A CERTAIN VISITOR.
Dick gave up trying to grind. It was mid-afternoon and once more his
friends who roomed in the house had wandered in upon him and were
chattering away regardless of his desire to study.
They had been speaking of disguises and practical jokes. Bigelow was
telling them what a fine Irishman Dick became when he wished to
represent one and had the necessary make-up.
“Didn’t he fool the cops that night you took in the cock fight, Tucker?”
demanded Big. “Didn’t he fool you, too? You know he did. Both you and
Jones were scared out of your senses when you got back here. Said you’d
been recognized and your names called by a policeman. Felt sure that
meant the end of Yale for both of you. Oh, but you were scared! Tommy
was white round the gills, and all Blessed could do was groan and quote
fake scripture.”
“Verily I was exceedingly distressed,” acknowledged Jones.
“Oh, I confess I was scared blue,” said Tucker. “But out in that old
barn with only two or three lanterns to illuminate the place it was easy
enough for anybody to fool us. I’m not saying Dick isn’t good at making
up and playing a part, but he never could deceive a native of old Erin
if he tried to represent an Irishman.”
“Bet he could, bet he could!” spluttered Bouncer. “Couldn’t you, Dick?”
“I don’t know,” confessed Dick, “but I have an idea that I might
succeed.”
“I’m willing to bet ten you can’t fool any real Irishman,” cried Tucker.
“I won’t bet, you know,” laughed Dick, “but I don’t mind trying it. Tell
you what I’ll do—I’ll experiment on Maggie Swazey. She’s a good subject,
isn’t she?”
They agreed that Maggie, the maid of all work in the rooming house, was
acceptable.
“How are you going to experiment on her, partner?” questioned Buckhart.
After a moment’s thought Dick unfolded his plan.
“I know where to get a policeman’s uniform that will fit me unless those
fellows who robbed Steiger’s place got away with the outfit. I’ll rig up
as an Irish cop this evening, and I’ll stroll around here and call on
Maggie shortly after eight o’clock. Tell you what I’ll do, fellows—I’ll
make love to Maggie. That ought to be a satisfactory test. If I can fool
her to that extent, I ought to be able to fool any one.”
“Truly thou art taking thy life in thy lily-white hands,” said Blessed.
“If Maggie ever tumbles to the trick, she’ll split your skull.”
“Oh, say, that ought to be a circus!” shouted Tucker hilariously. “I’d
give anything if I could see the sport.”
“Can’t you find a way to see it?”
“I’d like to be in it, too,” grinned Bigelow. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to
miss that.”
“Miss it?” said Buckhart. “You bet your boots I don’t propose to miss
it!”
“What’ll you do?” asked Tommy and Bouncer in a breath.
“It’s the pantry for mine!” announced the Texan. “I’ll ensconce myself
in the pantry where I can take in the doings.”
“Maggie has an old couch down there that she rests on when she’s very
tired,” grinned Tucker. “I speak for a snug berth beneath that couch.”
“But where can I conceal my slight and sylphlike form?” asked Bigelow.
“Say, Buckhart, you ought to let me have the pantry.”
“Then where would I fit in?”
“The sink,” cried Bigelow; “you can get under the sink.”
“Aw, no, that won’t do,” protested Brad. “Think of me hiding under a
sink! Great horn spoon!”
“But you’re selfish,” declared Bouncer. “Yes, you are selfish, Buckhart.
I can’t get under the sink to save my neck—you can. I could hide in the
pantry or the cold room. If you’re going to have the pantry, I’ll take
the cold room.”
“I’ll see more of the fun than either one of you,” laughed Tucker. “Next
to my chosen retreat beneath the couch, I’d choose the sink, for then I
could keep the door open on a crack and watch everything that was going
on.”
“This don’t seem to be a time for dignity,” said Brad, “so I’ll take the
sink for mine. But, however are we going to get to our retreats, gents?”
“You’ve got sort of left me out,” observed Jones. “I suppose you think I
don’t enjoy life, anyhow, and there’s no use in trying to amuse me.”
“Tell you what you can do,” cried Tommy.
“That’s kind, indeed.”
“You can help us out.”
“If Maggie ever catches you stowed around the kitchen, she’ll help you
out.”
“You can call her upstairs for something, Jonesy, and give us a chance
to sneak into the kitchen. Will you do it? Sure you will.”
“Oh, certainly!” grunted Blessed. “That’s all I’m good for. Work me,
work me.”
“If you fellows want to be sure of seeing the sport,” smiled Dick,
“don’t fail to have yourselves properly concealed in the kitchen by
eight o’clock. I shall arrive within five or ten minutes after the hour.
That’s settled now. You chaps skidoo. Yes, I mean it. Your room is
preferable to your company for the next hour. I’ve got to study.”
According to the arrangement, Jones appeared at the kitchen door some
five minutes before eight that evening, and requested Maggie Swazey to
do him a little favor. He was studying hard, he said, and couldn’t spare
the time to run out to the nearest stationery store for a couple of
notebooks. Would she mind getting them for him?
The sight of a silver quarter in the way of emolument for her services
quickly banished any sign of hesitation on Maggie’s part.
“Certainly, sir—certainly I’ll git ye the books,” she smiled.
“You know what I want,” said Blessed. “If you don’t, here’s a
sample—here’s one of my old books. You can take that along. When you
come back bring them up to my room, but get them right away—don’t lose a
minute. Time is precious with me this evening.”
The moment the door closed behind Maggie three chuckling lads scudded
into the kitchen and prepared to conceal themselves. At the last moment
Buckhart seemed inclined to rebel against hiding beneath the sink.
“You can sure get in there, Big,” he said. “Try it.”
Bouncer dropped on all fours and quickly demonstrated the impossibility
of seeking to stow himself away beneath the sink.
“It’s a slick place, Brad,” he gurgled. “If I could only get in there,
I’d take it in a jiffy. You can back in all right, and here’s a nice
little knot hole through which you can see everything that’s going on.
Cricky, that knot hole must have been made on purpose.”
“That certain is a right fine knot hole,” agreed the Texan, with a grin.
“Don’t know but I’ll make use of it.”
With more or less clattering and banging, he finally succeeded in
backing in amid the pots and pans and settling himself in a comfortable
position with the knot hole convenient to his eye if he lifted his head
a bit. But even after getting in there he was again struck by the
thought that his position was most undignified, and he started to crawl
out.
“No, you don’t!” spluttered Bouncer, slamming the sink door and turning
the little wooden button that held it. “You just keep still. It’s me to
the pantry, and I won’t have you spoiling my fun.”
“You wait till I do get out!” growled Buckhart’s smothered voice. “I
sure will spank you good and plenty.”
“Hurry up, Big!” hissed Tucker, thrusting his head out from beneath the
couch. “If you keep on puttering around, Maggie will come back and catch
you.”
The fat boy made a dash for the pantry. Five minutes after the return of
Maggie Swazey there came a familiar tapping at one of the kitchen
windows.
“Good gracious!” exclaimed the girl; “it must be Dennis. I didn’t expect
him to-night.”
She hastened to the door and opened it wide in a welcoming manner.
“Good avenin’, Dennis,” she laughed. “How does it happen you’re here so
early?”
“It’s not Dinnis Oi am,” announced a voice, as a man wearing the uniform
of an officer stepped into the room. “Me name is Patrick McGee, and
Oi’ve been app’inted to the beat lately hild by me lamentid fri’nd
Dinnis Maloney.”
“Your lamented friend?” gasped Maggie. “Why, what do you mean, sir? Oh,
tell me, has anything terrible happened to Dennis?”
“Sure and there has,” was the sad and solemn answer.
Maggie seemed ready to faint.
“He isn’t dead, is he?” she almost shrieked.
“Worse thon thot,” answered the visitor.
Maggie stiffened up in astonishment.
“Worse than dead?” she gasped. “Why, how can that be possible? What do
you mean?”
“He’s married,” said the stranger, in a heart-broken manner.