CHAPTER X
A CASE OF NOBODY HOME
"Yes," says J. Bayard Steele, adjustin' the chin part in his whiskersand tiltin' back comf'table in his chair, "I am beginning to think thatthe late Pyramid Gordon must have been a remarkably good judge of humannature."
"For instance?" says I.
"His selection of me as an executor of his whimsical will," says he.
"Huh!" says I. "How some people do dislike themselves! Now, if you wantto know my views on that subject, J. B., I've always thought that wasone of his battiest moves."
But he's got a hide like a sample trunk, Mr. Steele has. He only shrugshis shoulders. "Yes, you have given me similar subtle hints to thateffect," says he. "And I will admit that at first I had doubts as to myfitness. The doing of kind and generous acts for utter strangers has notbeen a ruling passion with me. But so far I have handled severalassignments--in which have I failed?"
"Look who's been coachin' you, though!" says I.
J. Bayard bows and waves a manicured hand graceful. "True," he goes on,"your advice has been invaluable on occasions, friend McCabe; especiallyin the early stages of my career as a commissioned agent ofphilanthropy. But I rather fancy that of late I have developed analtruistic instinct of my own; an instinct, if I may say so, in whichkindly zeal is tempered by a certain amount of practical wisdom."
"Fine!" says I. "Bein' a little floral tribute, I take it, from Mr.Steele to himself."
"Unless it should occur to you, McCabe," says he, "to make thedistinction between offensive egoism and pardonable pride."
"I don't get you," says I; "but I feel the jab. Anyhow, it's instructin'and elevatin' to hear you run on. Maybe you've got somethin' special onyour mind?"
"I have," says he, producin' an envelope with some notes scribbled onthe back.
"Is that No. 6 on the list?" says I. "Who's the party?"
"Here," says he, tappin' the envelope impressive, "are my findings andrecommendations in the case of Hackett Wells."
"Shoot it," says I, settlin' back in the desk chair.
It's a pity too I can't give you all the high English J. Bayard uses upin statin' this simple proposition; for he's in one of them comf'table,expandin', after-luncheon moods, when his waist band fits tight and theelegant language just flows from him like he had hydrant connectionwith the dictionary.
It seems, though, that this Wells party had been sort of a partner ofPyramid's back in the early days. Some sort of a buyers' pool forEastern coal deliveries, I believe it was, that Hackett had got intoaccidental and nursed along until he found himself dividin' the cream ofthe profits with only half a dozen others. Then along came Pyramid withhis grand consolidation scheme, holdin' out the bait of makin' Mr. Wellshead of the new concern and freezin' out all the rest.
Wells, he swallows it whole: only to wake up a few months later anddiscover that he's been double crossed. Havin' served his turn, Gordonhas just casually spilled him overboard, thinkin' no more of doin' itthan he would of chuckin' away a half-smoked cigar.
But to Hackett Wells this was a national calamity. Havin' got in withthe easy-money bunch by a fluke in the first place, he wa'n't a man whocould come back. Course he brought suit, and wasted a lot of breathcallin' Pyramid hard names from a safe distance; but Pyramid's lawyerswore him out in the courts, and he was too busy to care who was cussin'him.
So Mr. Wells and his woe drops out of sight. He's managed to keep holdof a little property that brings him in just enough to scrub along on,and he joins that hungry-eyed, trembly-fingered fringe of margin pikersthat hangs around every hotel broker's branch in town, takin' a timidflier now and then, but tappin' the free lunch hard and reg'lar. Youknow the kind,--seedy hasbeens, with their futures all behind 'em.
And in time, broodin' over things in gen'ral, it got to Hackett Wells inhis weak spot,--heart, or liver, or something. Didn't quite finish him,you understand, but left him on the scrapheap, just totterin' around andstavin' off an obituary item by bein' mighty careful.
"I suppose Gordon must have heard something of the shape he was in,"says J. Bayard, "when he included him in his list. Well, I hunted him upthe other day, in a cheap, messy flat-house to the deuce and gone upEighth avenue, got his story from him, and decided on a way of helpinghim out."
"Want to buy him a coal mine, or something like that?" says I.
J. Bayard refuses to notice my little sarcastic play. "I am sure Pyramidwould have wanted this worn-out, cast-off tool of his to end his daysdecently," goes on Mr. Steele; "but to give him a lump sum would beworse than useless. Two or three plunges, and it would be all gone."
"Think of puttin' him in a home somewhere?" says I.
"That might be a good plan," says Steele, "if he was still a widower;but it appears that he has married again,--a young woman too, somewaitress that he met in a quick-lunch place. I saw her. Bah! One ofthese plump, stupid young females, who appeared in a dingy dressing gownwith her hair down. What an old fool! But I suppose she takes care ofhim, in a way. So I thought that an annuity, of say a thousand or two,paid in monthly installments, would be the wisest. That would enablethem to move out into the country, get a nice little house, with agarden, and really live. It was pathetic to see how grateful he was whenI told him of my scheme. Of course, McCabe, all this is subject to yourindorsement. Thought you might like to have a talk with them first, andsee for yourself; so I asked them to meet me here about----"
"Guess they're right on time," says I as the studio door opens, and indrifts a December-and-May pair that answers all the details of hisdescription.
The old boy might have been still in the sixties; but with his remnantof white hair, watery eyes, and ashy cheeks he looks like a reg'larantique. Must have been one of these heavy-set sports in his day, a goodfeeder, and a consistent drinker; but by the flabby dewlaps and themeal-bag way his clothes hang on him I judge he's slumped quite a lot.Still, he's kind of a dignified, impressive old ruin, which makes thecontrast with the other half of the sketch all the more startlin'.
She's a bunchy blonde, she is, about four foot six in her French heels,with yellow hair, China-doll eyes, a snub nose, and a waxy pink andwhite complexion like these show-window models you see in departmentstores. She's costumed cheap but gaudy in a wrinkled, tango-coloreddress that she must have picked off some Grand street bargain counterlate last spring. The ninety-nine-cent soup-plate lid cocked over oneear adds a rakish touch that almost puts her in the comic valentineclass.
But when I'm introduced to the old scout he glances fond at her and doesthe honors graceful. "Mrs. Wells, Professor," says he, and she executesan awkward duck response.
While the three of us are talkin' over J. Bayard's proposition she sitsat one side, starin' blank and absentminded, as if this was somethin'that don't concern her at all.
It ain't a long debate, either. Hackett Wells seems satisfied with mostany arrangement we want to make. He's a meek, broken old sport, gratefulfor anything that comes his way. That's what led me to insist onboostin' the ante up to twenty-five hundred, I guess; for it didn't looklike he could go on pullin' that down for many years more. And of courseJ. Bayard is tickled to get my O.K. so easy.
"Then it's all settled," says Mr. Steele. "You will receive a check fromthe attorney of Mr. Gordon's estate on the first of every month. You andMrs. Wells ought to start to-morrow to look for a place in some nicelittle country town and--why, what's the matter with your wife?"
She has her face in her hands, and her dumpy shoulders are heavin' upand down passionate. At first I couldn't make out whether it's woe, orif she's swallowed a safety pin. Anyway, it's deep emotion of some kind.
"Why, Deary!" says Mr. Wells, steppin' over and pattin' her on the back.
But that don't have any effect. The heavin' motion goes right on, and noanswer comes from Deary.
"Mabel! Mabel, dear!" insists Hackett. "Tell me what is wrong. Comenow!"
Mabel just shakes off his hand and continues her chest gymnastics. Alsoshe begins kickin'
her heels against the chair rungs. And as Hubbystands there lookin' helpless, with J. Bayard starin' disturbed, butmakin' no move, it appears like it was up to me to take a hand.
"Don't mind the furniture, Ma'am," says I. "Take a whack at the desktoo, if you like; but after you're through throwin' the fit maybe you'lllet us know what it's all about."
At which she begins rockin' back and forth and moanin' doleful. A coupleof hairpins works loose and drops to the floor.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," says I, "but you're goin' to lose the inside of thatFrench roll if you keep on."
That fetched her out of it in a hurry. Grabbin' wild at her back hair,she sat up and faced us, with no signs at all of real weeps in hereyes.
"I won't live in the country, I won't!" she states explosive.
"Why, Mabel dear!" protests Mr. Wells.
"Ah, don't be an old bonehead!" comes back Mabel. "What's the idea,wishin' this Rube stuff on us? You can just count me out, Hacky, ifthat's the game. Do you get me?"
Hacky does. "I'm very sorry, Gentlemen," says he, "to ask you to modifyyour generous terms; but I feel that my wife's wishes in the matterought to be taken into account."
"Why--er--to be sure," says J. Bayard. "I merely suggested your livingin the country because it seemed to me the wisest plan; but afterall----"
"Do we look like a pair of jays, I'd like to know?" demands Mrs. Wellsindignant. "And another thing: I don't stand for this so much a monthdope, either. What's the good of a little now and then? If we've gotanything coming to us, why not hand it over annual? There'd be somesense to that. Stick out for once a year, Hacky."
Which he done. She had him well trained, Mabel did. He shrugs hisshoulders, tries to smile feeble, and spreads out his hands. "You see,Gentlemen," says he.
I must say too that Mr. Steele puts up a mighty convincin' line of talk,tryin' to show 'em how much better it would be to have a couple ofhundred or so comin' in fresh on the first of every month, than to behanded a lump sum and maybe lose some of it, or run shy before nextpayday. He explains how he was tryin' to plan so the money might do 'emthe most good, and unless it did how he couldn't feel that he'd done hispart right.
"All of which," he goes on, "I am quite sure, Mrs. Wells, you willappreciate."
"Go on, you whiskered old stuff!" comes back Mabel spiteful. "How do youknow so much what's good for us? You and your nutty dreams about cowsand flower gardens and hens! I'd rather go back to Second avenue andfrisk another quick-lunch job. Hand us a wad: that's all we want."
Course it was a batty piece of work, tryin' to persuade people to letyou push money on 'em; but that's just where we stood. And in the end J.Bayard wipes his brow weary and turns to me.
"Well, McCabe, what do you say?" he asks. "Shall we?"
"I leave it with you," says I. "You're the one that's developed thiswhat-do-you-call-it instinct, temperin' kindly zeal with practicalwisdom, ain't you? Then go to it!"
So five minutes later Hackett Wells shuffles out with an order good forthe whole twenty-five hundred in his pocket, and Mabel clingin' tight tohis arm.
"What's the idea," says Mabel, "Wishin' this Rube stuffon us?"]
"So long, Profess," says she over her shoulder, as I holds the door openfor 'em. "We're headed for happy days."
And J. Bayard Steele, gazin' after her, remarks puzzled, "Now justprecisely what can she mean by that?"
"Bein' only a crude and simple soul, J. B.," says I, "I got to give itup. Anyhow, Mabel's entirely too thick a girl for me to see through."
Besides, not knowin' her tastes or little fads, how was I to guess hernotion of happy days? Then again, I didn't have to. All that's clear isthat Pyramid had wanted us to do some good turn for this old goat, tosort of even up for that spill of years gone by, and we'd done our best.Whether the money was to be used wise or not accordin' to our view was aproblem that don't worry me at all. Might have once, when I was deadsure my dope on things in gen'ral was the only true dope. But I'mgetting over that, I hope, and allowin' other folks to have theirs nowand then. In fact, I proceeded to forget this pair as quick as possible,like you try to shake a bad dream when you wake up in the night. And Iwarned J. Bayard that if he didn't quit luggin' his punk philanthropyspecimens into my studio I'd bar him out entirely.
Let's see, that was early in the summer, and it must have been justbefore Labor Day that I broke away for a week or so to run up into theWhite Mountains and bring back Sadie and little Sully. First off Sadiewas plannin' to come by train; but by the time I got there she'dchanged her mind and wanted to tour back in the machine.
"It's such gorgeous weather," says she, "and the leaves are turning sonicely! We'll take three days for it, making short runs and stopping atnight wherever we like."
"You mean," says I, "stoppin' wherever you can find an imitationWaldorf-Castoria."
"Not at all," says she. "And you know some of these little automobileinns are perfectly charming."
Well, that's what brought us to this Sunset Lake joint the first nightout. Somewhere in New Hampshire it was, or maybe Vermont. Anyway, it wasright in the heart of the summer boarder belt, and it had all the usualvacation apparatus cluttered around,--tennis courts, bowling alleys,bathing floats, dancing pavilion, and a five-piece Hungarian orchestra,four parts kosher, that helped the crockery jugglers put the din indinner.
It was a clean, well-kept place, though, and by the quality of thetomato bisque and the steamed clams that we started with I judged we wasactually goin' to be surprised with some real food. We'd watched thelast of the sunset glow fade out from the little toy lake, and while wewas waitin' to see what the roast and vegetables might be like we gazedaround at the dinner push that was filterin' in.
And what a job lot of humanity does have the coin to spend the summer,or part of it, at these four-a-day resorts! There's middle-aged sports,in the fifties or over, some of 'em with their fat, fussed-up wives,others with giddy young Number Twos; then there's jolly, sunburned,comf'table lookin' fam'ly parties, includin' little Brother with thepeeled nose, and Grandmother with her white lace cap. Also there's quitea sprinklin' of widows, gay and otherwise, and the usual bunch of youngfolks, addin' lively touches here and there. All city people, you know,playin' at bein' in the country, but insistin' on Broadway food atBroadway prices.
Our waitress was just staggerin' in with a loaded tray, and Sadie wastryin' to induce little Sully not to give the college yell when he askedpersonal questions about folks at the next table, when I notices herglance curious at something over my head, then lower her eyes and sortof smile. Course I suspects something worth lookin' at might be floatin'down the aisle; so I half swings around to get a view. And I'd no soonergot it than I wished I hadn't been so curious; for the next second therecomes, shrillin' sharp and raspy above the dinin' room clatter, a freeand happy hail.
"Well, what do you know! Professor McCabe, ain't it!"
Me--I just sat there and gawped. I don't know as I could be blamed.Course, I'd seen bunchy little blondes before; but this was the firsttime I'd ever seen one that had draped herself in a rainbow. That's theonly word for it. The thin, fluttery silk thing with the butterflysleeves is shaded from cream white to royal purple, and underneath isone of these Dolly Varden gowns of flowered pink, set off by a Romanstriped sash two feet wide. And when you add to that such details asgold shoes, pink silk stockin's, long pearl ear danglers, and a weirdlid perched on a mountain of yellow hair--well, it's no wonder I wassometime rememberin' where I'd seen them China-doll eyes before.
"Deary," she goes on, turnin' to what's followin' her, "look who's here!Our old friend, the Profess!"
And with that she motions up a dignified old wreck dolled out in a whiteflannel suit and a red tie. If it hadn't been for that touch of red too,he sure would have looked ghastly; for there was about as much color inhis face as there was in his white buckskin shoes. But he steps up spryand active and shoves out a greetin' hand.
I ain't got the nerve, either, to look at Sadie while I'm doin'
theintroducin'. I was watchin' Mrs. Hackett Wells sort of fascinated andlistenin' to her chatter on.
"Well, if this don't froth the eggs!" says she, pattin' me chummy on theshoulder. "Havin' you show up like this! And, say, lemme put youwise,--here's where you want to stick around for a week or so. Yea, Bo!Perfectly swell bunch here, and something doin' every minute. Why, say,me and Deary has been here six weeks, and we've been havin' the time ofour lives. Know what they call me here? Well, I'm the Hot Baby of SunsetLake; and that ain't any bellboy's dream, either! I'm the one thatstarts things. Yes, and I keep 'em goin' too. Just picked this place outfrom the resort ads in the Sunday edition; and it was some prize pick,believe me! 'A quiet, refined patronage of exclusive people,' thepicture pamphlet puts it, and I says to Deary, 'Me for that, with threewardrobe trunks full of glad rags.' So you can tell your friend with theface privet that we got to the country after all. Did I miss my guess?Never a miss! Why, say, some of these swell parties lives on West Endavenue and the Drive, and I can call half of 'em by their first names.Can't I, Deary?"
And Hackett Wells nods, smilin' at her fond and sappy.
"Drop round to the dancin' pavilion later," says she, "and watch me pushhim through the onestep. After that me and one of the boys is goin' totear off a little Maxixe stuff that'll be as good as a cabaret act, andabout ten-thirt we'll tease Deary into openin' a couple of quarts in thecafe. So long! Don't forget, now!" And off she floats, noddin' cheerfulright and left, and bein' escorted to her table by both head waiters.
I couldn't stave off meetin' Sadie's glance any longer. "Eh?" says I."Why, that's only Mabel. Cunnin' little thing, ain't she?"
"Shorty," demands Sadie, "where on earth did you ever meet such aperson?"
Then, of course, I had to sketch out the whole story. It was high time;for Sadie's lips was set more or less firm. But when she hears about J.Bayard's wise-boy plans for settlin' the Hackett Wells in some pastoralparadise, and how they got ditched by militant Mabel, she indulges in agrim smile.
"A brilliant pair of executors you and Mr. Steele are," says she, "ifthis is a sample of your work!"
"Ah, come, don't be rough, Sadie!" says I. "It's hard to tell, you know.What's the odds if they do have to go back to their little Eighth avenueflat next week? They're satisfied. Anyway, Mabel is. She's New York bornand bred, she is, and now that she's had her annual blow she don't carewhat happens. Next year, if Deary hangs on, they'll have another."
"But it's so foolish of them!" insists Sadie.
"What else do you expect from a pair like that?" says I. "It's what theywant most, ain't it? And there's plenty like 'em. No, they ain't suchbad folks, either. Their hearts are all there. Just a case of vacancy inthe upper stories: nobody home, you know."