by Sewell Ford
VII
RINKEY AND THE PHONY LAMP
Say, for gettin' all the joy that's comin' to you, there's nothin' likebein' a mixer. The man who travels in one class all the time misses alot. And I sure was mixin' it when I closes with Snick Butters and SirHunter Twiggle all in the same day.
Snick had first place on the card. He drifts into the Studio early inthe forenoon, and when I sees the green patch over the left eye I knowswhat's comin'. He's shy of a lamp on that side, you know--uses thekind you buy at the store, when he's got it; and when he ain't got it,he wants money.
I s'pose if I was wise I'd scratched Snick off my list long ago; butknowin' him is one of the luxuries I've kept up. You know how it iswith them old time friends you've kind of outgrown but hate to chuck inthe discard, even when they work their touch as reg'lar as rent bills.
But Snick and me played on the same block when we was kids, and therewas a time when I looked for Snick to be boostin' me, 'stead of meboostin' him. He's one of the near-smarts that you're always expectin'to make a record, but that never does. Bright lookin' boy, neatdresser, and all that, but never stickin' to one thing long enough tomake good. You've seen 'em.
"Hello, Snick!" says I, as he levels the single barrel on me. "I seeyou've pulled down the shade again. What's happened to that memorialwindow of yours this time?"
"Same old thing," says he. "It's in at Simpson's for five, and abookie's got the five."
"And now you want to negotiate a second mortgage, eh?" says I.
That was the case. He tells me his newest job is handlin' the joshhorn on the front end of one of these Rube waggons, and just becausethe folks from Keokuk and Painted Post said that lookin' at the patchtook their minds off seein' the skyscrapers, the boss told him he'dhave to chuck it or get the run.
"He wouldn't come across with a five in advance, either," says Snick."How's that for the granite heart?"
"It's like other tales of woe I've heard you tell," says I, "andgenerally they could be traced to your backin' three kings, or gettin'an inside tip on some beanery skate."
"That's right," says he, "but never again. I've quit the sportin' lifefor good. Just the same, if I don't show up on the waggon for the'leven o'clock trip I'll be turned loose. If you don't believe itShorty, I'll----"
"Ah, don't go callin' any notary publics," says I. "Here's the V totake up that ticket. But say, Snick; how many times do I have to buyout that eye before I get an equity in it?"
"It's yours now; honest, it is," says he. "If you say so, I'll writeout a bill of sale."
"No," says I, "your word goes. Do you pass it?"
He said he did.
"Thanks," says I. "I always have thought that was a fine eye, and I'mproud to own it. So long, Snick."
There's one good thing about Snick Butters; after he's made his touchhe knows enough to fade; don't hang around and rub it in, or give you achance to wish you hadn't been so easy. It's touch and go with him,and before I'd got out the last of my remarks he was on his way.
It wa'n't more'n half josh, though, that I was givin' him about thatphony pane of his. It was a work of art, one of the bright blue kind.As a general thing you can always spot a bought eye as far as you cansee it, they're so set and stary. But Snick got his when he was youngand, bein' a cute kid, he had learned how to use it so well that mostfolks never knew the difference. He could do about everything but seewith it.
First off he'd trained it to keep pace with the other, movin' 'emtogether, like they was natural; but whenever he wanted to he couldmake the glass one stand still and let the other roam around. Healways did that on Friday afternoons when he got up to speak pieces inthe grammar school. And it was no trick at all for him to look walleyed one minute, cross eyed the next, and then straighten 'em out witha jerk of his head. Maybe if it hadn't been for that eye of Snick'sI'd have got further'n the eighth grade.
His star performance, though, was when he did a jugglin' act keepin'three potatoes in the air. He'd follow the murphies with his good eyeand turn the other one on the audience, and if you didn't know how itwas done, it would give you the creeps up and down the back, justwatchin' him.
Say, you'd thought a feller with talent like that would have made aname for himself, wouldn't you? Tryin' to be a sport was where Snickfell down, though. He had the blood, all right, but no head. Why whenwe used to play marbles for keeps, Snick would never know when to quit.He'd shoot away until he'd lost his last alley, and then he'd pry outthat glass eye of his and chuck it in the ring for another go. Many atime Snick's gone home wearin' a striped chiny or a pink stony in placeof the store eye, and then his old lady would chase around lookin' forthe kid that had won it off'm him. There's such a thing as bein' toogood a loser; but you could never make Snick see it.
Well, I'd marked up five to the bad on my books, and then Swifty Joeand me had worked an hour with a couple of rockin' chair commodoresfrom the New York Yacht Club, gettin' 'em in shape to answer Lipton'sbatch of spring challenges, when Pinckney blows in, towin' a tubby, redfaced party in a frock coat and a silk lid.
"Shorty," says he, "I want you to know Sir Hunter Twiggle. Sir Hunter,this is the Professor McCabe you've heard about."
"If you heard it from Pinckney," says I, "don't believe more'n half ofit." With that we swaps the grip, and he says he's glad to meet upwith me.
But say, he hadn't been in the shop two minutes 'fore I was next to thefact that he was another who'd had to mate up his lamps with a specimenfrom the glass counter.
"They must be runnin' in pairs," thinks I. "This'd be a good time todraw to three of a kind."
Course, I didn't mention it, but I couldn't keep from watchin' howawkward he handled his'n, compared to the smooth way Snick could do it.I guess Pinckney must have spotted me comin' the steady gaze, forpretty soon he gets me one side and whispers, "Don't appear to noticeit."
"All right," says I; "I'll look at his feet."
"No, no," says Pinckney, "just pretend you haven't discovered it. He'svery sensitive on the subject--thinks no one knows, and so on."
"But it's as plain as a gold tooth," says I.
"I know," says Pinckney; "but humour him. He's the right sort."
Pinckney wa'n't far off, either. For a gent that acted as though he'dbeen born wearin' a high collar and a shiny hat, Sir Twiggle wasn't soworse. Barrin' the stiffenin', which didn't wear off at all, he was adecent kind of a haitch eater. Bein' dignified was something hecouldn't help. You'd never guessed, to look at him, that he'd everbeen mixed up in anything livelier'n layin' a church cornerstone, butit leaks out that he had been through all kinds of scraps in India,comes from the same stock as the old Marquis of Queensberry, and hasfollowed the ring more or less himself.
"I had the doubtful honour," says he, bringin' both eyes into range onme, "of backing a certain Mr. Palmer, whom we sent over here severalyears ago after a belt."
"He got more'n one belt," says I.
"Quite so," says he, almost crackin' a smile; "one belt too many, Ifancy."
Say, that was a real puncherino, eh? I ain't sure but what he got offmore along the same line, for some of them British kind is hard to knowunless you see 'em printed in the joke column. Anyway, we has quite achin, and before he left we got real chummy.
He had a right to be feelin' gay, though; for he'd come over to marry agirl with more real estate deeds than you could pack in a trunk. Somekin of Pinckney's, this Miss Cornerlot was; a sort of faded flower thathad hung too long on the stem. She'd run across Sir Hunter in London,him bein' a widower that was willin' to forget, and they'd made a go ofit, nobody knew why. I judged that Pinckney was some relieved at theprospects of placin' a misfit. He'd laid out for a little dinner atthe club, just to introduce Sir Hunter to his set and brace him up forbein' inspected by the girl's aunt and other relations at some swelldoin's after.
I didn't pay much attention to their program at the time. It wa'n'tany of my funeral who Pinckney married off hi
s leftover second cousinsto; and by evenin' I'd clean forgot all about Twiggle; when Pinckney'phones he'd be obliged if I could step around to a Broadway hotelright off, as he's in trouble.
Pinckney meets me just inside the plate glass merry go round."Something is the matter with Sir Hunter," says he, "and I can't findout from his fool man what it is."
"Before we gets any deeper let's clear the ground," says I. "When youleft him, was he soused, or only damp around the edges?"
"Oh, it's not that at all," says Pinckney. "Sir Hunter is agentleman--er, with a wonderful capacity."
"The Hippodrome tank's got that too," I says; "but there's enough fancydrinks mixed on Broadway every afternoon to run it over."
Sir Hunter has a set of rooms on the 'leventh floor. He wa'n't insight, but we digs up Rinkey. By the looks, he'd just escaped from thechorus of a musical comedy, or else an Italian bakery. Near as I couldmake out he didn't have any proper clothes on at all, but was just doneup in white buntin' that was wrapped and draped around him, like aparlour lamp on movin' day. The spots of him that you could see,around the back of his neck and the soles of his feet, was the colourof a twenty-cent maduro cigar. He was spread out on the rug with hisheels toward us and his head on the sill of the door leadin' into thenext room.
"Back up, Pinckney!" says I. "This must be a coloured prayer meetin'we're buttin' into."
"No, it's all right," says Pinckney. "That is Sir Hunter's man, RinghiSingh."
"Sounds like a coon song," says I. "But he's no valet. He's a cook;can't you see by the cap?"
"That's a turban," says Pinckney. "Sir Hunter brought Ringhi fromIndia, and he wears his native costume."
"Gee!" says I. "If that's his reg'lar get up, he's got Mark Twain'sPhoebe Snow outfit beat a mile. But does Rinkey always rest on hisface when he sits down?"
"It's that position which puzzles me," says Pinckney. "All I could getout of him was that Sahib Twiggle was in bed, and wouldn't see anyone."
"Oh, then the heathen is wise to United States talk, is he?" says I.
"He understands English, of course," says Pinckney, "but he declines totalk."
"That's easy fixed," says I, reachin' out and grabbin' Rinkey by theslack of his bloomers. "Maybe his conversation works is out of kink,"and I up ends Rinkey into a chair.
"Be careful!" Pinckney sings out. "They're treachous chaps."
I had my eye peeled for cutlery, but he was the mildest choc'late creamyou ever saw. He slumped there on the chair, shiverin' as if he had achill comin' on, and rollin' his eyes like a cat in a fit. He was soscared he didn't know the day of the month from the time of night.
"Cheer up, Rinkey," says I, "and act sociable. Now tell the gentlemanwhat's ailin' your boss."
It was like talkin' into a 'phone when the line's out of business.Rinkey goes on sendin' Morse wireless with his teeth, and neverunloosens a word.
"Look here, Br'er Singh," says I, "you ain't gettin' any thirddegree--yet! Cut out the ague act and give Mr. Pinckney the straighttalk. He's got a date here and wants to know why the gate is up."
More silence from Rinkey.
"Oh, well," says I, "I expect it ain't etiquette to jump the outsideguard; but if we're goin' to get next to Sir Hunter, it looks like wehad to announce ourselves. Here goes!"
I starts for the inside door; but I hadn't got my knuckles on the panelbefore Rinkey was givin' me the knee tackle and splutterin' all kindsof language.
"Hey!" says I. "Got the cork out, have you?"
With that Rinkey gets up and beckons us over into the far corner.
"The lord sahib," says he, rollin' his eyes at the bed room door--"thelord sahib desire that none should come near. He is in great anger."
"What's he grouchy about?" says I.
"The lord sahib," says he, "will destroy to death poor Ringhi Singh ifhe reveals."
"Destroy to death is good," says I; "but it don't sound convincin'. Ithink we're bein' strung."
Pinckney has the same idea, so I gets a good grip on Rinkey's neck.
"Come off!" says I. "As a liar you're too ambitious. You tell uswhat's the matter with your boss, or I'll do things to you that'll makebein' destroyed to death seem like fallin' on a feather bed!"
And it come, quick. "Yes, sahib," says he. "It is that there has beenlost beyond finding the lord sahib's glorious eye."
"Sizzlin' sisters! Another pane gone!" says I. "This must be my eyeretrievin' day, for sure."
But Pinckney takes it mighty serious. He says that the dinner at theclub don't count for so much, but that the other affair can't besidetracked so easy. It seems that the girl has lived through onethrow down, when the feller skipped off to Europe just as the tie-upwas to be posted, and it wouldn't do to give her a second scare of thesame kind.
Rinkey was mighty reluctant about goin' into details, but we gets itout of him by degrees that the lord sahib has a habit, when he's lockedup alone, of unscrewin' the fake lamp and puttin' it away in a box fullof cotton battin'.
"Always in great secret," says Rinkey; "for the lord sahib would notdisclose. But I have seen, which was an evil thing--oh, very evil!To-night it was done as before; but when it was time for the return,alas! the box was down side up on the floor and the glorious eye wasnot anywhere. Search! We look into everything, under all things.Then comes a great rage on the lord sahib, and I be sore from it inmany places."
"That accounts for your restin' on your face, eh?" says I. "Well,Pinckney, what now?"
"Why," says he, "we've simply got to get a substitute eye. I'll waithere while you go out and buy another."
"Say, Pinckney," I says, "if you was goin' down Broadway ateight-thirty P. M., shoppin' for glass eyes, where'd you hit first?Would you try a china store, Or a gent's furnishin's place?"
"Don't they have them at drug stores?" says Pinckney.
"I never seen any glass eye counters in the ones I go to," says I. Andthen, right in the midst of our battin' our heads, I comes to.
"Oh, splash!" says I. "Pinckney, if anyone asks you, don't let on whata hickory head I am. Why, I've got a glass eye that Sir Hunter canhave the loan of over night, just as well as not."'
"You!" says Pinckney, lookin' wild.
"Sure thing," says I. "It's a beaut, too. Can't a feller own a glasseye without wearin' it?"
"But where is it?" says Pinckney.
"It's with Snick Butters," says I. "He's usin' it, I expect. Fact is,it was built for Snick, but I hold a gilt edged first mortgage, and allI need to do to foreclose is say the word. Come on. Just as soon aswe find Snick you can run back and fix up Sir Hunter as good as new."
"Do you think you can find him?" says Pinckney.
"We've got to find him," says I. "I'm gettin' interested in this game."
Snick was holdin' down a chair in the smokin' room at the Gilsey. Hegrins when he sees me, but when I puts it up to him about callin' inthe loose lens for over night his jaw drops.
"Just my luck," says he. "Here I've got bill board seats for theCasino and was goin' to take the newsstand girl to the show as soon asshe can get off."
"Sorry, Snick," says I, "but this is a desperate case. Won't she standfor the green curtain?"
"S-s-sh!" says he. "She don't know a thing about that. I'll have tocall it off. Give me two minutes, will you?"
That was Snick, all over--losin' out just as easy as some folks wins.When he comes back, though, and I tells him what's doin', he says he'dlike to know just where the lamp was goin', so he could be around afterit in the mornin'.
"Sure," says I. "Bring it along up with you, then, there won't be anychance of our losin' it."
So all three of us goes back to the hotel. Pinckney wa'n't sayin' aword, actin' like he was kind of dazed, but watchin' Snick all thetime. As we gets into the elevator, he pulls me by the sleeve andwhispers:
"I say, Shorty, which one is it?"
"The south one," says I.
It wasn't till we got clear i
nto Sir Hunter's reception room, under thelight, that Pinckney heaves up something else.
"Oh, I say!" says he, starin' at Snick. "Beg pardon for mentioning it,but yours is a--er--you have blue eyes, haven't you, Mr. Butters?"
"That's right," says Snick.
"And Sir Hunter's are brown. It will never do," says he.
"Ah, what's the odds at night?" says I. "Maybe the girl's colourblind, anyway."
"No," says Pinckney, "Sir Hunter would never do it. Now, if you onlyknew of some one with a----"
"I don't," says I. "Snick's the only glass eyed friend I got on myrepertoire. It's either his or none. You send Rinkey in to askTwiggle if a blue one won't do on a pinch."
Mr. Rinkey didn't like the sound of that program a bit, and he goes toclawin' around my knees, beggin' me not to send him in to the lordsahib.
"G'wan!" says I, pushin' him off. "You make me feel as if I was bein'measured for a pair of leggin's. Skiddo!"
As I gives him a shove my finger catches in the white stuff he hasaround his head, and it begins to unwind. I'd peeled off about a yard,when out rolls somethin' shiny that Snick spots and made a grab for.
"Hello!" says he. "What's this?"
It was the stray brown, all right. That Kipling coon has had it stowedaway all the time. Well say, there was lively doin's in that room forthe next few minutes; me tryin' to get a strangle hold on Rinkey, andhim doin' his best to jump through a window, chairs bein' knocked over,Snick hoppin' around tryin' to help, and Pinckney explainin' to SirHunter through the keyhole what it was all about.
When it was through we held a court of inquiry. And what do you guess?That smoked Chinaman had swiped it on purpose, thinkin' if he wore iton the back of his head he could see behind him. Wouldn't that grindyou?
But it all comes out happy. Sir Hunter was a little late for dinner,but he shows up two eyed before the girl, makes a hit with her folks,and has engaged Snick to give him private lessons on how to make a fakeoptic behave like the real goods.
