The False Gods | Page 6

discover the business of a caller, that he improved
the opportunity to ask the youth some leading questions.
"Suppose you open up mornings?" he began carelessly.
"Naw; Mrs. A. does. She bunks here."
"How?"
"In a bed. She's got rooms in de buildin'. That door by Booker T. leads
to 'em."
"Booker T.? Oh, sure! The brunette statue. And that other door--the one
to the left. Where does that go?"
"Into Brander's storeroom. He sells mummies on de side."
"Does, eh? Curious business!" commented Simpkins. "Seems to rub it
into you pretty hard. And stuck on himself! Don't seem able to spit
without ringing his bell for some one to see him do it. Guess you'd have
to have four legs to satisfy him, all right."
"Say, dat duck ain't on de level," the grievance for which Simpkins had
been probing coming to the surface.
"Holds out on what he collects? Steals?"

"Sure t'ing--de loidies," and the boy lowered his voice; "he's dead stuck
on Mrs. A."
"Oh! nonsense," commented Simpkins, an invitation to continue in his
voice. "She's a married woman."
"Never min', I'm tellin' youse; an dat's just where de stink comes in.
Ain't I seen 'im wid my own eyes a-makin' goo-goos at 'er. An' wasn't
there rough house for fair goin' on in dere last mont', just before de Doc.
made his get-away? He tumbled to somethin', all right, all right, or why
don't he write her? Say, I don't expect him back in no hurry. He's hived
up in South Dakote right now, an' she's in trainin' for alimony, or my
name's Dennis Don'tknow."
"Does look sort of funny," Simpkins replied, sympathetic, but not too
interested. "When was it Doc. left? Last week?"
"Last week, not; more'n a mont' ago, an' he ain't peeped since, for I've
skinned every mail dat's come in, an' not a picture-postal, see?"
"That isn't very affectionate of Doc., but I wouldn't mention it to any
one else; it might get you into trouble," was Simpkins' comment. "You
better--Holy, jumping Pharaoh! what a husky pussy!" As he spoke a big
black cat, with blinking, tawny eyes, sprang from the floor and curled
itself up on the youth's desk. "Where'd that----"
A snarl interrupted the question; for the temptation to pull the cat's tail
had proved too strong for the boy. Bowed over his desk in a fit of
laughter at the result, he did not see the door behind him open, but
Simpkins did. And he saw Mrs. Athelstone, her eyes blazing, spring
into the room, seize the youth by the collar and shake him roughly.
"You nasty little brute!" she cried. "How dared you do that to a----"
And then catching sight of Simpkins, she dropped the frightened boy
back into his chair.
"I can't stand cruelty to animals," she explained, panting a little from
her effort. "If anything of this sort happens again, I'll discharge you on

the spot," she added to the boy.
"Shame!" Simpkins echoed warmly. "Didn't know what was up or I'd
have stopped him."
"I'm sure of it," she answered graciously, and, stooping, she picked up
the now purring cat and left the room.
Simpkins followed her back to his desk and went on with his
addressing, but he had something worth thinking about now. Not for
nothing had he been educated in that newspaper school which puts two
and two together and makes six. And by the time he was through work
for the day and back in his room at the hotel, he had his result. He
embodied it in this letter to Naylor:
_Dear Mr. Naylor_:
I am in the employ of Mrs. Athelstone. How I managed it is a yarn that
will keep till I get back. [He meant until he could invent the story
which would reflect the most credit on his ingenuity, for though he
knew that the whole thing had been a piece of luck he had no intention
of cheapening himself with Naylor by owning as much.] I had intended
to return to Boston to-night, but I'm on the track of real news, a lovely
stink, something much bigger than the Sunday story. There's a sporting
parson, quite a swell, in the office here who's gone on Mrs. A., and I'm
inclined to hope she is on him. Anyway, the Doc. left in a hurry after
some sort of a row over a month ago, and hasn't written a line to his
wife since. She's as cool as a cucumber about it and handed me a hot
one right off the bat about poor old Doc.'s having gone away for a rest
a few days ago. I've drawn cards and am going to sit in the game,
unless you wire me to come home, for I smell a