Odd Numbers

  ODD NUMBERS

  Being Further Chronicles of Shorty McCabe

  by

  SEWELL FORD

  Author ofTrying Out Torchy, Etc.

  Illustrations by F. Vaux Wilson

  "'SISTERS? DO WE LOOK IT?' SAYS MAISIE"]

  New YorkGrosset & DunlapPublishers

  Copyright, 1908, 1909, 1910, 1911, by Sewell FordCopyright, 1912, by Edward J. Clode

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. Goliah and the Purple Lid 1 II. How Maizie Came Through 17 III. Where Spotty Fitted In 35 IV. A Grandmother Who Got Going 50 V. A Long Shot on DeLancey 67 VI. Playing Harold Both Ways 84 VII. Cornelia Shows Some Class 100 VIII. Doping Out an Odd One 116 IX. Handing Bobby a Blank 134 X. Marmaduke Slips One Over 151 XI. A Look In on the Goat Game 167 XII. Mrs. Truckles' Broad Jump 183 XIII. Heiney Takes the Gloom Cure 199 XIV. A Try-Out for Toodleism 214 XV. The Case of the Tiscotts 230 XVI. Classing Tutwater Right 246 XVII. How Hermy Put It Over 262 XVIII. Joy Riding with Aunty 279 XIX. Turning a Trick for Beany 294

  ODD NUMBERS

  CHAPTER I

  GOLIAH AND THE PURPLE LID

  One of my highbrow reg'lars at the Physical Culture Studio, a gent thatmixes up in charity works, like organizin' debatin' societies in the deafand dumb asylums, was tellin' me awhile back of a great scheme of his tohelp out the stranger in our fair village. He wants to open publicinformation bureaus, where a jay might go and find out anything he wantedto know, from how to locate a New Thought church, to the nearest placewhere he could buy a fresh celluloid collar.

  "Get the idea?" says he. "A public bureau where strangers in New Yorkwould be given courteous attention, friendly advice, and that sort ofthing."

  "What's the use?" says I. "Ain't I here?"

  Course, I was just gettin' over a josh. But say, it ain't all a funnydream, either. Don't a lot of 'em come my way? Maybe it's because I'm soapt to lay myself open to the confidential tackle. But somehow, when Isee one of these tourist freaks sizin' me up, and lookin' kind of dazedand lonesome, I can't chuck him back the frosty stare. I've been a strayin a strange town myself. So I gen'rally tries to seem halfway human, andif he opens up with some shot on the weather, I let him get in thefollow-up questions and take the chances.

  Here the other day, though, I wa'n't lookin' for anything of the kind. Iwas just joltin' down my luncheon with a little promenade up the sunnyside of Avenue V, taking in the exhibits--things in the show windows andfolks on the sidewalks--as keen as if I'd paid in my dollar at someticket office.

  And say, where can you beat it? I see it 'most every day in the year, andit's always new. There's different flowers in the florists' displays, newflags hung out on the big hotels, and even the chorus ladies in thelimousines are changed now and then.

  I can't figure out just what it was landed me in front of this millinerywindow. Gen'rally I hurry by them exhibits with a shudder; for once I gotgay and told Sadie to take her pick, as this one was on me; and it wasmonths before I got over the shock of payin' that bill. But there I findsmyself, close up to the plate glass, gawpin' at a sample of what can bedone in the hat line when the Bureau of Obstructions has been bought offand nobody's thought of applyin' the statute of limitations.

  It's a heliotrope lid, and the foundation must have used up enough strawto bed down a circus. It has the dimensions and general outlines of asummerhouse. The scheme of decoration is simple enough, though. The topof this heliotrope summerhouse has been caught in a heliotrope fog,that's all. There's yards and yards of this gauzy stuff draped and puffedand looped around it, with only a wide purple ribbon showin' here andthere and keepin' the fog in place.

  Well, all that is restin' careless in a box, the size of a quarter-milerunnin' track, with the cover half off. And it's a work of art in itself,that box,--all Looey Cans pictures, and a thick purple silk cord to tieit up with. Why, one glimpse of that combination was enough to make meclap my hand over my roll and back away from the spot!

  Just then, though, I notices another gent steppin' up for a squint at themonstrosity, and I can't help lingerin' to see if he gets the same kindof a shock. He's sort of a queer party, too,--short, stoop shouldered,thin faced, wrinkled old chap, with a sandy mustache mixed some withgray, and a pair of shrewd little eyes peerin' out under bushy brows.Anybody could spot him as a rutabaga delegate by the high crowned softhat and the back number ulster that he's still stickin' to, though thethermometer is way up in the eighties.

  But he don't seem to shy any at the purple lid. He sticks his head outfirst this way and then that, like a turtle, and then all of a sudden heshoots over kind of a quizzin' glance at me. I can't help but give himthe grin. At that his mouth corners wrinkle up and the little gray eyesbegin to twinkle.

  "Quite a hat, eh?" he chuckles.

  "It's goin' some in the lid line," says I.

  "I expect that's a mighty stylish article, though," says he.

  "That's the bluff the store people are makin'," says I, "and there's nolaw against it."

  "What would be your guess on the price of that there, now?" says he,edging up.

  "Ah, let's leave such harrowin' details to the man that has to pay forit," says I. "No use in our gettin' the chilly spine over what's markedon the price ticket; that is, unless you're thinking of investin'," andas I tips him the humorous wink I starts to move off.

  But this wa'n't a case where I was to get out so easy. He comes rightafter me. "Excuse me, neighbor," says he; "but--but that's exactly what Iwas thinking of doing, if it wasn't too infernally expensive."

  "What!" says I, gazin' at him; for he ain't the kind of citizen you'dexpect to find indulgin' in such foolishness. "Oh, well, don't mind myremarks. Go ahead and blow yourself. You want it for the missus, eh?"

  "Ye-e-es," he drawls; "for--for my wife. Ah--er--would it be asking toomuch of a stranger if I should get you to step in there with me while Ifind out the price?"

  "Why," says I, lookin' him over careful,--"why, I don't know as I'd wantto go as far as---- Well, what's the object?"

  "You see," says he, "I'm sort of a bashful person,--always havebeen,--and I don't just like to go in there alone amongst all them womenfolks. But the fact is, I've kind of got my mind set on having that hat,and----"

  "Wife ain't in town, then?" says I.

  "No," says he, "she's--she isn't."

  "Ain't you runnin' some risks," says I, "loadin' up with a lid that maynot fit her partic'lar style of beauty?"

  "That's so, that's so," says he. "Ought to be something that would kindof jibe with her complexion and the color of her hair, hadn't it?"

  "You've surrounded the idea," says I. "Maybe it would be safer to sendfor her to come on."

  "No," says he; "couldn't be done. But see here," and he takes my arm andsteers me up the avenue, "if you don't mind talking this over, I'd liketo tell you a plan I've just thought out."

  Well, he'd got me some int'rested in him by that time. I could see hewa'n't no common Rube, and them twinklin' little eyes of his kind of gotme. So I tells him to reel it off.

  "Maybe you never heard of me," he goes on; "but I'm Goliah Daggett, fromSouth Forks, Iowy."

  "Guess I've missed hearin' of you," says I.

  "I suppose so," says he, kind of disappointed, though. "The boys outthere call me Gol Daggett."

  "Sounds most like a cussword," says I.

  "Yes," says he; "that's one reason I'm pretty well known in the State.And there may be other reasons, too." He lets out a little chuckle atthat; not loud, you know, but just as though he was swallowin' some jokeor other. It was a specialty of his, this smothered
chuckle business. "Ofcourse," he goes on, "you needn't tell me your name, unless----"

  "It's a fair swap," says I. "Mine's McCabe; Shorty for short."

  "Yes?" says he. "I knew a McCabe once. He--er--well, he----"

  "Never mind," says I. "It's a big fam'ly, and there's only a few of usthat's real credits to the name. But about this scheme of yours, Mr.Daggett?"

  "Certainly," says he. "It's just this: If I could find a woman who lookeda good deal like my wife, I could try the hat on her, couldn't I? She'ddo as well, eh?"

  "I don't know why not," says I.

  "Well," says he, "I know of just such a woman; saw her this morning in myhotel barber shop, where I dropped in for a haircut. She was one ofthese--What do you call 'em now?"

  "Manicure artists?" says I.

  "That's it," says he. "Asked me if I didn't want my fingers manicured;and, by jinks! I let her do it, just to see what it was like. Never feltso blamed foolish in my life! Look at them fingernails, will you? Beenparin' 'em with a jackknife for fifty-seven years; and she soaks 'em outin a bowl of perfumery, jabs under 'em with a little stick wrapped incotton, cuts off all the hang nails, files 'em round at the ends, andpolishes 'em up so they shine as if they were varnished! He, he! Guessthe boys would laugh if they could have seen me."

  "It's one experience you've got on me," says I. "And this manicure ladyis a ringer for Mrs. Daggett, eh?"

  "Well, now," says he, scratchin' his chin, "maybe I ought to put it thatshe looks a good deal as Mrs. Daggett might have looked ten or fifteenyears ago if she'd been got up that way,--same shade of red hair, onlynot such a thunderin' lot of it; same kind of blue eyes, only not so wideopen and starry; and a nose and chin that I couldn't help remarking.Course, now, you understand this young woman was fixed up considerablesmarter than Mrs. Daggett ever was in her life."

  "If she's a manicure artist in one of them Broadway hotels," says I, "Icould guess that; specially if Mrs. Daggett's always stuck to Iowa."

  "Yes, that's right; she has," says Daggett. "But if she'd had the samechance to know what to wear and how to wear it----Well, I wish she'd hadit, that's all. And she wanted it. My, my! how she did hanker for suchthings, Mr. McCabe!"

  "Well, better late than never," says I.

  "No, no!" says he, his voice kind of breakin' up. "That's what I want toforget, how--how late it is!" and hanged if he don't have to fish out ahandkerchief and swab off his eyes. "You see," he goes on, "Marthy'sgone."

  "Eh?" says I. "You mean she's----"

  He nods. "Four years ago this spring," says he. "Typhoid."

  "But," says I, "how about this hat?"

  "One of my notions," says he,--"just a foolish idea of mine. I'll tellyou. When she was lying there, all white and thin, and not caring whethershe ever got up again or not, a new spring hat was the only thing I couldget her to take an interest in. She'd never had what you might call areal, bang-up, stylish hat. Always wanted one, too. And it wasn't becauseI was such a mean critter that she couldn't have had the money. But youknow how it is in a little place like South Forks. They don't have 'em instock, not the kind she wanted, and maybe we couldn't have found onenearer than Omaha or Chicago; and someway there never was a spring when Icould seem to fix things so we could take the trip. Looked kind offoolish, too, traveling so far just to get a hat. So she went without,and put up with what Miss Simmons could trim for her. They looked allright, too, and I used to tell Marthy they were mighty becoming; but allthe time I knew they weren't just--well, you know."

  Say, I never saw any specimens of Miss Simmons' art works; but I couldmake a guess. And I nods my head.

  "Well," says Daggett, "when I saw that Marthy was kind of giving up, Iused to coax her to get well. 'You just get on your feet once, Marthy,'says I, 'and we'll go down to Chicago and buy you the finest andstylishest hat we can find in the whole city. More than that, you shallhave a new one every spring, the very best.' She'd almost smile at that,and half promise she'd try. But it wasn't any use. The fever hadn't lefther strength enough. And the first thing I knew she'd slipped away."

  Odd sort of yarn to be hearin' there on Fifth-ave. on a sunshinyafternoon, wa'n't it? And us dodgin' over crossin's, and duckin' underawnin's, and sidesteppin' the foot traffic! But he keeps right close tomy elbow and gives me the whole story, even to how they'd agreed to usethe little knoll just back of the farmhouse as a burial plot, and how shemarked the hymns she wanted sung, and how she wanted him to find someoneelse as soon as the year was out.

  "Which was the only thing I couldn't say yes to," says Daggett. "'No,Marthy,' says I, 'not unless I can find another just like you.'--'You'llbe mighty lonesome, Goliah,' says she, 'and you'll be wanting to changeyour flannels too early.'--'Maybe so,' says I; 'but I guess I'll worryalong for the rest of the time alone.' Yes, sir, Mr. McCabe, she was afine woman, and a patient one. No one ever knew how bad she wanted lotsof things that she might of had, and gave up. You see, I was pretty deepin the wheat business, and every dollar I could get hold of went tobuying more reapers and interests in elevator companies and crop options.I was bound to be a rich man, and they say I got there. Yes, I guess I amfairly well fixed."

  It wa'n't any chesty crow, but more like a sigh, and as we stops on acrossing to let a lady plutess roll by in her brougham, Mr. Daggett hesizes up the costume she wore and shakes his head kind of regretful.

  "That's the way Marthy should have been dressed," says he. "She'd haveliked it. And she'd liked a hat such as that one we saw back there; thatis, if it's the right kind. I've been buying 'em kind of careless,maybe."

  "How's that?" says I.

  "Oh!" says he, "I didn't finish telling you about my fool idea. I've beengetting one every spring, the best I could pick out in Chicago, andcarrying it up there on the knoll where Marthy is--and just leaving it.Go on now, Mr. McCabe; laugh if you want to. I won't mind. I can almostlaugh at myself. Of course, Marthy's beyond caring for hats now. Still, Ilike to leave 'em there; and I like to think perhaps she does know, afterall. So--so I want to get that purple one, providing it would be theright shade. What do you say?"

  Talk about your nutty propositions, eh? But honest, I didn't feel evenlike crackin' a smile.

  "Daggett," says I, "you're a true sport, even if you have got a few batsin the loft. Let's go back and get quotations on the lid."

  "I wish," says he, "I could see it tried on that manicure young womanfirst. Suppose we go down and bring her up?"

  "What makes you think she'll come?" says I.

  "Oh, I guess she will," says he, quiet and thoughtful. "We'll try,anyway."

  And say, right there I got a new line on him. I could almost frame up howit was he'd started in as a bacon borrowin' homesteader, and got to bethe John D. of his county. But I could see he was up against a new dealthis trip. And as it was time for me to be gettin' down towards 42d-st.anyway, I goes along. As we strikes the hotel barber shop I hangs up onthe end of the cigar counter while Daggett looks around for the youngwoman who'd put the chappy polish on his nails.

  "That's her," says he, pointing out a heavyweight Titian blonde in thefar corner, and over he pikes.

  I couldn't help admirin' the nerve of him; for of all the l'ongolinequeens I ever saw, she's about the haughtiest. Maybe you can throw on thescreen a picture of a female party with a Lillian Russell shape, hairlike Mrs. Leslie Carter's, and an air like a twelve-dollar cloak modelshowin' off a five hundred-dollar lace dress to a bookmaker's bride.

  Just as Daggett tiptoes up she's pattin' down some of the red puffs thatmakes the back of her head look like a burnin' oil tank, and she swingsaround languid and scornful to see who it is that dares butt in on herpresence. All the way she recognizes him is by a little lift of theeyebrows.

  I don't need to hear the dialogue. I can tell by her expression whatDaggett is saying. First there's a kind of condescendin' curiosity as hebegins, then she looks bored and turns back to the mirror, and prettysoon she sings out, "What's that?" so you could hear her all over theshop. Then D
aggett springs his proposition flat.

  "Sir!" says she, jumpin' up and glarin' at him.

  Daggett tries to soothe her down; but it's no go.

  "Mr. Heinmuller!" she calls out, and the boss barber comes steppin' over,leavin' a customer with his face muffled in a hot towel. "This person,"she goes on, "is insulting!"

  "Hey?" says Heinmuller, puffin' out his cheeks. "Vos iss dot?"

  And for a minute it looked like I'd have to jump in and save Daggett frombeing chucked through the window. I was just preparin' to grab the bossby the collar, too, when Daggett gets in his fine work. Slippin' a tenoff his roll, he passes it to Heinmuller, while he explains that all heasked of the lady was to try on a hat he was thinkin' of gettin' for hiswife.

  "That's all," says he. "No insult intended. And of course I expect tomake it worth while for the young lady."

  I don't know whether it was the smooth "young lady" business, or thesight of the fat roll that turned the trick; but the tragedy is declaredoff. Inside of three minutes the boss tells Daggett that Miss Rooneyaccepts his apology and consents to go if he'll call a cab.

  "Why, surely," says he. "You'll come along, too, won't you, McCabe?Honest, now, I wouldn't dare do this alone."

  "Too bad about that shy, retirin' disposition of yours!" says I. "Afraidshe'll steal you, eh?"

  But he hangs onto my sleeve and coaxes me until I give in. And we suremade a fine trio ridin' up Fifth-ave. in a taxi! But you should have seen'em in the millinery shop as we sails in with Miss Rooney, and Daggettsays how he'd like a view of that heliotrope lid in the window. We had'em guessin', all right.

  Then they gets Miss Rooney in a chair before the mirror, and fits themonstrosity on top of her red hair. Well, say, what a diff'rence it doesmake in them freak bonnets whether they're in a box or on the right head!For Miss Rooney has got just the right kind of a face that hat was builtto go with. It's a bit giddy, I'll admit; but she's a stunner in it. Anddoes she notice it any herself? Well, some!

  "A triumph!" gurgles the saleslady, lookin' from one to the other of us,tryin' to figure out who she ought to play to.

  "It's a game combination, all right," says I, lookin' wise.

  "I only wish----" begins Daggett, and then swallows the rest of it. In aminute he steps up and says it'll do, and that the young lady is to pickout one for herself now.

  "Oh, how perfectly sweet of you!" says Miss Rooney, slippin' him a smilethat should have had him clear through the ropes. "But if I am to haveany, why not this?" and she balances the heliotrope lid on her fingers,lookin' it over yearnin' and tender. "It just suits me, doesn't it?"

  Then there's more of the coy business, aimed straight at Daggett. ButMiss Rooney don't quite put it across.

  "That's going out to Iowy with me," says he, prompt and decided.

  "Oh!" says Miss Rooney, and she proceeds to pick out a white straw with agreen ostrich feather a yard long. She was still lookin' puzzled, though,as we put her into the cab and started her back to the barber shop.

  "Must have set you back near a hundred, didn't they?" says I, as Daggettand I parts on the corner.

  "Almost," says he. "But it's worth it. Marthy would have looked mightystylish in that purple one. Yes, yes! And when I get back to South Forks,the first thing I do will be to carry it up on the knoll, box and all,and leave it there. I wonder if she'll know, eh?"

  There wa'n't any use in my tellin' him what I thought, though. He wa'n'ttalkin' to me, anyway. There was a kind of a far off, batty look in hiseyes as he stood there on the corner, and a drop of brine was tricklin'down one side of his nose. So we never says a word, but just shakeshands, him goin' his way, and me mine.

  "Chee!" says Swifty Joe, when I shows up, along about three o'clock, "youmust have been puttin' away a hearty lunch!"

  "It wa'n't that kept me," says I. "I was helpin' hand a late one toMarthy."