Psmith, Journalist
Page 17
CHAPTER XVII
GUERILLA WARFARE
Thus ended the opening engagement of the campaign, seemingly in avictory for the _Cosy Moments_ army. Billy Windsor, however, shookhis head.
"We've got mighty little out of it," he said.
"The victory," said Psmith, "was not bloodless. Comrade Brady's ear,my hat--these are not slight casualties. On the other hand, surelywe are one up? Surely we have gained ground? The elimination ofComrade Repetto from the scheme of things in itself is something. Iknow few men I would not rather meet in a lonely road than ComradeRepetto. He is one of Nature's sand-baggers. Probably the thingcrept upon him slowly. He started, possibly, in a merely tentativeway by slugging one of the family circle. His nurse, let us say, orhis young brother. But, once started, he is unable to resist thecraving. The thing grips him like dram-drinking. He sandbags now notbecause he really wants to, but because he cannot help himself. Tome there is something consoling in the thought that Comrade Repettowill no longer be among those present."
"What makes you think that?"
"I should imagine that a benevolent Law will put him away in hislittle cell for at least a brief spell."
"Not on your life," said Billy. "He'll prove an alibi."
Psmith's eyeglass dropped out of his eye. He replaced it, andgazed, astonished, at Billy.
"An alibi? When three keen-eyed men actually caught him at it?"
"He can find thirty toughs to swear he was five miles away."
"And get the court to believe it?" said Psmith.
"Sure," said Billy disgustedly. "You don't catch them hurting agangsman unless they're pushed against the wall. The politiciansdon't want the gangs in gaol, especially as the Aldermanicelections will be on in a few weeks. Did you ever hear of MonkEastman?"
"I fancy not, Comrade Windsor. If I did, the name has escaped me.Who was this cleric?"
"He was the first boss of the East Side gang, before Kid Twist tookit on."
"Yes?"
"He was arrested dozens of times, but he always got off. Do youknow what he said once, when they pulled him for thugging a fellowout in New Jersey?"
"I fear not, Comrade Windsor. Tell me all."
"He said, 'You're arresting me, huh? Say, you want to look whereyou're goin'; I cut some ice in this town. I made half the bigpoliticians in New York!' That was what he said."
"His small-talk," said Psmith, "seems to have been bright andwell-expressed. What happened then? Was he restored to his friendsand his relations?"
"Sure, he was. What do you think? Well, Jack Repetto isn't MonkEastman, but he's in with Spider Reilly, and the Spider's in withthe men behind. Jack'll get off."
"It looks to me, Comrade Windsor," said Psmith thoughtfully, "as ifmy stay in this great city were going to cost me a small fortune inhats."
Billy's prophecy proved absolutely correct. The police were as goodas their word. In due season they rounded up the impulsive Mr.Repetto, and he was haled before a magistrate. And then, what abeautiful exhibition of brotherly love and auld-lang-synecamaraderie was witnessed! One by one, smirking sheepishly, butgiving out their evidence with unshaken earnestness, eleven greasy,wandering-eyed youths mounted the witness-stand and affirmed onoath that at the time mentioned dear old Jack had been makingmerry in their company in a genial and law-abiding fashion, many,many blocks below the scene of the regrettable assault. Themagistrate discharged the prisoner, and the prisoner, meeting Billyand Psmith in the street outside, leered triumphantly at them.
Billy stepped up to him. "You may have wriggled out of this," hesaid furiously, "but if you don't get a move on and quit looking atme like that, I'll knock you over the Singer Building. Humpyourself."
Mr. Repetto humped himself.
So was victory turned into defeat, and Billy's jaw became squarerand his eye more full of the light of battle than ever. And therewas need of a square jaw and a battle-lit eye, for now began aperiod of guerilla warfare such as no New York paper had ever hadto fight against.
It was Wheeler, the gaunt manager of the business side of thejournal, who first brought it to the notice of the editorial staff.Wheeler was a man for whom in business hours nothing existed buthis job; and his job was to look after the distribution of thepaper. As to the contents of the paper he was absolutely ignorant.He had been with _Cosy Moments_ from its start, but he had never reada line of it. He handled it as if it were so much soap. Thescholarly writings of Mr. Wilberfloss, the mirth-provoking salliesof Mr. B. Henderson Asher, the tender outpourings of LouellaGranville Waterman--all these were things outside his ken. He was adistributor, and he distributed.
A few days after the restoration of Mr. Repetto to East SideSociety, Mr. Wheeler came into the editorial room with informationand desire for information.
He endeavoured to satisfy the latter first.
"What's doing, anyway?" he asked. He then proceeded to hisinformation. "Some one's got it in against the paper, sure," hesaid. "I don't know what it's all about. I ha'n't never read thething. Don't see what any one could have against a paper with aname like _Cosy Moments_, anyway. The way things have been goinglast few days, seems it might be the organ of a blamed mining-campwhat the boys have took a dislike to."
"What's been happening?" asked Billy with gleaming eyes.
"Why, nothing in the world to fuss about, only our carriers can'tgo out without being beaten up by gangs of toughs. Pat Harrigan'sin the hospital now. Just been looking in on him. Pat's a fellerwho likes to fight. Rather fight he would than see a ball-game. Butthis was too much for him. Know what happened? Why, see here, justlike this it was. Pat goes out with his cart. Passing through alow-down street on his way up-town he's held up by a bunch oftoughs. He shows fight. Half a dozen of them attend to him, whilethe rest gets clean away with every copy of the paper there was inthe cart. When the cop comes along, there's Pat in pieces on theground and nobody in sight but a Dago chewing gum. Cop asks theDago what's been doing, and the Dago says he's only just come roundthe corner and ha'n't seen nothing of anybody. What I want to knowis, what's it all about? Who's got it in for us and why?"
Mr. Wheeler leaned back in his chair, while Billy, his hair rumpledmore than ever and his eyes glowing, explained the situation. Mr.Wheeler listened absolutely unmoved, and, when the narrative hadcome to an end, gave it as his opinion that the editorial staff hadsand. That was his sole comment. "It's up to you," he said,rising. "You know your business. Say, though, some one had betterget busy right quick and do something to stop these guysrough-housing like this. If we get a few more carriers beat up theway Pat was, there'll be a strike. It's not as if they were allIrishmen. The most of them are Dagoes and such, and they don'twant any more fight than they can get by beating their wives andkicking kids off the sidewalk. I'll do my best to get this paperdistributed right and it's a shame if it ain't, because it's goingbig just now--but it's up to you. Good day, gents."
He went out. Psmith looked at Billy.
"As Comrade Wheeler remarks," he said, "it is up to us. What do youpropose to do about it? This is a move of the enemy which I havenot anticipated. I had fancied that their operations would beconfined exclusively to our two selves. If they are going to strewthe street with our carriers, we are somewhat in the soup."
Billy said nothing. He was chewing the stem of an unlighted pipe.Psmith went on.
"It means, of course, that we must buck up to a certain extent. Ifthe campaign is to be a long one, they have us where the hair iscrisp. We cannot stand the strain. _Cosy Moments_ cannot be muzzled,but it can undoubtedly be choked. What we want to do is to findout the name of the man behind the tenements as soon as ever we canand publish it; and, then, if we perish, fall yelling the name."
Billy admitted the soundness of this scheme, but wished to know howit was to be done.
"Comrade Windsor," said Psmith. "I have been thinking this thingover, and it seems to me that we are on the wrong track, or ratherwe aren't on any track at all; we are simply marking time. What wewant to do is
to go out and hustle round till we stir up something.Our line up to the present has been to sit at home and screamvigorously in the hope of some stout fellow hearing and rushing tohelp. In other words, we've been saying in the paper what anout-size in scugs the merchant must be who owns those tenements, inthe hope that somebody else will agree with us and be sufficientlyinterested to get to work and find out who the blighter is. That'sall wrong. What we must do now, Comrade Windsor, is put on ourhats, such hats as Comrade Repetto has left us, and sally forth assleuth-hounds on our own account."
"Yes, but how?" demanded Billy. "That's all right in theory, buthow's it going to work in practice? The only thing that can cornerthe man is a commission."
"Far from it, Comrade Windsor. The job may be worked more simply. Idon't know how often the rents are collected in these places, but Ishould say at a venture once a week. My idea is to hang negligentlyround till the rent-collector arrives, and when he has loomed up onthe horizon, buttonhole him and ask him quite politely, as man toman, whether he is collecting those rents for himself or forsomebody else, and if somebody else, who that somebody else is.Simple, I fancy? Yet brainy. Do you take me, Comrade Windsor?"
Billy sat up, excited. "I believe you've hit it."
Psmith shot his cuffs modestly.