CHAPTER VIII
A WHIRL WITH KAZEDKY
Chee! W'atcher think? I ain't read an "Old Sleut'" for more'n a week,and there's two murder myst'ries runnin' in the sportin' extras that I'mway behind on. You wouldn't guess it in a month, but I'm takin' a fallout of the knowledge game. Mr. Mallory says I'm part in the sixt' gradeand part in the eight'.
"I believe it," says I; "my nut feels that way."
Honest, I'm stowin' away so much that I never knew before that I'mthinkin' of wearin' a leather strap around my head, same's these strongboys wears 'em on their wrists.
"Ah! w'at's the use?" says I. "Nobody's ever goin' to ask me what's fourper cent of thoity thousand plunks, an' if I had that much I wouldn'tfarm it out for less'n six, anyway. And I don't see where this De Sotocomes in. Sounds like he might have played first base for the Beanies;but he's been dead too long for that. What odds does it make if I don'tknow the capital of Nevada? I ain't lookin' for no divorce, am I?"
But there's no shakin' Mallory off. He's dug up a lot of kid schoolbooks for me, and I got 'em stowed away in the desk here, like this wasP. S. 46, 'stead of the front office of the Corrugated Trust. And when Iain't takin' cards into the main squeezes, or answerin' fool questionsover the 'phone, or chasin' out on errands for Piddie, I'm swallowin'chunks of information about the times when G. Wash. was buildin' fortsin Harlem and makin' good for a continuous in front of the Subtreasury.
Course, it's a clean waste of time. Suppose I gets the run next week,could I win another head office boy job by spielin' off a mess of guffabout a lot of dead ones? Nit, never! But Mallory's got the bug thatit'll all come in handy to me sometime, and I'm doin' it just to keephim satisfied. We get together most every night in his room, and I hasto cough up what I've got next to durin' the day. And say, when I'vebeen soldierin', and try to run in a stiff bluff instead of the realgoods, he looks as disappointed as if I'd done something real low down.So gen'rally I hits up the books when there's nothin' else doin'.
Mr. Robert's on. He comes in one mornin' and pipes off the 'rithmetic."What's this, Torchy?" says he. "Studying?"
"Yep," says I. "When I went through Columbia College there wa'n'tanybody there but the janitor; so I'm takin' a postprandial whirl atthis number dope, and it's fierce."
"Whose idea?" says he.
"Mr. Mallory's," says I. "But I've laid it out flat to him that I drawsthe line at Greek. I'd never want to talk like them 23d-st. flowerpeddlers, not in a thousand years!"
Didn't tell you, did I, about Mallory's doin' the skyrocket act? AfterMr. Robert gets next to the fact that Mallory's a two seasons' oldfootball hero from his old college he yanks him out of thattwelve-dollar-a-week filin' job and makes him a salaried gent, inside oftwo days.
"Which is something I owe chiefly to you, Torchy," says Mallory.
"Honk, honk!" says I. "Them's the kind of ideas that will get you run infor reckless thinkin'. You was winnin' all that when you did that sprintfor goal your friend Dicky was tellin' about the other day. Now all yougot to do is get up on your toes and make one or two touchdowns for oldCorrugated."
"I know," says he; "but I'm afraid that in this game I'm outclassed."
Honest, he was scared stiff; but he didn't let anyone but me see it.Even a little thing like goin' down to Wall Street and lookin' up somesecurities gets him rattled. He hadn't been gone more'n an' hour 'forehe calls me up on the 'phone and says some broker's clerk has asked himif our concern don't want to bid on P. O. privileges at seven-eighths."What are P. O. privileges?" says Mallory.
"Oh, tush!" says I. "And you let 'em hand you such a burry one? P. O.privileges is the right to lick stamps at the gen'ral post-office, andit's a gag them curb shysters has wore to a frazzle. You go back andtell that fresh paper-chewer we're only buyin' options on July snowremovals preferred."
That's what comes of foolin' around at college. Mallory comes backlookin' like some one had sold him a billboard seat to a free windowshow.
But that was nothin' to the down-and-out slump I found him in nextnight, when I goes around for my writin' lesson and so on.
"Is it the _spino comeandgetus_," says I, "or has Miss Tuttifruttisent back your Christmas card?"
"It's worse than either," says he, with his chin on the top button ofhis vest. "I guess I'm what you would call a false alarm, Torchy. I'vebeen tried out and haven't made good."
"G'wan!" says I. "Everyone gets a lemon now and then. Some tries toswaller it whole, and chokes to death; others mixes 'em up with eggs andthings, and knocks out a pie, with meringue on top. Draw us a map of howyou fell off the scaffold."
Well, I jollied the hard luck tale out of him. It was a case of sendin'a boy with a pushcart to bring home a grand piano. The Old Man had doneit. He's kind of sore on the way Mr. Robert lugged Mallory in by thehair, 'cause I heard him growlin' somethin' about makin' a kindergartenout of the Corrugated; so he springs this on him. He calls for Malloryand tells him there's a Russian gent down to the Waldorf that's comeover to place a big Gover'ment contract.
"We've got to have a slice of that," says he. "Just you run down and getit for us." Like that, offhand, as if it was somethin' you could doanytime between lunch and one-thirty.
Near as I could make out, Mallory goes for it in his polite, standoff,after-you way, and the closest he gets to Russky is a minute with acocky secretary that says his Excellency is very sorry, but he'll be toobusy to see him this trip--maybe next time, about 1912, he'll have anhour off.
"And then you backs up the alley?" says I.
"There was nothing else for me to do," says Mallory. "He went offwithout giving me another chance."
"Say," says I, "if I had all your parlor manners, I'd organize anEnglish holdin' comp'ny for 'em, so's not to be jacked up for bein' amonopoly. Why didn't you give him the low tackle and sit on his headuntil he promised to behave? Was that the only try you made?"
"No, I sent up my card twice after that," says he, "and it came back. SoI've flunked. I think I'd better go down in the morning and resign."
Now wouldn't that rust you?
"Then here goes the books," says I, chuckin' 'em into the corner. "Ifdoin' the knowledge stunt leaves you with a backbone like a piece ofboiled spaghetti, I'm through."
That makes Mallory sit up as if I'd jabbed him with a pin. "Do I seemthat way to you?" says he.
"You don't think you're givin' any weight-liftin' exhibition, do you?"says I.
He lets that trickle through for a minute or so, and then he comes backto life. "Torchy," says he, "you're right. I'm acting like a quitter.But I don't mean to let go just yet. Hanged if I don't try to see thatman to-night, now, as quick as I can get down there! He's got to see me,by Jove!"
"There's more sense to that than anything else you've said in a week,"says I. "Wish I could be there to hold your hat."
"Why not?" says he. "Come on. I may need fresh inspiration."
"Whatever I gives you'll be fresh, all right," says I; "but if I wasyou, and was goin' to butt into any Fifth-ave. hotel along aboutdinner-time, I'd wear the regalia. Yours ain't in on a ticket, is it?"
It wa'n't. Mallory had to go clear to the bottom of the trunk after it;but when he'd shook out the wrinkles and got himself inside the view wasworth while. After he's blown up his op'ra hat and got out his stick youcouldn't tell him from a three times winner.
"Chee!" says I. "You've got Silent Smith tied to a post. If you actslike you look, you don't need me."
He wouldn't have it that way, though. I'd got to go along and be readyto give him any points I thought of. We goes in a cab, too, in over therubber mats to the carriage door, just like we'd come to hire the royalsuite.
"The Baron Kazedky," says Mallory, shovin' his card across at the nearplute behind the desk.
Then the cold wave begun comin' our way. Mister Baron was out. Nobodyknew where he'd gone. He hadn't left any word. And he didn't receivecallers after four P.M., anyway. Mallory was gettin' his breath afterstoppin' them body blows, when I push
es in.
"Say, Sir Wally," says I, leanin' over towards the clerk and speakin'confidential, "lemme give you somethin' from the inside. If Kazedkymisses seein' Mr. Mallory to-night, you'll be called up to-morrow tohear some Russian language that'll take all the crimp out of that RobertMantell bang of yours. Now ring up one of them bench-warmers and show usthe Baron!"
But, say, you might's well try bluffin' your way through the fire lineson a brass trunk check, "You'll find the manager's office two doors tothe left, gentlemen," says he.
"Much obliged for nothin'," says I.
Course, there wa'n't any use registerin' a kick. Orders is orders, andwe was on the wrong side of the fence. Mallory and I takes a turnthrough the corridors and past the main dinin'-room, where they keeps anorchestra playin' so's the got-rich-quick folks won't hear each othereat their soup.
We was tryin' to think up a new move. I was for goin' out somewhere andcallin' for the Baron over the 'phone; but Mallory's got his jaw set nowand says he don't mean to leave until he has some kind of satisfaction.He's kind of slow takin' hold; but when he gets his teeth in he's astayer.
We knocks around half an hour, and nothin' happens. Then, just as we waspushin' through the mob into the Palm Room I runs into Whitey Buck. Youknow about Whitey, don't you? Well, you've seen his name printed acrossthe top of the sportin' page that he runs. And say, Whitey's the smoothboy, all right! Him and me used to do some great old joshin' when I wason the Sunday editor's door.
"Hello, Whitey!" says I. "Who you been workin' for a swell feed now?"
"That you, Torchy?" says he. "Why, I took your head for an exit light.How's tricks?"
"On the blink," says I. "We're up against a freeze out, Mr. Mallory andme. You know Mallory, don't you?"
"What, Skid Mallory?" says he, takin' another look. "What a pipe! Why,say, old man, I want you the worst way. Got to hash up a full-pagesympose knockin' reformed football, and if you'll take off athousand-word opinion I'll blow you to anything on the bill of fare.Come on in here to a table while we chew it over. Torchy, grab a garcon.Sizzlin' sisters! but I'm glad to root you out, Skid!"
He was all of that; but it didn't mean anything more'n that Whitey seesan easy column comin' his way.
Mr. Mallory wa'n't so glad. "Sorry," says he, "but whatever footballreputation I ever had I'm trying to live down."
"What!" says Whitey. "Trying to make folks forget the nerviestquarterback that ever pranced down the turf with eleven men after him?Don't you do it. Besides, you can't. Why, that run of yours through theReds has been immortalized in a whole library of kid story books, andthey're still grinding 'em out!"
Mallory turns the color of the candleshades and shakes his head. "Youprint any such rot as that about me," says he, "and I'll come down andwreck the office. I'm out of all that now, and into something that hasopened my eyes to what sort of useless individual I am. Behold, Whitey,one of the unfit!"
Then Whitey wants to know all about it.
"It's nothing much," says Mallory, "only I've been sent out to dobusiness with a Russian Baron, and I'm such a chump I can't even getwithin speaking distance of him."
"What Baron?" says Whitey. "Not Kazedky?"
"That's the identical one," says Mallory. "Don't happen to know him, doyou?"
"I sure do," says Whitey. "Didn't he and I have a heart to heart sessionwhen that sporty Russian Prince was over here and got himself pinched ata prizefight? Kazedky was secretary of the legation then, and it wasthrough me he got the story muffled."
"Wish you could find out where he is now," says Mallory.
"Don't have to," says Whitey; "I know. He's up in private dining-roomNo. 9. Been captured by a gang of Chamber of Commerce men, who arefeeding him ruddy duck and terrapin and ten-dollar champagne. He's got alot of steel contracts up his sleeve, you know, and----"
"Yes, I know," says Mallory; "but how can I get to see him?"
"Who are you with?" says Whitey.
"Corrugated Trust," says Mallory.
"Wow!" says Whitey, them skim-milk eyes of his gettin' big. "Theywouldn't let you within a mile of him if they knew. But say, suppose Icould lug him outside, would I get that football story?"
"You would," says Mallory.
"By to-morrow noon?" says he.
"Before morning, if you'll stay at the office until I get through here,"says Mallory.
"Good!" says Whitey. "Come on! I'll snake him out of there if I have todrag him by the collar. But he's a fussy old freak, and I don'tguarantee he'll stay more than a minute."
"That's enough," says Mallory. "He can talk French, I suppose?"
"What's the matter with English?" says Whitey. "Now let's see what kindof hot air I'll give him."
Whitey didn't say what it was he thinks up; but he was grinnin' allover his face when he leaves us outside of No. 9 and goes in where thecorks was poppin'. It must have been a happy thought, though; for itwa'n't long before he comes out, towin' a dried-up little old runt witha full set of face lambrequins and a gold dog license hung round hisneck from a red ribbon. He had his napkin in one hand and half a dinnerroll in the other; so it didn't look like he meant to make any longstop. He was actin' kind of dazed, too, like he hadn't got somethin'clear in his mind, and he hung back as if he was expectin' some one tohand out a bomb. But Whitey rushes him right up to Mallory.
"Here's the chap, Baron!" says he. "I couldn't let you go back to Russiawithout shaking hands with the greatest quarterback America everproduced. Mr. Mallory, Baron Kazedky," and then he winks at Mallory,much as to say, "Now jump in!"
And say, Mallory was Johnny on the spot. He grabs Kazedky's flipper likeit was a life preserver.
"I--I--really, gentlemen, there's some mistake," says the Baron. "Aquarter what, did you say?"
"Oh," says Mallory, "that's some of Mr. Buck's tomfoolery--footballterm, you know."
"But I am not interested in football," says the Baron, tryin' to backtowards the door, "not in the least."
"Me either," says Mallory, gettin' a new grip on him. "What I want totalk to you about is steel. Now, I represent the Corrugated Trust, andwe----"
Well say, the old man himself couldn't have reeled it off better'nMallory. Why, he had it as letter perfect as a panhandler does his taleabout bein' in the hospital six weeks and havin' four hungry kids athome. I only hears the start of it; for as soon as he got well under wayMallory starts for the other end of the corridor, skatin' the little oldBaron along with him like he was a Third-ave. clothing store dummy thatwas bein' hauled in at closin'-up time.
Whitey didn't even wait for the overture. The minute he hands Kazedkyover he fades towards the elevator. There's nothin' for me to do butwait; so I picks out a red velvet chair and camps down on it to watchthe promenade. That's what it was, too; for Mallory acts like he'dforgot everything he ever knew except that he's got to talk steel intothe Baron. I guess it was steel he was talkin'! Every time he passes meI hear him ringin' in Corrugated, and drop forged, and a lot of thingslike that.
Mallory has a right-arm hook on Kazedky and is makin' motions with hisleft hand. Bein' so tall, he has to lean over to pump his speech intothe old fellow's ear; but every now and then he gets excited and, 'steadof bendin' himself, he lifts the Baron clear off his feet.
About the third lap some of the gents from the private dinin'-room pokestheir heads out to see what's happened to the guest of the evenin'. Theysaw, all right! They must have been suspicious, too; for they werelookin' anxious, and begun signaling him to break away.
The Baron didn't have no time for watchin' signals just then. He wasbusy tryin' to keep his feet on the floor. First I knew there was awhole gang at the door watchin' 'em, and they was talkin' over makin' arush for the Baron and rescuin' him, I guess, when Mallory leans him upagainst the wall, hauls out a pad and a fountain pen, and hands thethings to Kazedky. The Baron drapes bis napkin over one arm, stuffs thepiece of roll into his mouth, and scribbles off somethin'.
When he's done that Mallory pockets the pad
, leads the Baron back to hisfriends, shakes hands with him, motions to me, and pikes for theelevator. The last glimpse I has of Kazedky, he's bein' pulled into theprivate dinin'-room, with that half a roll stickin' out of his face likea bung in a beer keg.
"Well, Torchy," says Mallory to me, as the car starts down, "I got it!"
"Got what!" says I.
"Why, the contract," says he.
"Chee!" says I. "Is that all? I thought you was pullin' one of his backteeth."