ELI JEREY IS CALLED INTO REQUISITION.
It is wonderful how prosperity transcends every other medium in working
a transformation in a poor stick of humanity, who has been chortled,
like a shuttle-lock, through the shifting warp of adversity. It is
refreshing to observe, sometimes, how often men and women of lowly state
can rise, as it were, by their own boot-straps from the great misfortune
of having nothing to the ravishing luck of plentitude. It is, indeed,
very promising to know that favoring chance does not fall altogether
upon the many who are born with silver spoons in their mouths.
It may not have been by his own boot-straps, unaided, that Eli Jerey
rose to his plenary rank, or to his financial exhaltation. It may not
have been luck alone, or chance, or extended aid, that hoisted him to
the skies in the estimation of Peter Dieman; neither could it have been
native ability, for his qualifications were of the superficial kind, to
the casual observer.
However, whatever the cause might have been, it is one of the
certainties of the things that be, that Eli was now in high favor with
his former master, and was prospering like a well-conditioned house cat.
For Peter was certainly expiating himself for all the cuffs and rebuffs
that he had heaped upon that poor lad's head during the period of his
vengefulness. Eli was now made plenipotentiary extraordinary of the
former junkman, with full rank of major-domo of his private affairs,
insofar as they appertained, incidentally, to the junk shop, and the
purveying of news of the System between the main totem himself and his
sub-lunary lights.
And this elevation of Eli remodeled him as a being. Instead of the
stoop-shouldered, thin-faced, frowsy-headed, dirty, unwashed, ill-clad,
uncared-for individual that a scanty stipend produces, we now see an
erect, sharp-featured, cleanly-shaved, neatly-clad, bright-eyed young
man. Although not handsome, his face called for an adulatory
responsiveness on the part of those who came in contact with him.
Instead of having his hands continually soiled by the labors that he
performed in sorting junk and displaying it to customers, it was not
uncommon to see him going about the shop gloved in brown kid. Instead of
a dark-brown lay-down-collar shirt that always gave him the appearance
of a water front workman, he wore boiled linen, decorated with a
sparkling stud and flashy necktie. Instead of a greasy coat that hung
loosely over his shoulders, he wore a neat business suit. Instead of the
sweat-marked slouch hat, that used to loll on one side of his head, he
wore a derby. Instead of a chain made of leather, to which was attached
a brass watch, he carried a gold ticker fastened to his vest by a
delicately-linked chain. Instead of the black, filthy office, in which
his master sat for years, and in which he sat for a time after his
advancement, he could now be found in a bright, clean place, papered and
tinsled and decorated, with a new desk to write at, and a
leather-cushioned chair to recline in. Thus he appeared in his new role,
when the phone rang one day, as it often did, but now with a different
purport than ever before.
"Hello!" responded Eli, taking down the receiver and adjusting it to his
ear.
"Yes; this is Mr. Jerey."
"Eli Jerey; yes."
"Yes; Mr. Dieman's office."
"Very busy day; but we're always open for new business."
"A private interview!"
"Can't you come to my office?--I never go out--except ordered by Mr.
Dieman."
"Can I come without him knowing it?"
"That depends on the business."
"Well; who wants me?"
"Can't set a time or date till I know."
"What! Mr. Jarney's residence!" ("Well, did you ever!" on the side).
"Miss Jarney!"
"Who's this talking?"
"Star Barton!" ("Well, did you ever!" on the side.)
"Where are you?" now more interested.
"At Mr. Jarney's?" ("Well, what now?" on the side.)
"What time?" ("Bless me!" on the side.)
"Yes; 7 p. m. will do." ("Ha, me!" on the side.)
"I will be there." ("On the dot!" on the side.)
Eli hung up the receiver, stood a moment tickling his right ear with his
right forefinger, a habit of his. He was in a confused and perplexed
state of mental consternation. Miss Barton! Miss Barton! Peter Dieman's
step-daughter! went through his head in a rollicking way. "Hah! Miss
Barton! I've heard of her; and Miss Jarney--rich--young--poorty--and
wants an interview with me! Humph!" he mused, after sitting down. "Well,
I must make myself presentable and go henceforth to meet them in all my
dignity; yes, meet my superiors now in all my dignity--hah!"
In due time Eli repaired to his room in the Monongahela House, a very
ancient and a very honorable institution of its kind, no other being now
suitable to Eli's enlarged notions of refinement. He clothed himself in
his best bib and tucker, swatted down his hair so flat that it looked as
if it had been laid by a weaver's hand to his swelling head, and
powdered his sallow face till it was resplendent with the polish of good
looks.
Now, when all was completed he stood before the mirror, like a
coquettish maid primping to make a hit, and there saw reflected back a
very well appearing young gentleman. He saw all that the art of
massaging and ointing and cologning and talcuming and starching and
tailoring could mould out of the material at hand. He saw reflected back
a youth five feet ten, with hollow eyes, peaked face, broad high
forehead, condensed lips, and good teeth, long fingers, all supported by
a suit of black, full dress style, with low white vest and
patent-leather shoes. He saw also a diamond in his shirt front, white
necktie banding a high collar, dark gray gloves, gold-headed cane, and
high silk hat.
Before withdrawing from the allurements of the mirror, Eli touched his
fingers to his lips, stroked his sandy eyebrows, turned around a time or
two, with admiring glances over his shoulder, as he raised or lowered
his brows, or opened his mouth to show his teeth to himself; adjusted
the plug correctly on his head, drew on his gloves, took his cane in
one hand, and receded from his reflected self, with many glancing and
furtive farewells at the glass; closing the door at last, regretful that
he had so soon to part company with such an admirable picture of budding
manhood.
Settling himself inside a glass enclosed auto, he was whizzed through
the appalling roar and grime of the city, like the formal gentleman that
he was, sitting among the soft and heaving cushions, and looking to the
passers-by, in his flight, like the silhouette of a grand bourgeois in
contradistinction to the votaries of swelldom. In his present state of
perverted obsequiousness, Eli was intensely vain, usually; but now,
while in the gentlemanly act of calling upon a lady, so rich that he
could not count all her money did he live a thousand years, and at her
own request, for an interview, he was ludicrously haughty, and
hopelessly ignorant of the rules of deportment surrounding the secluded
haunts of the refined and the mighty ones of power and place. Any
failings that he had, he did not recognize. His limitations were his
blisses. What he did not know, he took as a matter of no consequence. If
he saw a thing, it permeated him with unwarped fascination; if he did
not see it clearly, he was not troubled. Rising to his present state,
was of more importance as to present results, than as to permanency. In
truth, he was a queer combination of meritorious attainments now,
meaning well, and doing his best to be an efficient collaborator of his
famous mentor--Peter Dieman. He was a person of little imagination.
Everything was realistic to him. So, in journeying to the Jarneys on
this auspicious occasion, he imagined very little about how he should
act, or perform, or conduct himself, any more than what would come
naturally to him.
When he presented himself to the two young ladies in the drawing room of
the mansion on the hill, he shocked them by sitting down with his hat on
his head, though they could not help but admire his rich habiliments.
"May I take your hat?" said Edith, approaching him, of course expecting
to receive that piece of fine head covering to deposit it where it
belonged at such a time.
"No, madam, no; it is just as well where it is," he replied, showing his
white teeth through a crooked smile. "I've been used to setting with it
on."
He was so unapproachable that Edith was embarrassed before him. Star had
remembered him as the former disheartening clerk of her step-father. She
had seen him when she had gone to the junk shop with her mother that
time for the redemption of her kitchen utensils, and she had not
forgotten how cadaverous and impoverished he then looked.
"I presume you remember me?" asked Star, to break the monotonous silence
into which the interview had perforce fallen.
"I don't know that I do," said he, showing his fine teeth again, and
lifting his eyebrows. "So many people came into the store in those days
that I paid little attention to them all."
"Don't you remember the girl who was so poorly clad that was with her
mother the day Mr. Dieman gave back the dishes her father had pawned,
and against which you protested?" asked Star.
"Are you the gal?" he asked, with brightening face.
"I am the gal," returned Star, laughing.
"Well! how time makes changes in this world," he responded, looking her
over carefully, hardly believing that the pretty face of Star's, with
pretty gown to match, could possibly be the same. "It beats all; and you
are the sister of all of Mr. Dieman's children?"
"Mrs. Dieman's children," she corrected.
"Yes, that's it--I know your sister May," he said, with a smile.
"Do you, really?" said Star.
"I call on him often, and see her, sometimes--she's a dandy," he said.
"A fine girl," corrected Edith.
"Yes; mighty fine," he answered, as he crossed his gloved hands over the
head of his cane standing perpendicularly in front of him, and putting
his chin down upon them, as if posing as a rejuvenated old man "by the
wayside on a mossy stone," looking steadily at them both. "And you are
May's sister? Well!"
"I have that honor," replied Star.
"Well! Who would think it? You are so much poortier," he said, quietly
and naturally, without intending to be impertinent.
Star blushed at first; but in a moment became vexed, and looked very
black at him; that is, as black as she could look, for no matter how she
tempered up, not much sign of her resentment was ever evidenced in her
face. Edith was astonished at his rudeness, and glanced at Star for an
explanation of the bold manner of this young man. Eli, in his
transparent innocence, did not feel the effects of their interchange of
glances, and was not disturbed. Anticipating that he might precipitate a
scene by an unfortunate remark, Edith took up the subject that had
caused her to have him present.
"Mr. Jerey," she began, faltering in her speech, "you are Mr. Dieman's
agent, I understand?"
"I am," he replied, loftily.
"Do you know Mr. Monroe?"
"I do."
"Do you know Mr. Morne?"
"I do--he's a scamp."
"Do you know Mr. Yenger?"
"I do--he's another scamp."
"Do you know my father?"
"Not personally."
"Do you know Jacob Cobb?"
"I do--he's a--"
"Do you know Jasper Cobb?"
"I do--he's an--"
"Do you know James Dalls?"
"I do--he's a--"
"Well, now; has Mr. Dieman decided to continue keeping company with
these people?" asked Edith, warming to her subject.
"For what reason do you ask?" he asked, eyeing her closely, so much so
that Edith was discomfitted by his sharp stare.
"It is a matter that concerns me personally, Miss Barton here, and my
father," she answered.
"That's not very informing," he replied.
"Do you know Mr. John Winthrope, my father's former secretary?" she
asked.
"I never saw him--don't recall that I ever heard of him--yes, believe
so--didn't Mr. Dieman speak to me once about him? (asking himself)--yes,
believe he did. Well, what of him?"
"Do you know whether Mr. Dieman bears ill-will against him yet?"
"Let me see," said Eli, now in a cogitating tone, still with his chin
upon his hands still on top of his cane, but lowering his eyes to the
floor; "he never mentioned him but once, and then in connection
with--let me see--what?--with your father as secretary, sometime
ago--got a phone?" he asked suddenly, now disposed toward being
cautiously communicative.
"Yes; do you wish to use it?" asked Edith.
"I would like to before going farther in this talk. Where is it?"
Edith then led the way to the phone room, Eli following, with his hat
still on his head, to the disgust even of the servants.
"I wish to be private," he said to Edith and Star, seeing they were
inclined to linger near.
"As you wish," they returned, departing and closing the door behind
them.
After finishing his phoning, Eli emerged from the room, and strode
through the dining room and on through to the drawing room, whistling a
ditty, with his plug hat cocked back on his head, swinging his cane
round and round, like one out walking for pleasure. He resumed his seat
as before, with the ladies as his examiners.
"Well?" said Edith.
"He says he has no ill-will against Mr. Winthrope any more; and requests
me to take steps necessary to right any wrong against him. What's your
wish?"
"Before I go farther," said Edith, "may I ask you if it is Mr. Dieman's
purpose to remain the go-between in the graft system, of which Mr. Cobb
is the head?"
"He's making an effort to break from the gang--he's been making the
effort ever since he married; but it's hard to let go," said Eli,
casting an admiring glance at Star.
"Now, then; as to my wish, Mr. Jerey," said Edith, trying to get his
eyes away from Star; "I want you to assist me and my father to break up
the ring; in a quiet manner, if possible; if not quietly, then by law."
"What's your object, mainly?" he asked.
"To get such men as Monroe and his dupes and old Mr. Cobb into the
toils. These men have not been satisfied in working the graft system
for all they are worth, but they have been plotting for months against
me and my father. Can I depend on you?"
"You can. But what has Mr. Winthrope to do with it?"
"That is a part of the plot against my father and me."
"Still I can't see--but never mind, I know the other fellers well, and
will help you."
"First, get Mr. Dalls back from Europe, and--"
"Say, miss," he broke in, "how did you know all this and these men?"
"Dieman communicated the information to Miss Barton, and she to me."
"Ha!" he ejaculated, and then subsided into a quiet turn for a few
moments. "He did, eh?" he proceeded; "then I know he'll approve anything
I agree to here. Understand, I only carry information between Mr. Dieman
and the lower men."
"I understand," said Edith.
"I will get Mr. Dieman to throw them all overboard soon as I can get my
hooks to going," he replied, rising. "Where is Mr. Winthrope?"
"In New York," replied Edith, rising also, and standing awkwardly by
waiting for him to move.
"I don't understand where he comes in?" said Eli, as he placed his cane
between his arms behind his back, and spraddling out his legs, with his
hat cocked back.
"That is another matter," said Edith, attempting to pass it over.
"I am very busy," he said, half-whistling a tune, then drawing his legs
together and whirling round on one foot, he directed his eyes upon Star,
and remarked: "You are so much poortier than your sister May; and this
young lady (turning to Edith) is poortier than all the rest," after
which he smiled broadly, showing his good teeth.
It was rather a delicate moment for the young ladies. It was hard to
reprove him, when they had solicited his aid in their great undertaking.
Star was vexed. Edith was disappointed in him, for she expected that he
would show a little more solicitude for her affairs than he showed in
his actions and answers to her questions. She drew down her dark brows
when he spoke as he did, feeling indignant, and looking at him sharply,
said:
"Mr. Jerey, that is very impolite in you."
"Oh, my! beg your pardon!" he said, with an innocent smile. "I am so
used to talking to my own sisters when I go home that I really forgot
where I was. If you will pardon me, I will go? and not do it any
more--but that's my opinion."
As he concluded his apology he simmered down as to smile, looked serious
after seeing the ladies were provoked, struck the toe of his patents
with his cane, set his hat squarely upon his head, crossed his legs, put
his hands in his pockets, with the cane under his right arm, smiled
again, resumed a correct form of standing, expecting the while to hear
the ladies go on with their scolding. But as they did not say any more,
he turned round, and walked out as straightly as a West Pointer on
parade, opened the door himself, and let himself out. After closing the
door behind him, he stepped to the piazza, and stopped on the edge of
it, gawking around like a country lout.
He was nothing of the kind, being absolutely indifferent as to what
people thought of him, or as to how he acted, so long as he was not
immorally sensitized. He was playing his part in the drama of a great
city's life, and playing it excellently; so what did it matter, if the
sticklers for formality were shocked.
Going down the long walk through the Jarney grounds, with frosted
incandescents throwing fantastic shadows about him, he whistled
something that sounded like a hot time in the old town--sometime soon.