Chapter 11

THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY

It's a shame the way some of these popular clubmen is bothered with business. Here was Mr. Robert, only the other day, with an important four-cue match to be played off between four-thirty and dinnertime; and what does the manager of our Chicago branch have to do but go and muss up the schedule by wirin' in that he might have to call for headquarters' advice on that Burlington order maybe after closin' time.

"Oh, pshaw!" remarks Mr. Robert, after he's read the message.

"The simp!" says I. "Guess he thinks the Corrugated gen'ral offices runs night and day shifts, don't he?"

"Very well put," says Mr. Robert. "Still, it means rather a big contract. But, you see, the fellows are counting on me for this match, and if I should---- Oh, but I say, Torchy," he breaks off sudden, "perhaps you have no very important engagement for the early evening?"

"Me?" says I. "Nothing I couldn't scratch. I can shoot a little pool too; but when it comes to balk line billiards I expect I'd be a dub among your crowd."

"Refreshing modesty!" says Mr. Robert. "What I had in mind, however, was that you might wait here for the message from Nixon, while I attend to the match."

"Oh, any way you choose," says I. "Sure I'll stay."

"Thanks," says he. "You needn't wait longer than seven, and if it comes in you can get me on the 'phone and---- No, it will be in code; so you'd best bring it over."

And it wa'n't so much of a wait, after all, not more'n an hour; for at six-fifteen I've been over to the club, had Mr. Robert called from the billiard room, got him to fix up his answer, and am pikin' out the front door with it when he holds me up to add just one more word. Maybe we was some conspicuous from Fifth-ave., him bein' still in his shirt sleeves and the steps bein' more or less brilliant.

Anyway, I'd made another start and was just gettin' well under way, when alongside scuffs this hollow-eyed object with the mangy whiskers and the mixed-ale breath.

"Excuse me, young feller," says he, "but----"

"Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I. "I'm no soup ticket."

"But just a word, my friend," he insists.

"Save your breath," says I, "and have it redistilled. It's worth it."

"Thanks," he puffs out as he shuffles along at my elbow; "but--but wasn't that Bob Ellins you were just talking to?"

"Eh?" says I, glancin' at him some astonished; for a seedier specimen you couldn't find up and down the avenue. "What do you know about him, if it was?"

"More than his name," says the wreck. "He--he's an old friend of mine."

"Oh, of course," says I. "Anyone could tell that at a glimpse. I expect you used to belong to the same club too?"

"Is old Barney still on the door?" says he.

And, say, he had the right dope on that. Not three minutes before I'd heard Mr. Robert call the old gink by name. But that hardly proved the case.

"Clever work," says I. "What was it you used to do there, take out the ashes."

"I don't wonder you think so," says he; "but it's a fact that Bob and I are old friends."

"Why don't you tackle him, then," says I, "instead of botherin' a busy man like me? Go back and call him out."

"I haven't the face," says he. "Look at me!"

"I have," says I, "and, if you ask me, you look like something the cat brought in."

He winces a little at that. "Don't tell Bob how bad it was, then," says he. "Just say you let me have a fiver for him."

"Five bucks!" says I. "Say, I'm Mr. Robert's office boy, not his bank account."

"Two, then?" he goes on.

"My, but I must have the boob mark on me plain!" says I.

"Couldn't you spare a half," he urges, "just a half, to get me a little something to eat, and a drink, and pay for a bed?"

"Oh, sure!" says I. "I carry a pocketful of halves to shove out to all the bums that presents their business cards."

"But Bob would give it back to you," he pleads. "I swear he would! Just tell him you gave it to--to----"

"Well?" says I. "Algernon who?"

"Tell him it was for Melville Slater," says he. "He'll know."

"Melly Slater, eh?" says I. "Sounds all aright. But I'd have to chew it over first, even for a half. I have chances of gettin' stung like this about four times a day, Melly. And, anyway, I got to file a message first, over at the next corner."

"I'll wait outside," says he.

"That's nice of you," says I. "It ain't any cinch you'll connect, though."

But as I dashes into a hotel where there's a blue sign out he leans up against a window gratin', sort of limp and exhausted, and it looks like he means to take a sportin' chance.

How you goin' to tell, anyway? Most of 'em say they've been thrown out of work by the trusts, but that they've heard of a job in Newark, or Bridgeport, or somewhere, which they could get if they could only rustle enough coin to pay the fare. And they'll add interestin' details about havin' a sick wife, or maybe four hungry kids, and so on.

But this rusty bunch of works has a new variation. He's an old friend of the boss. Maybe it was partly so too. If it was--well, I got to thinkin' that over while the operator was countin' the words, and so the next thing I does is to walk over to the telephone queen and have her call up Mr. Robert.

"Well?" says he, impatient.

"It's Torchy again," says I. "I've filed the message, all right. But, say, there's a piece of human junk that I collected from in front of the club who's tryin' to panhandle me for a half on the strength of bein' an old chum of yours. He says his name's Melville Slater."

"Wha-a-at!" gasps Mr. Robert. "Melly Slater, trying to borrow half a dollar from you?"

"There's no doubt about his needin' it," says I. "My guess is that a half would be a life saver to him just now."

"Why, it doesn't seem possible!!" says Mr. Robert. "Of course, I haven't seen Melly recently; but I can't imagine how---- Did you say he was still there?"

"Hung up on the rail outside, if the cop ain't shooed him off," says I.

"Then keep him there until I come," says Mr. Robert. "If it's Melly, I must come. I'll be right over. But don't say a word to him until I get there."

"Got you," says I. "Hold Melly and keep mum."

I could pipe him off through the swing door vestibule; and, honest, from the lifeless way he's propped up there, one arm hangin' loose, his head to one side, and that white, pasty look to his nose and forehead--well, I didn't know but he'd croaked on the spot. So I slips through the cafe exit and chases along the side street until I meets Mr. Robert, who's pikin' over full tilt.

"You're sure it's Melly Slater, are you?" says he.

"I'm only sure that's what he said," says I. "But you can settle that soon enough. There he is, over there by the window."

"Why!" says Mr. Robert. "That can never be Melly; that is, unless he's changed wonderfully." With that he marches up and taps the object on the shoulder. "I say," says he, "you're not really Melly Slater, are you?"

There's a quick shiver runs through the man against the rail, and he lifts his eyes up cringin', like he expected to be hit with a club. Mr. Robert takes one look, and it almost staggers him. Next he reaches out, gets a firm grip on the gent's collar, and drags him out into a better light, twistin' the whiskered face up for a close inspection.

"Blashford!" says he, hissin' it out unpleasant. "Bunny Blashford!"

"No, no!" says the gent, tryin' to squirm away. "You--you've made a mistake."

"Not much!" says Mr. Robert. "I know those sneaking eyes of yours too well."

"All right," says he; "but--but don't hit me, Bob. Don't."

"You--you cur!" says Mr. Robert, holding him at arm's length and glarin' at him hostile.

"A ringer, eh?" says I.

"Worse than that," says Mr. Robert, "a sneaking, contemptible hound! Trying to pass yourself off for Melly, were you?" he goes on. "Of all men, Melly! What for?"

"I--I didn't want you to know I was back," whines Bunny. "And I had to get money somehow, Bob--honest, I did."

"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "You--you----"

But he ain't got any such vocabulary as old Hickory Ellins has; so here, when he needs it most, all he can do is express his deep disgust by shakin' this Bunny party like a new hired girl dustin' a rug. He jerks him this way and that so reckless that I was afraid he'd rattle him apart, and when he fin'lly lets loose Bunny goes all in a heap on the sidewalk. I'd never seen Mr. Robert get real wrathy before; but it's all over in a minute, and he glances around like he was ashamed.

"Hang it all!" says he, gazin' at the wreck. "I didn't mean to lay my hands on him."

"He's in punk condition," says I. "What's to be done, call an ambulance?"

That jars Mr. Robert a lot. I expect he was so worked up he didn't know how rough he was handlin' him, and my suggestin' that he's qualified Bunny for a cot sobers him down in a minute. Next thing I knows he's kneelin' over the Blashford gent and liftin' his head up.

"Here, what's the matter with you?" says Mr. Robert.

"Don't! Don't strike me again," moans Bunny, cringin'.

"No, no, I'm not going to," says Mr. Robert. "And I apologize for shaking you. But what ails you?"

"I--I'm all in," says Bunny, beginnin' to sniffle. "Don't--don't beat me! I--I'm going to die; but--but not here, like--like this. I--I don't want to live; but--but I don't want to finish this way, like a rat. Help me, Bob, to--to finish decent. I know I don't deserve it from you; but--but you wouldn't want to see me go like this--dirty and ragged? I--I want to die clean and--and well dressed. Please, Bob, for old time's sake?"

"Nonsense, man!" says Mr. Robert. "You're not going to die now."

"Yes, I am, Bob," says Bunny. "I--I can tell. I want to, anyway. I--I'm no good. And I'm in rotten shape. Drink, you know, and I've a bad heart. I'm near starved too. It's been days since I've eaten anything--days!"

"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Then you must have something to eat. Here, let me help you up. Torchy, you take the other side. Steady, now! I didn't know you were in such a condition; really, I didn't. And we'll get you filled up right away."

"I--I couldn't eat," says Bunny. "I don't want anything. I just want to quit--only--not like this; but clean, Bob, clean and dressed decent once more."

Say, maybe you can guess about how cheerin' it was, hearin' him say that over and over in that whiny, tremblin' voice of his, watchin' them shifty, deep-set eyes glisten glassy under the light. About as comfortin' a sight, he was, as a sick dog in a corner. And of all the rummy ideas to get in his nut--that about bein' dressed up to die! But he keeps harpin' away on it until fin'ly Mr. Robert takes notice.

"Yes, yes!" says the boss. "We'll attend to that, old man. But you need some nourishment in you first."

So we drags him over to the opposite corner, where there's a drugstore, and got a glass of hot milk under his vest. Then I calls a taxi, and we all starts for the nearest Turkish bath joint.

"That's all, Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "I won't bother you any more with this wretched business. You'd best go now."

"Suppose something happens to him?" says I. "You'll need a witness, won't you?"

"I hadn't thought of that," says he.

"There's no tellin'," says I. "Them coroners deputies are mostly boneheads. I'd better stay on the job."

"I know of no one I'd rather have, Torchy," says he.

Course, he was stretchin' it there. But we fixes it up that while Bunny is bein' soaked out I'll have time to pluck some eats. Meanwhile Mr. Robert will 'phone his man to dig out one of his old dress suits, with fixin's, which I'm to collect and have waitin' for Blashford.

"Better have him barbered some too, hadn't I?" says I.

"A lot," says Mr. Robert, slippin' me a couple of tens for expenses. "And when he's all ready call me at the club."

So, take it all around, I has quite some busy evenin'. I stayed long enough to see Bunny wrapped in a sheet and helped into the steam-room, and then I hustles out for a late dinner. It's near nine-thirty before I rings Mr. Robert up again, and reports that Bunny would pass a Board of Health inspection now that he's had the face herbage removed, that he's costumed proper and correct, and that he's decided not to die immediate.

"Very well," says Mr. Robert. "What does he want to do now?"

"He wants to talk to you," says I.

"The deuce he does!" says Mr. Robert. "Well, I suppose we might as well have it out; so bring him up here."

That's how it happens I'm rung in on this little club corner chat; for Mr. Robert explains that whatever passes between 'em it might be as well to have someone else hear.

And, say, what a diff'rence a little outside upholstery can make, eh? The steamin' out had helped some, I expect, and a couple more glasses of hot milk had braced him up too; but blamed if I'd expect just a shave and a few open-face clothes could change a human ruin into such a perky lookin' gent as this that leans back graceful against the leather cushions and lights up one of Mr. Robert's imported cigarettes. Course, the eye hollows hadn't been filled in, nor the face wrinkles ironed out; but somehow they only gives him a sort of a distinguished look. And now that his shoulders ain't slumped, and he's holdin' his chin up once more, he's almost ornamental. He don't even seem embarrassed at meetin' Mr. Robert again. If anyone was fussed, it was the boss.

"Well?" says he, as we gets settled in the cozy corner.

"Seems natural as life here; eh, Bob?" says Bunny, glancin' around approvin'. "And it's nearly four years since I--er----"

"Since you were kicked out," adds Mr. Robert. "See here, Bunny--just because I've helped you out of the gutter when I thought you were half dead, don't run away with the idea that I've either forgotten or forgiven!"

"Oh, quite so," says he. "I'm not asking that."

"Then you've no excuse," goes on Mr. Robert, "for the sneaking, cowardly way in which you left little Sally Slater waiting in her bridal gown, the house full of wedding guests, while you ran off with that unspeakable DeBrett person?"

"No," says Bunny, flippin' his cigarette ashes off jaunty, "no excuse worthy of the name."

"Cad!" says Mr. Robert.

Bunny shrugs his shoulders. "Precisely," says he. "But you are not making the discovery for the first time, are you? You knew Sally was far too good for me. Everyone did, even Brother Melly. It couldn't have been much of a secret to either of you how deep I was with the DeBrett too. Yet you wanted me to go on with Sally. Why? Because the governor hadn't chucked me overboard then, because I could still keep up a front?"

"You might have taken a brace," says Mr. Robert.

"Not I!" says Bunny. "Anyway, not after Trixie DeBrett got hold of me. The trouble was, Bob, you didn't half appreciate her. She had beauty, brains, wit, a thousand fascinations, and no more soul than a she boa constrictor. I was just a rabbit to her, a meal. She thought the governor would buy her off, say, for a couple hundred thousand or so. I suppose he would too, if it hadn't been for the Sally complication. He thought a lot of little Sally. And the way it happened was too raw. I don't blame him, mind you, nor any of you. I don't even blame Trixie. That was her game. And, by Jove! she was a star at it. I'd go back to her now if she'd let me."

"You're a fool!" snorts Mr. Robert.

"Always was, my dear Bob," says Bunny placid. "You often told me as much."

"But I didn't think," goes on Mr. Robert, "you'd get as low as--as tonight--begging!"

"Quite respectable for me, I assure you," says Bunny. "Why, my dear fellow, during the last few years there's been hardly a crime on the calendar I shouldn't have committed for a dollar--barring murder, of course. That requires nerve. How long do you suppose the few thousands I got from Aunt Eunice lasted? Barely six months. I thought I knew how to live rather luxuriously myself. But Trixie! Well, she taught me. And we were in Paris, you know. I didn't cable the governor until I was down to my last hundred-franc note. His reply was something of a stinger. I showed it to Trixie. She just laughed and went out for a drive. She didn't come back. I hear she picked up a brewer's son at Monte Carlo. Lucky devil, he was!

"And I? What would you expect? In less than two weeks I was a stowaway on a French liner. They routed me out and set me to stoking. I couldn't stand that, of course; so they put me to work in the kitchens, cleaning pots, dumping garbage, waiting on the crew. I had to make the round trip too. Then I jumped the stinking craft, only to get a worse berth on a P. & O. liner. I worked with Chinese, Lascars, coolies, the scum of the earth; worked and ate and slept and fought with them. I crawled ashore and deserted in strange ports. I think it was at Aden where I came nearest to starving the first time. And I remember the docks at Alexandria. Sometimes the tourists threw down coppers for the Arab and Berber boys to scrabble for. It's a pleasant custom. I was there, in that scrabbling, cursing, clawing rabble. And when I'd had a good day I spent my coppers royally in a native dance-hall which even guides don't dare show to the trippers.

"Respectability, my dear Bob, is all a matter of comparison. I acquired a lot of new standards. As a second cabin steward on a Brazos liner I became quite haughty. Poverty! You don't know what it means until you've rubbed elbows with it in the Far East and the Far South. Here you have the Bowery Mission bread line. That's a fair sample, Bob, of our American opulence. Free bread!"

"So you've been in that, have you?" asks Mr. Robert.

"Have I?" says Bunny. "I've pals down there tonight who will wonder what has become of me."

Mr. Robert shudders. And, say, it made me feel chilly along the spine too.

"Well, what now?" says Mr. Robert. "I suppose you expect me to find you some sort of work?"

"Not at all," says Bunny. "Another of those cigarettes, if you don't mind. Excellent brand. Thanks. But work? How inconsiderate, Bob! I wasn't born to be useful. You know that well enough. No, work doesn't appeal to me."

Mr. Robert flushes up at that. "Then," says he, pointin' stern, "there's the door."

"Oh, what's the hurry?" says Bunny. "This is heaven to me, all this,--the old club, you know, and good tobacco, and--say, Bob, if I might suggest, a pint of that '85 vintage would add just the finishing touch. Come, I haven't tasted a glass of fizz since--well, I've forgotten. Just for auld lang syne!"

Mr. Robert gasps, hesitates a second, and then pushes the button. Bunny inspects the label critical when it's brought in, waves graceful to Mr. Robert, and slides the bottle back tender into the cooler.

"Ah-h-h!" says he. "And doesn't Henri have any more of those dainty little caviar canapes on hand? They go well with fizz."

"Canapes," says Mr. Robert to the waiter. "And another box of those gold-tipped Russians."

"_À vous_!" says Bunny, raisin' a glassful of bubbles and salutin'. "I'm as thirsty as a camel driver."

"But what I'd like to know," says Mr. Robert, "is what you propose doing."

"You, my dear fellow," says Bunny, settin' down the glass.

"Truly enterprising!" says Mr. Robert. "But you're going to be disappointed. In just ten minutes I mean to escort you to the sidewalk, and then wash my hands of you for good."

Bunny laughs. "Impossible!" says he. "In the first place, you couldn't sleep tonight, if you did. Secondly, I should hunt you up tomorrow and make a nuisance of myself."

"You'd be thrown out by a porter," says Mr. Robert.

"Perhaps," says he; "but it wouldn't look nice. I'd be in evening clothes, you see. The crowd would know at once that I was a gentleman. Reporters would come. I should tell a most harrowing tale. You'd deny it, of course; but half the people would believe me. No, no, Bob! Three hours ago, in my old rags, you might have kicked me into the gutter, and no one would have made any fuss at all. But now! Why, it would be absurd! I should make a mighty row over it."

"You threaten blackmail?" says Mr. Robert, leanin' towards him savage.

"That is one of my more reputable accomplishments," says Bunny. "But why force me to that? I have quite a reasonable proposal to submit."

"If it has anything to do with getting you so far away from New York that you'll never come back, I'll listen to it," says Mr. Robert.

"You state the case exactly," says Bunny. "In Paris I got to know a chap by the name of Dick Langdon; English, you know, and a younger son. His uncle's a Sir Something or Other. Dick was going the pace. He'd annexed some funds that he'd found lying around loose. Purely a family affair; no prosecution. A nice youth, Langdon. We were quite congenial.

"A year or so ago I ran across him again, down in Santa Marta. He was wearing a sun helmet and a white linen suit. He said he'd been shipped down there as superintendent of a banana plantation about twenty miles back from the port. He had half a hundred blacks and as many East Indian coolies under him. There was no one else within miles. Once a month he got down to see the steamer load and watch the white faces hungrily. I was only a cabin steward leaning over the rail; but he was so tickled to see me that he begged me to quit and go back to the plantation with him. He said he'd make me assistant superintendent, or permanent guest, or anything. But I was crazy to see New York once more. I wouldn't listen. Well, I've seen New York, seen enough of it to last a lifetime. What do you say?"

"When could you get a steamer?" asks Mr. Robert.

"The Arapequa sails at ten in the morning," says Bunny eager. "Fare forty-eight dollars one way. I could go aboard now. Dick would hail me as a man and a brother. I'm his kind. He'd see that I never had money enough to get away. I think I might possibly earn my keep bossing coolies too. And the pulque down there helps you to forget your troubles."

"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "ask Barney to call a cab."

"And, by the way," Bunny is sayin' as I come back, "you might chuck in a business suit and a few white flannels into a grip, Bob. You wouldn't want me to arrive in South America dressed like this, would you?"

"Very well," says Mr. Robert. "But what I'm most concerned about is that you do arrive there."

"But how do you know, Mr. Robert," says I next mornin', "that he will?"

"Because I locked him in his stateroom myself," says he, "and bribed a steward not to let him out until he could see Barnegat light over the stern."

"Gee!" says I. "That's one way of losin' a better days' proposition. And in case any others like him turns up, Mr. Robert, have you got any more old dress suits?"

"If I have," says he, "I shall burn them."