Galusha the Magnificent Part 63

Pulcifer pushed him back into the chair again. His tone became brisk and businesslike. "Hold on, Perfessor," he said. "You say you want to make money?"

Galusha had not said so, but it seemed scarcely worth while to deny the a.s.sertion. And Raish waited for no denial. "You want to make money,"

he repeated. "All right, so do I. And I've got a scheme that'll help us both to make a little. Now listen. But before I tell you, you've got to give me your word to keep it dark; see?"

Galusha promised and Raish proceeded to explain his scheme. Briefly it amounted to this: Galusha Bangs, being a close acquaintance of Martha Phipps and Jethro Hallett, was to use that acquaintances.h.i.+p to induce them to sell their shares in the Development Company. For such an effort, if successful, on the part of Mr. Bangs, he, Horatio Pulcifer, was prepared to pay a commission of fifty dollars, twenty-five when he received Martha's shares and twenty-five when Jethro's were delivered.

"There," he said, in conclusion, "is a chance I'm offerin' you, as a friend, to clean up fifty good, hard, round dollars. What do you say, old man?"

The "old man"--Galusha winced slightly at the appellation--did not seem to know what to say. His facial expression might have indicated any or all of a variety of feelings. At last, he stammered a question. Why did Mr. Pulcifer wish to obtain the Development stock? This question Raish would not answer.

"Never mind," he said. "I do, that's all. And I've got the money to do it with. I'll pay cash for their stock and I'll pay you cash when you or they hand it over. That's business, ain't it?"

"But--but, dear me, Mr. Pulcifer, why do you ask ME to do this? Why--"

"Ain't I told you? You're a friend of mine and I'm givin' you the chance because I think you need the money. That's a reason, ain't it?"

"Why--yes. It is--ah--a reason. But why don't you buy the stock yourself?"

For an instant Raish's smoothness deserted him. His temper flared.

"Because the cussed fools won't sell it to me," he snapped. "That is, they ain't said they'd sell yet. Perhaps they're prejudiced against me, I don't know. Maybe they will sell to you; you and they seem to be thicker'n thieves. Er--that is, of course, you understand I don't mean--Oh, well, you know what I mean, Perfessor. Now what do you say?"

Galusha rose and picked up his hat from the floor.

"I'm afraid I must say no," he said, quietly, but with a firmness which even Raish Pulcifer's calloused understanding could not miss. "I could not think of accepting, really."

"But, say, Perfessor--"

"No, Mr. Pulcifer. I could not."

"But why not? IF--Well, I tell you, maybe I might make it sixty dollars instead of fifty for you."

"No. I couldn't, Mr. Pulcifer.... If you will kindly unlock the door?"

Pulcifer swore. "Well, you must be richer'n you look, that's all I've got to say," he snarled. He kicked the wastebasket across the room and growled: "I'll get the stuff away from 'em yet, just the same. What the fools are hangin' on for is more'n I can see. Martha Phipps was down on her knees beggin' me to buy only a little spell ago. Old Jeth, of course, thinks his 'spirits' are backin' HIM up. Crazy old loon!

Spirits! In this day and time! G.o.d sakes! Humph! I wish to thunder I could deal with the spirits direct; might be able to do business with THEM. Perfessor, now come, think it over. There ain't anything crooked about it.... Why, what is it, Perfessor?" eagerly. "Changed your mind, have you?"

Galusha's expression had changed, certainly. He looked queerly at Mr.

Pulcifer, queerly and for an appreciable interval of time. There was an odd flash in his eye and the suspicion of a smile at the corner of his lips. But he was grave enough when he spoke.

"Mr. Pulcifer," he said, "I appreciate your kindness in--ah--considering me in this matter. I--it is impossible for me to accept your offer, of course, but--but--"

"Now, hold on, Perfessor. You think that offer over."

"No, I cannot accept. But it has occurred to me that perhaps...

perhaps... Mr. Pulcifer, do you know Miss Hoag?"

"Hey? Marietta Hoag? KNOW her? Yes, I know her; know her too well for my own good. Why?"

"Have you any--ah--influence with her? That is, would she be likely to listen to a suggestion from you?"

"Listen! SHE? Confound her, I've got a note of hers for seventy-five dollars and it's two months overdue. She'd BETTER listen! Say, what are you drivin' at, Perfessor?"

Galusha deposited his hat upon the floor again, and sat down in the chair he had just vacated. Now it was he who, regardless of the cigar, leaned forward.

"Mr. Pulcifer," he said, "an idea occurred to me while you were speaking just now. I don't know that it will be of any--ah--value to you. But you are quite welcome to it, really. This is the idea--"

CHAPTER XVIII

If Ras Beebe or Miss Blount or some others of the group of East Wellmouthians who guessed Galusha Bangs to be "a little teched in the head," had seen that gentleman walking toward home after his interview with Mr. Pulcifer in the latter's office--if they had seen him on his way to Gould's Bluffs that day, they would have ceased guessing and professed certain knowledge. Galusha meandered slowly along the lane, head bent, hands clasped behind him, stumbling over tussocks and stepping with unexpected emphasis into ruts and holes. Sometimes his face wore a disturbed expression, almost a frightened one; at other times he smiled and his eyes twinkled like those of a mischievous boy.

Once he laughed aloud, and, hearing himself, looked guiltily around to see if any one else had heard him. Then the frightened expression returned once more. If Primmie Cash had been privileged to watch him she might have said, as she had on a former occasion, that he looked "as if he was havin' a good time all up one side of him and a bad one all down t'other."

As a matter of fact, this estimate would not have been so far wrong.

Galusha was divided between pleasurable antic.i.p.ation and fear. There was adventure ahead, adventure which promised excitement, a probable benefit to some individuals and a grievous shock to others, and surprise to all.

But for him there was involved a certain amount of risk. However, so he decided before he reached the Phipps' gate, he had started across the desert and it was too late to turn back. Whether he brought his caravan over safely or the Bedouins got him was on the knees of the G.o.ds. And the fortunes of little Galusha Bangs had been, ere this, on the knees of many G.o.ds, hawk-headed and horned and crescent-crowned, strange G.o.ds in strange places. It was quite useless to worry now, he decided, and he would calmly wait and see. At the best, the outcome would be good, delightful. At the worst, except for him--well, except for him it could not be much worse than it now was. For him, of course--he must not think about that.

He endeavored to a.s.sume an air of light-hearted, care-free innocence and sometimes overdid it a bit. Primmie, the eagle-eyed, remarked to her mistress: "Well, all's I can say is that I never see such a change in a body as there is in Mr. Bangs. He used to be so--so quiet, you know, all the time, and he is yet most of it. When I used to come along and find him all humped over thinkin', and I'd ask him what he was thinkin'

about, he'd kind of jump and wake up and say, 'Eh? Oh, nothin', nothin,'

Primmie, really. Er--quite so--yes.' And then he'd go to sleep again, as you might say. But he don't do so now; my savin' soul, no! This mornin'

when I says, 'What you thinkin' about, Mr. Bangs?' he says, 'Nothin', nothin', Primmie,' same as usual; but then he says, 'DON'T look at me like that, Primmie. I wasn't thinkin' of anything, I a.s.sure you. Please don't DO it.' And then he commenced to sing, sing out loud. I never heard him do it afore and I don't know's I exactly hanker to have him do it again, 'cause 'twas pretty unhealthy singin', if you ask ME. But what--"

"Oh, now run along, run along, Primmie, for mercy's sakes! I never heard any one use so many words and get so little good out of 'em in my life.

Let Mr. Bangs alone."

"_I_ ain't doin' nothin' to him. Lord of Isrul, no! But, Miss Martha, what started him to singin' all to once? If 'twas somebody else but him and I didn't know the cherry rum was all gone, I--"

"What? What's that? How did you know the cherry rum was all gone?"

Primmie blinked and swallowed hard. "Why--er--why--er--Miss Martha," she stammered, "I--I just happened to find it out--er--sort of by accident.

Zach--Zacheus Bloomer, I mean--over to the lighthouse, you know--"

"There, there! Know? Of course I know Zach Bloomer, I should think I might. Don't be any sillier than the Lord made you, Primmie. It isn't necessary."

"Well--well, you see, Miss Martha, Zach he was over here one time a spell ago and--and--Well, we got to--to kind of arguin' with one another--er--er--arguin', you know."

"Yes, I know. I ought to. Go on."

"Yes'm. And Zach he got to--to bettin', as you might say. And we got talkin' about--er--cherry rum, seems so. It's kind of funny that we done it, now I come to think of it, but we did. Seems to me 'twas Zach started it."

"Um.... I see. Go on."

"Well, we argued and argued and finally he up and bet me there wasn't a drink of cherry rum in this house. Bet me five cents, he did, and I took him up. And then I went and got the bottle out of the soup tureen in the closet and fetched it and showed it to him. 'There!' says I. 'There's your drink, Zach Bloomer,' says I. 'Now hand over my five cents.' 'Hold on, Posy,' he says, 'hold on. I said a drink. There ain't a drink in that bottle.' 'Go 'long,' says I, 'the bottle's half full.' But he stuck it out there wasn't a drink in it and afore he'd pay me my bet he had to prove it to himself. Even then, after he'd swallowed the whole of it, he vowed and declared there wasn't a real drink. But he had to hand over the five cents.... And--and that's how I know," concluded Primmie, "that there ain't any cherry rum in the house, Miss Martha."

Miss Phipps' remarks on the subject of the wily Mr. Bloomer and the rum drove the thoughts of Mr. Bangs' odd behavior from the mind of her maid.

But the consciousness of conspiracy was always present with Galusha, try as he might to forget it. And he was constantly being reminded--of it.

Down at the post office at mail time he would feel his coat-tail pulled and looking up would see the face of Mr. Pulcifer solemnly gazing over his head at the rows of letter boxes. Apparently Raish was quite unconscious of the little man's presence, but there would come another tug at the coat-tail and a barely perceptible jerk of the Pulcifer head toward the door.