Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 32

down in five years, at the end of ten, and so on, deductin' some for black times and makin' allowances for hard luck. But inside of five minutes we'd agreed on a lump sum.

"What about twenty thousand?" says I.

Gerald gulps once or twice, turns a little pale, and then asks choky, "Would--would you put that in writing?"

"I can give you a voucher for the whole amount," says Steele.

"Then--then please!" says Gerald, and he stands over J. Bayard, starin'

eager, while the paper is bein' made out. He watches us both sign our names.

"This is drawn," says Steele, "on the attorney for the estate, and when you present it he will give you a check for----"

"Thanks," says Gerald, reachin' trembly for the voucher.

For a minute he stands gazin' at it before he stows it away careful in an inside vest pocket. Then all of a sudden he seems to straighten up.

He squares his shoulders and stiffens his jaw.

"Evelyn!" he sings out. "Ho, Evelyn!"

It ain't any smooth, ladylike tone he uses, either. A couple of stout female parties, that's been toyin' with lobster Newburg patties and chocolate eclairs and gooseberry tarts, stops their gossipin' and glares round at him indignant.

"Evelyn, I say!" he goes on, fairly roarin' it out.

At that out comes Sister from behind her little coop lookin' panicky.

Also in from the kitchen piles the haughty waitress with the mustard-tinted hair, and a dumpy, frowzy one that I hadn't noticed before. The haughty one glares at Gerald scornful, almost as if he'd been a customer.

"Why--why, Brother dear!" begins Evelyn, still holdin' open the novel she'd been readin'. "What is the matter?"

"I'm through, that's all," he announces crisp.

"You--you are what?" asks his sister.

"Through," says Gerald loud and snappy. "I'm going to quit all this--now, too. I'm going to close up, going out of the business.

Understand? So get those women out of here at once."

"But--but, Gerald," gasps Evelyn, "they--you see they are----"

"I don't care whether they've finished or not," says he. "It doesn't matter. They needn't pay. But clear 'em out. Right away!"

She had big dark eyes, Sister Evelyn. She was thinner than Gerald, and a few years older, I should guess. Anyway, her hair showed more gray streaks. She had a soft, easy voice and gentle ways. She didn't faint, or throw any emotional fit. She just looks at Gerald mildly reproachful and remarks:

"Very well, Brother dear," and then glides down the aisle to the two heavy-weight food destroyers.

We couldn't hear just what she told 'em, but it must have been convincin'. They gathers up their wraps and shoppin' bags and sails out, sputterin' peevish.

"Here, Celia!" commands Gerald, turnin' to the waitresses. "You and Bertha pull down those front shades--tight, mind you! Then turn on the dome and side lights--all of 'em."

We sat watchin' the proceedin's, Steele and me, with our mouths open, not knowin' whether to go or stay. Evelyn stands starin' at him too. In a minute, though, he whirls on her.

"You needn't think I've gone crazy, Evelyn," he says. "I was never more sane. But something has happened. I've just had a windfall. You'd never guess. From old Gordon; you remember, the beast who----"

"Yes, I know," says Evelyn. "Mr. Steele has been talking to me about it."

"Has, eh?" says Gerald. "Well, I trust it wasn't you who gave him that idea about keeping me in this fool business for the rest of my life.

Ugh! Talking sappy to an endless stream of silly women, palming off on them such useless junk as this! Look at it! Egyptian scarabs, made in Connecticut; Ceylonese coral, from North Attleboro, Ma.s.s.; Bohemian gla.s.sware, from Sandsburg, Pa.; Indian baskets woven by the Papago tribe, meaning Rutherford, N. J. Bah! For nearly twelve years I've been doing this. And you're to blame for it, you and Irene and Georgianna.

You got me into it when I could find nothing else to do, and then somehow I couldn't seem to get out. Lying and smirking and d.i.c.kering day after day--sickening! But I'm through. And just as a relief to my feelings I'm going to finish off a lot of this rubbish before I go.

Watch!"

With that he picks a teapot from our table, balances it careful in one hand, and sends it bang at a shelf full of blue and yellow pitchers.

Crash! Smash! Tinkle-tinkle!

It was a good shot. He got three or four of 'em at one clip.

Next he reaches for the sugar bowl and chucks that. More crash. More tinkle-tinkle. This time it was sort of a side-wipin' blow, and a full half-dozen fancy cream jugs bit the dust.

"Good eye!" says I, chucklin'. Even J. Bayard has to grin.

As for Sister Evelyn, she says never a word, but braces herself against a table and grips her hands together, like she was preparin' to have a tooth out. The dumpy waitress clutches the haughty one around the waist and breathes wheezy.

"Vases!" says Gerald, scowlin' at a shelf. "Silly vases!"

And with that he ups with a chair, swings it over his shoulder, and mows down a whole row of 'em. They goes crashin' onto the floor.

"Muh Gord!" gasps the dumpy tea juggler.

"Clean alley! Set 'em up on the other!" I sings out.

But Gerald is too busy to notice side remarks. His thin face is flushed and his eyes sparkle. Peelin' off the cutaway, he tosses it careless on a table.

"Look out for splinters!" says he as he heaves a chair into the showcase among the fake jew'lry, and with another proceeds to make vicious swipes at whatever's left on the shelves.

As a tearoom wrecker he was some artist, believe me! Not a blessed thing that could be smashed did he miss, and what he couldn't break he bent or dented.

"Ain't he just grand!" observes Celia to her dumpy friend. "My! I didn't think it was in him."

It was, though. A village fire department couldn't have done a neater job, or been more thorough. He even tosses down a lot of work baskets and jumps on 'em and kicks 'em about.

"There!" says he, after a lively session, when the place looks like it had been through a German siege. "Now it's all genuine junk, I guess."

Sister Evelyn gazes at him placid. "No doubt about that," she remarks.

"And I hope you feel better, Brother dear. Perhaps you will tell me, though, what is to become of me now."

"I am going to leave some money for you," says he. "If you're silly enough, you can buy a lot more of this stuff and keep on. If you have any sense, you'll quit and go live with Irene."

"And you, Gerald?" asks Evelyn.

"I'm off," says he. "I'm going to do some real work, man's work. You saw that dark-looking chap who was in here a few days ago? That was Bentley, who used to be bank messenger in old Gordon's office. He was discharged without cause too. But he had no five sisters to make a sappy tearoom manager out of him. He went to the Argentine. Owns a big cattle ranch down there. Wants me to go in with him and buy the adjoining ranch. He sails day after to-morrow. I'm going with him, to live a wild, rough life; and the wilder and rougher it is the better I shall like it."