Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Along he comes with some dame he must have kidnapped
from the Follies when Ziegfeld was busy countin' up the receipts or
somethin'.]
ALEX THE GREAT
BY
H. C. WITWER
Author of "From Baseball to Boches,"
"A Smile a Minute," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN
BOSTON
SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1919,
BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
DEDICATED TO
RALPH T. HALE
--EDITOR OF SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY--
MY PUBLISHER--BUT STILL MY FRIEND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I INTRODUCING ALEX THE GREAT
II THE SELF-COMMENCER
III PLAY YOUR ACE!
IV DON'T GIVE UP THE TIP!
V YOU CAN DO IT!
VI THE LITTLE THINGS DON'T COUNT
VII ART IS WRONG
ILLUSTRATIONS
Along he comes with some dame he must have kidnapped from the
Follies when Ziegfeld was busy countin' up the receipts or
somethin'. . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
I struck a match and he tells me they is 9,765,543 of them used in New
York every fiscal year.
"She's going to marry me, she's going to marry me!"
She's knittin' a sweater for me that will prob'ly make me off her for
life.
"How perfectly sweet! If you two only knew what a pretty picture you
make!"
"Heavens!" says the vampire. "You must have worked all your life to
acquire ignorance, for no one was ever born as stupid as you!"
When the dames cast languishing glances at his handsome form, he glared
at them like an infuriated turtle.
ALEX THE GREAT
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING ALEX THE GREAT
Girls, listen--if friend hubby comes home to-night and while hurlin'
the cat off his favorite chair, remarks that he's got a scheme to make
gold out of mud or pennant winners out of the St. Looey Cardinals,
don't threaten to leave him flat and accuse him of givin' aid and
comfort to the breweries. Turn the gas out under the steak, be seated
and register attention--because maybe he _has_!
Scattered around all the department stores, coal mines, butcher shops,
the police force and banks, there's guys which can sing as well as
Caruso, lead a band better than Sousa, stand Dempsey on his ear, show
Rockefeller how to make money or teach Chaplin some new falls. Yet
these birds go through life on eighteen dollars every Saturday with
prospects, and never get their names in the papers unless they get
caught in a trolley smash-up. They're like a guy with the ice cream
concession at the North Pole. They got the goods, but what of it? As
far as the universe is concerned it's a secret--they're there with
chimes on, but nobody knows it but them!
Y'know this stuff about us all bein' neck and neck when we hit the
nursery may be true, but, believe me, some guys are born to run second!
They get off on the wrong foot, trailin' the leaders until the
undertaker stops the race. They plod through life takin' orders from
guys that don't know half as much about any given thing as they do;
they never get a crack at the big job or the big money, although
accordin' to Hoyle they got everything that's needed for both. Take
Joey Green who used to be so stupid at dear old college that the
faculty once considered givin' him education by injectin' it into his
dome with a hypodermic. At forty he comes back to the campus to make
'em a present of a few new buildin's out of last month's winnin's from
the cruel world. Where is Elbert Huntington, which copped all the
diplomas, did algebra by ear and was give medals for out-brainin' the
class? Where is _he_, teacher? And the echo chirps, "Workin' for Joey
Green, drawin' twenty a week and on the payroll as No. 543!"
The answer to this little thumb sketch is easy. Elbert Huntington had
brains and Joey Green had confidence. Elbert _expected_ to dumfound
the world with what he knew, and Joey _did_ dumfound it with what he
didn't. Now if Joseph made good with nothin' but nerve, what could a
guy do that had brains and nerve both?
I'll tell you.
After we won the world's series in 1914 and the dough had been divided
up to the satisfaction of everybody but the guys that was in on the
split, me and the wife had figured on one of them trips to Europe. You
prob'bly know the kind I mean, "$900 and up. Bus to hotel on fifth
morning out included." I had looked forward to this here expedition
for thirty years, like a guy looks forward to eight o'clock the night
he's gonna call on his first girl. We had learned French and Eytalian
off of a phonograph record and from givin' them spaghetti dives a play.
Also, I had collected a trousseau that would of made John Drew take
arsenic if he'd ever of flashed me when I was dolled up for the street.
Prob'ly you have seen somethin' in the papers about how the old country
was closed to traffic right then. From what I hear it was all dug up
like lower Broadway and tourists had to detour by way of So. America,
so we never got nearer Europe than the Williamsburg Bridge, and you
can't see a thing from there.
Well, when we found out that as far as trips to Europe was concerned
they was nothin' stirrin', the wife took both bank books and went down
to Lakewood, while I stayed in New York as a deposit on the new flat.
I went to the station with her and I'll betcha from the fond farewells
we give each other, people must of thought she was gonna take the veil
or somethin', instead of just goin' to entomb herself in Jersey for a
month. I swore I'd be in every night at ten, although that's kinda
late to start out for the night, and she promised not to get in no
bridge melees where the sum they battled for was over six bits. Then
we took some more bows on the lovin' good-by stuff, and I'm alone in
the big city.
I managed somehow to live through the day, but the next afternoon I
lured a bunch up to the flat for a little pinochle. I begin by
invitin' two guys, but by the time we got to Harlem we was a dozen
strong. Once inside the portals, it turns out that only six of them is
wild about pinochle, so the rest of 'em take up the rugs, start the
victrola and give themselves up to dancin'. Pretty soon the telephone
rings with great violence. I grabbed the receiver and learned it was
the woman which lives underneath.
"Them steamfitters you got rehearsin' up there has got to call it a
day!" she says. "Otherwise I'll moan to the landlord. The chandelier
has left the ceilin' already and four pieces of my chocolate set is
busted. I never heard tell of such carryin' on!"
"Wait till you been here a little longer," I says, "I ain't carryin'
on, me and some boy friends of mine is tryin' to kill a dull afternoon
and--"
"If them's friends makin' that racket," she butts in, "I hope I have
moved when your enemies call! What am I gonna do about that chocolate
set, hey? D'ye hear--there goes another piece!"
"If I was in your place," I tells her, "I'd drink coffee, and if your
furnishings is all as frail as that chocolate set you're featurin', you
better grab hold of the piano, because I'm gonna sneeze!"
"Don't you dare make no cracks about my furniture!" she yells. "I got
my opinion of what you do for a livin' when you can afford to be home
in the daytime!"
"I make chocolate sets," I says. "We're workin' on one now and--"
"Wait till my husband comes home!" she cuts in. "He'll take care of
you!"
"I don't need nobody to take care of me," I comes back, "I'm self
supportin'."
"Why don't you let go there?" yells Eddie Brannan. "Are you and that
dame doin' an act or what?"
Zip! she hangs up and just then the front door-bell makes good.
"See who it is!" I calls to one of the gang, sittin' in the game again.
"Tell 'em I'm in Brazil and--"
Oh, boy!
One of them dead silences took place in the hall and--in walks the wife!
For the next five seconds it was so quiet in that flat that a graveyard
would seem like a locomotive works alongside of it. Joe Leity starts
to whistle soft and low, Abe Katz opens the dumbwaiter and looks down
to see what kind of a jump it is and I dropped a hundred aces on the
floor. The rest of the gang eases over to the door.
"Why--ah--eh--ah, what does this mean?" I says kinda weak. "I thought
you had went to Lakewood."
"Well," she says, turnin' the eyes, that used to fill the Winter Garden
every night, on the gang, "where d'ye figure I am now? I'll give you
three guesses!"
"Ahem!" says Joe Leity, "I guess I'll blow! I--"
"Me, too!" pipes the gang like a chorus and does a few more vamps to
the door.
"Why don't you introduce your friends?" says the wife. "Or maybe you
just run across these boys yourself when you come in, heh?"
"Excuse!" I says. "This here's Joe Leity, Abe Katz, Phil Young, Red
Dailey, Steve--"
"Never mind callin' the roll," she butts in. "I'll let it go en masse.
I'm delighted to meet you all, and I hope you won't run away simply
because I'm here."
"Oh, no--not at all--we ain't runnin' away!" they says.
"There's no reason for you boys _runnin'_ anyways," the wife goes on,
"because the elevator is right outside now and I think the boy is
holdin' the car for you--"
They blowed!
"And now," says the wife to me, "what d'ye mean by bringin' them
plumbers up here for a union meetin', eh?"
"Don't be always knockin'!" I answers, gettin' peeved. "Them boys is
all honest and true, even if they do look a little rough to the naked
eye. But how is it you come back to-day when you wasn't due for a
month?"
"You're tickled to death to see me, ain't you?" she asks, pullin' the
pout that formerly helped sell the magazines.
To be level with you, I was--mad and all.
"Why, dearie!" I remarks, kissin' her. "You know I--"
"Easy with the oil!" she cuts me off. "Get on your hat and coat; we're
goin' right down to Grand Central Station."
"Don't you think it's liable to tire you, honey," I asks her, "runnin'
back and forth from Lakewood like this?"
"I'm not goin' to Lakewood, Stupid," she says. "We're goin' down to
meet Alex Hanley--of course you remember him?"
I threw in the self-starter on the old brain, but there was nothin'
doin'.
"No!" I says. "To come right out with it--I don't. I realize though
that he must be a lu-lu when we're goin' down and meet him at the
station. What did he do--lick Dempsey?"
"Idiot!" says the wife, callin' me by her favorite pet name. "He's my
cousin."
Oh, boy!
We was goin' down in the elevator and I sunk in the seat with a low
moan. In the short space since me and the wife had been wed, I had met
her father, six brothers, four nephews, three cousins and a bevy of her
uncles. They all claimed they was pleased to meet me, though they
couldn't figure how their favorite female relative come to fall for
me--and then they folleyed that lead up with a request for everything
from a job to ten bucks.
"All right, dearie," I says, finally, "I'm game! Believe me, though,
while your family is all aces to me on account of bein' related to you,
I often find myself wishin' that you had been an orphan!"
"I could of married a couple of millionaires!" sighs the wife. "And to
think I turned 'em down for you!"
"If you had married a _couple_ of millionaires, you would of been
pinched!" I says. "What d'ye think this cousin of yours will want to
start off with, from your affectionate husband?"
"Nothin'!" she tells me. "Alex never asked a favor in his life.
Believe me, this one is different!"
"I can see that from here!" I says. "If you claim he won't take me for
something he's different, all right. In fact I can hardly believe he
belongs to the family at all."
"I was brought up never to brawl in the open," says the wife, "so I'm
lettin' your insults go. This boy is fresh from the mountains of
Vermont. He's never been to New York in his life and he's comin' here
now to make his mark."
"I'll lay you eight to five I'm the mark!" I says.
We was at the station then, so we had to practise self-denial and quit
scrappin'. The wife explained that she had hardly got to Lakewood when
she found a telegram there from her cousin Alex sayin' that he was
comin' down for a visit. So she beat it right back to meet him, not
wantin' the poor kid to breeze into a town like New York, all by his
lonesome.
Well, we stand in the middle of the waitin'-room like a couple of boobs
for a while, and then a guy, which I figured must be a college devil
bustin' into a new fraternity, comes gallopin' across the floor, slams
a suitcase down on my foot and throws his arms around the wife's neck.
He had on a cap which could of been used as a checker board when you
got tired of wearin' it, a suit of clothes that must of been made by a
maniac tailor and the yellowest tan shoes I ever seen in my life. If
he had been three inches taller and an ounce thinner, you could of put
a tent around him and got a dime admission. On his upper lip, which
was of a retirin' disposition, he had a mustache that was an outright
steal from Chaplin.
I watched him and my wife embrace as long as I could stand it and then
I tapped her on the shoulder.
"I suppose this is Alex, eh?" I says--while he looks at me for the
first time.
"You got Sherlock Holmes lookin' stupid!" admits the wife. "Alex, meet
my lord and master."
"Howdy, cousin!" hollers Alex. "I knowed you the minute I seen you
from them, now, big ears you got. Y'know they went to work and printed
your picture in the Sunday papers last month on a charge of havin' won
the, now, pennant for--Well, that's neither here nor there. I come
here to make good! A feller with brains can always do that in these
big rube towns like New York. Of course a baseball player don't need
no brains--you know that yourself and--"
"C'mon, Alex," butts in the wife quickly, seein' I was gettin' ready to
grab Alex by the neck. "We'll go right up to the flat and have
something to eat. I'll bet you haven't had a bite since you left
home--you ought to be starved by this time!"
"I'd rather see him shot, myself!" I growls, taggin' along after them,
carryin' this bird's suitcase. If they was clothes in there, Alex must
of dressed in armor up in Vermont. The thing was as heavy as two
dollars' worth of corn beef and cabbage. However, I figured I'd get
back at Alex the minute he asked me for a job. I was all set for this
bird, believe me!
"So this is New York, hey?" he pipes through his nose the minute we get
outside the station. He stops dead in the street, gazin' up at the big
buildin's and then down at the crowds like a guy in a trance. All he
needed was a streamer of hay in his mouth and the first seven guys that
passed would of offered to sell him the Bronx. He gasps a couple of
times and wipes his eyes.
"Well, Alex," I says, tryin' hard not to laugh in his face, "what d'ye
think of New York? Considerable burg, eh?"
He shakes his head kinda sad and sighs.
"I'll speak plain to you, cousin," he says. "Of all the rube burgs I
ever seen, this here's the limit!"
I liked to fell down one of them Subway holes!
"Rube town?" I yells. "Where d'ye get that stuff? Are you seekin' to
kid me?"
He grabs me by the shoulders and swings me around.
"Just you look at that crowd of folks on the corner there!" he tells
me. He points over to where half New York is bein' held up in a
traffic jam--wagons, autos, surface cars and guys usin' rubber heels as
a means of locomotion, all waitin' for the cop to say, "Go!"
"Just look at 'em!" repeats Alex, sneering at me. "From the reports
that have reached me, this here's the town where all the brains in the
world is gathered. There's a couple hundred of them brains on the
corner there now, I reckon, and they can't go nowheres till that
constabule gives the word! Huh!" he snorts, turnin' away. "All just a
lot of rubes, that's all!"
We get in a taxi and all the way up Alex kept lookin' out the window,
shakin' his head and mutterin' somethin' about Manhattan bein' a
well-advertised bunk and all the inhabitants thereof bein' hicks. I
don't know whether he was after my goat or not, but in a few minutes he
had it.
"Listen, gentle stranger," I says, when nature could stand no more, "I
realize that New York is nothin' but a flag station and that we're all
Reubens and chew hay, but we have, amongst other things, six million
merry villagers, the biggest buildings in the world, the subway,
gunmen, cabarets, Broadway, and--well, a lot of things that you gotta
admit ain't hit dear old Vermont as yet!"
"And I most sincerely hope and trust they never will!" pipes Alex. "We
don't need 'em! We got good, clean mountain air, plenty of honest
green grass and--and--_neighbors_! There's just a few things you ain't
got in New York. Cousin Alice tells me she was here two years before
she knowed the folks in the next flat. That shows you people is
suspicious. You know you're rubes and you're afraid to welcome the
stranger for fear he'll sell you one of them, now, gold bricks. I also
hear you pay five and six dollars for a seat at an entertainment. You
so-called wise New Yorkers pays that much for tickets and then go in
and laugh your fool heads off at a scene showin' a, now, farmer bein'
stung! Ha, ha, ha! You--"
We was up at the flat then, and I let him rave on, tryin' not to get
peeved, so's we'd have some peace and quiet in the family. I knew if
he kept on pannin' my town, I'd get sore and bite him or somethin'--and
then the wife wouldn't gimme no smile for a month. Alex was a new one
on me so far, but I figured that in a couple of days he'd be tellin'
the world that New York was the greatest place on earth and people that
lived anywheres else must be nutty--the way they all do.
After supper the wife calls up a girl friend of hers so's we can make
up a little theatre party. Me and Alex goes into the parlor for a
smoke, and I asked him how he come to be in our mongst if he already
knowed what a hick town New York was.
"I come here to make good," he tells me, "because, in my opinion, this
is the easiest place in the world to do that thing. This town is no
different than Ann Harbor or New Haven, except that it's bigger--that's
all! The trouble with most fellows that come here from a small town
is, they let New York get under their skin and it takes their nerve
before they get started. Advertisin' is what has made this town what
it is to-day and nothin' else. It's easier to make good here than it
is in a burg, because in your own town everybody knows you and now
fourflushin' will get you nothin'. There's so many people here that a
feller can keep _some_ of 'em guessin' all the time. All anybody needs
to get ahead here is confidence--"
"Well," I butts in, "if all a guy needs is confidence, you ought to be
a knockout! What are you figurin' on doin' first?"
"I'll look around to-morrow," he says. "I wanna start off with the
hardest proposition in the town right away. Out in my town five of us
fellers formed a little club. Each of us has swore to come to New York
one after the other and make good in six months to a year, just to show
you folks how easy it is. For one thing, we all got our own private
little plans for winnin' out here and every one of us is goin' to go at
the proposition from a brand new angle. I was elected to be the first
one, and that's why I'm here."
"Alex," I says, "you're an ambitious feller, and I gotta hand it to
you. I don't doubt you'll go a long ways at that, if you don't get
pinched for speedin'. But this stuff you're pullin' about dear old
Manhattan gets under my collar! I hate to hear you pan the capital of
the world in that rough way of yours, and when you claim it's a simple
matter to make good here, you have gone and pulled a bone. If it's as
soft as you say, I must of lost the combination or somethin', because
it took me thirty years to get over right here, and, at that, I ain't
causin' Rockefeller or George M. Cohan no worry! So just to show you
that your dope is all wrong and that you're due to hit the bumps if you
play it out, I'll lay you eight to five you muff the very first thing
you try here--what d'ye say?"
He looks at me for a minute and shakes his head.
"I don't want to deprive my Cousin Alice of no luxuries," he tells me,
"or I'd snap you right up on that."
"I see they're still makin' 'em yellah up in Vermont!" I sneers.
"D'ye mean to insinuate that I'm a quitter?" he asks me, gettin' red.
"You ought to be a fortune teller!" I says.
"By gravy, I'll take you up!" he hollers. "I got five hundred dollars
in my left shoe and I might as well add to it now as later. I'll bet
you the five hundred to your eight hundred that the first thing I
tackle here, I make good!"
"You hate yourself, don't you?" I says.
"Who's yellah now?" he comes back.
"The canary," I tells him. "You're on!"
Just then the door-bell rings, and they was sounds of kissin' by women
principals in the hall. In walks the wife with what looks to me like a
opium-eater's dream and a Fifth Avenue evenin' gown model combined.
Alex takes one flash and turns red, white and blue.
"This is my friend Eve Rossiter," says the wife. "My husband, Eve, and
my cousin, Alex Hanley."
"Charmed!" breathes Eve, pullin' a smile that lit up the room.
"Me and you both!" I says.
But Alex clears his throat, grits his teeth and flushes up. They was a
glitter in his eye and he begins to talk fast and hard.
"Howdy, Miss Rossiter!" he says, shakin' hands like he was bein' give a
knockdown to the new bartender. "I'm astounded to meet you! I just
come to New York to-day, but if I'd of knowed you was here, I'd of been
here long ago. However, I'm here now and better late than forever, as
the feller says. I just bet my cousin here that the first thing I
tried my hand at in New York I'd make good. I'm goin' out to-morrow
and show him how easy it is for a feller to get to the top in this here
prize rube burg, provided he has now gumption and his methods is new.
I'll see you to-morrow night and let you know how I made out; I know
you won't have no peace till you hear about it!" He digs into his
pockets feverishly and grabs out a handful of letters. "Here's what
they thought of me up in Vermont!" he goes on, never takin' his eyes
off the girl's face. The wife is starin' at him with her mouth and
eyes as open as a crap tourney, like she figured he'd gone nutty--and
me and Little Eva is runnin' neck and neck at tryin' to keep from
laughin'. "They say a man that can make good in New York can make good
anywhere," he goes on, throwin' the clutch into high again. "_I_ say a
man that can make good anywhere can make good in New York! What's the
difference between New York and Goose Creek, Iowa?--New York's got more
people in it, that's all! It's harder--"
"Alex, Alex!" butts in the wife, finally regainin' control of her
voice. "What is the matter with you? You--"
"Hush!" says Alex, turnin' back to Eve again. "It's harder to make
good in a little town than it is in a big one, because--"
"Alex, look here!" cuts in the wife, gettin' sore. "Miss Rossiter
ain't interested in that patter of yours--we're goin' to the theatre.
Now both you men run along and dress, we'll miss half the show as it
is!"
"I'll be right back!" chirps Alex to Eve. "Them eyes of yours is
simply now dumfoundin'!"
I took Alex in my boudoir and while I'm gettin' in the banquet
uneyform, he takes a thing that was a cross between a tuxedo and a
dress suit out of his bag and dolls up. When set for the street, Alex
was no Greek god, but he was fairly easy to look at, if you closed one
eye. He wanted to know what kind of an entertainment they had at the
opry house this week, and I told him I'd show him somethin' that had
them huskin' bees, he was used to up in Vermont, beat eighty ways from
the jack.
Well, we go to the biggest musical show on Broadway, and instead of
faintin' dead away from joy, Alex claims it was rotten and spent the
night explainin' to Eve how he was gonna take New York the next
mornin'. After the show we went to a cabaret and still no rise out of
Alex. He was off the gay whirl, he says, and his idea of a holiday was
to sit beside his own fireside, readin' yesterday's mail, while his
wife made the room resound with melody by hummin' "Silver Threads Among
The Gold," the while knittin' a doily for the front-room table.
At this, Eve, which has been gazin' at Alex all night like he was Coney
Island and she was gettin' her first peep, asks if he was married.
"Don't crowd me!" he tells her, tappin' her arm playfully. "I ain't
gonna get married till I make good. By to-morrow night, though, I
reckon I'll be in a position to talk it over with you!"
"Ooooh!!" gasps Eve, turnin' a becomin' shade of red. Can you tell me
why them big league dames fall for these guys like Alex? If you can do
that, I got an easy one for you--I wanna know who started the world.
From one flash at Eve, bein' a married man, I could tell where she'd be
the next night when Alex called--and it wouldn't be--out! The next
minute Eve laughed and tells Alex if he's got as much ability as he has
nerve, he ought to have New York on its ear in twenty-four hours. The
wife asks him will he kindly lay off pesterin' her girl friend to death
and quit boostin' himself for a minute, because we was out for pleasure
and he had played the one record all night.
"Go on, Mister Hanley," butts in Eve, "I love to hear you talk. You're
so different from any one else I've met, and I really believe you
_will_ do something big here, because you're--well--new!"
"You have remarked somethin'!" agrees Alex. "I'm gonna show 'em
somethin' they never seen before and make 'em like it!"
Well, he takes Eve home that night for a starter, and the next mornin'
he's up bright and early at seven, ready to startle Manhattan. He said
he wanted me to go out with him and watch him win my eight hundred
bucks and also to notice the way he worked. He picks up the mornin'
paper, runs through the "Help Wanted" columns for a minute and finally
clears his throat.
"Aha!" he says. "Listen to this--'Wanted. High class automobile
salesman for the Gaflooey light delivery wagon. We have no time for
experiments and successful applicant must make good at once. We don't
want an order taker, but an order _maker_--a real, live, simon-pure
hustler who will start delivering the goods the morning he goes on the
payroll. This job pays ten thousand a year, if you show us you're
worth it. Apply personally all day and bring references. This is
imperative. We want to see your past record of sales elsewhere. Ask
for Mr. Grattan, 1346 Broadway. If you haven't the experience, don't
come!'"
"Well?" I says.
He puts down the paper and reaches for his hat.
"They'll probably be a lot after that there job, hey?" he asks me.
"About four thousand, I'd say offhand!" I grins.
"Fine!" he says, rubbin' his hands and smilin', "I love competition
because it puts a feller on his mettle. Now look here, if I go down
there and secure that job this mornin', do I get your eight hundred
dollars?"
"What?" I hollers. "What d'ye mean, do you get my eight hundred?"
"Listen!" he says. "The bet was that I make good at the first thing I
tackle, wasn't it--all right! Now this here job looks good to me. Ten
thousand a year is nice money to start. If you're fair minded, you'll
admit that in goin' after this job I'm up against a pretty stiff
proposition. In the first place I don't know no more about automobiles
than you do about raisin' hogs. I never sold one in my life. I don't
know a soul in New York outside of you, Cousin Alice and that girl I
took home last night, so I can't furnish no references on my ability as
a salesman. The advertisement says you have to have 'em. As you say,
they'll be thousands after that job. Fellers with swell fronts, high
soundin' records in back of 'em and gilt-edged references. Now under
all that handicap, if I walk in there and get the job, won't you admit
I made good?"
"If you go down and ask for that job and they turn you down, you'll pay
me, eh?" I asks him.
"At once!" he says, firmly.
"C'mon, Alex!" I tells him, puttin' on my hat. "I hate to cop a sucker
bet like this, but maybe losin' it will reduce the size of your head a
trifle and do you good!"
Once out in the street, he stretches his arms, pulls his hat down hard
over his dome and stamps his feet.
"Watch me close!" he says. "Watch me close and you'll get some
valuable tips on how to put yourself over. I told you I was gonna be
new--just observe how I go after this job. The average New Yorker who
wanted it would go right down to the office, present his, now,
credentials and ask for it, wouldn't he?"
I nodded.
"The early worm catches the fish, y'know!" I says; "and in New York
here--the town that made pep and hustle famous--a man would be down
there at six a.m. waitin' for the place to open. Why, there's prob'ly
a hundred or more there right now!"
"I hope there's a million!" he comes back. "It'll be more satisfaction
when they hire me over all them others. Now I ain't goin' near that
there office as yet. My system gets away from the old stuff--just keep
your eye on Cousin Alex from now on!"
He buys a newspaper, finds the automobile section and, finally, a big
display advertisement of the Gaflooey Auto Company. He takes out a
letter from his pocket and on the back of it he marks the price, style,
and a lot of other dope about Gaflooey light delivery wagons and then
throws the paper away.
"Now," he grins, "I'm all ready, except to give them folks my full name
for the payroll!"
At that minute, somebody slaps me on the back and I swing around to see
Buck Rice chucklin' at me. Buck used to be one of the best second
basemen that ever picked up a bat, till his legs went back on him and
he got into the automobile game. I remember thinkin' how funny it was
that he come along right then when me and Alex was talkin' about autos.
"Well, how are they breakin', Buck?" I says, shakin' hands and
introducin' Alex.
"I think I have fanned with the bases loaded again," he laughs. "I put
in five hours to-day tryin' to get the Mastadon Department Store to put
in a line of six-cylinder Katzes on their delivery system. I got a
private tip that they're changin' from the Mutz-36 and the first order
will be about eighty cars. Of course that's a sweet piece of money for
somebody and everybody in New York will be there to-day tryin' to grab
that order off. You might as well try to sell radiators in Hades
though, because Munson, the bird that does the purchasin', is stuck on
the Clarendon and he wouldn't buy anything else if they was givin' 'em
away!"
"Well, that's tough, Buck!" I sympathizes.
"Sure is!" he says, givin' me and Alex a quarter perfecto and grinnin'
some more to show how disappointed he feels. "But I should worry! If
I lose that one, I'll get another, so what's the difference?" He turns
to Alex, "Y'know in New York here," he confides, "we don't have no time
to hold no coroner's inquests over failures. We forget about 'em and
go after somethin' else--always on the job, get me? You'll learn after
you're here a while--that's what makes the town what it is. If I
stopped to moan over every order I didn't put across, I'd be nowhere
to-day. Nope, you can't do that in New York!"
"Another of them there New Yorkers, hey?" sneers Alex to me, after Buck
has blowed. "Don't you see how that feller proves my argyment about
how simple it is to make good here? From the way he's dressed--them,
now, diamonds and so forth--he's probably a big feller in his line.
Makin' plenty of money and looked on as a success by the ig'rant. Yet
he lets a big order get away from him when it was practically a cinch
to land it!"
"Say, listen!" I yelps--this bird was gettin' on my nerves. "If
four-flushin' was water, you'd be the Pacific Ocean! You gimme a pain
with that line of patter you got, and as far as salesmanship is
concerned, I'll bet you couldn't sell a porterhouse steak to a guy
dyin' of hunger. I'd like to see _you_ land an order like Buck spoke
of, you--"
"That's just what you're gonna do!" he butts in. "You're gonna see
_me_ land that very order he told us about--what d'ye think of that,
hey?"
I stopped dead and gazed upon him.
"You're gonna which?" I asks him.
"I'm gonna land that order from that department store!" he repeats,
grabbin' my arm. "C'mon--show me how to get there!"
I fell up against a lamp post and laughed till a passin' dame remarked
to her friend that it was an outrage the way some guys drank. Then I
led Alex to the subway.
"Listen," I says. "What about this job you was gonna get? Of course
you know if you quit, I win the bet."
"Quit?" he says. "Where have I heard the word before? Who said
anything about quittin'? I'm gonna get that order and I'm gonna get
that job!"
"Fair enough!" I tells him, "but you're goin' at the thing backwards.
How are you gonna take an order for autos when you ain't got no autos
to sell? I suppose you figure on grabbin' the ten thousand dollar job
first and then makin' good with a loud crash by landin' the big order,
eh?"
He shakes his head and sighs pityin'ly.
"Would there be anything new and original about that?" he asks.
"No!" I says, "there wouldn't! But I don't see how you're gonna win
out any other way."
"Of course you don't!" he sneers. "You're a New Yorker, ain't you?
I'm supposed to be the rube, simply because I wasn't born on Sixth
Avenue. Now I already told you my methods was new, didn't I? Anybody
would work the thing the way you lay it out--and probably land neither
the job nor the order. What a chance would I have goin' up there and
askin' for that job first? Where would I come out against all them
sellin' experts with letters and so forth to prove it? Why, they'd
laugh me outa the office! _B-u-t!--if I go to them with an order for
fifty or sixty of their cars as actual proof that I can sell not only
autos, but their autos_, what will they say, then? D'ye see the point
now? They ask me for a reference and I reach in my pocket and give
them the order, _which I've got before applyin' for the job_, to prove
to myself and them that I can sell automobiles!"
Oh, boy!
"Alex," I says, when I got my breath, "I gotta hand it to you! When it
comes to inventin' things, you got Edison lookin' like a backward
pupil. Go to it, old kid! If you put this over the way you have just
told it to me, you'll own Broadway in a week!"
"I'm figurin' on ten days!" he says.
We arrive at the Mastadon Department Store and shoot up in the elevator
to the office of G. C. Munson, the general manager. Alex has been
readin' the notes he made on Gaflooey delivery wagons like the same was
a French novel, and, by the time we got there, he could repeat their
advertisement by heart. He starts to breeze right into the office and
some dame appears on the scene and nails him.
"One moment, please!" she says, very cold--givin' Alex a look that took
in everything from his hick clothes to his rube haircut. "This happens
to be a private office. Whom did you desire to see?"
"If I thought they was anybody prettier than you here, I'd ask to have
them brought out," says Alex, in that simple rube way of his which give
no offense, "but of course I know that's impossible. Still, as long as
I'm here, I'd like to see Mister Munson."
The dame melts and releases a smile.
"What did you wish to see him about?" she asks.
"About ten minutes," pipes Alex. "D'ye know there's somethin' about
them navy blue eyes of yours that makes me think of my mother--isn't
that funny?"
The dame surrenders and shows Alex all her nice front teeth.
"I'll see if Mister Munson is in," she says, handin' him a card, "but
you'll have to fill this out."
Alex looks at the card which had this on it,
Mr ...................................
Desires to see .......................
Regarding ............................
He laughs suddenly, takes out his fountain pen and fills the thing out.
Lookin' over his shoulder I seen him write this,
Mr......... _Alex Hanley_
Desires to see ...... _Mr. Munson_.
Regarding .... _The price of petrified noodles in Siberia_.
"There," he says, handin' it to the girl without a smile, "give that to
Mister Munson."
She takes it in without lookin' at it.
"Well, you crabbed any chance you might of had, right off the bat!" I
says to Alex. "He'll get so sore when he reads that, he won't even let
you in."
"Let him get sore!" chirps Alex. "He'll not only get sore, he'll get
curious and then again I'm figurin' on him bein' human, besides bein'
general manager and havin' a sense of humor! He's probably been
pestered with auto salesmen all day--if I wrote my real business on
that card he'd send word he was out. As it is, he'll read it and he
won't be able to resist the, now, temptation to get one look at a
feller which would want to know from a man in his position the price of
petrified noodles in Siberia. No matter what happens afterwards, he'll
want one look--wouldn't you?"
Before I can answer, the dame comes out laughin'.
"Step in," she says. "Mister Munson will see you."
"Now!" hisses Alex, as we ease in on the velvet carpet. "Watch how _I_
go about sellin' autos. Y'see I got a nibble already because I was
new! I--Howdy, Mister Munson!"
We was in the private office.
Munson was a little, keen-faced guy--bald, nervous and fat. He looks
up over his glasses with Alex's card in his hand--and Alex looks back.
In one second they had each found out all they wanted to know about the
other.
"What's the meaning of this nonsense?" barks Munson.
Alex walks over to the desk, wets his lips and gets goin'.
"Mister Munson," he says, "if you called on a man at his office, would
you care to write your business on a card for the office boy to read?
No--you would not! A big man like you would probably tear the card up,
leave the office in a, now, rage and never return! You'd be insulted,
your, now, dignity would be hurt, eh? You might be from out of town
and comin' here to leave a big order and that little thing--prob'ly
invented by one of your New York efficiency stars--would make you so
mad you'd go away and order where they wasn't so efficient, but a
little more courteous! Look at that card--the, now, wordin' of it.
Look how cold and hard it is! No warmth, no 'glad-to-see-you-stranger
what-can-my-house-do-for-you?' about it. It's like a slap in the face!
Maybe it does keep the panhandlers away, but did you ever figure how
many orders it must have cost you, hey?"
Munson has listened to every word, first with a heavy frown and then
with a kind of thoughtful look on his face. He taps the desk with a
lead pencil, reads the card a couple of times and then slams his fist
on the desk.
"By Peter, young man!" he snaps out suddenly, "you may be right! The
wording of that office blank _is_ rather insulting, now that I dissect
it--been too busy before to notice it. Yes, sir, I _would_ resent
having my business blatted out before a whole staff of subordinates!
There must be some way, of course, to keep out the hordes of jobless
and what not who would get in if it wasn't for that blank and now, by
the eternal, we'll find one less liable to turn away gold with
the--er--grist! I thank you for the suggestion. And now, what did you
want to see me about?"
"Automobiles," says Alex, "and--"
Munson freezes right up and slaps his hands together.
"That's enough!" he snarls. "Perhaps that office blank of ours is not
so bad after all! If you had filled it out properly, you wouldn't be
here. I've heard enough about autos to-day to last me for the rest of
my life. Yesterday, I mentioned casually, and I thought in confidence,
that we were considering a change in our delivery system. Beginning at
eight this morning, there has been a constant stream of automobile
salesmen in this office! The only persons who have not tried to sell
me automobiles are George Washington, Jack Dempsey and Billy Sunday!
I'm quite sure every one else has been here. The air has been filled
with magnetos, self-starters, sliding gear transmissions, aluminum
crank cases and all that other damnable technical stuff that goes with
automobiles! You need not open your mouth--I know exactly what your
sales talk is, they're all alike, more or less. Your car is far and
away the best on the market, of course, and--"
"Excuse me, Mister Munson!" butts in Alex. "You get me all wrong. Our
car--the Gaflooey--is _not_ the best on the market. There are others
just as good and some of the higher priced ones are, naturally, better.
You can't expect the best on the market for the price we sell at--750.
A man of your intelligence knows that and when a salesman tells you his
five hundred dollar car is better than a standard make at five
thousand, he's insulting your intelligence. We make a good, honest
car--that's all. I ain't gonna take up your time tellin' you about
the--eh--ah--the--eh, magneto and so forth. Unless you're a mechanic,
you wouldn't understand about 'em anyways. All the parts that go with
any car are on ours, or it wouldn't work--that's understood. However,
as I said before, I ain't gonna take up your time. I know how you New
Yorkers do business, and you've probably made your mind up already.
You big men are all zip!--like that. Mind made up and nothin' can
change you. Even if you do miss somethin' good now and then, you don't
mind because you have the satisfaction of bein' known as a quick
thinker. We just got in a new consignment of cars to-day and if you're
interested our place is at 1346 Broadway. Well, good-day, sir!" he
winds up, reachin' for his hat.
"Wait!" says Munson, takin' off his glasses and wipin' 'em. "You're a
new one on me, son! So you admit you haven't got the greatest auto
that was ever made, eh?" he chuckles. "By Peter! That sounds strange
after all the talk I been listening to to-day. If your car is as
honest as you seem to be, it's all right!" He sits lookin' off in the
air, tappin' the desk with the pencil again.
Alex nudges me and we start for the door. Halfway he stops and looks
at a photo that's framed over the desk. It's a picture of a barn, some
chickens and a couple of cows.
"Right fine landscape, that!" chirps Alex to Munson. "Makes a feller
like me homesick to look at it. Them are sure fine Jerseys, too--and
say, see them pullets, would you!"
"That's my little farm down on Long Island," says Munson, throwin' out
his chest. "I suppose that makes you laugh, eh? Big, grown New Yorker
having a farm, eh?"
"Mister," says Alex, sadly, "it don't make _me_ laugh! I was raised on
a farm in Vermont and--"
"That so?" cuts in Munson, lookin' interested. "Country boy, eh?"
"Yep," goes on Alex. "Now, speakin' of them pullets there--if you'd
try 'em on a straight diet of bran and potatoes--pound of each--they'll
fatten up quicker."
"Yes?" pipes Munson, brightenin' up some more. "Well, well!
And--hmph! Thanks, Mister Hanley, I'll make a note of that.
Now--eh--sit down a minute! I don't want to take your time, but--eh,
what did you find best back home for saving the young chicks? What
foods--"
"I'll just leave you a few little rules," says Alex, his eyes
glitterin', as he rams his elbow a mile in my ribs. "I got to call on
another department store this afternoon, where I'm almost certain to
take an order and--"
"Young man!" Munson shuts him off, "I'm frank enough to say that you've
made a very favorable impression on me. You're honest about your car,
and you didn't try to overawe me by hurling a lot of unintelligible
technical terms into my ear. You don't claim it's the bargain of the
age. Now we have recently inaugurated right here in this store a
policy of absolute honesty with regard to our merchandise. No
misrepresentations are permitted. We sell our goods for what they
are--we don't allow a clerk to tell a customer that he's getting a
five-dollar shirt for two dollars. I can't get the car I want to put
in here--they want too much money and their salesman spent most of his
time here speaking in terms that none but a master mechanic on their
own auto would understand. I'm a pretty good judge of character and
you look good to me. Give me a price on fifty of your cars for
immediate delivery and--well, let's hear your figures!"
Alex drops his hat on the floor, but when he picked it up, he was as
cool as a dollar's worth of ice.
"Just a minute," he says, sittin' down and reachin' for a desk
telephone. He gets the Gaflooey Company on the wire.
"Hello!" he says. "Say--I want a lump price on fifty delivery
wagons--what?--never mind who this is, if the price is right I'll come
up." He winks at Munson like he's lettin' him in on somethin'--and, by
gravy, Munson winks back! "Yes--fifty," says Alex on the wire.
"Thirty-five thousand dollars?--thank you!" He hangs up the phone and
turns to Munson. "They'll give you twenty-five hundred off, accordin'
to that figure," he says.
Munson grabs up a pad and writes somethin' on it.
"There!" he says, givin' it to Alex. "Tell 'em to get as many cars
over here to-morrow as they can. Get your bill and I'll O.K. it.
Now--" he pulls his chair over closer, "About those chicks and--oh,
yes, I want your opinion on some figures I have here on my truck--"
An hour later, me and Alex walks into the salesroom of the Gaflooey
Automobile Company. I was in a trance, and if he had of promised to
lift the Singer Buildin' with one hand I would of laid the world eight
to five he could do it! The whole place is in confusion--salesmen
chasin' around, telephonin' and actin' like they just heard they was a
bomb in the basement. Alex asks for the manager, and some guy chances
over and asks what he wants.
"I have come for that ten thousand a year job you advertised this
mornin'," says Alex.
"Job?" howls the manager, glarin' at him. "You poor boob, can't you
see how busy we are here now? We just got a tip on a real order--fifty
cars, and we can't trace the thing!" He rubs his hands together.
"Fifty cars! That's how the Gaflooey sells--fifty at a time!" He
sneers at Alex. "Your approach is terrible!" he says. "You'll never
land a job in this town like that, my boy. Go somewhere first and
learn how to interest a busy man with the first thing you say and--"
"Listen!" butts in Alex. "Gimme that job, will you, or I'll have to go
somewhere else."
The manager laughs, as a couple of salesmen come along and join him.
They all sneer at Alex and the manager nudges his minions and winks.
"So you think you're a ten thousand dollar auto salesman, eh?" he says.
"Ah--who can you refer to?" He makes a bluff at takin' down notes.
"Mister Munson, of the Mastadon Department Store," says Alex.
"Ha, ha, ha!" roars the manager. "Department store, eh--that's rich!
You quit the shirtwaist department to sell autos, eh? Ha, ha, ha!
What does a department store manager know of your ability to sell
autos?" he snarls.
"Well,--I just sold him fifty of _yours_!" remarks Alex. "So I
thought--"
"What?" shrieks the manager, grabbin' his arm.
Alex hands over the order Munson give him.
"Now before I go to work here," he says, "it might be a good idea to
let me look over one of your cars, because, to tell you the truth, I
ain't never seen one of 'em in my life!"
Well, they had Munson on the phone in a minute and in another one the
manager hangs up the receiver and comes back.
"Do I get the job?" asks Alex.
"Do you get the job!" yells friend manager, slappin' him on the back.
"No, you don't get it--only if you leave here without signing your name
to a five-year contract and accepting a check for fifteen hundred
dollars' commission and as much more as you want to draw on your
expense account, I'll--I'll--murder you! But first, you lunch with me
at the Fitz-Barlton and we'll map out a campaign--"
"Gimme that eight hundred!" says Alex to me.
I passed it over still semi-conscious.
Alex stretches his arms, puts the money away and grins.
"Get me that Eve girl on the phone, will you?" he tells me. "I--I had
a little bet with her, too!" He lights the cigar Buck Rice had give
him in the mornin', blows out some smoke and looks over at Broadway,
jammed with the matinee crowd. "Some burg!" he says, shakin' his head
and grinnin' at me!