Page:The Popular Magazine v72 n1 (1924-04-20).djvu/89

 could be so mean. Please let me speak with Tarkie. If you don't, I'll—I'll cry!”

Scandrel looked at me.

“Listen, Bright Eyes, don't be like that. Er—give me the message and I'll see that Van Riker gets it as fast as special delivery.”

The young lady drew a breath.

“This is the way it is. The ladies of the Wellington Knitting Guild are giving a fair and bazaar next Monday night at the Town Hall. I came over to ask Tarkie if he wouldn't loan us Jepson, his valet, to help with the decorations. That Mr. McFinn I was talking with has volunteered to come over and help and”

“Don't say another word!” Ottie barked. “Jep is yours if I have to take him out in the back yard and beat him like an Oriental rug. I'll get him right away.”

He disappeared, leaving the girl to look me over. She had just finished when Scandrel returned, followed meekly by the quiet Jepson.

“Here he is, Cunning. Use him all you want but be sure and give him his lunch. And Looie Pitz says he'll let McFinn crash in around two bells to lend a hand. Er—if I ain't got a date to-night I might run in and take a look around. I used to be in the decorating business myself.”

“Really! Houses?” Miss Lamont lisped.

“No—faces! Get in, Stupid!” Scandrel hissed at Jepson. “So long, honey. Don't be sore because I wouldn't let you go inside. Remember—people who live in paper houses shouldn't throw scissors!”

The snappy little roadster purred away.

“I thought you were friendly with the blond Miss Biggs?” I said. “You're as fickle as a bigamist.”

Ottie curled a lip.

“Yeah? That's what you think. Can't I be polite without cracking a proposal? Picture me moving furniture around for a fair when I can take a walk with Amabel and not lift a finger. Beauty is beauty but hard work is labor. Anyhow, that doll seemed sort of dumb to me and look at blondie. She swings a fascinating hoe and already she tells me I'm a stylish dresser. I'll bet regular money she hasn't told McFinn and Jepson that yet.”

I stuck out an ear.

“Who?”

“Yes, McFinn has been buzzing around and she's been out with Jep a few times but that worries me like a burning barrel in a vacant lot does a fireman. How can either of them figure when they've got competition like me? And that reminds me, Joe. You stick around and watch Van this afternoon while I go up and see Amabel. She's promised me a couple of cabbages and some celery. That's the kind of a rib to be friendly with, eh?”

Dangerous Dave McFinn, as more time elapsed, eased off on the heavy work. Outside of his morning gambol along the highways, and little light gym duties, he spent most of his time up at the cabbage patch. McFinn looked fit and ready for the College Point glove bouncing and Pitz, who had worked over him like a sweatshop operator on a pair of serge trousers, was as pleased with his results as a girl using a lip stick for the first time. The light-heavy continued to sneer at both the perfect Jepson and Tin Ear O'Brien, but hostilities were quickly suppressed by Scandrel or Pitz himself. Even the taciturn Van Riker took a hand when Ottie's assistant and the big bruiser almost came to blows on one occasion over a pair of Indian clubs.

In such fashion Monday approached with the fair and bazaar at the Town Hall and Wednesday with the battle on the boards in that dear East River resort.

At seven o'clock Monday morning, Ottie rushed off in the car with Van Riker galloping along at the rear axle. They had hardly disappeared before Pitz, game but melancholy, threw a leg over his favorite bicycle for the last stretch of road work his meal ticket was scheduled to rip off before leaving Tuesday morning.

“This bicycle riding has knocked me for a twist,” Looie moaned. “Between the wheel and the kid chasing around with the blondes and brunettes I'm on the verge of a breakdown. All set, Dave? Come on—pursue me!”

McFinn opened his sweater.

“Hey, Looie,” Tin Ear O'Brien yelled when both were ready to breeze. “Why don't you turn the wheel in and buy a motor cycle?”

“Who asked you to speak, Foolish?” McFinn growled. “Don't be putting ideas like that in my manager's head. I've a good mind to chuck a stone at you for butting in. All right, boss. Move the pedals!”

“I'll get that gil yet!” O'Brien fumed when we were alone. “Ottie says I'll lose