CHAPTER XV
SHORTY HEARS FROM PEMAQUID
It was mostly my fault. I'd left the Physical Culture Studio and wasswingin' east across 42d-st. absentminded, when I takes a sudden notionto have lunch at my favorite chophouse joint on Broadway, and it was thequick turn I made that causes the collision.
I must have hit him kind of solid too; for his steel-rimmed glasses arejarred off, and before I can pick 'em up they've been stepped on.
"Sorry, old scout," says I. "Didn't know you'd dodged in behind. Andit's my buy on the eyeglasses."
"Sho!" says he. "No great harm done, young man. But them specs did costme a quarter in Portland, and if you feel like you----"
"Sure thing!" says I. "Here's a half--get a good pair this time."
"No, Son," says he, "a quarter's all they cost, and Jim Isham nevertakes more'n his due. Just wait till I git out the change."
So I stands there lookin' him over while he unwraps about four yards offishline from around the neck of a leather money pouch. Odd old Rube hewas, straight and lean, and smoked up like a dried herring.
"There you be," says he, countin' out two tens and a five.
Course, I'd felt better if he'd kept the half. The kale pouch wa'n't soheavy, and from the seedy blue suit and the faded old cap I judged hecould use that extra quarter. But somehow I couldn't insist.
"All right, Cap," says I. "Next time I turn sudden I'll stick my handout." I was movin' off when I notices him still standin' sort ofhesitatin'. "Well?" I adds. "Can I help?"
"You don't happen to know," says he, "of a good eatin' house where itdon't cost too all-fired much to git a square meal, do you?"
"Why," says I, "I expect over on Eighth-ave., you could----" And then Igets this rash notion of squarin' the account by blowin' him to a realfeed. Course, I might be sorry; but he looks so sort of lonesome andhelpless that I decides on takin' a chance. "Say, you come with me,"says I, "and lemme stack you up against the real thing in Canadianmutton chops."
"If it don't cost over twenty-five cents," says he.
"It won't," says I, smotherin' a grin. He wa'n't a grafter, anyway, andthe only way I could ease his mind on the expense question was to lethim hand me a quarter before we went in, and make him think that coveredhis share. Max, the head waiter, winks humorous as he sees who I'mtowin' in; but he gives us a table by a Broadway window and surprisesthe old boy by pullin' out his chair respectful.
"Much obliged, Mister," says Jim Isham. "Much obliged."
With that he hangs his old cap careful on the candle shade. It's one ofthese oldtime blizzard headpieces, with sides that you can turn downover your ears and neck. Must have worn that some constant; for from thebushy eyebrows up he's as white as a piece of chalk, and with the restof his face so coppery it gives him an odd, skewbald look.
I expected a place like Collins's, with all its pictures and rugs andfancy silverware, would surprise him some; but he don't seem at allfussed. He tucks his napkin under his chin natural and gazes aroundint'rested. He glances suspicious at a wine cooler that's carted by, andwhen the two gents at the next table are served with tall glasses of alehe looks around as if he was locatin' an exit. Next he digs into aninside pocket, hauls out a paper, spreads it on the table, and remarks:
"Let's see, Mister--jest about where are we now?"
I gives him the cross street and the Broadway number, and he beginstracin' eager with his finger. Fin'lly he says:
"All correct. Right in the best of the water."
"Eh?" says I. "What's that you've got there?"
"Sailin' directions," says he, smilin' apologetic. "You mustn't mind;but for a minute there, seein' all the liquor bein' passed around, Ididn't know but what I'd got among the rocks and shoals. But it's allright. Full ten fathom, and plenty of sea room."
"Too tarry for me," says I. "Meanin' what, now?"
He chuckles easy. "Why, it's this way," says he: "You see, before Istarts from home I talks it over with Cap'n Bill Logan. 'Jim,' says he,'if you're goin' to cruise around New York you need a chart.'--'Guessyou're right, Cap'n Bill,' says I. 'Fix me up one, won't ye?' And that'swhat he done. You see, Cap'n Bill knows New York like a book. Used tosail down here with ice from the Kennebec, and sometimes, while he wasdischargin' cargo, he'd lay in here for a week at a time. Great hand toknock around too, Cap'n Bill is, and mighty observin'."
"So he made a map for you, did he?" says I.
"Not exactly," says Mr. Isham. "Found one in an old guide book and fixedit up like a chart, markin' off the reefs and shoals in red ink, and themain channels in black fathom figures. Now here's Front and South-sts.,very shoal, dangerous passin' at any tide. There's a channel up theBowery; but it's crooked and full of buoys and beacons. I ain't tackledthat yet. I've stuck to Broadway and Fifth-ave. All clear sailin'there."
"Think so?" says I. "Let's see that chart?"
He passes it over willin' enough. And, say, for a sailor's guide to NewYork, that was a peach! Cap'n Bill Logan's idea seems to have been toindicate all the crooked joints, gamblin' halls, and such with reddaggers. Must have been some investigator too; for in spots they wassprinkled thick, with the names written alongside. When I begun readin'some of 'em, though, I snickers.
"What's this on the Bowery?" says I. "Suicide Hall?"
"You bet!" says he. "Cap'n Bill warned me about that special."
"Did, eh?" says I. "Well, he needn't; for it's been out of business foryears. So has Honest John Kelly's, and Theiss's, and Stevenson's. Whatvintage is this, anyway? When was it your friend took in the sightslast?"
"Wall, I guess it's been quite awhile," says Jim Isham, rubbin' hischin. "Let's see, Bill opened the store in '95, and for a couple ofyears before that he was runnin' the shingle mill. Yes, it must havebeen nigh twenty years ago."
"Back in the days of the Parkhurst crusade," says I. "Yes, I expect allthem dives was runnin' full blast once. But there ain't one of 'emleft."
"Sho!" says he. "You don't say! Gov'ment been improvin' the channels,same as they done in Hell Gate?"
"Something like that," says I. "Only not quite the same; for when themHell Gate rocks was blown up that was the end of 'em. But we get a freshcrop of red light joints every season. You tell Cap'n Bill when you getback that his wickedness chart needs revisin'."
"I'll write him that, b'gum!" says Mr. Isham. "Maybe that's why Icouldn't locate this reservoir he said I ought to see, the one I washuntin' for when we fouled. See, it says corner of 42d and Fifth-ave.,plain as day; but all I could find was that big white buildin' with thestone lions in front."
"Naturally," says I; "for they tore the old reservoir down years ago andbuilt the new city lib'ry on the spot. But how was it your friend put inso many warnin's against them old dives? You didn't come on to cultivatea late crop of wild oats, did you?"
"Nary an oat," says he, shakin' his head solemn. "I ain't much of achurchgoer; but I've always been a moderate, steady-goin' man. It was onaccount of my havin' this money to invest."
"Oh!" says I. "Much?"
"Fifty thousand dollars," says he.
I glances at him puzzled. Was it a case of loose wirin', or was this oldjay tryin' to hand me the end of the twine ball? Just then, though,along comes Hermann with a couple of three-inch combination chops and adish of baked potatoes all broke open and decorated with butter andpaprika; and for the next half-hour Mr. Isham's conversation works areclogged for fair. Not that he's one of these human sausage machines; buthe has a good hearty Down East appetite and a habit of attendin'strictly to business at mealtime.
But when he's finished off with a section of deep-dish apple pie and abig cup of coffee he sighs satisfied, unhooks the napkin, lights up aperfecto I've ordered for him, and resumes where he left off.
"It's a heap of money ain't it?" says he. "I didn't know at firstwhether or no I ought to take it. That's one thing I come on for."
"Ye-e-es?" says I, a little sarcastic maybe. "Had to be urged, did you?"
"Wall," says he, "I
wa'n't sure the fam'ly could afford it exactly."
"It was a gift, then?" says I.
"Willed to me," says he. "Kind of curious too. Shucks! when I took themfolks off the yacht that time I wa'n't thinkin' of anything like this.Course, the young feller did offer me some bills at the time; but he didit like he thought I was expectin' to be paid, and I--well, I couldn'ttake it that way. So I didn't git a cent. I thought the whole thing hadbeen forgotten too, when that letter from the lawyers comes sayin' howthis Mr. Fowler had----"
"Not Roswell K.?" I breaks in.
"Yes, that's the man," says he.
"Why, I remember now," says I. "It was the yacht his son and his newwife was takin' a honeymoon trip on. And she went on some rocks up onthe coast of Maine durin' a storm. The papers was full of it at thetime. And how they was all rescued by an old lobsterman who made twotrips in a leaky tub of a motorboat out through a howlin' northeaster.And--why, say, you don't mean to tell me you're Uncle Jimmy Isham, thehero?"
"Sho!" says he. "Don't you begin all that nonsense again. I was pesteredenough by the summer folks that next season. You ought to see themschoolma'ams takin' snapshots of me every time I turned around. Andgushin'! Why, it was enough to make a dog laugh! Course I ain't nohero."
"But that must have been some risky stunt of yours, just the same," Iinsists.
"Wall," he admits, "it wa'n't just the weather I'd pick to take the oldCurlew out in; but when I see through the glasses what the white thingwas that's poundin' around on Razor Back Ledges, and seen the distresssignal run up--why, I couldn't stay ashore. There was others would havegone, I guess, if I hadn't. But there I was, an old bach, and not muchgood to anybody anyway, you know."
"Come, come!" says I. "Why wa'n't you as good as the next?"
"I dun'no," says he, sighin' a little. "Only--only you know the kind ofa chap that everybody calls Uncle Jimmy? That--that's me."
"But you went out and got 'em!" I goes on.
"Yes," says he. "It wa'n't so much, though. You know how the papers runon?"
I didn't say yes or no to that. I was sittin' there starin' across thetable, tryin' to size up this leather-faced old party with the bashfulways and the simple look in his steady eyes. The grizzled mustachecurlin' close around his mouth corners, the heavy eyebrows, and thethick head of gray hair somehow reminds me of Mark Twain, as we used tosee him a few years back walkin' up Fifth-ave. Only Uncle Jimmy was alittle softer around the chin.
"Let's see," says I, "something like three summers ago, that was, wa'n'tit?"
"Four," says he, "the eighteenth of September."
"And since then?" says I.
"Just the same as before," says he. "I've been right at Pemaquid."
"At what?" says I.
"Pemaquid," he repeats, leanin' hard on the "quid." "I've been theregoin' on forty years, now."
"Doin' what?" says I.
"Oh, lobsterin' mostly," says he. "But late years they've been runnin'so scurce that summers I've been usin' the Curlew as a party boat.Ain't much money in it, though."
"How much, for instance?" says I.
"Wall, this season I cleaned up about one hundred and twenty dollarsfrom the Fourth to Labor Day," says he. "But there was lots of good dayswhen I didn't git any parties at all. You see, I look kind of old andshabby. So does the Curlew; and the spruce young fellers with the newboats gits the cream of the trade. But it don't take much to keep me."
"I should say not," says I, "if you can winter on that!"
"Oh, I can pick up a few dollars now and then lobsterin' and fishin',"says he. "But it's rough work in the winter time."
"And then all of a sudden, you say," says I, "you get fifty thousand."
"I couldn't believe it at fust," says he. "Neither did Cap'n Bill Logan.He was the only one I showed the letter to. 'Mebbe it's just some fake,'says he, 'gittin' you on there to sign papers. Tell 'em to send twentydollars for travelin' expenses.' Wall, I did, and what do you think?They sends back two hundred, b'gum! Yes, Sir, Cap'n Bill took the checkup to Wiscasset and got the money on it from the bank. Two hundreddollars! Why, say, that would take me putty nigh round the world, Iguess. I left part of it with the Cap'n, and made him promise not totell a soul. You see, I didn't want Cynthy to git wind of it."
"Oh-ho!" says I. "Some relation, is she?"
"Cynthy? Land, no!" says he. "She's just the Widow Allen, over to theNeck--Cynthy Hamill that was. I've known her ever since she taughtschool at Bristol Mills. She's been a widow goin' on twenty years now,and most of that time we've been--well, I ain't missed goin' across thebay once or twice a week in all that time. You see, Cynthy not havin'any man, I kind of putter around for her, see that she has plenty ofstovewood and kindlin' chopped, and so on. She's real good company,Cynthy is,--plays hymns on the organ, knits socks for me, and hanged ifshe can't make the best fish chowder I ever e't! Course, I know theneighbors laugh some about Cynthy and me; but they're welcome. Alwaysaskin' me when the weddin's comin' off. But sho! They know well enough Inever had the money to git married on."
"Got enough now, though, ain't you, Uncle Jimmy?" says I, winkin'.
"Too blamed much," says he. "Cap'n Bill showed me that plain at our lasttalk. 'Why, you old fool,' says he, 'if it turns out true, then you're amighty rich man, 'most a millionaire! You can't stay on livin' here inyour old shack at Pemaquid. You got to have the luxuries and therefinements of life now,' says he, 'and you got to go to the city to git'em. Boston might do for some; but if it was me I'd camp right down inNew York at one of them swell hotels, and just enjoy myself to the endof my days.' Wall, here I be, and I'm gittin' used to the luxuriesgradual."
"How hard have you splurged?" says I.
"Had two sodas yesterday," says he, "and maybe I'll tackle one of themmovin' picture shows to-morrow. I been aimin' to. It'd be all right,wouldn't it?"
"Yes, I wouldn't call that any wild extravagance, with fifty thousand todraw on," says I. "How have you got it?"
He fishes out an old wallet, unstraps it careful, and shoves over acashier's check. No bluff about it. He had the goods.
"Said you was goin' to invest it, didn't you?" I suggests cautious.
"That's what's botherin' me most about this whole business," says UncleJimmy. "It's an awful lot of money for an old codger like me to handle.I tried to git young Mr. Fowler to take half of it back; but he onlylaughs and says he couldn't do that, and guessed how he and the wife wasworth that much, anyway. Besides, I expect he don't need it."
"I should say that was a safe bet," says I. "If I remember right, hisshare of the estate was ten or twelve millions."
"Gorry!" says Uncle Jimmy. "No wonder he couldn't tell me what to put itinto, either. Maybe you could give me an idea, though."
"Me?" says I. "Why, you don't know me, Uncle Jimmy. You wouldn't wantto take a stranger's advice about investin' your money."
"Sho!" says he. "Why not? I've asked most everybody I've had a chance totalk with ever since I got here, and most of 'em has been mightyaccommodatin'. Why, there was one young man that followed me out of thelawyer's office just to tell me of some gold mine stock he knew aboutthat inside of six months was goin' to be worth ten times what it'ssellin' for now. Offered to buy me a controllin' interest too."
"You don't mean it!" says I.
"Yes, Sir. Nice, bright feller that didn't know me from Adam," saysUncle Jimmy. "Took me ridin' in one of these here taxicabs and bought mea bang-up hotel dinner. And if it hadn't been that I knew of a Methodistminister once who lost twenty dollars in gold mine stocks, hanged if Iwouldn't have invested heavy! But somehow, ever since hearin' of that,I've had an idea gold mines was sort of risky."
"Which ain't such a fool hunch, either," says I.
"Then only this mornin'," goes on Uncle Jimmy enthusiastic, "I runsacross a mighty friendly, spruce-dressed pair,--big Pittsburghfi-nanciers, they said they was,--who was makin' money hand over fistbettin' on hoss races somewheres."
"Well, well!" says I. "Had an operator who'd ta
pped a poolroom wire andcould hold up returns, didn't they?"
"That's it!" says Uncle Jimmy. "They explained just how it was done; butI'm a little slow understandin' such things. Anyway, they took me to aplace where I saw one of 'em win two thousand inside of ten minutes; andb'gum, if I'd been a bettin' man, I could have made a heap! I did letone of 'em put up fifty cents for me, and he brought back five dollarsin no time. They seemed real put out too when I wouldn't take the chanceof a lifetime and bet a thousand on the next race. But somehow Icouldn't bring myself to it. What would Cynthy think if she knew I wasdown here in New York, bettin' on hoss races? No, Sir, I couldn't."
"And you got away with the five, did you?" says I.
"Don't tell," says Uncle Jimmy, "but I slipped it in an envelope andsent it to that shiftless Hank Tuttle, over at the point. You see, Hankguzzles hard cider, and plays penny ante, and is always hard up. Hewon't know where it come from, and won't care. The fine cigars them twohanded out so free I'm keepin' to smoke Sunday afternoons."
"Huh!" says I. "That's a good record so far, Uncle Jimmy. Anything morealong that line?"
"Wall," says he, "there was one chance I expect I shouldn't have letslip. Got to talkin' with a feller in the hotel, sort of a hook-nosed,foreign-speakin' man, who's in the show business. He says hisbrother-in-law, by the name of Goldberg, has got an idea for a musicalcomedy that would just set Broadway wild and make a mint of money. Allhe needed to start it was twenty or thirty thousand, and he figured itwould bring in four times that the first season. And he was willin' tolet me have a half interest in his scheme. I'd gone in too, only fromwhat he said I thought it must be one of these pieces where they have alot of girls in tights, and--well, I thought of Cynthy again. What wouldshe say to me bein' mixed up with a show of that kind? So I had to dropit."
"Any taxi rides or cigars in that?" says I.
"Just cigars," says Uncle Jimmy.
"But you mean to invest that fifty thousand sooner or later, don't you?"says I.
"Cap'n Bill said I ought to," says he, "and live off'm the interest.He's a mighty smart business man, Cap'n Bill is. And I guess I'll findsomething before long."
"You can't miss it," says I, "specially if you keep on as you'vestarted. But see here, Uncle Jimmy, while I ain't got any wonderful dealof my own for you to put your money in, I might throw out a useful hintor two as to other folk's plans. Suppose you just take my card, andbefore you tie up with any accommodatin' financiers drop in at thestudio, and talk it over with me."
"Why, much obliged, Mr.--er--Professor McCabe," says he, readin' thename off the card. "Mebbe I will."
"Better make it a promise," says I. "I hate to knock our fair village;but now and then you might find a crook in New York."
"So I've heard," says he; "but I kind of think I'd know one if he runafoul of me. And everybody I've met so far has been mighty nice."
Well, what else was there for me to say? There wa'n't any more suspicionin them gentle blue eyes of his than in a baby's. Forty years inPemaquid! Must be some moss-grown, peaceful spot, where a man can growup so innocent and simple, and yet have the stuff in him Uncle Jimmymust have had. So I tows him back to 42d-st., points him towards the newlib'ry again, and turns him loose; him in his old blue suit and fadedcap, with Cap'n Bill's antique dive chart and certified check for fiftythousand in his inside pocket.
I thought he might show up at the studio in a day or so, to submit someget-rich-quick fake to me. But he didn't. A couple of weeks goes by.Still no Uncle Jimmy. I was beginnin' to look for accounts in the papersof how an old jay from the coast of Maine had been bunkoed and gone tothe police with his tale of woe; but nothin' of the kind appears. Theydon't always squeal, you know. Maybe he was that kind.
Then here the other day in that big storm we had, as I'm standin' in thedoorway hesitatin' about dodgin' out into them slantwise sheets of rain,who should come paddlin' along, his coat collar turned up and his cappulled down, but Uncle Jimmy Isham.
"Well, well!" says I, makin' room for him in the hallway. "Still here,eh? Gettin' to be a reg'lar Broadway rounder, I expect?"
"No," says he, shakin' the water off of him like a terrier, "I--I can'tseem to get used to bein' a city man. Fact is, McCabe, I guess I beguntoo late. I don't like it at all."
"Homesick for Pemaquid?" says I.
"That's it," says he. "I stove it off until this mornin'. I'd been doin'fust rate too, goin' to picture shows reg'lar, takin' in the sights, andtryin' to make myself believe I was enjoyin' all the luxuries andrefinements of life, like Cap'n Bill said I ought to. But when I woke upat daylight and heard this nor'easter snortin' through the streets Icouldn't stand it a mite longer. I dun'no's I can make it plain to you,but--well, this ain't no place to be in a storm. Never saw the surf pileup on Pemaquid Point, did you? Then you ought to once. And I bet it'srollin' in some there now. Yes, Sir! The old graybacks are jestthunderin' in on them rocks with a roar you can hear three miles back inthe woods. Roarin' and smashin', they are, grand and mighty and awful.And I want to be there to see and hear. I got to, that's all. What'sshows and museums and ridin' in the subway, compared to a storm onPemaquid? No, Sir, I can't stand it any longer. I'm goin' back on theBoston boat to-night, and before it's calmed down at the point I'll bethere. I'm goin' to stay there too; that is, if I don't move over to theNeck."
"With Cynthy?" says I.
"If she'll let me," says he.
"Got the fifty thousand invested yet?" says I.
"No," says he, droppin' his chin guilty, "I ain't. And I expect Cap'nBill will call me an old fool. But I couldn't jest seem to find theright thing to put it into. So I'm goin' to stop at Wiscasset and leaveit at the bank and git 'em to buy me some gover'ment bonds or something.That won't bring me in much; but it'll be more'n I'll know what to dowith. Then I got to see Cynthy. If she says she'll have me, I supposeI'll have to break it to her about the money. I dun'no what she's goin'to say, either. That's what's botherin' me."
"Yes, Uncle Jimmy," says I, givin' him a farewell grip. "Like the cat inthe bird store--you should worry!"
Pemaquid, eh? Say, I'm goin' to hire a guide in Portland and discoverthat place sometime. I'd like to see Uncle Jimmy again.