made Solly promise to stay in the cafe for half an hour and I hiked out in a cab to Lolabelle Delatour’s flat on Forty-third Street. I knew her well. She was a chorus-girl in a Broadway musical comedy.
“‘Jane,’ says I when I found her, ‘I’ve got a friend from Texas here. He’s all right, but — well, he carries weight. I’d like to give him a little whirl after the show this evening — bubbles, you know, and a buzz out to a casino for the whitebait and pickled walnuts. Is it a go?’
“‘Can he sing?’ asks Lolabelle.
“‘You know,’ says I, ‘that I wouldn’t take him away from home unless his notes were good. He’s got pots of money — bean-pots full of it.’
“‘Bring him around after the second act,’ says Lolabelle, ‘and I’ll examine his credentials and securities.’
“So about ten o’clock that evening I led Solly to Miss Delatour’s dressing-room, and her maid let us in. In ten minutes in comes Lolabelle, fresh from the stage, looking stunning in the costume she wears when she steps from the ranks of the lady grenadiers and says to the king, ‘Welcome to our May-day revels.’ And you can bet it wasn’t the way she spoke the lines that got her the part.
“As soon as Solly saw her he got up and walked straight out through the stage entrance into the street. I followed him. Lolabelle wasn’t paying my salary. I wondered whether anybody was.
“‘Luke,’ says Solly, outside, ‘that was an awful mistake. We must have got into the lady’s private room. I hope I’m gentleman enough to do anything possible in the way of apologies. Do you reckon she’d ever forgive us?’
“‘She may forget it,’ says I. ‘Of course it was a mistake. Let’s go find some beans.’
“That’s the way it went. But pretty soon afterward Solly failed to show up at dinner-time for several days. I cornered him. He confessed that he had found a restaurant on Third Avenue where they cooked beans in Texas style. I made him take me there. The minute I set foot inside the door I threw up my hands.
“There was a young woman at the desk, and Solly introduced me to her. And then we sat down and had beans.
“Yes, sir, sitting at the desk was the kind of a young woman that can catch any man in the world as easy as lifting a finger. There’s a way of doing it. She knew. I saw her working it. She was healthy-looking and plain dressed. She had her hair drawn back from her forehead and face — no curls or frizzes; that’s the way she looked. Now I’ll tell you the way they work the game; it’s simple. When she wants a man, she manages it so that every time he looks at her he finds her looking at him. That’s all.
“The next evening Solly was to go to Coney Island with me at seven. At eight o’clock he hadn’t showed up. I went out and found a cab. I felt sure there was something wrong.
“‘Drive to the Back Home Restaurant on Third Avenue,’ says I. ‘And if I don’t find what I want there, take in these saddle-shops.’ I handed him the list.
“‘Boss,’ says the cabby, ‘I et a steak in that restaurant once. If you’re real hungry, I advise you to try the saddle-shops first.’
“‘I’m a detective,’ says I, ‘and I don’t eat. Hurry up!’
“As soon as I got to the restaurant I felt in the lines of my palms that I should beware of a tall, red, damfool man, and I was going to lose a sum of money.
“Solly wasn’t there. Neither was the smooth-haired lady.
“I waited; and in an hour they came in a cab and got out, hand in hand. I asked Solly to step around the corner for a few words. He was grinning clear across his face; but I had not administered the grin.
“‘She’s the greatest that ever sniffed the breeze,’ says he.
“‘Congrats,’ says I. ‘I’d like to have my thousand now, if you please.’
“‘Well, Luke,’ says he, ‘I don’t know that I’ve had such a skyhoodlin’ fine time under your tutelage and dispensation. But I’ll do the best I can for you — I’ll do the best I can,’ he repeats. ‘Me and Miss Skinner was married an hour ago. We’re leaving for Texas in the morning.’
“‘Great!’ says I. ‘Consider yourself covered with rice and Congress gaiters. But don’t let’s tie so many satin bows on our business relations that we lose sight of ‘em. How about my honorarium?’
“‘Missis Mills,’ says he, ‘has taken possession of my money and papers except six bits. I told her what I’d agreed to give you; but she says it’s an irreligious and illegal contract, and she won’t pay a cent of it. But I ain’t going to see you treated unfair,’ says he. ‘I’ve got eighty-seven saddles on the ranch what I’ve bought on this trip; and when I get back I’m going to pick out the best six in the lot and send ’em to you.’”
“And did he?” I asked, when Lucullus ceased talking.
“He did. And they are fit for kings to ride on. The six he sent me must have cost him three thousand dollars. But where is the market for ‘em? Who would buy one except one of these rajahs and princes of Asia and Africa? I’ve got ’em all on the list. I know every tan royal dub and smoked princerino from Mindanao to the Caspian Sea.”
“It’s a long time between customers,” I ventured.
“They’re coming faster,” said Polk. “Nowadays, when one of the murdering mutts gets civilised enough to abolish suttee and quit using his whiskers for a napkin, he calls himself the Roosevelt of the East, and comes over to investigate our Chautauquas and cocktails. I’ll place ’em all yet. Now look here.”
From an inside pocket he drew a tightly folded newspaper with much-worn edges, and indicated a paragraph.
“Read that,” said the saddler to royalty. The paragraph ran thus:
His Highness Seyyid Feysal bin Turkee, Imam of Muskat, is one of
the most progressive and enlightened rulers of the Old World. His
stables contain more than a thousand horses of the purest Persian
breeds. It is said that this powerful prince contemplates a visit
to the United States at an early date.
“There!” said Mr. Polk triumphantly. “My best saddle is as good as sold — the one with turquoises set in the rim of the cantle. Have you three dollars that you could loan me for a short time?”
It happened that I had; and I did.
If this should meet the eye of the Imam of Muskat, may it quicken his whim to visit the land of the free! Otherwise I fear that I shall be longer than a short time separated from my dollars three.
Hygeia At The Solito
If you are knowing in the chronicles of the ring you will recall to mind an event in the early ‘nineties when, for a minute and sundry odd seconds, a champion and a “would-be” faced each other on the alien side of an international river. So brief a conflict had rarely imposed upon the fair promise of true sport. The reporters made what they could of it, but, divested of padding, the action was sadly fugacious. The champion merely smote his victim, turned his back upon him, remarking, “I know what I done to dat stiff,” and extended an arm like a ship’s mast for his glove to be removed.
Which accounts for a trainload of extremely disgusted gentlemen in an uproar of fancy vests and neckwear being spilled from their pullmans in San Antonio in the early morning following the fight. Which also partly accounts for the unhappy predicament in which “Cricket” McGuire found himself as he tumbled