You Should Worry Says John Henry | Page 2

the window.
"For my part," Alice went on, "I trust Bunch so implicitly that I don't even question his motive when he telephones me he has to take dinner in town with a prospective real estate customer."
"And I know enough of human nature," Peaches gurgled, "to be sure that if either one of them could Tango he would be crazy to show off at home. I think we're very lucky, both of us, to have such steady-going husbands, don't you, Alice?"
At this point Aunt Martha buzzed into the other room and the cackle took on another complexion.
In the meantime Bunch and I had passed away.
"It's cold turkey," I whispered.
"I've been in the refrigerator for ten minutes and I'm chilled to the bone," Bunch whispered back.
"Can we get our coin away from Ikey?" I asked.
"We can try," Bunch sneezed.
The next afternoon we had Ikey Schwartz for luncheon with us at the St. Astorbilt. The idea being to dazzle him and get a few of the iron men back.
"Leave everything to me," Bunch growled as we shaved our hats and Indian-filed to a trough.
"A quart of Happysuds," Bunch ordered. "How about it, Ikey?"
Ikey flashed a grin and tried to swallow his palate, so it wouldn't interfere with the wet spell suggested by Bunch.
Ikey belonged to the "dis, dose and dem" push.
Every long sentence he uttered was full of splintered grammar.
Every time Ikey opened his word-chest the King's English screamed for help, and literature got a kick in the slats.
He was short and thin, but it was a deceptive thinness. His capacity for storing away free liquids was awe-inspiring and a sin.
I think Ikey must have been hollow from the neck to the ankles, with emergency bulkheads in both feet.
His nose was shaped like a quarter to six o'clock. It began in the middle and rushed both ways as hard as it could. One end of it ducked into his forehead and never did come out.
His interior was sponge-lined, and when the bartenders began to send them in fast, Ikey would lower an asbestos curtain to keep the fumes away from his brain.
Nobody ever saw Ikey at high tide.
There was surely something wrong with Ikey's switchboard, because he could wrap his system around more Indian laughing-juice without getting lit up than any other man in the world.
But Ikey was the compliments of the season, all right, all right.
Ikey had spent most of his life being a Bookmaker, and when the racing game went out of fashion he sat down and tried to think what else he could do. Nothing occurred to him until one day he discovered that he could push his feet around in time to music, so he became a dancing instructor and could clean up $1,000 per day if the bartenders didn't beckon too hard.
The luncheon had been ordered and Bunch was just about to switch the conversation around to the subject of rebates when suddenly his eyes took on the appearance of saucers, and tapping me on the arm he gasped, "Look!"
I looked, and beheld Peaches, Alice and Aunt Martha sailing over in our direction.
With a whispered admonition to Bunch to keep Ikey still, I went forward to meet friend wife, her aunt and Alice.
They were as much surprised as I was.
"It was such a delightful day that Aunt Martha couldn't resist the temptation to do a little shopping," Peaches rattled on; "and then we decided to come here for a bit of luncheon--hello, Bunch! I'm so glad to see you! John, hadn't we better take another table so that your friendly conference may not be interrupted?"
I hastened to assure Peaches that it wasn't a conference at all. We had met Mr. Schwartz quite by accident. Then I introduced Ikey to the ladies.
He got up and did something that was supposed to be a bow, but you couldn't tell whether he was tying his shoe or coming down a stepladder.
When Ikey tried to bend a Society double he looked like one of the pictures that goes with a rubber exerciser, price 75 cents.
After they had ordered club sandwiches and coffee I explained to Peaches and the others that Mr. Schwartz was a real estate dealer. Ikey began to swell up at once.
"Bunch and I are going in a little deal with Mr. Schwartz," I explained. "He knows the real estate business backwards. Mr. Schwartz has a fad for collecting apartment houses. He owns the largest assortment of People Coops in the city. All the modern improvements, too. Hot and cold windows, running gas and noiseless janitors. Mr. Schwartz is the inventor of the idea of having two baths in every apartment so that the lessee will have less excuse for not being water broke."
Ikey never cracked a smile.
"In Mr. Schwartz's apartment houses," I continued, while Bunch kicked my shins under