The She Boss | Page 9

remarked, "Hey, youse!"
The cribbage players looked up.
In explanation the man in the door held up a quarter between a calloused forefinger and thumb.
A broad grin broke on the face of one of the players as he scraped back his chair and rose. "Cheese, Thumbscrew, where'd youse glom it?" he gasped ecstatically.
"Never mind w'ere I glommed it, Scully," was the retort. "De point is, are youse guys in on helpin' me lick up a growler?"
The other tramp had risen, and spoke for both as he strode toward the door. "Lead us to it, Thumbscrew," he swaggered portentously; "lead us to it, ol'-timer!" And the door slammed behind the three.
Hiram glanced back at the man behind the newspaper. He had not so much as slanted a look toward the door.
Hiram's chance had come. After a silent minute he essayed:
"But I didn't come to the city to leave it right away and go to drivin' mules. I came here to get a start."
The other politely lowered his paper. "What're you doin'--breakin' loose from home to make yer fortune?" he asked.
Hiram nodded and smiled.
The man surveyed him for the first time from head to foot. "Been a farmer up in Mendocino?" he queried.
"Sorta," Hiram admitted. Then in a low voice: "To tell the truth, this is my first time in a city. I got in last night. I've never been out o' Mendocino County but once before."
A few wrinkles of puzzlement came between the other's brows. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-six," was Hiram's meek confession.
The stranger studied, a whimsical smile twisting his lips, a far-away look in the slate-blue eyes. With a little jerk he emerged from reverie and asked:
"And what d'ye expect to take up here in Frisco?"
Hiram scraped his chair still closer. "I don't know," he acknowledged. "To tell the truth, I'm pretty green. I don't know anybody here and don't know where to begin."
"Don't say green," corrected the other. "That's obsolete. Say raw, or that you're a hick, or a come-on. Well, what d'ye want to follow?"
"I thought if I could get into some big man's office and work up, I might reach----"
The other man raised his hand protestingly and his face assumed a sick expression.
"Forget it! Forget it!" he cried. "Say, that's the biggest mistake a fella like you could make. Your feet are too big for an office. Say, take this from me: An office man is always an office man. He knows the figgers--nothing else. The fella out on the works is the lad that knows the fundamentals of the job. Take this railroad-construction business, for instance: When the contractor wants a new general superintendent he don't make him out of an office man. He goes out on the job and gets him. You get offices outa your head, and get out and learn something." He was thoughtful a minute, then finished with the question: "How long are you on cash?"
"I haven't got much," Hiram confessed--"sixty some dollars."
"M'm-m," the other said musingly. Then, after another thoughtful pause: "Say, I suppose you're a little shy about bracin' these employment men, ain't you?"
Hiram nodded.
"Then I'll tell you what I'll do: You go to work and dig up my fee, and I'll go down to southern California with you on the jerkline job. I been wantin' to get outa Frisco for a week, but couldn't raise the price. Anywhere'll suit me, where there's a chance o' makin' a little stake. That's what you wanta do--go to work and make a stake. Then look about for something you c'n float for yourself. There's nothin' in working for somebody else. Work for yourself if it's only running a peanut stand. Southern California'll do. What d'ye say?"
"D'ye mean you're broke?"
"Broke! I'm ruined!"
"How did you lose your money?" Hiram asked innocently.
"You're askin' for the story o' my life. What d'ye say, now? Le's go to work and get breakfast, then enter Morgan & Stroud's in our usual graceful manner and tell 'em we've decided to accept their kind offer and let 'em ship us south. You'll probably learn a few things on that trip."
"Are you a jerkline skinner?"
"I dunno. Maybe I am. I never tried. But if that's what you wanta hit--me, too. Say, what's your name?"
"Hiram Hooker."
"That's a peach, all right. They sure labeled you for the part. Mine ain't much better though. They call me Twitter-or-Tweet."
"What!"
"Proves I'm a bird, don't it? My name is Orr Tweet. Can you beat it? So they call me Twitter-or-Tweet, or just Twitter--or sometimes Playmate. I'm gregarious. I gotta have a partner all the time. I'll play with any o' the little boys so long as they're nice to me."
He handed Hiram a card. It read:
ORR TWEET
REPRESENTING THE CUCAMONGA DEVELOPMENT COMPANY Cerro Gordo, Mexico
THE HOMESEEKERS' PROMISED LAND OF MILK AND HONEY
"That Cucamonga Development Company and the milk-and-honey business is