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  CHAPTER V

  A LONG SHOT ON DELANCEY

  Well, I've been slummin' up again. It happens like this: I was justpreparin', here the other noontime, to rush around the corner and destroya plate of lunch counter hash decorated with parsley and a dropped egg,when I gets this 'phone call from Duke Borden, who says he wants to seeme the worst way.

  "Well," says I, "the studio's still here on 42d-st., and if your eyesightain't failed you----"

  "Oh, chop it, can't you, Shorty?" says he. "This is really important.Come right up, can't you!"

  "That depends," says I. "Any partic'lar place?"

  "Of course," says he. "Here at the club. I'm to meet Chick Sommers herein half an hour. We'll have luncheon together and----"

  "I'm on," says I. "I don't know Chick; but I'm a mixer, and I'll standfor anything in the food line but cold egg. Scratch the chilled hen fruitand I'm with you."

  Know about Duke, don't you? It ain't much to tell. He's just one of thesebig, handsome, overfed chappies that help the mounted traffic cops tomake Fifth-ave. look different from other Main-sts. He don't do anyspecial good, or any partic'lar harm. Duke's got just enough sense,though, to have spasms of thinkin' he wants to do something useful nowand then, and all I can dope out of this emergency call of his is thatthis is a new thought.

  That's the answer, too. He begins tellin' me about it while the headwaiter's leadin' us over to a corner table. Oh, yes, he's going in forbusiness in dead earnest now, y'know,--suite of offices, his name on theletterheads, and all that sort of thing, bah Jove!

  All of which means that Mr. Chick Sommers, who was a star quarterback in'05, when Duke was makin' his college bluff on the Gold Coast, has runghim into a South Jersey land boomin' scheme. A few others, friends ofChick's, are in it. They're all rippin' good fellows, too, and awfullyclever at planning out things. Chick himself, of course, is a corker. Itwas him that insisted on Duke's bein' treasurer.

  "And really," says Duke, "about all I have to do is drop around once ortwice a week and sign a few checks."

  "I see," says I. "They let you supply the funds, eh?"

  "Why, yes," says Duke. "I'm the only one who can, y'know. But they dependa great deal on my judgment, too. For instance, take this new deal that'son; it has all been left to me. There are one hundred and eighteen acres,and we don't buy a foot unless I say so. That's where you come in,Shorty."

  "Oh, do I?" says I.

  "You see," Duke goes on, "I'm supposed to inspect it and make a decisionbefore the option expires, which will be day after to-morrow. The factis, I've been putting off going down there, and now I find I've a winterhouse party on, up in Lenox, and---- Well, you see the box I'm in."

  "Sure!" says I. "You want me to sub for you at Lenox?"

  "Deuce take it, no!" says Duke. "I want you to go down and look at thatland for me."

  "Huh!" says I. "What I know about real estate wouldn't----"

  "Oh, that's all right," says Duke. "It's only a matter of form. The boyssay they want it, and I'm going to buy it for them anyway; but, just tohave it all straight and businesslike, either I ought to see the landmyself, or have it inspected by my personal representative. Understand?"

  "Duke," says I, "you're a reg'lar real estate Napoleon. I wouldn't havebelieved it was in you."

  "I know," says he. "I'm really surprised at myself."

  Next he explains how he happened to think of sendin' me, and casually hewants to know if a couple of hundred and expenses will be about right forspoilin' two days of my valuable time. How could I tell how much it wouldlose me? But I said I'd run the chances.

  Then Chick shows up, and they begin to talk over the details of this newbungalow boom town that's to be located on the Jersey side.

  "I tell you," says Chick, "it'll be a winner from the start. Why, there'severy advantage anyone could wish for,--ocean breezes mingled with pinescented zephyrs, magnificent views, and a railroad running right throughthe property! The nearest station now is Clam Creek; but we'll have oneof our own, with a new name. Clam Creek! Ugh! How does Pinemere strikeyou?"

  "Perfectly ripping, by Jove!" says Duke, so excited over it that helights the cork end of his cigarette. "Shorty, you must go right downthere for me. Can't you start as soon as you've had your coffee?"

  Oh, but it was thrillin', listenin' to them two amateur real estaterslayin' plans that was to make a seashore wilderness blossom withsurveyors' stakes and fresh painted signs like Belvidere-ave., OzoneBoulevard, and so on.

  It struck me, though, that they was discussin' their scheme kind of freeand public. I spots one white haired, dignified old boy, doing thesolitaire feed at the table back of Duke, who seems more or lessint'rested. And I notices that every time Clam Creek is mentioned hepricks up his ears. Sure enough, too, just as we're finishing, he stepsover and taps Duke on the shoulder.

  "Why, howdy do, Mr. Cathaway?" says Duke. "Charmed to see you, by Jove!"

  And it turns out he's DeLancey Cathaway, the big noise in thephilanthropy game, him that gets up societies for suppressin' the poorand has his name on hospitals and iron drinkin' fountains. After he'sbeen introduced all around he admits that he's caught one or two remarks,and says he wants to congratulate Duke on givin' up his idle ways andbreakin' into an active career.

  Oh, he's a smooth old party, Mr. Cathaway is! He don't let on to bemore'n moderately int'rested, and the next thing I know he's sidled awayfrom Duke and is walkin' out alongside of me.

  "Going down town?" says he. "Then perhaps you will allow me to give you alift?" and he motions to his town car waiting at the curb.

  "Gee!" thinks I. "I'm makin' a hit with the nobility, me and my winnin'ways!"

  That don't exactly state the case, though; for as soon as we're aloneDeLancey comes right to cases.

  "I understand, Mr. McCabe," says he, "that you are to visit Clam Creek."

  "Yep," says I. "Sounds enticin', don't it?"

  "Doubtless you will spend a day or so there?" he goes on.

  "Over night, anyway," says I.

  "Hum!" says he. "Then you will hardly fail to meet my brother. He isliving at Clam Creek."

  "What!" says I. "Not Broadway Bob?"

  "Yes," says he, "Robert and his wife have been there for nearly twoyears. At least, that is where I have been sending his allowance."

  "Mrs. Bob too!" says I. "Why--why, say, you don't mean the one that----"

  "The same," he cuts in. "I know they're supposed to be abroad; butthey're not, they are at Clam Creek."

  Maybe you've heard about the Bob Cathaways, and maybe you ain't. There'sso many new near-plutes nowadays that the old families ain't getting theadvertisin' they've been used to. Anyway, it's been sometime sinceBroadway Bob had his share of the limelight. You see, Bob sort of had hisday when he was along in his thirties, and they say he was a realold-time sport and rounder, which was why he was let in so bad when oldman Cathaway's will was probated. All Bob pulls out is a couple ofthousand a year, even that being handled first by Brother DeLancey, whocops all the rest of the pile as a reward for always having gone instrong for charity and the perfectly good life.

  It's a case where virtue shows up strong from the first tap of the bell.Course, Bob can look back on some years of vivid joy, when he was makin'a record as a quart opener, buyin' stacks of blues at Daly's, or over atMonte Carlo bettin' where the ball would stop. But all this ends mightyabrupt.

  In the meantime Bob has married a lively young lady that nobody knew muchabout except that she was almost as good a sport as he was, and they weredoin' some great teamwork in the way of livenin' up society, when thecrash came.

  Then it was the noble hearted DeLancey to the rescue. He don't exactlytake them right into the fam'ly; but he sends Mr. and Mrs. Bob over tohis big Long Island country place, assigns 'em quarters in the northwing, and advises 'em to be as happy as they can. Now to most folks thatwould look like landin' on Velveteen-st.,--free eats, no room rent, and aforty-acre park to roam around in, with the use of a couple of
safehorses and a libr'y full of improvin' books, such as the Rollo series andthe works of Dr. Van Dyke.

  Brother Bob don't squeal or whine. He starts in to make the best of it byriggin' himself out like an English Squire and makin' a stagger at thecountry gentleman act. He takes a real int'rest in keepin' up the groundsand managin' the help, which DeLancey had never been able to do himself.

  It's as dull as dishwater, though, for Mrs. Robert Cathaway, and as thereain't anyone else handy she takes it out on Bob. Accordin' to allaccounts, they must have done the anvil chorus good and plenty. You canjust see how it would be, with them two dumped down so far from Broadwayand only now and then comp'ny to break the monotony. When people didcome, too, they was DeLancey's kind. I can picture Bob tryin' to getchummy with a bunch of prison reformers or delegates to a Sunday schoolunion. I don't wonder his disposition curdled up.

  If it hadn't been for Mrs. Bob, though, they'd been there yet. She got soused to rowin' with Bob that she kept it up even when Brother DeLanceyand his friends came down. DeLancey stands for it until one morning atbreakfast, when he was entertainin' an English Bishop he'd corraled atsome conference. Him and the Bishop was exchangin' views on whether freesoup and free salvation was a good workin' combination or not, when somelittle thing sets Mr. and Mrs. Bob to naggin' each other on the side. Iforgot just what it was Bob shot over; but after standin' her jabs forquite some time without gettin' real personal he comes back with somestage whisper remark that cut in deep.

  Mrs. Bob was right in the act of helpin' herself to the jelly omelet,usin' a swell silver servin' shovel about half the size of a bricklayer's trowel. She's so stirred up that she absentmindedly scoops up adouble portion, and just as Bob springs his remark what does she do butup and let fly at him, right across the table. Maybe she'd have wingedhim too,--and served him right for saying what no gentleman should to alady, even if she is his wife,--but, what with her not stoppin' to takegood aim, and the maid's gettin' her tray against her elbow, she missesBob by about three feet and plasters the English Bishop square betweenthe eyes.

  Now of course that wa'n't any way to serve hot omelet to a stranger, nomatter how annoyed you was. DeLancey told her as much while he washelpin' swab off the reverend guest. Afterwards he added otherobservations more or less definite. Inside of two hours Mr. and Mrs. Bobfound their baggage waitin' under the porte cochere, and the wagonetteready to take 'em to the noon train. They went. It was given out thatthey was travelin' abroad, and if it hadn't been for the omelet part ofthe incident they'd been forgotten long ago. That was a stunt that stuck,though.

  As I looks at DeLancey there in the limousine I has to grin. "Say," saysI, "was it a fact that the Bishop broke loose and cussed?"

  "That humiliating affair, Mr. McCabe," says he, "I would much prefer notto talk about. I refer to my brother now because, knowing that you aregoing to Clam Creek, you will probably meet him there."

  "Oh!" says I. "Like to have me give him your best regards!"

  "No," says DeLancey. "I should like, however, to hear how you foundhim."

  "Another report, eh!" says I. "All right, Mr. Cathaway, I'll size him upfor you."

  "But chiefly," he goes on, "I shall depend upon your discretion not tomention my brother's whereabouts to anyone else. As an aid to thatdiscretion," says he, digging up his roll and sortin' out some tens, "Iam prepared to----"

  "Ah, button 'em back!" says I. "Who do you think you're dealin' with,anyway?"

  "Why," says he, flushin' up, "I merely intended----"

  "Well, forget it!" says I. "I ain't runnin' any opposition to the BlackHand, and as for whether I leak out where your brother is or not, that'ssomething you got to take chances on. Pull up there, Mr. Chauffeur! Thisis where I start to walk."

  And say, you could put his name on all the hospitals and orphan asylumsin the country; but I never could see it again without growin' warm underthe collar. Bah! Some of these perfectly good folks have a habit ofgettin' on my nerves. All the way down to Clam Creek I kept tryin' towipe him off the slate, and I'd made up my mind to dodge Brother Bob, ifI had to sleep in the woods.

  So as soon as I hops off the train I gets my directions and starts totramp over this tract that Duke Borden was plannin' on blowin' some ofhis surplus cash against. And say, if anybody wants an imitation desert,dotted with scrub pine and fringed with salt marshes, that's the place togo lookin' for it. There's hundreds of square miles of it down there thatnobody's usin', or threatenin' to.

  Also I walked up an appetite like a fresh landed hired girl. I was sohungry that I pikes straight for the only hotel and begs 'em to lead meto a knife and fork. For a wonder, too, they brings on some real food,plain and hearty, and I don't worry about the way it's thrown at me.

  Yon know how it is out in the kerosene district. I finds myself face toface with a hunk of corned beef as big as my two fists, boiled Murphies,cabbage and canned corn on the side, bread sliced an inch thick, andspring freshet coffee in a cup you couldn't break with an ax. Lizzie, thewaitress, was chewin' gum and watchin' to see if I was one of them freshtravelin' gents that would try any funny cracks on her.

  I'd waded through the food programme as far as makin' a choice betweentapioca puddin' and canned peaches, when in drifts a couple that I knew,the minute I gets my eyes on 'em, must be Mr. and Mrs. Bob Cathaway. Whoelse in that little one-horse town would be sportin' a pair of putteeleggin's and doeskin ridin' breeches? That was Bob's makeup, includin' aflap-pocketed cutaway of Harris tweed and a corduroy vest. They fit him alittle snug, showin' he's laid on some flesh since he had 'em built. Alsohe's a lot grayer than I expected, knowin' him to be younger thanDeLancey.

  As for Mrs. Bob--well, if you can remember how the women was dressin' asfar back as two years ago, and can throw on the screen a picture of awoman who has only the reminders of her good looks left, you'll have herframed up. A pair of seedy thoroughbreds, they was, seedy and down andout.

  "I knew it must be Mr. and Mrs. Bob Cathaway"]

  I was wonderin' if they still indulged in them lively fam'ly debates, andhow soon I'd have to begin dodgin' dishes; but they sits down across thetable from me and hardly swaps a word. All I notices is the scornful wayLizzie asks if they'll have soup, and the tremble to Bob Cathaway's handas he lifts his water tumbler.

  As there was only us three in the room, and as none of us seemed to haveanything to say, it wa'n't what you might call a boisterous assemblage.While I was waitin' for dessert I put in the time gazin' around at thescenery, from the moldy pickle jars at either end of the table, over tothe walnut sideboard where they kept the plated cake basket and theketchup bottles, across to the framed fruit piece that had seen so manyhard fly seasons, and up to the smoky ceilin'. I looked everywhere exceptat the pair opposite.

  Lizzie was balancin' the soup plates on her left arm and singsongin' thebill of fare to 'em. "Col'-pork-col'-ham-an'-corn-beef-'n'-cabbage," saysshe.

  If Bob Cathaway didn't shudder at that, I did for him. "You may bringme--er--some of the latter," says he.

  I tested the canned peaches and then took a sneak. On one side of thefront hall was the hotel parlor, full of plush furniture and stuffedbirds. The office and bar was on the other. I strolls in where half adozen Clam Creekers was sittin' around a big sawdust box indulgin' intarget practice; but after a couple of sniffs I concludes that thebreathin' air is all outside.

  After half an hour's stroll I goes in, takes a lamp off the hall table,and climbs up to No. 7. It's as warm and cheerful as an underground beervault. Also I finds the window nailed down. Huntin' for someone to fetchme a hammer was what sent me roamin' through the hall and took me pastNo. 11, where the door was part way open. And in there, with an oil-stoveto keep 'em from freezin', I see Mr. and Mrs. Bob Cathaway sittin' at alittle marble topped table playin' double dummy bridge. Say, do you know,that unexpected glimpse of this little private hard luck proposition oftheirs kind of got me in the short ribs. And next thing I knew I had myhead in the door.

  "For the lov
e of Mike," says I, "how do you stand it?"

  "Eh?" says Bob, droppin' his cards and starin' at me. "I--I beg pardon?"

  Well, with that I steps in, tells him who I am, and how I'd just had atalk with Brother DeLancey. Do I get the glad hand? Why, you'd thought Iwas a blooming he angel come straight from the pearly gates. Bob drags mein, pushes me into the only rocker in the room, shoves a cigar box at me,and begins to haul decanters from under the washstand. They both asksquestions at once. How is everybody, and who's married who, and are soand so still living together?

  I reels off society gossip for an hour before I gets a chance to do somepumpin' on my own hook. What I wants to know is why in blazes they'rehidin' in a hole like Clam Creek.

  Bob only shrugs his shoulders. "Why not here as well as anywhere?" sayshe. "When you can't afford to live among your friends, why--you live inClam Creek."

  "But two years of it!" says I. "What do you find to do?"

  "Oh, we manage," says he, wavin' at the double dummy outfit. "Babe and Ihave our little game. It's only for a dime a point; but it helps passaway the time. You see, when our monthly allowance comes in we divide itequally and take a fresh start. The winner has the privilege of payingour bills."

  How was that for excitement? And Bob whispers to me, as we starts out fora little walk before turnin' in, "I generally fix it so Babe--er, Mrs.Cathaway--can win, you know."

  From other little hints I gathers that their stay in Clam Creek has doneone thing for 'em, anyway. It had put 'em wise to the great fact that thebest way for two parties to get along together is to cut out the hammermusic.

  "So you had a talk with DeLancey?" says Bob on the way back. "I supposehe--er--sent no message?"

  It had taken Bob Cathaway all this while to work up to that question, andhe can't steady down his voice as he puts it. And that quaver tells methe whole story of how he's been hoping all along that Brother DeLanceywould sometime or other get over his grouch. Which puts it up to me totell him what a human iceberg he's related to. Did I? Honest, there'stimes when I ain't got much use for the truth.

  "Message?" says I, prompt and cheerful. "Now what in blazes was it he didsay to tell you? Something about asking how long before you and Mrs.Cathaway was goin' to run up and make him a visit, I guess."

  "A visit!" gasps Bob. "Did--did DeLancey say that? Then thank Heaven it'sover! Come on! Hurry!" and he grabs me by the arm, tows me to the hotel,and makes a dash up the stairs towards their room.

  "What do you think, Babe?" says he, pantin'. "DeLancey wants to know whenwe're coming back!"

  For a minute Mrs. Bob don't say a word, but just stands there, her handsgripped in Bob's, and the dew startin' out of her eye corners. Then sheasks, sort of husky, "Isn't there a night train, Bob?"

  There wa'n't; but there was one at six-thirty-eight in the mornin'. Weall caught it, too, both of 'em as chipper as a pair of kids, and mewonderin' how it was all goin' to turn out.

  For three days after that I never went to the 'phone without expectin' tohear from Bob Cathaway, expressin' his opinion about my qualificationsfor the Ananias class. And then here the other afternoon I runs intoBrother DeLancey on the avenue, not seein' him quick enough to beat it upa side street.

  "Ah, McCabe," he sings out, "just a moment! That little affair about myBrother Robert, you know."

  "Sure, I know," says I, bracin' myself. "Where is he now?"

  "Why," says DeLancey, with never an eyelash flutterin', "he and his wifeare living at Green Oaks again. Just returned from an extended tripabroad, you know." Then he winks.

  Say, who was it sent out that bulletin about how all men was liars? Iain't puttin' in any not guilty plea; but I'd like to add that some hasgot it down finer than others.