HOW GEOFFREY RAVENSLEE MADE A DEAL IN REAL ESTATE
The morning sun blazed down, and Tenth Avenue was full of noise and dust
and heat; children screamed and played and fought together, carts
rumbled past, distant street cars clanged their bells, the sidewalks
were full of the stir and bustle of Saturday; but Ravenslee went his way
heedless of all this, even of the heat, for before his eyes was the
vision of a maid's shy loveliness, and he thrilled anew at the memory of
two warm lips. Thus he strode unheeding through the jostling throng at a
speed very different from his ordinary lounging gait. Very soon he came
to a small drug-store, weather-beaten and grimy of exterior but very
bright within, where everything seemed in a perpetual state of glitter,
from the multitudinous array of bottles and glassware upon the shelves
to the taps and knobs of the soda fountain. Yet nowhere was there
anything quite so bright as the shrewd, twinkling eyes of the little
grey-haired man who greeted Ravenslee with a cheery nod.
"Hot enough?" he enquired.
"Quite!" answered Ravenslee.
"Goin' to be hotter."
"Afraid so."
"Rough on th' kiddies, an' ice goin' up. Which reminds me I sent on the
mixture you ordered for little Hazel Bowker."
"Good," nodded Ravenslee.
"And the pills to Mrs. Sims."
"Good again."
"An' the sleeping-draught for old Martin Finlay."
"Good once more."
"Won't last long, old Martin, I guess. Never been the same since little
Maggie drowned herself, poor child. What d'ye want this morning?"
"First to pay for the medicine," said Ravenslee, laying a five-dollar
bill on the counter, "and then the use of your 'phone."
"Right there," said the chemist, nodding toward a certain shady corner,
where, remote from all intruding bustle, was a telephone booth into
which Ravenslee stepped forthwith and where ensued the following
one-sided conversation:
Ravenslee. "Hello!"
Telephone. "Buzz!"
Ravenslee. "Hello, Central, give me Thirty-three Wall, please."
Telephone. "Ting-a-ling--buzz!"
Ravenslee. "Damn this 'phone--what? No, I said Double-three
Wall."
Telephone. "Buzz! Ting! Zut!"
Ravenslee. "Sounded different, did it? Well, I want--"
Telephone. "Buzz! Zut! Ting!"
Ravenslee. "Thanks. Hello, that Thirty-three Wall? Dana and
Anderson's Office? Good! I want to speak with Mr. Anderson--say Mr.
Ravenslee."
Telephone. "Zing!"
Ravenslee. "Thanks. That you, Anderson?"
Telephone. "Pang!"
Ravenslee. "Thanks--very well! What the devil's wrong with this
instrument of torment--can you hear me?"
Telephone. "Crack!"
Ravenslee. "Good! Yes--that's better! Now listen; I want you to
do some business for me. No, I'm buying, not selling. I'm going into
real estate. What, a bad speculation? Well, anyway, I'm buying tenement
property in Tenth Avenue, known as Mulligan's, I believe. Oh, you've
heard of it, eh? Not in the market? Not for sale? Well, I'll buy it. Oh,
yes, you can--what d' you suppose is his figure? So much? Phew! Oh,
well, double it. No, I'm not mad, Anderson. No, nor drunk--I just happen
to want Mulligan's--and I'll have it. When can you put the deal through?
Oh, nonsense, make him sell at once--get him on the 'phone. Oh, yes, he
will, if you offer enough--Mulligan would sell his mother--at his own
price. You quite understand--at once, mind! All right, good-by. No, I'm
not mad--nor drunk, man; I haven't tasted a cocktail for a month. Eh--go
and get one? I will!"
So saying, Ravenslee hung up the receiver and hastened out of the
stifling heat of the suffocating booth, mopping perspiring brow.
"You look kinder warm!" ventured the chemist.
"I feel it."
"And it's going to be warmer. Try an ice-cream soda--healthy and
invigorating."
"And better than any cocktail on such a day!"
"I guess! Take one?"
"Thank you, yes."
So the bright-eyed chemist mixed the beverage and handed it over the
counter.
"Chin-chin!" he nodded.
"Twice," said Ravenslee, lifting the long glass. "To the Beautiful City
of Perhaps!" and he drank deep.
"Say," said the chemist, staring, "that sounds t' me like a touch of the
sun. Try a bottle of my summer mixture, good for sunstroke, heat-bumps,
colic, spasms, and Hell's Kitchen generally--try a bottle?"
"Thanks," said Ravenslee, "I will." And grimly pocketing the bottled
panacea, he stepped out into the hot and noisy avenue.