Side-stepping with Shorty Part 23

As a general thing I don't go much on looks, but I will say that I've seen handsomer specimens than Rossiter. He's got good height, and plenty of reach, with legs branchin' out just under his armpits--you know how them clothespin fellers are built--but when you finish out the combination with pop eyes and a couple of overhangin' front teeth-- Well, what's the use? Rossy don't travel on his shape. He don't have to, with popper bossin' a couple of trunk lines.

When he first begun comin' to the Studio I sized him up for a soft boiled, and wondered how he could stray around town alone without havin' his sh.e.l.l cracked. Took me some time, too, before I fell to the fact that Rossy was wiser'n he looked; but at that he wa'n't no knowledge trust.

Just bein' good natured was Rossy's long suit. Course, he couldn't help grinnin'; his mouth is cut that way. There wa'n't any mistakin'

the look in them wide set eyes of his, though. That was the real article, the genuine I'll-stand-for-anything kind. Say, you could spring any sort of a josh on Rossy, and he wouldn't squeal. He was one of your shy violets, too. Mostly he played a thinkin' part, and when he did talk, he didn't say much. After you got to know 'him real well, though, and was used to the way he looked, you couldn't help likin'

Rossiter. I'd had both him and the old man as reg'lars for two or three months, and it's natural I was more or less chummy with them.

So when Rossy shows up here the other mornin' and shoves out his proposition to me, I don't think nothin' of it.

"Shorty," says he, kind of flushin' up, "I've got a favour to ask of you."

"You're welcome to use all I've got in the bank," says I.

"It isn't money," says he, growin' pinker.

"Oh!" says I, like I was a lot surprised. "Your usin' the touch preamble made me think it was. What's the go?"

"I--I can't tell you just now," says he; "but I'd like your a.s.sistance in a little affair, about eight o'clock this evening. Where can I find you?"

"Sounds mysterious," says I. "You ain't goin' up against any Canfield game; are you?"

"Oh, I a.s.sure----" he begins.

"That's enough," says I, and I names the particular spot I'll be decoratin' at that hour.

"You won't fail?" says he, anxious.

"Not unless an ambulance gets me," says I.

Well, I didn't go around battin' my head all the rest of the day, tryin' to think out what it was Rossiter had on the card. Somehow he ain't the kind you'd look for any hot stunts from. If I'd made a guess, maybe I'd said he wanted me to take him and a college chum down to a chop suey joint for an orgy on li-chee nuts an' weak tea.

So I wa'n't fidgetin' any that evenin', as I holds up the corner of 42nd-st., pa.s.sin' the time of day with the Rounds, and watchin' the Harlem folks streak by to the roof gardens. Right on the tick a hansom fetches up at the curb, and I sees Rossiter givin' me the wig-wag to jump in.

"You're runnin' on sked," says I. "Where to now?"

"I think your Studio would be the best place," says he, "if you don't mind."

I said I didn't, and away we goes around the corner. As we does the turn I sees another cab make a wild dash to get in front, and, takin' a peek through the back window, I spots a second one followin'.

"Are we part of a procession?" says I, pointin' 'em out to him.

He only grins and looks kind of sheepish. "That's the regular thing nowadays," says he.

"What! Tin badgers?" says I.

He nods. "They made me rather nervous at first," he says; "but after I'd been shadowed for a week or so I got used to it, and lately I've got so I would feel lost without them. To-night, though, they're rather a nuisance. I thought you might help me to throw them off the track."

"But who set 'em on?" says I.

"Oh, it's father, I suppose," says he; not grouchy mind you, but kind of tired.

"Why, Rossy!" says I. "I didn't think you was the sort that called for P. D. reports."

"I'm not," says he. "That's just father's way, you know, when he suspects anything is going on that he hasn't been told about. He runs his business that way--has a big force looking into things all the time. And maybe some of them weren't busy; so he told them to look after me."

Well say! I've heard some tough things about the old man, but I never thought he'd carry a thing that far. Why, there ain't any more sportin' blood in Rossiter than you'd look for in a ribbon clerk.

Outside of the little ladylike boxin' that he does with me, as a liver regulator, the most excitin' fad of his I ever heard of was collectin'

picture postals.

Now, I generally fights shy of mixin' up in family affairs, but someway or other I just ached to take a hand in this. "Rossy," says I, "you're dead anxious to hand the lemon to them two sleut's; are you?"

He said he was.

"And your game's all on the straight after that, is it?" I says.

"'Pon my honour, it is," says he.

"Then count me in," says I. "I ain't never had any love for them sneak detectives, and here's where I gives 'em a whirl."

But say, they're a slippery bunch. They must have known just where we was headin', for by the time we lands on the sidewalk in front of the physical culture parlours, the man in the leadin' cab has jumped out and faded.

"He will be watching on the floor above," says Rossiter, "and the other one will stay below."

"That's the way they work it, eh?" says I. "Good! Come on in without lookin' around or lettin' 'em know you're on."

We goes up to the second floor and turns on the glim in the front office. Then I puts on a pair of gym. shoes, opens the door easy, and tiptoes down the stairs. He was just where I thought he'd be, coverin'

up in the shade of the vestibule.

"Caught with the goods on!" says I, reachin' out and gettin' a good grip on his neck. "No you don't! No gun play in this!" and I gives his wrist a crack with my knuckles that puts his shootin' arm out of business.

"You're makin' a mistake," says he. "I'm a private detective."

"You're a third rate yegg," says I, "and you've been nipped tryin' to pinch a rubber door mat."

"Here's my badge," says he.

"Anybody can buy things like that at a hock shop," says I. "You come along up stairs till I see whether or no it's worth while ringin' up a cop."

He didn't want to visit, not a little bit, but I was behind, persuadin'

him with my knee, and up he goes.

"Look at what the sneak thief business is comin' to," says I, standin'

him under the bunch light where Rossiter could get a good look at him.

He was a shifty eyed low brow that you wouldn't trust alone in a room with a hot quarter.

"My name is McGilty," says he.

"Even if it wa'n't, you could never prove an alibi with that face,"