Every Man for Himself | Page 3

a joke of the situation?
Of a truth the expression upon this fellow McCorquodale's homely,
good-humored face when Kendrick revealed his identity had been
sufficiently quizzical. He had grinned widely as he waved the indignant
young man to a seat at the table and even then the situation would have

adjusted itself had it been left to the principals. But McCorquodale's
companions were a pair of flashily dressed young "sports" who,
thinking they saw a chance for some fun at Kendrick's expense, had
proceeded to tread upon Mr. McCorquodale's professional
pride--McCorquodale, one time known to ringside patrons as "Iron
Man" McCorquodale, one time near middle-weight champion.
"Y'see, it's this way," the ex-pugilist had explained earnestly. "I aint
said nothin' about y'r uncle as aint public anyways. It's in the papers off
an' on, see? An' now another election's comin' down the pike, y'll have
to be gittin' used to all kinds o' spiels. Fac's is fac's, kid, an' when I says
the Hon. Milt aint no sweet-scented geranium but's out fer all the
simoleons he can pick off the little old Mazuma Tree,--why, I on'y says
what I reads an' hears, believe me. You bein' his nephew aint changin'
public opinion none. See?"
Kendrick's anger at this brazenness had prevented him from thinking
clearly. He was getting "touchy" about his uncle's political record of
late and had had occasion to defend it with some heat during certain
discussions among friends; there had been several newspaper attacks
which he had resented greatly also. His uncle's reputation as a public
man he had been Quixotic enough to take to heart as a personal matter
of family honor and, as everyone knows, family honor is a thing to
uphold. He had demanded that McCorquodale retract his statement.
McCorquodale had refused flatly to do so.
One of the two grinning "sports" knew a place where they could settle
it undisturbed--just around the corner in the basement of a pool-room.
It had been a brisk little mix-up while it lasted; but it had not taken the
ex-pugilist long to discover that he was facing the best amateur boxer
Varsity had produced in a number of years and right in the middle of it
he had put on his coat deliberately, to the overwhelming
disappointment of his two friends.
"Nix, you guys!" he had grunted, breathing heavily. "I knows when I'm
up against it. Y'see, I got a date with a Jane to-morra an' I aint hankerin'
to lose me way with no mussed map. Not on y'r tintype!"

Whereupon the "Iron Man" had proceeded to demonstrate his
malleability by assuring Mr. Kendrick that he was ready to agree that
the sun rose in the south and made a daily trip straight north to escape
the heat, if Mr. Kendrick said so. His anxiety to make friends had been
positively funny; but there had been a sincerity in his handshake that
somehow had seemed to rob the apology of its satisfaction. And when
McCorquodale had proffered a broken cigar Kendrick had accepted it
with an uneasy feeling that he had made somewhat of a fool of himself;
for Phil was no prig and he found that McCorquodale was a pretty good
sort with a certain whimsicality that was not to be denied.
He rested his paddle for a moment and floated in the dark, listening. As
soon as he got home he would go to the refrigerator for a piece of raw
beefsteak for his swollen eye. Darn that eye anyway! He would have to
hibernate up in the woods till it became more presentable. Far behind
him in the mist somewhere the yard-engine was still coughing; across
the water came a subdued squeal of protesting flanges, followed by the
distant bang of shunted box-cars. He listened for any sound of the
harbor patrol boat; but even had he bothered to show a light it would
have been obliterated in the fog, which was the worst Kendrick ever
had experienced. A raw beefsteak poultice-- He fancied the fog-horn
was a little louder; he would need to keep more to the left or he would
find himself hitting Mug's Landing, west of Island Park, or wind up
away over at the Point somewhere.
He resumed his paddling. This matter of his uncle-- Was it possible that
in pursuit of political ambitions his uncle was forgetting the principles
for which he professed to stand as a public man? Was it just possible
that this fellow, McCorquodale, knew what he was talking about?
Wasn't it men of that stamp who became the tools for corrupt
practices--the boodlers, the heelers who did the actual ballot-stuffing,
the personating at the polls, the bribing? Did McCorquodale know of
what he spoke?
The thought brought with it a sense of disloyalty to his uncle; but