HOW MAIZIE CAME THROUGH
Then again, there's other kinds from other States, and no two of 'em
alike. They float in from all quarters, some on ten-day excursions, and
some with no return ticket. And, of course, they're all jokes to us at
first, while we never suspicion that all along we may be jokes to them.
And say, between you and me, we're apt to think, ain't we, that all the
rapid motion in the world gets its start right here in New York? Well,
that's the wrong dope. For instance, once I got next to a super-energized
specimen that come in from the north end of nowhere, and before I was
through the experience had left me out of breath.
It was while Sadie and me was livin' at the Perzazzer hotel, before we
moved out to Rockhurst-on-the-Sound. Early one evenin' we was sittin', as
quiet and domestic as you please, in our twelve by fourteen cabinet
finished dinin' room on the seventh floor. We was gazin' out of the open
windows watchin' a thunder storm meander over towards Long Island, and
Tidson was just servin' the demitasses, when there's a ring on the
'phone. Tidson, he puts down the tray and answers the call.
"It's from the office, sir," says he. "Some one to see you, sir."
"Me?" says I. "Get a description, Tidson, so I'll know what to expect."
At that he asks the room clerk for details, and reports that it's two
young ladies by the name of Blickens.
"What!" says Sadie, prickin' up her ears. "You don't know any young women
of that name; do you, Shorty?"
"Why not?" says I. "How can I tell until I've looked 'em over?"
"Humph!" says she. "Blickens!"
"Sounds nice, don't it?" says I. "Kind of snappy and interestin'. Maybe
I'd better go down and----"
"Tidson," says Sadie, "tell them to send those young persons up here!"
"That's right, Tidson," says I. "Don't mind anything I say."
"Blickens, indeed!" says Sadie, eyin' me sharp, to see if I'm blushin' or
gettin' nervous. "I never heard you mention any such name."
"There's a few points about my past life," says I, "that I've had sense
enough to keep to myself. Maybe this is one. Course, if your
curiosity----"
"I'm not a bit curious, Shorty McCabe," she snaps out, "and you know it!
But when it comes to----"
"The Misses Blickens," says Tidson, holdin' back the draperies with one
hand, and smotherin' a grin with the other.
Say, you couldn't blame him. What steps in is a couple of drippy females
that look like they'd just been fished out of a tank. And bein' wet
wa'n't the worst of it. Even if they'd been dry, they must have looked
bad enough; but in the soggy state they was the limit.
They wa'n't mates. One is tall and willowy, while the other is short and
dumpy. And the fat one has the most peaceful face I ever saw outside of a
pasture, with a reg'lar Holstein-Friesian set of eyes,--the round, calm,
thoughtless kind. The fact that she's chewin' gum helps out the dairy
impression, too. It's plain she's been caught in the shower and has
sopped up her full share of the rainfall; but it don't seem to trouble
her any.
There ain't anything pastoral about the tall one, though. She's alive all
the way from her runover heels to the wiggly end of the limp feather that
flops careless like over one ear. She's the long-waisted, giraffe-necked
kind; but not such a bad looker if you can forget the depressin' costume.
It had been a blue cheviot once, I guess; the sort that takes on seven
shades of purple about the second season. And it fits her like a damp
tablecloth hung on a chair. Her runnin' mate is all in black, and you
could tell by the puckered seams and the twisted sleeves that it was an
outfit the village dressmaker had done her worst on.
Not that they gives us much chance for a close size-up. The lengthy one
pikes right into the middle of the room, brushes a stringy lock of hair
off her face, and unlimbers her conversation works.
"Gosh!" says she, openin' her eyes wide and lookin' round at the rugs and
furniture. "Hope we haven't pulled up at the wrong ranch. Are you Shorty
McCabe?"
"Among old friends, I am," says I, "Now if you come under----"
"It's all right, Phemey," says she, motionin' to the short one. "Sit
down."
"Sure!" says I. "Don't mind the furniture. Take a couple of chairs."
"Not for me!" says the tall one. "I'll stand in one spot and drip, and
then you can mop up afterwards. But Phemey, she's plumb tuckered."
"It's sweet of you to run in," says I. "Been wadin' in the park lake, or
enjoyin' the shower?"
"Enjoying the shower is good," says she; "but I hadn't thought of
describing it that way. I reckon, though, you'd like to hear who we
are."
"Oh, any time when you get to that," says I.
"That's a joke, is it?" says she. "If it is, Ha, ha! Excuse me if I don't
laugh real hearty. I can do better when I don't feel so much like a
sponge. Maizie May Blickens is my name, and this is Euphemia Blickens."
"Ah!" says I. "Sisters?"
"Do we look it?" says Maizie. "No! First cousins on the whiskered side.
Ever hear that name Blickens before?"
"Why--er--why----" says I, scratchin' my head.
"Don't dig too deep," says Maizie. "How about Blickens' skating rink in
Kansas City?"
"Oh!" says I. "Was it run by a gent they called Sport Blickens?"
"It was," says she.
"Why, sure," I goes on. "And the night I had my match there with the
Pedlar, when I'd spent my last bean on a month's trainin' expenses, and
the Pedlar's backer was wavin' a thousand-dollar side bet under my nose,
this Mr. Blickens chucked me his roll and told me to call the bluff."
"Yes, that was dad, all right," says Maizie.
"It was?" says I. "Well, well! Now if there's anything I can do for----"
"Whoa up!" says Maizie. "This is no grubstake touch. Let's get that off
our minds first, though I'm just as much obliged. It's come out as dad
said. Says he, 'If you're ever up against it, and can locate Shorty
McCabe, you go to him and say who you are.' But this isn't exactly that
kind of a case. Phemey and I may look a bit rocky and---- Say, how do we
look, anyway? Have you got such a thing as a----"
"Tidson," says Sadie, breakin' in, "you may roll in the pier glass for
the young lady." Course, that reminds me I ain't done the honors.
"Excuse me," says I. "Miss Blickens, this is Mrs. McCabe."
"Howdy," says Maizie. "I was wondering if it wasn't about due. Goshety
gosh! but you're all to the peaches, eh? And me----"
Here she turns and takes a full length view of herself. "Suffering
scarecrows! Say, why didn't you put up the bars on us? Don't you look,
Phemey; you'd swallow your gum!"
But Euphemia ain't got any idea of turnin' her head. She has them
peaceful eyes of hers glued to Sadie's copper hair, and she's contented
to yank away at her cud. For a consistent and perseverin' masticator, she
has our friend Fletcher chewed to a standstill. Maizie is soon satisfied
with her survey.
"That'll do, take it away," says she. "If I ever get real stuck on
myself, I'll have something to remember. But, as I was sayin', this is no
case of an escape from the poor farm. We wore these Hetty Green togs when
we left Dobie."
"Dobie?" says I.
"Go on, laugh!" says Maizie. "Dobie's the biggest joke and the slowest
four corners in the State of Minnesota, and that's putting it strong.
Look at Phemey; she's a native."
Well, we looked at Phemey. Couldn't help it. Euphemia don't seem to mind.
She don't even grin; but just goes on workin' her jaws and lookin'
placid.
"Out in Dobie that would pass for hysterics," says Maizie. "The only way
they could account for me was by saying that I was born crazy in another
State. I've had a good many kinds of hard luck; but being born in Dobie
wasn't one of the varieties. Now can you stand the story of my life?"
"Miss Blickens," says I, "I'm willin' to pay you by the hour."
"It isn't so bad as all that," says she, "because precious little has
ever happened to me. It's what's going to happen that I'm living for.
But, to take a fair start, we'll begin with dad. When they called him
Sport Blickens, they didn't stretch their imaginations. He was all
that--and not much else. All I know about maw is that she was one of
three, and that I was born in the back room of a Denver dance hall. I've
got a picture of her, wearing tights and a tin helmet, and dad says she
was a hummer. He ought to know; he was a pretty good judge.
"As I wasn't much over two days old when they had the funeral, I can't
add anything more about maw. And the history I could write of dad would
make a mighty slim book. Running roller skating rinks was the most
genteel business he ever got into, I guess. His regular profession was
faro. It's an unhealthy game, especially in those gold camps where they
shoot so impetuous. He got over the effects of two .38's dealt him by a
halfbreed Sioux; but when a real bad man from Taunton, Massachusetts,
opened up on him across the table with a .45, he just naturally got
discouraged. Good old dad! He meant well when he left me in Dobie and had
me adopted by Uncle Hen. Phemey, you needn't listen to this next
chapter."
Euphemia, she misses two jaw strokes in succession, rolls her eyes at
Maizie May for a second, and then strikes her reg'lar gait again.
"Excuse her getting excited like that," says Maizie; "but Uncle Hen--that
was her old man, of course--hasn't been planted long. He lasted until
three weeks ago. He was an awful good man, Uncle Hen was--to himself. He
had the worst case of ingrowing religion you ever saw. Why, he had a
thumb felon once, and when the doctor came to lance it Uncle Hen made him
wait until he could call in the minister, so it could be opened with
prayer.
"Sundays he made us go to church twice, and the rest of the day he talked
to us about our souls. Between times he ran the Palace Emporium; that is,
he and I and a half baked Swede by the name of Jens Torkil did. To look
at Jens you wouldn't have thought he could have been taught the
difference between a can of salmon and a patent corn planter; but say,
Uncle Hen had him trained to make short change and weigh his hand with
every piece of salt pork, almost as slick as he could do it himself.
"All I had to do was to tend the drygoods, candy, and drug counters, look
after the post-office window, keep the books, and manage the telephone
exchange. Euphemia had the softest snap, though. She did the housework,
planted the garden, raised chickens, fed the hogs, and scrubbed the
floors. Have I got the catalogue right, Phemey?"
Euphemia blinks twice, kind of reminiscent; but nothin' in the shape of
words gets through the gum.
"She has such an emotional nature!" says Maizie. "Uncle Hen was like that
too. But let's not linger over him. He's gone. The last thing he did was
to let go of a dollar fifty in cash that I held him up for so Phemey and
I could go into Duluth and see a show. The end came early next day, and
whether it was from shock or enlargement of the heart, no one will ever
know.
"It was an awful blow to us all. We went around in a daze for nearly a
week, hardly daring to believe that it could be so. Jens broke the spell
for us. One morning I caught him helping himself to a cigar out of the
two-fer box. 'Why not?' says he. Next Phemey walks in, swipes a package
of wintergreen gum, and feeds it all in at once. She says, 'Why not?'
too. Then I woke up. 'You're right,' says I. 'Enjoy yourself. It's time.'
Next I hints to her that there are bigger and brighter spots on this
earth than Dobie, and asks her what she says to selling the Emporium and
hunting them up. 'I don't care,' says she, and that was a good deal of a
speech for her to make. 'Do you leave it to me?' says I. 'Uh-huh,' says
she. 'We-e-e-ough!' says I," and with that Maizie lets out one of them
backwoods college cries that brings Tidson up on his toes.
"I take it," says I, "that you did."
"Did I?" says she. "Inside of three days I'd hustled up four different
parties that wanted to invest in a going concern, and before the week was
over I'd buncoed one of 'em out of nine thousand in cash. Most of it's in
a certified check, sewed inside of Phemey, and that's why we walked all
the way up here in the rain. Do you suppose you could take me to some
bank to-morrow where I could leave that and get a handful of green bills
on account? Is that asking too much?"
"Considering the way you've brushed up my memory of Sport Blickens," says
I, "it's real modest. Couldn't you think of something else?"
"If that had come from Mrs. McCabe," says she, eyin' Sadie kind of
longin', "I reckon I could."
"Why," says Sadie, "I should be delighted."
"You wouldn't go so far as to lead two such freaks as us around to the
stores and help us pick out some New York clothes, would you?" says she.
"My dear girl!" says Sadie, grabbin' both her hands. "We'll do it
to-morrow."
"Honest?" says Maizie, beamin' on her. "Well, that's what I call right
down decent. Phemey, do you hear that? Oh, swallow it, Phemey, swallow
it! This is where we bloom out!"
And say, you should have heard them talkin' over the kind of trousseaus
that would best help a girl to forget she ever came from Dobie.
"You will need a neat cloth street dress, for afternoons," says Sadie.
"Not for me!" says Maizie. "That'll do all right for Phemey; but when it
comes to me, I'll take something that rustles. I've worn back number
cast-offs for twenty-two years; now I'm ready for the other kind. I've
been traveling so far behind the procession I couldn't tell which way it
was going. Now I'm going to give the drum major a view of my back hair.
The sort of costumes I want are the kind that are designed this afternoon
for day after to-morrow. If it's checks, I'll take two to the piece; if
it's stripes, I want to make a circus zebra look like a clipped mule. And
I want a change for every day in the week."
"But, my dear girl," says Sadie, "can you afford to----"
"You bet I can!" says Maizie. "My share of Uncle Hen's pile is forty-five
hundred dollars, and while it lasts I'm going to have the lilies of the
field looking like the flowers you see on attic wall paper. I don't care
what I have to eat, or where I stay; but when it comes to clothes, show
me the limit! But say, I guess it's time we were getting back to our
boarding-house. Wake up, Phemey!"
Well, I pilots 'em out to Fifth-ave., stows 'em into a motor stage, and
heads 'em down town.
"Whew!" says Sadie, when I gets back. "I suppose that is a sample of
Western breeziness."
"It's more'n a sample," says I. "But I can see her finish, though. Inside
of three months all she'll have left to show for her wad will be a trunk
full of fancy regalia and a board bill. Then it will be Maizie hunting a
job in some beanery."
"Oh, I shall talk her out of that nonsense," says Sadie. "What she ought
to do is to take a course in stenography and shorthand."
Yes, we laid out a full programme for Maizie, and had her earnin' her
little twenty a week, with Phemey keepin' house for both of 'em in a nice
little four-room flat. And in the mornin' I helps her deposit the
certified check, and then turns the pair over to Sadie for an assault on
the department stores, with a call at a business college as a finish for
the day, as we'd planned.
When I gets home that night I finds Sadie all fagged out and drinkin'
bromo seltzer for a headache.
"What's wrong?" says I.
"Nothing," says Sadie; "only I've been having the time of my life."
"Buying tailor made uniforms for the Misses Blickens?" says I.
"Tailor made nothing!" says Sadie. "It was no use, Shorty, I had to give
in. Maizie wanted the other things so badly. And then Euphemia declared
she must have the same kind. So I spent the whole day fitting them out."
"Got 'em something sudden and noisy, eh?" says I.
"Just wait until you see them," says Sadie.
"But what's the idea?" says I. "How long do they think they can keep up
that pace? And when they've blown themselves short of breath, what
then?"
"Heaven knows!" says Sadie. "But Maizie has plans of her own. When I
mentioned the business college, she just laughed, and said if she
couldn't do something better than pound a typewriter, she'd go back to
Dobie."
"Huh!" says I. "Sentiments like that has got lots of folks into
trouble."
"And yet," says Sadie, "Maizie's a nice girl in her way. We'll see how
she comes out."
We did, too. It was a couple of weeks before we heard a word from either
of 'em, and then the other day Sadie gets a call over the 'phone from a
perfect stranger. She says she's a Mrs. Herman Zorn, of West End-ave.,
and that she's givin' a little roof garden theater party that evenin', in
honor of Miss Maizie Blickens, an old friend of hers that she used to
know when she lived in St. Paul and spent her summers near Dobie. Also
she understood we were friends of Miss Blickens too, and she'd be pleased
to have us join.
"West End-ave.!" says I. "Gee! but it looks like Maizie had been able to
butt in. Do we go, Sadie?"
"I said we'd be charmed," says she. "I'm dying to see how Maizie will
look."
I didn't admit it, but I was some curious that way myself; so about
eight-fifteen we shows up at the roof garden and has an usher lead us to
the bunch. There's half a dozen of 'em on hand; but the only thing worth
lookin' at was Maizie May.
And say, I thought I could make a guess as to somewhere near how she
would frame up. The picture I had in mind was a sort of cross between a
Grand-st. Rebecca and an Eighth-ave. Lizzie Maud,--you know, one of the
near style girls, that's got on all the novelties from ten bargain
counters. But, gee! The view I gets has me gaspin'. Maizie wa'n't near;
she was two jumps ahead. And it wa'n't any Grand-st. fashion plate that
she was a livin' model of. It was Fifth-ave. and upper Broadway. Talk
about your down-to-the-minute costumes! Say, maybe they'll be wearin'
dresses like that a year from now. And that hat! It wa'n't a dream; it
was a forecast.
"We saw it unpacked from the Paris case," whispers Sadie.
All I know about it is that it was the widest, featheriest lid I ever saw
in captivity, and it's balanced on more hair puffs than you could put in
a barrel. But what added the swell, artistic touch was the collar. It's a
chin supporter and ear embracer. I thought I'd seen high ones, but this
twelve-inch picket fence around Maizie's neck was the loftiest choker I
ever saw anyone survive. To watch her wear it gave you the same
sensations as bein' a witness at a hanging. How she could do it and keep
on breathin', I couldn't make out; but it don't seem to interfere with
her talkin'.
Sittin' close up beside her, and listenin' with both ears stretched and
his mouth open, was a blond young gent with a bristly Bat Nelson
pompadour. He's rigged out in a silk faced tuxedo, a smoke colored, open
face vest, and he has a big yellow orchid in his buttonhole. By the way
he's gazin' at Maizie, you could tell he approved of her from the ground
up. She don't hesitate any on droppin' him, though, when we arrives.
"Hello!" says she. "Ripping good of you to come. Well, what do you think?
I've got some of 'em on, you see. What's the effect?"
"Stunning!" says Sadie.
"Thanks," says Maizie. "I laid out to get somewhere near that. And, gosh!
but it feels good! These are the kind of togs I was born to wear. Phemey?
Oh, she's laid up with arnica bandages around her throat. I told her she
mustn't try to chew gum with one of these collars on."
"Say, Maizie," says I, "who's the Sir Lionel Budweiser, and where did you
pick him up?"
"Oh, Oscar!" says she. "Why, he found me. He's from St. Paul, nephew of
Mrs. Zorn, who's visiting her. Brewer's son, you know. Money? They've got
bales of it. Hey, Oscar!" says she, snappin' her finger. "Come over here
and show yourself!"
And say, he was trained, all right. He trots right over.
"Would you take him, if you was me?" says Maizie, turnin' him round for
us to make an inspection. "I told him I wouldn't say positive until I had
shown him to you, Mrs. McCabe. He's a little under height, and I don't
like the way his hair grows; but his habits are good, and his allowance
is thirty thousand a year. How about him? Will he do?"
"Why--why----" says Sadie, and it's one of the few times I ever saw her
rattled.
"Just flash that ring again, Oscar," says Maizie.
"O-o-oh!" says Sadie, when Oscar has pulled out the white satin box and
snapped back the cover. "What a beauty! Yes, Maizie, I should say that,
if you like Oscar, he would do nicely."
"That goes!" says Maizie. "Here, Occie dear, slide it on. But remember:
Phemey has got to live with us until I can pick out some victim of
nervous prostration that needs a wife like her. And for goodness' sake,
Occie, give that waiter an order for something wet!"
"Well!" says Sadie afterwards, lettin' out a long breath. "To think that
we ever worried about her!"
"She's a little bit of all right, eh?" says I. "But say, I'm glad I ain't
Occie, the heir to the brewery. I wouldn't know whether I was engaged to
Maizie, or caught in a belt."