DUNHAM TALKS BUSINESS
And presently Perry learned why he had been keeping in shape.
Something did turn up. It happened in this wise:
Felicity had been very canny; she'd made each trump card tell. And
with Perry Blair waved always in his face, Dunham had grown ugly.
"You know I'm crazy about you," he complained. "Give that four-flusher
the gate."
"A million Johns have told me that," Felicity answered. "Talk
business."
But Dunham had refused to talk business. He was ugly about it. And
then he thought to see a way around. He sent for Perry Blair, and
Perry came. That surprised Dunham. He had expected in the end to have
to go to Blair. He did not know how Felicity, unwittingly, had helped
him.
For Felicity, unable not to enjoy a little the boy's inarticulate
devotion, had indulged herself. With artistry that would have called
down from Hamilton even hotter sarcasm, she had let Perry glimpse her
soul; not the cheap and tawdry thing which unsympathetic persons were
likely to think it, but her real one, a little saddened, a little
forlorn!
"I wish I could get away from all this," she'd said, with appropriate
wistfulness. "I'm dead sick of it--sick of it all. I wish I could go
away--somewhere--anywhere where things are clean. Where there are
trees and growing grass--"
It was a very good speech. She knew it must be because she had heard a
high-priced leading lady utter it in a three-dollar-and-a-half Broadway
success.
And it proved effective uttered by Felicity. For it fooled Perry.
Fooled him badly just when he had begun to speculate a little
concerning her soul himself. Perry believed her. But then it is easy
for any woman to fool any man. Twice as easy when he wants so badly to
be fooled.
Perry cursed his lack of ready money. And then Dunham sent for him.
And he went, hiding his eagerness.
They held the conversation in Dunham's book-lined office. The books
were never used; the office saw strange usage. And the conference was
short.
"Ready to be a good boy?" Dunham asked.
Perry rose to leave.
"Sit down," said Dunham. "That was intended as a joke. My mistake."
But it angered him; angered him almost as much as it did to look upon
the boy's unsquandered youth.
"I've got something for you at last," he offered. "If you care to take
it."
"I'll listen," said Perry.
So Dunham drew readily upon invention.
"We've talked it over," he said. "Devereau and I and some of the other
boys. And we've decided that there's nothing in it for any of us as
the situation now stands. The title's too obscured. You claim it. So
does Montague. So we've decided to offer you a match with--"
"I've challenged Montague," Perry interrupted. "He paid no attention
to it."
"Not Montague," Dunham corrected silkily. "Holliday."
And instantly Perry knew what Dunham hoped to do.
"Why not Montague?" he asked.
"Why not Holliday?" countered Dunham, his voice silkier still.
And Perry couldn't very well say because Montague was a boxer first and
a fighter afterward. He couldn't say because he knew they considered
Holliday, young, wicked, punishing, even more certain to whip him. He
hesitated.
"But you're going to whip Holliday," Dunham went on tentatively, as if
sure of what was in the other's mind.
Perry watched him.
"We're going to see to that. It'll be a twenty-round fight to a
decision. Somewhere in the South. But you'll stop Holliday in the
eighth round."
"I fight fair," said Perry, "or I don't fight at all."
"Don't get excited." Dunham was laughing at him a little, not
pleasantly. "You'll be no party to anything--ah--iniquitous. Beat him
before that if you're able. But it'll come in the eighth, don't doubt
that. I'm just telling you beforehand so that you'll lose no sleep in
case you're afraid of Holliday." That was a thrust. "I'm telling you
so you needn't kill yourself training to get ready, though you don't
look over-fed." That was another. Yet Perry felt that he had balanced
them both when he looked the huge man's jelly-bulk up and down.
"Holliday's going to be champion some day," Dunham went unconcernedly
on. "He's bound to be, whether we want him or not. But Montague comes
first. Montague's been a good boy. We merely require your agreement
to meet him should you dispose of Holliday, that is all. And since
that is assured--" He waved a fat hand. "Personally I believe that
Montague is very much better than you are--no offense intended--and
against him you can take care of yourself."
Rapidly Perry cast it up. They were that confident of Holliday's
superiority! And they didn't care whether he suspected their game or
not; they weren't even bothering to work carefully. He could take it
or leave it. He'd have to. That rank! That coarse! It was an easy
sum. Two and two made four.
"Whatever agreement is fixed between you and Holliday is no affair of
mine," he decided at last. "When?"
"A month--five weeks."
"How much?"
Dunham pondered.
"Twenty thousand. We'll give you five for your share."
They were that cool!
"Not me."
"A twenty-thousand-dollar purse seems reasonable," ruminated Dunham.
"It may not be a popular match. And Holliday'll come high."
"That's your affair. I'll fight one way."
Dunham lifted an eyebrow.
"Well?"
"Winner take all."
"But you're certain to win! The fight'll be fixed!"
Perry sensed then how greatly the gross man wanted to laugh. Not
bother to train? That old one! Did Dunham really think he was taking
him at his word? Why, his mind in all the days to come would be
riveted on just one thing--that eighth round. He wanted to laugh, too,
bitterly. Did they think he was that innocent!
"That's your affair," he repeated. "I fight winner take all."
There are some who insist that Pig-iron Dunham was not without a
virtue. His next words seem to prove it.
"Better take your five thousand," he suggested good-naturedly. "It's
better than nothing. Holliday could double-cross us."
That cool!
"Winner take all," droned Perry.
"Winner take all!" Dunham snapped.
And that afternoon they signed articles, Hamilton acting for Blair.
The same night Perry told Felicity what he had done.
"So I--I'll either have twenty thousand dollars in a month or so," he
made bad work of it, "or I'll know that I'm never likely to have it.
If you--if you'll wait . . . I'm glad you like the country. I've
always wanted a ranch."
Felicity was needlessly callous, either because it made her despise
herself a little for the part she had played, or because she was just
Felicity. Surely she was more brutal than she need have been.
For she sat, chin propped upon one hand, and stared derisively into the
boy's self-conscious eyes.
"You poor hick!" she said deliberately. "You poor cross-roads hick!
Twenty thousand dollars? Why, that's chicken-feed compared with my
price."
In one way it was merciful. It was quickly over. Perry's
self-consciousness passed. Calm as she had been impudent he surveyed
her. Once his lip twitched; he half-opened his mouth as if to speak,
and then thought better of it. He'd talk to no woman like that. He
left her without a word.
And she sat biting her lip a little while, till Dunham came to the
table.
"Honey--" he began.
"Don't honey me!" The words lashed back at him. "I'm sick of
honeying. Talk cash!"
And Dunham was sick of temporizing.
He talked.
So when Cecille came in the next day, Saturday, at noon, and found
Felicity with her bag packed, few words were necessary. She knew the
moment had come.