The Definite Object Part 55

"Joe," said Ravenslee, "this is Spider Connolly, who knocked out Larry McKinnon at San Francisco last year in the sixty-ninth. Spider, I want you to shake hands with--"

"Bo," exclaimed the Spider, rising reverently and taking a step toward Joe's ma.s.sive figure, quite forgetful of the pink hearthrug now, "you don't have t' tell me nothin'. I guess I know th' best all-round fightin' man, the greatest champion as ever swung a mitt, when I see him! T' shake his hand'll sure be--"

"Young feller, me lad," cried the Old Un, reaching out nimbly and catching the Spider's extended hand, "you got a sharp eye, a true eye--a eye as can discrimpinate, like--ah, like a flash o' light. You're right, me lad, I was the best fightin' man, the greatest champeen as ever was--sixty odd years ago. Ho, yus, I were the best of 'em all, an' I ain't t' be sniffed at now. So shake me 'and, me lad--an' shake--hard!"

The Spider's grim jaw relaxed, and his eyes opened very wide as the Old Un continued to shake his hand up and down.

"But, say," said he faintly at last, "I don't--"

"No more don't I," nodded the Old Un, "what's the old song say:

"'I don't care if it rains or snows Or what the day may be Since 'ere's a truth I plainly knows Love, you'll remember me.'"

"But say," began the bewildered Spider again. "Say, I reckon--"

"So do I," nodded the Old Un:

"'I reckon up my years o' life An' a good long life 'ave I.

Ye see, I never had a wife, P'raps that's the reason why.'

"So take it from me, young feller, me cove, don't 'ave nothin' to do with givin' or takin' in marriage."

"Marriage?"

"Marriage ain't good for a fightin' cove--it spiles him, it shakes 'is nerve, it fair ruinates 'im. When love flies in at the winder, champeens.h.i.+ps fly up the chimbley--never t' come back no more. So beware o' wives, me lad."

"Wives!" repeated the Spider, lifting free hand to dazed brow, "I--I ain't never--"

"That's right!" nodded the Old Un heartily, shaking the Spider's unresisting hand again, "marriage ain't love, an' love ain't marriage.

Wot's the old song say:

"'Oh, love is like a bloomin' rose But marriage is a bloomin' thorn.

An 'usband 's full o' bloomin' woes An' 'caves a bloomin' sigh each morn--'"

"Why, Old Un!" exclaimed Ravenslee, "that's a very remarkable verse!"

"My land!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Trapes, squaring her elbows in the doorway, "I suspects he's a poet--an' him sech a nice little old gentleman!"

"A poet, ma'am!" exclaimed the Old Un indignantly, "not me, ma'am, not me--should scorn t' be. I'm a 'ighly respected old fightin' man, I am, as never went on th' cross:

"'A fightin' man I, ma'am, An' wish I may die, ma'am, If ever my backers I crossed; An' what's better still, ma'am, Though I forgot many a mill, ma'am, Not one of 'em ever I lost.'"

"My land!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes again. "What a memory!"

"Memory, ma'am!" growled Joe, "that ain't memory; 'e makes 'em up as 'e goes along--"

"Joe," said the Old Un, glaring, "if the lady weren't here, an' axin'

'er pardon--I'd punch you in the peris.h.i.+n' eye-'ole for that!"

"All right, old vindictiveness," sighed Joe, "an' now, if you'll let go of Spider Connolly's fist, I'd like to say 'ow do. Sit down an' give some one else a chance to speak--sit down, you old bag o' wind--"

"Bag o'--" the old man dropped the Spider's nerveless hand to turn to Mrs. Trapes with a gloomy brow. "You 'eard that, ma'am--you 'eard this peris.h.i.+n' porker call me a bag o'--Joe, I blush for ye! Ma'am, pore Joe means well, but 'e can't 'elp bein' a perisher--but"--and here the Old Un raised and shook a feeble old fist--"I've a good mind t' ketch 'im one as would put 'im t' sleep for a fortnight--I've a good mind--"

But Mrs. Trapes caught that tremulous fist and drawing the Old Un's arm through her own, turned to the door.

"You come along with me," said she, "you shall help me t' get the tea; you shall carry in th' cake an'--"

"Cake!" exclaimed the Old Un, "Oh, j'yful word, ma'am; you're a--a lidy! An' there's jam, ain't there?"

"Strawberry!"

"Straw--oh, music t' me ears, ma'am--you're a nymp'--lead me to it!" So saying, the Old Un followed Mrs. Trapes out into the kitchen, while the Spider stared after him open-mouthed.

"Sufferin' Pete!" he murmured, then, inhaling a long, deep breath, turned to grasp Joe's mighty, outstretched hand. Then, drawing their chairs together, they sat down, and Ravenslee, by an adroit question or two, soon had them talking, the Spider quick and eager and chewing voraciously, Joe soft-voiced and deliberate but speaking with that calm air of finality that comes only of long and varied experience. So, while Ravenslee smoked and listened, they spoke of past battles, of fights and fighters old and new; they discoursed learnedly on ringcraft, they discussed the merits of the crouch as opposed to the stiff leg and straight left; they stood up to show tricks of foot and hand--cunning s.h.i.+fts and feints; they ducked and side-stepped and smote the empty air with whirling fists to the imminent peril of the owl that was a parrot, which moth-eaten relic seemed to watch them with his solitary gla.s.s eye.

And ever the Spider's respect and admiration for the mild-eyed, quiet-spoken champion waxed and grew.

"Bo!" said he, dexterously catching the toppling bird, gla.s.s case and all, for the second time, and addressing Ravenslee with it clasped to his heart, "bo," he repeated, his eyes s.h.i.+ning, "I guess Joe Madden, the greatest battler of 'em all, is--Joe Madden still. I've always wanted t'

meet with him, an' say--I wouldn't ha' missed him for a farm."

"Is that so!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, entering the room at this moment with the tea-cloth, "well, now--you jest put 'im down--you jest put that bird back again, Spider Connolly!"

"Yes, ma'am," quoth the Spider, all abashed humility.

"What you doin' with it, anyway?" she demanded, elbows jutted ominously; "it's lost a eye, an' a cat got it once an' sp'iled it some, but I treasure it fer reasons o' sentiment, an' if you think you c'n steal it--"

"Not 'im, ma'am, not 'im!" piped the Old Un from the doorway, "it ain't the pore lad's fault. It's Joe, blame it all on to Joe--Joe's got a bad 'eart, ma'am, a black, base-'earted perisher is Joe--so no jam for Joe, ma'am, an' only one slice o' cake."

Here Ravenslee hastened to explain, whereupon Mrs. Trapes's grimness abated, and her bristling elbows subsided; and now, perceiving how the abashed Spider, meeting her eye, flushed, plucked at his cuffs, and shuffled his feet, she reached out to pat his broad and drooping shoulder.

"Mister Connolly," said she, "for harsh words spoke in haste I craves now your pardon, an' I craves it--humble. Am I forgive?"

The Spider, flus.h.i.+ng redder than ever, rose to his feet, seized her hand, shook it, and muttered: "Sure!"

When the table was laid, the Old Un proposed, and was duly seconded, thirded, and fourthed, that Mrs. Trapes be elected into the chair to pour out the tea, which she proceeded to do forthwith, while the Old Un, seated at her right hand, kept a wary eye roving between jam dish and angel cake. And by reason of the unwonted graciousness of Mrs. Trapes, of Ravenslee's tact and easy a.s.surance, and the Old Un's impish hilarity, all diffidence and restraint were banished, and good fellows.h.i.+p reigned supreme, though the Spider was interrupted in the midst of a story by the Old Un suddenly exclaiming:

"Keep your hand out o' the jam, Joe!"

And Joe was later rendered speechless, hard-breathing, and indignant, by the Old Un turning to Mrs. Trapes with the shrill warning:

"Ma'am, Joe's 'ad two 'elpin's o' cake an' got 'is 'orrid eye on what remains!"

Nevertheless, the meal was in all ways a success, and Ravenslee was reaching for his pipe when Mrs. Trapes, summoned to the front door by a feverish knocking, presently came back followed by Tony, whose bright eyes looked wider than usual as he saluted the company.

"Hey, Geoff, me tell-a you piece-a da-noos!" he cried excitedly, "big-a piece-a da-noos. Da cops go-a pinch-a Bud-a M'Ginn'!"

"Bud? Bud?" stammered the Spider. "Have they pinched Bud? Is this the straight goods, Tony?"

"Sure--they gott-a heem this-a morn in Jersey City--'n' say, he think-a eet a frame-up--he theenk-a Geoff set-a de cops for-a take heem."