Odd Numbers

by Sewell Ford

  CHAPTER XIII

  HEINEY TAKES THE GLOOM CURE

  Two in one day, mind you. It just goes to show what effect the first doseof hot weather is liable to have on the custard heads. Well, maybe Ioughtn't to call 'em that, either. They can't seem to help gettin' thatway, any more'n other folks can dodge havin' bad dreams, or boils on theneck. And I ain't any mind specialist; so when it comes to sayin' what'llsoften up a man's brain, or whether he couldn't sidestep it if he tried,I passes the make.

  Now look at this dippy move of Mr. Jarvis's. Guess you don't rememberhim. I'd 'most forgot him myself, it's so long since he was around; buthe's the young chap that owns that big Blenmont place, the gent thatSwifty and I helped out with the fake match when he----Well, never mindthat yarn. He got the girl, all right; and as he had everything elseanybody could think of, it should have been a case of lockin' trouble onthe outside and takin' joy for a permanent boarder.

  But there the other mornin', just as I was havin' a breathin' spell afterhammerin' some surplus ego out of a young society sport that had the ideahe could box, the studio door opens, and in pokes this Mr. Jarvis, actin'like he'd been doped.

  Now he's a big, husky, full blooded young gent, that's always usedhimself well, never collected any bad habits, and knows no more aboutbeing sick than a cat knows about swimmin'. Add to that the fact thathe's one of the unemployed rich, with more money than he knows how tospend, and you can figure out how surprised I am to see that down and outlook on his face. Course, I thinks something serious has been happenin'to him, and I treats him real gentle.

  "Hello, Mr. Jarvis!" says I. "Somebody been throwin' the hooks into you,have they?"

  "Oh, no," says he. "No, I--I'm all right."

  "That's good," says I. "Dropped in to let me hand you a few vibrationswith the mitts?"

  "No, thank you, Shorty," says he, fingerin' a chair-back sort ofhesitatin', as if he didn't know whether to sit down or stand up. "Thatis--er--I think I don't care for a bout to-day. I--I'm hardly in themood, you see."

  "Just as you say," says I. "Have a seat, anyway. Sure! That one; it'sreserved for you. Maybe you come in to enjoy some of my polite andrefined conversation?"

  "Why--er--the fact is, Shorty," says he, fixin' his tie kind of nervous,"I--I don't know just why I did come in. I think I started for the club,and as I was passing by in a cab I looked up here at yourwindows--and--and----"

  "Of course," says I, soothin'. "What's the use goin' to the club when thePhysical Culture Studio is handier? You're feelin' fine as silk; how'reyou lookin'?"

  "Eh? Beg pardon?" says he, gettin' twisted up on that mothy gag. "Oh, Isee! I'm looking rotten, thank you, and feeling the same."

  "G'wan!" says I. "You ain't got any license to have feelin's like that.Guess you got the symptoms mixed. But where do you think it hurts most?"

  Well, it takes five or ten minutes of jollyin' like that to pull anydetails at all out of Jarvis, and when I does get the whole heartrendin'story, I hardly knows whether to give him the laugh, or to send out for anursin' bottle.

  Ever seen a great, grown man play the baby act? Talk about a woman in acryin' spell! That ain't a marker to watchin' a six-foot, one hundred andeighty-pound free citizen droop his mouth corners and slump his shouldersover nothin' at all. Course, I don't always feel like a hickey boymyself, and I'll admit there are times when the rosy tints get a littleclouded up; but I has my own way of workin' out of such spells before themullygrubs turns my gray matter into curdled milk. But Jarvis, he's asblue as a rainy Monday with the wash all in soak.

  In the first place, he's been alone for nearly three whole weeks, thewomen folks all bein' abroad, and it's a new experience for him. Think ofthat awful calamity happenin' to a man of his size! Seems that before hewas married he'd always carted mother and sister around, under the ideathat he was lookin' out for them, when as a matter of fact they was theones that was lookin' after him. Then Mrs. Jarvis, Lady Evelyn that was,takes him in hand and makes him more helpless than ever. He nevermistrusts how much he's been mollycoddled, until he finds himself withnobody but a valet, a housekeeper, and seventeen assorted servants tohelp him along in the struggle for existence.

  His first move after the ladies have sailed is to smoke until his tonguefeels like a pussycat's back, eat his lonesome meals at lunch-counterclip, and work himself into a mild bilious state. That makes him a littlecranky with the help, and, as there's no one around to smooth 'em out,the cook and half a dozen maids leaves in a bunch. His head coachman goesoff on a bat, the housekeeper skips out to Ohio to bury an aunt, and thedomestic gear at Blenmont gets to runnin' about as smooth as a flat wheeltrolley car on a new roadbed.

  To finish off the horrible situation, Jarvis has had a misunderstandin'with a landscape architect that he'd engaged to do things to the grounds.Jarvis had planned to plant a swan lake in the front yard; but thelandscaper points out that it can't be done because there's a hill in theway.

  "To be sure," says Jarvis, "these are little things; but I've beenworrying over them until--until---- Well, I'm in bad shape, Shorty."

  "It's a wonder you're still alive," says I.

  "Don't!" says he, groanin'. "It is too serious a matter. Perhaps youdon't know it, but I had an uncle that drank himself to death."

  "Huh!" says I. "'Most everybody has had an uncle of that kind."

  "And one of my cousins," Jarvis goes on, lowerin' his voice and lookin'around cautious, "shot himself--in the head!"

  "Eh?" says I. And then I begun to get a glimmer of what he was drivin'at. "What! You don't mean that you were thinkin' of--of----"

  He groans again and nods his head.

  Then I cuts loose. "Why, look here!" says I. "You soft boiled, mushheaded, spineless imitation of a real man! do you mean to tell me that,just because you've been tied loose from a few skirts for a week or so,and have had to deal with some grouchy hired hands, you've actually gonejelly brained over it?"

  Perhaps that don't make him squirm some, though! He turns white first,and then he gets the hectic flush. "Pardon me, McCabe," says he,stiffenin' up, "but I don't care to have anyone talk to me like----"

  "Ah, pickles!" says I. "I'll talk to you a good deal straighter'n that,before I finish! And you'll take it, too! Why, you great, overgrown kid!what right have you developin' such a yellow cur streak as that? You!What you need is to be laid over that chair and paddled, and blamed if Idon't know but I'd better----"

  But just here the door creaks, and in drifts the other one. Hanged if Iever did know what his real name was. I called him Heiney Kirschwasserfor short, though he says he ain't Dutch at all, but Swiss-French; andthat it ain't kirsch that's his failin', but prune brandy. He's the mopand broom artist for the buildin', some floater the janitor picked up offthe sidewalk a few months back.

  He wa'n't exactly a decorative object, this Heiney; but he's kind of apicturesque ruin. His widest part is around the belt; and from there hetapers both ways, his shoulders bein' a good eight inches narrower; andon top of them, with no neck to speak of, is a head shaped like a gumdrop, bald on top, and remindin' you of them mountain peaks you see inpictures, or a ham set on end.

  He has a pair of stary, pop eyes, a high colored beak that might be usedas a danger signal, and a black, shoebrush beard, trimmed close exceptfor a little spike under the chin, that gives the lower part of his facea look like the ace of spades. His mornin' costume is a faded bluejumper, brown checked pants, and an old pair of rubber soled shoes thatSwifty had donated to him.

  That's Heiney's description, as near as I can get to it. He comesshufflin' in, luggin' a scrub pail in one hand, and draggin' a mop in theother, and he looks about as cheerful as a worn-out hearse that's beenturned into an ash wagon.

  "Heiney," says I, "you're just in time. Still lookin' for a nice,comfortable place to die in, are you?"

  Heiney shrugs his shoulders and lifts his eyebrows in a lifeless sort ofstyle. He does most of his conversin' that way; but he can say more witha few shrugs than Swifty Joe
can by usin' both sides of his mouth. WhatHeiney means is that one place is as good as another, and he don't carehow soon he finds it.

  "Well, cheer up, Heiney," says I; "for I've just decided to give you theuse of my back room to shuffle off in. I've got comp'ny for you, too.Here's a friend of mine that feels the same way you do. Mr. Jarvis, Mr.Heiney Kirschwasser."

  And you should have seen the look of disgust on Jarvis's face as he sizesup the specimen. "Oh, I say now, Shorty," he begins, "there's such athing as----"

  "G'wan!" says I. "Wa'n't you just tellin' me about how you was plannin' ajob for the coroner? And Heiney's been threatenin' to do the same thingfor weeks. He comes in here every day or so and talks about jumpin' offthe dock, or doin' the air dance. I've been stavin' him off with slugs ofprune brandy and doses of good advice; but if a chap like you has caughtthe fever, then I see I've been doin' wrong not to let Heiney have hisway. Now there's the back room, with plenty of rope and gasjets. Get onin there, both of you, and make a reg'lar bee of it!"

  Heiney, he stands blinkin' and starin' at Jarvis, until he gets him sonervous he almost screams.

  "For Heaven's sake, Shorty," says Jarvis, "let's not joke about such asubject!"

  "Joke!" says I. "You're the one that's supplyin' the comedy here. NowHeiney is serious. He'd do the trick in a minute if he had the nerve.He's got things on his mind, Heiney has. And what's the odds if theyain't so? Compared to what you've been fussin' about, they're----Here,Heiney, you tell the gentleman that tale of yours. Begin where you was acook in some seashore hotel in Switzerland."

  "Not zeashore! _Non_!" says Heiney, droppin' his pail and wavin' onehand. "Eet ees at Lack Como, in ze montongs. I am ze head chef, _moi!_"

  "Yes, you look it!" says I. "A fine figure of a chef you'd make! wouldn'tyou? Well, go on: about bein' full of prunes when they called on you toseason the soup. What was it you dumped in instead of salt,--arsenic,eh?"

  "_Non, non!_" says Heiney, gettin' excited. "Ze poison for ze r-r-rat. Ikeep heem in one tin can, same as ze salt. I am what you call intoxicate.I make ze mistak'. Ah, _diable! Deux, trois_--t'ree hundred guests arezere. Zey eat ze soup. Zen come by me ze _maitre d'hotel._ He say ze soupees spoil. Eet has ze foony taste. Ah, mon _Dieu! Mon_----"

  "Yes, yes," says I. "Never mind whether it was Monday or Tuesday. Whatdid you do then?"

  "_Moi_? I fly!" says Heiney. "I am distract. I r-r-r-run on zer-r-r-road. I tear-r-r off my white apron, my white chapeau. Ah,_sacr-r-re nom!_ How my heart is thoomp, thoomp, on my inside! All nightI speak to myself: 'You have keel zem all! Ze _belle_ ladies! Ze _pauvre_shildren! All, you have poi-zon-ed! Zey make to tweest up on ze floor!'Ah, _diable_! Always I can see zem tweest up!"

  "Reg'lar rough on rats carnival, eh?" says I. "Three hundred beautifulladies and poor children, not to mention a few men, doin' the agony acton the dinin' room floor! There, Jarvis! How'd you like to carry round amovin' picture film like that in your mem'ry? Course, I've tried toexplain to Heiney that nothing of the kind ever took place; that thepapers would have been full of it; and that he'd been in the jug longbefore this, if it had. But this is Heiney's own particular pipe dream,and he can't let go of it. It's got tangled up in the works somehow, andnothing I can say will jar it loose. Poor cuss! Look at him! No doubtabout its seemin' real to him, is there? And how does your littlecollection of fleabites show up alongside it; eh, Jarvis?"

  But Jarvis, he's gazin' at Heiney as if this lump of moldy sweitzerkasewas fascinatin' to look at.

  "I beg pardon," says he, "but you say this hotel was at Lake Como?"

  Heiney nods his head, then covers his face with his hands, as if he wasseein' things again.

  "And what was the date of this--this unfortunate occurrence?" saysJarvis.

  "Year before the last, in Augoost," says Heiney, shudderin',--"Augoostseven."

  "The seventh of August!" says Jarvis. "And was your hotel the Occident?"

  "_Oui, oui_!" says Heiney. "_L'Hotel Occident_."

  "Guess he means Accident," says I. "What do you know about it, Jarvis?"

  "Why," says he, "I was there."

  "What?" says I. "Here, Heiney, wake up! Here's one of the victims of yourrat poison soup. Does he look as though he'd been through that floortweestin' orgy?"

  With that Heiney gets mighty interested; but he ain't convinced untilJarvis gives him all the details, even to namin' the landlord anddescribin' the head waiter.

  "But ze soup!" says Heiney. "Ze poi-zon-ed soup?"

  "It was bad soup," says Jarvis; "but not quite so bad as that. Nobodycould eat it, and I believe the final report that we had on the subjectwas to the effect that a half intoxicated chef had seasoned it with thepowdered alum that should have gone into the morning rolls."

  "Ze alum! Ze alum! Of zat I nevair think!" squeals Heiney, flopping downon his knees. "Ah, _le bon Dieu! Le bon Dieu_!"

  He clasps his hands in front of him and rolls his eyes to the ceilin'.Say, it was the liveliest French prayin' I ever saw; for Heiney isrockin' back and forth, his pop eyes leakin' brine, and the polly-vooconversation is bubblin' out of him like water out of a bu'sted firehydrant.

  "Ah, quit it!" says I. "This is no camp meetin'."

  There's no shuttin' him off, though, and all the let-up he takes is tobreak off now and then to get Jarvis to tell him once more that it's alltrue.

  "You make _certainement_, eh?" says he. "Nobody was keel?"

  "Not a soul," says Jarvis. "I didn't even hear of anyone that was madeill."

  "Ah, _merci, merci_!" howls Heiney, beginnin' the rockin' horse actagain.

  "Say, for the love of Pete, Heiney!" says I, "will you saw that offbefore you draw a crowd? I'm glad you believe Jarvis, and that Jarvisbelieves you; but hanged if I can quite swallow any such dopy yarn asthat without somethin' more convincin'! All I know about you is thatyou're the worst floor scrubber I ever saw. And you say you was a cook,do you?"

  "Cook!" says Heiney, swellin' up his chest. "I am tell you zat I was zepremier chef. I have made for myself fame. Everywhere in _l'Europe_ zeywill tell you of me. For the king of ze Englise I have made a dinner._Moi!_ I have invent ze sauce Ravignon. From nozzing at all--some meatscraps, some leetle greens--I produce ze dish ravishment."

  "Yes, I've heard bluffs like that before," says I; "but I never saw onemade good. Tell you what I'll do, though: In the far corner of the gym,there, is what Swifty Joe calls his kitchenet, where he warms up hischowder and beans. There's a two-burner gas stove, an old fryin' pan, anda coffee pot. Now here's a dollar. You take that out on Sixth-ave. andspend it for meat scraps and leetle greens. Then you come back here, andwhile Jarvis and I are takin' a little exercise, if you can hash upanything that's fit to eat, I'll believe your whole yarn. Do you make thetry?"

  Does he? Say, you never saw such a tickled Frenchy in your life. BeforeJarvis and me had got nicely peeled down for our delayed boxin' bout,Heiney is back with his bundles, has got the fryin' pan scoured, the gasblazin', and is throwin' things together like a juggler doin' a stageturn.

  He sheds the blue jumper, ties a bath towel around him for an apron,makes a hat out of a paper bag, and twists some of that stringy lipdecoration of his into a pointed mustache. Honest, he didn't look nor actany more like the wreck that had dragged the mop in there half an hourbefore than I look like Bill Taft. And by the time we've had our threerounds and a rub down, he's standin' doubled up beside a little tablethat he's found, with his arms spread out like he was goin' to take adive.

  "_Messieurs_," says he, "eet ees serve."

  "Good!" says I. "I'm just about up to tacklin' a hot lunch. What kind ofa mess have you got here, anyway, Heiney? Any alum in it? Blamed if Idon't make you put away the whole shootin' match if it ain't good!"

  How's that? Well, say, I couldn't name it, or say whether it was a stew,fry or an omelet, but for an impromptu sample of fancy grub it was alittle the tastiest article I ever stacked up against.

  "Why!" says Jarvis, smackin' his lips after the third forkfu
l. "It's _risde veau_, isn't it?"

  "But yes, monsieur!" says Heiney, his face lightin' up. "Eet ees _ris deveau grille, a la financier_."

  "And what's that in English?" says I.

  "In Englise," says Heiney, shruggin' his shoulders, "eet ees not exist.Eet ees Parisienne."

  "Bully for Paris, then!" says I. "Whatever it might be if it could benaturalized, it touches the spot. I take it all back, Heiney. You're theshiftiest chef that ever juggled a fryin' pan. A refill on the riddy-voo,seal-voo-plate."

  Well, what do you guess! Jarvis engages Heiney on the spot, and an hourlater they've started for Blenmont, both of 'em actin' like they thoughtthis was a good world to live in, after all.

  Yesterday me and Sadie accepts a special invite out there to dinner; andit was worth goin' out to get. From start to finish it was the finestthat ever happened. Afterwards Jarvis has Heiney come up from the kitchenand show himself while we drinks his good health. And say, in his whitetogs and starched linen cap, he's got the chef on the canned goods ads.lookin' like a hash rustler in a beanery.

  As for Jarvis, he's got the pink back in his cheeks, and is holdin' hischin up once more, and when we left in the mornin' he was out bossin' acouple of hundred lab'rers that was takin' that hill in wheelbarrows andcartin' it off where it wouldn't interfere with the lake.

  "Shorty," says he, "I don't know how you did it, but you've made me asane man again, and I owe you more than----"

  "Ah, chuck it!" says I. "It was curin' Heiney that cured you."

  "Really?" says he. "Then you are a believer in homeopathicpsychotherapeutics?"

  "Which?" says I. "Say, write that down on my cuff by syllables, will you?I want to spring it on Swifty Joe."