The Forged Note Part 43

"Git yo things 'n' go!" cried Moore near the door, and positive that Glenview was between them. "Leave mah house at once!"

"Oh, hush! Hush! Hush!" interposed the Mis'.

"Leave, leave, to-night!"

"Just let me get to him, just let me get to him! I want to eat'm,"

begged Legs.

"Yeh; let us have him. We're going t' skin him," squeaked Tom Toddy.

"This is terrible," cried the Mis'.

"Just let me get my fingers on the tramp, and it'll be all over in a minute," Legs begged.

"All but the funeral," a.s.sisted Toddy.

"Orderin' somebody out of _his_ house. You ain' nothin' but the flunky anywhere. If I was in charge here, I'd make you sleep under the bed!"

"I'd make him sleep under the house, the lousy rat," cried Toddy.

"Ah said you leave this house now," cried Moore. "These ah the orders from me. From me-e!"

"The Mis' ain' said nothin'," Legs cried again.

"Leave, leave, before I tear yu' t' pieces," Moore raved, stamping his foot.

At that moment, Legs gave Glenview a push that sent him reeling, and with a lunge, he cornered Moore. That worthy was frightened into Hades.

He was speechless. Legs smiled on him as he reached out and got him by the ears. Grasping them tight, he essayed a b.u.mping process against the wall with his head.

"Have you got him, boy?" inquired Toddy, making sure before he ventured forth with a small knife. "What shall I do to the sucker now? Just tell me, and I'll proceed to take off his nose or his lips; either one of them will make good dog meat."

"You shouldn't have come home disturbing everybody like this," said the Mis', and seemed hurt. This had effect on Legs, who was always considerate of the ladies.

"I'm sorry for you, Mis'; but I've had it in for this hunk a meat, ever since he got me out of bed to lose my last dollar." He emphasized the remark by another b.u.mping.

"I'm a poor widow woman without protection, and you are ruining the only way I have of making a living." That was enough. He forgot John Moore for a second, and the next moment that worthy was locked in an adjoining room. Here he went into a tirade. Legs forgot the Mis' now and sought him, but the door was locked and bolted.

"Git yo things 'n' go n.i.g.g.a!" he cried boldly now, from his safe retreat.

"If you had called, or knocked, I would have come and opened the door, as I always do. There was no call for all this!" remonstrated the Mis'.

"Don't lock me out, don't lock me out!" Legs raged.

"Git yo things and go, dy'e hear," from the retreat. Legs now became angry with the Mis'.

"Gimme a dollar Mis' and I'll go. If that thing in the other woom there is running this place, I don't want to stay."

"Git yo things 'n' go!"

"Gimme a dollar!"

"You ought to have known better than to create such a disturbance," the Mis' said.

"Gimme a dollar!" from Legs again.

"Let's get another drink!" from Toddy.

"I've always treated you like a gentleman."

"Gimme a dollar!" "Gimme a dollar 'n' a haf!"

"What we go'n give you a dollar 'n' a haf fo'?"

"I paid room rent in advance last Wednesday."

"Now! Here!" cried the Mis', "all of you go to bed and forget this noise."

"Ah'm go'n git 'n' officer, and have that long-legged n.i.g.g.a 'rested!"

from within.

"Go to bed!" from the Mis'.

"Go'n have who arrested?" exclaimed Legs, mad all over again.

"'F you do'n git out at once, I'm go'n throw you out!"

"If I ever get my hands on you again, you old cheap n.i.g.g.a; you old broken n.i.g.g.a; you moochin' piker; you pot a-neck-bone stew!"

"Say," cried one of the roomers, just then, "a pair of bulls are coming down the street!"

That was the end of it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

_The Disappearing Chin_

Some years before, back in the west, and at the drug store in a little town near which Wyeth owned land, and where, during the cold wint'ry days, the more intelligent and pretentious, as well as argumentative were wont to collect and discuss science, politics and economics, a subject came up one day, that thereafter, became the topic on more than one afternoon's discussion.

It concerned chins, and grew out of the presence of an insurance writer, who was booziogically inclined. And, being so, and a man of no great means, if any, it was a puzzle to many how he could get the means to fill up on liquor daily, and pay for it.

The occurrence had remained in Wyeth's memory, and, afterwards, he had a new viewpoint in observing people.

Fitzpatrick was his name, and he was, of course, Irish. His ability to get the wherewith to get drunk daily, and have money for other purposes as well, came up one day for discussion. The more logical and nature study debaters, laid it to the fact that he was possessed of an indefatigable will, and that, in addition, was conspicuously evident in his chin. Fitzpatrick had a wonderful chin; one was inclined to take notice of it the first time he met the man. It extended some distance beyond his teeth, and was square and firm. A chin that was set in such a fashion and did not recede, was, they argued, an evidence of will. So be it.

Chins were carefully observed at once, and lo, the druggist was the only one with a chin that was inclined to disappear. It was plain at first glance, that not one of more than a dozen, possessed a chin the equal of Fitzpatrick.