CHAPTER IV
HOW HAM PASSED THE BUCK
I expect you'll admit that when Mr. Robert slides out at 11 A.M. anddon't show up again until after three he's stretchin' the lunch hour abit. But, whatever other failin's I may have, I believe in bein' easywith the boss. So, when he breezes into the private office in themiddle of the afternoon, I just gives him the grin, friendly andindulgent like.
"Well, Torchy," he calls over to me, "have I missed anyone?"
"Depends on how it strikes you," says I. "Mr. Hamilton Adams has nearburned out the switchboard tryin' to get you on the 'phone. Called upfour times."
"Ham, eh?" says he, shruggin' his shoulders careless. "Then I canhardly say I regret being late. I trust he left no message."
"This ain't your lucky day," says I. "He did. Wants to see you veryspecial. Wants you to look him up."
"At the club, I suppose?" says Mr. Robert.
"No, at his rooms," says I.
"The deuce he does!" says Mr. Robert. "Why doesn't he come here ifit's so urgent?"
"He didn't say exactly," says I, "but from hints he dropped I take ithe can't get out. Sick, maybe."
"Humph!" says Mr. Robert, rubbin' his chin thoughtful. "If that is thecase--" Then he stops and stares puzzled into the front of theroll-top, where the noon mail is sorted and stacked in the wire baskets.
I don't hear anything more from him for two or three minutes, when hesignals me over and pulls up a chair.
"Ah--er--about Ham Adams, now," he begins.
"Say, Mr. Robert," says I, "you ain't never goin' to wish him onto me,are you? Why, him and me wouldn't get along a little bit."
"I must concede," says he, "that Mr. Adams has not a winningpersonality. Yet there are redeeming features. He plays an excellentgame of billiards, his taste in the matter of vintage wines isunerring, and in at least two rather vital scrimmages which I had withthe regatta committee he was on my side. And, while I feel that I havemore than repaid any balance due-- Well, I can't utterly ignore himnow. But as for hunting him up this afternoon--" Mr. Robert nods atthe stacks of letters.
"Oh, all right," says I. "What's his number?"
Mr. Robert writes it on a card.
"You may as well understand my position," says he. "I have alreadyinvested some twenty-five hundred dollars in Mr. Adams' uncertainprospects. I must stop somewhere. Of course, if he's ill or indesperate straits-- Well, here is another hundred which you may offeror not, as you find best. I am relying, you see, on your somewhatremarkable facility for rescuing truth from the bottom of the well orany other foolish hiding-place."
"Meanin', I expect," says I, "that you're after a sort of generalreport, eh?"
"Quite so," says Mr. Robert. "You see, it's a business errand, in away. You go as a probing committee of one, with full powers."
"It's a tough assignment," says I, "but I'll do my best."
For I'd seen enough of Ham Adams to know he wa'n't the kind to open upeasy. One of these bull-necked husks, Mr. Adams is, with all thepleasin' manners of a jail warden. Honest, in all the times he's beeninto the Corrugated general offices, I've never seen him give anyonebut Mr. Robert so much as a nod. Always marched in like he was goin'to trample you under foot if you didn't get out of his way, and he hada habit of scowlin' over your head like he didn't see you at all.
I expect that was his idea of keeping the lower classes in their place.He was an income aristocrat, Ham was. Always had been. Phosphatemines down South somewheres, left to him by an aunt who had brought himup. And with easy money comin' in fresh and fresh every quarter,without havin' to turn a hand to get it, you'd 'most think he couldtake life cheerful. He don't, though. Hardly anything suits him. Hedevelops into the club grouch, starin' slit-eyed at new members, andcultivatin' the stony glare for the world in general.
And then, all of a sudden, his income dries up. Stops absolutely.Something about not bein' able to ship any more phosphate to Germany.Anyway, the quarterly stuff is all off. I'd heard him takin' on aboutit to Mr. Robert--cussin' out the State Department, the Kaiser, theAllies, anybody he could think of to lay the blame to. Why didn'tsomeone do something? It was a blessed outrage. What was one to do?
Ham's next idea seems to be who was one to do; and Mr. Robert, beinghandy, was tagged. First off it was a loan; a good-sized one; then anote or so, and finally he gets down to a plain touch now and then,when Mr. Robert couldn't dodge.
But for a month or more, until this S. O. S. call comes in, he don'tshow up at all. So I'm some curious myself to know just what's struckhim. I must say, though, that for a party who's been crossed off thedividend list for more'n a year, he's chuckin' a good bluff. Somespiffy bachelor apartments these are that I locates--tubbed bay treesout front, tapestry panels in the reception-room, and a doormanuniformed like a rear-admiral. I has to tell the 'phone girl who I amand why, and get an upstairs O. K., before I'm passed on to theelevator. Also my ring at B suite, third floor, is answered by aperfectly good valet.
"From Mr. Ellins, sir?" says he, openin' the door a crack.
"Straight," says I.
He swings it wide and bows respectful. A classy party, this man of Mr.Adams', too. Nothing down-and-out about him. Tuxedo, white tie, andneat trimmed siders in front of his ears. One of these quiet spoken,sleuthy movin' gents he is, a reg'lar stage valet. But he manages togive me the once-over real thorough as he's towin' me in.
"This way, sir," says he, brushin' back the draperies and shuntin' mein among the leather chairs and Oriental rugs.
Standin' in the middle of the room, with his feet wide apart, is Mr.Adams, like he was waitin' impatient. You'd hardly call him sick abed.I expect it would take a subway smash to dent him any. But, if his manfails to look the part of better days gone by, Ham Adams is the truepicture of a seedy sport. His padded silk dressin'-gown is fringedalong the cuffs, and one of the shoulder seams is split; his slippersare run over; and his shirt should have gone to the wash last week.Also his chin is decorated in two places with surgeon's tape and has athick growth of stubble on it. As I drifts in he's makin' a bumattempt to' roll a cigarette and is gazin' disgusted at the result.
"Why didn't Bob come himself?" he demands peevish.
"Rush of business," says I. "He'd been takin' time off and the workpiled up on him."
"Humph!" says Adams. "Well, I've got to see him, that's all."
"In that case," says I, "you ought to drop around about--"
"Out of the question," says he. "Look at me. Been trying to shavemyself. Besides-- Well, I can't!"
"Mr. Robert thought," I goes on, "that you might--"
"Well?" breaks in Mr. Adams, turnin' his back on me sudden and glarin'at the draperies. "What is it, Nivens?"
At which the valet appears, holdin' a bunch of roses.
"From Mrs. Grenville Hawks, sir," says he. "They came while you wereat breakfast, sir."
"Well, well, put them in a vase--in there," says Ham. And as Nivensgoes out he kicks the door to after him.
"Now, then," he goes on, "what was it Mr. Robert thought?"
"That you might give me a line on how things stood with you," says I,"so he'd know just what to do."
"Eh?" growls Ham. "Tell you! Why, who the devil are you?"
"Nobody much," says I. "Maybe you ain't noticed me in the office, butI'm there. Private sec. to the president of Mutual Funding. My deskis beyond Mr. Robert's, in the corner."
"Oh, yes," says Adams; "I remember you now. And I suppose I may aswell tell you as anyone. For the fact is, I'm about at the end of mystring. I must get some money somewhere."
"Ye-e-es?" says I, sort of cagey.
"Did Bob send any by you? Did he?" suddenly asks Adams.
"Some," says I.
"How much?" he demands.
"A hundred," says I.
"Bah!" says he. "Why, that wouldn't-- See here; you go back and tellBob I need a lot more than that--a couple of thousand, anyway."
>
I shakes my head. "I guess a hundred is about the limit," says I.
"But great Scott!" says Adams, grippin' his hands desperate. "I'vesimply got to--"
Then he breaks off and stares again towards the door. Next he stepsacross the room soft and jerks it open, revealin' the classy Nivensstandin' there with his head on one side.
"Ha!" snarls Ham. "Listening, eh?"
"Oh yes, sir," says Nivens. "Naturally, sir."
"Why naturally?" says Adams.
"I'm rather interested, that's all, sir," says Nivens.
"Oh, you are, are you?" sneers Ham. "Come in here."
He ain't at all bashful about acceptin' the invitation, nor our starin'at him don't seem to get him a bit fussed. In fact, he's about thecoolest appearin' member of our little trio.
Maybe some of that is due to the dead white of his face and the blackhair smoothed back so slick. A cucumbery sort of person, Nivens. Hehas sort of a narrow face, taken bow on, but sideways it shows up cleancut and almost distinguished. Them deep-set black eyes of his give hima kind of mysterious look, too.
"Now," says Ham Adams, squarin' off before him with his jaw set rugged,"perhaps you will tell us why you were stretching your ear outside?"
"Wouldn't it be better, sir, if I explained privately?" suggestsNivens, glancin' at me.
"Oh, him!" says Adams. "Never mind him."
"Very well, sir," says Nivens. "I wanted to know if you were able toraise any cash. I haven't mentioned it before, but there's a matter offifteen months' wages between us, sir, and--"
"Yes, yes, I know," cuts in Ham. "But yon understand my circumstances.That will come in time."
"I'm afraid I shall have to ask for a settlement very soon, sir," saysNivens.
"Eh?" gasps Adams. "Why, see here, Nivens; you've been with me forfive--six years, isn't it?"
"Going on seven, sir," says Nivens.
"And during all that time," suggests Ham, "I've paid you thousands ofdollars."
"I've tried to earn it all, sir," says Nivens.
"So you have," admits Ham. "I suppose I should have said so before.As a valet you're a wonder. You've got a lot of sense, too. So whyinsist now on my doing the impossible? You know very well I can't laymy hands on a dollar."
"But there's your friend Mr. Ellins," says Nivens.
Ham Adams looks over at me. "I say," says he, "won't Bob stand formore than a hundred? Are you sure?"
"He only sent that in case you was sick," says I.
"You see?" says Ham, turnin' to Nivens. "We've got to worry along thebest we can until things brighten up. I may have to sell off some ofthese things."
A cold near-smile flickers across Nivens' thin lips.
"You hadn't thought of taking a position, had you, sir?" he asksinsinuatin'.
"Position!" echoes Ham. "Me? Why, I never did any kind of work--don'tknow how. Tell me, who do you think would give me a job at anything?"
"Since you've asked, sir," says Nivens, "why, I might, sir."
Ham Adams lets out a gasp.
"You!" says he.
"It's this way, sir," says Nivens, in that quiet, offhand style of his."I'd always been in the habit of putting by most of my wages, notneeding them to live on. There's tips, you know, sir, and quite alittle one can pick up--commissions from the stores, sellingsecond-hand clothes and shoes, and so on. So when Cousin Mabel hadthis chance to buy out the Madame Ritz Beauty Parlors, where she'd beenforelady for so long, I could furnish half the capital and go in as asilent partner."
"Wha-a-at?" says Ham, his eyes bugged. "You own a half interest in abeauty shop--in Madame Ritz's?"
Nivens bows.
"That is strictly between ourselves, sir," says he. "I wouldn't likeit generally known. But it's been quite a success--twelve attendants,sir, all busy from eleven in the morning until ten at night. Mostlylimousine trade now, for we've doubled our prices within the last twoyears. You'll see our ads in all the theater programs and Sundaypapers. That's what brings in the--"
"But see here," breaks in Ham, "how the merry dingbats would you use mein a beauty parlor? I'm just curious."
Nivens pulls that flickery smile of his again.
"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind, sir," says he. "In fact, Ihave nothing to do with the active management of Madame Ritz's; onlydrop around once or twice a month to go over the books with Mabel.It's wonderful how profits pile up, sir. Nearly ten thousand apiecelast year. So I've been thinking I ought to give up work. It was onlythat I didn't quite know what to do with myself after. I've settledthat now, though; at least, Mabel has. 'You ought to take your placein society,' she says, 'and get married.' The difficulty was, sir, todecide just what place I ought to take. And then--well, it's an illwind, as they say, that blows nobody luck. Besides, if you'll pardonme, sir, you seemed to be losing your hold on yours."
"On--on mine?" asks Ham, his mouth open.
Nivens nods.
"I'm rather familiar with it, you see," says he. "Of course, I may notfill it just as you did, but that would hardly be expected. I can try.That is why I have been staying on. I've taken over the lease. Theagent has stopped bothering you, perhaps you have noticed. And I'vemade out a complete inventory of the furnishings. In case I take themover, I'll pay you a fair price--ten per cent. more than any dealer."
"Do--do you mean to say," demands Adams, "that you are paying my rent?"
"Excuse me, mine," says Nivens. "The lease has stood in my name forthe last two months. I didn't care to hurry you, sir; I wanted to giveyou every chance. But now, if you are quite at the end, I am ready topropose the change."
"Go on," says Ham, starin' at him. "What change?"
"My place for yours," says Nivens.
"Eh?" gasps Ham.
"That is, of course, if you've nothing better to do, sir," says Nivens,quiet and soothin'. "You'd soon pick it up, sir, my tastes being quitesimilar. For instance--the bath ready at nine; fruit, coffee, toast,and eggs at nine-fifteen, with the morning papers and the mail laidout. Then at--"
"See here, my man," breaks in Adams, breathin' hard. "Are you crazy,or am I? Are you seriously suggesting that I become your valet?"
Nivens shrugs his shoulders.
"It occurred to me you'd find that the easiest way of settling youraccount with me, sir," says he. "Then, too, you could stay on here,almost as though nothing had happened. Quite likely I should go out abit more than you do, sir. Well, here you'd be: your easy chair, yourpictures, your favorite brands of cigars and Scotch. Oh, I assure you,you'll find me quite as gentlemanly about not locking them up as youhave been, sir. I should make a few changes, of course; nothingradical, however. And, really, that little back room of mine is verycozy. What would come hardest for you, I suppose, would be the gettingup at seven-thirty; but with a good alarm clock, sir, you--"
"Stop!" says Ham. "This--this is absurd. My head's swimming from it.And yet-- Well, what if I refuse?"
Nivens lifts his black eyebrows significant.
"I should hope I would not be forced to bring proceedings, sir," sayshe. "Under the Wage Act, you know--"
"Yes, yes," groans Ham, slumpin' into a chair and restin' his chin onhis hands. "I know. You could send me to jail. I should have thoughtof that. But I--I didn't know how to get along alone. I've never hadto, you know, and--"
"Precisely, sir," says Nivens. "And allow me to suggest that anotheremployer might not have the patience to show you your duties. But Ishall be getting used to things myself, you know, and I sha'n't mindtelling you. If you say so, sir, we'll begin at once."
Ham Adams gulps twice, like he was tryin' to swallow an egg, and thenasks:
"Just how do--do you want to--to begin?"
"Why," says Nivens, "you might get my shaving things and lay them outin the bathroom. I think I ought to start by--er--dispensing withthese"; and he runs a white hand over the butler siders that frames hisears.
Almost like he was w
alkin' in his sleep, Ham gets up. He was headedfor the back of the suite, all right, starin' straight ahead of him,when of a sudden he turns and catches me watchin'. He stops, and apink flush spreads from his neck up to his ears.
"As you was just sayin'," says I, "don't mind me. Anyway, I guess thisis my exit cue."
I tries to swap a grin with Nivens as I slips through the door. Butthere's nothing doing. He's standin' in front of the mirror decidin'just where he shall amputate those whiskers.
First off Mr. Robert wouldn't believe it at all. Insists I'm feedin'him some fairy tale. But when I gives him all the details, closin'with a sketch of Ham startin' dazed for the back bathroom, he justrocks in his chair and 'most chokes over it.
"By George!" says he. "Ham Adams turning valet to his own man! Oh,that is rich! But far be it from me to interfere with the ways of amysterious Providence. Besides, in six months or so his income willprobably be coming in again. Meanwhile-- Well, we will see how itworks out."
That was five or six weeks ago, and not until Tuesday last does eitherof us hear another word. Mr. Robert he'd been too busy; and as for me,I'd had no call. Still, being within a couple of blocks of the place,I thought I might stroll past. I even hangs up outside the entrance afew minutes, on the chance that one or the other of 'em might be goin'in or out, I'd about given up though, and was startin' off, when Ialmost bumps into someone dodgin' down the basement steps.
It's Ham Adams, with a bottle of gasoline in one hand and a bundle oflaundry under his arm. Looks sprucer and snappier than I'd ever seenhim before, too. And that sour, surly look is all gone. Why, he'salmost smilin'.
"Well, well!" says I. "How's valetin' these days?"
"Oh, it's you, is it?" says he. "Why, I'm getting along fine. Ofcourse, I never could be quite so good at it as--as Mr. Nivens was, buthe is kind enough to say that I am doing very well. Really, though, itis quite simple. I just think of the things I should like to have donefor me, and--well, I do them for him. It's rather interesting, youknow."
I expect I gawped some myself, hearing that from him. From Ham Adams,mind you!
"Ye-e-e-es; must be," says I, sort of draggy. Then I shifts thesubject. "How's Mr. Nivens gettin' along?" says I. "Ain't marriedyet, eh?"
For a second Ham Adams lapses back into his old glum look.
"That is the only thing that worries me," says he. "No, he isn'tmarried, as yet; but he means to be. And the lady--well, she's awidow, rather well off. Nice sort of person, in a way. A Mrs.Grenville Hawks."
"Not the one that used to send you bunches of roses?" says I.
He stares at me, and then nods.
"It seems that Mr. Nivens had already picked her out--before," says he."Oh, there was really nothing between us. I'd never been a marryingman, you know. But Mrs. Hawks--well, we were rather congenial. She'sbright, not much of a highbrow, and not quite in the swim. I suppose Imight have-- Oh, widows, you know. Told me she didn't intend to stayone. And now Mr. Nivens has come to know her, in some way; through hiscousin Mabel, I suppose. Knows her quite well. She telephones himhere. I--I don't like it. It's not playing square with her for himto-- Well, you see what I mean. She doesn't know who he was."
"Uh-huh," says I.
"But I'm not sure just what I ought to do," says he.
"If you're callin' on me for a hunch," says I, "say so."
"Why, yes," says he. "What is it?"
"What's the matter," says I, "with beating him to it?"
"Why--er--by Jove!" says Ham. "I--I wonder."
He was still standin' there, holdin' the gasoline bottle and gazin'down the basement steps, as I passed on. Course, I was mostly joshin'him. Half an hour later and I'd forgot all about it. Never gave him athought again until this mornin' I hears Mr. Robert explode oversomething he's just read in the paper.
"I say, Torchy," he sings out. "You remember Ham Adams? Well, what doyou think he's gone and done now?"
"Opened a correspondence school for valets?" says I.
"Married!" says Mr. Robert. "A rich widow, too; a Mrs. GrenvilleHawks."
"Zippo!" says I. "Then he's passed the buck back on Nivens."
"I--er--I beg pardon?" says Mr. Robert.
"You see," says I, "Nivens kind of thought an option on her went withthe place. He had Ham all counted out. But that spell of real workmust have done Ham a lot of good--must have qualified him to come back.Believe me, too, he'll never be the same again."
"That, at least, is cheering," says Mr. Robert.