that I am stupid enough not to remember you, Imust express my most----"

  Say, he did it handsome too. He grabs J. Bayard brotherly by the mitt,and passes him an enthusiastic vote of thanks that don't leave out asingle detail. Yes, he sure did unload the gratitude; with J. Bayardstandin' there, turnin' first one color and then another, and not bein'able to get out a word.

  "And surely, my dear Sir," he winds up, "you will allow me to recompenseyou in some way?"

  Steele shakes his head. "It's not precisely," he begins, "as ifI--er----"

  "Ah-h-h!" says Twombley-Crane, beamin' friendly. "I think I see. You hadheard of my collection."

  J. Bayard nods.

  "And you conceived the idea," goes on Twombley-Crane, "of completing itin this anonymous and kindly manner? Believe me, Sir, I am touched,deeply touched. It is indeed good to know that such generous impulsesare felt, that they are sometimes acted upon. I must try to be worthy ofsuch a splendid spirit. I will have this hung at once, and to-morrownight, Friend Steele, you mus
t come to see it; at my country place, youknow. We dine at seven. I shall expect you, Sir." And with a finalbrotherly grip he goes out.

  "Well," says I to J. Bayard, "that's over, ain't it? You've put acrossthe genuine article. How does it feel?"

  He brushes his hand over his eyes sort of dazed. "Really," says he,"I--I don't know. I was coming, as a matter of fact, to take the sketchback. The more I thought it over, the worse I---- But he was pleased,wasn't he? And Twombley-Crane too! I would not have believed that hecould act so decently."

  "Well, he believed it of you," says I. "You don't stand to lose so mucheither, by the way. Here! Wait until I write a voucher for twenty percent. of twelve thousand five hundred. His figures, you know. There! Nowyou can collect from Judson and call for name Number Two."