CHAPTER XIX
IN PLEASANT STREET
Careful inquiries, conducted incognito by Master Maloney among thedenizens of Pleasant Street, brought the information that rents inthe tenements were collected not weekly but monthly, a fact whichmust undoubtedly cause a troublesome hitch in the campaign.Rent-day, announced Pugsy, fell on the last day of the month.
"I rubbered around," he said, "and did de sleut' act, and I findst'ings out. Dere's a feller comes round 'bout supper time dat day,an' den it's up to de fam'lies what lives in de tenements to digdown into deir jeans fer de stuff, or out dey goes dat same night."
"Evidently a hustler, our nameless friend," said Psmith.
"I got dat from a kid what knows anuder kid what lives dere,"explained Master Maloney. "Say," he proceeded confidentially, "datkid's in bad, sure he is. Dat second kid, de one what lives dere.He's a wop kid, an--"
"A what, Comrade Maloney?"
"A wop. A Dago. Why, don't you get next? Why, an Italian. Sure,dat's right. Well, dis kid, he is sure to de bad, 'cos his fathercome over from Italy to work on de Subway."
"I don't see why that puts him in bad," said Billy Windsorwonderingly.
"Nor I," agreed Psmith. "Your narratives, Comrade Maloney, alwaysseem to me to suffer from a certain lack of construction. You startat the end, and then you go back to any portion of the story whichhappens to appeal to you at the moment, eventually winding up atthe beginning. Why should the fact that this stripling's fatherhas come over from Italy to work on the Subway be a misfortune?"
"Why, sure, because he got fired an' went an' swatted de foremanone on de coco, an' de magistrate gives him t'oity days."
"And then, Comrade Maloney? This thing is beginning to get clearer.You are like Sherlock Holmes. After you've explained a thing fromstart to finish--or, as you prefer to do, from finish to start--itbecomes quite simple."
"Why, den dis kid's in bad for fair, 'cos der ain't nobody topungle de bones."
"Pungle de what, Comrade Maloney?"
"De bones. De stuff. Dat's right. De dollars. He's all alone, diskid, so when de rent-guy blows in, who's to slip him over desimoleons? It'll be outside for his, quick."
Billy warmed up at this tale of distress in his usual way."Somebody ought to do something. It's a vile shame the kid beingturned out like that."
"We will see to it, Comrade Windsor. _Cosy Moments_ shall step in. Wewill combine business with pleasure, paying the stripling's rentand corralling the rent-collector at the same time. What is today?How long before the end of the month? Another week! A murrain onit, Comrade Windsor. Two murrains. This delay may undo us."
But the days went by without any further movement on the part ofthe enemy. A strange quiet seemed to be brooding over the othercamp. As a matter of fact, the sudden outbreak of activehostilities with the Table Hill contingent had had the effect oftaking the minds of Spider Reilly and his warriors off _Cosy Moments_and its affairs, much as the unexpected appearance of a mad bullwould make a man forget that he had come out butterfly-hunting.Psmith and Billy could wait; they were not likely to take theoffensive; but the Table Hillites demanded instant attention.
War had broken out, as was usual between the gangs, in a somewhattentative fashion at first sight. There had been sniping andskirmishes by the wayside, but as yet no pitched battle. The twoarmies were sparring for an opening.
* * *
The end of the week arrived, and Psmith and Billy, conducted byMaster Maloney, made their way to Pleasant Street. To get there itwas necessary to pass through a section of the enemy's country; butthe perilous passage was safely negotiated. The expedition reachedits unsavoury goal intact.
The wop kid, whose name, it appeared, was Giuseppe Orloni,inhabited a small room at the very top of the building next to theone Psmith and Mike had visited on their first appearance inPleasant Street. He was out when the party, led by Pugsy up darkstairs, arrived; and, on returning, seemed both surprised andalarmed to see visitors. Pugsy undertook to do the honours. Pugsyas interpreter was energetic but not wholly successful. He appearedto have a fixed idea that the Italian language was one easilymastered by the simple method of saying "da" instead of "the," andtacking on a final "a" to any word that seemed to him to need one.
"Say, kid," he began, "has da rent-a-man come yet-a?"
The black eyes of the wop kid clouded. He gesticulated, and saidsomething in his native language.
"He hasn't got next," reported Master Maloney. "He can't git on tome curves. Dese wop kids is all boneheads. Say, kid, look-a here."He walked out of the room and closed the door; then, rapping on itsmartly from the outside, re-entered and, assuming a look ofextreme ferocity, stretched out his hand and thundered: "Unbelt-a!Slip-a me da stuff!"
The wop kid's puzzlement became pathetic.
"This," said Psmith, deeply interested, "is getting about as tenseas anything I ever struck. Don't give in, Comrade Maloney. Whoknows but that you may yet win through? I fancy the trouble is thatyour too perfect Italian accent is making the youth home-sick. Oncemore to the breach, Comrade Maloney."
Master Maloney made a gesture of disgust. "I'm t'roo. Dese Dagoesmakes me tired. Dey don't know enough to go upstairs to take deElevated. Beat it, you mutt," he observed with moody displeasureto the wop kid, accompanying the words with a gesture whichconveyed its own meaning. The wop kid, plainly glad to get away,slipped out of the door like a shadow.
Pugsy shrugged his shoulders.
"Gents," he said resignedly, "it's up to youse."
"I fancy," said Psmith, "that this is one of those moments when itis necessary for me to unlimber my Sherlock Holmes system. As thus.If the rent collector _had_ been here, it is certain, I think, thatComrade Spaghetti, or whatever you said his name was, wouldn't havebeen. That is to say, if the rent collector had called and found nomoney waiting for him, surely Comrade Spaghetti would have been outin the cold night instead of under his own roof-tree. Do you followme, Comrade Maloney?"
"That's right," said Billy Windsor. "Of course."
"Elementary, my dear Watson, elementary," murmured Psmith.
"So all we have to do is to sit here and wait."
"All?" said Psmith sadly. "Surely it is enough. For of all thescaly localities I have struck this seems to me the scaliest. Thearchitect of this Stately Home of America seems to have had apositive hatred for windows. His idea of ventilation was to leavea hole in the wall about the size of a lima bean and let the thinggo at that. If our friend does not arrive shortly, I shall pulldown the roof. Why, gadzooks! Not to mention stap my vitals! Isn'tthat a trap-door up there? Make a long-arm, Comrade Windsor."
Billy got on a chair and pulled the bolt. The trap-door openeddownwards. It fell, disclosing a square of deep blue sky.
"Gum!" he said. "Fancy living in this atmosphere when you don'thave to. Fancy these fellows keeping that shut all the time."
"I expect it is an acquired taste," said Psmith, "like Limburgercheese. They don't begin to appreciate air till it is thick enoughto scoop chunks out of with a spoon. Then they get up on their hindlegs and inflate their chests and say, 'This is fine! This beatsozone hollow!' Leave it open, Comrade Windsor. And now, as to theproblem of dispensing with Comrade Maloney's services?"
"Sure," said Billy. "Beat it, Pugsy, my lad."
Pugsy looked up, indignant.
"Beat it?" he queried.
"While your shoe leather's good," said Billy. "This is no placefor a minister's son. There may be a rough house in here anyminute, and you would be in the way."
"I want to stop and pipe de fun," objected Master Maloney.
"Never mind. Cut off. We'll tell you all about it to-morrow."
Master Maloney prepared reluctantly to depart. As he did so therewas a sound of a well-shod foot on the stairs, and a man in asnuff-coloured suit, wearing a brown Homburg hat and carrying asmall notebook in one hand, walked briskly into the room. It wasnot necessary for Psmith to get his Sherlock Holmes system to work.His whole a
ppearance proclaimed the new-comer to be thelong-expected collector of rents.