for--for some one that worked there."
And say, you wouldn't have thought anyone with a natural sunset colour
like that could lay on a blush. But he does, and it's like throwin'
the red calcium on a brick wall.
"Oh, tush, tush!" says I. "You don't mean to tell me a man of your
size is trailin' some Lizzie Maud?"
He cants his head on one side, pulls out a blue silk handkerchief, and
begins to wind it around his fore finger, like a bashful kid that's
been caught passin' a note in school.
"Her--her name's Zylphina," says he,--"Zylphina Beck."
"Gee!" says I. "Sounds like a new kind of music box. No relation, I
hope?"
"Not yet," says he, swingin' his shoulders; "but we've swapped rings."
"Of all the cut-ups!" says I. "And just what part of the plowed fields
do you and Zylphina hail from?"
"Why, I'm from Hoxie," says he, as though that told the whole story.
"Do tell!" says I. "Is that a flag station or just a four corners?
Somewhere in Ohio, ain't it?"
"Sheridan County, Kansas," says he.
"Well, well!" says I. "Now I can account for your size. Have to grow
tall out there, don't you, so's not to get lost in the wheat patch?"
Say, for a josh consumer, he was the easiest ever. All he does is
stand there and grin, like he was the weak end of a variety team. But
it seems a shame to crowd a willin' performer; so I was just tellin'
him he'd better go out and hunt up a city directory in some drug store,
when Pinckney shows up, lookin' interested.
"There!" says I. "Here's a man now that'll lead you straight to
Zylphina in no time. Pinckney, let me make you acquainted with
Mister--er----"
"Cobb," says the Hoxie gent, "Wilbur Cobb."
"From out West," I puts in, givin' Pinckney the nudge. "He's yours."
It ain't often I has a chance to unload anything like that on Pinckney,
so I rubs it in. The thoughts of him towin' around town a human
extension like this Wilbur strikes Swifty Joe so hard that he most has
a chokin' fit.
But you never know what turn Pinckney's goin' to give to a jolly. He
don't even crack a smile, but reaches up and hands Mr. Cobb the cordial
shake, just as though he'd been a pattern sized gent dressed accordin'
to the new fall styles.
"Ah!" says Pinckney. "I'm very glad to meet anyone from the West.
What State, Mr. Cobb?"
And inside of two minutes he's gettin' all the details of this Zylphina
hunt, from the ground up, includin' an outline of Wilbur's past life.
Seems that Wilbur'd got his first start in Maine; but 'way back before
he could remember much his folks had moved to Kansas on a homestead.
Then, when Wilbur tossled out, he takes up a quarter section near
Hoxie, and goes to corn farmin' for himself, raisin' a few hogs as a
side line. Barrin' bein' caught in a cyclone or two, and gettin'
elected junior kazook of the Sheridan County Grange, nothin' much
happened to Wilbur, until one day he took a car ride as far west as
Colby Junction.
That's where he meets up with Zylphina. She was jugglin' stop over
rations at the railroad lunch counter. Men must have been mighty
scarce around the junction, or else she wants the most she can get for
the money; for, as she passes Wilbur a hunk of petrified pie and draws
him one muddy, with two lumps on the saucer, she throws in a smile that
makes him feel like he'd stepped on a live third rail.
Accordin' to his tell, he must have hung around that counter all day,
eatin' through the pie list from top to bottom and back again, until
it's a wonder his system ever got over the shock. But Zylphina keeps
tollin' him on with googoo eyes and giggles, sayin' how it does her
good to see a man with a nice, hearty appetite, and before it come time
for him to take the night train back they'd got real well acquainted.
He finds out her first name, and how she's been a whole orphan since
she was goin' on ten.
After that Wilbur makes the trip to Colby Junction reg'lar every
Sunday, and they'd got to the point of talkin' about settin' the day
when she was to become Mrs. Cobb, when Zylphina gets word that an aunt
of hers that kept a boardin' house in Fall River, Massachusetts, wants
her to come on East right away. Aunty has some kind of heart trouble
that may finish her any minute, and, as Zylphina was the nearest
relation she had, there was a show of her bein' heiress to the whole
joint.
Course, Zylphina thinks she ought to tear herself loose from the pie
counter; but before she quits the junction her and Wilbur takes one
last buggy ride, with the reins wound around the whip socket most of
the way. She weeps on Wilbur's shirt front, and says no matter how far
off she is, or how long she has to wait for him to come, she'll always
be his'n on demand. And Wilbur says that just as soon as he can make
the corn and hog vineyard hump itself a little more, he'll come.
So Zylphina packs a shoe box full of fried chicken, blows two months'
wages into a yard of yellow railroad ticket, and starts toward the
cotton mills. It's a couple of months before Wilbur gets any letter,
and then it turns out to be a hard luck tale, at that. Zylphina has
found out what a lime tastes like. She's discovered that the Fall
River aunt hasn't anything more the matter with her heart than the
average landlady, and that what she's fell heiress to is only a chance
to work eighteen hours a day for her board. So she's disinherited
herself and is about to make a bold jump for New York, which she liked
the looks of as she came through, and she'll write more later on.
It was later--about six months. Zylphina says she's happy, and hopes
Wilbur is the same. She's got a real elegant job as cashier in a
high-toned, twenty-five cent, reg'lar-meal establishment, and all in
the world she has to do is to sit behind a wire screen and make change.
It's different from wearin' an apron, and the gents what takes their
food there steady treats her like a perfect lady. New York is a big
place; but she's getting so she knows her way around quite well now,
and it would seem funny to go back to a little one-horse burg like
Colby.
And that's all. Nothin' about her bein' Wilbur's on demand, or
anything of that kind. Course, it's an antique old yarn; but it was
all fresh to Wilbur. Not bein' much of a letter writer, he keeps on
feedin' the hogs punctual, and hoein' the corn, and waitin' for more
news. But there's nothin' doin'.
"Then," says he, "I got to thinkin' and thinkin', and this fall, being
as how I was coming as far east as Chicago on a shipper's pass, I
reckons I'd better keep right on here, hunt Zylphina up, and take her
back with me."
The way he tells it was real earnest, and at some points them whey
coloured eyes of his moistens up good an' dewy; but he finishes strong
and smilin'. You wouldn't guess, though, that any corn fed romance
like that would stir up such a blood as Pinckney? A few months back he
wouldn't have listened farther'n the preamble; but now he couldn't have
been more interested if this was a case of Romeo Astor and Juliet
Dupeyster.
"Shorty," says he, "can't we do something to help Mr. Cobb find this
young lady?"
"Do you mean it," says I, "or are you battin' up a josh?"
He means it, all right. He spiels off a lot of gush about the joy of
unitin' two lovin' hearts that has got strayed; so I asks Wilbur if he
can furnish any description of Zylphina. Sure, he can. He digs up a
leather wallet from his inside pocket and hands out a tintype of Miss
Beck, one of these portraits framed in pale pink paper, taken by a
wagon artist that had wandered out to the junction.
Judgin' by the picture, Zylphina must have been a sure enough
prairie-rose. She's wearin' her hair loose over her shoulders, and a
genuine Shy Ann hat, one of those ten-inch brims with the front pinned
back. The pug nose and the big mouth wa'n't just after the Venus
model; but it's likely she looked good to Wilbur. I takes one squint
and hands it back.
"Nix, never!" says I. "I've seen lots of fairies on 42d-st., but none
like that. Put it back over your heart, Wilbur, and try an ad. in the
lost column."
But Pinckney ain't willin' to give up so easy. He says how Mr. Cobb
has come more'n a thousand miles on this tender mission, and it's up to
us to do our best towards helping him along. I couldn't see just where
we was let into this affair of Wilbur's; but as Pinckney's so set on
it, I begins battin' my head for a way of takin' up the trail.
And it's wonderful what sleuth work you can do just by usin' the 'phone
liberal. First I calls up the agent of the buildin', and finds that
the meal fact'ry has moved over to Eighth-ave. Then I gets that number
and brings Zylphina's old boss to the wire. Sure, he remembers Miss
Beck. No, she ain't with him now. He thinks she took a course in
manicurin', and one of the girls says she heard of her doin' the hand
holdin' act in an apartment hotel on West 35th-st. After three tries
we has Zylphina herself on the 'phone.
"Guess who's here," says I.
"That you, Roland?" says she.
"Aw, pickles!" says I. "Set the calendar back a year or so, and then
come again. Ever hear of Wilbur, from Hoxie, Kan.?"
Whether it was a squeal or a snicker, I couldn't make out; but she was
on. As I couldn't drag Wilbur up to the receiver, I has to carry
through the talk myself, and I makes a date for him to meet her in
front of the hotel at six-thirty that evenin', when the day shift of
nail polishers goes off duty.
"Does that suit, Wilbur?" says I.
Does it? You never saw so much pure joy spread over a single
countenance as what he flashes up. He gives me a grip I can feel yet,
and the grin that opens his face was one of these reg'lar ear
connectors. Pinckney was tickled too, and it's all I can do to get him
off one side where I can whisper confidential.
"Maybe it ain't struck you yet," says I, "that Zylphina's likely to
have changed some in her ideas as to what a honey boy looks like. Now
Wilbur's all right in his way; but ain't he a little rugged to spring
on a lady manicure that hasn't seen him for some time?"
And when Pinckney comes to take a close view, he agrees that Mr. Cobb
is a trifle fuzzy. "But we can spruce him up," says Pinckney. "There
are four hours to do it in."
"Four weeks would be better," says I; "it's considerable of a contract."
That don't bother Pinckney any. He's got nothing else on hand for the
afternoon, and he can't plan any better sport than improvin' Wilbur's
looks so Zylphina's first impression'll be a good one.
He begins by making Wilbur peel the cinnamon brown costume, drapin' him
in a couple of bath robes, while Swifty takes the suit out to one of
these pants-pressed-while you wait places. When it comes back with
creases in the legs, he hustles Wilbur into a cab and starts for a
barber shop.
Say, I don't suppose Cobb'll ever know it; but if he'd been huntin' for
expert help along that line, he couldn't have tumbled into better hands
than he did when Pinckney gets interested in his case. When they
floats in again, along about six o'clock, I hardly knows Wilbur for the
same party. He's wearin' a long black ulster that covers up most of
the plaid nightmare; he's shook the woolly lid for a fall block derby,
he's had his face scraped and powdered, and his neck ringlets trimmed
up; and he even sports a pair of yellow kids and a silver headed stick.
"Gosh!" says I. "Looks like you'd run him through a finishing machine.
Why, he'll have Zylphina after him with a net."
"Yes," says Pinckney. "I fancy he'll do now."
As for Wilbur, he only looks good natured and happy. Course, Pinckney
wants to go along with him, to see that it all turns out right; and he
counts me in too, so off we starts. I was a little curious to get a
glimpse of Zylphina myself, and watch how stunned she'd be. For we has
it all framed up how she'll act. Havin' seen the tintype, I can't get
it out of my head that she's still wearin' her hair loose and looking
like M'liss in the first act.
"Hope she'll be on time," says I, as we turns the corner.
There was more or less folks goin' and comin' from the ladies'
entrance; but no girl like the one we was lookin' for. So we fetches
up in a bunch opposite the door and prepares to wait. We hadn't stood
there a minute, before there comes a squeal from behind, and some one
says:
"Why, Wilbur Cobb! Is that you?"
And what do you guess shows up? There at the curb is a big, open
tourin' car,--one of the opulent, shiny kind,--with a slick looking
shuffer in front, and, standin' up in the tonneau, a tart little lady
wearin' Broadway clothes that was right up to the minute, hair done
into breakfast rolls behind, and a long pink veil streamin' down her
back. Only by the pug nose and the mouth could I guess that it might
be Zylphina. And it was.
There wa'n't any gettin' away from the fact that she was a little
jarred at seein' Wilbur lookin' so cute; but that was nothin' to the
jolt she handed us. Mr. Cobb, he just opens his mouth and gazes at her
like she was some sort of an exhibit. And Pinckney, who'd been
expectin' something in a dollar-thirty-nine shirtwaist and a sagged
skirt, is down and out. It didn't take me more'n a minute to see that
if Zylphina has got to the stage where she wears pony jackets and rides
in expensive bubbles, our little pie counter romance is headed for the
ash can.
"Stung in both eyes!" says I under my breath, and falls back.
"Well, well!" says Zylphina, holdin' out three fingers. "When did you
hit Broadway, Wilbur?"
It was all up to Cobb then. He drifts up to the tonneau and gathers in
the fingers dazed like, as if he was walkin' in his sleep; but he gets
out somethin' about bein' mighty glad to see her again.
Zylphina sizes him up kind of curious, and smiles. "You must let me
introduce you to my friend," says she. "Roland, this is Mr. Cobb, from
Kansas."
Mr. Shuffer grins too, as he swaps grips with Wilbur. It was a great
joke.
"He's awfully nice to me, Roland is," says Zylphina, with a giggle.
"And ain't this a swell car, though? Roland takes me to my boardin'
house in it 'most every night. But how are the corn and hogs doin',
Wilbur?"
Say, there was a topic Wilbur was up on. He throws her a grateful grin
and proceeds to unlimber his conversation works. He tells Zylphina how
many acres he put into corn last spring, how much it shucked to the
acre, and how many head of hogs he has just sent to the ham and lard
lab'ratory. That brand of talk sounds kind of foolish there under the
arc lights; but Zylphina pricks up her ears.
"Ten carloads of hogs!" says she. "Is that a kid, or are you just
havin' a dream?"
"I cal'late it'll be twenty next fall," says he, fishin' for somethin'
in his pocket. "Here's the packing house receipts for the ten, anyway."
"Let's see," says she, and by the way she skins her eye over them
documents you could tell that Zylphina'd seen the like before. Also
she was somethin' of a ready reckoner.
"Oh, Wilbur!" says she, makin' a flyin' leap and landin' with her arms
around his neck. "I'm yours, Wilbur, I'm yours!"
And Wilbur, he gathers her in.
"Roland," says I, steppin' up to the shuffer, "you can crank up.
Hoxie's won out in the tenth."
XIX
AT HOME WITH THE DILLONS
I was expectin' to put in a couple of days doin' the sad and lonely,
Sadie havin' made a date to run out to Rocky wold for the week end; but
Friday night when I'm let off at the seventh floor of the
Perzazzer--and say, no matter how many flights up home is, there's no
place like it--who should I see but Sadie, just takin' off her hat.
Across by the window is one of the chamber maids, leanin' up against
the casing and snifflin' into the expensive draperies.
"Well, well!" says I. "Is this a rehearsal for a Hank Ibsen sprinkler
scene, or is it a case of missin' jewels?"
"It's nothing of the sort, Shorty," says Sadie, giving me the shut-off
signal. Then she turns to the girl with a "There, there, Nora!
Everything will be all right. And I will be around Sunday afternoon.
Run along now, and don't worry." With that she leads Nora out to the
door and sends her away with a shoulder pat.
"Who's been getting friendly with the help now; eh, Sadie?" says I.
"And what's the woe about?"
Course she begins at the wrong end, and throws in a lot of details that
only lumbers up the record; but after she's been talkin' for half an
hour--and Sadie can separate herself from a lot of language in that
time--I gets a good workin' outline of this domestic tragedy that has
left damp spots on our window curtains.
It ain't near so harrowin', though, as you might suspect. Seems that
Nora has the weepin' habit. That's how Sadie come to remember havin'
seen her before. Also it counts for Nora's shiftin' so often. Folks
like Mrs. Purdy Pell and the Twombley-Cranes can't keep a girl around
that's liable to weep into the soup or on the card tray. If it wa'n't
for that, Nora'd been all right; for she's a neat lookin' girl, handy
and willin',--one of these slim, rosy cheeked, black haired, North of
Ireland kind, that can get big wages, when they have the sense, which
ain't often.
Well, she'd changed around until she lands here in the fresh linen
department, workin' reg'lar twelve-hour shifts, one afternoon off a
week, and a four-by-six room up under the copper roof, with all the
chance in the world to weep and no one to pay any attention to her,
until Sadie catches her at it. Trust Sadie!
When she finds Nora leakin' her troubles out over an armful of clean
towels, she drags her in here and asks for the awful facts. Then comes
the fam'ly history of the Dillons, beginnin' on the old rent at
Ballyshannon and endin' in a five-room flat on Double Fifth-ave. When
she comes to mentionin' Larry Dillon, I pricks up my ears.
"What! Not the old flannel mouth that's chopped tickets at the 33d-st.
station ever since the L was built?" says I.
"He's been discharged," says Sadie. "Did you know him?"
Did I know Larry? Could anyone live in this burg as long as I have,
without gettin' acquainted with that Old Country face, or learnin' by
heart his "Ha-a-a-ar-lem thr-r-rain! Ha-a-a-ar-lem!"? There's other
old timers that has the brogue, but never a one could touch Larry. A
purple faced, grumpy old pirate, with a disposition as cheerful as a
man waitin' his turn at the dentist's, and a heart as big as a ham, he
couldn't speak a civil word if he tried; but he was always ready to
hand over half his lunch to any whimperin' newsy that came along, and
he's lent out more nickels that he'll ever see again.
But about the other Dillons, I got my first news from Sadie. There was
four of 'em, besides Nora. One was Tom, who had a fine steady job,
drivin' a coal cart for the Consolidated. A credit to the family, Tom
was; havin' a wife and six kids of his own, besides votin' the straight
Tammany ticket since he was nineteen. Next there was Maggie, whose man
was on the stage,--shiftin' scenery. Then there was Kate, the lady
sales person, who lived with the old folks. And last there was
Aloysius, the stray; and wherever he was, Heaven help him! for he was
no use whatever.
"I take it that 'Loyshy's the brunette Southdown of the Dillon flock,"
says I. "What particular brand of cussedness does he make a specialty
of?"
Sadie says that Nora hadn't gone much into particulars, except that
when last heard of he'd joined the Salvationists, which had left old
Larry frothin' at the mouth. He'd threatened to break Aloysius into
two pieces on sight, and he'd put the ban on speakin' his name around
the house.
"Followin' the tambourine!" says I. "That's a queer stunt for a
Dillon. The weeps was for him, then?"
They wa'n't. 'Loyshy's disappearin' act had been done two or three
years back. The tears was all on account of the fortieth weddin'
anniversary of the Dillons, fallin' as it did just a week after Larry
had the spell of rheumatism which got him laid off for good. It's a
nice little way the Inter-Met. people has of rewardin' the old vets.
An inspector finds Larry, with his hand tied to the chopper handle,
takes a look at his cramped up fingers, puts down his number, and next
payday he gets the sack.
"So you've found another candidate for your private pension list, have
you, Sadie?" says I.
But that's another wrong guess. The Dillons ain't takin' charity, not
from anyone. It's the Dillon sisters to the rescue. They rustles
around until they find Larry a job as night watch, in where it's warm.
Then they all chips in for the new Tenth-ave. flat. Maggie brings her
man and the two kids, the lady Kate sends around her trunks with the
furniture, and Nora promises to give up half of her twenty to keep
things going.
And then the Bradys, who lives opposite, has to spring their blow out.
They'd been married forty years too; but just because one of their boys
was in the Fire Department, and 'Lizzie Brady was workin' in a
Sixth-ave. hair dressin' parlour, they'd no call to flash such a
bluff,--frosted cake from the baker, with the date done in pink candy,
candles burnin' on the mantelpiece, a whole case of St. Louis on the
front fire escape, and the district boss drivin' around in one of
Connely's funeral hacks. Who was the Bradys, that they should have
weddin' celebrations when the Dillons had none?
Kate, the lady sales person, handed out that conundrum. She supplies
the answer too. She allows that what a Brady can make a try at, a
Dillon can do like it ought to be done. So they've no sooner had the
gas and water turned on at the new flat than she draws up plans for a
weddin' anniversary that'll make the Brady performance look like a pan
of beans beside a standing rib roast.
She knows what's what, the lady Kate does. She's been to the real
things, and they calls 'em "at homes" in Harlem. The Dillons will be
at home Sunday the nineteenth, from half after four until eight, and
the Bradys can wag their tongues off, for all she cares. It'll be in
honour of the fortieth wedding anniversary of Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence
Dillon, and all the family connections, and all friends of the same, is
to have a bid.
"Well, that's the limit!" says I. "Did you tell the girl they'd better
be layin' in groceries, instead of givin' an imitation tea?"
"Certainly not!" says Sadie. "Why shouldn't they enjoy themselves in
their own way?"
"Eh?" says I. "Oh, I take it all back. But what was the eye swabbin'
for, then?"
By degrees I gets the enacting clause. The arrangements for the party
was goin' on lovely,--Larry was havin' the buttons sewed onto the long
tailed coat he was married in, the scene shifter had got the loan of
some stage props to decorate the front room, there was to be ice cream
and fancy cakes and ladies' punch. Father Kelley had promised to drop
in, and all was runnin' smooth,--when Mother Dillon breaks loose.
And what do you guess is the matter with her? She wants her 'Loyshy.
If there was to be any fam'ly convention and weddin' celebration, why
couldn't she have her little Aloysius to it? She didn't care a split
spud how he'd behaved, or if him and his father had had words; he was
her youngest b'y, and she thought more of him than all the rest put
together, and she wouldn't have a hand in any doin's that 'Loyshy was
barred from comin' to.
As Nora put it, "When the old lady speaks her mind, you got to listen
or go mad from her." She don't talk of anything else, and when she
ain't talkin' she's cryin' her eyes out. Old Larry swore himself out
of breath, the lady Kate argued, and Maggie had done her best; but
there was nothin' doin'. They'd got to find Aloysius and ask him to
the party, or call it off.
But findin' 'Loyshy wa'n't any cinch. He'd left the Army long ago. He
wa'n't in any of the fifteen-cent lodgin' houses. The police didn't
have any record of him. He didn't figure in the hospital lists. The
nearest anyone came to locatin' him was a handbook man the scene
shifter knew, who said he'd heard of 'Loyshy hangin' around the
Gravesend track summer before last; but there was no use lookin' for
him there at this time of year. It wa'n't until they'd promised to
advertise for Aloysius in the papers that Mother Dillon quit takin' on
and agreed to wear the green silk she'd had made for Nora's chistenin'.
"Yes, and what then?" says I.
"Why," says Sadie, "Nora's afraid that if Aloysius doesn't turn up, her
mother will spoil the party with another crying spell; and she knows if
he does come, her father will throw him out."
"She has a happy way of lookin' at things," says I. "Was it for this
you cut out going to Rockywold?"
"Of course," says Sadie. "I am to pour tea at the Dillons' on Sunday
afternoon. You are to come at five, and bring Pinckney."
"Ah, pickles, Sadie!" says I. "This is----"
"Please, Shorty!" says she. "I've told Nora you would."