Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team
[Illustration: LEAVING MRS. CHAMPNEY SEATED ALONE AND HELPLESS IN
THE MIDST OF THE CONFUSION, SMILK MARCHED MR. YOLLOP TO HIS BEDROOM]
YOLLOP
BY
GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
FRONTISPIECE BY
EDWARD C. CASWELL
NEW YORK
1922
YOLLOP
CHAPTER ONE
In the first place, Mr. Yollop knew nothing about firearms. And so,
after he had overpowered the burglar and relieved him of a fully
loaded thirty-eight, he was singularly unimpressed by the following
tribute from the bewildered and somewhat exasperated captive:
"Say, ain't you got any more sense than to tackle a man with a gun,
you chuckle-headed idiot?" (Only he did not say "chuckle-headed,"
and he inserted several expletives between "say" and "ain't.")
The dazed intruder was hunched limply, in a sitting posture, over
against the wall, one hand clamped tightly to his jaw, the other
being elevated in obedience to a command that had to be thrice
repeated before it found lodgment in his whirling brain. Mr. Yollop,
who seemed to be satisfied with the holding up of but one hand,
cupped his own hand at the back of one ear, and demanded
querulously:
"What say!"
"Are you hard o' hearin'?"
"Hey?"
"Well for the--say, are you deef?"
"Don't say deef. Say deaf,--as if it were spelled d-e-double f.
Yes,--I am a little hard of hearing."
"Now, how the hell did you hear--I say, HOW DID YOU HEAR ME IN THE
ROOM, if it's a fair question?"
"If you've got anything in your mouth, spit it out. I can't make out
half what you say. Sounds like 'ollo--ollo--ollo'!"
The thief opened his mouth and with his tongue instituted a visible
search for the obstruction that appeared to annoy Mr. Yollop.
"They're all here except the one I had pulled last year," he
announced vastly relieved. A sharp spasm of pain in his jaw caused
him to abruptly take advantage of a recent discovery; and while he
was careful to couch his opinions in an undertone, he told Mr.
Yollop what he thought of him in terms that would have put the
hardiest pirate to blush. Something in Mr. Yollop's eye, however,
and the fidgety way in which he was fingering the trigger of the
pistol, moved him to interrupt a particularly satisfying paean of
blasphemy by breaking off short in the very middle of it to wonder
why in God's name he hadn't had sense enough to remember that all
deaf people are lip-readers.
"Spit it out!" repeated Mr. Yollop, with energy. "Don't talk with
your mouth full. I can't understand a word you say."
This was reassuring but not convincing. There was still the ominous
glitter in the speaker's eye to be reckoned with. The man on the
floor took the precaution to explain: "I hope you didn't hear what
I was callin' myself." He spoke loudly and very distinctly.
"That's better," said Mr. Yollop, his face brightening. "I was
'afraid my hearing had got worse without my knowing it. All you have
to do is to enunciate distinctly and speak slowly like that,--as if
you were isolating the words,--so to speak,--and I can make out
everything you say. What were you calling yourself?"
"Oh, just a lot of names. I'd sooner not repeat 'em if there's any
women in the house."
"Well, bless my soul, that's uncommonly thoughtful of you. My sister
and her young daughter are here to spend the holidays with me. They
sleep at the back of the apartment. Now, if you will just remain as
you are,--I dare say you'd better put up the other hand, too, if you
can spare it,--I will back up to the table here and get my listening
apparatus. Now you won't have to shout so. I don't know much about
revolvers, but I assume that all one has to do to make it go off is
to press rather firmly on this little contrivance--"
"Yes! But DON'T!"
"Not so loud! Not so loud! I'm not as deaf as all that. And don't
move! I give you fair warning. Watch me closely. If you see me shut
my eyes, you will know I'm going to shoot. Remember that, will you?
The instant you detect the slightest indication that my eyes are
about to close,--dodge!"
"By thunder,--I--I wonder if you're as much of a blame fool as you
seem to be,--or are you just playing horse with me," muttered the
victim, as he raised his other hand. "I'd give ten years of my life
to know,--"
"I won't be a second," announced Mr. Yollop, backing gingerly toward
the table. With his free hand he felt for and found the rather
elaborate contraption that furnished him with the means to
counteract his auricular deficiencies. The hand holding the revolver
wobbled a bit; nevertheless, the little black hole at which the
dazed robber stared as if fascinated was amazingly steadfast in its
regard for the second or perhaps the third button of his coat. "It's
a rather complicated arrangement," he went on to explain, "but very
simple once you get it adjusted to the ear. It took me some time to
get used to wearing this steel band over the top of my head. I never
have tried to put it on with one hand before. Amazing how awkward
one can be with his left hand, isn't it? Now, you see how it goes.
This little receiver business clamps right down to the ear,--so.
Then this disc hangs over my chest--and you talk right at it. For
awhile I made a practice of concealing it under my vest, being
somewhat sensitive about having strangers see that I am deaf, but
one day my niece, a very bright child often, asked me why I did it.
I told her it was because I didn't want people to know I was deaf.
Have you ever felt so foolish that you wanted to kick yourself all
over town? Well, then you know how I felt when that blessed infant
pointed to this thing on my ear and--What say?"
"I say, that's the way I've been feeling ever since I came to,"
repeated the disgusted burglar.
"Of course, I realize that it's a physical, you might well say, a
scientific impossibility, for one to kick himself all over town, but
just the same, I believe you are as nearly in the mood to accomplish
it as any man alive to-day."
"You bet I could," snapped the thief, with great earnestness. "When
I think how I let a skinny, half-witted boob like you walk right
into a clinch with me, and me holdin' a gun, and weighin' forty
pounds more than you do, I--Can you hear what I'm saying?"
"Perfectly. It's a wonderful invention," said Mr. Yollop, who had
approached to within four or five feet of the speaker and was
bending over to afford him every facility for planting his words
squarely upon the disc. "Speak in the same tone of voice that you
would employ if I were about thirty feet away and perfectly sound of
hearing. Just imagine, if you can, that I am out in the hall, with
the door open, and you are carrying on a conversation with me at
that--"
"I've said all I want to say," growled the other sullenly.
"What is your name?"
"None of your damn business."
Mr. Yollop was silent for a moment. Then he inquired steadily:
"Have you any recollection of receiving a blow on the jaw, and
subsequently lying on the flat of your back with my knees jouncing
up and down on your stomach while your bump of amativeness was being
roughly and somewhat regularly pounded against the wall in response
to a certain nervous and uncontrollable movement of my hands which
happened to be squeezing your windpipe so tightly that your
tongue hung out and--"
"You bet I remember it!" ruefully.
"Well, then," said Mr. Yollop, "what is your name?"
"Jones."
"What?"
"I thought you said you could hear with that thing!"
"I heard you say Jones quite distinctly, but why can't you answer my
question? It was civil enough, wasn't it?"
"Well," said the crook, still decidedly uncertain as to the
expression in Mr. Yollop's eye, "if you insist on a civil answer,
it's Smilk."
"Smith?"
"No, NOT Smith," hastily and earnestly; "Smilk,--S-m-i-l-k."
"Smilk?"
"Smilk."
"Extraordinary name. I've never heard it before, have you?"
The rascal blinked. "Sure. It was my father's name before me, and
my--"
"Look me in the eye!"
"I am lookin' you in the eye. It's Smilk,--Cassius Smilk."
"Sounds convincing," admitted Mr. Yollop. "Nobody would take the
name of Cassius in vain, I am sure. As a sensible, discriminating
thief, you would not deliberately steal a name like Cassius, now
would you?"
"Well, you see, they call me Cash for short," explained Smilk.
"That's something I can steal with a clear conscience."
"I perceive you are recovering your wits, Mr. Smilk. You appear to
be a most ingenuous rogue. Have you ever tried writing the book for
a musical comedy?"
"A--what?"
"A musical comedy. A forty-legged thing you see on Broadway."
Mr. Smilk pondered. "No, sir," he replied, allowing himself a
prideful leer; "if I do say it as shouldn't, I'm an honest thief."
"Bless my soul," cried Mr. Yollop delightedly; "you get brighter
every minute. Perhaps you have at one time or another conducted a
humorous column for a Metropolitan newspaper?"
"Well, I've done my share towards fillin' up the 'lost' column,"
said Mr. Smilk modestly. "Say, if we're going to keep up this
talkfest much longer, I got to let my hands down. The blood's
runnin' out of 'em. What are you goin' to do with me? Keep me
sittin' here till morning?"
"I'm glad you reminded me of it. I want to call the police."
"Well, I'm not hindering you, am I?"
"In a way, yes. How can I call them and keep an eye on you at the
same time?"
"I'll tell what I'll do," said Cassius Smilk obligingly. "I'll take
a message 'round to the police station for you."
"Ah! That gives me an idea. You shall telephone to the police for
me. If my memory serves me well, Spring 3100 is the number. Or is it
Spring 3100 that calls out the fire department? It would be very
awkward to call out the fire department, wouldn't it? They'd
probably come rushing around here and drown both of us before they
found out wer'd made a mistake and really wanted the police."
"All you have to do is to say to Central: 'I want a policeman.'"
"Right you are. That's what the telephone book says. Still I believe
Spring 3100--"
"The simplest way to get the police," broke in the burglar, not
without hope, "is to fire five shots out of a window as rapidly as
possible. They always come for that."
"I see what you are after. You want them to come here and arrest me
for violating the Sullivan Law. Don't you know it's against the law
in New York to have a revolver on your premises or person? And
what's more, you would testify against me, confound you. Also
probably have me up for assault and battery. No, Mr. Smilk, your
suggestion is not a good one. We will stick to the telephone. Now,
if you will be kind enough to fold your arms tightly across your
breast,--that's the idea,--and arise slowly to your feet, I will
instruct you--Yes, I know it is harder to get up without the aid of
the hands than it was to go down, but I think you can manage it. Try
again, if you please." Then, as Mr. Smilk sank sullenly back against
the wall, apparently resolved not to budge: "I'm going to count
three, Cassius. If you are not on your feet at the end of the count,
I shall be obliged to do the telephoning myself."
"That suits me," said Cassius grimly.
"Do you object to the smell of powder?"
"Huh?"
"I don't like it myself, but I should, of course, open the windows
immediately and air the room out--"
"I'll get up," said Cassius, and did so, clumsily but promptly.
"Say, I--I believe you WOULD shoot. You're just the kind of boob
that would do a thing like that."
"I dare say I should miss you if I were to fire all five
bullets,--but that's neither here nor there. You're on your feet,
so--by the way, are you sure this thing is loaded?"
"It wouldn't make any difference if it wasn't. It would go off just
the same. They always do when some darn fool idiot is pointin' them
at people."
"Don't be crotchetty, Cassius," reproached Mr. Yollop. "Now, if you
will just sidle around to the left you will come in due time to the
telephone over there on that desk. I shall not be far behind you.
Sit down. Now unfold your arms and lean both elbows on the desk.
That's the idea. You might keep your right hand exposed,--sort of
perpendicular from the elbow up. Take the receiver off the hook
and--"
"Oh, I know how to use a telephone all right."
"Now, the main thing is to get Central," said Mr. Yollop
imperturbably. "Sometimes it is very difficult to wake them after
two o'clock A.M. Just jiggle it if she doesn't respond at once.
Seems that jiggling wakes them when nothing else will."
Mr. Yollop, very tall and spare in his pajamas, stood behind the
burly Mr. Smilk, the dangling disc almost touching the latter's
hunched up shoulders.
"This is a devil of a note," quoth Mr. Smilk, taking down the
receiver. "Makin' a guy telephone to the police to come and arrest
him."
"I wish I had thought to close that window while you were hors de
combat," complained Mr. Yollop shivering. "I'll probably catch my
death of cold standing around here with almost nothing on. That wind
comes straight from the North Pole. Doesn't she answer?"
"No."
"Jiggle it."
"I did jiggle it."
"What?"
"I said I jiggled it."
"Well, jiggle it again."
"Rottenest telephone service in the world," growled Mr. Smilk. "When
you think what we have to pay for telephones these days, you'd
think--hello! Hell--lo!"
"Got her?"
"I thought I had for a second, but I guess it was somebody yawning."
"Awning?"
"Say, if you'll hold that thing around so's I can talk at it, you'll
hear what I'm saying. How do you expect me to--hello! Central?
Central! Hello! Where the hell have you been all--hello! Well, can
you beat it? I had her and she got away."
"No use trying to get her now," said Mr. Yollop, resignedly. "Hang
up for a few minutes. It makes 'em stubborn when you swear at 'em.
Like mules. I've just thought of something else you can do for me
while we're waiting for her to make up her mind to forgive you. Come
along over here and close this window you left open."
Mr. Smilk in closing the window, looked searchingly up and down the
fire escape, peered intently into the street below, sighed
profoundly and muttered something that Mr. Yollop did not hear.
"I've got a fur coat hanging in that closet over there, Cassius. We
will get it out."
Carefully following Mr. Yollop's directions, the obliging rascal
produced the coat and laid it upon the table in the center of the
room.
"Turn your back," commanded the owner of the coat, "and hold up your
hands." Then, after he had slipped into the coat: "Now if I only had
my slippers--but never mind. We won't bother about 'em. They're in
my bed room, and probably lost under the bed. They always are, even
when I take 'em off out in the middle of the room. Ah! Nothing like
a fur coat, Cassius. Do you know what cockles are?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, never mind. Now, let's try Central again. Please remember
that no matter how distant she is, she still expects you to look
upon her as a lady. No lady likes to be sworn at at two o'clock in
the morning. Speak gently to her. Call her Madamoiselle. That always
gets them. Makes 'em think if they keep their ears open they'll hear
something spicy."
"They general fall for dearie," said Mr. Smilk, taking down the
receiver.
"Be good enough to remember that you are calling from my apartment,"
said Mr. Yollop severely. "Jiggle it."
Mr. Smilk jiggled it. "I guess she's still mad."
"Jiggle it slowly, tenderly, caressingly. Sort of seductively. Don't
be so savage about it."
"Hello! Central? What number do I have to call to get Spring 3100?
... I'm not trying to be fresh: ... Yes, that's what I want ... I
know the book says to tell you 'I want to call a policeman' but--
... Yes, there's a burglar in my apartment and I want you to--What's
that? ... I don't want to go to bed. ... Say, now YOU'RE gettin'
fresh. You give me police--"
"Tell her I've got you surrounded," whispered Mr. Yollop.
"Hello! Hell--lo! Central!"
"Jiggle it."
"Ah, Mademoiselle! Pardon my--"
Voice at the other end of the wire: "Ring off! You've got wrong
number. This is police headquarters." Audible sound of distant
receiver being slapped upon its hook.
"Gee whiz! Now, we're up against it, Mister. We'll be all night
gettin' Central again."
"Be patient, Cassius. Start all over again. Ask for the morgue this
time. That will make her realize the grave danger you are in."
"Say, I wish you'd put that gun in your pocket. It makes the goose
flesh creep out all over me. I'm not going to try to get away. Give
you my word of honor I ain't. You seem to have some sort of idea
that I don't want to be arrested."
"I confess I had some such idea, Cassius."
"Well, I don't mind it a bit. Fact is, I've been doin' my best to
get nabbed for the last three months."
"You have?"
"Sure. The trouble is with the police. They somehow seem to overlook
me, no matter how open I am about it. I suppose I've committed
twenty burglaries in the past three months and I'll be cussed if I
can make 'em understand. Take to-night, for instance. I clumb up
that fire escape,--this is the third floor, ain't it?--I clumb up
here with a big electric street light shinin' square on my back,--why,
darn the luck, I had to turn my back on it 'cause the light
hurt my eyes,--and there were two cops standin' right down below
here talkin' about the crime wave bein' all bunk, both of 'em
arguin' that the best proof that there ain't no crime wave is the
fact that the jails are only half full, showin' that the city is
gettin' more and more honest all the time. I could hear 'em plain as
anything. They were talkin' loud, so as to make everybody in this
buildin' rest easy, I guess. I stopped at the second floor and
monkeyed with the window, hopin' to attract their attention. Didn't
work. So I had to climb up another flight. This window of yours was
up about six inches, so there wasn't anything for me to do but to
raise it and come in. What I had in mind was to stick my head out
after a minute or two and yell 'thieves', 'police', and so on. Then
before I knowed what was happenin', you walks in, switches on the
light, and comes straight over and biffs me in the jaw. Does that
look as if I was tryin' to avoid arrest?"
"That's a very pretty story, Cassius, and no doubt will make a
tremendous hit with the jury, but what were you doing with a loaded
revolver in your hand, and why were you so full of vituperation,--I
mean, what made you swear so when I--"
"You let somebody hit you a wallop on the jaw and bang your head
against the wall and dance on your ribs, and you'll cuss worse than
I did."
"But,--about the revolver?"
"Well, to be honest with you, I probably would have shot you if I
hadn't been so low in my mind. I won't deny that. It's a sort of
principle with us, you see. No self-respecting burglar wants to be
captured by the party he's tryin' to rob. Its so damn' mortifyin'.
Besides, if that sort of thing happens to you, the police lose all
kinds of respect for you and try to use you as a stool-pigeon, if
you know what that means."
"This is most interesting, I must say. I should like to hear more
about it, Mr. Smilk. I dare say we can have quite a long and
edifying chat while we are waiting for the police to respond to our
call for help. In the meantime, you might see if you can get them
now. Spring, three one hundred."
"As I was sayin' awhile ago, would you mind puttin' that gun in your
pocket?"
"While you've been chinning, Cassius, I have been making a most
thrilling and amazing experiment. Do you call this thing under
here a trigger?"
"Yes. Don't monkey with it, you--you--"
"I've been pressing it,--very gently and cautiously, of course,--to
see just how near I can come to making it go off without actually--"
"For God's sake! Cut that--Hey, Central! Give me police headquarters
again. ... Lively, please. ... Yes, it's life or death. ... Come on,
Mademoiselle,--please!"
"That's the way," complimented Mr. Yollop.
"By gosh, nobody ever wanted the police more than I do at this
minute," gulped Mr. Smilk. He was perspiring freely. "Hello! Police
headquarters? ... Hustle someone to--to--(over his shoulder to Mr.
Yollop, in a whisper,)--quick! What's the number of this,--"
"418 Sagamore Terrace."
Into the transmitter: "To 418 Sagamore Terrace, third floor front.
Burglar. Hurry up!"
Telephone: "What's yer name?"
Smilk, to Yollop: "What is my name?"
Mr. Yollop: "Crittenden Yollop."
Smilk, to telephone: "Crittelyum Yop."
Telephone, languidly: "Spell it."
Smilk: "Aw, go to--"
Mr. Yollop: "After me now,--Y-o-l-l-o-p."
Telephone: "First name."
Smilk, prompted. "C-r-i-t-t-e-n-d-e-n."
Telephone, after interval: "What floor?"
Smilk: "Third."
Telephone: "Are you sure it's a burglar, or is it just a noise
somewhere?"
Smilk: "It's a burglar. He's got me covered."
Telephone: "What's that?"
Smilk: "I say, I've got him covered. Hurry up or he'll blow my head
off--"
Telephone: "Say, what IS this? Get back to bed, you. You're drunk."
Smilk: "I'm as sober as you are. Can't you get me straight? I tell
you I beat his head off. He's down and out,--but---"
Telephone: "All right. We'll have someone there in a few minutes.
Did you say Yullup?"
Smilk: "No. I said hurry up."
CHAPTER TWO
"The thing that's troubling me now," said Mr. Yollop, as Smilk hung
up the receiver and twisted his head slightly to peek out of the
corner of his eye, "is how to get hold of my slippers. You've no
idea how cold this floor is."
"If it's half as cold as the sweat I'm---"
"We're likely to have a long wait," went on the other, frowning. "It
will probably take the police a couple of hours to find this
building, with absolutely no clue except the number and the name of
the street."
"I'll tell you what you might do, Mr. Scollop, seein' as you won't
trust me to go in and find your slippers for you. Why don't you sit
on your feet? Take that big arm chair over there and--"
"Splendid! By jove, Cassius, you are an uncommonly clever chap. I'll
do it. And then, when the police arrive, we'll have something for
them to do. We'll let them see if they can find my slippers. That
ought to be really quite interesting."
"There's something about you," said Mr. Smilk, not without a touch
of admiration in his voice, "that I simply can't help liking."
"That's what the wolf said to Little Red Riding-Hood, if I remember
correctly. However, I thank you, Cassius. In spite of the thump I
gave you and the disgusting way in which I treated you, a visitor in
my own house, you express a liking for me. It is most gratifying.
Still, for the time being, I believe we can be much better friends
if I keep this pistol pointed at you. Now we 'll do a little
maneuvering. You may remain seated where you are. However, I must
ask you to pull out the two lower drawers in the desk,--one on
either side of where your knees go. You will find them quite empty
and fairly commodious. Now, put your right foot in the drawer on
this side and your left foot in the other one--yes, I know it's
quite a stretch, but I dare say you can manage it. Sort of recalls
the old days when evil-doers were put in the stocks, doesn't it?
They seem to be quite a snug fit, don't they? If it is as difficult
for you to extricate your feet from those drawers as it was to
insert them, I fancy I'm pretty safe from a sudden and impulsive
dash in my direction. Rather bright idea of mine, eh?"
"I'm beginnin' to change my opinion of you," announced Mr. Smilk.
Mr. Yollop pushed a big unholstered library chair up to the opposite
side of the desk and, after several awkward attempts, succeeded in
sitting down, tailor fashion, with his feet neatly tucked away
beneath him.
"I wasn't quite sure I could do it," said he, rather proudly. "I
suppose my feet will go to sleep in a very short time, but I am
assuming, Cassius, that you are too much of a gentleman to attack a
man whose feet are asleep."
"I wouldn't even attack you if they were snoring," said Cassius,
grinning in spite of himself. "Say, this certainly beats anything
I've ever come up against. If one of my pals was to happen to look
in here right now and see me with my feet in these drawers and you
squattin' on yours,--well, I can't help laughin' myself, and God
knows I hate to."
"You were saying a little while ago," said Mr. Yollop, shifting his
position slightly, "that you rather fancy the idea of being
arrested. Isn't that a little quixotic, Mr. Smilk?"
"Huh?"
"I mean to say, do you expect me to believe you when you say you
relish being arrested?"
"I don't care a whoop whether you believe it or not. It's true."
"Have you no fear of the law?"
"Bless your heart, sir, I don't know how I'd keep body and soul
together if it wasn't for the law. If people would only let the law
alone, I'd be one of the happiest guys on earth. But, damn 'em, they
won't let it alone. First, they put their heads together and frame
up this blasted parole game on us. Just about the time we begin to
think we're comfortably settled up the river, 'long comes some
doggone home-wrecker and gets us out on parole. Then we got to go to
work and begin all over again. Sometimes, the way things are
nowadays, it takes months to get back into the pen again. We got to
live, ain't we? We got to eat, ain't we? Well, there you are. Why
can't they leave us alone instead of drivin' us out into a cold,
unfeelin' world where we got to either steal or starve to death?
There wouldn't be one tenth as much stealin' and murderin' as there
is if they didn't force us into it. Why, doggone it, I've seen some
of the most cruel and pitiful sights you ever heard of up there at
Sing Sing. Fellers leadin' a perfectly honest life suddenly chucked
out into a world full of vice and iniquity and forced--absolutely
forced,--into a life of crime. There they were, livin' a quiet,
peaceful life, harmin' nobody, and bing! they wake up some mornin'
and find themselves homeless. Do you realize what that means, Mr.
Strumpet? It means--"
"Yollop, if you please."
"It means they got to go out and slug some innocent citizen, some
poor guy that had nothing whatever to do with drivin' them out, and
then if they happen to be caught they got to go through with all the
uncertainty of a trial by jury, never knowin' but what some
pin-headed juror will stick out for acquittal and make it necessary
to go through with it all over again. And more than that, they got
to listen to the testimony of a lot of policemen, and their own
derned fool lawyers, tryin' to deprive them of their bread and
butter, and the judge's instructions that nobody pays any attention
to except the shorthand reporter,--and them just settin' there sort
of helpless and not even able to say a word in their own behalf
because the law says they're innocent till they're proved guilty,--why,
I tell you, Mr. Dewlap, it's heart-breakin'. And all because
some weak-minded smart aleck gets them paroled. As I was sayin', the
law's all right if it wasn't for the people that abuse it."
"This is most interesting," said Mr. Yollop. "I've never quite
understood why ninety per cent of the paroled convicts go back to
the penitentiary so soon after they've been liberated."
"Of course," explained Mr. Smilk, "there are a few that don't get
back. That's because, in their anxiety to make good, they get killed
by some inexperienced policeman who catches 'em comin' out of
somebody's window or--"
"By the way, Cassius, let me interrupt you. Will you have a cigar?
Nice, pleasant way to pass an hour or two--beg pardon?"
"I was only sayin', if you don't mind I'll take one of these
cigarettes. Cigars are a little too heavy for me."
"I have some very light grade domestic--"
"I don't mean in quality. I mean in weight. What's the sense of
wastin' a lot of strength holding a cigar in your mouth when it
requires no effort at all to smoke a cigarette? Why, I got it all
figured out scientifically. With the same amount of energy you
expend in smokin' one cigar you could smoke between thirty and forty
cigarettes, and being sort of gradual, you wouldn't begin to feel
half as fatigued as if you--"
"Did I understand you to say 'scientifically', or was it
satirically?"
"I'm tryin' to use common, every-day words, Mr. Shallop," said Mr.
Smilk, with dignity, "and I wish you'd do the same."
"Ahem! Well, light up, Cassius. I think I'll smoke a cigar. When you
get through with the matches, push 'em over this way, will you? Help
yourself to those chocolate creams. There's a pound box of them at
your elbow, Cassius. I eat a great many. They're supposed to be
fattening. Help yourself." After lighting his cigar Mr. Yollop
inquired: "By the way, since you speak so feelingly I gather that
you are a paroled convict."
"That's what I am. And the worst of it is, it ain't my first
offense. I mean it ain't the first time I've been paroled. To begin
with, when I was somewhat younger than I am now, I was twice turned
loose by judges on what they call 'suspended sentences.' Then I was
sent up for two years for stealin' something or other,--I forgot
just what it was. I served my time and a little later on went up
again for three years for holdin' up a man over in Brooklyn. Well, I
got paroled out inside of two years, and for nearly six months I had
to report to the police ever' so often. Every time I reported I had
my pockets full of loot I'd snitched durin' the month, stuff the
bulls were lookin' for in every pawn-shop in town, but to save my
soul I couldn't somehow manage to get myself caught with the goods
on me. Say, I'd give two years off of my next sentence if I could
cross my legs for five or ten minutes. This is gettin' worse and
worse all the--"
"You might try putting your left foot in the right hand drawer and
your right foot in the other one," suggested Mr. Yollop.
Mr. Smilk stared. "I've seen a lot of kidders in my time, but you
certainly got 'em all skinned to death," said he.
Mr. Yollop puffed reflectively for awhile, pondering the situation.
"Well, suppose you remove one foot at a time, Cassius. As soon it is
fairly well rested, put it back again and then take the other one
out for a spell,--and so on. Half a loaf is better than no loaf at
all."
Smilk withdrew his left foot from its drawer and sighed gratefully.
"As I was sayin'," he resumed, "if we could only put some kind of a
curb on these here tender-hearted boobs--and boobesses--the world
would be a much better place to live in. The way it is now, nine
tenths of the fellers up in Sing Sing never know when they'll have
to pack up and leave, and it's a constant strain on the nerves, I
tell you. There seems to be a well-organized movement to interfere
with the personal liberty of criminals, Mr. Poppup. These here
sentimental reformers take it upon themselves to say whether a
feller shall stay in prison or not. First, they come up there and
pick out some poor helpless feller and say 'it's a crime to keep a
good-lookin', intelligent boy like you in prison, so we're going to
get you out on parole and make an honest, upright citizen of you.
We're going to get you a nice job',--and so on and so forth. Well,
before he knows it, he's out and has to put up a bluff of workin'
for a livin'. Course, he just has to go to stealin' again. It makes
him sore when he thinks of the good, honest life he was leadin' up
there in the pen, with nothin' to worry about, satisfactory hours,
plenty to eat, and practically divorced from his wife without havin'
to go through the mill. If my calculations are correct, more than
fifty per cent of the crime that's bein' committed these days is the
work of paroled convicts who depended on the law to protect and
support them for a given period of time. And does the law protect
them? It does not. It allows a lot of pinheads to interfere with it,
and what's the answer? A lot of poor devils are forced to go out and
risk their lives tryin' to--"
"Just a moment, please," interrupted Mr. Yollop. "You are talking a
trifle too fast, Cassius. Moderate your speed a little. Before we go
any further, I would like to be set straight on one point. Do you
mean to tell me that you actually prefer being in prison?"
"Well, now, that's a difficult question to answer," mused Mr. Smilk.
"Sometimes I do and sometimes I don't. It's sort of like being
married, I suppose. Sometimes you're glad you're married and
sometimes you wish to God you wasn't. Course, I've only been married
three or four times, and I've been in the pen six times, one place
or another, so I guess I'm not what you'd call an unbiased witness.
I seem to have a leanin' toward jail,--about three to one in favor
of jail, you might say, with the odds likely to be increased pretty
shortly if all goes well. Do you mind if I change drawers?"
"Eh! Oh, I see. Go ahead."
Mr. Smilk put his right foot back into its drawer and withdrew the
left.
"Gets you right across this tendon on the back of your ankle," he
said. "Now, you take the daily life of the average laboring man," he
went on earnestly. "What does he get out of it? Nothin' but
expenses. The only thing that don't cost him something is work. And
all the time he's at work his expenses are goin' on just the same,
pilin' up durin' his absence from home. Rent, food, fuel, light,
doctor, liquor, clothes, shoes,--everything pilin' up on him while
he's workin' for absolutely nothin' between pay days. The only time
he gets anything for his work is on pay day. The rest of the time
he's workin' for nothin', week in and week out. Say he works
forty-four hours a week. When does he get his pay? While he's
workin'? Not much. He has to work over time anywhere from fifteen
minutes to half an hour--on his own time, mind you--standin' in line
to get his pay envelope. And then when he gets it, what does he have
to do? He has to go home and wonder how the hell he's goin' to get
through the next week with nothin' but carfare to go on after his
wife has told him to come across. Now you take a convict. He hasn't
an expense in the world. Free grub, free bed, free doctor, free
clothes,--he could have free liquor if the keepers would let his
friends bring it in,--and his hours ain't any longer than any union
man's hours. He don't have to pay dues to any labor union, he don't
have to worry about strikes or strike benefits, he don't give a
whoop what Gompers or anybody else says about Gary, and he don't
care a darn whether the working man gets his beer or whether the
revenue officers get it. He--"
"Wait a second, please. Just as a matter of curiosity, Cassius, I'd
like to know what your views are on prohibition."
"Are you thinkin' of askin' me if I'll have something to drink?"
inquired Mr. Smilk craftily.
"What has that to do with it?"
"A lot," said Mr. Smilk, with decision.
"Do you approve of prohibition?"
"I do," said the rogue. "In moderation."
"Well, as soon as the police arrive I'll open a bottle of Scotch. In
the meantime go ahead with your very illuminating dissertation. I am
beginning to understand why crime is so attractive, so alluring. I
am almost able to see why you fellows like to go to the
penitentiary."
"If you could only get shut up for a couple of years, Mr. Wollop,
you'd appreciate just what has been done in the last few years to
make us fellers like it. You wouldn't believe how much the reformers
have done to induce us to come back as soon as possible. They give
us all kinds of entertainment, free of charge. Three times a week we
have some sort of a show, generally a band concert, a movin' picture
show and a vaudeville show. Then, once a month they bring up some
crackin' good show right out of a Broadway theater to make us forget
that it's Sunday and we'll have to go to work the next morning.
Scenery and costumes and everything and--and--" Here Mr. Smilk
showed signs of blubbering, a weakness that suddenly gave way to the
most energetic indignation. "Why, doggone it, every time I think of
what that woman done to me, I could bite a nail in two. If it hadn't
been for--"
"Woman? What woman?"
"The woman that got me paroled out. She got I don't know how many
people to sign a petition, sayin' I was a fine feller and all that
kind o' bunk, and all I needed was a chance to show the world how
honest I am and--why, of course, I was honest. How could I help
bein' honest up there? What's eatin' the darn fools? The only thing
you can steal up there is a nap, and you got to be mighty slick if
you want to do that, they watch you so close. But do you know what's
going on in this country right now, Mr. Popple? There's a regular
organized band of law-breakers operating from one end of the nation
to the other. We're tryin' to bust it up, but it's a tough job. The
best way to reform a reformer is to rob him. The minute he finds out
he's been robbed he turns over a new leaf and begins to beller like
a bull about how rotten the police are. Ninety nine times out of a
hundred he quits his cussed interferin' with the law and becomes a
decent, law-observin' citizen. Our scheme is to get busy as soon as
we've been turned loose and while our so-called benefactors are
still rejoicin' over havin' snatched a brand from the burnin', we up
and show 'em the error of their ways. First offenders get off fairly
easy. We simply sneak in and take their silver and some loose
jewelry. The more hardened they are, the worse we treat 'em. Ring
leaders some times get beat up so badly it's impossible to identify
'em at the morgue. But in time we'll smash the gang, and then if a
feller goes up for ten, twenty or even thirty years he'll know
there's no underhanded work goin' on and he can settle down to an
honest life. The only way to stop crime in this country, Mr. Yollop,
is to--"
"Thank you."
"--is to make EVERYBODY respect the law. And with conditions so
pleasant and so happy in the prison I want to tell you there's
nobody in the country that respects and admires the law more than we
do,--'specially us fellers that remember what the penitentiaries
used to be like a few years ago when conditions were so tough that
most of us managed to earn an honest livin' outside sooner than run
the risk of gettin' sent up." He sighed deeply. Then with a trace of
real solicitude in his manner: "Are your feet warm yet?"
"Warm as toast. Your discourse, Cassius, has moved me deeply.
Perhaps it would comfort you to call up police headquarters again
and tell 'em to hurry along?"
"Wouldn't be a bad idea," said Mr. Smilk. He took down the receiver.
Presently: "Police headquarters? ... How about sending over to 418
Sagamore for that burglar I was speakin' to you about recently? ...
Sure, he's here yet. ... The same name I gave you earlier in the
evening. ... Spell it yourself. You got it written down on a pad
right there in front of you, haven't you? ... Say, if you don't get
somebody around here pretty quick, I'm goin' to call up two or three
of the newspaper offices and have 'em send--... All right. See that
you do." Turning to Mr. Yollop, he said: "The police are a pretty
decent lot when you get to know 'em, Mr. Yollop. They do their share
towards enforcin' the law. They do their best to get us the limit.
The trouble is, they got to fight tooth and nail against almost
everybody that ain't on the police force. Specially jurymen. There
ain't a juryman in New York City that wants to believe a policeman
on oath. He'd sooner believe a crook, any day. And sometimes the
judges are worse than the juries. A pal of mine, bein' in
considerable of a hurry to get back home one very cold winter,
figured that if he went up and plead guilty before a judge he'd save
a lot of time. Well, sir, the doggone judge looked him over for a
minute or two, and suddenly, out of a clear sky, asked him if he had
a family,--and when he acknowledged, being an honest though ignorant
guy, that he had a wife and three children, the judge said, if he'd
promise to go out and earn a livin' for them he'd let him off with a
suspended sentence, and before he had a chance to say he'd be damned
if he'd make any such fool promise, the bailiff hustled him out the
runway and told him to 'beat it'. He had to go out and slug a poor
old widow woman and rob her of all the money she'd saved since her
husband died--say, that reminds me. I got a favor I'd like to ask
of you, Mr. Yollop."
"I'm inclined to grant almost any favor you may ask," said Mr.
Yollop, sympathetically. "I know how miserable you must feel,
Cassius, and how hard life is for you. Do you want me to shoot you?"
"No, I don't," exclaimed Mr. Smilk hastily. "I want you to take my
roll of bills and hide it before the police come. That ain't much to
ask, is it?"
"Bless my soul! How extraordinary!"
"There's something over six hundred dollars in the roll," went on
Cassius confidentially. "It ain't that I'm afraid the cops will grab
it for themselves, understand. But, you see, it's like this. The
first thing the judge asks you when you are arraigned is whether you
got the means to employ a lawyer. If you ain't, he appoints some one
and it don't cost you a cent. Now, if I go down to the Tombs with
all this money, why, by gosh, it will cost me just that much to get
sent to Sing Sing, 'cause whatever you've got in the shape of real
money is exactly what your lawyer's fee will be, and it don't seem
sensible to spend all that money to get sent up when you can obtain
the same result for nothin'. Ain't that so?"
"It sounds reasonable, Cassius. You appear to be a thrifty as well
as an honest fellow. But, may I be permitted to ask what the devil
you are doing with six hundred dollars on your person while actively
engaged in the pursuit of your usual avocation? Why didn't you leave
it at home?"
"Home? My God, man, don't you know it ain't safe these days to have
a lot of money around the house? With all these burglaries going on?
Not on your life. Even if I had had all this dough when I left home
to-night, I wouldn't have taken any such chance as leavin' it there.
The feller I'm roomin' with is figurin' on turning over a new leaf;
he's thinkin' of gettin' married for five or six months and I don't
think he could stand temptation."
"Do you mean to say, you acquired your roll after leaving home
tonight, eh?"
"To be perfectly honest with you, Mr. Moppup, I--"
"Yollop, please."
"--Yollop, I found this money in front of a theater up town,--just
after the police nabbed a friend of mine who had frisked some guy of
his roll and had to drop it in a hurry."
"And you want me to keep it for you till you are free again,--is
that it?"
"Just as soon as the trial is over and I get my sentence, I'll send
a pal of mine around to you with a note and you can turn it over to
him. All I'm after, is to keep some lawyer from gettin'--"
"What would you say, Cassius, if I were to tell you that I am a
lawyer?"
"I'd say you're a darned fool to confess when you don't have to,"
replied Mr. Smilk succinctly.
Mr. Yollop chuckled. "Well, I'm not a lawyer. Nevertheless, I must
decline to act as a depository for your obviously ill-gotten gains."
"Gee, that's tough," lamented Mr. Smilk. "Wouldn't you just let me
drop it behind something or other,--that book case over there
say,--and I'll promise to send for it some night when you're out,--"
"No use, Cassius," broke in Mr. Yollop, firmly. "I'm deaf to your
entreaties. Permit me to paraphrase a very well-known line. 'None so
deaf as him who will not hear.'"
"If I speak very slowly and distinctly don't you think you could
hear me if I was to offer to split the wad even with
you,--fifty-fifty,--no questions asked?" inquired Cassius, rather
wistfully.
"See here," exclaimed Mr. Yollop, irritably; "you got me in this
position and I want you to get me out of it. While I've been
squatting here listening to you, they've both gone to sleep and I'm
hanged if I can move 'em. I never would have dreamed of sitting on
them if you hadn't put the idea into my head, confound you."
"Let 'em hang down for a while," suggested Mr. Smilk. "That'll wake
'em up."
"Easier said than done," snapped the other. He managed, however, to
get his benumbed feet to the floor and presently stood up on them.
Mr. Smilk watched him with interest as he hobbled back and forth in
front of the desk. "They'll be all right in a minute or two. By
Jove, I wish my sister could have heard all you've been saying about
prisons and paroles and police. I ought to have had sense enough to
call her. She's asleep at the other end of the hall."
"I hate women," growled Mr. Smilk. "Ever since that pie-faced dame
got me chucked out of Sing Sing,--say, let me tell you something
else she done to me. She gave me an address somewhere up on the East
Side and told me to come and see her as soon as I got out. Well, I
hadn't been out a week when I went up to see her one night,--or,
more strictly speakin', one morning about two o'clock. What do you
think? It was an empty house, with a 'for rent' sign on it. I found
out the next day she'd moved a couple of weeks before and had gone
to some hotel for the winter because it was impossible to keep any
servants while this crime wave is goin' on. The janitor told me
she'd had three full sets of servants stole right out from under her
nose by female bandits over on Park Avenue. I don't suppose I'll
ever have another chance to get even with her. Everything all set to
bind and gag her, and maybe rap her over the bean a couple of times
and--say, can you beat it for rotten luck? She--she double-crossed
me, that's what she--"
A light, hesitating rap on the library door interrupted Mr. Smilk's
bitter reflection.
CHAPTER THREE
"Some one at the door," the burglar announced, after a moment. Mr.
Yollop had failed to hear the tapping.
"You can't fool me, Cassius. It's an old trick but it won't work.
I've seen it done on the stage too many times to be caught napping
by,--"
"There it goes again. Louder, please!" he called with considerable
vehemence and was rewarded by a scarcely audible tapping indicative
not only of timidity but of alarm as well--"Say," he bawled,
"you'll have to cut out that spirit rapping if you want to come in.
Use your night-stick!"
"Ah, the police at last," cried Mr. Yollop. "You'd better take this
revolver now, Mr. Smilk," he added hastily. "I won't want 'em to
catch me with a weapon in my possession. It means a heavy fine or
imprisonment." He shoved the pistol across the desk. "They wouldn't
believe me if I said it was yours."
A sharp, penetrating rat-a-tat on the door. Mr. Smilk picked up the
revolver.
"You bet they wouldn't," said he. "If I swore on a stack of bibles I
let a boob like you take it away from me, they'd send me to
Matteawan, and God knows,--"
"Come in!" called out Mr. Yollop.
The door opened and a plump, dumpy lady in a pink peignoir, her
front hair done up in curl-papers stood revealed on the threshold
blinking in the strong light.
"Goodness gracious, Crittenden," she cried irritably, "don't you
know what time of night it--"
She broke off abruptly as Mr. Smilk, with a great clatter, yanked
his remaining foot from the drawer and arose, overturning the
swivel-chair in his haste.
"Well, for the love of--" oozed from his gaping mouth. Suddenly he
turned his face away and hunched one shoulder up as a sort of
shield.
"It's long past three o'clock," went on the newcomer severely. "I'm
sorry to interrupt a conference but I do think you might arrange for
an appointment during the day, sir. My brother has not been well and
if ever a man needed sleep and rest and regular hours, he does.
Crittenden, I wish you--"
"Cassius," interrupted Mr. Yollop urbanely, "this is my sister, Mrs.
Champney. I want you to repeat--Turn around here, can't you? What's
the matter with you?"
"Don't order me around like that," muttered Mr. Smilk, still with
his face averted. "I've got the gun now and I'll do as I damn'
please. You can't talk to me like--"
"Goodness! Who is this man?" cried the lady, stopping short to
regard the blasphemer with shocked, disapproving eyes. "And what is
he doing with a revolver in his hand?"
"Give me that pistol,--at once," commanded Mr. Yollop. "Hand it
over!"
"Not on your life," cried Mr. Smilk triumphantly. He faced Mrs.
Champney. "Take off them rings, you. Put 'em here on the desk.
Lively, now! And don't yelp! Do you get me? DON'T YELP!"
Mrs. Champney stared unblinkingly, speechless.
"Put up your hands, Yollop!" ordered Mr. Smilk.
"Why,--why, it's Ernest,--Ernest Wilson," she gasped, incredulously.
Then, with a little squeak of relief: "Don't pay any attention to
him, Crittenden. He is a friend of mine. Don't you remember me,
Ernest? I am--"
"You bet your life I remember you," said the burglar softly, almost
purringly.
"Ernest your grandmother," cried Mr. Yollop jerking the disk first
one way and then the other in order to catch the flitting duologue.
"His name is Smilk,--Cassius Smilk."
"Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Champney sharply. "It's Ernest
Wilson,--isn't it, Ernest?"
"Take off them rings," was the answer she got.
"What is this man doing here, Crittenden?" demanded Mrs. Champney,
paying no heed to Smilk's command.
"He's a burglar," replied Mr. Yollop. "I guess you'd better take off
your rings, Alice."
"Do you mean to tell me, Ernest Wilson, that you've gone back to
your evil ways after all I,--"
"I say, Cassius," cried Mr. Yollop, "is this the woman you wanted to
bind and gag and--and--"