EAST LYNCH
Success has ruined more guys than failure ever will. It's like a Santa
Cruz rum milk punch on an empty stomach--there's very few people can
stand it. Many a guy that's a regular fellow at a hundred a month,
becomes a boob at a hundred a week. What beat Napoleon, Caesar and
Nero--failure? No, success! Give the thing the once over some time
and you'll see that I'm right.
Success is the large evenin' with the boys at the lodge and failure is
the mornin' after. As a matter of fact, they're twins. Often you can
be a success without knowin' it, so if you been a failure all your life
accordin' to your own dope, cheer up. But when you get up to the top
where you can look down at all these other guys tryin' to sidestep the
banana peels of life and climb up with you, knock off thinkin' what a
big guy you are for a minute and give ten minutes to thinkin' what a
tough time you had gettin' there. Give five minutes more to ruminatin'
on how long the mob remembers a loser and you'll find it the best
sixteen minutes you ever spent in your life.
In these days when the world is just a great big baby yellin' for a new
toy every second, any simp can beat his way to the top. The real stunt
is _stayin' there_ after you arrive!
Kid Scanlan was a good sample of that. When the Kid was fightin' for
bean money and the exercise, he never spent nothin' but the evenin' and
very little of that. He didn't know whether booze was a drink or a
liniment and the only ladies he was bothered about was his mother. But
when he knocked out One-Punch Ross for the title and eased himself into
the movies, it was all different. He begin to spend money like a
vice-investigating committee, knock around with bartenders and give in
to all the strange desires that hits a guy with his health and a
bankroll. I stood by and cheered for a while until he crashes in love
with this movie queen, Miss Vincent, that got more money a start than
the Kid did in a season and more letters from well wishin' males than a
newly elected mayor. Then I stepped in and saved the Kid just before
he become a total loss.
I was standin' by the African Desert one day watchin' them take a
picture called "Rapacious Rupert's Revenge," when the Kid comes over
and calls me aside. Since he had become a actor he had gave himself up
to dressin' in panama hats, Palm Beach suits and white shoes. He
reminded me of the handsome young lieutenant in a musical comedy.
Every time I seen him in that outfit I expected to hear him burst into
some song like, "All hail, the Queen comes thither!" Know what I mean?
Well, havin' lured me away under the shade of some palm trees, the Kid
tells me he's goin' over to Frisco on a little shoppin' expedition, and
he wants me to come with him. I says I can't drink a thing because I
have had a terrible headache since the night before when him and me and
some camera men went to Montana Bill's and toyed with the illegal brew
for a few hours.
"That last round," I says, "which I'll always remember because it come
to six eighty-five, was what ruined me. The bartender must have gone
crazy and put booze in them cocktails, because I've had that headache
ever since!"
"It ain't the cocktails that give you the headache," the Kid tells me,
"it was the check. And you must have had a bun on before that, anyhow,
because you paid it! But that's got nothin' to do with this here trip
to Frisco. I'm not goin' to stop anywheres for no powders. I'm gonna
get somethin' I've needed for a long time!"
"What is it," I asks him, "a clean collar?"
"I wish you'd save that comedy for some rainy Sunday," he says; "that
stuff of yours is about as funny as a broken arm! Since I been out
here with these swell actors, I been changin' my clothes so often that
I'll bet my body thinks I'm kiddin' it. Stop knockin' and come over to
Frisco with me and--"
I don't know what else he was goin' to say, because just at that minute
a Kansas cyclone on wheels come between us and I come to in a ditch
about five feet from where the Kid is tryin' to see can he really stand
on his head. When I had picked up enough ambition to get to my feet, I
went over and jacked up the Kid. About half a mile up the road the
thing which had attacked us is turnin' around.
"Run for your life!" I yells to the Kid. "It's comin' back!"
Before we could pick our hidin' places, the thing has drawed up in
front of us and we see it's one of them trick autos known to the trade
as racin' cars. I recognized it right away as belongin' to Miss
Vincent. The owner was in the car and beside her was Edmund De Vronde,
the shop-girls' delight. The Kid and De Vronde had took to each other
from the minute they first met like a ferret does to a rat. It was a
case of hate at first sight. So you can figure that this little
incident did nothin' to cement the friendship. Miss Vincent leaps out
of the thing and comes runnin' over to us.
"Good Heavens!" she says. "You're not hurt, are you?"
She's lookin' right past me and at the Kid like it made little or no
difference whether _I_ was damaged or not.
The Kid throws half an acre of California out of his collar and removes
a few pebbles and a cigar butt from his ear.
"No!" he growls, with a sarcastical smile. "Was they many killed?"
She takes out a little trick silk handkerchief and wipes off his face
with it.
"I meant to step on the foot brake," she explains, "and I must have
stepped on the gas by mistake!"
"You must have stepped on the dynamite," I butts in, "because it blowed
me into the ditch!"
The Kid shakes a bucket or so of sand out of his hair and looks over at
the car where De Vronde is examin' us through a pair of cheaters and
enjoyin' himself scandalously.
"I see you got Foolish with you," says the Kid to Miss Vincent.
"What's the matter--are you off me now?"
She smiles and wipes some mud off the Kid's collar.
"Why, no," she tells him. "Genaro is putting on 'The Escapes of Eva'
this morning and I'm playing the lead opposite Mr. De Vronde. I
happened to pick him up on the road and I'm bringing him in, that's
all."
"Yeh?" says the Kid, still lookin' over at the car. "What are _you_
laughin' at, Stupid?" he snarls suddenly at De Vronde.
De Vronde give a shiver and the glasses fell off in the bottom of the
car. While he was stoopin' down to look for 'em, the Kid turns to Miss
Vincent.
"I only wish he had been drivin' the thing," he says, "because then I'd
have some excuse for bouncin' him! On the level, now," he goes on,
winkin' at her, "he _was_ drivin' the thing, wasn't he?"
"Oh, no!" she answers. "I was at the wheel."
The Kid frowns and thinks for a minute.
"Well," he says finally, takin' another look at De Vronde, "ain't the
brakes or somethin' where he was sittin'?"
"No!" she tells him, grabbin' him by the arm. "Please don't lose your
head now and start a fuss! I'm awfully sorry this happened, but as
long as neither of you were hurt and--"
"It didn't do me no _good_, that's a cinch!" butts in the Kid, with a
meanin' look at his spoiled scenery. He walks over to the car and
glares up at De Vronde. "Hey!" he snarls. "What d'ye mean by bein' in
a automobile that runs over me, eh?"
De Vronde moves as far over as the seat will let him, and then falls
back on prayer.
"I must decline to enter any controversy with you," he pipes, after a
minute. "You were standing in the right of way and--"
The Kid grins and holds up his hand. His face has lighted all up and
he's lickin' his lips like he always did in the ring when he seen the
other guy was pickin' out a place to fall. He's walked around to where
De Vronde had been sittin' and piped a little handle stickin' up.
"What's this?" he calls to Miss Vincent, who's climbin' in the other
side.
"That's just the oil pump," she says.
The Kid suddenly reaches up, grabs De Vronde by the arm and jerks him
out of the car.
"You big stiff!" he roars. "Why didn't you pump that oil, hey? If you
had done that, the thing wouldn't have hit us! I knowed it was all
your fault--you deliberately laid off that pump, hopin' we'd get
killed!"
With that he starts an uppercut from the ground, but I yanked him away
just as De Vronde murmurs, "Safety first!" and takes a dive. Miss
Vincent gets out and gives me a hand with the Kid, and De Vronde sits
up and menaces us with his cane.
"That isn't a bit nice!" Miss Vincent frowns at the Kid. "That's
ruffianly! You never should have struck him!"
"I didn't hit him!" yells the Kid. "The big tramp quit! If I had hit
him he wouldn't be gettin' up."
He starts over again, but I held him until she has climbed into the car
with De Vronde and they shoot up the road. Just before they
disappeared, De Vronde turns around in the seat and shakes his finger
at us.
"Only the presence of the lady," he calls, "saves you from my wrath!"
"Come on!" says the Kid, grabbin' my arm. "Let's get the next train
for Frisco, before I run after that guy and flatten him! Believe me,"
he goes on, lookin' up the road after the car, "I'll get that bird
before the day is over if I have to bust a leg!"
And that's just what he did--both!
All the way over in the train I tried to work the third degree on the
Kid to find out what he was goin' to buy, but there was nothin' doin'.
He stalled me off until we pull into the town and then he takes me to a
street that was so far from the railroad station I come near castin' a
shoe on the way over. About half way down this boulevard there's a
garage and the Kid stops in front of it.
"Wait here!" he tells me. "And don't let nobody give you no babies to
mind. I'll be right out!"
He slips inside and I'm lookin' the joint over when a big sign catches
my eye. I took one good flash at the thing, and then I starts right in
after the Kid. A friend of mine in New York had gone into a place with
a sign on it like that one time and made a purchase. Six months later
when he come out of the hospital, he claimed the bare smell of gasoline
made him faint Here's what it said on that sign,
J. MARKOWITZ
USED AND NEARLY NEW AUTOS
FOR SALE
It was kinda dark inside and it takes me a minute to get my bearin's,
but finally I see the Kid and a snappy dressed guy standin' in front of
what I at first thought was a Pullman sleeper. When I get a close up,
though, I find it's only a tourin' car. It was the biggest automobile
I ever seen in my life; a sightseein' bus would have looked like a
runabout alongside of it. There was one there and it did! The thing
hadn't been painted since the _Maine_ was blowed up, and you could see
the guy that had been keepin' it was fond of the open air, because
there was samples of mud from probably all over the world on it.
"You could believe it, you're gettin' it a practically brand new car!"
the young feller is tellin' the Kid. "The shoes are in A number one
condition--all they need is now vulcanizin', and Oi!--how that car
could travel!"
"Just a minute!" I butts in. "Before you make this sale, I want to
speak to my friend here."
Both him and the Kid glares at me, and the Kid pushes me aside.
"Lay off!" he says. "I know just what you're gonna say. There's no
use of you tryin' to discourage me, because I'm gonna buy a car. Here
I am makin' all kinds of money and I might as well be a bum!--no
automobile or nothin'. I should have had a car long ago; all the big
leaguers own their own tourin' cars. There's no class to you any more,
if you don't flit from place to place in your own bus!"
"Yeh?" I comes back. "Well, Washington never had no car, but that
didn't stop _him_ from gettin' over! I never heard of Columbus gettin'
pinched for speedin' and Shakespeare never had no trouble with
blowouts. Yet all them birds was looked on as the loud crash in their
time. What's the answer to that?"
In butts I. Markowitz, shovin' his hat back on his ears.
"That brings us right down to the present!" he says. "And I could tell
you why none of your friends had oitermobiles. Cars was too expensive
in them days--a millionaire even would have to talk it over with his
wife before they should buy one. But now, almost they give them away!
Materials is cheaper, in Europe the war is over and now competition
is--is--more! That's why I'm able to let your friend have this factory
pet here for eight hundred dollars. A bargain you ask me? A man never
heard a bargain like that!"
"Don't worry!" I tells him. "Nobody will ever hear about it from me.
If you made him a present of it and throwed in the garage, it would
still be expensive!"
"Who's buyin' this car?" snarls the Kid. "You or me?"
"Not guilty!" I says. "If you got to have a car, why don't you buy a
new one?"
"This is the same as new!" pipes I. Markowitz.
"Speak when you're spoken to, Stupid!" I says.
"Don't start nothin' here," the Kid tells me, pullin' me away. "I
don't want none of them new cars. They're too stiff and I might go out
and hit somebody the first crack out of the box. I want one that's
been broke in."
"Well," I laughs, "that's what you're gettin', believe me! That there
thing has been broke in and out!" I turns to I. Markowitz. "What make
is the old boiler?" I asks him.
"Boiler he calls it!" he says, throwin' up his hands and lookin' at the
ceilin'. "It's an A. G. F. I suppose even you know what an A number
one car that is, don't you?"
"No!" I answers. "But I know what A. G. F. means."
He falls.
"What?" he wants to know.
"Always Gettin' Fixed!" I tells him. "They make all them used cars. I
know a guy had two of them and between 'em they made a fortune for
three garages and five lawyers! How old is it?"
"Old!" says I. Markowitz, recovering "Who said it was old? Your wife
should be as young as that car! It was turned in here last week, only
eight short days from the factory. The owner was sudden called he
should go out of town and--"
"And he went somewheres and got an automobile to make the trip," I cuts
him off, "and left this thing here!"
"Don't mind him!" says the Kid, gettin' impatient. "Gimme a receipt."
He digs down for the roll.
While I. Markowitz is countin' the money with lovin' fingers, I went
around to one side of the so called auto and looked at the speedometer.
One flash at the little trick clock was ample.
"Stop!" I yells, glarin' at him. "How long did you say this car had
been out of the factory?"
"Right away he hollers at me!" says I. Markowitz to the Kid. "A week."
"Well," I tells him, "all I got to say is that the bird that had it
must have been fleein' the police! He certainly seen a lot of the
world, but I can't figure how he slept. He was what you could call a
motorin' fool. It says on this speedometer here, 45,687 miles and if
that guy did it in a week, I got to hand it to him! I'll bet he's so
nutty over speed that he's goin' around now bein' shot out of cannons
from place to place, eh?"
I. Markowitz gets kinda balled up and blows his nose twice.
"That must be the--the--motor number!" he stammers.
"Sure!" nods the Kid. "Don't mind him, he's always got the hammer out.
Count that change and gimme a receipt."
"Wait!" I says. "Gimme one more chance to save you from givin'
yourself the work. Have you heard the motor turn over? Does the
clutch slip in all right? Do the brakes work? Has the--"
"Say!" butts in the Kid. "What d'ye think I been doin'--workin' here
at nights? Don't mind him," he tells I. Markowitz, who ain't. "Hurry
up with that receipt!"
"How is the motor?" I asks that brigand. "Tell me that, will you?"
"Convalescent!" he sneers, tuckin' the Kid's bankroll away.
"Some motor, eh?" pipes the Kid. "And it's got a one-man top on it
besides, ain't it?" he asks I. Markowitz.
"Why not?" says he. "Everything new and up to date you would find on
this car which only yesterday I could have sold to a feller for a
thousand dollars!"
After pullin' that, he walks over to the thing and climbs in the back.
"An example!" he says. "If you're alone in the car and there's nobody
with you, you only should stand up on the seat and pull up the top like
this, if it comes up a rain. Then you--"
I didn't hear the rest on account of him havin' trouble makin' his
voice travel from under the seat, because he reached up and pulled
somethin' here and jerked somethin' there--and that one-man top made
good! I thought at first the ceilin' of the joint had fell in, and
I'll bet I. Markowitz _knowed_ it had, but then I seen it was only the
thing that keeps the rain out of the car. Me and the Kid drags him
out, and as soon as he gets on his feet and felt to see if he had his
watch and so forth, he wipes the dirt out of his eyes and turns on me.
"It's a wonder I ain't now dead on account from you?" he snarls. "I
suppose you're one of them wise fellers from New Jersey, which they got
to be showed everything, heh?"
"Missouri!" I says. "Not New Jersey. If I was from New Jersey, I
would probably be fightin' with the Kid to let _me_ buy the car!"
"It's got a self-commencer on it, too!" yelps the Kid, climbin' into
the front seat. "See--lookit!" He presses a button with his foot and
a laughin' hyena or somethin' in the hood moans a couple of times and
then passes away.
"The first time I wouldn't be surprised you should have to crank it,"
says I. Markowitz. "The motor has been standin' so long--I mean--that
is--speakin' of motors, I think that one is maybe a little cold! Once
she gets runnin' everything will be A number one!"
I goes around the front of the thing and stoops down.
"Put her on battery, if there's any on there," I calls to the Kid, "and
I'll spin the motor!"
I. Markowitz steps over and lays his hand on my arm. His face is as
serious as prohibition.
"Its only fair I should tell you," he whispers, "that she kicks a
little!"
I give him a ungrateful look and grabs hold of the crank. After
turnin' the thing ninety-four times without gettin' nothin' but a
blister on my thumb, I quit.
"Nothin' stirrin'," I remarks to I. Markowitz.
"Believe me, that's funny!" he tells me, shakin' his head like he had
ball bearin's in his neck.
"Ain't it?" I says. "Are you positive they's a motor inside there?"
He makes a funny little noise in his throat and not knowin' him long, I
didn't know what he meant. There's a big husky in overalls walkin' by
with plenty of medium oil on his face and a monkey wrench in his hand.
I. Markowitz hisses at him, and they exchange jokes in some foreign
language for a minute and then the new-comer grabs hold of that crank
like the idea was to see if he could upset the car in three twists. He
gives it a turn, and I guess the Kid had got to monkeyin' around them
little buttons on the steerin' wheel because it went off like a cannon.
First, there was a great big bang! And then a cloud of smoke rolls out
of the back of the car and the bird that had wound the thing up come to
in an oil can, half way across the floor. The Kid fell off the seat
and me and I. Markowitz busted the hundred yard record to the front
door.
"That was a rotten trick, wasn't it?" I asks him when we stopped.
"What do you talk tricks?" he pants.
"Why," I tells him, "puttin' that dynamite in the hood!"
"That wasn't dynamite," he says. "She only backfired a little. I
wouldn't be surprised if it turned out there was, now, too much air in
the carburetor. The only reason I ran out here is because I seen it
passin' a friend of mine and--"
"I know," I cuts him off. "I seen it too!"
We go back to the Kid and his play toy, and he's leanin' up against the
side of it rubbin' his shoulder and scowlin'.
"What kind of stuff was that, eh?" he growls at I. Markowitz. "I liked
to broke my neck!"
"'Snothin'!" says he, pattin' the Kid on the back and smilin'. "You
could do that with a new car, you could take my word for it. It's all,
now, experience!" He looks around. "Herschel!" he hollers.
It turns out that Herschel is the guy that had wound the thing up, and
he gets out of the oil can and comes over, mutterin' to himself and
glarin' at all of us. He takes off the hood and stalls around it with
a hammer and a monkey wrench for a minute, still mutterin' away, and
you could see he wasn't wishin' us no luck. Finally, he puts the hood
on again and walks around to the crank.
"As soon as you could hear it buzz," he grunts at the Kid, "you should
give her some gas."
I stood aside and picked out my exit, and I. Markowitz seen his friend
passin' again so he started for the door. The Kid says we're both
yellah and climbs gamely back into the seat. Herschel stops mutterin'
long enough to give the crank a turn, which same he did. This time
there was no shots fired, but the thing begins the darndest racket I
ever heard in my life. A boiler factory would have quit cold alongside
of that motor and a cavalry charge would have gone unnoticed on the
same floor. I asked I. Markowitz what broke, and he says nothin' but
that the noise is caused by the motor bein' so powerful, fifty horse
power, he claimed.
"You can't tell me," I says, backin' away from the thing, "that no
fifty horses could make that much noise, not even if they was crazy!
The guy that brought that in here must have tied a lot of machine guns
together with a fuse and Stupid there set 'em off when he turned the
crank!"
He runs around to the side where the Kid is and shuts down the gas and
I seen half of Frisco lookin' in the door, figurin' the Japs had got
started at last, or else somebody was puttin' on a dress rehearsal of
the Civil War.
"Ain't she a beauty?" screams I. Markowitz to the Kid, barely makin'
himself heard over the din. "Give a listen how that motor turns
over--not a break or a miss and as smooth like glass! That's hittin'
on six, all right!"
"I'm glad to hear that," I says. "I'm glad it's only six, because the
thing will have to quit pretty soon. There ain't no six nothin's could
stand up under that hittin' much longer!"
I. Markowitz steps on the runnin' board and holds on with both hands.
He had to, because that motor had got the car doin' a muscle dance.
"Where d'ye want to go?" he yells to the Kid. "I'll have Herschel take
you out so he should show you everything."
"Tell him to wash his face instead!" the Kid hollers back. "I don't
need nobody to show me nothin' about a car. Come on!" he yells at me.
"All aboard for Film City!"
"Ha! Ha!" I sneers. "Rave on! I wouldn't get in that thing for
Rockefeller's bankroll!"
I had to holler at the top of my voice to drown out that motor.
"C'mon!" yells the Kid. "Don't be so yellah--you got everybody lookin'
at you. She's all right now, and as soon as she gets warmed up she'll
be rollin' along in great shape!"
"Yes!" I says. "And so will I--in a day coach of the Sante Fe!"
Well, he coaxed, threatened and so-forthed me, until finally I took a
chance and climbed in beside him. The populace at the doors give three
cheers and wished us good luck as we banged and rattled through their
midst. We went on down the street, attractin' no more attention than
the German army would in London, and every time we turned a new corner
people run out of their houses to see was there a parade comin'. We
passed several sure enough automobiles and they sneered at us, and one
of them little flivvers got so upset by the noise that it blowed out a
tire as we went by. Finally, we come to the city line and the Kid says
he figures it's about time to see can the thing travel. He monkeys
around them strange buttons on the steerin' wheel, pulls a handle here
and there and presses a lever with his foot. The minute he did that we
got action! That disappearin' cannon in the back went off three times
and I bet it blowed up all the buildin's in the block. There was a
horse and buggy passin' at the time and the guy that was drivin' it
don't know what happened yet, because at the first bang, that horse
started for the old country and it must have been Lou Dillon--believe
me, it could run! I looked back and watched it. A big cloud of smoke
rolls up from the back of the car, and I seen guys runnin' out of
stores and wavin' to us with their fists and then a couple of brave and
bold motorcycle cops jumps on their fiery steeds and falls in behind.
I guess the ex-owner of this bus was on the level at that about doin'
them forty-five thousand miles in a week, because this car could have
beat a telegram across the country, "when she got warmed up!" as I.
Markowitz says. Every one of them six cylinders was in there trying
and when they worked together like little pals and forgot whatever
private quarrels they had, the result was _speed_, believe me! The Kid
was hangin' on to the steerin' wheel and havin' the time of his young
life and I was hangin' on to the seat and wishin' I had listened to
that insurance agent in New York. We come to the top of a hill and as
we start down the other side the prize boob of the county is waterin'
the pavement around his real estate. When he hears us, he drops the
hose which makes it all wet in front of us.
"Hold tight!" screams the Kid to me. "We're gonna do a piece of
skiddin'. I forgot to get chains!"
Just about then we hit the damp spot and the Kid puts on the brakes.
Sweet Cookie! You should have seen that car! It must have got sore at
the man with the hose and went crazy, because it made eight complete
turns tryin' to get at him and the poor simp was too scared to run.
Finally the thing gives it up and shoots down to the bottom of the
hill. We hit a log and I hit the one-man top. Then the motor calls it
a day and stops dead. The Kid hops out and walks around to the crank.
He gives it a couple of turns and it turns right back at him. He grabs
it again and it was short with a left hook to the jaw, and then the Kid
shakes his head and takes off one side of the hood. He sticks his hand
down inside and pulls out a little brown thing that looks like a cup
with a cover on it.
"No wonder she stopped!" he says, holdin' it up. "Look what I just
found in here."
I give it the once over.
"What d'ye think of that, eh?" he says. "It's a wonder she run at all!
I'll bet that boob mechanic left that in there when he started us off
at the garage." He throws the thing in a ditch and puts the hood on.
"Now," he says, "we're off for Film City!"
He grabs hold of the crank and gives it about eleven whirls, but there
ain't a thing doin' and while we're stuck there like that, along comes
a guy in another car.
"Can I help you fellows out?" he hollers.
"Yes!" I yells back. "Have you got a rope?"
He comes over and looks at the thing.
"What seems to be the trouble?" he asks the Kid.
"Nothin' in particular," the Kid tells him. "She's a great little car
only we can't get her goin'."
"Have you got gas?" asks the stranger.
"Plenty!" says the Kid. "D'ye think I would try to run a car without
gasoline?"
"I don't know," says the other guy. "I never seen you before! Is your
spark all right?"
"A number one!" pipes the Kid.
"And she won't run?" he asks.
"She won't run!" we both says together.
"Hmph!" he snorts, scratchin' his head. He opens the hood and fusses
around on both sides for a minute and then he rubs the side of his nose
with his finger. He looks like he was up against a tough proposition.
"How far have you run this car?" he asks the Kid finally.
"All the way from Frisco," answers the Kid.
"Like this?" he says, pointin' to the motor.
"No!" I cuts in. "It was movin'."
"Why you couldn't have gone three feet with this car!" he busts out
suddenly. "I never seen nothin' like this before in my life!"
"Why don't you go out at nights, then?" growls the Kid, gettin' sore.
"Stop knockin' and tell us what's the matter with it."
"There ain't nothin' the matter with it," says the other guy with an
odd little grin. "Not a thing--_only it ain't got no carburetor in it,
that's all_!"
If he figured on creatin' a sensation on that remark--and from the way
he said it, he did--he lost the bet. The Kid just gives him the baby
stare and shrugs his shoulders like it's past him.
"No which?" he says.
"Carburetor!" explains the native. "The little cup where your gasoline
mixes with the air to start the motor."
The Kid claps his hands together and yells,
"That little crook back in Frisco must have held out on me!"
But I had been doin' some thinkin' and I looks the Kid in the eye,
"What does this carburetor thing look like?" I asks the other guy.
He describes it to me, and when he got all through I gives the Kid
another meanin' look and walks over to the ditch. After pawin' around
in the mud for a while I found the little cup the Kid had throwed away.
"Is this it?" I asks the native.
"It is," he says. "What was it doin' over there?"
"It must have fell off!" answers the Kid quickly, kickin' at me to keep
quiet.
Well, this guy finally fixes us up and about an hour later we hit the
little road that leads into Film City, without havin' no further
mishaps except the noise from that motor. About half a mile from the
gates I seen a familiar lookin' guy standin' in the middle of the road
and wavin' his hands at us.
"Slow up!" I says to the Kid. "Here's Genaro!"
The Kid reaches down to the side of his seat and yanks a handle that
was stickin' up. It come right off in his hand and we kept right on
goin'.
"That's funny!" says the Kid, holdin' up the handle and lookin' at it
like it's the first one he ever seen. "We should have stopped right
away--that's the emergency brake!"
He stamps on the floor with his foot a couple of times and shuts off
the gas. We drift right on, and, if Genaro had had rheumatism, he
would have been killed outright. As it was, he jumped aside just in
time and the car comes to a stop of its own free will about twenty feet
past him down the road.
"What's a mat?" yells Genaro, rushin' up to us. "Why you no stoppa the
car when you see me?"
"Why don't they stop prohibition?" I hollers back at him. "We must
have lost the stopper off this one, we--"
But he runs around the other side to where the Kid is sitting examinin'
all them handles and buttons.
"_Sapristi_!" he yells at the Kid. "Where you go, Meester Kid Scanlan?
Everybody she's a look for you--Meester Potts he'sa want you right
away! We starta firsta reel of your picture to-day. Everybody she'sa
got to wait for you!"
"Keep your shirt on!" growls the Kid. "You told me this mornin' I had
lots of time, didn't you?"
Genaro grabs hold of a tree and does a little dance.
"Aha!" he remarks to the sky. "He'sa make me crazee! What you care
what I tole you this a morning? Joosta now I want you queek! You maka
mucha talk with me while Meester Potts and everybody she'sa wait for
you!"
"Well," says the Kid. "Get in here and we'll go there right away."
Genaro climbs in the back of the car.
"Hurry up!" he says, holdin' his ears. "Anything so she'a stop that
terrible noise. Hurry up!"
"I'll do that little thing!" pipes the Kid--and we was off.
I climbed over the seat and in the back with Genaro so's he wouldn't
feel lonesome, and, so's if the Kid hit anything, I'd have a little
more percentage in my favor. Genaro seems to be sore about something
and to make conversation I ask him what's the matter.
"Everything she's the matter!" he tells me, while the Kid keeps his
foot on the gas and we bump and clatter along the road. "Everything
she's the matter! I work all morning on lasta reel of 'The Escapes of
Eva.' Got two hundred extra people stand around do nothing. De
Vronde, the bigga bunk, he's a play lead with Miss Vincent." He stops
and kisses his hand at a tree we was passing "Ah!" he goes on. "She'sa
fina girl! Some time maybe I ask her--pardone, I talka too fast!
Lasta reel De Vronde he'sa get what you call lynched. They putta rope
around he'sa neck and he's a stand under bigga tree. Joosta as they
pulla rope to keel him, Miss Vincent," he throws another kiss at a
tree. "Ah! sucha fina girl!" he whispers at me rollin' his eyes.
"Sometime I--pardone, everytime I forget! Miss Vincent she'sa come
along on horse and sava he'sa life--you see?"
"I got you!" I tells him. "Then what happens?"
"_Sapristi_!" he says. "That's all! What you want for five reels?
But thisa morning, Meester Potts he'sa come up and watch. He'sa
president of company and knows much about money, but acting--bah! he'sa
know nothing! Gotta three year old boy he'sa know more! He'sa standa
there and smile and rub he'sa hands together lika barber while we taka
lasta reel. Everything she'sa fine till we come to place where De
Vronde he'sa get lynch and Miss Vincent--ah!--she'sa come up on horse
and sava him. Then Meester Potts he'sa rush over and stoppa the
cameras. 'No!' he'sa yell. 'No, by Heaven, I won't stand for that!
That's a rotten! You got to get difference ending froma that!'"
"What was the matter?" I asks him. "Didn't he want De Vronde saved?"
His shoulders does one of them muscle dances.
"Ask me!" he says. "I couldn't tella you! He'sa know nothing about
art! Joosta money--that's all. He'sa tella me girl saving leading man
from lynch lika that is old as he'sa fren' Methuselah! He'sa want
something new for finish that picture--bran' new, he'sa holler or no
picture! All morning I worka, worka, worka, he'sa maka faces at
everything I do!"
"Well!" I says. "If you--"
I happened to look up just then and I seen the well known gates of Film
City about a hundred yards away, and if we was makin' a mile an hour,
we was makin' fifty. I leaned over and tapped the Kid on the shoulder.
"Don't you think you had better slow up a trifle?" I asks him.
"I don't _think_ nothin' about it!" he throws over his shoulder. "I
_know_ it! I been tryin' to stop this thing for the last fifteen
minutes and there's nothin' doin'!"
"Throw her in reverse!" I screams, as them great big iron gates looms
up over the front mud guards.
"I can't!" he shouts. "The darned thing's stuck in high and I can't
budge it!"
One of them gates was open and the Kid steers for it, while I closed my
eyes and give myself over to prayer. We shot through leavin' one lamp,
both mudguards and a runnin' board behind.
"Hey!" yells Genaro. "What's a mat? Thisa too fasta for me! Stoppa
the car before something she'sa happen!"
"Somethin' she'sa gonna happen right now!" I says. "Be seated!"
The Kid swings around a corner and everybody in Film City is either
lookin', runnin' or yellin' after us. I often wondered what a wide
berth meant, and I found out that afternoon. That's what everybody in
the place give us when we come through there hittin' on six as I.
Markowitz would remark. A guy made up like a Indian chief jumped
behind a tree and we only missed him by dumb luck.
"Hey!" he yells after us. "Are you fellows crazy? Look out for the
Moorish Castle!"
I yelled back that we wouldn't miss nothin' of interest, if we could
help it and the gas held out, and just then I got a flash at the
Moorish Castle. It had been built the day before for a big five reel
thriller that Genaro was gonna produce and I understand he was very
partial to it. As soon as he sees it he jumps up in the back of the
car and slaps the Kid on the shoulders.
"Hey, crazee man!" he hollers. "Stoppa the car, I, Genaro, command it!
Don't toucha my castle!" his voice goes off in a shriek.
"_Sapristi_!--I--"
That was all he said just then, because we went through the Moorish
Castle like a cyclone through Kansas, and as we come out on the other
side the whole thing tumbled down, bringin' with it a couple of Chinese
pagodas that had just come from the paint shop. All we lost was half
of the radiator and the windshield. The Kid pulls a kind of a sick
grin and licks his lips.
"Some car, eh?" he says, takin' a fresh grip on the steerin' wheel.
I missed Genaro and lookin' back through the dust I seen him draped
over a fence with his head touchin' the ground and his feet up in the
air. A lot of daredevils was runnin' towards us and yellin' murder.
"Where's Genaro?" asks the Kid, as we miss a tree by a half inch.
I shivered and told him.
"The big quitter!" snarls the Kid. "Left us flat the minute somethin'
happened, eh? I always knew that guy was yellah!"
We shot across the African Desert and comin' around another turn we
bust right into "The Escapes of Eva." There's about two hundred supers
dressed like cowboys and Duke, Genaro's assistant, is up on a little
platform with the Big Boss Potts, directin' the thing. De Vronde is
under a tree with a rope around his neck and another one that don't
show in the picture under his arms so's he can be pulled up and it will
look like he was bein' lynched. A little ways up the road is Miss
Vincent on a horse, ready to make her dash to save De Vronde's life.
As all this comes into view, the Kid swings around on me and shoves
somethin' big and round in my face.
"Now!" he hollers. "We're up against it for real! The steerin' wheel
come off!"
I pushed open the door on the side and stood on the runnin' board.
"Let me know how you make out!" I yells. "I got enough!"
With that I jumps.
Just as I hit the ground, I hear Duke yellin' through a megaphone.
"C'mon, now--gimme action! Hey! Get two of those cameras at an angle.
When I say 'Shoot!' you, Nelson, and Hardy pull that rope so De Vronde
swings about five feet clear of the ground! Be sure the rope is under
his arms, too! Hey, you extra people--a little ginger there! This is
a lynching not a spelling bee! Dance around some--yell! That's it.
Now, all ready?" He blows the whistle. "Shoot!" he yells, "and gimme
all you got!"
Well, the Kid did what he could--he blowed the little trick horn on the
side of the car about a second before he shot into the mob. Them
bloodthirsty outlaws just melted away before him, and them that was
slow-witted was picked up and tossed to one side before they knowed
what hit 'em. They's a big stone wall at the other side of the tree
and that's where the Kid was headed for. Just as he sails under De
Vronde, who's hangin' from the rope over his head, the Kid sees the
wall, grabs De Vronde by the legs and hangs there, lettin' that crazy,
six cylinder A. G. F. proceed without him. De Vronde and the Kid
crashes to the ground and the car dashed its brains out against the
wall.
While great excitement is bein' had by all, Duke jumps from the
platform to tell the camera men to cease firin' and a handful of actors
runs over to jimmy the Kid and De Vronde apart. I thought this Duke
guy was gonna explode, on the level it was two minutes before he could
speak.
"What d'ye mean, you ivory-headed simp?" he screams at the Kid,
finally. "What d'ye mean by that? You've ruined a hundred feet of
film, you--"
I hear somebody puffin' along beside me as I come runnin' up and I see
it's Potts. He's red in the face and mumblin' somethin' to himself as
he waddles along. I felt real sorry for the Kid--car and job, both
gone! Potts rushes up and grabs Duke by the shoulder.
"There!" he yells, pointin' to the Kid. "There stands a man that knows
more about the picture game than the whole infernal lot of you!
_That's the kind of a finish I've been trying to get for this picture
all morning_!"