Shorty McCabe on the Job | Page 2

round. He's game, though; even thanks me for it puffy.
"You're welcome," says I. "Maybe I did steam 'em in a bit; but I expect it was because I had my mind on that party out front. While you're rubbin' down I'll step in and attend to his case. If I could only wish a pair of eight-ounce gloves on him for a few minutes!"
So, without stoppin' to change, or even sheddin' the mitts, I walks into the front office, to discover this elegant party in the stream-line cutaway pacin' restless up and down the room. Yes, he sure is some imposin' to look at, with his pearl gray spats, and the red necktie blazin' brilliant under the close-clipped crop of Grand Duke whiskers. I don't know what there is special about a set of frosted face shubb'ry that sort of suggests bank presidents and so on, but somehow they do. Them and the long, thin nose gives him a pluty, distinguished look, in spite of the shifty eyes and the weak mouth lines. But I ain't in a mood to be impressed.
"Well?" says I snappy.
I expect my appearin' in a cut-out jersey, with my shoulder muscles still bunched, must have jarred him a little; for he lifts his eyebrows doubtful and asks, "Er--Professor McCabe, is it?"
"Uh-huh," says I. "What'll it be?"
"My name," says he, "is Steele."
"I know," says I. "Snug fit too, I judge."
He flushes quick and stiffens. "Do you mean to infer, Sir, that----"
"You're on," says I. "The minute I heard your name I placed you for the smooth party that tried to unload a lot of that phony Radio stock on Mrs. Benny Sherwood. Wanted to euchre her out of the twenty thousand life insurance she got when Benny took the booze count last winter, eh? Well, it happens she's a friend of Mrs. McCabe, and it was through me your little scheme was blocked. Now I guess we ought to be real well acquainted."
But I might have known such crude stuff wouldn't get under the hide of a polished article like J. Bayard. He only shrugs his shoulders and smiles sarcastic.
"The pleasure seems to be all mine," says he. "But as you choose. Who am I to contend with the defender of the widow and the orphan that between issuing a stock and trading in it there is a slight difference? However deeply I am distressed by your private opinion of me, I shall try to----"
"Ah, ditch the sarcasm," says I, "and spring your game! What is it this trip, a wire-tappin' scheme, or just plain green goods?"
"You flatter me," says J. Bayard. "No, my business of the moment is not to appropriate any of the princely profits of your--er--honest toil," and he stops for another of them acetic-acid smiles.
"Yes," says I, "it is a batty way of gettin' money--workin' for it, eh? But go on. Whatcher mean you lost your dog?"
"I--er--I beg pardon?" says he.
"Ah, get down to brass tacks!" says I. "You ain't payin' a society call, I take it?"
He gets that. And what do you guess comes next? Well, he hands over a note. It's from a lawyer's office, askin' him to call at two P.M. that day to meet with me, as it reads, "and discuss a matter of mutual interest and advantage." It's signed "R. K. Judson, Attorney."
"Well, couldn't you wait?" says I. "It's only eleven-thirty now, you know."
"It is merely a question," says Steele, "of whether or not I shall go at all."
"So you hunt me up to do a little private sleuthin' first, eh?" says I.
"It is only natural," says he. "I don't know this Mr.--er--Judson, or what he wants of me."
"No more do I," says I. "And the notice I got didn't mention you at all; so you have that much edge on me."
"And you are going?" says he.
"I'll take a chance, sure," says I. "Maybe I'll button my pockets a little tighter, and tuck my watchfob out of sight; but no lawyer can throw a scare into me just by askin' me to call. Besides, it says 'mutual interest and advantage,' don't it?"
"H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Steele, after gazin' at the note thoughtful. "So it does. But lawyers have a way of----" Here he breaks off sudden and asks, "You say you never heard of this Mr. Judson before?"
"That's where you fool yourself," says I. "I said I didn't know him; but if it'll relieve your mind any, I've heard him mentioned. He used to handle Pyramid Gordon's private affairs."
"Ah! Gordon!" says Steele, his shifty eyes narrowin'. "Yes, yes! Died abroad a month or so ago, didn't he?"
"In Rome," says I. "The rheumatism got to his heart. He could see it comin' to him before he left. Poor old Pyramid!"
"Indeed?" says Steele. "And was Gordon--er--a friend of yours, may