Part 27 (1/2)

”If you're out of b.u.t.ter, or want to touch me for a drawin' of tea, speak right up, Major,” says I. ”The pantry's yours.”

”Thank you,” says he; ”but it's nothing like that; nothing at all, sir.

I came over as the representative of several citizens of Primrose Park, to inquire if it is your intention to reside here.”

”Oh!” says I. ”You want to know if I'll join the gang? Well, seein' as you've put it up to me so urgent, I don't care if I do. Course I can't sign as a reg'lar, this bein' my first jab at the simple life; but if you can stand for the punk performance I'll make at progressive euchre and croquet, you can put me on the Sat.u.r.day night sub list, for a while, anyway.”

Now, say, I was layin' out to do the neighborly for the best that was in me; but it seemed to hit the Major wrong. He turned about two shades pinker, coughed once or twice, and then got a fresh hold. ”I'm afraid you fail to grasp the situation, Mr. McCabe,” says he. ”You see, we lead a very quiet life here in Primrose Park, a very domestic life. As for myself, I have two daughters--”

”Chic, chic, Major!” says I, pokin' him gentle in the ribs with me thumb. ”Don't you try to sick any girls on me, or I'll take to the tall timber. I'm no lady's man, not a little bit.”

Then the explosion came. For a minute I thought one of them 'Frisco ague spells had come east. The Major turns plum color, blows up his cheeks, and bugs his eyes out. When the language flows it was like turnin' on a fire-pressure hydrant. An a.s.sistant district attorney summin' up for the State in a murder trial didn't have a look-in with the Major. What did I mean--me, a rough-house sc.r.a.pper from the red-light section--by b.u.t.tin'

into a peaceful community and insultin' the oldest inhabitants? Didn't I have no sense of decency? Did I suppose respectable people were goin' to stand for such?

Honest, that was the worst jolt I ever had. All I could do was to sit there with my mouth ajar and watch him prancin' up and down, handin' me the layout.

”Say,” says I, after a bit, ”you ain't got me mixed up with Mock Duck, or Paddy the Gouge, or Kangaroo Mike, or any of that crowd, have you?”

”You're known as Shorty McCabe, aren't you?” says he.

”Guilty,” says I.

”Then there's no mistake,” says he. ”What will you take, cash down, for this property, and clear out now?”

”Say, Major,” says I, ”do you think it would blight the buds or poison the air much if I hung on till Monday morning? That is, unless you've got the tar all hot and the rail ready?”

That fetched a grunt out of him. ”All we desire to do, sir,” says he, ”is to maintain the respectability of the neighborhood.”

”Do the other folks over there feel the same way about me?” says I.

”Naturally,” says he.

”Well,” says I, ”I don't mind telling you, Major, that you've thrown the hooks into me good an' plenty, and it looks like I'd have to make a new book. I didn't come out here' to break up any peaceful community; but before I changes my program I'll have to sleep on it. Suppose you slide over again some time to-morrow, when your collar don't fit so tight, and then we'll see if there's anything to arbitrate.”

”Very well,” says he, does a salute to the colors, and marches back stiff-kneed to tell his crowd how he'd read the riot act to me.

Now, say, I ain't one of the kind to lose sleep because the conductor speaks rough when I asks for a transfer. I generally takes what's comin'

and grins. But this time I wa'n't half so joyful as I might have been.

Even the sight of Mother Whaley's hot biscuits and hearin' her singin'

”Cushla Mavourneen” in the kitchen couldn't chirk me up. I'd been keen for lookin' the house over and seein' what I'd got in the grab; but it was all off. Course I knew I had the rights of the thing. I'd put down me good money, and there wa'n't any rules that could make me pull it out. But I've lived quite some years without shovin' in where I knew I'd get the frigid countenance, and I didn't like the idea of beginnin' now.

I couldn't go back on my record, either. In my time I've stood up in the ring and put out my man for two thirds of the gate receipts. I ain't so proud of that now as I was once; but I ain't never had any call to be ashamed of the way I done it. What's more, no soubrette ever had a chance to call herself Mrs. Shorty McCabe, and I never let 'em put my name over the door of any Broadway jag parlor.

You got to let every man frame up his own argument, though. If these Primrose Parkers had listed me for a tough citizen, that had come out to smash crockery and keep the town constable busy, it wa'n't my cue to hold any debate. All the campaign I could figure out was to back into the wings and sell to some well-behaved stock-broker or life-insurance grafter.

It was goin' to be tough on the Whaleys, though. I didn't let on to Dennis, and after supper we sat on the back steps while he smoked his cutty and ga.s.sed away about the things he was goin' to raise, and how the flower-beds would look in a month or so. About nine o'clock he shows me a place where I can turn in, and I listens to the roosters crowin'

most of the night.

Next mornin' I had Dennis get me a Sunday paper, and after I'd read the sportin' notes, I turns to the suburban real estate ads. ”Why not own a home?” most of 'em asks. ”I know the answer to that,” says I. And say, a Luna Park Zulu that had strayed into young Rockefeller's Bible cla.s.s would have felt about as much at home as I did there on my own porch.

The old Major was over on his porch, walkin' up and down like he was doin' guard duty, and once in a while I could see some of the women-folks takin' a careful squint at me from behind a window blind. If I'm ever quarantined, it won't be any new sensation.