CHAPTER XXIII
REDUCTIONS IN THE STAFF
The first member of the staff of _Cosy Moments_ to arrive at theoffice on the following morning was Master Maloney. This soundslike the beginning of a "Plod and Punctuality," or "How GreatFortunes have been Made" story; but, as a matter of fact, MasterMaloney was no early bird. Larks who rose in his neighbourhood,rose alone. He did not get up with them. He was supposed to be atthe office at nine o'clock. It was a point of honour with him, asort of daily declaration of independence, never to put in anappearance before nine-thirty. On this particular morning he waspunctual to the minute, or half an hour late, whichever way youchoose to look at it.
He had only whistled a few bars of "My Little Irish Rose," and hadbarely got into the first page of his story of life on the prairiewhen Kid Brady appeared. The Kid, as was his habit when not intraining, was smoking a big black cigar. Master Maloney eyed himadmiringly. The Kid, unknown to that gentleman himself, was Pugsy'sideal. He came from the Plains; and had, indeed, once actually beena cowboy; he was a coming champion; and he could smoke blackcigars. It was, therefore, without his usual well-what-is-it-now?air that Pugsy laid down his book, and prepared to converse.
"Say, Mr. Smith or Mr. Windsor about, Pugsy?" asked the Kid.
"Naw, Mr. Brady, they ain't came yet," replied Master Maloneyrespectfully.
"Late, ain't they?"
"Sure. Mr. Windsor generally blows in before I do."
"Wonder what's keepin' them."
"P'raps, dey've bin put out of business," suggested Pugsynonchalantly.
"How's that?"
Pugsy related the events of the previous day, relaxing something ofhis austere calm as he did so. When he came to the part where theTable Hill allies swooped down on the unsuspecting Three Pointers,he was almost animated.
"Say," said the Kid approvingly, "that Smith guy's got more greymatter under his thatch than you'd think to look at him. I--"
"Comrade Brady," said a voice in the doorway, "you do me proud."
"Why, say," said the Kid, turning, "I guess the laugh's on me. Ididn't see you, Mr. Smith. Pugsy's been tellin' me how you sent himfor the Table Hills yesterday. That was cute. It was mighty smart.But say, those guys are goin' some, ain't they now! Seems as ifthey was dead set on puttin' you out of business."
"Their manner yesterday, Comrade Brady, certainly suggested thepresence of some sketchy outline of such an ideal in their minds.One Sam, in particular, an ebony-hued sportsman, threw himself intothe task with great vim. I rather fancy he is waiting for us withhis revolver to this moment. But why worry? Here we are, safe andsound, and Comrade Windsor may be expected to arrive at any moment.I see, Comrade Brady, that you have been matched against one EddieWood."
"It's about that I wanted to see you, Mr. Smith. Say, now thatthings have been and brushed up so, what with these gang guyslayin' for you the way they're doin', I guess you'll be needin' mearound here. Isn't that right? Say the word and I'll call off thisEddie Wood fight."
"Comrade Brady," said Psmith with some enthusiasm, "I call that asporting offer. I'm very much obliged. But we mustn't stand in yourway. If you eliminate this Comrade Wood, they will have to give youa chance against Jimmy Garvin, won't they?"
"I guess that's right, sir," said the Kid. "Eddie stayed nineteenrounds against Jimmy, and if I can put him away, it gets me intoline with Jimmy, and he can't side-step me."
"Then go in and win, Comrade Brady. We shall miss you. It will beas if a ray of sunshine had been removed from the office. But youmustn't throw a chance away. We shall be all right, I think."
"I'll train at White Plains," said the Kid. "That ain't far fromhere, so I'll be pretty near in case I'm wanted. Hullo, who'shere?"
He pointed to the door. A small boy was standing there, holding anote.
"Mr. Smith?"
"Sir to you," said Psmith courteously.
"P. Smith?"
"The same. This is your lucky day."
"Cop at Jefferson Market give me dis to take to youse."
"A cop in Jefferson Market?" repeated Psmith. "I did not know Ihad friends among the constabulary there. Why, it's from ComradeWindsor." He opened the envelope and read the letter. "Thanks," hesaid, giving the boy a quarter-dollar.
It was apparent the Kid was politely endeavouring to veil hiscuriosity. Master Maloney had no such scruples.
"What's in de letter, boss?" he inquired.
"The letter, Comrade Maloney, is from our Mr. Windsor, and relatesin terse language the following facts, that our editor last nighthit a policeman in the eye, and that he was sentenced this morningto thirty days on Blackwell's Island."
"He's de guy!" admitted Master Maloney approvingly.
"What's that?" said the Kid. "Mr. Windsor bin punchin' cops! What'she bin doin' that for?"
"He gives no clue. I must go and find out. Could you help ComradeMaloney mind the shop for a few moments while I push round toJefferson Market and make inquiries?"
"Sure. But say, fancy Mr. Windsor cuttin' loose that way!" said theKid admiringly.
The Jefferson Market Police Court is a little way down town, nearWashington Square. It did not take Psmith long to reach it, and bythe judicious expenditure of a few dollars he was enabled to obtainan interview with Billy in a back room.
The chief editor of _Cosy Moments_ was seated on a bench, lookingupon the world through a pair of much blackened eyes. His generalappearance was dishevelled. He had the air of a man who has beencaught in the machinery.
"Hullo, Smith," he said. "You got my note all right then?"
Psmith looked at him, concerned.
"Comrade Windsor," he said, "what on earth has been happening toyou?"
"Oh, that's all right," said Billy. "That's nothing."
"Nothing! You look as if you had been run over by a motor-car."
"The cops did that," said Billy, without any apparent resentment."They always turn nasty if you put up a fight. I was a fool to doit, I suppose, but I got so mad. They knew perfectly well that Ihad nothing to do with any pool-room downstairs."
Psmith's eye-glass dropped from his eye.
"Pool-room, Comrade Windsor?"
"Yes. The house where I live was raided late last night. It seemsthat some gamblers have been running a pool-room on the groundfloor. Why the cops should have thought I had anything to do withit, when I was sleeping peacefully upstairs, is more than I canunderstand. Anyway, at about three in the morning there was thedickens of a banging at my door. I got up to see what was doing,and found a couple of Policemen there. They told me to come alongwith them to the station. I asked what on earth for. I might haveknown it was no use arguing with a New York cop. They said they hadbeen tipped off that there was a pool-room being run in the house,and that they were cleaning up the house, and if I wanted to sayanything I'd better say it to the magistrate. I said, all right,I'd put on some clothes and come with them. They said they couldn'twait about while I put on clothes. I said I wasn't going to travelabout New York in pyjamas, and started to get into my shirt. One ofthem gave me a shove in the ribs with his night-stick, and told meto come along quick. And that made me so mad I hit out." A chuckleescaped Billy. "He wasn't expecting it, and I got him fair. He wentdown over the bookcase. The other cop took a swipe at me with hisclub, but by that time I was so mad I'd have taken on Jim Jeffries,if he had shown up and got in my way. I just sailed in, and wasbeginning to make the man think that he had stumbled on StanleyKetchel or Kid Brady or a dynamite explosion by mistake, when theother fellow loosed himself from the bookcase, and they started inon me together, and there was a general rough house, in the middleof which somebody seemed to let off about fifty thousand dollars'worth of fireworks all in a bunch; and I didn't remember anythingmore till I found myself in a cell, pretty nearly knocked topieces. That's my little life-history. I guess I was a fool to cutloose that way, but I was so mad I didn't stop to think."
Psmith sighed.
"You have told me your painful story," he said
. "Now hear mine.After parting with you last night, I went meditatively back to myFourth Avenue address, and, with a courtly good night to the largepoliceman who, as I have mentioned in previous conversations, isstationed almost at my very door, I passed on into my room, and hadsoon sunk into a dreamless slumber. At about three o'clock in themorning I was aroused by a somewhat hefty banging on the door."
"What!"
"A banging at the door," repeated Psmith. "There, standing on themat, were three policemen. From their remarks I gathered thatcertain bright spirits had been running a gambling establishment inthe lower regions of the building--where, I think I told you, thereis a saloon--and the Law was now about to clean up the place. Verycordially the honest fellows invited me to go with them. Aconveyance, it seemed, waited in the street without. I pointed out,even as you appear to have done, that sea-green pyjamas with oldrose frogs were not the costume in which a Shropshire Psmith shouldbe seen abroad in one of the world's greatest cities; but theyassured me--more by their manner than their words--that mymisgivings were out of place, so I yielded. These men, I toldmyself, have lived longer in New York than I. They know what isdone and what is not done. I will bow to their views. So I wentwith them, and after a very pleasant and cosy little ride in thepatrol waggon, arrived at the police station. This morning Ichatted a while with the courteous magistrate, convinced him bymeans of arguments and by silent evidence of my open, honest faceand unwavering eye that I was not a professional gambler, and cameaway without a stain on my character."
Billy Windsor listened to this narrative with growing interest.
"Gum! it's them!" he cried.
"As Comrade Maloney would say," said Psmith, "meaning what,Comrade Windsor?"
"Why, the fellows who are after that paper. They tipped the policeoff about the pool-rooms, knowing that we should be hauled offwithout having time to take anything with us. I'll bet anything youlike they have been in and searched our rooms by now."
"As regards yours, Comrade Windsor, I cannot say. But it is anundoubted fact that mine, which I revisited before going to theoffice, in order to correct what seemed to me even on reflectioncertain drawbacks to my costume, looks as if two cyclones and athreshing machine had passed through it."
"They've searched it?"
"With a fine-toothed comb. Not one of my objects of vertu but hasbeen displaced."
Billy Windsor slapped his knee.
"It was lucky you thought of sending that paper by post," he said."We should have been done if you hadn't. But, say," he went onmiserably, "this is awful. Things are just warming up for the finalburst, and I'm out of it all."
"For thirty days," sighed Psmith. "What _Cosy Moments_ really needsis a _sitz-redacteur_."
"A what?"
"A _sitz-redacteur_, Comrade Windsor, is a gentleman employed byGerman newspapers with a taste for _lese majeste_ to go to prisonwhenever required in place of the real editor. The real editorhints in his bright and snappy editorial, for instance, that theKaiser's moustache reminds him of a bad dream. The police forceswoops down en masse on the office of the journal, and are met bythe _sitz-redacteur_, who goes with them peaceably, allowing theeditor to remain and sketch out plans for his next week's articleon the Crown Prince. We need a _sitz-redacteur_ on _Cosy Moments_almost as much as a fighting editor; and we have neither."
"The Kid has had to leave then?"
"He wants to go into training at once. He very sportingly offeredto cancel his match, but of course that would never do. Unless youconsider Comrade Maloney equal to the job, I must look around mefor some one else. I shall be too fully occupied with purelyliterary matters to be able to deal with chance callers. But I havea scheme."
"What's that?"
"It seems to me that we are allowing much excellent material to lieunused in the shape of Comrade Jarvis."
"Bat Jarvis."
"The same. The cat-specialist to whom you endeared yourselfsomewhat earlier in the proceedings by befriending one of hiswandering animals. Little deeds of kindness, little acts of love,as you have doubtless heard, help, etc. Should we not give ComradeJarvis an opportunity of proving the correctness of this statement?I think so. Shortly after you--if you will forgive me for touchingon a painful subject--have been haled to your dungeon, I will pushround to Comrade Jarvis's address, and sound him on the subject.Unfortunately, his affection is confined, I fancy, to you. Whetherhe will consent to put himself out on my behalf remains to be seen.However, there is no harm in trying. If nothing else comes of thevisit, I shall at least have had the opportunity of chatting withone of our most prominent citizens."
A policeman appeared at the door.
"Say, pal," he remarked to Psmith, "you'll have to be fading awaysoon, I guess. Give you three minutes more. Say it quick."
He retired. Billy leaned forward to Psmith.
"I guess they won't give me much chance," he whispered, "but if yousee me around in the next day or two, don't be surprised."
"I fail to follow you, Comrade Windsor."
"Men have escaped from Blackwell's Island before now. Not many,it's true; but it has been done."
Psmith shook his head.
"I shouldn't," he said. "They're bound to catch you, and then youwill be immersed in the soup beyond hope of recovery. I shouldn'twonder if they put you in your little cell for a year or so."
"I don't care," said Billy stoutly. "I'd give a year later on to beround and about now."
"I shouldn't," urged Psmith. "All will be well with the paper. Youhave left a good man at the helm."
"I guess I shan't get a chance, but I'll try it if I do."
The door opened and the policeman reappeared.
"Time's up, I reckon."
"Well, good-bye, Comrade Windsor," said Psmith regretfully."Abstain from undue worrying. It's a walk-over from now on, andthere's no earthly need for you to be around the office. Once, Iadmit, this could not have been said. But now things havesimplified themselves. Have no fear. This act is going to be ascream from start to finish."