CHAPTER XXIV
THE CAMPAIGN QUICKENS
Mr. Jarvis was as good as his word. Early in the afternoon he made hisappearance at the office of _Peaceful Moments_, his forelock morethan usually well oiled in honor of the occasion, and his rightcoat-pocket bulging in a manner that betrayed to the initiated eye thepresence of his trusty "canister." With him, in addition, he brought along, thin young man who wore under his brown tweed coat a blue-and-redstriped sweater. Whether he brought him as an ally in case of need ormerely as a kindred soul with whom he might commune during his vigil,did not appear.
Pugsy, startled out of his wonted calm by the arrival of thisdistinguished company, gazed after the pair, as they passed into theinner office, with protruding eyes.
John greeted the allies warmly, and explained Smith's absence. Mr.Jarvis listened to the story with interest, and introduced hiscolleague.
"T'ought I'd let him chase along. Long Otto's his monaker."
"Sure!" said John. "The more the merrier. Take a seat. You'll findcigars over there. You won't mind my not talking for the moment?There's a wad of work to clear up."
This was an overstatement. He was comparatively free of work, press dayhaving only just gone by; but he was keenly anxious to avoidconversation on the subject of cats, of his ignorance of which Mr.Jarvis's appearance had suddenly reminded him. He took up an old proofsheet and began to glance through it, frowning thoughtfully.
Mr. Jarvis regarded the paraphernalia of literature on the table withinterest. So did Long Otto, who, however, being a man of silent habit,made no comment. Throughout the seance and the events which followed ithe confined himself to an occasional grunt. He seemed to lack othermodes of expression.
"Is dis where youse writes up pieces fer de poiper?" enquired Mr.Jarvis.
"This is the spot," said John. "On busy mornings you could hear ourbrains buzzing in Madison Square Garden. Oh, one moment."
He rose and went into the outer office.
"Pugsy," he said, "do you know Broster Street?"
"Sure."
"Could you find out for me exactly when the man comes round collectingthe rents?"
"Surest t'ing you know. I knows a kid what knows anodder kid what livesdere."
"Then go and do it now. And, after you've found out, you can take therest of the day off."
"Me fer dat," said Master Maloney with enthusiasm. "I'll take me goilto de Bronx Zoo."
"Your girl? I didn't know you'd got a girl, Pugsy. I always imaginedyou as one of those strong, stern, blood-and-iron men who despisedgirls. Who is she?"
"Aw, she's a kid," said Pugsy. "Her pa runs a delicatessen shop downour street. She ain't a bad mutt," added the ardent swain. "I'm hersteady."
"Well, mind you send me a card for the wedding. And if two dollarswould be a help--"
"Sure t'ing. T'anks, boss. You're all right."
It had occurred to John that the less time Pugsy spent in the outeroffice during the next few days, the better. The lull in the warfarecould not last much longer, and at any moment a visit from SpiderReilly and his adherents might be expected. Their probable first movein such an event would be to knock Master Maloney on the head toprevent his giving warning of their approach.
Events proved that he had not been mistaken. He had not been back inthe inner office for more than a quarter of an hour when there camefrom without the sound of stealthy movements. The handle of the doorbegan--to revolve slowly and quietly. The next moment three figurestumbled into the room.
It was evident that they had not expected to find the door unlocked,and the absence of resistance when they applied their weight hadsurprising effects. Two of the three did not pause in their career tillthey cannoned against the table. The third checked himself by holdingthe handle.
John got up coolly.
"Come right in," he said. "What can we do for you?" It had been toodark on the other occasion of his meeting with the Three Pointers totake note of their faces, though he fancied that he had seen the manholding the door-handle before. The others were strangers. They wereall exceedingly unprepossessing in appearance.
There was a pause. The three marauders had become aware of the presenceof Mr. Jarvis and his colleague, and the meeting was causing themembarrassment, which may have been due in part to the fact that bothhad produced and were toying meditatively with ugly-looking pistols.
Mr. Jarvis spoke.
"Well," he said, "what's doin'?"
The man to whom the question was directly addressed appeared to havesome difficulty in finding a reply. He shuffled his feet, and looked atthe floor. His two companions seemed equally at a loss.
"Goin' to start anything?" enquired Mr. Jarvis, casually.
The humor of the situation suddenly tickled John. The embarrassment ofthe uninvited guests was ludicrous.
"You've just dropped in for a quiet chat, is that it?" he said. "Well,we're all delighted to see you. The cigars are on the table. Draw upyour chairs."
Mr. Jarvis opposed the motion. He drew slow circles in the air with hisrevolver.
"Say! Youse had best beat it. See?"
Long Otto grunted sympathy with the advice.
"And youse had best go back to Spider Reilly," continued Mr. Jarvis,"and tell him there ain't nothin' doing in the way of rough-house wit'dis gent here. And you can tell de Spider," went on Bat with growingferocity, "dat next time he gits fresh and starts in to shootin' up mydance-joint, I'll bite de head off'n him. See? Dat goes. If he t'inkshis little two-by-four crowd can git way wit' de Groome Street, he'sgot anodder guess comin'. An' don't fergit dis gent here and me isfriends, and anyone dat starts anyt'ing wit' dis gent is going to findtrouble. Does dat go? Beat it."
He jerked his shoulder in the direction of the door.
The delegation then withdrew.
"Thanks," said John. "I'm much obliged to you both. You're certainlythere with the goods as fighting editors. I don't know what I shouldhave done without you."
"Aw, Chee!" said Mr. Jarvis, handsomely dismissing the matter. LongOtto kicked the leg of a table, and grunted.
Pugsy Maloney's report on the following morning was entirelysatisfactory. Rents were collected in Broster Street on Thursdays.Nothing could have been more convenient, for that very day happened tobe Thursday.
"I rubbered around," said Pugsy, "an' done de sleut' act, an' it's thisway. Dere's a feller blows in every T'ursday 'bout six o'clock, an' denit's up to de folks to dig down inter deir jeans for de stuff, or outdey goes before supper. I got dat from my kid frien' what knows a kidwhat lives dere. An' say, he has it pretty fierce, dat kid. De kid whatlives dere. He's a wop kid, an Italian, an' he's in bad 'cos his pacomes over from Italy to woik on de subway."
"I don't see why that puts him in bad," said John wonderingly. "Youdon't construct your stories well, Pugsy. You start at the end, then goback to any part which happens to appeal to you at the moment, andeventually wind up at the beginning. Why is this kid in bad because hisfather has come to work on the subway?"
"Why, sure, because his pa got fired an' swatted de foreman one on decoco, an' dey gives him t'oity days. So de kid's all alone, an' no oneto pay de rent."
"I see," said John. "Well, come along with me and introduce me, andI'll look after that."
At half-past five John closed the office for the day, and, armed with abig stick and conducted by Master Maloney, made his way to BrosterStreet. To reach it, it was necessary to pass through a section of theenemy's country, but the perilous passage was safely negotiated. Theexpedition reached its unsavory goal intact.
The wop kid inhabited a small room at the very top of a buildinghalf-way down the street. He was out when John and Pugsy arrived.
It was not an abode of luxury, the tenement; they had to feel their wayup the stairs in almost pitch darkness. Most of the doors were shut,but one on the second floor was ajar. Through the opening John had aglimpse of a number of women sitting on up-turned boxes. The floor wascovered with little heaps of linen. All the wome
n were sewing.Stumbling in the darkness, John almost fell against the door. None ofthe women looked up at the noise. In Broster Street time was evidentlymoney.
On the top floor Pugsy halted before the open door of an empty room.The architect in this case had apparently given rein to a passion fororiginality, for he had constructed the apartment without a window ofany sort whatsoever. The entire stock of air used by the occupants camethrough a small opening over the door.
It was a warm day, and John recoiled hastily.
"Is this the kid's room?" he said. "I guess the corridor's good enoughfor me to wait in. What the owner of this place wants," he went onreflectively, "is scalping. Well, we'll do it in the paper if we can'tin any other way. Is this your kid?"
A small boy had appeared. He seemed surprised to see visitors. Pugsyundertook to do the honors. Pugsy, as interpreter, was energetic, butnot wholly successful. He appeared to have a fixed idea that theItalian language was one easily mastered by the simple method of saying"da" instead of "the," and adding a final "a" to any word that seemedto 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 to mecurves. Dese wop kids is all bone-heads. Say, kid, look-a here." Hewalked to the door, rapped on it smartly, and, assuming a look ofextreme ferocity, stretched out his hand and thundered: "Unbelt-a!Slip-a me da stuff!"
The wop kid's puzzlement in the face of this address became pathetic.
"This," said John, deeply interested, "is getting exciting. Don't givein, Pugsy. I guess the trouble is that your too perfect Italian accentis making the kid homesick."
Master Maloney made a gesture of disgust.
"I'm t'roo. Dese Dagoes makes me tired. Dey don't know enough to goupstairs to take de elevated. Beat it, you mutt," he observed withmoody displeasure, accompanying the words with a gesture which conveyedits own meaning. The wop kid, plainly glad to get away, slipped downthe stairs like a shadow.
Pugsy shrugged his shoulders.
"Boss," he said resignedly, "it's up to youse."
John reflected.
"It's all right," he said. "Of course, if the collector had been here,the kid wouldn't be. All I've got to do is to wait."
He peered over the banisters into the darkness below.
"Not that it's not enough," he said; "for of all the poisonous places Iever met this is the worst. I wish whoever built it had thought to putin a few windows. His idea of ventilation was apparently to leave ahole about the size of a lima bean and let the thing go at that."
"I guess there's a door on to de roof somewhere," suggested Pugsy. "Atde joint where I lives dere is."
His surmise proved correct. At the end of the passage a ladder, nailedagainst the wall, ended in a large square opening, through which wasvisible, if not "that narrow strip of blue which prisoners call thesky," at any rate a tall brick chimney and a clothesline covered withgarments that waved lazily in the breeze.
John stood beneath it, looking up.
"Well," he said, "this isn't much, but it's better than nothing. Isuppose the architect of this place was one of those fellows who don'tbegin to appreciate air till it's thick enough to scoop chunks out witha spoon. It's an acquired taste, I guess, like Limburger cheese. Andnow, Pugsy, old scout, you had better beat it. There may be arough-house here any minute now."
Pugsy looked up, indignant.
"Beat it?"
"While your shoe-leather's good," said John firmly. "This is no placefor a minister's son. Take it from me."
"I want to stop and pipe de fun," objected Master Maloney.
"What fun?"
"I guess you ain't here to play ball," surmised Pugsy shrewdly, eyingthe big stick.
"Never mind why I'm here," said John. "Beat it. I'll tell you all aboutit to-morrow."
Master Maloney prepared reluctantly to depart. As he did so there was asound of well-shod feet on the stairs, and a man in a snuff-coloredsuit, wearing a brown Homburg hat and carrying a small notebook in onehand, walked briskly up the stairs. His whole appearance proclaimed himto be the long-expected collector of rents.