Ashton-Kirk, Investigator Part 36

CHAPTER XX

ONE OF THE OLD SORT

Pendleton looked at his friend in bewilderment.

"You don't mean to say that the philosopher of the Coffin Club and this Tobin of young Morris's are the same," cried he.

"I only _think_ they are," said Ashton-Kirk quietly. "But we can make sure by paying a short visit to the apartment house."

"Now?"

"There is no time like the present."

And so the end of a half hour found them stepping out of a cab at the extreme west end of the city. It was only a little after nine o'clock, but the streets were almost deserted; the arc-lamps clicked and hissed lonesomely; rows of darkened windows and shadowy doorways ran away on both sides.

"There is the place we want," said the investigator, pointing at an illuminated sign which hung out over the sidewalk some little distance away.

When they reached the place, they found it was rather a large building of the modern type; pus.h.i.+ng open the swinging doors and making their way through a brilliantly lighted pa.s.sage, they found themselves in an equally brilliant office.

Here they saw a dozen or more men seated in tilted chairs; all wore their hats and for the most part smoked cigars. Behind a polished counter on which rested a nickeled cash register and a huge book, stood a white-haired man with a smooth Irish face and a pair of gold eyegla.s.ses hanging by a black cord. The air was heavy with disputation; long-tailed words boomed sonorously; red-faced and earnest, one of the occupants of the chairs a.s.sailed the man behind the counter; with soft, sweeping, eloquent gestures the latter defended himself.

"And what," demanded he, placing his hands upon the s.h.i.+ning top of the counter and shoving his head forward inquiringly, "is all this that we do be hearing about your suffragette? Who is she? What is she? The newspapers are filled to the top with her, but sorra the sight of her did I ever see. If she has any existence outside of the comic supplement, gentlemen, I'd like to have ye show me where. Did ye ever hear a whisper of her till she began to send herself by registered mail and chain herself to lamp posts? Niver the one of ye! Is your wife a suffragette? She's not. Is your mother? No. Your sister? Again it's no. Then who is it that composes the great army of female ballot seekers? Is it the cook? The chambermaid? The woman that does the plain sewing? I'll wager 'tis not. They have too much to do already; it's not looking for additional burdens they are. Then where does this advanced woman flourish and have her being?" Here one hand went up and descended with a slap. "In the mansions of the rich," he declaimed positively; "in the lap of luxury. Among the feminine descendants of successful gum shoe men!"

Here the man with the flushed face attempted to speak; but an eloquent sweep of both hands silenced him.

"They have nothing to do," stated the orator, "but to invent ways of pleasing themselves. Monkey dinner parties, diamonds, automobiles and boxes on the grand tier have no more attraction; private yachts and other women's husbands have grown _pa.s.se_. They want a new toy, and faith, nothing will please them but the destinies of the nation. Their reasoning is simple and direct. If a man who wheels sc.r.a.p iron at a blast furnace is competent to handle the--"

At this point the speaker was interrupted by Ashton-Kirk advancing to the counter.

"Pardon me," said the investigator, "but can you tell me where I can find Mr. Tobin? Is he in?"

A look of great dignity came upon the face of the other; and he drew himself up stiffly.

"You are speaking to him, sir," replied he.

"I thought so," smiled Ashton-Kirk. "My old friend Dan O'Connor has mentioned you so often that I felt sure that I recognized the manner."

The dignity vanished from Mr. Tobin's face, and the stiffness of demeanor fell from him instantly.

"Do you know Dan?" asked he, eagerly. "Ah, there is the lad for you. A credit to his country and to his name. Faith, he is the best judge of whiskey in the city, and has a heart as large and as mellow as a barrel of it."

"If it would not be putting you about in any way, we'd like a few moments in private with you."

At once Mr. Tobin touched a b.u.t.ton. A young man presented himself, and to him the conducting of the house was transferred for the time being.

Then the two friends were led into a small sitting-room, where chairs were placed for them, and Mr. Tobin seated himself opposite them with some expectation.

"Since I became manager here," explained he, "I seldom hear of any of the old lads. Ye see, it's so far from the center of the city,"

regretfully, "they seldom get along this way, so they do."

"Yes, I suppose they cling to their old haunts," said Ashton-Kirk.

"Dan sticks to his school of boxing these days, pretty closely. I often drop in for a round or two with him. He's as clever as ever, but he's slowing up."

Tobin shook his white head sadly.

"Tut, tut, tut," said he. "And do you tell me that! Faith, he's a young man yet--not much over sixty--and what call have he to be takin'

on the ways and manners of age? Even as late as the last year of the Coffin Club he was as swift as the light."

"He frequently spoke of that club to me," observed the other. "A queer place, I understand."

Tobin nodded.

"Queer enough," he answered, "and the members was as queer in some ways. Nothing would do them, but they must spend their time underground, sitting at tables shaped like coffins, and drinking their liquor out of mugs shaped like skulls. I was steward there a long time, and got good pay; but I never approved of the notion. It always seemed like divilment to me, did that."

"Some very well known people frequented it, did they not?"

"Many's the time I've seen the governor of the state himself, sitting there with a mug in his fist. The liquors was of the best, do you see," with a pleased light in his eyes. "I know that, for it were meself that selected them. And a good sup of drink is a great attraction, so it is."

"I don't think that can be successfully denied," admitted the investigator. "Some very brilliant men have proved it to their sorrow."

"True for ye," said Tobin. "Don't I know it? We had actors and writers and editors--the cream of their professions--and every one of them a devotee, so to speak, of Bacchus. Sure, the finer the intellect, the greater the sup of drink appeals to them, if it does at all. One of the greatest frequenters of the club was a man whose inventions," with a grandiloquent gesture, "revolutionized the industries of the world.

And when he was mellow with it, boys o' boys, but he could discourse!

His name was Morris," added the speaker, "and he was the father of the young man whose name has been mixed up with this Hume affair which is so occupying the public mind just now."

"Indeed."

There was a pause: Tobin's mobile face looked back upon the past; his eyes had an introspective light in them.

"To think," said he, "how the natures of men differ. Some are like the G.o.ds of old, and others again are like--well, like anything you choose to call them. And yet," with philosophic speculation, "these two widely diversified types are sometimes friends. To the surprise of everyone they occasionally take up with one another. It's hard to say why, but it is so."

"I've noticed it myself," said Ashton-Kirk.

Tobin nodded.

"Never," said he, "did I see it so exemplified as in the case of Richard Morris and this felly who has just been killed. Never were two men more unlike; but sorra such an intimacy did I ever see afore, as there was between them. Morris when he had the drink in him was a poet. His ideas soared to the starry skies; he flew about upon the wings of the wind; faith I believe he thought the sun was not beyond his reach. But Hume was a divil! G.o.d save us, that I should say the like about any human creature; but he had the imp in him, for many's the time I see it grinning and looking out at his two eyes."

"I've heard it said that he was an unpleasant sort of chap," agreed the other.

"Unpleasant," said Tobin, "does not do credit to his capabilities, though 'tis a good word enough. There was never a man came into the Coffin Club, during the five years that I were there, that looked as though the place fitted him, but Hume. The others were like bad little boys who wouldn't take a dare. But Hume was just right. To see him lift one of the stone skulls to his lips and grin over it at you, would make your blood run cold. And bless us and save us, gentlemen, how he would jeer and snarl and laugh all at the one time. Many's the time I've listened to poor Morris rave and paint his pictures of what he was going to do in times to come; and on the other side of the coffin-table, Hume would urge him on, leerin' and grinnin' like Satan himself, and making all manner of game of him. Bedad, me gorge rose at it more than once, and it was all I could do to keep from takin' him by the scruff of the neck and throwin' him intil the street."

"Almost every man has some spark of good in his nature, however faint," said Ashton-Kirk. "And Hume may have had one, too, though no one seems to have discovered it."

Tobin smiled and returned:

"An Irishman always has a good deal of respect for the fighting strain, no matter if it be in a man, or a beast, or a bird. Old Nick himself must be a grand, two-handed man, and as such we must give him credit. And 'twas the same way with this felly Hume. He had real fighting blood, so he had; and sorra the man ever undertook to impose on him the second time."