Shorty McCabe Read online

  CHAPTER XIV

  You never can tell, though. The next thing I hears from Sadie is thatshe's so tickled over that Miriam mix-up that she wakes up in the nightto snicker at it.

  That makes me feel a lot easier in my mind, and just by way of bein'reckless, I starts out to buy a bull pup. I'd have got him, too, if ithadn't been for Doc Pinphoodle. Seein' the way things turned out,though, I don't bear no grudge.

  It was the Doc I met first. I'd noticed him driftin' up and down thestairs once or twice, but didn't pipe him off special. There's too manyfreaks around 42nd-st. 'to keep cases on all of 'em.

  But one day about a month ago I was sittin' in the front office here,gettin' the ear-ache from hearing Swifty Joe tell about what he meant todo to Gans that last time, when the door swings open so hard it mosttakes the hinges off, and we sees a streak of arms and legs and tall hatmakin' a dive under the bed couch in the corner.

  "They've most got the range, Swifty," says I. "Two feet to the left andyou'd been a bull's-eye. What you got your mouth open so wide for? Goin'to try to catch the next one in your teeth?"

  Swifty didn't have time to uncork any repartee before someone struckthe landing outside like they'd come down a flight of foldin' steps feetfirst, and a little, sharp-nosed woman, with purple flowers in her hat,bobs in and squints once at each of us. Say, I don't want to be lookedat often like that! It felt like bein' sampled with a cheese tester.

  "Did Montgomery Smith just come in here?" says she. "Did he? Don't lie,now! Where is he?" and the way she jerked them little black eyes aroundwas enough to tear holes in the matting.

  "Lady--" says I.

  "Don't lady me, Mr. Fresh," says she, throwin' the gimlets my way. "Andtell that broken-nosed child stealer over there to take that monkey grinoff'm his face or I'll scratch his eyes out."

  "Hully chee!" yells Swifty, throwin' a back somersault through the gym.door and snappin' the lock on his side.

  "Anything more, miss?" says I. "We're here to please."

  "Humph!" says she. "It'd take somethin' better than you to please me."

  "Glad I was born lucky," thinks I, but I thought it under my breath.

  "Is my Monty hiding in that room?" says she, jabbin' a finger at thegym.

  "Cross my heart, he ain't," says I.

  "I don't believe you could think quick enough to lie," says she, andwith that she flips out about as fast as she came in.

  I didn't stir until I hears her hit the lower hall. Then I bolts thedoor, goes and calls Swifty down off the top of the swingin' rope, andwe comes to a parade rest alongside the couch.

  "Monty, dear Monty," says I, "the cyclone's passed out to sea. Come outand give up your rain check."

  He backs out feet first, climbs up on the couch, and drops his chin intohis hands for a minute, while he gets over the worst of the shock. Say,at first sight he wa'n't a man you'd think any woman would lose herbreath tryin' to catch, less'n she was his landlady, and that was what Ifigures out that this female peace disturber was.

  Monty might have been a winner once, but it was a long spell back. Justthen he was some out of repair. He had a head big enough for a collegeprofessor, and a crop of hair like an herb doctor, but his eyes werepuffy underneath, and you could see by the _cafe au lait_ tint to hisface that his liver'd been on a long strike. He was fairly thick throughthe middle, but his legs didn't match the rest of him. They were toothin and too short.

  "If I'd known you was comin', I'd had the scrub lady dust under there,"says I; "but it won't need it now for a couple of weeks."

  He makes a stab at sayin' something, but his breath hadn't come backyet. He revives enough though, to take a look at his clothes. Then heworks his silk dicer up off'm his ears, and has a peek at that. It was apunky lid, all right, but it had saved a lot of wear on his koko when hemade that slide for home plate and struck the wall.

  "Was this a long-distance run, or just a hundred-yard sprint?" says I."Never mind, if it comes hard. I don't blame you a bit for side-steppin'a heart to heart talk with any such a rough-and-ready converser as yourfriend. I'd do the same myself."

  He looks up kind of grateful at that, and sticks out a soft, lady-likepaw for me to shake. Say, that wasn't such a slow play, either! He wastoo groggy to say a word, but he comes pretty near winnin' me rightthere. I sets Swifty to work on him with the whisk-broom, hands out aglass of ice-water, and in a minute or so his voice comes back.

  Oh, yes, he had one. It was a little shaky, but, barrin' that, it was assmooth as mayonnaise. And language! Why, just tellin' me how muchobliged he was, he near stood the dictionary on its head. There wa'n'tno doubt of his warm feelin' for me by the time he was through. It wasalmost like bein' adopted by a rich uncle.

  "Oh, that's all right," says I. "You can use that couch any time thedisappearin' fit comes on. She was hot on the trail; eh, Monty?"

  "It was all a painful, absurd error," says he, "a mistaken identity, Ipresume. Permit me to make myself known to you," and he shoves out hiscard.

  Rasmulli Pinphoodle, J. R. D.--that was the way it read.

  "Long ways from Smith, ain't it?" says I. "The first of it sounds like aPersian rug."

  "My Hindu birth name," says he.

  "I'd have bet you wa'n't a domestic filler," says I. "The Pinphoodle isEnglish, ain't it?"

  He smiles like I'd asked him to split a pint with me, and says that itwas.

  "But the tag on the end--J. R. D.--I passes up," says I. "Don't standfor Judge of Rent Dodgers, does it?"

  "Those letters," says he, makin' another merry face, "represent thesymbols of my Vedic progression."

  "If I'd stopped to think once more, I'd fetched that," says I.

  It was a jolly. I've never had the Vedic progression--anyways, not hadenough to know it at the time--but I wasn't goin' to let him stun methat way.

  Later on I got next to the fact that he was some kind of a healer, andthat the proper thing to do was to call him Doc. Seems he had afour-by-nine office on the top floor back, over the Studio, and that hewas just startin' to introduce the Vedic stunt to New York. Mostly heworked the mailorder racket. He showed me his ad in the Sunday personalcolumn, and it was all to the velvet. Accordin' to his ownspecifications he was a head-liner in the East Indian philosophybusiness, whatever that was. He'd just torn himself away from thecrowned heads of Europe for an American tour, and he stood ready toladle out advice to statesmen, tinker up broken hearts, forecast thefuture, and map out the road to Wellville for millionaires who'd goneoff their feed.

  He sure had a full bag of tricks to draw from; but I've noticed that themore glass balls you try to keep in the air at once, the surer you areto queer the act. And Pinphoodle didn't look like a gent that kept thereceivin' teller workin' overtime.

  There was something about him, though, that was kind of dignified. Hewas the style of chap that would blow his last dime on havin' his collar'n' cuffs polished, and would go without eatin' rather than frisk thefree lunch at a beer joint. He was willin' to talk about anything butthe female with the gimlet eyes and the keen-cutter tongue.

  "She is a mistaken, misguided person," says he. "And by the way,Professor McCabe, there is a fire-escape, I believe, which leads from myoffice down to your back windows. Would it be presuming too much if Ishould ask you to admit me there occasionally, in the event of mybeing--er--pursued again?"

  "It ain't a board bill, is it, Doc?" says I.

  "Nothing of the kind, I assure you," says he.

  "Glad to hear it," says I. "As a rule, I don't run no rock-of-agesrefuge, but I likes to be neighborly, so help yourself."

  We fixed it up that way, and about every so often I'd see Doc Pinphoodleslidin' in the back window, with a worried look on his face, and ironrust on his trousers. He was a quiet neighbor, though--didn't torturethe cornet, or deal in voice culture, or get me to cash checks that cameback with remarks in red ink written on 'em.

  I was wonderin' how the Vedic stunt was catchin' on, when all of asudden he buds out in an eight-
dollar hat, this year's model, and beginsto lug around an iv'ry-handled cane.

  "I'm glad they're comin' your way, Doc," says I.

  "Thanks," says he. "If I can in any measure repay some of the manykindnesses which you have--"

  "Sponge it off," says I. "Maybe I'll want to throw a lady off the scentmyself, some day."

  A week or so later I misses him altogether, and the janitor tells mehe's paid up and moved. Well, they come and go like that, so it don't doto feel lonesome; but I had the floor swept under the couch reg'lar, ona chance that he might show up again.

  It was along about then that I hears about the bull pup. I'd beenwantin' to have one out to Primrose Park--where I goes to prop up theweekend, you know. Pinckney was tellin' me of a friend of his that ownsa likely-lookin' litter about two months old, so one Saturday afternoonI starts to hoof it over and size 'em up.

  Now that was reg'lar, wa'n't it? You wouldn't think a two-eyed man likeme could go astray just tryin' to pick out a bull pup, would you? Butlook what I runs into! I'd gone about four miles from home, and washittin' up a Daddy Weston clip on the side path, when I sees one of thembig bay-windowed bubbles slidin' past like a train of cars. There was agirl on the back seat that looks kind of natural. She sees me, too,shouts to Francois to put on the emergency brake, and begins wavin' herparasol at me to hurry on. It was Sadie Sullivan.

  "Hurry up, Shorty! Run!" she yells. "There isn't a minute to lose."

  I gets up on my toes at that, and I hadn't no more'n climbed aboardbefore the machine was tearin' up the macadam again.

  "Anybody dyin'," says I, "or does the bargain counter close at fiveo'clock?"

  "Aunt Tillie's eloping," says she, "and if we don't head her off she'llmarry an old villain who ought to be in jail."

  "Not Mr. Pinckney's Aunt Tillie, the old girl that owns the big place upnear Blenmont?" says I.

  "That's the one," says Sadie.

  "Why she's qualified for an old ladies' home," says I. "You don't meanto say she's got kittenish at her age."

  "There's no age limit to that kind of foolishness," says Sadie, "andthis looks like a serious attack. We've got to stop it, though, for Ipromised Pinckney I'd stand guard until he came back from Newport."

  I hadn't seen the old girl myself, but I knew her record, and now I gotit revised to date. She'd hooked two husbands in her time, but neitherof 'em had lasted long. Then she gave it up for a spell and it wa'n'tuntil she was sixty-five that she begins to wear rainbow clothes again,and caper around like one of the squab octet. Lately she'd begun toshow signs of wantin' to sit in a shady corner with a man.

  Pinckney had discouraged a bald-headed minister, warned off an oldbachelor, and dropped strong hints to a couple of widowers that took tocallin' frequent for afternoon tea. Then a new one had showed up.

  "He's a sticker, too," says Sadie. "I don't know where Aunt Tillie foundhim, but Pinckney says he's been coming out from the city every otherday for a couple of weeks. She's been meeting him at the station andtaking him for drives. She says he's some sort of an East Indian priest,and that he's giving her lessons in a new faith cure that she's takingup. To-day, though, after she'd gone off, the housekeeper found that hertrunk had been smuggled to the station. Then a note was picked up in herroom. It said something about meeting her at the church of St.Paul's-in-the-Wood, at four-thirty, and was signed, 'Your darlingMulli.' Oh, dear, it's almost half-past now! Can't you go any faster,Francois?"

  I thought he couldn't, but he did. He jammed the speed lever up anothernotch, and in a minute more we were hittin' only the high places. Wecaromed against them red-leather cushions like a couple of pebbles in abottle, and it was a case of holdin' on and hoping the thing would stayright side up. I hadn't worked up much enthusiasm about gettin' to St.Paul's-in-the-Wood before, but I did then, all right. Never was so gladto see a church loom up as I was that one.

  "That's her carriage at the chapel door," says Sadie. "Shorty, we muststop this thing."

  "It's out of my line," says I, "but I'll help all I can."

  We made a break for the front door and butted right in, just as thoughthey'd sent us cards. It wasn't very light inside, but down at the farend we could see a little bunch of folks standin' around as if they waswaitin' for somethin' to happen.

  Sadie didn't make any false motions. She sailed down the center aisleand took Aunt Tillie by the arm. She was a dumpy, pie-faced old girl,with plenty of ballast to keep her shoes down, and a lot of genuinestore hair that was puffed and waved like the specimens you see in theSixth-ave. show cases. She was actin' kind of nervous, and grinnin' asilly kind of grin, but when she spots Sadie she quit that and puts on alook like the hired girl wears when she's been caught bein' kissed bythe grocery boy.

  "You haven't done it, have you?" says Sadie.

  "No," says Aunt Tillie; "but it's going to be done just as soon as therector gets on his other coat."

  "Now please don't, Mrs. Winfield," says Sadie, gettin' a waist grip onthe old girl, and rubbin' her cheek up against her shoulder in thatpurry, coaxin' way she has. "You know how badly we should all feel if itdidn't turn out well, and Pinckney--"

  "He's a meddlesome, impertinent young scamp!" says Aunt Tillie, growin'red under the layers of rice powder. "Haven't I a right to marry withoutconsulting him, I'd like to know?"

  "Oh, yes, of course," says Sadie, soothing her down, "but Pinckneysays--"

  "Don't tell me anything that he says, not a word!" she shouts. "I won'tlisten to it. He had the impudence to suggest that my dear Mulli wasa--a corn doctor, or something like that."

  "Did he?" says Sadie. "I wouldn't have thought it of Pinckney. Well,just to show him that he was wrong, I would put this affair off untilyou can have a regular church wedding; with invitations, and ushers,and pretty flower girls. And you ought to have a gray-silkwedding-gown--you'd look perfectly stunning in gray silk, you know.Wouldn't all that be much nicer than running off like this, as thoughyou were ashamed of something?"

  Say, it was a slick game of talk that Sadie handed out then, for she wasplayin' for time. But Aunt Tillie was no come-on.

  "Mulli doesn't want to wait another day," says she, "and neither do I,so that settles it. And here comes the rector, now."

  "Looks like we'd played out our hand, don't it?" I whispered to Sadie.

  "Wait!" says she. "I want to get a good look at the man."

  He was trailin' along after the minister, and it wa'n't until he waswithin six feet of me that I saw who it was.

  "Hello, Doc!" says I. "So you're the dear Mulli, are you?"

  He near jumped through his collar, Pinphoodle did, when he gets hislamps on me. It only lasted a minute, though, for he was a quickrecoverer.

  "Why, professor!" says he. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

  "I guess some of that's right," says I.

  And say, but he was dressed for the joyful bridegroom part--stripedtrousers, frock coat, white puff tie, and white gloves! He'd had a closeshave and a shampoo, and the massage artist had rubbed out some of theswellin' from under his eyes. Didn't look much like the has-been thatdone the dive under the couch at the Studio.

  "Well, well!" says I. "This is where the private cinch comes in, eh?Doc, you've got a head like a horse."

  "I should think he'd be ashamed of himself," says Sadie, "running offwith a silly old woman who might be his mother."

  The Sullivan temper had got the best of her. After that the deep lardwas all over the cook stove. Aunt Tillie throws four cat-fits to theminute, and lets loose on Sadie with all kinds of polite jabs that shecan lay her tongue to. Then Doc steps up, puts a manly arm half-wayround her belt line, and lets her weep on the silk facing of his Sundaycoat.

  By this time the preacher was all broke up. He was a nicehealthy-lookin' young chap, one of the strawb'ry-blond kind, with pinkand white cheeks, and hair as soft as a toy spaniel's. It turns out thathe was new to the job, and this was his first call to spiel off thesplicin' service.

  "I trust," says he, "tha
t there is nothing--er--that no one has anyvalid objection to the uniting of this couple?"

  "I will convince you of that," says Doc Pinphoodle, speakin' up briskand cocky, "by putting to this young lady a few pertinent questions."

  Well, he did. As a cross-examiner for the defense he was a regular JoeChoate. Inside of two minutes he'd made torn mosquito netting of Sadie'skick, shown her up for a rank outsider, and put us both through theropes.

  "Now," says he, with a kind of calm, satisfiedI've-swallowed-the-canary smile, "we will proceed with the ceremony."

  Sadie was near cryin with the mad in her, she bein' a hard loser at anygame. "You're an old fraud, that's what you are!" she spits out. "Andyou're just marrying Pinckney's silly old aunt to get her money."

  But that rolls off Doc like a damage suit off'm a corporation. He justsmiles back at her, and goes to chirkin' up Aunt Tillie. Doc was it, andknew where he stood. He had us down and out. In five minutes more he'dhave a two-hundred-pound wife and a fifty-thousand-dollar income.

  "It strikes me," says he, over his shoulder, "that if I had got hold ofa fortune in the way you got yours, young woman, I wouldn't make anycomments about mercenary marriages."

  Well, say, up to that time I had a half-baked idea that maybe I wasn'tcalled on to block his little game, but when he begins to rub it intoSadie I sours on Doc right away. And it always does take one or two goodpunches to warm me up to a scrap. I begins to do some swift thinkin'.

  "Hold on there, Doc," says I. "I'll give in that you've got our casequashed as it stood. But maybe there's someone else that's got aninterest in these doin's."

  "Ah!" says he. "And who might that be?"

  "Mrs. Montgomery Smith," says I.

  It was a chance shot, but it rung the bell. Doc goes as limp as a strawhat that's been hooked up after a dip in the bay, and his eyes took onthat shifty look they had the first time I ever saw him.

  "Why," says he, swallowin' hard, and doing his best to get back thestiff front he'd been puttin' up--"why, there's no such person."

  "No?" says I. "How about the one that calls you Monty and runs you underthe couch?"

  "It's a lie!" says he. "She's nothing to me, nothing at all."

  "Oh, well," says I, "that's between you and her. She says different.Anyway, she's come clear up here to put in her bid; so it's no more'nfair to give her a show. I'll just bring her in."

  As I starts towards the front door Doc gives me one look, to see if Imean business. Then, Sadie says, he turns the color of pie-crust, dropsAunt Tillie as if she was a live wire, and jumps through the back doorlike he'd been kicked by a mule. I got back just in time to see himhurdle a five-foot hedge without stirrin' a leaf, and the last glimpsewe got of him he was headin' for a stretch of woods up Connecticut way.

  "Looks like you'd just missed assistin' at a case of bigamy," says I tothe young preacher, as we was bringin' Aunt Tillie out of her faint.

  "Shocking!" says he. "Shocking!" as he fans himself with a hymn book. Hewas takin' it hard.

  Aunt Tillie wouldn't speak to any of us, and as we bundled her into hercarriage and sent her home she looked as mad as a settin' hen with herfeet tied.

  "Shorty," says Sadie, on the way back, "that was an elegant bluff youput up."

  "Lucky my hand wa'n't called," says I. "But it was rough on the preacherchap, wa'n't it? He had his mouth all made up to marry some one. Blamedif I didn't want to offer him a job myself."

  "And who would you have picked out, Shorty?" says she.

  "Well," says I, lookin' her over wishful, "there ain't never been butone girl that I'd choose for a side partner, and she's out of my classnow."

  "Was her name Sullivan once?" says she.

  "It was," says I.

  She didn't say anything more for a spell after that, and I didn't; butthere's times when conversation don't fit in. All I know is that you cansit just as close on the back seat of one of them big benzine carts asyou can on a parlor sofa; and with Sadie snuggled up against me I feltlike it was always goin' to be summer, with Sousa's band playin'somewhere behind the rubber trees.

  First thing I knows we fetches up at my shack in Primrose Park, and Iwas standin' on the horse block, alongside the bubble. Sadie'd droppedboth hands on my shoulders and was turnin' them eyes of hers on me atclose range. Francois was lookin' straight ahead, and there wasn'tanyone in sight. So I just took a good look into that pair of Irishblues.

  "What a chump you are, Shorty!" she whispers.

  "Ah, quit your kiddin'," says I. But I didn't make any move, and shedidn't.

  "Well, good-by," says she, lettin' out a long breath.

  "By-by, Sadie," says I, and off she goes.

  Say, I don't know how it was, but I've been feelin' ever since that I'dmissed somethin' that was comin' to me. Maybe it was that bull pup Iforgot to buy.