Part 20 (1/2)
”All right,” says I: ”but this'll cost Cliffy just twenty.”
”I'll pay it,” says Mr. Robert.
”It's a whizz,” says I, wavin' the cane. ”Come on, you Sneezowskis! I'll show you where the one fifty per grows on bushes.”
What did I do with 'em? Ah, say, it was a cinch! I runs 'em down seven flights of stairs, marches 'em three blocks up town, and then rushes up to a big stiff in a green and gold uniform that's hired to stand outside a flower shop and open carriage doors. He and me had some words a couple of months ago, because I b.u.t.ted him in the belt when I was in a hurry once.
”Here,” says I, rus.h.i.+n' up and jammin' the cane into his hand, ”hold that till I come back!” and before he has time to pipe off the bunch of Polackers that's come to a parade rest around us, I makes a dive in amongst the cars and beats it down Broadway.
Nah, I don't know what becomes of him, or the Zinskis either. All I know is that I'm twenty to the good, and that Cousin Clifford's been s.h.i.+pped back to Bubble Creek, glad to get out of New York alive. But, as I says to Mr. Robert, ”What do you look for from a guy that b.u.t.tons his ears up in flannel?”
CHAPTER X
BACKING OUT OF A FLUFF RIOT
They will turn up, won't they? Here I was only yesterday noontime loafin' through the arcade, when who should I get the hail from but Hunch Leary, with a bookful of rush messages and his cap down over his ears.
Now I ain't sayin' he's the toughest lookin' A. D. T. that ever sat on a call bench, for maybe I've seen worse; but with his bent-in nose, and his pop eyes, and that undershot jaw--well, he ain't one you'd send in to quiet a cryin' baby. Hunch didn't pose for that picture of the sweet youth on the blue signs outside the district offices. They don't pick him out for these theater-escort snaps, either.
Which shows how far you can go on looks, anyway; for, if I was going to trust my safety-vault key with anyone, it would be Hunch. Not that they'll ever use him to decorate any stained-gla.s.s window; but I never look for him to land on the rock pile.
Course, I don't see much of Hunch and the rest these days; but it ain't a case of dodgin' old friends on my part, so me and him hangs up against a radiator in the main corridor and talks it over. I wants to know if Stiff Miller is still manager down at No. 11 branch, and who's wearin' the red stripe yet; while Hunch he puts over a few polite quizzes as to how I'm gettin' on with the Corrugated people.
We hadn't been ga.s.sin' but five minutes or so, and there's ten more due on the clock before lunch hour is over, when I looks up to see our Mr.
Piddie going by and givin' me the frown. I knew what that meant. It's another call-down. He has plenty of time to work up his case; for I takes the limit and don't hang up my hat until the life-insurance chimes has done their one-o'clock stunt. And I'm hardly settled behind the bra.s.s gate before Piddie is down on me with the old mushy-mouthed reproof.
”One is known,” says he, ”by the company one keeps.”
”I'm no New Theater manager,” says I. ”What's the answer?”
”I observed you loitering in the lower corridor,” says he. ”That is all.”
”Oh!” says I. ”You seen me conversin' with Mr. Leary, eh?”
”Mr. Leary!” says Piddie, raisin' his eyebrows.
”Well, Hunch, then,” says I. ”Tryin' to get up a grouch because you wa'n't introduced? Don't take it hard. He's kind of exclusive, Mr. Leary is.”
Piddie swallows that throat pippin of his two or three times before he can get a grip on his feelings enough to go on with the lesson of the day. ”I merely wish to remark,” says he, ”that evil communications corrupt good manners.”
”How about court Judges, then,” says I, ”and these slum missionaries'?
G'wan, Piddie! Back to the copybook with your mottoes! I'm a mixer, I am! Would I be chinnin' here with you if I wa'n't?”
He sighs, Piddie does, and struts away to freeze the soul of some new lady typist by looking over her shoulder. As an act of charity, they ought to let Piddie fire me about once a month. He'll die of grief if he don't get the chance sometime.
And blamed if he don't come near gettin' his heart's desire before the day was over!
It all begins about three o'clock, when Piddie comes turkeyin' out of the telephone booth all swelled up with importance and signals me to come on the carpet.