Shorty McCabe on the Job Part 43

"But I don't wish to forget her," says he. "She--she's beautiful."

"Ah, what's the use?" says I. "She's mighty particular too."

"She has every right to be," says Dudley. "What delicious coloring! What a carriage! She has the bearing of a Queen."

"Maybe," says I. "But wouldn't you rattle around some on a throne? Keep that in mind, Dudley."

"Yes, yes," says he. "I suppose I must remember how unimpressive I am."

He's an easy forgetter that evenin', though. When Sadie suggests that Miss Adams favor us, blessed if it ain't Dudley who's right there doin'

the music turnin' act. I wonder how many others has struck that same pose, and lost good sleep thinkin' it over afterwards? But never a one, I'll bet, that looked like such a hopeless starter.

He seemed to be enjoyin' it as much as any, though. And afterwards, when the other four settles themselves around the card table for the usual three rubbers, blamed if Dudley don't have the nerve to tow Veronica into the next room, stretchin' on tiptoe to talk earnest in her ear.

I could guess what it was all about. Veronica had a nice way of soundin'

people for their pet hobbies, and she must have got Dudley started on his; for it's the only subject I ever knew him to get real gabby over.

And you'd never guess from his looks what it was. Farmin'!

Course he ain't doin' the reg'lar Rube kind,--hay and hogs, hogs and hay. He goes at it scientific,--one of these book farmers, you understand. Establis.h.i.+n' model farms is his fad. Dudley told me all about it once,--intensive cultivation, soil doctorin', harvestin'

efficiency, all such dope, with a cost-bearin' side line to fall back on in the winter.

Not that he needs the money, but he says he wants to keep busy and make himself useful. So his scheme is to buy up farms here and there, take each one in turn, put it on a payin' basis by studyin' the best stuff to raise and gettin' wise to the market, and then showin' his neighbors how to turn the trick too. No rollin' out at four A.M. to milk the cows for Dudley! He hires a good crew at topnotch wages, and puts in his time plannin' irrigatin' ditches, experimentin' with fertilizers, doin' the seed testin', and readin' government reports; even has a farm bookkeeper.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Blamed if Dudley don't have the nerve to tow Veronica into the next room, stretchin' on tiptoe to talk in her ear.]

Then when cold weather comes, instead of turnin' off his help, he springs his side line,--maybe workin' up the wood lot into s.h.i.+ppin'

crates, or developin' a stone quarry. Last I heard he was settin' out willows he'd imported from Holland, and was growin' and makin' fancy veranda furniture. He's rung in a whole town on the deal, and they was all gettin' a good thing out of it. Establis.h.i.+ng community industries, is the way Dudley puts it. Says every jay burg ought to have one of its own.

Most likely this was what he was so busy explainin' to Veronica. He's a good talker when he gets started too, and for such a quiet appearin'

chap he can liven up a lot. Must have been goin' into the details deep with her; for they don't come back--and they don't come back. I'd read the evenin' papers, and poked up the log fire half a dozen times, and stood around watchin' the bridge game until I nearly yawned my head off; but they're still missin'.

I'd just strolled around into the front hall, kind of scoutin' to see if he'd talked her to sleep, or whether she'd come back at him with some brainy fad of her own and was givin' him the chilly spine, when out through the door dashes Dudley Byron, runnin' his fingers through his hair desperate and glarin' around wild.

"Aha!" says I. "So you got it too, did you?"

"McCabe," says he, hoa.r.s.e and husky, "I--I've done a dreadful thing!"

"Why, Dudley!" says I. "I can't believe it."

"But I have," says he, clawin' me on the shoulder. "Oh, I--I've disgraced myself!"

"How?" says I. "Called some German composer out of his right name, or what?"

"No, no!" says he. "I--I can't tell you."

"Eh?" says I, starin' puzzled. "Well, you'd better."

"True, I'm your guest," says he. "But--but I forgot myself."

"Ah, cheer up," says I. "Veronica's a good sport. She wouldn't mind if you let slip a cussword."

"Oh, you don't understand," says Dudley, wringin' his hands. "Really, I have done something awful!"

"Come, come!" says I. "Let's have it, then."

"Believe me," says he, "I was carried away, quite intoxicated."

"Gwan!" says I. "Where'd you get the stuff?"

"I mean," says he, "by her wonderful beauty. And then, McCabe, in one moment I--I kissed her!"

"Great guns!" says I. "Didn't plant a reg'lar smack, did you?"

He bows his head solemn. "Right on the lips," says he. "You see, we were talking, her lovely face was very close, her glorious eyes were s.h.i.+ning into mine, when suddenly--well, it seemed as if I became dizzy, and the next moment I seized her brutally in my arms and--and----"

"Good night!" says I, gaspin'. "What did she hit you with?"

"I--I can't say exactly what happened next," says Dudley. "I think I dropped her and ran out here."

"Of all the b.o.o.b plays!" says I. "To take a Brodie plunge like that, and then do the fade-away!"

"But what must I do now?" groans Dudley. "Oh, what can I do?"

"Is she still in there?" says I.

"I--I suppose so," says he.

"Well, so far as I can see," says I, "you got to go back and apologize."

"What! Now?" says he.

"Before she has time to sick the old man on you with a gun," says I.

"Yes, yes!" says he. "Not that I am afraid of that. I wish he would shoot me! I hope someone does! But I suppose I ought to beg her pardon."

"In with you, then!" says I, leadin' him towards the door.

With his hand on the k.n.o.b he balks. "Oh, I can't!" says he. "I simply cannot trust myself. If I should try, if I should find myself close to her once more. McCabe, I--I might do it all over again."

"Say, look here, Dudley!" says I. "This ain't a habit you're breakin'

yourself of, you know: it's just a single slip you've got to apologize for."

"I know," says he; "but you cannot imagine how madly in love with her I am."

"I'm glad I can't," says I.

And, say, he sticks to it. No, Sir, I can't push him in there with Veronica again. I had him out on the front steps for fifteen minutes, tryin' to argue some sense into him; but all he wants to do is go jump off the rocks into the Sound and have me tell Aunty he died disgraced but happy. Fin'ly, though, he agrees to wait while I go sleuthin' in and find whether Veronica has rushed in tears to Daddy, or is still curled up on the davenport bitin' the cus.h.i.+ons in rage.

I slips into the livin' room, where I find 'em addin' up the scores and talkin' over the last hand, but otherwise calm and peaceful. Then I opens the door soft into the next room, steps in, and shuts the door behind me. No wild sobs. No broken furniture. There's Veronica, rockin'