ONE OF THE OLD SORT
Pendleton looked at his friend in bewilderment.
"You don't mean to say that the philosopher of the Coffin Club and
this Tobin of young Morris's are the same," cried he.
"I only _think_ they are," said Ashton-Kirk quietly. "But we can make
sure by paying a short visit to the apartment house."
"Now?"
"There is no time like the present."
And so the end of a half hour found them stepping out of a cab at the
extreme west end of the city. It was only a little after nine o'clock,
but the streets were almost deserted; the arc-lamps clicked and hissed
lonesomely; rows of darkened windows and shadowy doorways ran away on
both sides.
"There is the place we want," said the investigator, pointing at an
illuminated sign which hung out over the sidewalk some little distance
away.
When they reached the place, they found it was rather a large building
of the modern type; pushing open the swinging doors and making their
way through a brilliantly lighted passage, they found themselves in
an equally brilliant office.
Here they saw a dozen or more men seated in tilted chairs; all wore
their hats and for the most part smoked cigars. Behind a polished
counter on which rested a nickeled cash register and a huge book,
stood a white-haired man with a smooth Irish face and a pair of gold
eyeglasses hanging by a black cord. The air was heavy with
disputation; long-tailed words boomed sonorously; red-faced and
earnest, one of the occupants of the chairs assailed the man behind
the counter; with soft, sweeping, eloquent gestures the latter
defended himself.
"And what," demanded he, placing his hands upon the shining top of the
counter and shoving his head forward inquiringly, "is all this that we
do be hearing about your suffragette? Who is she? What is she? The
newspapers are filled to the top with her, but sorra the sight of her
did I ever see. If she has any existence outside of the comic
supplement, gentlemen, I'd like to have ye show me where. Did ye ever
hear a whisper of her till she began to send herself by registered
mail and chain herself to lamp posts? Niver the one of ye! Is your
wife a suffragette? She's not. Is your mother? No. Your sister? Again
it's no. Then who is it that composes the great army of female ballot
seekers? Is it the cook? The chambermaid? The woman that does the
plain sewing? I'll wager 'tis not. They have too much to do already;
it's not looking for additional burdens they are. Then where does this
advanced woman flourish and have her being?" Here one hand went up and
descended with a slap. "In the mansions of the rich," he declaimed
positively; "in the lap of luxury. Among the feminine descendants of
successful gum shoe men!"
Here the man with the flushed face attempted to speak; but an eloquent
sweep of both hands silenced him.
"They have nothing to do," stated the orator, "but to invent ways of
pleasing themselves. Monkey dinner parties, diamonds, automobiles and
boxes on the grand tier have no more attraction; private yachts and
other women's husbands have grown _passé_. They want a new toy, and
faith, nothing will please them but the destinies of the nation. Their
reasoning is simple and direct. If a man who wheels scrap iron at a
blast furnace is competent to handle the--"
At this point the speaker was interrupted by Ashton-Kirk advancing to
the counter.
"Pardon me," said the investigator, "but can you tell me where I can
find Mr. Tobin? Is he in?"
A look of great dignity came upon the face of the other; and he drew
himself up stiffly.
"You are speaking to him, sir," replied he.
"I thought so," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "My old friend Dan O'Connor has
mentioned you so often that I felt sure that I recognized the manner."
The dignity vanished from Mr. Tobin's face, and the stiffness of
demeanor fell from him instantly.
"Do you know Dan?" asked he, eagerly. "Ah, there is the lad for you. A
credit to his country and to his name. Faith, he is the best judge of
whiskey in the city, and has a heart as large and as mellow as a
barrel of it."
"If it would not be putting you about in any way, we'd like a few
moments in private with you."
At once Mr. Tobin touched a button. A young man presented himself, and
to him the conducting of the house was transferred for the time being.
Then the two friends were led into a small sitting-room, where chairs
were placed for them, and Mr. Tobin seated himself opposite them with
some expectation.
"Since I became manager here," explained he, "I seldom hear of any of
the old lads. Ye see, it's so far from the center of the city,"
regretfully, "they seldom get along this way, so they do."
"Yes, I suppose they cling to their old haunts," said Ashton-Kirk.
"Dan sticks to his school of boxing these days, pretty closely. I
often drop in for a round or two with him. He's as clever as ever, but
he's slowing up."
Tobin shook his white head sadly.
"Tut, tut, tut," said he. "And do you tell me that! Faith, he's a
young man yet--not much over sixty--and what call have he to be takin'
on the ways and manners of age? Even as late as the last year of the
Coffin Club he was as swift as the light."
"He frequently spoke of that club to me," observed the other. "A queer
place, I understand."
Tobin nodded.
"Queer enough," he answered, "and the members was as queer in some
ways. Nothing would do them, but they must spend their time
underground, sitting at tables shaped like coffins, and drinking their
liquor out of mugs shaped like skulls. I was steward there a long
time, and got good pay; but I never approved of the notion. It always
seemed like divilment to me, did that."
"Some very well known people frequented it, did they not?"
"Many's the time I've seen the governor of the state himself, sitting
there with a mug in his fist. The liquors was of the best, do you
see," with a pleased light in his eyes. "I know that, for it were
meself that selected them. And a good sup of drink is a great
attraction, so it is."
"I don't think that can be successfully denied," admitted the
investigator. "Some very brilliant men have proved it to their
sorrow."
"True for ye," said Tobin. "Don't I know it? We had actors and writers
and editors--the cream of their professions--and every one of them a
devotee, so to speak, of Bacchus. Sure, the finer the intellect, the
greater the sup of drink appeals to them, if it does at all. One of
the greatest frequenters of the club was a man whose inventions," with
a grandiloquent gesture, "revolutionized the industries of the world.
And when he was mellow with it, boys o' boys, but he could discourse!
His name was Morris," added the speaker, "and he was the father of the
young man whose name has been mixed up with this Hume affair which is
so occupying the public mind just now."
"Indeed."
There was a pause: Tobin's mobile face looked back upon the past; his
eyes had an introspective light in them.
"To think," said he, "how the natures of men differ. Some are like the
gods of old, and others again are like--well, like anything you choose
to call them. And yet," with philosophic speculation, "these two
widely diversified types are sometimes friends. To the surprise of
everyone they occasionally take up with one another. It's hard to say
why, but it is so."
"I've noticed it myself," said Ashton-Kirk.
Tobin nodded.
"Never," said he, "did I see it so exemplified as in the case of
Richard Morris and this felly who has just been killed. Never were two
men more unlike; but sorra such an intimacy did I ever see afore, as
there was between them. Morris when he had the drink in him was a
poet. His ideas soared to the starry skies; he flew about upon the
wings of the wind; faith I believe he thought the sun was not beyond
his reach. But Hume was a divil! God save us, that I should say the
like about any human creature; but he had the imp in him, for many's
the time I see it grinning and looking out at his two eyes."
"I've heard it said that he was an unpleasant sort of chap," agreed
the other.
"Unpleasant," said Tobin, "does not do credit to his capabilities,
though 'tis a good word enough. There was never a man came into the
Coffin Club, during the five years that I were there, that looked as
though the place fitted him, but Hume. The others were like bad little
boys who wouldn't take a dare. But Hume was just right. To see him
lift one of the stone skulls to his lips and grin over it at you,
would make your blood run cold. And bless us and save us, gentlemen,
how he would jeer and snarl and laugh all at the one time. Many's the
time I've listened to poor Morris rave and paint his pictures of what
he was going to do in times to come; and on the other side of the
coffin-table, Hume would urge him on, leerin' and grinnin' like Satan
himself, and making all manner of game of him. Bedad, me gorge rose at
it more than once, and it was all I could do to keep from takin' him
by the scruff of the neck and throwin' him intil the street."
"Almost every man has some spark of good in his nature, however
faint," said Ashton-Kirk. "And Hume may have had one, too, though no
one seems to have discovered it."
Tobin smiled and returned:
"An Irishman always has a good deal of respect for the fighting
strain, no matter if it be in a man, or a beast, or a bird. Old Nick
himself must be a grand, two-handed man, and as such we must give him
credit. And 'twas the same way with this felly Hume. He had real
fighting blood, so he had; and sorra the man ever undertook to impose
on him the second time."
"And as a true Celt, you held this to be a credit mark," laughed
Ashton-Kirk.
"I did. And, indeed, he seemed to consider it so himself, though he
was not one to care a snap what others thought of him. But often he'd
boast of the stock he came from. Fighters they were to the core, he
said, fighters who never knew when they were whipped, and who'd go on
fighting while they had a leg to stand on, an eye to see, and an arm
to strike a blow."
Tobin here paused and stroked his smooth-shaven chin, reflectively.
"He claimed descent from someone who was rated a real man in his day,"
he continued. "'Twas an officer, I think, who fought with--faith,
yes," smiling in recollection, "at the side of sorra the one less than
Washington himself."
Pendleton, listening with dwindling interest, saw Ashton-Kirk's hand
clench, and saw a gleam shoot into his eyes. Then he saw him bend
toward Tobin, his elbows on his knees, his clenched hands beneath his
chin.
"Ah," said the investigator, and his voice was calmer than Pendleton
remembered ever hearing it before, "he claimed a pedigree, did he? And
from a Revolutionary officer. Such things are always interesting. It's
a pity you can't remember the soldier's name."
Tobin pondered.
"I can't," confessed he, at length; "but there is one thing that I
remember hearing Hume tell about him; it seemed laughable at the time,
and I suppose that's why it's stuck to me. It seems that the supposed
ancestor were a great felly for dress, and expected the like of all
the men under him; and though he often had niver a crust of bread to
put into their mouths, he always managed to have a pinch of white
powder for them to dress their hair."
Ashton-Kirk laughed suddenly, and leaned back in his chair. The gleam
died out of his eyes, and a twinkle of satisfaction replaced it.
"That," said he, "sounds amusing enough to be true. Mr. Hume's
ancestor was at least consistent. But," and his tone changed, "we must
not keep you from your duties, Mr. Tobin, and so we'll get to the
matter in hand."
"If it is not hurrying you," agreed Tobin.
"A while ago," spoke Ashton-Kirk, "you mentioned young Allan Morris;
and during your conversation you have led me to think that you were
his father's friend."
"I were," said Tobin. "He were a decent man."
"Then perhaps your friendship extends to the son as well."
"Perhaps it does," and a note of perceptible caution crept into
Tobin's voice.
"I am glad to hear it," said the investigator. "He seems badly in need
of friends of the right sort just now; and I am confident, Mr. Tobin,
that you are of that sort."
"A man who has disappeared as completely as this one has done,"
stated Tobin, "is out of the reach of even the best of friends."
"Have you not heard from him since the murder?"
"No," replied the other with a readiness that carried conviction.
"Then you will, and before long." Ashton-Kirk arose and stood looking
into the old man's face. "Perhaps it will be to-night; but it will be
by to-morrow night at latest. And when you do you can best show your
friendship for him by telling him not to be a fool."
"You mean," said Tobin, shrewdly, "that I'm to advise him to give over
hiding?"
"Exactly."
"I'll do that willingly enough, if I hear of him. An innocent man has
no call to hide himself like a rat. But," inquiringly, "after I tell
him that, what will I do?"
Ashton-Kirk took out a card; handing it to the other, he said:
"Ask him to come see me."
Tobin gave the card one glance, then his face lit up and his hand went
out.
"Let me shake your hand, sir," said he. "And I'll tell the lad what
you say with a heart and a half."