A FEW SQUIRMS BY BAYARD
Say, take it from me, this job of umpirin' a little-deeds-of-kindness
campaign, as conducted by J. Bayard Steele, Esq., ain't any careless
gladsome romp through the daisy fields. It's a real job!
He's the one, you know, that poor old Pyramid Gordon--rest his
soul!--picked out to round up all the hangover grouches he'd strewed
behind him durin' a long and active career, with instructions to soothe
the same with whatever balm seemed best, regardless of expense.
And the hard part of it for Steele is that he has to get my O.K. on all
his schemes before he can collect from the estate. And while I don't
bill myself for any expert on lovin'-kindness, and as a gen'ral thing I
ain't of a suspicious nature, I'm wise enough to apply the acid test and
bore for lead fillin' on anything he hands in. Course maybe I'm too hard
on him, but it strikes me that an ex-pool organizer, who makes a livin'
as capper for a hotel branch of a shady stock-brokin' firm, ain't had
the best kind of trainin' as an angel of mercy.
So when he shows up at my Physical Culture Studio again, the day after
Lawyer Judson has explained for us the fine points of that batty will of
Pyramid's, I'm about as friendly and guileless as a dyspeptic customs
inspector preparin' to go through the trunks of a Fifth avenue
dressmaker. He comes in smilin' and chirky, though, slaps me chummy on
the shoulder, and remarks cordial:
"Well, my trusty coworker in well doing, I have come to report
progress."
"Shoot it, then," says I, settlin' back in my chair.
"You will be surprised," he goes on, "to learn who is first to benefit
by my vicarious philanthropy."
"Your which?" says I.
"Merely another simile for our glorious work," says he. "You couldn't
guess whose name was in that envelope,--Twombley-Crane's!"
"The Long Island plute?" says I. "You don't say! Why, when did Pyramid
ever get the best of him, I wonder?"
"I had almost forgotten the affair myself," says Steele. "It was more
than a dozen years ago, when Twombley-Crane was still actively
interested in the railroad game. He was president of the Q., L. & M.;
made a hobby of it, you know. Used to deliver flowery speeches to the
stockholders, and was fond of boasting that his road had never passed a
dividend. About that time Gordon was organizing the Water Level System.
He needed the Q., L. & M. as a connecting link. But Twombley-Crane would
listen to no scheme of consolidation. Rather an arrogant aristocrat,
Twombley-Crane, as perhaps you know?"
"Yes, he's a bit stiff in the neck," says I.
"He gave Gordon a flat no," goes on Steele. "Had him shown out of his
office, so the story went. And of course Pyramid started gunning for
him. Twombley-Crane had many interests at the time, financial, social,
political. But suddenly his appointment as Ambassador to Germany, which
had seemed so certain, was blocked in the Senate; his plans for getting
control of all the ore-carrying steamer lines on the Lakes were upset by
the appearance of a rival steamship pool; and then came the annual
meeting of the Q., L. & M., at which Gordon presented a dark horse
candidate. You see, for months Pyramid had been buying in loose holdings
and gathering proxies, and on the first ballot he fired Twombley-Crane
out of the Q., L. & M. so abruptly that he never quite knew how it
happened. And you know how Gordon milked the line during the next few
years. It was a bitter pill for Twombley-Crane; for it hurt his pride as
well as his pocketbook. That was why he quit Chicago for New York. Not a
bad move, either; for he bought into Manhattan Transportation at just
the right time. But I imagine he never forgave Gordon."
"Huh!" says I. "So that's why they used to act so standoffish whenever
they'd run across each other here at the studio. Well, well! And what's
your idea of applyin' a poultice to Twombley-Crane's twelve-year-old
sting?"
"Ah-h-h!" says J. Bayard, rubbin' his hands genial, and at the same time
watchin' me narrow to see how I'm goin' to take it. "Rather difficult,
eh? I confess that I was almost stumped at first. Why, he's worth to-day
twice as much as Gordon ever was! So it ought to be something handsome,
hadn't it?"
"That depends," says I. "Have anything special in mind, did you?"
"Oh, yes," says Steele. "Now what do you say to presenting him with a
nice, comfortable steam yacht, all equipped for cruising, with a captain
and----"
"Flag it!" says I. "Twombley-Crane ain't a yachty person, at all. He's a
punk sailor, to begin with. Besides, he's tried ownin' a yacht, and she
almost rusted apart waitin' for him to use her. Nothing like that for
him."
J. Bayard looks mighty disappointed. He'd planned on spendin' a couple
of hundred thousand or so of Pyramid's money at one lick, you see, which
would have been some haul for him, and my turnin' the scheme down so
prompt was a hard blow. He continued to argue the case for ten minutes
before he gives up.
"Well, what is the objection, then," he goes on, "to a handsome
limousine, with one of those luxurious French bodies, solid silver
fittings, and----"
"He's got a garage full of cars now," says I, "and hardly ever steps
into one himself. His fad is to stick to horses, you know."
More long-face business by J. Bayard. But he's a quick recoverer. "In
that case," says he, "suppose I send over for a pair of Arabs, the best
blood to be found, and have them put into his stable as a surprise?"
"Steele," says I, tappin' him encouragin' on the knee, "you've got the
spendin' part down fine; but that alone don't fill the bill. As I take
it, Pyramid meant for us to do more than just scatter around a lot of
expensive gifts reckless like. 'Some kind and generous act,' is the way
he put it. Let's remember that."
"But," says he, shruggin' his shoulders eloquent, "here is a man who has
everything he wants, money enough to gratify every wish. How am I to do
anything kind and generous for him?"
"That's all up to you," says I. "As a matter of fact, I don't believe
there ever was anybody, no matter how rich, who had everything he
wanted. There's always something, maybe so simple as to sound absurd,
that he'd like and can't get. I'll bet it's that way with
Twombley-Crane. Now if you don't know him well enough to find out, my
advice would be to----"
"Oh, I know him well enough," breaks in J. Bayard, "even if he doesn't
know me. I share the distinction with Gordon of having been, on one
occasion, barred out of Twombley-Crane's office; only I got no farther
than his private secretary. It meant a good deal to me at the time too,
and wouldn't have hurt him at all. I merely wanted his firm to handle
some bonds of a concern I was trying to promote. With merely a nod he
could have opened the door of success for me. But he wouldn't. Oh, no!
Played the rôle of haughty aristocrat, as usual, and never gave me
another thought. But I managed to get back at him, in a small way."
"Oh, you did, eh?" says I.
"It was a couple of years later, in Paris," goes on Steele. "I was
dining in one of those big cafés--Maxime's, I think,--when I recognized
him at the next table. He was telling a friend of a find he'd made in an
old printshop,--a pencil sketch by Whistler. He collects such things, I
believe. Well, this was something he wanted very badly; but he'd
happened to be caught without cash enough to pay for it. So he'd asked
the dealer to put it aside until next day. There was my chance. I know
something about etchings; own a few, in fact, although I'd never
splurged on Whistlers. But I was on hand next morning when that shop
opened, and for a bonus of twenty francs I persuaded the old pirate to
sell me the sketch he was holding for Twombley-Crane. It was a beauty
too; one of the half-dozen Whistler did in working up that portrait of
his mother, perhaps his most famous piece. It's about the only sketch of
the kind, too, not in a public gallery. How Twombley-Crane must have
raved at that Frenchman! So, as the English put it, I did score off him
a bit, you see."
"You sure did," says I. "That picture collection is what he's daffy
over; even more so than over his horses. And right there, J. Bayard, is
your cue."
"Eh?" says he, starin' puzzled.
"Simple as swearin' off taxes," says I. "Send him the sketch."
Mr. Steele gasps. "Wha-a-at!" says he. "Why, I've been offered ten times
what I paid for it, and refused; although there have been times
when--well, you understand. My dear McCabe, that little pencil drawing
is much more to me than a fragment of genius. It stands for
satisfaction. It's something that I own and he wants."
"And there you are," says I. "Been rackin' your nut to dig up something
kind and generous to do for him, ain't you! Well?"
Say, you should have seen the look J. Bayard gives me at that! It's a
mixture of seven diff'rent kinds of surprise, reproach, and indignation.
And the line of argument he puts up too! How he does wiggle and squirm
over the very thought of givin' that picture to Twombley-Crane, after
he'd done the gloat act so long!
But I had the net over Mr. Steele good and fast, and while I was about
it I dragged him over a few bumps; just for the good of his soul, as
Father Reardon would say.
"Oh, come!" says I. "You're makin' the bluff that you want to scatter
deeds of kindness; but when I point one out, right under your nose, you
beef about it like you was bein' frisked for your watch. A hot idea of
bein' an angel of mercy you've got, ain't you? Honest now, in your whole
career, was you ever guilty of wastin' a kind word, or puttin' out the
helpin' hand, if you couldn't see where it might turn a trick for J.
Bayard Steele?"
Makes him wince a little, that jab does, and he flushes up under the
eyes.
"I don't know that I have ever posed either as a philanthropist or a
saint," says he. "If I seem to have assumed a rôle of that sort now, it
is because it has been thrust upon me, because I have been caught in a
web of circumstances, a tangle of things, without purpose, without
meaning. That's what life has always been to me, always will be, I
suppose,--a blind, ruthless maze, where I've snatched what I could for
myself, and given up what I couldn't hold. Your friend Gordon did his
share in making it so for me; this man Twombley-Crane as well. Do you
expect me to be inspired with goodness and kindliness by them?"
"Oh, Pyramid had his good points," says I. "You'd find Twombley-Crane
has his, if you knew him well enough."
"And who knows," adds Steele, defiant and bitter, "but that I may have
mine?"
I glances at him curious. And, say, with that set, hard look in them
narrow eyes, and the saggy droop to his mouth corners, he's almost
pathetic. For the first time since he'd drifted across my path I didn't
feel like pitchin' him down the stairs.
"Well, well!" says I soothin'. "Maybe you have. But you don't force 'em
on folks, do you? That ain't the point, though. The question before the
house is about that----"
"Suppose I hand back Twombley-Crane's name," says he, "and try another?"
I shakes my head decided. "No dodgin'," says I. "That point was covered
in Pyramid's gen'ral directions. If you do it at all, you got to take
the list as it runs. But what's a picture more or less? All you got to
do is wrap it up, ship it to Twombley-Crane, and----"
"I--I couldn't!" says J. Bayard, almost groanin'. "Why, I've disliked
him for years, ever since he sent out that cold no! I've always hoped
that something would happen to bend that stiff neck of his; that a panic
would smash him, as I was smashed. But he has gone on, growing richer
and richer, colder and colder. And when I got this sketch away from
him--well, that was a crumb of comfort. Don't you see?"
"Kind of stale and picayune, Steele, it strikes me," says I. "Course,
you're the doctor. If you'd rather see all them other folks that you
dislike come in for a hundred and fifty thousand apiece, with no rakeoff
for you--why, that's your business. But I'd think it over."
"Ye-e-es," says he draggy. "I--I suppose I must."
With that he shakes his shoulders, gets on his feet, and walks out with
his chin well up; leavin' me feelin' like I'd been tryin' to wish a dose
of castor oil on a bad boy.
"Huh!" thinks I. "I wonder if Pyramid guessed all he was lettin' me in
for?"
What J. Bayard would decide to do--drop the whole shootin' match, or
knuckle under in this case in the hopes of gettin' a fat commission on
the next--was more'n I could dope out. But inside of an hour I had the
answer. A messenger boy shows up with a package. It's the sketch from
Steele, with a note sayin' I might send it to Twombley-Crane, if that
would answer. He'd be hanged if he would! So I rings up another boy and
ships it down to Twombley-Crane's office, as the easiest way of gettin'
rid of it. I didn't know whether he was in town or not. If he wa'n't,
he'd find the thing when he did come in. And while maybe that don't
quite cover all the specifications, it's near enough so I can let it
pass. Then I goes out to lunch.
Must have been about three o'clock that afternoon, and I'd just finished
a session in the gym, when who should show up at the studio but
Twombley-Crane. What do you suppose? Why, in spite of the fact that I'd
sent the picture without any name or anything, he'd been so excited over
gettin' it that he'd rung up the messenger office and bluffed 'em into
tellin' where the call had come in from. And as long as I'd known him
I've never seen Twombley-Crane thaw out so much. Why, he acts almost
human as he shakes hands! Then he takes the package from under his arm
and unwraps it.
"The Whistler that I'd given up all hope of ever getting!" says he,
gazin' at it admirin' and enthusiastic.
"So?" says I, non-committal.
"And now it appears mysteriously, sent from here," says he. "Why, my
dear fellow, how can I ever----"
"You don't have to," I breaks in, "because it wa'n't from me at all."
"But they told me at the district office," he goes on, "that the call
came from----"
"I know," says I. "That's straight enough as far as it goes. But you
know that ain't in my line. I was only passin' it on for someone else."
"For whom?" he demands.
"That's tellin'," says I. "It's a secret."
"Oh, but I must know," says he, "to whom I am indebted so deeply. You
don't realize, McCabe, how delighted I am to get hold of this gem of
Whistler's. Why, it makes my collection the most complete to be found in
any private gallery!"
"Well, you ought to be satisfied then," says I. "Why not let it go at
that?"
But not him. No, he'd got to thank somebody; to pay 'em, if he could.
"How much, for instance?" says I.
"Why, I should readily have given five thousand for it," says he; "ten,
if necessary."
"Not fifteen?" says I.
"I think I would," says he.
"Huh!" says I. "Some folks don't care what they do with money. We'll
split the diff'rence though, and call it twelve and a half. But it don't
cost you a cent. It's yours because you wanted it, that's all; and maybe
the one that sent it is glad you've got it. That's as far as I can go."
"But see here, McCabe!" he insists. "Delighted as I am, I must know who
it is that----"
Just here the front office door opens, and in walks J. Bayard. For a
second he don't notice Twombley-Crane, who's standin' between me and the
window.
"Oh, I say!" says Steele, sort of breathless and hasty. "Have you sent
that away yet?"
A freak hunch hit me and I couldn't shake it: I guess I wanted to see
what would happen. So I nudges Twombley-Crane.
"Here's the party now, if you must know," says I. "This is Mr. J. Bayard
Steele."
"Eh?" says he, steppin' forward. "Steele, did you say? Why, my dear Sir,
although I must admit that I am stupid enough not to remember you, I
must express my most----"
Say, he did it handsome too. He grabs J. Bayard brotherly by the mitt,
and passes him an enthusiastic vote of thanks that don't leave out a
single detail. Yes, he sure did unload the gratitude; with J. Bayard
standin' there, turnin' first one color and then another, and not bein'
able to get out a word.
"And surely, my dear Sir," he winds up, "you will allow me to recompense
you in some way?"
Steele shakes his head. "It's not precisely," he begins, "as if
I--er----"
"Ah-h-h!" says Twombley-Crane, beamin' friendly. "I think I see. You had
heard of my collection."
J. Bayard nods.
"And you conceived the idea," goes on Twombley-Crane, "of completing it
in this anonymous and kindly manner? Believe me, Sir, I am touched,
deeply touched. It is indeed good to know that such generous impulses
are felt, that they are sometimes acted upon. I must try to be worthy of
such a splendid spirit. I will have this hung at once, and to-morrow
night, Friend Steele, you must come to see it; at my country place, you
know. We dine at seven. I shall expect you, Sir." And with a final
brotherly grip he goes out.
"Well," says I to J. Bayard, "that's over, ain't it? You've put across
the genuine article. How does it feel?"
He brushes his hand over his eyes sort of dazed. "Really," says he,
"I--I don't know. I was coming, as a matter of fact, to take the sketch
back. The more I thought it over, the worse I---- But he was pleased,
wasn't he? And Twombley-Crane too! I would not have believed that he
could act so decently."
"Well, he believed it of you," says I. "You don't stand to lose so much
either, by the way. Here! Wait until I write a voucher for twenty per
cent. of twelve thousand five hundred. His figures, you know. There! Now
you can collect from Judson and call for name Number Two."