"Well," goes on the Kid. "Bomb Germo!"
"No spika da Engleesh!" frowns Tony, waggling his shoulders.
"You big stiff!" roars the Kid, gettin' red in the face. "You won't speak nothin' when I get done toyin' with that odd face of yours!"
He makes a dive for Tony, but Genaro grabs him.
"Joosta one minoote!" pants Genaro. "It'sa maka me laugh! Ho, ho, I teenk I getta one, two hysterics! Fighting champion of the world, he'sa getta mad at the dresser!"
"By Jove!" pants Van Ness, givin' the Kid the up and down through the trick eyeglass. "By Jove! I told Tony to converse with no one while we were here. What does this – this person mean by buffeting him about? I thought this company was composed of ladies and gentlemen, not stevedores and longshoremen!"
"Don't get gay, Fatty!" yells the Kid, strugglin' with Genaro. "I put bigger actors than you to sleep. I gotta left hand that's got morphine lookin' like a alarm clock!"
"Waita, waita!" shrieks Genaro. "We musta all be the friend. Joosta waita when you and Meester Van Ness get better acquainta you'll be joosta like – "
"Germany and England!" butts in the Kid, tearin' himself away. "Come on!" he tells me. "Let's get away from here," he glares at Van Ness and Tony, "before certain parties makes any more cracks! If they do – I'll make 'em look like models for The Dyin' Gladiator!"
"Don'ta minda heem!" whispers Genaro to Van Ness, as we get over to the door. "He'sa fina fel'. He'sa no hurta the bambino– what you call ba-bee. Gotta taka bag of the salts with everything he'sa say. Gotta lots temperament!"
"A ruffian, I should say!" remarks Van Ness loudly.
"Bigga bunka!" hisses Tony.
"What?" roars the Kid, swingin' around on them.
"Good day, sir!" pipes Van Ness, steppin' back of the desk.
"No spika da Engleesh!" says Tony, steppin' in back of his boss.
I yanked the Kid outside before violence was had by all.
Jason Van Ness stayed at Film City for about two months. Durin' that time he made as many friends as the ex-Kaiser would pick up in Paris. They was two reasons for this, the first bein' that he was the most dignified and solemn guy I ever seen in my life. Stories that would put a victim of lockjaw in hysterics couldn't coax a snicker from that undertaker's face of his which would have made a supreme court justice look like a clown. In fact, if he'd been a judge and I ever come up before him, I would have took one flash at that face and asked him to gimme life and let it go at that! His favorite smokin'-room story was what causes spots on the sun or somethin' equally excitin', and pretty soon they was a standin' offer of a hundred bucks to the first guy that could make Van Ness laugh!
Some of the greatest comedians the movies ever seen laid awake nights and become famous on stunts they pulled off for the sole benefit of Van Ness – and all he did was to inquire if they was crazy or soused!
The second reason that Van Ness was as unpopular as snow durin' the world's series was because he was the greatest actor that ever moaned for the star's dressin'-room.
He was brought on to play the lead in one of them early Roman frolics where the extry people is called "martyrs" and hurled to the practical lions in the last reel, whilst the emperor raises his hand for the slaughter to begin, murmurin' "This is the end of a perfect day!" When Jason Van Ness walked to the middle of the arena, throwed one end of his cloak over his shoulder, faced the camera and give himself up to actin' – well, you forgot all his bad habits and thanked Heaven for lettin' you live to see him!
That baby was there!
He was stuck up, he had no friends, he wouldn't laugh, and he had a trick name and carried a dresser, but, Sweet Papa! – he was some actor!
The Kid and me stood watchin' him the first time he worked, with our eyes and mouths as open as a mobile crap tourney.
"Ain't he a bear?" asks Eddie Duke, comin' up. "That's all two-dollar stuff he's pullin' there, bo! Y' don't see actin' like that every day, eh?"
"Oh, I don't know!" says the Kid, takin' a fresh slant at Van Ness. "I bet I could give him a battle in Shakespeare, at that! I was a riot in 'Richard the Third,' wasn't I?"
"Cease!" sneers Duke. "This bird has got them classics layin' down and rollin' over when he snaps his fingers. Did you ever see him in 'Quo Vadis'?"
"No!" says the Kid. "But I seen him in tights when they was – "
Just then Miss Vincent comes along. She's in the picture with Van Ness, playin' the beautiful Christian martyr which is tied to the lion's back in the fourth reel, because she won't quit chantin' "Now I lay me – " or somethin' like that. After that they throw her to the panthers with Abe Mendelowitz, another Christian martyr and the guy that built the scene. She told me that was the story of the thing, and asked me what I thought of it. Personally, I think them martyrs was a lot of boobs. If I'd have been there, I would have bent the knee before them heathen idols and then done my private prayin' elsewhere. The head martyr might have called me yellah, but no lion would have broke his fast on me!
While I'm thinkin' about this, Miss Vincent reminds me that she's waitin' for my verdict on the thing. The last I heard her say was about bein' tied to that lion.
"Well," I says, "I'll tell you. I think it's pretty soft for the lions myself and – "
"How are you and Stupid gettin' along?" butts in the Kid, pointin' to Van Ness and touchin' Miss Vincent's arm.
She frowns.
"You mustn't call him Stupid!" she says. "Mister Van Ness is an artist and a gentleman – and – and right now I want to tell you that I think all you men are wicked for the way you have been treating him! Here he is away out here, a stranger in a strange land, and simply because he is above the vulgar horseplay so popular around here, you ostracize him. Because his grammar and dress is perfect he is a pariah! Don't you think he feels that? Isn't he human the same as the rest of you? Why – why, if he were a woman, all the girls would have helped and encouraged him and made him welcome in any gathering while he was here. Don't you think it hurt when you broke up that poker party last night when he came in? Or when he was deliberately excluded from that hunting trip by that wretched Eddie Duke? Or any of the – the mean, petty, little things you have done to him – all of you – since he's been here? Oh, you men are horrid!" She gathers up her skirts and flashes Scanlan a look, "I thought you, at least, were different!" she whispers – and trips into the picture!
For about three minutes the Kid stands lookin' after her without sayin' a word. He acts like he has stopped one with his chin!
"The big English stiff!" he busts out finally. "What does he mean by comin' over here and gettin' me in a jam with my girl? I'll get that bird, though, believe me!"
"What are you gonna do?" I says.
"I'm gonna take that solemn-faced simp back of the African Desert and give him a chance at the welterweight title!" he snorts. "I'll wallop that bird till he'll wish he had stayed over in dear old England and – "
"Stoppa!" comes a voice from the back of us, and we look around into the muzzles of two automatics. On the other end of them was Tony!
"I hear everyt'ing!" he snarls, wavin' the guns and glarin' at us. "I hear everyt'ing!"
The Kid looks at the guns and coughs, kinda nervous. I was glancin' at friend Tony, myself.
"Ain't that nice!" I remarks, feelin' my way carefully.
"What you mean?" snarls the ex-"No spika da Engleesh."
"Bein' able to hear everything," I explains, thinkin' to humour him. "I'll bet right now you're listenin' to a little spicy scandal at some King's palace, eh?"
"Don't got funny!" he warns me.
"Ha! ha!" snickers the Kid. "Where d'ye get that got funny stuff?"
"What'sa that?" yells Tony, whirlin' on him and shovin' the guns under his nose.
The Kid gets pale and shuffles back a few steps.
"No spika da Engleesh!" he pipes, holdin' up his hand.
"Pah!" grunts Tony, registerin' disgust. "Me – I laugh at you! All the tima you talk 'bout Meester Van Ness, I standa righta here with the ear wide open. You no feexa nobody – maybe Tony he'sa feexa you! I hear you say you no lika Meester Van Ness because he'sa no laugha. Sure, he'sa laugha – but not all the tima on the streeta like crazee fel'. When Meester Van Ness – ah, he'sa granda man – when he'sa wanna laugha, he'sa go home, to he'sa rooma, shutta the door and standa in the corner. Then he'sa a laugha ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! – lika that! That'sa lasta heem all day!"
"Oh, Lady!" says the Kid, holdin' his side. "Can you tie that?" He looks over and sees Van Ness in a clinch with Miss Vincent – and son, you could see the muscles rollin' under his coat sleeves. "Look at the big, ignorant boob now!" he howls.
"Ignoranta!" hisses Tony. "Whata you mean, ignoranta? Seven difference language thisa granda Meester Van Ness he'sa speak! He'sa teacha everybody – joosta lika wan college!"
"Why don't you get him to teach you Eyetalian then, Stupid?" sneers the Kid. "You're a fine thing to luck your way past Ellis Island when you can't even tell me what Bomb Germo means!"
"Don't got funny!" warns Tony. "What gooda now for you be fighting champion for the world, eh? Leetle Tony he'sa standa here calla you names and what can you do, eh? Nothing – joosta nothing! Champion, eh? Ha, ha, ha! Don't maka me laugha, Meester Fightaire!" He shoves the gun in the Kid's face and snarls, "Now!" he says. "Tella Tony you feela sorry for soaka heem in jaw!"
The Kid bites his lip and edges in a bit. Right away I got sorry for Tony!
"I'm sorry!" sneers Scanlan slowly. "Awful sorry – just thinkin' of it has got me all broke up. I meant to let you have it on the beak, but I'll make up for it now!"
He looks over Tony's shoulder suddenly and yells. "Hey, don't throw that!"
If they had rehearsed the act, Tony couldn't have fallen for the plant any harder. He twists his neck around to look back like the Kid figured and Scanlan started one from his left ankle. It caught Tony right on the button – which in English is the point of the chin – and Tony gives a imitation of a seal. He took a dive!
While we're takin' him away from his artillery, I look up and there's Van Ness lookin' down at us and frownin'. He reaches inside that Roman toga thing he's wearin' and comes out with a round piece of glass which he balances on one eye.
"Ah – I say!" he pipes, glarin' at the Kid. "This is getting jolly annoying, my man. It appears that every time we meet, you have just committed a murderous assault upon my dresser! Since you are the – ah – champion fighter of the universe, why do you not joust with more of its inhabitants and not center your activities upon one who knows nothing of the art of self-defense?"
The Kid grunts, takin' away Tony's guns and removin' a couple of them long banana knives from his clothes. Meanwhile, the daredevil dresser is showin' no more signs of life than a sleepin' alligator, so I figured it was about time to pull a little first aid stuff. I turned him over on his back and took off his coat, grabbin' it by the bottom and holdin' it up. They was a sudden crash and – Sweet Cookie! A lot of things fell on the ground, among 'em bein' one set of brass knuckles, one blackjack, two more guns, a thing that looked like a bayonet, five boxes of cartridges, a small bottle of nitro-glycerine and three sticks of dynamite! The last two fell in the folds of the coat, or we'd all have gone away from there. Tony's master looks at the layout with his eyes stickin' so far out of his head you could have knocked 'em off with a cane.
Scanlan eyes him and laughs.
"This is the bird which don't know nothin' about self-defense, eh?" he grins, pointin' to Tony. "Well, if he'd been in Belgium a few years ago, I bet the Germans would never have got through!"
"Oh, I say!" gasps Van Ness. "This is a bit of a shock! Why the fellow is a walking arsenal!"
"He's more like a sleepin' fort, now!" I says, pointin' to Tony on the turf.
"Look at the chances you been takin' havin' a guy like that fasten your garters and so forth," pipes Scanlan. "You ought to thank us for exposin' him!"
Then Tony comes to life and havin' helped him down, the Kid helps him up.
"Sapristi!" remarks Tony, glarin' at him. "You bigga stiffa! Sometime Tony he'sa feexa you for dis! Whata you hitta me with?"
"I think it was a left hook," the Kid tells him, rubbin' his chin, like he ain't sure.
"Aha!" snarls Tony. "I know you never hit with your feest sooch a punch! Don't got funny with me any more! I wanna tella you, you keepa up knock it down Tony every fiva, tena, fifteen minootes and some time Tony he'sa got mad! When Tony he'sa got mad – " He stops and makes a terrible face at me and the Kid, " – when Tony he'sa got mad, something she'sa gotta fall! – dat'sa all!"
"Well, you been doin' all the fallin' so far," I says, "and – "
"Ah – I say!" butts in Van Ness – and Tony sees him for the first time, I guess, because he shivered and got pale. "I say," he goes on, takin' a slant at Tony through the trick eyeglass, "just what does this mean, Antonio? Why are you walking about with this extraordinary collection of weapons on your person?" He points his finger at the munitions on the ground, and Tony's eyes follows his. At the same time he makes a little clickin' noise in his throat and jumps for the pile.
"Where is she the gooda carbolic acid?" he snarls. "And whosa taka my eleven incha stiletto?"
"How dare you ignore my question!" thunders Van Ness. "What are you doing with all those weapons? Answer me!"
"'Scuse a me!" says Tony, makin' a bow and takin' off his hat. "I getta them for my brudda!"
"Where's your brother?" asks the Kid. "In Russia?"
"'Sno use you talka to me!" growls Tony, "I no talka back. Sometime Tony he'sa getta mad and then – "
"Come, come!" interrupts Van Ness, kinda sharp. "The weapons – what of them?"
"'Scuse a me!" bows Tony with another smile. "My brudda he'sa live in Santa Francisco. He'sa fina fel' – my brudda. He'sa name Joe. He'sa come this countree five years ago, no fren's, no spika da Engleesh, no nothing! They putta heem in the basement of the sheepa wit' coupla thousand other fel' from seventy-six other countree. One fel' say my Joe he'sa no be able to leava the sheepa at – at – what you call? I don't know – I teenk maybe Chicago, Pennsylvania, Coney Island – I don't know joosta now! Anyhow thisa fel' say Joe he'sa no be able to leava the sheepa wherever he'sa wanna go – eef he'sa got no money, you 'stanna me? Joe he'sa tank dis kinda fel', say coupla nica prayer for heem and then everybody she'sa a maka sleepa. Joe he'sa get up and taka four hundred dollar from thisa nica fel' – whosa sleepa lika he'sa dead – so Joe he'sa be able to leeva the sheepa! He'sa a smarta fel', eh? That'sa Joe. He'sa my brudda!"
"Oh, Lady!" says the Kid. "What was you takin' him the ammunition for?"
"Don't spika to me!" snorts Tony. "I no answera you! I tella Meester Van Ness. He'sa my boss. He'sa fina fel', too – joosta lika my brudda!"
"How dare you!" splutters Van Ness, his face as red as a ale-hound's nose. "What do you mean by that?"
"'Scuse a me!" says Tony. "Don't get mad for Tony. No spika da Engleesh very gooda – maybe I maka meestake! Joe he'sa writa me come over Santa Francisco queek, because he'sa gotta the trouble wif he'sa landlord. Disa fel' he'sa a wanta da rent maybe, I don't know, but Joe he'sa wanta me bring something so he'sa can feex disa fel' nex' time he come around, you 'stanna me? He say he'sa a bigga fel' – tougha nut! Yesterday I go out and getta wan gun for Joe. Then I teenk maybe that ain't enough for poor leetle Joe against thisa bigga stiffa landlord, so I stoppa drugga store, hardaware, meata store, five, six, sevena place and get somet'ing for Joe he'sa feex landlord. Then I hear thisa fel' say he'sa gonna feexa you!" Tony swings around and points at the Kid. "Tony he'sa don't care if thisa bigga stiffa he's a champion for the world. Tony he's a gotta knifa, gun, dynamite, carbolic acida, everything for fighta. I talka to heem sweeta and he'sa knocka me down wit' a hook! While I sleepa on the dirt, somebody she'sa taka my gooda carbolic acida and stiletto I getta for Joe!"
"Oh, Lady!" yells the Kid, slappin' me on the back. "This guy is a riot!"
"You may go to the hotel, Antonio," says Van Ness, "and await me there. I am surprised and grieved at your beastly conduct!"
Tony hands Van Ness a gun and the bottle of nitro-glycerine.
"Alla right!" he says. "Tony he'sa go. But watcha this two fel' they wanna feexa you. The little fel' you can shoota – but the bigga stiffa whosa knocka me down, he'sa needa more than that! Taka thisa bottle and throw it at heem harda. That'sa blow heem away so far, it taka four thousand dollar for heem to come back on sheepa, thirda class!"
Van Ness puts the gun and the nitro in Tony's pocket.
"Begone, sir!" he says. "I'll jolly well attend to you later!"
Tony gathers up his junk and throwin' a last glare at me and the Kid, beats it.
Van Ness turns to the Kid, stickin' the eyeglass back in the toga.
"Ah – and now, Scanlan," he says, "will you be good enough to explain the cause of the – ah – bitter animosity you have for me?"
The Kid frowns and scratches his head.
"Somebody has been kiddin' you," he tells him. "I ain't got nothin' for you! Where d'ye get that animosity thing?"
Van Ness sighs so hard it like to blowed our hats off.
"It is beastly plain to me," he says, "that I am about as popular in Film City as a cloudburst at a picnic! I am snubbed, ridiculed, vulgarly and subtly insulted! Also I am white and human and – ah – I must confess it has penetrated my skin. You are particularly bitter against me – why?"
The Kid studies him for a minute.
"Listen!" he answers finally. "Are you on the level with this? D'ye really wanna know, or are you simply askin' me so's you can pull one of them witty remarks on the way I answer you —and get walloped on the beak?"
Van Ness did somethin' then I never seen him do before and only once afterward. He grinned! The Roman toga fell off his shoulders, and he leans over with his hands on his hips. On the level, his whole face seemed to change! And then —
Oh, boy!
"Listen, guy!" pipes this big, dignified whatnot. "I'm on the level, all right and I want the lowdown on this thing, d'ye make me?" (Me and the Kid nearly went dead on our feet listenin'.) "As for wallopin' me on the beak, well – you may be welterweight champion out here, but if you start anything with me, I'll remove you from the title, d'ye get that?"
Woof!
The Kid and me falls back against a rock, fightin' for air!
"Oh, Lady!" whispers the Kid, fannin' himself with his hat. "Did you hear what I did?"
"Call me at seven!" I gasps.
"Well – ?" drawls Van Ness, lookin' us over.
"They's just one thing I'd like to know," murmurs the Kid, wipin' his forehead with my handkerchief in the excitement. "What part of dear old England was you born in?"
Van Ness grins some more.
"Brooklyn!" he says, jerkin' out the eye glass again and stickin' it on his eye. "Surely, my man," he goes on, with that old silly stare of his; "surely you have heard of jolly old Brooklyn – what?"
"I know it well!" says the Kid. "It's on the wrong end of the bridge! But where d'ye get the 'my man' thing? And what have you been goin' around like a Swiss duke or somethin', when it turns out you're only a roughneck from Brooklyn? You wanna know why you don't belong, and don't fit in here, eh? Well, you big hick, where d'ye get that Sedate Sam stuff?" He slaps Van Ness on the arm. "Why in the Hail Columbia don't you bust out and giggle now and then, hey?"
"Why don't I?" snarls Van Ness, "Don't you think I'd like to? Don't you think I would if I could, you boob?"
"Would if you could?" repeats the Kid. "What's the matter – have you got lockjaw?"
"No!" roars Van Ness, so sudden that we both sidestepped. "No! Not lockjaw, worse! Dignity!"
"Have you give the mud baths at Hot Springs a play?" I asks.
"Stop it!" he sneers. "Cease that small time comedy! I'm the most dignified person in the world – the undisputed champion! I'm Frowning Frank and Imposing Ike rolled into one. It hurts me more than it does you, but I can't help it! I fail to remember the last time I enjoyed a hearty laugh and I know it will be a darned long space before I'll snicker again. My laugher has gone unused for so long that it's atrophied and won't work. I've tried warming it up by going home at night and guffawing before the mirror, but the result is only a mirthless giggle – a ghostly chortle! Of course, I wouldn't dare attempt to laugh in public!"
"Do what?" asks the Kid.
"Laugh!" answers Van Ness bitterly. "I can't even let myself think of doing it – why, it would ruin me! My dignity is all I have. It's my stock in trade and without it I would lose my income! Were I to unbend and shatter the air with harmless cachinnation, it would be thought at once that I had been drinking!" He stopped and sighed some more. "It began ten years ago," he goes on. "I was playing small parts in a stock company and one week I was cast for a Roman senator. Being anxious to make good, I made that noble so dignified that the local critics dismissed the play with a few paragraphs and gave half a column to my stately bearing! That started it, and from that time I've played nothing but Romans, kings, governors, cardinals and similar roles, calling for my infernal talent in the one direction. Mechanically I grew to playing them on and off, yet all the time within me burns the desire to do rough and tumble, yes, by Heaven, slapstick comedy! But alas, I lack the moral courage to throw off the yoke!"
"Well, Mister Van Ness – " I begins, when the silence begun to hurt, "I – "
"Not Van Ness!" he interrupts. "The name is as false as my manner! My name is Fink, Eddie Fink, and please don't add the Mister. When a lad I had a nickname, but, alas, I – "
"What was it?" butts in the Kid.
He hesitates.
"Well, it was rather frivolous," he says. "As indeed I was myself – a happy, carefree youth! The boys called me Foolish – Foolish Fink!" He throws out his chest like he just realized how he had been honored at the time.
Me and the Kid both had a coughin' fit.
"Let's go over to Montana Bill's," I says, when I thought it was safe to look up, "and we'll talk it over."
"Yeh!" chimes in the Kid. "Over a tray of private stock!" He laughs and slaps alias Van Ness on the shoulder. "Cheer up! Foolish Fink, will you have a little drink? Woof, woof! I'm a poet!"
"Thanks!" says Van Ness. "But I'm on the wagon. I stopped drinking five years ago, because under the influence of alcohol I've been known to act the fool!"
"You ain't the only one!" says the Kid. "Anyhow I never touch it myself and Johnny here only uses it on his hair! But come on over – you can have your pants pressed or take a shine, I'm gonna buy, and you might as well get in on it. Bill's got a laughin' hyena in a cage outside, and maybe you could get him to rehearse you!"
About a week after that, the society bunch in Frisco comes over to Film City to act in a picture for the benefit of the electric fan fund for Greenland, or somethin' like that. About fifty of the future corespondents, known to the trade as the younger set, blows over in charge of a dame who had passed her thirty-sixth birth and bust day when Napoleon was a big leaguer. She had did well by herself though and when dressed for the street, they was harder things to look at than her. Also, when her last husband died, he left her a bankroll that when marked in figures on paper looked like it was the number of Southerners below Washington. A little bit of a guy, which turned around when you yelled "G. Herbert Gale" at him, breezed over with her and at first I had him figured as a detective seekin' divorce evidence, because he stuck to that dame like a cheap vaudeville act does to the American flag. He trailed a few paces behind her everywhere she went, callin' her "Mrs. Roberts-Miller" in public and "Helen Dear" when he figured nobody was listenin'. It was easy to see that he had crashed madly in love with this charmer, but as far as she was concerned they was nothin' stirrin'.
Except that G. Herbert was inclined to be a simp, he wasn't a bad guy at that. He mixed well and bought freely, although he was riveted to the water wagon himself. He bragged to me in fact that the nearest he ever come to alcohol in his life was once when he used it to clean his diamonds.
But G. Herbert was the guy that invented the ancient and honorable order of village cut-ups. I never asked him what the G stood for in his name, I guessed it the first day he was in our midst. It meant "Giggle!" This here Herbert person was a laughin' fool! The first time I talked with him I thought I was cheatin' myself by only bein' Scanlan's manager. I figured I ought to be in vaudeville knockin' 'em dead for five hundred a week, because G. Herbert roared at everything I said. He screamed with mirth at all the old ones and had hysterics over three or four witty remarks I remembered from a show I seen the night of the Johnstown flood. I thought, of course, it was the way I put the stuff over, and I was just gonna give the Kid my fare-you-well, when I seen G. Herbert standin' by a practical undertakers shop that was fixed up for a fillum. The little simp was standin' over a coffin laughin' his head off!
That cured me, but him and the Kid become great little pals. I found out later it was on account of G. Herbert snickerin' at the Kid's comedy. Scanlan hadn't discovered it was a habit with this guy, and he claimed here was a feller that knowed humor when he seen it.
One afternoon I see Scanlan and Miss Vincent whisperin' together like yeggmen outside a postoffice. They called me over, and the Kid tells me that the society bunch was gonna leave us flat on the midnight train, and before they blowed, Potts was gonna give 'em a dinner and dance. All the movie crowd was to mix with Frisco's four hundred, so's that both could enjoy the experience and say they took a chance once in their lives.
But the thing that was botherin' Miss Vincent – (Some dame, that! She was the world's champion woman, believe me!) The thing that worried her was G. Herbert and Helen Dear, alias Mrs. Roberts-Miller. Likin' 'em both, Miss Vincent wanted to hurl 'em together for good and all before the train pulled out.
It seems the only objection the dame had to G. Herbert was the fact that he couldn't keep from laughin'. She had him figured as a eighteen-carat simp and frequently told him so, addin' that she could never marry a man who was shy on dignity. Then she gets a flash at our old pal Jason Van Ness or Eddie Fink, as he claimed, and she fell so hard for him she liked to broke her neck! Here was the only original Sedate Sam! Here was the guy she was willin' and anxious to lead to the altar and then to the old safe deposit vault! He was so handsome! So dignified! Such a splendid actor! That's the stuff she was always handin' poor little G. Herbert and askin' him why he wasn't like that? G. Herbert would shake his head, giggle, and say he didn't know why, but he'd ask his parents.
Van Ness couldn't see Helen Dear with opera glasses. He told me he hated 'em stout, and, if possible, had figured on weddin' somebody within ten years of his age – either way. I then felt it my duty to inform him that her bankroll was stouter than she was. He goes into high speed on the dignity thing and sets sail for Helen Dear like a bloodhound after a nigger. He didn't want to look like a vulgar fortune hunter, he claimed, but he figured if he could get his fingers on a piece of Helen's dough, he could bribe G. Herbert to teach him the art of laughin'.
The Kid tells Miss Vincent to forget about the thing, and he would guarantee that G. Herbert and Helen Dear went away threatenin' to marry each other. She said she'd leave the matter in our hands and held hers out. I shook it and Scanlan kissed it – a trick he stole from Van Ness.
The dinner and dance that night was a knockout! Film City is lit up like a plumber used to be on Saturday night, and the inhabitants is dressed like the people that poses for the ads of any cigarette over fifteen cents a pack. As usual, Miss Vincent had the rest of the dames lookin' like sellin' platers in stake race and, believe me, some of them society girls would have worried Venus. The Kid was so swelled up because she kept within easy call all night that he forgot his promise to fix up G. Herbert with Helen Dear. The latter, as we remark at the laundry, was closer to Van Ness all night than the ocean is to the beach, and it looked like the Kid was gonna have a tough time breakin' 'em up.
Along around eleven, Miss Vincent calls Scanlan aside and reminds him that he had better start workin' for G. Herbert, because they would all be beatin' it for the train in a hour. She also give out that, if he didn't make good, she was off him for life. Scanlan bows – another trick he copped from Van Ness – and takes me away down at the end of the lawn to dope somethin' out.
I tripped over what I thought at first was a dead body and me and the Kid props it up in the light.
"Ha, ha!" it says. "Tony he'sa laugha at you! Tony he'sa laugha at everybody! Bomb Germo! thisa fel' tella me – ha, ha, ha!"
The Kid grunts in disgust, lets go and Tony bounces back on the lawn.
"Stewed to the scalp!" says Scanlan. "Frisk him!"
I run my hands over Tony and bring forth a bottle of gin and another one of bourbon. The Kid looks 'em over, finally stickin' 'em both in his coat pocket.
"Come on!" he tells me. "They's no use hangin' around here. If I don't get back there, some of them Wealthy Willies that have been wishin' all night will be one-steppin' with Miss Vincent!"
"But how about G. Herbert?" I says.
"He's got my best wishes!" growls the Kid. "He's a nice little feller, but that's the best I can do. What d'ye think I am – Cupid?"
"Well, gimme the alcohol then!" I says. "You ain't gonna fall off the wagon are you, when – "