My children, if you fail to shine or triumph in your special line; if, let us say, your hopes are bent on some day being President, and folks ignore your proper worth, and say you've not a chance on earth--Cheer up! for in these stirring days Fame may be won in many ways. Consider, when your spirits fall, the case of Washington McCall.
Yes, cast your eye on Washy, please! He looks just like a piece of cheese: he's not a brilliant sort of chap: he has a dull and vacant map: his eyes are blank, his face is red, his ears stick out beside his head. In fact, to end these compliments, he would be dear at thirty cents. Yet Fame has welcomed to her Hall this self-same Washington McCall.
His mother (nee Miss Cora Bates) is one who frequently orates upon the proper kind of food which every menu should include. With eloquence the world she weans from chops and steaks and pork and beans. Such horrid things she'd like to crush, and make us live on milk and mush. But oh! the thing that makes her sigh is when she sees us eating pie. (We heard her lecture last July upon "The Nation's Menace--Pie.") Alas, the hit it made was small with Master Washington McCall.
For yesterday we took a trip to see the great Pie Championship, where men with bulging cheeks and eyes consume vast quantities of pies. A fashionable West Side crowd beheld the champion, Spike O'Dowd, endeavour to defend his throne against an upstart, Blake's Unknown. He wasn't an Unknown at all. He was young Washington McCall.
We freely own we'd give a leg if we could borrow, steal, or beg the skill old Homer used to show. (He wrote the Iliad, you know.) Old Homer swung a wicked pen, but we are ordinary men, and cannot even start to dream of doing justice to our theme. The subject of that great repast is too magnificent and vast. We can't describe (or even try) the way those rivals wolfed their pie. Enough to say that, when for hours each had extended all his pow'rs, toward the quiet evenfall O'Dowd succumbed to young McCall.
The champion was a willing lad. He gave the public all he had. His was a genuine fighting soul. He'd lots of speed and much control. No yellow streak did he evince. He tackled apple-pie and mince. This was the motto on his shield--"O'Dowds may burst. They never yield." His eyes began to start and roll. He eased his belt another hole. Poor fellow! With a single glance one saw that he had not a chance. A python would have had to crawl and own defeat from young McCall.
At last, long last, the finish came. His features overcast with shame, O'Dowd, who'd faltered once or twice, declined to eat another slice. He tottered off, and kindly men rallied around with oxygen. But Washy, Cora Bates's son, seemed disappointed it was done. He somehow made those present feel he'd barely started on his meal. We ask him, "Aren't you feeling bad?" "Me!" said the lion-hearted lad. "Lead me"--he started for the street--"where I can get a bite to eat!" Oh, what a lesson does it teach to all of us, that splendid speech! How better can the curtain fall on Master Washington McCall!
Mr. McCall read this epic through, then he looked at his son. He firstlooked at him over his glasses, then through his glasses, then over hisglasses again, then through his glasses once more. A curious expressionwas in his eyes. If such a thing had not been so impossible, one wouldhave said that his gaze had in it something of respect, of admiration,even of reverence.
"But how did they find out your name?" he asked, at length.
Mrs. McCall exclaimed impatiently.
"Is THAT all you have to say?"
"No, no, my dear, of course not, quite so. But the point struck me ascurious."
"Wretched boy," cried Mrs. McCall, "were you insane enough to revealyour name?"
Washington wriggled uneasily. Unable to endure the piercing stare ofhis mother, he had withdrawn to the window, and was looking out with hisback turned. But even there he could feel her eyes on the back of hisneck.
"I didn't think it 'ud matter," he mumbled. "A fellow withtortoiseshell-rimmed specs asked me, so I told him. How was I to know--"
His stumbling defence was cut short by the opening of the door.
"Hallo-allo-allo! What ho! What ho!"
Archie was standing in the doorway, beaming ingratiatingly on thefamily.
The apparition of an entire stranger served to divert the lightningof Mrs. McCall's gaze from the unfortunate Washy. Archie, catchingit between the eyes, blinked and held on to the wall. He had begunto regret that he had yielded so weakly to Lucille's entreaty that heshould look in on the McCalls and use the magnetism of his personalityupon them in the hope of inducing them to settle the lawsuit. He wished,too, if the visit had to be paid that he had postponed it till afterlunch, for he was never at his strongest in the morning. But Lucille hadurged him to go now and get it over, and here he was.
"I think," said Mrs. McCall, icily, "that you must have mistaken yourroom."
Archie rallied his shaken forces.
"Oh, no. Rather not. Better introduce myself, what? My name's Moffam,you know. I'm old Brewster's son-in-law, and all that sort of rot, ifyou know what I mean." He gulped and continued. "I've come about thisjolly old lawsuit, don't you know."
Mr. McCall seemed about to speak, but his wife anticipated him.
"Mr. Brewster's attorneys are in communication with ours. We do not wishto discuss the matter."
Archie took an uninvited seat, eyed the Health Bread on the breakfasttable for a moment with frank curiosity, and resumed his discourse.
"No, but I say, you know! I'll tell you what happened. I hate to totterin where I'm not wanted and all that, but my wife made such a pointof it. Rightly or wrongly she regards me as a bit of a hound in thediplomacy line, and she begged me to look you up and see whether wecouldn't do something about settling the jolly old thing. I mean tosay, you know, the old bird--old Brewster, you know--is considerablyperturbed about the affair--hates the thought of being in a posish wherehe has either got to bite his old pal McCall in the neck or be bittenby him--and--well, and so forth, don't you know! How about it?" He brokeoff. "Great Scot! I say, what!"
So engrossed had he been in his appeal that he had not observed thepresence of the pie-eating champion, between whom and himself a largepotted plant intervened. But now Washington, hearing the familiar voice,had moved from the window and was confronting him with an accusingstare.
"HE made me do it!" said Washy, with the stern joy a sixteen-year-oldboy feels when he sees somebody on to whose shoulders he can shifttrouble from his own. "That's the fellow who took me to the place!"
"What are you talking about, Washington?"
"I'm telling you! He got me into the thing."
"Do you mean this--this--" Mrs. McCall shuddered. "Are you referring tothis pie-eating contest?"
"You bet I am!"
"Is this true?" Mrs. McCall glared stonily at Archie, "Was it you wholured my poor boy into that--that--"
"Oh, absolutely. The fact is, don't you know, a dear old pal of minewho runs a tobacco shop on Sixth Avenue was rather in the soup. He hadbacked a chappie against the champion, and the chappie was converted byone of your lectures and swore off pie at the eleventh hour. Dashed hardluck on the poor chap, don't you know! And then I got the idea that ourlittle friend here was the one to step in and save the situash, so Ibroached the matter to him. And I'll tell you one thing," said Archie,handsomely, "I don't know what sort of a capacity the original chappiehad, but I'll bet he wasn't in your son's class. Your son has to be seento be believed! Absolutely! You ought to be proud of him!" He turned infriendly fashion to Washy. "Rummy we should meet again like this! Neverdreamed I should find you here. And, by Jove, it's absolutely marvelloushow fit you look after yesterday. I had a sort of idea you would begroaning on a bed of sickness and all that."
There was a strange gurgling sound in the background. It resembledsomething getting up steam. And this, curiously enough, is preciselywhat it was. The thing that was getting up st
eam was Mr. Lindsay McCall.
The first effect of the Washy revelations on Mr. McCall had been merelyto stun him. It was not until the arrival of Archie that he had hadleisure to think; but since Archie's entrance he had been thinkingrapidly and deeply.
For many years Mr. McCall had been in a state of suppressed revolution.He had smouldered, but had not dared to blaze. But this startlingupheaval of his fellow-sufferer, Washy, had acted upon him like ahigh explosive. There was a strange gleam in his eye, a gleam ofdetermination. He was breathing hard.
"Washy!"
His voice had lost its deprecating mildness. It rang strong and clear.
"Yes, pop?"
"How many pies did you eat yesterday?"
Washy considered.
"A good few."
"How many? Twenty?"
"More than that. I lost count. A good few."
"And you feel as well as ever?"
"I feel fine."
Mr. McCall dropped his glasses. He glowered for a moment at thebreakfast table. His eye took in the Health Bread, the imitationcoffee-pot, the cereal, the nut-butter. Then with a swift movement heseized the cloth, jerked it forcibly, and brought the entire contentsrattling and crashing to the floor.
"Lindsay!"
Mr. McCall met his wife's eye with quiet determination. It was plainthat something had happened in the hinterland of Mr. McCall's soul.
"Cora," he said, resolutely, "I have come to a decision. I've beenletting you run things your own way a little too long in this family.I'm going to assert myself. For one thing, I've had all I want of thisfood-reform foolery. Look at Washy! Yesterday that boy seems to haveconsumed anything from a couple of hundredweight to a ton of pie, andhe has thriven on it! Thriven! I don't want to hurt your feelings, Cora,but Washington and I have drunk our last cup of anti-caffeine! If youcare to go on with the stuff, that's your look-out. But Washy and I arethrough."
He silenced his wife with a masterful gesture and turned to Archie. "Andthere's another thing. I never liked the idea of that lawsuit, but I letyou talk me into it. Now I'm going to do things my way. Mr. Moffam, I'mglad you looked in this morning. I'll do just what you want. Take me toDan Brewster now, and let's call the thing off, and shake hands on it."
"Are you mad, Lindsay?"
It was Cora Bates McCall's last shot. Mr. McCall paid no attention toit. He was shaking hands with Archie.
"I consider you, Mr. Moffam," he said, "the most sensible young man Ihave ever met!"
Archie blushed modestly.
"Awfully good of you, old bean," he said. "I wonder if you'd mindtelling my jolly old father-in-law that? It'll be a bit of news forhim!"