Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 26

A FIFTY-FIFTY SPLIT WITH HUNK

"And believe me, Shorty," goes on Mr. Hunk Burley, tappin' a stubby forefinger on my knee, and waggin' his choppin'-block head energetic, "when I get behind a proposition yuh goin' to get some action."

"Sure, I know, Hunk," says I, glancin' up at the clock uneasy and squirmin' a bit in the swing chair.

You see, this had been goin' on now for near an hour, and while it might be more or less entertainin' as well as true, I wa'n't crazy about listenin' to it all the afternoon. For one thing, I wa'n't comin' in on his scheme. Not a chance. I can be bilked into buyin' tickets for a raffle, even when I wouldn't take the junk that's put up as a gift, and I'm easy in other ways; but when it comes to any gate-money game, from launchin' a musical comedy to openin' a new boxin' club, I'm Tight Tommy with the time lock set. None in mine! I've had my guesses as to what the public wants, and I know I'm a perfectly punk prophet.

Besides, it was about time for J. Bayard Steele to show up with this gent from Washington, Cuyler Morrison De Kay, and--well, I'd just as soon not be bothered to explain Hunk Burley to a pair like that. You know the kind of bygone friends that do need explainin'--well, Hunk needed it bad; for as far as looks went he was about the crudest party that ever sported a diamond elephant stickpin or chewed twenty-five-cent cigars for a steady diet.

Built wide and substantial, Hunk was, with the longest arms you ever saw outside an iron cage, and a set of rugged features that had the Old Man of the Mountain lookin' like a ribbon clerk. Reg'lar cave dweller's face, it was; and with his bristly hair growin' down to a point just above his eyes, and the ear tufts, and the mossy-backed paws--well, if there ever was a throw-back to the Stone Age he was it.

As a rubber in my old trainin' camp outfit, though, Hunk had his good points. I've gone on the table to him with a set of shoulder muscles as stiff as a truck trace and inside of half an hour jumped up as limber as a whale-bone whip. And I'd never sign up for more'n a ten-round go without sendin' for Hunk first thing after the forfeits was up. Course, when it come to society, there was others I liked better, and I expect after I quit the ring I didn't take any particular pains to keep his name in my address book.

But Hunk was one of the old crowd that didn't need much dodgin'. He went his way like I went mine, and I hadn't seen him for years when he tramps into the studio here the other noon, treadin' heavy on his heels and wearin' this suit of peace-disturbin' plaids. He hadn't climbed the stairs just for any Auld Lang Syne nonsense, either. He was there on business.

That is, it seemed like business to him; for, in his special way, Hunk had been comin' along. He hadn't stuck to bein' a rubber. He'd done a strong-man turn with a medicine top for awhile, then he'd worked into the concession game on the county fair circuit, managed a Ferris wheel and carrousel outfit, and even swung an Uncle Tom troupe, with six real bloodhounds, through the town halls of fourteen States.

"Pullin' down the kale by the double handsful, mind you," says Hunk.

"But no more! The movies has queered the Topsy business. Absolutely! I seen it comin' just in time, and I've been layin' low until I could find something to beat it. Say, I've got it too. Not for this territory. I'll give the film people two years more to kill themselves in the North, with the rot they're puttin' out. But in the South they ain't got such a hold, and the folks are different. They're just old style enough down there to fall for a street parade and fifty-cent seats on the blue benches. They got the coin too--don't make no mistake about that. And this Great Australian Hippodrome will make 'em loosen up like a Rube showin' his best girl what he can do throwin' baseb.a.l.l.s at the dummies.

Yea, Bo! It's the biggest bargain on the market too. Come in with me, Shorty, on a half int'rest, splittin' fifty-fifty."

"Too big a gamble, Hunk," says I. "I've seen more money dropped on ring shows than----"

"But we carry a pair of boxin' kangaroos," he breaks in eager, "that pulls an act they go nutty over. And our tribe of original wild Bush people has never been shown this side of Melbourne."

"Sorry, Hunk," says I, "but if I had all that money tied up in billboard sheets and smoky canvas, I couldn't sleep well on windy nights. None of your flat-car hippodromes for me. That's final! Besides, I got a date with a couple of swells that's liable to show up here any minute, and I ought to----"

What I really ought to have done was to have chucked a table cover over Hunk and played him for a piece of statuary; but before I can make a move in walks J. Bayard and this Washington gent. Next minute we was bein' introduced, and all I can do is stand in front of Hunk with one hand behind me, givin' him the fade-away signal energetic.

Does he get it? Not Hunk! The one real sensitive spot in his system can be reached only by sluggin' him behind the ear with a bung starter, and I didn't have one handy. He shoves his chair back into the corner and continues to gawp; so I just has to let on that he ain't there at all.

Course I'd been put wise to who this Cuyler Morrison De Kay was. He's what Mr. Steele calls an object of altruism. In other words, he's No. 7 on Pyramid Gordon's list, and our job is to frame up for him some kind and generous deed, accordin' to the specifications of the will. As usual too, J. Bayard had got all balled up over doin' it; for while Mr. De Kay ain't quite the plute he looks, it turns out he's holdin' down one of them government cinches, with a fat salary, mighty little real work, and no worry. He's a widower, and a real elegant gent too. You could tell that by the wide ribbon on his sh.e.l.l eyegla.s.ses and the gray suede gloves.

I could see in a minute that he'd sort of put the spell on Steele, most likely because he was a genuine sample of what J. Bayard was givin' only a fair imitation of. You know, one of these straight-backed, aristocratic old boys that somehow has the marks of havin' been everywhere, seen everything, and done everything. You'd expect him to be able to mix a salad dressin' _a la Montmartre_, and reel off anecdotes about the time when he was a guest of the Grand Duke So and So at his huntin' lodge. Kind of a faded, thin-blooded, listless party, somewhere in the late fifties, with droopy eye corners and a sarcastic bite to his offhand remarks.

I may as well admit that I didn't take so kindly to Cuyler from the first. Also I was a little peeved at J. Bayard when I discovers he's lugged him up here without findin' out much about him. Hadn't even asked De Kay how it was him and Pyramid Gordon had b.u.mped up against one another. So I fires that at him straight.

"Let's see," says I, "where was it you and Mr. Gordon got mixed up?"

"Gordon?" says he, shruggin' his shoulders and smilin' cynical. "Really, I can't conceive just why he should remember me. True, during our brief acquaintance, he showed a most active dislike for me; but I a.s.sure you it was not mutual. A man of Gordon's type---- Bah! One simply ignores them, you know."

"You don't say!" says I. "Now I had an idea that wa'n't so dead easy--ignorin' Pyramid."

Cuyler humps his gray eyebrows as if he was slightly annoyed. "I was referring merely to his offensive personality," he goes on. "One does not quarrel with a bulldog for its lack of manners."

"Ah, come!" says I. "Maybe he took you for one of these parlor spaniels and was tryin' to throw a scare into you with a few growls."

I could hear J. Bayard gasp protestin'; but Cuyler shrugs it off without wincin'. "Just how he regarded me was a subject to which I gave not the slightest thought," says he. "I was concerned only with his enterprise of crossing the Peoria & Dayton at grade in the face of an injunction issued by the State supreme court. You see, I happened to be president of the road at the time."

"Now we're gettin' to the plot of the piece," says I. "You blocked him off, eh?"

"I did my best," says Mr. De Kay. "Of course I was not a practical railroad man. I'd been somewhat of a figurehead, you understand. But in this emergency I was called back from Europe and at the urgent request of the directors I a.s.sumed active charge. My first step was to secure the injunction."

"Which worried him, I expect?" says I, winkin' at J. Bayard.

"Quite as much as if I had sent a note by my office boy," says Cuyler.

"He rushed a construction train with two hundred men to the spot and gave the order himself to tear up our tracks. Well, it was rather a spirited contest. I mobilized our entire working force, had them sworn in as deputy sheriffs, and kept three switch engines moving up and down the line. For forty-eight hours we held them back."

"And then?" says I.

Cuyler executes that careless shoulder shrug once more. "Rifles," says he. "I suppose I should have retaliated with machine guns; but I preferred to put my trust in the law of the land. Of course I found out how absurd that was later on. Gordon crossed our grade. After four or five years of expensive litigation we gave up. By that time our road had become part of the Gordon system. I was glad to get 48 for my holdings; so you see his victory was quite complete. But the only real personal contact I had with him was during those two days of the crossing war when we took our meals at the wretched little hotel, facing each other across the table. Fancy! His coa.r.s.e attempts to treat the situation humorously were more offensive, if anything, than his guerrilla business tactics. An ill-bred, barbarous fellow, this Gordon of yours."

"Huh!" says I. "He wa'n't any parlor entertainer, that's a fact; but take it from me, Mr. De Kay, he was a good deal of a man, for all that."

"So, I presume, was Captain Kidd," sneers Cuyler, "and Jesse James."

"Maybe," I comes back kind of hot. "But Pyramid Gordon was white enough to want to divide his pile among the poor prunes he'd put out here and there along the way. You're on the list too, and the chief object of this little tete-a-tete is to frame up some plan of givin' you a boost."

"So Mr. Steele gave me to understand," says Cuyler. "In my case, however, the reparation comes a little late. The fact is, Gentlemen, that I--well, why quibble? I may be good for another ten or a dozen years. But I shall go on just as I've been going on, following my daily routine in the department, at my club, at my bachelor quarters. You get into it, you know,--bath, breakfast, desk, dinner, a rubber or two of bridge, and bed. A trifle monotonous, but a comfortable, undisturbed, a.s.sured existence. I may have had ambitions once,--yes, I'm quite sure,--but no longer. After my--er--my elimination, I got this place in the department. There I've stuck for fifteen years. I've settled into official routine; I'm fixed there hard and fast. It's so with many of us. Most of us recognize the hopelessness of ever pulling out. At least I do, fully. As I sometimes confess, I am merely one of the unburied dead. And there you are!"

Kind of took me off my guard, that did. And me about to knock him so hard! I glances over at J. Bayard sort of foolish, and he stares back vacant and helpless. Somehow we'd never been up against a proposition like this, and it had us fannin' the air.

"Unburied dead, eh?" says I. "Oh come, Mr. De Kay, ain't that drawin' it a little strong? Why, you ought to have lots of punch left in you yet.

All you got to do is buck up."

"The optimism of youth!" says he. "I suppose I ought to feel grateful, Professor McCabe, for your well intentioned advice. And I can almost say that I wish I might----"

He don't get a chance to finish; for this is right where Hunk Burley, that I'd almost forgot was in the room, suddenly kicks into the debate.

I'd felt one or two tugs at my coat; but this last one was so vigorous it nearly whirls me around. And as I turns I finds him blinkin' and splutterin' excited, like he'd swallowed his cigar.

"Eh?" says I. "What's troublin' you, Hunk?"

"He--he's the guy," says Hunk, "the very guy!"

"Wha-a-at?" says I, followin' the look in them wide-set pop eyes of his.

"Who is?"

"Him," says he, pointin' to Cuyler. "He's a reg'lar guy, he is; the spit and image of what I been wantin' to connect with these last six months.

Say, Shorty, put me next."

"Gwan!" says I. "You ain't supposed to exist. Paint your funnels black and run the blockade."

At which Cuyler, who has been starin' curious through his gla.s.ses, steps forward. "What is it?" says he. "Do I understand that the gentleman wishes to speak to me?"

"You're hootin'," says Hunk. "Only I ain't no gent. I'm just Hunk Burley, managin' producer. Tent shows is my line, ring or stage, and I'm carryin' a proposition up my cuff that means a lot of easy money to whoever grabs it first. Do you get me?"

"Ah, stow it, Hunk!" says I. "Mr. De Kay ain't one of your crowd. Can't you see he's----"