MRS1 The Under Dogs (21 page)

"Solid silver's always got 'sterling' on it," said Jessie innocently.

"No!" said Bill jocosely. "Ain't you the knowin' one! ... You needn't bother about silver, sis. Cash, of course, whenever it can be picked up, but precious stones is the main stuff. Always a steady market."

"You mean diamonds and pearls," said Jessie.

"Yeh. Them's the leaders. Sapphires and emeralds is just as good. Rubies too, but you don't see them much nowadays."

He brought her to a stand before the window of a famous jeweller. "This is what I wanted you to see," he whispered in her ear. "You see it's mostly diamonds. The world has gone mad over diamonds. It makes rich pickin's for us.... Well, you don't need much instruction to tell a diamond. It's got life in it. Almost in the dark you can tell it. Consequently they're not much imitated no more; it don't pay. Those green stones are emeralds, and the blue ones sapphires. They're worth more than diamonds if they got no cracks. After you look at them a bit, you can't be mistaken in them neither. They got a high-toned look like a fine lady."

He led her on to another show-window, where many strings of pearls were displayed. "What do you think about them?" he demanded.

Jessie had to conceal her knowledge of pearls, of course. "Ain't they pretty!" she said rapturously.

"All phoney," said Bill. "Made on the premises here. Look well at them, so you won't make no mistake again. They're
too
pretty, in a way of speaking. Too smooth and round and shiny. That shine is on'y pasted on the outside. Now come."

He proceeded to a window where real pearls were displayed. "See, the difference?" he whispered, with the enthusiasm of an expert. "Real pearls don't shine, they glow. The shine seems to come from the inside, see? And they ain't machine-ground. They got little hollows like a woman's cheek."

From jeweller's window to jeweller's window, the lesson proceeded.

"There's another thing you want to learn," said Bill, when they finally turned down-town again, in search of lunch, "and that's this here psychology, as they call it."

Jessie smiled inwardly. This was teaching a cat to lap cream, indeed. "What's that?" she asked innocently.

"Well, it used to be called studyin' human nature," said Bill. "But now it's called psychology. It's knowin' people. Take that old dude ahead of us. What can you tell me about him?"

"He's got corns," said Jessie.

"Sure. But that ain't psychology. What's goin' through his mind?"

"He wants the world to think he's a regular devil, but it's on'y window-dressin'."

"Very like; but what I want you to notice particular is, he ain't the real thing. He ain't worth the pickin'. His clothes is all right, but that's all he's got."

"How do you know that?"

"By his anxious eye. A man with plenty money always has a calm eye.... Take this guy comin' towards us; him with the roast-beef complexion and the thick-soled shoes. What's he?"

"I dunno."

"A bull."

"How do you know that? By his shoes?"

"No, that's just as it happens. I know it by his watchful eye. There's different kinds of watchfulness, of course. The old dude who passed us before; he looks at everybody to see if they're looking at him. But there's on'y two kinds of men has that hard watchfulness on the street; one's our kind; and one's them that's lookin' for our kind. And the difference between 'em is, a bull looks kinda pious because he's got the law on his side."

"Not so bad!" thought Jessie.

"The principal thing you got to learn in psychology," Bill went on, "is, how a man's goin' to ac' when you stick him up. There's mostly three kinds; there's the nervous man who hollers and crumples up; there's the ordinary, sensible man who puts his hands up when you got the draw on him; and there's the man with a hot eye who's bound to put up a fight whatever the odds."

"How about women?" asked Jessie.

"I don't know so much about women. They mostly always hollers."

The temptation to show off a little was too much for Jessie. "Let me see what I kin do with this now—psychology," she said. "Look at this woman comin' out of the store. The one with the little handbag. What can you tell about her?"

"I told you I ain't wise to women." said Bill.

"Well, let me see what I can tell you," said Jessie, studying the woman. "She lives in Roselle—that's over in Jersey, ain't it? She don't get to town very often. The part where she lives isn't all built up yet, and she has to walk to the station. She's a hard-workin' woman with a whole raft of children, but just the same, somebody's going to blow her to lunch to-day at a swell-joint."

"A-ah! you're just guessin'," said Bill.

"No, I seen the whole thing when she came out of the store and turned around beside me. There was a little card sticking out of the flap of her handbag, and on the top of it was: 'Trains to and from Roselle.' She don't got to town often, or she wouldn't need no time table. There was good country mud on her shoes. I had a sight of her shopping list, as she put it away, and the first item was: 'Bloomers for Alice.' Well, she must have a lot of kids, or she wouldn't have to put down which one the bloomers was for."

"How about the bid to lunch at a swell joint?"

"Why, you boob, didn't you see her look at Tiffany's clock when she come out of the store, and put away her shopping list, and take out a pair of white kid gloves that hadn't been wore before?"

"A-ah! you just made that up,"

"Let's follow her."

At Thirty-Fourth Street the woman turned into the Waldorf-Astorias.

Bill refused to concede Jessie's psychology. "A-ah! it was just a lucky guess!" he said.

Bill's idea of a "Broadway Hotel" was scarcely Jessie's. Bill chose White's, an old-fashioned restaurant near Twenty-Eighth Street. There was a double row of long tables disappearing in an endless vista, each table with its end against the wall. The aspect of the place was somewhat dingy, but a savoury smell greeted their nostrils as they went in. This promised to be better than Pap's cooking. No doubt in a tonier place they would have been too conspicuous.

Bill did the honours gallantly. "Sit yeh down," he said, indicating a seat next the wall on one side, while he took a chair opposite. "What say to a nice dish of corn beef and cabbage?"

"Hey, give me that!" said Jessie, snatching the card out of his hand.

"A person would think we was married the way you boss me," said Bill, grinning.

"Well, I'm not lookin' for no corn beef and cabbage man," said Jessie.

"Anythin' you want!" said Bill largely.

During the next quarter of an hour there was silence.

"We must do this again," said Bill, picking his teeth.

"Suits me," said Jessie.

Unfortunately, repletion had the effect of making Bill tender.

"Ain't had such a good time in God knows when," he said, leaning over the table. "It's so damn pleasant walking around the streets with a good-lookin' gal. I ain't had much of that. Say, I know I got off to a bad start with you, Jess. I mistook you, and that's a fact. But I'm man enough to own my mistake; that's somepin, ain't it? You ain't always goin' to hold it against me, are yeh? You and me was made for each other, girl. Look how well we get along. If you and me took each other for keeps, life would be a reg'lar picnic!"

"Now, Bill!" said Jessie. "If we're goin' to have any more good times, you know you gotta cut that out. You know there's nothin' doin'."

"Oh, my God! but you're an aggravatin' woman!" groaned Bill.

As they were about to leave the restaurant, they met a friend of Bill's, an odd little gentleman with hair and moustaches dyed fiercely black; checked suit, red necktie and pearl-gray Fedora. Bill and he conversed in undertones, and Jessie, seeing that she was not to be introduced, sauntered through the door to wait on the sidewalk.

Now Jessie had great need to send a message outside the ring that hemmed her round. She had marked the cigar store next door to the restaurant; it had telephone booths. Bill lingered. At any rate the cigar store would be safer than risking the telephone in the Varick Street house again. Even if Bill cut up rough, she ought to be able to handle him.

Jessie moved unostentatiously out of range of Bill's vision, then whipped inside the cigar store, and inside one of the booths. Once inside the booth, she was invisible from the street.

About three minutes later she emerged to find a baffled and furious Bill standing on the sidewalk, looking up and down. When he caught sight of her, he could have struck her down, had he dared.

"What the hell...!" he muttered.

"I just been to telephone," she said.

She winced in the grip of his hand on her arm. "Who to?" he demanded in his furious whisper. "And what about? Damn you, are you tryin' to double-cross me? Was it to a man?"

"No," said Jessie. "It was to a girl."

"You lie!"

"It was to my pal, Canada Annie. She's all right. She's in the same business as us. I was tryin' to make a date with her. She's the best friend I got. I thought maybe if you and me went out again, you'd let me see her, if you was along."

"You won't get out again in a hurry, my girl," said Bill. Nevertheless, Jessie perceived that he was partly mollified by her explanation.

"Why didn't you ast me if you could telephone?" he demanded in an aggrieved tone. "It would a been all right if I could hear all you said."

"I was afraid you wouldn't let me."

"A-ah!" growled Bill. "C'mon home."

Of that telephone message that Jessie sent, more anon. First I must tell you what happened to Jessie and Bill on the way home.

Bill was sullen now, and in no humour to spend his money on taxicabs. They walked over to Seventh Avenue, and took the plebeian electric car. They got off at the turn at Eleventh Street, and walked on down. Jessie was making no attempt to charm away Bill's ill-temper; better to let it wear off of itself, she thought. She perceived that she had succeeded in deceiving him; in his heart he believed the story she had told of her telephone call; and that was all that was necessary. She was well assured he would not tell Black Kate anything about it.

A block or two beyond Sheridan Square, there was a small temporary structure built on one of the cater-cornered vacant lots left by the street widening. It housed a store for selling soft drinks and candy. As Bill and Jessie passed this place they heard a low hail:

"Hey, Bill Combs!"

It had a peremptory quality that caused them to turn very quickly. Jessie beheld a blond young man of slender figure, but notably lithe and muscular. His thin and intensely masculine face had a look of reckless passion that is rare among tamed city-dwellers, and consequently attractive. At this moment his face was as white as paper, and his eyes fairly blazing with excitement. That look in itself created a breathless situation. Jessie stole a look in Bill's face. His heavy features showed no change; but from the narrowing of his pupils Jessie perceived that this meeting powerfully excited him also.

"Why, hello, George," Bill said coolly.

Jessie's heart gave a great leap in her breast. Could this be George Mullen?

Bill put forth his hand to the young man with an open look that Jessie, who knew the big fellow pretty well by now, saw was treacherous. Evidently the young man suspected it; for he said: "Never mind your hand. If you try on any dirty work, I'll hail the cop who stands yonder. There's no unexpired time waiting for me, remember."

"Why, George," said Bill reproachfully, "I always been your friend."

"Beware of the man who says that to you!" Jessie thought.

The young man
was
wary. "We'll see," he said. Coming still closer to Bill, he whispered tensely: "Where's Melanie?"

By that Jessie knew that this was George Mullen.

Bill looked at Jessie in a quandary. It was highly imprudent to allow her to hear this conversation, but on the other hand his instructions were not to let her out of his sight. He evidently decided that George was the more important, for he said: "You run along home, my girl, and let me talk to this man."

Jessie had no intention of obeying. She slipped her arm through Bill's, saying: "I don't want to leave you; he's dangerous."

Bill was highly gratified. Meanwhile, George had repeated his demand for information. Bill's wits were not nimble enough to run two ways at once. He answered George, and let Jessie remain.

"She's safe," said Bill.

"Where?"

"In the house."

"I believe you're lying," said George with a tormented look. "I been watching the house, and I seen nothing of her."

"She's got to lie low," said Bill. "She's wanted."

He then recollected Jessie again. "Run along home, my girl," he said.

George saved Jessie the necessity of refusing. "Wait a minute," he said harshly. "Who is this girl?"

"What the hell!" said Bill, affronted. "She's a friend of mine."

"Is she in the house, too?"

"Sure," said Jessie, for herself, before Bill could speak.

"Then you can tell me if Melanie Soupert is there," said George.

Bill bent a look on her, threatening terrible things if she did not bear out his story.

"Sure, she's there," said Jessie.

"Is she treated good?"

"She's treated as good as any of us."

Bill looked relieved.

"If you know her, describe her to me," demanded George.

"Here, that's enough of this," said Bill, in order to save her the necessity of answering.

But Jessie spoke up: "She's a tall girl. About as tall as me. Got bobbed black hair, and big brown eyes. She's the kind that don't give a darn."

Pure amazement made Bill look witless for a moment.

George was only half satisfied. "How do I know but what you're lying, too," he muttered wretchedly.

Bill's principal anxiety being relieved, cunning began to work in his deep-set eyes again. "Here, we can't discuss our private business out on the sidewalk," he said. "Let's go into this little joint, and sit down to a table."

There being no further occasion for sending Jessie home, she was included. The three of them went into the soft drink place, and sat around one of the flimsy tables on bent metal legs. Their heads came close together, and they talked in whispers.