Shorty McCabe on the Job | Page 8

me than a fragment of genius. It stands for satisfaction. It's something that I own and he wants."
"And there you are," says I. "Been rackin' your nut to dig up something kind and generous to do for him, ain't you! Well?"
Say, you should have seen the look J. Bayard gives me at that! It's a mixture of seven diff'rent kinds of surprise, reproach, and indignation. And the line of argument he puts up too! How he does wiggle and squirm over the very thought of givin' that picture to Twombley-Crane, after he'd done the gloat act so long!
But I had the net over Mr. Steele good and fast, and while I was about it I dragged him over a few bumps; just for the good of his soul, as Father Reardon would say.
"Oh, come!" says I. "You're makin' the bluff that you want to scatter deeds of kindness; but when I point one out, right under your nose, you beef about it like you was bein' frisked for your watch. A hot idea of bein' an angel of mercy you've got, ain't you? Honest now, in your whole career, was you ever guilty of wastin' a kind word, or puttin' out the helpin' hand, if you couldn't see where it might turn a trick for J. Bayard Steele?"
Makes him wince a little, that jab does, and he flushes up under the eyes.
"I don't know that I have ever posed either as a philanthropist or a saint," says he. "If I seem to have assumed a r?le of that sort now, it is because it has been thrust upon me, because I have been caught in a web of circumstances, a tangle of things, without purpose, without meaning. That's what life has always been to me, always will be, I suppose,--a blind, ruthless maze, where I've snatched what I could for myself, and given up what I couldn't hold. Your friend Gordon did his share in making it so for me; this man Twombley-Crane as well. Do you expect me to be inspired with goodness and kindliness by them?"
"Oh, Pyramid had his good points," says I. "You'd find Twombley-Crane has his, if you knew him well enough."
"And who knows," adds Steele, defiant and bitter, "but that I may have mine?"
I glances at him curious. And, say, with that set, hard look in them narrow eyes, and the saggy droop to his mouth corners, he's almost pathetic. For the first time since he'd drifted across my path I didn't feel like pitchin' him down the stairs.
"Well, well!" says I soothin'. "Maybe you have. But you don't force 'em on folks, do you? That ain't the point, though. The question before the house is about that----"
"Suppose I hand back Twombley-Crane's name," says he, "and try another?"
I shakes my head decided. "No dodgin'," says I. "That point was covered in Pyramid's gen'ral directions. If you do it at all, you got to take the list as it runs. But what's a picture more or less? All you got to do is wrap it up, ship it to Twombley-Crane, and----"
"I--I couldn't!" says J. Bayard, almost groanin'. "Why, I've disliked him for years, ever since he sent out that cold no! I've always hoped that something would happen to bend that stiff neck of his; that a panic would smash him, as I was smashed. But he has gone on, growing richer and richer, colder and colder. And when I got this sketch away from him--well, that was a crumb of comfort. Don't you see?"
"Kind of stale and picayune, Steele, it strikes me," says I. "Course, you're the doctor. If you'd rather see all them other folks that you dislike come in for a hundred and fifty thousand apiece, with no rakeoff for you--why, that's your business. But I'd think it over."
"Ye-e-es," says he draggy. "I--I suppose I must."
With that he shakes his shoulders, gets on his feet, and walks out with his chin well up; leavin' me feelin' like I'd been tryin' to wish a dose of castor oil on a bad boy.
"Huh!" thinks I. "I wonder if Pyramid guessed all he was lettin' me in for?"
What J. Bayard would decide to do--drop the whole shootin' match, or knuckle under in this case in the hopes of gettin' a fat commission on the next--was more'n I could dope out. But inside of an hour I had the answer. A messenger boy shows up with a package. It's the sketch from Steele, with a note sayin' I might send it to Twombley-Crane, if that would answer. He'd be hanged if he would! So I rings up another boy and ships it down to Twombley-Crane's office, as the easiest way of gettin' rid of it. I didn't know whether he was in town or not. If he