by Howard Mason
“Mah hebbin’s, Mist’ Boyce, Ah kain’t use all de furn’-chure whut dey is in dis house, Man kain’t comb his haih in front ob two bureaus—de one in heah and de contraption ob drawers and mirrah yo’ gran’faddah use’ fo’ a bu’eau; an’ man kain’t sleep in two beds, kin he? Yo’ gran’faddah’s lil single-width maple bed an’ mah big dock-wallapah of a mahog’ny bed is des one bed too many fo’ one man to sleep in.”
“Well, you might play a sort of a circuit. I note your fine distinctions, moreover—his bed—and your bed! Though in a sense you’re right, since the year of Probate isn’t over. And in a sense you’re wrong, since he didn’t give you this bed with an outright deed of gift, so you have to wait to get it as ‘yours’ by legal inheritance. Oh, no matter. You’re really a very lucky man, Josiah. Do you know what I inherited?”
“W’y, lawyah man didn’t tell me nuffin’ on de phone t’day ’bout de will, cept’n whut comes to me. But I ’spose you got all Mist’ Ba’kstone’s estate, didn’t you, ’cept mah share? ’Bout a hun’ed thousan’, mo’ or less, Ah guess? Fo’ yo’ gran’fathah wuz alwiz putty conf’denshal wid me, and I heahed him say, on’y few weeks back, dat he reckon he now wuth ’bout hun’ed an’ ten o’ fifteen thousan’ roun’ dollahs. Cose, Ah don’t know how much cash money he had.”
“Well, I know of five thousand cash that he—” Boyce broke off. And sudden hope sprang into his heart, about one complication in his affairs. “Say, Josiah, you speak of him as always being confidential with you, which I seem to remember that he was. Now did Grandfather, by any chance, tell you, during any of those days before he died, about getting five thousand cash from me? But without a receipt?”
Josiah shook his kinky head gravely. “No, Mist’ Boyce, he didn’.”
“Hm? I’d half hoped that he—but didn’t he tell you that the Donnweil mortgage got paid off?”
“No.” And Josiah again shook his head. “On’y ting he ebbah said to me ’bout dat mo’gage was dat he wondahed ef dem Donnweilabers uz gonna take advantage ob de prepayment claw—sonce dey got money in dey own hands.”
“Hell fire!” Boyce groaned. Not a chance, as it appeared, to prove that his grandfather even knew of a sudden access of cash money into the business. And Balhatchet Barkstone hadn’t been in the office, either, when the mortgage was paid off, and Boyce had stamped the papers and notes and turned them over to the Donnweils. So he proceeded to tell Josiah the sad details of how much of that hundred thousand he had not got.
“Well, Josiah,” he said slowly, “Grandfather cut me entirely out of his will. Oh, he did leave me something—yes. A handful of assorted beans—all colors—all shapes—all sizes! With some scornful instructions. Which same beans I have here in my vest pocket. Though I won’t even insult you by showing ’em to you and asking you what value they have.”
Josiah, mouth agape, so that a half toothless red cavern loomed forth, was leaning forward on the side of the bed.
“He—he lef’ you on’y some beans—not a penny?”
“Not a penny—no! It—all, that is, but what went to you—went to a bunch of long-haired orators down near the Village who he thought had something on the ball. They’re already well-heeled, and don’t even need his mazuma.”
“W-well, fo’ Go’ sakes. Ah knowed yo gran’faddah had bought some asso’ted beans. Though Ah nebbah seed ’em, muhself. An’ Ah eben know de date he bought ’em, as well. An’ w’ich date wuz de day befo’ Ah wuz away all day long visitin’ mah sick brothah in Alb’ny. An’ w’ich, thah’fo’, wuz—but Ian’s sake, Mist’ Boyce, yo’ ain’ int’rusted in fool details if’n yo’ is cut off from yo’ gran’faddah’s fo’tune. Yo—”
“I’m interested in all details. Particularly what he may have said about those damned beans, if he said anything at all. And—but anyway, what was the date he bought ’em, and anything else you have to tell me?”
“Wa-a-all, as Ah said, he bought ’em—dat Ah knows—de day befo’ Ah wuz ’way all day long visitin’ mah sick brothah in Alb’ny. And w’ich thahfo’—as Ah t’ink Ah’ve a’ready said, wuz—but now le’s see?—Ah wen’ away six ’clock in de mawnin’, an’ come home late at night—’leven ’clock of—of—w’y, ’kaze mah brothah he had dat ’spute ’bout his milk bill, it wuz June—well, de date Ah wen’ ’way, Mist’ Boyce, wuz June 2nd!—so, sence yo’ grandfaddah bought dem beans de day befo’ dat, den he bought ’em June 1st!”
“Do I know it! Everything hangs together beautifully. Just how you place his buying of ’em the day before you were away all day, I don’t know—it doesn’t matter particularly anyway—but the day before—or June 1st—was the same day I myself went away—and the same day, likewise, in the late afternoon of which he made his will. And left the damn beans he’d just bought to me.”
“Oh—did he mek his will dat day? June 1st? Ah didn’t know, from whut de lawyah man tell me, whut de date wuz. But Ah do know, f’m mah own mobements an’ oddah t’ings, dat de day befo’ Ah wuz go to Alb’ny fo’ all day, yo’ gran’faddah he wuz go by de Seed’tehiah—”
“The Seedateria? That huge new place, you mean, on Sixth Avenue—occupying a whole 6-story building—where people go ’round—help themselves from the bins—get the printed planting instructions oil a spindle nearby—and—”
“Da’s right! De place whah dey let you take so li’l as one ob an’t’ing, fo’ a growin’ trial, an’ pay one cent on de way out. Lessen, ob co’se, de ’tic’ler seed whut you take is impo’ted o’ somethin’—in w’ich case it mebbe a nickel o’ so. Ah ’tended de place wid yo’ gran’faddah on de openin’ day, th’ee weeks before. So ’twuz mo’ o’ less natchel, Ah ’spose, dat if’n he wanted ’so’ted beans, he’d go dah. W’ich, in fack, Ah happcn’s t’ know he did.”
“I still don’t know how you know it, of course. Outside of, perhaps and doubtlessly, his telling you. Though it doesn’t matter, so far as ultimate results went. My getting ’em, I mean! At least, he made a damned fine selection. Of beans! For he must have dipped into every confounded bean bin in the place. I guess he read the planting instructions above each bin well, too, so as to get beans from real diverse places, like the South Pole and the Equator! Well, I got ’em all, Josiah, with instructions to sow ’em in the right soil, and maybe grow myself somep’n. Meaning, of course, a civil tongue in my head. Or, possibly some horse sense with respect to courtesy for my elders.”
“Well, fo’ hebbin’s sake,” groaned Josiah. “Li’l did Ah dream dem beans whut he buyed ’uz t’ be yo’ ’hairtence—out’n his ’state. Fo’ Ah—but ’twuz dis way, Mist’ Boyce—ef’n you is still int’rusted. W’ich same you plenty much is, Ah reckon.” Josiah paused but a second. “De mawnin’ aftah Ah wuz by Alb’ny all day, Ah ’uz cleanin’ up de house, an’ in yo’ gran’faddah’s was’ebasket Ah fin’s a cash-registah slip wid de name ‘De Seed’tehiah’ on it and de wuhds: ‘16 ’So’ted Seeds, 31 cents.’ An’ aftah I has bu’n up de trash de way Ah alwuz did, Ah says to yo’ grandfaddah: ‘Wuz yo’ mebbe, sah, by de Seed’tehiah yistidday?’ An’ he say, kinda jokin’ lak, ‘Soun’ to me lak dey’s a Shylock Home aroun’ dis place—on’y he is a punk Shylock Home ’kaze he don’t obsarve nothin’. Now huccome, Shylock Home, Ah could go ’way downtown to Six’ Ab’noo yistidday, wid you traipsin’ all obah Alb’ny? Somebody hatter tek keah dis house, an’ get de th’ee ’potent tel’phone calls I ’uz ’spectin’, an’ dat somebody wuz me! W’y, Ah lak to have die wid bo’dom.’ Den ob co’se Ah say, stubbo’n lak—’kaze I ’uz puzzle ’bout dem 16 seeds—‘Well, ’twuz day befo’ yistidday, den, dat you wuz to de Seed’tehiah, ’kaze Ah jes’ bu’ned up de checkslip.’ An’ he grunt an’ say: ‘Seem lak Ah cain’t call my own doin’s mah own in dis town!’ An’ he add: ‘Yassuh, Shylock Home, ’twuz day befo’ yistidday, an’ Ah picked up a crooked pin on Broadway an’ buyed mahse’f a malted milk on Fo’th Ab’noo—now you know ebberting ’bout my mo
vements. Is you satisfied? If not, whut else mebbe you lak know?’ Well, Ah could alwuz be friendly lak wid yo’ grandfaddah, Mist’ Boyce, so Ah up and say: ‘Well, Ah also know dat you is bought some asso’ted flowah seeds, an’ sence Ah is de ’ficial gyardner ’round dis place, does you wan’ me to plant ’em fo’ you in de back yahd o’ in de fron’ yahd?’ Den he laff and say: ‘Josiah, ef’n you ’uz to try to plant dem flowah seeds what Ah bought at de Seed’tehiah in any kin’ ob a yahd—fron’ or back—to plant dem, dat is, raght, so dat dey’d ’ventually come up—you’d hab to hab a yahd so big, Josiah—one, dat is, wid pow’ful hot zones in it and wid pow’ful col’ zones, too, an’ wid plenty swamp, an’ plenty high Ian’s lak mountains—so big, Josiah, dat by de time you ’uz plantin’, an’ plantin’ proper lak, de las’ seed, you’d be a old grey-haided negro stid ob de apple-cheek’ yo’ngstah whut you is. Fact is, Josiah,’ he den add, ‘dem seeds wuzn’ flowah seeds—dey ’uz bean-plant seeds—in sho’t, Josiah, beans!—an’ to plant dem, all proper lak, so as to grow mo’ beans, you’d hatter travel so many directions, no’th, south, eas’, an’ wes’, dat befo’ some ’uz planted, othah’s ’d be sproutin’ and gittin’ ha’vested. Fac’ is, Josiah,’ yo’ grandfaddah den added, ‘de one big “yahd” whah all dem seeds could grow would hab to be as big as Chiny—’d hab to be Chiny, in fac’—sence dat de bigges’ kentry on de globe, an’ wid de mos’ climates an’ soils in it.’”
“He knew his bean-sowing all right,” said Boyce bitterly. “Though reason enough, considering his own farm boy training. Added to which, he was able to peruse all those amplified growing instructions above those Seedateria bins.” He paused. “China is right! As the one country where all those beans he bought could have been sowed and harvested. As even I myself learned this morning, Josiah, from a specialist who, if he wasn’t strictly a professor of beanology, assuredly knew his beans. And—but here—I take it, cross-questioning Gran’ther as much as you did, you asked him why he’d bought beans. And only 16 of ’em, at that?”
“Co’se Ah did! An’ he say: ‘Well, Josiah, sence you has axed, Ah mought say dat all mah life Ah has wondahed whut de diff’ent beans dey taste lak w’en dey is cook up alone, an’ so, sence I ’uz goin’ to hab to stay heah all day lak a prisoner, an’ anssah de telephone, Ah ’cided to ’muse mahse’f by cookin’ up a mess ob ’so’ted beans—each kin’ sep’rate—roll it ’bout on mah tongue—chew it—tas’e it—and fin’ w’ich is de lusciousest. And den mebbe staht a supah-bean fact’ry.’”
“Super-bean factory is good,” Boyce commented dourly. “They were bought to leave with Tydings and Plenderleith—in a cotton bag—for yours truly! For those beans—exactly 16 in number—were the ones he left me, for my share in his estate. To plant in one spot—one soil. Except that, as even Gran’ther told you—and a practical vegetable growing specialist told me—the 16 couldn’t possibly be grown in any spot, to grow simultaneously, except a spot that comprises half Asia and supports some 461,000,000 Chinks. Of course,” he added sardonically, “you asked him which bean had tasted the best?”
“Sho’ did, Mist’ Boyce. An’ he say dey all tas’ed fit fo’ hawgs, atter dey ’us b’iled up, ’cep’n one giddy trop’cal bean what costed him fi’ cents, an’ dat he guess he’ll hab to put dat ’un out in cans fo’ $2.50 a Can.”
“Some joker all right,” Boyce bit out. “I got that bean too—a peacock of a bean called the Tonqua—out of New Guinea.”
Now he lapsed into dolorous silence.
“It hurts, Josiah. The thought back of his bequest, I mean. If only he’d left me something—anything—valuable. But a bequest worth 31 cents! That—that hurts. And even outside of such hurt as it contains in itself, it’s causing me more, further, and worse hur—”
“Mist’ Boyce! Yo’—yo’ don’ mean dat dat gal is gonna walkin’ out on yo’? W’y, dat gal—dat gal wouldn’t do that. Ef she’s walkin’ out, den huh pappy has put in his—”
“No, Josiah. No! She’s a hundred-percent true and steel blue. But I’m in a—a—what you used to call a ‘picklement,’ that will prevent her and me getting married. Only it’s I who won’t be able to marry her, for—”
“You? Mist’ Boyce, you isn’t embezzle’ some money, is you?”
“No, no, no,” Boyce said wearily. “Though some may claim I did. They may even say I—”
The telephone on the coarse kitchen table by the window rang raucously.
Josiah spoke.
“’Scuse me des a minut’, Mist’ Boyce. It’s mebbe dem Sing Sing men. Des wait.” Rising from the bed, he ambled over to the table, sank down into the kitchen chair, and raised the phone. “Dis is Josiah, Mist’ Barkstone-whut-wuz’s man, speakin’…
“T’mohhaw, yo’ sez? An’ all day? Well, dat puffectly a’right wid me, kaze Ah won’ be heah. Fo’ Ah couldn’t do nuffin’ to he’p if Ah waz. You has got de key, so dat’s all you need. Oh—lunch? Well, de men’ll fin’ coffee in de pantry, an’ a clean glass coffee pot on de stob’, an’ Ah’ll be glad to wash dey duhty dishes atter ’em w’en Ah gits home. Food? Oh, dey’ll fin’ plenty canned goods in de pantry, ’cludin’ beans, lak dat po’ Mist’ Boyce inhairted—
“Mist’ Boyce? Oh, dat whut you rally callin’ up ’bout, you sez? Well, whut Ah know ’bout Mist’ Boyce’s comin’s an’ goin’s, Ah lak to know? Is he heah? W-w-well, w’y would he be? He—now who says Ah’s lyin’?—Ah gotta fin’ out, don’ Ah? So—so hoi’ de wiah.”
Josiah cupped the transmitting end of the phone tightly with his black hand.
“’Tis, Mist’ Boyce! Dem Sing Sing men! Dey say dey men gonna invento’y an’ appy-raise all day t’mohhaw. On’y it seem lak somep’n mo’ impo’tent is on dey min’s raght now—seem dey wan’ed to speak wid you—if you is heah? Seem lak dey has b’en callin’ all ’bout town fo’ you.”
“Well, you practically told ’em I was here, Josiah. So tell them I am. Though be sure to tell them I was but visiting you, on the fly, and in your room. And I’ll speak with them.”
Josiah had turned to the phone. “Yas, he heah. He des visitin’ me on de fly, but I had to axe him fus’ if he wuz heah, sence—now don’t go jumpin’ on me—Ah ain’ a suhvan’ man no mo’—Ah’s one of de hairs to dis estate an’ don’t hatter take imp’dence f’um no Ex’cutioner men. Whut dat? Contemp’ o’ co’te. Who’s contemp’bl’ o’ co’tes? You mean Ah kin git 90 days fo’ obstructin’ de Ex’cut’nists? W’y, Ah—Ah ain’ obstructin’ nobody, on’y w’en you axes me ef’n a man is heah who Ah don’ know ef he wanna be heah, Ah is ’tween two fiahs, an’—but heah Mist’ Boyce is now.”
Boyce, already at the chair, took it as Josiah relinquished it.
“This is Boyce Barkstone speaking,” he said quietly.
“This is Angus MacKinlock-k-k,” rasped a hard voice, with the burr of 20 Scotchmen rolled into it. “Bar-r-rkstoon, y’er assets on that real-estate business ar-r-e exactly §5000 shor-r-t. And—”
“Are they? Well, that’s natural enough. For I gave $5000 in cash to my grandfather a few days before his death.”
“Hov ye the receipt?”
“Unfortunately no. I turned the money over to him without a receipt.”
“In froont of a witness, perhaps?”
“No. No witness was present.”
“Ah-h-h, Bar-r-rkstoon, ye’re a domned liar, an’ this stor-ry is the only thing ye can seize on to account fer a short-tage. But ye can’t get away with it. Ye bring doon that money, Bar-rkstoon, and we’ll say nae more aboot it.”
“Bring it down is good! All I can say is: don’t wait up for it. For I won’t bring it down, because I can’t bring it down, because I haven’t it.”
“Th’ hoorse-r-ra-races, eh, in San Francisco? So ye can’t pr-roduce it?”
“No. Because Grandfather got it.”
“Bah! Five times has that kind of a stor-ry been
gi’n us here, as Executor-rs. Well, Bar-rkstoon, I’m going to have to get out a police pick-up order on ye this after-rnoon. So ye’d better—”
“Better not stay where I am, eh? Well, I won’t! I’ll blow fast—if not faster. For I’ve one little job to do today, before the police-pick-up order catches up with me—a little job that ought to make news—a little job that—however, you’re welcome to race me—with the police order.”
He hung up.
“Mah goo’ness, Mist’ Boyce,” said Josiah, now back on the edge of the bed. “Ah heahed all—on bot’ en’s ob de wiah—an’ you bettah git out ob heah quick.”
“Be yourself, Josiah! Here is the last place in all New York, now that they’ve handed me the news the police will be wanting me, that they’ll ever come to look for me. So here I stay—providing, that is, I can get your permish. Till about one hour before evening newspaper deadline today, at which time I’ll be over east of here a ways, sowing beans in Woodl—Anyway, Josiah, now you know why I can’t marry Carmine. And why I—but here—I haven’t yet had your permish to hang about here. So may I loaf on the premises—rather, in your room?—or would you feel safer with a $5000 embezzler out of the place? Speak up, Josiah—I’m at your mercy.”
Chapter VIII
CALLING PROFESSOR ZACK
“Ob co’se,” Josiah averred stoutly, “yo’ kin stay in heah. Ah—Ah ain’ no p’lice dog, dat Ah is ’bliged t’ keep out blood rel’tives ob Mist’ Ba’kstone-whut-wuz, o’ mah own frien’s. If dat’s contemp’ o’ co’te, let it be contemp’ o’ co’te. An’way, Ah ain’ ’sposed to know nuffin’ bout no missing ft’ thousums ob dollahs an’way. So you stay heah all day ef’n you wan’s to, an’ t’night too, ef you laks—des bettah git out fo’ dem ’praisers come tomohhaw, da’s all.” Boyce was already sinking back into the spring chair, and Josiah now sighed dolorously.
