FORD
 
 / 
 
 d-^ 
 
 ANGELES
 
 SHORTY McCABE 
 GETS THE HAIL 
 
 BY 
 
 SEWELL FORD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 EDWARD J. CLODE
 
 CePXBIGHT, 1018, 1919, 
 
 SEWELL FORD 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
 
 EDWARD J. CLODE 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. SHORTY PICKS A COMER 1 
 
 II. SPEED WORK FOR PIPKIN ..... 20 
 
 III. TOUCHING ON THE KINNETS 39 
 
 IV. A SIDE BET ON BART 58 
 
 V. GUESSING WRONG ON HERM 77 
 
 VI. AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD .... 94 
 
 VII. SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 113 
 
 VIII. A SLANT AT THE COMERS ..... 131 
 
 IX. A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMEB . 144 
 
 X. WHEN BUDDY BOY CAME BACK . . . .160 
 
 XI. A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE ...... 175 
 
 XII. W T HEN EDGAR PLUS FORGOT 193 
 
 XIII. SHORTY ANSWERS A HATT. 209 
 
 XIV. SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 227 
 
 XV. WHAT AUNT ABBIE HAS COMING . . . . 248 
 
 XVI. SITTING IN WITH JIMMY . . . .. .261 
 
 XVII. "TRAZE BEANS" FOR BUCKY .... 279 
 
 XVIII. LTTTLE SULLY COMES THROUGH . 295 
 
 O
 
 SHORTY McCABE GETS 
 THE HAIL 
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 
 
 1MUST say he was an unpromisin' speci- 
 men. He wore his cheek bones high and 
 his forehead low, and the only name any- 
 body in Company B seemed to have for him, 
 from the Captain down, was Joe Pants. 
 
 Not that I noticed him 'specially at first. 
 In fact, I expect they had him doin' kitchen 
 police most of the time for a while there when 
 I was startin' the new rookies in on the calis- 
 thenics and glove drill. Oh, yes, I'd been doin' 
 a lot of this camp work since the War Depart- 
 ment discovered that Shorty McCabe was just 
 as willin' to do his part as anybody else. 
 Course, they'd had my offer filed away for 
 more'n a year. But you know how it's been. 
 There was so many of us high talented people 
 knockin' around that some of us was bound to 
 be overlooked. 
 
 1
 
 2 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Anyway, I guess I made up for lost time, for 
 there in June and July, when the new draft was 
 comin' in so strong, I'd leave the Physical Cul- 
 ture Studio three afternoons a week to go out 
 and show these buddin' Fritz destroyers how to 
 breathe from below the belt and what their 
 hands was made for besides shovelin' in rations. 
 And say, before the Quartermaster had fitted 
 'em out with any uniforms but blue overalls 
 they wasn't an impressive lookin' lot of democ- 
 racy savers, take it from me. So it's no 
 wonder, with different squads of a hundred 
 lined up before me every half-hour, I 
 didn't single out this Joe Pants bird right 
 away. 
 
 Even when I did it was because he seemed a 
 little more stupid than the rest in catchin' on 
 to what I'm tryin' to make 'em do. 
 
 "Say, you! Fifth man from the right!" I 
 calls out. But I don't make any connection at 
 all. 
 
 "Ah, let's have the numbers!" I goes on. 
 
 "One two three four . Stop! Yes, you. 
 
 ITh-huh. This is all for your benefit. Sorry 
 to disturb your standee nap, but let's see if we 
 can't get this right. Can't you breathe with 
 your mouth shut? Try it. You won't smother 
 or anything with the goulash trap closed. 
 There! Seef Now from way down, with your 
 shoulders back. Ah, for the love of soup ! You
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 3 
 
 ain't a fish, are you? All you moved then was 
 your gills." 
 
 Honest, I must have wasted more eloquence 
 on that one peanut-head than on all the rest of 
 the squad. 
 
 "Cap'n," I asks confidential after they're 
 dismissed, "who is this pet of yours that's so 
 intelligent from the ankles down?" 
 
 "Oh, that one!" says Captain Martin. 
 "Why, that's Joe Pants. He's a Pole, I think." 
 
 "Guess that accounts for it," says I. 
 "Wooden all the way from the roof. Maybe 
 you'll make a soldier out of him, too, but I'd 
 save him for a newel post." 
 
 The Captain grins. "The sad part of it is, 
 Professor," says he, "that I've got to make a 
 soldier of him. ' ' 
 
 "You're some wizard if you do," says I. 
 
 At that Joe might not have been so much 
 worse than a lot of the others. Part of it, as 
 I finds out later, is due to the fact that he don't 
 understand English very well. Then he's such 
 a pie-faced lookin' gink. With that Swiss 
 cheese complexion, and the dull, wide-set eyes, 
 and the bat ears juttin' out from the side of 
 his head like they was stuck on as an after- 
 thought, he looks almost as human as something 
 carved on a pipe. 
 
 And yet it couldn't have been more'n three 
 weeks later, when I'd advanced the squad to
 
 exercise with the soft mitts, that I'm consider- 
 able jarred at seein' this Private Pants steam in 
 a half-arm jolt, just the way I'd showed him, the 
 weight followin' the blow, and lift a big husk 
 opposite clean off his feet. First off I thought 
 it must have been an accident, but a few minutes 
 later blamed if he don't shoot over another one 
 just as destructive. That's when I begun to get 
 curious. 
 
 ''Good work, Joe!" I sings out. "Here! 
 [Wait a minute. Gimme a pair of them pillows, 
 Sergeant. Now, Mr. Pants, shove one of them 
 short ones in at me so I can feel if it really 
 has the stuff behind it." 
 
 Well, it had. And I want to say it was just 
 as well I was quick in blockin' it off. 
 
 ' ' Listen, Joe, ' ' says I. ' ' Where 'd you get all 
 that?" 
 
 Joe hunches his shoulders but otherwise from 
 that don't impart any information. 
 
 "I mean," says I, "where you been working 
 what 's your j ob ! " 
 
 "Oh, job!" says he, his pale blue eyes brigh- 
 tenin' a little. "Steam boiler man, by Jersey 
 City. Four furnace doors. ' ' 
 
 "I get you," says I. "You've been tossin' 
 pea coal and rakin' out clinkers. And as an 
 indoor athletic pastime that beats rollin' ciga- 
 rettes or playin' Kelley pool. Shed the shirt, 
 Joe, and lemme take a squint at them shoulder
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 5 
 
 muscles of yours. That 'sit. Z-z-z-z, man ! But 
 you have got some development there. Hey, 
 Cap 'n ! Come look at this, eh ? No wonder he 's 
 got a punch. And notice the length of those 
 arms like the hind legs of a kangaroo. Say, 
 if he only knew how to use 'em ! ' ' 
 
 I wasn't thinkin' so much of boxin' as I was 
 of bayonet work, for I'd been watchin' that 
 cold-steel drill quite a bit and thinkin' how 
 much it was like usin' clever tactics in the ring. 
 And it was really the Captain who suggests that 
 maybe Joe is the very one we've been lookin* 
 for. You see, A Company, havin' been organ- 
 ized some three hours ahead of Company B, had 
 been givin' themselves all the airs of Picardy 
 vets. Besides, in the draft they'd happened to 
 pull this Crab Mitzler, an East Side mug, who'd 
 nipped off first money at a few Olympic Club 
 sessions and was already bein' touted as the 
 lightweight champ of the whole division. 
 
 It wasn't so much the chesty motions the 
 Crab went through though he did kind of 
 throw himself around at times as the cocky 
 persiflage about him that A Company's Captain 
 and lieutenants indulged in at the officers' mess, 
 which got Cap'n Martin's goat. 
 
 "Why," says the Cap'n, "you'd think they 
 had a world beater over there a second Bat- 
 tling Nelson. They've had his picture in the 
 Sunday papers, talk of having him give exhi-
 
 bition bouts at the nearby cantonments all 
 that rot. If we could only find a man who " 
 
 "There's no telling, Cap'n," says I. "One 
 may turn up." 
 
 Now this ain't the wildly thrillin' account, 
 such as the camp correspondents send out, of 
 how an unknown hero stepped from the ranks 
 and knocked the tar out of the regimental bully. 
 I didn't have such a lot of faith in Private Pants 
 from the first. He didn't act to me as though he 
 had head enough to sidestep the heavy ones. 
 Besides, his footwork was anything but shifty. 
 
 Still there was that wonderful punch, and no 
 other good material in sight. So Joe was 
 yanked off the potato peelin' and floor scrub- 
 bin' and detailed for orderly duty that took him 
 to town often. Maybe you can guess that he 
 spent his time here in the Studio gettin' some 
 intensive trainin' in the noble art of pluggin' 
 away at the ribs until you can swing for the 
 jaw. : 
 
 Well, I've handled a lot of comers in my day, 
 before I took to coachin' plutes to stay with the 
 big money game, but I met mighty few plugs 
 who were so crude at the start. Private Pants 
 didn't seem to have the fight instinct. Not that 
 he showed yellow anywhere, but it just didn't 
 seem to be in him to work for a knockout and 
 nothing else. 
 
 So I got to probin' into his past. It wasn't
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 7 
 
 much of a past. And first off it turns out that 
 his real name is Pantlinski. He 'd been born and 
 brought up in one of them Polish places with a 
 jaw-breakin' tag, livin' there until he was six- 
 teen, and havin' done farm work ever since he 
 was big enough to lift a hoe. Then him and his 
 mother and an uncle, his old man havin' passed 
 in, had joined a bunch rounded up by a steam- 
 ship immigration agent and had come to the 
 United States expectin' to get rich right away. 
 Which hadn't happened. 
 
 The uncle had been shipped on to a Pennsyl- 
 vania rollin' mill, where he'd promptly got 
 mixed up with some liquid iron ore, and a 
 generous corporation had paid all the funeral 
 expenses besides expressin' the tin trunk back 
 to his relations in Bayonne. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Pantlinski had connected 
 with a nice easy snap in a steam laundry, 
 workin' only a twelve-hour shift, while Joe had 
 finally found this boiler room job. He's stuck 
 there nearly five years and his pay had been 
 raised to $2.25 a day. At that he'd saved up 
 over $300, and was thinking of taking out his 
 second papers and gettin' married, when his 
 number was drawn at Washington and he found 
 himself herded into this camp. 
 
 Not that Joe seemed to mind it. He'd been 
 cussed and kicked around all his life, so when 
 the drill sergeant got a bit personal in his
 
 8 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 remarks, Joe took it as a matter of course. 
 He confides to me that he'd never had such good 
 clothes on his back, had never been so clean, and 
 hadn't dreamed there could be so much good 
 food in the world. Course, he expected the 
 Germans would kill him when he got near 
 enough to 'em. They generally did. He 'd been 
 brought up to believe that. He didn't hate 'em 
 exactly, nor he didn't seem much afraid. The 
 way he looked at it, this was simply his luck 
 what he 'd been born for. 
 
 "Huh!" says I, standin' him up against the 
 gym wall and makin' him look me square in the 
 face. "That's about the poorest dope I ever 
 heard from anybody that called himself a man. 
 If you stick to that, Joe, we- might as well stop 
 right here, for this Crab Mitzler party has got 
 you licked now. Understand ? ' ' 
 
 Joe blinks once or twice and then shakes his 
 head. "That's too bad," says he. "The 
 Captain, he want me to beat him up, don't 
 he?" 
 
 "The question is, Joe," I goes on, "do you 
 want to beat him up 1 " 
 
 "Sure," says he. 
 
 "Then, that's different," says I. "Now we 
 got something to work on. For it can be done 
 easy. But you got to forget this whipped- 
 dog stuff. You got to remember, Joe, that 
 you're not only a citizen of the United States
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 9 
 
 of America, but a soldier in the finest army that 
 ever marched anywhere. You're the pride and 
 hope of a hundred million free people. It's no 
 chain gang army you're in, either. When you 
 salute an officer he's got to salute back. Why, 
 you even have a bugler who has to blow the call 
 before you'll get up in the morning, or go to 
 bed at night. You have cooks gettin' your 
 meals, tailors makin' your uniforms, ships be- 
 ing built to take you across the ocean, doctors 
 and nurses waitin' around to fuss over you if 
 you get sick or hurt, and a whole raft of clerks 
 and so on writin' your name in big books and 
 keepin' track of all the little things you do. 
 Get that?" 
 
 Joe says he does. 
 
 1 ' Then we '11 consider this proposition of what 
 you're going to do to Crab Mitzler when you 
 meet him two weeks from Saturday night," I 
 goes on. " You've seen him in action. His 
 style is to duck his head and wade in the old 
 rush method. He has a bad wallop, too. You 
 couldn't stop more'n half a dozen of 'em with- 
 out goin' groggy. So what's the use? You're 
 goin' to start in by coverin' up tight and doin' 
 the one-step backward. Yes, with the crowd 
 howlin' at you to stand up and take your dose. 
 Three rounds of that you'll have to stand for, 
 maybe four; and then, when you hear him 
 breathin' hard and his swings begin to slow up,
 
 you're goin' to cut loose with them short jabs 
 to the ribs. Never mind that ugly mug of his. 
 Hammer away at his slats. And keep hammer- 
 ing, until your rubber gives you the word to 
 watch for a jaw openin'. And when it comes, 
 whip one in, with everything you got behind it. 
 That '11 be all. One will do the trick. ' ' 
 
 Course, it didn't work out just that way. It 
 seldom does. You can't take a man who's 
 dragged his heels all his life and teach him 
 footwork in a month. Early in the bout Joe 
 got in the way of a couple of Crab's stingers. 
 And one or two more later on. By the end of 
 the third round he looked like an easy mark and 
 the Company A people were up on their hind 
 legs howlin' delighted. 
 
 But about the middle of the fourth, when 
 Crab got ambitious to finish his man quick and 
 was swingin' a bit wild, Joe began to find his 
 body punch. "Ugh!" remarks Crab, sort of 
 surprised. The fifth was about an even break. 
 Then in the sixth well, right in the midst of 
 one of his whirlwind rushes, Crab met some- 
 thing solid and impetuous. He meditated on 
 his knees while the referee counted eight. Then 
 he wabbled to his feet again and met another 
 that sent him almost through the ropes. Ten 
 seconds more and it was all over. A Company's 
 near-champ was a has-been, and Private Joe 
 Pants was being carried around triumphant by
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 11 
 
 as many Company B men as could get under 
 him, while Captain Martin hammered me on the 
 back enthusiastic. 
 
 So I wasn't much astonished, next time I 
 went out to camp, to find that Joe had been 
 made a corporal and been assigned as assistant 
 boxin' instructor to some' of the new draftee 
 squads. What did surprise me was to see how 
 easy he handled 'em and how well he 'd remem- 
 bered the things I'd told him. 
 
 "Good for you, Joe," says I. "Comin' on, 
 ain't you? I expect you'll be goin' out after 
 the division championship now." 
 
 Joe didn't think so. "I don't like to fight so 
 much," says he. 
 
 "Savin' it up to feed the Heinies, eh?" 
 says I. 
 
 Joe nods and gives me the grin. But from 
 then on he's a different Joe. For one thing, 
 every man in the Company was his friend and 
 showed it. That must have helped. He takes 
 it modest enough, but he begins carryin' his 
 chin up. His back has straightened and stif- 
 fened. When you talked to him he met your 
 eyes level. He was doing good work with his 
 squads. 
 
 So it was natural when the Top Sergeant 
 overstayed his leave or something, that the one 
 who should get his place was Joe. I happened 
 into camp the day he bloomed out in his new
 
 12 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 chevrons. And that was when he first sprung 
 this on me about his mother. 
 
 ' l She don 't know yet, ' ' says he. ' ' I I kinda 
 want her to see." 
 
 "Course you do," says I. "Why not have 
 her come out right away?" 
 
 "No, no," puts in Joe hasty. "Not not 
 now. The old lady she she wouldn't be 
 ready." 
 
 "Whaddye mean, ready?" says I. 
 
 It's the first time, too, I'd ever seen Joe tint 
 up any. But he works up quite a neck color 
 while he's tryin' to explain, and when he's 
 through strugglin' with the language I'm just 
 as wise as when he started. 
 
 ' ' Say it in Polish, Joe, ' ' says I, l i then maybe 
 lean guess." 
 
 But Joe won't do that. Just then, though, 
 out from the Hostess House across the way 
 drifts Private Crab Mitzler escortin' a big, 
 high-chested female who looks like she'd been 
 decorated for a grand review. She has on a 
 smashin' big hat with purple ostrich plumes 
 wavin' over it and, although it's a warm day, 
 she has a fur stole draped over her wide shoul- 
 ders. Also she's sportin' ear danglers and her 
 facial color scheme is some vivid. A regular 
 East Side get-up, suitable for Yom Kippur or 
 any other holiday. Joe takes her all in, up and 
 down.
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMEE 13 
 old lady," I suggests. 
 
 Joe is still followin' her with his eyes set. 
 Finally he turns to me. ' ' My old lady wouldn't 
 wouldn't be like that," says he. 
 
 "No?" says I. 
 
 "No," says Joe, kind of smothering a sigh. 
 "She she'd be wearin' a shawl. No hat, 
 understand; always a shawl, red and green. 
 And her old purple dress, just like at home." 
 
 Then I got the idea. "Joe," says I, "you 
 don't mean you'd be ashamed to have your old 
 mother come out here?" 
 
 "Me?' 'says he. "No. What do I care? But 
 she well, when she saw the other women, she'd 
 feel bad. She'd want to go back, right off." 
 
 "Oh, that's it, eh?" says I. "Think she'd 
 feel as if she wasn't dressin' the part, eh? 
 , what 's to be done ? ' ' 
 
 I could send plenty of money," says Joe, 
 "but she wouldn't know how to fix up right. 
 Not her. She don't go out much. If somebody 
 could kinda show her how - " 
 
 "Joe," I breaks in, "I hope you ain't puttin' 
 anything like that up to me ? ' ' 
 
 "You you couldn't do it?" he asks pleadin'. 
 
 ' ' Ab-so-lutely not, ' ' says I. " I 'm handy at a 
 few things, but when it comes to costumin' any- 
 body's mother for a visit to camp, I'll have to 
 pass. That's a female job. But see here; ain't 
 
 "
 
 14 SHORTY McCABB GETS THE HAIL 
 
 you got any women relations, or any young lady 
 friends you could call on ? " 
 
 He thinks hard for a minute or so, and then 
 announces hesitatin': "There's Minna and 
 Eosa, my second cousins. But they they're 
 too stuck-up and stylish. They work in a big 
 store by Newark." 
 
 "Then they're elected," says I. "They'd be 
 the very ones." 
 
 Joe seems to think they wouldn 't do it. ' ' You 
 leave it to me," says I. "I'll persuade 'em." 
 
 I'd got kind of interested in the game by that 
 time. Besides, as Joe's regiment was due to 
 be shipped over within the next week or so, and 
 as this might be the only chance the old lady 
 would have of seeing him maybe the last time 
 she ever would see him I thought it was due 
 to both of 'em. So I spends most of an after- 
 noon chasin' around on the Jersey side. 
 
 And Joe hadn't exaggerated any about his 
 second cousins. I located 'em all right, one in 
 the suit department, the other at the bargain 
 waist counter. And for girls who'd landed at 
 Ellis Island not more'n six years before they 
 sure had caught on. You know zippy dressers 
 on and off and not bashful about chattin' 
 through the gum. They was some impressed, 
 though, to hear how Cousin Joe had got to be 
 a Non Com and boss of a lot of men.
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 15 
 
 "Wouldn't that bump you, Minn?" says 
 Rosa. "Joe a officer. Wisht we could see him 
 at it once. ' ' 
 
 "You can," says I, "if you'll take this $40 
 he's sent and outfit the old lady for the excur- 
 sion." 
 
 "Will we!" says Rosa. "That's one little 
 thing we will do, and do handsome. Trust us. 
 How about next Sunday?" 
 
 1 1 Fine ! ' ' says I. " I '11 hunt her up and let her 
 know. ' ' 
 
 At the laundry they was good enough to give 
 her five minutes off to talk to a stranger in the 
 front office. A bent-shouldered, weary-eyed 
 little old girl it is that comes out wipin' her 
 hands on her burlap apron. I don't suppose she 
 was much over forty at that, but she might have 
 been sixty from her looks. Years of field work, 
 and more years tendin' a steam mangle are 
 bound to tell. And she seemed rather dazed at 
 the prospect of visitin' the camp. 
 
 "Aye like to coom," says she, "but but Aye 
 no tank Aye can. ' ' 
 
 "Sure you can," says I. "Minna and Rosa 
 are goin' along. They'll fix you up for it." 
 
 "Oh!" says she. "Well, maybe Aye coom. 
 Aye dunno, though. ' ' 
 
 I didn't either. She's such a timid, pathetic, 
 little old party. Where the girls were going to
 
 16 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 begin on her, or how they would finish, was be- 
 yond me. It looked hopeless. 
 
 So when I 'phoned over Saturday forenoon 
 to ask Minna how they was progressing I was 
 prepared to hear that the party had been called 
 off. But it hadn't. 
 
 * ' Sure thing ! ' ' says Minna. * ' We '11 make the 
 9.15 ferry Desbrosses." 
 
 Even then I had cold feet. It's a flossy bunch 
 that streams into them camps of a Sunday, and 
 it would be too bad if Joe's mother should get 
 to sizin' 'em up and balk right at the gate. 
 Besides, I kind of wanted Joe to be able to show 
 her around the place, without havin' any of 
 them new rookies snickerin' at him. 
 
 That's why, when I runs across Pinckney 
 who's about the swellest friend I've got I had 
 this nervy hunch about borrowin' his car. And 
 when I'd sketched out my scheme for loadin' 
 Mrs. Pantlinski into his limousine, where she 
 could peek through the curtains if she was too 
 panicky to climb out, he falls for it like the true 
 sport he is. 
 
 "My only regret, Shorty," says he, "is that 
 I have but one enclosed car to lend to my 
 country." 
 
 Course, this means I've got to go along with 
 the chauffeur, so's to pick up the right trio at 
 the ferry. But what's a Sunday forenoon now 
 and then? I was down there with the old-rose-
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 17 
 
 lined bus at 9 A.M., and when the crowds begun 
 pourin' off I had my neck stretched and my eyes 
 open. 
 
 I was some disgruntled, too, when I got my 
 first glimpse of the girls, for there's three of 
 'em. I figured that when the old lady had 
 backed out they had just rung in a friend and 
 come right along. I wasn't goin' to hail 'em at 
 all, but they spots me before I could duck and 
 booms right over. 
 
 "Well, of all the swell-elegance!" says Rosa. 
 "Say, Mister, you're a reg'lar feller, ain't you? 
 Do we go in the rollin' boudoir?" 
 
 "Where's the old lady?" I demands. 
 
 "Did you hear that, Minn?" says Rosa, 
 snickerin'. 
 
 "That's handin' us sump in', I guess," says 
 Minna. "Have another look, Professor. The 
 one in the middle." 
 
 Then it's me with my mouth open and my 
 eyes poppin', for the middle party the one in 
 the nifty blue lid with the veil to match, with 
 her hair fluffed out and twisted into pats over 
 her ears is Mrs. Pantlinski. I gasps and con- 
 tinues to stare at her up and down, from the 
 18-button white kid boots to the powdered nose 
 and the little dabs of color worked in artistic 
 just under the cheek bones. 
 
 "Will she pass, Mister?" asks Rosa. 
 
 "Pass!" says I. "Why she'll have 'em
 
 18 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 goggle-eyed out there. What gets me is how 
 you could do it all on $40." 
 
 "Less 'n four, ' ' says Minna. l '"What have we 
 got extra wardrobes for, anyhow? But it's 
 lucky she was about our size." 
 
 Then I turns curious to see how the old girl 
 is takin' it, bein' flossed up like a Canal Street 
 chicken. But say, she's wearin' a pleased, 
 simple look, and there's almost a sparkle in her 
 tired eyes. 
 
 "Don't they fix me up grand to see Joe?" she 
 asks. "Aye Aye never been fixed up this way 
 before, but but it's kinda nice. Aye hope Joe 
 likes me this way. ' ' 
 
 I hoped he would. I wasn't a bit sure, though. 
 All the way out to camp I'd keep lookin' at her 
 and wonderin'. Course, when you got right 
 close you could see the wrinkles at the eye 
 corners, and the yellowish lined cheeks under 
 the drug-store complexion. But a little dis- 
 tance off, blamed if the effect wasn't stunnin'. 
 She must have been quite a good-looker when 
 she was young, and them snappy clothes had 
 brought most of it back. But wouldn't Joe be 
 too jarred for words? 
 
 He was. All he can do for the first few min- 
 utes is stand and gawp at her. Then gradually 
 a smile lights up his dull-lookin' face a happy, 
 satisfied, proud smile, that lasts all the rest of 
 the time we saw him.
 
 SHORTY PICKS A COMER 19 
 
 "You you look fine, Ma," says he. 
 
 "You look awful nice, too, Joe," says she, 
 runnin' her fingers gentle over his sleeve 
 chevrons. 
 
 And for two hours, until Mrs. Pantlinski says 
 she can't take another step in them high-heeled 
 boots, Joe tows her around through the bar- 
 racks and grounds, introducing her to every- 
 body he can find who '11 stop long enough, from 
 the Captain to the stew cook. And when he 
 finally helps her into the limousine, after a last 
 fond clinch, Sergeant Pantlinski stands watchin' 
 her whirled away, his hat off respectful, and a 
 big drop of brine tricklin' down either side of 
 his nose. 
 
 "This war stuff," remarks Minna, "is 
 sump'n' fierce, ain't it?" 
 
 "Some of it is," says I, "and then, again, 
 some of it ain't!"
 
 n 
 
 SPEED WORK FOB PIPKIN 
 
 THERE was Pinckney and me and Mortimer 
 Judders. Course, there was a hundred or two 
 others on board the Southland Limited, not 
 countin' the train crew and the minstrel ag- 
 gregation in charge of the diner. But, bein* 
 shut off the way we were, we didn't see much 
 of the rest of the passengers. Oh, my, no! 
 Judders couldn't have stood it to be mixed in 
 promiscuous. So all we had was the drawin'- 
 room and an adjoinin' compartment, which 
 makes a real cute little two-room flat on wheels. 
 
 I don't mean we had a wheel-chair patient on 
 our hands. No; Judders was just dead from 
 the chin up. You know one of the sleep- 
 walkers. First few times I saw Judders, I 
 thought he'd been doped. Maybe I've stated it 
 a bit strong, but Judders wasn't what you'd call 
 a real active member. Seemed like he was 
 muscle-bound in the brain and was sufferin' 
 from ossification of the temperament. And I 
 never got over bein' surprised when he said 
 anything on his own hook, or now and then 
 
 20
 
 SPEED WORK FOR PIPKIN 21 
 
 revealed that he did have certain likes and dis- 
 likes. 
 
 Along in the late thirties, Judders was, and 
 an old bachelor of course. You couldn't imag- 
 ine him ever havin' pep enough to try to get 
 married, and I expect he never had. Whether 
 or not he'd inherited this expensive system of 
 livin' along with his preferred stocks and six 
 per cent bonds, I never found out. But he had 
 it. Oh, yes ; nothing impulsive or offhand about 
 Judders' program of life. Near as I could 
 figure, he'd been followin' the same routine, 
 year in and year out, ever since he 'd come into 
 his pile. 
 
 No, that's wrong. I did hear Pinckney men- 
 tion how he changed his rooms at the club once, 
 and one season he went to Bermuda instead of 
 Piney Springs, Georgia. Outside of that, 
 though, he'd stuck to schedule startin' South 
 right after the first two weeks of grand opera, 
 comin' up in April, goin' to Tuxedo June 15, 
 and landin ' back at the club the Saturday after 
 Labor Day. 
 
 Not such a poor order of events, I'll admit. 
 Strikes me I could follow that and have more 
 or less fun. But it does seem wasted on 
 Judders. I should have said he'd been just as 
 contented, providin' he'd started that way, if 
 he'd been planted in dry sand about up to his 
 neck, same as they keep some kinds of vege-
 
 22 SHOBTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 tables. Just as useful to society that way, too. 
 
 You might think it odd of Pinckney, trailin' 
 around such a non-conductor, bein' about as 
 much of a live wire himself as you'd find in a 
 week's hunt. But that's Pinckney always 
 showin' up with some queer gink or other, and 
 lettin' on how there's a lot more in 'em than 
 anyone suspects. 
 
 "Huh!" says I, after he's sprung Mortimer 
 on me for the first time. "Is he all bone above 
 the eyes, or what?" 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, Shorty, I assure you," 
 says Pinckney. "My friend Judders has a 
 mental equipment rather over than under the 
 average. ' ' 
 
 "Hides it well," says I. 
 
 "Besides," goes on Pinckney, "he has an 
 amazingly even disposition, as well as many ex- 
 cellent traits of character which I am discover- 
 ing from time to time. ' ' 
 
 "You're some grand little explorer, Pinck- 
 ney," says I. "It's a pity there ain't more 
 poles to be located." 
 
 "Ah!" says he, lightin' another cigarette. 
 "What is the finding of a certain point of lati- 
 tude compared to the most trivial excursion into 
 that vast uncharted mystery, the mind of man?" 
 
 "Eh?" says I, gawpin'. 
 
 "My latest theory about Judders," says he, 
 "is that he lacks merely the subconscious
 
 SPEED WORK FOB PIPKIN 23 
 
 initiative. It is there, of course, but dormant. ' ' 
 
 "Meanin'," says I, makin' a wild stab, ''that 
 he needs a jolt somewhere to make him come out 
 of the spell?" 
 
 "Quite so," says Pinckney. "And I have an 
 idea, Shorty, that between us we can supply 
 the necessary psychic urge." 
 
 "Ah, come !" says I. "Lay off ringin' me in. 
 I'm dizzy now." 
 
 But a day or so later Pinckney tows him in 
 again. His new hunch is that what Judders 
 needs most is some of my physical culture work 
 a half-hour boxin' lesson every day. 
 
 "After all," says Pinckney, "it may be an 
 indolent liver. ' ' 
 
 "Sometimes it is," says I. 
 
 As a matter of fact, Mortimer does look a 
 little yellow. But say, you might as well try 
 teachin' a guinea-pig to play Kelley pool. Mor- 
 timer 's notion of boxin ' is to hold the gloves out 
 rigid, like he was offerin' 'em for sale, and gaze 
 at me amiable. No good rappin' him on the 
 beak, or steamin' one in on his ribs. He just 
 acts surprised and puzzled. The wand drill and 
 medicine-ball stunts was more in his line. He 
 got quite interested in that work, 'specially 
 when I made kind of a game of it. Did him 
 good, too, so far as his general health went. 
 But when it came to developin' what Pinckney 
 calls the psychic urge, there's no thin' doin'.
 
 24 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 ' 'It's higher up than the liver," says 
 I. " Where he's torpid is between the 
 ears." 
 
 Then it came time for Judders to go South, 
 as per schedule, and he staggers both of us by 
 proposin' that I go along and relieve the 
 monotony of the trip by givin' him his usual 
 exercises. 
 
 ' * Where ? ' ' says I. "On the Pullman roof ? " 
 
 "Couldn't we manage something of the sort 
 in a drawing-room?" he asks. And when he 
 suggests that he '11 pay fifty a day and expenses, 
 I figures I can't afford to stay at home. 
 
 ' ' By Jove ! ' ' says Pinckney. * * If you two are 
 going to do traveling gymnasium work all the 
 way to Georgia, hanged if I don't trot along, 
 too. It ought to be worth watching. ' ' 
 
 So that's how we come to be sportin' around 
 in all this transportation space. And by open- 
 in' up the two compartments we did have quite 
 a lot of room to step around in. Anyway, I 
 managed to give Mortimer enough exercise the 
 first afternoon out so he got in a good night's 
 sleep. 
 
 It was about nine o'clock next mornin', and 
 we was just finishin' breakfast in the dinin'-car, 
 when we notices that the train is makin' a 
 longer stop than the usual water-tank halt. The 
 word is passed around that an air-couplin' had 
 gone bad and the brakes on the rear sleeper
 
 SPEED WORK FOR PIPKIN 25 
 
 had been set. A lot of passengers was pilin' 
 off, so we follows. 
 
 And you know how good it seems to get out 
 of them stuffy cars, where they use the same air 
 from November to June, and pump in a fresh 
 supply that ain't loaded with dust and cinders. 
 Besides, we 'd left half a foot of slush on Broad- 
 way, with more snow bein' added, while down 
 here the warm sun was dryin' up a light frost 
 and the grass alongside the tracks was still 
 green. Over in a field to the right some darkies 
 was doin' a little late cotton-pickin'. On the 
 other side is what passes for a town, I suppose. 
 There's a wooden station that might have been 
 painted once, a general store with a couple of 
 mule teams hitched in front, maybe a 
 dozen frame houses, and a two-storied shack 
 that somebody's had the nerve to call a 
 hotel. 
 
 "Cunnin' little metropolis, ain't it?" says I. 
 "Wonder what they call it?" 
 
 "This," says Pinckney, "is the fair village of 
 Pipkin, South Carolina. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Pipkin, eh 1 " says I. ' * Looks it. I hope we 
 ain't tied up here for any length of time." 
 
 That remark seems to stir something in Mor- 
 timer's mind. He glances around disapprovin' 
 on Pipkin in general, and then taps Pinckney on 
 the arm. 
 
 "I say," says he, "what if one did have to
 
 26 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 stay in such a place for well, for a week 
 or so!" 
 
 "But why not?" demands Pinckney. 
 
 "Don't!" protests Mortimer. "That's too 
 absurd. ' ' 
 
 If he'd known Pinckney as well as I do, he 
 wouldn't have put it just that way. I could tell 
 he'd made a mistake the minute I saw that 
 flicker in Pinckney 's black eyes. 
 
 ' * My dear Mortimer, ' ' says Pinckney, " to be 
 absurd now and then is the high privilege of 
 man alone. Also, it is that which adds the fine 
 savor to existence. Now, neither of us has the 
 vaguest idea as to what living in Pipkin is like. 
 Here is our opportunity to find out. Let's." 
 
 "Oh, I say!" gasps Mortimer. 
 
 "Your own suggestion," comes back Pinck- 
 ney. "An inspired impulse! Who knows? 
 And we've just time to do it. Here, porter! 
 Get those bags of ours off right away." 
 
 "But but, Pinckney!" wails Mortimer, that 
 long, vacant face of his suddenly registerin' 
 seven kinds of agitated emotion. 
 
 * ' Quit your kiddin ', " I puts in. 
 
 No use. Pinckney is shovin' a fiver at Eastus 
 and urgin' him to get a jump on. When I sees 
 that he meant it I takes a hand at helpin', 
 gatherin' up stray articles that we'd left layin* 
 around. Meantime the train crew has mended 
 the air-pipes, there comes a warnin' whistle
 
 SPEED WORK FOE PIPKIN 27 
 
 from the engine, and as I dashes out on my 
 second trip the last of the passengers was 
 climbin' aboard. So I drapes an overcoat on 
 Judders' right arm, jams his shavin' kit and a 
 couple of collars into his hands, and balances 
 his derby on top of his travelin' cap. As he 
 sees the train movin' off without him, he lets 
 out a desperate groan, and we fairly had to 
 hold him from runnin' after it. 
 
 1 'But I I simply can't stay here," he moans. 
 
 ''How do you know until you've tried!" says 
 Pinckney. ''Which is precisely what we are 
 about to do." 
 
 "But this this is awful," insists Judders. 
 
 "Mortimer," says Pinckney, backin' him 
 against a heap of kit-bags and suitcases and 
 makin' him sit down, "allow me to correct your 
 point of view. You seem to think life is a fixed, 
 cut-and-dried affair a tread-mill. Well, it 
 isn't. It is a glorious, splendid adventure." 
 
 Mortimer tried to crash in with some gulpy 
 remark, about not carin' for adventure, but 
 Pinckney cuts him off : 
 
 "You think it essential to your comfort and 
 happiness that you should go, at this exact date 
 every year, to that inexpressibly dull Piney 
 Springs of yours. I know perfectly well what 
 you do there, for I've watched you at it. Every 
 forenoon you play a wretched game of golf with 
 some other duffer, and for the rest of the day
 
 28 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 you sit around trying to convince yourself that 
 you're not horribly bored. "While here here 
 you have before you Pipkin fresh, untried, un- 
 exploited ; new surroundings ; a new manner of 
 life ; perhaps the most entertaining of episodes 
 awaiting. Then ho for Pipkin ! ' ' 
 
 Course, it's a nutty line of talk, but with 
 Mortimer's face to watch I couldn't help en- 
 joyin' it. If he'd been dropped on a desert 
 island he couldn't have looked more dazed or 
 desperate. He just sits there on the baggage, 
 clutchin' his razor-strop and shavin' brush, 
 starin' down the track after the disappearm' 
 train. 
 
 "Don't quite seem to get that adventure stuff, 
 does he?" says I. "Acts more like he thought 
 life was a term in jail." 
 
 "Oh, give him time," says Pinckney. "Now 
 suppose we see about accommodations." 
 
 That didn't take long. The landlord of the 
 Pipkin House was snoozin' in a porch chair not 
 two hundred feet away. He wasn't keen at 
 first about bein' roused up, but Pinckney finally 
 got him to show us what he had in the way of 
 rooms. Anyway, he called 'em rooms. They 
 looked more like box-stalls to me. I expect a 
 finicky mule-buyer or a real particular fertilizer 
 agent would have put up a holler over 'em ; but 
 Pinckney only give me the grin and says how 
 we '11 take 5, 7 and 9.
 
 SPEED WORK FOE PIPKIN 29 
 
 "Of course," he adds, "you will have them 
 thoroughly cleaned and aired. I would sug- 
 gest fresh sheets, too; and I am sure you can 
 find some water pitchers that are not cracked. ' ' 
 
 "Excuse me, Mister," says the landlord, "but 
 what you-all think yer gittin' for a dollar 'n a 
 half?" 
 
 "Ah, ha! Your error," says Pinckney, 
 pokin ' him playful in the ribs. * ' We are paying 
 three dollars a day each perhaps four. It 
 depends upon how good a dinner you can get 
 for us. I am leaving that entirely to you. But 
 please try to make it worth four." 
 
 "Ah suttinly will, suh," says the landlord. 
 
 When he gives his whole attention to it he's 
 some jollier, Pinckney. And slippin' a five or a 
 ten here and there along with his josh he surely 
 can get things done. When we struck the 
 Pipkin House it hardly looked like a goin' 
 concern. Half an hour later it was fairly hum- 
 min' with busy hands. Two darkies were 
 sweepin' off the front porch, another was scrub- 
 bin' the office floor, others was shakin' rugs 
 from the upper windows, and out back we could 
 hear some women-folks directin' a chicken 
 chase. By the squawks I could make a good 
 guess as to what might happen for dinner. 
 Honest, when we come to lift Mortimer off the 
 baggage and lead him up there was hardly any 
 quiet spot to put him. So we started out on a
 
 30 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 sandy road that wanders off into the tall long- 
 leaf pines and walked him about four miles. 
 
 And you know it ain't half so bad as it looks 
 from the car windows, this South Carolina sec- 
 tion of the map. 'Specially on such a mellow 
 January day as this. For one thing, you get 
 reg'lar breathin' air clean and piny smellin' 
 and full of pep. Then, there's so many things 
 to see little coffee-colored brooks meanderin' 
 across the road, quail whirrin' up from the 
 bushes and white woolly clouds floatin' lazy in 
 the blue sky. 
 
 In the clearin's we came across little groups 
 of darky cabins with mud-chinked walls and 
 mud chimneys and groups of pickaninnies play- 
 in' around. At one place Pinckney bought a 
 live turkey and sent it back to the hotel. At 
 another he bargained for a roastin' pig, to be 
 delivered next day. Even Mortimer almost 
 smiled as he stood watchin' the antics of them 
 little razor-backs. 
 
 1 1 How odd ! ' ' says he. * ' Do you know, I never 
 knew before that pigs er came in such small 
 sizes." 
 
 "They don't on Fifth Avenue," says I. 
 ' ' How 's your dinner appetite about now ? ' ' 
 
 1 'Really," says he, "I am getting quite 
 hungry. ' ' 
 
 He was more than that before we landed back 
 at the hotel, and he had begun askin' Pinckney
 
 SPEED WORK FOR PIPKIN 31 
 
 if one could manage to get a decent meal at such 
 a place. 
 
 4 'One never knows," says Pinckney. "But 
 that makes this sort of thing all the more inter- 
 esting. ' ' 
 
 I'll confess the dining-room didn't look prom- 
 ism' a dingy table-cloth, thick crockery, and a 
 full assortment of ketchup bottles, pickle jars 
 and vinegar cruets starin' at us. But say, when 
 the fried chicken and sweet potatoes and hominy 
 cakes was set on we forgot such trifles as nicked 
 plates and damp napkins. We went to it like 
 hired hands after a twelve-hour day. 
 
 "That's what I call a reg'lar meal," says I, 
 finishin' my third hominy cake with honey. 
 
 ' ' Thankee, suh, ' ' says the landlord. * ' Every- 
 one around heah allows th ' missus is some cook 
 when she spreads herself." 
 
 Then we loafs around outside in the sun until 
 Pinckney suggests we do some more explorin'. 
 
 "I say," he asks the landlord, "what are the 
 principal objects of interest in your town?" 
 
 "Well," says the landlord thoughtful, 
 "there's Grimes 's brickyard, down the road 
 a spell." 
 
 "Good!" says Pinckney. "We will inspect 
 it." 
 
 "Oh, I say!" protests Judders. 
 
 "Mortimer," says Pinckney, "did you ever 
 visit a real brickyard ? Ah, I thought not I No
 
 more have I. Then here is our opportunity." 
 
 So off we tramps again until we gets to this 
 huddle of tumble-down sheds surroundin' a 
 smeary hole in a clay bank. I must say, it ain't 
 much of a sight ; but Pinckney pretends to get 
 real thrilled over it. 
 
 "Just think!" says he. "Here is an im- 
 portant industrial process of which we are ut- 
 terly ignorant. If we could only find this Mr. 
 
 Grimes, now Ah, I wonder if this can be 
 
 the man?" 
 
 It could and was. He's a picturesque old 
 patriarch with a full set of long-staple whiskers 
 and jutty eyebrows. He's sittin' on a stump 
 watchin' three slow movin' darkies who are 
 shovelin' red clay into wheelbarrows and 
 trundlin' 'em up out of the pit on a string of 
 rotten planks. He admits that his name is 
 Grimes and that he owns the outfit. Also, bein' 
 urged by Pinckney, he sketches out how the clay 
 is handled, from the time it's dug out until it 
 leaves the firin' kilns for the stackin' sheds. 
 
 "And then," says Pinckney, "the bricks are 
 ready to be shipped off and made into homes 
 and factories and garden walls. How inter- 
 esting!" 
 
 ' * Mebby, ' ' says Mr. Grimes. ' ' But f er a man 
 who's tryin' to pile up enough to carry him back 
 to Schenectady, York State, it's a mighty poor 
 business proposition."
 
 33 
 
 "But, my dear sir," says Pinckney, "why 
 leave such a charmingly named town for a city 
 with so unlovely a name as that?" 
 
 "Names don't count much with me," says 
 Grimes. ' ' Besides, my old friend, Jeb Snyder, 
 lives in Schenectady; and now that my daugh- 
 ter's married and moved off, and the old 
 woman's gone well, I kinder got a hankerin' 
 to see Jeb onct more. Don't look like I'd fetch 
 it, though. ' ' 
 
 "Then I am to understand," says Pinckney, 
 "that you find the brick business unprofitable?" 
 
 "Make enough to keep alive, that's about 
 all," says Grimes, tampin' down his old pipe. 
 "Wisht I could sell out, that's what I wish." 
 
 "Ah!" says Pinckney, his eyes sparklin'. 
 ' ' You would sell ? And at what figure ! ' ' 
 
 "Why," says Grimes, "if I could git fifteen 
 
 hundred cash I I'd But say, stranger, 
 
 you don't happen to know anybody that'd want 
 to buy, do ye ? " 
 
 "Yes," says Pinckney prompt. "This 
 gentleman here, Mr. Mortimer Judders, would 
 be delighted to purchase your brickyard." 
 
 "Wha what's that?" gasps Mortimer. 
 
 "See how enthusiastic he is?" says Pinckney, 
 nudgin' Grimes. "I suppose it has been one of 
 his secret ambitions for years, and now that the 
 happy chance has brought the thing actually 
 within his reach "
 
 34 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Please, Pinckney!" breaks in Judders. 
 "Really, you know, I don't wish to own a 
 brickyard. ' ' 
 
 "Yesterday, Mortimer, I might have believed 
 you," says Pinckney. "But you've given your- 
 self away. Who was it suggested stopping off 
 at Pipkin? You, Mortimer. No use denying it. 
 And I presume you thought we would not notice 
 how eager you were to get out here. But we 
 did, didn't we, Shorty? Well, there is nothing 
 unmanly about such a desire, nor any good 
 reason why it should not be gratified. Perhaps 
 you have a special, heaven-sent gift for brick- 
 making. Who knows? Thus far it has been 
 latent, lying hidden in the bud. But now well, 
 all that is necessary for you to enter on your 
 chosen career is the mere writing of a check. 
 Professor McCabe, let Mr. Judders take your 
 fountain-pen." 
 
 "But, Pinckney, I I " begins Mortimer. 
 
 Whatever he meant to say, he couldn't get it 
 out. I don't know if you'd call it mesmerism, 
 or what. Maybe it was just that it's so seldom 
 he has a new proposition batted up to him sud- 
 den that he's simply stunned. And then, he'd 
 been so used to followin' Pinckney 's lead that 
 I expect he didn't know how to duck. Anyway, 
 he acts like he was in a trance. And the next 
 thing I know, he's taken the pen and is writin'
 
 35 
 
 what Pinckney tells him. As for Grimes, he's 
 almost as much staggered as Judders. 
 
 11 There!" says Pinckney, handin' over the 
 check. "Now make out a bill of sale, Mr. 
 Grimes, and to-morrow the deed for the land 
 can be transferred. Congratulations, Mortimer. 
 You are now a captain of industry. " 
 
 I don't know what move Pinckney looked for 
 from Judders. Ten to one, all he saw was a 
 chance to put over something foolish on him, 
 just for the sake of seem' how Mortimer would 
 take it. Well, for a while there you 'd think he 'd 
 been gassed in the trenches. Honest! We 
 didn't get a word out of him for more'n two 
 hours. And then, as we're sittin' around a pine- 
 knot fire in the hotel office, waitin' for supper, 
 he murmurs once or twice, sort of to himself : 
 
 "Bricks! Making bricks in a brickyard!" 
 
 "Quite so," says Pinckney. "Beautiful 
 thought, isn't it?" " 
 
 "I I don't know," says Judders, starin' at 
 the fire. 
 
 He turned into the feathers early that night, 
 before nine o'clock, leavin' Pinckney and me 
 gassin' with the landlord and old man Grimes. 
 Mortimer must have been up an hour or more 
 when we came down in the mornin', for he'd 
 finished breakfast and was waitin' for us in the 
 dinin'-room.
 
 36 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Do you know," says he, "I've been thinking 
 a lot about this brickmaking business." 
 
 "Naturally, Mortimer," says Pinckney. 
 "Being in it, you're bound to." 
 
 "I don't see," goes on Judders, "why it 
 shouldn't be made to pay." 
 
 "Eh?" says Pinckney, gazin' across the table 
 at him. 
 
 "I happen to know a chap," says Mortimer, 
 "who gets quite a large income from brickyard 
 interests up the Hudson somewhere. Man- 
 ages the business himself, I believe. Harkley is 
 the name Joe Harkley." 
 
 "Oh, yes," says Pinckney. "I've met him 
 at the club, haven't I?" 
 
 Mortimer don't seem to hear the question, 
 but rambles along. 
 
 "Now, it occurs to me," says he, "that Mr. 
 Grimes may not be using the best methods. 
 Those darkies with wheelbarrows such a slow 
 
 way. There ought to be I say, Pinckney, 
 
 if I could get Harkley to lend me a few men 
 a foreman and some brickmakers who know 
 their job thoroughly and with some up-to-date 
 machinery, I I believe I could make a go 
 of it!" 
 
 It's Pinckney who's gaspin' now. 
 
 "By George!" says he. "You you really 
 mean to try it? You are going to stay here?" 
 
 "Of course," apologizes Mortimer, "I am no
 
 SPEED WOEK FOE, PIPKIN 37 
 
 business man. I have never done anything of 
 the sort. But, as you mentioned yesterday, this 
 may be precisely the one thing I can do. It 
 it would be rather interesting to try, wouldn't 
 it? And, while this hotel is somewhat crude, I 
 think I could fix up some decent quarters here. 
 I might buy a half interest, you know, put in a 
 few baths, enlarge some of the rooms, set up a 
 small electric light plant for the town, get the 
 railroad to run a spur track out to the brick- 
 yard, and " 
 
 ''Stop!" says Pinckney, holdin' up both 
 hands. "Are you joking, Mortimer?" 
 
 Judders gives him an injured look. 
 
 " Certainly not," says he, gettin' up and 
 startin' for the door. 
 
 "But but where are you going!" asks 
 Pinckney. 
 
 "To telegraph Harkley," says he. 
 
 "Fancy!" gasps Pinckney, as the door slams. 
 "Mortimer!" 
 
 "Listens like you'd started something for 
 Pipkin, don't it?" says I. 
 
 And he sure had. We stayed on long enough 
 to see the first gang arrive, a superintendent 
 with half a dozen men, who reports that two car- 
 loads of machinery was followin'. Also we saw 
 the carpenters start work on Mortimer's three- 
 room suite, and looked over his plans for the 
 new power house.
 
 38 SHOETY MoCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 When we left, he was pacin' up and down the 
 hotel office, dictatin' letters to a stenographer, 
 while outside were two county commissioners, 
 some railroad men, an automobile agent, and 
 four contractors, all waitin' to see him. And we 
 had to dodge painters, paper-hangers, and 
 steam-fitters as we struggled through the front 
 door. 
 
 1 1 Think of it ! " says Pinckney. * ' Mortimer ! 
 I would hardly recognize him as the same 
 person. ' ' 
 
 "He ain't," says I. "And if that psychic 
 urge stuff holds out for six months you won't 
 know Pipkin, either. ' '
 
 in 
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 
 
 No, I wouldn't have thought it of a Kinney. 
 Anyhow, not of this particular breed. For our 
 Kinneys out here in Roekhurst-on-the-Sound 
 well, they're the kind we don't admit havin' in 
 our midst unless we have to. They're on the tax 
 books, I suppose, and the men have their names 
 on the votin' lists. But outside of that they 
 don't count for much. 
 
 As I've often told Sadie when she was dis- 
 tributin' charity funds or makin' up Christmas 
 baskets : "Don't go wastin' money or sympathy 
 on the Kinneys. You'll get no thanks from 'em 
 if you do ; besides, they don 't deserve it. Take 
 it from me, they're poor trash." 
 
 "But Shorty," she'd come back, "that's just 
 why I want to do something for them." 
 
 So off she would go, with a bundle of little 
 Sully 's outgrown things for the kids, along with 
 candy and toys, and maybe a boiled ham or a 
 roast turkey, to be gawped at silent by the 
 youngsters and received haughty by the Kinney 
 women. 
 
 They live just north of the Point, where the 
 
 30
 
 40 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 salt marshes make in along the creek. Two 
 little half-acre knolls heave up out of the marsh 
 there, one on either side of the creek, and on 
 each knoll is a Kinney shack. Scott Kinney 
 lives in one, Bruce Kinney in the other. I expect 
 the original Kinney squatted there years ago, 
 but I understand he got some sort of title. Any- 
 way, nobody ever disturbed him. He built the 
 first shack on the south side of the creek. Later 
 on a brother of his drifted down from Con- 
 necticut and built on the other side. They fished 
 and clammed and caught eels and raised chil- 
 dren and drank booze out of a jug. You know 
 the kind. 
 
 Also they started the Kinney feud. I don't 
 know as anybody can say now what it was all 
 about in the beginning. Probably nothing 
 much. And it wasn't one of the picturesque 
 kind you read about where they shoot and carve 
 each other up reckless. The original Kinneys 
 took it out, so old settlers tell me, in cuttin' each 
 other's nets, settin' the other one's boat adrift, 
 or smashin' his eel pots. Except once in a while 
 when they met in town on election days or the 
 Fourth, well primed with bad whiskey, they'd 
 maul each other in some bar-room and get sent 
 to the cooler for it. Oh, nice citizens, the 
 Kinneys ! 
 
 But by the time we moved out here to enjoy 
 the simple country life and be surrounded by a
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 41 
 
 lot of near-plute neighbors the older Kinneys 
 had passed on, and the shacks on the marsh were 
 occupied by this pair. Seems all the youngsters 
 of one fam'ly had left, or died or gone to jail. 
 Anyway, Bruce and Scott are brothers. 
 
 For a while, too, I hear they promised to turn 
 out fairly decent. They fished regular, started 
 a little market that they ran on shares, and 
 owned a motor boat together. Even after Bruce 
 married this husky country girl from some farm 
 up back of Portchester the partnership was kept 
 up. It was after Scott brought home a blushin' 
 bride that the families begun to disagree violent 
 and frequent. 
 
 There was nothing country about Mrs. Scott 
 Kinney. She'd been born and brought up on 
 Third Avenue and it was only because she hap- 
 pened to spend a summer as second girl at one 
 of the big houses down on the Point that she met 
 Scott. Her idea of life was to prop her elbows 
 on a pillow and lean out of a window to watch 
 people go by ; or to spend her Sunday off taking 
 in a chowder party trip up the Hudson. So she 
 must have found it sort of monotonous livin' in 
 a two-room shack on the north side of Rock- 
 hurst creek, where nothing went by but the tide. 
 And I expect her and Mrs. Bruce Kinney, who 
 seemed contented to go on gettin' fatter and 
 redder faced and raisin' more tow-headed 
 youngsters well, no wonder they didn't hit it 
 off.
 
 42 SHORTY MoCABE GETS THE HAIL ' 
 
 Anyway, the Kinney feud was revived. I 
 don't know how long it had been goin' on when 
 I first heard of it. Bruce Kinney had been sup- 
 plyin' us with clams and the last two lots he'd 
 left at the kitchen door without collectin' for. 
 So when I runs across Scott slouchin' along the 
 Shore Road I holds him up. 
 
 "Here," says I, countin' out the change, 
 "hand this to that brother of yours, will you?" 
 
 Scott scowls at me and shakes his head. 
 
 "Why not?" I demands. 
 
 "I don't have no truck with him," growls 
 Scott. 
 
 "You mean you don't even speak to him?" 
 says I. 
 
 "We ain't passed a word for years," says 
 Scott. 
 
 "Well," says I, "I don't know as I blame 
 either of you." 
 
 I meant it all, too. For of all the cheap, 
 grouchy, hang-dog lookin' specimens, the Kin- 
 ney brothers are about as bad as they run. 
 Scott is the tall, lanky one with the ragged, 
 sandy lip whisker and the scar over his left eye. 
 Bruce is stockier built but his arms are just as 
 long. His face is wider and don't look quite so 
 villainous, but he ain't a party a timid person 
 would like to meet at night on a back road. 
 Also Bruce has a game knee and walks with a 
 sort of hitch and shuffle.
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 43 
 
 Not that either one of 'em was ever guilty of 
 a hold-up or anything like that. They wouldn't 
 have the sand. No, they're just shiftless, low- 
 down, good-for-nothings, too lazy to do much 
 real work but just onery enough to accumulate 
 all the mean little habits there are in circulation. 
 
 First and last I tried out the Kinney brothers 
 in a good many ways, mostly on Sadie's ac- 
 count. At different times I've had 'em around 
 the place, got 'em jobs in town. I even had 
 Scott cleaned up once and dressed him in white 
 ducks to act as float man at the Yacht Club. 
 But neither of 'em ever lasted out a whole week 
 without queerin' himself. They'd either get to 
 soldierin' or turn sulky and impudent, or show 
 up so fuddled in the head that they had to be 
 fired. 
 
 And meanwhile they lived, just across the 
 muddy little creek from one another, with their 
 families, never swappin' a word or a look. If 
 there 'd been anybody else they could have 
 chummed with it wouldn't have seemed quite so 
 absurd. But there wasn't. And day after day 
 Bruce 's troop of tow heads would straggle off 
 to school, with Scott's two youngsters taggin' a 
 hundred yards behind. That is until the two 
 bigger boys Buck and Tubby grew up enough 
 to loaf around the village or go fishin' with their 
 dads. 
 
 Day after day, too, the Kinney women would
 
 44 SHOKTY MoCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 work around their cluttered door yards, hangin' 
 out the wash or choppin' firewood, without so 
 much as a nod to each other. In the front of 
 each shack was a single dirty window that 
 seemed to glare across at the other hostile. 
 
 Yet the Kinneys seemed bound to do things 
 just alike. If Scott got tanked up of a Satur- 
 day night and had words with his wife, so did 
 Bruce. When Bruce painted his power dory a 
 sickly green with a red stripe around the gunnel, 
 Scott got hold of the same kind of paint and 
 daubed his old boat up similar. 
 
 Their duck enterprise was what got me, 
 though. One spring Scott found someone in the 
 village with a flock of these Muscovy ducks, the 
 kind with a red bunch on their bills, and bought 
 a pair. He hadn't had 'em more'n a week be- 
 fore Bruce Kinney went scoutin' around and 
 came home with a pair, too. For a while each 
 brother kept his ducks penned up separate, but 
 they didn't do well, so they had to let 'em out 
 and something happened to one of Scott's pair. 
 Then of course the single duck joined the other 
 two and went swimmin' around with 'em as 
 friendly as you please. Worse than that, even 
 went to layin' eggs in Bruce 's pen. That got 
 Scott real wrathy.. He 'd stand on his side of the 
 creek and cuss out that singleton duck of his 
 real fervent. But the ducks, not havin' the finer 
 human instincts, didn't recognize the feud at all.
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 45 
 
 "Dod gast ye!" says Scott. "I'll learn ye to 
 stay to home." And lie lugs out a gun and 
 shoots his duck. 
 
 Sadie got the details of that affair a couple of 
 weeks later, when she was down there inquirin' 
 after the youngest of Bruce Kinney's brood, 
 little Beryl Blanche, who'd been missing from 
 the flock for a week or so. She wouldn't have 
 known about Beryl Blanche then if she hadn't 
 happened to have held up Tubby Kinney, the 
 oldest of Bruce 's boys, who'd come home again 
 after having been off for a spell working on a 
 coasting schooner. He's a squatty, hulkin' 
 youth, Tubby, just about as industrious and 
 enterprisin' as you'd expect. 
 
 "Oh, I guess the folks are all right," he tells 
 Sadie, "less'n it's Beryl. She's sort of ailin' 
 'round. ' ' 
 
 Beryl was all of that. The doctor Sadie sent 
 down said it was some serious stomach trouble 
 due probably to poor feedin', maybe too much 
 boiled cabbage, and he didn't expect her to pull 
 through. She didn't, either. But when the 
 little funeral procession of two village hacks, 
 with the little casket in one, wound across the 
 marshes and up towards the village cemetery, 
 none of the Scott Kinneys was in evidence. 
 
 "Wouldn't you have thought, Shorty," says 
 Sadie, "that some of them would have come 
 over, at a time like that?"
 
 46 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "I might," says I, "if I hadn't known Scott 
 Kinney so well." 
 
 I think that was the fall before we got into the 
 big war. Anyway I remember, along about 
 then, of comin' up through town one Saturday 
 night and hearin' someone holdin' forth loud 
 and rabid about the Lusitania business and 
 what we ought to do to the Huns. It's Scott 
 Kinney. He was for wadin' right in then and 
 there and moppin' up the whole German race 
 some mornin' before breakfast. 
 
 "Jest gimme 'bout ten rigiments of good 
 fightin' Americans," says Scott, "an' I'll guar- 
 antee to go over thar and bring back the old 
 Kaiser and the Crown Prince with their ears 
 sewed together. I'd end their baby murderm', 
 dam quick." 
 
 But somehow nobody offered to put Scott in 
 command of the army and I expect he slept off 
 most of his patriotism by noon next day. I 
 noticed, too, that when the call come for volun- 
 teers, and so many of our young college hicks 
 left for Plattsburg, or joined up with the 
 marines, or the artillery, or got into the flying 
 corps, that the two Kinney boys was still 
 hangin' around home. Buck Kinney had devel- 
 oped into a pool shark, I heard ; could take on 
 most any cue artist in town and spot him five 
 balls. Then came the first draft, and a couple
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 47 
 
 of days before the drawin' I finds Scott waitin' 
 for me at the gate one mornin'. 
 
 "Do you suppose they'll git Buck?" says he. 
 
 "I don't see why they shouldn't," says I. 
 "He's of age, ain't he?" 
 
 4 ' Jest, ' ' says Scott. ' ' And his maw 's mighty 
 worried 'bout him. ' ' 
 
 "But I thought you was the one that wanted 
 to go over and mop up the Germans months 
 ago 1 " I suggested. 
 
 "So I would if I wa'n't so old," says Scott. 
 "But Buck well, he's the only boy we got and 
 and there's plenty of others that wants to 
 go." 
 
 "Oh," says I. "You're willin' other people 
 should send their boys, but you want to keep 
 yours safe at home, eh?" 
 
 "His maw's takin' on terrible," says Scott. 
 "She she thought maybe you could git him a 
 job in th' Nut and Bolt Works, so he wouldn't 
 be took." 
 
 "Nothing doing, Scott," says I. "First 
 place, he couldn't hold down a job a week there, 
 and you know it. Besides, the best thing that 
 could happen to a young husk like Buck would 
 be to be taken into the army." 
 
 "His maw don't want him to go into them 
 trenches," whines Scott. "She's shore he'd 
 git shot to pieces right off." 
 
 "Oh, maybe he wouldn't," says I. "Any-
 
 48 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 'how, he's got a right to take his chances with 
 the others." 
 
 1 That don't end it, though. Next evenin' just' 
 "before dinner up comes Mrs. Scott Kinney her- 
 self for an interview with Sadie. She's a tall, 
 rangy female, Mrs. Scott, and what you might 
 call a sloppy dresser, even for the marshes. 
 Mostly her costume consists of a blue polka dot 
 dress that's turned purple in spots, and on her 
 greasy black hair is a battered old lid with some 
 straggly feathers trailin' limp over one ear. 
 It's the first time, too, that I ever knew of her 
 leavin' the shack. Too proud I expect. But 
 this seems to be a special occasion. 
 
 She starts in quiet enough, beggin' Sadie to 
 do something to keep her boy out of the draft, 
 but it ain't long before she's cuttin' loose with 
 the sob stuff, clawin' Sadie about the knees and 
 otherwise registerin' deep emotion in reg'lar 
 Third Avenue style. Course it's kind of embar- 
 rassin' for both of us, for Sadie feels a good 
 deal as I do about that sort of thing. She tries 
 to soothe her down by tellin' her that maybe 
 Buck's number won't be drawn, and that if it is 
 there's a chance he'll have flat feet or some- 
 thing to keep him out. 
 
 "Besides," Sadie goes on, "your son will not 
 be the only one. Think of the thousands and 
 thousands of others who must go, boys whose 
 mothers think quite as much of them as you do
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 49 
 
 of yours. Your brother-in-law's boy may have 
 to go." 
 
 "I hope t' Gawd he does," sniffles Mrs. Scott. 
 
 It wasn't a nice exhibition. All the crude raw 
 selfishness of a crude, selfish woman came to 
 the top, like scum on a boiling pot. But under- 
 neath must have been something that got to 
 Sadie. Because they was both mothers, I ex- 
 pect. Anyway, before she left I'd promised to 
 do what I could for Bucky boy. 
 
 Well, I got him the job. But it didn't save 
 Buck. There 'd been too much of that bomb- 
 proof job huntin' goin' on about then and the 
 Board was wise to it. Then days later he was 
 marched off in a squad with a yellow ticket tied 
 to his coat lapel. And Tubby Kinney was in the 
 same bunch. 
 
 I don't know whether the Bruce Kinneys felt 
 as bad over it or not. They didn't do any 
 takin' on to us, anyway. But when I lugged 
 down the two parcels that Sadie had made up 
 for the boys I found fat Mrs. Bruce Kinney 
 slumped with her head between her beefy arms 
 on the kitchen table and her pale blue eyes all 
 bloodshot. She thanked me choky, but that's 
 all she had to say. 
 
 "You wouldn't think somehow," I remarks 
 to Sadie, "that they'd take it so hard, folks 
 like that." 
 
 "I'm afraid it's something all mothers share
 
 50 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 in common," says Sadie, "only some of us 
 manage to hide it better than others. ' ' 
 
 Later on Sadie sent down a couple of service 
 flags and from the top of each little shack they 
 floated, just as brave and snappy as them from 
 the big houses along the Post Road. It was 
 mighty interesting too, to see the change a few 
 weeks in camp could make in Buck Kinney. 
 Why, when he come back on his first leave and 
 I saw this straight-backed, square-shouldered 
 young soldier swellin' around town I hardly 
 knew him for the slouchy young pool-hound that 
 had shuffled off with the draftee squad a month 
 or so before. 
 
 "Well, Buck," says I, "you sure look like a 
 reg'lar Hun swatter now." 
 
 He grins pleased. "Believe me, Professor," 
 says he, "if I ever git near enough I'm goin' to 
 git me one of them square-heads all by myself. 
 I'll git him right, too." 
 
 "That's the stuff, Buck," says I. "And 
 how's Tubby comin' on?" 
 
 "Him?" says Buck. "Oh, I d'now. All 
 right, I expect." 
 
 "But he's in the same company, ain't he?" 
 says I. "You ain't still keepin' up the old feud, 
 are you?" 
 
 Buck scrapes his toe sheepish. "We we 
 don't have no truck with one another," says he. 
 
 And I was almost as much jarred when I
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 51 
 
 saw Tubby in his uniform for the first time. 
 They'd drilled about twenty pounds off him, I 
 should judge. He didn't waddle when he 
 walked, and that pasty, rubber-collar com- 
 plexion of his had been tinted up by the sun 
 and wind until his round face looked like the 
 bottom of a copper pan. Him and his father 
 paraded around town all one Saturday after- 
 noon, and the folio win' Sunday mornin' was one 
 of the few, I'll bet, when Bruce didn't wake up 
 with a hang-over. 
 
 It was after this bulletin came from camp 
 about how Bucky had been made a corporal 
 though, that Scott begun to show signs of 
 sprucin' up. When he holds me up to tell me 
 about it I notice that he's shed the hip rubber 
 boots for a pair of new canvas sneakers, that 
 he's had a shave, and that his breath don't 
 remind one of the lee side of a distillery. 
 
 ' * Whaddye know about that ! ' ' says he. * ' Cor- 
 poral! Guess that's goin' some, ain't it? 
 Maybe he'll be a major by the time he gits 
 home. ' ' 
 
 1 'There's no telling," says I. 
 
 Next I know Scott has quit the fish and clam 
 business and has gone to work steady in a ship- 
 yard. He always was handy with tools, but 
 when I heard how much he was pullin' down a 
 week it got a gasp out of me. It wasn't long 
 either, before Bruce Kinney has followed suit
 
 52 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 by gettin' a job in a machine shop that was 
 turnin' out airplane parts. 
 
 And say, the way them two Kinney families 
 proceeded to bloom out! First thing they 
 splurged on was music machines, and from then 
 on you could hear jazzy melodies floatin' over 
 the marshes 'most any time of day or night. 
 Before long Scott had invested in a little speed 
 boat, to run back and forth to the shipyard in, 
 while Bruce blows himself to a second-hand 
 motor cycle with one of these wife-killin' at- 
 tachments that he could hook on the side. And 
 Sundays and Saturday afternoons while one 
 family was chuggin' around the Sound in the 
 launch, the other was scootin' and bumpin' over 
 the Post Road. It was some sight, too, to see 
 all five of the Bruce Kinneys stowed in and 
 draped onto that motor cycle, Mrs. Bruce bil- 
 lowin' up and down alongside, the baby in a 
 basket on the handle bars, and an American flag 
 wavin' over the lot. 
 
 But with all these changes they didn't mix 
 a bit more than they had before. Not even 
 when the word come, along in October, that the 
 two boys had been loaded into a transport and 
 been shipped across. Durin' the weeks that fol- 
 lowed I expect they was just as anxious as any 
 of our swell neighbors whose boys was lieu- 
 tenants or captains but was runnin' the same 
 risk of bein' sent to the bottom by U-boats.
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 53 
 
 Course, these people began to get cables, but 
 nothing like that came through from Buck or 
 Tubby. 
 
 At last, though, Bruce comes speedin' into 
 the yard one evenin' on his bone-shaker all 
 excited. They'd had a letter. Not being much 
 of a descriptive writer Tubby hadn't said much 
 in it. Mainly he told how good the grub was on 
 the transport and what a whale of a big steamer 
 he was on. Incidentally, though, he'd men- 
 tioned that they was safe in a rummy lookin' 
 port and was about to land. 
 
 " Isn't that perfectly splendid news!" says 
 Sadie. ' ' I suppose your brother has heard from 
 his boy, too?" 
 
 Bruce hunches his shoulders and says he 
 don't know. 
 
 "Do you mean you haven't told him about 
 getting this?" demands Sadie. 
 
 Bruce admits that he hasn't. 
 
 "How thoroughly heartless!" says Sadie. 
 "Then I shall go down and tell him at once." 
 
 Bruce sort of hangs his head but he don't 
 make any move towards ditchin' the feud. 
 Neither would Scott, though Sadie gives both 
 families an earful as to what she thinks of 'em. 
 They don't seem ugly about it any more. 
 They're just content to let things drift along as 
 they'd been goin' for so many years. 
 
 So it was that way all winter. First one
 
 54 SHOKTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 fam'ly would get a letter, then the other, but 
 there was no comparin' of notes or swappin' 
 news. 
 
 "How silly of them!" says Sadie. "When 
 they might be of so much help and comfort to 
 each other." 
 
 "I expect it's the old Kinney strain comin' 
 out," says I. "Way back there must have been 
 a grandfather with long ears. ' ' 
 
 Then along towards last spring, you know, we 
 begun to take a personal interest in the casualty 
 lists. I got in the habit of glancin' through the 
 names every day. But somehow when I first 
 run across this item under the "Wounded in 
 Action" line I didn't quite take it in. " l Mar- 
 vin J. Kinney,' " I reads, " 'Rockhurst, N. Y.' 
 Why, why Sadie!" I sings out. "Come look 
 at this." 
 
 ' * Why, that 's Tubby ! ' ' she gasps. ' ' I wonder 
 if Bruce Kinney knows ? ' ' 
 
 It didn't take us long to get into the little 
 roadster and shoot down there. And Bruce had 
 heard. The telegram from the War Department 
 had come that afternoon, while he was off at 
 work, and now he was sittin' there starin' 
 at it under the kitchen lamp, with the whole 
 fam'ly gathered around sort of dumb and 
 scared. 
 
 "Yes," says he. "They they got Tubby." 
 
 Well, we soothed 'em down as much as we 
 could, tellin' 'em how ninety per cent of the
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 55 
 
 wounded got patched up again as good as new, 
 and suggestin' that maybe it wasn't serious, 
 after all. But Bruce shakes his head gloomy. 
 He knew they'd got Tubby. 
 
 "He was a good boy, too," says Bruce, still 
 starin' dry-eyed at the message. Then he adds, 
 "Damn them Huns!" 
 
 Must have been two or three days later that 
 we had a call from Scott Kinney, right in the 
 middle of our dinner. He brings in an evenin' 
 paper, one that I hadn't read careful, and points 
 to a few lines at the bottom of the war news. 
 
 ' ' Jest read that, ' ' says he, in kind of a shaky 
 voice. 
 
 Which I does. " 'Corporal Roland B. Kin- 
 ney.' Why, that's your Bucky, ain't it?" 
 says I. 
 
 He nods. "Go on," says he. 
 
 "Well," says I, "he's got the D.S.C." 
 
 "It's a cussed shame, too," breaks out Scott. 
 "I thought they didn't let them boys booze much 
 in th' army." 
 
 "No, no," says I. "You got it all wrong, 
 Scott. Not the D.T.'s. This is the D.S.C. 
 Distinguished Service Cross. He's pulled 
 something heroic. Understand? You didn't 
 read it all. 'For exceptional bravery during 
 recent action on the Toul sector.' Good work! 
 Bully for Buck. Eockhurst will be proud of 
 him." 
 
 I guess I got it through his head at last but
 
 56 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 he's still kind of vague about it. He wants to 
 know if there ain't any way of findin' out just 
 what it was Bucky had done. Couldn't I ask 
 someone in Washington? 
 
 As it happens, I could. And for a wonder 
 the query didn't get lost in the red tape. In 
 less'n a week I had a fairly full report of the 
 whole affair, and when Sadie had read it, too, 
 we just sat and gazed at each other for a couple 
 of minutes without savin' a word. 
 
 She's the first one to break the spell. 
 "Imagine," says she. "Those two!" 
 
 "Well, we got to tell 'em," says I. 
 
 So this time we pays a visit to the shanty on 
 the north side of the creek, and when we'd got 
 Mr. and Mrs. Scott Kinney planted side by side 
 in the new red porch settee I springs the news 
 on 'em. 
 
 "It was this way, Scott," says I. "Company 
 F had been holdin' a bridge end, with the Huns 
 comin' at 'em strong. Along about dusk it got 
 too hot and they had to beat it back across the 
 bridge, bio win' it up after 'em. About an hour 
 later Corporal Kinney which is your Buck 
 discovers that one of his men is missin'. He'd 
 been posted with a machine gun in a little clump 
 of bushes and the Corporal had noticed him 
 there just before the retreat. He'd waved him 
 to come in, too. But he hadn't come. What 
 does Bucky do, though, but streak it right back
 
 TOUCHING ON THE KINNEYS 57 
 
 to the river, where the shells and bullets was 
 churnin' up the water, swim across, scout 
 around the opposite bank, and come back lug- 
 gin' that missin' private on his shoulder. The 
 man had been plugged pretty bad but he was 
 still alive, and from late bulletins was gettin' 
 well fast. Classy work, eh?" . 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Scott glances at one another shy 
 and smiles sort of proud. 
 
 "There's one curious thing I ain't got to 
 yet," I goes on. "Who do you suppose it was 
 that Bucky brought back through all that 
 mess?" 
 
 "Anybody we know?" asks Scott. 
 
 "Not very well, I guess," says I. "It was 
 Tubby." 
 
 "Hell!" says Scott. 
 
 Mrs. Scott hadn't said a word up to then. 
 She'd been sittin' there kind of workin' her 
 fingers nervous. All of a sudden, though, she 
 gets up and gazes across the creek. 
 
 "Come, Scott," says she, husky. "Let's 
 let's go over." 
 
 Sadie and I didn't leave, either, until we'd 
 seen 'em paddle across and disappear in the 
 shack opposite. 
 
 "Well," says Sadie, "I rather think that's 
 where the Kinney feud comes to an end." 
 
 "Maybe," says I. "But my guess is that it 
 saw its finish over in France."
 
 IV 
 
 A SIDE BET ON BAET 
 
 IF I hadn't got this sudden hunch about 
 wantin' to bore holes, I expect Bart and me 
 "would have been strangers to this day. You see, 
 I was puttin' up a new piece of apparatus in 
 the Physical Culture Studio, and there was a 
 couple of bolts that needed to go through a 2 x 4. 
 What I should have done was to call up the 
 janitor, tip him half a dollar, and had the thing 
 fixed right away. 
 
 Must have been that glimpse into Spratt's 
 hardware store, over on Sixth Avenue, that set 
 me off. It's a weakness of mine, gawpin' into 
 hardware store windows. Let me get one glance 
 at a lot of shiny new tools, and the next thing I 
 know I'm ranged up alongside with my nose 
 against the glass, like a kid outside a candy 
 shop. 
 
 Not that I'm any expert at usin' such things. 
 I don't suppose I could qualify as a saw-and- 
 hatchet man on an army barracks contract. But 
 every now and then I'm tempted by some dis- 
 play, and add another chisel or a new saw or a 
 
 58
 
 A SIDE BET ON BART 59 
 
 patent drill to the collection of weapons I 'm apt 
 to use when the wood-butcherin' fit is on me 
 strong. 
 
 This time it was a set of bits, a whole dozen 
 of 'em, put up neat in a varnished box. I didn't 
 know the size of the bolts I wanted to bore the 
 holes for, but I took a chance that one of these 
 bits would be just right, and breezed into the 
 store. 
 
 4 'Gimme a set like that in the window," says 
 I to the clerk. 
 
 "Set of what?" says he, sort of crisp. 
 
 "Why," says I, "a set of what you got 
 there." 
 
 "There's two windows," he comes back. 
 "We got wrenches in one and " 
 
 "Say, if your feet don't hurt you too much," 
 says I, "step outside and I'll point 'em out. 
 It'll save time. Now look: this window, third 
 from the end, second row up." 
 
 "Oh!" he grunts. "Babcock's A 6's. Why 
 didn 't you say so ? " 
 
 "Because it ain't my job to know the hard- 
 ware catalogue by heart," says I. "Don't have 
 to show a union card to buy tools, do I? or a 
 water-front permit!" 
 
 "Huh!" says he, gettin' busy with the wrap- 
 pin' paper. 
 
 "Oh, by the way," I goes on, "I expect I'll 
 have to have a bit-stock, too."
 
 60 SHORTY MoCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "What kind? "says he. 
 
 "Hennessy's Three Star," says I offhand. 
 
 "Ehl" says he, starin' stupid. 
 
 "Or a Timkins double-thrust," I adds. "It 
 don't matter which." 
 
 I had him goin' then.* He begins walkin' up 
 and down behind the counter, pullin' out 
 drawers and shuttin' 'em, and mutterin' to him- 
 self, while I stands back and watches him. Odd 
 lookin' gink he is. Face like a sheep. Honest! 
 One of these long, pointed noses, and the rest 
 of his map taperin' away on both sides, with 
 bat ears that stick straight out from his head. 
 And his face seems to have a permanent straw- 
 b'ry tint to it, like he was sufferin' from a 
 chronic grouch. 
 
 I'd just decided that we was quits, and was 
 goin' to call the hunt off by tellin' him I wasn't 
 any connoisseur of bit-stocks, when a big full- 
 faced, grizzly-haired gent appears from the 
 back office the boss, evidently and demands 
 snappy of the clerk what he's lookin' for. The 
 sheep-faced one mumbles something about bit- 
 stocks. 
 
 "What!" growls the big gent, glarin' hostile 
 at the clerk. "Why, you mush-brained fat- 
 head! Been here fifteen years and don't know 
 where we keep the bit-stocks! Say, hanged if 
 you don't grow fooler and fooler every " 
 
 "My fault," I breaks in. "I was justkiddin'
 
 A SIDE BET ON BART 61 
 
 him along by askin' for a brand I'd made up." 
 
 "Then he should have had sense enough to 
 know it," says the boss. "Here, you! Show 
 the gentleman that Spencer ratchet. There, 
 right under your nose, you numskull!" 
 
 Course that was kind of raw stuff to pull right 
 before a customer, and I felt sort of mean about 
 lettin' the poor fish in for it. When the big gent 
 had drifted back to the office, I says as much, 
 too. 
 
 "Oh, that's nothing," says the clerk. "It 
 would have been something or other, anyhow. 
 That's what I get right along. It's what I've 
 always got always will, I expect. I'm used to 
 bein' bawled out by old Spratt." 
 
 "Must be in love with your job, then," says I. 
 
 "Say," says he, leanin' over the counter and 
 whisperin' hoarse, "I'll tell you something. 
 There's only one thing in the world I hate 
 worse 'n my job. That 's old man Spratt. ' ' 
 
 "Then if I was you I'd quit 'em both," says I. 
 
 ' ; Oh, would you ? ' ' says he. 
 
 With that he goes on doin' up the parcels. 
 When he comes back with the change for a ten, 
 he seems to have a new idea. He suggests that 
 if my place ain't too far away he'll bring the 
 things around when he goes out to lunch. As I 
 was bound for a chop-house myself, I gave him 
 the number and said he might. 
 
 When I got back to the Studio about one-
 
 62 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 thirty, there is Sheep-face waitin' for me with 
 the goods. 
 
 "I been thinkin' of what you said about 
 quittin'," says he. 
 
 "Ye-e-es?" says I. 
 
 "And I got a good mind to do it, too," he 
 goes on. 
 
 "What a reckless daredevil you are !" says I. 
 "Accordin' to your own account, you've stood 
 Spratt's rough stuff for years, never dreamin' 
 of cuttin' loose until some stranger drops in and 
 gives you the idea. Huh ! Say, I'll bet you five 
 to one you don 't. Come ! ' ' 
 
 "I I ain't a bettin' man," says he, droppin' 
 his chin and shufflin' his feet. 
 
 And say, come to size him up close, he 's about 
 as cheap a lookin' specimen as you'd run across. 
 It shows in his face, in the way his shoulders 
 slump, in the nervous trick he has of twiddlin' 
 his fingers when he talks. 
 
 "I see," says I. "The main thing you want 
 is to do a little safe beefin' about your boss. 
 Eh? "Well, seem' how I helped pull down this 
 last blast, I guess I can stretch the willin' ear 
 for a few minutes. Go on. Works out his dis- 
 position on you, does he?" 
 
 "It ain't so much what he says," grumbles 
 the gent, "it's the way he looks at me, like I 
 was a yellow dog he wanted to kick into the 
 corner. Why, there's times when he don't
 
 A SIDE BET ON BAET 63 
 
 speak to me for days at a stretch. And only him 
 and me left in the store now. There used to 
 be five or six of us more than that when I first 
 came; but since the neighborhood has changed 
 so much business has fallen off, and they've 
 been let go, one by one." 
 
 "You managed to stick, though," I suggests. 
 
 " Because I got the lowest pay of any," says 
 he, ' ' and did the most work. Besides, I was the 
 one he could always cuss out when he felt like 
 it. He didn't begin that until after I got mar- 
 ried and he thought I wouldn't dare leave on 
 account of the wife. That's the kind he is a 
 big-mouthed bully. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, come!" says I. "Spratt didn't strike 
 me as bad as all that." 
 
 "You don't know him," says the clerk. 
 "He's mean clear through. And he thinks he's 
 so much better than I am. Treats me like I was 
 dirt under his feet. Why? Tell me that, will 
 you? Because he's my boss and I'm only hired 
 help? Or just because he's got more money 
 than I have? Say, if it hadn't been for a little 
 slip-up, years ago, it might have been the other 
 way round. Yes, sir. I might have had 
 enough to buy and sell old Spratt four times 
 over. ' ' 
 
 "You don't say!" says I, a bit curious. 
 "How was that?" 
 
 "I got a rich uncle out in Michigan," says he.
 
 64 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "He brought me up, was goin' to leave me his 
 pile and all that, only well, I got in a scrape. 
 I was runnin' with kind of a swift crowd of 
 young fellows then. They got me into a poker 
 game, and I lost a lot of money, more 'n I could 
 pay. They they made me sign his name to a 
 check. ' ' 
 
 "Bad business," says I, shakin' my head. 
 
 "It was only for thirty dollars," says he, 
 "but what made Uncle Zeb so wrathy was when 
 he found out I'd lost it at poker, instead of 
 bein' robbed, as I told him. You know, he's one 
 of the religious kind, deacon and all that; but 
 he had an awful temper. And swear! I 
 thought he was goin' to skin me alive that night, 
 him and me locked in a room alone. It was 
 along in March, and a young blizzard goin' on; 
 but when he got through lammin' me around, 
 he threw me out into the snow as careless as if 
 I'd been a rat or something. I was about all in 
 then, and he warned me if I didn't clear out, or 
 ever came back, he'd finish the job." 
 
 "Some uncle, I should call that," says I. 
 "You cleared out, eh?" 
 
 ' * You bet I did, ' ' says he. "I knew one of the 
 brakemen on the night freight, and when it came 
 along he let me crawl into the caboose. By 
 morning I was halfway to Detroit. Many a time 
 since I've wished I'd dropped in a drift that 
 night and had it all over with."
 
 A SIDE BET ON BART 65 
 
 "You look like you'd been up against it, Mr. 
 er what's the name?" I asks. 
 
 "Nurn," says he. 
 
 1 'Eh?" says I. " Once more with that. Spell 
 it." 
 
 "N u r n," says he. ''Bartholomew 
 Num. ' ' 
 
 "It's a perfect fit," says I. "But we might 
 as well have the rest of this tragedy of yours, 
 Bartholomew. After gettin' yourself Simon 
 Legreed by Uncle Zeb, how'd you come to 
 pike for New York and pick out a boss like 
 Spratt?" 
 
 "I didn't, right away," says Nurn. "It was 
 four or five years before I landed here. I was 
 just driftin' around. Seems like I never did 
 anything by plan. Things just happened to me. 
 I got jobs here and there, but I couldn't seem to 
 stick. Then I'd have to move on. I never was 
 very strong, so lots of the work I tackled was 
 too hard for me. Some of them gang foremen 
 used me pretty rough, too. One broke my jaw 
 with a punch of his big fist. Another hit me 
 with a shovel. I was in the hospital three weeks 
 after that, in Buffalo. 
 
 "A couple of times I came near starving. 
 Once was right here in New York, over in 
 Bryant Park. I could show you the very bench. 
 That was when big Pat Scully found me. He 
 used to be a porter at Spratt 's. He picked me
 
 66 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 up, fed me a beef stew, and got me the job. 
 That's how I come to be there now." 
 
 4 'But you went and got married," I puts in. 
 "Did that on your own motion, I expect?" 
 
 "Ye-e-es, in a way," says Bart. "It was like 
 this: Backin' up to the rear of Spratt's used to 
 be a restaurant. Luella, she worked there, 
 washin' dishes. We used to see each other at 
 odd times. She wasn't much to look at, any 
 more 'n me, but we kind of got acquainted. She 
 didn't have any folks, either, and she was havin' 
 a rough deal, too. We told each other, swapped 
 our troubles, as you might say, and I suppose 
 we felt sorry for one another. I don't remem- 
 ber which one of us it was said the word, but 
 first thing I knew we was married and livin' in 
 a couple of back rooms over on Eighth Avenue. 
 We're there now." 
 
 "Any kids?" I asks him. 
 
 Bart shakes his head. "I don't know how 
 we 'd have fed 'em or taken care of 'em if there 
 had been any," says he. "I don't even know 
 what '11 become of us if I quit the store or 
 old Spratt takes a notion to close up, as he 
 threatens. I'm over forty now, and not very 
 well. My stomach ain't right; I have dizzy 
 spells. And Luella couldn't do much. We we 
 r -well, you see how it is." 
 
 I nods. I was beginnin' to squirm over 
 some of the brash things I'd said to Num.
 
 A SIDE BET ON BART 67 
 
 Poor cuss! Life hadn't been much of a picnic 
 for him. No wonder he had that cheap look on 
 his face. 
 
 "Never heard any more from Uncle Zeb?" I 
 asks. 
 
 "Never tried," says he. "I don't even know 
 whether he's still livin' or not. He was mighty 
 tough when I left. ' ' 
 
 "How would it be," says I, "if you was to 
 write him a letter, sayin' you was sorry for 
 that bad break you made when you was a young- 
 ster, but how you'd lived straight ever since, 
 and what a tough time you 'd had ? Give him the 
 whole tale, as you've put it to me about Luella 
 and all." 
 
 Bartholomew stares at his shabby shoes a 
 minute or so; then he lifts them shifty eyes of 
 his. 
 
 "I don't believe it would do any good." says 
 he. "He was a hard man Uncle Zeb. Great 
 one to keep a grudge. Besides, maybe he's 
 dead." 
 
 "It wouldn't cost much to try it on," says I. 
 "He might do a little something for you." 
 
 "I ain't ever begged from anybody," says 
 Num. "Not a cent." 
 
 "I wouldn't call this beggin', exactly," says 
 I. "If there was nobody else for him to leave 
 his money to, you got a right to come in for 
 some of it, anyway. Why not take a chance?"
 
 "I I'll talk it over with Luella," says he. 
 "Much obliged, Professor McCabe. You you 
 don't know how much good it's done me to to 
 tell somebody." 
 
 And say, blamed if them narrow-set eyes ain't 
 leakin' as he turns and drifts out. Swifty Joe, 
 who always has an ear stretched and an eye 
 squinted, slides in from the gym just then. 
 
 "I tried givin' that skate the steer," says he, 
 "but he wouldn't have it. Did he work a touch 
 on you ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Not yet, ' ' says I. 
 
 "He will if he ain't blocked off," says Swifty. 
 "He's no good, that one, believe me." 
 
 Just to ease my mind, I dropped in to see 
 Spratt next day while Bart was out hittin' the 
 lunch-counter, and registered my alibi for him 
 a little stronger. I explains how it was that 
 Nurn was chasin' around foolish when he came 
 in, and says I wouldn't want to feel I'd got him 
 canned or anything. 
 
 "Oh, him!" says Spratt, hunchin' his shoul- 
 ders. "Never fear. I'm through trying to fire 
 him. He always comes begging back, so what's 
 the use ? The only way I can get rid of him is 
 to close up shop or die, I suppose." 
 
 He grins as he says it, and I knew then he 
 wasn't half so bad as Bartholomew had tried to 
 make out. He's one of these husky, hearty old 
 boys, Spratt, with no patience at all for weak-
 
 A SIDE BET ON BART 69 
 
 lings such as Nurn, and lie takes no pains to 
 hide it. 
 
 "Well, it must have been a fortnight after- 
 wards when, one noon, Bartholomew comes 
 scuffin' into the front office with his face all 
 flushed an' his little eyes twitchin'. 
 
 "Say, Professor," he begins, "you lost that 
 bet. I've quit him, cold." 
 
 " Eh ? " says I. " Oh ! Spratt, you mean ! ' ' 
 
 "Yes, sir," says he. "But you were right 
 about Uncle Zeb. I've heard from him. 
 Thought I was dead all these years. I expect, 
 too, he figured he'd done it. Anyway, he says 
 he's worried a lot. Wants me to come on and 
 see him. Sent me a hundred to do it on. "What 
 do you know about that?" And he waves a 
 letter. 
 
 ' ' Well, well ! ' ' says I. ' ' And your first move, 
 I suppose, was to hand old Spratt a few crisp 
 remarks f ' ' 
 
 Bartholomew scowls a bit. 
 
 "I sure meant to," says he, "but somehow I 
 I didn't say much except that I was through." 
 
 "Yes?" says I. "What does Spratt have to 
 say to that jolt?" 
 
 "Ah, he only growls something about good 
 riddance the old sorehead!" says Nurn. 
 "Thinks I'll come sneakin' around again to- 
 morrow. He'll see. We're off for Michigan to- 
 night me and Luella. We may not come back,
 
 70 SHORTY McOABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 either. I shouldn't wonder but Uncle Zeb would 
 let us stay." 
 
 "Then here's hopin'," says I, givin' him the 
 grip. "And the best of luck." 
 
 Let's see, that was some time before Christ- 
 mas. And in a month I'd almost forgotten 
 there was such a person as Bartholomew Nurn. 
 I expect if I'd gone shoppin' again for car- 
 penter's tools I might have remembered. But 
 I didn't. So here the other mornin', when 
 Swif ty tells me about this early 'phone call from 
 the Plutoria and says it's a party from Michi- 
 gan who left the message, all I can do is scratch 
 my ear, puzzled. 
 
 "Yes, but w r hat was the name?" I asks. 
 
 "Sounded like Burns," says Swifty. "Said 
 he'd be waitin' in the lobby. He wants you to 
 come up for lunch. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, very well," says I. "Anybody that 
 wants to see me that bad ought to be accom- 
 modated, hadn't they?" 
 
 So about twelve-thirty I chases up to this 
 dollar-a-minute joint, and lets the guy in the 
 rear-admiral's uniform shunt me through the 
 plate-glass merry-go-round. Then I strolls 
 past rows of palms dustosa cigarbuttis variety 
 and wanders through lanes of high-backed 
 chairs, scoutin' for someone who might look like 
 his name was Burns. Nobody give me the glad 
 hail, though, or presents me with a meal ticket,
 
 A SIDE BET ON BART 71 
 
 and I was wonderin' if Swifty hadn't got the 
 name of the place wrong when I sees a pair of 
 ears that looked sort of familiar. 
 
 They're round bat ears, and they're juttin' 
 out from under the edge of a black and white 
 plaid cap that would have made a good checker- 
 board. No, I was sure I didn't know anybody 
 who had nerve enough to wear a cap like that 
 anywhere except at a polo match or a bull fight. 
 Besides, the gent is attached to one of these 
 oatmeal terriers by a leather lead. Still, I was 
 sure I'd seen them ears before as well as behind. 
 I steps along until I gets a side view. And 
 there's that sheep-shaped face. It's Bartholo- 
 mew. 
 
 "For the love of soup !" says I, swingin' him 
 round by the arm and givin' him the up-and- 
 down, from the new yellow shoes to the Clan 
 MacLaren tie. "Tell me, who's done this to 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh!" says he, beamin' friendly as he spots 
 me. "Hello, Professor. Got my message, did 
 you?" 
 
 ' * But listen, Bart, ' ' I goes on. * * What 's hap- 
 pened? You sportin' around in a joint like this, 
 makin' a noise like excess profits! How the 
 blazes can " 
 
 "I found Uncle Zeb," says he. 
 
 "Oh!" says I. "How was the old boy?" 
 
 * * Very low, ' ' says Bartholomew. l ' He lasted
 
 72 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 only ten days after we got there. And what do 
 you think, McCabe ! He left me the whole pile 
 every dollar. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Whe-e-ew ! ' ' says I. ' ' How much 1 ' ' 
 
 "I wouldn't dare guess," says he. "The 
 lawyers ain't figured it all up yet. But there's 
 a lot real estate, mortgages, bank stock, all 
 kinds of bonds, and cash. You see, there wasn't 
 another relation left, and after the way he'd 
 
 treated me Well, he'd had the will made 
 
 out for years. Anyway, I got enough, I guess, 
 to get what I want. ' ' 
 
 "I see," says I, grinnin'. "And I take it 
 your first want was some sport-cut clothes." 
 
 Bartholomew looks sort of pleased. 
 
 "I never had anything but cheap black suits 
 all my life the kind that turn green and 
 rusty," says he. "I never did believe in this 
 mournin' stuff, either. And say, how do I look 
 in 'em?" 
 
 ' ' Great ! ' ' says I. ' ' Why, you look well, like 
 you'd been oversubscribed." 
 
 "Huh!" says he, swellin' out his chest. 
 "You ought to see Luella. Come on. She's 
 waitin' for us in the Egyptian parlor." 
 
 Yes, Luella was worth seem'. I wished then 
 I'd known her before they found Uncle Zeb, so 
 I could have appreciated the change. But I 
 could guess. The modistes and milliners and 
 beauty doctors hadn't been able to camouflage
 
 A SIDE BET ON BART 73 
 
 that heavy kitchen-help face of hers, or the dull 
 eyes. They'd done their best with what they 
 could reach, though. Her mud-colored hair had 
 been through the henna treatment and tortured 
 into the latest shape. She had jewelry hung on 
 her and pinned to her until she looked like a 
 munition worker's bride. The waist of her 
 dress began just under her arm-pits and 
 stopped about eighteen inches from the floor. 
 Poor soul! She had a sort of pleadin', scared 
 look in her eyes that told the whole story. It 
 would be some time before she got used to 
 appearin' in costumes like that. 
 
 As for Bartholomew, he was makin' a des- 
 perate stab at playin' the lordly plute. But he 
 almost apologizes to the bell-hop he asks to take 
 care of the terrier when we starts for the white- 
 and-gold dinin'-room. It's two or three min- 
 utes before he can get a head waiter to see him. 
 He shies at the silver-framed menu-card like 
 he 'd been handed a bomb, and when the bus-boy 
 fills his water glass he says, " Much obliged, " 
 and then giggles nervous. I helps him out by 
 suggestin' what we shall have for lunch. 
 
 When we gets to the black coffee, though, and 
 he lights a forty-cent cigar, Bartholomew begins 
 to buck up. He shoves back a dollar tip at the 
 waiter and demands an ash-tray real rough. 
 
 "I ain't told you the big news yet," says he, 
 waggin' his head.
 
 74 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Let it come," says I. 
 
 He looks over at Luella and winks. 
 
 "About Spratt," says he. 
 
 "What!" says I. "You've been around and 
 unloaded your mind 1 ' ' 
 
 " Better 'n that," says Bart. "I've bought 
 him out." 
 
 ' ' You don 't mean it ! " says I. 
 
 "Uh-huh!" says he. "I'm the proprietor 
 now. I'm runnin' the store. Spratt well, 
 Spratt 's workin' for me." 
 
 You could see the buttons strain on his vest. 
 
 "Say," says I, chucklin', "that's gettin' back 
 at him. Got him right under your thumb now, 
 I expect, makin' him squirm!" 
 
 Bartholomew nods. 
 
 ' ' Course, ' ' he goes on, * ' I don 't need to bother 
 with any such picayune business as that. I 
 wanted to, that's all. It don't pay. Not now. 
 I can make it pay, though. I always had a lot 
 of good ideas that Spratt would never listen to. 
 He'll listen now, I guess. You bet he will. I 
 ain't sprung 'em on him yet. But wait. I'm 
 goin' to change the whole thing put in a line 
 of electric light and bath-room stuff, shift the 
 counters all round, hire a lot of clerks, and make 
 things hum. You'll see. And say, when I get 
 it all planned out I want you to drop around 
 some day I'll tip you off when and hear me
 
 A SIDE BET ON BART 75 
 
 tell Spratt what's what and where he gets off. 
 Will you?" 
 
 I said I'd be delighted. Well, the word came 
 yesterday. I was there. Some of the new force 
 was on hand, also a contractor who was goin' to 
 juggle the fixtures. 
 
 "See here," says Nurn, struttin' important, 
 "I want this side counter run across the middle, 
 right here." 
 
 "Why," breaks in Spratt, "that would spoil 
 the whole effect. Now, what we want " 
 
 "We?" comes in Nurn, gaspy. 
 
 "Say, Bart," protests Spratt, droppin' a 
 heavy paw friendly on his shoulder, "you know 
 you're no more of a business man than you're a 
 he-angel. Now, just leave this to me. I'll tell 
 McCarty how to fix it." 
 
 "But the bath-room stuff," says Nurn. 
 
 "Bah!" says Spratt. "This is a hardware 
 store, not a plumber's shop. Forget it. What 
 we need to put in for this trade is a full line of 
 cheap junk tack-hammers, glass knobs, patent 
 cork-pullers, picture-hangers all that. Any- 
 thing that can be used in a flat or an office. I 
 had it all thought out years back, and I'll make 
 a go of it for you. All you got to do is keep out. 
 Now run along while I tell McCarty what to 
 do." 
 
 Bartholomew didn't run. Not quite. He
 
 76 SHOE-TY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 stood there, openin' and shuttin' his mouth and 
 twiddlin' his fingers. 
 
 "But see here, Spratt," he begins; "I " 
 
 "Oh, don't bother me now," says Spratt, 
 brushin' him one side as he starts to tow 
 McCarty to the office. 
 
 Then Bartholomew looks up and sees me 
 standin' there. He don't say a word until he's 
 joined me and we 've fetched the sidewalk. 
 
 "It's no use, I expect," says he. "He's still 
 old Spratt, and I I'm just Num. I'm the boss, 
 though, really. I ain't goin' to let him forget 
 that." 
 
 "That'stalkin'!" says I. 
 
 Yes and that's about all it was. I ain't 
 spillin' any sympathy for Bartholomew Nurn, 
 though. He owns a dog now; and some day, 
 after he gets a little more used to 'em, he's 
 goin' to look a head waiter square between the 
 eyes.
 
 GUESSING WRONG ON HEEM 
 
 I AIN'T makin' any excuses for knowin' Herm 
 Fickett, nor I ain't boastin' about it. Some 
 would think they had to do one, while some 
 couldn't resist doin' the other. As for me, I've 
 always classed Herm Fickett as sort of a human 
 curio; nothing you'd want to have around con- 
 stant, or put in a parlor collection, but a speci- 
 men that was worth inspectin' now and then 
 when there was nothing better to do. 
 
 That's how I happened to be ranged up along- 
 side of him in the lobby of the Ouija Gardens 
 that evenin' when this delegate from the clam 
 chowder sector drifts in and proceeds to turn 
 the spotlight on Herm's shadowy past. 
 
 Not that I'm any surprised to learn he has 
 such a thing. Anyone would know he had just 
 to look at him. Yet while I've been more or 
 less well acquainted with Herm Fickett for say a 
 dozen years I didn't know much more about his 
 past than I did his future. 
 
 Let's see, it must have been durin' that last 
 exhibition tour of mine that my manager picked 
 
 77
 
 78 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 him up, either in Kansas City or Denver, and 
 put him in the box office to check up the gate 
 receipts for our side. Seems to me he'd been 
 treasurer, so called, of one of them punk bur- 
 lesque shows that had gone on the rocks. Any- 
 way, he was such a seedy lookin' party that I 
 insisted on his havin' enough so he could spruce 
 up a little. And what does he blow a two weeks ' 
 stake against but a second-hand soup-and-fish 
 outfit includin' a foldin' opera hat two sizes 
 too big. 
 
 Maybe he wasn't grateful, though. For it 
 turns out that Herm's abidin' weakness is for 
 open face clothes. He was always perfectly 
 willing to rustle his chow from basement bean- 
 eries, go without smokes or drinks, or bunk at 
 any third-class joint, without ever puttin' up a 
 holler. And by day he 'd slouch around in some 
 old plaid suit that was mostly wrinkles and 
 grease spots. Come lightm'-up time though, 
 and Mr. Herman Fickett was bound to appear 
 in all the glory of pearl studs and braid-bound 
 dinner coat, no matter whether he was behind 
 the ticket window of the Chicago Auditorium or 
 squeezed into the dough coop of the skating rink 
 at Red Wing. 
 
 You'd think it was what he lived for, this 
 evenin' costume act of his. Maybe it was. Any- 
 way, he has always stuck to it. Even when he 
 'drifts into New York some six or eight years
 
 GUESSING WRONG ON HEEM 79 
 
 back, so near broke that a fifty cent room at a 
 Mills hotel was all he could afford, he continues 
 to bloom out in the usual regalia. 
 
 Maybe that was why I took a chance on 
 backin' him in this pool room and bowling alley 
 enterprise he'd found so far uptown on the 
 "West Side. I must admit it didn't look good to 
 me, for that end of Broadway was mostly new 
 apartment buildings then, with the tenants only 
 beginning to trickle in. But Herm was dead 
 sure if he could put up enough to take over a 
 five-year lease and hold on until the district 
 filled up he 'd develop something big. 
 
 Well, he did. Inside of six months he'd 
 changed the bowlin' alley into a movie house 
 and fitted up the pool parlor as a grill room. 
 Within a year he'd negotiated a license and 
 leased the vacant lot in the rear for a beer 
 garden. 
 
 And that was the start of the Ouija Gardens. 
 Maybe you know the place now, with its blazin* 
 electric sign, its four floors and its thirty piece 
 orchestra. I expect you can get just as poor 
 a dinner there for $1.25 as at any joint in town. 
 And afterwards you can climb up to the Cherry 
 Blossom roof and watch as crude a program of 
 vaudeville and pictures as you can stand. If 
 you ain't satisfied then you can join the mob out 
 in the white latticed back yard and tackle a 
 leathery Welsh rabbit or defy ptomaines by
 
 80 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 consumin' a chicken lobster that's been away 
 from salt water for a month or more. 
 
 I should worry, though. The few hundred I 
 kissed good-by when I handed 'em over to Herm 
 Fickett so long ago have come back to me a 
 good many times since, and although I've tried 
 to tell him he could buy in my fifth interest any 
 ^time he wanted, Herm will never listen. 
 
 "Ah, let it ride, Shorty," is all I ever get out 
 of him. 
 
 So every now and then, when I'm spendin' a 
 lonesome evenin' in town, I hop on the subway 
 and slip up to join Herm for an hour or so 
 while he stands there watchin' the crowds pour 
 in. His favorite spot seems to be just in the 
 lee of a Charlie Chaplin display board. If you 
 ever saw him once you'd know him again. Uh- 
 huh! That's him the squatty party with the 
 short neck, the long arms, the puffy little eyes 
 and the round smooth face with a complexion 
 like a Camembert cheese or a rubber collar. 
 
 So it can't be personal vanity that leads 
 Herm out there night after night. Hardly! I 
 expect he don't know how much like a dressed- 
 up toad he looks; or if he does he don't care. 
 But there you'll find him, planted solid on his 
 short legs, with them little eyes fixed steady on 
 the crowd. He don't seem to be watchin' for 
 anybody special, and he never turns to follow 
 any of 'em, but I'll bet there's none he misses.
 
 GUESSING WRONG ON HERM 81 
 
 You'd never guess either, that he was boss of 
 the whole outfit unless you'd stayed with him a 
 while, as I do. Then you'd see, from time to 
 time, people sidle up to him and whisper things 
 in his ear. Sometimes it's the stage manager 
 hurryin' out to report a break in the program, 
 or a head waiter gettin' advice on whether some 
 young sport is good for credit on a dinner bill, 
 or more often some grafter tryin' out his touch 
 for D. H. tickets. And they all get their de- 
 cisions prompt, too. It's either a nod, or a 
 shake of the head, or he'll stop to scribble his 
 initials on a pass. Now and then they get to 
 his roll and you '11 see him peel off a five or a ten 
 and slip it to 'em casual. 
 
 I grieve to state also, that a lot of 'em are 
 fluffs; some just Broadway flappers, only be- 
 ginning to use lip-sticks and eyebrow pencils, 
 while others are bold-faced Janes with henna on 
 their hair and a hard look in their eyes. And 
 most of them men, too, are a sousy looking lot ; 
 gamblers, gun fighters, ward heelers and the 
 like, if I'm any judge. How well Herm knows 
 'em it's hard to say, for nothing shows on that 
 leathery face of his, or in the steady eyes. They 
 all seem to know him, though. 
 
 So it's no wonder I edge off and ask no ques- 
 tions afterwards. Even if I am sort of a silent 
 partner of his in this Ouija Gardens enterprise, 
 I don't feel exactly responsible for Herm
 
 82 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Fickett's present any more'n I do for his past. 
 He can't be much worse than he looks, and if 
 he's any better he conceals it successful. All 
 I'm sure of is that I've always found him 
 strictly sober and tendin' to business, and when 
 it comes to settlin' a deal, as straight as a plumb 
 line. 
 
 On this particular evenin' I must have been 
 standin' there with Herm for near an hour, 
 neither of us sayin' much, but just holdin' the 
 bridge, as you might say, when all of a sudden 
 this stray Rube drifts up and starts lookin' us 
 over sort of undecided. He's a tall, lanky, loose- 
 jawed party with a droopin' lip whisker and a 
 slouch to his shoulders. And from the blue 
 cotton shirt and the brown canvas sneakers it 
 was easy to tell he 'd wandered in from the edge 
 of the map. As I'm about to step one side to 
 let Herm handle him he seems to make up his 
 mind which to tackle. And it 's me he picks out. 
 
 "Your name's Fickett, ain't it?" he demands. 
 
 " No such luck," says I. "This is Mr. 
 Fickett, here." 
 
 "Huh!" says he, turnin' to Herm. "So 
 you 're the one, hey ? ' ' 
 
 Herm glances at him careless and nods. 
 "What then? "he asks. 
 
 "I'm from Setaugus, Maine," says the 
 stranger. 
 
 "Eh?" says Herm, turnin' on him quick.
 
 GUESSING WRONG ON HERM 83 
 
 ' ' Thought that would git ye, ' ' says the other. 
 "My name's Lonnie Todd. I'm Maria Todd's 
 brother." 
 
 If he'd figured on handin' Herm a jolt he 
 wasn't much disappointed. Anyway, I'd never 
 seen that uneasy, restless look come into them 
 little eyes before. 
 
 "I've come to have a talk with you about 
 her, ' ' adds Lonnie. 
 
 You've seen these country smart Alecks, I 
 expect. "Well, Lonnie was that kind ; only about 
 the cheapest, cheekiest crossroads pill I've ever 
 seen in action. I was lookin' for Herm to signal 
 the big special cop he has patrollin' the front 
 and have this Todd party given the quick run. 
 But Herm just stands there starin' at him 
 vacant, as if he was lookin' through and be- 
 yond him, a long ways beyond. And the 
 next thing I knew Herm has taken me by the 
 arm. 
 
 "Come," says he. "Let's go inside. You, 
 too," he throws at Todd over his shoulder. 
 
 And when the three of us was in his private 
 office he locks the door careful and proceeds to 
 slump down into the big leather desk-chair that 
 he fits so snug. 
 
 "I hope you don't mind, Shorty," he goes on, 
 "but in a case like this I like to have a third 
 party on hand. ' ' 
 
 "Sure," says I. "I expect the two of us
 
 might handle him if he starts anything messy. " 
 
 "It isn't so much that," says Fickett, "as it 
 is hearing what he 's got to say for himself, for 
 if he's just lying " 
 
 "Ah, you can't bluff me off that way," breaks 
 in Lonnie. "I ain't ascairt of you, Herm 
 Fickett, any more 'n I used to be when you and 
 the rest of the big fellers belonged to the cider 
 mill gang. ' ' 
 
 "I give up," says Herm. "You must be 
 Lonnie, all right. But what's the idea of your 
 hunting me out ? Did did Maria send you ? ' ' 
 
 "You know derned well she wouldn't," comes 
 back Todd, lettin' on to be indignant. "I'm 
 here on my own hook, I am. ' ' 
 
 "That's interesting, too," says Herm. 
 1 1 How 'd you get here I ' ' 
 
 "On a lumber schooner, out of Bangor," says 
 Todd. "I'm cook. And as we were unloadin' 
 up in Harlem River, I sees this ad. of yours in 
 th' paper. 'Ooey-jar Gardens, Herman Fickett, 
 Manager,' it says. An' I says to myself, 
 'That's him! I'll bet a dollar it is!' Guess I 
 win, don 't I, Herm ? ' ' 
 
 Fickett nods. ' ' And now ! " he asks. 
 
 "You've come to be quite a somebody, ain't 
 you, Herm?" says Todd, gazin' around at the 
 mahogany desk, the pictures on the wall and 
 finally at Fickett 's broad expanse of white shirt 
 bosom with the diamond studs in it.
 
 GUESSING WRONG ON HERM 85 
 
 "That is more'n I can say for you," counters 
 Fickett. * * But suppose I am somebody ? ' ' 
 
 "I'm gettin' to that," says Todd, leerin' sug- 
 gestive as he leans forward in his chair. "You 
 remember the little old house on the P'int, 
 where you used to come sneakin' around to see 
 Maria? Well, it's still there. So's Maria. 
 Maw's dead, and paw's dead, and I ain't been to 
 home much these last ten years. But Maria, 
 she's stuck right there waitin'. I guess you 
 know who fer, Herm Fickett." 
 
 "Not not twenty-five years'?" says Herm, 
 kind of gaspy. 
 
 "Yep," says Todd. "Jest that much of a 
 fool, Maria was. She thought you meant it 
 when you said you'd come back fer her." 
 
 "Eh?" says Herm, squirmin' in his chair like 
 he'd been jabbed with a pin. "Did did Maria 
 tell you that?" 
 
 "She shore did," says Todd, waggin' his 
 head. "Ain't I all the one she's got left?" 
 
 Herm gives him a disgusted glance and starts 
 something sarcastic but chokes it off. "Do you 
 mean," says he, "that she has been living there 
 on the Point alone?" 
 
 Mr. Todd favors him with a nod. 
 
 "How?" demands Herm. 
 
 "Well," says Lonnie, "for a spell she cooked 
 up at Teeter's boardin' house. Then she took 
 to doin' washin' fer the summer people. But
 
 86 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 mostly she gets along by makin' these picture 
 rugs that she sells to the cottagers." 
 
 "Whaddye mean, picture rugs?" demands 
 Herm. 
 
 "Oh, they're crazy things," says Todd. 
 "Hooks 'em out of rags. Makes pictures in the 
 middle. Always the same a boat with a feller 
 in it, and a girl standin' on the shore with her 
 arms out, and a big moon showin' over the 
 spruce trees. She's done dozens of 'em. The 
 summer folks thinks they're great. She's been 
 wrote up on account of them rugs, in the papers. 
 They call her the picture-rug woman. But say, 
 they don't know the whole story. I do though. 
 The girl waitin' on the rocks is supposed to be 
 her, and the feller who's paddlin' stiff armed 
 towards her, but never gittin' there well, 
 that's you." 
 
 It's about the first time I ever saw Herm 
 Fickett's jaw sag or them steady little eyes of 
 his turn shifty. For a minute or so he don't say 
 a word, and then he asks, sort of husky: "How 
 how do you know it was meant for me?" 
 
 Todd lets off a chuckle. "I didn't until 
 lately, ' ' says he. * ' She 's always been one of the 
 close mouthed kind, Maria. But durin' this last 
 sick turn of hers she went kind of looney in the 
 head and all one night she kept mumblin' things, 
 such as, * Oh, Herm ! Please come back, like you 
 said you would. You '11 know I 'm waitin ' if you
 
 GUESSING WRONG ON HERM 87 
 
 ever see one of my rugs. You'll understand.' 
 Stuff like that, the whole night. That's how I 
 know. ' ' 
 
 "When was this!" asks Herm. 
 
 " 'Bout three weeks ago," says Todd, "jest 
 about three weeks it was. She was some better 
 when I left. Able to git around, anyway. Some 
 of the neighbors was lookin' out fer her. I 
 guess she '11 pull through. What I want to know 
 though, Herm Fickett, is this: What you goin' 
 to do fer us?" 
 
 "For us?" repeats Herm, starin' at him. 
 
 1 ' Yep, ' ' says Todd. * * Fer Maria and me. " 
 
 "Huh!" says Herm, indulgin' in a hard, 
 throaty chuckle. "I thought so! Well, Lonnie, 
 all I intend doing for you is going to happen 
 right now. I 'm going to have you kicked off the 
 block." 
 
 With that he reaches to one side of his desk 
 and presses a button. Course, Mr. Todd puts 
 up more or less of a howl, but inside of a 
 minute the big special cop has him by the collar 
 and is draggin' him towards the sidewalk. 
 Herm never gives him another look as Lonnie is 
 yanked out kickin' and splutterin'. All Mr. 
 Fickett does is sit there gazin' at the wall, his 
 pudgy fingers grippin' the chair arms. 
 
 Finally, he turns to me. "Well," says he, 
 "you heard? You see the sort of skunk I am?" 
 
 I expect it wouldn't have been just the thing
 
 88 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 to have grinned at him. But I wanted to. The 
 idea of Herm Fickett, that I'd rated about as 
 bad an egg as you could find along Broadway, 
 gettin' stirred up over a little old back number 
 romance such as he shows on the screen nearly 
 every night! Yet I couldn't put it to him that 
 way. So I switches to another line. 
 
 "I didn't know you was a State of Mainer, 
 Herm, ' ' says I. 
 
 "Yep," says he. "I was born in Setaugus, 
 same as Maria. "We went to the same little red 
 schoolhouse, two miles back in the woods. And 
 she was a mighty fine girl, McCabe. It was all 
 true, what Lonnie said about my promising to 
 go back for her. I meant to do it, too, when I 
 left, to play the drum down at Peake's Island 
 that summer. But I I drifted a good ways off. 
 You know. I got mixed up with the show game. 
 "Worse than that. I had to shoot a man once 
 come near being stretched for it. And there's 
 been women. Lord ! One of 'em near ended me 
 with a knife, down in Santa Fe. A Mexican 
 girl. But that was years ago. Up here well, 
 what's the use? You wouldn't believe it, but 
 late years, since I've been doing so well, I've 
 been thinking a lot about Maria Todd, and 
 wondering. It's kept me from from a lot of 
 things. Not that I'm playing myself for any 
 saint, but I'm different from what most folks 
 think. It's time, I suppose. I'm past fifty.
 
 GUESSING WRONG ON HERM 89 
 
 Fifty-three. Think of that, McCabe! And 
 Maria Todd, who used to have cheeks like 
 peaches and cream, and hair like so much sun- 
 shine Maria '11 be over fifty too. And all this 
 time she she's been waiting for me. Shorty, 
 do you know what I 'm going to do ? " 
 
 I admitted I didn't. 
 
 * ' I 'm going back for her, ' ' says Herm. " I 'm 
 going to-night now." 
 
 I expect I must have gawped at him foolish. 
 The idea of Herm Fickett as a bridegroom sort 
 of stunned me. " Ain't it a little late, Herm?" 
 I suggests. 
 
 "Maybe," says he. "That'll be up to her. 
 Let's see, I can make the 11 o'clock express, 
 can't I?" 
 
 And as I rode home that night I tried to throw 
 up a picture of Herm coming back with a wife ; 
 most likely a faded, dried up little old maid 
 who'd lived all her life way up on the coast of 
 Maine, hookin' rugs, whatever that might be. 
 How would she look sitting in the manager's 
 box up on the Cherry Blossom roof, or taking 
 dinner in the grill among all them flossy dressed 
 West Siders? And what would she think of 
 some of Herm's dizzy lady friends, or what 
 would they think of her? 
 
 ' * No, " says I to myself. * ' It can 't be done. ' ' 
 
 Course, I don't mean I worried myself sick 
 over it. I don't take things as hard as that,
 
 90 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 'specially when they ain't any closer than this 
 was. In a day or so about all I remembered was 
 that Herm Fickett had started off to do some- 
 thing weird. And a week or ten days later, 
 when I gets this 'phone call from him, I had 
 to think back hard to make the connection. He 
 wants me to come up that evenin'. 
 
 "I got something to show you," says he. 
 
 And as I hung up the receiver I lets out a 
 groan. ' ' I '11 bet he 's gone and done it ! " says I. 
 
 But when I gets to the Ouija Gardens I finds 
 Herm at his old post out front, and alone. 
 
 "Well," says I, "is it a case of wishin' you 
 happy days?" 
 
 He shakes his head solemn. 
 
 "Oh!" says I, "she thought it was too late, 
 eh?" 
 
 Without answerin' that he unlocks a side door 
 and beckons me to follow him into the private 
 office. And when he 's settled himself in the big 
 leather chair and lighted a fresh cigar he 
 remarks: "It was too late, Shorty." 
 
 "Eh?" says I. "You don't mean she 
 was " 
 
 4 ' Yes, ' ' says he. ' * The day before I got there. 
 I was in time to see about the funeral and so on, 
 but that's all. She she'd got tired of wait- 
 ing." 
 
 We didn't say anything more, either of us, 
 for a minute or so. Then he begins again.
 
 GUESSING WRONG ON HEEM 91 
 
 "But I'm glad I went," says he. "I shall 
 always be glad I did that much. Else I wouldn't 
 have known. Women are wonderful, Shorty; 
 that is, some of 'em. And Maria Todd well, I 
 don't know as I can tell you the half. I ain't 
 sure I quite get the whole of it myself. It it 
 beats hell what some women are." 
 
 Then I waits while he puffs thoughtful for a 
 spell, until he goes on. "It was all so, Shorty," 
 says Herm, "about her waiting, and about the 
 picture rugs. I saw some of 'em. Just as 
 Lonnie said. There was something else, 
 though; something he didn't know about, nor 
 anyone but her. Not even the neighbors across 
 the road. They all thought she was a little 
 cracked. But who ain't, a little? 
 
 "You see, Shorty, it was just a poor, weather- 
 beaten little shack, snuggled in among the rocks 
 there by the shore. A little bit of yard in front, 
 a few flowers, a big spruce at the back. Just 
 two rooms. One was sort of a kitchen, where 
 she cooked and worked and slept. The front 
 part was bigger. Kind of a parlor. She had it 
 fixed up real nice white curtains at the win- 
 dows, some old horsehair chairs with tidies on 
 'em, a little parlor organ. Only her best friends 
 was ever asked in there. She called it The 
 Room. And across one side was hung up one of 
 these old-fashioned blue and white bedspreads. 
 Nobody ever guessed there was anything behind
 
 92 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 it, until that morning when I come and one of 
 the women was helping me fix things up for 
 for the funeral. 
 
 "We run across it by accident, pulled it one 
 side. And then I saw what she'd been doing 
 all them long winters when she'd been waitin'. 
 It was a big thing, nearly as big as the bed- 
 spread. Another picture rug. But not like the 
 others. This showed the little shack, not exactly 
 as it was, but as it might be vines and flowers 
 all over it, smoke pourin' out of both chimneys, 
 a neat little white fence all around, a boat pulled 
 up on the shore. And at the gate, a man and a 
 woman clinched fond. She has on a white 
 dress, and a white veil over her sunny hair. 
 Pink roses in the veil. He is tall, and dark and 
 swell looking. You might not guess, Shorty, 
 but the woman was meant for her, and the man 
 for me. A note pinned to it said so. 
 
 ' ' You see, she 'd worked it all out her dream 
 of what might be. Years and years she must 
 have worked at it, believing it would come true. 
 And at the last, just before she gave up, she'd 
 written the note. If I didn't come, it said, she 
 wanted the thing put away, where nobody would 
 see it. But if I did come, no matter when, I was 
 to have it, and she hoped everybody in the world 
 would see it, so they'd know she was right. 
 Now what do you think of that, Shorty?" 
 
 I don't know just what I did say. I got out
 
 something. It was beyond me. Besides, I was 
 starin' at Herm Fickett. Was this the same 
 Herm I thought I'd known? 
 
 And then all of a sudden he bangs his big 
 fist on the desk and breaks out with: "By Gad, 
 Shorty, they're goin' to see it, too! Come." 
 
 I follows him out into the inner lobby; and 
 there, framed elaborate in beveled gold near a 
 foot wide, with about a hundred hooded electric 
 bulbs floodin' it with a blaze of light, and hung 
 where the thousands that pour in and out can't 
 miss it, is Maria Todd's hooked rug dream. 
 
 I don't know what they think of it, them folks 
 who stream into Ouija Gardens to howl at cus- 
 tard-pie comedy and chuckle over old slap-stick 
 acts. I guess Herm don't know either, or care. 
 He seems satisfied. 
 
 "And every night, after the last show," he 
 goes on, "I come in here and stand, just look- 
 ing. I like to. How would it be, Shorty, to 
 have a whackin' big vase on either side, and 
 keep it filled with pink roses? Eh? Gad, I'll 
 doit!" 
 
 And two weeks ago, if you'd asked me, I'd 
 have said : ' ' Who, Herm Fickett ? Yes, he 's got 
 about as much sentiment stowed away in his 
 system as there is sap in a lamp post."
 
 VI 
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 
 
 As for me, I don't know whether to be glad or 
 sorry about what we helped Todd to do. Just 
 how Pinckney feels about it I ain't sure, either. 
 Course I know what he says. But what Pinck- 
 ney means by what he says is something else 
 again. 
 
 11 Casuals of Kismet, Shorty; no more," says 
 he. "We served merely as the poor pawns of 
 the game." 
 
 "Huh!" says I, tryin' to look like I was 
 keepin ' up. ' ' You don 't say ? ' ' 
 
 And, after all, I only started the thing. 
 Funny about me and Todd. I expect we 'd seen 
 each other day in and day out for a matter of 
 three years or more, without either of us ever 
 battin' an eye as we passed. There was no 
 cause. He might of known who I was and he 
 might not. Course, it was plain enough about 
 him. There it was, right on his cap. 
 
 But Todd wasn't one you'd give the cheery 
 hail to offhand and uninvited. A sour, grouchy 
 little party. You could tell that by the sag to 
 his mouth corners, by the furrows between his 
 
 94
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 95 
 
 thin, sketchy eyebrows, and by the droopy hang 
 of his sandy, ragged mustache. Had a droop to 
 his shoulders, too. 
 
 Well, I don't know as I'd be so chirky if I 
 had to do a twelve-hour trick on a dinky old 
 passenger elevator six days in the week. It's 
 in the buildin' next to where I have my Physical 
 Culture Studio. When he wasn't travelin' up 
 and down in the old cage, Todd had a habit of 
 slippin' out to the doorway, where he'd slouch 
 just inside, scowlin' over the black bowl of his 
 corn-cob pipe at the world in general. 
 
 I expect I got so I didn't notice him any more 
 than the ash-cans he used to roll out to the edge 
 of the curb mornin's. 
 
 So this time, when I finds him shakin' his fist 
 at the broad back of the hook-nosed lady with 
 the big sparks in her ears, I was all for brushin' 
 by as usual. Just as I'm passin', though, he 
 unlimbers a string of remarks. 
 
 They sure were emphatic and high-spiced 
 remarks, but so muffled and throaty that there 
 was no chance of her hearin' 'em. Naturally, I 
 swings my head to look after a party who was 
 bein' described so picturesque and uncompli- 
 mentary, and then turns to take a curious glance 
 at Todd. Which seems to be his cue for con- 
 fidin' his further emotions to me. 
 
 1 'The old hippopotamus!" he explodes. 
 "Fat old swine! Look at her."
 
 96 SHOETY MoCABE GETS THE HAID 
 
 "Eh?" says I. "Annoyed about something, 
 are you ? ' ' 
 
 "Am I?" says he. "It's a wonder I don't do 
 murder one of these fine days, with the likes of 
 that makin' life hard for me." 
 
 "How's that?" says I. 
 
 "Why," he snarls, "comin' down here twice a 
 week, snoopin' around and findin' fault. Ever 
 since she bought the buildin' it's been that way. 
 And me holdin' the job for goin' on four years 
 with never a cross word from the boss. But 
 now 'Vy dond you the sidevalk sveep oop?' 
 1 Vot is it you smoke in your dirty pipe rubber, 
 eh?' And threatenin' to tie the can to me every 
 trip. Trust a woman. G-r-r-r ! ' ' 
 
 "That's right," says I. "Get it all out ef 
 your system and then maybe you'll feel better." 
 And with a grin I leaves him to his happy 
 thoughts. 
 
 Seems to break the ice with him, this little 
 exchange. After that he never fails to hold me 
 up and spill his troubles. Yes, he had a lot of 
 'em, mainly havin' to do with the snake- 
 charmin' sex. It was one day when the old 
 elevator went out of commission and the repair 
 gang was tinkerin' it up that he finds his way 
 up to the Studio and gives me a complete bill 
 of complaint. 
 
 "I used to think I was a man," says he, 
 glarin' savage at the worn-out toes of his old
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 97 
 
 shoes. "Now Well, I don't know what I 
 
 am. It's bein' surrounded and hectored so 
 much by old hens." 
 
 "Meanin' the fair sex?" I suggests. 
 
 "Fair be blowed!" says he. "Old hens. 
 That Mrs. Eosenbaum, the landlady. She's a 
 fair sample. And look at our buildin' full of 
 'em. Madam Jezinski, what runs the hair shop 
 on the second; Madam O'Bryne, robes, for 
 another ; and all them milliners and typewriters 
 and corn doctors on the other floors. Every one 
 ready to bawl me out any time of day. And I 
 have to stand for it me, Samson Todd. ' ' 
 
 "Samson, eh?" says I, sizin' up this thin- 
 chested, squint-eyed, booze-soaked specimen of 
 human wasp. "Ain't that kind of a misfit name 
 for a party of your weight ? ' ' 
 
 "Maybe," says he. "Wished on me by an 
 aunt, out of dislike. I suppose she knew I was 
 goin' to be sickly and never get my full growth. 
 But, for all of that, I've been a man, more or 
 less, until I got stuck here, hoistin' women up 
 and down all day long. Nothin' but women. 
 You've seen. Car's always full of 'em, mostly 
 old hens cacklin, jabberin', jawin' old hens. 
 And then, when I'm through at night, home 
 among more of 'em. Yes, three more old hens 
 at home." 
 
 ' ' Steady, there, Todd, ' ' says I. "If you 're a 
 Mormon you shouldn't "
 
 98 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 ''Think I'd marry one, let alone three?" he 
 snaps. 
 
 Then he explains how he lives with a sister 
 who's a widow and runs a boardin' house. 
 Sister is helped out by an old maid cousin and 
 an antique mother-in-law; and, accordin' to 
 Todd, the combination is one that would drive 
 a saint into the souse class. 
 
 "Jawin' and naggin','' says he, "from the 
 minute I stick my head in the basement door at 
 night until I sneak out in the mornin'. I'd like 
 to quit 'em some day and never show up again." 
 
 "Well, why not I" says I. 
 
 "Eh I" says he, starin' as if I'd suggested he 
 tackle some miracle. 
 
 "Listen, Todd," says I. "You come beefin' 
 to me about the way you're pestered by women. 
 You state your opinions mighty free and bold 
 when they can't hear you. Know what you 
 sound like? A yellow pup yappin' down an 
 alley. Uh-huh. Like a worthless, measly yel- 
 low pup that would run if a two-weeks-old kitten 
 humped its back at him. Now, if you must yap, 
 do your yappin' where it'll register. Buck up! 
 Don't be an imitation man. If your women- 
 folk at home are pickin' on you, give 'em as 
 good as they send. Tell 'em where they get off. 
 The same with Mrs. Rosenbaum. Ten to one 
 they'll lay off it after that. Anyway, take a 
 chance. That is, if you got any nerve left."
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 99 
 
 He takes it without a squirm, all except that 
 last jab. That got under his skin. I could see 
 him stiffen and his fingers bunch up. 
 
 "You think I ain't got any nerve?" says he, 
 gettin' on his feet. "I'll show you. And I'll 
 show them, too." 
 
 "Yes, you will not," says I over my shoul- 
 der, as he drifts through the door. 
 
 Maybe that was rubbin' in the salt. I didn't 
 have anything special against Todd, the poor 
 fish ! Only I didn't want him to get the idea he 
 could run in here and give me an earful when- 
 ever he got a call-down that he most likely de- 
 served. And I had no more notion he'd try to 
 follow my advice than I did of seem' him turn 
 handsome overnight. I just threw it off casual 
 and careless. 
 
 Must have been nearly one o'clock before I 
 got a chance to beat it out to lunch, so as I 
 swings onto Forty-second Street I'm in con- 
 siderable of a hurry. That's how I happened 
 to plow right into the middle of this young mob 
 of females bunched about the next entrance be- 
 fore I noticed anything unusual. But by the 
 time I'd dodged around a couple and caromed 
 off a third into a wide, husky party in a blond 
 transformation, I decides to slow up. It was 
 then I heard this chorus of wild squeals and 
 panicEy shrieks floatin' out from the doorway.
 
 100 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 ' ' What 's happenin ' ? " I asks an excited young 
 lady who's hoppin' up and down. 
 
 "Oh, it's perfectly awful!" she groans. 
 "Can't someone stop him?" 
 
 "Stop what who?" says I. 
 
 "That wretch in the elevator," says she. 
 "He'll kill them all I know he will. He has the 
 car full, and he 's running it up and down like a 
 crazy man, stopping and starting jerky, not let- 
 ting them out, and swearing something fright- 
 ful. They say that Madam Jezinski is in there, 
 and that two girls from the manicure parlors 
 have fainted, and " 
 
 "It ain't Todd, is it?" I demands. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know his name," says she. 
 "It's that surly, smelly little runt with the 
 squinty eyes the one that's always here." 
 
 "That 'shim, "says I. "Todd." And I does 
 my best to smother a grin. 
 
 "They've 'phoned for the police and the 
 owner of the building, I hear, ' ' says the young 
 lady. "I wish they'd come before anything 
 awful happens." 
 
 "Oh, I guess it won't," says I, "if it's only 
 Todd." 
 
 With that I works my way out of the crowd 
 and starts on, chucklin' a bit. So Todd had 
 really cut loose! He was takin' it out in 
 bouncin* around a lot of his pet enemies.
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 101 
 
 Unique way of gettin' back at 'em and one that 
 would most likely earn him his release. But 
 that was his lookout. 
 
 I meant to stop on my way back and ask some- 
 body how the affair came out; but after lunch 
 I took my reg'lar stroll up Fifth Avenue, and 
 ran across Pinckney cruisin' along in his town 
 car, with the usual results. From then on all 
 schedules was off. He insists on my climbin' 
 in, whirls me up through the park and back, 
 drags me into a picture exhibit on the return 
 trip, makes a stop at one of his clubs, and lands 
 me at the Studio again about three-thirty. 
 Havin' nothing better to do, he says how he 
 guesses he'll trail along in too. 
 
 "All right," says I; "but I ain't urgin' it." 
 
 "Your apology noted," says he, "and such an 
 impulsive invitation I can scarcely resist. Ah, 
 here is your eminent assistant, Mr. Gallagher, 
 who seems to await you with news of import." 
 
 It's a fact. Swifty Joe is scowlin' impatient. 
 
 "Well, anything on your mind besides your 
 hair, Swifty?" says I. 
 
 * ' Nah ! ' ' says he out of the southwest corner 
 of his mouth. "But there's sumpin' on the mat 
 you might give the once-over to when you get 
 the time. ' ' 
 
 "Ah, ha!" says Pinckney. "A hint of mys- 
 tery. Excellent 1"
 
 102 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Since you're so strong for that sort of 
 thing," says I, "I'll let you in on it, whatever 
 it is." 
 
 "Done!" says Pinckney. "Proceed to the 
 mat." 
 
 So we files into the gym. I had to take a 
 second glance before I places this huddled-up 
 party with the torn coat sleeve and the rumpled 
 hair. But as I walked around and stirred it 
 with my foot, a pair of squinty eyes are rolled 
 up at me. 
 
 "Huh!" says I. "Todd." 
 
 He moans out something or other, and goes 
 through some shivery motions. 
 
 "Well, well," I goes on. "Last I heard of 
 you, you was enjoyin' yourself fine, throwin' a 
 scare into an elevator-load of women, with Mrs. 
 Eosenbaum due on the scene any minute. Did 
 she show up ! " 
 
 "Ye-e-es," groans Todd. 
 
 "And you called her an old hen and a few 
 other things like you threatened!" I asks. 
 "What then?" 
 
 "I I got the chuck," says Todd. 
 
 "Didn't look for any medal of honor to be 
 pinned on you, did you?" I goes on. "But that 
 ain't the only job in the world, is it? Is that 
 what ails you or have you been home?" 
 
 He nods and lets out some more groans. 
 
 "Oh, you have?" says I. "And there was a
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 103 
 
 big howl, I'll bet. But I expect you told that 
 domestic trio of yours where they got off, eh? 
 How did that work out!" 
 
 Todd squirms around quite a lot, but finally 
 he gets out his report. 
 
 "They they nearly did me up," he says. 
 
 1 1 What ! " say s I. ' ' Three women ? ' ' 
 
 "You you never saw that sister of mine," 
 whines Todd. "She's as strong as any man. 
 It wasn't so much that she hurt as as " 
 
 Here he breaks off, snifflin'. 
 
 "Ah, come," says I. "Let's have it. What 
 was it she did to you ? ' ' 
 
 "Spu-spanked me," sobs out Todd, hidin' his 
 head. 
 
 ' ' W-h-a-at ! " I gasped. ' ' You let her spa 
 
 Good night! Here, Pinckney. Here's your 
 mystery. This noble gent here on the floor is 
 Mr. Samson Todd. Up to this noon he was 
 elevator-man next door. He didn't like the job. 
 Too many females old hens is his favorite 
 name for 'em. And he's been beefin' about his 
 women-folks at home. I tried to tell him that 
 if he was a reg'lar guy he wouldn't come 
 grouchin' to me about his troubles, but would 
 stand up and feed it to 'em. Well, it seems he 
 did. And now look at him. He goes and lets 
 'em Say, shall I have Swifty Joe sweep 
 him out, or " 
 
 Pinckney has hung his crook-necked walkin'-
 
 104 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 stick on his left wrist and is holdin' up his other 
 hand. 
 
 ''Tut, tut, Shorty," says he. "Charity, old 
 chap. There may be extenuating circumstances. 
 Who knows f Perhaps the gentleman will sit up 
 and join me in a cigarette." 
 
 "Eh?" says Todd, eyein' him suspicious. 
 
 Pinckney is offerin' his gold cigarette-case. 
 It's a minute or so, though, before Todd can be 
 induced to hoist himself into a chair and light 
 up. 
 
 "Pardon me for asking so personal a ques- 
 tion," says Pinckney, "but you haven't always 
 been an elevator-man, have you?" 
 
 ' ' Not me, ' ' says Todd. * ' Six years, that 's all. 
 And it was six years too many. ' ' 
 
 "There, Shorty!" says Pinckney triumphant. 
 "You see! Mr. Todd is, as I suspected, a per- 
 son of defeated ambitions ; one who has felt the 
 bludgeonings of fate, but whose head is as yet 
 unbowed. Am I right, Mr. Todd ? ' ' 
 
 Todd was gawpin' at him puzzled; but after 
 thinkin' it over he nods solemn. 
 
 "And what," Pinckney goes on, "were some 
 of those unsatisfied ambitions, Mr. Todd?" 
 
 "You you mean "begins Todd. 
 
 "The things you yearned to do and could 
 not," Pinckney helps out. 
 
 "I I allus meant to take lessons on th' ac- 
 cordion," says Todd. "I can play it some
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 105 
 
 part of l Annie Laurie' and the chorus to 'Good 
 Old Summer-time.' I was learnin' 'Tipperary' 
 too, gettin' along fine, when that old hen sister 
 of mine found the thing and bust it up on 
 me." 
 
 "On you!" says Pinckney. "Ah, figura- 
 tively, I trust? But none the less there burst 
 a rosy bubble. No more could your fettered 
 soul rise on the wings of Orpheus. Still, there 
 were other aspirations, no doubt?" 
 
 "Uh-huh," says Todd, gazin' dreamy. 
 
 1 'Such as " suggests Pinckney, lettin' his 
 
 left eye twinkle my way. 
 
 1 1 1 should ha ' been a sea captain, ' ' says Todd, 
 "sailin' round and seein' the world; maybe 
 smugglin' a bit, or mixin' in with pirates over 
 in them Molly Islands. ' ' 
 
 Pinckney draws in a deep breath. It was his 
 turn to stare. He'd dug up something he hadn't 
 expected. 
 
 " Oh, I say ! " says he. ' ' That 's a whale of an 
 ambition. But what kept you from being a sea 
 captain, Todd?" 
 
 ' ' Ah, I never had no chanst, ' ' says Todd. ' * I 
 been a stick-in-th'-mud. Sick a lot, for one 
 thing. And then I never knew just how to get 
 started. But I allus wanted to strike out for 
 myself, to get away where there was danger 
 and fightin' and things to stir your blood. If 
 I could only get there now, right in the thick of
 
 106 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 things, I '11 risk but I 'd take my share. I 'd show 
 'em that Samson Todd was a man yet!" 
 
 He's straightened up, Todd has, and his 
 squinty eyes has an odd greenish flicker in 'em, 
 and he's waggin' his head cocky. I can't say 
 whether he's funny or pathetic a little of both, 
 maybe. As for Pinckney, I can tell he's bavin' 
 the time of his life. 
 
 4 'Todd," says he, "I am almost inclined to 
 believe you. As our friend McCabe would 
 phrase it, you tell it well. And yet ah, I must 
 quote for you my favorite motto : Adventures, 
 Todd, are for the venturous." 
 
 " Hey? "says Todd. 
 
 "For cherries," says Pinckney, "one climbs a 
 tree. Never were there more stirring times 
 than these. The world at war and you run- 
 ning an elevator!" 
 
 "Oh!" says Todd. "I couldn't get into any- 
 thing. I 'm over forty. ' ' 
 
 "Still," says Pinckney, "for one who so 
 earnestly craves that sort of thing there should 
 be some way open perhaps not in the very 
 trenches, but See here ; what were you be- 
 fore you became an elevator-man 1 ' ' 
 
 "Little of everything," says Todd. "I used 
 to sell extras durin' the Spanish-American 
 muss. Later on I peddled bananas and potatoes 
 and such 'truck from a cart. Then for a while
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 107 
 
 I helped in a quick-lunch joint. That's where I 
 got to be a cook." 
 
 "Really!" says Pinckney. "You are a 
 cook?" 
 
 ' ' No thin ' fancy, ' ' says Todd. ' ' I can hash up 
 common things, though. Must have had half a 
 dozen places, but on one account or another 
 I got " 
 
 "See here, Todd," breaks in Pinckney. "I 
 have the very thing for you. Heard of it only 
 this noon when I was talking to a friend a 
 naval officer. Said he was desperate for cooks, 
 must find twenty of 'em right away mess cooks 
 for the transport service. Just cooking for the 
 crews, you know. There you are. That's you. 
 I know where he is now. Wait; I'll call him 
 up." 
 
 "But but say " begins Todd, openin' 
 
 and shuttin ' his mouth gaspy and stretchin ' his 
 fingers out after Pinckney, who 's started for the 
 'phone. 
 
 "Well?" demands Pinckney. 
 
 "Did did you say them cooks was for trans- 
 ports?" goes on Todd. "Steamers that carry 
 over soldiers and supplies, ain't they, and and 
 get sunk by submarines?" 
 
 1 ' Yes, ' ' says Pinckney. ' ' Precisely what you 
 want, isn't it? High adventure. It's the chance 
 you 've been waiting for. Shall I call him up ? "
 
 It was fascinatin' to watch Todd's face. 
 First off, that weak chin of his was sagged, his 
 eyes were popped, and his skin had turned a dull 
 gray. Sweat was startin' out on the sides of his 
 nose. Then, all of a sudden, the muscles in the 
 mouth corners stiffen, and up comes his head. 
 
 "Yes," says Todd, hoarse and husky. "Call 
 him." 
 
 Now, how you go in' to tell? Might have been 
 easy enough for some of us, makin' a move like 
 that. But it must have been different with 
 Todd, who'd just been driftin' along, like rub- 
 bish on the tide, ever since he was born. I 
 expect he'd wanted to do things, in a vague sort 
 of way. He'd wished and waited. And that 
 would have been as far as he'd gone if he hadn't 
 been picked up by the scruff of the neck, as you 
 might say, and chucked into this. 
 
 Things moved fast for Todd from then on, 
 though. Inside of half an hour he'd been 
 hustled in a taxi to a recruitin' office and had 
 signed up. Before dark he was on a dock some- 
 where in Hoboken, loaded down with more clean 
 warm clothes than he'd ever owned before, not 
 to mention such trifles as new razors, fancy 
 toilet soap, a couple of pounds of his favorite 
 smokin' tobacco, and other little contributions 
 that Pinckney and I could collect in a hurry. 
 
 "There," says Pinckney, as we waves good- 
 by to Todd "there embarks a potential hero."
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 109 
 
 "I don't know the brand," says I, "barrin' 
 it's one that makes good until he meets a 
 spankin' sister." 
 
 "That menace, at least," says Pinckney, "he 
 will be free from on the high seas. As for the 
 rest well, let us wish him the best of luck and 
 consider the incident closed. Thank you, 
 Shorty, for a diverting interlude. ' ' 
 
 That's Pinckney, all over. Two minutes from 
 then he was taxin' his mighty intellect with the 
 proposition of whether he should go home for 
 dinner or stop off at the club. 
 
 I must say I couldn't forget Todd quite so 
 easy. Maybe I thought of him a couple of times 
 durin' the next week, when I noticed the West 
 Indian runnin' the elevator next door. Then 
 the affair faded out. In a month, if I'd heard 
 the name, about all it would have called up 
 would have been something humorous about 
 somebody gettin' spanked. 
 
 Then here yesterday in breezes Pinckney, and 
 instead of indulgin' in any of his usual piffle he 
 pulls a chair up to the desk where I'm sittin' at 
 ease with my feet up, and proceeds to talk 
 serious and confidential. 
 
 "Shorty," says he, "I've just had a talk with 
 my naval friend in the transport service." 
 
 "Y-e-e-es?" says I. 
 
 "Well," he goes on, "the U-boats got the 
 Arapiqua on her return trip."
 
 110 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Ara which?" says I. 
 
 * ' Don 't you remember ? ' ' says he. * ' The one 
 Todd shipped on as cook." 
 
 "What?" says I. "Sunk her? And how 
 about Todd?" 
 
 "I'm coming to that," says Pinckney. "The 
 Arapiqua went over loaded with mules and pro- 
 visions. She arrived safely, in spite of a lively 
 brush that the convoys had off the coast of 
 France. Coming back the fleet ran into quite 
 a storm. The Arapiqua became separated from 
 the rest strained a propeller-shaft. She was 
 lying to, patching things up, when the sub- 
 marine appeared. Of course she put up a fight, 
 but a chance shot disabled the after gun, killing 
 or wounding nearly all of the gun crew. There 
 was nothing left but to take to the boats. And 
 when they had rowed off, the sea still rather 
 rough, the Huns went aboard and planted a few 
 bombs. You know they don't waste torpedoes 
 on mule transports. And when they had done 
 their usual pilfering they went back to their 
 boat and watched for the Arapiqua, abandoned 
 and rolling helpless in the waves, to go to the 
 bottom. 
 
 "Then the unexpected happened. They saw 
 something stirring under the canvas cover of 
 the forward gun. A man had crawled out and 
 was cutting away the cover lashings. He was 
 trying to swing the gun around to bear on them.
 
 AND THEN, THERE WAS TODD 111 
 
 That was enough for the Huns. Down they 
 tumbled as fast as they could follow one another 
 below. But before the U-boat could submerge 
 the lone man on the Arapiqua had got the gun 
 going. The first shot missed by a hundred 
 yards, so the transport captain says he was 
 watching through his glasses. The second 
 wasn't quite so wide. And the third was a fair 
 hit, just at the base of the periscope. A 
 fourth shot struck well forward. There was 
 a tremendous explosion. The stern of the 
 submarine was flung up and she sank like a 
 rock. 
 
 "The man on the Arapiqua was still firing, 
 shot after shot, as fast as he could feed them in, 
 when the bombs began to go off. One exploded 
 amidships, another in the stern, and the third 
 sent the whole forward deck high in the air. 
 The lone man and his gun went with it to king- 
 dom come. But he'd done his work. Shorty, 
 can you guess who the fellow was 1 ?" 
 
 "You you don't mean," says I, "it was 
 Todd?" 
 
 Pinckney nods. 
 
 ' ' Samson Todd, hero, ' ' says he. ' ' The trans- 
 port captain recognized him through his glasses. 
 Besides, he was the only man unaccounted for, 
 and, so far as known, the only one on board, 
 besides the gun crew, who could load and fire 
 the three-pounder. He had begged so persist-
 
 112 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 -ently to be shown how that the men had 
 humored him. It seems he thought he might be 
 made a gun captain on the next trip." 
 
 "But how did he come to be hidin' there 
 under the canvas ? " I asks. 
 
 "Couldn't we pass over that?" says Pinck- 
 ney. "Suppose he did begin the fight badly 
 he ended it nobly enough. Not Ulysses himself 
 could have won to a more glorious end." 
 
 "That's right," says I. "It was a man's 
 finish. Huh! Todd! Who'd have thought it 
 was in him?"
 
 vn 
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 
 
 "SHORTY,'* says Sadie here the other night, 
 "I hope you remember that day after to-morrow 
 will be the nineteenth?" 
 
 "No," says I, "I can't remember that far 
 ahead. 
 
 "But you know what I mean," says Sadie. 
 
 "Maybe I can guess," says I. "You're pre- 
 dictin' it will be Saturday, too." 
 
 "And I suppose that's all it is to you?" says 
 she, sighin'. 
 
 " Wrong again, " says I. "See!" And I pro- 
 duces a little white box from my pocket and 
 passes it over. 
 
 " Oh ! " says she, openin 'it. "A wrist watch ! 
 The very thing I'd been thinking of for him. 
 I'm sure he will be pleased with that." 
 
 "He ought to," says I. "Illuminated face, 
 gun metal guard and genuine pig-skin strap, 
 just like the regular doughboys wear. And if 
 he don't use it in football scrimmages it may 
 last him a month. ' ' 
 
 "I suppose Sully is rather young to be given a 
 wrist watch, ' ' hedges Sadie. 
 
 118
 
 114 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "He ain't so young as lie was," says I. 
 "He '11 be ten Saturday." 
 
 "Just think, Shorty! Ten years old 
 Sully!" And Sadie stares into the fireplace. 
 
 "That's what's bound to happen to young- 
 sters, if they're lucky," says I. 
 
 "I know," says she, "and we " 
 
 "Ah, cheer up, old girl," says I. "We ain't 
 quite in the antique class yet. Several skip 
 stops before we get to forty. Let 's forget that 
 and stick to this big event of Sully 's. Goin' to 
 celebrate for him in some way, I expect?" 
 
 Sadie admits that she's planned a little party. 
 
 "That's the stuff!" says I. "All the kids in 
 the neighborhood, I expect? That is, all but the 
 Honorable Peggy. Too bad she can't be in on 
 it, too. His first girl, at that. " 
 
 "Yes," says Sadie, "I'm afraid he won't 
 think it much of a party without Peggy. I don 't 
 see, though, just what I can do." 
 
 I didn't, either. For who were we to break in 
 where the Purdy-Pells and the Boomer-Days 
 was shut out? You see, we'd acquired some 
 mighty swell neighbors durin' the past six or 
 eight months. Oh my, yes ! The ones who leased 
 the Knight place. And we 'd always thought the 
 De Forest Knights was top notchers, in their 
 way; owned Mexican gold mines, sported two 
 men in livery on the limousine, had been oper- 
 ated on by the Mayo brothers all that sort of
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 115 
 
 thing. Their four acres of shore frontage was 
 next above my little strip of sea wall, you know. 
 
 But a couple of years ago, when something 
 happened to shut off the dividends from the 
 gold mines, the De Forest Knights took a sud- 
 den slump. Kind of tough luck, too, for they 
 always nodded pleasant enough as they passed, 
 and once or twice De Forest gave me a lift up 
 from the station. All of a sudden, though, they 
 did a fadeaway. Just disappeared. I heard 
 how they was livin' in one side of a two-fam'ly 
 house in Philadelphia. And for months there 
 was a big "For Sale or Rent" sign up on the 
 fancy iron gates. 
 
 Then came the Eedingtons. For a spell there 
 was quite a mystery about this tall, spruce party 
 with the grayish mustache who walked with a 
 limp in his left leg. Some thought he was an 
 English plute who'd come over here to dodge 
 usin' a meat and bread card. But in a little 
 place like Rockhurst-on-the-Sound things get 
 around. It finally comes out that he 's Sir Hart- 
 ley Redington, who's been sent over on some 
 important government job shipping, most 
 likely, or army supplies. That's as far as we 
 got. 
 
 For Sir Hartley is a poor mixer. He could 
 come nearer walkin' right over you without 
 seein' you than anyone I'd ever just missed 
 meetin' before. Nothing folksy about Sir Hart-
 
 116 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 ley. Not even a mornin' nod as he saw me 
 comin' out of my gates, no more'n a hundred 
 feet from his. Course, I didn't chew my nails 
 or grind my teeth over a little thing like that. 
 'Specially after I heard how Commodore Dick 
 Woods had been stung when he hailed Sir Hart- 
 ley jovial on the station platform one mornin' 
 and suggested that he 'd like to put up his name 
 for the Yacht Club. 
 
 "Beg pardon," says Sir Hartley, givin' him 
 the cold eye, "but I don't care to join any club, 
 sir." 
 
 "Oh, well," as I suggests to the Commodore, 
 "maybe we can worry along without his royal 
 sirness." 
 
 But Mrs. Boomer-Day got the hardest bump 
 of all. Course, she 'd rushed right over and left 
 cards shortly after the movin' vans had un- 
 loaded, and then she proceeds to organize what 
 she calls a garden party, even havin' a white 
 throne-effect built where Sir Hartley and Lady 
 Eedington could have the neighbors presented 
 to 'em. And I understand she and Mrs. Purdy- 
 Pell almost went to the mat over who should 
 and who shouldn't be invited. But when the big 
 day came the Redingtons took no more notice 
 of it than as if their engraved card had been 
 an auction hand-bill tossed on the front porch. 
 They didn't come and they sent no word. 
 
 From this and other hints folks got the idea
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 117 
 
 that the Kedingtons wanted to be left alone. 
 Someone discovered that the black band Sir 
 Hartley wore on his left sleeve was for two 
 younger brothers that had been lost at Ypres, 
 so the knockers gradually let up. But nobody 
 was left with nerve enough to breeze through 
 the Eedington gates again, not even to sell 
 tickets for Eed Cross benefits. And with all the 
 social climbers we got out here you can imagine 
 how hard that must have been on some of 'em. 
 
 That's what gave Sadie such a gaspin' spell 
 when she discovers how thick little Sully is get- 
 tin' with little Miss Kedington. You know 
 there 's a bathing beach on the Knight place and 
 while our old neighbors owned it Sully used to 
 make himself as much at home there as if it was 
 his own back yard. Him and the Knight young- 
 ster had a spring board rigged up and a float 
 anchored off, and what them two kids didn't 
 learn about swimmin' and divin' wasn't worth 
 knowin'. 'Specially Sully. Why, he was doin' 
 the Australian crawl before he was eight and 
 the way he could sport around in the water 
 would make a porpoise look like an amateur. 
 
 He was some disgusted boy, too, when he 
 finds that the only young person our new neigh- 
 bors has in the family is a girl. But that don't 
 last long. After he's seen her do one dive from 
 the float he gets into his bathing suit, jumps off 
 the sea wall and swims right over to join in the
 
 118 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 fun. I understand the governess in charge tried 
 to drive him home, but the young miss wouldn't 
 stand for it. Later on we got his report on the 
 young lady. 
 
 ' * Say, pop, ' ' he confides to me one day, ' ' she 's 
 a reg 'lar person, that girl next door. Y 'otta see 
 her do a back-flop. An' I'm showin' her the 
 barrel-roll an' a lot of stunts." 
 
 ' ' What 's the young lady 's name ? ' ' says I. 
 
 "Ah, she ain't no young lady," says Sully. 
 "Only a couple months older 'n me. She's just 
 Peggy. Know what that old prune face gov- 
 erness calls her, though? The Hon'rable Mar- 
 jorie! I heard her tell the chauffeur that 'the 
 Hon'rable Marjorie wasn't through with her 
 bawth.' Wouldn't that crust you? Like she 
 was a congressman or sump'n. Where do you 
 expect she gets that stuff?" 
 
 "It's by me, Sully," says I. "I ain't mixed 
 much with the nobility myself. ' ' 
 
 "Gee!" says Sully, "there ain't anything 
 stuck up about Peggy, take it from me. Course, 
 she does pull a funny line of talk; sayin' how 
 she feels top-hole, and tellin' me I needn't 
 swank around or carry so much side about my 
 swimmin'. Stuff like that. And she laughs at 
 things I say, too. Think of that! But she's 
 right there when it comes to playin' games. 
 'Most as good as Bob Knight was. ' ' 
 
 I didn't want to tell Sully so, but I was lookin'
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 119 
 
 for him to come home one of these days with 
 his mouth down, after an interview with Sir 
 Hartley or Lady Redington. Nothing like that 
 happened, though. Either they left such mat- 
 ters to the governess to settle, or else they 
 didn't want the youngster to be as lonesome as 
 they were. Besides, the Honorable Peggy 
 looked like she could put up quite an argument 
 for herself, in case it was needed. 
 
 She 's a slim, graceful young party, with black 
 hair and black eyes, and as well tanned as an 
 old boot. Mostly she wore a one-piece bathin' 
 suit and when it wasn't that she romped around 
 in khaki knickers. And with that box cut on 
 her hair you could hardly tell whether she was 
 a boy or a girl. If Sully could show her how to 
 bat up flies with a baseball, she could give him 
 points on cricket and lawn bowlin', and when it 
 came to handlin' a tennis racket I judge that 
 Sully was a poor second. 
 
 Anyway, they put in a lively summer, and 
 that governess must have earned her pay fol- 
 io win' 'em round. It suited Sadie all right be- 
 cause Sully wasn't all the time gettin' mixed 
 up in scraps and mischief with the village boys. 
 I expect she was kind of tickled, too, at 
 the way Sully had crashed in with the aristoc- 
 racy. 
 
 4 ' I believe he 's getting quite fond of the Hon- 
 orable Peggy," she remarks once.
 
 120 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 11 Ain't you beginnin' kind of early to work up 
 a romance for the youngster!" I asks. 
 
 "How absurd, Shorty!" says she. "It is 
 only that I am glad he's finding out that girls 
 aren't quite such despisable creatures as he 
 used to think they were. You know, he has been 
 rather " 
 
 "I know," says I. "He's all boy, Sully; 
 maybe a little rough and noisy, but not such a 
 poor specimen at that, eh?" 
 
 Which gets a fond smile out of Sadie. "I am 
 sure that neither of us overlooks any of his good 
 points," says she, "but it's hardly the best 
 taste for us to mention them." 
 
 I agree to that. Still, maybe I can sort of 
 throw off casual and modest that if there's any 
 ten-year-old in Eockhurst or the adjoinin' sub- 
 urbs that has got Sully beat we'd like to see 
 him. Course, maybe some would object to the 
 curl in his reddish-brown hair, or the freckles, 
 or point out that his nose was a bit snubbed. 
 But I notice that when he springs that cherub 
 smile of his and lets 'em have the full effect of 
 them Killarney blue eyes well, you should hear 
 some of the women rave. Them's his company 
 manners. Outside of that I'll admit he's a 
 young tarrier. 
 
 They made a great team, him and the Hon- 
 orable Peggy. She 's an inch or so taller maybe, 
 but Sully is stockier built, and from the very
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 121 
 
 start they seemed to get along well together. 
 It's the first summer for two or three years that 
 Sully ain't showed up home about every so often 
 with scratches on his face or a lump under one 
 eye. Also it's the first vacation when I ain't 
 had to apologize to some fond mamma for the 
 rough way he's used her little pet. About all 
 the notice he 'd ever taken of girls before was in 
 thinkin' up ingenious ways of tormentin' 'em 
 pullin' out their hair ribbons, chasin' 'em with 
 dead snakes, and so on. 
 
 Whether he tried any of them tactics on 
 Peggy or not we couldn't tell, for they did all 
 their playin' over on her grounds, except when 
 they'd jog down to town in the pony cart, after 
 sodas and candy. If he did put over any rough 
 stuff I expect he got back as good as he sent. 
 All through July and August he was there about 
 every day. Sometimes he'd stay for tea and 
 drift home about five-thirty with his face 
 smeared with jam and no appetite for dinner. 
 
 "Whaddye know?" he announces once. 
 "They don't eat dinner until after eight and 
 Peggy has to go to bed at half-past seven. 
 Ain't that fierce?" 
 
 ''It's quite English," says Sadie. "I think 
 you ought to do that, too." 
 
 "Aw gee! Have a heart!" says Sully. 
 "Nine's bad enough." 
 
 Even after school opens and the football
 
 122 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 season begins Snlly still finds time to see more 
 or less of Peggy, and when he don't get over 
 she comes to the hedge and whistles for him. I 
 notice he's generally ready to drop things and 
 go, too. 
 
 So it does seem kind of tough that she can't 
 be in on his birthday party. I was expectin' 
 him to pnt up a howl about it, but when we're 
 goin' over the names all the suggestions he has 
 to make is about a few of his football bunch that 
 he wants invited. 
 
 " Don't forget Plug Connors and Joe Sarello 
 and Mutt Marsuvian," he puts in. 
 
 Sadie glances at me hopeless. "Is is it 
 necessary to include them!" she asks. 
 
 "You know this ain't exactly a convention of 
 Allies we're arrangin' for," I suggests. 
 
 "Ah, they'd be sore if they didn't get asked," 
 says Sully. "Might not let me be quarterback 
 any more. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, very well," says I. "So long as we 
 don't have to have any Serbs or Greeks or 
 Polackers. We don't want to give Master 
 Percey Boomer-Day and the others too hard a 
 jolt." 
 
 "Ah, say!" protests Sully. "Have we gotta 
 have Sissy Day and all them mollycoddles?" 
 
 Sadie insists that we have, so the debate ends 
 fifty-fifty, in a compromise. But never a word 
 said about the Honorable Peggy.
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 123 
 
 When I comes home Friday night though I 
 notice that Sadie has her chin in the air and is 
 smilin' sort of triumphant. 
 
 "You can't guess what I've done, Shorty," 
 says she. 
 
 " Buffaloed the grocer into lettin' you have 
 some extra sugar ? ' ' says I. 
 
 She shakes her head. "I've been over and 
 called on Lady Redington, ' ' says she. 
 
 "The nerve of you!" says I. "Did they sic 
 the dog on you, or what f ' ' 
 
 "She was very nice," says Sadie. "She is 
 going to let the Honorable Peggy come to the 
 party. Perhaps she '11 drop in herself for a little 
 while. And I left an invitation for Sir Hartley, 
 too." 
 
 ' ' Hal-lup ! ' ' says I. ' ' Why not cable for King 
 George?" 
 
 "Of course," adds Sadie, "I've no idea Sir 
 Hartley will accept, but I thought I might as 
 well ask him. Mr. and Mrs. Purdy-Pell will be 
 here, you know, and the Boomer-Days ; and even 
 if neither of the Eedingtons appear, I think it's 
 nice of her to let the little girl come. I'm not 
 going to tell Sully. We'll surprise him with 
 her." 
 
 "He'll be tickled, all right," says I. 
 
 Well, the affair started the way kid parties 
 generally do, with a few of the early comers 
 sittin' around gigglin'; boys on one side, girls
 
 124 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 on the other, and nobody able to get 'em to- 
 gether. Then Sully gets his eyes on the Irish- 
 Italian- Armenian football squad, who have been 
 hangin' around outside bashful for half an hour. 
 He lets loose a yell and rushes out to tow 'em 
 in. And of course they starts rough housin' in 
 the front hall until Sadie marches 'em in where 
 the girls are and they quiet down like they'd 
 been put under arrest. 
 
 Accordin' to Sadie's program there was to 
 be dancin' first, so I feeds a one-step into the 
 music machine and tells 'em to go to it. Which 
 Master Percey and a few of the other nice little 
 boys does prompt. Not Sully though. He can 
 dance as well as any of 'em, and usually does; 
 but now he sits between Mutt Marsuvian and 
 Joe Sarello, entertainin' 'em with sarcastic 
 remarks. 
 
 "Why, Sully!" says Sadie. "Can't you find 
 a little partner!" 
 
 "Nah!" says Sully. "I ain't gonna 
 dance. ' ' 
 
 About then there 's a stir at the front door and 
 in comes some fresh arrivals. I took one look 
 and nearly does a duck behind the music box. 
 For here's Sir Hartley, all dolled up in striped 
 pants, gray spats and a black frock coat, with 
 a splash of colored ribbon pinned across the 
 front war decorations, I judge. Behind him 
 is Lady Eedington, costumed simple in white
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 125 
 
 and black, and leadin' by the hand the Hon- 
 orable Peggy. 
 
 Say, I thought for a minute there that Mrs. 
 Boomer-Day was goin' to throw a cat-fit, but 
 she comes out of it beamin' and almost parts a 
 corset lacin' when she's presented. I might 
 have had a lot of fun folio win' her motions if 
 I hadn't got a glimpse of Sully. He has his 
 toes turned in and his head hung down, but his 
 eyes are rolled up so that he can get a good 
 view of Peggy, and he's starin' for all he's 
 worth. 
 
 You could hardly blame him, for it's some 
 change that has come over the Honorable 
 Peggy. Maybe it's because we'd always seen 
 her in riding togs or knockabout costumes. 
 And there ain't anything elaborate about what 
 she's got on now, only she looks so much more 
 dainty and girlish than I'd imagine she could. 
 
 "What a little beauty!" I hears Mrs. Purdy- 
 Pell gasp admiring. 
 
 In the meantime I was hearin' a little of this 
 pretty speech Lady Eedington was gettin' off 
 to Sadie about * ' her adorable little son who has 
 been such a charming, manly playfellow for 
 dear Marjorie." 
 
 Then she turns to Peggy and remarks : f l Now, 
 dearie, run and dance with the others." 
 
 Peggy seems willin' enough. She stands 
 there lookin' sweet and smilin', waitin' for some
 
 126 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 of the boys to ask her. But they didn't seem to 
 dare. Even Master Percey Boomer-Day don't 
 quite have the nerve. So she's left staudin' 
 alone at one side. Most youngsters would have 
 flushed up, or sidled pouty into a corner. But 
 nothing like that from the Honorable Peggy. 
 She spots Sully over at the far end of the room 
 and makes straight for him. 
 
 "Please, Sully," says she, haltin' in front of 
 the mixed quartette, ''can't we have a dance?" 
 
 And there it was, up to Sully. Here on either 
 side was his rough-neck friends, who had the 
 say as to who played quarterback and who 
 didn't, and who rated kids that danced with 
 girls in about the same class as the ones who 
 took piano lessons or collected stamps. They 
 was snickerin', too. And then again there was 
 Peggy, her sparklin' black eyes watchin' him 
 expectant and her slim, graceful figure swayin' 
 to the music. 
 
 "Ah, why not?" says Sully, gettin' up. 
 
 And knowin' something about just what that 
 decision meant to Sully I decides it 's a little the 
 nerviest play I'd ever seen him make. Off they 
 go, swingin' and turnin' in perfect time, like it 
 was something they'd practiced together for 
 months. The three in the corner stops snick- 
 erin' and watches with their mouths open. 
 
 "Chee!" I hears young Sarello remark, 
 " they 're some swell steppers, ain't they?"
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 127 
 
 He wasn't the only one that was takin' notice 
 of this particular couple, either. I see Lady 
 Redington watchin' 'em approvin'. Even Sir 
 Hartley gives 'em a smile as they float past. 
 I was gettin' a bit chesty myself over the way 
 Sully was showin' up as a parlor performer 
 when the piece stops sudden. Master Percey 
 and his friends does the usual polite stunt of ap- 
 plaudin' enthusiastic for an encore. But it 
 looks like Sully had used up his entire stock of 
 good behavior, for he drops Peggy in the middle 
 of the floor and comes sidlin' back sheepish to 
 his bunch. 
 
 "Hey, Sully," demands Plug Connors, 
 "who's yer goil?" 
 
 "Aw, shut up!" says Sully. 
 
 "Wotcher quittin' for?" asks Mutt. "Yon 
 was doin' fine." 
 
 "Huh!" says Sully. "Ditch the kiddin' or 
 I'll hand you one. Come on fellers, let's get the 
 ball and go through some signal work. Eh I" 
 
 I didn't know whether to interfere or not, so 
 I lets 'em slip out into the hall. In a minute or 
 two they was at it. Meanwhile, the Honorable 
 Peggy has tossed her head independent and 
 drifted out by the door. I'd sort of followed 
 along in case I should be needed to save any of 
 the furniture from bein' wrecked so I was on 
 hand when the thing happened. 
 
 Peggy had been watchin' these fake rushes
 
 128 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 they was makin' for two or three minutes. You 
 could tell she was gettin' kind of interested by 
 the way she got up on her toes and held her 
 fingers gripped, but I didn't look for her to butt 
 in. First thing I know though, she jumps out as 
 the ball is snapped back to Sully and calls to 
 him: 
 
 ' ' Here, Sully ! To me, now ! ' ' 
 
 There's an answerin' twinkle in Sully 's eyes 
 and he makes a neat pass over the heads of his 
 squad. Peggy catches the ball fair, balances a 
 second on her toes, and then sings out defiant : 
 
 "Catch me if you can," and is off like a 
 whippet after a rat. 
 
 They don't need any urgin', that collection of 
 young hicks. No girl was goin' to get the best 
 of them at their own game. With a chorus of 
 howls they follows. In through the livin'-room, 
 where the dance is still going on, they dashes, 
 spillin' one couple complete and shovin' others 
 against the wall. 
 
 And then the Honorable Peggy gives as fine 
 an exhibition of shifty footwork as you seldom 
 see. She Sucks and dodges, first this way and 
 then that, shakes off the tackles and gets clear 
 with a ripply little laugh. And it's only when 
 Plug Connors organizes the interference by get- 
 tin' his crowd spread out fan-shaped that they 
 got her cornered. Even at that she makes a 
 dashin' try to break through. I ain't sure but
 
 SULLY AT A SKIP STOP 129 
 
 she'd made it too, only Master Boomer-Day, in 
 his panicky attempt not to get mixed up in the 
 affair, has to stumble right in her way. That's 
 how it was he goes to the bottom of the heap 
 when Mutt and Plug executes their flyin' jump 
 that ended Peggy's forty-yard dash around the 
 end. 
 
 Course, by then some of the ladies were 
 squealin' excited and we had to put the ban on 
 football practice. Master Percey had nearly 
 lost his nice white collar and most of his wind 
 by the time he could be fished out, but the Hon- 
 orable Peggy scrambles to her feet hardly 
 mussed at all. 
 
 ''Well, you got me," she admits, springin' 
 that laugh of hers. 
 
 "If it had been on a field though," says Plug 
 Connors, "you'd made a touch down, sure. 
 Some girl!" 
 
 I was wonderin' whether the Kedingtons was 
 gapin' for breath or sufferin' from shock, but I 
 finds them lookin' on kind of amused, as if they 
 was used to that sort of thing from Peggy. 
 
 It was a wise move of Sadie's to spring the 
 ice cream and cake just about then. It quieted 
 things down a lot, and I noticed that Sully 
 didn't need any promptin' as to who he ought 
 to take into the dinin'-room with him. He grabs 
 Peggy by the hand and tells her to "get in on 
 the eats. ' ' There was more dancin ' afterwards,
 
 and always in the middle of it you'd see Sully 
 and Peggy. I didn't hear him apologizin' again 
 to the football squad for it, either. 
 
 It wasn't until the affair is all over and every- 
 one had gone home though, that we gets a true 
 slant on this buddin' romance. Sadie brings it 
 out by sayin' how Lady Redington tells her 
 they're leavin' the States for good next week 
 and are goin' back to England. 
 
 "Isn't that too bad, Sully?" she asks. 
 
 ' ' Huh ! ' ' says Sully. ' I knew. ' ' 
 
 "But you'll miss Peggy, won't you?" she 
 insists. 
 
 ' ' Nah ! ' ' says Sully careless. 
 
 "Why, Sully!" protests Sadie. 
 
 "I guess you don't know what a lot that girl 
 cost me this summer," says Sully. "Always 
 takin' a fifteen-cent plate of ice cream instead of 
 a cone. Gee ! Besides, if the fellers think you 
 gotta girl they'll kid you to death. I'm glad 
 she's goin'." And Sully walks off lookin' 
 bored. 
 
 "The little wretch!" gasps Sadie. 
 
 "All boy," says I. "And I expect the inter- 
 national alliance stuff is called off ; eh, Sadie ? ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps," says she, "yet who knows?" 
 And she goes on starin' dreamy into the fire- 
 place. 
 
 Ain't that the female of it, though?
 
 vin 
 
 A SLANT AT THE COMERS 
 
 I'D just finished a half -hour session with the 
 Honorable Thaddeus Cor son, durin' which I was 
 supposed to be tellin' him what was the best 
 kind of exercises to take for a Wall Street liver 
 and a Union League digestion. Anyway, that 
 was what I was bein' paid for. 
 
 As a matter of fact, I hadn't been tellin' the 
 Honorable Thaddeus much of anything. He'd 
 been tellin' me. Oh, yes ; I'd been favored with 
 a full account of his case, from the way his 
 tongue looked in the mornin', to that heavy 
 feelin' he had after dinner. 
 
 Surprisin' what a lot of these old plutes are 
 that way. They've made good at something or 
 other, jugglin' suburban and country trolley 
 properties was Corson's specialty, and be- 
 cause they've broken into the seven-figure class 
 they hand themselves the pleasin' fiction that 
 they're wise in the head on any subject that 
 comes up. 
 
 As for me, I kids him along and don't disturb 
 his happy dreams. I was willin' to admit that 
 he did know the trolley game fairly well. Must 
 
 131
 
 132 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 have, to keep on buckin' the big syndicates and 
 not get squeezed out. Short lines was his fea- 
 ture; independents, small-town stuff. He was 
 fond of tellin' how he got hold of his first con- 
 trollin' interest by swappin' a mortgage on a 
 run-down gas plant for five miles of wabbly 
 track, half a dozen punk cars and a twenty- 
 year franchise. ' Now he owned 'em all over the 
 lot up in New England, down in Jersey, and as 
 far west as Iowa. 
 
 You'd never guess it, to look at him, either. 
 Kind of a simple-looking leather-faced old 
 Rube. And in that dusty black Stetson, the 
 slate-gray frock-coat and the striped trousers, 
 you 'd probably have sized him up for some vil- 
 lage banker or Cayuga County senator. He had 
 served a couple of terms in the Assembly from 
 an up-State district, hence the Honorable. 
 
 He'd been comin' to the Physical Culture 
 Studio, on and off, for a couple of years, mostly 
 durin' the winter, when he missed gettin' out 
 and showin' his gardeners how to trim hedges 
 and plant trees. So I'd heard a good deal, first 
 hand, about how much he knew. Maybe that's 
 why I turns him over to Swifty Joe so prompt, 
 strolls out into the front office, and shuts the 
 door behind me. 
 
 I finds someone waitin': a tall, loose built 
 young gent, wearin' thick eye-glasses. Quite 
 a spiffy dressed party he is, with his fawn-
 
 A SLANT AT THE COMERS 133 
 
 colored gaiters and his yellow gloves, and lie's 
 leanin' jaunty on a crook-handled walkin '-stick, 
 gazin' out one of the front windows. 
 
 "Ah!" says he, swingin' round. "Professor 
 McCabe?" 
 
 "No other, "says I. 
 
 "I suppose, then," says he, "that father is 
 about through in there?" And he nods to- 
 wards the gym. 
 
 "Eh?" says I. "Sure you got the right 
 shop? I haven't seen anybody round here that 
 I'd guess you'd call father." 
 
 1 1 1 think you have, ' ' he goes on. ' * Thaddeus 
 Corson, for instance. I'm Thad Corson, Jr." 
 
 * ' One on me, ' ' says I. ' ' You must take more 
 after your mother than after the old man." 
 
 "I suppose I do," says he, "in more ways 
 than one. It is a favorite topic of father's." 
 And he shrugs his shoulders. "I merely 
 stepped in," goes on Thad, "because I missed 
 finding father at the office. Thought I'd pick 
 him up on the way home. ' ' 
 
 "You're just in time," says I. "He'll be out 
 in a couple of minutes. ' ' 
 
 And, while he's consumin' a cigarette and 
 gazin' out on to Forty-second Street, I couldn't 
 help checkin' him up with Thaddeus, Sr. What 
 a difference there is, sometimes. Now, here's 
 this young sport with his long, pale face, full 
 eyes, his narrow stooped shoulders and his easy
 
 134 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 dra win '-room manners. "Why, he's about as 
 much like his old man as a spray of lilies-of-the- 
 valley is like a sunflower. 
 
 The minute his father steps into the front 
 office and sees him, he lets out a snort. 
 
 ' ' Huh ! ' ' says he. * ' So you 're back, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," says young Thad. " I I'll tell 
 you about it after we get home." 
 
 ' ' Oh, let 's have it, ' ' says Corson. ' ' Come on ! 
 Out with it!" 
 
 "But, Dad!" protests Thaddeus, Jr., glancin' 
 at me. "Couldn't we save this until after 
 dinner?" 
 
 Another snort from Corson. 
 
 "Bah!" says he. "McCabe won't mind. 
 And I'm curious to know just how badly you've 
 fallen down this trip." 
 
 The youngster hunches his shoulders. 
 
 "I couldn't do a thing out there, Dad," says 
 he. 
 
 "You mean you didn't," says the other. 
 ' ' But why why ? That 's what I want to know. 
 What's your alibi!" 
 
 "They're against us, that's all," says young 
 Thad. "They don't intend to renew our fran- 
 chise on anything like the same terms. They 
 mean to raise our taxes, make us pay a per- 
 centage on gross receipts, and perhaps let in a 
 competitive line. " 
 
 1 1 Oh, they mean all that, do they ! ' ' says Thad-
 
 A SLANT AT THE COMERS 135 
 
 dens, Sr., his smolderin' little eyes flarin' up 
 combative. "How about what I told you to do 
 with the city council ? ' ' 
 
 "No use," says young Thad. "Eeform ad- 
 ministration two Socialists among the lot. 
 You know that newspaper you took the adver- 
 tising away from for printing a story about the 
 grade-crossing smash last fall? Well, they've 
 been pounding you ever since, stirring up public 
 sentiment against the company. And next year 
 matters will be worse. They're going to make 
 you an issue in the coming city election. I went 
 over the whole situation with our local attor- 
 neys. They admitted that things looked squally. 
 And, as I failed to see how I could do anything 
 along the lines you suggested well, I came 
 back." 
 
 The Honorable Thaddeus stares at him hos- 
 tile. Then he turns to me. 
 
 "Talk about young blood being needed in 
 business!" says he. "This is a sample. He 
 goes out and lets a sore-head newspaper and a 
 few cheap politicians throw a scare into him; 
 quits cold!" 
 
 "Oh, well," says I, soothin', "they got to 
 learn, I expect." 
 
 "If Thad only would learn!" raps out the old 
 man, pacin' up and down. "Why, look here: 
 I'll bet I could go out there to-morrow, get a 
 line on that bunch of ward heelers, and inside of
 
 136 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 a week have enough of 'em fixed so I'd be mak- 
 ing the city council jump through a hoop. ' ' 
 
 Young Thad don't say a word. He just 
 shakes his head. 
 
 "Eh?" demands Corson. "Think I 
 couldn't?" 
 
 "I think you would be indicted before you 
 could get out of the county." 
 
 "Bah!" says the other. "Maybe you've got 
 some brilliant scheme of your own ? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, what 's the use, Dad ! " says he. * * They 
 wouldn't seem good to you." 
 
 "How'd you guess it?" sneers Corson. 
 
 "Simply because you never have conceded 
 that I could possibly know anything on any sub- 
 ject whatever," comes back young Thad. 
 
 He don't say it messy just states it quiet 
 and patient. 
 
 But Corson blows out his cheeks and glares 
 like he'd been mortally insulted. 
 
 "So that's how you feel about it, eh?" he 
 rants. "Want to give McCabe here the notion 
 that you've got an old tyrant for a father, do 
 you ? That 's your gratitude for all I've tried to 
 do for you ! What do you think of that, Pro- 
 fessor?" 
 
 But I'd had about enough of the old grouch 
 myself. 
 
 "Ah, give the boy a chance," says I. "He 
 might have a hunch ; who knows ? ' '
 
 A SLANT AT THE COMERS 137 
 
 "Very well," says Corson. "Let Mm tell us 
 why he shouldn't have followed my orders. 
 Think I don't know the street-car business, eh?" 
 
 "I am quite sure you did know it once," 
 says young Thad. "But this 'fixing' game is 
 slightly out of date, Dad. It doesn't work as 
 it used to." 
 
 "Oh, doesn't it?" gasps the old man, gettin' 
 purple in the gills. " Then what would ? Let's 
 hear what you'd do instead. Or would you 
 make a present of the line to the city and tell 
 'em to run it as a public charity?" 
 
 "If you wish," says young Thad, "I will give 
 you the facts in this particular instance. As 
 you know, the company hasn't paid a dividend 
 in the last three years. The rolling stock is in 
 bad shape cars dirty and shabby, half of them 
 with flat wheels, and all of them rickety. Then, 
 there's the power plant, with a set of patched- 
 up engines that are coal-eaters and energy- 
 wasters." 
 
 "Huh!" grumbles Corson, actin' sort of 
 jarred. "I suppose you would give that one- 
 horse town a metropolitan outfit?" 
 
 "Not precisely that," says Thad. 
 
 "Well, well! Just what would you do?" 
 
 "In what capacity?" asks Thaddeus, Jr. 
 "As office-boy, for instance?" 
 
 "No; as general manager," raps out Corson. 
 
 "Do do you mean it?" says the other.
 
 138 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Why not?" says Corson. "If I'm an old 
 fossil, I ought to know it; and if I'm not, per- 
 haps it will be worth what it costs to prove it 
 to my son. Yes, I'll make you the G.M. I'll 
 give you a year, full swing. But I must know 
 something of your program, cf course. ' ' 
 
 "Certainly," says young Thad, producin' a 
 notebook. "You see, I had jotted down a few 
 things, just for my own satisfaction. First, I 
 would instal a new Corliss, so that we could 
 keep our schedules. Then I'd paint and repair 
 the cars, one at a time, perhaps adding three or 
 four new ones of the pay-as-you-enter type. At 
 the same time, I would start a publicity cam- 
 paign big ads. in both papers, assuring our 
 patrons that w r e were there to give them service, 
 first, last, and all the time. There's a young 
 reporter on the Herald out there, a chap who 
 was a classmate of mine, who can write that 
 sort of thing with either hand. Yes, I know that 
 is the paper which has been roasting us. But 
 we 'd forget that. So w r ould they, after our ad. 
 contract was signed. And I should hope, within 
 a month or so, to have public sentiment with us 
 instead of against us; then I wouldn't care 
 about the city council. It 's an entirely different 
 policy, I know ; but 
 
 "Yes, yes," breaks in Corson. "It's the fad 
 just now soothing syrup stuff. Make 'em be-
 
 A SLANT AT THE COMERS 139 
 
 lieve you 're running your business to suit them 
 instead of yourself. ' ' 
 
 Young Thad indulges in a quiet smile. 
 
 "I suppose you wanted to try out new 
 methods when you first started!" 
 
 "MeT '.says the old man. "Why, I began 
 with a cable line, and in six months I'd changed 
 it to an overhead trolley first in the State. 
 Some of the directors thought I was crazy. But 
 I'd studied it all out; I knew what I was doing. 
 You, though! "Why, you've been out of college 
 barely two years. ' ' 
 
 "Just look who's been coaching me all that 
 time though, Dad, ' ' puts in Thad. 
 
 "There, now! None of your blarney," says 
 Corson, slappin' the youngster playful on the 
 shoulder. "But you shall have a shot at it, 
 son a year's try-out. And if you can show the 
 old man any new tricks well, we'll see." 
 
 And off they goes, arm in arm which was a 
 happier finish than I'd looked for when they 
 starts in. 
 
 Bein' as how I'd taken part in the original 
 debate, old Corson sort of counted me in on the 
 deal. 
 
 "Wasn't it you urged me to give the boy a 
 show?" he demands, next time he came to the 
 Studio. "Well, I've done it. He's in full 
 charge out there now, with two hundred thou-
 
 140 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 sand to finance his schemes. I'll bet he sinks 
 every dollar. ' ' 
 
 1 'What's the stock quoted at now!" says I. 
 
 "Around 68," says he. 
 
 "Just as a flier," says I, "I'll go long on a 
 hundred shares of your holdings at that figure." 
 
 "You will?" says he, gawpin' at me. "By 
 George, I'll take you, McCabe !" And I handed 
 over a margin check on the spot. 
 
 Must have been about a month later when he 
 comes in chucklin'. 
 
 "You would back young blood!" says he. 
 "Noticed where your trolley stock has slumped 
 to!" 
 
 I said I hadn't. 
 
 "Fifty-six," says he. "Had to pass another 
 semi-annual. And there 's a minority committee 
 applyin ' for an injunction. ' ' 
 
 "That don't mean much to me," says I, "but 
 I'll stay with it. I'll cover. Ain't got his 
 schemes to runnin' yet, eh!" 
 
 "Oh, he's pulling the soothing syrup act, all 
 right, ' ' says Corson. * ' Spending three hundred 
 a week on newspaper space. It's smooth talk, 
 too. You'd think he was not only undertaking 
 to carry his passengers home, but to put 'em to 
 bed and shake the furnace mornings. He 's buf- 
 faloed the city council so soon. They'll renew 
 the charter most likely, and he 's worked 'em for 
 two new turnouts. I understand he's main-
 
 A SLANT AT THE COMERS 141 
 
 taining a ten-minute schedule to three miles be- 
 yond the city limits for a single fare. That may 
 be good philanthropy, but it isn't good busi- 
 ness." 
 
 Next I heard from Corson, he calls up to can- 
 cel his afternoon session, and he talks puffy and 
 excited. 
 
 "I've got to go out and see what that boy's 
 up to," says he. 
 
 "Been plungin', has he?" I asks. 
 
 "That hardly describes it," says Corson. 
 1 ' Say, what do you think? He 's planning to lay 
 four more miles of track and has ordered ten 
 new cars. In these times! Why, he'll bank- 
 rupt me, at this rate. Know what rails cost 
 now? And grading and ties? Suffering Laz- 
 arus! That's what I get for turning a boy 
 loose." 
 
 He shows up a week later, wearin' a grin. 
 
 "Well," says I, "did you block him off?" 
 
 "No," says he, "I didn't. Instead of that, 
 I've come back to float a bond issue for him. 
 Know what Thad 's done ? He 's plannin ' to give 
 the city a new amusement park. Yes, sir. He's 
 organized his company, got options on a hun- 
 dred acres of land, and has started extending 
 his line. Seems he found a real pretty little 
 lake out there, and a pine grove where people 
 have been in the habit of driving out for picnics. 
 Well, he's gobbled up the whole thing, and by
 
 142 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 the Fourth of July he'll have a regular little 
 Coney Island in full blast. Halfway out he's 
 got more options, and is promoting a nice little 
 suburb with a golf and country club on the side. 
 See? Making business for the line. And in- 
 stead of running half empty cars he '11 have 'em 
 crowded most of the time. Why, I'll bet that 
 Sundays and holidays he'll have to carry ten 
 thousand people. That's going to mean rev- 
 enue. ' ' 
 
 "And maybe dividends?" I suggests. 
 
 "Bound to come," says Corson. Then he 
 stops and scratches his head. "And to think 
 of Thad just a boy, as you might say work- 
 ing out schemes like that which I Well, 
 
 I'll have to own up, I wouldn't have thought of 
 'em in a thousand years. And this is my game, 
 too, the one I've made my pile at. Oh, Thad 
 stumbled into luck, that's all. In the long run, 
 it's us old fellows who can be depended on." 
 
 "Sometimes," says I. "But mostly I'm 
 backin ' the comers. ' ' 
 
 "You'll lose out, then," says Corson. 
 
 "Think so?" says I. "By the way, how are 
 those shares standing the strain?" 
 
 " Oh ! " says he. ' ' Of course, with all that new 
 business in sight, they're on the jump. I look 
 for 'em to touch par inside of six months. In 
 fact, McCabe, I'll give you a thousand to close 
 our little deal, right now. ' '
 
 A SLANT AT THE COMERS 143 
 
 " Listens good to me," says I. "I'll soak it 
 into some real certificates of that company 
 young Thad's runnin'." 
 
 And as we breaks away we was both grinnin'. 
 
 When I got home that night, I starts to tell 
 Sadie about what I'd pinched off; but she cuts 
 in with a report about little Sully. Seems he 
 was demandin' a pair of hockey skates. 
 
 "I don't think he ought to have them," says 
 she. "Hockey is such a rough game. I wish 
 you would talk him out of the notion, Shorty." 
 
 * ' Sure I will, ' ' says I. 
 
 I went about it real vigorous, too, pointin' out 
 that we knew what was good for him a heap 
 better 'n he did. 
 
 "Aw r , Pop!" he protests. "Jes' 'cause you 
 didn't uster play hockey yourself! A lot you 
 and ma know about it. Shucks ! ' ' 
 
 "Now, listen here, young man," I starts in, 
 "when I tell you a thing once, I want you 
 to " 
 
 Then I stops ; for, someway, just about then 
 I thought of old Corson. 
 
 "Well?" asks Sadie, after the session is over, 
 
 "Eh?" saj-s I, tryin' to look innocent. 
 
 "What about the hockey skates'?" she de- 
 mands. 
 
 "Skates?" says I. "Oh, yes! I promised to 
 get him a pair in town to-morrow."
 
 IX 
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMEK 
 
 NOT that I'm out to scrap any traditions. 
 Nothing like that. As a rule it don't get you 
 anywhere. Besides, when you get used to ex- 
 pectin' certain kinds of parties to act so and so 
 it's disturbin' to have some outsider crash in 
 and point out where this or that Mr. Whosit is 
 runnin' exactly reverse to form. 
 
 It was that sort of smart Aleck stuff this 
 Barney Shaw tried to get away with a while 
 back. You remember. And look where it 
 landed him. One of his plays wouldn't run a 
 month on Broadway now. Then jumpin' to an- 
 other line : These war stories. We want to feel 
 sure right from the start that the noble young 
 gent who has all the earmarks of a slacker, and 
 gets the cruel shunt from his best girl on that 
 account, is really a daredevil Secret Service 
 man who will round up a whole gang of des- 
 perate spies along towards the end. Same way 
 with the poor fish from the gents' furnishing 
 department who seems to have a backbone like 
 a piece of boiled spaghetti and the brain con- 
 sistency of a two-minute egg ; yet when he gets 
 
 144
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMER 145 
 
 to the front turns out to be such a bad actor 
 in a charge that they have to rope him to an 
 ex-gunman to keep him from rushin' beyond 
 the barrage. 
 
 No, traditions like that are glorious and 
 sacred. We've been all of three or four years 
 buildin' 'em up and who am I to horn in and 
 try to kick the underpinnin' away, even in a 
 playful mood. So when I start slippin' you a 
 few facts about Homer Cass I feel like I ought 
 to begin by statin' that this is just a personal 
 and private record which don't need to be 
 counted in on the general dope. And anyway, 
 Homer's ain't what you might call a closed 
 career. He's still in the game, Homer is. That 
 being the case, you never can tell. 
 
 Course, some would judge Homer offhand, 
 and stick to it, like Swifty Joe. I remember 
 just how he did it, although it must have been 
 more'n a year ago. I was in the gym, having 
 put in a stiff forenoon's work on three or four 
 of my reg'lars, mostly overweight brokers 
 who'd gone jumpy in the nerves handlin' a 
 wild cat market. I was scrubbin' up for lunch 
 too, and was part way buttoned into my street 
 togs when Swifty glides in easy and closes the 
 door behind him gentle. 
 
 That's what makes me stop sudden and look 
 up surprised. For as a rule Swifty 's motions 
 are more impetuous. Not that he ain't an Al
 
 146 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 physical culture assistant. He is. Barrin' the 
 cauliflower ear and a few facial blemishes which 
 you get used to after you know him, Mr. Galla- 
 gher is a credit to his profession. He may have 
 a few freckles on his neck and I don't deny his 
 habit of conversin' out of only one side of his 
 mouth at a time, but when I want a first vice- 
 president well lathered up, or some heavy 
 podded general manager needs to be shown how 
 short of wind he is, I turn 'em over to Swifty. 
 
 When it comes to announcin' guests in the 
 front office I expect a young lady secretary or a 
 church usher might do it different. As a gen- 
 eral thing Swifty 's play is to stick his head in 
 the door and sing out throaty: "Hey, Shorty! 
 Guy to see yuh." Maybe it's the head of some 
 trust comp'ny that's discovered he has gouty 
 joints, or perhaps it's a paper towel agent with 
 figures on how to beat the laundry. No fine 
 discriminations for Swifty. They all get the 
 same from him unless it's a case where he's 
 'specially impressed, such as by a three-chinned 
 party in a mink lined overcoat; or again when 
 it's someone whose face doesn't happen to 
 please him. And I could guess by the way he 
 held his nose that this was a time when he 
 hadn't fallen in love at first sight. 
 
 "Say, Professor," he growls from the port 
 side, "they's a poor prune out there callin' for 
 yuh."
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMER 147 
 
 "Is, eh?" says I, tuckin' the ends of my bow 
 tie under a fresh collar. "What makes you 
 think he's that!" 
 
 "Ahr-chee!" Swiftly volleys from starboard. 
 "Don't his map slope both ways from his squir- 
 rel teeth and ain 't he pimpled under the eyes ? ' ' 
 
 "Then it can't be Mr. McAdoo, or General 
 Pershing, either," says I. "Is he young or old, 
 tall or squatty built?" 
 
 "He looks old for twenty-one," says Swifty, 
 "and if his green suit hadn't faded some he'd 
 pass as a human string bean." 
 
 "You're some vivid describer, Swifty," says 
 I. "I don't see how it can be anybody but 
 Homer Cass." 
 
 "Come to think of it," says Swifty, "he did 
 call himself Mr. Cass. Mister, mind you ! And 
 says how it's important." 
 
 "Sure," says I. "If it's anything Homer 
 wants, it is important. Bound to be to him." 
 
 So I don't rush out excited before I has my 
 coat half on. Maybe I took a little more time 
 than usual. As a matter of fact I'd rather have 
 ducked meetin' Homer than not. I'd had that 
 pleasure before, if you'd call it a pleasure. As 
 for me, I could work up lots of before-luncheon 
 pastimes that would suit me better; and I'm no 
 game inventor, at that. 
 
 Oh, yes, Homer wasn't half the stranger I 
 could wish he was. I'd had him on my hands
 
 148 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 more or less for quite some time now. You 
 know how specimens like that get wished onto 
 you. Seems his old man had been in my trainin' 
 camp way back when I pulled down the light- 
 weight championship that night in Denver. 
 And I don't suppose there was one of the gang 
 that didn't confide to me sooner or later, how 
 it was really him who was responsible for my 
 puttin' it over. 
 
 Yet, as I remember, Long Jim Cass had the 
 hard job of handlin' the press bunch and keepin' 
 the boys from gettin' too good a line on my con- 
 dition, so my manager could place the side 
 money at fair odds. He'd been some kind of 
 advance agent before that, travelin' in front of 
 Tom shows and burlesque outfits, and so far as 
 I could see his strong suit was sittin' behind a 
 tub of suds and discoursin' eloquent on what he 
 might have been if he 'd had a chance. 
 
 When he shows up here at the Studio a 
 couple of years back though, and tows in this 
 stringy son of his, I has to fall for the auld 
 lang syne stuff. Jim announces that he's still 
 in the show game, but it turns out he's runnin' 
 an elevator in a theatre buildin'. About what 
 you'd expect of a man who'd load up his boy 
 with a name like Homer. And Mrs. Jim Cass, 
 I understand, had been a second row favorite 
 who'd been lost in the shuffle, leavin' the young- 
 ster for Jim to bring up accordin' to his own
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMER 149 
 
 notions. Which he'd done. At the age of ten 
 Homer had toured around the Middle West as 
 mascot of a bush league ball team. Later on 
 he'd been an attendant in a Toledo shooting 
 gallery, starter at a Coney Island merry-go- 
 round, bell-hop captain in an Atlantic City 
 hotel, and had filled other responsible positions 
 requirin' talent and industry. 
 
 Just then he was at liberty and Jim was 
 willin', on account of our being such old chums, 
 that I should place him in something soft with 
 one of my rich friends. Well, mainly to get rid 
 of him, I did find him a job as chalk boy in an 
 uptown broker 's branch. At the end of a fort- 
 night he reports that he's had to resign because 
 the assistant manager was sore at his gettin' 
 so popular with the customers. True, what 
 they told me about Homer was slightly dif- 
 ferent. " Sulky and lazy," was their verdict, 
 but after another visit from Jim I worked 
 Homer into Purdy-PelPs offices as street 
 runner. He lasted there nearly a month, chiefly 
 on account of his showin' up so seldom that it 
 was hard to fire him. 
 
 And that's the way it had gone. Every time 
 he got kicked out of a place I'd tell him I was 
 all through and the next I knew I'd be beggin' 
 someone to take him on in a new line. Until 
 finally I lands him behind the soda counter in 
 this Seventh Avenue drug store.
 
 150 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "I dunno's I'm goin' to like it," objects 
 Homer after the first day. 
 
 "Sure you are, Homer," says I. "I don't 
 see why I didn't think of it before, because a 
 syrup squirter is just what you were born to 
 be." 
 
 "Huh!" says Homer. "Where do you get 
 that stuff I" 
 
 "Listen, Homer," says I, backin' him against 
 the wall, "it was revealed to me in a dream. 
 I could see you, all dolled up in a white coat, 
 standin' graceful behind the marble slab and 
 dealin' out mixed sundaes to rows of lovely lady 
 typists. No going back of a dream like that, 
 you know. And anyway, this is where I get 
 off. This is the last chance for you, ab-so- 
 lute-ly. So you 'd better stick. ' ' 
 
 And somehow or other he does. Not that he 
 makes any hit with his boss, who gets purple in 
 the face every time he looks at Homer and when 
 he meets me always demands peevish what it 
 was I had against him. But counter help was 
 gettin' scarce along about then and he took out 
 his grouch in threatenin' to give Homer the 
 chuck about every other day. Neither did 
 Homer get fond of his job. 
 
 "I dunno why I keep on with the old sore- 
 head," he whines to me. "Say, for doin' the 
 slave driver act he could make Simon Legree 
 look like a glad hand mission worker. And this
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMER 151 
 
 standin' all day is awful hard on the feet. But 
 the worst is the fool women who drift up with a 
 fifteen cent check and begin mumblin', 'Oh, 
 dear, I don't know what I want. Lemme see; 
 verniller, I guess.' And when I start dishin' up 
 an ice cream soda they squeal, 'No, no, a plate, 
 and maybe I'll have strawb'ry sauce no choc'- 
 let, stupid.' 'Wotcher think I am, a mind 
 reader?' I asks 'em. Say, they get me so I 
 could chew glass, some of them Lizzies do. And 
 lots of them Percy boys are just as bad. Be- 
 lieve me, I tell 'em so, too. ' ' 
 
 "What a nice pleasant time you must have 
 day by day, Homer," I remarks. 
 
 "Yes, and I'm goin' to jump the whole 
 shootin' match some of these fine mornin's," 
 threatens Homer. "You'll see." 
 
 But he didn't. He keeps on jerkin' the silver 
 levers and gettin' sulkier and sourer every 
 week. It's a wonder that face of his didn't 
 curdle the whipped cream. It 's a narrow gauge, 
 two-by-four face, with a little rabbit mouth and 
 two projectin' front teeth showin' prominent in 
 the middle. Also he has the pimple decoration 
 that Swifty spoke of. Somehow it has always 
 seemed to me that if I was runnin' a soda 
 
 counter I wouldn't want clerks that had 
 
 But then, that's one enterprise I ain't ever 
 likely to have a hand in. Unloadin' Homer on 
 one is probably as near as I'll ever get.
 
 152 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 So now maybe you Ve got a faint idea why I 
 don't rush madly out to ask Homer what he 
 wants this time. And when I do get to the front 
 office I find him pacin' up and down nervous 
 with a cigarette danglin' from his lower lip as 
 usual. 
 
 "Well, at last, eh?" says I. "Been pro- 
 moted to the sidewalk, have you?" 
 
 Homer scowls in his pleasant way. "Nah," 
 says he. " I 'm gettin ' my reg 'lar thirty minutes 
 off. I come around to see what you think of this 
 new draft business." 
 
 "Why," says I, "you got by last time. 
 Teeth, wasn't it?" 
 
 Homer nods. ' ' But they Ve put me in class A 
 again," says he. "No dependents, y 'under- 
 stand. Know what I got a mind to do ? " 
 
 "Enlist with the Treat 'em Rough corps?" I 
 asks hopeful. 
 
 "Not if I got good sense left," says Homer. 
 "No, sir! How do you think I'd stand if I was 
 to get married?" 
 
 "Wouldn't let you out, Homer," says I. 
 "Not this time. You might get a different 
 grade by it. ' ' 
 
 "And before they got to me the war might be 
 over, eh?" says he. "Looks like that was my 
 best bet, don't it? Anyway, that's what I'm 
 gonna do, get hitched up." 
 
 "Homer," says I, gazin' at him curious, "you
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMER 153 
 
 don't mean to say you could find a girl fool 
 er, that is, a girl who 'd suit you I ' ' 
 
 "Plenty," says Homer, waggin' his head. 
 "Noticed the little queen on the soap and per- 
 fume counter at our place?" 
 
 "What," says I, "the one with the thin- 
 spaced black eyes and the solid set to her jaw?" 
 
 1 ' That 's Edith, ' ' says he. * ' She don 't get on 
 well at home and and we been goin' around 
 some together. Course she's some snappy in 
 her ways, but she don't mean nothin' by it. 
 We'd make a go of it, I guess." 
 
 "Think you could finance a flat on twelve a 
 week, Homer?" I suggests. 
 
 "Oh, Edith would keep on at the store," says 
 Homer. "We wouldn't say anything about it 
 there. How much do these preachers stick you 
 for a parlor performance, eh? Well, guess we 
 could manage it by next week." 
 
 And next thing I heard they had. But Homer 
 gives the poorest imitation of a smilin' bride- 
 groom you ever saw. He says they're gettin' 
 along all right. That was after the first ten 
 days or so. But before the month is out I 
 meets him on the street and he spills this tale of 
 woe in my ear : 
 
 "Whaddye know about a woman that clamps 
 down on your pay envelope and feeds you a 
 quarter at a time ? " he demands. ' ' That 's hog- 
 gin' it some ain't it? 'Who elected you to tote
 
 154 SHOR.TY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 the fam'ly wad?' I asks her. But what's the 
 use startin' an argument with one of that kind? 
 She comes right back messy tellin' me where I 
 get off and it lasts an hour by the watch. Huh! 
 Same way about everything. "Who do you guess 
 has to roll out at 7 A.M. and start the breakfast? 
 Me ! And wipe the dinner dishes, too. She even 
 decides whether we go to the movies or not. 
 Generally it's not. Say, I used to be bossed 
 around only about fourteen hours a day. Now 
 it's a continuous performance, with the night 
 shift gettin' worse and worse." 
 
 "Listens to me, Homer," says I, "like a pair 
 of dispositions going to the mat for a draw." 
 
 He shakes his head gloomy. "Knockout 
 more likely," says he, "with me takin' the 
 count. That is, if I don't decide to quit." 
 
 1 ' Oh, you two will shake down in a few weeks 
 more," says I soothin'. "It's often that way at 
 the start." 
 
 "You don't know Edith at all," says Homer. 
 "And you're in luck, at that." 
 
 Course, after he's gone I couldn't help 
 havin' a quiet little chuckle, for it ain't often 
 you really know of a slacker's gettin' so near 
 what's comin' to him. I felt like someone 
 ought to go pin a medal on Edith. As for 
 Homer's threat to bolt, I didn't take any stock 
 in that at all. His kind seldom do. They lack 
 the nerve.
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMER 155 
 
 But as time went on and I saw nothing more 
 of him I got sort of curious. So one day I 
 drops around at the drug store. And there's 
 no Homer in sight behind the soda counter. But 
 the little lady with the narrow set black eyes is 
 still dispensin' toilet articles. Driftin' over 
 casual I invests in a tube of shavin' cream. 
 
 ' ' Mrs. Cass, ain 't it ? " I asks. 
 
 "Well, what if it is?" she snaps. 
 
 "Excuse me, ma'am," says I, "but I was 
 wonderin' where Homer was these days." 
 
 "Were you?" says she. "That's more'n I 
 can say." 
 
 "Then he he's quit?" I suggests. 
 
 "You guessed it," says she. "It's a case of 
 congratulations being in order." 
 
 No, she don't know where he's gone, and 
 don't care. All she hopes is that he never comes 
 back. She ain't a bit interested in the mystery 
 of what might have happened to him. I '11 admit 
 I was though, in a mild sort of way. 
 
 And when I gets this note scribbled on a red 
 triangle letter head and dated from an army 
 cantonment over on Long Island I has to pass 
 on the news to Swif ty at once. 
 
 "Remember your friend with the squirrel 
 teeth Homer Cass?" says I. "Well, what do 
 you think he 's gone and done now? ' ' 
 
 ' ' Bit somebody in the leg and been sentenced 
 to wear a muzzle ? ' ' asks Swif ty.
 
 156 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 4 ' Not at all, ' ' says I. * * He 's joined up. He 's 
 a soldier now, Homer is. ' ' 
 
 "Him!" gasps Swifty. "He'll make a hot 
 Hun killer, he will. Why, he's too yellow to 
 chew a marshmallow for fear of swallowin' the 
 pit!" 
 
 1 ( Just the same, ' ' I goes on, " he 's in the artil- 
 lery. I'm due out at his camp Thursday, to 
 start some new boxin' squads, so I'll have a 
 chance of seein' Homer in uniform. It ought 
 to be worth while. You know he got him a wife 
 to keep out of the army, and now he's enlisted 
 to get clear of the wife. ' ' 
 
 Swifty grins. "That's what I call some 
 shifty guy," says he. 
 
 I thought so too, for a while. And while I'm 
 at the camp I keeps an eye peeled for this artful 
 dodger. But of the hundreds of men that I put 
 through exercises that day there's nobody with 
 anything like Homer's classic features. You 
 know what mobs there are at such places 
 though. I was meanin' to look him up after I 
 got through but one of the captains insists on 
 my go in' over to the Officers' Club with him. 
 
 It's quite a classy joint for a camp big, 
 sunny parlors, lots of easy chair, nice rugs on 
 the floor. Then there's a billiard room, a hand 
 ball court with shower baths, and off in one wing 
 a reg'lar cafe where they serve a first class 
 meal. The captain was all for orderin' up the
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMER 157 
 
 whole program for me, from oysters to chicken 
 a la King, but I had to beg off. 
 
 "Thanks just as much," says I, "but a glass 
 of buttermilk for mine, if you've got it." 
 
 "Why, certainly," says he. "Any kind of 
 drink you can name. We've just installed a 
 new soda fountain, you know. Found an 
 expert mixer. Let's step in and I'll show 
 you. ' ' 
 
 And clear across the room I thought I could 
 see something familiar about the hang of that 
 white jacket on them narrow shoulders. Uh- 
 huh! Homer. He didn't see me, first off. He 
 was busy waitin' on a couple of lieutenants who 
 was showin' the new addition to the cafe to 
 some of their young lady friends. And they 
 was having the same difficulty decidin' what to 
 take as if they'd been up against a reg'lar soda 
 bar. 
 
 ' ' Say, Madge, what you going to have ! ' ' asks 
 one. "What's an armistice sundae, anyhow? 
 Would you risk it, or stick to marshmallow 
 float I Yes, I guess I will. ' ' 
 
 I notice too, that Homer don't make any im- 
 patient moves or snap out any crisp comments 
 about not being a mind reader. Nothing like 
 that. He's about the tamest soda jerker you 
 could ask to see operate. After they're all 
 through debatin' and chattin' he asks polite for 
 the third time what it will be.
 
 158 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Accommodatin' young gent, ain't he?" says 
 I to the captain. ' * Where 'd you get him ? ' ' 
 
 "Why, from the kitchen police squad," says 
 the captain. "He held the record there for 
 being the worst dish-washer, the most consistent 
 shirker and grouchiest grumbler of the lot. His 
 top sergeant reported that he wasn't any good 
 at other things, wanted him sent to the guard 
 house for a week. So I had him brought in. 
 'What were you doing before you joined?' I 
 asked him. ' 'Tending a soda counter,' says he. 
 'Good!' says I. 'That's what you'll do here. 
 Permanent detail. ' Bit of luck for us, eh ? And 
 I've just learned that the fellow has a wife 
 somewhere and has been holding out her allot- 
 ment. He didn't seem quite pleased when I 
 called him in a little while ago and made him 
 sign off her share. But I rather think he under- 
 stands now that it goes until he 's mustered out. 
 Ah ! Our turn now. Buttermilk, did you say 1 ' ' 
 
 And you should have seen the look on 
 Homer's face as he finds me lined up across the 
 counter from him. With his captain standin' 
 by though he don't even bat an eye. If my 
 friend hadn't been called away just as we'd fin- 
 ished our drinks I wouldn't have had a chance 
 to get Homer's views on his new job at all. As 
 it is we're left all alone for several minutes. 
 
 "Funny how things work out, ain't it, 
 Homer?" says I.
 
 A FEW SHIFTS BY HOMER 159 
 
 "I don't get you," says he. 
 
 "Why," says I, "you got sore on soda 
 clerkin', you didn't want to be a soldier, and 
 you tried to duck bein' a married man. Now 
 you're all three, ain't you?" And I couldn't 
 help windin' up with a grin. 
 
 "Say," says Homer, glancin' around cau- 
 tious to see if it was safe, "if you can see any- 
 thing funny in that you ought to go tell Edith. 
 Maybe one of you would laugh yourself to death 
 over it." 
 
 And the last I saw of Homer he was scowlin* 
 at himself in the glass. 
 
 "But then," as I remarks to Swifty Joe later 
 on, "he may outlast his jinx. A few years from 
 now he's liable to be classed as one of the heroes 
 of the great war, along with the boys who 
 turned the trick at that Chateau Thierry place, 
 and most likely drawin' down a pension. Then 
 it '11 be Homer 's turn to grin. ' '
 
 X 
 
 I EXPECT I was tellin' you about the Kinneys 
 a while back. Uh-huh ! The two brothers that 
 live down on the marshes and had the feud that 
 was wound up in France when Scott Kinney's 
 boy went out reckless and dragged back Cousin 
 Tubby, who'd been plugged in two places. 
 
 Course, it didn't take any sharpshootin' to hit 
 Tubby, he being built so wide. But to snake him 
 back from a machine gun outpost and into a 
 first aid dugout under fire well, I should have 
 wanted nothing less than a truck, and a mighty 
 speedy one, at that. No wonder they hung a 
 medal on Corporal Buck Kinney and put his 
 name in the papers. Also I leave it to you if 
 doin's like that wasn't enough to put a crimp in 
 the best little fam'ly row ever worked up. 
 
 But that's all old stuff now. Let's go. You 
 remember this war business, and havin' his boy 
 made a corporal, spruced Scott Kinney up quite 
 a bit. Instead of slouchin' around in wadin' 
 boots, doin' a little fishin' and clammin' when he 
 felt like it and loafin' around Costello's road 
 house the rest of the time, Scott proceeds to get 
 
 160
 
 a shipyard job, cuts down the booze, and gives 
 a fair imitation of an industrious citizen. 
 
 I thought it was going to last, too. It seems 
 though that having a hero in the fam'ly was just 
 one too many for Scott. I believe he staggered 
 along under the honor for nearly two weeks, and 
 then one Saturday night he makes a wild leap 
 from the water wagon, joins his old gang at 
 Costello's and irrigates his parched anatomy 
 gay and careless. Well, you could hardly expect 
 anyone with Scott's record to make a sudden 
 shift like that without havin' his foot slip now 
 and then. He stuck at the work fairly reg'lar, 
 only knockin' off now and then to celebrate some 
 important event, such as the taking of St. 
 Quentin or the fall of Jerusalem. 
 
 As he explains to me one Monday morning 
 when I meets him navigatin' wabbly down the 
 Post Eoad and roasts him for droppin' back 
 into his old ways: "Tha's zawri', Shorty, but 
 you you ain't the father of Fightin' Buck Kin- 
 ney. I am." And he straightens up dignified 
 to pound himself on the chest. 
 
 "Admittin' all that," says I, "I can't see 
 where you add to the fam'ly honor by gettin' 
 lickered above the ears. ' ' 
 
 "Gar-r-r-r !" says Scott, wavin' an imaginary 
 flag. "Ain't we got th' Bushes on th' run?" 
 
 "You've got yourself on the toboggan," says 
 I. "Course, I don't blame you for being proud
 
 162 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 of Bucky. But how proud do you think he'll 
 be of you when he comes home 1 ' ' 
 
 That seems to penetrate through the fog, for 
 Scott stops wavin' and scratches his grizzled 
 hair. "Tha's so," he admits. "Sump in' in 
 that." 
 
 1 ' You bet there is, ' ' says I. "So why act like 
 you thought you'd swallowed Hindenburg and 
 could drown him in front of Costello's barf" 
 
 As a rule such advice don't do much good, but 
 in this case I handed myself a decision that 
 maybe it had. Anyway, I didn't hear of Scott 
 Kinney celebratin' any more victories so osten- 
 tatious and I had reports that he was workin' 
 reg'lar. Why shouldn't he, at six per a day! 
 Why, he didn 't average that much a week in the 
 old days. Didn't even seem to know how to get 
 rid of it until I got after him on the thrift stamp 
 and liberty bond proposition. So he must have 
 salted down quite a bit. 
 
 When the war came to a finish there so sudden 
 though, and they begun layin' off men in the 
 shipyard, Scott was one of the first to quit. 
 There were plenty of other jobs he might have 
 had, at fairly good money. Three different 
 times I tried to place him. But there was 
 nothing doing. 
 
 "What's the use now?" he demands. "It's 
 all over, ain't it? We've busted that autocracy 
 business, plumb wrecked it. Me and Bucky. I
 
 WHEN BUDDY BOY CAME BACK 163 
 
 guess I helped some. Now I'm goin' to lay 
 off." 
 
 "You'd be a lot better off if you didn't," says 
 I. " Besides, with these high prices, your sav- 
 ings won't last long. What's the idea, any- 
 way?" 
 
 "I'm kind of waitin' around for Buck to come 
 home," says he. 
 
 "That may be months," says I. "You'll be 
 goin' hungry first thing you know." 
 
 " Oh, I guess not, ' ' says Scott. ' ' The Gov 'n- 
 ment wouldn't stand for that. Uncle Sam ain't 
 goin' to let the father of a hero like Buck Kin- 
 ney want for food. Look what I 've done for my 
 country. I've give a son who's shed his blood 
 on the field of honor. He 's got a medal to prove 
 it. Now it's up to th' country to take care of 
 us." 
 
 "That's a grand little program of yours if 
 it works out," says I. 
 
 He's a pig-headed old pirate too. And then, 
 a life of leisure came natural for him.. It's in 
 the Kinney blood, I expect. He did go back to 
 his flounder fishin' an' clammin' by spells, but 
 mostly he puts in the time loaf in' around the 
 village, joinin' in loud on all the things he and 
 his Bucky had done to Germany and Turkey and 
 how to settle things in Russia. They were a 
 mighty blood-thirsty lot, them bench warmers, 
 but none of 'em had anything on Scott when it 
 came to suggestin' ingenious and unpleasant
 
 164 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 ways of making the Kaiser and Crown Prince- 
 as-was wish they hadn't started anything. 
 Slicin' their ears off and havin' 'em walk bare- 
 foot on barbed wire from Boston to Chicago was 
 his favorite plan. 
 
 Also he was fond of holdin' forth on the sub- 
 ject of how Buck had won his medal. So far 
 as I could judge the full details of that hero 
 stunt had never come through. You know, I 
 was the one that got the official report from the 
 war department, and while that had given the 
 main facts in the case, it left a lot to be filled in. 
 And Bucky himself hadn't supplied much. He 
 never was what you might call a gossipy letter 
 writer. But as the weeks went on and Scott 
 Kinney told the story over and over to admirin' 
 audiences, it got to be quite a yarn. The last 
 time I listened in on it he had Bucky dashin' for 
 more'n a mile, right through a heavy barrage, 
 jumpin' into a machine gun nest, killin' off half 
 a regiment of Huns single handed, and then 
 stoppin' to thumb his nose at a Hun general 
 before he tossed Cousin Tubby over one shoul- 
 der, a field piece over the other, and ambled 
 back where Pershing was wavin' his hat de- 
 lighted. 
 
 1 ' Yes, sir ! " he finishes up. ' ' That 's the kind 
 of boys we raise in our fam'ly. We're the 
 fightin' Kinneys, we are." 
 
 In spite of the fact that this trait hadn't been
 
 WHEN BUDDY BOY CAME BACK 165 
 
 much in evidence before, the crowd let Scott get 
 away with the statement. For one thing, Rock- 
 hurst-on-the-Sound was almost as chesty over 
 Buck's little exploit as Scott was himself, and 
 when we put up that temporary Eoll of Honor 
 opposite the First National Bank we had a red 
 star painted after Corporal Kinney's name, 
 with a footnote in three inch letters explainin' 
 how he 'd been awarded the Distinguished Serv- 
 ice Medal. 
 
 You see, while we'd sent a whole raft of our 
 boys into the big scrap, including sons of some 
 of our biggest plutes, and most of 'em had got 
 to the front, the only one to pull down any- 
 thing like a war medal had been Buck Kinney. 
 They couldn't show anything like that at 
 Orienta, just above us; nor at Apawamis, just 
 below. So you could hardly blame us for not 
 overlookin' the fact. I expect there wasn't a 
 speech made durin' the loan and war fund 
 drives but what had some mention of * ' the noble 
 son of Rockhurst whose fearless gallantry on 
 the field of action has been so signally honored 
 by the nation." 
 
 We were willin' to forget that the noble 
 Bucky had begun his heroic career all unsus- 
 pected by the general public. I expect those of 
 us who knew him by sight a year or so ago 
 couldn't see much in him beyond a lanky, 
 slouchy youth with a slack mouth and shifty
 
 166 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 eyes. Mostly he hung around the Bon Ton 
 Pool Parlors, a cigarette danglin' limp from 
 one side of his mouth and his back propped 
 against something solid. I'd heard he was quite 
 a shark at Kelley and that at straight pool he 
 could spot anyone in town five balls. So far as 
 I know, though, nobody ever accused him of 
 indulgin' in any form of industry. 
 
 But then, what could you look for with the 
 bringin' up he'd had? And he sure had turned 
 out to be an Al soldier. Cases like his must 
 have been common, for everyone knows what 
 army trainin' has done for lots of boys. Maybe 
 he was coming out all right, after all. 
 
 "What do you think Bucky'll go in for when 
 he gets back?" I asks Scott one day. 
 
 " Politics," says Scott. "They're goin' to 
 run the country, them boys." 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder," says I. "What I 
 meant, though, was what kind of work he'd 
 tackle." 
 
 "Work!" says Scott. "Say, ain't he done 
 enough? He'll need a good, long rest, he will. 
 We both will. Besides, he'll be busy paradin', 
 and makin' speeches and so on." 
 
 "But that won't bring him anything he can 
 trade in at the grocer's, nor you either," I 
 suggests. 
 
 "Aw, I guess the Gov'nment's goin' to look 
 out for us," says Scott.
 
 WHEN BUDDY BOY CAME BACK 167 
 
 He not only sticks to this comfortin' belief 
 but he proceeds to practice it faithful. I tried 
 my best to get him to put in a few days help in 7 
 my man Dominick rebuild the seawall, but all 
 he'd do was promise to think it over, and three 
 different times he failed to show up. He took 
 to dressin' sloppier than ever and about once a 
 week was as often as he troubled to shave these 
 days. 
 
 And then the transports begun landin'. You 
 know. New York cut loose with her first Wel- 
 come Home doin's. I yelled myself hoarse there 
 one day when that first bunch of returned heroes 
 marched up Fifth Avenue, not mistrustin' that 
 among 'em was Corporal Buck Kinney. But 
 he was. Soon as I heard of it next mornin' I 
 tells Sadie and we jumps into the roadster and 
 drives down on the marshes to the little shack 
 where Eockhurst's only Distinguished Service 
 man had been returned to the bosom of his 
 family. 
 
 I must say, too, that Bucky looked the part. 
 He's a soldier, every inch of him tall and 
 straight and sunburned, with his shoulders 
 squared, his lips tightened up and his eyes 
 steady. Yes, he says he's mighty glad to get 
 back. France might be all right to pull off a 
 war in, but as a place to live well, give him the 
 U.S.A., every time. 
 
 He gets a little fussed when Sadie and I try
 
 168 SHOKTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 to tell him how proud we are of him and all that. 
 And our attempt to pump out of him the details 
 of that medal winnin' stunt was almost a total 
 failure. 
 
 " Oh, that was just for luggin' Tubby in," 
 says he. "It was my job, anyway. We was in 
 lots worse messes later on. I didn't know they 
 was goin' to wish any medal on me. Tubby 
 would have done the same for me." 
 
 Then Scott makes him get out his barracks 
 bag and exhibit his relics the Prussian guard 
 helmet, the shoulder straps cut off the Hun cap- 
 tain he fished out of a dugout, and the collection 
 of belt buckles and so on. Bucky grins at some 
 of our fool questions. 
 
 Mostly, though, he seems kind of dazed and 
 uneasy. I catches him glancin' stealthy at the 
 old folks now and then, as if they looked sort 
 of strange to him and he was tryin' to get 
 acquainted all over again. And while Scott had 
 put on a celluloid collar in honor of the occa- 
 sion, he was hardly a parent that could be gazed 
 on with pride. Nor Mrs. Scott Kinney, either. 
 She had on a faded old wrapper that should 
 have gone in the wash tub week before last, a 
 greasy gray sweater with the sleeves partly 
 ravelled out, and her hair was mopped around 
 her head any old way. 
 
 You'd have to be blessed with some vivid 
 imagination, too, to call the inside of this messy
 
 WHEN BUDDY BOY CAME BACK 169 
 
 shack home sweet home. The dishes from last 
 night's supper and this mornin's breakfast was 
 still cluttered around on the table, the top of the 
 stove and in the sink. I wouldn't like to guess 
 how long since a broom had been used on the 
 floor. And outside there was the same kind of 
 housekeepin' in evidence ashes and garbage 
 dumped where it had come handiest to throw 
 them; an old coat of Scott's trampled in the 
 mud; broken oars, bottles, boxes and other junk 
 scattered about the yard and on the rickety 
 wharf at the edge of the creek. Course, this 
 was nothin' new. The Kinneys always had 
 lived that way. But somehow Corporal Buck 
 seemed to be gazin' around as if it was kind 
 of strange to him. Or maybe it reminded him 
 of some of the places where he'd been quar- 
 tered. I couldn't tell. 
 
 " Well, you boys certainly did the job up right 
 over there," says I, as we starts to leave, "and 
 when you feel like tacklin' steady work with a 
 pay envelope coming in reg'lar every Saturday, 
 remember we got a committee that stands ready 
 to make the connection for you. ' ' 
 
 1 'Much obliged," breaks in Scott, "but I 
 guess Bucky ain't goin' to start answerin' any 
 seven o'clock whistle yet a while. Not him." 
 
 And for a spell there it looked like Scott was 
 right. As soon as a few more of our boys begun 
 driftin' back, some from demobilizin' camps
 
 170 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 and some from convalescent hospitals, we had a 
 little Victory parade of our own and a peace 
 meeting in Odd Fellows' hall. Corporal Kinney 
 was prominent at both affairs. They even got 
 him to make a speech. Wasn't such a bad 
 speech, at that. He didn't pull any of the 
 spread-eagle stuff such as some of our fire- 
 eatin' stay-at-home patriots fed us. His talk 
 was modest and sober for the most part, 
 although that tale of his about how he tried to 
 coach a squad of Frenchies through a baseball 
 game was good enough to go in a book. 
 
 But two or three weeks went by and Buck 
 didn't apply for the job in the Nut & Bolt works 
 that we had waitin' for him. I saw him around 
 town only once or twice, so I concludes he's still 
 restin' up. And Scott ain't in evidence, either. 
 Finally, one Saturday afternoon, I takes an- 
 other run down to the marsh. 
 
 Well, the first thing I sees is Scott Kinney, 
 up on a little knoll about a hundred yards from 
 the shack, diggin' away with a spade so busy 
 that he don't notice me until I'm almost over 
 him. He has his coat off and his sleeves rolled 
 up and he's leakin' generous, although it's a 
 chilly afternoon. 
 
 "Look like you was minin', Scott," says I. 
 
 "Huh!" says he, stoppin' to mop his face. 
 "Might as well be. The top of this ground is 
 froze hard enough."
 
 WHEN BUDDY BOY CAME BACK 171 
 
 "But what's the scheme 1 ?" I goes on. 
 
 "Better ask Buck," says he. "It's his fool 
 idea. Bulletin' a hothouse, he says, though why 
 he can't wait till spring is by me. Him? Oh, 
 he's up near Portchester, workin' in a place 
 where they raise cucumbers and lettuce and such 
 truck under glass. He '11 be home soon and then 
 we '11 both pitch in and work until dark. Bound 
 to get this up by the end of the month, but I 
 don't see how it can be done." 
 
 I gathers that Buck plans on startin' in the 
 hothouse business for himself early in the 
 spring and has sort of drafted the old man in 
 as high private. 
 
 "One of the ideas he brought back from 
 France," says Scott. "And say, he's got a lot 
 of 'em." 
 
 ' ' I take it, ' ' says I, ' ' that there 's more or less 
 labor connected with most of 'em." 
 
 "Is there!" snorts Scott. "Say, I ain't been 
 worked so hard in all my born days as I have 
 since that boy came back. This is only a 
 sample. You ain't seen the house, have you! 
 Well, jest come up and take a look." 
 
 Honest, I hardly knew the place. First off a 
 little yard had been fenced off all around, and 
 inside of that the ground had been cleaned up 
 and leveled and raked until it looked as neat as 
 a city park. Paths had been laid out and bushes 
 and shrubs planted. The shack itself had been
 
 whitewashed so it fairly glistened. So had the 
 fence, and even the wharf. New panes of glass 
 had been set in the windows and all of 'em 
 scrubbed. The chimney had been topped out 
 and out and back of it was a new shed with a 
 run of chicken wire leadin' down to the creek. 
 
 "What's that for, Scott?" I asks. 
 
 "Geese," says he. "Buck's started to raise 
 'em. Another of his French notions. Goin' to 
 have pigs and a cow later on, too. You know 
 \vhat that means gittin' up at daylight to milk 
 and mixin' bran mash twice a day. He's got his 
 maw at it, too. Take a look inside if you don't 
 believe it. ' ' 
 
 It's a fact. The floor was as clean as the 
 windows, the stove had been polished up like 
 new, and a freshly ironed tablecloth had just 
 been spread. Also Mrs. Kinney was spruced up 
 more'n I'd ever seen her before. With her hair 
 washed and done up careful and in that pink 
 and white checked dress she looks like a dif- 
 ferent party. More cheerful, too. She comes 
 in from out back hummin' a song and 'most 
 blushes when I remarks on the change. 
 
 "Bucky's ideas," says she. "He's he's 
 awful particular about things since he come 
 back from France." 
 
 Then she shows me the geraniums growin' in 
 the window box and where Buck has planned to 
 put up a big fireplace with an outside chimney.
 
 WHEN BUDDY BOY CAME BACK 173 
 
 "But I don't believe I'll ever learn to cook 
 all them French messes he wants," says she. 
 " Think of tryin' to make soup out of a few 
 onions and some grated cheese ; or from a scrap 
 of meat and a carrot and a few green weeds 
 he picks up beside the road! It seems jest 
 plumb foolish to me, but of course I keep at it. 
 Bucky knows best, I expect. ' ' 
 
 That seems to be Scott 's verdict, too, although 
 he ain't enthusiastic about it. 
 
 "Course, I don't mind his branchin' out this 
 way," says Scott, "and doin' things like he's 
 seen 'em done over there, but I wisht it didn't 
 take so much dad-blistered work to put 'em 
 through. Them Frenchies must be a mighty 
 restless lot. Must be catchin', too. Bucky was 
 never like this before he went to war." 
 
 "Then he ain't satisfied to wait for Uncle 
 Sam to take care of him, eh!" I suggests. 
 
 ' ' Bucky f ' ' says Scott. ' ' He ain 't satisfied to 
 wait for nothin'. Eouts me out at 4.30 these 
 cold mornin's and has me eatin' what he calls 
 chow by lamplight! Then, before he goes off 
 he'll lay out enough work for a whole gang of 
 ditch diggers. Gets that from bavin' been a 
 Corporal so long, I expect, and havin' bossed a 
 squad of husky young soldiers. I ain't used to 
 it. Gets me in the joints and the back. No use 
 tryin' to argue with Buck, though. Why, he 
 says some of them French women would do
 
 174 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 twice as much in a day. I don't see any let up 
 to it, either, for when he gets all them pesky 
 farm animals to take care of, and the hothouse 
 goin', it'll keep all of us on the jump." 
 
 "Won't leave you much time to spend at 
 Costello's bar, I expect?" says 1. 
 
 Scott sighs regretful. "I'm off the hard stuff 
 for keeps," says he. "Bucky won't have it. 
 All he lets me have is a little of that van rooge, 
 mixed half and half with water, twice a day. 
 Van rooge! Ever tried it? Got just about as 
 much kick to it as so much circus lemonade. 
 But that's all I'm drinkin' these days and at 
 meals, too!" 
 
 "In other words," says I, "you still have 
 cause to cuss the Kaiser?" 
 
 "I have," says Scott, "and between you and 
 me, when Buck ain't around, I hand them 
 Frenchies a few. They may be our noble Allies 
 and all that, and I'm willin' they should build 
 monuments to us, and name streets after Wil- 
 son; but I wisht when Bucky 'd saved Paris he'd 
 let it ride at that and not hung around collectin' 
 so many of them back-breakin' French habits." 
 
 On the way home I has to chuckle more'n 
 once, and when Sadie wants to know what I'm 
 grinnin' about at dinner I remarks offhand: 
 
 "Why, I was only wonderin' how many sol- 
 diers' families are being reconstructed as thor- 
 ough as the Kinneys are gettin' it."
 
 XI 
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 
 
 NOT that I want to hand myself any more'n 
 I deserve, but now and then I do come across 
 with the happy hunch. Such as this idea of 
 mine about placin' one of our returned heroes. 
 Uh-huh. The minute I hears Swifty Joe Gal- 
 lagher tellin' about this soldier cousin of his I 
 thinks of Mrs. Boomer-Day. Course, I don't 
 hold that nobody else would have had the same 
 thought; some would, and then again some 
 wouldn't. 
 
 You see, she 'd been over to our house only the 
 evenin' before, gushin' away as usual about this 
 and that. And as a rule I'm apt to do a quiet 
 sneak whenever Mrs. Boomer-Day shows up,, 
 unless I'm backed into a corner and have to- 
 stick it out, in which case I open both ears and 
 try to let her chatter breeze through without 
 cloggin' the works. 
 
 But this time she happens to strike a line that 
 got me listenin' in spite of myself. She's tellin' 
 Mrs. McCabe how interested she is in this won- 
 derful reconstruction work that's being done for 
 our dear gallant soldier boys who have come 
 
 175
 
 176 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Jiome from France all shot to pieces and other- 
 wise disabled. 
 
 Seems she'd taken a three weeks' art course 
 herself and was all equipped to teach one-armed 
 heroes how to paint blue butterflies on pink 
 cream jugs, so they might support themselves 
 and their families and be self-respecting and 
 independent, and all that sort of thing. Some- 
 how, though, the Reconstruction Committee had 
 taken no notice of her offer to give up two 
 afternoons a week to this noble work, and 
 she felt just too terrible for anything about 
 it. 
 
 "Yes, after all that preparation, you must," 
 says Sadie, rollin' her eyes at me. 
 
 "And so," goes on Mrs. Boomer-Day, wavin' 
 her gold lorgnette and shruggin' her wide shoul- 
 ders, "I have decided to do something in a per- 
 sonal way ; on my own, as it were. ' ' 
 
 "Yes?" says Sadie, encouragin'. 
 
 "I mean to take one right into my home," 
 announces Mrs. Boomer-Day. "Of course, not 
 in a way to make him feel that he is an object 
 of charity. I shall make a place for him; find 
 some useful employment about the estate, and 
 then go ahead with the reconstruction work dur- 
 ing his spare time. I could use one as an extra 
 chauffeur, for instance; that is, providing I 
 could find just the right person. Would it not 
 be thrilling now, to take one of those poor
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 177 
 
 maimed heroes of Cantigny or Chateau Thierry 
 and put him on his feet again?" 
 
 Sadie admits that it would, and they drifts 
 off into discussin' other important subjects, 
 such as what to do when ene's darling little 
 chow insists on nippin' the butler playful, and 
 whether summer furs will be worn as much next 
 season as last. So I remembers a date I didn't 
 have at the Country Club and makes my get- 
 away. 
 
 Must have been only the next mornin', and 
 at the Physical Culture Studio, that I hears 
 Swif ty Joe grouchin' away to himself. And him 
 being the most talented and high-priced Studio 
 assistant in the profession, I naturally asks 
 what 's gone wrong. 
 
 "Ahr-r-r chee!" remarks Swifty, usin' the 
 south side of his mouth. "It's easier tellin' 
 what goes right these times." 
 
 "Yes, but nobody does," says I; "so let's 
 have the chief complaint. Have they raised 
 your rent again, or is it that your favorite con- 
 ductorette has been fired?" 
 
 "Nah," says Swifty. "I got a three-year 
 lease, and I don't play no fav 'rites with them B. 
 K. T. lizzies. It's the raw deal muh cousin 
 Snipe gets after they've shipped him back from 
 France in a cattle boat that makes me good an' 
 sore." 
 
 "Oh, yes," says I; "that soldier cousin of
 
 178 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 yours, eh the one who was gassed and shell- 
 shocked ? I thought they fixed him up at a base 
 hospital? Got some extra pay, too, didn't 
 he?" 
 
 " Suppose he did!" says Swifty. "A guy 
 can't live the rest of his life on $60, can he? 
 Yet, when he shows up at the brass bed works 
 and asks for his old place on the truck, there's 
 nothin' doin'. A foreman by the name of 
 Engelmeyer gives him the laugh. That's what 
 he gets for bein' a Hun chaser. He comes back 
 to have a home-grown Fritzie do him out of his 
 job. Yar-r-r! An' he's been livin' off'n me 
 six weeks now." 
 
 "It's all wrong, Swifty; dead wrong," says I. 
 
 "Yes; but who's goin' to care?" demands 
 Swifty. 
 
 "I am, for one," says I. "You 'phone home 
 for this hero cousin to come right over, and if I 
 don't land him in work before the week's out 
 I'll pay his board until I do." 
 
 "Now you're saying sump'n'," says Swifty. 
 
 Course, I don't mean to play myself for any 
 quick-action philanthropist. I was plannin' on 
 unloadin' the cousin on Mrs. Boomer-Day right 
 off. But, say, an hour or so later, when I'm 
 bein' introduced to Mr. Snipe Gallagher, I 
 begun to have my doubts. 
 
 No need to ask why he was called Snipe. 
 With a nose like that he couldn't escape it.
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 179 
 
 If he 'd grown as high in proportion as his nose 
 was long he'd been eight feet tall. But he 
 hadn't. In fact, he must have stretched that 
 skinny neck of his when he passed the examinin' 
 board. They couldn't have picked him for his 
 beauty, either; for besides the lop ears and the 
 pop eyes, he has a whopper jaw that gives him 
 about as mismated a set of features as you 
 could find. And as if he wasn't tough enough 
 lookin' at his best, what does he costume him- 
 self in but a ragged old gray sweater and an 
 over-sized suit of clothes that should have gone 
 to the Belgians two seasons ago. Still, there is 
 something kind of appealin' in that twisty smile 
 he gives you. 
 
 "What you done with the uniform?" I de- 
 mands. 
 
 "Ah, I got sick enough of that on the other 
 side," says he. "I only put it on Sundays 
 now. ' ' 
 
 "Better get the good of it before your three 
 months are up," says I. "What branch were 
 you in over there ? " 
 
 "S.O.S.," says he. "First off, they had me 
 drivin' a truck, but after that I got stuck with 
 an emergency repair outfit reg'lar flyin' 
 garage, you might say." 
 
 "So you got to know something about 
 tinkerin' up gas engines, eh?" says I. 
 
 "Did I!" says Snipe. "Say, if you'll show
 
 180 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 me a motor I couldn't take apart and put to- 
 gether blindfolded I'll eat a brake-linin'." 
 
 That listened encouragin'. An extra chauf- 
 feur who could put a crimp in the repair bills 
 ought to be worth while havin' around. 
 
 "Harken to me, Mr. Gallagher," says I. 
 "Chase home and button yourself into the old 
 khaki once more ; treat yourself to a close shave 
 and a scrub behind the ears, and brush up the 
 overseas cap. Also shine up your campaign 
 shoes like you was due for dress parade. Then 
 report back here before 5 o'clock. If all goes 
 well and nobody makes any bad breaks, you'll 
 have as swell a job wished onto you as any buck 
 private could ask for." 
 
 "I sure could use one," says Snipe, grinnin' 
 generous. "Swifty here is a perfectly good 
 cousin for a couple o' weeks at a time. After 
 that he's a 20-minute egg." 
 
 Well, before leavin' I gets Mrs. Boomer-Day 
 on the wire and announce how I'm bringin' out 
 a returned soldier that needs reconstructin' the 
 very worst way. 
 
 ''Why, how splendid!" says she. "Is he 
 that is, has he been badly wounded?" 
 
 "Well, not exactly mangled," says I; "but the 
 gas got him, and he was near bein' bumped off 
 by a shell. ' ' 
 
 "Isn't that interesting!" says Mrs. Boomer- 
 Day. "What experiences he will have to tell!
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 181 
 
 I do hope, though, he will be somewhat useful. 
 What can he do, for instance?" 
 
 "Oh, only expert chauffing and all-round re- 
 pairing," says I. "He'll keep your cars tuned 
 up so you'll forget what repair bills look like." 
 
 "Really!" says she. "How fortunate for 
 both of us." 
 
 Yes, it looked that way. For when Snipe Gal- 
 lagher appears in his fightin' clothes he don't 
 seem more'n half as tough as he does in his 
 South Brooklyn civilians. Course, you wouldn 't 
 mistake him for any Y.M.C.A. secretary or a 
 movin' picture soldier, and there's no way of 
 disguisin' such a nose as his unless he wore a 
 gas mask constant. But you'd guess at a glance 
 he 'd used that uniform at the front. 
 
 Mrs. Boomer-Day squeals delighted when I 
 tows him in, and the next thing I know Snipe 
 has been hired at ninety a month and found, and 
 is being asked to tell all about what he did in 
 the great war. 
 
 ' l Me ? ' ' says Snipe. ' ' Oh, mostly I laid in the 
 mud under some motor truck that had been put 
 out of commission." 
 
 "How charmingly modest!" says Mrs. 
 Boomer-Day. "But you must have taken part 
 in those dashing advances when the Hun in- 
 vader was swept back out of dear France?" 
 
 "I dunno," says Snipe. "Mainly I was 
 under trucks."
 
 182 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "In what great battle, though," insists Mrs. 
 Boomer-Day, "was it that you were shell- 
 shocked! Chateau Thierry, St. Mihiel, Belleau 
 Wood?" 
 
 "It's by me," says Snipe. "It was some- 
 where in the mud. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Boomer-Day does that baby pout of hers 
 and turns to me, sort of disappointed. So I 
 takes a hand. 
 
 "Maybe you can remember where it was you 
 got gassed?" says I. 
 
 Snipe massages his left ear reflective and then 
 a look of almost human intelligence flickers into 
 them pop eyes. "Yea-uh," says he. "That 
 was a muddy spot, too." 
 
 "Ah, come, Gallagher," says I; "didn't you 
 run across anything else in little old France but 
 mud?" 
 
 "Not much," says Snipe. "It was the mud- 
 diest war I was ever in. ' ' 
 
 And as I leads him off to show him where his 
 quarters are, out in a double-breasted brick 
 garage that looks like a young city hall, I speaks 
 a few plain words in his ear. "You're a bird, 
 you are, Snipe," says I. "Come near queerin' 
 yourself first rattle out of the box. Now listen 
 next time the lady taps you for war reminis- 
 cences see that you turn on some reg'lar hor- 
 rors for her, and for the love of Mike forget 
 the mud."
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 183 
 
 "Huh!" says Snipe. "That was the kind of 
 mud you don't forget easy." 
 
 Still, Mrs. Boomer-Day is a persistent old 
 girl, and I was bankin' on her pumpin' some 
 thrillin' tales out of Snipe sooner or later. The 
 reports I get through Sadie, though, don't tell of 
 any progress along that line. 
 
 ' ' She thinks he must be rather stupid, ' ' says 
 Sadie. ' * He doesn 't seem to know where he was 
 or what he did during all those months he was 
 at the front. And as for learning anything new 
 why, he can 't even learn to stencil designs on 
 furniture. He has just spoiled a whole break- 
 fast room set trying. ' ' 
 
 "Then she'd better be satisfied to keep him as 
 chauffeur," I suggests. 
 
 "But he's such a weird looking creature in 
 livery," says Sadie. "Have you seen him 
 wearing a cap?" 
 
 I hadn't. I gathered though, that Snipe's 
 nose wasn't built to go with a low vizor, and 
 that the Boomer-Days, after one glimpse of him 
 on the front seat of the limousine, had given him 
 a permanent detail to the housekeeper 's market 
 roadster. They're mightly finicky about the 
 looks of things; 'specially Mrs. Boomer-Day, 
 who's a chronic social climber. Course, she 
 don't fail to advertise how she's helpin' a shat- 
 tered hero back to health and fortune, but she 
 ain't strong for exhibitin' him in public. And
 
 184 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 then, right in the midst of the social season, she 
 turns her big trick. 
 
 "What do you think, Shorty?" Sadie an- 
 nounces one night at dinner. "The Boomer- 
 Days are going to entertain a real English 
 lord." 
 
 "Well," says I, "he'll be entertained all 
 right, unless Mrs. Boomer has paralysis of the 
 tongue or something like that. Where 'd they 
 round him up?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Boomer-Day met him in a business 
 way, ' ' says Sadie. ' ' He came with a letter from 
 Boomer-Day's London bankers. He's young 
 Lord Eipley, late of the Boyal Flying Corps, 
 and is over here to inspect our aerial mail serv- 
 ice. So, of course, Mrs. Boomer-Day insisted on 
 asking him out for the week-end. He's coming 
 to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 "Then I see where the gold service plates 
 comes out of cold storage once more," says I. 
 "Wonder if they'll hide Snipe Gallagher in the 
 sub-cellar durin' the royal visit?" 
 
 "Oh, I nearly forgot the tragic part," says 
 Sadie. ' ' Their regular chauffeur has developed 
 a perfectly amazing boil on his neck and can't 
 bow respectfully without almost killing himself. 
 They had a rehearsal this afternoon, and he 
 simply collapsed with pain. Now they are try- 
 ing to drill Gallagher for the part. You see, he 
 has to meet Lord Eipley and Mr. Boomer-Day
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 185 
 
 at the station, and they're afraid he'll do some- 
 thing dreadful like not jumping out to open 
 the door, or forgetting to touch his cap." 
 
 11 Wouldn't that be awful!" says I, grinnin'. 
 
 "It might call Lord Ripley's attention to 
 him," says Sadie, "and you know Gallagher 
 isn't well, he isn't decorative, to say the 
 least," 
 
 "Couldn't they hang something over his 
 nose?" I suggests. 
 
 "They've decided to make him wear his khaki 
 uniform, anyway," says Sadie, "and that will 
 be some improvement. But Mrs. Boomer-Day 
 is sure he '11 do something to mortify her. And, 
 by the way, she thinks that perhaps you might 
 talk to Gallagher and suggest a few tilings." 
 
 "Me?" says I. "How do I get rung in on 
 this?" 
 
 "Why, he thinks you're just about right, you 
 know," says Sadie. 
 
 "He never told me anything like that," says 
 I. "But even so, what could I tell him about 
 meetin' the nobility? If I've got a short line, 
 it's that." 
 
 * ' Rubbish, Shorty ! ' ' says Sadie. ' * You know 
 how a chauffeur should act. Anyway, they're 
 going to send him around in the morning, to 
 take you down to the station, and you can coach 
 him a little then. He '11 listen to you. Tell him 
 not to slouch behind the wheel; that he mustn't
 
 186 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 be smoking a cigarette when he has anyone in 
 the car, and that if by any chance Lord Ripley 
 should speak to him he must touch his cap and 
 say, ' Yes, my lord. ' Things like that. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, boy!" says I. "Me teachin' court 
 etiquette! Say, that's good enough to go in a 
 joke-book. " 
 
 All the same, though, when Snipe rounds up 
 with the rollin' boudoir at 8.03 next mornin', I 
 spring it on him. "Hey!" says I, "am I sub- 
 bin' for the nobility?" 
 
 "I expect so," says Snipe, unreefin' one of 
 them crooked grins. 
 
 "Then hop out and untie the door," says I. 
 "That's it. Now pull the salute stuff. Ah, 
 make it snappy, can't you? Yes, that's better. 
 Know what comes next?" 
 
 "Where to, sir?" says Snipe. 
 
 1 1 Perfectly rotten ! ' ' says I. ' ' That ain 't the 
 line at all. ' ' 
 
 "Oh!" says Snipe, catchin' his breath, "I 
 forgot. Where to, my lord?" 
 
 "Well, that might pass," says I, "unless he 
 happens to be fussy, which he probably is. You 
 better say it over again when we get to the 
 station." 
 
 "Gee!" says Snipe, "I been sayin' it all night 
 in my sleep. You know, Professor, they nearly 
 got me scared stiff over meetin' this fool lord. 
 How should I know what to do 1 "
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 187 
 
 "You don't mean to say, Snipe," I demands, 
 "that this is your first lord?" 
 
 ' * Ab-so-lutely, ' ' says he. " And I hope it '11 be 
 my last." 
 
 "Most likely it will be, unless you buck up," 
 says I. "And just remember, if they catch him 
 lookin' cross-eyed at you the very least they'll 
 do will be to give you the quick can. ' ' 
 
 "I wisht I was back drivin' a truck," sighs 
 Snipe. 
 
 Well, as a general thing I ain't much of a 
 hand to rubber around at such times, but havin' 
 been made sort of responsible for Snipe Gal- 
 lagher, I'll admit I got kind of curious to see 
 how he would get away with it when the time 
 came. So, instead of taking the 5.15, as usual, 
 I quits the Studio early enough to catch the 4.03 
 express. And by hoppin' off the smoker I'm in 
 time to slip behind a baggage truck close to the 
 scene of action. 
 
 Snipe is right on hand, too. He's been 
 scrubbed and brushed until his old uniform 
 looks like it had just come from the Q.M., and 
 he's standin' as stiff as if he'd been dipped in 
 glue and set out to dry. Only his right arm is 
 twitchin' nervous, preparin' for the salute, and 
 there's a sort of a panicky look in them pop 
 eyes. I didn't dare whisper to him for fear I'd 
 break the spell. 
 
 And in a minute here comes Boomer-Day,
 
 188 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 steppin' along brisk and important, the way 
 little men do, and sort of steerin' by the elbow a 
 tall, good-lookin' young chap who's wearin' a 
 plain business suit and a soft hat with the brim 
 bent down in front. Behind them trots another 
 young gent, dressed about the same, but luggin' 
 two kit-bags. Course, I spots the pair as his 
 lordship and his man. 
 
 They'd got almost to the limousine when 
 Boomer-Day turns to give some directions to the 
 valet, and about then I hears a gasp from Snipe. 
 Almost the same time the young chap stops in 
 his tracks, stares a second at Snipe, and then 
 sings out cordial : 
 
 11 Oh, I say ! If it isn 't the Blessed Yank ! ' ' 
 
 ' ' The Flyin ' Buddie ! ' ' says Snipe. 
 
 "You bloomin' old rotter!" says the other, 
 grabbin' him by the hand and pump in' his arm 
 up and down. ' ' Whatever are you doing here ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh, Gawd!" says Snipe, startin' sudden and 
 glancin' around. "I'll get busted for this sure. 
 I'm down here to meet a fool lord. See? I'm 
 drivin' this bus for Boomer-Day, and he's liable 
 
 to show up any minute with Gosh ! There 
 
 he is now ! ' ' 
 
 Yep, there he was. And he is turnin' purple 
 in the gills as he sees who his chauffeur is 
 shakin' hands with. 
 
 "Must be some mistake, Yank," says the 
 young chap, his eyes twinklin'. "I'm the only
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 189 
 
 guest Boomer-Day has with him this trip, and 
 you wouldn't call me a fool lord, would you?" 
 
 ' ' You ? ' ' says Snipe, grinnin ', relieved. ' * Aw, 
 say! Same old kidder, eh? Remember that 
 time we was hung up in that cabbage cellar 
 while Fritz was " 
 
 I didn't get the rest of it, for just then some- 
 one touches me on the arm, and I finds Boomer- 
 Day standing there nearly speechless. 
 
 "McCabe," says he, "could could you 
 kindly tell me why that idiot chauffeur of mine 
 is pounding Lord Ripley on the back?" 
 
 "It's by me," says I; "but they listen like a 
 couple of old college chums." 
 
 * ' Impossible ! ' ' says Boomer-Day. 
 
 "Then why not crash in and find out?" I 
 suggests . 
 
 Which he finally does. 
 
 4 ' My word ! ' ' says Lord Ripley. ' ' Here is the 
 one Yankee I was hoping against hope I could 
 find. But I suppose he's told you something 
 about that little affair of ours over there?" 
 
 Boomer-Day can 't trust himself to speak. He 
 just shakes his head. Then, sort of husky, he 
 adds: "In in the war?" 
 
 "Of course," says his lordship. 
 
 "All I've heard Gallagher mention," says 
 Boomer-Day, "was about the mud." 
 
 "Oh, yes!" says Lord Ripley. "Beastly 
 mud, too. But that's where the Blessed Yank
 
 190 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 came out strong. It was up on the Flanders 
 front. I'd been having a lively little show all 
 on my own with a big Fokker. I'd winged him 
 once, and was diving to get under him for a 
 finish round, when the lucky beggar put a stray 
 shot through the feed pipe and my motor went 
 dead. Down I goes, just at dusk. Oh, I was 
 planing all right but I couldn't quite make back 
 of our lines. Landed near enough between two 
 shell holes ; but it was no place to stop. Only 
 the dark and fog saved me. If the Huns had 
 turned a machine gun on me! But they 
 didn't. 
 
 "And somehow I wriggled back, found one of 
 our observation posts, convinced the bally lieu- 
 tenant I wasn't a spy, and got taken through 
 the wire. But how I did hate to leave the old 
 bus out there. And our squadron headquarters 
 forty kilometers or more away. Well, I'd pad- 
 dled through miles of communication trenches 
 when I ran across this mired-in American unit, 
 with a perfectly good machine shop on board. 
 They'd been sent out to tinker up some of our 
 ammunition lorries, and the sergeant in charge 
 was a decent sort. When I asked him if he had 
 a spare mechanic who was willing to take on a 
 job out in No Man's Land he said he'd call for 
 volunteers. It was Gallagher here who stepped 
 out. Also it was Gallagher who went back with 
 me, through all that soupy landscape, helped me
 
 A FOLLOW-UP ON SNIPE 191 
 
 bluff my way past the line, and fitted me out 
 with a new copper feed pipe, almost under the 
 very nose of Fritz. They heard us, of course, 
 and shot the fog full of holes trying to locate us ; 
 but Gallagher carried on as if he was doing the 
 job in a back area. And inside of half an hour 
 we had the old bus going and were sailing out of 
 that. Do you wonder I called him the Blessed 
 Yank from then on? Or that I kept at our 
 major until he had Gallagher transferred to our 
 shops. Eh, what?" 
 
 Course, we stands there, Boomer-Day and me, 
 gawpin' at Snipe, who is grinnin' foolish and 
 starin' admirin' at Lord Eipley. All of a sud- 
 den he comes out of the trance and remembers 
 his job. 
 
 1 'Where to, sir?" says he, salutin' zippy. 
 
 "Home, you beggar!" says his lordship, 
 givin' Snipe a dig in the ribs. "And see that 
 you wait up for me after dinner to-night. I'm 
 coming out and smoke a pipe or so with you, 
 old son." 
 
 I heard he did it, too. Also, I'm told that dur- 
 ing most of the dinner Mrs. Boomer-Day had to 
 listen while Lord Ripley told her what a ripping 
 sort her substitute chauffeur was. 
 
 But it wasn't until Monday night that I had 
 any direct word from Snipe himself. He comes 
 over on purpose to spill the news to me. 
 
 "Do you know what, Professor?" says he.
 
 192 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "That Flyin' Buddie, he he's a lord, after 
 all." 
 
 * ' Seems to be a regular guy, though, ' ' says I. 
 
 "You bet he is!" says Snipe. "And, say, 
 that ain't the best of it. He's fixin' to keep on 
 with the flyin' game air passenger service out 
 of London and he's signed me up as head 
 mechanic. I'm quittin' the Boomer-Days next 
 week. ' ' 
 
 "That sounds like you'd fell into something 
 good, eh?" says I. 
 
 "Good?" says Snipe. "Why, man, I'm 
 ridin' on the world!" 
 
 As I remarks later to Mrs. McCabe : " It 's a 
 poor war, Sadie, that don't work out well for 
 some. ' '
 
 XII 
 
 WHEN EDGAR PLUS FORGOT 
 
 IF it had been 'most any of the neighbors but 
 Edgar I wouldn 't have minded a bit. He 's the 
 last one though that I wanted to see crash in at 
 just that particular time, and of course it was 
 him that came. 
 
 You see, I was entertainin' ex-Corporal Buck 
 Kinney. It's got to be kind of a Saturday night 
 habit of mine. Must have begun a couple of 
 months ago when I finds Buck waitin' patient 
 out in the lee of the garage with his old trench 
 coat collar turned up around his ears and his 
 overseas cap pulled down inside of that. I dis- 
 covers he's got a date with Helma for a dance 
 or something down at the village and is stickin' 
 around while she does up the dinner dishes and 
 gets herself ready. Knowin' that Helma is 
 about as swift as a Portchester local with sleet 
 on the tracks, and that it'll probably be well 
 after nine before she finishes gettin' all that 
 taffy-colored hair puffed over her ears, I asks 
 Buck in where it's warm. And on second 
 thought I tows him in by the livin'-room fire- 
 
 193
 
 194 SHORTY MoCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 place, wishes a gilt banded cigar on him and 
 makes him feel like a reg'lar person. 
 
 Why not 1 ? Ain't he Rockhurst's star war 
 hero, winner of the D.S.M., and all that! And 
 by workin' up to it easy, puttin' in a fool ques- 
 tion now and then, I've found you can really 
 pump more or less details out of him as to how 
 we licked the Huns. You got to go at it just 
 right though, or he '11 close up like a clam. But 
 gradually I've been collectin' a pretty fair his- 
 t'ry of the great war, as fought by a certain 
 machine gun comp'ny whose number we won't 
 disturb Mr. Creel by mentioning even at this 
 late date. 
 
 Well, on this special evenin' I had Bucky 
 nicely started tellin' about a little side show he 
 attended at a place he'd found for me on the 
 map, but neither of us could pronounce, and he's 
 right in the middle of the most thrillin' part 
 when Sadie breaks in on us sort of excited and 
 whispers to me that this Mr. Sherwood is in 
 the lib'ry. 
 
 "Good!" says I. "Give him that subscrip- 
 tion volume of President Wilson's speeches and 
 tell him to read himself to sleep." 
 
 "But he he seems to want to see you at 
 once," says she. 
 
 "Eh!" says I. "Edgar Plus does?" 
 
 1 ' S-s-sh, Shorty ! ' ' warns Sadie. " He '11 hear 
 you."
 
 WHEN EDGAR PLUS FORGOT 195 
 
 1 'Do the poor prune good if he did," says I. 
 " Can't you shunt him some wayl" 
 
 "No, I can't," says Sadie decided. "And 
 what's more, Shorty McCabe, you ought to be 
 ashamed to talk that way about Mr. Sherwood. 
 You know he 's such a nice man. ' ' 
 
 That was just it. I did know that Edgar was 
 a perfectly nice man. Anyway, I'd heard it said 
 times enough. Mainly by women. Uh-huh. 
 Sadie had even gone so far as to say that he 
 was a regular dear. Mrs. Purdy-Pell, who is 
 about as rough a critic of the safety razor sex 
 as you'll find, never handed him anything but 
 kind words. As for Mrs. Boomer-Day, she 
 cooed and gushed over him. almost as if he was 
 a pet Pekinese. Why, even Helma couldn't 
 show Edgar in the front door without workin' 
 up a mushy grin. 
 
 Mind you, I ain't sayin' that Edgar don't de- 
 serve it all. I suspect he does. Nor I don't 
 mean either, that Edgar is one of these regula- 
 tion wrist-slappin' parlor-hounds. So far as 
 looks go he has all the marks of a perfectly good 
 he-man. Even to the whiskers. Oh yes, his 
 dark chestnut Vandj r ke is about the richest crop 
 of facial herbage our cute little suburb can pro- 
 duce. And the way he keeps it trimmed is the 
 last word in tonsorial art. A tall, well built 
 party, Edgar is, too. Looks like he could step 
 into the ring and go ten rounds any time. I
 
 196 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 ain't sure but he could at that. He plays golf 
 some, holds a big silver cup to prove that he's 
 our local tennis champ, and is said to be quite 
 a fencer. Also, while it's true he did marry a 
 bunch of money when he picked out that meek 
 little Miss Parsons as a wife, nobody can accuse 
 him of livin' off her income. Course, he's only 
 a four-eyed expert, but I understand he's the big 
 noise in one of the swellest firms of opticians on 
 Fifth Avenue; one of these exclusive joints 
 where you lug in a $25 oculist 's prescription and 
 they set you back twice as much for a new set 
 of panes. Anyway, he pulls in the coin. You 
 can tell that just by glancin' at the size of the 
 establishment he keeps up. 
 
 Admittin' all that though, I've never been 
 very strong for Edgar. For one thing he 
 always has that air of being so blamed sure he 's 
 all right. Not just chesty or cocky. Nothing so 
 common as that. But he has a calm, quiet way 
 of sizin' you up, sort of cold and superior, that 
 makes me want to muss him every time he 
 comes near. 
 
 I expect it's due to the way he's been brought 
 up, being the only boy in a fam'ly of four girls, 
 and having a mother who's always petted him. 
 And now that he 's married, with his own mother 
 and wifie 's mother both living with him, it's just 
 the same, only more so. Oh, I've see 'em at it.
 
 WHEN EDGAR PLUS FORGOT 197 
 
 When dear Edgar comes in they all rush around 
 trying to do things for him. And after he's 
 kissed 'em all in turn, and presented a box of 
 flowers to one, and some candy to the other, and 
 a little trinket to the third, they just sit and gaze 
 at him admirin', listenin' close to all the wise 
 talk he cares to unload. You know the brand : 
 the fireside hero type. That's why I call him 
 Edgar Plus. 
 
 The most maddenin' part of it all is that you 
 can't seem to pick any flaws in Edgar. "Such 
 a dear, thoughtful man," says Mrs. Boomer- 
 Day. Yes, I got to admit that he is. He's 
 always pattin' wifie on the cheek and tellin' her 
 how nice her hair looks, and what he don't do 
 for those old ladies wouldn't be worth doing. 
 He don't smoke, or drink, and I couldn't imag- 
 ine him rippin' off a cuss word or two, even if 
 he 'd hit his thumb with a hammer. Almost too 
 good to be true, Edgar is. 
 
 The trouble with that kind is that they can't 
 help remembering it. You can't blame 'em so 
 much. If I was told every night and mornin' 
 what a wonder I was maybe I'd get that way 
 myself. I'd be playin' up to the part, the way 
 Edgar always is. Makes 'em soft in the head. 
 You know ; the little things they do get thrown 
 up big. 
 
 So I wanted to duck Edgar just then. But
 
 198 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 when Sadie gets on that tone, and sort of nar- 
 rows her eyelids there's only one wise thing to 
 do compromise. 
 
 "Oh, well!" says I. "If it's going to break 
 anybody's heart, chase him in here." 
 
 I couldn't imagine what it would be this time. 
 "When he called on me last it was a case of 
 helpin' him chase off a stray cur, part bull and 
 part several other breeds, that had wandered 
 in and was tryin' to make a meal off Pom-Pom, 
 the little bunch of white wool with pink eyes 
 that he'd given Mrs. Sherwood for a birthday 
 present. And when I'd pried the pup out of the 
 near-bull's teeth, Edgar had lugged him off tri- 
 umphant to have his women-folk tell him how 
 brave and strong he was. 
 
 "Well," says I, as he comes in, "it ain't Pom- 
 Pom again, is it ? " 
 
 "Yes," says he, breathin' a bit gaspy, "it 
 is." 
 
 And accordin' to his tale the fam'ly pet had 
 been stolen early that morning. He'd been 
 missin' all day, and soon after dinner two rough 
 lookin' characters had shown up askin' if it was 
 so that a hundred dollars reward had been of- 
 fered. Yes, it was. At which they'd produced 
 Pom-Pom, and Edgar was in the act of diggin' 
 up the cash when one of the maids whispered 
 that she'd seen this same pair hangin' around 
 the house before breakfast.
 
 WHEN EDGAR PLUS FORGOT 199 
 
 "Oh, yes," says I. "The old game. And 
 you stalled 'em along while someone 'phoned 
 for the police, eh?" 
 
 "No," says Edgar; "I didn't care for any 
 possible trouble or publicity. Our chief of 
 police is such a crude person, you know. I 
 merely decoyed them to the garage and locked 
 them in." 
 
 "What was the grand idea in that?" I de- 
 mands. 
 
 "Why," says Edgar, "I thought that with 
 your assistance, and possibly that of your sol- 
 dier friend here, we might overawe them and 
 induce them to give up Pom-Pom without any 
 disagreeable scene." 
 
 "Huh!" says I. "You did, eh?" 
 
 That's Edgar to the life. He don't want to 
 get mixed up in anything rough or messy. He's 
 played the parlor hero so long that the very 
 thought of having to speak harsh to somebody, 
 or maybe being rung in on an act that don't call 
 for pearl gray gloves, gets him chilly along the 
 spine. Course, if he can shift the bare knuckle 
 stuff onto any low-brow friend like me, for in- 
 stance, that's another matter. And as I'm dop- 
 ing out his little scheme I gets this happy hunch. 
 
 "Oh, very well!" I goes on. "Maybe we'll 
 step over and help you throw a scare into your 
 pair of dog snatchers pretty soon ; say in about 
 half an hour or so."
 
 200 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Edgar gasps. ' ' But, my dear McCabe, ' ' says 
 he, "you don't seem to realize the situation. 
 Why, I have two desperate characters shut in 
 my garage, with no one but women around the 
 place. I have already been through rather a 
 tense scene with them they used perfectly vile 
 language when they found themselves locked in 
 and my nerves are somewhat unstrung. If I 
 should go back now alone " 
 
 "Sump'n fierce, eh, Bucky?" says I, with a 
 grin at ex-Corporal Kinney. "He's got two 
 young toughs shut up nice and safe in a cement 
 garage and if he keeps 'em there much longer 
 they're apt to say, 'Oh, darn it,' or something 
 when he goes back. Almost enough to make 
 your blood curdle, ain't it?" 
 
 Edgar pinks up at that. "But I assure you, 
 McCabe," he protests, "that they are vicious 
 looking characters, who would be capable 
 of " 
 
 "Oh, sure!" I breaks in. "They might 
 threaten to bite Pom-Pom's tail. But the fact 
 is, Edgar, you butted in here just as the Cor- 
 poral was right in the middle of relatin' one of 
 his little adventures over in France. Suppose 
 we let him finish? Let's see, Bucky, you'd got 
 to where you and Slum Dorsett had got lost 
 while out on a scoutin' expedition and you'd 
 stumbled bang into a little party of Huns that 
 was workin' a machine gun. Slum had slipped
 
 WHEN EDGAR PLUS FORGOT 201 
 
 on a wet log and gone slidin' right into the 
 midst of 'em and then tell us what happened 
 next, Corporal." 
 
 "Aw, it wa'n't much," says Bucky. 
 
 "I know," says I, winkin' at him encouragin'. 
 "Merely one of them little affairs that you used 
 to work up a supper appetite on. But you ain't 
 going to leave a tale like that half finished. 
 There was seven Huns, wasn't there?" 
 
 ' * Only five, ' ' says Bucky, ' ' and I expect they 
 was about as much jolted to see us as we was 
 to find them. No gettin' away, though. So I 
 had to wade in. Too close for shootin' but I 
 had the old prong on the gun and I takes a 
 flyin' leap right onto the back of one Fritzie, at 
 the same time stickin' the steel into another. 
 It was more or less luck, o ' course, for I got him 
 fair, right in th' guts. Next thing I knew, 
 though, the other three was onto me and we 
 went millin' around there something scanda- 
 lous; clubbin', jabbin' and gruntin'. It's funny 
 how few remarks are passed at a time like that. 
 Nobody says a word. Just as well maybe, for 
 we couldn't have savvied each other. And it's 
 odd how well acquainted you get in a short time. 
 Say, I'll bet if I was an artist I could draw a 
 picture of each of 'em, even now. One was a 
 pop-eyed little runt with a nick in his left ear and 
 a broken front tooth. Some scrapper he was, 
 too. Shifty on his feet. The other squareheads
 
 202 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 was big husks, but pie-faced and logy movin'. 
 Seemed to be sort of dazed. Still, it was one of 
 them that gave me the clip side of the head with 
 a trench spade and I went groggy. As I 
 slumped into the mud with my head in an open 
 ammunition box the little Fritzie unlimbers a 
 wicked lookin' trench knife and piles in im- 
 petuous. 
 
 "He was just lungin' for my throat when 
 there comes this bang. Seems Slum has got 
 into action and taken a chance with a grenade. 
 Lucky I was underneath, for it does mess up my 
 little friend something amazin'. Clear blew him 
 to bits, it did. I was sprayed with parts of him. 
 And one of the big Huns had an arm blown off. 
 The one I'd jumped on came to life about then 
 so it was still fifty-fifty and we begun the party 
 all over again, slippin' and slidin' around, hit- 
 tin' out with whatever came handy, clinchin' 
 and breakin' loose, but always doin' as much 
 damage as we could. Once I was sure he 'd got 
 me, for he'd picked up my gun and was swingin' 
 it on me; but I managed to duck and grab him 
 by the legs, and as I came up on the other side 
 I gets hold of the spade and while he's on his 
 knees I splits his thick skull clear to the eyes. 
 Which leaves only one Hun in action and I finds 
 Slum kneelin' on him chokin' his tongue out. 
 All that stiff needed was a little jab through the 
 ribs, and then we starts to take down the ma-
 
 WHEN EDGAR PLUS FORGOT 203 
 
 chine gun when we hears a relief party comin' 
 through the woods back of us, and you can bet 
 we slid out of that and down the hill without 
 waitin' to collect any souvenirs." 
 
 I'd been watchin' Edgar out of the corner of 
 my eye durin' most of this and it sure was en- 
 tertainin' to follow his motions. First off he 
 could only shudder now and then, as Bucky got 
 too realistic, but pretty soon he forgets that and 
 by the time Bucky finishes Edgar is sittin' on 
 the edge of his chair with his fingers twitchin'. 
 
 " You you killed all five of them?" he finally 
 asks. 
 
 "Well, we left 'em interesting stretcher cases, 
 anyway," says Bucky. 
 
 ' ' Fancy that ! " says Edgar. ' Why, both of 
 you must have been trained athletes." 
 
 "Yes," says I. "Bucky used to be our local 
 pool champ. As for this Slum party what was 
 he, Bucky, before they turned him loose on the 
 Huns?" 
 
 "Slum?" says he. "Oh, he was choppin' 
 tickets on the 'L' when the draft got him." 
 
 Edgar just stares bug-eyed. "I I don't 
 understand," says he. "I suppose when you 
 got back to your company your commanding of- 
 ficer complimented you for your bravery and 
 recommended you for a medal or something of 
 the sort." 
 
 * ' The Loot ? ' ' says Bucky. ' ' Nah ! He had a
 
 grouch on that afternoon 'cause he hadn't 
 pulled anything from the mail in two weeks. 
 He bawls us out for bein' late and when I starts 
 tellin' him about the Huns he says to keep that 
 bull stuff to chill the spine of some * Y' secretary 
 when I go back on leave. If we'd had the gun 
 or sump'n I could have made the stiff eat his 
 words; as it was" here Bucky hunches his 
 shoulders and rekindles his cigar stub. 
 
 "To be continued in our next," says I. 
 ''And now, Edgar, we'll trot over and help you 
 dictate your fourteen peace points to them pup 
 snatchers." 
 
 He don't have much to say as we walks along. 
 Seems kind of subdued and thoughtful. My 
 guess is that he's framin' up some deep 
 strategy which would let him stay in and quiet 
 the women folks while we rescue the dog and 
 run the rough necks off the place. So I'm a bit 
 puzzled when we get there to have Edgar walk 
 straight to the side door of the garage, produce 
 a bunch of keys, and plan out something quite 
 different. 
 
 "May I ask you two gentlemen to stand 
 here," says he, "so that if I should be er 
 unsuccessful, you could intercept anyone who 
 came out." 
 
 " Eh ? " says I. * ' You ain 't plannin ' to tackle 
 'em both alone ? ' '
 
 WHEN EDGAB PLUS FORGOT 205 
 
 'Not precisely," says Edgar. "I hope to 
 avoid any violence. I wish to submit a proposal 
 to them which I have no doubt they will accept." 
 
 "Ah, I wouldn't waste any breath on that 
 pair," says I. "Just shoo 'em out and we'll do 
 the rest." 
 
 "If you will permit me, however," says 
 Edgar, and with that blamed if he don't walk 
 right in, turn on the electric light and shut the 
 door behind him. 
 
 Well, we couldn't hear all that was said. It 
 sounds like Edgar had started in his mild, polite 
 way to put his proposition. The next we heard 
 was a scrappy retort, a scuff of feet on the 
 cement floor, a ky-yi from the dog, and then a 
 wild scramble mixed with dull thuds. 
 
 "Huh!" says Bucky. "Listens like some- 
 body had started sump 'n. ' ' 
 
 "That's right," says I, and I expect I was 
 grinnin' some. "But Edgar's orders are to 
 stay outside until something comes through the 
 door." 
 
 "It's comin'!" says Bucky as a heavy bang 
 bends the panels. 
 
 "Not yet," says I, "but I suspect Edgar 
 was chucked this way. I don't know but a little 
 of that will do him good, too. Woof! I'll bet 
 somebody got jarred then. And there goes an- 
 other!"
 
 206 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Aw, let's kick in," protests Bucky. 
 " They 're two to one, you know. Zing! hear 
 that smash? Open up, Shorty." 
 
 "All right," says I. "Course, it's Edgar's 
 party, but if you say hey, what's the matter 
 with this fool lock?" 
 
 It took me half a minute or so to discover 
 which way to turn the key on the spring lock, 
 and meanwhile the sounds from inside kept get- 
 tin' messier and messier. But at last I got the 
 catch loose and we rushes in, ready to pry 'em 
 off from Edgar or sweep up the pieces. 
 
 But say, I wish you could have seen the view 
 that met us. Talk about your movie rough house 
 scenes where they flash the big punch act ! Here 
 is Edgar, with his hair tousled, his coat ripped 
 up the back and one trouser leg split; but he's 
 standin' steady on his pins and is just steamin' 
 in a peppy left hander that lands square be- 
 tween the eyes of a big husk who's runnin' in 
 like he was anxious to stop it. He does, too, and 
 proceeds to crumple up on the floor with a deep 
 grunt that told mighty eloquent how he'd had 
 enough. 
 
 Over in the corner is the other bird, wabblin ' 
 back and forth on his hands and knees with the 
 claret leakin' from his bugle like he was a stuck 
 pig. He's quite a husk too, but there 's no doubt 
 about his being all in. One of his lamps is 
 swellin' out lovely and by the looks of his
 
 WHEN EDGAB, PLUS FORGOT 207 
 
 clothes I should judge that he'd been used as a 
 floor swab. 
 
 "For the love of Pete, Edgar," says I, 
 "whatever have you been doin' to these two 
 gents!" 
 
 "I I'm sure I don't know," says Edgar, a 
 little puffy. "It it all happened so ab- 
 ruptly. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I should say it had, ' ' says I. ' ' And I take it 
 you didn't have time to get over that proposi- 
 tion of yours?" 
 
 I ' ' No, ' ' says Edgar. * ' They proved to be quite 
 unreasonable from the very first, so I I was 
 compelled to well, as you see. ' ' . 
 
 1 ' Uh-huh ! ' ' says I. "It 's what I 'd call a fin- 
 ished job, if you ask me." 
 
 " Ab-so-lutely," chimes in Bucky enthusiastic. 
 "And you sure didn't waste any time on it." 
 
 "I fear," says Edgar, tryin' to smooth out 
 his hair, * ' that when they became so abusive I 
 quite forgot myself for the moment." 
 
 "Take it from me though," says I, "these 
 two birds are goin' to remember you for years 
 to come." 
 
 We didn't have to do any urgin' to get 'em 
 to clear out. When I swung open the front door 
 they scrambled through it and off into the dark 
 like a couple of rats being let out of a trap. 
 And after we'd gathered up Pom-Pom from 
 where he was crouchin' in a corner, and shaken
 
 208 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Edgar hearty by the mitt, Bucky and I trails 
 back to the house. 
 
 "Say," remarks Bucky thoughtfully, 
 "wouldn't that guy have been a bear in a 
 moppin' up squad?" 
 
 "I guess you've stated it," says I. 
 
 "What was it you called him when he first 
 showed up?" asks Bucky. "Edgar what?" 
 
 "Edgar Plus," says I. "And I got to admit 
 it's a closer fit than I thought."
 
 xm 
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 
 
 FROM some of the calls I get you'd 'most think 
 I had a sign out readin' " Shorty McCabe, 
 Cheerupodist. ' ' Take this case where they send 
 the limousine to cart me way up above Tarry- 
 town where Alton I. Frazer has built a near- 
 Moorish palace on top of a hill. 
 
 " What's the idea?" I asks Miss Edith when 
 she rings me on the long distance. " Shall I 
 bring up a set of gloves or some gym appa- 
 ratus?" 
 
 "Certainly not," says she, kind of gaspy. 
 "Why, poor daddy's being wheeled about in a 
 chair. He's a very sick man." 
 
 "Say," I breaks in, "are you sure you've got 
 the right number? This is Professor McCabe 's 
 Physical Culture Studio, you know, and " 
 
 "Yes, I understand," says Miss Edith. "I 
 suppose I'm perfectly silly, but I just want you 
 to come up and talk to him a little while. You see, 
 he hasn't seen a soul for the past five weeks but 
 doctors and nurses. We Ve had four specialists 
 and each one has discovered something dreadful 
 the matter with him, every time something new, 
 
 209
 
 210 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 and he is so discouraged that I I "Well, 
 
 I'm desperate, that's all. I've never seen him 
 
 give up this way and I just thought Oh, I 
 
 don't know precisely, but he used to seem so 
 cheerful when he was going regularly to your 
 place, Professor, and if you could only " 
 
 ' ' Sure, " says I. "I '11 come. ' ' 
 
 Not that I thought it would be any use, but 
 Old Alibi Frazer had tossed over to me many a 
 fat check in his day and I'd be a poor sort of 
 prune to turn down one of my old reg 'lars when 
 he was about to take the count, wouldn 't I ! 
 
 I expect you know more or less about him 
 yourself, but whether you rate him as a high 
 class financier or as a first-class crook who has 
 dodged jail depends a good deal on how much 
 income tax you pay. As for me, I ain't sure. 
 Why, when this quiet talkin' little old guy, with 
 the mild blue eyes and the high broad shoulders, 
 first showed up at the studio, I had him placed 
 as some up-state banker who was spendin' the 
 winter in town because daughter was havin' her 
 voice trained to hold high C or something. 
 Then I noticed that heavy chin of his and the 
 solid set to his jaw, so I wasn't so much sur- 
 prised to find out that he was the big traction 
 plute. 
 
 Uh-huh. Suburban trolleys are his special- 
 ties. He collects 'em like anyone else would col- 
 lect liberty bond posters, or pewter mugs, or old
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 211 
 
 campaign buttons. He '11 get his eye on a good 
 payin' line that's somehow escaped being gob- 
 bled up by some syndicate, and the next thing 
 the directors know the man who's votin' the 
 majority stock at the annual meetin' will be 
 Alton I. Frazer. Then things begin to happen. 
 There'll be a new issue, a second or third mort- 
 gage will be clapped on, the bonds will be jug- 
 gled mysterious, the sinkin ' fund will disappear 
 and most likely the courts will be asked to ap- 
 point a receiver. Somehow though he will come 
 out of the deal with a pot of money whose ab- 
 sence doesn't show anywhere on the books, and 
 the local capitalists who financed the road at the 
 start will be wonderin' what hit 'em. Then 
 maybe there '11 be a reorganization and another 
 feeder will be added to the Frazer system. 
 
 Still, I must say he's always been fair and 
 friendly with me. I got so I didn't even lock 
 up the safe when he came in and after I'd helped 
 him get rid of a bad case of nervous indigestion 
 he sure expressed his gratitude in something be- 
 sides kind words. In fact, we've been almost 
 chummy ever since. So when the French chauf- 
 feur comes up and says how the carriage waits, 
 or words to that effect, I turns the Studio over 
 to Swifty Joe for the day and takes this twenty 
 mile drive up into Westchester County. 
 
 I admit I was some jarred at the change in 
 the old boy. Why, it hadn't been more'n eight
 
 212 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 months since he'd dropped into the Studio last, 
 smokin' one of them slim panatellas and handin' 
 me his usual line of quiet josh. And here he is 
 humped over in the rollin' chair with his mouth 
 corners sagged and a complexion like the inside 
 of an ash tray. 
 
 "Well, well!" says I, lookin' him over. 
 "Who's been kiddin' you into thinkin' you're 
 an invalid?" 
 
 He shakes his head and tries to pull that old 
 twisty smile of his. "I'm afraid they're right 
 this time, Shorty," says he. "I I'm on the 
 scrap heap, I guess." 
 
 "Gwan!" says I. "You got a right to an- 
 other guess, ain't you? Been having some spe- 
 cialists look you over, eh!" 
 
 He nods. 
 
 "Heart specialist, I'll bet," I goes on; "and 
 they found your blood pump all out of whack, 
 didn't they?" 
 
 He admits they did; also that stomach spe- 
 cialists had found fault with his plumbing, and 
 so on. 
 
 "Yes," says I, "and if you'd had a foot 
 expert in he'd told you how you had fallen 
 arches, while a lung shark would have insisted 
 that your pipes were clogged. Sure you ain't 
 got a touch of house-maid's knee, or boll weevils 
 in your hair?" 
 
 "As I'm feeling just now, Shorty," says he,
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 213 
 
 "I wouldn't deny harboring any ailment they 
 might name. ' ' 
 
 "I expect theyVe made you lay off busi- 
 ness?" says I. 
 
 "I am just winding up everything," says he. 
 "I'm allowed half a day with my secretary. 
 Here he comes now. Don't go away. I have 
 no more business secrets. Well, Staples?" 
 
 Mr. Staples is a slick-haired, cold-eyed young 
 gent who proceeds to spread out his papers and 
 make his reports. He fires facts and figures at 
 Mr. Frazer as careless as if he was talking into 
 a machine, and with sort of a bored air that's as 
 much as to say : * ' Oh, you don't count any more, 
 so what's the use?" They're some figures too, 
 relatin' how the dividends on this block of pre- 
 ferred amount to so many hundred thousand; 
 how such a deal has been closed at a net profit 
 of half a million, and where another little 
 scheme has been pulled off that will give control 
 of a new line. 
 
 But Old Alibi just sits there with his chin 
 down, noddin' now and then at some item, but 
 mainly drummin' his fingers restless on the 
 chair arm. Near as I could judge, the Frazer 
 system was workin' like a mint runnin' double 
 shifts, and any one of them items would have 
 had me doing a war dance. He don't seem to 
 work up any enthusiasm though. Not a bit. 
 
 Finally Mr. Staples announces casual: "Oh,
 
 214 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 by the way, that Waterbury-Pawtucket enter- 
 prise still hangs fire. I think though that those 
 people are about to come to terms. Their Mr. 
 Atkins is here now." 
 
 ' 'Si Atkins? Here?" asks Mr. Frazer, sort 
 of rousin' up. " What '11 he take now!" 
 
 "He wouldn't say," says Staples. " Insists 
 on seeing you personally. I told him it couldn't 
 be done, but he 's still waiting. ' ' 
 
 1 'Huh!" grunts Old Alibi. "Well, you go 
 
 down and tell him, Staples No, I can't 
 
 spare you now. Shorty, perhaps you wouldn't 
 mind shooing the old rascal off the premises. 
 Tell him I'm so sick I don't care what he does 
 with his old road. Will you I ' ' 
 
 It's a new line for me, but I wanders down 
 stairs and into the big lib'ry, where I finds this 
 shifty-eyed old boy with the white deacon 
 whiskers sittin' anxious on the edge of his chair. 
 And before I can get in my remarks he demands 
 if I represent Mr. Frazer. 
 
 "Why, yes, in a way," says I, "but 
 
 "Then tell him," breaks in Mr. Atkins, "that 
 if he will only listen to a reasonable propo- 
 sition, we are ready to compromise. Of course 
 we have secured an injunction preventing him 
 from interfering with the extension of our line 
 across his " And then I cuts in myself. 
 
 "Excuse me," says I, "but you might as well 
 save your breath. If it was a plot in a ceme-
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 215 
 
 tery you wanted to sell, Mr. Frazer might do 
 business with you. As it is, there's nothing 
 doing. ' ' 
 
 "Wha-a-t?" says Mr. Atkins, kind of gaspy. 
 
 f ' Mr. Frazer is too sick a man to care whether 
 you sell him your trolley line or junk it, ' ' says I. 
 
 "Sick?" says Mr. Atkins. "Why, I hadn't 
 heard. Sick, eh? Too bad!" 
 
 And say, he looked about as sorry as an ex- 
 doughboy just landin' from a transport. 
 "Well, well!" he goes on. "In that case I I 
 think we have no offer to make. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, you haven't, eh?" says I, sort of 
 prickin' up my ears. His sudden shift had got 
 me kind of curious. 
 
 "No," says he, real prompt. "No offer of 
 any kind. And I think I will merely express a 
 hope for the eventual recovery of Mr. Frazer 
 and " 
 
 "Just a minute," says I, as he's reachin' for 
 his hat. "Frazer ought to know how bad you 
 feel about his being sick, and he might have 
 some word to send back, after all. I'll hang 
 your hat in the hall. ' ' 
 
 I didn't. I took the hard boiled lid upstairs 
 with me and showed it to Old Alibi. He stares 
 at it puzzled. 
 
 ' * Belongs to your friend Atkins, ' ' says I. "I 
 just lugged it along so he wouldn't weep it full 
 of sympathy on account of your being so sick. ' '
 
 216 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Frazer gawps at me like he thought I'd gone 
 crazy in the head. ''What triple-plated tom- 
 myrot is this?" he snorts. "Old Si Atkins has 
 no more sympathy in his system than a dry 
 lemon and personally he's as fond of me as a 
 cat is of swimming in the pond. ' ' 
 
 I shakes my head. * ' Must be some mistake, ' ' 
 says I. "He seemed all cut up when I told him 
 how bad off you were. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, he did, eh?" says Frazer. "Enough 
 so he was willing to sell his road at any 
 terms?" 
 
 "Affects him just the opposite," says I. "He 
 wouldn't think about botherin' you with buyin' 
 it now." 
 
 Alibi Frazer rouses up at that. He 
 straightens back in the wheel chair with his chin 
 up and a queer flicker coming into them mild 
 blue eyes. "The old fox!" says he. "What's 
 his game, anyway?" 
 
 "That's all he said," says I. "I take it he's 
 too tender-hearted to worry a sick man with 
 business." 
 
 "Bah!" says Frazer. "You don't know the 
 old pirate. He's got something up his sleeve 
 and by the seven saints I'm going to find out 
 what it is before he leaves this house. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, I say, Mr. Frazer," protests the secre- 
 tary, "you know your physicians have abso- 
 lutely forbidden you to "
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 217 
 
 "Physicians be blowed!" says Old Alibi. 
 "Shorty, bring Atkins up here." 
 
 "Just as you say," says I. 
 
 I had to chuckle, too, at the way my little 
 hunch was workin' out. He'd shaken the slump 
 out of his shoulders and them stubby fingers of 
 his was bunched vigorous. 
 
 "You're in luck," I tells Atkins. "Mr. 
 Frazer happens to be a bit easier for the time 
 being and I expect a little chat with an old 
 friend like you will do him good." 
 
 That almost gives him a chokin' spell. "But 
 -. I " he begins. 
 
 "Ah, come along," says I. "He's sent for 
 you special." 
 
 And when I've lined the two of 'em up facin' 
 each other it sure is interestin' to watch their 
 motions. Old Alibi has got a grip on himself 
 once more and gives Atkins the smooth hail, 
 while Si acts about as comfortable as a mouse 
 being introduced to a tomcat. 
 
 "Sorry you find me laid up this way," says 
 Frazer, "but I suppose I'm down and out. 
 That's what my fool doctors tell me, anyway." 
 
 "I I was greatly shocked to hear it," says 
 Atkins. 
 
 "No doubt," says Frazer. "You see, I 
 haven't advertised the fact might be bad for 
 the market. Not that I have much interest in 
 such affairs now. I 'm just winding things up. ' '
 
 218 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Y-e-s?" says Atkins, glancin' shrewd at the 
 secretary. 
 
 "So you'll pardon me for dropping that 
 Waterbury-Pawtucket deal," goes on Frazer. 
 "I hear, though, that you have concluded not to 
 sell." 
 
 Atkins nods. 
 
 "Going to develop the property yourself, 
 eh?" suggests Frazer. 
 
 "We we we might," says Atkins, squirm- 
 in' uncomfortable in his chair. 
 
 "I guessed as much," says Frazer. "Let's 
 see, that injunction of yours has about two 
 weeks to run, hasn't it? You could put in that 
 crossing if you made a rush job of it, couldn't 
 you?" 
 
 For a second the old boy colors up like a 
 kid that's been nabbed robbin' a cherry tree, but 
 all of a sudden his backbone stiffens, his eyelids 
 narrow and he shoves his chin out. 
 
 "Yes, Frazer, we could, ' ' says he. ' * It would 
 save us from having to turn our franchise over 
 to you at your figure, and as we are fortunate 
 enough to have the courts on our side this 
 time " 
 
 "Atkins," breaks in Frazer, "how long do 
 you think it would take me to shoot that injunc- 
 tion of yours so full of holes that it would look 
 like a screen door?"
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 219 
 
 "More than two weeks, Frazer," the old boy 
 raps back at him. 
 
 "And meantime," says Frazer, "you would 
 have Eh? What the deuce?" 
 
 He stops and glares up at the nurse, who has 
 come in with a glass and a spoon. 
 
 "It's the half hour, sir," says the nurse. 
 
 "That's so," says Old Alibi, takin' the dose 
 meek and slump in' back into his chair once 
 more. * ' Never mind me, Atkins. Go ahead if 
 you can." 
 
 I thought I heard Mr. Atkins sigh kind of 
 relieved at that and he lost no time in makin' 
 his getaway. 
 
 "Pardon me, sir," says the secretary, "but I 
 think our time is up for to-day." 
 
 "Well, it isn't, not by a long shot," says 
 Frazer. * * You heard what that old robber had 
 to say, didn't you? But perhaps it hasn't 
 dawned on you just what he means to do. I'll 
 tell you, Staples. Now that he thinks I'm out 
 of the game he means to put in that grade 
 crossing I've been blocking off for the last five 
 years, which would force us to buy at his terms. 
 But he's wrong, Staples. I'm not quite out of 
 it. I have a sneaking idea there's one more 
 fight left in me yet. Anyway, we '11 see. Have 
 our bags packed, order the car, and wire Burns 
 to meet me in Waterbury to-night at 7.30." 
 
 For a minute Staples gawps at him with his
 
 220 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 mouth open. Then he smiles sort of conde- 
 scendin' and shakes his head. "You forget 
 your condition, Mr. Frazer," says he. "It it 
 would be suicide. I could not consent to assist 
 you in anything so utterly rash. ' ' 
 
 "You couldn't, eh?" snorts Frazer. "Then 
 you're fired. Understand that? Get out." 
 
 The secretary shrugs his shoulders, gathers 
 up his papers, and trickles through the door. 
 
 "I suppose everyone else in this house will 
 act the same," says Frazer. "All afraid of 
 those fool doctors. But I mean to beat Si 
 Atkins if it takes my last breath. How about 
 you, McCabe ; will you stand by me?" 
 
 "Seeing how I got you into this," says I, 
 * 'I can't do less." 
 
 ' ' Good ! ' ' says he. "And if I happen to pass 
 out with my boots on?" 
 
 1 ' Piffle ! ' ' says I. ' * You 're as tough as a pine 
 knot and a little scrap like this is just what 
 you've been needin' for months. Why, man, 
 look in the glass. You've come halfway back 
 already." 
 
 "Shorty," says he, grippin' my hand, "those 
 are the most encouraging words I've heard for 
 weeks. See me through this and you'll not re- 
 gret it. There's an extension 'phone in that 
 alcove. Here, let me write the number. That's 
 our repair shops. Get Burns, our construction 
 superintendent, on the wire. ' '
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 221 
 
 And when I'd made the connection I hands 
 over the 'phone to Old Alibi. "That you, 
 Burns ?" says he. " This is Frazer. Yes. Meet 
 me at the Wilmot in Waterbury, 7.30 to-night. 
 That's what I said. To-night. And listen, 
 Burns. You know where that Pawtucket crowd 
 want to cut our line at grade? Have a gang 
 there at daylight ready to put in a short switch, 
 say a hundred yards. Send down a couple of 
 those big snow plows, too. Get that? Yes, the 
 rotaries. Good." 
 
 Then he turns to me and grins. "I can trust 
 Burns," he goes on. "Now to get out of this. 
 Thank Heavens, Edith is down at the village. 
 Turn the key in that door to the right, will you, 
 and lock out that nurse. That's it. Now if you 
 will throw a few things into my kit-Jbag. In that 
 room at your left. Bag's on the closet shelf. 
 Pajamas and so on. Pair for yourself. Shav- 
 ing things in the bathroom. Let's see, where 's 
 that check book? Ah! Now I wonder how I 
 can navigate. Little wabbly in the knees, 
 Shorty, but I guess we can manage." 
 
 Well, we did. Couldn't have done it much 
 quicker if the house had been on fire. I'll bet 
 it wasn't fifteen minutes before we were down 
 at the porte-cochere with me helpin' load him 
 into the limousine. Frenchy stares some when 
 he gets his sailin' orders, but he salutes snappy.
 
 222 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Eet ees in Con-nec-ti-cut ; yes, M'sieur?" 
 says he. 
 
 "Yes," says Frazer. "Due east. You know 
 the way. And a little speed, Henri. ' ' 
 
 Say, that was some excursion for a man 
 who 's just crawled out of a wheel-chair, but Old 
 Alibi settles himself comfortable in the corner, 
 turns on the electric heater, and seems to be 
 enjoyin' every sway and jolt. Next thing I 
 know he's discovered a cigar case in the pocket 
 of his mink-lined overcoat and is lightin' up one 
 of his slim black cigars. 
 
 "First in ten weeks," says he. "Lord, 
 Shorty, but it tastes good!" 
 
 "If it does," says I, "maybe that's just what 
 you need. Go to it !" 
 
 Anyway, he's very much of a live one when 
 we rolls into Waterbury just before dark, and 
 from the size of the steak he orders for dinner 
 I judge that his appetite is coming back to him. 
 And by the time Burns shows up he's pacin' up 
 and down the lobby burnin' his second pana- 
 tella. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Frazer!" says Burns, "I thought 
 you were a sick man. ' ' 
 
 "So did Si Atkins," says Frazer, "but my 
 friend Shorty here has persuaded me that I'm 
 not. At least, I've escaped those infernal spe- 
 cialists. Now let's get to business." 
 
 It wasn't a long session him and the superin-
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 223 
 
 tendent had, and by 9.30 I saw him tucked away 
 in the feathers with a 7 o'clock call in for the 
 morning. Course, it was a question whether Old 
 Alibi could answer it or not, but blamed if I 
 don't hear him stirrin' around before I'd rolled 
 out myself. 
 
 "Sleep?" says he. "I haven't had such a 
 sleep in a year, Shorty. And make that break- 
 fast order about three soft boiled eggs for me, 
 with bacon, coffee and rolls. Tell 'em to hurry 
 it up, too. I'm starved." 
 
 "That doesn't listen much like an invalid," 
 says I. "Maybe some of them specialists 
 guessed wrong, eh?" 
 
 "You bet they did!" says Frazer. "So did 
 Si Atkins." 
 
 And if you'd been on the scene of action a 
 couple of hours later you 'd thought so, too. It 's 
 some busy little party, take it from me. Burns 
 and his gang was on hand, makin' the dirt fly, 
 and what does Mr. Frazer do but hop out of the 
 car and take charge of the proceedin's. 
 
 "Never mind fancy ballasting," says he. 
 "Just get that switch in any old way. Here, 
 Brady, lend a hand on that hacksaw and cut 
 that rail. You, Mike, speed up those men laying 
 those ties. Any signs of the enemy, Burns? 
 Ah, who 's that coming down the road ? Yes, it 's 
 old Si. Got his surveyors with him, too. Sur- 
 veyors! Huh!"
 
 224 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Sure enough, when the touring car rolls up, 
 there's Atkins with a surveyin' bunch. And 
 you should have seen his eyes bulge out when 
 he spots Old Alibi in the midst of all this 
 activity. 
 
 "What what does this mean, Frazer?" he 
 demands, as he steps out. 
 
 "Why," says Old Alibi, winkin' at Burns, 
 "our road superintendent concluded that we 
 needed another switch put in just about here. 
 Enterprising chap, eh?" 
 
 "But see here!" protests Atkins, "this is 
 just where our crossing is to come." 
 
 "What a coincidence!" observes Frazer. 
 "May make it rather awkward for you, I fear." 
 
 "No, it won't!" snaps Atkins. "Not a bit. 
 Eemember we have the courts back of us. 
 We'll just tear it up, that's all." 
 
 "That will be interesting to watch, too," says 
 Frazer. "Burns, signal those rotaries to run 
 down a little closer. See 'em up there, Atkins? 
 Well, they are to occupy this switch for the next 
 two weeks, longer if necessary, with their snow 
 cutters going; and if you have any spare 
 laborers you want turned into sausage meat just 
 send 'em along." 
 
 "This this is a high-handed outrage," 
 sputters Atkins, turnin' purple under his white 
 whiskers. 
 
 "Oh, come, Atkins," says Frazer, "aren't
 
 SHORTY ANSWERS A HAIL 225 
 
 you a little rough with a sick man? Suppose we 
 step into my car and talk it over. Maybe you '11 
 decide you want to sell your line after all, and 
 then we can stop all this foolishness. Eh? 
 What do you say?" 
 
 I couldn't hear what he said, for they were 
 shut up in the limousine for the next half hour. 
 But when they came out he's just stowin' away 
 a check and they parts with a friendly shake. 
 After which Burns shoos away the big snow 
 plows, work on the switch is stopped where it is 
 and we drives back to Waterbury for a whaling 
 big lunch. 
 
 "Huh !" says Swifty Joe, as I shows up at the 
 Studio next morning a couple of hours late. 
 "Took you some time to cheer up that sick plute 
 friend of yours ; or did he check out on you?" 
 
 "He didn't check out," says I. "In fact, I 
 left him as good as new." 
 
 "How did you do it?" asks Swifty. 
 
 "Simple enough," says I. "Just sicced him 
 on a few loose dollars and he went after 'em 
 like a terrier after a rat." 
 
 "I expect he didn't pass any on to you, 
 though?" says Swifty. 
 
 "Only this," says I, exhibitin' a pink slip. 
 "Take a look."
 
 226 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 ' ' A a cool thousand ! ' ' gasps S wif ty. ' * Say, 
 of all the lucky stiffs!" 
 
 ' ' Oh, I don 't know, ' ' says I. "It takes more 
 or less knack to pull 'em out of a wheel-chair 
 that way. In fact, it's almost an art." 
 
 "Ahr-r-r chee!" says Swifty, out of the side 
 of his mouth. 
 
 "It is when you get away with it," says I.
 
 XIV 
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 
 
 I EXPECT I'm a little late in gettin' the hunch, 
 but if you really want to know where you stand 
 with the neighbors just let some of your so- 
 called friends ring you in on local politics and 
 wish a little two by four office on you. Say, it's 
 more illuminatin' than an X-ray picture or 
 havin' your bumps read by a headologist. 
 
 Here a while back I was nursin' along the 
 idea that my ratin' as a citizen of Kockhurst-on- 
 the-Sound was along about fair to middlin'. 
 Course, when it came to finances, I didn't count 
 myself in with the plutes and near-plutes; 
 among our little bunch of high-brows I knew 
 I was a flivver; and if it was a case of social 
 rank I'd be classed among the also-rans every 
 time. 
 
 Yet I'd lived out here quite some time with- 
 out havin' to face the judge from the wrong 
 side of the court room; I'd always paid my 
 taxes prompt; I hadn't run off with anybody's 
 wife; nor I hadn't traded in my liberty bonds 
 for wildcat minin' stock. I was servin' my 
 fourth term as director of the Yacht Club, I'd 
 
 227
 
 228 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 helped organize the Citizens' League and I'd 
 subscribed to all the funds, from the Armenian 
 appeal to the one to raise a permanent me- 
 morial to our war heroes. I'd even been re- 
 ferred to as ''our esteemed fellow townsman, 
 Professor McCabe," in the last annual report of 
 the Committee on War Gardens. Right out in 
 print, too. 
 
 So when I gets word that I've been picked to 
 fill in this vacancy on the School Board I ain't 
 as much surprised as some might think I'd be. 
 Course, I starts in by making a noise like a man 
 sufferin' from ingrowin' modesty. 
 
 "Well, wouldn't that frost a cake!" I re- 
 marks, turnin' to Sadie. "Me named to help 
 run the schools ! And I never even got through 
 the eighth grade myself. Say, I'll make a fancy 
 educator, I will. I guess somebody must have 
 pulled a bone." 
 
 "I'm sure I see nothing strange about it," 
 says Sadie. "I think it's rather a compliment, 
 Shorty, though nothing more than you really 
 deserve." 
 
 ' ' Good girl, Sadie ! ' ' says I. "I might know 
 you'd stand up for me. And if that's the way 
 you feel about it, blamed if I don't give the 
 thing a whirl ; yes, even if I have to wear a pair 
 of eyeglasses on a black ribbon to dress the 
 part." 
 
 I got to admit though, that way inside of me
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 229 
 
 I could feel something swellin' out my ribs in 
 front. Member of the Board of Education! 
 Eh? Wasn't that comin' along some? 'Spe- 
 cially for a guy that started where I had. I 
 couldn't help wonderin' what some of the old 
 gang would say if they should hear about it 
 the ones I'd known back in the days when I was 
 meetin' all comers who could make the weight, 
 when I was figuring strong in the sportin' 
 columns and earning the big end of the gate re- 
 ceipts by hammerin' other young gents around 
 a roped platform. Huh! Wouldn't the news 
 get a gasp out of 'em? 
 
 That pleasin' frame of mind lasts until I 
 begun gettin' the returns from some of my good 
 neighbors. It was about the second mornin' 
 that the news seemed to have spread general 
 among the commuters on the 8.03, and they sure 
 had a merry time joshin' me on the way into 
 town. 
 
 "Hey, Shorty!" says one, slappin' me on the 
 back. "Where have you been concealing this 
 brainy stuff all the while?" 
 
 "Oh, that's simple, with pin heads like you," 
 says I. 
 
 "Do I understand, Professor," says another, 
 "that you mean to add a course of applied 
 pugilism to the high school curriculum?" 
 
 That gets a big laugh from the cross seats 
 where a bridge game is going on.
 
 "Say," says I, "if the Board wants to start a 
 class in comic kiddin' I can name some who'd 
 qualify for the kindergarten department. Come 
 now, anybody else with a wheeze he's been 
 savin' up for me?" 
 
 Not that most of it wasn't good natured and 
 all that, but the fact remains that my having 
 anything to do with managin' the schools is con- 
 sidered a joke. Oh, yes. That seems to be the 
 general view. It's unanimous, you might say. 
 Even Mr. Purdy-Pell, who seldom forgets his 
 family tree long enough to smile at any common 
 party, has to get in his little crack. 
 
 "Congratulations, McCabe, on the new civic 
 honor which has come to you," says he, "al- 
 though I was unaware you were at all inter- 
 ested in pedagogy. ' ' 
 
 "I didn't know I was either," says I, "until 
 just recent. Sudden attack. I'm just bugs on 
 it." 
 
 And not until I'd got to the Physical Culture 
 Studio and looked up the word in Swifty Joe's 
 dollar-down dictionary was I sure he was tryin* 
 to be humorous. 
 
 Course, I'm no thin skinned, sensitive party 
 who can't stand a josh now and then, but when 
 I finds I'm furnishin' mirth for the whole town 
 it kind of got me wonderin' if I wasn't overdoin' 
 the thing. You know. You don't mind doing
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 231 
 
 the clown act occasional if you take the part 
 with that understandin ', but when the crowd be- 
 gins to guy your serious lines that's something 
 different. 
 
 So when I gets home that evenin' I pikes 
 down to the village right after dinner and hunts 
 up Brick Hogan. He's the ex-boss of our dis- 
 trict, Brick is, and until the Citizens ' League got 
 busy and busted up his machine he ran our local 
 politics with one hand and his contractin' busi- 
 ness with the other. I must say, too, now that 
 I've got to know him better, I think he made a 
 better job of it all 'round than our mixed bunch 
 of high-brows, ministers and prominent busi- 
 ness men. And allowin' that Brick did get his 
 rake off on street openings, pavin' contracts 
 and so on, I ain't sure but he was worth every 
 dollar of it. 
 
 It was a couple of years ago that we rose up 
 in our might and chucked out the Hogan crowd, 
 and all the grip on public affairs we left Brick 
 was this hold-over job on the school board, 
 where he's been in a hopeless minority. Since 
 then though I've been revisin' my opinion of 
 Brick maybe I told you once how I caught him 
 red-handed supportin' the children's ward at 
 the county T. B. hospital out of his own pocket 
 and gradually we've established more or less 
 friendly relations. So when I decides that I
 
 232 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 wants the details of this Board of Education ap- 
 pointment that strikes everybody so humorous 
 I goes straight at Brick. 
 
 1 'Who was the bright comedian that thought 
 that up ? " I demands. 
 
 "Guilty," says Brick. 
 
 "Eh?" says I. "You! What was the big 
 idea, anyway? Can't you amuse folks some 
 other way than by makin' me a public joke?" 
 
 He's a big, heavy, slow motioned man, Brick 
 Hogan, who always seems half asleep even in 
 the midst of a hot debate. If it wasn't for them 
 keen, steady eyes of his you might think his 
 brain acted sort of sluggish. But you'd be 
 badly fooled. 
 
 "Shorty," says he, "did you ever hear any- 
 one accuse me of being a humorist?" 
 
 " No, " says I. ' ' Everything but that. ' ' 
 
 "Well," says Brick, "then there's your 
 answer. When I saw a chance of slipping you 
 in on the Board I did it because I knew you'd 
 be a useful member. If you must know, Shorty, 
 I'm good and sick of these amateur reformers. 
 They're a lot of quitters." 
 
 He is just explainin' how one of 'em had re- 
 signed because the monthly Board meetin' in- 
 terfered with some of his dinner party dates, 
 and that four other prominent citizens had side- 
 stepped an appointment to fill in the term. 
 
 "So when they were all through," says Brick,
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 233 
 
 "I suggests your name, and before they knew 
 where they were at the motion was carried. 
 Then I rushed the recommendation over to the 
 mayor and had his appointment confirmed by 
 the Council within an hour. So there you are." 
 
 "I had a hunch it must have happened some- 
 thing like that," says I. "But honest, Brick, 
 I have half a mind to get from under. Course, 
 I'd like to help you push through that play- 
 ground proposition and do a little boostin' for 
 a new high school buildin', but if they keep 
 pullin' this joke stuff on me I'm liable to mess 
 somebody serious. It's gettin' on my nerves 
 already. ' ' 
 
 "Bah!" says Brick. "Don't mind 'em. Let 
 'em yawp. That's all a bunch of commuters is 
 good for anyway. They ain't interested enough 
 in town affairs to take hold themselves but 
 they're mighty free to roast anybody that does. 
 They make the poorest lot of citizens you 
 could Eh? Was that someone knocking?" 
 
 It was. And when Brick sings out for 'em 
 to come in who should slide through the door 
 but the Hon. Hiram Dishler. And for fear you 
 haven't heard about the Hon. Hi before I'll 
 state that he's the big noise in Rockhurst-on- 
 the-Sound. Oh my, yes! He's chairman of the 
 Citizens' League, president of the First Na- 
 tional, chief stockholder in the Nut and Bolt 
 Works, and the heaviest owner of undeveloped
 
 234 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 real estate in the county. You could almost 
 guess that by the white banker side whiskers he 
 wears and the stiff way he holds his neck. He's 
 the sort of party you wouldn't like to have 
 holdin' a mortgage on the old home, or meet at 
 a poker table with the limit raised. When he 
 discovers me danglin' one leg from the corner 
 of Brick Hogan's flat-topped desk he seems to 
 get quite a jolt. But he recovers quick. 
 
 "Ah, McCabe!" says he. "How fortunate. 
 For I had come to consult Mr. Hogan as to this 
 er somewhat hasty appointment of yours. 
 Now I can speak directly to you both. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Looks like you could, ' ' says I. ' ' Shoot. ' ' 
 
 "It is quite possible," says the Hon. Hi, 
 "that you have not decided to accept the of- 
 fice or that you have not considered the thing 
 seriously." 
 
 "Serious?" says I. "Why, as I've just been 
 tellin' Brick, it seems to be one of the funniest 
 acts ever pulled in Eockhurst." 
 
 The Hon. Hi sort of sucks in his breath re- 
 lieved. "Then then you will decline?" he 
 asks. 
 
 "Why should he?" demands Brick. 
 
 "I think the reasons are obvious enough," 
 says the Hon. Hi. ' ' McCabe would not claim to 
 be an educated man, I am sure, and on the school 
 board we expect " 
 
 "How about your man Bixby, the shoe-
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 235 
 
 maker?" breaks in Hogan. "Call him a high- 
 brow, do you ? ' ' 
 
 "Mr. Bixby," says the Hon. Hi, stiffening 
 "represents a certain element of our constitu- 
 ency which the Citizens' League was bound to 
 recognize. Besides, he is one of our leading 
 shop keepers and a reputable citizen. ' ' 
 
 "Now we're gettin' somewhere," I put in. 
 
 "And when it comes to me Say, I expect 
 
 I'm a blot on the 'scutcheon, eh?" 
 
 "I had hardly intended to go into that," says 
 the Hon. Hi, "but since you force the issue I 
 must remind you that your previous career in 
 the prize ring " 
 
 "Oh, come!" breaks in Brick Hogan. 
 "Shorty isn't a prize fighter now. He hasn't 
 been for years, and you know it. He's a prop- 
 erty holder, a family man, and he behaves him- 
 self. So what are you beefing about ? ' ' 
 
 "If you will allow me," comes back the Hon. 
 Hi, crisp and snappy, "I would suggest that 
 your indorsement, Mr. Hogan, is no longer of 
 value to any candidate for office in this district. 
 In fact, it is more apt to raise suspicion against 
 the person you support." 
 
 "Yes, I understand all that," says Brick, 
 hunchin' his shoulders. "You spotless re- 
 formers are ready to believe I've got hoofs and 
 a forked tail, which doesn't worry me a bit. 
 You've made a sad mess of running public af-
 
 236 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 fairs and the voters are beginning to get wise 
 to you. So every move I make gives you shivers 
 up the spine. You know that Brick Hogan can 
 come back. And I'm going to do it next No- 
 vember. But I haven't started in yet. McCabe 
 isn't one of my strikers. He's one of your own 
 men, and you were glad enough to have his help 
 as long as he kept in the background. But when 
 I try to put him in a place where he can be really 
 useful you throw a fit. Now my advice to you, 
 Dishler, is to lay off." 
 
 The Hon. Hi springs one of them sarcastic 
 smiles of his. "Your views are neither novel 
 nor interesting, ' ' says he. ' ' As for your advice, 
 I shall disregard that utterly. I think it will 
 take me but a short time to convince McCabe 
 that he should at once resign as a member of 
 the Board of Education." 
 
 "Listens menacin', that does," says I. "Go 
 on, I got my ear stretched. Suppose I 'm mulish 
 enough not to quit?" 
 
 "And I'll bet you a hundred to ten that he 
 doesn 't, ' ' puts in Brick. What then, Dishler f ' ' 
 
 "Our course will be very simple," says the 
 Hon. Hi. "We shall be obliged to remind the 
 citizens, in a somewhat public manner, that an 
 ex-pugilist is hardly the person to be entrusted 
 with the conduct of our schools. If McCabe 
 wishes to have his past ' 
 
 ' * Say, ' ' I breaks in, ' ' if you think there 's any-
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 237. 
 
 thing in my ring record that I'm ashamed of 
 you've got another guess." 
 
 "Still," says Dishler, "in this connection it 
 might have the desired effect if all the details 
 appeared in print at the time a petition for your 
 removal was being circulated." 
 
 And, say, he was dead right. I could see that 
 with one eye shut. The Hon. Hi had the editor 
 of the local paper right under his thumb. He 
 could make him jump through a hoop. "Pugi- 
 list on School Board. ' ' That would make a nice 
 headline, wouldn't it? 'Specially for a lot of 
 women voters to read. 
 
 "Dishler," says I, "when I meet a skunk in 
 the road I don't argue with him as to who has 
 the right of way. So you win. My entry is 
 scratched." 
 
 "Scratched nothin'!" growls Brick Hogan. 
 "Wait. If Mr. Dishler wants to dig up past 
 records I guess we can accommodate him. He's 
 lived a few years himself and maybe there 's one 
 or two little incidents in his career that ain't 
 buried so deep but what they could be dragged 
 out. Anyway, I know of one in particular." 
 And them keen eyes of Hogan 's is fixed steady 
 on the Hon. Hi. 
 
 "Bah!" says Dishler, star in' back at him. 
 "Everyone in this town knows that my life has 
 been as an open book." 
 
 "Yes, you've got most of 'em buffaloed, I'll
 
 238 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 admit," says Brick. "But I happen to know of 
 a page or so in that book that's been gummed 
 down. ' ' 
 
 * ' Just what do you mean by the innuendo ? ' ' 
 demands the Hon. Hi. 
 
 "I expect it was what you'd call a little 
 romance," says Brick, "although I should say 
 it was kind of late for that sort of foolishness. 
 In the forties, weren 't you f And you must have 
 had a swell time squaring yourself at home, too. 
 But you did it. Hushed up the girl, too." 
 
 By this time the Hon. Hi was twitchin' his 
 fingers and gettin' purple behind his white side 
 whiskers. "This this is a baseless slander, 
 Hogan, and you are well aware of it, ' ' he finally 
 gets out throaty. 
 
 Brick is leaning across his desk, them eyes of 
 Ids never waverin', and one of his big ham fists 
 stretched out. "Shall I tell you the young 
 woman's name?" he asks. 
 
 And say, I never expected to see the Hon. Hi 
 squirmin' like that. Twice he opens his mouth 
 to say something, but each time he chokes it 
 back. Then, after he's paced nervous up and 
 down the little office a couple of turns, he seems 
 to get a grip on himself. 
 
 "This is absurd, Hogan," says he. "Who- 
 ever told you such a ridiculous story must have 
 been " 
 
 "It didn't strike me as so absurd or ridicu-
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 239 
 
 lous," says Brick. "I didn't get it second- 
 handed, either. You know you hadn't treated 
 her quite right. Not the way you'd promised. 
 And she stood it without a whimper until she 
 was nearly down and out. Then she came to me 
 for help. They used to, you know, when I was 
 runnin' the district. Even now. She didn't 
 mean to tell. But when I began asking ques- 
 tions well, it came out. The whole story. Not 
 much proof beyond her word. Only a scribbled 
 note or so. Possibly not enough to go before a 
 jury with. But I could find a lawyer who would 
 take her case." 
 
 The Hon. Hi is pale now, but he 's got over his 
 case of fidgets. He hunches his shoulders care- 
 less. * ' Very well, ' ' says he. ' * But the very day 
 you start such an action I shall have you both 
 arrested on a charge of blackmail. ' ' 
 
 "Of course," says Brick. "You might get 
 away with it, too. And I expect you could keep 
 it out of the papers. But that wouldn't stop it 
 from being circulated. Oh, no, Dishler. It 
 would be whispered in corners at the clubs, 
 passed around on the train, gossiped about at 
 teas and dinner parties. It would spread until 
 there wasn't a grown person in Rockhurst who 
 hadn't heard of it. You think you have a lot 
 of friends, eh? Just test 'em out with this and 
 see whether they'd rather believe the best of 
 you, or the worst."
 
 240 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIIi 
 
 He 'd made a great actor, Brick Hogan. Just 
 that voice of his, low and clear and heavy, would 
 have made him a Broadway star. I've often 
 thought as much. And now he sure was regis- 
 terin' on the Hon. Hi. First thing I knew 
 Dishler has slumped into a chair, his chin on 
 his neck- tie, and is starin' at the floor. He'd 
 got the picture. 
 
 "But but this is infamous!" he groans. 
 
 "How about what you're plannin' to put over 
 on Shorty?" demands Brick. 
 
 "I er perhaps I was mistaken about that," 
 says Dishler. "If you really wish him to retain 
 the office " 
 
 "I do," breaks in Brick. 
 
 ' ' Then then I have no doubt that it could be 
 er arranged, ' ' says the Hon. Hi. 
 
 "Good!" says Brick. "We'll fix it up right 
 now. Shorty, it's all right. I'll let you know 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Uh-huh. It was all right. I never heard the 
 details of that private confab him and Dishler 
 had after I left, but the Rockhurst News didn't 
 feature me in any scare head. And the joshin' 
 sort of dropped off. 
 
 All the same, I didn't feel like makin' myself 
 prominent at the Board meetin'. I sat still and 
 didn't lip in on the debates. If it hadn't been 
 for Sadie insistin' that I go every time I guess 
 I'd have ducked some of the sessions.
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 241 
 
 And then here one day I gets a new angle on 
 my job. It's handed to me right across my 
 own breakfast table. Little Sully passes over 
 his monthly report card for me to sign. Well, 
 I'd always done it after a hasty glance to see 
 that he hadn't been absent too often and his 
 conduct marks wasn't below par. 
 
 But this time, rememberin' some talk at the 
 Board about changin' the cards, I looks it over 
 kind of curious. 
 
 "What's the P stand for after geography, 
 Sully?" I asks. 
 
 "Ah, it tells at the top, don't it 1 ?" says he, 
 sort of sulky. 
 
 "So it does," says I. "Pox>r, eh? I take it 
 you ain't much of a star at geography." 
 
 "I hate it," says Sully. "That old Skinny 
 Simmons, she she's a poor prune, she is." 
 
 "Why, Sully!" gasps Sadie. "The idea of 
 you talking that way about one of your teachers. 
 Shorty, why don't you stop him?" 
 
 * ' I expect I should, ' ' says I. ' ' But then, most 
 likely he don 't mean it. Eh, Sully ? ' ' 
 
 "I do," insists Sully prompt. "She's no 
 good. You ought to see. Say, Pop, if I was 
 helpin' run the schools, like you are, I'd give 
 her the chuck. ' ' 
 
 "There, there, son! That'll do from you," 
 says I. 
 
 Yet when I got to thinkin' it over afterward
 
 242 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 it kind of struck me that there might be some- 
 thing in Sully 's complaint. Youngsters don't 
 always get down on their teachers without good 
 cause. Course, they do sometimes. And who's 
 to find out! There ought to be say, hadn't I 
 heard something about a teachers' committee? 
 I'd ask Brick Hogan. He'd know. 
 
 "Sure there is," says Brick, "and you're 
 chairman. ' ' 
 
 "The blazes I am!" says I. "And what am 
 I supposed to do?" 
 
 "Oh, you're supposed to hire 'em and fire 
 'em, ' ' says Brick. "Asa matter of fact though, 
 we usually leave that to the superintendent and 
 just O.K. his list." 
 
 "I see," says I. "Do the rubber stamp 
 act." 
 
 "That's about all," says Brick. 
 
 I scratches my head for a minute or so, and 
 that seemed to stir up an idea. "See here, 
 Brick," says I, "I ain't strong for playin' that 
 kind of part. This superintendent guy may be 
 all right, and then again maybe he's the kind 
 that plays favorites. Strikes me we ought to 
 get a line on the ones we're payin' out good 
 money to. Couldn't we kind of sleuth around a 
 little?" 
 
 ' ' Sure we could, ' ' says Brick. ' ' That was the 
 original idea only well, we've seldom had any- 
 body on the Board who'd take the time to do it.
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 243 
 
 But if you really want to make work of your 
 job 
 
 "I'm just foolish enough for that," says I. 
 
 So that's how it happens me and Brick Hogan 
 began taking an Afternoon off every week to 
 spend visitin' the different class rooms. I'll 
 admit I felt kind of foolish the first few times, 
 sittin' up there on the platform with the young 
 lady teachers all fussed up and some of the kids 
 gigglin' behind their books. But after a while 
 I got kind of used to it and the youngsters got 
 used to seem' me. I got 'em to understand I 
 didn't want any exhibition stuff pulled for my 
 benefit, but just wanted to see the reg'lar work. 
 
 It did take a good deal of time, and it was a 
 month or more before I got what I thought was 
 a slant that was worth while. My first clue was 
 that Miss Simmons hated to teach geography 
 almost as much as Sully hated tryin' to learn it. 
 But I noticed that the window boxes in her room 
 was the best in the building. She had all kinds 
 of flowers in bloom, bulbs shootin' up, even 
 radishes and lettuce growin'. And a couple of 
 times I found her with a bunch of kids around 
 showin' how the things grew. 
 
 Then there was Miss Mathers, who had arith- 
 metic and spelling. Kind of a giddy, flossy 
 young party, Miss Mathers was, who frequently 
 looked like she'd been out late to a dance the 
 night before. Yet she could drill the scholars
 
 244 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 through the times table and so on after a 
 fashion. She has to admit that they were a 
 stupid lot, though. Their report cards 
 proved it. 
 
 Yet the same kids, when they got into Miss 
 Sawyer's hist'ry class, seemed to pep up a lot. 
 She had a trick of readin' stories that wasn't in 
 the book at all, about Indian fightin', and what 
 Daniel Webster had to say about the woodchuck, 
 and so on. She did a lot of explaining too, and 
 got the boys askin' questions. Made the lesson 
 kind of a game. Had 'em smilin' and 
 laughin'. 
 
 " They 're such bright, interesting children, 
 aren't they?" she says to me. 
 
 "Seems to depend on where they are," 
 says I. 
 
 Course, that wasn't statin' it exact. But I 
 hadn't quite got the thing framed up. When I 
 did though, and sprung it on the Board one 
 night, you should have heard what I ran up 
 against. 
 
 "Do I understand," says the Rev. Pedders, 
 the Episcopal rector, who was supposed to be 
 our leadin' highbrow, "that you would hold the 
 teachers responsible for the failure of their 
 pupils to pass examinations?" 
 
 "Something like that," says I. 
 
 "Rather a unique theory of education, isn't 
 that, McCabe?" he remarks. "In other words,
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 245 
 
 if a scholar was dull you would blame the 
 teacher?" 
 
 ' ' Uh-huh ! ' ' says I. * ' And if enough dull ones 
 showed up in her class I'd either fire her or try 
 her out in some other line." 
 
 "H-m-m-m!" says the Rev. Pedders, rubbin' 
 his bald spot. " Revolutionary. Quite. You 
 know we have been following a principle exactly 
 the reverse of that for a good many years." 
 
 "Yes," says I, "but how does it work out? 
 Now I used to be a star at geography, because 
 we had a teacher who made kind of an outdoor 
 sport of it. Why, even now I'll bet I could 
 bound what used to be Germany, and a hot lot 
 of good it does me with the map of Europe 
 shiftin' like a summer thunder cloud. But sup- 
 pose we'd had that kind of a teacher when we 
 tackled grammar? I might have been a long 
 haired poet by now, or writin' best sellers for 
 the department store trade. I claim it's up to 
 the teacher to make good. Anyway, if I'm 
 going to stick on this committee I'd like to see 
 the scheme tried out." 
 
 "And I move," cuts in Brick Hogan, 
 "that Chairman McCabe be granted full 
 powers." 
 
 Say, when the debate had run along until past 
 midnight I thought I'd started something. 
 First off the opposition had us beaten 5 to 4, 
 but the next thing I knew the Rev. Pedders
 
 246 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 swung to my side and the motion was put 
 through. 
 
 I've been at it six weeks now. Some of the 
 teachers I've released; some I've shifted 
 around. Miss Simmons, for instance, has 
 dropped geography for botany and domestic 
 science. She's making a go of both and had 
 her pay raised. But every teacher understands 
 that if she can't keep the kids interested in her 
 branch she's liable to get the bounce. "The 
 McCabe idea" is what the Rev. Pedders calls it 
 half joshin', you understand. But he's 
 backin' me strong. Tells me he's writin' it up 
 for some magazine and wants my picture. 
 What do you know about that? If I keep on 
 gettin' popular they'll be namin' a cigar after 
 me next. When they do I'll send a box to the 
 Hon. Hi Dishler. 
 
 No, never another peep from him. Looks like 
 he'd been bottled up and the cork driven in. 
 The other day when I was in Hogan's office 
 lookin' over the plans for the new school play- 
 grounds something called up that little seance 
 we had with the old stiff. 
 
 "Brick," says I, "you sure had the goods on 
 Dishler that time, eh?" 
 
 "Seemed so, I suppose," says Brick. 
 
 And that got me prickin' up my ears. 
 "Seemed?" says I. "Why, unless you had the
 
 SHORTY IN A NEW BILL 247 
 
 facts how could you nail him so pat! Don't tell 
 me you do the clairvoyant stunt." 
 
 "Not exactly," says Brick, puffin' thoughtful 
 on his cigar. "It was a fairly good guess 
 though." 
 
 ' ' Ah come ! ' ' says I. ' ' With them respectable 
 white whiskers of his how could you have the 
 nerve to play such a long shot unless " 
 
 "There are times, Shorty," says he, "when 
 it's better to know men than it is to hold cards. 
 And I've noticed that the stiff er these old par- 
 ties carry their necks the more apt they are to 
 have some little thing like that buried in the 
 back lot. I didn't actually dig anything up. I 
 just flourished the spade." 
 
 "Say, Brick," says I, drawin' in a long 
 breath, "I'm glad I ain't got anything in my 
 past that needs chloride of lime on it. As it 
 is I'd just as soon you turned them lamps of 
 yours the other way a minute while I steadies 
 my nerves." 
 
 And Brick, he chuckles easy.
 
 XV 
 
 WHAT AUNT ABBIE HAS COMING 
 
 , Miss?" says I, thro win' it over my 
 shoulder sort of crisp and important. 
 
 Not that I was tryin' to be any more of a 
 crab than usual, but just to give her the quick 
 hunch that she's pushed through the wrong 
 door. 
 
 You'd 'most think, with a sign on the door in 
 big black letters, that women would have better 
 sense than to come crashing into a physical cul- 
 ture studio at all hours. Most of 'em do, too, 
 but there are enough who don't to make it inter- 
 estin' stray stenographers trailin' down new 
 jobs, and young ladies collectin' for various 
 war funds, or huntin' for Mme. Riley, the cor- 
 setiere, whose place is across the street. But 
 generally they dash out again about as quick 
 as they dodge in, mostly without stoppin' to 
 explain, 'specially if Swifty happens to be 
 loafin' around the front office in his low-cut 
 gym suit. 
 
 Not this one, though. Instead of retreatin' 
 panicky, or even answerin' my snappy hail, she 
 
 348
 
 WHAT AUNT ABBIE HAS COMING 249 
 
 stands there quiet, sizin' us both up. She's a 
 high, skimpy built party, with a waist about a 
 yard long and a neck like a turkey. Maybe she 
 wasn't six feet, but she didn't lack much of it. 
 Her cheek-bones are kind of prominent; like- 
 wise her upper front teeth ; and one of her eyes 
 don't exactly track with the other. 
 
 "Yes?" I goes on, winkin' humorous at 
 Swifty. " What '11 it be ?" 
 
 At that she comes out of the spell. "How do 
 I find Mr. Zubel?" she demands. 
 
 And say, hearin' this deep, full voice come 
 from that skinny throat almost gives me the 
 jumps. It's so unexpected. 
 
 "Eh?" says I. "The Honorable Abe Zubel? 
 His offices are on the next floor up." 
 
 1 1 1 know, ' ' says she. ' ' And I suppose he is in 
 them somewhere. But how does one get past 
 that frowzy-headed person in the outer room?" 
 
 I hunches my shoulders careless. 
 
 "It's by me," says I. "What I don't know 
 about theatrical managers in general and Mr. 
 Abe Zubel in particular is amazin' . I've always 
 understood, though, that they were shy birds. 
 And as that's the limit of my valuable infor- 
 mation, why ' ' 
 
 Here I waves invitin' towards the fresh air. 
 
 She hadn't come in to be shunted out with a 
 mere wave of the hand, though. She only steps 
 up nearer the desk.
 
 250 
 
 "You're Professor McCabe, aren't you?" she 
 asks. 
 
 "You've guessed it," says I. 
 
 * ' Then, with rooms right on the next floor to 
 his," she goes on, "you ought to know of some 
 way that I could get to see him. ' ' 
 
 "Young lady," I protests, "didn't I " 
 
 "Tuttle is my name," she cuts in. "Pansy 
 Tuttle." 
 
 Course, that chokes off the sarcastic remark I 
 was about to spring. For, while she says it 
 quiet and easy enough, some way she makes you 
 stop and listen to her. 
 
 "Oh, yes, "say si. "Pansy Tuttle, eh? You 
 did say Pansy, didn't you?" 
 
 She nods. 
 
 "Hollyhock would have suited better, I sup- 
 pose," says she, "but I was quite small when 
 they chose Pansy. Go on; smile. I'm quite 
 used to it. 
 
 "I've spent nearly a week tryin' to get in 
 touch with Mr. Zubel," she goes on, "and now 
 somebody must help." 
 
 "But why me?" says I. 
 
 "Why not you?" asks Pansy. 
 
 That brings out a snicker from Swifty. 
 
 "Young lady " says I. 
 
 "Tuttle," says she. 
 
 "Well, then, Miss Tuttle," I begins again,
 
 WHAT AUNT ABBIE HAS COMING 251 
 
 "maybe it ain't occurred to you that I might 
 have something better to do than " 
 
 "You don't seem remarkably busy," says 
 she, glancin' at my elevated heels. 
 
 "Camouflage," says I. 
 
 "If you mean you're only pretending not to 
 be busy, you do it very well," says she. "But 
 surely it wouldn't take you long to suggest some 
 way that " 
 
 " See here !" says I. "If Zubel don 't want to 
 see you, I can't think of any way you can make 
 him." 
 
 "Then," says Miss Tuttle, settlin' back in 
 her chair, "I shall wait here until you do." 
 
 ' 1 Wha-a-a-at ! " I gasps. 
 
 "Oh, you will have a splendid idea pres- 
 ently, ' ' says she. 
 
 "Say, what is this, a siege?" says I. 
 
 She nods and favors me with a quirky smile. 
 It's about as folksy and chummy a smile as I 
 ever saw executed. And say, when she does it 
 that face of hers changes so you'd hardly know 
 her for the same party. 
 
 "Tryin' to land a typist's job with him, eh?" 
 I asks. 
 
 "Oh, no," says Miss Tuttle. "Mr. Zubel is 
 engaging people for a new musical review. I 
 want a place in the chorus." 
 
 "You you do?" says I, gawpin' at her. 
 
 Course, drif tin ' up and down the stairs, I see
 
 252 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 some odd specimens that are candidates for the 
 hi-yi-yip ranks. But this Miss Pansy Tuttle 
 looks about as much like a chorus girl recruit 
 as I do like a lounge lizard. She's the kind 
 that would be safe anywhere. 
 
 "Say," I goes on, " where 'd you drift in 
 from, anyway?" 
 
 "Cohasset," says she. 
 
 "Co-which?" says I. "Eh? Oh, yes! Is it 
 in Indiana or Maine?" 
 
 "Massachusetts," says Pansy. 
 
 "Good!" says I. "In that case you can be 
 home by to-morrow morning. ' ' 
 
 Pansy smiles and shakes her head. 
 
 "I've left Cohasset forever," says she. "I 
 came to New York to go on the stage, and I 
 mean to do it." 
 
 She don't say it cocky or braggy; just states 
 it quiet and determined, like she was tellin' cook 
 how she 'd have her eggs. 
 
 "Listens like you meant it," says I. "Are 
 you always like that?" 
 
 "It's the Tuttle way, I suppose," says she. 
 
 "Oh!" says I. "You're from one of them 
 old baked-bean families, eh, such as we read 
 about?" 
 
 "We go back far enough, goodness knows," 
 says she. "I have been told that father was a 
 direct descendant from Deacon Jedediah Tuttle, 
 who was expelled from Plymouth colony in six-
 
 WHAT AUNT ABBIE HAS COMING 253 
 
 teen seventy something for taking off his boots 
 in church. We've been doing such things ever 
 since. Father, for instance, was educated for 
 the law ; but after losing his first case he never 
 went into his office again. Instead, he started 
 in to make a living as a locksmith and bell- 
 hanger. The village boys used to call him 
 'Hellbanger Tuttle,' so he had it painted on 
 his cart, and kept it there in defiance of the 
 selectmen, who tried to make him paint it out. 
 And I well, I'm a Tuttle, you see." 
 
 "I get a glimmer," says I. "You got to do 
 something different, too. But why not tackle 
 something easy? Why get the chorus-girl 
 bug?" 
 
 Pansy shrugs her shoulders. 
 
 "It isn't that I'm stage-struck," says she. 
 "It it's well, if you must know, it is the only 
 thing I can do that will really satisfy Aunt 
 Abbie." 
 
 Naturally, that leaves me with my mouth 
 open, so Miss Tuttle goes on to explain. This 
 Aunt Abbie was someone she'd been livin' with 
 ever since she was sixteen. She's a well 
 meanin' old girl, Auntie, so far as that goes. 
 She had lots of good points swell cook, Al 
 housekeeper, strong on church work, and her 
 plum preserves couldn't be beat. But her 
 tongue-brake wouldn't hold. 
 
 "Suppose you had to live with someone,"
 
 254 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 goes on Miss Tuttle, ''who was forever and 
 everlastingly discussing your faults and fail- 
 ures, your weaknesses and your shortcomings? 
 That's what I used to get from Aunt Abbie. 
 Now, I am fully aware that I'm plain, to say 
 the least. Yet it wasn't cheering to be told, at 
 least once every twenty-four hours, that my 
 chin wasn't what it should be, or that the cast 
 in my eye shower plainer when I was tired. 
 And it didn't help to be eternally assured that 
 I was cut out for an old maid. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, well," says I, "we all have to have 
 relations." 
 
 "Aunt Abbie was more than that," says 
 Pansy. ' ' She was an affliction. And the worst 
 of it was that she was not satisfied to say such 
 things to me in private. At sewing circles, at 
 church sociables, at little afternoon gatherings 
 for tea and cake and gossip, I was dished up 
 oh, yes, rather entertainingly, I admit. 'Yes/ 
 Aunt Abbie would end up with, 'when Pansy 
 gets too old to sing in the choir or give music 
 lessons, she '11 open a tea-room in the old house 
 here, and sell braided rugs and bayberry 
 candles to the summer folks.' And they would 
 all nod their heads as if it had been settled. 
 
 "But it hasn't. I despise tea-rooms. I 
 loathe bayberry candles. I may have to stay 
 an old maid, but I'm not going to be that kind. 
 Not while I'm a Tuttle. Not while there's any
 
 WHAT AUNT ABBIE HAS COMING 255 
 
 hope of escape. I've gotten this far, anyway. 
 I'm supposed to be visiting a cousin in Port- 
 land and here I am. More than that, here I 
 stay until I have given Aunt Abbie and all her 
 friends something that they can talk about until 
 their jaws ache. So there!" 
 
 She straightens back in her chair, smooths 
 the ugly brown plaid dress over her knees with 
 her long fingers, and gives me another of them 
 quirky smiles. 
 
 4 'Miss Tuttle," says I, "I get you. You're 
 out to hand Auntie a jolt, and I guess jumpin' 
 from a church choir into the chorus would 
 do the trick. And all I got to say is, go to 
 it." 
 
 ' ' Thank you, Mr. McCabe, ' ' says she. 
 
 "Still," I adds, "I don't see how I can help 
 you with Abe ZubeL Honest, I don't. For, if 
 you don't mind my savin' so, you ain't just the 
 style they pick out. He's sure to turn you 
 down. ' ' 
 
 "Perhaps," says she. "But I want him to 
 hear what I have to say first. It wouldn't 
 hurt him to listen, would it?" 
 
 "That's reasonable enough," says I; 
 "but " 
 
 "I'll tell you," breaks in Miss Tuttle. 
 1 ' Send for him to come down here. ' ' 
 
 "Eh?" says I, gawpin'. 
 
 "He knows you, doesn't he?" she goes on.
 
 256 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "He would think Well, never mind. He'd 
 
 come. And that seems to be my only chance. 
 Just think of my having to go back to Aunt 
 Abbie." 
 
 "You win," says I. "Hey, Swifty! Go up 
 and tell Zubel that Professor McCabe wants 
 him to come down here right away. If he asks 
 why, give him one of them nobody home looks 
 of yours and do a repeat. Get me ? ' ' 
 
 Swifty grins, which is a sure sign he's rootin* 
 for Pansy. 
 
 Sure enough, too, in a couple of minutes back 
 he comes, towin' Mr. Abe Zubel. For a party 
 who has his name printed so conspicuous on 
 the bill-boards, Abe ain't impressive to view. 
 There's only about five feet one of him up and 
 down, and a little less from east to west. Also, 
 the top of his head is squared off graceful, like 
 the roof of a freight-car, with about as much 
 hair on it. He spots Pansy, sittin' over there 
 by the desk, right off the bat. And just from 
 one glance at the back of her head he seems 
 to work up suspicions. 
 
 "Veil?" says he, cockin' his head on one side. 
 "You vant to see me, Professor, and you can't 
 climb the stairs!" 
 
 "Not exactly the idea," says L "It's the 
 young lady. ' ' 
 
 "Ach!" he snorts. "So you got a friend 
 too? They all got one. Yes, even the boot-
 
 WHAT AUNT ABBIE HAS COMING 257 
 
 black on the corner. But they should see Mr. 
 [Werner first. What does he tell her, eh?" 
 
 "The one with the frizzly hair?" says I. 
 "Why, he tells her she won't do, I expect. 
 But " 
 
 With that he turns for a quick exit. But 
 Swif ty Joe is quicker. He puts his back against 
 the door. Zubel almost butts into him. 
 
 "One side, low-brow!" snaps Abie. 
 
 "Ah, why the panic, old slate-roof?" says 
 Swifty, glarin' down at him. "Just come, ain't 
 yer? Can't yer stick an ear out for the lady a 
 minute or so?" 
 
 At which Pansy catches her cue, rejoints her- 
 self into her full five feet ten and joins the 
 group. 
 
 "Please, Mr. Zubel," she begins, "can't you 
 use me somewhere in your new piece ? ' ' 
 
 Abie stares at her bug-eyed, takin' in all the 
 details of her build the juttin' front teeth, the 
 periscope neck effect, and so on. 
 
 "You?" he gurgles throaty. "Use you? 
 Am I bug-house completely? No, no, no!" 
 
 "But why couldn't you?" asks Miss Tuttle, 
 steady and quiet. 
 
 I knew about what was comin' then. I'd 
 heard more or less of how rough Zubel was with 
 his show people, 'specially women. 
 
 "Why?" he snarls, rollin' his eyes and 
 workin' his heavy jaws. "Young woman, one
 
 258 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 of the songs we're going to do calls for the 
 whole chorus as diving Venuses. Veil? How 
 would you look as a diving Venus? Hey? 
 You'd be a joke." 
 
 "Aren't you looking for jokes!" she asks. 
 "It strikes me that as a diving Venus I " 
 
 With that, she hunches up one shoulder, 
 sticks her long arms out awkward, with her 
 fingers spread, and throws him one of her re- 
 verse-English smiles. 
 
 And I'll bet that Zubel himself couldn't tell 
 you now what crisp come-back he was about to 
 counter with. For he never got it out. Just 
 then we hears this spluttery, choky sound over 
 by the door. 
 
 It comes from Swifty Joe. You might think 
 he was havin' a fit, but he's only registerin' 
 mirth. Pansy had scored her first hit. 
 
 Another thing I've heard about Abe Zubel is 
 that he's the sportiest plunger of the whole 
 producin' bunch. I forget whether it's four or 
 five really new acts that have been tried out in 
 musical shows durin' the past ten years. Any- 
 way, they credit Abe with havin' been the first 
 to take a chance on most of 'em. He may be 
 no mental Colossus, but he's a shifty thinker. 
 Them restless little shoe-button eyes of his 
 flashes back and forth between Swifty and 
 Miss Tuttle only a couple of times before he's 
 made the connection.
 
 WHAT AUNT ABBIE HAS COMING 259 
 
 < ' Hah ! ' ' says he. ' Hold it ! Now that busi- 
 ness from the side of your mouth again. Good ! 
 .Very good! It would get 'em. Yes. But it 
 would be in the wrong place. It isn't a funny 
 song." 
 
 1 ' That's too bad, isn't it?" says Pansy. 
 
 "No!" snaps Zubel. " It don't matter. Not 
 
 at all. The words Bah! We can make 
 
 'em funny. The music, too. It's only the cos- 
 tumes that cost, and they're all ordered. But 
 see here : can you sing? ' ' 
 
 "I make my living that way," says Pansy. 
 
 "Let's hear," demands Zubel. "Oh, any- 
 thing la-la-la. ' ' 
 
 She's right there with the vocal stuff, Miss 
 Tuttle. And with a speedy performance, too. 
 Never even plays for an openin' but takes him 
 at his word and proceeds to trill out the la-la- 
 la's, trippin' light across the floor as she does 
 it, and almost throwin' Swifty into another con- 
 vulsion by that burlesque finish of hers. 
 
 "Fine!" roars Zubel, clappin' his fat hands. 
 "We'll have that Venus song changed to a 
 comic, and we'll use it to close the second act. 
 You'll do it in black silk Annettes, as a solo, 
 with forty show girls in white as a background, 
 and if it ain't a sure-fire skookum, then I don't 
 know a pinochle deck from a cheese sandwich. 
 Come ! I want you to meet Mr. Werner." 
 
 And say, I guess Abie's picked another win-
 
 260 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 ner. The other day he breezes in with this 
 bulletin about the try-out in Troy. 
 
 "Honest," says Abie, tappin' me enthusi- 
 astic on the chest, "she's a female De Wolf 
 Hopper. Funny! Why, they begin to laugh 
 so soon as she comes on. And they never stop. 
 I've got to fill in a week in Boston with her, and 
 then Broadway for a two-year run." 
 
 "Boston first, eh?" says I. "But say, does 
 she really wear them er that " 
 
 ' ' Wait ! ' ' says Abie. " I '11 send you down the 
 new two-sheet of her in costume. It's a per- 
 fect likeness." 
 
 Swifty Joe was stretchin' his neck over my 
 shoulder when I unrolled the poster. 
 
 "Swifty," says I, doin' it up hasty, "run out 
 and get me a map of Massachusetts." 
 
 * ' Map ? ' ' says he. ' ' What 's the idea ! " 
 
 "Why," says I, "seein' how Pansy's usin' 
 her own name and all makes it interestin' to 
 locate Aunt Abbie. I want to see how near 
 Tremont Street this Cohasset place is." 
 
 Yes, we saw. Just a trolley ride out. And 
 now I'm figurin' if it wouldn't be worth while 
 takin' the trip, just on the chance of spottin* 
 Auntie at a matinee.
 
 XVI 
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 
 
 MAYBE you 'd say that the odd part of it was 
 my being in the Pluto ria at all. Well, it ain't 
 my reg'lar luncheon joint, I'll admit, for I 
 know of several places where you can get a 
 small steak without payin' for a whole steer. 
 In fact, I wasn't plannin' to eat there at all. 
 But there are days, like when I'm sportin' a 
 new spring suit and an early straw lid, that I 
 feel like driftin' in among the idle rich, givin' 
 'em the once over and duckin' out again. It 
 can be done, you know, without partin' with a 
 nickel. The sensations are something like 
 climbing into the pilot's seat of a big bombing 
 plane and then stepping out again. 
 
 At the Plutoria I'd pushed in through the 
 main entrance, crossed the marble lobby and 
 was just passin' the dizzy blondes guardin' the 
 hat check department of the Pink Grill when I 
 gets this hearty hail : 
 
 "Well, well! Shorty McCabe, eh? How's 
 the boy?" 
 
 It's roared out loud and rollin', and was like 
 bein' paged by megaphone. Three or four 
 
 261
 
 262 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 parties turns curious to see who answers to 
 such a name and I expect I was blushin' in my 
 modest, shrinkin'- violet way until I spots this 
 bird in the frock coat and the lavender tie. 
 
 "Huh!" says I. " Might know it was you, 
 Jimmy Fincke, by the steam siren whisper. 
 What you think you're doin' announcin' a 
 train?" 
 
 "Same old Shorty," he chuckles, poundin' 
 me on the back. 
 
 "Maybe," says I. "But you ain't the same 
 old Jimmy." 
 
 "I should hope not," says he. 
 
 If that was a wish it had come true. For 
 the J. Fincke who used to run a garage up on 
 the Post Road was a ruddy-faced, clear-eyed 
 husk who was generally costumed in a blue 
 jumper and overalls with a smooch or two of 
 grease on him somewhere. He was always 
 ready to hand out a line of josh, boss a tire 
 shiftin' job and charge you double on the time 
 slip. He had one of those round honest-to- 
 goodness faces, a deep boomin' laugh, and if 
 you didn't allow for the shifty eyes or have any 
 prejudice against a cleft chin you might believe 
 he was as good as he said he was. Anyway, he 
 was popular with his customers, and for a 
 garage man, that's sayin' a good deal. 
 
 Course, he was a yawp. You know, noisy. 
 Everybody's friend. Got away with it, too, in
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 263 
 
 most cases. But if you knew him long enough 
 it gradually began to dawn on you that the one 
 particular party he was out to help most was 
 Jimmy Fincke. 'Specially after you'd paid a 
 few repair bills. Still there was a lot to like 
 about Jimmy. So he made good. I watched 
 his shop grow from a roadside shack to a big, 
 double-breasted concrete affair with two stor- 
 age floors and a fancy office. 
 
 I never knew until later how much Mrs. 
 Fincke had to do with buildin' up the business. 
 Used to see her in there evenin's working on 
 the books, but it wasn't until Jimmy came to 
 me with his financin' scheme, when he wanted to 
 put up the new buildin' that I found out it was 
 the wife who was the backbone of the enter- 
 prise. Jimmy really didn't think he could 
 swing the proposition, which included interest 
 on a $25,000 loan and a big overhead load. But 
 when Mrs. Fincke had sketched out her plans 
 and showed me on the books the business they'd 
 done durin' the last year, I helped 'em get their 
 notes endorsed. 
 
 She had some head on her, Mrs. Jimmy. 
 Nothing ornamental, but not such a bad looker 
 at that. Daytimes she put in eight hours reg'- 
 lar as private secretary to the manager of the 
 Nut & Bolt works, a job she still held onto even 
 after she married Jimmy. Then evenin's she'd 
 hustle home, get dinner, and drive down to the
 
 264 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 garage with Jimmy, where she'd stay until 11 
 or after postin' the books and givin' him 
 pointers. Course, after they branched out so 
 big she didn't have to do the bookkeepin' her- 
 self, but she was there a lot, keepin' an eye on 
 things. 
 
 And the next I heard was that Jimmy had 
 sold out to one of these chain garage corpora- 
 tions and had bought a controllin' interest in 
 the Nut & Bolt concern. That was durin' the 
 second year of the big war, when we were just 
 beginnin' to find out where we were at, and 
 the first war-baby plungers were gettin' in their 
 fine work. Jimmy was one of the early birds. 
 It seems Mrs. Fincke was hep to the fact that 
 the Works stood to pull down some big shell 
 contracts from the English and French, and be- 
 fore the deal was closed she and Jimmy had 
 bought in. From then on it was just one bold 
 jump after another, but always something to do 
 with war contracts. And by the time the rest 
 of us was worked up to the point of makin' the 
 world safe for democracy the Finckes knew it 
 was safe for them whatever broke. They had 
 dividends rollin' in from so many companies 
 that Mrs. Jimmy had to hire a private secretary 
 of her own. As for Jimmy, he took to struttin' 
 round afternoons in a frock coat and throwin* 
 dollar tips at bell-hops. 
 
 About then I begun to lose track of him.
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 265 
 
 Once at a movie show, when they were windin' 
 up a Liberty loan drive, I heard a familiar 
 voice boom out something about taking a 
 $10,000 bond if ten others would match it with 
 hundreds. And I had to smile when I saw it 
 was Jimmy. He was a patriot and didn't care 
 who knew it. Not a rap. I think he'd gone up 
 on the stage if he'd been urged. Another 
 glimpse I had of him was durin' Red Cross 
 week. He was drivin' down Fifth Avenue in a 
 taxi and tossin' new silver quarters by the 
 handfuls at pretty girl collectors. Outside of 
 them two times though I hadn't had a real close- 
 up of Jimmy for more'n a year and a half. 
 And here he was clawin' me on the shoulder in 
 the Plutoria. 
 
 "I say though, old man," he goes on, "but 
 this is a piece of luck, running across you. Just 
 the one I wanted to see." 
 
 "Ye-e-es?" says I. "You'd forgotten the 
 number of the Physical Culture Studio, had 
 you?" 
 
 "Not me," says Jimmy. "Been meaning to 
 drop in. But to-day say, Shorty, how about 
 having lunch with me 1 ? Ah, course you can. 
 Don't mind waiting around half an hour or so 
 first do you? You see I well, the fact is, 
 I'm due for an interview with someone and I'd 
 kind of like to have a third party present, 'spe- 
 cially an old friend like you."
 
 266 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Oh, well!" says I. "If it's a case of wit- 
 nessin' your signature on an option, or some- 
 thing like that, maybe I can. ' ' 
 
 Jimmy shakes his head and I notice them 
 shifty eyes of his roamin' restless up and down 
 the corridor. "Not exactly," says he. "It 
 it's with Fannie." 
 
 "What!" says I. "Mrs. Fincke!" 
 
 "Why, yes," says he. "That is, she's the 
 Mrs. Fincke you knew." 
 
 I expect I must have been gawpin' at him by 
 then. "You don't mean there's a new one, 
 Jimmy, ' ' 
 
 He nods careless. "Oh, yes!" says he. 
 "Hadn't you heard? Why, we split up long 
 ago year and a half. Nobody's fault in par- 
 ticular only well, Fannie couldn't seem to 
 keep up. I don't know as you'll understand. 
 But she never was much of a spender. Always 
 did come easy to me. What's the good of a lot 
 of money if you can't get some fun out of it? 
 Besides, there's certain things you're expected 
 to do when you get in with our crowd, unless 
 you want to be listed as a piker. None of this 
 gentleman farmer stuff for me. That was 
 Fannie 's idea way up state somewhere. Not 
 for Jimmy. I had enough of that when I was a 
 youngster. Yea-uht Now I don't want to get 
 any closer to Nature than a roof garden table 
 under a potted palm, and as for feeding the
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 267 
 
 chickens I can do that any night right on 
 
 Broadway. So we Well, we quit, that's 
 
 all." 
 
 "Too bad, Jimmy,' 7 says I. 
 
 "Yes, I know," says he. "Does sound sort 
 of raw without the inside dope. Don't remem- 
 ber them hats Fannie used to wear, I expect? 
 Trimmed 'em herself. I didn't mind when 
 every dollar counted. But she couldn't break 
 the habit, even when we got where she might 
 have cabled to Paris for a ship load. I'd see the 
 ladies sizin' her up and nudgin' each other 
 wives of men in our bunch. And her dresses. 
 Almost as bad. Bargain table goods. Made 
 me feel like a cheap-skate. I tried to tell her. 
 No use. She only cut out going around with 
 the nice people I'd got in with. Well, I wasn't 
 going to sit home and twiddle my thumbs. I 
 went without her. There was no grand smash, 
 you know. We just fixed it up about gettin' the 
 decree, and each went our own way." 
 
 "I see," says I. "But how does it come that 
 you're waitin' here for her now?" 
 
 "Just business," says Jimmy. "I'm get- 
 ting from under, closing out. And there's one 
 plant that we hold joint interest in. It's a case 
 of finding out how much she'll give, or take. 
 My fool lawyers couldn't fix it by mail and 
 arranged this. Huh! She's half an hour late 
 now. ' '
 
 268 SHOETY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Jimmy has his watch out and is pacin' up 
 and down. 
 
 "Ain't seen her since, eh?" says I. "Must 
 seem kind of odd." 
 
 "It does," says Jimmy. "Honest, Shorty, 
 I feel like I did once when I was kidded into 
 making a speech at a banquet. Stage fright. 
 How's that for me, eh? Gettin' shivers up the 
 back just at the prospect of havin' a few words 
 with Fannie. I shouldn't have picked this 
 place. She she'll show up worse than ever 
 here, I expect. But I didn't want to parade her 
 before those lawyers, either. I wonder what's 
 delayed her. It isn't like Fannie to be late for 
 a business engagement. That was one thing she 
 drilled into me. Besides, if she don't show up 
 pretty soon Beryl is liable to come floatin' in." 
 
 "Beryl?" says I. 
 
 "She's the new Mrs. Fincke," says Jimmy. 
 "We we live here, you see, and she often 
 comes down to join me at at breakfast. I 
 can't get used to this tray in your rooms stunt. 
 Oh, I can go the coffee and rolls there, but about 
 this time of day I want a reg'lar feed if I'm 
 going to last through." 
 
 See what I'd been rung in on just by 
 strayin' in where I didn't belong? Triangle 
 stuff. And say I could think up a lot of noon- 
 day pastimes more cheerin' than this sittin' in 
 at a reunion with an ex-wife. Still, Fannie
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 269 
 
 never had been one of the weepy kind. I 
 didn't look for her to throw any cat-fits, so the 
 affair might not be harrowin'. Might even be 
 sort of interestin' to see how she took it, being 
 in the discards. Anyway, I was in for it. 
 
 We'd camped down in a couple of them 
 carved high-back chairs that must have been 
 designed 'special to discourage the loafin' habit 
 and I had a chance to size Jimmy up curious. 
 He'd developed something of a forward spon- 
 son, as the gobs say, since he'd been livin' so 
 high. And he sure wasn't born to wear a frock 
 coat. No. Now in his old blue jeans he'd passed 
 with the ladies as real easy to look at. I be- 
 lieve it was Mrs. McCabe who once made the 
 remark that she thought Jimmy would be 
 almost handsome if he could be properly 
 dressed up. And I got to admit, ain't I, that 
 Sadie ought to be a good judge? 
 
 But this hunch of hers about Jimmy was all 
 wrong. I can't say how it was exactly, but in 
 that tail coat he looked like a garage man who'd 
 borrowed some weddin' clothes. Absolutely. 
 And as if he was struttin' in 'em. Besides, he'd 
 lost the color from his cheeks, he had the be- 
 ginnings of bags under his eyes, and above the 
 stiff collar the chin cleft stood out more promi- 
 nent than ever. He sure was accumulatin' a 
 case of nerves, too. 
 
 "Hang it all!" says he, squimnin' around in
 
 270 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 his chair, watch in hand. "Here it is nearly 
 12.30 and " The rest was almost a gasp. 
 
 For as he turns to stretch his neck the other 
 way there she is, right in front of him. I'd seen 
 her, as a matter of fact, before he had, but I 
 hadn't been quite sure. You see, I was sort of 
 lookin' for a tacky appearin' middle-aged 
 woman, dressed all in black most likely, and 
 with one of those rummy lookin' home-made 
 lids that he'd been describin'. 
 
 But say, while this party had the same calm, 
 serious eyes that I used to see fixed on the books 
 in J. Fincke's garage, and wore the same neat 
 brushed hair, there sure wasn't anything duddy 
 about her costume. Not that she suggested 
 havin' just stepped out of a fashion review. 
 It's a plain, simple tailored effect of navy blue 
 with a straw sailor to match. But some way 
 there's plenty of zipp to the way it's been built 
 on her. Looked like she 's grown into it. That 
 kind of a fit, you know. I'd never mistrusted 
 she had such a good figure. Why, if I hadn't 
 known she must have been well on towards 
 forty I might have guessed that she was any- 
 where from twenty-two to thirty. No more. 
 
 Nor is she luggin' any doleful, cast-off-wife 
 face to the conference. I don't know that I'd 
 ever seen her look quite so chipper and chirky. 
 As she spots Jimmy them dark placid eyes kind 
 of open up and she springs an easy smile.
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 271 
 
 "Sorry to have kept you waiting, Jimmy," is 
 her greetin', "but you simply can't depend 
 upon train schedules now, can you? I've been 
 on the way ever since last night, too. I do hope 
 you can give me some luncheon while we're 
 making our trade, for that government dining- 
 car breakfast I had wasn't worth talking about. 
 Oh ! And here is Professor McCabe with you. 
 How nice ! Do say you'd planned luncheon for 
 three, Jimmy. ' ' 
 
 And after a desperate glance at me Jimmy 
 lied cheerful and led the way into the Pink 
 Grill, where three waiters helped us get settled 
 at a window table with a big bunch of flowers 
 on it. I couldn't see, either, but that all his 
 worryin' about how she'd show up among the 
 other lady guests at the Plutoria was more or 
 less useless. If there was anyone in sight who 
 looked and acted very much at home it was 
 Fannie. 
 
 "Couldn't we have the floral tribute taken 
 away, Jimmy?" she suggests. "I want to get 
 a good look at you. There, that's better. 
 M-m-m-m! How long since you've been wear- 
 ing coats like that? The proper thing, I've no 
 
 doubt, but Well, I suppose it's because 
 
 I've never seen you in one before. How's the 
 health, Jimmy?" 
 
 "Mine?" says he. "Oh, I'm all right." 
 
 "That's good," says she. "Heavier, aren't
 
 you? Quite a bit, eh? And I'll bet you've been 
 keeping late hours. Still having good poker 
 luck? But those merry little midnight suppers 
 are telling on you, Jimmy. I can see by your 
 eyes. Kunning with the old crowd, eh?" 
 
 "Hasn't sent me to a hospital yet, you see," 
 comes back Jimmy. "You're looking well, 
 Fannie. Got the farm, I suppose ? ' ' 
 
 "A perfect whale," says she. "Three hun- 
 dred acres, counting woodland. Only ten miles 
 out of Cooperstown." 
 
 "Only!" echoes Jimmy. "How does that 
 listen, McCabe? Ten miles out of Cooperstown. 
 Good Lord! Isn't it kind of lonesome, espe- 
 cially at night." 
 
 "At night I'm asleep," says Fannie. "And 
 
 daytimes "Well, besides all the help, I have 
 
 Myra and her children." 
 
 ' ' Myra ! ' ' Jimmy gets out husky. ' l You ! ' ' 
 
 "Why not, Jimmy?" asks the late Mrs. 
 Fincke. "It's nothing to/ you now, is it, even 
 if she is your sister? And you know we didn't 
 treat her quite right all those years. We might 
 have helped more. Oh, yes, we'll admit that 
 Sam wasn't much of a success as a brother-in- 
 law, or at anything else. But that wasn't 
 Myra's fault. We shouldn't have blamed her 
 for sticking up for him, either. I never did, 
 really. So when I heard he'd gone, and that 
 she was left with those three kidlets well, I
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 273 
 
 went straight to her and made it all up. She 
 was rather bitter about it at first, as was only 
 natural. She 'd heard about our luck, you see ; 
 and she a waitress in a quick lunch place in 
 Buffalo. But I won her around, apologized for 
 both of us, and got her to come with me to the 
 new farm. There was none of my own folks I 
 could get hold of." 
 
 "Huh!" says Jimmy. "Three kids. I 
 should say you 'd got your hands full now. ' ' 
 
 "Why, I'm having the time of my life with 
 those youngsters, Jimmy," says she. "I sup- 
 pose they'll have to have a governess in the 
 fall, but I'm putting it off until then. That 
 little Sam is the brightest boy. And wise! 
 He's only nine, but he began selling papers on 
 the street when he was six, and what he didn't 
 
 pick up Well, I found him showing the 
 
 boss dairyman how to shoot craps one day. 
 You ought to see him drive a motor truck 
 around the place. Says he means to run a 
 garage when he grows up, like his Uncle Jimmy. 
 One of the little girls is going to be a beauty. 
 Oh, I have lots besides my Holsteins to make 
 life on the farm worth while. Honest, Jimmy, 
 I'm just beginning to live." 
 
 "It's a great life if you don't weaken," says 
 he. "But it wouldn't suit me worth a cent." 
 
 "I know," says Fannie. "The bright lights 
 for you, Jimmy. Oh, welll" And she tackles
 
 274 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 an order of shad-roe and bacon enthusiastic. 
 
 I could see Jimmy watchin' her with sort of 
 a queer look in his eyes. I had a notion maybe 
 it was kind of a wistful look. Maybe it wasn't. 
 He wouldn't have been so foolish in the head 
 if it had been that sort, for she must have been 
 rather a good pal to him all them years when 
 they was savin' and plannin' together good- 
 natured, cheerful, full of sand. A clean-cut, 
 wholesome, level-headed woman she seems now, 
 with more pep and fun in her than ever. 
 Jimmy's mornin' appetite didn't appear to be 
 quite so keen as he'd bragged. Now and then 
 he'd throw a skittish look out towards the cor- 
 ridor. 
 
 They got through their business talk while 
 Fannie was finishin' her plate of strawberries 
 and cream and Jimmy was downin' his second 
 cocktail. 
 
 "111 tell you, Jimmy," she says, "you'd 
 much better turn over your holdings to me, for 
 there's a minority crowd in there that's plan- 
 ning to put something over on us. I know their 
 game and can block it. I'll pay on yesterday's 
 closing quotations, whatever those were. That 
 right? Then just write out something to that 
 effect and we'll call it settled." 
 
 He was busy with his fountain-pen when there 
 came this burst of high squeally giggles and I 
 looked up to see a mixed quartette of four bear-
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 275 
 
 ing down on us. They were a good deal of the 
 kind you'd expect to see in the Plutoria's Pink 
 Grill the men of the lounge lizard type, and 
 the girls good runnin' mates for 'em. 
 
 The one in the lead is a slim, big-eyed, pert 
 specimen of the squab family. Her complexion 
 is a little too vivid for daylight exhibition, but 
 I expect she'd put the make-up on in kind of a 
 hurry. Her permanent hair wave had stood the 
 test of a short night's sleep, however, and her 
 shaved eyebrows hadn't been rumpled at all. 
 She 's dressed fancy and frilly, too. The curved 
 feather on her hat must have stood up two feet 
 in the back. Also her fingers sparkled like a 
 pawnbroker's window. You could guess that 
 she was a warm baby, all right. 
 
 " Hello!" says I. "Some cabaret must have 
 let out late." 
 
 At which Jimmy glances up. I could see his 
 mouth corners drop and his eyes go stary. 
 But he didn't have time to say a word. Next 
 thing I knew the saucy young thing had tripped 
 right up and was rumplin' his hair. 
 
 "Old Pokey!" says she. "Got that last 
 night's grouch with you still? What do I care 
 if you have! Ferdy's going to take me out to 
 
 Primrose Inn, even if you won't, and Oh! 
 
 Who 'sail this?" 
 
 She hadn 't taken much notice of me, but when 
 ,she spots Fannie it's a different matter. She
 
 276 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 was givin' her the once over and repeat. Also, 
 it was up to Jimmy to separate himself from a 
 few remarks. 
 
 "There, there, Beryl!" says he peevish. 
 " Didn't I tell you I had a business engage- 
 ment?" 
 
 "Did you, Jimmy, boy?" says she. "And 
 did you think I'd fall for it? Come now. Open 
 up. Who's the lady!" 
 
 If Jimmy could think as quick as he can talk 
 loud he might have passed it off graceful. But 
 the thing boing batted up to him so sudden that 
 way he kind of got his conversation works gear- 
 bound. And after he'd made some gurgly 
 noises that didn't convey much of anything 
 Fannie comes to his rescue. 
 
 "I am Mrs. Fincke," says she, smilin'. 
 
 ' ' The devil you are ! ' ' says the other, in her 
 pouty, impetuous manner. "I like that, I must 
 say not. ' ' 
 
 And as it seemed to be my turn, I puts in: 
 "Mrs. Fincke, Number One." 
 
 "Oh!" It comes from Beryl's rouged lips 
 explosive. "Why why, Jimmy has always let 
 
 on that you were But he always was a 
 
 good liar. Hey, Jimmy, whaddye mean by that 
 stuff? Eh?" The shake she was giving him 
 was more than playful. 
 
 "And you?" asks Fannie. "May I ask "
 
 SITTING IN WITH JIMMY 277 
 
 ' ' Sure you can, ' ' breaks in Beryl. " I 'm Mrs. 
 Jimmy Fincke myself." 
 
 1 ' Really ! ' ' Fannie takes it without a quiver. 
 "Pardon me for being so stupid. I I might 
 have guessed he would. But he hadn't men- 
 tioned it, you see." 
 
 "He's a great little forgetter when he tries. 
 Eh, Jimmy boy? " and once more she rumples 
 his hair. 
 
 I wish Jimmy hadn't been starin' so dazed all 
 the time. It might have done him good if he 
 could have seen the two of 'em side by side, as 
 I saw 'em. But, then, maybe his view would 
 have been different. I must say that to me 
 Beryl looked mighty cheap and flashy when 
 stacked up against Fannie. 
 
 About then the trio in the background, who 
 couldn't have had any hint as to what the 
 chatter was all about, got impatient. 
 
 "I say, Beryl," calls one of the young gents 
 with a shadow mustache and slick hair, "how 
 about getting started?" 
 
 Beryl don't even turn around. She glances 
 once at Jimmy and then gives Fannie another 
 shrewd stare. 
 
 "Nothing doing, Ferdy. Run along," she 
 tells him. "I'm going to stick around." 
 
 "Oh, but you mustn't let me interfere with 
 your plans," puts in Fannie. "Jimmy and I
 
 are all through with our business. Did you sign 
 it, Jimmy? Then that's all and I must be go- 
 ing. I've heaps of shopping to do before I start 
 back for the farm. And it's been er inter- 
 esting to meet you Mrs. Fincke." 
 
 "I expect it has?" sneers Beryl. 
 
 "And I hope I haven't spoiled any party," 
 adds Fannie. "You must go right ahead." 
 
 "Thanks," says Beryl, slippin' into the chair 
 the other was leavin'. "I'll stick around." 
 
 I expect she did, too. There was that kind of 
 look in her eyes. But I ain't sure. It seemed 
 to me a swell time to be slidin' out myself. 
 Which I did. This triangle stuff may be all 
 right to watch on a movie screen, but I don't 
 care for it as an accompaniment to lunch.
 
 xvn 
 
 : TEAZB BEANS" FOB BUCKY 
 
 I WAS tellin' Sadie about our plans for the 
 war memorial that Rockhurst-on-the-Sound is 
 goin' to put up, one of these days, to show what 
 we think of our gallant soldier boys who an- 
 swered the call so nobly when it was a case 
 of beatin' back the Hun and and all that sort 
 of thing. 
 
 I kind of hand it to myself, too, that I was 
 spielin' it out some eloquent. Course, I might 
 have been quotin' kind of free from the Rev. 
 Pedders. You see, he's chairman of our com- 
 mittee, and not half an hour before he'd been 
 readin' over to me his draft of the inscription. 
 "In grateful memory of what they did and 
 dared for us, ' ' was the way it started off. Swell 
 stuff, take it from me. Sort of makes you warm 
 up under your vest and get dim in the eyes. 
 And I'd told her what the subscription 
 amounted to up to date. 
 
 * ' Perfectly splendid ! ' ' says Sadie. * * And, by 
 the way, Shorty, I wish you would put in an 
 order for those bedding plants. Here it is after 
 
 279
 
 280 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 the first of June and those flower beds haven't 
 been filled yet. * * 
 
 Isn't that just like a woman? When you're 
 all blown up with patriotic gratitude and and 
 so on she has to kick in with a reminder of some 
 piffling little thing like that which you've let 
 slip. Shows where their minds run never 
 higher than the attic windows. But what's the 
 use debatin' such points. They wouldn't under- 
 stand. So I just hunches my shoulders and 
 starts for the telephone. Might as well do it 
 right off before I forgot. 
 
 And I expect it was looking up the name of 
 that big greenhouse firm in Portchester that 
 reminded me of ex-Corporal Buck Kinney. 
 Let's see, wasn't that where Bucky had started 
 in to work when he'd been sent back from 
 France and turned loose from the army? And 
 hadn't he opened up a little hothouse business 
 of his own at his place down on the marshes? 
 Seems to me he had. Maybe he 'd have the very 
 stuff we wanted. Might put it in cheaper, too. 
 Anyway, it would be easy to jump in the car 
 and run down there to see. Besides, it had been 
 a month or so since I'd had a talk with Bucky. 
 Most likely I could get him to dig up another 
 one of them war yarns. You know he can spill 
 the real thing, Bucky, for he was through a 
 lot of it ; won the D.S. medal, and all that. 
 
 Well, I finds him makin' hard- work motions
 
 "TRAZE BEANS" FOE BUCKY 281 
 
 with a spade, standin' hip deep in a drainage 
 ditch that he's diggin'. He seems glad of an 
 excuse to climb out and scrape some of the mud 
 off his boots and hands. 
 
 "No," says he, "I expect I ain't got much 
 you'd want a few geraniums and salvia. 
 Didn't go in for beddin' plants very heavy this 
 year. I was plannin' mostly on lettuce and 
 cucumbers, but they sort of petered out. That 
 old steam heatin' plant I put in wouldn't work 
 and a lot of the stuff froze on me while I was 
 patchin' it up. I was hoping I could blow my- 
 self to a new boiler next fall, but I dunno's I 
 can. It it's kind of hard scratchin'." 
 
 " Still got your job with the greenhouse 
 people, ain't you?" I asks. 
 
 He shakes his head discouraged. "They laid 
 me off a month ago," says he. "Got in a new 
 foreman, a Heinie. When he found out I'd 
 been across with the A.E.F. he gave me the 
 quick dump." 
 
 "Huh!" says I. "That's what I call a raw 
 deal. Didn't you put up a howl at the office?" 
 
 "Tried to," says Bucky, "but they backed 
 up Myers. So I've been doin' the best I could 
 here." 
 
 It wasn't much of an outfit to make a living 
 with, for a fact. Bucky explains that he didn't 
 have the capital to build his hothouses right. 
 Besides, this soil down on the marsh was mostly
 
 282 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 sour and he needed a lot of chemicals to cure it. 
 If he could do that it would be just right for 
 bulbs narcissus, dahlias, crocus, gladioli, and 
 so on; and if he was able to lay in a stock for 
 next spring he thought he could make a good 
 thing of it. 
 
 "Have you tried 'em down at the bank?" 
 says I. 
 
 " Nothing doing," says he. "Old Dishler 
 wouldn't lend me a dollar." 
 
 "Wouldn't, eh?" says I, scratchin' my head. 
 I'd just remembered how it was the Hon. Hi 
 Dishler who'd made that spread eagle speech 
 when we welcomed the boys home, and had 
 dragged Bucky up on the platform and patted 
 him on the back while he told the folks what a 
 hero he was. 
 
 Course, he looked different then. He was 
 right off the transport, wearin' his new uniform 
 with the gold service stripes, his medal, and his 
 divisional insignia. Lately he'd been goin' 
 around in old overalls and rubber boots. And 
 as he leads the way up to the porch of the little 
 shack where he lives with the old folks, and 
 slumps down in a rickety chair, you'd hardly 
 suspect he ever went out under shell and 
 machine gun fire to drag back one of his 
 wounded men. 
 
 "It's kind of too bad," he goes on. "I know 
 I've got the right dope on the business. You
 
 "TRAZE BEANS" FOR BUCKY 283 
 
 see, there's goin' to be a big demand for bulbs 
 next season, on account of the war havin' put 
 a crimp in the importin' game for so long. 
 Come from Holland and Belgium mostly, and 
 they're just beginning again. I got a circular 
 from an importin' house only the other day and 
 wrote in to get their prices. Funny thing, too. 
 They had Sunderbeeke stuff. Sunderbeeke. 
 That's about forty kilometers southeast of Dun- 
 kirk." 
 
 "Been there, have you?" I suggests. 
 
 "I should say I had," says Bucky. "That's 
 where we got our first dose of front line work. 
 They brigaded us with the Frenchies, in reserve 
 at the start, but then we were moved up to take 
 over what was supposed to be a quiet sector. 
 Maybe it was once, but after some of our boys 
 got to cuttin' loose at everything they saw the 
 Boches got busy snipers, machine guns, trench 
 mortars. "VVe sure stirred 'em up. 
 
 "Rummy hole, this Sunderbeeke spot. 
 Couldn't have been much of a town to begin 
 with, but after a couple of years of bombard- 
 ment it was a mess. Not a whole buildin' left, 
 and the town hall and such places were just 
 piles of brick. Great shell holes in the street. 
 And every night reg'lar at 7.30 the Huns gave 
 it forty minutes of strafing, just to show they 
 could still register on it, I expect. At that there 
 was folks livin' there still. Just stickin*
 
 around. What they could find to do, or 
 what they lived on is by me. I remember 
 one old guy special. Say, he was a bird, he 
 was." 
 
 Bucky stops to indulge in a chuckle. Then, 
 he goes on. "Crawled out of a cellar one day 
 when I was out with a salvage detail. A tall, 
 thin, whiskered old relic. His toes was stickin' 
 out of his shoes, his shirt looked like it was 
 made out of a window shade, and his hands 
 were like claws. Yet he's wearin' a battered 
 silk lid, if you please, and a long black coat. 
 Carried a gold-headed cane, too. Almost as if 
 he'd been got up for a masquerade. 'Howdy, 
 Grandpop,' says I. 'Where's the party at?' 
 And blamed if he don't come back at me in 
 straight English. He ain't sore or anything at 
 my guyin' him. Says how glad he is to see us 
 Americans on the job at last and that now he 
 knows the Huns will be driven back where they 
 belong. 
 
 ' ' Yea-uh ! had quite a chat with the old boy. 
 Queer old scout. Just as dignified in them duds 
 as if he'd had on full evenin' dress. Told me 
 how he'd been right there, ever since the Huns 
 began throwin' shells into the place. Said he 
 had a couple of sons in the muss, but he hadn't 
 heard from either of 'em in over a year. He'd 
 lost the old lady, too. Piece of shrapnel through 
 the window. He'd been gassed once himself,
 
 "TRAZE BEANS" FOR BUCKY 285 
 
 but had got over it. And when I asks how he 
 scrapes up enough to live on he just hunches 
 his shoulders. 'One doesn't live,' says he, 'one 
 endures.' Didn't look like he'd had a square 
 meal for months. 
 
 "Well, I kept seem' him around every day or 
 so. Once I carted out half a loaf of white bread 
 to him. Say, you should have seen them old 
 eyes of his shine. His claw fingers trembled so 
 he could hardly grab it. He stops only long 
 enough to take off his old silk lid, and beg my 
 pardon polite, and then he squats right down 
 in the doorway of the nearest deserted house 
 and goes to it. Hungry ! Say, I hope I never 
 work up an appetite like that. 
 
 "Afterwards I used to sneak out other stuff 
 to him a little bag of sugar, a knuckle of ham, 
 a tobacco tin full of butter. I almost got kissed 
 for the butter. 'You Americans are wonderful 
 people,' says he. I didn't deny it. 'I am told,' 
 he goes on, 'that among your private soldiers 
 are many wealthy men, even millionaires.' 
 
 * Sure,' says I. 'I'm one myself !' I wanted to 
 see what kind of a rise that I would get out of 
 him. Off comes the plug hat and he bends 
 nearly double. 'I am honored, M'sieu,' says he. 
 
 * Don't mention it,' says I. 
 
 "Then he wants to know if my people made 
 their fortune in gold mines or railroads! 
 'Nothing like that,' says I. 'Flour.' 'Ah!'
 
 286 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 says he, not quite gettin' me. 'In flowers. 
 Then you are what they call in America a florist 
 king, yes? Your hothouses are great, exten- 
 sive!' 'You bet,' says I. 'End to end they'd 
 about reach from here to Berlin, with enough 
 glass in 'em to roof in your whole country.' 
 Say, I sure fed it to him strong and he don't 
 gag over swallowin' a single detail. I tells him 
 how we have a trolley track runnin' through the 
 middle for the hands to go back and forth on 
 and that we sometimes cut as high as a million 
 roses a day, at a dollar a rose. He holds up 
 both hands at that. 'Marvelleuse!' says he. 
 'And you reside in a great chateau somewhere?' 
 'Yep!' says I. 'Overlooking the works and 
 Long Island Sound. Come over and see us 
 some time.' And, say, the old bird actually 
 writes down my name and address." 
 
 ''What if he should show up some day?" I 
 suggests. 
 
 "Him!" says Buck Kinney. "Fat chancel 
 Most likely he's starved to death long before 
 this. Even if he hasn't I don't expect he could 
 raise the price of a jitney ride to the next town. 
 Seemed to know a little about the florist busi- 
 ness himself. Maybe he'd had a little bulb 
 patch somewhere around. He sure was an easy 
 mark when it came to kiddin', though. Saw the 
 Loot passin' one day and wants to know who 
 he is. 'Why, that's young Mike Rockefeller,'
 
 "TRAZE BEANS" FOR BUCKY 287 
 
 says I. 'You know, the one who owns all the 
 gasoline in the world.' And off comes the old 
 silk lid again. Yea-uh! He helped pass the 
 time away in Sunderbeeke. " 
 
 I couldn't help joinin' Bucky in a chuckle, 
 and after promisin' to see if I couldn't get some 
 of our new made war-plutes interested enough 
 to help finance his little enterprise, I starts 
 back. Just as I was swingin' into the Post 
 Road I gets the hail from someone in a taxi. 
 Don't often see one of them blue and green cabs 
 so far from Broadway, so I pulls up. Leanin' 
 through the window is a spruce, dignified old 
 party with a neat trimmed full beard. He's 
 wearin' a shiny new tall hat, frock coat, and 
 eyeglasses on a wide black ribbon. Sort of for- 
 eign and distinguished lookin'. 
 
 "Pardon," says he, "but could you direct me 
 to the chateau of M. Kinney?" 
 
 "Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "You don't mean 
 Buck Kinney?" 
 
 1 ' It may be, ' ' says he. ' ' M. Kinney, who was; 
 a soldier." 
 
 * ' That 's him, ' ' says I. ' ' Did you say chateau 
 or shanty?" 
 
 "Shanty?" says he, startin' puzzled. "Ah, 
 I comprehend. That is American for chateau, 
 perhaps ? ' ' 
 
 "Not exactly," says I. "You see, we don't 
 have many chateaus over here, but shanties . -
 
 288 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Well, that's a better description of what Bucky 
 lives in." 
 
 "May I ask," goes on the old boy, "is it sit- 
 uated near to his hothouses?" 
 
 "Eight next door," says I. 
 
 "Tiens!" says he. "He will be the one. 
 Permit me .to mention that I am M. Sterpin, of 
 Sunderbeeke, Belgium, and if you will be so 
 kind as to indicate to my driver " 
 
 "I'll do better than that," says I, grinnin' 
 wide. "I've just come from talkin' with Bucky 
 myself and as it's kind of a blind road I'll 
 pilot you down there." 
 
 Course, I wasn't goin' to miss anything like 
 that. First off it struck me as kind of weird 
 that he should show up just then, so soon after 
 Bucky 'd been givin' me the tale. But then I 
 remembers about the circular, and how Bucky 
 had written, and it don't seem so strange. 
 
 He was still sittin' slumped in the chair on 
 the little porch almost hangin* over the creek, 
 and when he sees who piles out of the taxi it 
 got his eyes buggin' like a pair of brass door- 
 knobs. 
 
 "Hey, Bucky," I sings out. "I guess here's 
 an old friends of yours." 
 
 "But but is there not some mistake?" says 
 M. Sterpin, starin' around at the old shack, 
 the muddy little tidewater creek, and the 
 marshes.
 
 "TRAZE BEANS" FOB BUCKY 289 
 
 "We'll see," says I. "Anyhow, this is ex- 
 Corporal Buck Kinney. How about it, Bucky, 
 don't you recognize Mr. Sterpin?" 
 
 "Why," says Bucky, rubbin' his chin, "I 
 can't say I do. Voice does sound kind of 
 familiar though, but " 
 
 "And yours !" breaks in the old boy. "It is 
 the American soldier. You will recall me M. 
 Sterpin, of Sunderbeeke. " 
 
 And you should have seen Bucky 's mouth 
 come open. "What-a-at?" says he. "The one 
 I told all that to about how I was " 
 
 "Mais oui!" says Sterpin, shruggin' his 
 shoulders and spreadin* out his hands. "So 
 these are the great hothouses, this the chateau, 
 eh!" 
 
 At first Bucky flushes up and looks foolish. 
 Then he gets a grip on himself and grins. "I 
 expect I was throwin' the bull a bit." 
 
 "Meaning," suggests Sterpin, "tha,t you 
 exaggerated? So it would appear." 
 
 "You seemed to like it, you know," goes on 
 Bucky. "But you fooled me some, yourself. 
 Why, you were got up like a panhandler. What 
 was the idea!" 
 
 * ' True, ' ' says the old boy. ' * But it was from 
 necessity. What would you do? When the 
 enemy may come at any moment one does not 
 wish to appear other than as a poor beggar. 
 And I was so in fact. Yes, there was the gold
 
 290 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 I had buried deep. But when one cannot buy 
 food with gold of what use is it? So there I 
 chose to stay, in the ruins of my home, in sight 
 of my war-torn fields. ' ' 
 
 Then he goes on to tell how, when it was all 
 over, he had dug up his cash, patched his house, 
 and started in to rebuild his smashed business. 
 He'd had a ton or so of fancy bulbs stored away 
 in vaults so his first move had been to come 
 over here, shake up things in his New York 
 branch, and try to unload. His idea was to call 
 on all the old customers and rustle up as many 
 new ones as possible. That's how he happened 
 to run across this letter of Buck Kinney's. 
 Course, that reminds him of the American sol- 
 dier whose hothouses would stretch nearly to 
 Berlin and with visions of placin' a big order 
 he comes right out. 
 
 "It seems that I have, as we say, swallowed 
 the fish," he remarks, gazin' 'round. 
 
 He don't act grouchy over it. I thought I 
 saw almost a twinkle in them shrewd old eyes 
 of his. As for Bucky, while he 's still some red 
 in the ears, he's bluffin' it through well. 
 
 "You people over there were easy, all right," 
 says he. "Just because we scattered francs 
 careless you suspected we was all recruited 
 right on Fifth Avenue. It was the first time I 
 ever had a chance to pass for a plute, and I 
 expect I played it for all it was worth. If I'd
 
 "TRAZE BEANS" FOR BUCKY 291 
 
 had a hunch you'd ever follow it up maybe I'd 
 have drawn it milder. Too bad though, you 
 blew in all that taxi fare just on my account." 
 
 "One always pays to learn," says Sterpin. 
 " Besides, I have not forgotten the white bread, 
 the sugar, the butter." 
 
 "Aw, them things!" says Bucky. "I swiped 
 'em off the mess table." 
 
 1 ' I understand, ' ' says the other. * * Yet except 
 
 for those timely gifts Well, who knows? 
 
 And as I have come I may as well view your 
 establishment, even if it is not large enough to 
 roof all Belgium. Hein?" 
 
 "Well, traze beans, as you say," says Bucky, 
 springm' some of his doughboy French. 
 "There's the whole of it," and he waves his 
 hand at the 10 x 20 shack with a half dozen 
 second-hand window sash let into the top. 
 
 The old boy insists on walkin' out and in- 
 spectin' it solemn. He even pokes his fingers 
 into the soil of the beds and smells of it. Then 
 he shakes his head. 
 
 * * All very crude, ' ' says he. ' ' It requires lime 
 and phosphates. There should be ventilation 
 as well as heat. This does not appear sufficient, 
 either," and he jerks his thumb at the rusty 
 boiler. 
 
 "I'm wise to that," says Bucky. "It's all I 
 could buy with the money I had, though. ' ' 
 
 "But I had heard," goes on Sterpin, "that
 
 292 SHORTY MoCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 your government had voted many millions to 
 aid her returned heroes." 
 
 " Maybe," says Bucky. "All that was 
 handed to me was my $60 bonus and my 
 discharge papers when they turned me 
 loose." 
 
 "There are your townspeople, however," 
 puts in the old boy, * * those for whom you went 
 across the sea to face the cannon. Surely, they 
 have not forgotten so quickly!" 
 
 "I dunno," says Bucky. "Shorty McCabe 
 here has helped me some, but outside of him 
 there ain't nobody been around much. Any- 
 way, they ain't come and forced any millions on 
 me. Not that I was lookin' for anything like 
 that. All I want is a chance, a start." 
 
 "True," says Sterpin. "And might I ask 
 what are these plans of yours?" 
 
 At which Bucky sketches out how, if he had 
 the stock, he could supply the local market with 
 potted plants and cut flowers; also where he 
 wanted to add on to his houses, and about the 
 new heater. 
 
 "Ah, yes!" says the old gent from Sunder- 
 beeke, twirlin* his glasses thoughtful. "Well, 
 it shall be done. Yes, at once." 
 
 "Eh?" says Bucky, gawp in' at him. 
 
 "You shall build on our credit," says M. 
 Sterpin. "I will arrange that at the office.
 
 "TRAZE BEANS" FOE BUCKY 293 
 
 From our store of bulbs you may have what 
 you wish, too. And you shall repay as you are 
 able." 
 
 "What!" says Bucky. "You you mean 
 you'll take a chance on backin' me? Me!" 
 
 * * Why not ! ' ' says the other. * ' One must find 
 new customers, and the field hereabouts should 
 be a good one. Perhaps we shall not lose on 
 the venture, after all. If we do Pouff! It 
 goes that way, business. To-morrow you will 
 receive a statement of deposit to your credit. 
 Then you may make your start." 
 
 "Well, I'll be jiggered!" gasps Bucky. 
 "Say, that's what I call mighty decent of you, 
 Mr. Sterpin." 
 
 "Too amiable!" protests the old boy. "We 
 Belgians are not much different from your own 
 people. We have an eye on the main chance, 
 for the most part, but now and then some of us 
 remember who it was that helped rid us of the 
 Boche. Yes. Then there was that white bread. 
 Well, what do you expect when one has eaten 
 only bran and potatoes for two years? Z-z-zut! 
 It is but fair that I should make some small 
 return. My best wishes for your success, M. 
 Kinney." 
 
 And he leaves Bucky, his mouth still open, 
 diggin' into the black dirt with the toe of his 
 rubber boot.
 
 294 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "You know, Bucky," I suggests, "we're 
 plannin' to put your name in bronze letters up 
 on the monument. ' ' 
 
 "Huh!" says Bucky, not gettin' excited at 
 all 
 
 "I get you," says I. "You're thinkin' how 
 much nicer it'll be to be able to write it on a 
 check. Eh?" 
 
 And Bucky he straightens up, throws out his 
 chest, and grins.
 
 xvm 
 
 LITTLE SULLY COMES THROUGH 
 
 I EXPECT I was feelin' a bit more chipper than 
 usual. Maybe I was a trifle chesty. Anyway, 
 things had been runnin' smooth at the Physical 
 Culture Studio with a lot of my old reg'lars 
 back, a sportin' friend of mine had paid up fifty 
 that I'd staked him to over a year ago, and 
 coming out on the 5.06 two of my neighbors had 
 insisted I must stand for another term on the 
 School Board. Besides, there was Sadie 
 waitin' at the station for me with the little 
 roadster. 
 
 "Well, how's the girl?" says I, swingin' off 
 the smoker. 
 
 You get that girl stuff, don't you? It's a 
 good line to pull, believe me, even if most of 
 the things you got at your tin weddin' have 
 been sent to the discard and there are young- 
 sters around the house who are always callin* 
 her "Maw." And as a rule it gets Sadie 
 workin' up that crooked smile of hers. 
 
 But not this time. I could tell at a glance 
 that Sadie has something heavy sittin' on her
 
 296 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 mind. It ain't like her to keep it back, either. 
 She unloads it at once. 
 
 " Shorty," says she, "Mr. Dishler wants you 
 to call at the office as you go by." 
 
 "The Hon. Hi, eh?" says I. "Oh, very 
 well." 
 
 "He he seemed rather serious about it," 
 suggests Sadie. 
 
 "Of course," says I. "He would. He's 
 that kind." 
 
 "I hope you haven't offendp'l him again, 
 Shorty," says she. 
 
 "That's a whale of a hope," says I, "when 
 my mission in life seems to be to do things that 
 give the Hon. Hi Dishler shudders down the 
 spine." 
 
 It's a sad fact. I ain't boastin' about it. 
 Maybe I ought to be hangin' my head as I admit 
 it. But somehow if I should find I was pleasin' 
 the Hon. Hi consistent I'd begin to suspect I 
 wasn't runnin' true to form. Fat chance, 
 though. I suppose we're about as different as 
 we could be and still belong to the same human 
 race. I know Dishler would take his oath to 
 that and I'm afraid I wouldn't deny it, either. 
 And yet here we have to live in the same town 
 when we might have half the map between us. 
 I expect, though, that wherever I went I'd find 
 a Hi Dishler, or somebody like him; and per- 
 haps he couldn't settle anywhere without run-
 
 LITTLE bULLY COMES THROUGH 297 
 
 nin* into a Shorty McCabe. Besides, life 
 wouldn't be half so interesting if it wasn't like 
 that. 
 
 * ' Cheer up, Sadie, ' ' says I. * ' Maybe it 's only 
 a note I've endorsed for somebody and forgot 
 about ; or he might want to make another offer 
 for our shore frontage." 
 
 That's the careless, happy-go-lucky mood I 
 was in when I rolls up in front of the Rockhurst 
 Development Company's offices, next door to 
 the bank. I even chuckles a little when he lets 
 on not to see the friendly wave I gives him, but 
 marches out to the curb stiff and dignified and 
 lifts his black derby an inch or so off his curly 
 gray hair. 
 
 By rights he never should have quit wearin' a 
 silk lid. Course, I know it ain't being done now 
 on week days, except by auctioneers and funeral 
 directors, but nothing else in the line of head- 
 gear quite goes with them white side whiskers 
 of his. They went out of date before the shiny 
 tiles did, but the Hon. Hi couldn't bear to part 
 with his. I hope he never does, for as he stands 
 frock coat, gray spats, and his eyeglasses 
 anchored to him with a wide ribbon he needs 
 no tag or label. He is our Prominent Citizen. 
 Any new commuter would know that at a 
 glance. Also that here was one of the Upper 
 Classes. 
 
 "Want to see me, did you!" I asks.
 
 298 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Yes," says he. "And I wish you to see 
 something, too. Will you turn off the Post 
 Eoad just this side of the Nut and Bolt Works? 
 I will follow in my own car." 
 
 "Huh!" says I to Sadie as we starts on. 
 "What the deuce?" 
 
 But Sadie don't have the answer. I can tell 
 by the way she looks, though, that she's sure 
 I've made another bad break somehow, either 
 socially, politically or otherwise. 
 
 When we get to this side street that runs 
 down as far as the railroad I stops just at the 
 beginning of the line of new billboards that the 
 Civic Society has done so much grumblin' over. 
 Here about two acres have been fenced in, with 
 three sides covered with advertising signs. I 
 was just noticin' where a 20-foot gap had been 
 burned, wipin' out a perfectly good corset ad. 
 and eatin' into a "Drink Whisko" announce- 
 ment, when the Hon. Hi catches up with us. 
 
 "Well, McCabe," says he, "what do you 
 think of that?" 
 
 "Oh," says I, "it does kind of mess up the 
 landscape, but " 
 
 "I am not referring to the signboards," 
 breaks in Dishler, "but to the damage which 
 has been done to them." 
 
 "Oh, I get you," says I. "The burned areat 
 How did it catch!" 
 
 "It did not catch," says he. "It was a case
 
 LITTLE SULLY COMES THROUGH 299 
 
 of incendiarism. The fence was set on fire, 
 maliciously.'* 
 
 "Well, well!" says I. "I remember hearin* 
 the alarm. One evenin' early in the week, 
 wasn't it? Not such a fierce catastrophe, 
 though. I should say about $25 would 
 cover " 
 
 "That is hardly the point," says he. "The 
 question is, McCabe ; can property be burned up 
 at will in this community?" 
 
 "Say, what's the grand idea?" I comes back 
 at him. "Don't think I'm any arson expert, do 
 you? Why ask me?" 
 
 "Because it may develop that you are more 
 interested in this affair than you suspect," says 
 he. 
 
 "Eh?" says I, gawpin'. 
 
 "This fire," he goes on, "was deliberately 
 set by a gang of boys, and I am sorry to say, 
 McCabe, that we have good cause to believe that 
 your son was among them, if not the actual 
 leader." 
 
 "Sully!" gasps Sadie, clutchin' my arm 
 panicky. 
 
 ' * There, there ! ' ' says I. ' ' Let 's hear the rest 
 of this. What makes you think my boy was 
 in it, Dishler?" 
 
 "This, for one item," says he, producin' a 
 document envelope and fishin' out of it a small 
 sized handkerchief.
 
 300 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 Sure enough, there in the corner is one of the 
 markers Sadie sews on all of Sully 's things. 
 
 "That was found, with an empty gasoline 
 can, in the ditch here," says the Hon. Hi. 
 " Smell it, please." 
 
 I didn't need to hold it very near to get the 
 scent of gas on it, either. Things was lookin' 
 squally for the house of McCabe just then. 
 
 "I don't believe a word of it," says Sadie. 
 
 "Mothers seldom do believe such things," 
 says Dishler, with one of them undertaker 
 smiles of his. "Unfortunately, though, facts 
 are facts. But this is not all. The attempt to 
 destroy several hundred dollars worth of prop- 
 erty having been discovered promptly and the 
 damage limited, these youthful outlaws re- 
 turned some time during last night and com- 
 mitted a second offense. If you will step down 
 the street a short distance, McCabe, I will show 
 you. ' ' 
 
 Well, I stepped. So did Sadie. The Hon. Hi, 
 he stepped on ahead. And at about the fourth 
 billboard he stops and waves his hand dramatic, 
 ' ' There ! ' ' says he. * ' The second outrage. ' ' 
 
 I'll admit it wasn't real polite of me to 
 snicker just then, 'specially when you consider 
 who was submittin' the exhibit. But it slips out 
 before I could smother it. And I expect it'll be 
 a long day before I can think of what he was 
 pointin' out so indignant without a chuckle.
 
 LITTLE SULLY COMES THROUGH 301 
 
 For one thing, it was done so ingenious. This 
 particular billboard was devoted to advertisin' 
 Monkey Brand laundry soap. And there was 
 the monk painted vivid and life size, with the 
 upper half of him sawed out and stickin' up 
 above the top of the board. You've seen the 
 same thing, and read the motto: "Always look 
 for him on both sides of the bar Mason's 
 Monkey. ' ' 
 
 "Well, what had somebody done but taken one 
 of the Hon. Hi's old campaign posters, that was 
 scattered 'round so liberal when he ran for 
 the Assembly a couple years back, cut out the 
 head and pasted it neat over the monkey's face. 
 So there he is, white sideboards and all, beamin' 
 down on us with that condescendin' "Now-my- 
 good-people" look of his, with the monk's hairy 
 arm and claw fingers holdin' out a cake of 
 laundry soap. It's a scream, that's all. The 
 wonder is I didn't let out a haw-haw instead of 
 a mere snicker. 
 
 "You find it humorous, do you?" demands 
 Dishler, gettin' pink clear up into his side- 
 boards. 
 
 "Don't expect me to weep over it, I hope?" 
 says I. "Course, it's kind of raw, 'specially 
 that 'Look for him on both sides of the bar' 
 advice, with you such a strong prohibitionist. 
 Eh?" 
 
 But the Hon. Hi never could see a joke. "Do
 
 302 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 I understand, McCabe," says he, stiffening 
 "that you approve of such a scurrilous attack 
 on a man of my standing? That all you can 
 see in this outrage is a cheap jest!" 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't go so far as that," says I. 
 "It's a bit rough on you, I expect, being made a 
 monkey of so public, but it ain't any killin' 
 matter at that. Just shows you've got your- 
 self disliked by somebody or other who took a 
 lot of pains to be funny at your expense. All 
 you got to do is have somebody climb up and 
 tear it down." 
 
 "Precisely, McCabe," says he. "That is 
 why I brought you out here." 
 
 "Me?" Bays! 
 
 He nods. "The young ruffians who set the 
 fire," he goes on, "were the same ones who 
 returned and did this. As your son was among 
 them I am holding you responsible for his acts. 
 I will give you three minutes to remove that." 
 
 ""Well, that ought to be time enough," says I, 
 "providin' I felt like climbin'. But somehow 
 I don't. Not just yet, anyway. I ain't so sure 
 you've got a clear case against Sully. Course, 
 
 if you have Well, that's different. But 
 
 I've got to look into this case myself first." 
 
 The Hon. Hi agrees to that. "And when you 
 do find that he helped perpetrate this outrage," 
 he goes on, "I shall expect you to give him the 
 sound thrashing that he deserves."
 
 LITTLE SULLY COMES THROUGH 303 
 
 "I don't know about that," says I. "I ain't 
 much of a hand at whaling youngsters. Never 
 had to, so far. Still, settin' fires is kind of 
 serious, and if it was done out of pure cussed- 
 ness " 
 
 * ' Ah ! ' ' says the Hon. Hi. ' { Now you are tak- 
 ing the proper viewpoint. I think two or three 
 hours will be long enough for you to investi- 
 gate. And I trust you to act promptly. I shall 
 call at your house about 9 o'clock this evening 
 to have you assure me that the punishment has 
 been thoroughly administered. The matter of 
 settling the material damage can be taken up 
 later." 
 
 With that ultimatum he stalks off, jumps into 
 his car, and leaves Sadie and me starin' at each 
 other blank. 
 
 "The idea!" says she. "Why should Sully 
 do things like that? And how could he, any- 
 way? It's absurd. He might have lost that 
 handkerchief anywhere, you know." 
 
 "Still," says I, "it looks like it was up to me 
 to do a little sleuth work on this. There's no- 
 denyin' that the youngsters Sully runs with are 
 a lively bunch and that wherever they go he's 
 generally in the lead. Just why they should 
 land on Dishler so hard, though, is what gets 
 me. Maybe it was some other gang, after all." 
 
 When I got home the first thing I did was to 
 look for a five-gallon gasoline can that I remem-
 
 304 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 bered was about half full in the corner of the 
 garage. It was gone. Then I spots a light- 
 weight 15-foot ladder that I keeps hangin' along 
 one side of the garage. There's red clay on the 
 bottom ends of the ladder, the kind that I'd 
 noticed thrown up where they'd sunk the up- 
 rights for the billboards. 
 
 4 'Huh!" says I to myself. 
 
 There wasn't much doubt but that the Hon. 
 Hi had the goods on Sully, and as I makes a 
 line for the house I admit I was some hectic 
 under the collar. What sort of young terrier 
 was we bringin' up, anyway? Here for two 
 nights he'd been A/W.O.L. and when we thought 
 he was sleepin' peaceful in his little nursery cot 
 he was out traipsin' around with a gang of 
 young village cut-ups, settin' fires, defacin' bill- 
 boards, and gettin' mixed up with the Lord 
 knows what other kinds of crime. It begun to 
 look as though I was more or less of a flivver in 
 the stern parent role. 
 
 As a matter of fact, I'd been kind of proud of 
 my record, for in all of little Sully 's ten years 
 I couldn't remember but twice when I'd had to 
 lay him across my knee. Not that I mean to 
 give out how he was any angel child. He's a 
 reg'lar boy, Sully, and just as full of it as the 
 next one, if not fuller. But up to now he hadn't 
 pulled anything, barrin' them two breaks, that 
 seemed to call for the hot hand exercise.
 
 LITTLE SULLY COMES THROUGH 305 
 
 Course, there 'd been little things, such as his 
 mother could handle by a bread-and-milk 
 supper sentence or an hour's solitary confine- 
 ment. And the few times when the charges 
 were more serious and he'd been turned over 
 to me I'd generally found, after gettin' his 
 side of it, that the case wasn't so bad as it 
 seemed. That was my system, a square deal 
 and a chance to put in a full defense. We'd 
 just sit down quiet and talk it over, Sully and 
 me, and he'd never failed to come across with 
 the whole story, straight and clean. But now 
 I was wonderin' where I could cut a birch 
 switch. 
 
 "What do you think?" asks Sadie anxious, 
 as I comes in. 
 
 "I guess it's a verdict of guilty on both 
 counts," says I. "I found more evidence. 
 Where is he?" 
 
 "Having supper in there," says she, pointin' 
 towards the dining room alcove. 
 
 That's another part of my system. Sully 
 knows that eating supper with his little sister 
 at 6 ain't a case of must. He can if he wants 
 to, or he can stay up and have dinner with us 
 an hour later. But generally he's too tired and 
 hungry to wait. Anyway, he suits himself, and 
 there's no howlin' around. 
 
 I walks in and pulls a chair up to the Kttle 
 table. Maybe I gives him the cold eye as I
 
 306 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 it. But that don't feaze him in the least. He's 
 about as much afraid of me as he is of old 
 Towzer. 
 
 1 'Hullo, Pop!" says he, through a mouthful 
 of bread and jam. 
 
 Some husk for a ten-year-old, Sully is, you 
 know. He's got a chest on him like a nail keg 
 already, and he's well muscled. Baseball and 
 swimmin' and football accounts for that. Also 
 he shows a good healthy color through the tan 
 and freckles. Even the reddish curly hair is 
 faded on top from being in the sun so much. 
 And them wide blue eyes of his just like 
 Sadie's are clear and steady. Who would 
 think, to look at him, that he 'd slip out at night 
 and start a fire just out of deviltry? 
 
 "Sully," says I. "I've been having a talk 
 with Mr. Dishler." 
 
 ' ' Old Dishy, eh ? ' ' says he. ' ' Yar-r-r ! He 's 
 an old stiff, he is." 
 
 "Think so?' 'says I. "Why?" 
 
 "Cause he is," says Sully. "Ask any of the 
 boys. Reg'lar crab." 
 
 "But you haven't anything 'special against 
 him, have you?" I asks. 
 
 < ' Ain 't we, though ! " says Sully. ' l Huh ! ' ' 
 
 "Well, let it come," says I. "Just what in 
 particular?" 
 
 Sully squirms a bit in his chair, as if he was 
 uneasy about sayin* any more, but after a
 
 second or so he straightens up. "What did he 
 want to go chase us off'n our ball field for?" 
 he demands. 
 
 "When was that?" says I. "Where?" 
 
 "Week ago Sat 'day," says Sully. "Right in 
 the middle of the fifth, when we had the Leather 
 Necks 'leven-nine and th' bases full. Comes 
 drivin' up with a couple of special cops and 
 gives us th' chase. Tries to throw a scare into 
 us about puttin' us all in th' coop if we ever 
 come back. You know where we play, down by 
 th ' Nut 'n' Bolt?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember," says I. "You boys have 
 been using that field for quite a spell, haven't 
 you?" 
 
 "Always been a di'mond there," says Sully. 
 "Long as I been goin' to school. And year 
 before last didn't our team spend a lot to have 
 the outfield graded off, and put in a rubber 
 plate? That's why we couldn't buy uniforms 
 that season. And now, just because his bum 
 land comp'ny has fenced it all in with billboards 
 he comes and gives us the run, busts up our 
 game, and calls us hoodlums. The old grouch ! ' ' 
 
 "H-m-m-m!" says I. "Couldn't you find 
 some other field, though?" 
 
 "Where, Pop?" demands Sully. 
 
 I couldn't say. Rockhurst ain't built up so 
 thick. There seems to be plenty of land around, 
 but when you come to look it over I expect
 
 308 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 you'll find somebody's claimin' to use most of 
 it. Places like the Boomer-Day estate, where 
 they got over thirty acres fenced in with a stone 
 wall. 
 
 "Course," I goes on, "that may seem a bit 
 rough on you youngsters, but I expect Mr. 
 Dishler didn't know. Maybe if you'd explained 
 the case " 
 
 "Yar-r-rl" says Sully. "Didn't me and 
 Slippy Dugan go down to the bank that next 
 Monday afternoon and try to show him? He 
 wouldn't let us get in a word. Calls in that big 
 roughneck janitor and has us yanked out by the 
 collar. 'Throw these young rascals out, 
 Mide,' says he. And Slippy 's old man saw him 
 bein' fired and gives him a lickin' for it. That's 
 what we got from old Dishy." 
 
 "And then?" says I. 
 
 With that Sully pinks up in the ears and 
 begins to fidget. I waits, watchin' him without 
 a word, until he looks up again. And once more 
 he's meetin' me square in the eyes. 
 
 "Would you have stood for anything like 
 that, Pop," says he, "without tryin' to get 
 even? The boys put it up to me and I 
 
 Well, I'll tell you the whole thing. You see, 
 j 
 
 "Wait, Sully," I breaks in. "It'll keep, 
 won't it? Then maybe I'd better not know too 
 much about what you did. Not just now, any-
 
 LITTLE SULLY COMES THKOUGH 309 
 
 way. Understand, I ain't sayin' whether you 
 should have done whatever you did or not. But 
 startin' a fire is kind of serious work. Might 
 mean jail. So I'm hoping you didn't." 
 
 "But I didn't, Pop. Honest!" says Sully. 
 "I tried to tell 'em. Course, though, when 
 they " 
 
 "Yes, I think I understand," says I. "As 
 for the other pastin' Dishler 's face on the 
 monkey that sounds more like your work, 
 although I don't figure just how you could do 
 it so well." 
 
 " Slippy 's old man does wall paperin'," sug- 
 gests Sully. 
 
 "So he does," says I. "And he might have 
 done that job while he was sleep-walkin', eh? 
 Or he might have left some paste around handy. 
 But I guess you boys had better call it quits on 
 Dishler. And no more night prowlin' from you, 
 young man. Understand?" 
 
 "All right, Pop," says Sully. "I'll lay off 
 it." 
 
 And I leaves him to finish his supper. 
 
 "Well?" says Sadie, who's been out in the 
 livin' room all this time with her fingers 
 gripped, listenin'. 
 
 "Extenuatin' circumstances," says I. 
 
 "But but he didn't do all these dreadful 
 things Mr. Dishler accuses him of, did he?" she 
 asks.
 
 310 SHORTY McCABE GETS THE HAIL 
 
 "Not half, "says I. 
 
 "There!" says Sadie. "I just knew he 
 didn't." 
 
 And after dinner she calls down from up- 
 stairs for me to come take a look. "He's 
 asleep already," says she. "See?" 
 
 And say, with his curly head snuggled down 
 on the pillow and his long lashes quiet on his 
 cheeks, and a peaceful smile playin' around the 
 corners of his lips, he does look more or less 
 like a young cherub. As we stands watchin' 
 him I hears the door buzzer. Tellin' Sadie to 
 stay there I tiptoes out easy. It's the Hon. Hi, 
 on hand to the minute. 
 
 "Well, McCabe," says he, "have you given 
 him that thrashing?" 
 
 "Not yet, "says I. 
 
 "What?" says he. "Then when do you in- 
 tend " 
 
 "Not until I catch him do in' something worse 
 than I'd do if I was in his place," says I. 
 
 "Very well," says he, shruggin' his shoul- 
 ders. "You know the alternative. It will be a 
 somewhat disagreeable duty for me, but I shall 
 make a charge of malicious mischief." 
 
 "Think you can prove it?" says I. 
 
 "I shall try," says he. "You may expect an 
 officer up in the morning. ' ' 
 
 "Dishler," says I, "have you thought out 
 just what kind of a figure you're goin' to cut
 
 LITTLE SULLY COMES THROUGH 311 
 
 prosecutin' a ten-year-old boy in police court? 
 And another thing: You know them billboards 
 your company put up ain't any too popular. 
 You and the billboards are goin' to be thrown 
 up prominent in this case, if it comes off. A 
 lot of people who haven't seen you posin' as 
 Mason's monkey are goin' to hear all the de- 
 tails. Some of 'em will snicker. Then about 
 the boys' ball field. Wasn't that kind of hog- 
 gish of you to run 'em off? What harm was 
 they doin', anyway! It strikes me, Dishler, 
 that if I'd been the one to block puttin' through 
 that school playground scheme, as you did last 
 spring, I'd have thought twice about chasin' 
 the youngsters off a vacant lot." 
 
 Maybe you can guess that by this time the 
 Hon. Hi has worked up quite a neck color. The 
 white side whiskers looked 'most like they was 
 sproutin' out of red flannel. 
 
 "I shall run my own affairs in my own way," 
 says he, kind of hoarse and throaty. "If you 
 want to save the young rascal from arrest you 
 must punish him yourself." 
 
 "I suppose you'd like to see the thrashin' 
 done? Right now, eh?" says I. 
 
 "That would be most satisfactory," says he. 
 
 "Oh, well," says I, sighin'. "He's upstairs. 
 Come along." 
 
 And before the Hon. Hi could back out I've 
 towed him in beside the cot where little Sully
 
 is smilin' at the funny things in his dreams. 
 I don't know how long it's been since Hi Dish- 
 ler has had a close-up of a sleepin' youngster. 
 I believe he has a grown-up son somewhere out 
 West, and I think I heard 'em say he lost an- 
 other years back. But both of 'em must have 
 been about Sully 's age once. Also, while the 
 Hon. Hi is kind of stiff-necked as a bank presi- 
 dent, and more or less of a shark when it comes 
 to real estate deals, he's been a daddy, too. 
 And as I was admittin' just now, Sully asleep 
 is easier to look at than any stained glass 
 cherub you ever saw. 
 
 "What do you say?" says I. "Shall I wake 
 him up and thrash him now? ' ' 
 
 "Eh?" says Dishler, startin' as though I'd 
 punched him in the ribs. "No, no, McCabe. I 
 I've been rather hasty, I fear. Rather an ass, 
 too." And he starts backin' out. 
 
 "You see," says I, as we gets down to the 
 front hall, "the boys was kind- of sore. It was 
 the only place they had to play ball in. Now if 
 you could sort of give out that they might " 
 
 "Yes, yes, of course they may," he breaks in. 
 "Until we give them a regular playground, at 
 least. I I think you're right about that, 
 Shorty." 
 
 "Say," says I. "You're goin' to see a 
 tickled lot of kids out there if you should drop 
 around some afternoon. Which reminds me of
 
 LITTLE SULLY COMES THROUGH 313 
 
 something else. That soap ad. I'm ready to 
 climb now. Got your car here 1 Good ! Wait a 
 minute until I get a ladder and I'll go along 
 with you." 
 
 When I lugs out the little ladder he takes a 
 squint at it in the moonlight. 
 
 "Think that's long enough?" says he. 
 
 ' 'Sure," says I, " unless it's shrunk since the 
 other night. ' ' 
 
 "Oh !" says he, and if it hadn't been the Hon. 
 Hi Dishler I should have said he followed it 
 with a chuckle. 
 
 THE END
 
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