Shorty McCabe on the Job. Ford Sewell

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СКАЧАТЬ "Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief—I wonder?"

      "Ah, come!" says I, handin' him a paper knife.

      "But there's no need for haste," says J. Bayard. "Just consider, Shorty: In this envelop is the name of some individual who was the victim of injustice, large or small, at the hands of Pyramid Gordon, someone who got in his way, perhaps years ago. Now I am to do something that will offset that old injury. While the name remains unread, we have a bit of mystery, an unknown adventure ahead of us, perhaps. And that, my dear McCabe, is the salt of life."

      "Say, you ought to take that lecture out on the Chautauqua," says I. "Get busy—slit or quit!"

      "Very well," says he, jabbin' the knife under the flap. "To discover the identity of the next in line!"

      "Well?" says I, as he stares at the slip of paper. "Who do you pluck this time?"

      "An enigma, so far as I am concerned," says he. "Listen: 'John Wesley Pedders, in 1894 cashier of the Merchants' Exchange Bank, at Tullington, Connecticut.' Ever hear of such a person, Shorty!"

      "Not me," says I, "nor the place either."

      "Then it remains to be discovered first," says Steele, "whether for twenty years Pedders has stayed put or not. Haven't a Pathfinder handy, have you? Never mind, there are plenty at the hotel. And if to-morrow is such another fine spring day as this, I'll run up there. I'll let you know the results later; and then, my trusty colleague, we will plot joyously for the well-being of John Wesley Pedders."

      "Huh!" says I. "Don't try to pull any steam yachts or French limousines on me this time. The kind stuff goes, remember."

      "To your acute sense of fitness in such matters, McCabe," says he, "I bow profoundly," and with a jaunty wave of his hand he drifts out.

      Honest, compared to the shifty-eyed, suspicious-actin' party that blew into my studio a few weeks back, he seems like a kid on a Coney Island holiday. I expect it's the prospects of easy money that's chirked him up so; but he sure is a misfit to be subbin' on a deeds-of-kindness job. That ain't my lookout, though. All I got to do is pass on his plans and see that he carries 'em out accordin' to specifications. So I don't even look up this tank station on the map.

      A couple of days go by, three, and no bulletin from J. Bayard. Then here the other mornin' I gets a long distance call. It's from Steele.

      "Eh?" says I. "Where the blazes are you?"

      "Tullington," says he.

      "Oh!" says I. "Still there, are you? Found Pedders?"

      "Ye-e-es," says he; "but I am completely at a loss to know what to do for him. I say, McCabe, couldn't you run up here? It's a curious situation, and I—well, I need your advice badly. There's a train at eleven-thirty that connects at Danbury. Couldn't you?"

      Well, I hadn't figured on bein' any travelin' inspector when I took this executor job; but as J. Bayard sends out the S O S so strong I can't very well duck. Besides, I might have been a little int'rested to know what he'd dug up.

      So about three-fifteen that afternoon finds me pilin' off a branch accommodation at Tullington. Mr. Steele is waitin' on the platform to meet me, silk lid and all.

      "What about Pedders?" says I.

      "I want you to see him first," says J. Bayard.

      "On exhibition, is he?" says I.

      "In a town of this size," says he, "everyone is on exhibition continuously. It's the penalty one pays for being rural, I suppose. I've been here only two days; but I'll venture to say that most of the inhabitants know me by name and have made their guess as to what my business here may be. It's the most pitiless kind of publicity I ever experienced. But come on up to the postoffice, and I'll show you Pedders."

      "Fixture there, is he?" says I.

      "Twice a day he comes for the mail," says J. Bayard. "Your train brought it up. He'll be on hand."

      So we strolls up Main street from the station, while Steele points out the brass works, the carpet mill, the opera house, and Judge Hanks' slate-roofed mansion. It sure is a jay burg, but a lively one. Oh, yes! Why, the Ladies' Aid Society was holdin' a cake sale in a vacant store next to the Bijou movie show, and everybody was decoratin' for a firemen's parade to be pulled off next Saturday. We struck the postoffice just as they brought the mail sacks up in a pushcart and dragged 'em in through the front door.

      "There he is," says Steele, nudgin' me, "over in the corner by the writing shelf!"

      What he points out is a long-haired, gray-whiskered old guy, with a faded overcoat slung over his shoulders like a cape, and an old slouch hat pulled down over his eyes. He's standin' there as still and quiet as if his feet was stuck to the floor.

      "Kind of a seedy old party, eh?" says I.

      "Why not?" says J. Bayard. "He's an ex-jailbird."

      "You don't say!" says I. "What brand?"

      "Absconder," says he. "Got away with a hundred and fifty thousand from the local bank."

      "Well, well!" says I. "Didn't spend it dollin' himself up, did he?"

      "Oh, all that happened twenty years ago," says Steele. "The odd part of it is, though—— But come over to the hotel, where I can tell you the whole story."

      And, say, he had a tale, all right. Seems Pedders had been one of the leadin' citizens—cashier of the bank, pillar of the church, member of the town council, and all that—with a wife who was a social fav'rite, and a girl that promised to be a beauty when she grew up. The Pedders never tried to cut any gash, though. They lived simple and respectable and happy. About the only wild plunge the neighbors ever laid up against him was when he paid out ten dollars once for some imported tulip bulbs.

      Then all of a sudden it was discovered that a bunch of negotiable securities had disappeared from the bank vaults. The arrow pointed straight to Pedders. He denied; but he couldn't explain. He just shut up like a clam, and let 'em do their worst. He got ten years. Before he was put away they tried to make him confess, or give 'em some hint as to what he'd done with the bonds. But there was nothin' doin' in that line. He just stood pat and took his medicine.

      Bein' a quiet prisoner, that gave no trouble and kept his cell tidy, he scaled it down a couple of years. Nobody looked for him to come back to Tullington after he got loose. They all had it doped out that he'd salted away that hundred and fifty thousand somewhere, and would proceed to dig it up and enjoy it where he wa'n't known.

      But Pedders fooled 'em again. Straight back from the bars he come, back to Tullington and the little white story-and-a-half cottage on a side street, where Mrs. Pedders and Luella was waitin' for him.

      She'd had some hand-to-hand tussle meanwhile, Mrs. Pedders had; but she'd stuck it out noble. At the start about nine out of ten of her neighbors and kind friends was dead sure she knew where that bunch of securities was stowed, and some of 'em didn't make any bones of sayin' she ought to be in jail along with Pedders. So of course that made it nice and comfy for her all around. But she opened up a little millinery shop in her front parlor, and put up jams and jellies, and raised a few violets under a window sash in the back yard. She didn't quite starve that first year or so; though nobody knew just how close she shaved it. And in time even them СКАЧАТЬ