All this in the easy, affectionate, slightly wistful manner of fat men. Mr. Poppins's large round friendly childish eyes were never sarcastic. He was the man who makes of a crowd in the Pullman smoking-room old friends in half an hour. In turn, Mr. Wrenn did not shy off; he hinted at most of his lifelong ambitions and a fair number of his sorrows and, when they reached the store, not only calmly accepted, but even sneezingly ignited one of the "slick new Manila cigars."
As he left the store he knew that the golden age had begun. He had a friend!
He was to see Tom Poppins the coming Thursday at Miggleton's. And now he was going to find Morton! He laughed so loudly that the policeman at Thirty-fourth Street looked self-conscious and felt secretively to find out what was the matter with his uniform. Now, this evening, he'd try to get on the track of Morton. Well, perhaps not this evening-the Pennsylvania offices wouldn't be open, but some time this week, anyway.
Two nights later, as he waited for Tom Poppins at Miggleton's, he lashed himself with the thought that he had not started to find Morton; good old Morton of the cattle-boat. But that was forgotten in the wonder of Tom Poppins's account of Mrs. Arty's, a boarding-house "where all the folks likes each other."
"You've never fed at a boarding-house, eh?" said Tom. "Well, I guess most of 'em are pretty poor feed. And pretty sad bunch. But Mrs. Arty's is about as near like home as most of us poor bachelors ever gets. Nice crowd there. If Mrs. Arty-Mrs. R. T. Ferrard is her name, but we always call her Mrs. Arty-if she don't take to you she don't mind letting you know she won't take you in at all; but if she does she'll worry over the holes in your socks as if they was her husband's. All the bunch there drop into the parlor when they come in, pretty near any time clear up till twelve-thirty, and talk and laugh and rush the growler and play Five Hundred. Just like home!
"Mrs. Arty's nearly as fat as I am, but she can be pretty spry if there's something she can do for you. Nice crowd there, too except that Teddem-he's one of these here Willy-boy actors, always out of work; I guess Mrs. Arty is kind of sorry for him. Say, Wrenn-you seem to me like a good fellow-why don't you get acquainted with the bunch? Maybe you'd like to move up there some time. You was telling me about what a cranky old party your landlady is. Anyway, come on up there to dinner. On me. Got anything on for next Monday evening?"
"N-no."
"Come on up then--East Thirtieth."
"Gee, I'd like to!"
"Well, why don't you, then? Get there about six. Ask for me. Monday. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I don't have to get to the store evenings. Come on; you'll find out if you like the place."
"By jiminy, I will!" Mr. Wrenn slapped the table, socially.
At last he was "through, just through with loafing around and not getting acquainted," he told himself. He was tired of Zapps. There was nothing to Zapps. He would go up to Mrs. Arty's and now-he was going to find Morton. Next morning, marveling at himself for not having done this easy task before, he telephoned to the Pennsylvania Railroad offices, asked for Morton, and in one-half minute heard:
"Yes? This is Harry Morton."
"Hullo, Mr. Morton! I'll just bet you can't guess who this is."
"I guess you've got me."
"Well, who do you think it-"
"Jack?"
"Hunka."
"Uncle Henry?"
"Nope." Mr. Wrenn felt lonely at finding himself so completely outside Morton's own world that he was not thought of. He hastened to claim a part in that world:
"Say, Mr. Morton, I wonder if you've ever heard of a cattle-boat called the Merian?"
"I-Say! Is this Bill Wrenn?"
"Yes."
"Well, well, well! Where areyou? When'd you get back?"
"Oh, I been back quite a little while, Morty. Tried to get hold of you-almost called up couple of times. I'm in my office-Souvenir Company-now. Back on the old job. Say, I'd like to see you."
"Well, I'd like to see you, old Bill!"
"Got a date for dinner this evening, Morty?"
"N-no. No, I don't think I've got anything on." Morton's voice seemed to sound a doubt. Mr. Wrenn reflected that Morton must be a society person; and he made his invitation highly polite:
"Well, say, old man, I'd be awful happy if you could come over and feed on me. Can't you come over and meet me, Morty?"
"Y-yes, I guess I can. Yes, I'll do it. Where'll I meet you?"
"How about Twenty-eighth and Sixth Avenue?"
"That'll be all right, Bill. 'Bout six o'clock?"
"Fine! Be awful nice to see you again, old Morty."
"Same here. Goo'-by."
Gazing across the table at Miggleton's, Mr. Wrenn saw, in the squat familiar body and sturdy face of Morton of the cattle-boat, a stranger, slightly uneasy and very quiet, wearing garments that had nothing whatever to do with the cattle-boats-a crimson scarf with a horseshoe-pin of "Brazilian diamonds," and sleek brown ready-made clothes with ornately curved cuffs and pocket flaps.
Morton would say nothing of his wanderings after their parting in Liverpool beyond: "Oh, I just bummed around. Places.... Warm to-night. For this time of year." Thrice he explained, "I was kind of afraid you'd be sore at me for the way I left you; that's why I've never looked you up." Thrice Mr. Wrenn declared that he had not been "sore," then ceased trying to make himself understood.
Their talk wilted. Both of them played with their knives a good deal. Morton built a set of triangles out of toothpicks while pretending to give hushed attention to the pianist's rendition of "Mammy's Little Cootsie Bootsie Coon," while Mr. Wrenn stared out of the window as though he expected to see the building across get afire immediately. When either of them invented something to say they started chattering with guilty haste, and each agreed hectically with any opinion the other advanced.
Mr. Wrenn surprised himself in the thought that Morton hadn't anything very new to say, which made him feel so disloyal that he burst out, effusively:
"Say, come on now, old man; I just got to hear about what you did after you left Liverpool."
"I-"
"Well-"
"I never got out of Liverpool! Worked in a restaurant.... But next time-! I'll go clean to Constantinople!" Morton exploded. "And I did see a lot of English life in Liverpool."
Mr. Wrenn talked long and rapidly of the world's baseball series, and Regal vs. Walkover shoes.
He tried to think of something they could do. Suddenly:
"Say, Morty, I know an awful nice guy down here in a cigar-store. Let's go down and see him."
"All right."
Tom Poppins was very cordial to them. He dragged brown canvas stools out of the tobacco-scented room where cigars were made, and the three of them squatted in the back of the store, while Tom gossiped of the Juarez races, Taft, cigar-wrappers, and Jews. Morton was aroused to tell the time-mellowed story of the judge and the darky. He was cheerful and laughed much and frequently said "Ah there, cull!" in general commendation. But he kept looking at the clock on the jog in the wall over the watercooler. Just at ten he rose abashedly, hesitated, and murmured, "Well, I guess I'll have to be beating it home."
From Mr. Wrenn: "Oh, Morty! So early?"
Tom: "What's the big hurry?"
"I've got to run clear over to Jersey City." Morton was cordial, but not convincing.
"Say-uh-Morton," said Tom, kindly of face, his bald head shining behind his twin bangs, as he rose, "I'm going to have Wrenn up to dinner at my boarding-house next Monday. Like to have you come along. It's a fine place-Mrs. Arty-she's the landlady-she's a wonder. There's going to be a vacant room there-maybe you two fellows could frame it up to take it, heh? Understand, I don't get no rake-off on this, but we all like to do what we can for M-"
"No, no!" said Morton. "Sorry. Couldn't do it. Staying with my brother-in-law-costs me only 'bout half as much as it would I don't do much chasing around when I'm in town.... I'm going to save up enough money for a good long hike. I'm going clean to St. Petersburg!... But I've had a good time to-night."