MEETING UP WITH THE GREAT SKID
Next time you nabs me writin' a form sheet on any unknown, you can hang
out the waste paper sign and send me to the scows. Look at the mess I
makes of this here Mallory business! Why, first off I has him billed for
a Percy boy that had strayed into the general office from the drygoods
district. He had a filin' job in the bond room, and when he drew his
envelope on Saturdays it must have set the Corrugated Trust back for as
much as twelve D.
Course, I didn't pay no attention to him, until one noon I finds him in
the next chair at the dairy lunch. He's got his mug of half white and
half black, and his two corned beef splits, with plenty of mustard, and
he's just squarin' off for a foodfest, when I squats down with two hunks
of pie and all the cheese I could get at one grab.
"Hello, Algy!" says I. "Where's the charlotte russe and the cup of tea?"
"Beg pardon," says he; "were you speaking to me?"
"Sure," says I. "You didn't think I was makin' that crack at the
armchair, did you? Maybe we ain't been introduced; but we're on the same
payroll."
"Oh, yes," says he, "I remember now. You're the--the----"
"Go on, say it," says I. "I don't mind if it is red, and I lets anybody
call me Torchy that wants to, even Willies."
"Well, now, that's nice of you," says he, sidetrackin' a bite to look me
over. Then he grins.
Say, it was that open face movement that made me suspicious maybe he
wa'n't one of the Algernon kind, after all. But he had most of the
points, from the puff tie to the way he spoke. It wa'n't the hot potato
dialect Piddie uses; but it leaned that way. If he'd been a real Willie
boy, though, he'd gone up in the air, and maybe I'd got slapped on the
wrist. His springin' that grin was a hunch for me to hold the decision.
"How long you been keepin' Corrugated stocks from goin' below par?" says
I.
That stuns him for a minute, and then a light breaks. He throws another
grin. "Oh, about a year," he says.
"Chee!" says I. "And they ain't put you on the board of directors yet?"
"I've managed to keep off so far," says he.
"Get a lift every quarter, though, I suppose?" says I.
"I'm getting the same salary I began with, if that's what you mean,"
says he, tacklin' another sandwich that had got past the meat
inspectors.
"Yours must be fatter'n most of the Saturday prize packages they hand
out in the general office, or you wouldn't have kept satisfied so long,"
says I.
He thinks that over for awhile, like it was a new proposition, and then
he says, quiet and easy, "I'm not at all sure, you see, that I am
satisfied."
"Why not chuck it then and make another grab?" says I. "It's good luck
sometimes to shake the bag."
He swings his shoulders up at that,--and say, he's got a good pair, all
right!--but he don't say a word.
"Ain't married the job, have you?" says I. "Or have you lost your
nerve?"
"Perhaps it's a lack of nerve, as you suggest," says he, more as if he
was talkin' to himself than anything else.
"Don't think you could connect with another, eh?" says I.
He shakes his head. "I'm not exactly proud of the fact," says he; "but I
don't mind telling you in confidence that it required the combined
efforts of my entire family and all my friends to get me into this job."
"Honest?" says I. "Chee! They picked a pippin for you, didn't they?"
"It's a star," says he.
"So's a swift kick from the bottom of a well," says I.
With that I shakes off the pie crumbs and takes a chase up around the
Flatiron, to watch the kids collectin' cigar coupons and take a look at
the folks from the goshfry-mighty belt shiverin' in the rubberneck
buggies. Say, I never feel quite so much to home in this burg as when I
watch them jays from the one-night stands payin' their coin to see
things that I shut my eyes on every day.
When I gets back on the gate I tries to figure out this Mallory gent;
but I can't place him. He's no Willie, and he's no dope, I can see that.
With his age and general get-up, though, he ought to be pullin' out
fifty or so a week. What's he been at all this time?
I was just curious enough to stroll over and take a look at him. He has
his coat off, pluggin' away on the job and doin' the kind of work that I
could learn to play with any time I had a day off. Not that I'm lookin'
for it. Bein' head office boy suits me down to the ground. That's bein'
somethin', even if they do pay you off with a five and a one. But if
you're a live one you'll get tipped as much more. And you don't have
cold chills up the spine every time the boss lugs down an after
breakfast grouch.
Course, a duck like Mallory can't get in any such game; so he's got to
dig away at the filin' case and wear his last summer's suit until
Christmas. Diggin' and keepin' quiet seemed to be his only play. Just as
though he'd ever win any medals by the way he stacked papers away in
little pasteboard boxes!
He wins somethin' else, though. One day the general manager rushes into
Mallory's corner after somethin' he wanted in a hurry, and by the time
he'd found it he'd pied things from one end of the coop to the other.
Mallory was just tryin' to straighten out the mess, when along comes
Piddie, with that pointed nose of his in front. Piddie don't ask any
questions; he throws a fit. Why, he had Mallory on the carpet for forty
minutes by the clock, givin' him the grand roast, and the only time
Mallory opens up to tell him how it was he shuts him off with a, "That
is sufficient, Mr. Mallory! I am here to get results, not excuses. Is
that quite clear?"
"Yes, sir," says Mallory.
Say, but he did it well! He looks that peanut headed snipe straight in
the eye all the time after that and takes what's comin' to him without
turnin' a hair. It was "Yes, Mr. Piddie," and "No, Mr. Piddie"; but
nothin' else. And the cooler and politer he was, the wilder Piddie got.
When I hears him tell Mallory that another such break will cost him his
job, I was achin' to throw the letterpress at him and break him in two.
I couldn't hardly wait for Mallory to shut the door before I let loose.
"Say, Piddie," says I, "if you don't think you'll sleep easy to-night
unless you give some one the bounce, why not fire me? Go on, now; I'll
make out a case for you. Tell 'em I said you howled around like a pup
with a sore ear."
Piddie turns white and gives me the glassy eye--that's all. I couldn't
tease a fire out of him with a box of matches.
But that didn't make up for the way he'd roughed Mallory. I was still
sore over it at closin' time; so I lays for Mallory and asks him why he
didn't risk the job and take a crack at Piddie's jaw.
He just laughs. "Oh," says he, "I couldn't pay him that compliment."
Was that a joke, yes? Blamed if I could tell. Anyway, it wa'n't sense.
And there's where I had the front to put it straight up to Mallory about
his bein' stranded in a place where he had to take such pin jabbin' as
that.
"Say," says I, "is it hard luck, or a late start, or what?"
"I fancy a late start would cover it," says he.
"Not college?" says I.
"That's it," says he.
"Aw, fudge!" says I. "Honest, I didn't take you for one of them rah-rah
boys. Well, if it's that ails you, you're up against it. I don't wonder
you had to be jammed into a job with a flyin' wedge. Chee!"
I was sorry for him, though. Maybe it was somethin' he couldn't duck.
Some of 'em I've known of couldn't. Oh, I've seen bunches of 'em, just
turned out. Didn't we have more'n a dozen unloaded on us when me and Mr.
Marshall was gettin' out the Sunday edition? And we didn't do a thing to
'em, either!
But it's a tough deal, after puttin' in all that time dodgin' the fool
killer at some one else's expense, to be chucked into the grub game with
nothin' but a lot of siss-boom yells for experience. I wouldn't have
believed Mallory was that sort. Nice young feller, too. Never slung any
of his Greek at me, nor flashed his college pins. Seemed to kind of like
chinnin' to me at lunch; so I let him. You know how you'll get to
gassin' and tellin' each other the story of your life. I lets out about
Belmont Pepper and the minin' stocks he gave me, and Mallory drops hints
about mother and sister, that was livin' off in Washington or somewhere
with a brother that was in better luck. Mallory, he was doin' the hall
bedroom act, livin' on that twelve per and keepin' out of sight of
everyone he'd ever known until he'd made good. Guess he found it kind of
a lonesome deal.
Once when I was extra flush I offers to blow him to a fam'ly circle seat
at "The Bandit Queen"; but he says he thinks he'd better not go.
"Plannin' to have a spin in your new car?" says I.
"Hardly," says he.
"Well, how do you put in your off time, anyway?" says I.
And say, whatcher think? His programme is to light up the gas stove
reg'lar after dinner and fill his head full of truck out of the trade
monthlies and Wall Street columns, postin' himself on Corrugated
business.
"Gettin' ready to give the old man a few private tips?" says I.
"Not until he asks for them," says he.
"Then you've got lots of time," says I. "But it's a punk way of enjoyin'
yourself."
Maybe it was thinkin' about what a dead slow time he was havin' that
gives me the cue to stir up that lovely mess, or perhaps it was because
the thing was sprung on me so unexpected. It come one day when I was
busy drawin' pictures of Piddie on the blotter. I hears a giggle, and
squints up to see a pair that looked as if they'd just broke away from
an afternoon tea. He was a husky youth in a frock coat, with a face like
a full moon and a voice that didn't call for any megaphone. The other
was a her, and she was a bundle of tuttifrutti, the kind you see
floatin' by in sixty horsepowers, all veils and furs and eyes.
"Hello, sonny," says he, swingin' up to the brass gate, wearin' a
four-inch grin. "Where's the Great Skid?"
"Give it up," says I. "Have you tried the Zoo?"
"He-haw!" says he, with the stops all out and a forced draft on. "That's
a good one, that is! But we haven't much time and we're looking for
Skid. Where do you keep him?"
"Say," says I, "we've got a lot of freaks on tap; but we're just out of
Skids. Anything else do?"
Then she comes to the front. "Don't be such a silly, Dicky!" says she.
"It isn't likely they call him that here. Tell the young man it's Bert
Mallory we wish to see."
"You're right, Sis, right as usual," says Dick. "It's Mallory we're
looking for."
"Oh!" says I. "Mister Mallory?"
"There now, Dicky!" says she, pokin' him with her elbow and touchin' off
another giggle. "Didn't I tell you?"
"He-haw!" says Dicky. "Mister Mallory, of course."
But I didn't feel he-hawy a bit; for it was up to me to tow Mallory's
swell college chum and his sister in where the boy was jugglin' the file
cases. And them lookin' for him to be sittin' in a swing chair with his
name painted big on the door! That was when I dug up my fool thought.
"Cards!" says I. "I'll see if Mr. Mallory's got through consultin' with
the general manager."
"Oh!" gurgles Sis. "Doesn't that sound business like, though? I suppose
Skid--er--Mr. Mallory is quite a busy man, isn't he?"
"Busy," says I. "Say, you don't think he has all of us around here to
play marbles, do you, miss?"
Sis, she gets mighty int'rested at that. "He's a very important man now,
isn't he?" says she.
"Chee, yes!" says I. "He's I-double-it around here."
"Isn't that fine?" says Sis. "But I hope he can see us."
"Oh, I'll fix that all right," says I.
With that I slides through two doors and into Mr. Robert's room. He's
still out to lunch, of course, it bein' only about two o'clock; so I
unlocks the corridor door that he don't use and skips across into the
general offices.
"Say," says I to Mallory, "you're wanted in the boss's office. No, not
the old man's; Mr. Robert's. Skin into your coat and come along."
Never fazes him a bit. He just hunches his shoulders, knocks the dust
off his hands, and trots after. When I gets him in there I tells him to
wait a minute, and then I goes out through the right way and lugs in
Dicky and sister.
Was it a surprise party? Well, say! Dicky lets out a roar, makes a
plunge for him, hammers him on the back, works the pump handle, and
talks a blue streak.
"Well, Skiddy, old man, here we are!" says he. "Thought you'd given us
the shake for good, eh? But we heard you'd gone in with the
Corrugated,--saw Blicky in Venice and he told us,--so when we came
ashore we wired father to hold the car over one train for us while we
hunted you up. Sis wouldn't let me come unless she could too. Here, Sis,
it's your turn. Blaze ahead now and give the boy what you said you
would. I'll turn my back."
I didn't, though. Was there any hangin' off about Sis? Not so you'd
notice it. She just steps up and makes a grab for Mallory and----Aw,
say! One like that must be good for chapped lips. If I'm ever handed one
of them kind I won't wash it off for a month. It tickles Dicky most to
death.
"He-haw!" says he, so's the window panes rattle. "She said she'd do it.
And she did, didn't she, eh, Skid?"
Mallory couldn't prove an alibi. He was the worst rattled man I ever
see, and as for blushin'--he got up a color like the lady heroine in a
biff-bang drama. He acted as though he didn't know whether he was
loopin' the loops or having a dream that was too good to be true. Once
or twice he tried to unloosen some remarks; but Sis and Dicky was both
talkin' to once and he never got a show. They was tellin' him how glad
they was to see him again, and what a great man he was, and how Sis was
comin' back to town next month for the rest of the season, and all
that--when right in the middle of it the door opens and in comes Mr.
Robert.
Say, I felt like a noon extra in a bunch of six o'clock editions. I'd
balled things up lovely, I had! Why, the only times a general office
hand ever gets a chance to stand on the Persian rug in the boss's office
is just before he gets the run or is boosted into a five-figure salary.
And here I has a twelve-dollar man usin' it like a public reception
hall! It was what was goin' to happen to Mallory that gave me the
shivers.
"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "what's all this?"
"S-s-sh!" says I. "It's Old Home Day, and the lady is handin' out
choc'late creams. Wait up; maybe it'll be your turn next."
"But, see here, I don't understand," says he. "Who are these persons,
and why----"
"Ah, say!" says I. "Ain't you got any sportin' blood? Besides, I don't
know the answer myself."
I could of kept that up just about one more round before I'd fell
through a crack; but just as Mr. Robert was framin' up another conundrum
Dicky turns around and spots him.
"Why, hello, Bob!" yells Dicky, as gentle as if he was hailin' someone
across Broadway. "By Jove, though, I forgot all about you being in the
Corrugated too! But of course you are. Sis and I just ran in a minute to
look up Skid. Good old Skid! Great boy, eh, Bob?"
Mr. Robert takes a look over by the window at Mallory, who wasn't seein'
a thing but Sis and wasn't hearin' anything but what she was sayin'--and
she was sayin' a lot.
"Is--is that Skid?" says Mr. Robert.
"Oh, come along now, Bob," says Dicky, pokin' him in the vest playful.
"You don't mean to say you don't know Skid Mallory, the Great Skid, best
quarterback we ever turned out, the one that went through Harvard for
forty-five yards, and that with a broken ankle? Don't know Skid? Why,
say!"
"I take it all back," says Mr. Robert. "Of course I know him; but not so
well as you do, Dicky. I wasn't one of the coaches, you know, and I
haven't kept the run of the team for the last year or two. But I'm glad
to see the Great Skid. How the deuce does he happen to be up here,
though?"
"He-haw!" says Dicky. "That's rich, that is? Shows how much you know of
Corrugated affairs, Bob. Why, man alive, Skid's one of the chaps that's
runnin' your old gent's trust. This is his office you're in now."
"Really!" says Mr. Robert. He takes another look at Mallory, who's deaf
and dumb and blind to everything but Sis, and then he turns for a good
hard look at me.
I grins kind of foolish and nods. Then I jumps behind Dicky and begins
to wigwag over his shoulder for Mr. Robert to keep it up. I didn't know
whether he would or not. I wa'n't sure but what he'd think I'd turned
batty, by the motions I was goin' through; but he's a sport, Mr. Robert
is. He didn't know what was on the card; but he takes a chance.
So Dicky waltzes him over to the pair by the window, and makes Mr.
Robert and Mallory acquainted, and jollies 'em both, and all three of
'em talk football to Mallory, who blushes worse than ever and don't
know which way to turn. They keep that up until Dicky pulls out his
watch, grabs Sis by the arm, and hollers that they've got to make a
break for the Washington Limited. Sis is shakin' good-by with both of
'em at once, when she thinks of somethin' funny.
"Oh, Mr. Robert!" says she. "I want to know which of you is who here,
don't you know. Is it you that works for Skid, or Skid that works for
you?"
"Chee!" thinks I. "That upsets the soup kettle."
Mr. Robert looks at Mallory, and Mallory looks at him. There was no
breakin' away; for she has hold of a hand apiece. Both of 'em makes a
start; but Mr. Robert gets the floor. "Why," says he, "I guess we're
both working for the Corrugated, only one of us works a little harder
than the other."
"Ah!" says Sis, givin' Mallory a smile that was worth payin' money to
see. "I thought so."
The next minute they makes a dash for an elevator goin' down, and that
part of it was over. We'd worked the bluff all the way through, and Sis
has lugged off the idea that Mallory was at the top of the bunch.
But there was Mr. Robert, waitin' to talk Dutch to us.
Mallory he starts in to say that he's sorry for seemin' so cheeky; but
that's about all he can say.
"Ah, cheese it!" says I, buttin' in. "What do you know about it? It was
me put up the game, and if Mr. Robert had loafed another half an hour at
the club like he usually does, there wouldn't have been any mix up. Say,
you leave this to me."
Mallory didn't want to leave it like that; but Mr. Robert was holdin'
the door open for him, so he couldn't do anything else. When we had it
all to ourselves, the boss ranges me up in front of him for the court of
inquiry session.
"Well?" says he, real solemn.
I takes all that in and gives him the wink. "Say," says I, "didn't I
have my nerve with me, though?"
He kind of blinks at that; but it don't fetch him.
"Who's Dicky, your whisperin' friend?" says I.
"Nobody much," says he. "His father's a Senator."
"Well, say, now," says I, "you didn't want me to chase a Senator's son
and a real swell girl like Sis off into a place like the general office
reception room, did you! And wouldn't it have been a nice break if I'd
let out that we was smotherin' the Great Skid under a twelve-dollar
job?"
"Was that why you had the impudence to appropriate my office?" says he.
"That was part of it," says I.
And that gives me an openin' to tell him the whole tale about Mallory,
from the hall bedroom act to the way he'd been postin' himself.
"You think he's a valuable man, do you?" says Mr. Robert.
"Valuable!" says I. "Why, he's all the goods. What if he did learn to
talk Greek once? He's forgettin' it, ain't he? And look at the way he
stands up to trouble! Don't that show there's good stuff in him?"
"Well," says he, "what would you suggest?"
"Ah, say!" says I. "Couldn't you give a guess? Why, if I was you I'd fix
it so that when Sis comes back to town she wouldn't find him on no kid's
job. I'd give him a show to get his name painted on a door somewhere."
"Torchy," says he, punchin' the button for his secretary, "I shouldn't
wonder if we did."