I looked through the pages of names. As I had suspected, there were two other J. Thompsons, one with two days work to his credit and the other with six. Much the same situation existed in the case of Shorty, whose last name, like mine, was a common one. Obviously, due to the gross stupidity of the timekeeper, our earnings had gone to the wrong men.
What did he intend to do about it? Well, fellas, there was really nothing he could do. He suggested, however, that we might look up the men who had received our checks and demand an exchange.
"Fat chance," Shorty scoffed bitterly. "You think they'd hand 'em over, huh? How the hell we going to prove they even got 'em?"
"Well—uh—"
"Anyway," I said, "we've already cashed our checks. We've got no way of proving that we didn't get the full amount."
"Well—uh—" A fearful glance at Shorty—"I'm awful sorry, fellas, but..."
Shorty stamped out, cursing, too murderously furious to trust himself in the young man's presence. We were rooked, he said, as we headed back to town. There was nothing we could do but take it and forget and concentrate on finding a quick job to make up for our loss.
"I don't know," I said. "It probably won't do any good, but I think I'll go up to the state offices of the project and give them an argument."
"Power to you," he shrugged glumly. "Me, I know when I'm licked."
The project headquarters were in a major downtown office building. I spent the better part of the day there, shuttling from one hack to another, and of course I got no satisfaction at all. Late in the afternoon, I gave up and walked back to the elevators.
The door to one of the cars slid open. I was about to step into it when the operator barred my way. I had seen him and the other two operators staring at me while I was in the project offices. They had left their cars alternately and wandered down the corridor, glancing in at me through the open office doors. Now this man barred my way, a sly smile spreading under his deadpan expression.
"Can't carry you, chief," he said briskly. "Have to use the service elevator."
"What?" I said. "But I'm no delivery boy. I've got as much right to—"
"Sorry. Got my orders. Down the end of the hall and to your right. Man there will take you down."
It was an insult, a slur brought on, as I saw it, by my shabby appearance. In the south, a self-respecting person does not swallow such affronts. I tried to shove my way past him, and was firmly shoved back. Before I could force my way into the car, the door slammed in my face.
I punched the signal button. Another elevator came, and its operator treated me exactly as the first one had.
"Have to take the service elevator, fellow. Down to the end of the corridor and to your right."
"Now what the hell is this?" I said angrily. "Who the hell told you to do this? I'm here on legitimate business. If you think you can shove me around just because I'm not well-dressed—"
"Aahh, look fellow,"—he grinned at me pleadingly—"it's kind of a joke, see? An old friend of yours had us pull it on you. Me and the other boys are just doin' what we're told to."
"Joke?" I said. "An old friend of mine? But—"
"You'll see. And don't tell him I tipped you off, huh?"
The door closed. Bewildered, I went down the hall and pressed the bell for the service elevator. It arrived instantly, operated by a frail, blond, blue-eyed young man. The word STARTER was emblazoned across the jacket of his tuxedo-style uniform.
"What took you so long?" he said. "Been arguing with my hired hands?"
"I might have known it," I said. "Allie Ivers!"
Allie had caught a glimpse of me when I entered the building that forenoon. Being his own boss, practically speaking, and with very little real work to do, he had chosen this elaborately backhanded way of renewing our acquaintance.
"About time, too," he declared, as he headed the car upwards. "A smart guy like you hanging around relief job offices! I'm going to have to take you in hand!"
He stopped the elevator at roof level and motioned for me to follow him. I did so, and he unlocked the door of a penthouse with his pass key and waved me inside.
It was a very elaborate layout, a beautifully furnished combination apartment and office. Stepping over to the bar, Allie selected several bottles at random and mixed us two huge drinks. We clinked glasses and, rather cautiously, I sat down next to him on one of the leather-upholstered stools.
"Whose place is this, Allie?" I said. "And don't tell me it's yours!"
"Belongs to an oil man," he shrugged. "He's only here about a week out of the month. What are you so jumpy about, anyway? I've never got you into any trouble, have I?"
"Oh, no!" I said. "What about the time you hooked me into taking that cop's pants and the time you got me mixed up in the Capone gang, and the time—well, that last time in Lincoln when you had me drive the cab for you?"
Allie grinned and reached for the bottles. I asked him how he'd gotten away from the country club that night.
"Nothing to it," he said casually. "I gave the doorman my cigar to hold. Then, I helped the babe into the cab and drove off."
"Without any clothes on?"
"Well, it was a warm night. We dressed down the road a ways...Speaking of clothes, incidentally, let's go back here."
We went into one of the outsize bedrooms, and Allie rolled back the closet doors. Inside were at least a dozen men's suits, three or four topcoats and racks of shoes and ties. Allie indicated that I was to help myself.
"They won't be a perfect fit, but it'll be good enough. And don't argue about it. You're just going to borrow them for the night."
"But why? I can't—"
"How would you like to edit a magazine? Be the publicity man for a big fraternal order?"
"Well, fine, but—"
"Then do what I tell you, and I'll order up dinner for us."
I could get no further information out of him at the moment, so with considerable hesitation I exchanged my clothes for some of the splendid garb in the closet. Except for the shoes, which were a trifle large, everything fitted me perfectly. By the time I had finished dressing, the waiter arrived with our dinner—two outsize porterhouse steaks with all the accessories for a modest banquet. Allie signed the check (using the tenant's name, of course) and wrote in a five-dollar tip for the waiter.
"The guy never checks his bills," he explained as we sat down to the meal: "I throw parties up here all the time."
He went on to explain at some length and somewhat apologetically that he had not, appearances to the contrary, sunk to doing an honest day's work for an honest day's pay. With the elevator boys and charwomen acting as his agents, he was working several small but profitable rackets in the building—selling chances on punchboards, peddling raffle tickets and so on, collecting a cut from the office to office peddlers. Also, needless to say—although he said it—he was stealing.
"Nothing very big, you understand. A few bucks' worth of stamps in one place and a few typewriter ribbons in another and a box or so of stationery in another. I got a guy that takes the stuff for a short profit."
I shook my head. "Allie, what makes you go on like this? Why don't you do something with your life? You're smart. You've got a nice personality and you make a good appearance. If you'd act sensible, stop making like a cheap crook—"
He was grinning at me thinly, looking me up and down. "Yeah, Jimmie? What would it get me? Rides on freight trains? Ten-cent meals and a job digging ditches? Rags for clothes and a weedpatch for a bed?"
"Well, all right," I said, stubbornly. "Maybe I'm not doing so good right now, but I'll pull out of it. I—"
"Right you are," Allie nodded. "You're on your way to pulling out of it right now. After tonight you'll be sitting pretty."
"How? Just what am I supposed to do, anyway?"
"You know all about publicity, don't you? How to put out a small magazine?"
"Well, I don't know 'all' about it, but—"
"You know enough. Just let these guys that I introduce you to know that you know. I'll do the rest."
Again, I could get no more information from him. He did insist—he swore to it—that he would involve me in no trouble, and I had to be satisfied with that.
We finished eating. Urging me to help myself to the liquor, he went down to the locker room and changed clothes. He returned with a briefcase which he filled with bottles from the bar.
By this time, naturally, I had had more than a little to drink and the qualms which I usually felt in Allie's presence were fairly well desensitized. As I have indicated, I was very fond of him. In his own peculiar way, he had always tried to be kind to me; and now, I hoped, in my hour of need, he might pull a plump rabbit from the fiscal hat.
I accompanied him downstairs, and we taxied to an address on upper Broadway. We debarked there, and I followed him upstairs to the second-floor lodge rooms. The men he introduced me to, as I saw them, were semi-prosperous, lower middle-class citizens—master barbers, delicatessen owners, head bookkeepers and the like. Genial men, wise enough in their own way, but not too well-informed when they strayed outside of it. Allie seemed very popular with them. With him vouching for me as "the well-known author and editor," I was looked upon with almost embarrassing awe.
After a score or so of introductions, Allie ushered me into a kind of board room and seated me at the head of the long table therein. Then, having distributed the bottles around at strategic points, he advised me that everything was going nicely and departed for the outer rooms.
Some thirty minutes elapsed before the door reopened and Allie ushered in a group of the brothers. They ranged themselves around the table, and the bottles began moving from hand to hand. As the room filled with tobacco smoke and the gentlemen with high-grade bourbon, Allie got down to the business of the evening.
For some months past, he pointed out, the lodge had considered the establishment of a small magazine or newspaper—something which every self-respecting fraternal order had and which this one certainly must have if the brothers were to go on holding their heads high. The delay in inaugurating such a periodical had reached the point of becoming a lodge disgrace; there was no longer any excuse for it. Here before them sat one of the country's most renowned publicists and editors. Purely out of friendship and the desire to help along a good cause, he '(me, that is)' had consented to get the publication started without fee...except, of course, his personal expenses. All that was required now, was that the good brothers present, these more substantial members who comprised the backbone of the lodge, should underwrite the proposition.
One of the brothers cleared his throat. Just how much was this—uh—this thing going to cost?
"Three thousand dollars," said Allie. And then, as his eyes swept the table, weighing the brothers, seeing a troubled expression spread from one face to another—"That's Mr. Thompson's offhand estimate, I should say.
"What about it, Jim? Could we put out something a little smaller for about—uh"—another lightning-sharp glance at the brothers—"about two thousand?"
I nodded, looking, I suspect, not a little troubled myself, for I had given him no offhand estimates nor any other kind. Before I could do more than nod, Allie was proceeding:
"Call it two thousand. That'll be one hundred and fifty each for you gentlemen, or a total of eighteen hundred, and I'll throw in the remaining two hundred. Until the loan is repaid, we'll hold a lien on all advertising and subscription fees—that's Mr. Thompson's suggestion—and each of us will receive a lifetime subscription free of charge. In other words, we'll have the honor of funding the publication and be liberally repaid for—"
"Allie," I said, rising to my feet. "You can't—I can't—"
"Of course," said Allie smoothly, "I'd forgotten you had another appointment. You run right along now, and I'll see you later."
"But—"
"You don't have to apologize. We all understand," said Allie. "Go right ahead, and I'll get on with the meeting."
He got on with it, drawing the attention of the brothers away from me to him. After a moment of standing there awkwardly, with the group but not of it, I left. It was all I could do, as I saw it. There would be later opportunities to block Allie's swindle, and I would crack down on him then.
Waiting at the foot of the stairs outside, I wondered what his next step would be, how he intended to extract eighteen hundred dollars from a group such as this. Certainly they wouldn't have so much cash on them tonight. Neither, with their slender resources, would they hand over their checks for one hundred and fifty each. They were doing very well for the times, yes, but they were still very small fish in the puddle. To men like these, the loss of one hundred and fifty dollars would be a severe financial blow.
I was still wondering how Allie intended to swing it when he came hustling down the stairs. He was obviously expecting an assault of reproaches and questions, so, just to confound him, I said nothing at all. We returned to the penthouse in an almost dead silence, and silently I went into the bedroom and redressed in my own clothes. Allie looked at me quizzically as I returned to the living room.
"Well, we pulled it off, Jim."
"We did?" I said.
"Sit down and have a drink and I'll tell you about it."
I hesitated but I sat down and accepted a drink. Allie told me about it. The lodge brothers would draw personal notes in our favor, co-signed by one another. Since they were all good credit risks there would be not the slightest trouble in discounting the notes for cash. All he and I had to do was accompany the various lodge members to the bank and collect the money.