Part 5 (1/2)

”And would you be willing to try keeping Bentley out of mischief until I get back?” says he.

”Sure as ever,” says I. ”I don't s'pose he's any holy terror; is he?”

Pyramid said he wa'n't quite so bad as that. He told me that Bentley'd been brought up on a big cattle ranch out there, and that now he was boss.

”He's been making a lot of money recently, too,” says Mr. Gordon, ”and he insists on a visit East. Probably he will want to let New York know that he has arrived, but you hold him down.”

”Oh, I'll keep him from liftin' the lid, all right,” says I.

”That's the idea, Shorty,” says he. ”I'll write a note telling him all about you, and giving him a few suggestions.”

I had a synopsis of Bentley's time card, so as soon's he'd had a chance to open up his trunk and wash off some of the car dust I was waitin' at the desk in the Waldorf.

Now of course, bein' warned ahead, and hearin' about this cattle ranch business, I was lookin' for a husky boy in a six inch soft-brim and leather pants. I'd calculated on havin' to persuade him to take off his spurs and leave his guns with the clerk.

But what steps out of the elevator and answers to the name of Bentley is a Willie boy that might have blown in from Asbury Park or Far Rockaway. He was draped in a black and white checked suit that you could broil a steak on, with the trousers turned up so's to show the openwork silk socks, and the coat creased up the sides like it was made over a cracker box. His s.h.i.+rt was a MacGregor plaid, and the band around his Panama was a hand width Roman stripe.

”Gee!” thinks I, ”if that's the way cow boys dress nowadays, no wonder there's scandals in the beef business!”

But if you could forget his clothes long enough to size up what was in 'em, you could see that Bentley was a mild enough looker. There's lots of bank messengers and brokers' clerks just like him comin' over from Brooklyn and Jersey every mornin'. He was about five feet eight, and skimpy built, and he had one of these recedin' faces that looked like it was tryin' to get away from his nose.

But then, it ain't always the handsome boys that behaves the best, and the more I got acquainted with Bentley, the better I thought of him.

He said he was mighty glad I showed up instead of Mr. Gordon.

”Uncle Henry makes me weary,” says he. ”I've just been reading a letter from him, four pages, and most of it was telling me what not to do. And this the first time I was ever in New York since I've been old enough to remember!”

”You'd kind of planned to see things, eh?” says I.

”Why, yes,” says Bentley. ”There isn't much excitement out on the ranch, you know. Of course, we ride into Palopinto once or twice a month, and sometimes take a run up to Dallas; but that's not like getting to New York.”

”No,” says I. ”I guess you're able to tell the difference between this burg and them places you mention, without lookin' twice. What is Dallas, a water tank stop?”

”It's a little bigger'n that,” says he, kind of smilin'.

But he was a nice, quiet actin' youth; didn't talk loud, nor go through any tough motions. I see right off that I'd been handed the wrong set of specifications, and I didn't lose any time framin' him up accordin'

to new lines. I knew his kind like a book. You could turn him loose in New York for a week, and the most desperate thing he'd find to do would be smokin' cigarettes on the back seat of a rubberneck waggon.

And yet he'd come all the way from the jumpin' off place to have a little innocent fun.

”Uncle Henry wrote me,” says he, ”that while I'm here I'd better take in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and visit St. Patrick's Cathedral and Grant's Tomb. But say, I'd like something a little livelier than that, you know.”

He was so mild about it that I works up enough sympathy to last an S.

P. C. A. president a year. I could see just what he was achin' for.

It wa'n't a sight of oil paintin's or churches. He wanted to be able to go back among the flannel s.h.i.+rts and tell the boys tales that would make their eyes stick out. He was ambitious to go on a regular cut up, but didn't know how, and wouldn't have had the nerve to tackle it alone if he had known.

Now, I ain't ever done any red light pilotin', and didn't have any notion of beginnin' then, especially with a youngster as nice and green as Bentley; but right there and then I did make up my mind that I'd steer him up against somethin' more excitin' than a front view of Grace Church at noon. It was comin' to him.

”See here, Bentley,” says I, ”I've pa.s.sed my word to kind of look after you, and keep you from rippin' things up the back here in little old New York; but seein' as this is your first whack at it, if you'll promise to stop when I say 'Whoa!' and not let on about it afterwards to your Uncle Henry, I'll just show you a few things that they don't have out West,” and I winks real mysterious.