Shorty McCabe on the Job | Page 3

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 I
ask?"
"One of my best," says I. "Know him, did you?"
Mr. Steele darts a quick glance at me. "Rather!" says he.
"Then there can't be so much myst'ry about this note, then," says I.

"Maybe he's willed us a trinket or so. Friend of yours too, I expect?"
J. Bayard almost grins at that. "I have no good reason to doubt," says he,
"that Pyramid Gordon hated me quite as thoroughly and actively as I
disliked him."
"He was good at that too," says I. "Had a little run-in with him, did
you?"
"One that lasted something like twenty years," says Steele.
"Oh!" says I. "Fluffs or finance?"
[Illustration: "I wouldn't have anything happen to you for the world,"
says I.]
"Purely a business matter," says he. "It began in Chicago, back in the
good old days when trade was unhampered by fool administrations. At
the time, if I may mention the fact, I had some little prominence as a
pool organizer. We were trying to corner July wheat,--getting along
very nicely too,--when your friend Gordon got in our way. He had
managed to secure control of a dinky grain-carrying railroad and a few
elevators. On the strength of that he demanded that we let him in. So
we were forced to take measures to--er--eliminate him."
"And Pyramid wouldn't be eliminated, eh?" says I.
J. Bayard shrugs his shoulders careless and spreads out his hands.
"Gordon luck!" says he. "Of course we were unprepared for such
methods as he employed against us. Up to that time no one had thought
of stealing an advance copy of the government crop report and using it
to break the market. However, it worked. Our corner went to smash. I
was cleaned out. You might have thought that would have satisfied
most men; but not Pyramid Gordon! Why, he even pushed things so far
as to sell out my office furniture, and bought the brass signs, with my
name on them, to hang in his own office, as a Sioux Indian displays a
scalp, or a Mindanao head hunter ornaments his gatepost with his
enemy's skull. That was the beginning; and while my opportunities for

paying off the score have been somewhat limited, I trust I have
neglected none. And now--well, I can't possibly see why the closing up
of his affairs should interest me at all. Can you?"
"Say, you don't think I'm doin' any volunteer frettin' on your account,
do you?" says I.
"I quite understand," says he. "But about seeing this lawyer--do you
advise me to go?"
He's squintin' at me foxy out of them shifty eyes of his, cagy and
suspicious, like we was playin' some kind of a game. You know the
sort of party J. Bayard is--if you don't, you're lucky. So what's the use
wastin' breath? I steps over and opens the front office door.
"Don't chance it," says I. "I wouldn't have anything happen to you for
the world. I'll tell Judson I've come alone, to talk for the dictograph and
stand on the trapdoor. And as you go down the stairs there better walk
close to the wall."
J. Bayard, still smilin', takes the hint. "Oh, I may turn up, after all," says
he as he leaves.
"Huh!" says I, indicatin' deep scorn.
But if I'd been curious before about this invite to the law office, I was
more so now. So shortly after two I was on hand. And I find Mr. Steele
has beat me to it by a minute or so. He's camped in the waitin' room,
lookin' as imposin' and elegant as ever.
"Well, you ain't been sandbagged or jabbed with a poison needle yet, I
see," says I.
He glances around uneasy. "Mr. Judson is coming," says he. "They said
he was--here he is!"
Nothin' terrifyin' about Judson, either. He's a slim-built, youngish
lookin' party, with an easy, quiet way of talkin', a friendly, confidin'

smile; but about the keenest, steadiest pair of brown eyes I ever had
turned loose on me. He shakes us cordial by the hand, thanks us for
bein' prompt, and tows us into his private office.
"I have the papers all ready," says he.
"That's nice," says I. "And maybe sometime or other you can tell us
what it's all about?"
"At once," says he. "You are named