for a funeral.”
Von Gerhard was frowning. “Mrs. Orme is not well,” he began. “She has had a shock—some startling news concerning—”
“Her husband?” inquired Blackie, coolly. I started up with a cry. “How could you know?”
A look of relief came into Blackie’s face. “That helps a little. Now listen, kid. An’ w’en I get through, remember I’m there with the little helpin’ mitt. Have a cigarette, Doc?”
“No,” said Von Gerhard, shortly.
Blackie’s strange black eyes were fastened on my face, and I saw an expression of pity in their depths as he began to talk.
“I was up at the Press Club tonight. Dropped in for a minute or two, like I always do on the rounds. The place sounded kind of still when I come up the steps, and I wondered where all the boys was. Looked into the billiard room—nothin’ doin’. Poked my head in at the writin’ room—same. Ambled into the readin’ room—empty. Well, I steered for the dining room, an’ there was the bunch. An’ just as I come in they give a roar, and I started to investigate. Up against the fireplace, with one hand in his pocket, and the other hanging careless like on the mantel, stood a man—stranger t’ me. He was talkin’ kind of low, and quick, bitin’ off his words like a Englishman. An’ the boys, they was starin’ with their eyes, an’ their mouths, and forgettin’ t’ smoke, an’ lettin’ their pipes an’ cigars go dead in their hands, while he talked. Talk! Sa-a-ay, girl, that guy, he could talk the leads right out of a ruled, locked form. I didn’t catch his name. Tall, thin, unearthly lookin’ chap, with the whitest teeth you ever saw, an’ eyes—well, his eyes was somethin’ like a lighted pipe with a little fine ash over the red, just waitin’ for a sudden pull t’ make it glow.”
“Peter!” I moaned, and buried my face in my hands. Von Gerhard put a quick hand on my arm. But I shook it off. “I’m not going to faint,” I said, through set teeth. “I’m not going to do anything silly. I want to think. I want to … Go on, Blackie.”
“Just a minute,” interrupted Von Gerhard. “Does he know where Mrs. Orme is living?”
“I’m coming t’ that,” returned Blackie, tranquilly. “Though for Dawn’s sake I’ll say right here he don’t know. I told him later, that she was takin’ a vacation up at her folks’ in Michigan.”
“Thank God!” I breathed.
“Wore a New York Press Club button, this guy did. I asked one of the boys standin’ on the outer edge of the circle what the fellow’s name was, but he only says: `Shut up Black! An’ listen. He’s seen every darn thing in the world.’ Well, I listened. He wasn’t braggin’. He wasn’t talkin’ big. He was just talkin’. Seems like he’d been war correspondent in the Boer war, and the Spanish-American, an’ Gawd knows where. He spoke low, not usin’ any big words, either, an’ I thought his eyes looked somethin’ like those of the Black Cat up on the mantel just over his head—you know what I mean, when the electric lights is turned on in-inside{sic} the ugly thing. Well, every time he showed signs of stoppin’, one of the boys would up with a question, and start him goin’ again. He knew everybody, an’ everything, an’ everywhere. All of a sudden one of the boys points to the Roosevelt signature on the wall—the one he scrawled up there along with all the other celebrities first time he was entertained by the Press Club boys. Well this guy, he looked at the name for a minute. `Roosevelt?’ he says, slow. `Oh, yes. Seems t’ me I’ve heard of him.’ Well, at that the boys yelled. Thought it was a good joke, seein’ that Ted had been smeared all over the first page of everything for years. But kid, I seen th’ look in that man’s eyes when he said it, and he wasn’t jokin’, girl. An’ it came t’ me, all of a sudden, that all the things he’d been talkin’ about had happened almost ten years back. After he’d made that break about Roosevelt he kind of shut up, and strolled over to the piano and began t’ play. You know that bum old piano, with half a dozen dead keys, and no tune?
I looked up for a moment. “He could make you think that it was a concert grand, couldn’t he? He hasn’t forgotten even that?”
“Forgotten? Girl, I don’t know what his accomplishments was when you knew him, but if he was any more fascinatin’ than he is now, then I’m glad I didn’t know him. He could charm the pay envelope away from a reporter that was Saturday broke. Somethin’ seemed t’ urge me t’ go up t’ him an’ say: `Have a game of billiards?’
“`Don’t care if I do,’ says he, and swung his long legs off the piano stool and we made for the billiard room, with the whole gang after us. Sa-a-ay, girl, I’m a modest violet, I am, but I don’t mind mentionin’ that the general opinion up at the club is that I’m a little wizard with the cue. Well, w’en he got through with me I looked like little sister when big brother is tryin’ t’ teach her how to hold the cue in her fingers. He just sent them balls wherever he thought they’d look pretty. I bet if he’d held up his thumb and finger an’ said, `jump through this!’ them balls would of jumped.”
Von Gerhard took a couple of quick steps in Blackie’s direction. His eyes were blue steel.
“Is this then necessary?” he asked. “All this leads to what? Has not Mrs. Orme suffered enough, that she should undergo this idle chatter? It is sufficient that she knows this—this man is here. It is a time for action, not for words.”
“Action’s comin’ later, Doc,” drawled Blackie, looking impish. “Monologuin’ ain’t my specialty. I gener’ly let the other gink talk. You never can learn nothin’ by talkin’. But I got somethin’ t’ say t’ Dawn here. Now, in case you’re bored the least bit, w’y don’t hesitate one minnit t’—”
“Na, you are quite right, and I was hasty,” said Von Gerhard, and his eyes, with the kindly gleam in them, smiled down upon the little man. “It is only that both you and I are over-anxious to be of assistance to this unhappy lady. Well, we shall see. You talked with this man at the Press Club?”
“He talked. I listened.”
“That would be Peter’s way,” I said, bitterly. How he used to love to hold forth, and how I grew to long for blessed silence—for fewer words, and more of that reserve which means strength!”
“All this time,” continued Blackie, “I didn’t know his name. When we’d finished our game of billiards he hung up his cue, and then he turned around like lightning, and faced the boys that were standing around with their hands in their pockets. He had a odd little smile on his face—a smile with no fun it, if you know what I mean. Guess you do, maybe, if you’ve seen it.
“`Boys,’ says he, smilin’ that twisted kind of smile, `boys, I’m lookin’ for a job. I’m not much of a talker, an’ I’m only a amateur at music, and my game of billiards is ragged. But there’s one thing I can do, fellows, from abc up to xyz, and that’s write. I can write, boys, in a way to make your pet little political scribe sound like a high school paper. I don’t promise to stick. As soon as I get on my feet again I’m going back to New York. But not just yet. Meanwhile, I’m going to the highest bidder.’
“Well, you know since Merkle left us we haven’t had a day when we wasn’t scooped on some political guff. `I
