3 Dollars
All along the rails there were faces; in the portholes there were faces. Leeward a stale smell came from the tubby steamer that rode at anchor listed a little to one side with the yellow quarantine flag drooping at the foremast.
‘I’d give a million dollars,’ said the old man resting on his oars, ‘to know what they come for.’
‘Just for that pop,’ said the young man who sat in the stern. ‘Aint it the land of opportoonity?’
‘One thing I do know,’ said the old man. ‘When I was a boy it was wild Irish came in the spring with the first run of shad… Now there aint no more shad, an them folks, Lord knows where they come from.’
‘It’s the land of opportoonity.’
A leanfaced young man with steel eyes and a thin highbridged nose sat back in a swivel chair with his feet on his new mahogany-finish desk. His skin was sallow, his lips gently pouting. He wriggled in the swivel chair watching the little scratches his shoes were making on the veneer. Damn it I dont care. Then he sat up suddenly making the swivel shriek and banged on his knee with his clenched fist. ‘Results,’ he shouted. Three months I’ve sat rubbing my tail in this swivel chair… What’s the use of going through lawschool and being admitted to the bar if you cant find anybody to practice on? He frowned at the gold lettering through the groundglass door.
NIWDLABEGROEG
WAL-TA-YENROTT A
Niwdlab, Welsh. He jumped to his feet. I’ve read that damn sign backwards every day for three months. I’m going crazy. I’ll go out and eat lunch.
He straightened his vest and brushed some flecks of dust off his shoes with a handkerchief, then, contracting his face into an expression of intense preoccupation, he hurried out of his office, trotted down the stairs and out onto Maiden Lane. In front of the chophouse he saw the headline on a pink extra; JAPS THROWN BACK FROM MUKDEN. He bought the paper and folded it under his arm as he went in through the swinging door. He took a table and pored over the bill of fare. Mustn’t be extravagant now. ‘Waiter you can bring me a New England boiled dinner, a slice of applepie and coffee.’ The longnosed waiter wrote the order on his slip looking at it sideways with a careful frown… That’s the lunch for a lawyer without any practice. Baldwin cleared his throat and unfolded the paper… Ought to liven up the Russian bonds a bit. Veterans Visit President… ANOTHER ACCIDENT ON ELEVENTH AVENUE TRACKS. Milkman seriously injured. Hello, that’d make a neat little damage suit.
Augustus McNiel, 253 W. 4th Street, who drives a milkwagon for the Excelsior Dairy Co. was severely injured early this morning when a freight train backing down the New York Central tracks…
He ought to sue the railroad. By gum I ought to get hold of that man and make him sue the railroad… Not yet recovered consciousness… Maybe he’s dead. Then his wife can sue them all the more… I’ll go to the hospital this very afternoon… Get in ahead of any of these shysters. He took a determined bite of bread and chewed it vigorously. Of course not; I’ll go to the house and see if there isn’t a wife or mother or something: Forgive me Mrs McNiel if I intrude upon your deep affliction, but I am engaged in an investigation at this moment… Yes, retained by prominent interests… He drank up the last of the coffee and paid the bill.
Repeating 253 W. 4th Street over and over he boarded an uptown car on Broadway. Walking west along 4th he skirted Washington Square. The trees spread branches of brittle purple into a dove-colored sky; the largewindowed houses opposite glowed very pink, nonchalant, prosperous. The very place for a lawyer with a large conservative practice to make his residence. We’ll just see about that. He crossed Sixth Avenue and followed the street into the dingy West Side, where there was a smell of stables and the sidewalks were littered with scraps of garbage and crawling children. Imagine living down here among low Irish and foreigners, the scum of the universe. At 253 there were several unmarked bells. A woman with gingham sleeves rolled up on sausageshaped arms stuck a gray mophead out of the window.
‘Can you tell me if Augustus McNiel lives here?’
‘Him that’s up there alayin in horspital. Sure he does.’
‘That’s it. And has he any relatives living here?’
‘An what would you be wantin wid ’em?’
‘It’s a little matter of business.’
‘Go up to the top floor an you’ll foind his wife there but most likely she cant see yez… The poor thing’s powerful wrought up about her husband, an them only eighteen months married.’
The stairs were tracked with muddy footprints and sprinkled here and there with the spilling of ashcans. At the top he found a freshpainted darkgreen door and knocked.
‘Who’s there?’ came a girl’s voice that sent a little shiver through him. Must be young.
‘Is Mrs McNiel in?’
‘Yes,’ came the lilting girl’s voice again. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a matter of business about Mr McNiel’s accident.’
‘About the accident is it?’ The door opened in little cautious jerks. She had a sharpcut pearlywhite nose and chin and a pile of wavy redbrown hair that lay in little flat curls round her high narrow forehead. Gray eyes sharp and suspicious looked him hard in the face.
‘May I speak to you a minute about Mr McNiel’s accident? There are certain legal points involved that I feel it my duty to make known to you… By the way I hope he’s better.’
‘Oh yes he’s come to.’
‘May I come in? It’s a little long to explain.’
‘I guess you can.’ Her pouting lips flattened into a wry smile. ‘I guess you wont eat me.’
‘No honestly I wont.’ He laughed nervously in his throat.
She led the way into the darkened sitting room. ‘I’m not pulling up the shades so’s you wont see the pickle everythin’s in.’
‘Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs McNiel… George Baldwin, 88 Maiden Lane… You see I make a specialty of cases like this… To put the whole matter in a nutshell… Your husband was run down and nearly killed through the culpable or possibly criminal negligence of the employees of the New York Central Railroad. There is full and ample cause for a suit against the railroad. Now I have reason to believe that the Excelsior Dairy Company will bring suit for the losses incurred, horse and wagon etcetera…’
‘You mean you think Gus is more likely to get damages himself?’
‘Exactly.’
‘How much do you think he could get?’
‘Why that depends on how badly hurt he is, on the attitude of the court, and perhaps on the skill of the lawyer… I think ten thousand dollars is a conservative figure.’
‘And you dont ask no money down?’
‘The lawyer’s fee is rarely paid until the case is brought to a successful termination.’
‘An you’re a lawyer, honest? You look kinder young to be a lawyer.’
The gray eyes flashed in his. They both laughed. He felt a warm inexplicable flush go through him.
‘I’m a lawyer all the same. I make a specialty of cases like these. Why only last Tuesday I got six thousand dollars for a client who was kicked by a relay horse riding on the loop… Just at this moment as you may know there is considerable agitation for revoking altogether the franchise of the Eleventh Avenue tracks… I think this is a most favorable moment.’
‘Say do you always talk like that, or is it just business?’
He threw back his head and laughed.
‘Poor old Gus, I always said he had a streak of luck in him.’
The wail of a child crept thinly through the partition into the room.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s only the baby… The little wretch dont do nothin but squall.’