Mr. Whigham earnestly pointed out the tremendous expenses attached to
the association, including enormous salaries paid to the special agents
to recompense them for the risks they ran.
"Why did you say you wanted to get to us without loss of time?"
"We are informed that a plot is already hatching against Mr. Norman.
The Reds aim to make a spectacular double play by getting Mr. Gyde's
successor."
Bobo gasped and looked imploringly at Jack.
"And if Mr. Norman pays up the five hundred you'll give the plot away?"
Jack suggested dryly.
"No, sir," was the instant reply. "My instructions are to give you
what information we have in any case. The Eureka is something more
than a sordid money-making concern. It supplies a real service to the
community. For a reference I am instructed to give you the name of Mr.
Walter Delamare, who is well-known to you."
"Hm!" thought Jack. "This scheme is even cleverer than I expected."
Aloud he asked: "What is the information you have?"
"That a man will be waiting this morning to attack Mr. Norman on the
steps of the New York National Bank. Mr. Norman is advised not to
visit Mr. Delamare's office for the time being."
"Good God!" said Bobo.
"What is your pleasure in the matter?" Jack asked Bobo with a
respectful air.
"Oh, pay him! Pay him!" was the agitated reply.
A pleased faraway look appeared in Mr. Whigham's eye. He was evidently
figuring on how he would spend his commission.
"Will you sign a check?" asked Jack.
Jack and Bobo went into the next room, and presently returned with a
check, which was handed to Mr. Whigham. That little gentleman received
it with thanks, and bowing, left with a promise to send "the contracts"
around as soon as they could be made out.
Jack fell into a study.
"What do you make of it all?" Bobo asked helplessly.
"I may be wrong," said Jack slowly, "but my guess is that Whigham has a
nice little wife and baby, and lives in a semi-detached with a neat
back yard in Bayonne. I believe he is a member of the men's bible
class and the Y.M.C.A., and is in every way a decent little citizen
without a suspicion of the real nature of the devilish business he is
engaged in. We'll have to look a long way past him for the principal."
"Devilish business!" repeated Bobo. "Don't--don't you believe what he
said about the Reds being after you--I mean me, and all?"
"Not a word! Though I think the worthy little man believed it himself."
"But all that--about the man waiting on the bank steps?"
"Stage-stuff. Everybody read in the papers that Mr. Delamare was Silas
Gyde's executor. A safe guess that you'd be likely to go to his office
to-day. It was just a stall. As a matter of fact, we weren't going
anyway. Mr. Delamare is coming here."
"Just the same, I wouldn't go--not for all you've offered me!" said
Bobo fervently.
"Sure, that's where the pull of the scheme comes in. Look at it
reasonably. If the anarchists really meant to croak a millionaire for
the good of humanity, as their letter suggested, would they warn him
with a letter? Not on your life! Those letters were simply to pave
the way for Whigham. But the beauty of the scheme, the novelty of it,
lies in the fact that Whigham is not in the secret. They use an
innocent little Sunday-school teacher to collect their tribute!"
"Then you think there's no danger?"
"Oh, danger enough if we had refused to fork out. There was danger in
it for Silas Gyde."
"Well, I'm mighty glad we paid!"
"Sure! Now let me think. This matter will stand a lot of doping out."
They soon began to experience the full effects of newspaper publicity.
A crowd of newspaper reporters, solicitors, cranks, high-toned beggars,
besieged the hotel, and in every delivery arrived a stack of letters a
foot high.
The hotel management designated its most experienced bellboy to wait
upon them exclusively. This youth, Ralph by name, was smart and
good-looking, but he had too knowing an eye. His knowledge of life,
particularly of the seamy side of life, was disconcerting. Jack felt
impelled to warn Bobo to be guarded in Ralph's presence. Jack decided
they would have to forego the luxury of personal servants. The danger
of the betrayal of their secret was too great.
After schooling Bobo for the ordeal, Jack had the reporters up-stairs,
but excluded photographers. Bobo acquitted himself well enough in the
interviews that followed. True he turned to Jack for aid at every
other question, but there was nothing in itself suspicious that the
newly-made millionaire seemed to be of a soft and dependent character.
Jack could see the eyes of the reporters turn on himself enviously.
They seemed to be saying:
"Gee! This guy has fallen into a good thing! He runs the show!"
Mr. Delamare arrived in company with Hugh Brome, Jack's lawyer, and the
reporters were politely ushered out. Bobo was introduced to the
newcomers, and Jack explained the part he was to play. They
stared--then they laughed.
"Is it all right?" asked Jack anxiously. "Do you approve?"
"You're keeping the check signing privilege in your own hands I
assume," said Mr. Delamare.
"Certainly."
"Well, as your banker that's all I'm concerned with. As your friend I
may say I think it's a good scheme. You will have a close, outside
view of a millionaire's life that will be of inestimable service to you
when you have to take up that life."
Jack told him of the call of the Eureka Protective Association's
representative, and mentioned that his, Mr. Delamare's name, had been
offered as a reference.
The banker smote his palm with his fist. "By Gad! it's a fact!" he
said. "I had forgotten all about it. I subscribed three years ago,
after poor Ames Benton's death when we were all scared, and I suppose
the payments have been going on ever since by my orders. At the time I
thought the scheme was on the square, and I have never thought about it
since. But they didn't tax me anything like as much as you. I suppose
their ideas were more modest at the beginning. I must put a stop to my
contributions."
"Wouldn't it be better to wait until I have looked into the thing?"
said Jack.
Delamare shook his head decisively. "I can't stand for anything like
that."
Having obtained the approval of his banker and his lawyer for his
plans, Jack felt encouraged to go ahead. As Delamare and Brome were
leaving Jack said:
"Can either of you put me in touch with a high police official, a man I
can apply to in case of need?"
"I know the third deputy commissioner," said Delamare. "I'll give you
a note to him."
When Jack and Bobo started out on the automobile buying expedition they
left the Madagascar by the front door.
"The back door must be saved for emergencies," said Jack. "We'll have
to get used to running the gauntlet."
However since no photographs had yet been published they were not
generally recognized in the lobby. They only had one encounter. That
was in that well-known cross corridor behind the lobby, where under the
softly shaded lights amidst tropical verdure lovely ladies await their
companions for luncheon and tea. As Bobo and Jack passed through one
of these, a really dazzling creature in an ermine cape jumped up from
her fauteuil.
"Mr. Norman!" she cried, addressing Bobo. "I'm sure I can't be
mistaken!"
Bobo fell back in dismay. Jack looked on with a twinkle. It was not
up to him to rescue his partner. The lady was of that highly-finished
type that defies time--for a long time. She might have been
twenty-eight or thirty-eight. For furs, millinery and hairdressing one
couldn't see much of the woman God made, except a pair of big blue
eyes, the whites slightly discolored from make-up. Her clothes
outstyled style--but all was in good taste. It looked like the real
thing.
"I am Clara Birmingham that was," she went on. "Don't you remember me?"
"I--I can't say I do," stammered Bobo ungallantly.
She laughed charmingly. "Well, it's not surprising, since we were both
children when I used to visit Cartonsville. I recognized you from your
likeness to your mother. You must come to see me. I am Mrs. Anson
Cleaver now. You'll find me in the 'phone book. By the way, I'm
having some people in to-night for music. Can't you come?"
"I'm afraid I--I--Mr. Robinson and I have an engagement."
Mrs. Cleaver turned inquiringly towards Jack.
"Mr. Robinson, my secretary," explained Bobo.
"Bring him with you. I should be charmed!"
With that she sailed away.
As soon as she was out of sight Bobo became very bold and looked at
Jack with a doggish air, as much as to say: "That's the way to handle
them!" But Jack laughed, and he wilted rather.
"Can we go to-night?" he asked meekly.
"Oh, you want to go now."
"It would be sport, wouldn't it?"
"Well, I'll see."
Later he went into a booth and called up Mr. Delamare.
"This is Robinson," he said.
"Robinson?" came the puzzled reply.
"Mr. Norman's secretary."
"Oh, of course!" with a laugh. "What can I do for you?"
"I come to you in every difficulty."
"That's as it should be. What now?"
"Did you ever hear of a lady called Mrs. Anson Cleaver?"
"Surely! Everybody has heard of Mrs. Cleaver. It's easy to see you
don't read the society columns."
"She's the real thing, then."
"Well--not quite. Owing to the publicity she gets, she passes in the
mind of the public as one of our leaders. But they say she has rather
a strangely assorted crowd at her house, and conservative ladies--like
Mrs. Delamare, are a little, what shall I say, leery of her. Nothing
against her reputation you understand, but she's considered a little
too spectacular in her methods."
"She made out to recognize Bobo from his likeness to my mother, and
asked us to a musicale to-night. I thought she was a crook."
"Oh, hardly that! That was only a ladies' lie. Perfectly justifiable
under the circumstances."
"What circumstances?"
"My dear fellow! You forget the éclat of a hundred millions! Think
what a drawing card you--I mean Bobo--will be at her entertainments.
She intends to be the first to exhibit him."
"Then you think it will be all right for us to go?"
"Why not? It will be amusing--and it can't very well do you any harm."
Just the same when Jack hung up the receiver a doubt remained in his
mind. "How did it happen she picked on Bobo with such certainty?" he
wondered. "No photograph has been published."
There followed a delightful orgy of spending during which Jack threw
off all cares. The whole of automobile row from Fiftieth street to
Seventy-second seemed to have been forewarned of their coming, and
their progress was like a triumphal procession. The sleek, exquisite,
expensive cars were put through their paces like willing slaves
awaiting a master. Failing to agree on a type they bought both Jack's
dashing roadster and Bobo's Imperial limousine.
They spent several hours with a millionaire's tailor, Bobo with
ecstatic eyes like a dreamer, choosing suit after suit. Finally they
purchased the best ready-made outfit obtainable for the party that
night.
10
Jack and Bobo dined in the main restaurant of the Madagascar. By this
time they were pretty well known in the hotel, and curious envious
glances followed them wherever they went. It was meat and drink to
Bobo, though he affected to be much annoyed by it.
"What do you suppose they're staring at," he drawled.
"Your fatal beauty," said Jack.
Evening dress had gone to Bobo's head somewhat. The big white shirt
front puffed out alarmingly. Among his new possessions was a fine
watch that he drew out to consult every three minutes or so. He could
not contain his impatience to get to the party.
"Hadn't we better be moving?"
"Good Lord! It isn't eight o'clock. What do you think this is, an M.
E. social?"
"What time are you going, then?"
"About ten, I should say. The later we come, the more effect it will
have."
"How will we put in the time until then?"
"I have another date. I'll take you along with me."
Bobo, when he forgot himself, dropped into his usual Tenderloin slang.
"Gee! I always wanted to go into society. I felt I was fitted for it.
I like everything of the choicest. These common mutts gimme a pain.
I'll show the swell guys a thing or two to-night. They'll have to hand
it to me."
"You'd better cut out the guys and the gimmes," suggested Jack.
"Oh, I've got a line of classy talk all right when I need it. Wasn't I
dresser for Bill Calverly the matinee idol season before last. He used
to show me all his mash notes. How's this?"
Bobo screwed an imaginary monocle into his eye, and was suddenly
prostrated with languor. "--Er--How-de-do, Mrs. Cleaver. So sorry we
were late. But a lawyer fellow turned up just as I was leaving my
hotel, and I couldn't put him off. Business is such a bother, isn't
it?"
"Great!" said Jack dryly, "but tip me a wink before you begin so I can
beat it."
"Oh, you've got to back me up!" said Bobo, suddenly scared and natural.
"For the love of Mike don't leave me stranded on the grand stairway."
Bobo's limousine, the perfection of luxury and elegance, was waiting
for them in front of the hotel. Bobo in silk hat, evening overcoat,
fluffy white scarf, and white kids, with the inevitable yellow stick
crooked over his arm enjoyed a wonderful moment standing on the top
step of the Madagascar waiting for his car to pull up. He flicked the
ash from his cigarette, and the humble pedestrians looked up admiringly.
It is not vouchsafed to many of us so completely to realize our dreams.
Bobo's dream was based on the cigarette advertisements in color on the
back covers of popular magazines. Jack, similarly attired, watched him
with a twinkle from a respectful stand to the rear. In his enjoyment
of the situation he was perfectly content to play a secondary part. It
was lots more fun, he thought, to pull the wires from behind the scenes.
When they got in the car Jack gave the chauffeur an address on East
69th Street.
"What are we going to Yorkville for?" asked Bobo.
"To see an old friend."
"I hate to leave the white lights."
Bobo insisted on keeping the dome light burning. Jack suspected that
the real reason his heart had been set on a limousine was that the wide
windows afforded the populace every facility to see him pass in his
glory.
They drew up before a cheap apartment house, one of a long row in an
untidy street.
"Gee! what a crummy joint!" said Bobo fastidiously.
"It would have seemed plenty good enough yesterday," said Jack coldly.
Jack had no desire to take Bobo up-stairs with him. "You stay here
till I come down," he said. "I may be an hour, but you've got plenty
of cigars. Take a snooze. We'll be up late."
In the vestibule Jack searched among the double row of labels for the
name that made his heart beat faster--Storer. Pressing the bell
button, presently an answering click in the door latch informed him
that the way in was open. He made his way up four flights of narrow
ill-lighted stairs with a dirty carpet. Through the thin doors issued
the sounds of incontinent domestic broils, and every landing offered
the nose a different smell--but all unpleasant. Jack shuddered--not
because he couldn't endure the smells, but at the thought that his dear
and dainty Kate was obliged to dwell among them.
Kate opened the door, a rare vision in that grimy frame. At the sight
of Jack's regalia she quailed a little, but quickly recovered herself.
Jack would have kissed her if she had given him the least opening, but
she did not. She invited him in with an air better than Mrs.
Cleaver's. Once the door closed the squalor was forgotten. It was a
lady's room, however small and poorly furnished.
"How grand we are!" said Kate chaffingly.
Jack explained where he was going later.
"I'll call Mother," said Kate. "She has been anxious to meet you."
"Wait!" said Jack. "You must introduce me as Mr. Robinson."