III
Bob went on to Los Angeles with the sprightly Baker. At first glance thecity seemed to him like any other. Then, as he wandered its streets, themarvel and vigour and humour of the place seized on him.
"Don't you suppose I see the joke?" complained Baker at the end of oneof their long trolley rides. "Just get onto that house; it looks like amission-style switch engine. And the one next to it, built to shed snow.Funny! sure it's funny. But you ain't talking to me! It's alive! Thosefellows wanted something different from anybody else--so does everybody.After they'd used up the regular styles, they had to make 'em up out ofthe fresh air. But anyway, they weren't satisfied just to copy SiGolosh's idea of a Noah's Ark chicken coop."
They stopped opposite very elaborate and impressive iron gates openingacross a graded street. These gates were supported by a pair of stonetowers crowned with tiles. A smaller pair of towers and gates guardedthe concrete sidewalk. As a matter of fact, all these barriers enclosednothing, for even in the remote possibility that the inquiring visitorshould find them shut, an insignificant detour would circumvent theirfenceless flanks.
"Maudsley Court," Bob read sculptured on one of the towers.
"That makes this particular subdivision mighty exclusive," grinnedBaker. "Now if you were a homeseeker wouldn't you love to bring yourdinner pail back to the cawstle every night?"
Bob peered down the single street. It was graded, guttered andsidewalked. A small sentry box labelled "office," and inscribed withglowing eulogiums, occupied a strategic position near the gates. Fromthis house Bob immediately became aware of close scrutiny by a man halfconcealed by the indoor dimness.
"The spider," said Baker. "He's onto us big as a house. He can spot ayap at four hundred yards' range, and you bet they don't get much nearerthan that alone."
A huge sign shrieked of Maudsley Court. "Get a grin!" was its firstadvice.
"They all try for a catchword--every one of 'em," explained Baker."You'll see all kinds in the ads; some pretty good, most of 'em rotten."
"They seem to have made a start, anyway," observed Bob, indicating a newcottage half way down the street. It was a super-artistic structure,exhibiting the ends of huge brown beams at all points. Baker laughed.
"That's what it's intended to seem," said he. "That's the come-on house.It's built by the spider. It's stick-um for the flies. 'This is going tobe a high-brow proposition,' says the intending purchaser; 'look at thebeautiful house already up. I must join this young and thriving colony.'Hence this settled look."
He waved his hand abroad. Dotted over the low, rounded hills of thecharming landscapes were new and modern bungalows. They were spacedwidely, and each was flanked by an advertising board and guarded by apair of gates shutting their private thoroughfares from the countryhighways. Between them showed green the new crops.
"Nine out of ten come-on houses," said Baker, "and all exclusive. If youcan't afford iron gates, you can at least put up a pair of shingledpillars. It's the game."
"Will these lots ever be sold?" asked Bob.
"Out here, yes," replied Baker. "That's part of the joke. The methodsare on the blink, but the goods insist on delivering themselves. Most ofthese fellows are just bunks or optimists. All hands are surprised whenthings turn out right. But if _all_ the lots are ever sold, Los Angeleswill have a population of five million."
They boarded an inward-bound trolley. Bob read the devices as theyflashed past. "Hill-top Acres," he read near a street plastered againstan apparently perpendicular hill. "Buy before the rise!" advised thisman's rival at its foot. The true suburbs strung by in a panorama ofstrange little houses--imitation Swiss chalets jostling bastard Moorish,cobblestones elbowing plaster--a bewildering succession of forcedeffects. Baker caught Bob's expression.
"These are workingmen's and small clerks' houses," he said quietly."Pretty bad, eh? But they're trying. Remember what they lived in backEast."
Bob recalled the square, painted, ugly, featureless boxes built allafter the same pattern of dreariness. He looked on this gay bewildermentof bad taste with more interest.
"At least they're taking notice," said Baker, lighting his pipe. "Andevery fellow raises _some_ kind of posies."
A few moments later they plunged into the vortex of the city and thesmiling country, the far plains toward the sea, and the circle of themountains were lost. Only remained overhead the blue of the Californiasky.
Baker led the way toward a blaring basement restaurant.
"I'm beginning to feel that I'll have to find some monkey-foodsomewhere, or cash in," said he.
They found a table and sat down.
"This is the place to see all the sights," proffered Baker, his broadface radiating satisfaction. "When they strike it rich on the desert,they hike right in here. That fat lady thug yonder is worth betweenthree and four millions. Eight months ago she did washing at two bits ashirt while her husband drove a one-man prospect shaft. The other dayshe blew into the big jewelry store and wanted a thirty-thousand-dollardiamond necklace. The boss rolled over twice and wagged his tail. 'Yes,madam,' said he; 'what kind?' 'I dunno; just a thirty-thousand-dollarone.' That's all he could get out of her. 'But tell me how you want 'emset,' he begged. She looked bewildered. _'Oh, set 'em so they'lljingle,'_ says she."
After the meal they walked down the principal streets, watching thecrowd. It was a large crowd, as though at busy midday, and variouslyapparelled, from fur coat to straw hat. Each extreme of costume seemedjustified, either by the balmy summer-night effect of the Californiaopen air, or by the hint of chill that crept from the distant mountains.Either aspect could be welcomed or ignored by a very slight effort ofthe will. Electric signs blazed everywhere. Bob was struck by thenumbers of clairvoyants, palm readers, Hindu frauds, crazy cults, fakehealers, Chinese doctors, and the like thus lavishly advertised. Theclass that elsewhere is pressed by necessity to the inexpensivedinginess of back streets, here blossomed forth in truly tropicalluxuriance. Street vendors with all sorts of things, from mechanicaltoys to spot eradicators, spread their portable lay-outs at everycorner. Vacant lots were crowded with spielers of all sorts--religiousor political fanatics, vendors of cure-alls, of universal tools, ofmarvelous axle grease, of anything and everything to catch the idledollar. Brilliantly lighted shops called the passer-by to contemplatethe latest wavemotor, flying machine, door check, or what-not. Stock inthese enterprises was for sale--and was being sold! Other sidewalkbooths, like those ordinarily used as dispensaries of hot doughnuts andcoffee, offered wild-cat mining shares, oil stock and real estate insome highly speculative suburb. Great stores of curios lay open to thetourist trade. Here one could buy sheepskin Indian moccasins made inMassachusetts, or abalone shells, or burnt-leather pillows, or a wholecollection of photographic views so minute that they could all be packedin a single walnut shell. Next door were shops of Japanese and Chinesegoods presided over by suave, sleepy-eyed Orientals, in wonderfulbrocade, wearing the close cap with the red coral button atop. Shootinggalleries spit spitefully. Gasolene torches flared.
Baker strolled along, his hands in his pockets, his hat on the back ofhis head. From time to time he cast an amused glance at his companion.
"Come in here," he said abruptly.
Bob found himself comfortably seated in a commodious open-air theatre,watching an excellent vaudeville performance. He enjoyed it thoroughly,for it was above the average. In fifteen minutes, however, the lastsoubrette disappeared in the wings to the accompaniment of a swirl ofmusic. Her place was taken by a tall, facetious-looking, baldindividual, clad in a loose frock coat. He held up his hand for silence.
"Ladies 'n' gentlemen," he drawled, "we hope you have enjoyedyourselves. If you find a better show than this in any theatre in town,barring the Orpheum, come and tell us about it and we will see what wecan do to brace ours up. I don't believe you can. This show will berepeated every afternoon and evening, with complete change of programmetwice a week. Go away and tell your friends about the great free showdown on Spring
Street. Just tell them about it."
Bob glanced startled at his companion. Baker was grinning.
"This show has cost us up to date," went on the leisurely drawl, "justtwenty-eight hundred dollars. Go and tell your friends that. _But_"--hesuddenly straightened his figure and his voice became moreincisive--"that is not enough. We have decided to give you something_real_ to talk about. We have decided to give every man, woman and childin this vast audience a first-night present of Two Silver Dollars!"
Bob could feel an electric thrill run through the crowd, and every onesat up a little straighter in his chair.
"Let me see," the orator went on, running his eye over the audience. Hehad resumed his quieter manner. "There are perhaps seven hundred peoplepresent. That would make fourteen hundred dollars. By the way, John,"he addressed some one briskly. "Close the gates and lock them. We don'twant anybody in on this who didn't have interest enough in our show tocome in the first place." He winked humorously at the crowd, and severallaughed.
"Pretty rotten, eh?" whispered Baker admiringly. "Fixed 'em so theywon't bolt when the show's over and before he works off his dope."
"These Two Silver Dollars, which I want you all to get, are in thesehampers. Six little boys will distribute them. Come up, boys, and geteach a hatful of dollars." The six solemnly marched up on the stage andbusied themselves with the hampers. "While we are waiting," went on theorator, "I will seize the opportunity to present to you the world-fameddiscoverer of that wonderful anaesthetic, Oxodyne, Painless Porter."
At the words a dapper little man in immaculately correct evening dress,and carrying a crush hat under his arm, stepped briskly from the wings.He was greeted by wild but presumably manufactured applause. He bowedrigidly from the hips, and at once began to speak in a high and nasalbut extremely penetrating voice.
"As far as advertising is concerned," he began without preamble, "it isentirely unnecessary that I give this show. There is no man, woman orchild in this marvellous commonwealth of ours who is not familiar withthe name of Painless Porter, whether from the daily papers, theadvertising boards, the street cars, or the elegant red brougham inwhich I traverse your streets. My work for you is my best advertisement.It is unnecessary from that point of view that I spend this money forthis show, or that this extra money should be distributed among you bymy colleague, Wizard Walker, the Medical Marvel of Modern Times."
The tall man paused from his business with the hampers and the six boysto bow in acknowledgment.
"No, ladies 'n' gentlemen, my purpose is higher. In the breast of eachhuman being is implanted an instinctive fear of Pain. It sits on us likea nightmare, from the time we first come to consciousness of oursurroundings. It is a curse of humanity, like drink, and he who canlighten that curse is as much of a philanthropist as George W. Childs orAndrew Carnegie. I want you to go away and talk about me. It don'tmatter what you say, just so you say something. You can call me quack,you may call me fakir, you may call me charlatan--but be sure to call meSOMETHING! Then slowly the news will spread abroad that Pain isbanished, and I can smile in peace, knowing that my vast expenditures oftime and money have not been in vain, and that I have been a benefit tohumanity. Wizard Walker, the Medical Marvel of Modern Times, will nowattend to the distribution, after which I will pull a few teeth gratisin order to demonstrate to you the wonderful merits of Oxodyne."
"A dentist!" gasped Bob.
"Yup," said Baker. "Not much gasoline-torch-on-the-back-lot in his, isthere?"
Bob was hardly surprised, after much preamble and heightening ofsuspense, to find that the Two Silver Dollars turned out finally to be apink ticket and a blue ticket, "good respectively at the luxuriousoffices for one dollar's worth of dental and medical attention FREE."
Nor was he more than slightly astounded when the back drop rose to showthe stage set glitteringly with nickel-mounted dentist chairs and theirappurtenances, with shining glass, white linen, and with a chorus offascinating damsels dressed as trained nurses and standing rigidly atattention. Then entered Painless himself, in snowy shirt-sleeves andserious professional preoccupation. Volunteers came up two by two.Painless explained obscurely the scientific principles on which themarvelous Oxodyne worked--by severing temporarily but entirely allcommunication between the nerves and the brain. Then much business witha very glittering syringe.
"My lord," chuckled Baker, "if he fills that thing up, it'll drownher!"
In an impressive silence Painless flourished the forceps, plantedhimself square in front of his patient, heaved a moment, andtriumphantly held up in full view an undoubted tooth. The trained nursesoffered rinses. After a moment the patient, a roughly dressed countrywoman, arose to her feet. She was smiling broadly, and said something,which the audience could not hear. Painless smiled indulgently.
"Speak up so they can all hear you," he encouraged her.
"Never hurt a bit," the woman stammered.
Three more operations were conducted as expeditiously and assuccessfully. The audience was evidently impressed.
"How does he do it?" whispered Bob.
"Cappers," explained Baker briefly. "He only fakes pulling a tooth.Watch him next time and you'll see that he doesn't actually pull anounce."
"Suppose a real toothache comes up?"
"I think that is one now. Watch him."
A young ranchman was making his way up the steps that led to the stage.His skin was tanned by long exposure to the California sun, and hischeek rounded into an unmistakable swelling.
"No fake about him," commented Baker.
He seated himself in the chair. Painless examined his jaw carefully. Hestarted back, both hands spread in expostulation.
"My _dear_ friend!" he cried, "you can save that tooth! It would be acrime to pull that tooth! Come to my office at ten to-morrow morning andI will see what can be done." He turned to the audience and for tenminutes expounded the doctrine of modern dentistry as it stands forsaving a tooth whenever possible. Incidentally he had much to say as tohis skill in filling and bridge work and the marvellous painlessnessthereof. The meeting broke up finally to the inspiring strains of areally good band. Bob and his friend, standing near the door, watchedthe audience file out. Some threw away their pink and blue tickets, butmost stowed them carefully away.
"And every one that goes to the 'luxurious offices' for the freedollar's worth will leave ten round iron ones," said Baker.
After a moment the Painless One and the Wizard marched smartly out,serenely oblivious of the crowd. They stepped into a resplendent redbrougham and were whisked rapidly away.
"It pays to advertise," quoted Baker philosophically.
They moved on up the street.
"There's the inventor of the Unlimited Life," said Baker suddenly,indicating a slender figure approaching. "I haven't seen him in threeyears--not since he got into this graft, anyway."
"Unlimited Life," echoed Bob, "what's that? A medicine?"
"No. A cult. Hullo, Sunny!"
The approaching figure swerved and stopped. Bob saw a very slenderfigure clad in a close-fitting, gray frock suit. To his surprise, frombeneath the wide, black felt hat there peered at him the keenly nervousface of the more intelligent mulatto. The man's eyes were very brightand shrewd. His hair surrounded his face as an aureole of darkness, andswept low to his coat collar.
"Mr. Baker," he said, simply, his eyes inscrutable.
"Well, Sunny, this is my old friend Bob Orde. Bob, this is theworld-famous Sunny Larue, apostle of the Unlimited Life of whom you'veheard so much." He winked at Bob. "How's the Colony flourishing, Sunny?"
"More and more our people are growing to see the light," said themulatto in low, musical tones. "The mighty but simple principles ofAzamud are coming into their own. The poor and lowly, the humble andoppressed are learning that in me is their salvation--." He went on inhis beautiful voice explaining the Colony of the Unlimited Life,addressing always Bob directly and paying little attention to Baker, whostood aside, his hands in his pockets, a smile on
his fat, good-naturedface. It seemed that the Colony lived in tents in a canon of thefoothills. It paid Larue fifty dollars a head, and in return wassupported for six months and instructed in the mysteries of the cult. Ithad its regimen. "At three we arise and break our fast, quite simply,with three or four dry prunes," breathed Larue, "and then, going forthto the high places for one hour, we hold steadfast the thought of Love."
"Say, Sunny," broke in Baker, "how many you got rounded up now?"
"There are at present twenty-one earnest proselytes."
"At fifty a head--and you've got to feed and keep 'em somehow--eventhree dried prunes cost you something in the long run"--ruminated Baker.He turned briskly to the mulatto: "Sunny, on the dead, where does thegraft come in?"
The mulatto drew himself up in swift offence, scrutinized Bob closelyfor a moment, met Baker's grin. Abruptly his impressive manner droppedfrom him. He leaned toward them with a captivating flash of white teeth.
"_You just leave that to me_," he murmured, and glided away into thecrowd.
Baker laughed and drew Bob's arm within his own.
"Out of twenty of the faithful there's sure to be one or two with lifesavings stowed away in a sock, and Sunny's the boy to make them producethe sock."
"What's his cult, anyway?" asked Bob. "I mean, what do they pretend tobelieve? I couldn't make out."
"A nigger's idea of Buddhism," replied Baker briefly. "But you can getany brand of psychic damfoolishness you think you need in your business.They do it all, here, from going barefoot, eating nuts, swilling oliveoil, rolling down hill, adoring the Limitless Whichness, and all theworks. It is now," he concluded, looking at his watch, "about teno'clock. We will finish the evening by dropping in on the Fuzzies."
Together they boarded a street car, which shortly deposited them at anuptown corner. Large houses and spacious grounds indicated a district ofsome wealth. To one of these houses, brilliantly lighted, Baker directedhis steps.
"But I don't know these people, and I'm not properly dressed," objectedBob.
"They know me. And as for dress, if you'd arrange to wear a chastefeather duster only, you'd make a hit."
A roomful of people were buzzing like a hive. Most were in conventionalevening dress. Here and there, however, Bob caught hints of masculinelong hair, of feminine psyche knots, bandeaux and other extremelyartistic but unusual departures. One man with his dinner jacket wore asoft linen shirt perforated by a Mexican drawn-work pattern beneathwhich glowed a bright red silk undergarment. Women's gowns on theflowing and Grecian order were not uncommon. These were usually coupledwith the incongruity of parted hair brought low and madonna-wise overthe ears. As the two entered, a very powerful blond man was justfinishing the declamation of a French poem. He was addressing itdirectly at two women seated on a sofa.
"_Un r-r-reve d'amour!_"
He concluded with much passion and clasped hands.
In the rustle ensuing after this effort, Baker led his friend down theroom to a very fat woman upholstered in pink satin, to whom heintroduced Bob. Mrs. Annis, for such proved to be her name, welcomed himeffusively.
"I've heard so much about you!" she cried vivaciously, to Bob's vastastonishment. She tapped him on the arm with her fan. "I'm going to makea confession to you; I know it may be foolish, but I do like music somuch better than I do pictures."
Bob, his brain whirling, muttered something.
"But I'm going to confess to you again, I like artists so much betterthan I do musicians."
A light dawned on Bob. "But I'm not an artist nor a musician," heblurted out.
The pink-upholstered lady, starting back with an agility remarkable inone of her size, clasped her hands.
"Don't _tell_ me you write!" she cried dramatically.
"All right, I won't," protested poor Bob, "for I don't."
A slow expression of bewilderment overspread Mrs. Annis's face, and sheglanced toward Baker with an arched brow of interrogation.
"I merely wanted Mr. Orde to meet you, Mrs. Annis," he saidimpressively, "and to feel that another time, when he is less exhaustedby the strain of a long day, he may have the privilege of explaining toyou the details of the great Psychic Movement he is inaugurating."
Mrs. Annis smiled on him graciously. "I am home every Sunday to my_intimes_," she murmured. "I should be so pleased."
Bob bowed mechanically.
"You infernal idiot!" he ground out savagely to Baker, as they movedaway. "What do you mean? I'll punch your fool head when I get you out ofhere!"
But the plump young man merely smiled.
Halfway down the room a group of attractive-looking young men hailedthem.
"Join in, Baker," said they. "Bring your friend along. We're just goingto raid the commissary."
But Baker shook his head.
"I'm showing him life," he replied. "None but Fuzzies in his to-night!"
He grasped Bob firmly by the arm and led him away.
"That," he said, indicating a very pale young man, surrounded by women,"is Pickering, the celebrated submarine painter."
"The what?" demanded Bob.
"Submarine painter. He paints fish and green water and lobsters, and thebottom of the sea generally. He paints them on the skins of kind-facedlittle calves."
"What does he do that for?"
"He says it's the only surface that will express what he wants to. Hehas also invented a waterproof paint that he can use under water. He hasa coral throne down on the bottom which he sits in, and paints as longas he can hold his breath."
"Oh, he does!" said Bob.
"Yes," said Baker.
"But a man can't see three feet in front of his face under water!" criedBob.
"Pickering says he can. He paints submarinescapes, and knows all thefishes. He says fishes have individual expressions. He claims he cantell by a fish's expression whether he is polygamous or monogamous."
"Do you mean to tell me anybody swallows that rot!" demanded Bobindignantly.
"The women do--and a lot more I can't remember. The market forcalf-skins with green swirls on them is booming. Also the women clubbedtogether and gave him money enough to build a house."
Bob surveyed the little white-faced man with a strong expression ofdisgust.
"The natural man never sits in chairs," the artist was expounding. "Whenhumanity shall have come into its own we shall assume the graceful andhygienic postures of the oriental peoples. In society one must, to acertain extent, follow convention, but in my own house, the HouseBeautiful of my dreams, are no chairs. And even now a small group of thefreer spirits are following my example. In time----"
"If you don't take me away, I'll run in circles!" whispered Bob fiercelyto his friend.
They escaped into the open air.
"Phew!" said Bob, straightening his long form. "Is that what you callthe good society here?"
"Good society is there," amended Baker. "That's the joke. There are lotsof nice people in this little old town, people who lisp our languagefluently. They are all mixed in with the Fuzzies."
They decided to walk home. Bob marvelled at the impressive andsubstantial buildings, at the atrocious streets. He spoke of thebeautiful method of illuminating one of the thoroughfares--by globes oflight gracefully supported in clusters on branched arms either side theroadway.
"They were originally bronze--and they went and painted them a mail-boxgreen," commented Baker drily.
At the hotel the night clerk, a young man, quietly dressed and with anengaging air, greeted them with just the right amount of cordiality ashe handed them their keys. Bob paused to look about him.
"This is a good hotel," he remarked.
"It's one of the best-managed, the best-conducted, and thebest-appointed hotels in the United States," said Baker with conviction.
The next morning Bob bought all the papers and glanced through them withconsiderable wonder and amusement. They were decidedly metropolitan insize, and carried a tremendous amount of advertising. Early in hisperusal he caug
ht the personal bias of the news. Without distortion tothe point of literal inaccuracy, nevertheless by skilful use ofheadlines and by manipulation of the point of view, all items were madeto subserve a purpose. In local affairs the most vulgar nicknaming, themost savage irony, vituperation, scorn and contempt were poured out fullmeasure on certain individuals unpopular with the papers. Such epithetsas "lickspittle," "toad," "carcass blown with the putrefying gas of itsown importance," were read in the body of narration.
"These are the best-edited, most influential and powerful journals inthe West," commented Baker. "They possess an influence inconceivable toan Easterner."
The advertising columns were filled to bursting with advertisements ofpatent medicines, sex remedies, quack doctors, miraculous healers,clairvoyants, palm readers, "philanthropists" with something "free" tobestow, cleverly worded offers of abortion; with full-page prospectusesof mines; of mushroom industrial concerns having to do with wave motors,water motors, solar motors, patent couplers, improved telephones and thelike, all of whose stock now stood at $1.10, but which on April 10th, at8.02 P.M., would go up to $1.15; with blaring, shrieking offers of realestate in this, that or the other addition, consisting, as Bob knew fromyesterday, of farm acreage at front-foot figures. The proportion of thisfake advertising was astounding. One in particular seemed incredible--afull page of the exponent of some Oriental method of healing andprophecy.
"Of course, a full-page costs money," replied Baker. "But this is theplace to get it." He pushed back his chair. "Well, what do you think ofour fair young city?" he grinned.
"It's got me going," admitted Bob.
"Took me some time to find out where to get off at," said Baker. "When Ifound it out, I didn't dare tell anybody. They mob you here and stringyou up by your pigtail, if you try to hint that this isn't the one bestbet on terrestrial habitations. They like their little place, and theybelieve in it a whole lot, and they're dead right about it! They'd standright up on their hind legs and paw the atmosphere if anybody were totell them what they really are, but it's a fact. Same joyous slambang,same line of sharps hanging on the outskirts, same row, racket, and joyin life, same struggle; yes, and by golly! the same big hopes and bigenterprises and big optimism and big energies! Wouldn't you like to behelping them do it?"
"What's the answer?" asked Bob, amused.
"Well, for all its big buildings and its electric lights, and trolleys,and police and size, it's nothing more nor less than a frontier town."
"A frontier town!" echoed Bob.
"You think it over," said Baker.