Part 8 (1/2)
”It takes just four,” Phelps informed him: ”look-out, spieler, panel-man and engraver.”
Wallingford shook his head, refusing even to speculate on the duties of the four named actors in the playlet.
”Four makes it hardly union wages,” he objected.
Green-Goods Harry cast at him a look of quick dislike.
”I know, but wait till you see the sample,” he insisted. ”The fun's worth more than the meat. He's the rawest you ever saw; wants green goods, you know; thinks there really is green-goods, and stands ready to exchange his five thousand of the genuine rhino for twenty of the phoney stuff. Of course you know how this little joke is rimmed up. We count out the twenty thousand in real money and wrap it up in bales before both of his eyes, then put it in a little satchel of which we make Mr. Alfred Alfalfa a present. While we're giving him the solemn talk about the po-lice Badger Billy switches in another satchel with the same kind of looking bales in it, but made out of tissue-paper with twenties top and bottom; then we all move, and Henry Whiskers don't dare make a holler because he's in on a crooked play himself; see?”
”I see,” a.s.sented Wallingford still dryly. ”I've been reading the papers ever since I was a kid. What puzzles me is how you can find anybody left in the world who isn't hep.”
”There's a new sucker born every minute,” returned Mr. Phelps airily, whereat Wallingford, detecting that Mr. Phelps held his intelligence and education so cheaply as to offer this sage remark as original, inwardly fumed.
”Come on and look him over, anyhow,” insisted Phelps, rising.
Wallingford arose reluctantly.
”What's the matter with your highball?” he demanded.
”It's great Scotch!” said Mr. Phelps enthusiastically, and drank about a tablespoonful with great avidity. ”Come on; the boys are waiting,”
and he surged toward the door.
Wallingford finished his own gla.s.s contemplatively and followed with a trace of annoyance.
CHAPTER VII
WALLINGFORD HELPS IN A GREEN-GOODS PLAYLET PURELY FOR ACCOMMODATION
Into the back room of a flashy saloon just off Broadway Mr. Phelps led the way, after pausing outside to post Wallingford carefully on all their new names, and here they found Billy Banting and Larry Teller in company with a stranger, one glance at whom raised Wallingford's spirits quite appreciably, for he was so obviously made up.
He was a raw-boned young fellow who wore an out-of-date derby, a cheap, made cravat which rode his collar, a cheap suit of loud-checked clothes that was entirely too tight for him, and the trousers of which, two inches too short, were rounded stiffly out below the knees, like stove-pipes, by top-boots which were wrinkled about the ankles.
Moreover, the stranger spoke with a nasal drawl never heard off the stage.
Wallingford, with a wink from Phelps, was introduced to Mr. Pickins as Mr. Mombley. Then, leaning down to Mr. Pickins with another prodigious wink at Wallingford, Phelps said in a stage-whisper to the top-booted one:
”Mr. Mombley is our engraver. Used to work in the mint.”
”Well, I'll swan!” drawled Mr. Pickins. ”I'd reckoned to find such a fine gove'ment expert a older man.”
With a sigh Wallingford took up his expected part.
”I'm older than I look,” said he. ”Making money keeps a man young.”
”I reckon,” agreed Mr. Pickins, and ”haw-hawed” quite broadly. ”And did you really make this greenback?” he asked, drawing from his vest pocket a crinkled new ten-dollar-bill which he spread upon the table and examined with very eager interest indeed.
”This is one of that last batch, Joe,” Short-Card Larry negligently informed Wallingford, with a meaning wink. ”I just gave it to him as a sample.”
”By jingo, it's scrumptious work!” said Mr. Pickins admiringly.