CHANGES IN THE STAFF
Three days had elapsed since the battle which had opened the campaign,
and there had been no further movement on the part of the enemy. Smith
was puzzled. A strange quiet seemed to be brooding over the other camp.
He could not believe that a single defeat had crushed the foe, but it
was hard to think of any other explanation.
It was Pugsy Maloney who, on the fourth morning, brought to the office
the inner history of the truce. His version was brief and unadorned, as
was the way with his narratives. Such things as first causes and
piquant details he avoided, as tending to prolong the telling
excessively, thus keeping him from the perusal of his cowboy stories.
He gave the thing out merely as an item of general interest, a bubble
on the surface of the life of a great city. He did not know how nearly
interested were his employers in any matter touching that gang which is
known as the Three Points.
Pugsy said: "Dere's been fuss'n going on down where I live. Dude
Dawson's mad at Spider Reilly, and now de Table Hills is layin' for de
T'ree Points, to soak it to 'em. Dat's right."
He then retired to his outer fastness, yielding further details jerkily
and with the distrait air of one whose mind is elsewhere.
Skilfully extracted and pieced together, these details formed
themselves into the following typical narrative of East Side life.
There were four really important gangs in New York at this time. There
were other less important institutions besides, but these were little
more than mere friendly gatherings of old boyhood chums for purposes of
mutual companionship. They might grow into formidable organizations in
time, but for the moment the amount of ice which good judges declared
them to cut was but small. They would "stick up" an occasional wayfarer
for his "cush," and they carried "canisters" and sometimes fired them
off, but these things do not signify the cutting of ice. In matters
political there were only four gangs which counted, the East Side, the
Groome Street, the Three Points and the Table Hill. Greatest of these,
by virtue of their numbers, were the East Side and the Groome Street,
the latter presided over at the time of this story by Mr. Bat Jarvis.
These two were colossal, and, though they might fight each other, were
immune from attack at the hands of the rest.
But between the other gangs, and especially between the Table Hill and
the Three Points, which were much of a size, warfare raged as
frequently as among the Republics of South America. There had always
been bad blood between the Table Hill and the Three Points. Little
events, trifling in themselves, had always occurred to shatter friendly
relations just when there seemed a chance of their being formed. Thus,
just as the Table Hillites were beginning to forgive the Three Points
for shooting the redoubtable Paul Horgan down at Coney Island, a Three
Pointer injudiciously wiped out a Table Hillite near Canal Street. He
pleaded self-defense, and in any case it was probably mere
thoughtlessness, but nevertheless the Table Hillites were ruffled.
That had been a month or so back. During that month things had been
simmering down, and peace was just preparing to brood when there
occurred the incident alluded to by Pugsy, the regrettable falling out
between Dude Dawson and Spider Reilly.
To be as brief as possible, Dude Dawson had gone to spend a happy
evening at a dancing saloon named Shamrock Hall, near Groome Street.
Now, Shamrock Hall belonged to a Mr. Maginnis, a friend of Bat Jarvis,
and was under the direct protection of that celebrity. It was,
therefore, sacred ground, and Mr. Dawson visited it in a purely private
and peaceful capacity. The last thing he intended was to spoil the
harmony of the evening.
Alas for the best intentions! Two-stepping clumsily round the room--for
he was a poor, though enthusiastic, dancer--Dude Dawson collided with
and upset a certain Reddy Davis and his partner. Reddy Davis was a
member of the Three Points, and his temper was the temper of a
red-headed man. He "slugged" Mr. Dawson. Mr. Dawson, more skilful at
the fray than at the dance, joined battle willingly, and they were
absorbed in a stirring combat, when an interruption occurred. In the
far corner of the room, surrounded by admiring friends, sat Spider
Reilly, monarch of the Three Points. He had noticed that there was a
slight disturbance at the other side of the hall, but had given it
little attention till the dancing ceasing suddenly and the floor
emptying itself of its crowd, he had a plain view of Mr. Dawson and Mr.
Davis squaring up at each other for the second round.
We must assume that Mr. Reilly was not thinking of what he did, for his
action was contrary to all rules of gang etiquette. In the street it
would have been perfectly legitimate, even praiseworthy, but in a
dance-hall under the protection of a neutral power it was unpardonable.
What he did was to produce his revolver, and shoot the unsuspecting Mr.
Dawson in the leg. Having done which, he left hurriedly, fearing the
wrath of Bat Jarvis.
Mr. Dawson, meanwhile, was attended to and helped home. Willing
informants gave him the name of his aggressor, and before morning the
Table Hill camp was in a ferment. Shooting broke out in three places,
though there were no casualties.
When the day dawned there existed between the two gangs a state of war
more bitter than any in their record, for this time it was chieftain
who had assaulted chieftain, Royal blood had been spilt.
Such was the explanation of the lull in the campaign against
_Peaceful Moments_. The new war had taken the mind of Spider
Reilly and his warriors off the paper and its affairs for the moment,
much as the unexpected appearance of a mad bull would make a man forget
that he had come out snipe-shooting.
At present there had been no pitched battle. As was usual between the
gangs, war had broken out in a somewhat tentative fashion at first.
There had been skirmishes by the wayside, but nothing more. The two
armies were sparring for an opening.
* * * * *
Smith was distinctly relieved at the respite, for a serious blow had
fallen on _Peaceful Moments_, necessitating careful thought. This was
the defection of Kid Brady.
The Kid's easy defeat of Cyclone Dick Fisher had naturally created a
sensation in sporting circles. He had become famous in a night. It was
not with surprise, therefore, that Smith received from his fighting
editor the information that he had been matched against one Eddie Wood,
whose fame outshone even that of the late Cyclone.
The Kid, a white man to the core, exhibited quite a feudal loyalty to
the paper which had raised him from the ruck and placed him on the road
to eminence.
"Say the word," he said, "and I'll call it off. If you feel you need me
around here, Mr. Smith, say so, and I'll side-step Eddie."
"Comrade Brady," said Smith with enthusiasm, "I have had occasion
before to call you sport. I do so again. But I'm not going to stand in
your way. If you eliminate this Comrade Wood, they will have to give
you a chance against Jimmy Garvin, won't they?"
"I guess that's right," said the Kid. "Eddie stayed nineteen rounds
against Jimmy, and, if I can put him away, it gets me clear into line
with Jim, and he'll have to meet me."
"Then go in and win, Comrade Brady. We shall miss you. It will be as if
a ray of sunshine had been removed from the office. But you mustn't
throw a chance away."
"I'll train at White Plains," said the Kid, "so I'll be pretty near in
case I'm wanted."
"Oh, we shall be all right," said Smith, "and if you win, we'll bring
out a special number. Good luck, Comrade Brady, and many thanks for
your help."
* * * * *
John, when he arrived at the office and learned the news, was for
relying on their own unaided efforts.
"And, anyway," he said, "I don't see who else there is to help us. You
could tell the police, I suppose," he went on doubtfully.
Smith shook his head.
"The New York policeman, Comrade John, is, like all great men, somewhat
peculiar. If you go to a New York policeman and exhibit a black eye, he
is more likely to express admiration for the handiwork of the citizen
responsible for the same than sympathy. No; since coming to this city I
have developed a habit of taking care of myself, or employing private
help. I do not want allies who will merely shake their heads at Comrade
Reilly and his merry men, however sternly. I want someone who, if
necessary, will soak it to them good."
"Sure," said John. "But who is there now the Kid's gone?"
"Who else but Comrade Jarvis?" said Smith.
"Jarvis? Bat Jarvis?"
"The same. I fancy that we shall find, on enquiry, that we are ace
high with him. At any rate, there is no harm in sounding him. It is
true that he may have forgotten, or it may be that it is to Comrade
Brown alone that he is--"
"Who's Brown?" asked John.
"Our late stenographer," explained Smith. "A Miss Brown. She
entertained Comrade Jarvis' cat, if you remember. I wonder what has
become of her. She has sent in three more corking efforts on the
subject of Broster Street, but she gives no address. I wish I knew
where she was. I'd have liked for you to meet her."