He knew what every look of hers meant; and he laughed with a faint flush upon his face.
Cut it out, he said, with affectionate roughness. I told you I was done with that. I bought em and paid for em, all right, with my own money.
Out of the money you worked for, Kid? Out of $75 a month?
Sure. I been saving up.
Lets see saved $425 in eight months, Kid?
Ah, let up, said the Kid, with some heat. I had some money when I went to work. Do you think Ive been holding em up again? I told you Id quit. Theyre paid for on the square. Put em on and come out for a walk.
Molly calmed her doubts. Sables are soothing. Proud as a queen she went forth in the streets at the Kids side. In all that region of low-lying streets Russian sables had never been seen before. The word sped, and doors and windows blossomed with heads eager to see the swell furs Kid Brady had given his girl. All down the street there were Ohs and Ahs and the reported fabulous sum paid for the sables was passed from lip to lip, increasing as it went. At her right elbow sauntered the Kid with the air of princes. Work had not diminished his love of pomp and show and his passion for the costly and genuine. On a corner they saw a group of the Stovepipe Gang loafing, immaculate. They raised their hats to the Kids girl and went on with their calm, unaccented palaver.
Three blocks behind the admired couple strolled Detective Ransom, of the Central office. Ransom was the only detective on the force who could walk abroad with safety in the Stovepipe district. He was fair dealing and unafraid and went there with the hypothesis that the inhabitants were human. Many liked him, and now and then one would tip off to him something that he was looking for.
Whats the excitement down the street? asked Ransom of a pale youth in a red sweater.
Deyre out rubberin at a set of buffalo robes Kid Brady staked his girl to, answered the youth. Some say he paid $900 for de skins. Deyre swell all right enough.
I hear Brady has been working at his old trade for nearly a year, said the detective. He doesnt travel with the gang any more, does he?
Hes workin, all right, said the red sweater, but say, sport, are you trailin anything in the fur line? A job in a plumbin shop don match wid dem skins de Kids girls got on.
I hear Brady has been working at his old trade for nearly a year, said the detective. He doesnt travel with the gang any more, does he?
Hes workin, all right, said the red sweater, but say, sport, are you trailin anything in the fur line? A job in a plumbin shop don match wid dem skins de Kids girls got on.
Ransom overtook the strolling couple on an empty street near the river bank. He touched the Kids arm from behind.
Let me see you a moment, Brady, he said, quietly. His eye rested for a second on the long fur scarf thrown stylishly back over Mollys left shoulder. The Kid, with his old-time police hating frown on his face, stepped a yard or two aside with the detective.
Did you go to Mrs. Hethcotes on West 7 th street yesterday to fix a leaky water pipe? asked Ransom.
I did, said the Kid. What of it?
The ladys $1,000 set of Russian sables went out of the house about the same time you did. The description fits the ones this lady has on.
To h Harlem with you[314], cried the Kid, angrily. You know Ive cut out that sort of thing, Ransom. I bought them sables yesterday at
The Kid stopped short.
I know youve been working straight lately, said Ransom. Ill give you every chance. Ill go with you where you say you bought the furs and investigate. The lady can wear em along with us and nobodyll be on. Thats fair, Brady.
Come on, agreed the Kid, hotly. And then he stopped suddenly in his tracks and looked with an odd smile at Mollys distressed and anxious face.
No use, he said, grimly. Theyre the Hethcote sables, all right. Youll have to turn em over, Moll, but they aint too good for you if they cost a million.
Molly, with anguish in her face, hung upon the Kids arm.
Oh, Kiddy, youve broke my heart, she said. I was so proud of you and now theyll do you and wheres our happiness gone?
Go home, said the Kid, wildly. Come on, Ransom take the furs. Lets get away from here. Wait a minute Ive a good mind to no, Ill be d if I can do it run along, Moll Im ready, Ransom.
Around the corner of a lumber-yard came Policeman Kohen on his way to his beat along the river. The detective signed to him for assistance. Kohen joined the group. Ransom explained.
Sure, said Kohen. I hear about those saples dat vas stole. You say you have dem here?
Policeman Kohen took the end of Mollys late scarf in his hands and looked at it closely.
Once, he said, I sold furs in Sixth avenue. Yes, dese are saples. Dey come from Alaska. Dis scarf is vort $12 and dis muff
Biff! came the palm of the Kids powerful hand upon the policemans mouth. Kohen staggered and rallied. Molly screamed. The detective threw himself upon Brady and with Kohens aid got the nippers on his wrist.
The scarf is vort $12 and the muff is vort $9, persisted the policeman. Vot is dis talk about $1,000 saples?
The Kid sat upon a pile of lumber and his face turned dark red.
Correct, Solomonski[315]! he declared, viciously. I paid $21.50 for the set. Id rather have got six months and not have told it. Me, the swell guy that wouldnt look at anything cheap! Im a plain bluffer. Moll my salary couldnt spell sables in Russian.
Molly cast herself upon his neck.
What do I care for all the sables and money in the world, she cried. Its my Kiddy I want. Oh, you dear, stuck-up, crazy blockhead!
You can take dose nippers off, said Kohen to the detective. Before I leaf de station de report come in dat de lady vind her saples hanging in her wardrobe. Young man, I excuse you dat punch in my vace dis von time.
Ransom handed Molly her furs. Her eyes were smiling upon the Kid. She wound the scarf and threw the end over her left shoulder with a duchess grace.
A gouple of young vools, said Policeman Kohen to Ransom; come on away.
The Social Triangle
At the stroke of six Ikey Snigglefritz laid down his goose. Ikey was a tailors apprentice. Are there tailors apprentices nowadays?
At any rate, Ikey toiled and snipped and basted and pressed and patched and sponged all day in the steamy fetor of a tailor-shop. But when work was done Ikey hitched his wagon to such stars as his firmament let shine.
It was Saturday night, and the boss laid twelve begrimed and begrudged dollars in his hand. Ikey dabbled discreetly in water, donned coat, hat and collar with its frazzled tie and chalcedony pin, and set forth in pursuit of his ideals.
For each of us, when our days work is done, must seek our ideal, whether it be love or pinochle or lobster à la Newburg, or the sweet silence of the musty bookshelves.
Behold Ikey as he ambles up the street beneath the roaring El between the rows of reeking sweat-shops. Pallid, stooping, insignificant, squalid, doomed to exist forever in penury of body and mind, yet, as he swings his cheap cane and projects the noisome inhalations from his cigarette you perceive that he nurtures in his narrow bosom the bacillus of society.
Ikeys legs carried him to and into that famous place of entertainment known as the Café Maginnis famous because it was the rendezvous of Billy McMahan, the greatest man, the most wonderful man, Ikey thought, that the world had ever produced.
Billy McMahan was the district leader. Upon him the Tiger[316] purred, and his hand held manna[317] to scatter. Now, as Ikey entered, McMahan stood, flushed and triumphant and mighty, the centre of a huzzaing concourse of his lieutenants and constituents. It seems there had been an election; a signal victory had been won; the city had been swept back into line by a resistless besom of ballots.
Ikey slunk along the bar and gazed, breath-quickened, at his idol.
How magnificent was Billy McMahan, with his great, smooth, laughing face; his gray eye, shrewd as a chicken hawks; his diamond ring, his voice like a bugle call, his princes air, his plump and active roll of money, his clarion call to friend and comrade oh, what a king of men he was! How he obscured his lieutenants, though they themselves loomed large and serious, blue of chin and important of mien, with hands buried deep in the pockets of their short overcoats! But Billy oh, what small avail are words to paint for you his glory as seen by Ikey Snigglefritz!
The Café Maginnis rang to the note of victory. The white-coated bartenders threw themselves featfully upon bottle, cork and glass. From a score of clear Havanas[318] the air received its paradox of clouds. The leal and the hopeful shook Billy McMahans hand. And there was born suddenly in the worshipful soul of Ikey Snigglefritz an audacious, thrilling impulse.
He stepped forward into the little cleared space in which majesty moved, and held out his hand.
Billy McMahan grasped it unhesitatingly, shook it and smiled.
Made mad now by the gods who were about to destroy him, Ikey threw away his scabbard and charged upon Olympus[319].
Have a drink with me, Billy, he said familiarly, you and your friends?
Dont mind if I do, old man, said the great leader, just to keep the ball rolling.
The last spark of Ikeys reason fled.
Wine, he called to the bartender, waving a trembling hand.
The corks of three bottles were drawn; the champagne bubbled in the long row of glasses set upon the bar. Billy McMahan took his and nodded, with his beaming smile, at Ikey. The lieutenants and satellites took theirs and growled Heres to you. Ikey took his nectar in delirium. All drank.
Ikey threw his weeks wages in a crumpled roll upon the bar.
Crect, said the bartender, smoothing the twelve one-dollar notes. The crowd surged around Billy McMahan again. Someone was telling how Brannigan fixed em over in the Eleventh[320]. Ikey leaned against the bar a while, and then went out.
He went down Hester street and up Chrystie, and down Delancey to where he lived. And there his women folk, a bibulous mother and three dingy sisters, pounced upon him for his wages. And at his confession they shrieked and objurgated him in the pithy rhetoric of the locality.