A Cool Million (5 page)

(Wu Fong was a great stickler for
detail, and, like many another man, if he had expended as much energy and
thought honestly he would have made even more money without having to carry the
stigma of being a brothel-keeper. Alas!)

So resilient are the spirits of the
young that Betty did the breakfast full justice. She even ordered a second
helping of pie, which was brought to her at once by the
darky
.

After Betty had finished eating, she
was given some embroidery to do. With the reader’s kind permission we will
leave her while she is still sewing, and before the arrival of her first
client, a pockmarked Armenian rug merchant from Malta.

Justice will out. I am happy to
acquaint my readers with the fact that the real criminal, Mr. Wellington
Mape
, was apprehended by the police some weeks after
Lem
had been incarcerated in the state penitentiary.

But our hero was in a sorry state
when the Governor’s pardon arrived, and for a while it looked as though the
reprieve had come too late. The poor lad was in the prison infirmary with a bad
case of pneumonia. Weakened greatly by the drawing of all his teeth, he had
caught cold after the thirteenth icy shower and the fourteenth had damaged his
lungs.

Due to his strong physique, however,
and a constitution that had never been undermined by the use of either tobacco
or alcohol,
Lem
succeeded in passing the crisis of
the dread pulmonary disease.

On the first day that his vision was
normal, he was surprised to see
Shagpoke
Whipple go
through the prison infirmary carrying what was evidently a bedpan and dressed
in the uniform of a convict.

“Mr. Whipple,”
Lem
called. “Mr. Whipple.”

The ex-President turned and came
towards the boy’s bed.

“Hello,
Lem
,”
said
Shagpoke
, putting down the utensil he was
carrying. “I’m glad to see that you’re better.”

“Thank you, sir. But what are you
doing here?” asked
Lem
with bewildered surprise.

“I’m the trusty in charge of this
ward. But what you really mean, I take it, is why am I here?”

The elderly statesman looked around.
He saw that the guard was busy talking to a pretty nurse and drew up a chair.

“It’s a long story,” said Mr.
Whipple with a sigh. “But the long and short of it is that the Rat River
National failed and its depositors sent me here.”

“That’s too bad, sir,”
Lem
said sympathetically. “And after all you had done for
the town.”

“Such is the gratitude of the mob,
but in a way I can’t blame them,” Mr. Whipple said with all the horse sense for
which he was famous. “Rather do I blame Wall Street and the Jewish
international
bankers.
They loaded me up with a lot of
European and South American bonds,
then
they forced me
to the wall. It was Wall Street working hand in hand with the Communists that
caused my downfall. The bankers broke me, and the Communists circulated lying
rumors about my bank in Doc Slack’s barber shop. I was the victim of an
un-American conspiracy.”

Mr. Whipple sighed again, then said
in a militant tone of voice: “My boy, when we get out of here, there are two
evils undermining this country which we must fight with tooth and nail. These
two archenemies of the American Spirit, the spirit of fair play and open
competition, are Wall Street and the Communists.”

“But how is my mother?” interrupted
Lem
, “and whatever became of our house? And the cow—did you
have to sell her?” Our hero’s voice trembled as he asked these questions, for
he feared the worst.

“Alas,” sighed Mr. Whipple, “Squire
Bird foreclosed his mortgage and
Asa
Goldstein took
your home to his store in New York City. There is some talk of his selling it
to the Metropolitan Museum.
As for the cow, the creditors of
my bank
sheriffed
her.
Your mother
disappeared. She wandered off during the foreclosure sale, and neither hair nor
hide of her was seen again.”

This terrible intelligence made our
hero literally groan with anguish.

In an effort to cheer the boy up,
Mr. Whipple kept on talking. “Your cow taught me a lesson,” he said. “She was
about the only collateral I had that paid one hundred cents on the dollar. The
European bonds didn’t bring ten cents on the dollar. The next bank I own will
mortgage nothing but cows, good American cows.”

“You expect to keep a bank again?”
asked
Lem
, making a brave attempt not to think of his
own troubles.

“Why, certainly,” replied
Shagpoke
. “My friends will have me out of here shortly.
Then I will run for political office, and after I have shown the American
people that
Shagpoke
is still
Shagpoke
,
I will retire from politics and open another bank. In fact, I am even
considering opening the Rat River National a second time. I should be able to
buy it in for a few cents on the dollar.”

“Do you really think you can do it?”
asked our hero with wonder and admiration.

“Why, of course I can,” answered Mr.
Whipple. “I am an American businessman, and this place is just an incident in
my career. My boy, I believe I once told you that you had an almost certain
chance to succeed because you were born poor and on a farm. Let me now tell you
that your chance is even better because you have been in prison.”

“But what am I to do when I get out?”
asked
Lem
with ill-concealed desperation.

“Be an inventor,” Mr. Whipple
replied without a moment’s hesitation. “The American mind is noted for its
ingenuity. All the devices of the modern world, from the safety pin to
four-wheel brakes, were invented by us.”

“But I don’t know what to invent,”
said
Lem
.

“That’s easy. Before you leave here
I will give you several of my inventions to work on. If you perfect them we
will split fifty-fifty.”

“That’ll be great!” exclaimed
Lem
with increased cheerfulness.

“My young friend, you don’t want me
to think that you were in any way discouraged by the misfortunes that befell
your asked Mr. Whipple with simulated surprise.

“But I didn’t even get to New York,”
apologized
Lem
.

“America is still a young country,”
Mr. Whipple said, assuming his public manner, “and like all young countries, it
is rough and unsettled. Here a man is a millionaire one day and a pauper the
next, but no one thinks the worse of him. The wheel will turn, for that is the
nature of wheels. Don’t believe the fools who tell you that the poor man hasn’t
got a chance to get rich any more because the country is full of chain stores.
Office boys still marry their employers’ daughters. Shipping clerks are still
becoming presidents of railroads. Why, only the other day, I read where an
elevator operator won a hundred thousand dollars in a sweepstake and was made a
partner in a brokerage house. Despite the Communists and their vile propaganda
against individualism, this is still the golden land of opportunity. Oil wells
are still found in people’s back yards. There are still gold mines hidden away
in our mountain fastnesses. America is…”

But while
Shagpoke
was still speaking, a prison guard came by and forced him hurriedly to resume
his duties. He left with his bedpan before
Lem
had an
opportunity to thank him properly for his inspiring little talk.

Helped not a little by the
encouragement Mr. Whipple had given him, our hero mended rapidly. One day he
was summoned to the office of Mr. Purdy, the warden. That official showed him
the pardon from the Governor. As a parting gift, he presented
Lem
with a set of false teeth. He then conducted him to the
prison gates, and stood there awhile with the boy, for he had grown fond of
him.

Shaking
Lem’s
hand in a hearty farewell, Mr. Purdy said:

“Suppose you had obtained a job in
New York City that paid fifteen dollars a week. You were here with us in all
twenty weeks, so you lost the use of three hundred dollars. However, you paid
no board while you were here, which was a saving for you of about seven dollars
a week or one hundred and forty dollars. This leaves you the loser by one
hundred and sixty dollars. But it would have cost you at least two hundred
dollars to have all your teeth extracted, so you’re really ahead of the game
forty dollars. Also, the set of false teeth I gave you cost twenty dollars new
and is worth at least fifteen dollars in its present condition. This makes your
profit about fifty-five dollars.
Not at all a bad sum for a
lad of your age to save in twenty weeks.”

Along with his civilian clothes, the
prison authorities turned back to
Lem
an envelope
containing the thirty dollars he had had in his pockets on the day he was
arrested.

He did not loiter in Stamford, but
went immediately to the depot and bought a ticket for New York City. When the
cars pulled into the station, he boarded them determined not to speak to any
strangers. He was helped in this by the fact that he was not as yet used to his
false teeth. Unless he exercised great care, they fell into his lap every time
he opened his mouth.

He arrived in the Grand Central
Station all intact. At first he was quite confused by the hustle and bustle of
the great city, but when a Jehu standing by a broken-down Pierce Arrow hack
accosted him, he had the presence of mind to shake his head in the negative.

The cabby was a persistent fellow. “Where
do you want to go, young master?” he asked with sneering servility. “Is it the
Ritz Hotel you’re looking for?”

Lem
took a
firm purchase on his store teeth and asked, “That’s one of those high-priced
taverns, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’ll take you to a cheap
one if you’ll hire me.” “What’s your charge?”

“Three dollars and
a half, and half a dollar for your baggage.”

“This is all the baggage I have,”
said
Lem
, indicating his few things tied in a red
cotton handkerchief.

“I’ll take you for three dollars,
then,” said the driver with a superior smile.

“No, thanks, I’ll walk,” said our
hero. “I can’t afford to pay your charge.”

“You can’t walk; it’s over ten miles
from this station to town,” replied the Jehu without blushing, although it was
evident that they were at that moment standing almost directly in the center of
the city.

Without another word,
Lem
turned on his heel and walked away from the cab driver.
As he made his way through the crowded streets, he congratulated himself on how
he had handled his first encounter. By keeping his wits about him, he had saved
over a tenth of his capital.

Lem
saw a
peanut stand, and as a matter of policy purchased a bag of the toothsome earth
nuts.

“I’m from the country,” he said to
the honest-appearing merchant. “Can you direct me to a cheap hotel?”

“Yes,” said the sidewalk vendor,
smiling at the boy’s candor. “I know of one where they charge only a dollar a
day.”

“Is that cheap?” asked our hero in
surprise. “What then do they charge at the Ritz?”

“I have never stayed there, but I
understand that it is as much as three dollars a day.”

“Phew!” whistled
Lem
.
“Think of that now.
Twenty-one dollars a week.
But I
suppose they do you awfully well.”

“Yes, I hear they set a very good
table

“Will you be so kind as to direct me
to the cheap one of which you first spoke?”

“Certainly.”

It was the Commercial House to which
the peanut dealer advised
Lem
to go. This hostelry
was located in a downtown street very near the Bowery and was not a stylish inn
by any manner of means. However, it was held in good repute by many merchants
in a small way of business. Our hero was well satisfied with the establishment
when he found it. He had never before seen a fine hotel, and this structure
being five stories above the offices seemed to him rather imposing than
otherwise.

After being taken to his room,
Lem
went downstairs and found that dinner was ready, it
being just noon. He ate with a country boy’s appetite. It was not a luxurious
meal, but compared with the table that Warden Purdy set it was a feast for the
gods.

When he had finished eating,
Lem
asked the hotel clerk how to get to
Asa
Goldstein’s store on Fifth Avenue. He was told to walk to Washington Square,
then
take the bus uptown.

After an exciting ride along the
beautiful thoroughfare,
Lem
descended from the bus
before a store, across the front of which was a sign reading