FullReads

“Nothing of the kind. Give me your hat and coat and plump yourself down on that chair by the fire. I’ve got the most extraordinary story to tell you you’ve ever heard in your whole life.”

He was himself again–the same bubbling spirit, the same warmth in his manner, foxes out frolicking, lighthouse flashing, everything let loose.

“Last night I was sitting here at my desk writing, about nine o’clock, as near as I can remember”–his voice dropped now to a tragic whisper, as if an encounter with a burglar was to follow–“WHEN-I-HEARD-A-HEAVY-TREAD-ON-THE-STAIRS, getting louder and louder as it reached my door. Then came a knock strong enough to crack the panels. I got up at once and turned the knob. In the corridor stood the Large Man. He was inside before I could stop him–I couldn’t have stopped him. You have no idea, my dear friend, how big and strong that man is. What he expected to see I don’t know, but it evidently was not what he found.

“‘I had a hell of a time finding you,’ he began, looking about him in astonishment. ‘Been up and down everywhere inquiring. Only got your number from that red-headed plate-shover half an hour ago.'”

Peter’s voice had now regained its customary volume:

“I had backed to the fireplace by this time and had picked up the poker, as if to punch the fire, but I really intended to strike him if he advanced too close or tried to help himself to any of my things. He never took the slightest notice of my movements, or waited for any answer to his outburst–just kept right on talking.

“‘You were so dead easy there warn’t no fun in it. I dropped to that the first time you opened your head, but Sam had picked you out and it had to go at that. My wife saw his mistake as soon as she got her eyes on you, but Sam, like a fool, wouldn’t listen. He was to do the picking, and so I couldn’t say a word. When we all got outside, clear, we took a turn around Washington Square so I could have my laugh out on Sam, and when we got back you were gone and so was the fellow from Boston who chipped in, and so was that red-headed Irish waiter. That knocked us silly–wife gave us rats, and I felt like a yellow dog. Been a-feeling so ever since. The Dago couldn’t or wouldn’t understand. Said we’d better come in when the boss was there. We had to take the eleven o’clock to Boston that night and had only time to catch the train. When I got back at six-ten to-night I drove to Foscari’s, found the Irishman and the boss, heard how he’d pulled your leg–paid the bill–$9.60, wasn’t it?–that’s what he said it was, anyhow–and here’s your picture!’

“I had dropped the poker now and was motioning him to a chair.

“‘No, thank you, I won’t sit down; ain’t got time. Got to take the eleven forty-five for Chicago. Well, we had a lot of fun out of it, anyhow, only I didn’t intend it should end up the way it did. Just wanted to get even with Sam and win my bet.’

“‘Bet? I asked. I was still in the dark as to what he meant.

“‘Yes–bet Sam I’d bunco any New York man he’d pick out, and you happened to be the one. You see, wife and I and Sam were here for a few days and we struck Thanksgiving and wanted some fun, and we HAD it. You’re white, old man all the way through–white as cotton and our kind–never flunked once, or turned a hair. Sally took an awful shine to you. Shake! Next time I’m in New York I’ll look you up and if you ever come out our way we’ll open a keg o’ nails, and make it red-hot for you, and don’t you forget it. Here’s my card, so you can remember.'”

Peter picked up the card from the table, threw up his chin, and broke into one of his infectious laughs. I reached over and took it from his hand. It bore this inscription:

J. C. MURPHY
General Travelling Agent
C. S. & Q. R. R.

OGDEN, UTAH