So as soon as the butler's through loadin' Purdy-Pell into the limousine I cross-examines Jarvis about young Mr. Hollister's motions. Yes, he'd shown up at the house both nights. It might have been late, perhaps quite late. Then this afternoon he'd 'phoned to have his evenin' clothes sent uptown by messenger. No, he couldn't remember the number, or the name of the hotel.

"Ah, come, Jarvis!" says I. "We know you're strong for the young man, and all that. But this is for the best. Dig it up now! You must have put the number down at the time. Where's the 'phone pad?"53

53

He produces it, blank. "You see, Sir," says he, "I tore off the leaf and gave it to the messenger."

"But you're a heavy writer, ain't you?" says I. "Find me a readin' glass."

And, sure enough, by holdin' the pad under the big electrolier in the lib'ry, we could trace out the address.

"Huh!" says I. "The Maison Maxixe, one of them new trot palaces! Ring up a taxi, Jarvis."

Didn't happen to be up around there yourself that night, did you? If you had, you couldn't missed seein' him,—the old guy with the Dixie lid and the prophet's beard, and the snake-killer staff in his fist,—for with that gold and green entrance as a background, and in all that glare of electric lights, he was some prominent.

Sort of a cross between Father Time and Santa Claus, he looks like, with his bumper crop of white alfalfa, his rosy cheeks, and his husky build. Also he's attired in a wide-brimmed black felt hat, considerable dusty, and a long black coat with a rip in the shoulder seam. I heard a couple of squabs just ahead of me giggle, and one of 'em gasps:

"Heavings, Lulu! Will you lamp the movie grandpop! I wonder if them lambrequins are real?"

She says it loud enough to be heard around on Broadway, and I looks to see how the old boy54 takes it; but he keeps right on beamin' mild and sort of curious at the crowds pushin' in. It was them calm, gentle old blue eyes of his, gazin' steady, like he was lookin' for someone, that caught me. First thing, I knew he was smilin' folksy straight at me, and liftin' one hand hesitatin', as if he wanted to give me the hail.

54

"Well, old scout?" says I, haltin' on the first step.

 Prev. P 32/197 next