Part 13 (1/2)
”I want to know something.”
”What?”
Joe spoke slowly:
”_Are you Marty Briggs now or are you Martin Briggs_?”
Marty tried to laugh; tried to look away.
”What's the difference?” he muttered.
”Difference?” Joe's voice sank. ”Marty, I thought you were a bigger man.
It's only the little peanut fellows who want to be bossy and holier-than-thou. _Don't make any mistake_!”
”I guess,” muttered Marty, ”I can steer things O.K.”
”You'd better!” Joe spoke a little sharply. ”Our men here are as big as you and I, every one of them. My G.o.d! you'll have to pay the price of being a high muck-a-muck, Marty! So, don't forget it!”
Marty tried to laugh again.
”You're getting different lately,” he suggested.
”I?” Joe laughed harshly. ”What if it's you? But don't let's quarrel.
We've been together too long. Only, let's both remember. That's all, Marty!”
All of which didn't mend matters. It was that strangest of all the twists of human nature--the man rising from the ranks turning against his fellows.
On Friday night Joe climbed the three flights of the stuffy Eightieth Street tenement and had supper with the Ranns. That family of five circled him with such warmth of love that the occasion burst finally into good cheer. The two girls, seated opposite him, sent him smiling and wordless messages of love. Not a word was said of the fire, but John kept serving him with large portions of the vegetables and the excellent and expensive steak which had been bought in his honor; and John's wife kept spurring him on.
”I'm sure Mr. Joe could stand just a weeny sliver more.”
”Mrs. Rann”--Joe put down knife and fork--”do you want me to _burst_?”
”A big man like you? Give him the sliver, John.”
”John, spare me!”
”Mr. Joe”--John waved his hand with an air of finality--”in the shop what you says goes, but in this here home I take my orders from the old lady. See?”
”Nellie--Agnes--” he appealed, despairingly, to his little loves, ”_you_ save me! Don't you love me any more?”
This set Nellie and Agnes giggling with delight.
”Give him a pound, a whole pound!” cried Agnes, who was the elder.
A nice sliver was waved dripping on Joe's plate, which Joe proceeded to eat desperately, all in one mouthful. Whereupon the Ranns were convulsed with joy, and John kept ”ha-ha-ing” as he thumped the table, and went to such excesses that he seemed to put his life in peril and Mrs. Rann and the girls had to rise and pound him until their hands hurt.
”Serves you right, John,” said Joe, grimly. ”Try it again, and you'll get a stroke.”