David Lannarck-Midget Page 9

  "The Lannarck estate was what the bank folks called Income Property. It included two suburban store rooms with apartments above. There were three very good residences, five shares of bank stock, bonds and notes and a considerable bank deposit. I made a resolution then and there, that I would never touch a penny of it, and that resolution has been kept. The income has piled up until it now nearly equals the principal. Poor old Gaynor, the next-best friend I ever had, keeps the income collected and invested, and if this depression would only let up and give him a chance, he could build those Presbyterians a new church and give the orphans a picture show every night.

  "Of course I've earned quite a lot of money, meanwhile, but Gaynor keeps that as a separate checking account; says circuses and vaudeville are not a dependable source of income and that I may go broke. This Ralph Gaynor is a wonder in his line, but it's not my kind of a line. He talks of interest, margins of safety, of unearned increments, corporate earnings, and things like that. His is not the big bank, with its long rows of figures. His is just a little 'Dollar-Down' concern, and he owns it all. Just now, in this depression, the Big Fellows are running to him asking, 'What to do?' And he's telling 'em to trim sails and stay close to shore.

  "Ralph Gaynor is the second helpful man to come into my life, but when I grew sick and tired of being gawked at, during all my waking hours and resolved to duck away from the mob, I didn't go back to Ralph Gaynor for advice. He just wouldn't understand. The word 'recreation' is not in his vocabulary. Colts, dogs, kid-saddles, horseback riding, Landy's wisecracks, and my present-day joys have no listed values with Ralph Gaynor, and I passed him up. If it were Mrs. Lannarck, she would understand and give it sympathetic approval.

  "Well, that's something of the life story of one midget, Mrs. Gillis. Add to this, twelve long summers with circuses and the winters spent in vaudeville (both with their mobs and gawking crowds) and it's almost a completed volume. There is yet one chapter to be added and I want to talk about it to the public. One man, Baron Singer, did more for midgets—little people—than any other person, in all time. He lifted them out of the mediocre; gave them standing and personality. I never met the Baron, but I want the public to know what great work he did for an underprivileged group. And I will tell 'em Saturday night."

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  9ToC

  Gillis and Welborn did not return from their mission the next day as they had planned. Sunday passed by without word of their whereabouts. The stay-at-homes wondered if it was to be peace or war with maudling gangsters. Did Welborn's fifty-to-one chance fail? Davy had planned to ride over to the B-line, and go over his speech-plans with his manager and promoter. Now, it seemed necessary that he and Landy ride down to the filling station seeking news of the missing ones. Monday noon, the faithful old Gillis car labored up the hill and came to a stop. Jim and Sam got out to inquire if dinner was ready.

  Little was said during the meal as to the outcome of their trip. Jim made a brief explanation that they had been as far as Rawlins, accompanying the sheriff in his disposition of his boarders. The sheriff explained that he wanted to take them past the penitentiary to show them what they missed, and where they would live if they ever came back to this section. He took them all to the railway station, loaded two on the east-bound train and two went west. The sheriff retained the count's car as security for advances made.

  That evening, however, after Davy had returned from delivering Welborn his supper, the four gathered in the Gillis sitting room and Jim gave more details. "This man Welborn musta been in the army," he declared. "Musta been a tough old top sergeant, er the general in command, the way he took charge. He managed every detail and managed it right. Everything worked out as planned.

  "We kept old Maddy out of the judge's sight, 'en it was well enough that we did, for Judge Withers was pretty hostile towards these crazy galoots that invaded the community and disturbed the peace. He would enforce the sentence, but he listened to the sheriff's complaint that four such prisoners were too many for his cramped quarters, too costly for the results obtained. The judge agreed to suspend sentence on condition that the sheriff would deport 'em and keep 'em deported.

  "We didn't have any trouble establishing Maddy's claim to the two sacks of dust. Maddy easily identified 'em and I knew they were his, but what about these gangsters? Would the count surrender title to the damaged car to compensate for rail transportation? And would they agree to leave and never come back? The sheriff had had several interviews with 'em on these matters and had never gained assent to the plan, especially as to the count and his car. The sheriff was bothered, didn't believe it could be done.

  "Again it was Welborn who made the plan and gave orders. 'Bring that count in here,' he said, 'and leave me alone with him for about ten minutes. I'll find out if he wants to live or die.' And the sheriff did as Welborn said, and before the ten minutes were up, the count had readily and eagerly accepted all the conditions. We took all of 'em over to court, the judge repeated the sentence, suspended it if they stayed out of the court's jurisdiction. We had 'em in Rawlins and on their way by Sunday noon.

  "No, I don't know what Welborn said to the count," was Jim's reply to Davy's eager question. "It must have been potent and terrifying, the way that gangster wet his lips and swollered."

  "Did young Goff accept Maddy's gift of the gold dust?" Jim laughed. "That's another Welborn plan and order and it wasn't ignored. This young Goff is a fine fellow. He took good care of Maddy during the whole trip. When we got back to the filling station and Goff was to go on his way, Maddy offered him the dust and he refused it. Here Welborn stepped in. He shook a little out of one sack to make 'em equal; he handed one sack to Mrs. Carter and placed the other in Goff's car. 'You keep that,' he ordered. 'This old man will live longer, happier, more contented in knowing he has a neighbor that he can freely call on for help who will respond to his call. He's got a right to this comfort and satisfaction. You take it.' And young Goff took it."

  The next morning David Lannarck was up bright and early, intent on his plans to visit the B-line ranch, but Mrs. Gillis had beat him to the draw. Landy was directed to change the stock cattle over into the ravine pasture while Jim did the milking. Davy would take Welborn's breakfast to him and wait at the Point until Landy, and the dogs, had finished their job.

  Like the rest of the men folk at the Gillis ranch, Davy accepted his orders. He saddled the colt, maneuvered him up to the kitchen door for the basket of breakfast, and rode to the Point alone. Early as it was, he found Welborn up the ravine examining the gravel in a sheltered nook.

  "I can work this area this winter, when the rest of the valley is covered with snow," Welborn explained as they walked back to the cabin and the basket of breakfast.

  "Yes, and if you had a dynamo and electric lights," retorted Davy, "you could work nights. What's all the rush? This stuff will keep."

  Welborn laughed, but he grew serious to explain: "I would like to take nine thousand dollars out of this hole by early spring, and as near as I estimate values, I've got the job about half done. There's nearly two hundred ounces in those little sacks. If my partner will be lenient in demanding his share, I think I can get it done this winter."

  "If I advance the nine thousand right now, say by the end of the week, will you let up on this drive-drive-drive stuff, and relax and be yourself?" Davy's question was a demand, earnestly stated.

  Welborn gave an inquiring look to see if he was being scolded or kidded. He decided that it was neither of these. "Why would you want to do that, Laddie?" he asked in a subdued tone.

  "Just to keep a good man from worrying himself to death," retorted the midget. "I want to prevent a funeral, make an asset out of a liability. I want to get a big, fine man back to his normal self. If you will agree to let up on this push-drive-urge stuff; stop long enough to read a book, to laugh at Jiggs or Popeye or Dagwood, or any of the other funnies, go with me over to Adot where the mine-run folks can see what a big, fine upstanding partner I've got, why
I'll have that little, old nine thousand in here by Saturday.

  "Oh, I know that money is scarce, hard to get just now," Davy explained in response to Welborn's shake of the head, "but this money is idle, and there's plenty of security up in that ravine. It's not the loan, it's the results, I'm wanting. Of course, there's something eating you, some past catastrophe or mistake, that's got you down. You're worried, killing yourself trying to get it corrected. I don't know what it is, and don't want to know, until you are ready. Of course it will work out all right. There'll be a climax, a denouement, as old director Mecklin used to call the final act, and I want you to be right here, in person, in good health and spirits, to join with the rest of us in the applause and cheers."

  Welborn had walked over to the window, but not to look out. His head was down, he was taking punishment. Presently he lifted his shoulders and head. There was a smile on his face even if his voice was husky. "In all my varied years, Sonny Boy, I never heard finer compliments mixed up with some real truths. What you've said is worth more to me than your kindly offer of funds. I wouldn't take your money under any condition, it would add complications, but I am going to take your advice. From now on, I'll try to do as you say, try to save myself for the glorious finish that you picture."

  The arrival of Jim in the old car and Landy's clamorous calls broke up the conference. Davy hurried out to join his friend in their planned trip to the B-line ranch. He was very quiet in the hazards of Brushy Fork, but on arriving at the level stretch beyond he stopped Landy. "What am I going to name this colt, Landy? He's got to have a name, if he's to be taught to do things. Old Boss Fletcher had a name for every elephant in the herd, and they would step right out when their names were called. Horses, dogs, elephants, even the cats quickly learned their names and the short words like 'halt,' 'go,' 'kneel,' 'turn,' and the like. This colt is smart, wants to do things, if you're not too dumb in telling him what you want. But he's got to have a name."

  "Alice and I were talkin' about that the other night," replied the ex cow-hand. "She had some flossy ones: Emperor, Commander, President, en sich, but I vetoed that trash, the colt couldn't carry 'em and live. I suggested Red, er Monty, er some sich. Thar we adjourned and left the colt without a moniker. What's yer notion of a name fer this little hoss?"

  "I just can't think of the right one," said Davy resignedly. "It wouldn't do to name him after some of the folks around here, that would mix things up. The circus folks have worn out such names as Barnum, Ringling, Robinson, Bailey, Coles, Sells, Barnes, Wallace, and others and they don't fit a small hoss anyhow. I am in hopes that this fine, smart Adine girl at the B-line has some sort of a suggestion. Maybe, she's got a name that will do."

  At a favorable place on the narrow road where the travelers could gaze down on a bunch of the B-line cattle quietly grazing and where the morning sun splashed varied colors on the distant hills, Davy pushed his mount in front of old Gravy to halt the party. He flung his hand in a wide sweep to include everything in sight.

  "That's Paradise, Landy. It's what I've dreamed about for the last ten years. It's the wide open spaces filled with all the variations in old Nature's book of scenery. And best of all, there's no mob of nit-wits to titter and smirk. It's my Heaven.

  "Just now, two things blur the picture; I want to get this speech thing off my hands, and I want to find a resister, a sass-back, a contrary cuss, that will argue back at me. I want to keep him nearby to remind me of old times. Why back two years ago, I used to visit old Polo Garrett, who had the concession in the menagerie tent, just to get cussed out. Polo's vocabulary was limited to sassing back. 'What's eatin' ya?,' 'Git outa here,' 'Who's a-running this dump?' 'Whar do ya git that stuff?' were his mildest phrases. When I got fed up on a bunch of simpering women and their, 'ain't he cute?' stuff, all I had to do was to barge in on Polo and get cussed out and learn that the world wasn't all gush and guff.

  "And particularly I need this 'argufyer' right out here now. I'm getting tired of having my own way. The people are too kind, too considerate, regard me as a child to be petted and pampered. There's too much mushy sentiment. A day or two ago, I told Mrs. Gillis my life history. It was mushy and without climax. She wanted to cry over it. This morning, before you came to the Point, I gave Welborn a big going over about his working all the time. And he never sassed back. He should have kicked me out. Instead of that, he agreed with me. Him, a big, strong man that had made a gangster eat his gun and ordered the judge and sheriff what to do! The idea! Him letting a midget order him around! What we need here is a good cusser-outer."

  "You're too late," said Landy dryly. "You've missed yer appointment by about forty years. We had a party up state wunst, that filled all yer requirements. Hit was a woman. She'd fuss at the sun fer comin' up, an cuss hit fer goin' down. She buried three husbands en was deserted by several more. At her death, en in honor of the happy event, they named a little crick after her. They called hit Crazy Woman's Crick.... Hi, Potter," Landy called, as they approached the stables of the B-line ranch. "Git that gate opened and throw out yer welcome rug."

  "Troubles never come single, they come in bunches," grumbled Potter as he complied. "Two hosses go lame this mornin', en Jim Finch, the grazing commissioner, comes from up on the Mad Trapper Fork a-callin' on us fer help to round up some of old Hull Barrow's misfits of horns, hoofs, and hides, en to add further miseries, here you arrive on the scene. Why, Peaches gave out strict orders, that if old Turkeyneck came prowlin' around, to say, that she wasn't at home at all en to tell the little gent to ride right into the house."

  "Who said that?" demanded Davy, with alacrity.

  "Why, Peaches, Miss Adine, she said if old Landy—"

  "Ye, Ho!" yelled Davy excitedly. "This colt is named. That's it! Peaches! Why didn't we think of that before, Landy?" Davy patted the colt's neck affectionately. "That's your name, old boy, Peaches!"

  Hearing the outcry, Adine Lough came out of the house, and down the graveled way. "Good morning," she called. "I was expecting you. My, but he's handsome," she exclaimed, examining the little horse that arched his neck in approval of the inspection. "You look like a gallant cavalier out of the old picture books."

  "We've just named him," said Davy proudly. "We named him after you. His name is Peaches."

  "Ah, pshaw," said the girl, laughing and blushing. "That's just a nickname that these men out here call me behind my back, of course, and the poor colt deserves a better fate. But come in, both of you, I have good news." The girl led the way into the hall. "You go in and visit with grandpa, Landy, while we talk shop in the library.

  "I talked with the Nazarene preacher and he's very enthusiastic over the plan and prospects," Adine explained after they were settled in the workshop. "I told him of the ad, that I was to run in the paper and he's somewhat of an artist and is putting up signs all over town. It augurs a good crowd, the biggest ever to assemble in Adot. He plays an accordion and his wife sings and they have arranged for a quartette of girls to sing a couple of numbers and then you are to talk. The meeting is to be held in Joe Burns's big warehouse and it won't hold the people. Now this is not a church meeting, it's an entertainment. You can laugh and applaud at will. You can tell funny stories about circuses or what-have-you, it's informal, go as far as you like!"

  "Well, here's how I had mapped out the talk. I'll tell 'em something about midgets," said Davy, "for midgets seem to be a forgotten subject in literature. If you will comb your college library down at Boulder, you'll not find a single book on the subject, and I am not sure that I know enough about 'em to fill out a talk on the subject."

  "That's the very subject you ought to talk on. Why I can hardly wait to hear it. Who better can tell it? If you are short of facts, just romance a little, that's allowable where facts are scarce. Tell 'em personal incidents and don't make 'em too solemn or pathetic. Make 'em laugh. Personally, I'm going to get a close-up seat, for in that big barn of a place I doubt if you can reach the outer fringes."

  "Well,
if the preacher gent can make himself heard, I can too," retorted Davy. "I practiced up on that stuff, there's where I specialized. You see, Miss Adine, when I joined up with the Singer Midgets at Saint Louis, I didn't have an act, a specialty, anything to give the public. I just joined up because Baron Singer was collecting midgets, showing 'em a good time, with no thought of making a profit. But it did make profit. The public wanted to see midgets.

  "It was my first contact with my clan. I noticed that midgets didn't change their voices when they reached maturity, still spoke in childish tones. Not having much to do, I practiced voice culture, deepened and strengthened my speech. I made my voice reach to the back seats. It earned me a job. I became the announcer; made the in-front-of-the-curtain talks. In the summer, with the Big Top, I often simulated the ringmaster to make announcements from the center ring. It was a feature all right, seeing a little guy doing a big man's job.

  "Oh I'll make 'em hear all right, but what they are to hear is the problem. To the midget stuff I thought I would add a few paragraphs about circus people, the different kinds and what they do. The general public never contacts the real circus people, just the ticket takers, ushers, and roustabouts. They never meet the managers and performers. And because grafters, shilabers, and skin-game artists follow circuses, the public thinks these are a part of it. It's only fair to circus people that this connection be denied."

  "Why, I didn't know that," exclaimed Adine, "I just supposed the grafters were a part of it. Here I am, learning a lot of things and school not yet started. Anyhow, I'm going to buy a ticket for Mrs. Carmody and inveigle her to the entertainment. She said circus people ought not be allowed to participate in a church benefit.