Shorty McCabe Page 10

  CHAPTER X

  But say, I guess Buddy'll work out all right. There's good stuff in him.Anyways, I ain't losin' my eyesight, tryin' to follow his curves. And mydate book's been full lately. That's the way I like it. If you know howto take things there's a whole lot of fun in just bein' alive; ain'tthere? Now look at the buffo combination I've been up against.

  First off I meets Jarvis--you know, Mr. Jarvis of Blenmont, who's billedto marry that English girl, Lady Evelyn, next month. Well, Jarvis he wasall worked up. Oh, you couldn't guess it in a week. It was an awfulthing that happened to him. Just as he's got his trunk packed forEngland, where the knot-tyin' is to take place, he gets word that someold lady that was second cousin to his mother, or something like that,has gone and died and left him all her property.

  "Real thoughtless of her, wa'n't it?" says I.

  "Well," says Jarvis, lookin' kind of foolish, "I expect she meant wellenough. I don't mind the bonds, and that sort of thing, but there's thisNightingale Cottage. Now, what am I to do with that?"

  "Raise nightingales for the trade," says I.

  Jarvis ain't one of the joshin' kind, though, same as Pinckney. He hadthis weddin' business on his mind, and there wa'n't much room foranything else. Seems the old lady who'd quit livin' was a relative hedidn't know much about.

  "I remember seeing her only once," says Jarvis, "and then I was a littlechap. Perhaps that's why I was such a favorite of hers. She always sentme a prayer-book every Christmas."

  "Must have thought you was hard on prayer-books," says I. "She wa'n'tbatty, was she?"

  Jarvis wouldn't say that; but he didn't deny that there might have beena few cobwebs in the belfry. Aunt Amelia--that's what he called her--hadlived by herself for so long, and had coaxed up such a case of nerves,that there was no tellin'. The family didn't even know she was abroaduntil they heard she'd died there.

  "You see," says Jarvis, "the deuce of it is the cottage is just as shestepped out of it, full of a lot of old truck that I've either got tosell or burn, I suppose. And it's a beastly nuisance."

  "It's a shame," says I. "But where is this Nightingale Cottage?"

  "Why, it's in Primrose Park, up in Westchester County," says he.

  With that I pricks up my ears. You know I've been puttin' my extra-longgreen in pickle for the last few years, layin' for a chance to place'em where I could turn 'em over some day and count both sides. AndWestchester sounded right.

  "Say," says I, leadin' him over to the telephone booth, "you sit downthere and ring up some real-estate guy out in Primrose Park and get abid for that place. It'll be about half or two-thirds what it's worth.I'll give you that, and ten per cent. more on account of the fixin's. Isit a go?"

  Was it? Mr. Jarvis had central and was callin' up Primrose Park before Igets through, and inside of an hour I'm a taxpayer. I've made big lumpsof money quicker'n that, but I never spent such a chunk of it so swiftbefore. But Jarvis went off with his mind easy, and I was satisfied. Inthe evenin' I dropped around to see the Whaleys.

  "Dennis, you low-county bog-trotter," says I, "about all I've heard outof you since I was knee high was how you was achin' to quit the elevatorand get back to diggin' and cuttin' grass, same's you used to do on theold sod. Now here's a chance to make good."

  Well, say, that was the only time I ever talked ten minutes with DennisWhaley without bein' blackguarded. He'd been fired off the elevator theweek before and had been job-huntin' ever since. As for Mother Whaley,when she saw a chance to shake three rooms back and a fire-escape for aplace where the trees has leaves on 'em, she up and cried into thecorned beef and cabbage, just for joy.

  "I'll send the keys in the mornin'," says I. "Then you two pack up andgo out there to Nightingale Cottage and open her up. If it's fit to livein, and you don't die of lonesomeness, maybe I'll run up once in a whileof a Sunday to look you over."

  You see, I thought it would be a bright scheme to hang onto the placefor a year or so, before I tries to unload. That gives the Whaleys whatthey've been wishin' for, and me a chance to do the weekend act now andthen. Course, I wa'n't lookin' for no complications. But they comealong, all right.

  It was on a Saturday afternoon that I took the plunge. You know howquick this little old town can warm up when she starts. We'd had theStudio fans goin' all the mornin', and the first shirtwaist lads wasparadin' across Forty-second street with their coats off, and Swifty'dmade tracks for Coney Island, when I remembers Primrose Park.

  I'd passed through in expresses often enough, so I didn't have to lookit up on the map; but that was about all. When I'd spoiled the best partof an hour on a local full of commuters and low-cut high-brows, whokilled time playin' whist and cussin' the road, I was dumped down at acute little station about big enough for a lemonade stand. As the carswent off I drew in a long breath. Say, I'd got off just in time toescape bein' carried into Connecticut.

  I jumps into a canopy-top surrey that looks like it had been stored inan open lot all winter, and asks the driver if he knows whereNightingale Cottage is.

  "Sure thing!" says he. "That's the place Shorty McCabe's bought."

  "Do tell!" says I. "Well, cart me out to the front gate and put me off."

  It was a nice ride. If it had been a mile longer I'd had facts enoughfor a town history. Drivin' a depot carriage was just a side issue withthat Primrose blossom. Conversin' was his long suit. He tore offinformation by the yard, and slung it over the seat-back at me like oneof these megaphone lecturers on the rubber-neck wagons. Accordin' tohim, Aunt 'Melie had been a good deal of a she-hermit.

  "Why," says he, "Major Curtis Binger told me himself that in the fiveyears he lived neighbors to her he hadn't seen her more'n once or twice.They say she hadn't been out of her yard for ten years up to the timeshe went abroad for her health and died of it."

  "Anyone that could live in this town that long and not die, couldn'thave tried very hard," says I. "Who's this Major Binger?"

  "Oh, he's a retired army officer, the major is; widower, with twodaughters," says he.

  "Singletons?" says I.

  "Yep, and likely to stay so," says he.

  About then he turns in between a couple of fancy stone gate-posts,twists around a cracked bluestone drive, and lands me at the front stepsof Nightingale Cottage. For the kind, it wa'n't so bad--one of thosesquatty bay-windowed affairs, with a roof like a toboggan chute, a porchthat did almost a whole lap around outside, and a cobblestone chimneythat had vines growin' clear to the top. And sure enough, there wasDennis Whaley with his rake, comin' as near a grin as he knew how.

  Well, he has me in tow in about a minute, and I makes a personallyconducted tour of me estate. Say, all I thought I was gettin' was acouple of buildin' lots; but I'll be staggered if there wa'n't a sliceof ground most as big as Madison Square Park, with trees, and shrubbery,and posy beds, and dinky little paths loopin' the loop all around. Outback was a stable and goosb'ry bushes and a truck garden.

  "How's thim for cabbages?" says Dennis.

  "They look more like boutonnieres," says I. But he goes on to tell as howthey'd just been set out and wouldn't be life-size till fall. Then heshows the rows that he says was goin' to be praties and beans and soon, and he's as proud of the whole shootin'-match as if he'd done amiracle.

  When we got around to the front again, where Dennis has laid out a pansyharp, I sees a little gatherin' over in front of the cottage next door.There was three or four gents, and six or eight women-folks. They waslookin' my way, and talkin' all to once.

  "Hello!" says I. "The neighbors seem to be holdin' a convention. Wonderif they're plannin' to count me in?"

  I ain't more'n got that out before one of the bunch cuts loose and headsfor me. He was a nice-lookin' old duck, with a pair of white Chaunceysand a frosted chin-splitter. He stepped out brisk and swung his canelike he was on parade. He was got up in white flannels and asquare-topped Panama, and he had the complexion of a good liver.

  "I expect that this is Mr. McCabe," says he.

&n
bsp; "You're a good guesser," says I. "Come up on the front stoop and sitby."

  "My name," says he, "is Binger, Curtis Binger."

  "What, Major Binger, late U. S. A.?" says I. "The man that did the stuntat the battle of What-d'ye-call-it?"

  "Mission Ridge, sir," says he, throwin' out his chest.

  "Sure! That was the place," says I. "Well, well! Who'd think it? I'mproud to know you. Put 'er there."

  With that I had him goin'. He was up in the air, and before he'd gotover it I'd landed him in a porch rocker and chased Dennis in to dig abox of Fumadoras out of my suit-case.

  "Ahem," says the Major, clearin' his speech tubes, "I came over, Mr.McCabe, on rather a delicate errand."

  "If you're out of butter, or want to touch me for a drawin' of tea,speak right up, Major," says I. "The pantry's yours."

  "Thank you," says he; "but it's nothing like that; nothing at all, sir.I came over as the representative of several citizens of Primrose Park,to inquire if it is your intention to reside here."

  "Oh!" says I. "You want to know if I'll join the gang? Well, seein' asyou've put it up to me so urgent, I don't care if I do. Course I can'tsign as a reg'lar, this bein' my first jab at the simple life; but ifyou can stand for the punk performance I'll make at progressive euchreand croquet, you can put me on the Saturday night sub list, for a while,anyway."

  Now, say, I was layin' out to do the neighborly for the best that was inme; but it seemed to hit the Major wrong. He turned about two shadespinker, coughed once or twice, and then got a fresh hold. "I'm afraidyou fail to grasp the situation, Mr. McCabe," says he. "You see, we leada very quiet life here in Primrose Park, a very domestic life. As formyself, I have two daughters--"

  "Chic, chic, Major!" says I, pokin' him gentle in the ribs with methumb. "Don't you try to sick any girls on me, or I'll take to the talltimber. I'm no lady's man, not a little bit."

  Then the explosion came. For a minute I thought one of them 'Frisco aguespells had come east. The Major turns plum color, blows up his cheeks,and bugs his eyes out. When the language flows it was like turnin' on afire-pressure hydrant. An assistant district attorney summin' up for theState in a murder trial didn't have a look-in with the Major. What did Imean--me, a rough-house scrapper from the red-light section--by buttin'into a peaceful community and insultin' the oldest inhabitants? Didn't Ihave no sense of decency? Did I suppose respectable people were goin' tostand for such?

  Honest, that was the worst jolt I ever had. All I could do was to sitthere with my mouth ajar and watch him prancin' up and down, handin' methe layout.

  "Say," says I, after a bit, "you ain't got me mixed up with Mock Duck,or Paddy the Gouge, or Kangaroo Mike, or any of that crowd, have you?"

  "You're known as Shorty McCabe, aren't you?" says he.

  "Guilty," says I.

  "Then there's no mistake," says he. "What will you take, cash down, forthis property, and clear out now?"

  "Say, Major," says I, "do you think it would blight the buds or poisonthe air much if I hung on till Monday morning? That is, unless you'vegot the tar all hot and the rail ready?"

  That fetched a grunt out of him. "All we desire to do, sir," says he,"is to maintain the respectability of the neighborhood."

  "Do the other folks over there feel the same way about me?" says I.

  "Naturally," says he.

  "Well," says I, "I don't mind telling you, Major, that you've thrown thehooks into me good an' plenty, and it looks like I'd have to make a newbook. I didn't come out here' to break up any peaceful community; butbefore I changes my program I'll have to sleep on it. Suppose you slideover again some time to-morrow, when your collar don't fit so tight, andthen we'll see if there's anything to arbitrate."

  "Very well," says he, does a salute to the colors, and marches backstiff-kneed to tell his crowd how he'd read the riot act to me.

  Now, say, I ain't one of the kind to lose sleep because the conductorspeaks rough when I asks for a transfer. I generally takes what's comin'and grins. But this time I wa'n't half so joyful as I might have been.Even the sight of Mother Whaley's hot biscuits and hearin' her singin'"Cushla Mavourneen" in the kitchen couldn't chirk me up. I'd been keenfor lookin' the house over and seein' what I'd got in the grab; but itwas all off. Course I knew I had the rights of the thing. I'd put downme good money, and there wa'n't any rules that could make me pull itout. But I've lived quite some years without shovin' in where I knew I'dget the frigid countenance, and I didn't like the idea of beginnin' now.

  I couldn't go back on my record, either. In my time I've stood up in thering and put out my man for two thirds of the gate receipts. I ain't soproud of that now as I was once; but I ain't never had any call to beashamed of the way I done it. What's more, no soubrette ever had achance to call herself Mrs. Shorty McCabe, and I never let 'em put myname over the door of any Broadway jag parlor.

  You got to let every man frame up his own argument, though. If thesePrimrose Parkers had listed me for a tough citizen, that had come out tosmash crockery and keep the town constable busy, it wa'n't my cue tohold any debate. All the campaign I could figure out was to back intothe wings and sell to some well-behaved stock-broker or life-insurancegrafter.

  It was goin' to be tough on the Whaleys, though. I didn't let on toDennis, and after supper we sat on the back steps while he smoked hiscutty and gassed away about the things he was goin' to raise, and howthe flower-beds would look in a month or so. About nine o'clock he showsme a place where I can turn in, and I listens to the roosters crowin'most of the night.

  Next mornin' I had Dennis get me a Sunday paper, and after I'd read thesportin' notes, I turns to the suburban real estate ads. "Why not own ahome?" most of 'em asks. "I know the answer to that," says I. And say, aLuna Park Zulu that had strayed into young Rockefeller's Bible classwould have felt about as much at home as I did there on my own porch.The old Major was over on his porch, walkin' up and down like he wasdoin' guard duty, and once in a while I could see some of thewomen-folks takin' a careful squint at me from behind a window blind. IfI'm ever quarantined, it won't be any new sensation.

  It wasn't exactly a weddin' breakfast kind of a time I was havin'; but Ididn't dodge it. I was just lettin' it soak in, "for the good of mesoul," as Father Connolly used to say, when I sees a pair of everfedblacks, hitched to a closed carriage, switch in from the pike and makefor the Major's. "Company for dinner," says I. "That's nice."

  I didn't get anything but a back view as he climbed out on the off sideand was led in by the Major; but you couldn't fool me on themshort-legged, baggy-kneed pants, or that black griddle-cake bonnet. Itwas my little old Bishop, that I keeps the fat off from with themedicine-ball work.

  "Lucky he didn't see me," says I, "or he'd hollered out and queeredhimself with the whole of Primrose Park."

  I was figurin' on fadin' away to the other side of the house before heshowed up again; but I didn't hurry about it, and when I looks up againthere was the Bishop, with them fat little fingers of his stuck out, anda three-inch grin on his face, pikin' across the road right for me. He'dcome out to wig-wag his driver, and, gettin' his eyes on me, he waddlesright over. I tried to give him the wink and shoo him off, but it was nogo.

  "Why, my dear professor!" says he, walkin' up and givin' me theinside-brother grip with one hand and the old-college-chum shoulder-patwith the other.

  I squints across the way, and there was the Major and the girls,catchin' their breath and takin' it all in, so I sees it's no usethrowin' a bluff.

  "How's the Bishop?" says I. "You've made a bad break; but I guess it'sa bit too late to hedge."

  He only chuckles, like he always does. "Your figures of speech,professor, are too subtle for me, as usual. However, I suppose you areas glad to see me as I am to find you."

  "Just what I was meanin' to spring next," says I, pullin' up a rockerfor him.

  We chins awhile there, and the Bishop tells me how's he been out to laya cornerstone, and thought he'd drop in on his old friend, Major Bi
nger.

  "Well, well, what a charming place you have here!" says he. "You musttake me all over it, professor. I want to see if you've shown as goodtaste on the inside as you apparently have on the out." And before I hastime to say a word about Jarvis's Aunt 'Melie, he has me by the arm andwe're headed for the parlor. I hadn't even opened the door before, butwe blazes right in, runs up the shades, throws open the shutters, andstands by for a look.

  Say, it was worth it! That was the most ladyfied room I ever put me footin. First place, I never see so many crazy lookin' little chairs, orbow-legged tables, or fancy tea-cups before in my life. There wa'n't athing you could sit on without havin' to call the upholstery man inafterward. Even the gilt sofa looked like it ought to have been in apicture.

  But what had me button-eyed was the wall decorations. If I hadn't beenridin' on the sprinker for so long I'd thought it was time for me tohunt a D. T. institute right then. First off I couldn't make 'em out atall; but after the shock wore away I see they were dolls, dozens of 'em,hangin' all over the walls in rows and clusters, like hams in a porkshop. And say, that was the wooziest collection ever bunched together!They wa'n't ordinary Christmas-tree dolls, the store kind. Every lastone of 'em was home-made, white cotton heads, with hand-painted faces.Course, I tumbled. This was some of that half-batty Aunt 'Melie's work.This was what she'd put in her time on. And she sure had produced.

  For face paintin' it was well done, I guess, only she must have beenshut up so long away from folks that she'd sort of forgot just how theylooked. Some of the heads had sunbonnets on, and some nightcaps; butthey were all the same shape, like a hardshell clam, flat side to. Theeyes were painted about twice life-size--some rolled up, some canteddown, some squintin' sideways, and a lot was just cross-eye. There wasgreen eyes, yellow eyes, pink eyes, and the regular kinds. They gave methe creeps.

  When I turns around, the Bishop stands there with his mouth open. "Why,"says he--"why, professor!" That was as far as he could get. He gaspsonce or twice and gets out something that sounds like "Remarkable, trulyremarkable!"

  "That's the word," says I. "I'll bet there ain't another lot like thisin the country."

  "I--I hope not," says he. "No offence meant, though. Do you--er--do thissort of thing yourself?"

  Well, I had to loosen up then. I told him about Aunt 'Melie, and how I'dbought the place unsight and unseen. And when he finds this was my firstview of the parlor it gets him in the short ribs. He has a funny fit.Every time he takes a look at them dolls he has another spasm. I getshim out on the porch again, and he sits there slappin' his knees andwaggin' his head and wipin' his eyes.

  By-'m'-by the Bishop calms down and says I've done him more good than atrip to Europe. "You must let me bring Major Binger over," says he. "Iwant him to see those dolls. You two are bound to be great cronies."

  "I've got my doubts about that," says I. "But don't you go to mixin' upin this affair, Bishop. I don't want to lug you in for any trouble withany of your old friends."

  You couldn't stave the Bishop off, though. He had to hear the wholeyarn, and the minute he gets it straight he jumps up.

  "Binger's a hot-headed old--well," says he, catchin' himself just intime, "the Major has a way of acting first, and then thinking it over. Imust have a talk with him."

  I guess he did, too; for they were at it some time before the Bishopwaves by-by to me and drives off.

  I'd just got up from one of Mrs. Whaley's best chicken dinners, when Ihears a hurrah outside, and horses stampin' and a horn tootin'. I rushesout front, and there was Pinckney, sittin' up on a coach box, justpullin' his leaders out of Dennis's pansy bed. There was about a dozenof his crowd on top of the coach, includin' Mrs. Dipworthy--SadieSullivan that was--and Mrs. Twombley Crane, and a lot more.

  "Hello, Shorty!" says Pinckney. "Is the doll exhibition still open? Ifit is, we want to come in."

  They'd met the Bishop; see? And he'd steered 'em along.

  Well say, I might have begun the day kind of lonesome, but it had alively finish, all right. Inside of ten minutes Sadie has on one ofMother Whaley's white aprons and is takin' charge. She has some of themfancy tables and chairs lugged out on the porch, and the first thing Iknows I'm holdin' forth at a pink tea that's the swellest thing of thekind Primrose Park ever got its eyes on.