"This," said I, "is hot stuff--very hot stuff! Where did it come from?"
"The whole south end of town is plastered with bills like it," said
Atkinson glumly. "What have we done now, that they should be picking on
us? When have we killed any children, I would like to know? What started
this? Who started it? Why?"
"That isn't the big question," said I. "The big question is: Will the
City Council stand hitched in the face of this attack?"
The door opened and the answer to that question appeared--Barney
MacShane, officially of the rank and file of the City Council of our
fair city, in reality the guiding spirit of that body of petty pirates.
Barney was moist and nervous, and he held one of the bills in his right
hand. His first words were not reassuring.
"All hell is loose--loose for fair!" said he. "Take a look at this
thing."
"We have already been looking at it," said I with a laugh intended to be
light and carefree. "What of it? You don't mean to tell me that you are
going to let a mere scrap of paper bother you?"
Barney mopped his forehead and sat down heavily.
"You can laugh," said he, "but there is more than paper behind this. The
whole west end of town is up in arms overnight, and I don't know why.
Nobody ever kicked up such a rumpus about a spur track before. That's my
ward, you know, and I just made my escape from a deputation of women and
children. They treed me at the City Hall--before all the newspaper
men--and they held their babies up in their arms and they dared me--yes,
dared me--to let this thing go through. And the election coming on and
all. It's hell, that's what it is!"
"But, Barney," I argued, "we are not asking for anything which the city
should not be glad to grant. Think what it means to your ward to have
this fine big manufacturing plant in it! Think of the men who will have
work----"
"I'm thinking of them," said Barney sorrowfully. "They're coming to the
Council meeting to-morrow morning, and if this thing goes through I may
as well clean out my desk. Yes, they're coming, and so are their wives
and their children, and they'll bring transparencies and banners and God
knows what all----"
"But listen, Barney! This plant means prosperity to every one of your
people----"
"They're saying they'll make it an issue in the next campaign," mumbled
MacShane. "They say that if that spur track goes down on Third Avenue
it's me out of public life--and they mean it too. God knows what's got
into them all at once--they're like a nest of hornets. And the women
voting now too. That makes it bad--awful bad! You know as well as I do
that any agitation with children mixed up in it is the toughest thing in
the world to meet." He struck at the poster with a sudden spiteful
gesture. "From beginning to end," he snarled, "it's just an appeal not
to let the railroad kill the kids!"
"But that's nonsense--bunk!" said Atkinson. "Every precaution will be
taken to prevent accidents. You've got to think of the capital
invested."
Barney rolled a troubled eye in his direction.
"You go down on Third Avenue," said he, "and begin talking to them
people about capital! Try it once. What the hell do they care about
capital? They was brought up to hate the sound of the word! You know and
I know that capital ain't near as black as it's painted, but can you
tell them that? Huh! And a railroad ain't ever got any friends in a
gang standing round on the street corners!"
"But," said I, "this isn't a question of friends--it's a straight
proposition of right and wrong. The Midland people have gone ahead and
put up this big plant. They were given to understand that there would be
no opposition to the spur track going down. They've got to have it! The
success of their business depends on it! Surely you don't mean to tell
me that the Council will refuse this permit?"
"Well," said Barney slowly, "I've talked with the boys--Carter and
Garvey and Dillon. They're all figuring on running again, and they're
scared to death of it. Garvey says we'd be damned fools to go against an
agitation like this--so close to election, anyhow."
I argued the matter from every angle--the good of the city; the benefit
to Barney's ward--but I couldn't budge him.
"They say that the voice of the people is the voice of God," said he,
"but we know that most of the time it's only noise. Sometimes the noise
kind of dies out, and then's the time to step in and cut the melon. But
any kind of noise so close to election? Huh! Safety first!"
Before the meeting adjourned it was augmented by the appearance of the
president and vice-president of the Midland Manufacturing Company,
Colonel Jim Peck and old Peebles, and never had I seen those
stiff-necked gentlemen so humanly agitated.
"This is terrible!" stormed the Colonel. "Terrible! This is unheard of!
It is an outrage--a crime--a crying shame to the city! Think of our
investment! Other manufacturing plants got their spur tracks for the
asking. There was no talk of killing children. Why--why have we been
singled out for attack--for--for blackmail?"
"You can cut out that kind of talk right now!" said Barney sternly.
"There ain't a nickel in granting this permit, and you know it as well
as I do. Nobody ain't trying to blackmail you! All the dough in town
won't swing the boys into line behind this proposition while this rumpus
is going on. And since you're taking that slant at it, here's the last
word--sit tight and wait till after election!"
"But the pl-plant!" bleated Peebles, tearing a blotter to shreds with
shaking fingers. "The plant! Think of the loss of time--and we--we
expected to open up next month!"
"Go ahead and open up," said Barney. "You can truck your stuff to the
depots, can't you? Yes, yes--I get you about the loss! Us boys in the
Council--we got something to lose too. Now here it is, straight from the
shoulder, and you can bet on it." Barney spoke slowly, wagging his
forefinger at each word. "If that application comes up to-morrow
morning, with the Council chamber jammed with folks from the south end
of the town--good-a-by, John! Fare thee well! It ain't in human nature
to commit political suicide when a second term is making eyes at you.
Look at our end of it for a while. We got futures to think of, too, and
Garvey--Garvey wants to run for mayor some day. You can't afford to have
that application turned down, can you? Of course not. Have a little
sense. Keep your shirts on. Get out and see who's behind this thing.
Chances are somebody wants something. Find out what it is--rig up a
compromise--get him to call off the dogs. Then talk to me again, and
I'll promise you it'll go through as slick as a greased pig!"
"I believe there's something in that," said I. "We've never run into
such a hornets' nest as this before. There must be a reason. Atkinson,
you've got a lot of gumshoe men on your staff. Why don't you turn 'em
loose to locate this opposition?"
"You're about two hours late with that suggestion," said the railroad
representative. "Our sleuths are on the job now. If they find out
anything I'll communicate with you P. D. Q."
"Good!" ejaculated Colonel Peck. "And if it's money----"
"Aw, you make me sick!" snapped Barney MacShane. "You think money can do
everything, don't you? Well, it can't! For one thing, it couldn't get me
to shake hands with a stiff like you!"
* * * * *
I was called away from the dinner table on the following Friday
evening. Watlington was on the telephone.
"That you, Curtiss? Well, we think we've got in touch with the bug under
the chip. Can you arrange to meet us in Room 85 at the Hotel Brookmore
at nine to-night?... No, I can't tell you a thing about it. We're asked
to be there--you're asked to be there--and that's as far as my
information goes. Don't be late."
When I entered Room 85 four men were seated at a long table. They were
Elsberry J. Watlington, Colonel Jim Peck, Samuel Alexander Peebles and
W. Cotton Hamilton. They greeted me with a certain amount of nervous
irritability. The Big Four had been through a cruel week and showed the
marks of strain.
"Where's Atkinson?" I asked.
"It was stipulated, expressly stipulated," said old Peebles, "that only
the five of us should be present. The whole thing is most mysterious.
I--I don't like the looks of it."
"Probably a hold-up!" grunted Colonel Peck.
Watlington didn't say anything. He had aged ten years, his heavy
smooth-shaven face was set in stern lines and his mouth looked as if it
might have been made with a single slash of a razor.
Hamilton mumbled to himself and kept trying to light the end of his
thumb instead of his cigar. Peck had his watch in his hand. Peebles
played a tattoo on his chin with his fingers.
"Good thing we didn't make that application at the Council meeting,"
said Hamilton. "I never saw such a gang of thugs!"
"Male and female!" added Colonel Peck. "Well, time's up! Whoever he is,
I hope he won't keep us waiting!"
"Ah!" said a cheerful voice. "You don't like to be held up on the tee,
do you, Colonel?"
There in the doorway stood Wally Wallace, beaming upon the Big Four. Not
even on the stage have I ever seen anything to match the expressions on
the faces round that table. Old Peebles' mouth kept opening and
shutting, like the mouth of a fresh caught carp. The others were frozen,
petrified. Wally glanced at me as he advanced into the room, and there
was a faint trembling of his left eyelid.
"Well," said Wally briskly, "shall we proceed with the business of the
meeting?"
"Business!" Colonel Peck exploded like a firecracker.
"With--you?" It was all Watlington could do to tear the two words out of
his throat. He croaked like a big bullfrog.
"With me," said Wally, bowing and taking his place at the head of the
table. "Unless," he added, "you would prefer to discuss the situation
with the rank and file of the Third Avenue Country Club."
The silence which followed that remark was impressive. I could hear
somebody's heart beating. It may have been my own. As usual Colonel Peck
was first to recover the power of speech, and again as usual he made
poor use of it.
"You--you young whelp!" he gurgled. "So it was----"
"Shut up, Jim!" growled Watlington, whose eyes had never left Wally's
face. Hamilton carefully placed his cigar in the ashtray and tried to
put a match into his mouth. Then he turned on me, sputtering.
"Are you in on this?" he demanded.
"Be perfectly calm," said Wally. "Mr. Curtiss is not in on it, as you so
elegantly express it. I am the only one who is in on it. Me, myself, W.
W. Wallace, at your service. If you will favour me with your attention,
I will explain----"
"You'd better!" ripped out the Colonel.
"Ah," said the youngster, grinning at Peck, "always a little nervous on
the tee, aren't you?"
"Drive, young man!" said Watlington.
A sudden light flickered in Wally's eyes. He turned to Elsberry J. with
an expression that was almost friendly.
"Do you know," said he, "I'm beginning to think there may be human
qualities in you after all."
Watlington grunted and nodded his head.
"Take the honour!" said he.
Wally rose and laid the tips of his fingers on the table.
"Members of the Greens Committee and one other"--and here he looked at
Hamilton, whose face showed that he had not forgotten the unclassified
hog--"we are here this evening to arrange an exchange of courtesies. You
think you represent the Midland Manufacturing Company at this meeting.
You do not. You represent the Sundown Golf and Country Club. I represent
the Third Avenue Country Club--an organisation lately formed. You may
have heard something of it, though not under that name."
He paused to let this sink in.
"Gentlemen," he continued, "you may recall that I once made a courteous
request of you for something which was entirely within my rights. You
made an arbitrary ruling on that request. You refused to let me through.
You told me I was too fresh, and advised me to sit down and cool off. I
see by your faces that you recall the occasion.
"You may also recall that I promised to devote myself to the task of
teaching you to be more considerate of others. Gentlemen, I am the
opposition to your playing through on Third Avenue. I am the Man Behind.
I am the Voice of the People. I am a singleton on the course, holding
you up while I sink a putt. If you ask me why, I will give you your own
words in your teeth: You can't go through because I don't want you to go
through."
Here he stopped long enough to light a cigarette, and again his left
eyelid flickered, though he did not look at me. I think if he had I
should have erupted.
"You see," said he, flipping the match into the air, "it has been
necessary to teach you a lesson--the lesson, gentlemen, of courtesy on
the course, consideration for others. I realised that this could never
be done on a course where you have power to make the rules--or break
them. So I selected another course. Members of the Greens Committee and
one other, you do not make the rules on Third Avenue. You are perfectly
within your rights in asking to go through; but I have blocked you. I
have made you sit down on the bench and cool off. Gentlemen, how do you
like being held up when you want to play through? How does it feel?"
I do not regret my inability to quote Colonel Peck's reply to this
question.
"Quit it, Jim!" snapped Watlington. "Your bark was always worse than
your bite, and it's not much of a bark at that--'Sound and fury,
signifying nothing.' Young man, I take it you are the chairman of the
Greens Committee of this Third Avenue Country Club, empowered to act.
May I ask what are our chances of getting through?"
"I _know_ I'm going to like you--in time!" exclaimed Wally. "I feel it
coming on. Let's see, to-morrow is Saturday, isn't it?"
"What's that got to do with it?" mumbled Hamilton.
"Much," answered Wally. "Oh, much, I assure you! I expect to be at the
Sundown Club to-morrow." His chin shot out and his voice carried the
sting of a lash. "I expect to see you gentlemen there, playing your
usual crawling foursome. I expect to see you allowing your fellow
members to pass you on the course. You might even invite them to come
through--you might _insist_ on it, courteously, you understand, and with
such grace as you may be able to muster. I want to see every member of
that club play through you--every member!"
"All d-damned nonsense!" bleated Peebles, sucking his fingers.
"Shut up!" ordered Watlington savagely. "And, young man, if we do
this--what then?"
"Ah, then!" said Wally. "Then the reward of merit. If you show me that
you can learn to be considerate of others--if you show me that you can
be courteous on the course where you make the rules--I feel safe in
promising that you will be treated with consideration on this other
course which has been mentioned. Yes, quite safe. In fact, gentlemen,
you may even be _asked_ to play through on Third Avenue!"
"But this agitation?" began Hamilton.
"Was paid for by the day," smiled the brazen rascal, with a graceful
inclination of his head. "People may be hired to do anything--even to
annoy prominent citizens and frighten a City Council." Hamilton stirred
uneasily, but Wally read his thought and froze him with a single keen
glance. "Of course," said he, "you understand that what has been done
once may be done again. Sentiment crystallises--when helped out with a
few more red handbills--a few more speeches on the street corners----"
"The point is well taken!" interrupted Watlington hurriedly. "Damn well
taken! Young man, talk to me. _I'm_ the head of this outfit. Pay no
attention to Jim Peck. He's nothing but a bag of wind. Hamilton doesn't
count. His nerves are no good. Peebles--he's an old goat. _I'm_ the one
with power to act. Talk to me. Is there anything else you want?"
"Nothing," said Wally. "I think your streak of consideration is likely
to prove a lasting one. If not--well, I may have to spread this story
round town a bit----"
"Oh, my Lord!" groaned Colonel Peck.
* * * * *
It was a noble and inspiring sight to see the Big Four, caps in hand,
inviting the common people to play through. The entire club marched
through them--too full of amazement to demand explanations. Even Purdue
McCormick, trudging along with a putter in one hand and a mid-iron in
the other, without a bag, without a caddie, without a vestige of right
in the wide world, even Purdue was coerced into passing them. At dusk he
was found wandering aimlessly about on the seventeenth fairway, babbling
to himself. We fear that he will never be the same again.
I have received word from Barney MacShane that the City Council will be
pleased to grant a permit to lay a spur track on Third Avenue. The voice
of the people, he says, has died away to a faint murmuring. Some day I
think I will tell Barney the truth. He does not play golf, but he has a
sense of humour.