CHAPTER XIV
CATCHING UP WITH GERALD
"It seemed so absurdly simple at first too," says J. Bayard Steele,tappin' one of his pearl-gray spats with his walkin' stick. "Butnow--well, the more I see of this Gerald Webb, the less I understand."
"Then you're comin' on," says I. "In time you'll get wise to the factthat everybody's that way,--no two alike and every last one of usneither all this nor all that, but constructed complicated, with asurprise package done up in each one."
"Ah! Some of your homespun philosophy, eh?" says J. Bayard. "Interestingperhaps, but inaccurate--quite! The fellow is not at all difficult toread: it's what we ought to do for him that is puzzling."
Which gives you a line, I expect, on this little debate of ours. Yep!Gerald is No. 8 on Pyramid Gordon's list. He'd been a private secretaryfor Mr. Gordon at one time or another; but he'd been handed hispassports kind of abrupt one mornin', and had been set adrift in a coldworld without warnin'.
"In fact," goes on Steele, "I am told that Gordon actually kicked himout of his office; in rather a public manner too."
"Huh!" says I. "I expect he deserved it, then."
"Not at all," says Steele. "I've looked that point up. It was over aletter which Gordon himself had dictated to Webb not forty-eight hoursbefore; you know, one of his hot-headed, arrogant, go-to-blazes retorts,during the thick of a fight. But this happened to be in reply to anultimatum from the Reamur-Brooks Syndicate, and by next morning he'ddiscovered that he was in no position to talk that way to them. Well, asyou know, Pyramid Gordon wasn't the man to eat his own words."
"No," says I, "that wa'n't his fav'rite diet. So he made Gerald thegoat, eh?"
"Precisely!" says Steele. "Called him in before the indignantdelegation, headed by old Reamur himself, and demanded of poor Webb whathe meant by sending out such a letter. The youngster was so flusteredthat he could only stammer a confused denial. He started sniveling. ThenGordon collared him and booted him into the corridor. That should haveclosed the incident, but a few moments later back comes Webb, blubberinglike a whipped schoolboy, and perfectly wild with rage. He was armedwith a mop that he'd snatched from an astonished scrubwoman, and hestormed in whimpering that he was going to kill Gordon. Absurd, ofcourse. A mop isn't a deadly weapon. Some of the clerks promptly rushedin and held Webb until an officer could be called. Then Pyramid laughedit off and refused to prosecute. But the story got into the papers, youmay remember; and while more or less fun was poked at Gordon, young Webbcame in for a good share. And naturally his career as a privatesecretary ended right there."
"Yes," says I. "If I was takin' on a secretary myself, I wouldn't pickone that was subject to fits of mop wieldin'. What happened to him afterthat? How low did he fall?"
J. Bayard tosses over a fancy business card printed in three colors andcarryin' this inscription in old English letterin':
AT THE SIGN OF THE BRASS CANDLESTICK Tea Room and Gift Shop Mr. Gerald Webb, Manager.
"Oh, well," says I, "that ain't so bad. Must have run across a backersomewhere."
"His sisters," says Steele. "He has five, and some of the four marriedones are quite well to do. Then there is Evelyn, the old maid sister,who went in with him. It's from her I've found out so much about Gerald.Nice, refined, pleasant old maid; although somewhat plain featured. Shetells me they have a shop at some seashore resort in summer,--AtlanticCity, or the Pier,--and occasionally have quite a successful season.Then in the fall they open up again here. The last two summers, though,they've barely made expenses, and she fears that Gerald is becomingdiscouraged."
"Well, what you beefin' about?" says I. "There's your chance, ain't it?Jump in and cheer him up. Go round every day and drink yourself full oftea. Lug along your friends--anything. Got the whole Gordon estate backof you, you know. And it's plain Pyramid had in mind squarin' accountsfor that raw deal he handed Gerald years back, or he wouldn't have namedhim in the will. And if your dope is right, I judge there ought to besomething nice comin' to him."
"Of course, of course," says Steele. "But you see, McCabe, as an expertin altruism, I have reached the point where I no longer act hastily oncrude conclusions. Possibly you will fail to understand, but now I takea certain pride in doing just the right thing in exactly the right way."
"I knew you was developin' into some variety of nut," says I. "So that'sit, eh? Well, go on."
J. Bayard smiles indulgent and shrugs his shoulders. "For instance,"says he, "this Gerald Webb seems to be one of those highly sensitive,delicately organized persons; somewhat effeminate in fact. He needsconsiderate, judicious handling."
"Then why not present him with an inlaid dressin' table and a set ofeyebrow pencils?" I suggest.
Steele brushes that little persiflage aside too. "He's no doubt anidealist of some sort," says he, "a man with high hopes, ambitions. IfI only knew what they were----"
"Ain't tried askin' him, have you?" says I.
"Certainly not!" says J. Bayard. "Those are things which such personscan rarely be induced to talk about. I've been studying him at closerange, however, by dropping in now and then for a cup of tea andincidentally a chat with his sister; but to no effect. I can't seem tomake him out. And I was wondering, Shorty, if you, in your rough andready way----"
"P.O.F.!" I breaks in.
"What?" says Steele.
"Please omit floral tributes," says I. "You was wonderin' if I couldn'twhat--size him up for you?"
"Just that," says J. Bayard. "While your methods are not always of thesubtlest, I must concede that at times your--er--native intuition----"
"Top floor--all out!" I breaks in. "You mean I can do a quick frame-upwithout feelin' the party's bumps or consultin' the cards? Maybe I can.But I ain't strong for moochin' around these oolong joints among thedraped tunics and vanity boxes."
He's a persistent party, though, J. Bayard is, and after he's guaranteedthat we won't run into any mob of shoppers this late in the day, andurged me real hard, I consents to trail along with him and pass onGerald.
One of the usual teashop joints, the Brass Candlestick is, tucked awayin a dwelling house basement on a side street about half a block east ofFifth avenue, with a freaky sign over the door and a pair of moultin'bay trees at the entrance. Inside we finds a collection of little whitetables with chairs to match, a showcase full of arty jew'lry, and someshelves loaded with a job lot of odd-shaped vases and jugs and teapotsand such truck.
A tall, loppy female with mustard-colored hair and haughty manners towsus to a place in a dark corner and shoves a menu at us. You know thetearoom brand of waitress maybe, and how distant they can be? But thisone fairly sneers at us as she takes our order; although I kind ofshrivels up in the chair and acts as humble as I know how.
"That ain't Sister Evelyn, is it?" says I, as she disappears towards theback.
"No, no," says Steele. "Miss Webb is at the little cashier's desk, bythe door. And that is Webb, behind the counter, talking to thoseladies."
"Oh!" says I. "Him with the pale hair and the narrow mouth? Huh! He isLizzie-like, ain't he?"
He's a slim, thin-blooded, sharp-faced gent, well along in the thirties,I should judge, with gray showin' in his forelock, and a dear littlemustache pointed at the ends; the sort of chappy who wears a braid-boundcutaway and a wrist watch, you know. He's temptin' his customers withsilver-set turquoise necklaces, and abalone cuff links, and moonstonesets, and such; doin' it dainty and airy, and incidentally displayin' ajob of manicurin' that's the last word in fingernail decoration. Suchsmooth, highbrow conversation goes with it too!
"Oh, yes, Madam," I overhears him gurgle. "Quite so, I assuah you. Weimport these direct from Cairo; genuine scarabs, taken from ancientmummy cases. No, not Rameses; these are of the Thetos period. Ratherrare, you know. And here is an odd trifle, if you will permit me. Oh, notrouble at all. Really! When we find persons of such discriminatingtaste as you undoubtedly have we----"
"Say," I remarks low to Steele, "he's some swell kidder, ain'
t he? He'llbe chuckin' her under the chin next. What a sweet thing he is! It's ashame to waste all that on a side street too. He ought to be farther upin the shoppin' district and on the avenue."
"Do you think so?" says J. Bayard. "I've been considering that--settinghim up in first-class style on a big scale. But of course I should liketo be sure that is what he wants most."
"That's my best guess," says I. "I'll bet he'd eat it up. Spring it onhim and see."
"Perhaps I will when he's through," says J. Bayard. "There! They'regoing now."
He was wrong: they was only startin' to go. They had to come back twiceand look at something all over again, after which Gerald follows 'em tothe door and holds it open for 'em while they exchange a few last words.So it's ten minutes or more before Steele has a chance to call him over,get him planted in the extra chair, and begin breakin' the news to himabout Pyramid's batty will.
And even after all them years Webb flushes pink in the ears at themention of the name. "Oh, yes, Gordon," says he. "I--I did hold aposition at one time in his office. Misunderstanding? Not at all. Hetreated me shamefully. Rank injustice, it was! He--he was by no means agentleman, by no means!"
"I hear you tried to assassinate him with a mop," says I.
"I--I was not quite myself," says Gerald, colorin' still more. "You see,he put me in such a false position before those Chicago men; and when Itried to tell them the truth he--well, he acted brutally. I ask you, Mr.McCabe, what would you have done?"
"Me?" says I. "I expect I'd slapped him rough on the wrist, or somethinglike that. But you know he was always a little quick about such things,and when it was all over he was gen'rally sorry--if he had time. You seehe remembered your case. Now the idea is, how can that little affair ofyours be squared?"
"It may have been a little affair to him," says Gerald, poutin' a bitsulky; "but it wasn't so to me. It--it changed my whole life--utterly!"
"Of course," puts in J. Bayard soothin'. "We understand that, Mr. Webb."
"But you've come out all right; you struck something just as good, orbetter, eh?" and I waves round at the teashop. "Course, you ain'tcatchin' the business here you might if you was located better. And Iexpect you feel like you was wastin' your talents on a place this size.But with a whole second floor near some of the big Fifth avenuedepartment stores, where you could soak 'em half a dollar for a clubsandwich and a quarter for a cup of tea,--a flossy, big joint with ahundred tables, real French waiters from Staten Island, and a genuineHungarian orchestra, imported from East 176th street, where you couldhandle a line of Mexican drawnwork, and Navajo blankets, and Russiansamovars, and----"
"No, no!" breaks in Gerald peevish. "Stop!"
"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him.
"If you are proposing all that as a--a recompense for being publiclyhumiliated," says he, "and having my career entirely spoiled--well, youjust needn't, that's all. I do not care for anything of the kind."
I gasps. Then I gazes foolish over at J. Bayard to see if he hasanything to offer. He just scowls at me and shakes his head, as much asto say:
"There, you see! You've messed things all up."
"All right, Mr. Webb," says I. "Then you name it."
"Do you mean," says he, "that Mr. Gordon intended to leave me somethingin his will; that he--er--considered I was entitled to some--ah----"
"That's the idea, more or less," says I. "Only Mr. Steele here, he'sbeen tryin' to dope out what would suit you best."
"Could--could it be in the form of a--a cash sum?" asks Gerald.
I sighs relieved and looks inquirin' at Steele. He nods, and I nodsback.
"Sure thing," says I.
"How much?" demands Webb.
"Time out," says I, "until Mr. Steele and I can get together."
So while Gerald is pacin' nervous up and down between the tables wemakes figures on the back of the menu. We begins by guessin' what he wasgettin' when he was fired, then what salary he might have been pullin'down in five years, at the end of ten, and so on, deductin' some forblack times and makin' allowances for hard luck. But inside of fiveminutes we'd agreed on a lump sum.
"What about twenty thousand?" says I.
Gerald gulps once or twice, turns a little pale, and then asks choky,"Would--would you put that in writing?"
"I can give you a voucher for the whole amount," says Steele.
"Then--then please!" says Gerald, and he stands over J. Bayard, starin'eager, while the paper is bein' made out. He watches us both sign ournames.
"This is drawn," says Steele, "on the attorney for the estate, and whenyou present it he will give you a check for----"
"Thanks," says Gerald, reachin' trembly for the voucher.
For a minute he stands gazin' at it before he stows it away careful inan inside vest pocket. Then all of a sudden he seems to straighten up.He squares his shoulders and stiffens his jaw.
"Evelyn!" he sings out. "Ho, Evelyn!"
It ain't any smooth, ladylike tone he uses, either. A couple of stoutfemale parties, that's been toyin' with lobster Newburg patties andchocolate eclairs and gooseberry tarts, stops their gossipin' and glaresround at him indignant.
"Evelyn, I say!" he goes on, fairly roarin' it out.
At that out comes Sister from behind her little coop lookin' panicky.Also in from the kitchen piles the haughty waitress with themustard-tinted hair, and a dumpy, frowzy one that I hadn't noticedbefore. The haughty one glares at Gerald scornful, almost as if he'dbeen a customer.
"Why--why, Brother dear!" begins Evelyn, still holdin' open the novelshe'd been readin'. "What is the matter?"
"I'm through, that's all," he announces crisp.
"You--you are what?" asks his sister.
"Through," says Gerald loud and snappy. "I'm going to quit allthis--now, too. I'm going to close up, going out of the business.Understand? So get those women out of here at once."
"But--but, Gerald," gasps Evelyn, "they--you see they are----"
"I don't care whether they've finished or not," says he. "It doesn'tmatter. They needn't pay. But clear 'em out. Right away!"
She had big dark eyes, Sister Evelyn. She was thinner than Gerald, and afew years older, I should guess. Anyway, her hair showed more graystreaks. She had a soft, easy voice and gentle ways. She didn't faint,or throw any emotional fit. She just looks at Gerald mildly reproachfuland remarks:
"Very well, Brother dear," and then glides down the aisle to the twoheavy-weight food destroyers.
We couldn't hear just what she told 'em, but it must have beenconvincin'. They gathers up their wraps and shoppin' bags and sailsout, sputterin' peevish.
"Here, Celia!" commands Gerald, turnin' to the waitresses. "You andBertha pull down those front shades--tight, mind you! Then turn on thedome and side lights--all of 'em."
We sat watchin' the proceedin's, Steele and me, with our mouths open,not knowin' whether to go or stay. Evelyn stands starin' at him too. Ina minute, though, he whirls on her.
"You needn't think I've gone crazy, Evelyn," he says. "I was never moresane. But something has happened. I've just had a windfall. You'd neverguess. From old Gordon; you remember, the beast who----"
"Yes, I know," says Evelyn. "Mr. Steele has been talking to me aboutit."
"Has, eh?" says Gerald. "Well, I trust it wasn't you who gave him thatidea about keeping me in this fool business for the rest of my life.Ugh! Talking sappy to an endless stream of silly women, palming off onthem such useless junk as this! Look at it! Egyptian scarabs, made inConnecticut; Ceylonese coral, from North Attleboro, Mass.; Bohemianglassware, from Sandsburg, Pa.; Indian baskets woven by the Papagotribe, meaning Rutherford, N. J. Bah! For nearly twelve years I've beendoing this. And you're to blame for it, you and Irene and Georgianna.You got me into it when I could find nothing else to do, and thensomehow I couldn't seem to get out. Lying and smirking and dickeringday after day--sickening! But I'm through. And just as a relief to myfeelings I'm going to finish off a lot of this rubbish before I go.Watch!"
W
ith that he picks a teapot from our table, balances it careful in onehand, and sends it bang at a shelf full of blue and yellow pitchers.
Crash! Smash! Tinkle-tinkle!
It was a good shot. He got three or four of 'em at one clip.
Next he reaches for the sugar bowl and chucks that. More crash. Moretinkle-tinkle. This time it was sort of a side-wipin' blow, and a fullhalf-dozen fancy cream jugs bit the dust.
"Good eye!" says I, chucklin'. Even J. Bayard has to grin.
As for Sister Evelyn, she says never a word, but braces herself againsta table and grips her hands together, like she was preparin' to have atooth out. The dumpy waitress clutches the haughty one around the waistand breathes wheezy.
"Vases!" says Gerald, scowlin' at a shelf. "Silly vases!"
And with that he ups with a chair, swings it over his shoulder, and mowsdown a whole row of 'em. They goes crashin' onto the floor.
"Muh Gord!" gasps the dumpy tea juggler.
"Clean alley! Set 'em up on the other!" I sings out.
But Gerald is too busy to notice side remarks. His thin face is flushedand his eyes sparkle. Peelin' off the cutaway, he tosses it careless ona table.
"Look out for splinters!" says he as he heaves a chair into the showcaseamong the fake jew'lry, and with another proceeds to make vicious swipesat whatever's left on the shelves.
As a tearoom wrecker he was some artist, believe me! Not a blessed thingthat could be smashed did he miss, and what he couldn't break he bent ordented.
"Ain't he just grand!" observes Celia to her dumpy friend. "My! I didn'tthink it was in him."
It was, though. A village fire department couldn't have done a neaterjob, or been more thorough. He even tosses down a lot of work basketsand jumps on 'em and kicks 'em about.
"There!" says he, after a lively session, when the place looks like ithad been through a German siege. "Now it's all genuine junk, I guess."
Sister Evelyn gazes at him placid. "No doubt about that," she remarks."And I hope you feel better, Brother dear. Perhaps you will tell me,though, what is to become of me now."
"I am going to leave some money for you," says he. "If you're sillyenough, you can buy a lot more of this stuff and keep on. If you haveany sense, you'll quit and go live with Irene."
"And you, Gerald?" asks Evelyn.
"I'm off," says he. "I'm going to do some real work, man's work. You sawthat dark-looking chap who was in here a few days ago? That was Bentley,who used to be bank messenger in old Gordon's office. He was dischargedwithout cause too. But he had no five sisters to make a sappy tearoommanager out of him. He went to the Argentine. Owns a big cattle ranchdown there. Wants me to go in with him and buy the adjoining ranch. Hesails day after to-morrow. I'm going with him, to live a wild, roughlife; and the wilder and rougher it is the better I shall like it."
"Oh!" says Sister Evelyn, liftin' her eyebrows sarcastic. "Will you?"
Well, that's just what J. Bayard and I have been askin' each other eversince. Anyway, he's gone. Showed up here in the studio the last thing,wearin' a wide-brimmed felt hat with a leather band--and if that don'tsignify somethin' wild and rough, I don't know what does.
"Rather an impetuous nature, Gerald's," observes Steele. "I hope itdoesn't get him into trouble down there."
"Who knows?" says I. "Next thing we may be hearin' how he's tried tostab some Spaniard with a whisk broom."