MRS1 The Under Dogs

by Hulbert Footner

  "How about lunch at a Broadway hotel?" said Bill. "I'll blow."

  "Don't make me laugh," said Jessie. "Me lip's cracked."

  "On the level," said Bill, "orders has come through that you're to be taught the ropes, now, and I'm to be your teacher." He lowered his voice prudently. "You can't fool the big boss. Black Kate spoiled one good girl on him, and he ain't goin' to give her another. Say, maybe Kate didn't give me a sweet look when she told me the news. Oh no, not at all. But orders is orders. The boss has got his check on her, as well as the rest of us. So you can go out now, as long as I escort you."

  Jessie could scarcely believe her ears. Her heart beat high. "Don't I need a disguise?" she asked.

  "What for?"

  "Against the police."

  "The police ain't lookin' for you, sis. That's where you're in luck. No alarm for you was ever sent out. Warden's afraid of the publicity, I guess. He prob'ly has a man or two of his own lookin' for you around town, but they'll never find you, unless the big boss wants you to be found. If it wasn't for that, you'd have to stay indoors for many a day yet."

  With a bounding heart, Jessie ran upstairs to fetch her hat. This had come sooner than she expected. Surely, with this greater freedom of action, she could soon accomplish both her aims. It would be too much to say that all looked clear ahead, but she could see light now.

  Before returning downstairs, she ran into the bathroom for a moment, and sticking her head out of the window, scratched on the sill. Instantly a cautious head stuck out over the sill above. Melanie looked relieved at the sight of Jessie's joyous face. Jessie pointed to her hat, and signified in dumb play that she was going out. Melanie looked both pleased and dubious. Evidently Jessie's unexpected good luck brought back some of her suspicions. But if she thought about it at all she must realise that Jessie would never have run to tell her about it, if she were not on the square.

  When Jessie got back to the kitchen, Bill said: "Orders is you are to go out by the front door. Kate uses the front door when she goes in and out by day, also Sam and Abie. Only me and Fingy has to go out the back way, 'cos we looks like shady characters. You walk up-town, and I'll overtake you by Sheridan Square."

  The front door was always kept locked on the inside, and Kate carried the key. She hove in view from somewhere to let Jessie out, and stood back with a pinched and bitter face. Jessie, making believe to be unaware of it, smiled at her as she passed, and ran down the steps with light heels. She will never forget the bliss of that moment. Varick Street is far from being beautiful, but to Jessie it looked like the New Jerusalem. Such a blue sky, such golden sunshine, such pleasant people.

  Very soon Bill Combs came lumbering up behind her. He took her arm, and drew her to a stand at the curb. "Let's take a taxi," said he, "I'm flush."

  "Where we going?" asked Jessie.

  "Oh, nowheres in particular to-day. We's just havin' a taste of libetty to-day."

  "Well, it's sweet," said Jessie.

  When they had seated themselves in the cab, Bill inserted thumb and forefinger in his waistcoat pocket, and drew out a short string of pearls; not large pearls, but beautifully matched and lustrous.

  "For you," he mumbled like a great clumsy schoolboy.

  For a moment Jessie's breath was taken away.

  "Part of last night's stuff?" Bill went on. "I gets little enough out of it, and I holds out on them when I can. These I picked up for you special."

  Jessie trembled with inward laughter. What a funny compliment for a woman to receive. "Oh, Bill, I couldn't," she said.

  "Why not?" he demanded, absurdly chapfallen.

  "It wouldn't be square."

  "Not square to who?"

  "To you. The first time you got mad at me you'd say; 'What did you take them pearls for?'"

  She had him there. "A-ah!" he grumbled looking away, "you got too fine sentiment!" But he dropped the pearls in his pocket again.

  "When do my lessons begin?" asked Jessie.

  "Right now," said Bill. "I understand the boss aims to make you a first-class house-breaker," he went on coolly—and once more Jessie felt that queer start of inward laughter. "The last girl we had used to hire out as a servant in rich houses, and then lift the mistress's sparklers. A safe and sure stunt. But, of course, you're too rough for that kind of work."

  This time Jessie giggled openly.

  "No offence meant," said Bill, with an uneasy look; "you're a damn sight better lookin' gal in my eyes than she was. I just mean you ain't got the soapy look a servant has."

  "No offence taken," said Jessie. "I get you."

  "The boss believes that women ought to make the best house-breakers," Bill went on, "being as they're naturally handier, quicker and quieter. That's the modern idea; women are hornin' in everywhere nowadays. The trouble with them is, they don't gen'ally have the nerve. But the boss is satisfied you got plenty nerve, and I'll say you have too."

  "Much obliged," said Jessie.

  "Of course, I couldn't learn you everything you ought to know right off the bat," said Bill. "It'd take a year alone to show you all the different kinds of locks and how to pick them. But things ain't what they was when I went into the business. They ain't no more all-round men. This is the age of specialisation. I'll say it's easier than it used to be on account of organisation. Take our organisation. The outside men they picks the jobs, and dopes out a line of approach and all. All you got to do is follow instructions."

  "Well, if I had a choice, I'd take the old way," said Jessie. "If I got to take the risk, I want to run the show."

  "There's somepin in that," agreed Bill, "but I will say our organisation's got brainy men on the outside to plan things out good."

  "Looks like to me they just use us like monkeys to pull their chestnuts out of the fire," said Jessie.

  "That's so, in a way of speaking," said Bill. "But them's modern conditions. What ya goin' to do?"

  "Do you know the boss?" asked Jessie.

  "I seen him in my time," said Bill guardedly.

  "What like man is he?"

  Bill wagged his raised palm from side to side.

  "Can't you tell me what he looks like?" persisted Jessie. "How old a man? Is he married? Does he lead a respectable life and all. Has he got some regular business for a stall? Is he well known around town?"

  To all such questions Bill obdurately wagged his hand. "You hadn't ought to ast me them kind of questions," he said. "Maybe I could answer them, and maybe I couldn't. I don't want to know nothin' about the boss, as a man. It's dangerous. To you and me he's just an idea, sis. He's power, see? You and me is only a part of a part of the organisation. It reaches everywhere. The different parts don't even know each other. But from each part a line runs direct to the boss. He holds all the lines in his hand. He does what he wants. He's as high above you and me as God!"

  "This is a free country, ain't it?" said Jessie, just to draw him out.

  "I guess that slogan was invented before everything was organised," said Bill dryly. "Nowadays the individual man is nothing. All he can do is to join a good strong organisation. Then he can lie back, and let the organisation take care of him, and do his thinking."

  "But they don't take care of us," said Jessie. "They let us take all the risk. They let us go to jail."

  "But they get us out again, don't they?"

  "Do you think the boss will let me see him?" asked Jessie.

  "Why should he?" said Bill coolly. "You're on'y the youngest member."

  "But he will, though!" Jessie vowed to herself.

  They dismissed their taxi at Thirty-Fourth Street, and strolled up the Avenue. How good the well-remembered street looked to Jessie's eyes. She eagerly searched amongst the throng for old acquaintances. It was not the season for fashionable people to be in town, but she saw Mrs. Grantham, the wife of the famous aviator; the new Mrs. Norbert Starr, and Doctor Strailock. None looked at her, of course. Big Bill in himself was a disguise.

  "The first thing I got to teach yo
u," said Bill, "is to know the stuff when you see it."

  "Solid silver's always got 'sterling' on it," said Jessie innocently.

  "No!" said Bill jocosely. "Ain't you the knowin' one! ... You needn't bother about silver, sis. Cash, of course, whenever it can be picked up, but precious stones is the main stuff. Always a steady market."

  "You mean diamonds and pearls," said Jessie.

  "Yeh. Them's the leaders. Sapphires and emeralds is just as good. Rubies too, but you don't see them much nowadays."

  He brought her to a stand before the window of a famous jeweller. "This is what I wanted you to see," he whispered in her ear. "You see it's mostly diamonds. The world has gone mad over diamonds. It makes rich pickin's for us.... Well, you don't need much instruction to tell a diamond. It's got life in it. Almost in the dark you can tell it. Consequently they're not much imitated no more; it don't pay. Those green stones are emeralds, and the blue ones sapphires. They're worth more than diamonds if they got no cracks. After you look at them a bit, you can't be mistaken in them neither. They got a high-toned look like a fine lady."

  He led her on to another show-window, where many strings of pearls were displayed. "What do you think about them?" he demanded.

  Jessie had to conceal her knowledge of pearls, of course. "Ain't they pretty!" she said rapturously.

  "All phoney," said Bill. "Made on the premises here. Look well at them, so you won't make no mistake again. They're too pretty, in a way of speaking. Too smooth and round and shiny. That shine is on'y pasted on the outside. Now come."

  He proceeded to a window where real pearls were displayed. "See, the difference?" he whispered, with the enthusiasm of an expert. "Real pearls don't shine, they glow. The shine seems to come from the inside, see? And they ain't machine-ground. They got little hollows like a woman's cheek."

  From jeweller's window to jeweller's window, the lesson proceeded.

  "There's another thing you want to learn," said Bill, when they finally turned down-town again, in search of lunch, "and that's this here psychology, as they call it."

  Jessie smiled inwardly. This was teaching a cat to lap cream, indeed. "What's that?" she asked innocently.

  "Well, it used to be called studyin' human nature," said Bill. "But now it's called psychology. It's knowin' people. Take that old dude ahead of us. What can you tell me about him?"

  "He's got corns," said Jessie.

  "Sure. But that ain't psychology. What's goin' through his mind?"

  "He wants the world to think he's a regular devil, but it's on'y window-dressin'."

  "Very like; but what I want you to notice particular is, he ain't the real thing. He ain't worth the pickin'. His clothes is all right, but that's all he's got."

  "How do you know that?"

  "By his anxious eye. A man with plenty money always has a calm eye.... Take this guy comin' towards us; him with the roast-beef complexion and the thick-soled shoes. What's he?"

  "I dunno."

  "A bull."

  "How do you know that? By his shoes?"

  "No, that's just as it happens. I know it by his watchful eye. There's different kinds of watchfulness, of course. The old dude who passed us before; he looks at everybody to see if they're looking at him. But there's on'y two kinds of men has that hard watchfulness on the street; one's our kind; and one's them that's lookin' for our kind. And the difference between 'em is, a bull looks kinda pious because he's got the law on his side."

  "Not so bad!" thought Jessie.

  "The principal thing you got to learn in psychology," Bill went on, "is, how a man's goin' to ac' when you stick him up. There's mostly three kinds; there's the nervous man who hollers and crumples up; there's the ordinary, sensible man who puts his hands up when you got the draw on him; and there's the man with a hot eye who's bound to put up a fight whatever the odds."

  "How about women?" asked Jessie.

  "I don't know so much about women. They mostly always hollers."

  The temptation to show off a little was too much for Jessie. "Let me see what I kin do with this now—psychology," she said. "Look at this woman comin' out of the store. The one with the little handbag. What can you tell about her?"

  "I told you I ain't wise to women." said Bill.

  "Well, let me see what I can tell you," said Jessie, studying the woman. "She lives in Roselle—that's over in Jersey, ain't it? She don't get to town very often. The part where she lives isn't all built up yet, and she has to walk to the station. She's a hard-workin' woman with a whole raft of children, but just the same, somebody's going to blow her to lunch to-day at a swell-joint."

  "A-ah! you're just guessin'," said Bill.

  "No, I seen the whole thing when she came out of the store and turned around beside me. There was a little card sticking out of the flap of her handbag, and on the top of it was: 'Trains to and from Roselle.' She don't got to town often, or she wouldn't need no time table. There was good country mud on her shoes. I had a sight of her shopping list, as she put it away, and the first item was: 'Bloomers for Alice.' Well, she must have a lot of kids, or she wouldn't have to put down which one the bloomers was for."

  "How about the bid to lunch at a swell joint?"

  "Why, you boob, didn't you see her look at Tiffany's clock when she come out of the store, and put away her shopping list, and take out a pair of white kid gloves that hadn't been wore before?"

  "A-ah! you just made that up,"

  "Let's follow her."

  At Thirty-Fourth Street the woman turned into the Waldorf-Astorias.

  Bill refused to concede Jessie's psychology. "A-ah! it was just a lucky guess!" he said.

  Bill's idea of a "Broadway Hotel" was scarcely Jessie's. Bill chose White's, an old-fashioned restaurant near Twenty-Eighth Street. There was a double row of long tables disappearing in an endless vista, each table with its end against the wall. The aspect of the place was somewhat dingy, but a savoury smell greeted their nostrils as they went in. This promised to be better than Pap's cooking. No doubt in a tonier place they would have been too conspicuous.

  Bill did the honours gallantly. "Sit yeh down," he said, indicating a seat next the wall on one side, while he took a chair opposite. "What say to a nice dish of corn beef and cabbage?"

  "Hey, give me that!" said Jessie, snatching the card out of his hand.

  "A person would think we was married the way you boss me," said Bill, grinning.

  "Well, I'm not lookin' for no corn beef and cabbage man," said Jessie.

  "Anythin' you want!" said Bill largely.

  During the next quarter of an hour there was silence.

  "We must do this again," said Bill, picking his teeth.

  "Suits me," said Jessie.

  Unfortunately, repletion had the effect of making Bill tender.

  "Ain't had such a good time in God knows when," he said, leaning over the table. "It's so damn pleasant walking around the streets with a good-lookin' gal. I ain't had much of that. Say, I know I got off to a bad start with you, Jess. I mistook you, and that's a fact. But I'm man enough to own my mistake; that's somepin, ain't it? You ain't always goin' to hold it against me, are yeh? You and me was made for each other, girl. Look how well we get along. If you and me took each other for keeps, life would be a reg'lar picnic!"

  "Now, Bill!" said Jessie. "If we're goin' to have any more good times, you know you gotta cut that out. You know there's nothin' doin'."

  "Oh, my God! but you're an aggravatin' woman!" groaned Bill.

  As they were about to leave the restaurant, they met a friend of Bill's, an odd little gentleman with hair and moustaches dyed fiercely black; checked suit, red necktie and pearl-gray Fedora. Bill and he conversed in undertones, and Jessie, seeing that she was not to be introduced, sauntered through the door to wait on the sidewalk.

  Now Jessie had great need to send a message outside the ring that hemmed her round. She had marked the cigar store next door to the restaurant; it had telephone booths. Bill lingered. At
any rate the cigar store would be safer than risking the telephone in the Varick Street house again. Even if Bill cut up rough, she ought to be able to handle him.

  Jessie moved unostentatiously out of range of Bill's vision, then whipped inside the cigar store, and inside one of the booths. Once inside the booth, she was invisible from the street.

  About three minutes later she emerged to find a baffled and furious Bill standing on the sidewalk, looking up and down. When he caught sight of her, he could have struck her down, had he dared.

  "What the hell...!" he muttered.

  "I just been to telephone," she said.

  She winced in the grip of his hand on her arm. "Who to?" he demanded in his furious whisper. "And what about? Damn you, are you tryin' to double-cross me? Was it to a man?"

  "No," said Jessie. "It was to a girl."

  "You lie!"

  "It was to my pal, Canada Annie. She's all right. She's in the same business as us. I was tryin' to make a date with her. She's the best friend I got. I thought maybe if you and me went out again, you'd let me see her, if you was along."

  "You won't get out again in a hurry, my girl," said Bill. Nevertheless, Jessie perceived that he was partly mollified by her explanation.

  "Why didn't you ast me if you could telephone?" he demanded in an aggrieved tone. "It would a been all right if I could hear all you said."

  "I was afraid you wouldn't let me."

  "A-ah!" growled Bill. "C'mon home."

  Of that telephone message that Jessie sent, more anon. First I must tell you what happened to Jessie and Bill on the way home.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  GEORGE

  Bill was sullen now, and in no humour to spend his money on taxicabs. They walked over to Seventh Avenue, and took the plebeian electric car. They got off at the turn at Eleventh Street, and walked on down. Jessie was making no attempt to charm away Bill's ill-temper; better to let it wear off of itself, she thought. She perceived that she had succeeded in deceiving him; in his heart he believed the story she had told of her telephone call; and that was all that was necessary. She was well assured he would not tell Black Kate anything about it.