A LOOK IN ON THE GOAT GAME
Pinckney was tellin' me, here awhile back at lunch one day, what terrors
them twins of his was gettin' to be. He relates a tragic tale about how
they'd just been requested to resign from another private school where
they'd been goin' as day scholars.
"That is the third this season," says he; "the third, mind you!"
"Well, there's more still, ain't there?" says I.
"Brilliant observation, Shorty," says he, "also logical and pertinent.
Yes, there are several others still untried by the twins."
"What you howlin' about, then?" says I.
"Because," says he, toyin' with the silver frame that holds the bill of
fare, "because it is not my intention to demoralize all the educational
institutions of this city in alphabetical order."
"G'wan!" says I. "The kids have got to be educated somewhere, haven't
they?"
"Which is the sad part of it," says Pinckney, inspectin' the dish of
scrambled eggs and asparagus tips and wavin' the waiter to do the serving
himself. "It means," he goes on, "having a governess around the house,
and you know what nuisances they can be."
"Do I?" says I. "The nearest I ever got to havin' a governess was when
Mrs. O'Grady from next door used to come in to use our wash-tubs and I
was left with her for the day. Nobody ever called her a nuisance and got
away with it."
"What an idyllic youth to look back upon!" says he. "I can remember half
a dozen, at least, who had a hand in directing the course of my budding
intellect, and each one of them developed some peculiarity which
complicated the domestic situation. I am wondering what this new
governess of ours will contribute."
"Got one on the job already, eh?" says I.
"This is her third day," says he, "and if she manages to live through it
with the twins, I shall have hope."
"Ah, pickles!" says I. "Those kids are all right. They're full of life
and ginger, that's all."
"Especially ginger," says Pinckney.
"What of it?" says I. "Or are you just blowin' about 'em? It's all right,
they're a great pair, and any time you want to entertain me for half an
hour, turn 'em loose in my comp'ny."
"Done!" says Pinckney. "We'll take a cab right up."
"Put it off three minutes, can't you?" says I, lookin' over the French
pastry tray and spearin' a frosted creampuff that was decorated up with
sugar flowers until it looked like a bride's bouquet.
He insists on callin' my bluff, though; so up the avenue we goes, when I
should have been hotfootin' it back to the studio. But I could see that
Pinckney was some anxious about how the kids was gettin' on, Gertie being
away for the day, and I thinks maybe I'll be useful in calmin' any riot
he might find in progress.
All was quiet and peaceful, though, as Pinckney opens the door with his
latchkey. No howls from upstairs, no front windows broken, and nobody
slidin' down the banisters. We was just waitin' for the automatic
elevator to come down when we hears voices floatin' out from the lib'ry.
Pinckney steps to the doorway where he can see through into the next
room, and then beckons me up for a squint.
It wa'n't the kids at all, but a couple of grownups that was both
strangers to me. From the way the young woman is dressed I could guess
she was the new governess. Anyway, she's makin' herself right to home, so
far as entertainin' comp'ny goes; for she and the gent with her is more
or less close together and mixed up. First off it looked like a side-hold
lover's clinch, and then again it didn't.
"Is it a huggin' match, or a rough-house tackle?" I whispered over
Pinckney's shoulder.
"I pass the declaration," says he. "Suppose we investigate."
With that we strolls in, and we're within a dozen feet of the couple
before they get wise to the fact that there's an int'rested audience. I
must say, though, that they made a clean, quick breakaway. Then they
stands, starin' at us.
"Ah, Miss Marston!" says Pinckney. "Do I interrupt?"
"Why--er--er--you see, sir," she begins, "I--that is--we----"
And she breaks down with as bad a case of rattles as I ever see. She's a
nice lookin', modest appearin' young woman, too, a little soft about the
mouth, but more or less classy in her lines. Her hair is some mussed, and
there's sort of a wild, desp'rate look in her eyes.
"A near relative, I presume?" suggests Pinckney, noddin' at the gent,
who's takin' it all cool enough.
"Oh, yes, sir," gasps out the governess. "My husband, sir."
And the gent, he bows as easy and natural as if he was bein' introduced
at an afternoon tea party. "Glad to know you," says he, stickin' out his
hand, which Pinckney, bein' absent-minded just then, fails to see.
"Really!" says Pinckney, lookin' the governess up and down. "Then it's
not Miss Marston, but Mrs.--er----"
"Yes," says she, lettin' her chin drop, "Mrs. Marston."
"Very unfortunate," says Pinckney, "very!"
"Haw, haw, haw!" breaks out the strange gent, slappin' his knee. "I say
now, but that's a good one, that is, even if it is at my expense!
Unfortunate, eh? Perfectly true though, perfectly true!"
Now it takes a lot to get Pinckney going; but for a minute all he does is
turn and size up this husband party with the keen sense of humor. I had
my mouth open and my eyes bugged too; for he don't look the part at all.
Why, he's dressed neat and expensive, a little sporty maybe, for a real
gent; but he carries it off well.
"Glad to have your assurance that I was right," says Pinckney, still
givin' him the frosty eye.
"Oh, don't mention it," says Mr. Marston. "And I trust you will overlook
my butting in here to see Kitty--er, Mrs. Marston. Little matter of
sentiment and--well, business, you know. I don't think it will happen
often."
"I am quite sure it won't," says Pinckney. "And now, if the interview has
been finished, I would suggest that----"
"Oh, certainly, certainly!" says Marston, edging towards the door. "Allow
me, gentlemen, to bid you good-day. And I say, Kit, don't forget that
little matter. By-by."
Honest, if I could make as slick a backout as that, without carryin' away
anybody's footprint, I'd rate myself a headliner among the trouble
dodgers. Pinckney, though, don't seem to appreciate such talents.
"That settles governess No. 1," says he as we starts for the elevator
again. "We are beginning the series well."
That was before he saw how smooth she got along with Jack and Jill. After
she'd given an exhibition of kid trainin' that was a wonder, he remarked
that possibly he might as well let her stay the week out.
"But of course," says he, "she will have to go. Hanged if I understand
how Mrs. Purdy-Pell happened to send her here, either! Shorty, do you
suppose Sadie could throw any light on this case?"
"I'll call for a report," says I.
Does Sadie know anything about the Marstons? Well, rather! Says she told
me all about 'em at the time too; but if she did it must have got by.
Anyway, this was just a plain, simple case of a worthless son marryin'
the fam'ly governess and bein' thrown out for it by a stern parent, same
as they always are in them English novels Sadie's forever readin'.
The Marstons was Madison-ave. folks, which means that their back yard was
bounded on the west by the smart set--and that's as far as there's any
need of going. The girl comes from 'Frisco and is an earthquake orphan.
Hence the governess stunt. As for young Marston, he'd been chucked out of
college, tried out for a failure in the old man's brokerage office, and
then left to drift around town on a skimpy allowance. So he was in fine
shape to get married! The girl sticks to him, though, until there's
trouble with the landlady, and then, when he only turns ugly and makes no
move towards gettin' a job, she calls it off, gives him the slip, and
begins rustlin' for herself.
"Oh, well," says Pinckney, "I suppose she ought to have a chance. But if
that husband of hers is going to----"
"Next time you catch him at it," says I, "just 'phone down for me. It'll
be a pleasure."
I meant it too; for after hearing how she'd lost other places on account
of his hangin' around I could have enjoyed mussin' him up some.
With my feelin' that way, you can guess what a jar it is, one afternoon
when I'm having a little front office chat with my old reg'lar, Pyramid
Gordon, to see this same gent blow in through the door. Almost looked
like he knew what he ought to get and had come after it.
"Well?" says I as chilly as I knew how.
"Quite so," says he, "quite so. I see you remember our recent meeting.
Awkward situation for a moment, wasn't it, eh? Splendid chap, though,
your friend----"
"Say, choke off the hot air," says I, "and let's hear what gave you the
courage to climb those stairs!"
And what do you guess? He takes five minutes of steady chinnin' to get
around to it; but he puts over such a velvety line of talk, and it's so
int'restin' to watch him do it, that I let him spiel ahead until he gets
to the enactin' clause in his own way. And it's nothing more or less than
a brassy fingered touch for a twenty, all based on the fact that he met
me at a house where his wife's drawin' wages.
"Mr. Gordon," says I, turnin' to Pyramid, who's heard it all, "what do
you think of that, anyway?"
"Very neat, indeed," says Pyramid, chucklin'.
"And then a few!" says I. "I can almost see myself givin' up that twenty
right off the bat. Nothing but great presence of mind and wonderful
self-control holds me back. But look here, Mr. What's-your-name----"
"Marston," says he, flashin' an engraved visitin' card, "L. Egbert
Marston."
"L. Egbert, eh?" says I. "Does the L stand for Limed? And what do they
call you for short--Eggie?"
"Oh, suit yourself," says he, with a careless wave of the hand.
"All right, Eggie," says I; "but before we get in any deeper I've got a
conundrum or two to spring on you. We got kind of curious, Pinckney and
me, about that visit of yours. He thinks we disturbed a fond embrace. It
looked diff'rent to me. I thought I could see finger-marks on the young
lady's throat. How about it?"
Course he flushes up. Any man would under a jab like that, and I looked
for him either to begin breakin' the peace or start lyin' out of it.
There's considerable beef to Egbert, you know. He'd probably weigh in at
a hundred and eighty, with all that flabby meat on him, and if it wa'n't
for that sort of cheap look to his face you might take him for a real
man. But he don't show any more fight than a cow. He don't even put in
any indignant "Not guilty!" He just shrugs his shoulders and indulges in
a sickly laugh.
"It doesn't sound nice," says he; "but sometimes they do need a bit of
training, these women."
"For instance?" says I. "In the matter of handing over a little spendin'
money, eh?"
"You've struck it," says he, with another shrug.
I glances at Pyramid; but there wa'n't any more expression to that draw
poker face of his than as if it was a cement block.
"Egbert," says I, frank and confidential, "you're a sweet scented pill,
ain't you?"
And does that draw any assault and battery motions? It don't. All the
result is to narrow them shifty eyes of his and steady 'em down until
he's lookin' me square in the face.
"I was hard up, if you want to know," says he. "I didn't have a dollar."
"And that," says I, "is what you give out as an excuse for----"
"Yes," he breaks in. "And I'm no worse than lots of other men, either.
With money, I'm a gentleman; without it--well, I get it any way I can.
And I want to tell you, I've seen men with plenty of it get more in
meaner ways. I don't know how to juggle stocks, or wreck banks, or use
any of the respectable methods that----"
"Nothing personal, I hope," puts in Mr. Gordon, with another chuckle.
"Not so intended," says Marston.
"Eh, thanks," says Pyramid.
"We'll admit," says I, "that your partic'lar way of raisin' funds, Mr.
Marston, ain't exactly novel; but didn't it ever occur to you that some
folks get theirs by workin' for it?"
"I know," says he, tryin' to seem good natured again; "but I'm not that
kind. I'm an idler. As some poet has put it, 'Useless I linger, a
cumberer here.'"
"You're a cucumber, all right," says I; "but why not, just for a change,
make a stab at gettin' a job?"
"I've had several," says he, "and never could hold one more than a week.
Too monotonous, for one thing; and then, in these offices, one is thrown
among so many ill bred persons, you know."
"Sure!" says I, feelin' my temper'ture risin'. "Parties that had rather
work for a pay envelope than choke their wives. I've met 'em. I've heard
of your kind too, Egbert; but you're the first specimen I ever got real
close to. And you're a bird! Mr. Gordon, shall I chuck him through the
window, or help him downstairs with my toe?"
"I wouldn't do either," says Pyramid. "In fact, I think I can make use of
this young man."
"Then you're welcome to him," says I. "Blaze ahead."
"Much obliged," says Pyramid. "Now, Mr. Marston, what is the most
reasonable sum, per month, that would allow you to carry out your idea of
being a gentleman?"
Egbert thinks that over a minute and then puts it at three hundred.
"And would it conflict with those ideas," Pyramid goes on, "if you were
required, say twice a week, to spend an hour in a private office, signing
your name?"
Egbert thinks he could stand that.
"Very well, then," says Pyramid, producin' his checkbook and gettin' busy
with the fountain pen, "here is your first month's salary in advance.
Whenever you find it convenient during the week, report at my offices.
Ask for Mr. Bradley. Yes, Bradley. That's all," and Pyramid lights up one
of his torches as satisfied as though he'd just bought in a Senator.
As for Egbert, he stows the check away, taps me on the shoulder, and
remarks real friendly, "Well, professor, no hard feelings, I hope?"
"Say, Eggie," says I, "seems to me I expressed myself once on that point,
and I ain't had any sudden change of heart. If I was you I'd beat while
the beatin's good."
Egbert laughs; but he takes the advice.
"Huh!" says I to Pyramid. "I expect that's your notion of making a funny
play, eh!"
"I'm no humorist, Shorty," says he.
"Then what's the idea?" says I. "What do you mean?"
"I never mean anything but cold, straight business," says he. "That's the
only game worth playing."
"So?" says I. "Then here's where you got let in bad with your eyes open.
You heard him tell how useless he was?"
"I did," says Pyramid; "but I always do my own appraising when I hire
men. I anticipate finding Mr. Marston somewhat useful."
And say, that's all I can get out of Pyramid on the subject; for when it
comes to business, he's about as chatty over his plans as a hard shell
clam on the suffragette question. I've known him to make some freak
plans; but this move of pickin' out a yellow one like Egbert and
rewardin' him as if he was a Carnegie medal winner beat anything he'd
ever sprung yet.
It's no bluff, either. I hears of this Marston gent sportin' around at
the clubs, and it wa'n't until I accident'lly run across an item on the
Wall Street page that I gets any more details. He shows up, if you
please, as secretary of the Consolidated Holding Company that there's
been so much talk about. I asks Pinckney what kind of an outfit that was;
but he don't know.
"Huh!" says I. "All I'd feel safe in givin' Egbert to hold for me would
be one end of the Brooklyn Bridge."
"I don't care what he holds," says Pinckney, "if he will stay away from
our little governess. She's a treasure."
Seems Mrs. Marston had been doin' some great tricks with the twins, not
only keepin' 'em from marrin' the furniture, but teachin' 'em all kinds
of knowledge and improvin' their table manners, until it was almost safe
to have 'em down to luncheon now and then.
But her life was being made miser'ble by the prospect of havin' Egbert
show up any day and create a row. She confided the whole tale to Sadie,
how she was through with Marston for good, but didn't dare tell him so,
and how she sent him most of her salary to keep him away.
"The loafer!" says I. "And think of the chance I had at him there in the
studio! Hanged if I don't get even with Pyramid for that, though!"
But I didn't. Mr. Gordon's been too busy this season to show up for any
trainin', and it was only here the other day that I runs across him in
the street.
"Well," says I, "how's that work scornin' pet of yours gettin' on these
days?"
"Marston?" says he. "Why, haven't you heard? Mr. Marston is away on a
vacation."
"Vacation!" says I. "He needs it, he does!"
"The company thought so," says Pyramid. "They gave him six months' leave
with pay. He's hunting reindeer or musk ox somewhere up in British
Columbia."
"Him a hunter?" says I. "G'wan!"
Pyramid grins. "He did develop a liking for the wilderness rather
suddenly," says he; "but that is where he is now. In fact, I shouldn't be
surprised if he stayed up there for a year or more."
"What's the joke?" says I, catchin' a flicker in them puffy eyes of
Pyramid's.
"Why, just this," says he. "Mr. Marston, you know, is secretary of the
Consolidated Holding Company."
"Yes, I read about that," says I. "What then?"
"It pains me to state," says Mr. Gordon, "that in his capacity of
secretary Mr. Marston seems to have sanctioned transactions which violate
the Interstate Commerce act."
"Ah-ha!" says I. "Turned crooked on you, did he?"
"We are not sure as yet," says Pyramid. "The federal authorities are
anxious to settle that point by examining certain files which appear to
be missing. They even asked me about them. Perhaps you didn't notice,
Shorty, that I was cross-examined for five hours, one day last week."
"I don't read them muck rakin' articles," says I.
"Quite right," says Pyramid. "Well, I couldn't explain; for, as their own
enterprising detectives discovered, when Mr. Marston boarded the Montreal
Express his baggage included a trunk and two large cases. Odd of him to
take shipping files on a hunting trip, wasn't it?" and Pyramid tips me
the slow wink.
I'm more or less of a thickhead when it comes to flossy finance; but I've
seen enough plain flimflam games to know a few things. And the wink
clinched it. "Mr. Gordon," says I, "for a Mr. Smooth you've got a greased
pig in the warthog class. But suppose Egbert gets sick of the woods and
hikes himself back? What then?"
"Jail," says Pyramid, shruggin' his sable collar up around his ears.
"That would be rather deplorable too. Bright young man, Marston, in many
ways, and peculiarly adapted for----"
"Yes, I know the part," says I. "They gen'rally spells it g-o-a-t."