They Call Me Carpenter Part 2

"Oh, quite the contrary," said he, "I am only too familiar with them. In childhood I learned the words of the prophet: 'Because the daughters of Zion are haughty, and walk with stretched forth necks and wanton eyes, walking and mincing as they go, and making a tinkling with their feet; therefore the Lord will smite with a scab the crown of the head of the daughters of Zion, and the Lord will discover their secret parts. In that day the Lord will take away the bravery of their tinkling ornaments about their feet, and their cauls, and their round tires like the moon, the chains, and the bracelets, and the m.u.f.flers, the bonnets, and the ornaments of the legs, and the headbands, and the tablets, and the earrings, and nose jewels, the changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crisping pins, the gla.s.ses, and the fine linen, and the hoods, and the veils. And it shall come to pa.s.s that instead of sweet smell there shall be stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair, baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sackcloth; and burning instead of beauty.'"

From the point of view of literature this might be great stuff; but on the corner of Broadway and Fifth Street at the crowded hours it was unusual, to say the least. My companion was entering into the spirit of it in a most alarming way; he was half chanting, his voice rising, his face lighting up. "'Thy men shall fall by the sword, and thy mighty in the war. And her gates shall lament and mourn; and she being desolate shall sit upon the ground.'"

"Be careful!" I whispered. "People will hear you!"

"But why should they not?" He turned on me a look of surprise. "The people hear me gladly." And he added: "The common people."

Here was an aspect of my adventure which had not occurred to me before. "My G.o.d!" I thought. "If he takes to preaching on street corners!" I realized in a flash--it was exactly what he would be up to! A panic seized me; I couldn't stand that; I'd have to cut and run!

I began to speak quickly. "We must get across this street while we have time; the traffic officer has turned the right way now." And I began explaining our remarkable system of traffic handling.

But he stopped me in the middle. "Why do we wish to cross the street, when we have no place to go?"

"I have a place I wish to take you to," I said; "a friend I want you to meet. Let us cross." And while I was guiding him between the automobiles, I was desperately trying to think how to back up my lie. Who was there that would receive this incredible stranger, and put him up for the night, and get him into proper clothes, and keep him off the soap-box?

Truly, I was in an extraordinary position! What had I done to get this stranger wished onto me? And how long was he going to stay with me? I found myself recalling the plight of Mary who had a little lamb!

Fate had me in its hands, and did not mean to consult me. We had gone less than a block further when I heard a voice, "h.e.l.lo!

Billy!" I turned. Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Of all the thankless encounters--Edgerton Rosythe, moving picture critic of the Western City "Times." Precisely the most cynical, the most profane, the most boisterous person in a cynical and profane and boisterous business!

And he had me here, in full daylight, with a figure just out of a stained gla.s.s window in St. Bartholomew's Church!

VII

"h.e.l.lo, Billy! Who's your good-looking friend?" Rosythe was in full sail before a breeze of his own making.

How could I answer. "Why--er--"

The stranger spoke. "They call me Carpenter."

"Ah!" said the critic. "Mr. Carpenter, delighted to meet you." He gave the stranger a hearty grip of the hand. "Are you on location?"

"Location?" said the other; and Rosythe shot an arrow of laughter towards me. Perhaps he knew about the vagaries of my Aunt Caroline; anyhow, he would have a fantastic tale to tell about me, and was going to exploit it to the limit!

I made a pitiful attempt to protect my dignity. "Mr. Carpenter has just arrived," I began&&

"Just arrived, hey?" said the critic. "Oviparous, viviparous, or oviviparous?" He raised his hand; actually, in the glory of his wit, he was going to clap the stranger on the shoulder!

But his hand stayed in the air. Such a look as came on Carpenter's face! "Hus.h.!.+" he commanded. "Be silent!" And then: "Any man will join in laughter; but who will join in disease?"

"Hey?" said Rosythe; and it was my turn to grin.

"Mr. Carpenter has just done me a great service," I explained. "I got badly mauled in the mob--"

"Oh!" cried the other. "At the Excelsior Theatre!" Here was something to talk about, to cover his bewilderment. "So you were in it! I was watching them just now."

"Are they still at it?"

"Sure thing!"

"A fine set of b.o.o.bs," I began--

"b.o.o.bs, nothing!" broke in the other. "What do you suppose they're doing?"

"Saving us from Hun propaganda, so they told me."

"The h.e.l.l of a lot they care about Hun propaganda! They are earning five dollars a head."

"What?"

"Sure as you're born!"

"You really know that?"

"Know it? Pete Dailey was at a meeting of the Motion Picture Directors' a.s.sociation last night, and it was arranged to put up the money and hire them. They're a lot of studio b.u.ms, doing a real mob scene on a real location!"

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned!" I said. "And what about the police?"

"Police?" laughed the critic. "Would you expect the police to work free when the soldiers are paid? Why, Jesus Christ----"

"I beg pardon?" said Carpenter.

"Why--er--" said Rosythe; and stopped, completely bluffed.

"You ought not swear," I remarked, gravely; and then, "I must explain. I got pounded by that mob; I was knocked quite silly, and this gentleman found me, and healed me in a wonderful way."

"Oh!" said the critic, with genuine interest. "Mind cure, hey? What line?"

I was about to reply, but Carpenter, it appeared, was able to take care of himself. "The line of love," he answered, gently.

"See here, Rosythe," I broke in, "I can't stand on the street. I'm beginning to feel seedy again. I think I'll have a taxi."

"No," said the critic. "Come with me. I'm on the way to pick up the missus. Right around the corner--a fine place to rest." And without further ado he took me by the arm and led me along. He was a good-hearted chap inside; his rowdyisms were just the weapons of his profession. We went into an office building, and entered an elevator. I did not know the building, or the offices we came to.

Rosythe pushed open a door, and I saw before me a s.p.a.cious parlor, with birds of paradise of the female s.e.x lounging in upholstered chairs. I was led to a vast plush sofa, and sank into it with a sigh of relief.

The stranger stood beside me, and put his hand on my head once more.

It was truly a miracle, how the whirling and roaring ceased, and peace came back to me; it must have shown in my face, for the moving picture critic of the Western City "Times" stood watching me with a quizzical smile playing over his face. I could read his thoughts, as well as if he had uttered them: "Regular Svengali stuff, by G.o.d!"

VIII

I was so comfortable there, I did not care what happened. I closed my eyes for a while; then I opened them and gazed lazily about the place. I noted that all the birds of paradise were watching Carpenter. With one accord their heads had turned, and their eyes were riveted upon him. I found myself thinking. "This man will make a hit with the ladies!" Like the swamis, with their soft brown skins, and their large, dark, cow-like eyes!

There had been silence in the place. But suddenly we all heard a moan; I felt Carpenter start, and his hand left my head. A dozen doors gave into this big parlor--all of them closed. We perceived that the sound came through the door nearest to us. "What is it?" I asked, of Rosythe.