"That," he said, "is as old as Adam. It was run to death so long ago I
can't remember. That? That's 'Paragon Park.' That is the old original
first 'Shimmie' dance--with whiskers two foot long--"
"The original what?"
"Shimmie! _Shimmie!_ Say, honest to God, don't you know--?" And with his
shoulders he made a wriggling gesture in appeal to my wits, the crudest
burlesque, it seemed, of a divinely abominable gesture in my
memory.--"That?" he queried. "Eh?"
"Shimmie," I echoed, and, my mind skipping back: "_Shemdance! Shame
Dance!_--I see!"
"Why?" he demanded, intrigued by my preoccupation.
"Nothing. It just reminded me of something."
Then he lifted a hand and smote himself on the thigh. "Me, too! By
jinks! Say, I'd almost forgot that."
He hitched his chair upon me; held me down with a forefinger.
"Listen. That was funny. It was one night--last fall. It was just after
Number Seventeen had pulled out, westbound, about one-forty in the
morning. There wasn't anything else till six-one. Them are always the
hardest hours. A fellow's got to stay awake, see, and nothin' to keep
him--unless maybe a coyote howlin' a mile off, or maybe a bum knockin'
around among the box cars on the sidin', or, if it's cold, the stove to
tend. That's all. Unless you put a record on the old phonograph and hit
'er up a few minutes now and then. Dead? Say, boy!"
"Well, this night it was a bum. I'm sittin' there in the coop, countin'
my fingers and listenin' to Limon calling off car numbers to
Denver--just like that I'm sittin'--when I hear somethin' out in the
waitin' room. Not very loud.--Well, I go out there, and there's the bum.
Come right into the waitin' room.
"Bum! If he wasn't the father and mother and brother and sister of the
original bum, I'll eat my hat. Almost a Jew-lookin' guy, and he'd saw
hard service. But he's got a kind o' crazy glitter in his eye.
"'Well,' says I, just like that, 'Well, what do you want?'
"He don't whine; he don't handle the pan. He's got that look in his eye.
"'My woman is out in them box cars,' says he. 'I'm goin' to bring her in
here where it's warm.' That's what he says. Not '_can_ I bring her in?'
but '_goin_' to bring her in!' From a _hobo_!
"Can you imagine? It makes me think. It comes to me the guy is really
off his trolley. To keep him calm I says, 'Well--'
"He goes out. 'I'm shed o' _him_,' I says to myself. Not a bit. About
three minutes and here he comes trottin' back, sure enough, bringin' a
woman with him. Now Mister--What's-y'r-name--prepare to laugh. That
there woman--listen--make up your face--she's a _nigger_!
"He says she ain't a nigger.
"'Mexican?' says I.
"'No,' says he.
"I give her another look, but I can't make much out of her, except she's
some kind of a nigger, anyhow. She's sittin' on the bench far away from
the light, and she's dressed in a second-hand horse blanket, a feed
sack, and a bran' new pair of ar'tics. And she don't say a word.
"'Well,' says I, 'if she ain't some kind of nigger, I'll eat my--'
"But there he is, all of a sudden, squarin' off in front o' me, his mug
stuck up and his eyes like a couple o' headlights. Imagine! The guy
ain't got enough meat on his bones for a rest'rant chicken. Honest to
God, he looked like he'd been through a mile o' sausage mill. But crazy
as a bedbug. And there's somethin' about a crazy man--
"'Hold y'r gab!' says he. To _me_! That gets my goat.
"'Just for that,' says I, 'you can get out o' this station. And don't
forget to take your _woman_ along with you. Get out!'
"'Get out--_hell!_' says he. He sticks his mug right in my face.
"'That woman you speak so light of,' says he, 'is a queen. A Canuck
queen,' say he.
"I had to laugh. 'Since when was there queens in Canada?' says I. 'And
since when has the Canuck queens been usin' stove polish for talcum
powder?'
"The guys grabs me by the coat. Listen. He was strong as a wire. He was
deceivin'. A wire with ten thousand volts into it.
"'Look at me!' says he, breathin' hard between his teeth. 'And take
care!' says he. 'I'm a man no man can monkey with. I'm a man that'll go
through. I'm stained with crime. I've waded through seas o' blood.
Nothin' in heaven or earth or hell can stop me. A month from now rubes
like you'll be glad to crawl at my feet--an' wipe their dirty mugs on
the hem o' that there woman's skirt.--Now listen,' says he. 'Get the
hell into that there box o' yourn over there and be quiet.'
"Crazy as a loon. I hope to die! the guy was _dangerous_. I see that. It
come to me it's best to humor him, and I go into the coop again. I sit
there countin' my fingers and listenin' to Denver tellin' back them car
numbers to Limon again. By and by I'm jumpy as a cat. I get up and stick
a record in the old machine.--That's what brings the whole thing back to
mind. That record is this 'Paragon Park.'
"First thing I know I'm out in the waitin' room again. And what you
think I see? I give you a hundred guesses."
"I'll take one," I said to him. "What you saw was the finest exhibition
of the 'Shimmie' you ever clapped an eye upon. Am I right?"
The young fellow's mouth hung open. He stared at me.
"Half undressed! Honest! That nigger woman! Horse blanket, feed sack,
ar'tics--where was they? Shimmie? Say! Can you imagine, in that there
prairie depot at three in the mornin', and a wind howlin' under the
floor? Say! Well, I can't tell you, but talk about _Shimmie_! Say, she's
like a dead one come to life."
"Yes," I agreed, "yes.--But what about the man?"
"Well, that man, now. The record's comin' to the end and I go back in to
start it over. And, here's this hobo, come in behind me.
"'What's that?' says he, pointin' to the record I got in my hand.
"Then he grabs it and looks it over. He keeps turnin' it round and round
and round, starin' at it.
"'I hope you'll know it again,' says I, with a laugh.
"My laugh seems to set him off into a shiver. Then down he throws that
record o' mine onto the floor and stamps on it; busts it into a million
pieces under his boots. I been tellin' you he's crazy.
"'Here there!' I yell at him.
"He looks at me. Looks right through me, it seems and beyond, with them
there red-rimmed eyes.
"'Seas o' blood,' says he. That's all. 'Seas o' blood!'
"Then he turns around, walks out into the waitin' room, and sits down in
a heap in the farthest corner. Never another peep. There he sits till
daylight, and the nigger woman, with the horse blanket on again, she
sits there beside him, holdin' his hand.
"'What's up with him?' I ask her.
"She says somethin' in Mexican--or some language, anyway. But I see she
don't know any more 'n me.--It's just like this. The current's gone out
o' the wire.--Last I ever see of 'em, she's leadin' him off in the
sunrise toward the box cars--leadin' him by the hand.--Now did you ever
hear a funnier experience than that to happen to a man?"
"No," I said, "I never did."
"You had to pity him," he added.
"Yes," I agreed.--And I could think of her leading him by the hand.
I saw Signet again. It was on my first and last voyage to the Marquesas.
Under the shadow of a mountain, on a stone platform facing the sea, sat
Signet, quite nude save for a loin cloth, and with an unequivocal black
beard falling down on his breast. There was a calmness about him.
"How did you come here?" I asked, at length.
"She wanted it," he said.
"She's a wonderful woman," he said to me, "a wonderful woman. She would
do anything for me, Dole. _Anything!_ We've got a kid."
I made shift to get in a question I had carried long in mind. "Somebody
beat you out at Papeete, then, after all?"
He turned upon me a faintly quizzical look.
"I mean, somebody saw her--some tourist--that time she danced at
Papeete--Remember?--and got away with it?"
The thing seemed already so remote that he had to grope back. Then he
laughed.
"Lord, no. Look here, Dole. It was her herself seen the thing at
Papeete. On board a tourist boat. I found out about it since I learned
her language good. Her and some others went aboard to dance the
_hula_--same as always, you know. Then some of _them_, the tourists,
understand--Well, they had to spring the latest thing from Broadway. And
then this woman of mine--Well, you can imagine. Like a woman with a new
hat. Got to run right off and show it to the whole damn length and
breadth of the South Seas. That's all.--And once upon a time I thought I
was bright.--"
Out of the half house at the rear of the platform came the daughter of a
queen, bearing under one arm a prince of this island valley, and in the
other hand a bowl of coconut wine for the visitor. And for her lord. For
you will see that at last, despite the malignant thrusts and obstacles
of destiny, this gutter snipe of Gotham had come to a certain estate.
When I left, he accompanied me slowly to the beach.
"You ought to like it here," I said. "After all, the city could never
have given you so much."
"No," he said. Wide-eyed, he took in the azure immensity of the sea.
"No. Here a guy has got time to think, think, without any hurry or
worry.--I been thinking, Dole, a lot. I ain't going to say nothing about
it, but Dole, I b'lieve I got an idea coming along. No flivver this
time. A real, sure-fire hunch. Something that'll go big in the city.
Big!"
And so I left him there in the shadow of the mountain, staring at the
impassable sea.