CHAPTER XVII
HOW HERMY PUT IT OVER
What do you know about luck, eh? Say, there was a time when I bankedheavy on such things as four-leaf clovers, and the humpback touch, anddodgin' ladders, and keepin' my fingers crossed after gettin' an X-raystare. The longer I watch the game, though, the less I think of the luckproposition as a chart for explainin' why some gets in on the groundfloor, while others are dropped through the coal chute.
Now look at the latest returns on the career of my old grammar schoolchum, Snick Butters. Maybe you don't remember my mentionin' him before.Yes? No? It don't matter. He's the sporty young gent that's mortgaged hismemorial window to me so many times,--you know, the phony lamp he can dosuch stunts with.
He's a smooth boy, Snick is,--too smooth, I used to tell him,--and alwaysfull of schemes for avoidin' real work. For a year or so past he's heldthe hot air chair on the front end of one of these sightseein' chariots,cheerin' the out of town buyers and wheat belt tourists with the flippestline of skyscraper statistics handed out through any megaphone in town.They tell me that when Snick would fix his fake eye on the sidewalk, androll the good one up at the Metropolitan tower, he'd have his passengersso dizzy they'd grab one another to keep from fallin' off the wagon.
Yes, I always did find Snick's comp'ny entertainin', and if it hadn'tbeen more or less expensive,--a visit always meanin' a touch with him,--Iexpect I'd been better posted on what he was up to. As it is, I ain'tenjoyed the luxury of seein' Snick for a good many months; when here theother afternoon, just as I was thinking of startin' for home, the studiodoor opens, and in blows a couple of gents, one being a stranger, and theother this Mr. Butters.
Now, usually Snick's a fancy dresser, no matter who he owes for it. He'llquit eatin' any time, or do the camel act, or even give up hiscigarettes; but if the gents' furnishing shops are showin' something newin the line of violet socks or alligator skin vests, Snick's got to sportthe first ones sprung on Broadway.
So, seein' him show up with fringes on his cuffs, a pair of runover tanshoes, and wearin' his uniform cap off duty, I can't help feelin' someshocked, or wonderin' how much more'n a five-spot I'll be out by the timehe leaves. It was some relief, though, to see that the glass eye wasstill in place, and know I wouldn't be called on to redeem the ticket onthat, anyway.
"Hello, Snick!" says I. "Glad you came in,--I was just going. Hope youdon't mind my lockin' the safe? No offense, you know."
"Can it, Shorty," says he. "There's no brace coming this time."
"Eh?" says I. "Once more with that last, and say it slower, so I can letit sink in."
"Don't kid," says he. "This is straight business."
"Oh!" says I. "Well, that does sound serious. In that case, who'syour--er----Did he come in with you?"
I thought he did at first; but he seems so little int'rested in eitherSnick or me that I wa'n't sure but he just wandered in because he saw thedoor open. He's a high, well built, fairly good lookin' chap, dressedneat and quiet in black; and if it wa'n't for the sort of aimless,wanderin' look in his eyes, you might have suspected he was somebody inpartic'lar.
"Oh, him!" says Snick, shootin' a careless glance over his shoulder."Yes, of course he's with me. It's him I want to talk to you about."
"Well," says I, "don't he--er----Is it a dummy, or a live one? Got aname, ain't it?"
"Why, sure!" says Snick. "That's Hermy. Hey you, Hermy, shake hands withProfessor McCabe!"
"Howdy," says I, makin' ready to pass the grip. But Hermy ain't in asociable mood, it seems.
"Oh, bother!" says he, lookin' around kind of disgusted and not noticin'the welcomin' hand at all. "I don't want to stay here. I ought to behome, dressing for dinner."
And say, that gives you about as much idea of the way he said it, asyou'd get of an oil paintin' from seein' a blueprint. I can't put in thepettish shoulder wiggle that goes with it, or make my voice behave likehis did. It was the most ladylike voice I ever heard come from aheavyweight; one of these reg'lar "Oh-fudge-Lizzie-I-dropped-my-gum"voices. And him with a chest on him like a swell front mahog'ny bureau!
"Splash!" says I. "You mean, mean thing! So there!"
"Don't mind what he says at all, Shorty," says Snick. "You wait! I'll fixhim!" and with that he walks up to Hermy, shakes his finger under hisnose, and proceeds to lay him out. "Now what did I tell you; eh, Hermy?"says Snick. "One lump of sugar in your tea--no pie--and locked in yourroom at eight-thirty. Oh, I mean it! You're here to behave yourself.Understand? Take your fingers off that necktie! Don't slouch against thewall there, either! You might get your coat dusty. Dress for dinner!Didn't I wait fifteen minutes while you fussed with your hair? And do youthink you're going to go through all that again? You're dressed fordinner, I tell you! But you don't get a bit unless you do as you're told!Hear?"
"Ye-e-es, sir," sniffles Hermy.
Honest, it was a little the oddest exhibition I ever saw. Why, he wouldmake two of Snick, this Hermy would, and he has a pair of shoulders likea truck horse. Don't ever talk to me about chins again, either! Hermy haschin enough for a trust buster; but that's all the good it seems to dohim.
"You ain't cast the hypnotic spell over him, have you, Snick?" says I.
"Hypnotic nothing!" says Snick. "That ain't a man; it's only a musicbox!"
"A which?" says I.
"Barytone," says Snick. "Say, did you ever hear Bonci or Caruso or any ofthat mob warble? No? Well, then I'll have to tell you. Look at Hermythere. Take a good long gaze at him. And--sh-h-h! After he's had one showat the Metropolitan he'll have that whole bunch carryin' spears."
"Is this something you dreamed, Snick," says I, "or is it a sample ofyour megaphone talk?"
"You don't believe it, of course," says he. "That's what I brought him uphere for. Hermy, turn on the Toreador business!"
"Eh?" says I; then I sees Hermy gettin' into position to cut loose. "Backup there! Shut it off! What do I know about judgin' singers on the hoof?Why, he might be all you say, or as bad as I'd be willin' to bet; but Iwouldn't know it. And what odds does it make to me, one way or another?"
"I know, Shorty," says Snick, earnest and pleadin'; "but you're my lasthope. I've simply got to convince you."
"Sorry, Snick," says I; "but this ain't my day for tryin' out barytones.Besides, I got to catch a train."
"All right," says Snick. "Then we'll trot along with you while I tell youabout Hermy. Honest, Shorty, you've got to hear it!"
"If it's as desperate as all that," says I, "spiel away."
And of all the plunges I ever knew Snick Butters to make,--and he sure isthe dead gamest sport I ever ran across,--this one that he owns up totakin' on Hermy had all his past performances put in the piker class.
Accordin' to the way he deals it out, Snick had first discovered Hermyabout a year ago, found him doin' the tray balancin' act in a porcelainlined three-off-and-draw-one parlor down on Seventh-ave. He was doin' itbad, too,--gettin' the orders mixed, and spillin' soup on the customers,and passin' out wrong checks, and havin' the boss worked up to theassassination point.
But Hermy didn't even know enough to be discouraged. He kept right onsingsongin' out his orders down the shaft, as cheerful as you please:"Sausage and mashed, two on the wheats, one piece of punk, and two mince,and let 'em come in a hurry! Silver!" You know how they do it in them C.B. & Q. places? Yes, corned beef and cabbage joints. With sixty orseventy people in a forty by twenty-five room, and the dish washersslammin' crockery regardless, you got to holler out if you want the chefto hear. Hermy wa'n't much on the shout, so he sang his orders. And itwas this that gave Snick his pipedream.
"Now you know I've done more or less tra-la-la-work myself," says he,"and the season I spent on the road as one of the merry villagers with anErminie outfit put me wise to a few things. Course, this open airlecturing has spoiled my pipes for fair; but I've got my ear left,haven't I? And say, Shorty, the minute I heard that voice of Hermy's Iknew he was the goods."
So what does he do but go ba
ck later, after the noon rush was over, andget Hermy to tell him the story of his life. It wa'n't what you'd callthrillin'. All there was to it was that Hermy was a double orphan who'dbeen brought up in Bridgeport, Conn., by an uncle who was a dancin'professor. The only thing that saved Hermy from a bench in the brassworks was his knack for poundin' out twosteps and waltzes on the piano;but at that it seems he was such a soft head he couldn't keep fromwatchin' the girls on the floor and striking wrong notes. Then there wastrouble with uncle. Snick didn't get the full details of the row, or whatbrought it to a head; but anyway Hermy was fired from the academy andfin'lly drifted to New York, where he'd been close up against the breadline ever since.
"And when I found how he just naturally ate up music," says Snick, "andhow he'd had some training in a boy choir, and what a range he had, Isays to him, 'Hermy,' says I, 'you come with me!' First I blows in tengood hard dollars getting a lawyer to draw up a contract. I thought itall out by myself; but I wanted the whereases put in right. And it's apeach. It bound me to find board and lodging and provide clothes andincidentals for Hermy for the period of one year; and in consideration ofwhich, and all that, I am to be the manager and sole businessrepresentative of said Hermy for the term of fifteen years from date,entitled to a fair and equal division of whatsoever profits, salary, oremoluments which may be received by the party of the second part, payableto me, my heirs, or assigns forever. And there I am, Shorty. I've doneit! And I'm going to stay with it!"
"What!" says I. "You don't mean to say you've invested a year's board andlodgin' and expenses in--in that?" and I gazes once more at this hundredand eighty-pound wrist slapper, who is standin' there in front of themirror pattin' down a stray lock.
"That's what I've done," says Snick, shovin' his hands in his pockets andlookin' at the exhibit like he was proud of it.
"But how the--where in blazes did you get it?" says I.
"Squeezed it out," says Snick; "out of myself, too. And you know me. Ialways was as good to myself as other folks would let me. But all thathad to be changed. It come hard, I admit, and it cost more'n I figuredon. Why, some of his voice culture lessons set me back ten a throw. Thinkof that! He's had 'em, though. And me? Well, I've lived on one meal aday. I've done a double trick: on the wagon day times, night cashier in adrug store from nine till two a.m. I've cut out theaters, cigarettes, anddrinks. I've made my old clothes last over, and I've pinched the dimesand nickels so hard my thumbprints would look like treasury dies. Butwe've got the goods, Shorty. Hermy may be the mushiest, sappiest, henbrained specimen of a man you ever saw; but when it comes to being a highclass grand opera barytone, he's the kid! And little Percival here is hismanager and has the power of attorney that will fix him for keeps if Iknow anything!"
"Ye-e-es?" says I. "Reminds me some of the time when you was backin'Doughnut to win the Suburban. Recollect how hard you scraped to get thetwo-fifty you put down on Doughnut at thirty to one, and how hard youbegged me to jump in and pull out a bale of easy money? Let's see; didthe skate finish tenth, or did he fall through the hole in his name?"
"Ah, say!" says Snick. "Don't go digging that up now. That was sport.This is straight business, on the level, and I ain't asking you to put upa cent."
"Well, what then?" says I.
Would you guess it? He wants me to book Hermy for a private exhibitionbefore some of my swell friends! All I've got to do is to persuade someof 'em to give a little musicale, and then spring this nutmeg wonder onthe box holdin' set without warnin'.
"If he was a Russki with long hair," says I, "or even a fiddlin' Czech,they might stand for it; but to ask 'em to listen to a domestic unknownfrom Bridgeport, Conn.----I wouldn't have the nerve, Snick. Why not takehim around to the concert agencies first?"
"Bah!" says Snick. "Haven't we worn out the settees in the agencyoffices? What do they know about good barytone voices? All they judge byis press clippings and lists of past engagements. Now, your people wouldknow. He'd have 'em going in two minutes, and they'd spread the newsafterwards. Then we'd have the agents coming to us. See?"
Course I couldn't help gettin' int'rested in this long shot of Snick's,even if I don't take any stock in his judgment; but I tries to explainthat while I mix more or less with classy folks, I don't exactly keeptheir datebooks for 'em, or provide talent for their after dinnerstunts.
That don't head off Snick, though. He says I'm the only link between himand the set he wants to reach, and he just can't take no for an answer.He says he'll depend on me for a date for next Wednesday night.
"Why Wednesday?" says I. "Wouldn't Thursday or Friday do as well?"
"No," says he. "That's Frenchy's only night off from the cafe, and it'shis dress suit Hermy's got to wear. It'll be some tight across the back;but it's the biggest one I can get the loan of without paying rent."
Well, I tells Snick I'll see what can be done, and when I gets home Iputs the problem up to Sadie. Maybe if she'd had a look at Hermy she'dtaken more interest; but as it is she says she don't see how I can affordto run the chances of handin' out a lemon, even if there was an op'nin'.Then again, so many of our friends were at Palm Beach just now, and thosewho'd come back were so busy givin' Lent bridge parties, that the chancesof workin' in a dark horse barytone was mighty slim. She'd think it over,though, and see if maybe something can't be done.
So that's the best I can give Snick when he shows up in the mornin', andit was the same every day that week. I was kind of sorry for Snick, andwas almost on the point of luggin' him and his discovery out to the houseand askin' in a few of the neighbors, when Sadie tells me that thePurdy-Pells are back from Florida and are goin' to open their town housewith some kind of happy jinks Wednesday night, and that we're invited.
Course, that knocks out my scheme. I'd passed the sad news on to Snick;and it was near noon Wednesday, when I'm called up on the 'phone bySadie. Seems that Mrs. Purdy-Pell had signed a lady harpist and a refinedmonologue artist to fill in the gap between coffee and bridge, and thelady harper had scratched her entry on account of a bad case of grip. Socouldn't I find my friend Mr. Butters and get him to produce his singer?The case had been stated to Mrs. Purdy-Pell, and she was willin' to takethe risk.
"All right," says I. "But it's all up to her, don't you forget."
With that I chases down to Madison Square, catches Snick just startin'out with a load of neck stretchers, gives him the number, and tells himto show up prompt at nine-thirty. And I wish you could have seen the joythat spread over his homely face. Even the store eye seemed to besparklin' brighter'n ever.
Was he there? Why, as we goes in to dinner at eight o'clock, I catchessight of him and Hermy holdin' down chairs in the reception room. Well,you know how they pull off them affairs. After they've stowed away abouteleventeen courses, from grapefruit and sherry to demitasse andbenedictine, them that can leave the table without wheel chairs wandersout into the front rooms, and the men light up fresh perfectos and huntfor the smokin' den, and the women get together in bunches and exchangepolite knocks. And in the midst of all that some one drifts casually upto the concert grand and cuts loose. That was about the programme in thiscase.
Hermy was all primed for his cue, and when Mrs. Purdy-Pell gives the nodI sees Snick push him through the door, and in another minute the thingis on. The waiter's uniform was a tight fit, all right; for it stretchesacross his shoulders like a drumhead. And the shirt studs wa'n't mates,and the collar was one of them saw edged laundry veterans. But thegeneral effect was good, and Hermy don't seem to mind them trifles atall. He stands up there lookin' big and handsome, simpers and smilesaround the room a few times, giggles a few at the young lady who'dvolunteered to do the ivory punishing, and then fin'lly he gets under waywith the Toreador song.
As I say, when it comes to gems from Carmen, I'm no judge; but this stabof Hermy's strikes me from the start as a mighty good attempt. He makes asmooth, easy get-away, and he strikes a swingin', steady gait at thequarter, and when he comes to puttin' over the deep, rollin' chest notesI has
feelin's down under the first dinner layer like I'd swallowed asmall thunder storm. Honest, when he fairly got down to business andhittin' it up in earnest, he had me on my toes, and by the look onSadie's face I knew that our friend Hermy was going some.
But was all the others standin' around with their mouths open, drinkin'it in? Anything but! You see, some late comers had arrived, and they'dbrought bulletins of something rich and juicy that had just happened inthe alimony crowd,--I expect the event will figure on the court calendarslater,--and they're so busy passin' on the details to willin' ears, thatHermy wa'n't disturbin' 'em at all. As a matter of fact, not one in tenof the bunch knew whether he was makin' a noise like a bullfighter or aline-up man.
I can't help takin' a squint around at Snick, who's peekin' in throughthe draperies. And say, he's all but tearin' his hair. It was tough, whenyou come to think of it. Here he'd put his whole stack of blues on thisperformance, and the audience wa'n't payin' any more attention to it thanto the rattle of cabs on the avenue.
Hermy has most got to the final spasm, and it's about all over, when, asa last straw, some sort of disturbance breaks out in the front hall.First off I thought it must be Snick Butters throwin' a fit; but then Ihears a voice that ain't his, and as I glances out I sees the Purdy-Pellbutler havin' a rough house argument with a black whiskered gent inevenin' clothes and a Paris model silk lid. Course, everyone hears therumpus, and there's a grand rush, some to get away, and others to seewhat's doin'.
"Let me in! I demand entrance! It must be!" howls the gent, while thebutler tries to tell him he's got to give up his card first.
And next thing I know Snick has lit on the butler's back to pull him off,and the three are havin' a fine mix-up, when Mr. Purdy-Pell comes boltin'out, and I've just offered to bounce any of 'em that he'll point out,when all of a sudden he recognizes the party behind the brunettelambrequins.
"Why--why," says he, "what does this mean, Mr. ----"
"Pardon," says the gent, puffin' and pushin' to the front. "I intrude,yes? A thousand pardons. But I will explain. Next door I am dining--thereis a window open--I hear that wonderful voice. Ah! that marvelous voice!Of what is the name of this artist? Yes? I demand! I implore! Ah, I mustknow instantly, sir!"
Well, you know who it was. There's only one grand opera Napoleon withblack whiskers who does things in that way, and makes good every trip.It's him, all right. And if he don't know a barytone voice, who does?
Inside of four minutes him and Hermy and Snick was bunched around thelibr'y table, chewin' over the terms of the contract, and next seasonyou'll read the name of a new soloist in letters four foot high.
Say, I was up to see Mr. Butters in his new suite of rooms at the St.Swithin, where it never rains but it pours. He'd held out for a bigadvance, and he'd got it. Also he'd invested part of it in some of thegiddiest raiment them theatrical clothing houses can supply. While amanicure was busy puttin' a gloss finish on his nails, he has hisMongolian valet display the rest of his wardrobe, as far as he'd laid itin.
"Did I get let in wrong on the Hermy proposition, eh?" says he. "Howabout stayin' with your luck till it turns? Any reminder of the Doughnutincident in this? What?"
Do I debate the subject? Not me! I just slaps Snick on the back andwishes him joy. If he wants to credit it all up to a rabbit's foot, or aclover leaf, I'm willin' to let him. But say, from where I stand, itlooks to me as if nerve and grit played some part in it.