Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 37

"I'll not," says Larry. "I'm a pauper."

"Will you go with Shorty, then?" says Pinckney. "At times he's as absurd as yourself."

"He's not asked me," says Larry.

"My tongue's drippin' with it," says I. "I had an own cousin come over from Kerrymull. You'll be welcome."

"Done!" says Larry. "And for board and lodging I'll sing you Ballyshone after dinner."

So he did too, and if you've ever heard it well sung, you'll know the lump I had in my throat as I listened. Also I had him tell Sadie about Katie McDevitt; and when he'd made friends with little Sully and the dog we could have kept him for a year and a day.

But that Sunday afternoon, while we was swingin' out of the front gates for a walk, we stops to let a limousine whizz by, and we gets a glimpse of a woman's face through the windows.

"Lord love you, McCabe!" says Larry, grippin' me by the arm, "but who was that?"

"In the car?" says I. "No one but Mrs. Sam Steele."

"Mrs., did you say?" says he.

"The rich widow," says I, "that lives in the big house over on the Sh.o.r.e Drive." I pointed it out.

"A widow!" says he. "Thanks be! Shorty, she's the one!"

"Not your Miss McDevitt?" says I.

"No other," says he. "I'd swear it!"

"Then you're nutty in the head, Mr. Larry Bolan," says I; "for I've known her these two years, and never heard of her being an ex-nurse."

"She might not care to boast of it," says he. "Rich, did you say?"

"Near a million, they say," says I; "which don't fit in with the nurse idea, does it?"

"I couldn't mistake Katie McDevitt," says he, waggin' his head mulish.

"But who was this Steele beggar?"

"She moved here after plantin' him West somewhere," says I. "One of the big lumber crowd, I've heard. Sadie can tell you more."

"Thanks," says he; "but I'll have it from Katie herself. Take me there."

"Eh?" says I. "On a chance shot? I'd look well, wouldn't I?"

"But you must," says he. "Now!"

"Come off!" says I. "You with only a glance at her! Besides, she's one of these stiff, distant parties that keeps to herself."

"McCabe," says he, "I mean to talk with her within the hour if I have to smash in her front door and wring a butler's neck."

There's a thrill in his voice as he says it, and from all I know of Larry Bolan there's no stoppin' him. We started off.

The nearer we got to the big house, though, the battier the enterprise seemed to me. First off, I'd been nursin' a dislike for Mrs. Steele ever since I'd overheard a little seance between her and one of the outside men. She'd caught him smugglin' home a few measly vegetables from her big garden, and after tongue lashin' him lively she fires him on the spot--him a poor Dago with a big fam'ly. Then there'd been tales told by the butcher, the plumber, and half a dozen others, all goin' to show she was a lady tightwad, or worse.

So I'd sized her up as a cold, hard proposition. And when I work up feelin's like that I'm apt to show 'em. I couldn't help thinkin' but maybe I had. Here I was, though, cartin' a strange gent up to her front door, on his guess that he's her long lost Romeo.

"Ah, be good, Larry!" says I. "Let's call it off."

He shakes his head stubborn.

"All right," says I; "but take it from me we're about to pull down trouble. What's the plan?"

He thinks, as long as I know the lady, I'd better send in my name and then break it to her easy. So, while I'm waitin' in the reception hall, he kicks his heels impatient against the veranda rail outside.

Rather a cla.s.sy lookin' party, Mrs. Steele is as she shows up in a stunnin' house gown,--good lines, fine complexion, and all that. Takes mighty good care of herself, so Sadie says, with two French maids to help. She don't stint herself that way. And the little streak of early gray through her front hair gives her sort of a distinguished look.

There's nothin' friendly, though, about the straight, tight-lipped mouth, or the surprised look in her eyes as she discovers me standin'

there.

"Mr. McCabe?" says she.

"You see," says I, grinnin' foolish, "there's a chap outside who--who has a batty idea he used to know you."

"Really?" says she, narrowin' her eyes a bit.

"Bolan's the name, Ma'am," I goes on, "Larry Bolan."

It wa'n't much,--just a quiver, a little lift of the shoulders, a bunchin' of the fingers. Then she bites her lip and gets a grip on herself. "Well?" says she. "What of it?"

"Why," says I, "he--he wants to have a talk with you. Course, though, if you don't know him, or don't remember, all you got to do----"

"Yes, yes!" she breaks in. "I understand. Wait!"

A couple of minutes she stands there, never makin' a crack or givin' any sign, except that the toe of one slipper taps the rug restless. Then she gives her decision. "You may bring him in," says she.

"How about sendin' him?" I suggests.

"No, not alone," says she. "I want you to stay."

So I steps to the door. "Larry," says I, "you're called on the carpet; but for the love of soup don't pull any of that old sweetheart stuff reckless! The signs ain't right."

And a fat lot of notice he takes of my advice. Trust Larry! He pushes in eager ahead of me, marches straight to where she is, gives her one mushy, admirin' look, and the next thing I know he has reached for one of her hands and is kissin' it as graceful and romantic as James K.

Hackett doin' a Zenda stunt.

Gave Mrs. Steele some jolt, that play did; for it's plain she was fixin'

to frost him at the start. But it's all over before she has time to draw a breath, and he has let her fingers slip through his caressin'.

"Katie!" says he.

She flushes and stiffens up. "Silly as ever, I see," says she.