Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 6

"You see, I was only nine at the time," says she, "and there was so much going on, and Papa was so upset about all those letters."

"Which letters?" says I.

"Oh, the people who wrote to him during the trial," says she. "You've no idea--hundreds and hundreds of letters, from all over the country; from strangers, you know, who'd read that he was--well, an absconder. They were awful letters. I think that's what hurt Papa most, that people were so ready to condemn him before he'd had a chance to show that he didn't do it. He would just sit at his old desk there by the hour, reading them over, and everyone seemed like another pound loaded on his poor shoulders. The letters kept coming long after he was sent away. There's a whole boxful in the garret that have never been opened."

"And he never shall see them!" announced Mrs. Pedders emphatic.

"H-m-m-m!" says I. "A whole boxful that n.o.body's opened? But suppose now that some of 'em wa'n't--say, why not take a look at the lot, just the outsides?"

Neither Mrs. Pedders nor Luella took kind to that proposition; but somehow I had a vague hunch it ought to be done. I couldn't say exactly why, either. But I kept urgin' and arguin', and at last they gave in.

They'd show me the outsides, anyway; that is, Luella might, if she wanted to. Mrs. Pedders didn't even want to see the box.

"I meant to have burned them long ago," says she. "They're just letters from idle, cruel people, that's all. And you don't know how many such there are in the world, Mr. McCabe. I hope you never will know. But go up with Luella if you wish."

So we did, J. Bayard glancin' suspicious at the dust and cobwebs and protectin' his silk hat and clothes cautiously. It's a good-sized box too, with a staple and padlock to keep the cover down. Luella hunted up the key and handed out bunch after bunch. Why do people want to write to parties they've read about in the newspapers? What's the good too, of jumpin' on bank wreckers and such at long range? Why, some even let their spite slop over on the envelopes. To see such a lot of letters, and think how many hard thoughts they stood for, almost gave you chills on the spine.

Didn't seem to do much good to paw 'em over now, at this late date, either. I was almost givin' up my notion and tellin' Luella that would be about enough, when I noticed a long yellow doc.u.ment envelope stowed away by itself in a corner.

"There's a fat one," says I.

She hands it out mechanical, as she'd done the rest.

"h.e.l.lo!" says I, glancin' at the corner.

"Gordon & Co., Broad Street, New York! Why, say, that's the Pyramid Gordon I was askin' about."

"Is it?" says she. "I hadn't noticed."

"Might give us some clew," I goes on, "as to what him and your Paw had a run-in about."

"Well, open it, if you like," says Luella careless.

J. Bayard and I takes it over to the window and inspects the cancel date.

"June, 1894," says I. "Twenty-eight cents postage; registered too. Quite a package. Well, here goes!"

"Bonds," says Steele, takin' a look. "That old Water Level Development Company's too."

"And here's a note inside," says I. "Read it."

It was to John Wesley Pedders, cashier of the Merchants' Exchange Bank, from Mr. Gordon. "In depositing securities for a loan, on my recent visit to your bank," it runs on, "I found I had brought the wrong set; so I took the liberty, without consulting your president, of subst.i.tuting, for a few days, a bundle of blanks. I am now sending by registered mail the proper bonds, which you may file. Trusting this slight delay has caused you no inconvenience, I am----"

"The old fox!" cuts in J. Bayard. "A fair sample of his methods! Had to have a loan on those securities, and wanted to use them somewhere else at the same time; so he picked out this little country bank to work the deal through. Oh, that was Pyramid Gordon, every time! And calmly allowed a poor cashier to go to State's prison for it!"

"Not Pyramid," says I. "I don't believe he ever heard a word of the trouble."

"Then why did he put Pedders' name on his list?" demands Steele.

"Maybe he thought sendin' on the bonds would clear up the mess," says I.

"So it would, if they hadn't come a day or two late and got stowed away here. And here they've been for twenty years!"

"Yes, and quite as valuable to the bank as if they'd been in the vaults," sneers J. Bayard. "That Water Level stock never was worth the paper it was printed on, any more than it is now."

"We'll make it useful, then," says I. "Why, it's got Aladdin's lamp beat four ways for Wednesday! These bonds go to Pedders. Then Pedders shaves off his whiskers, puts on his Sunday suit, braces his shoulders back, walks down to the bank, and chucks this bunch of securities at 'em triumphant."

"But if the bank is still out a hundred and fifty thousand," objects Steele, "I don't see how----"

"They ain't out a cent," says I. "We'll find a customer for these bonds."

"Who?" says he.

"J. Bayard Steele," says I. "Ain't you actin' for a certain party that would have wanted it done?"

"By Jove!" says he. "Shorty, you've hit it! Why, I'd never have thought of----"

"No," says I; "you're still seein' only that twenty per cent commission.

Well, you get that. But I want to see the look in Mrs. Pedders' eyes when she hears the news."

Say, it was worth makin' a way train trip to Tullington, believe me!

"I knew," says she. "Oh, I always have known John didn't do it! And now others will know. Oh, I'm glad, so glad!"

Even brought a slight dew to them shifty eyes of J. Bayard's, that little scene did. "McCabe," says he, as we settles ourselves in the night express headed towards Broadway, "this isn't such a bad game, after all, is it?"

CHAPTER IV

TWO SINGLES TO GOOBER

"Shorty," says Sadie, hangin' up the 'phone and turnin' to me excited, "what do you think? Young Hollister is back in town!"

"So are lots of other folks," says I, "and more comin' every day."

"But you know he promised to stay away," she goes on, "and his mother will feel dreadfully about it when she hears."

"I know," says I. "And a livelier widow never hailed from Peachtree street, Atlanta; which is sayin' a lot. Who sends in this bulletin about Sonny?"

"Purdy-Pell," says Sadie, "and he doesn't know what to do."

"Never does," says I.

Sadie flickers a grin. "It seems Robin came two days ago, and has hardly been seen about the house since. Besides, Purdy-Pell could do nothing with him when he was here before, you remember."

"Awful state of things, ain't it?" says I. "The youngster's all of nineteen, ain't he?"