The Big-Town Round-Up
Page 12
CHAPTER XI
JOHNNIE GREEN--MATCH-MAKER
Johnnie Green gave an upward jerk to the frying-pan and caught theflapjack deftly as it descended.
"Fust and last call for breakfast in the dining-cyar. Come and get it,old-timer," he sang out to Clay.
That young man emerged from his bedroom glowing. He was one or twoshades of tan lighter than when he had reached the city, but the paintof Arizona's untempered sun still distinguished him from thenative-born, if there are any such among the inhabitants of upper NewYork.
"You're one sure-enough cook," he drawled to his satellite. "Some girlwill ce'tainly have a good wife when she gets you. I expect I'd betterset one of these suffragette ladies on yore trail."
"Don't you, Clay," blushed Johnnie. "I ain't no ladies' man. Theymake me take to the tall timber when I see 'em comin'."
"That ain't hardly fair to them, and you the best flapjack artist inGraham County."
"Sho! I don't make no claims, old sock. Mebbe I'm handy with afry-pan, mebbe I ain't. Likely you're jest partial to my flapjacks,"the little man said in order to have his modest suggestion refuted.
"They suit me, Johnnie." And Clay reached for the maple syrup. "Bestflapjacks ever made in this town."
The Runt beamed all over. If he had really been a puppy he would havewagged his tail. Since he couldn't do that he took it out in grinning.Any word of praise from Clay made the world a sunshiny one for him.
"This here place ain't Arizona, but o' course we got to make the bestof it. You know I can cook when I got the fixin's," he agreed.
The two men were batching it. They had a little apartment in the Bronxand Johnnie looked after it for his friend. One of Johnnie'svices--according to the standard of the B-in-a-Box boys--was that hewas as neat as an old maid. He liked to hang around a mess-wagon andcook doughnuts and pies. His talent came in handy now, for Clay was nohousekeeper.
After the breakfast things were cleared away Johnnie fared forth to acertain house adjoining Riverside Drive, where he earned ten dollars aweek as outdoors man. His business was to do odd jobs about the place.He cut and watered the lawn. He made small repairs. Beatrice had arose garden, and under her direction he dug, watered, and fertilized.
Incidentally, the snub-nosed little puncher with the unfinishedfeatures adored his young mistress in the dumb, uncritical fashion aschoolboy does a Ty Cobb or an Eddie Collins. For him the queen coulddo no wrong. He spent hours mornings and evenings at their roomstelling Clay about her. She was certainly the finest little lady heever had seen. In his heart he had hopes that Clay would fall in lovewith and marry her. She was the only girl in the world that deservedhis paragon. But her actions worried him. Sometimes he wondered ifshe really understood what a catch Clay was.
He tried to tell her his notions on the subject the morning Claypraised his flapjacks.
She was among the rose-bushes, gloved and hatted, clipping AmericanBeauties for the dining-room, a dainty but very self-reliant littlepersonality.
"Miss Beatrice, I been thinkin' about you and Clay," he told her,leaning on his spade.
"What have you been thinking about us?" the girl asked, snipping off abig rose.
She liked Johnnie and listened often with amusement to his point ofview. It was so different from that of anybody else she had ever met.Perhaps this was why she encouraged him to talk. There may have beenanother reason. The favorite theme of his conversation interested her.
"How you're the best-lookin' couple that a man would see anywheres."
Into her clear cheeks the color flowed. "If I thought nonsense likethat I wouldn't say it," she said quietly. "We're not a couple. He'sa man. I'm a woman. I like him and want to stay friends with him ifyou'll let me."
"Sure. I know that, but--" Johnnie groped helplessly to try to explainwhat he had meant. "Clay he likes you a heap," he finishedinadequately.
The eyes of the girl began to dance. There was no use taking offenseat this simple soul. After all he was not a servant, but a loyalfollower whose brain was not quite up to the job of coping with theknotty problem of bringing two of his friends together in matrimony."Does he? I'm sure I'm gratified," she murmured, busy with herscissors among the roses.
"Yep. I never knowed Clay to look at a girl before. He sure thinks aheap of you."
She gave a queer little bubbling laugh. "You're flattering me."
"Honest, I ain't." Johnnie whispered a secret across the rose-bushes."Say, if you work it right I believe you can get him."
The girl sparkled. Here was a new slant on matrimonial desirability.Clearly the view of the little cow-puncher was that Clay had only tocrook his fingers to summon any girl in the world that he desired.
"Do you think so--with so many attractive girls in New York?" shepleaded.
"He don't pay no 'tention to them. Honest, I believe you can if youdon't spill the beans."
"What would you advise me to do?" she dimpled.
"Sho! I dunno." He shyly unburdened himself of the warning he hadbeen leading up to. "But I'd tie a can to that dude fellow that hangsaround--the Bromfield guy. O' course I know he ain't one two threewith you while Clay's on earth, but I don't reckon I'd take anychances, as the old sayin' is. No, ma'am, I'd ce'tainly lose him_pronto_. Clay might get sore. Better get shet of the dude."
Miss Whitford bit her lip to keep from exploding in a sudden gale ofmirth. But the sight of her self-appointed chaperon set her off intopeals of laughter in spite of herself. Every time she looked atJohnnie she went off into renewed chirrups. He was so homely and sodeadly earnest. The little waif was staring at her in perplexedsurprise, mouth open and chin fallen. He could see no occasion forgayety at his suggestion. There was nothing subtle about the Runt. Inhis social code wealth did not figure. A forty-dollar-a-month broncobuster was free to offer advice to the daughter of a millionaire abouther matrimonial prospects if it seemed best.
And just now it seemed to Johnnie decidedly best. He scratched his towhead, for he had mulled the whole thing over and decided reluctantly todo his duty by the girl. So far as he could make out, BeatriceWhitford played no favorites in her little court of admirers. ClayLindsay and Clarendon Bromfield were with her more than any of theothers. If she inclined to either of the two, Johnnie could see noevidence of it. She was gay and frank with both, a jolly comrade for aride, a dinner dance, or a theater party.
This was what troubled Johnnie. Of course she must be in love withClay and want to marry him, since she was a normal human being. But ifshe continued to play with Bromfield the Westerner might punish her bysheering off. That was the reason why the Runt was doing hisconscientious duty this fine morning.
"Clay ain't one o' the common run of cowpunchers, ma'am. You bet you,by jollies, he ain't. Clay he owns a half-interest in the B-in-a-Box.O' course it ain't what he's got, but what he is that counts. He's thebest darned pilgrim ever I did see."
"He's all right, Johnnie," the girl admitted with an odd little smile."Do you want me to tell him that I'll be glad to drop our familyfriends to meet his approval? I don't suppose he asked you to speak tome about it, did he?"
The little range-rider missed the irony of this. "No, ma'am, I jestbutted in. Mebbe I hadn't ought to of spoke."
The frank eyes of the girl met his fairly. A patch of heightened colorglowed in her soft cheeks. "That would have been better, Johnnie. Butsince you have introduced the subject, I'll tell you that Mr. Lindsayand I are friends. Neither of us has the slightest intention of beinganything more. You may not understand such things."
"No'm," he admitted humbly. "I reckon I'm a plumb idjit."
His attitude was so dejected that she relented.
"You needn't feel badly, Johnnie. There's no harm done--if you don'tsay anything about it to Mr. Lindsay. But I don't think you wereintended for a match-maker. That takes quite a little finesse, doesn'tit?"
The word "finesse" was not in Johnnie's dictionary, b
ut he acquiescedin her verdict.
"I reckon, ma'am, you're right."