Part 16 (2/2)

a boy with a pushcart to bring home a grand piano. The Old Man had done it. He's kind of sore on the way Mr. Robert lugged Mallory in by the hair, 'cause I heard him growlin' somethin' about makin' a kindergarten out of the Corrugated; so he springs this on him. He calls for Mallory and tells him there's a Russian gent down to the Waldorf that's come over to place a big Gover'ment contract.

”We've got to have a slice of that,” says he. ”Just you run down and get it for us.” Like that, offhand, as if it was somethin' you could do anytime between lunch and one-thirty.

Near as I could make out, Mallory goes for it in his polite, standoff, after-you way, and the closest he gets to Russky is a minute with a c.o.c.ky secretary that says his Excellency is very sorry, but he'll be too busy to see him this trip--maybe next time, about 1912, he'll have an hour off.

”And then you backs up the alley?” says I.

”There was nothing else for me to do,” says Mallory. ”He went off without giving me another chance.”

”Say,” says I, ”if I had all your parlor manners, I'd organize an English holdin' comp'ny for 'em, so's not to be jacked up for bein' a monopoly. Why didn't you give him the low tackle and sit on his head until he promised to behave? Was that the only try you made?”

”No, I sent up my card twice after that,” says he, ”and it came back. So I've flunked. I think I'd better go down in the morning and resign.”

Now wouldn't that rust you?

”Then here goes the books,” says I, chuckin' 'em into the corner. ”If doin' the knowledge stunt leaves you with a backbone like a piece of boiled spaghetti, I'm through.”

That makes Mallory sit up as if I'd jabbed him with a pin. ”Do I seem that way to you?” says he.

”You don't think you're givin' any weight-liftin' exhibition, do you?”

says I.

He lets that trickle through for a minute or so, and then he comes back to life. ”Torchy,” says he, ”you're right. I'm acting like a quitter.

But I don't mean to let go just yet. Hanged if I don't try to see that man to-night, now, as quick as I can get down there! He's got to see me, by Jove!”

”There's more sense to that than anything else you've said in a week,”

says I. ”Wish I could be there to hold your hat.”

”Why not?” says he. ”Come on. I may need fresh inspiration.”

”Whatever I gives you'll be fresh, all right,” says I; ”but if I was you, and was goin' to b.u.t.t into any Fifth-ave. hotel along about dinner-time, I'd wear the regalia. Yours ain't in on a ticket, is it?”

It wa'n't. Mallory had to go clear to the bottom of the trunk after it; but when he'd shook out the wrinkles and got himself inside the view was worth while. After he's blown up his op'ra hat and got out his stick you couldn't tell him from a three times winner.

”Chee!” says I. ”You've got Silent Smith tied to a post. If you acts like you look, you don't need me.”

He wouldn't have it that way, though. I'd got to go along and be ready to give him any points I thought of. We goes in a cab, too, in over the rubber mats to the carriage door, just like we'd come to hire the royal suite.

”The Baron Kazedky,” says Mallory, shovin' his card across at the near plute behind the desk.

Then the cold wave begun comin' our way. Mister Baron was out. n.o.body knew where he'd gone. He hadn't left any word. And he didn't receive callers after four P.M., anyway. Mallory was gettin' his breath after stoppin' them body blows, when I pushes in.

”Say, Sir Wally,” says I, leanin' over towards the clerk and speakin'

confidential, ”lemme give you somethin' from the inside. If Kazedky misses seein' Mr. Mallory to-night, you'll be called up to-morrow to hear some Russian language that'll take all the crimp out of that Robert Mantell bang of yours. Now ring up one of them bench-warmers and show us the Baron!”

But, say, you might's well try bluffin' your way through the fire lines on a bra.s.s trunk check, ”You'll find the manager's office two doors to the left, gentlemen,” says he.

”Much obliged for nothin',” says I.

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