CHAPTER LII
The Boss
It had been a private dwelling, far out on the prairie once, but thehot, steady lava flow of the great city had reached and split and sweptaround the little elevated patch of grimy green with its elevendespairing trees. A wooden house it was, and in the very nature of it atemporary shift; but the committee--Hopkins, Hartigan, and Belle--feltit worth looking into.
With the agent, these three went over it and discussed its possibilitiesand the cost. Ten times in that brief talk did Hopkins find himselfconsulting Belle when, in the ordinary process, he should have consultedHartigan. Why? No man raises himself to the power and pitch that Hopkinshad attained, without a keen, discriminating knowledge of human nature.And he felt the fact long before he admitted it even to himself: "Yes,he's a pair of giant wings, but she's the tail, all right." And he wasnot displeased to find this original estimate justified by events.
The three years' lease was signed; and a bulletin board appeared on thebravest of all the battered old trees at the front--the very battlefront. A gnarled and twisted cedar it was, and when a richer name than"Club" was sought for the venture, it was this old tree that linked upmemory with itself and the house was named, not "The People's Club," asat first intended, but "Cedar Mountain House"--the word "mountain" beingjustified in the fact that the house was on a prairie knoll at least afoot above the surrounding level.
The bulletin board displayed this to all passers-by:
--------------------------------------------------- | CEDAR MOUNTAIN HOUSE | | | | Notice | | | |A Meeting to organize this Club will be held here| |on these premises Sunday afternoon next. Men and | |women who are interested are cordially invited. | | | | REFRESHMENTS | ---------------------------------------------------
The Board of Deacons would have had a wrangle over each and every wordof that notice. That was why they never saw it till long afterward.
"Now what's going to happen?" said Hopkins.
"A few will come and act very shyly; but I've a notion the refreshmentswill bring them," was Belle's guess.
"I am afraid we have omitted something of importance," said Jim. "We areinvading a foreign savage country without taking any count of the nativechiefs."
"What's your idea?" said Hopkins, sharply.
"I mean, we have arranged matters with the real estate man, and theChurch workers and the police; but we haven't taken the trouble to lookup the ward boss."
"We ignored the boss because we thought he was an enemy," said Hopkins.
"I'm not so sure about that," said Jim. "I've been talking with thepolice sergeant, who knows him well. He says he's a queer mixture ofprizefighter and politician. He can protect anything he likes, andpretty nearly drive out anything he doesn't like. Isn't it worth whilemaking a bid for his support? It may please him to be asked."
"Who is he?"
"Oh, a saloon-keeper, Irish, ex-pugilist. His name is Michael Shay. He'seasy to find," said Jim.
"Let's go now," said Hopkins. "But I'm afraid that this is where youdrop out, Mrs. Hartigan."
So they went down to the headquarters of the boss. It was an ordinaryChicago saloon of less than ordinary pretensions. The plate-glass andpolished-mahogany era had not yet set in. The barkeeper was packing theice chest and a couple of "types" were getting their "reg'lar" as thetwo strangers from another world entered. The build of Hartigan at oncesuggested plain-clothes policeman, and the barkeeper eyed himsuspiciously. Hopkins spoke first:
"Is the boss in?"
The barkeeper made a gesture, pointing to the back room.
"May we see him?"
"I s'pose so." And again, with a jerk of the thumb, the back room wasindicated.
The two walked in. It was a small room, meanly furnished, with a squaretable in the centre. Sitting by it were three men. Two were drinkingbeer--one a small, thin man; the other a red-faced specimen with rotundoutline. The third and biggest was smoking a briarwood pipe. He was aheavily built man with immense shoulders square jaw, and low, wrinkledforehead; deep under his bushy eyebrows were two close-set, twinklinggray eyes, which were turned on the visitors with a hostile stare.
"Is Mr. Michael Shay here?" asked Hopkins.
"I'm Mike Shay," said the smoker, without rising or removing his pipe;"what do ye want?" There was a sullen defiance in the tone that showedresentment at the different dress and manner of the strangers.
"We have come to ask for your support for the club we are going to openin the old house down the street."
"Support nuthin'," was the gracious reply.
Hopkins began to explain that this was not to be a rival show--no drinkswould be sold; the idea was merely to found a place of amusement for thepeople. The only effect on the boss was to evoke a contemptuous"E-r-r-r!" and an injunction, in Chicago vernacular, to get out of thatas soon as they liked--or sooner. And, by way of punctuation, he turnedto expectorate copiously, but with imperfect precision at a box ofsawdust which was littered with cigar stumps. The interview was over--hewished them to understand that. He turned to his companions.
Hartigan felt that it was his chance now. He began: "See here, now,Michael Shay; you're an Irishman and I'm an Irishman----"
"Oh, g'wan!" and Shay rose to walk out the back way. As he did so, Jimnoticed fully, for the first time, the huge shoulders, the strong, bowedlegs, the gorilla-like arms; and the changing memory of another day grewclear and definitely placed. There could be no doubt about it now; thiswas bow-legged Mike, the teamster of seven years before.
At once, a different colour was given to Jim's thought and manner; nolonger cautious, respectful, doubtful, he began in his own moreboisterous way, "Say, Mike. I have a different matter to talk aboutnow."
Mike stopped and stared.
Jim proceeded. "Were you ever at Links, Ontario?"
"Maybe I was, an' maybe I wasn't. What's that to you?"
"Well, do you remember licking a young fellow there for jerking the rooflog out of the hotel with your masting team of oxen?"
"Bejabers, I do that"; and Mike's eyes twinkled for the first time witha pleasant look.
"Well, Mike, I am that fellow; an' that's what ye gave me." Jim raisedhis chin and showed an irregular scar.
"Well sure, that's the Gospel truth"; and Michael grinned. "By gosh,that's the time I had to skip out of Chicago. A little election fuss yeunderstand," and he chuckled. "Set down. What'll ye drink?" and the hugehand swung two chairs within reach.
"No," said Jim. "I'm not drinking to-day; but I want to tell you that Iwas only a kid when you licked me. I swore that some day I'd meet youand have another try. Well, I've filled out some in the last sevenyears, an' some day, when ye feel like it, we might put on the glovestogether."
Mike chuckled, "Now you're talking! What's the matter with right now?"and he pointed to a room farther back. "But, say, ye ain't in training,are ye?"
"No; are you?"
"No."
"Then come on."
Mike opened the next door and led the way into a larger room, with thefixings of a regular boxing academy, followed by his friends and one ortwo additional customers from the bar room.
Hopkins followed Hartigan, and was filled, apparently, with strange andmixed emotions. "Really, Mr. Hartigan, as President of the Board ofDeacons, I must protest against this whole shocking procedure." Then, ina different tone: "But, as a man, by jinks! I'm going to see itthrough."
"Why not?" said Jim. "Sure it's simple and easy. In about three rounds,I'll get him or he'll get me; then we'll shake hands and all be goodfriends ever after. It couldn't have happened better."
Both men stripped to the waist, and the contrast was as great as theresemblance. Broad, equally broad, and superbly muscled, thesaloon-keeper was, if
anything, heavier, but there was just a suspicionof bloat over all his frame. Jim was clean built, statuesque--a Jasonrather than a Hermes. He was by six inches taller, but the other hadjust as long a reach. And, as the officious patrons of the "pub"strapped on the gloves and made the usual preparation of wet sponge andtowel, it seemed in all respects an even match--in all respects but one;Jim was twenty-odd, Mike was forty-odd.
The small man with a squeaky voice installed himself as timekeeper. Hestruck the gong, and the boxers met. Jim always smiled and bared histeeth while boxing. Mike was one of the bull-dog jaw; he kept his lipstight shut, and his small eyes twinkled with every appearance of rage.
On the first round, the great experience of the pugilist enabled him toland one or two heavy jolts, and when the gong sounded the time-limit,Jim had got rather the worst of it.
The second round opened much like the first. Jim landed on Mike's underjaw more than once; and Mike got in a body blow that was something tothink about.
It was the third round that told the tale. What chance in a fight hasforty-five against twenty-five? The extra weight of the prize fighterwas mere softness. His wind was gone; and half the time had not passedbefore Jim landed under his left jaw the classic punch that Mike had onetime given him, and Mike went down like a sack of meal.
In five minutes, he was up and game, but the bout was over. The menshook hands, and Michael, rapidly recovering his spirits, rumbled out ofhis deep chest: "Bejabers, it's the first time in five years I've beenknocked out--and it was done scientific. Say, Hartigan, ye can put medown for a member of your club; or yer church or whatever the dom thingis an' I'll see ye get whatever ye need in the way of protection; an' ifye want to sell any liquor on the sly, that'll be all right. You counton Mike."
Then, with a singular clearing of hate and an access of goodfeeling--psychological reactions which so often follow in the wake of afinish fight--the men all shook hands and parted in excellent humour.
"By George!" said President Hopkins of the Board of Deacons, "I wouldn'thave missed that for a thousand dollars. It was perfectly bully--justwhat we wanted! I've heard of things like this, but never reallybelieved they happened. It's a new side of human nature for me. Iwouldn't have missed it for--no, not for five thousand dollars."