When Burgess appeared at the bank at ten o'clock the next morning he
found his friends of the night before established in the directors' room
waiting for him. They greeted him without their usual chaff, and he
merely nodded to all comprehendingly and seated himself on the table.
"We don't want to bother you, Web," said Colton, "but I guess we'd all
feel better if we knew what happened after we left you last night. I
hope you don't mind."
Burgess frowned and shook his head.
"You ought to thank God you didn't have to see the rest of it! I've got
a reservation on the Limited tonight: going down to the big city in the
hope of getting it out of my mind."
"Well, we know only what the papers printed this morning," said Ramsay;
"a very brief paragraph saying that Avery had been pardoned. The papers
don't tell the story of his crime as they usually do, and we noticed
that they refrained from saying that the pardon was signed at one of
your dinner parties."
"I fixed the newspapers at the governor's request. He didn't want any
row made about it, and neither did I, for that matter. Avery is at my
house. His wife was there waiting for him when I took him home."
"We rather expected that," said Colton, "as we were planted at the
library windows when you left the club. But about the other man: that's
what's troubling us."
"Um," said Burgess, crossing his legs and clasping his knees. "_That_
was the particular hell of it."
"Tate was guilty; we assume that of course," suggested Fullerton. "We
all saw him signing his death warrant right there at the table."
"Yes," Burgess replied gravely, "and he virtually admitted it; but if
God lets me live I hope never to see anything like that again!"
He jumped down and took a turn across the room.
"And now---- After that, Web?"
"Well, it won't take long to tell it. After the governor signed the
pardon I told the warden to take Avery downstairs and get him a drink:
the poor devil was all in. And then Tate came to, blubbering like the
vile coward he is, and began pleading for mercy: on his knees, mind you;
on his _knees!_ God! It was horrible--horrible beyond anything I ever
dreamed of--to see him groveling there. I supposed, of course, the
governor would turn him over to the police. I was all primed for that,
and Tate expected it and bawled like a sick calf. But what he said
was--what the governor said was, and he said it the way they say 'dust
to dust' over a grave--'You poor fool, for such beasts as you the
commonwealth has no punishment that wouldn't lighten the load you've got
to carry around with you till you die!' That's all there was of it!
That's exactly what he said, and can you beat it? I got a room for Tate
at the club, and told one of the Japs to put him to bed." "But the
governor had no right," began Ramsay eagerly; "he had no _right_----"
"The king can do no wrong! And, if you fellows don't mind, the incident
is dosed, and we'll never speak of it again."
[Footnote 5: _From Best Laid Schemes, Copyright, 1919, 1922, by
Charles Scribner's Sons. By permission of the publisher._]
[Illustration: H. C. WITWER]
_FOREWORD_
_I have selected "Money to Burns" as my best effort because the
situations and characters in that story appealed to me more than any
others I've created in some three hundred odd yarns. The "gold-digging"
young lady of the chorus, the super-sophisticated bellboy with his
hard-boiled philosophy, and the beautiful, cynical Goddess of the
Switchboard, are all familiars of mine. Intimate with their habits,
characteristics, mannerisms and vocabulary, I had only to create a
central plot and push them bodily into it. After that, writing the story
was merely a case of conscientious reporting--it almost wrote itself!_
_The genesis of "Money to Burns" was some envious remarks of a bellboy
in discussing the sensational escapades of a certain young millionaire.
The boy, bringing ice water to my room in a hotel, pointed to the
glaring headlines in a newspaper that told of the gilded youth's latest
adventure, and bitterly bemoaned the fate that made him a bellboy and
the other a millionaire. He discoursed on what he would do were he the
possessor of wealth, etc. I encouraged his conversation, with a story
forming itself before my eyes. When he left the room I put his
counterpart on paper, gave him wealth, added the other characters and
necessary embellishments, carved out the title which I hoped would
attract the reader's interest and--there you are!_
_As to how I work--one word pretty well covers that question. The word
is "HARD!" I try to get interesting characters and titles first of all;
after that, plots. The characters are always people I know well. The
plots may come from any source--things that have happened to me, a
chance remark of some individual, a newspaper headline, an adventure I
would relish having myself, etc._
_To a beginner I would advise a thorough reading of the popular
magazines, a shot at the newspaper game if possible, plenty of clean
white paper and a resolution to take lots of punishment. Thais all I
would presume to advise--and I may have given an overdose already!_
[Illustration]