Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 44

back and forth under the readin' light, with a book in her lap.

"Well?" says I, waitin' breathless for the storm to break.

She gives a little jump, glances up quick, and pinks up like a poppy.

"Oh!" says she, "It's you?"

"Uh-huh," says I. "I--er--I've just been talkin' with Dudley."

"Ye-e-es?" says she, rollin' a leaf of the book over her finger nervous and droopin' her long lashes.

"You see," says I, fidgetin' some on my own account, "he--he's goin'

home in a minute or two."

"Oh, is he?" says she. "There! And I meant to ask him if he wouldn't call to-morrow. Won't you do it for me, Mr. McCabe?"

How about that for a reverse jolt, eh? I backs out of the room lookin'

foolish. And Dudley he near collapses when I brings him the glad news.

As for Sadie, she couldn't believe me at all when I tells her Dudley looks like a sure winner. She had to wait until a few days later when she catches 'em just breakin' a clinch, before she'll admit I ain't stringin' her.

"But a shy, diffident fellow like Dudley!" says she. "I don't see how he did it."

"Neither does Dudley," says I. "Guess it must have been a case of a guy with the goods comin' across with the swift tackle. Maybe that's what she'd been waitin' for all along."

CHAPTER XIX

A LITTLE WHILE WITH ALVIN

I can't say just how I got roped in; whether it was me that discovered Alvin, or him who took to me. Must have been some my fault; for here was a whole subway car full of people, and I'm the one he seems to pick. I might lay it to an odd break, only things of that kind has happened to me so often.

Anyway, here I am, doin' the strap-swingin' act patient, without makin'

any mad dash for a seat at stations, but hangin' on and watchin' the crowds shift sort of curious. You might as well, you know; for if you do get a chance to camp down durin' the rush hours, along comes some fat lady and stands puffin' in front of you, or a thin, tired lookin' one who glares at you over the top of your paper. But if you're a standee yourself you feel free to look any of 'em in the eye.

And, say, ain't we a glum, peevish, sour lookin' lot, here in New York?

You'd most think that showin' any signs of good nature was violatin' a city ordinance, and that all our dispositions had been treated with acetic acid. Why, by the suspicious looks we give the stranger who rubs elbows with us, you might suppose our population was ninety per cent.

escaped criminals.

As the idea struck me I may have loosened my mouth corners a little, or may not. Anyway, as we pulls into 72d-st., and the wild scramble to catch a packed express begins, I finds myself gazin' absentminded at this slim, stoop-shouldered gent in the corner. Next thing I know he's smilin' friendly and pointin' to a vacant seat alongside.

First off, of course, I thinks he must be someone I've met casual and forgot; but as I slides in beside him and gets a closer view I know that he's one of the ninety-odd millions of unfortunates who, up to date, ain't had the benefit of my acquaintance. In other words, he's one of the common suspects, an utter stranger.

Course, as far as his looks go, he might be a perfect gent. He's dressed neat and plain, except for the brown spats; but as you run across a spat wearer only now and then, you're bound to guess they ain't just right somewhere. The sallow-complected face with the prominent cheekbones don't count so much against him. Them points are common. What caught me, though, was the lively brown eyes with just the hint of a twinkle in 'em. Always does. I know some like the wide-set, stary kind that go with an open-faced smile and a loud haw-haw; but for me the quiet chuckle and the twinklin' eye! Still, he hadn't proved yet that he wa'n't a pickpocket or a wife beater; so I just nods non-committal over my shoulder and resumes my usual aristocratic reserve.

"How does it happen," says he, "that you aren't on your way to the funeral too?"

"Eh?" says I, a little jarred at this odd openin'.

"Or is it that they have all been indulgin' in family rows? Look at them!" he goes on, wavin' his hand at the carful.

"Oh, I get you," says I. "Not so cheerful as they might be, are they?"

"But is it necessary for us all to be so selfishly sad," says he, "so gloomily stern? True, we have each our troubles, some little, some big; but why wear them always on our faces? Why inflict them on others? Why not, when we can, the brave, kindly smile?"

"Just the way it struck me a minute ago," says I.

"Did it?" says he, beamin'. "Then I claim you for our clan."

"Your which?" says I.

"Our brotherhood," says he.

"Can't be very exclusive," says I, "if I've qualified so easy. Any partic'lar pa.s.swords or grip to it?"

"We rehea.r.s.ed the whole ritual before you sat down," says he. "The friendly glance, that's all. And now--well, I prefer to be called Alvin."

"So-o-o?" says I sort of distant. But I'd no more'n got it out than I felt mean. What if he was a con man, or worse? I ought to be able to take care of myself. So I goes on, "McCabe's my name; but among friends I'm gen'rally known as Shorty."

"The best of credentials!" says he. "Then hail, Shorty, and welcome to the Free Brotherhood of Ego Tamers!"

I shakes my head puzzled. "Now I've lost you," says I. "If it's a comedy line, shoot it."

"Ah, but it's only tragedy," says Alvin, "the original tragedy of man.

See how its blight rests on these around us! Simply over-stimulation of the ego; our souls in the strait-jacket of self; no freedom of thought or word or deed to our fellows. Ego, the tyrant, rules us. Only we of the Free Brotherhood are seeking to tame ours. Do I put it clumsily?"

"If you was readin' it off a laundry ticket, it couldn't be clearer,"

says I. "Something about tappin' the upper-case I too frequent, ain't it?"

"An excellent paraphrase," says he. "You have it!"

"Gee!" says I. "Didn't know I was so close behind you. But whisper, I ain't got my Ego on the mat with his tongue out, not yet."

"And who of us has?" says he. "But at least we give him a tussle now and then. We've broken a fetter here and there. We have worked loose the gag."

Say, he had, all right, or else he'd swallowed it; for as an easy and fluent converser Alvin headed the bill. Course, it's an odd line he hands out, the kind that keeps you guessin'. In spots it listens like highbrow book stuff, and then again it don't. But somehow I finds it sort of entertainin'. Besides, he seems like such a good-natured, well meanin' gink that I lets him run on, clear to 42d-st.

"Well, so long," says I. "I get out here."

"To leave me among the Ishmaelites!" says he. "And I've two useless hours to dispose of. Let me go a way with you?"

I hadn't counted on annexin' Alvin for the rest of the day, and I expect I could have shook him if I'd tried; but by that time he'd got me kind of curious to know who and what he was, and why. So I tows him over as far as the Physical Culture Studio.

"Here's where I make some of 'em forget their egos, at so much per,"

says I, pointin' to the sign.

"Ah, the red corpuscle method!" says he. "Primitive; but effective, I've no doubt. I must see it in operation."