Shorty McCabe on the Job. Ford Sewell

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СКАЧАТЬ says I. "Read it."

      It was to John Wesley Pedders, cashier of the Merchants' Exchange Bank, from Mr. Gordon. "In depositing securities for a loan, on my recent visit to your bank," it runs on, "I found I had brought the wrong set; so I took the liberty, without consulting your president, of substituting, for a few days, a bundle of blanks. I am now sending by registered mail the proper bonds, which you may file. Trusting this slight delay has caused you no inconvenience, I am——"

      "The old fox!" cuts in J. Bayard. "A fair sample of his methods! Had to have a loan on those securities, and wanted to use them somewhere else at the same time; so he picked out this little country bank to work the deal through. Oh, that was Pyramid Gordon, every time! And calmly allowed a poor cashier to go to State's prison for it!"

      "Not Pyramid," says I. "I don't believe he ever heard a word of the trouble."

      "Then why did he put Pedders' name on his list?" demands Steele.

      "Maybe he thought sendin' on the bonds would clear up the mess," says I. "So it would, if they hadn't come a day or two late and got stowed away here. And here they've been for twenty years!"

      "Yes, and quite as valuable to the bank as if they'd been in the vaults," sneers J. Bayard. "That Water Level stock never was worth the paper it was printed on, any more than it is now."

      "We'll make it useful, then," says I. "Why, it's got Aladdin's lamp beat four ways for Wednesday! These bonds go to Pedders. Then Pedders shaves off his whiskers, puts on his Sunday suit, braces his shoulders back, walks down to the bank, and chucks this bunch of securities at 'em triumphant."

      "But if the bank is still out a hundred and fifty thousand," objects Steele, "I don't see how——"

      "They ain't out a cent," says I. "We'll find a customer for these bonds."

      "Who?" says he.

      "J. Bayard Steele," says I. "Ain't you actin' for a certain party that would have wanted it done?"

      "By Jove!" says he. "Shorty, you've hit it! Why, I'd never have thought of——"

      "No," says I; "you're still seein' only that twenty per cent commission. Well, you get that. But I want to see the look in Mrs. Pedders' eyes when she hears the news."

      Say, it was worth makin' a way train trip to Tullington, believe me!

      "I knew," says she. "Oh, I always have known John didn't do it! And now others will know. Oh, I'm glad, so glad!"

      Even brought a slight dew to them shifty eyes of J. Bayard's, that little scene did. "McCabe," says he, as we settles ourselves in the night express headed towards Broadway, "this isn't such a bad game, after all, is it?"

CHAPTER IV

       Table of Contents

TWO SINGLES TO GOOBER

       Table of Contents

      "Shorty," says Sadie, hangin' up the 'phone and turnin' to me excited, "what do you think? Young Hollister is back in town!"

      "So are lots of other folks," says I, "and more comin' every day."

      "But you know he promised to stay away," she goes on, "and his mother will feel dreadfully about it when she hears."

      "I know," says I. "And a livelier widow never hailed from Peachtree street, Atlanta; which is sayin' a lot. Who sends in this bulletin about Sonny?"

      "Purdy-Pell," says Sadie, "and he doesn't know what to do."

      "Never does," says I.

      Sadie flickers a grin. "It seems Robin came two days ago, and has hardly been seen about the house since. Besides, Purdy-Pell could do nothing with him when he was here before, you remember."

      "Awful state of things, ain't it?" says I. "The youngster's all of nineteen, ain't he?"

      "He's nearly twenty-one," says Sadie. "And Mrs. Hollister's such a dear!"

      "All of which leads up to what?" says I, tearin' my eyes from the sportin' page reluctant.

      "Why," says Sadie, cuddlin' up on the chair arm, "Purdy-Pell suggests that, as Robin appeared to take such a fancy to you, perhaps you wouldn't mind——"

      "Say," I breaks in, "he's a perfectly punk suggester! I'd mind a lot!"

      Course that opened the debate, and while I begins by statin' flat-footed that Robin could come or go for all I cared, it ends in the usual compromise. I agrees to take the eight-forty-five into town and skirmish for Sonny. He'd be almost sure to show up at Purdy-Pell's to-night, Sadie says, and if I was on hand I might induce him to quit wreckin' the city and be good.

      "Shouldn't I wear a nurse's cap and apron?" I remarks as I grabs my hat.

      For, honest, so far as I've ever seen, this young Hollister was a nice, quiet, peaceable chap, with all the earmarks of a perfect gent. He'd been brought up from the South and put into Purdy-Pell's offices, and he'd made a fair stab at holdin' down his job. But of course, bein' turned loose in New York for the first time, I expect he went out now and then to see what was goin' on under the white lights.

      From some youngsters that might have called for such panicky protests as Mother and Mrs. Purdy-Pell put up; but young Robin had a good head on him, and didn't act like he meant to develop into a rounder. Course I didn't hear the details; but all of a sudden something happened that caused a grand howl. I know Sadie was consulted, then Mrs. Hollister was sent for, and it ended by Robin marchin' into the studio one mornin' to say good-by. He explains that he's bein' shipped home. They'd got a job for him with an uncle out in the country somewhere. That must have been a year or so ago, and now it looked like he'd slipped his halter and had headed back for Broadway.

      I finds Purdy-Pell peeved and sarcastic. "To be sure," he says, "I feel honored that the young man should make my house his headquarters whenever his fancy leads him to indulge his sportive instincts. Youth must be served, you know. But Mrs. Hollister has such a charmingly unreasonable way of holding me responsible for her son's conduct! And since she happens just now to be our guest—well, you get the idea, McCabe."

      "What do you think he's up to?" says I.

      Purdy-Pell shrugs his shoulders. "If he were the average youth, one might guess," says he; "but Robin Hollister is different. His mother is a Pitt Medway, one of the Georgia Medways."

      "You don't say!" says I. I expect I ought to know just how a Georgia Medway differs from a New Jersey Medway, or the Connecticut brand; but, sad to say, I don't. Purdy-Pell, though, havin' been raised in the South himself, seems to think that everyone ought to know the traits of all the leadin' fam'lies between the Potomac and the Chattahoochee.

      "Last time, you know," goes on Purdy-Pell, "it was a Miss Maggie Toots, a restaurant cashier, and a perfectly impossible person. We broke that up, though."

      "Ye-e-es?" says I.

      "Robin's СКАЧАТЬ