MAUD'S INTEREST
Meanwhile Evan's association with Simeon Deaves was not without its
humorous side. By the exercise of patience and diplomacy he gradually
learned how to manage the old man like a child, though like a child
there were times when he was perfectly unmanageable. Evan in a way
became quite attached to him simply because he was a responsibility.
Avarice was a kind of disease that afflicted him. Apart from that he
was a harmless, even a likable old fellow. He suffered from acute
attacks, so to speak: these were his unmanageable times. He became sly
and furtive, and sought for pretexts to sneak out of the house without
Evan, or to give him the slip in the street. Evan had to watch sharp
to keep him out of trouble. He had little doubt but that they were
generally followed, but by more experienced trackers than the youth in
grey for he could never be sure of it.
Simeon Deaves had a thousand foibles, some of which Evan found sadly
trying. For instance it was his delight to walk up and down the aisles
of department stores asking to be shown goods, and haggling over the
price without the slightest intention of purchasing anything. The
audible remarks of the salesgirls made Evan's cheeks burn.
When he remonstrated with the old man, the latter would not rest
thereafter until he had given Evan the slip. Under cover of the crowds
he would slip out of a side door, or dart into an elevator just as the
door was closing. After a search Evan would find him perhaps entering
a second-hand shop to trade the decent clothes that Maud made him wear
for something out of stock with a little cash to boot. At other times
Evan would track him by the crowd that gathered to hear his argument
with a shoe-string peddler or a push-cart man. A favourite trick of
his to evade Evan was to suddenly dart behind a moving trolley car.
More than once this almost ended his career on the spot. At other
times he was quite tractable and seemed almost fond of Evan.
Bargaining was his ruling passion. Consequently they haunted such
places as the sidewalk market in Grand street, and the fish market
under the Queensboro Bridge. Notwithstanding his avarice the old man
not seldom bought things for which he had no possible use, simply
because he thought they were cheap. He would bring home a doubtful
fish in a bit of newspaper or a bag of pickled apples which promptly
found their way into the Deaves' garbage cans.
His pet aversion was beggars. Woe to the beggar who tackled Simeon
Deaves unwittingly. He would receive a lecture on Thrift on the spot.
This likewise furnished amusement to the street crowds.
Evan's grand object, of course, was to keep the old man from doing
anything which would give the blackmailers a further hold on him. One
of his narrowest escapes took place under the very roof of the Deaves
house. The old man was considered safe in his own little junk room in
the basement, and was allowed to potter there unwatched. One rainy
morning while he was supposedly so engaged Evan was enjoying a respite
with a book in the little office adjoining the library, when through
the open door into the hall he saw one of the maids whisper to another,
then both tittered and scampered down stairs. Evan always on the alert
for mischief, quietly followed.
He found most of the servants of that disorderly establishment gathered
in a basement passage with heads bent, listening to sounds that issued
through the door of Simeon Deaves' room. Among them was Hilton the
butler, an oily, obese rascal whom Evan thoroughly distrusted. All
vanished the other way down the passage at Evan's approach.
Evan knocked peremptorily, and the door being opened, he saw that the
multi-millionaire was closeted with a typical specimen of old clo' man,
bearded, dirty and cringing. It was their dispute over sundry articles
in Simeon Deaves' weird collection that had drawn the giggling
servants. It appeared that the old man was the seller. Evan bounced
the old clo' man in spite of his protests.
"I come by appoindmend, mister. I come by appoindmend!"
"All right" said Evan. "Call it a disappoindmend, and get!"
The old man was indignant too. "A very honest man," he protested. "He
was willing to pay me twenty-five cents for my alarm clock. I could
have got him up to thirty. It isn't worth more than fifteen!"
"You can be sure then that he was taking a chance of picking up
something for nothing," said Evan. "When will you learn sense! All
the servants listening and giggling in the passage. Nice story the
alarm clock would make in the papers!"
But it was impossible to make the old man realize his own absurdity.
"Well, you needn't bite my head off," he said pettishly. "Come on,
let's go out. A little rain won't hurt us."
From which it will be seen that their relative positions had undergone
a considerable change since the beginning. Evan had become the mentor
and guide.
In the past the demands for money had come pretty regularly about once
a fortnight, Evan learned. As the end of the two weeks drew near a
certain apprehension was evident in the house. George Deaves was
wretchedly anxious, Evan somewhat less so, while the old man went his
ways undisturbed.
And then the letter came. One morning on his arrival Evan was directed
to the library where he found George Deaves in a state of prostration.
He waved a letter at Evan in a kind of weak indignation. Evan took it
and read:
"Dear Mr. Deaves:
Another story has been written to add to the blithe biography of your
parent. It is the most humorous chapter so far. We do not enclose it,
as we desire to stimulate your curiosity. You can read it in the
_Clarion_ to-morrow evening--unless you wish to reserve that pleasure
exclusively to yourself. In that case you may send a picture to the
rummage sale of the Red Cross at -- Fifth avenue. Mrs. Follett Drayton
is in charge. Send any framed picture and between the picture and the
backing insert five of Uncle Sam's promissory notes of the usual
denomination. Put your name on the picture for purposes of
identification.
Yours as ever,
THE IKUNAHKATSI."
"This is the return I get for the money I have paid you!" said George
Deaves reproachfully.
"It's a bluff!" said Evan.
"Can you assure me of that?"
"I can't swear to it of course. Mr. Deaves gives me the slip once in a
while. And there was one day I was not with him. But he says he
didn't go out that day. I'm sure it's a bluff. If they had a new
story on him they'd send it fast enough."
"Maybe they're going to print the last one."
"Maybe. But in that case why not say so? They have shown a queer
sense of honour heretofore in suggesting that when you paid for a story
that was done with. Have you got the envelope this came in?"
George Deaves handed it over. It was of medium size and made of cheap
"Irish linen" paper. The post-mark was Hamilton Grange. A small
peculiarity that Evan marked was that though it had been sent from a
New York post-office the words "New York City" were written in full.
"What do you think about this Mrs. Drayton?" asked Deaves.
"A woman above suspicion. They're using her as they used Hassell.
Easy enough to plant somebody in the Red Cross shop to watch the
packages received. Someone to buy the picture you send."
"You advise me to ignore this then?"
"No, if it was me I'd call their bluff. Have a better moral effect.
Get an old picture from somewhere and stick a piece of paper in the
back. The fellow who wrote this letter fancies himself as a humorist.
Answer him in kind. Write on the paper: 'Show me first your wares.'"
"What does that mean?" asked George Deaves innocently.
"A quotation from Simple Simon," answered Evan grinning.
The other man hung in a painful state of indecision, biting his nails.
At last he said breathlessly with a tremendous effort of resolution:
"Very well, I'll do it."
But the gang proved to have another shot in its locker. Next morning
Evan was sent for again to the library where he found a family conclave
in session. The gorgeous Maud in purple velvet and pearls ("How does
she get the money out of them?" thought Evan) was detonating like a
thunderstorm in the hills. George Deaves sat crushed at his desk, and
the old man sputtered and snarled when he could get a word in. Maud
(it was impossible for Evan to think of her by a more respectful name)
promptly turned to discharge her lightnings at Evan's head.
"What are you good for?" she demanded. "Aren't you paid a good salary
to keep my husband's father from disgracing us all? Why don't you do
it then? Why don't you do it?"
Evan bit his lip to keep from smiling in her face. To an outsider
these family rows smacked of burlesque. One could always depend on the
actors to play their regular parts.
"If you would please explain," said Evan mildly.
"Read that!" She thrust a letter at him.
Evan read:
"Mrs. George Deaves:
Dear Madam:
Your husband has declined to purchase the latest anecdote of Mr. Simeon
Deaves, and has bidden us to let the general public enjoy the laugh.
This we will very gladly do, but knowing you to be a lady of sensitive
nature, it seemed too bad not to give you a chance to act in the matter
first. The story will be published in the _Clarion_ this evening
unless we hear from you or from Mr. Deaves. In case you wish to stop
it please see our letter of yesterday for instructions how to reach us
and what to send.
In the meantime pray accept, dear Madam, the assurances of our
distinguished consideration, and believe us,
Yours most respectfully,
THE IKUNAHKATSI."
"Why wasn't it sent?" she cried.
"Mr. Deaves decided that they were bluffing this time," said Evan.
"You advised me!" said Deaves.
"Certainly" said Evan. "That's all I can do. The decision rests with
you."
"Why wasn't I consulted?" cried Maud.
And so the storm raged up and down. Evan devoutly wished himself some
place else.
"Knowing your father's propensity for disgracing us I don't believe
it's a bluff!" cried Maud.
"Disgracing you!" retorted the old man. "Whose money paid for those
gew-gaws?"
"Must I stand here to be insulted in the presence of my husband!"
"Papa, be quiet!"
"Disgracing you? Where would you all be, but for this disgraceful old
man I'd like to know!"
But neither of the men was any match for Maud. Within a quarter of an
hour she had driven the old man from the room and reduced her husband
to a palpitating jelly.
In the end the latter said hopelessly: "Very well, I'll send the money."
Maud swept triumphantly out of the room. Evan looked after her with a
new eye. During the last few minutes an extraordinary suspicion had
come into his mind, an incredible suspicion, but it would not down.
The wretched George Deaves played with the objects on his desk. "All
very well to say I'll send it," he muttered. "But where am I going to
get it? Useless to ask Papa."
Evan was silent. There was nothing for him to say.
George Deaves looked at him aggrievedly. "You think I'm wrong to send
it."
"I should think it would be hard enough to send it when they had
something on you, let alone when they were only bluffing."
"It is hard," whimpered the other. "I think it's a bluff myself. But
suppose it isn't and the story is printed. What would I say to Maud?
How could I face her?"
"It's for you to decide," said Evan.
George Deaves rapped on his desk, bit his fingers, looked out of the
window, got up and sat down again. Finally he said tremulously: "Very
well, I'll take a chance."
With what anxiety they awaited the appearance of the _Clarion_ may be
guessed. Simeon Deaves and Evan started out immediately after lunch to
get a copy. The old man wanted to go direct to the publishing office
to get it damp from the press, but Evan persuaded him it would never do
to betray so much anxiety in the matter. The _Clarion_ office might be
watched. Indeed it was not unlikely the gang had an agent there.
They found that none of the newsstands in the vicinity of the plaza
carried the _Clarion_: "a socialistic rag" it was called in that
neighbourhood. They had to walk all the way to Third avenue to find a
dealer who would confess to handling it. It would be up at four he
said, so that they had an hour to kill, which old Simeon spent very
happily in the fish-market.
For the last fifteen minutes they hung around outside the newsstand
while the proprietor watched them suspiciously from inside his window.
When the newswagon drove up Simeon Deaves snatched a _Clarion_ from the
top of the pile. The newsdealer held out his hand for the two cents,
but it was ignored.
Evan got a copy for himself. Skimming over the headlines he failed to
find the name of Deaves and breathed more freely. A more careful
search column by column revealed not so much as a stick of type devoted
to Simeon Deaves. Evan and his employer looked at each other and
grinned.
The newsdealer demanded his two cents.
"Shan't need the paper now," said Simeon, calmly putting it down.
Evan averted an explosion by hastily paying for both copies.
On the way home the old man was in such an extraordinary good humour
that he actually bought Evan a five-cent cigar. Evan keeps it to this
day as a curiosity.
At home they found an ashy and shaken George Deaves waiting for them in
the library.
"It's all right!" said Evan.
A look of beatific relief overspread the other's face. He immediately
began to swell. "That is most gratifying! most gratifying!" he said
pompously. "I am really under obligations to you, Weir. We both are,
aren't we, Papa?"
"Sure, Evan's a good boy. I always said so. I bought him a cigar."
"Tcha! A cigar! I should really like to do something for you, Weir."
"You can raise my salary if you want," said Evan slyly.
A comical transformation took place in both faces. "What! Raise your
salary! Again! Impossible!" both cried.
Evan laughed. "Well, you proposed doing something for me."
Someone else in that house had bought a copy of the _Clarion_. Mrs.
George Deaves entered in what was for her a high good humour with a
copy of the sheet under her arm.
"Well, I see you sent the money," she said.
George Deaves looked self-conscious. He greatly desired to lie, but
lacked the effrontery to do so before the other men. His father saved
him the trouble of doing so. Eager to get back at Maud he said:
"No, he didn't!"
Mrs. Deaves' face fell. The black eyes began to snap. Another storm
portended. "You promised me----" she began.
"But you see we were right," interrupted her husband. "It was a bluff.
There's nothing in the paper."
"You don't know it's a bluff!" she cried. "Perhaps they were too late
for the paper. It will be in to-morrow. You have got to send the
money at once as you promised!"
But George Deaves' momentary relief had put a little backbone into him.
"I still think it a bluff!" he said doggedly. "I'm willing to take a
chance."
The storm broke. "Oh, you're willing, are you? How about me? How
about me? Here you sit all day. What do you know about how people
talk? I have to go about. I have to see people smile when they think
I'm not looking and whisper behind their hands. Do you think I don't
know what they're saying? Oh, I know! 'That's Mrs. George Deaves, my
dear. Wife of the son of the notorious miser. You've heard how he
squabbles in the street with newsboys and fruit vendors over pennies!'
Well, I've had enough of it! Enough, I say! I won't stand it!"
In the full course of her tirade she happened to look at Evan. Evan's
suspicion had become almost a certainty. His eyes were bent steadily
upon her. He was not smiling, but there was an ironical lift to the
corners of his mouth.
She pulled herself up. "Well, if there's anything published to-morrow
you know what to expect," she said, and swept out of the room.
Evan glanced at father and son. Nothing showed in their faces but
simple relief at her going. Evan marvelled at their blindness. He had
yet to learn that habitually suspicious people never see what goes on
under their noses.
Evan had plenty of food for thought. An extraordinary situation was
suggested; one in which it behooved him to move with exceeding caution.
For the moment his best plan appeared to be to continue to keep the old
man out of trouble, while he watched and waited and found proof of what
he was already morally sure.