“I didn’t know Cousin Charley knew where I was. He don’t never write.”
Paul Pry’s explanation was glib.
“He ain’t much of a letter writer for a fact, but he keeps track of you. The last thing he says to me when I left was: ‘Sid, my boy, when you get on to the city, stop off and hunt up Louie Cramm. He’s a cousin of mine, and I think he’s got the makin’s of a great business man. If you find we can use him, put him on.’
“Those are Charley’s exact words. A mighty nice chap your cousin is, Cramm.”
Louise Cramm was doubtful.
“Yeah. I guess so. He ain’t never done anything to keep ma from takin’ in washing, though.”
Paul Pry clapped a cordial hand down upon one of the broad shoulders.
“There, there, Cramm, don’t feel that way. Cousin Charley was just waiting until you got into the city and learned something about business. Then he was going to give you a break. He intended to all along. He told me so.”
The boy’s face lit up.
“Gee, that’s great. I’m glad to hear that about Cousin Charley. I was a little mite afraid that the money had gone to his head. You can get a room here, if you’re goin’ to stop over. I’ll introduce you to the landlady.”
Paul Pry allowed himself to be introduced, paid a month’s rent in advance, and was accepted as one of the boarding house family.
The second night after his arrival, Louie Cramm broached the subject of a date.
“I gotta date with a swell wren,” he said. “I told her you was along and asked her did she have a friend. She said to bring you along and she’d see what she could do.”
Paul Pry registered visible appreciation. “Gee, Louie, that’s great.”
“We go uptown in a street car,” said Louie, speaking with the canny sophistication of one who has but recently been initiated into the ways of a big city. “Then we get a taxicab for the last half mile. Makes it look like we drove up in style. She’s that sort of a girl. She appreciates those little touches.”
Paul Pry took a deep breath.
“She’s your girl,” he said, “so I’ll pay for the cab.”
Louie Cramm beamed.
They had supper at the boarding house, finished with a dish of stewed prunes and watery cream, left the table as the booming tones of the “Colonel” began a lecture upon the economic aspects of prohibition.
They arrived at the cheap restaurant which Slick Sarah had rented as a trap for the occasion, and Paul Pry found himself bowing with synthetic awkwardness over the mumbled introduction of Louie Cramm.
“Miss Slade, I wanta present Mr. Sid Fowler, who works with my Cousin Charley in Chicago. He’s on here to help build up some branch businesses, and he’s goin’ to give me a chance. He’s the one I was tellin’ you about over the telephone.”
The girl extended a bare arm which terminated in cool fingers that gripped Paul Pry’s hand in swift appraisal.
“Pleasedt’meetcha,” said Paul Pry all in one breath.
“How do you dew, Mr. Fowler,” said the girl in tones that were artificially accented. “Won’t you have a chair?”
They sat down. After a while, Paul Pry proposed a picture show. Sarah Slade bemoaned the fact that her girl friend who was to come had had a heavy date arrive from out of town and was tied up for the evening.
Paul Pry, apparently just a shade more sophisticated than Louie Cramm, acted his part perfectly. After the picture show, they went to an ice cream parlor. Paul Pry saw a well-dressed man eyeing the trio with calculating appraisal. The man was Four Flush Finney.
Paul Pry used the fact that the girl’s friend hadn’t shown up as an excuse for “not wantin’ to butt in” and broke away early, despite the pleadings of Slick Sarah and Louie Cramm.
He returned to his room in the boarding house, and was gratified to note that Louie Cramm returned home within an hour. He knocked on Paul Pry’s door, but Paul Pry answered with a gentle snore.
The next morning Paul Pry sent himself a telegram under the name of Sid Fowler. The telegram purported to be signed by Charley LeMare at Chicago, and instructed him to employ Cousin Louie and send him to New Orleans to secure a report on certain business matters.
Paul Pry showed the telegram to Louie, whose simple soul filled with enthusiasm. Paul Pry gave him seven hundred and fifty dollars as an advance on salary and expenses, and waited for him at the afternoon train while Louie said good-by to Miss Sarah Slade.
Then Paul Pry shook hands, gave the new employee a bunch of instructions which would keep him out of mischief for a few days, and returned to his boarding house.
There was a message there for him to call Miss Slade at Prospect 6-7840. The telephone conveyed to him the synthetically sweet accents of Louie’s girl friend.
“Louie said you’d take me around a little while he was gone, big boy.”
“Aw, gee, I hate to butt in!”
“You ain’t buttin’ in. You’re just bein’ a friend. Come on out tonight.”
And Paul Pry promised.
Chapter Two
A Slick Dame
Slick Sarah was dressed with more dash and sophistication than she had been on the previous evening. Her remarks were more swiftly friendly, less conventional. Paul Pry took every conversational lead which was offered. By ten o’clock she was giving him gin fizzes and talking frankly about the absent boy friend.
“Gee, he’s a nice kid, but he gets shocked so easy,” said Slick Sarah, eyeing Paul Pry through narrowed lids. “I took him to a cabaret one night. I had on a low dress, and it shocked him to death. I like him, but I don’t like men that get shocked too easy.
“And when the girl came out and did a barefoot dance! Say, you’d oughta seen him! He nearly looped the loop! His cheeks was red like fire!”
Paul Pry nodded with alcoholic sophistication.
“He ain’t never been around none,” he said.
“You don’t get shocked easy?” asked the girl.
Paul Pry laughed, the laugh of a man who wishes to convey the extent of his manly sophistication.
“Say,” he proclaimed, “I’ve been around.”
Sarah Slick nodded.
“Gawd, I didn’t dare to tell Louie, but I used to work in one of them joints. I used to come out and do a barefoot kick. He’d have died if he’d known.”
Paul Pry nodded.
“You’re sure built for it, baby!”
“Think so?” she asked and smiled alluringly.
Paul Pry sighed and stared at the girl, gulped down the last of his gin fizz and stared again.
“I’ll say! Sell me a ticket for the front row!”
She laughed, got up and took his empty glass.
“Gee, I’m glad I met you,” she said. “I’ll mix up a little more giggle water.”
She started for the kitchen. On the way she raised and then lowered the window shade.
Paul Pry lit a cigarette.
There was a knock on the door of the apartment. Slick Sarah dried her hands on a towel. Her face wore a puzzled frown as she went to the door and flung it open.
The man who stood on the threshold was the man Mugs Magoo had pointed out as Four Flush Finney.
“My Gawd!” she yelled, “it’s my brother!”
And she staggered back, hand to her throat, eyes wide. She gulped twice, tried to talk, failed, motioned with her hands.
The man in the doorway glided into the room with a motion as swiftly furtive as a wet eel slipping through a crack in a fishing creel. He held his finger to his lips for silence, whirled, locked the door, bent, listened with his ear to the keyhole.
Finally he straightened, ignored Paul Pry who sat staring with open mouth and wide eyes, and went at once to the girl.
“Sarah,” he said, “I’m in trouble, a lot of trouble. You’ve got to help me!”