Fire Mountain Part 2

"Ow, swiggle me!" rumbled a deep and husky voice. "Ow, I'm in a proper fix, I am. Ow, where 'as 'e got 'imself to! Ow, why didn't I die afore I was born, says I!"

"Why, what is the matter? Come, come!" exclaimed Martin, aghast at the stricken voice.

The big man teetered to and fro upon his feet. He was perhaps wrestled by sorrow. But Martin smelled whisky.

"Come, brace up!" he admonished.

"Ow, strike me, I'm in for it, I am!" came the plaintive growl. "I've gone an' lost 'im, I 'ave; I've gone an' lost Little Billy. Can't find 'im, can't find 'im in the bloomin' town. I've looked in a thousand bleedin' pubs, I 'ave, and I can't find Little Billy. Walked a blister on my foot, I 'ave. Ow, swiggle me, what a snorkin' day I've 'ad!"

The words tumbled forth heavy laden with alcohol. Martin could understand there had been a wet search. The other groaned and strangled.

"Ow, swiggle me stiff!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed despairingly. "What am I goin'

to say to the blessed, bleedin' little mate!"

"Oh, come now, don't be down-hearted," cheered Martin. The man and his words fell in with Martin's mood.

Both were unusual--this was better than listening to a phonograph's ba.n.a.l wail, or conversing with a giggling manicurist!

"Cheer up, there are many more than a thousand saloons in this city,"

a.s.sured Martin. "You have not yet tried them all. There is one in this building. Have you visited it?"

"In this building! A saloon in this building!" echoed the other.

There was surprise, and much less sorrow in his voice. "Ow, swiggle me stiff, lad, let's go 'ave a wet!"

He placed a hand the size of a ham on Martin's shoulder, lurched out of the doorway and rolled down the street toward the entrance to Johnny Feiglebaum's. He had seemed to divine instantly this particular saloon's location.

Martin accompanied the other willingly; he wished to see more of this strange giant. The streetcar he had been awaiting pa.s.sed by unregarded. Martin had the feeling, also, that he would have to accept the big man's invitation, whether or no--that huge hand gripped his shoulder like a vise. Feiglebaum's was empty of its usual custom; only old Johnny, himself, from his station behind the bar, witnessed with scandalized eyes their rather tempestuous entrance.

"Set 'em up for two, matey!" roared Martin's companion, or rather, abductor, as soon as they crossed the threshold.

The little German's answer was a wail of dismay.

"Ach, Himmel, you here again!" he cried at the big man. "Mein Gott! I thought at last you haf gone! Marty, mein poy, why haf you brought him back?"

Martin couldn't answer this obviously unfair question. He was helpless. The vise squeezed his shoulder cruelly, and only pride prevented him exclaiming in pain. Squirming increased the pressure.

His captor half led, half dragged him up to the bar, and there released him. Martin grunted with relief and nursed his misused flesh.

"I'll 'ave a pot o' beer, says I!" rumbled the big fellow, slapping his hand upon the wood with a force that made the gla.s.ses jingle in their racks. "And my friend 'ere--why, 'e'll 'ave a pot o' beer, too, says 'e," he concluded, interpreting Martin's nod.

Johnny filled the order with alacrity. He evidently stood in awe of this strange man. But he spluttered indignantly as he set the drinks upon the bar.

"Why haf you brought dot man back here?" he whispered to Martin reproachfully. "Ach, he is der deffil's own! All der evening he haf been in und oudt, und he drink und drink, und talk und talk and cry apout his trouble. He haf lost his Beely, his Leedle Beely, und he talk like I haf stolen him. _Schweinhunde_! Mein Gott, Marty, I would nod steal him--I would nod haf der _verdumpf_ dog in der blace!"

"A dog! A dog! 'Oo says 'e's a dog?" The "_schweinhunde_" had sharp ears. He pounded the bar with his fist, and his voice boomed like distant artillery. "'E ain't no dog! Just let me meet the bloke what calls Little Billy a dog!" He ignored old Johnny, and glared at Martin belligerently. "'E's my mate, is Little Billy, and a proper lad 'e is, for all 'e ain't no bigger nor a Portagee man-o-war. A dog! Swiggle me stiff, that's a squarehead for you!"

He ended with a snort. Martin hastened to a.s.sure him that without doubt Little Billy was a most proper lad.

The big man received the amends with dignity. His warlike att.i.tude forsook him. He drooped over his beer and mused darkly. He seemed oppressed by the denseness of "squarehead" stupidity; he appeared desolated by the absence of the beloved Little Billy. Martin observed two big tears roll out of the corners of the other's eyes, course down the sides of his nose and splash into the goblet of beer. The man exuded gloom.

Martin seized his first chance to take stock of the fellow. He gathered an impression of size and redness. Why, the man must stand six feet and a half in his boots! A son of Anak! And his head--no wonder the man had temper. He was afire. A red face, a red mustache that bristled, a thatch of brick-red hair that protruded from beneath a blue, peaked cap. His suit was of pilot cloth, and he wore a guernsey.

He was unmistakably a sailor--both words and appearance bespoke the seaman. Martin was surprised to encounter such a specimen in this remote section of the city, miles distant from the waterfront.

The despondent one aroused himself. His mooning gaze appeared to encounter the gla.s.s of beer for the first time. He swept the goblet to his lips and drained it at a gulp. He seemed cheered and refreshed.

"Fill 'em up again," he rumbled at Johnny. "And set one afore my friend, 'ere," he added, with a wide sweep of arm toward Martin.

Martin was interested. He grasped the opportunity to re-open the conversation.

"Too bad you lost him," he ventured diplomatically. "But it is probable he will turn up all right, isn't it?"

The big man nodded gloomily.

"Ow, yes, 'e'll turn up all right tomorrow. Safe and sound, 'e'll sleep tonight--bleedin' safe and sound. 'E'll be in jail. That's the kind o' sport Little Billy is--can't 'ave a nice quiet time like me.

In jail, 'e'll be. Ow, swiggle me, I'm in a proper fix!"

"Why, things are not so bad," said Martin. "If you know where he will be in the morning, you can bail him out."

"In the morning! Bail 'im out!" exclaimed the other. "We can't wait till no morning! We got to be aboard tonight, we 'ave! Ow, Lord, what'll I say to the blessed mate?"

"Oh, I see, you must return to your s.h.i.+p tonight," commented Martin.

He was pleased with himself for having judged the man a sailor from the start.

The sailor nodded his head lugubriously. Two more tears tumbled his nose's length. Martin felt like laughing. It was ludicrous to connect tears and this huge husky with the fierce voice.

The man of the sea resumed his plaint.

"What'll I say to the mate? What'll the mate say to me? Aye, that's it, what'll the blessed, bleedin' little mate say to me? Swiggle me stiff, I'll be keelhauled--that's what'll 'appen to me! And it all begun so innercent, too!"

Martin murmured condolences.

"Come ash.o.r.e on account of it being the mate's birthday," confided the other. "'Ad to sneak ash.o.r.e--come this morning. Wanted to get a birthday present, we did. Swiggle me, could anything 'ave begun more innercent!"

"Oh, a birthday present! You must like your officers," prompted Martin.

"Like! Like! Why, strike me, lad, we love the little mate! Ain't anybody on the 'Appy s.h.i.+p as don't love the mate, from the Old Man down."

"Happy s.h.i.+p?" said Martin, struck by the words' connotation. "Is that the name of your vessel?"

"What we call 'er," the sailor answered. "'Er name is _Coha.s.set_--brig _Coha.s.set_. I'm bosun, and Little Billy, 'e's steward, and a prime steward 'e is."

The bosun of the brig _Coha.s.set_ paused and spat stringily.

Martin feared the font of his speech was dried up, and he hurriedly bade Johnny replenish the gla.s.ses. The bosun acknowledged the office with a lordly gesture. Then his grief overwhelmed him, and he bowed his head over his gla.s.s and sniffed audibly. He cultivated retrospection.

"I 'ad 'im all right at the Ferry Building," he told Martin tearfully.

"I 'ad Little Billy right enough, there."

He spoke as if he had Little Billy safely tucked under an arm at the Ferry Building. He inspected Martin suspiciously, as if Martin might have the missing steward concealed somewhere about his person.