I looked around; but all the animals I see in sight is a policeman, having his shoes shined, and a couple of delivery wagons7 hitched9 to posts. Then in a minute downstairs tumbles this Buckingham Skinner, and runs to the corner, and stands and gazes down the other street at the imaginary dust kicked up by the fabulous10 hoofs12 of the fictitious13 team of chimerical14 quadrupeds. And then B. Skinner goes back up to the third-story room again, and I see that the lettering on the window is "The Farmers' Friend Loan Company."
By and by Straw-top comes down again, and I crossed the street to meet him, for I had my ideas. Yes, sir, when I got close I could see where he overdone15 it. He was Reub all right as far as his blue jeans and cowhide boots went, but he had a matinee actor's hands, and the rye straw stuck over his ear looked like it belonged to the property man of the Old Homestead Co. Curiosity to know what his graft16 was got the best of me.
"Was that your team broke away and run just now?" I asks him, polite. "I tried to stop 'em," says I, "but I couldn't. I guess they're half way back to the farm by now."
"Gosh blame them darned mules," says Straw-top, in a voice so good that I nearly apologized; "they're a'lus bustin' loose." And then he looks at me close, and then he takes off his hayseed hat, and says, in a different voice: "I'd like to shake hands with Parleyvoo Pickens, the greatest street man in the West, barring only Montague Silver, which you can no more than allow."
I let him shake hands with me.
"I learned under Silver," I said; "I don't begrudge17 him the lead. But what's your graft, son? I admit that the phantom18 flight of the non-existing animals at which you remarked 'Whoa!' has puzzled me somewhat. How do you win out on the trick?"
Buckingham Skinner blushed.
"Pocket money," says he; "that's all. I am temporarily unfinanced. This little coup6 de rye straw is good for forty dollars in a town of this size. How do I work it? Why, I involve myself, as you perceive, in the loathsome19 apparel of the rural dub20. Thus embalmed21 I am Jonas Stubblefield—a name impossible to improve upon. I repair noisily to the office of some loan company conveniently located in the third-floor, front. There I lay my hat and yarn22 gloves on the floor and ask to mortgage my farm for $2,000 to pay for my sister's musical education in Europe. Loans like that always suit the loan companies. It's ten to one that when the note falls due the foreclosure will be leading the semiquavers by a couple of lengths.
"Well, sir, I reach in my pocket for the abstract of title; but I suddenly hear my team running away. I run to the window and emit the word—or exclamation23, which-ever it may be—viz, 'Whoa!' Then I rush down-stairs and down the street, returning in a few minutes. 'Dang them mules,' I says; 'they done run away and busted24 the doubletree and two traces. Now I got to hoof11 it home, for I never brought no money along. Reckon we'll talk about that loan some other time, gen'lemen.'
"'Why, no, Mr. Stubblefield,' says the lobster-colored party in the specs and dotted pique26 vest; 'oblige us by accepting this ten-dollar bill until to-morrow. Get your harness repaired and call in at ten. We'll be pleased to accommodate you in the matter of this loan.'
"It's a slight thing," says Buckingham Skinner, modest, "but, as I said, only for temporary loose change."
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," says I, in respect for his mortification27; "in case of an emergency. Of course, it's small compared to organizing a trust or bridge whist, but even the Chicago University had to be started in a small way."
"What's your graft these days?" Buckingham Skinner asks me.
"The legitimate28," says I. "I'm handling rhinestones29 and Dr. Oleum Sinapi's Electric Headache Battery and the Swiss Warbler's Bird Call, a small lot of the new queer ones and twos, and the Bonanza31 Budget, consisting of a rolled-gold wedding and engagement ring, six Egyptian lily bulbs, a combination pickle32 fork and nail-clipper, and fifty engraved33 visiting cards—no two names alike—all for the sum of 38 cents."
"Two months ago," says Buckingham Skinner, "I was doing well down in Texas with a patent instantaneous fire kindler34, made of compressed wood ashes and benzine. I sold loads of 'em in towns where they like to burn niggers quick, without having to ask somebody for a light. And just when I was doing the best they strikes oil down there and puts me out of business. 'Your machine's too slow, now, pardner,' they tells me. 'We can have a coon in hell with this here petroleum35 before your old flint-and-tinder truck can get him warm enough to perfess religion.' And so I gives up the kindler and drifts up here to K.C. This little curtain-raiser you seen me doing, Mr. Pickens, with the simulated farm and the hypothetical teams, ain't in my line at all, and I'm ashamed you found me working it."
"No man," says I, kindly36, "need to be ashamed of putting the skibunk on a loan corporation for even so small a sum as ten dollars, when he is financially abashed37. Still, it wasn't quite the proper thing. It's too much like borrowing money without paying it back."
I liked Buckingham Skinner from the start, for as good a man as ever stood over the axles and breathed gasoline smoke. And pretty soon we gets thick, and I let him in on a scheme I'd had in mind for some time, and offers to go partners.
"Anything," says Buck, "that is not actually dishonest will find me willing and ready. Let us perforate into the inwardness of your proposition. I feel degraded when I am forced to wear property straw in my hair and assume a bucolic38 air for the small sum of ten dollars. Actually, Mr. Pickens, it makes me feel like the Ophelia of the Great Occidental All-Star One-Night Consolidated39 Theatrical40 Aggregation41."
This scheme of mine was one that suited my proclivities42. By nature I am some sentimental43, and have always felt gentle toward the mollifying elements of existence. I am disposed to be lenient44 with the arts and sciences; and I find time to instigate45 a cordiality for the more human works of nature, such as romance and the atmosphere and grass and poetry and the Seasons. I never skin a sucker without admiring the prismatic beauty of his scales. I never sell a little auriferous beauty to the man with the hoe without noticing the beautiful harmony there is between gold and green. And that's why I liked this scheme; it was so full of outdoor air and landscapes and easy money.
We had to have a young lady assistant to help us work this graft; and I asked Buck if he knew of one to fill the bill.
"One," says I, "that is cool and wise and strictly46 business from her pompadour to her Oxfords. No ex-toe-dancers or gum-chewers or crayon portrait canvassers for this."
Buck claimed he knew a suitable feminine and he takes me around to see Miss Sarah Malloy. The minute I see her I am pleased. She looked to be the goods as ordered. No sign of the three p's about her—no peroxide, patchouli, nor peau de soie; about twenty-two, brown hair, pleasant ways—the kind of a lady for the place.
"A description of the sandbag, if you please," she begins.
"Why, ma'am," says I, "this graft of ours is so nice and refined and romantic, it would make the balcony scene in 'Romeo and Juliet' look like second-story work."
We talked it over, and Miss Malloy agreed to come in as a business partner. She said she was glad to get a chance to give up her place as stenographer47 and secretary to a suburban48 lot company, and go into something respectable.
This is the way we worked our scheme. First, I figured it out by a kind of a proverb. The best grafts49 in the world are built up on copy-book maxims50 and psalms51 and proverbs and Esau's fables52. They seem to kind of hit off human nature. Our peaceful little swindle was constructed on the old saying: "The whole push loves a lover."
One evening Buck and Miss Malloy drives up like blazes in a buggy to a farmer's door. She is pale but affectionate, clinging to his arm—always clinging to his arm. Any one can see that she is a peach and of the cling variety. They claim they are eloping for to be married on account of cruel parents. They ask where they can find a preacher. Farmer says, "B'gum there ain't any preacher nigher than Reverend Abels, four miles over on Caney Creek54." Farmeress wipes her hand on her apron55 and rubbers through her specs.
Then, lo and look ye! Up the road from the other way jogs Parleyvoo Pickens in a gig, dressed in black, white necktie, long face, sniffing56 his nose, emitting a spurious kind of noise resembling the long meter doxology.
"B'jinks!" says farmer, "if thar ain't a preacher now!"
It transpires57 that I am Rev53. Abijah Green, travelling over to Little Bethel school-house for to preach next Sunday.
The young folks will have it they must be married, for pa is pursuing them with the plow58 mules and the buckboard. So the Reverend Green, after hesitating, marries 'em in the farmer's parlor59. And farmer grins, and has in cider, and says "B'gum!" and farmeress sniffles a bit and pats the bride on the shoulder. And Parleyvoo Pickens, the wrong reverend, writes out a marriage certificate, and farmer and farmeress sign it as witnesses. And the parties of the first, second and third part gets in their vehicles and rides away. Oh, that was an idyllic60 graft! True love and the lowing kine and the sun shining on the red barns—it certainly had all other impostures I know about beat to a batter30.
I suppose I happened along in time to marry Buck and Miss Malloy at about twenty farm-houses. I hated to think how the romance was going to fade later on when all them marriage certificates turned up in banks where we'd discounted 'em, and the farmers had to pay them notes of hand they'd signed, running from $300 to $500.
On the 15th day of May us three divided about $6,000. Miss Malloy nearly cried with joy. You don't often see a tenderhearted girl or one that is bent61 on doing right.
"Boys," says she, dabbing62 her eyes with a little handkerchief, "this stake comes in handier than a powder rag at a fat men's ball. It gives me a chance to reform. I was trying to get out of the real estate business when you fellows came along. But if you hadn't taken me in on this neat little proposition for removing the cuticle63 of the rutabaga propagators I'm afraid I'd have got into something worse. I was about to accept a place in one of these Women's Auxiliary64 Bazars, where they build a parsonage by selling a spoonful of chicken salad and a cream-puff for seventy-five cents and calling it a Business Man's Lunch.
"Now I can go into a square, honest business, and give all them queer jobs the shake. I'm going to Cincinnati and start a palm reading and clairvoyant65 joint66. As Madame Saramaloi, the Egyptian Sorceress, I shall give everybody a dollar's worth of good honest prognostication. Good-by, boys. Take my advice and go into some decent fake. Get friendly with the police and newspapers and you'll be all right."
So then we all shook hands, and Miss Malloy left us. Me and Buck also rose up and sauntered off a few hundred miles; for we didn't care to be around when them marriage certificates fell due.
With about $4,000 between us we hit that bumptious68 little town off the New Jersey69 coast they call New York.
If there ever was an aviary70 overstocked with jays it is that Yaptown-on-the-Hudson. Cosmopolitan71 they call it. You bet. So's a piece of fly-paper. You listen close when they're buzzing and trying to pull their feet out of the sticky stuff. "Little old New York's good enough for us"—that's what they sing.
There's enough Reubs walk down Broadway in one hour to buy up a week's output of the factory in Augusta, Maine, that makes Knaughty Knovelties and the little Phine Phun oroide gold finger ring that sticks a needle in your friend's hand.
You'd think New York people was all wise; but no. They don't get a chance to learn. Everything's too compressed. Even the hayseeds are baled hayseeds. But what else can you expect from a town that's shut off from the world by the ocean on one side and New Jersey on the other?
It's no place for an honest grafter72 with a small capital. There's too big a protective tariff73 on bunco. Even when Giovanni sells a quart of warm worms and chestnut74 hulls75 he has to hand out a pint76 to an insectivorous cop. And the hotel man charges double for everything in the bill that he sends by the patrol wagon8 to the altar where the duke is about to marry the heiress.
But old Badville-near-Coney is the ideal burg for a refined piece of piracy77 if you can pay the bunco duty. Imported grafts come pretty high. The custom-house officers that look after it carry clubs, and it's hard to smuggle78 in even a bib-and-tucker swindle to work Brooklyn with unless you can pay the toll79. But now, me and Buck, having capital, descends80 upon New York to try and trade the metropolitan81 backwoodsmen a few glass beads82 for real estate just as the Vans did a hundred or two years ago.
At an East Side hotel we gets acquainted with Romulus G. Atterbury, a man with the finest head for financial operations I ever saw. It was all bald and glossy83 except for gray side whiskers. Seeing that head behind an office railing, and you'd deposit a million with it without a receipt. This Atterbury was well dressed, though he ate seldom; and the synopsis84 of his talk would make the conversation of a siren sound like a cab driver's kick. He said he used to be a member of the Stock Exchange, but some of the big capitalists got jealous and formed a ring that forced him to sell his seat.
Atterbury got to liking85 me and Buck and he begun to throw on the canvas for us some of the schemes that had caused his hair to evacuate86. He had one scheme for starting a National bank on $45 that made the Mississippi Bubble look as solid as a glass marble. He talked this to us for three days, and when his throat was good and sore we told him about the roll we had. Atterbury borrowed a quarter from us and went out and got a box of throat lozenges and started all over again. This time he talked bigger things, and he got us to see 'em as he did. The scheme he laid out looked like a sure winner, and he talked me and Buck into putting our capital against his burnished87 dome88 of thought. It looked all right for a kid-gloved graft. It seemed to be just about an inch and a half outside of the reach of the police, and as money-making as a mint. It was just what me and Buck wanted—a regular business at a permanent stand, with an open air spieling with tonsilitis on the street corners every evening.
So, in six weeks you see a handsome furnished set of offices down in the Wall Street neighborhood, with "The Golconda Gold Bond and Investment Company" in gilt89 letters on the door. And you see in his private room, with the door open, the secretary and treasurer90, Mr. Buckingham Skinner, costumed like the lilies of the conservatory91, with his high silk hat close to his hand. Nobody yet ever saw Buck outside of an instantaneous reach for his hat.
And you might perceive the president and general manager, Mr. R. G. Atterbury, with his priceless polished poll, busy in the main office room dictating92 letters to a shorthand countess, who has got pomp and a pompadour that is no less than a guarantee to investors93.
At another desk the eye is relieved by the sight of an ordinary man, attired97 with unscrupulous plainness, sitting with his feet up, eating apples, with his obnoxious98 hat on the back of his head. That man is no other than Colonel Tecumseh (once "Parleyvoo") Pickens, the vice-president of the company.
"No recherché rags for me," I says to Atterbury, when we was organizing the stage properties of the robbery. "I'm a plain man," says I, "and I do not use pajamas99, French, or military hair-brushes. Cast me for the role of the rhinestone-in-the-rough or I don't go on exhibition. If you can use me in my natural, though displeasing100 form, do so."
"Dress you up?" says Atterbury; "I should say not! Just as you are you're worth more to the business than a whole roomful of the things they pin chrysanthemums101 on. You're to play the part of the solid but disheveled capitalist from the Far West. You despise the conventions. You've got so many stocks you can afford to shake socks. Conservative, homely102, rough, shrewd, saving—that's your pose. It's a winner in New York. Keep your feet on the desk and eat apples. Whenever anybody comes in eat an apple. Let 'em see you stuff the peelings in a drawer of your desk. Look as economical and rich and rugged103 as you can."
I followed out Atterbury's instructions. I played the Rocky Mountain capitalist without ruching or frills. The way I deposited apple peelings to my credit in a drawer when any customers came in made Hetty Green look like a spendthrift. I could hear Atterbury saying to victims, as he smiled at me, indulgent and venerating104, "That's our vice-president, Colonel Pickens … fortune in Western investments … delightfully105 plain manners, but … could sign his check for half a million … simple as a child … wonderful head … conservative and careful almost to a fault."
Atterbury managed the business. Me and Buck never quite understood all of it, though he explained it to us in full. It seems the company was a kind of cooperative one, and everybody that bought stock shared in the profits. First, we officers bought up a controlling interest—we had to have that—of the shares at 50 cents a hundred—just what the printer charged us—and the rest went to the public at a dollar each. The company guaranteed the stockholders a profit of ten per cent. each month, payable106 on the last day thereof.
When any stockholder had paid in as much as $100, the company issued him a Gold Bond and he became a bondholder. I asked Atterbury one day what benefits and appurtenances these Gold Bonds was to an investor94 more so than the immunities107 and privileges enjoyed by the common sucker who only owned stock. Atterbury picked up one of them Gold Bonds, all gilt and lettered up with flourishes and a big red seal tied with a blue ribbon in a bowknot, and he looked at me like his feelings was hurt.
"My dear Colonel Pickens," says he, "you have no soul for Art. Think of a thousand homes made happy by possessing one of these beautiful gems108 of the lithographer's skill! Think of the joy in the household where one of these Gold Bonds hangs by a pink cord to the what-not, or is chewed by the baby, caroling gleefully upon the floor! Ah, I see your eye growing moist, Colonel—I have touched you, have I not?"
"You have not," says I, "for I've been watching you. The moisture you see is apple juice. You can't expect one man to act as a human cider-press and an art connoisseur109 too."
Atterbury attended to the details of the concern. As I understand it, they was simple. The investors in stock paid in their money, and—well, I guess that's all they had to do. The company received it, and—I don't call to mind anything else. Me and Buck knew more about selling corn salve than we did about Wall Street, but even we could see how the Golconda Gold Bond Investment Company was making money. You take in money and pay back ten per cent. of it; it's plain enough that you make a clean, legitimate profit of 90 per cent., less expenses, as long as the fish bite.
Atterbury wanted to be president and treasurer too, but Buck winks110 an eye at him and says: "You was to furnish the brains. Do you call it good brain work when you propose to take in money at the door, too? Think again. I hereby nominate myself treasurer ad valorem, sine die, and by acclamation. I chip in that much brain work free. Me and Pickens, we furnished the capital, and we'll handle the unearned increment111 as it incremates."
It costs us $500 for office rent and first payment on furniture; $1,500 more went for printing and advertising112. Atterbury knew his business. "Three months to a minute we'll last," says he. "A day longer than that and we'll have to either go under or go under an alias113. By that time we ought to clean up $60,000. And then a money belt and a lower berth114 for me, and the yellow journals and the furniture men can pick the bones."
Our ads. done the work. "Country weeklies and Washington hand-press dailies, of course," says I when we was ready to make contracts.
"Man," says Atterbury, "as its advertising manager you would cause a Limburger cheese factory to remain undiscovered during a hot summer. The game we're after is right here in New York and Brooklyn and the Harlem reading-rooms. They're the people that the street-car fenders and the Answers to Correspondents columns and the pickpocket115 notices are made for. We want our ads. in the biggest city dailies, top of column, next to editorials on radium and pictures of the girl doing health exercises."
Pretty soon the money begins to roll in. Buck didn't have to pretend to be busy; his desk was piled high up with money orders and checks and greenbacks. People began to drop in the office and buy stock every day.
Most of the shares went in small amounts—$10 and $25 and $50, and a good many $2 and $3 lots. And the bald and inviolate116 cranium of President Atterbury shines with enthusiasm and demerit, while Colonel Tecumseh Pickens, the rude but reputable Crœsus of the West, consumes so many apples that the peelings hang to the floor from the mahogany garbage chest that he calls his desk.
Just as Atterbury said, we ran along about three months without being troubled. Buck cashed the paper as fast as it came in and kept the money in a safe deposit vault117 a block or so away. Buck never thought much of banks for such purposes. We paid the interest regular on the stock we'd sold, so there was nothing for anybody to squeal118 about. We had nearly $50,000 on hand and all three of us had been living as high as prize fighters out of training.
One morning, as me and Buck sauntered into the office, fat and flippant, from our noon grub, we met an easy-looking fellow, with a bright eye and a pipe in his mouth, coming out. We found Atterbury looking like he'd been caught a mile from home in a wet shower.
"Know that man?" he asked us.
We said we didn't.
"I don't either," says Atterbury, wiping off his head; "but I'll bet enough Gold Bonds to paper a cell in the Tombs that he's a newspaper reporter."
"What did he want?" asks Buck.
"Information," says our president. "Said he was thinking of buying some stock. He asked me about nine hundred questions, and every one of 'em hit some sore place in the business. I know he's on a paper. You can't fool me. You see a man about half shabby, with an eye like a gimlet, smoking cut plug, with dandruff on his coat collar, and knowing more than J. P. Morgan and Shakespeare put together—if that ain't a reporter I never saw one. I was afraid of this. I don't mind detectives and post-office inspectors—I talk to 'em eight minutes and then sell 'em stock—but them reporters take the starch119 out of my collar. Boys, I recommend that we declare a dividend120 and fade away. The signs point that way."
Me and Buck talked to Atterbury and got him to stop sweating and stand still. That fellow didn't look like a reporter to us. Reporters always pull out a pencil and tablet on you, and tell you a story you've heard, and strikes you for the drinks. But Atterbury was shaky and nervous all day.
The next day me and Buck comes down from the hotel about ten-thirty. On the way we buys the papers, and the first thing we see is a column on the front page about our little imposition. It was a shame the way that reporter intimated that we were no blood relatives of the late George W. Childs. He tells all about the scheme as he sees it, in a rich, racy kind of a guying style that might amuse most anybody except a stockholder. Yes, Atterbury was right; it behooveth the gaily121 clad treasurer and the pearly pated president and the rugged vice-president of the Golconda Gold Bond and Investment Company to go away real sudden and quick that their days might be longer upon the land.
Me and Buck hurries down to the office. We finds on the stairs and in the hall a crowd of people trying to squeeze into our office, which is already jammed full inside to the railing. They've nearly all got Golconda stock and Gold Bonds in their hands. Me and Buck judged they'd been reading the papers, too.
We stopped and looked at our stockholders, some surprised. It wasn't quite the kind of a gang we supposed had been investing. They all looked like poor people; there was plenty of old women and lots of young girls that you'd say worked in factories and mills. Some was old men that looked like war veterans, and some was crippled, and a good many was just kids—bootblacks and newsboys and messengers. Some was working-men in overalls122, with their sleeves rolled up. Not one of the gang looked like a stockholder in anything unless it was a peanut stand. But they all had Golconda stock and looked as sick as you please.
I saw a queer kind of a pale look come on Buck's face when he sized up the crowd. He stepped up to a sickly looking woman and says: "Madam, do you own any of this stock?"
"I put in a hundred dollars," says the woman, faint like. "It was all I had saved in a year. One of my children is dying at home now and I haven't a cent in the house. I came to see if I could draw out some. The circulars said you could draw it at any time. But they say now I will lose it all."
There was a smart kind of kid in the gang—I guess he was a newsboy. "I got in twenty-fi', mister," he says, looking hopeful at Buck's silk hat and clothes. "Dey paid me two-fifty a mont' on it. Say, a man tells me dey can't do dat and be on de square. Is dat straight? Do you guess I can get out my twenty-fi'?"
Some of the old women was crying. The factory girls was plumb123 distracted. They'd lost all their savings124 and they'd be docked for the time they lost coming to see about it.
There was one girl—a pretty one—in a red shawl, crying in a corner like her heart would dissolve. Buck goes over and asks her about it.
"It ain't so much losing the money, mister," says she, shaking all over, "though I've been two years saving it up; but Jakey won't marry me now. He'll take Rosa Steinfeld. I know J—J—Jakey. She's got $400 in the savings bank. Ai, ai, ai—" she sings out.
Buck looks all around with that same funny look on his face. And then we see leaning against the wall, puffing125 at his pipe, with his eye shining at us, this newspaper reporter. Buck and me walks over to him.
"You're a real interesting writer," says Buck. "How far do you mean to carry it? Anything more up your sleeve?"
"Oh, I'm just waiting around," says the reporter, smoking away, "in case any news turns up. It's up to your stockholders now. Some of them might complain, you know. Isn't that the patrol wagon now?" he says, listening to a sound outside. "No," he goes on, "that's Doc. Whittleford's old cadaver126 coupé from the Roosevelt. I ought to know that gong. Yes, I suppose I've written some interesting stuff at times."
"You wait," says Buck; "I'm going to throw an item of news in your way."
Buck reaches in his pocket and hands me a key. I knew what he meant before he spoke127. Confounded old buccaneer—I knew what he meant. They don't make them any better than Buck.
"Pick," says he, looking at me hard, "ain't this graft a little out of our line? Do we want Jakey to marry Rosa Steinfeld?"
"You've got my vote," says I. "I'll have it here in ten minutes." And I starts for the safe deposit vaults128.
I comes back with the money done up in a big bundle, and then Buck and me takes the journalist reporter around to another door and we let ourselves into one of the office rooms.
"Now, my literary friend," says Buck, "take a chair, and keep still, and I'll give you an interview. You see before you two grafters from Graftersville, Grafter County, Arkansas. Me and Pick have sold brass129 jewelry130, hair tonic131, song books, marked cards, patent medicines, Connecticut Smyrna rugs, furniture polish, and albums in every town from Old Point Comfort to the Golden Gate. We've grafted132 a dollar whenever we saw one that had a surplus look to it. But we never went after the simoleon in the toe of the sock under the loose brick in the corner of the kitchen hearth133. There's an old saying you may have heard—'fussily decency134 averni'—which means it's an easy slide from the street faker's dry goods box to a desk in Wall Street. We've took that slide, but we didn't know exactly what was at the bottom of it. Now, you ought to be wise, but you ain't. You've got New York wiseness, which means that you judge a man by the outside of his clothes. That ain't right. You ought to look at the lining135 and seams and the button-holes. While we are waiting for the patrol wagon you might get out your little stub pencil and take notes for another funny piece in the paper."
And then Buck turns to me and says: "I don't care what Atterbury thinks. He only put in brains, and if he gets his capital out he's lucky. But what do you say, Pick?"
"Me?" says I. "You ought to know me, Buck. I didn't know who was buying the stock."
"All right," says Buck. And then he goes through the inside door into the main office and looks at the gang trying to squeeze through the railing. Atterbury and his hat was gone. And Buck makes 'em a short speech.
"All you lambs get in line. You're going to get your wool back. Don't shove so. Get in a line—a line—not in a pile. Lady, will you please stop bleating136? Your money's waiting for you. Here, sonny, don't climb over that railing; your dimes137 are safe. Don't cry, sis; you ain't out a cent. Get in line, I say. Here, Pick, come and straighten 'em out and let 'em through and out by the other door."
Buck takes off his coat, pushes his silk hat on the back of his head, and lights up a reina victoria. He sets at the table with the boodle before him, all done up in neat packages. I gets the stockholders strung out and marches 'em, single file, through from the main room; and the reporter man passes 'em out of the side door into the hall again. As they go by, Buck takes up the stock and the Gold Bonds, paying 'em cash, dollar for dollar, the same as they paid in. The shareholders138 of the Golconda Gold Bond and Investment Company can't hardly believe it. They almost grabs the money out of Buck's hands. Some of the women keep on crying, for it's a custom of the sex to cry when they have sorrow, to weep when they have joy, and to shed tears whenever they find themselves without either.
The old women's fingers shake when they stuff the skads in the bosom139 of their rusty140 dresses. The factory girls just stoop over and flap their dry goods a second, and you hear the elastic141 go "pop" as the currency goes down in the ladies' department of the "Old Domestic Lisle-Thread Bank."
Some of the stockholders that had been doing the Jeremiah act the loudest outside had spasms142 of restored confidence and wanted to leave the money invested. "Salt away that chicken feed in your duds, and skip along," says Buck. "What business have you got investing in bonds? The tea-pot or the crack in the wall behind the clock for your hoard143 of pennies."
When the pretty girl in the red shawl cashes in Buck hands her an extra twenty.
"A wedding present," says our treasurer, "from the Golconda Company. And say—if Jakey ever follows his nose, even at a respectful distance, around the corner where Rosa Steinfeld lives, you are hereby authorized144 to knock a couple of inches of it off."
When they was all paid off and gone, Buck calls the newspaper reporter and shoves the rest of the money over to him.
"You begun this," says Buck; "now finish it. Over there are the books, showing every share and bond issued. Here's the money to cover, except what we've spent to live on. You'll have to act as receiver. I guess you'll do the square thing on account of your paper. This is the best way we know how to settle it. Me and our substantial but apple-weary vice-president are going to follow the example of our revered145 president, and skip. Now, have you got enough news for to-day, or do you want to interview us on etiquette146 and the best way to make over an old taffeta skirt?"
"News!" says the newspaper man, taking his pipe out; "do you think I could use this? I don't want to lose my job. Suppose I go around to the office and tell 'em this happened. What'll the managing editor say? He'll just hand me a pass to Bellevue and tell me to come back when I get cured. I might turn in a story about a sea serpent wiggling up Broadway, but I haven't got the nerve to try 'em with a pipe like this. A get-rich-quick scheme—excuse me—gang giving back the boodle! Oh, no. I'm not on the comic supplement."
"You can't understand it, of course," says Buck, with his hand on the door knob. "Me and Pick ain't Wall Streeters like you know 'em. We never allowed to swindle sick old women and working girls and take nickels off of kids. In the lines of graft we've worked we took money from the people the Lord made to be buncoed—sports and rounders and smart Alecks and street crowds, that always have a few dollars to throw away, and farmers that wouldn't ever be happy if the grafters didn't come around and play with 'em when they sold their crops. We never cared to fish for the kind of suckers that bite here. No, sir. We got too much respect for the profession and for ourselves. Good-by to you, Mr. Receiver."
"Here!" says the journalist reporter; "wait a minute. There's a broker147 I know on the next floor. Wait till I put this truck in his safe. I want you fellows to take a drink on me before you go."
"On you?" says Buck, winking148 solemn. "Don't you go and try to make 'em believe at the office you said that. Thanks. We can't spare the time, I reckon. So long."
And me and Buck slides out the door; and that's the way the Golconda Company went into involuntary liquefaction.
If you had seen me and Buck the next night you'd have had to go to a little bum67 hotel over near the West Side ferry landings. We was in a little back room, and I was filling up a gross of six-ounce bottles with hydrant water colored red with aniline and flavored with cinnamon. Buck was smoking, contented149, and he wore a decent brown derby in place of his silk hat.
"It's a good thing, Pick," says he, as he drove in the corks150, "that we got Brady to lend us his horse and wagon for a week. We'll rustle151 up the stake by then. This hair tonic'll sell right along over in Jersey. Bald heads ain't popular over there on account of the mosquitoes."
Directly I dragged out my valise and went down in it for labels.
"Hair tonic labels are out," says I. "Only about a dozen on hand."
"Buy some more," says Buck.
We investigated our pockets and found we had just enough money to settle our hotel bill in the morning and pay our passage over the ferry.
"Plenty of the 'Shake-the-Shakes Chill Cure' labels," says I, after looking.
"What more do you want?" says Buck. "Slap 'em on. The chill season is just opening up in the Hackensack low grounds. What's hair, anyway, if you have to shake it off?"
We pasted on the Chill Cure labels about half an hour and Buck says:
"Making an honest livin's better than that Wall Street, anyhow; ain't it, Pick?"
"You bet," says I.
点击
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1
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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coup
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| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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9
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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13
fictitious
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| adj.虚构的，假设的；空头的 | |
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14
chimerical
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| adj.荒诞不经的，梦幻的 | |
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15
overdone
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| v.做得过分( overdo的过去分词 )；太夸张；把…煮得太久；（工作等）过度 | |
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graft
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| n.移植，嫁接，艰苦工作，贪污；v.移植，嫁接 | |
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17
begrudge
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| vt.吝啬，羡慕 | |
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18
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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19
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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20
dub
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| vt.（以某种称号）授予，给...起绰号，复制 | |
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21
embalmed
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| adj.用防腐药物保存（尸体）的v.保存（尸体）不腐( embalm的过去式和过去分词 )；使不被遗忘；使充满香气 | |
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22
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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23
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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24
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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25
tarpaulin
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| n.涂油防水布，防水衣，防水帽 | |
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26
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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27
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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28
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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29
rhinestones
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| n.莱茵石，人造钻石( rhinestone的名词复数 ) | |
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30
batter
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| v.接连重击；磨损；n.牛奶面糊；击球员 | |
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31
bonanza
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| n.富矿带，幸运，带来好运的事 | |
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32
pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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33
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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34
kindler
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| [人名] 金德勒 | |
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35
petroleum
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| n.原油，石油 | |
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36
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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37
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
bucolic
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| adj.乡村的；牧羊的 | |
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39
consolidated
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| a.联合的 | |
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40
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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41
aggregation
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| n.聚合，组合；凝聚 | |
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42
proclivities
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| n.倾向，癖性( proclivity的名词复数 ) | |
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43
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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44
lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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45
instigate
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| v.教唆，怂恿，煽动 | |
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46
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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47
stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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48
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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49
grafts
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| 移植( graft的名词复数 )； 行贿； 接穗； 行贿得到的利益 | |
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50
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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51
psalms
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| n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 )；圣诗；圣歌；(中的) | |
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52
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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53
rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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54
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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55
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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56
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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57
transpires
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的第三人称单数 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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58
plow
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| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
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59
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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60
idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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61
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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62
dabbing
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| 石面凿毛，灰泥抛毛 | |
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63
cuticle
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| n.表皮 | |
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64
auxiliary
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| adj.辅助的，备用的 | |
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65
clairvoyant
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| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
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66
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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67
bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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68
bumptious
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| adj.傲慢的 | |
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69
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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70
aviary
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| n.大鸟笼，鸟舍 | |
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71
cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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72
grafter
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| 嫁接的人，贪污者，收贿者； 平铲 | |
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73
tariff
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| n.关税，税率；(旅馆、饭店等)价目表，收费表 | |
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74
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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75
hulls
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| 船体( hull的名词复数 )； 船身； 外壳； 豆荚 | |
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76
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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77
piracy
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| n.海盗行为，剽窃，著作权侵害 | |
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78
smuggle
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| vt.私运；vi.走私 | |
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79
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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80
descends
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| v.下来( descend的第三人称单数 )；下去；下降；下斜 | |
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81
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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82
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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83
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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84
synopsis
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| n.提要，梗概 | |
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85
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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86
evacuate
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| v.遣送；搬空；抽出；排泄；大(小)便 | |
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87
burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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88
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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89
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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90
treasurer
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| n.司库，财务主管 | |
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91
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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92
dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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93
investors
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| n.投资者，出资者( investor的名词复数 ) | |
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94
investor
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| n.投资者，投资人 | |
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95
varnish
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| n.清漆；v.上清漆；粉饰 | |
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96
culpability
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| n.苛责，有罪 | |
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97
attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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99
pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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100
displeasing
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| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
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101
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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102
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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103
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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104
venerating
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| 敬重（某人或某事物），崇敬( venerate的现在分词 ) | |
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105
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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106
payable
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| adj.可付的，应付的，有利益的 | |
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107
immunities
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| 免除，豁免( immunity的名词复数 )； 免疫力 | |
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108
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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109
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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110
winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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111
increment
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| n.增值，增价；提薪，增加工资 | |
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112
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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113
alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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114
berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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115
pickpocket
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| n.扒手；v.扒窃 | |
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116
inviolate
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| adj.未亵渎的，未受侵犯的 | |
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117
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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118
squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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119
starch
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| n.淀粉；vt.给...上浆 | |
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120
dividend
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| n.红利，股息；回报，效益 | |
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121
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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122
overalls
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| n.（复）工装裤；长罩衣 | |
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123
plumb
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| adv.精确地，完全地；v.了解意义，测水深 | |
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124
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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125
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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126
cadaver
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| n.尸体 | |
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127
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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128
vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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129
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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130
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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131
tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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132
grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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133
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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134
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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135
lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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136
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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137
dimes
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| n.（美国、加拿大的）10分铸币( dime的名词复数 ) | |
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138
shareholders
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| n.股东( shareholder的名词复数 ) | |
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139
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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140
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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141
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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142
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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143
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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144
authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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145
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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146
etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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147
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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148
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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149
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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150
corks
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| n.脐梅衣；软木( cork的名词复数 )；软木塞 | |
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151
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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