Shorty McCabe on the Job, Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  PEEKING IN ON PEDDERS

  Who started that dope about Heaven givin' us our relations but thanks bewe can pick friends to suit ourselves? Anyway, it's phony. Strikes me weoften have friends wished on us; sort of accumulate 'em by chance, as wedo appendicitis, or shingles, or lawsuits. And at best it's a matter ofwho you meet most, and how.

  Take J. Bayard Steele. Think I'd ever hunted him out and extended thefraternal grip, or him me? Not if everyone else in the world was deafand dumb and had the itch! We're about as much alike in our tastes andgen'ral run of ideas as Bill Taft and Bill Haywood; about as congenialas our bull terrier and the chow dog next door. Yet here we are, himhailin' me as Shorty, and me callin' him anything from J. B. to Old Top,and confabbin' reg'lar most every day, as chummy as you please.

  All on account of our bein' mixed up in carryin' out this batty will ofPyramid Gordon's. First off I didn't think I'd have to see him more'nonce a month, and then only for a short session; but since he putthrough that first deal and collected his twenty-four hundredcommission, he's been showin' up at the studio frequent, with next to noexcuse for comin'.

  You remember how he drew Twombley-Crane as the first one that he had tounload a kind and gen'rous act on, and how I made him give up thepicture that he'd gloated over so long? Well, J. Bayard can't seem toget over the way that turned out. Here he'd been forced into doin'something nice for a party he had a grudge against, has discovered thatTwombley-Crane ain't such a bad lot after all, and has been well paidfor it besides, out of money left by his old enemy.

  "Rather a remarkable set of circumstances, eh, Shorty?" says he, tiltin'back comf'table in one of my front office chairs and lightin' up a freshtwenty-five-cent cigar. "An instance of virtue being rewarded on a cashbasis. Not only that, but I was royally entertained down atTwombley-Crane's the other night, you know. I think too I interested himin a little development scheme of mine."

  "Jump off!" says I. "You're standin' on your foot. If you dream you canslip any of your fake stock onto him, you're due to wake up. Betterstick to widows and orphans."

  At which jab Mr. Steele only chuckles easy. "What an engagingly frankperson you are!" says he. "As though rich widows weren't fair game! Butwith the practice of philanthropy so liberally compensated I'm nottroubling them. Your friend, the late Mr. Gordon, has banished the wolffrom my door; for the immediate present, at least. I wonder if heanticipated just how much I should enjoy his post-mortem munificence?"

  And here J. Bayard gives a caressin' pat to his Grand Duke whiskers andglances approvin' down at the patent leathers which finish off a costumethat's the last word in afternoon elegance. You've seen a pet catstretch himself luxurious after a full meal? Well, that's J. Bayard.He'd hypothecated the canary. If he hadn't been such a dear friend ofmine too, I could have kicked him hearty.

  "Say, you're a wonder, you are!" says I. "But I expect if your kind wascommon, all the decent people would be demandin' to be jailed, out ofself-respect."

  Another chuckle from J. Bayard. "Is that envy," says he, "or merelyepigram? But at least we will agree that our ethical standards vary. Youscorn mine; I find yours curiously entertaining. The best thing aboutyou is that you seem to bring me good luck."

  "Don't trust that too far," says I. "I'm neither hump-backed, nor a liveBilliken. How soon are you going to start on proposition Number Two?"

  "Ah!" says he, straightenin'. "That is the real business of the moment,isn't it? As a matter of fact, I was just about to seek your valuableadvice on the subject."

  "Shoot it, then," says I. "Who's the party?"

  He explores his inside pockets, fishes out an envelop, and inspects itdeliberate. It's sealed; but he makes no move to open it. "My nextassignment in altruism," says he, holdin' it to the light. "Rich man,poor man, beggar man, thief--I wonder?"

  "Ah, come!" says I, handin' him a paper knife.

  "But there's no need for haste," says J. Bayard. "Just consider, Shorty:In this envelop is the name of some individual who was the victim ofinjustice, large or small, at the hands of Pyramid Gordon, someone whogot in his way, perhaps years ago. Now I am to do something that willoffset that old injury. While the name remains unread, we have a bit ofmystery, an unknown adventure ahead of us, perhaps. And that, my dearMcCabe, is the salt of life."

  "Say, you ought to take that lecture out on the Chautauqua," says I."Get busy--slit or quit!"

  "Very well," says he, jabbin' the knife under the flap. "To discover theidentity of the next in line!"

  "Well?" says I, as he stares at the slip of paper. "Who do you pluckthis time?"

  "An enigma, so far as I am concerned," says he. "Listen: 'John WesleyPedders, in 1894 cashier of the Merchants' Exchange Bank, at Tullington,Connecticut.' Ever hear of such a person, Shorty!"

  "Not me," says I, "nor the place either."

  "Then it remains to be discovered first," says Steele, "whether fortwenty years Pedders has stayed put or not. Haven't a Pathfinder handy,have you? Never mind, there are plenty at the hotel. And if to-morrow issuch another fine spring day as this, I'll run up there. I'll let youknow the results later; and then, my trusty colleague, we will plotjoyously for the well-being of John Wesley Pedders."

  "Huh!" says I. "Don't try to pull any steam yachts or French limousineson me this time. The kind stuff goes, remember."

  "To your acute sense of fitness in such matters, McCabe," says he, "Ibow profoundly," and with a jaunty wave of his hand he drifts out.

  Honest, compared to the shifty-eyed, suspicious-actin' party that blewinto my studio a few weeks back, he seems like a kid on a Coney Islandholiday. I expect it's the prospects of easy money that's chirked him upso; but he sure is a misfit to be subbin' on a deeds-of-kindness job.That ain't my lookout, though. All I got to do is pass on his plans andsee that he carries 'em out accordin' to specifications. So I don'teven look up this tank station on the map.

  A couple of days go by, three, and no bulletin from J. Bayard. Then herethe other mornin' I gets a long distance call. It's from Steele.

  "Eh?" says I. "Where the blazes are you?"

  "Tullington," says he.

  "Oh!" says I. "Still there, are you? Found Pedders?"

  "Ye-e-es," says he; "but I am completely at a loss to know what to dofor him. I say, McCabe, couldn't you run up here? It's a curioussituation, and I--well, I need your advice badly. There's a train ateleven-thirty that connects at Danbury. Couldn't you?"

  Well, I hadn't figured on bein' any travelin' inspector when I took thisexecutor job; but as J. Bayard sends out the S O S so strong I can'tvery well duck. Besides, I might have been a little int'rested to knowwhat he'd dug up.

  So about three-fifteen that afternoon finds me pilin' off a branchaccommodation at Tullington. Mr. Steele is waitin' on the platform tomeet me, silk lid and all.

  "What about Pedders?" says I.

  "I want you to see him first," says J. Bayard.

  "On exhibition, is he?" says I.

  "In a town of this size," says he, "everyone is on exhibitioncontinuously. It's the penalty one pays for being rural, I suppose.I've been here only two days; but I'll venture to say that most of theinhabitants know me by name and have made their guess as to what mybusiness here may be. It's the most pitiless kind of publicity I everexperienced. But come on up to the postoffice, and I'll show youPedders."

  "Fixture there, is he?" says I.

  "Twice a day he comes for the mail," says J. Bayard. "Your train broughtit up. He'll be on hand."

  So we strolls up Main street from the station, while Steele points outthe brass works, the carpet mill, the opera house, and Judge Hanks'slate-roofed mansion. It sure is a jay burg, but a lively one. Oh, yes!Why, the Ladies' Aid Society was holdin' a cake sale in a vacant storenext to the Bijou movie show, and everybody was decoratin' for afiremen's parade to be pulled off next Saturday. We struck thepostoffice just as they brought the mail sacks up in a pushcart anddragged 'em in through the front door.

  "There he
is," says Steele, nudgin' me, "over in the corner by thewriting shelf!"

  What he points out is a long-haired, gray-whiskered old guy, with afaded overcoat slung over his shoulders like a cape, and an old slouchhat pulled down over his eyes. He's standin' there as still and quiet asif his feet was stuck to the floor.

  "Kind of a seedy old party, eh?" says I.

  "Why not?" says J. Bayard. "He's an ex-jailbird."

  "You don't say!" says I. "What brand?"

  "Absconder," says he. "Got away with a hundred and fifty thousand fromthe local bank."

  "Well, well!" says I. "Didn't spend it dollin' himself up, did he?"

  "Oh, all that happened twenty years ago," says Steele. "The odd part ofit is, though---- But come over to the hotel, where I can tell you thewhole story."

  And, say, he had a tale, all right. Seems Pedders had been one of theleadin' citizens,--cashier of the bank, pillar of the church, member ofthe town council, and all that,--with a wife who was a social fav'rite,and a girl that promised to be a beauty when she grew up. The Peddersnever tried to cut any gash, though. They lived simple and respectableand happy. About the only wild plunge the neighbors ever laid up againsthim was when he paid out ten dollars once for some imported tulip bulbs.

  Then all of a sudden it was discovered that a bunch of negotiablesecurities had disappeared from the bank vaults. The arrow pointedstraight to Pedders. He denied; but he couldn't explain. He just shut uplike a clam, and let 'em do their worst. He got ten years. Before he wasput away they tried to make him confess, or give 'em some hint as towhat he'd done with the bonds. But there was nothin' doin' in thatline. He just stood pat and took his medicine.

  Bein' a quiet prisoner, that gave no trouble and kept his cell tidy, hescaled it down a couple of years. Nobody looked for him to come back toTullington after he got loose. They all had it doped out that he'dsalted away that hundred and fifty thousand somewhere, and would proceedto dig it up and enjoy it where he wa'n't known.

  But Pedders fooled 'em again. Straight back from the bars he come, backto Tullington and the little white story-and-a-half cottage on a sidestreet, where Mrs. Pedders and Luella was waitin' for him.

  She'd had some hand-to-hand tussle meanwhile, Mrs. Pedders had; butshe'd stuck it out noble. At the start about nine out of ten of herneighbors and kind friends was dead sure she knew where that bunch ofsecurities was stowed, and some of 'em didn't make any bones of sayin'she ought to be in jail along with Pedders. So of course that made itnice and comfy for her all around. But she opened up a little millineryshop in her front parlor, and put up jams and jellies, and raised a fewviolets under a window sash in the back yard. She didn't quite starvethat first year or so; though nobody knew just how close she shaved it.And in time even them that had been her closest friends begun to besorry for her.

  When Pedders showed up again all the old stories was hashed over, andthe whole of Tullington held its breath watchin' for some sign that he'sdug up his hank loot. But it didn't come. Pedders just camped downsilent in his old home and let his whiskers grow. Twice a day he madereg'lar trips back and forth from the postoffice, lookin' at nobody,speakin' to nobody. Mrs. Pedders held her usual fall and spring openin'sof freak millinery, while Luella taught in the fourth grade of thegrammar school and gave a few piano lessons on the side. They didn't actlike a fam'ly that had buried treasure.

  But what had he done with that hundred and fifty thousand? How could hehave blown so much without even acquirin' a toddy blossom? Or had hescattered it in the good old way, buckin' Wall Street? But he'd neverseemed like that kind. No, they didn't think he had the nerve to take achance on a turkey raffle. So that left the mystery deeper'n ever.

  "No chance of him bein' not guilty to begin with, eh?" I suggests.

  J. Bayard smiles cynical. "So far as I am able to learn," says he,"there is just one person, aside from Mrs. Pedders and her daughter, whobelieves him innocent. Strangely enough too, that's Norris, who wasteller at the time. He's president of the bank now. I had a talk withhim this morning. He insists that Pedders was too honest to touch adollar; says he knew him too well. But he offers no explanation as towhere the securities went. So there you are! Everyone else regards himas a convicted thief, who scarcely got his just deserts. He's a socialoutcast, and a broken, spiritless wretch besides. How can I do anythingkind and generous for such a man?"

  Well, I didn't know any more'n he did. "What gets me," I goes on, "ishow he ever come to be mixed up with Pyramid Gordon. Got that tracedout?"

  "I sounded Norris on that point," says Steele; "but he'd never heard ofGordon's having been in Tullington, and was sure Pedders didn't knowhim."

  "Then you ain't had a talk with Pedders himself?" says I.

  "Why, no," says J. Bayard, shruggin' his shoulders scornful. "The poordevil! I didn't see what good it would do--an ex-convict, and----"

  "You can't always be dealin' with Twombley-Cranes," I breaks in. "Andit's Pedders you're after this trip. Come on. Let's go tackle him."

  "What! Now?" says Steele, liftin' his eyebrows.

  "Ah, you ain't plannin' to spend the summer here, are you?" says I."Besides, it'll do you good to learn not to shy at a man just becausehe's done time. Show us the house."

  I could have put it even stronger to him, if I'd wanted to rub it in.Had about as much sympathy for a down-and-out, Steele did, as you'd findmilk in a turnip. You should see the finicky airs he puts on as hefollows me into the Pedders cottage, and sniffs at the worn,old-fashioned furniture in the sittin' room.

  It's Mrs. Pedders that comes in from the shop to greet us. Must havebeen quite a good looker once, from the fine face and the still slimfigure. But her hair has been frosted up pretty well, and there's plentyof trouble lines around the eyes. No, we couldn't see Mr. Pedders. Shewas sorry, but he didn't see anyone. If there was any business, perhapsshe could----

  "Maybe you can," says I; "although it ain't exactly business, either.It's a delayed boost we're agents for; friendly, and all that."

  "I--I don't believe I understand," says she.

  "We'll get to that later on," says I, "if you'll take our word and help.What we're tryin' to get a line on first off is where and how Mr.Pedders run against Pyramid Gordon."

  "Gordon?" says she. "I don't think I ever heard him mention the name."

  "Think 'way back, then," says I, "back before he was--before he had histrouble."

  She tried, but couldn't dig it up. We was still on the subject when infloats Daughter. She's one of these nice, sweet, sensible lookin' girls,almost vergin' on the old maid. She'd just come home from her school.The case was explained to her; but she don't remember hearin' the nameeither.

  "You see, I was only nine at the time," says she, "and there was so muchgoing on, and Papa was so upset about all those letters."

  "Which letters?" says I.

  "Oh, the people who wrote to him during the trial," says she. "You've noidea--hundreds and hundreds of letters, from all over the country; fromstrangers, you know, who'd read that he was--well, an absconder. Theywere awful letters. I think that's what hurt Papa most, that people wereso ready to condemn him before he'd had a chance to show that he didn'tdo it. He would just sit at his old desk there by the hour, reading themover, and everyone seemed like another pound loaded on his poorshoulders. The letters kept coming long after he was sent away. There'sa whole boxful in the garret that have never been opened."

  "And he never shall see them!" announced Mrs. Pedders emphatic.

  "H-m-m-m!" says I. "A whole boxful that nobody's opened? But suppose nowthat some of 'em wa'n't--say, why not take a look at the lot, just theoutsides?"

  Neither Mrs. Pedders nor Luella took kind to that proposition; butsomehow I had a vague hunch it ought to be done. I couldn't say exactlywhy, either. But I kept urgin' and arguin', and at last they gave in.They'd show me the outsides, anyway; that is, Luella might, if shewanted to. Mrs. Pedders didn't even want to see the box.

  "I meant to have burned them long ago," say
s she. "They're just lettersfrom idle, cruel people, that's all. And you don't know how many suchthere are in the world, Mr. McCabe. I hope you never will know. But goup with Luella if you wish."

  So we did, J. Bayard glancin' suspicious at the dust and cobwebs andprotectin' his silk hat and clothes cautiously. It's a good-sized boxtoo, with a staple and padlock to keep the cover down. Luella hunted upthe key and handed out bunch after bunch. Why do people want to write toparties they've read about in the newspapers? What's the good too, ofjumpin' on bank wreckers and such at long range? Why, some even lettheir spite slop over on the envelopes. To see such a lot of letters,and think how many hard thoughts they stood for, almost gave you chillson the spine.

  Didn't seem to do much good to paw 'em over now, at this late date,either. I was almost givin' up my notion and tellin' Luella that wouldbe about enough, when I noticed a long yellow document envelope stowedaway by itself in a corner.

  "There's a fat one," says I.

  She hands it out mechanical, as she'd done the rest.

  "Hello!" says I, glancin' at the corner.

  "Gordon & Co., Broad Street, New York! Why, say, that's the PyramidGordon I was askin' about."

  "Is it?" says she. "I hadn't noticed."

  "Might give us some clew," I goes on, "as to what him and your Paw had arun-in about."

  "Well, open it, if you like," says Luella careless.

  J. Bayard and I takes it over to the window and inspects the canceldate.

  "June, 1894," says I. "Twenty-eight cents postage; registered too. Quitea package. Well, here goes!"

  "Bonds," says Steele, takin' a look. "That old Water Level DevelopmentCompany's too."

  "And here's a note inside," says I. "Read it."

  It was to John Wesley Pedders, cashier of the Merchants' Exchange Bank,from Mr. Gordon. "In depositing securities for a loan, on my recentvisit to your bank," it runs on, "I found I had brought the wrong set;so I took the liberty, without consulting your president, ofsubstituting, for a few days, a bundle of blanks. I am now sending byregistered mail the proper bonds, which you may file. Trusting thisslight delay has caused you no inconvenience, I am----"

  "The old fox!" cuts in J. Bayard. "A fair sample of his methods! Had tohave a loan on those securities, and wanted to use them somewhere elseat the same time; so he picked out this little country bank to work thedeal through. Oh, that was Pyramid Gordon, every time! And calmlyallowed a poor cashier to go to State's prison for it!"

  "Not Pyramid," says I. "I don't believe he ever heard a word of thetrouble."

  "Then why did he put Pedders' name on his list?" demands Steele.

  "Maybe he thought sendin' on the bonds would clear up the mess," says I."So it would, if they hadn't come a day or two late and got stowed awayhere. And here they've been for twenty years!"

  "Yes, and quite as valuable to the bank as if they'd been in thevaults," sneers J. Bayard. "That Water Level stock never was worth thepaper it was printed on, any more than it is now."

  "We'll make it useful, then," says I. "Why, it's got Aladdin's lamp beatfour ways for Wednesday! These bonds go to Pedders. Then Pedders shavesoff his whiskers, puts on his Sunday suit, braces his shoulders back,walks down to the bank, and chucks this bunch of securities at 'emtriumphant."

  "But if the bank is still out a hundred and fifty thousand," objectsSteele, "I don't see how----"

  "They ain't out a cent," says I. "We'll find a customer for thesebonds."

  "Who?" says he.

  "J. Bayard Steele," says I. "Ain't you actin' for a certain party thatwould have wanted it done?"

  "By Jove!" says he. "Shorty, you've hit it! Why, I'd never have thoughtof----"

  "No," says I; "you're still seein' only that twenty per cent commission.Well, you get that. But I want to see the look in Mrs. Pedders' eyeswhen she hears the news."

  Say, it was worth makin' a way train trip to Tullington, believe me!

  "I knew," says she. "Oh, I always have known John didn't do it! And nowothers will know. Oh, I'm glad, so glad!"

  Even brought a slight dew to them shifty eyes of J. Bayard's, thatlittle scene did. "McCabe," says he, as we settles ourselves in thenight express headed towards Broadway, "this isn't such a bad game,after all, is it?"