Fowlers End (37 page)

The proprietor of the Hippodrome, which had always been a losing proposition, who would have been glad to get out with a clear thousand pounds, said, “I’d start considering at eight thousand.”

Sam Yudenow pulled out a handkerchief, clapped it over his mouth, and cried out in pain. “Uxcuse me,” he said humbly, “it’s my lip. You mustn’t make me laugh, I forgot to tell you. I got chapped lips. It can also crack the corners of the mouth. What d’you mean, eight hundred pounds? What is it, a
Covered Wagon?
A gusher? A gold mine? Don’t be silly, eight hundred pounds!”

“I said eight thousand.”

“Oh,” said Sam Yudenow, slapping him on the shoulder and laughing heartily, “you want to be facetious? Okay, old Sam can take a joke.... Eight thousand
what?
To be frank miv you, it would cost me more than that to wire your charming hall for sound. No, I’d strip it to the bone. Out miv the seats. A new floor would cost me a pretty penny. I want to turn it into a skating rink. I’ll tell you what—we’re all in show biz together—I’ll make it eight hundred and fifty pounds, spot cash. Take it or leave it.”

“I leave it.”

Now, presumably, the bargainers came to grips. Sam Yudenow said, “Good-by. It’s nice knowing you,” and put back in his pocket a checkbook he had been waving.

The other man said, “Wait a minute. We’ll settle for twenty-five hundred, and I’ll take my lucky.”

“Two hundred and fifty ain’t enough,” said Sam Yudenow firmly. “I won’t let you do it. You’d be robbing yourself. You made a slip o’ the tongue—you meant eight hundred and fifty.”

“I said twenty-five hundred.”

“You been miv any dirty women lately?”

“Any of your business?”

“No, but it’s unsymptomatic—people sell St. Paul’s Cathedval, they start ‘otels, distilleries, goodness knows what, all for twenty-five pounds. Play the man, for Christ’s sake, play the
man!
What’ll you do miv twenty-five pounds? Look, I want to be a good neighbor. Eight hundred and fifty, take it or leave it, and I’m not asking your gross. A hundred and fifty pounds o’ this I want you should spend on a sea voyage.”

“Don’t talk wet!”

“I’m like that. I want you should take eight hundred and fifty pounds. Quit show biz, start a nice little restaurant—I know a man who can supply you especially miv Greenburgers, the latest thing.”

Before they parted, the proprietor of the Hippodrome had a check for eight hundred and fifty pounds, and Sam Yudenow had in his pocket a holograph deed, fully witnessed, which made him proprietor of the Ullage Hippodrome, which, twenty-four hours earlier, he would not have taken as a gift.

Then, as I subsequently learned, he called Daniels Copper Ltd., in Chicken Lane, Threadneedle Street, and said something like what follows:

“Chickens? Par’me. Daniels Copper Limited? ... Then this is Sam Yudenow. Call me a pal and I’m your pal. Call me a hog and I can turn out to be a proper pig. Let’s get down to cases. The time has come but it’s so. Forgi’me, please?”

A voice replied, “This is Payne, Payne, Payne, Payne, Rackham, Rackham and Payne. To what are you referring, sir?”

Somewhat out of countenance, Sam Yudenow said, “Daniels Copper Limited, if you don’t mind.”

“We are their attorneys. Yes?”

“Well, look. It works out like this: as it ‘appens, as a matter o’ fact, between us, to tell you the truth, I own the ‘Ippodrome in Ullage. Not to tell you a lie, between friends, I could do miv a few lots o’ land. Believe me, it grips me right in the bowels. All these poor people, I can’t stand it. I’m sorry, Mr. Bowel, I can’t stand it—I’m a funny man— it gives me a pain. Ever ‘ad it? Asubtraction in the arse, and digestion goes backwards. It makes acid. Acid I don’t want; I got it already. Later, Gord knows what, to take the Name in vain.... So what’s giving miv Daniels Copper? So w
hat are they digging for? How comes copper rahnd Ullage? Answer me only this.”

The lawyer replied, “I understand, sir, that Daniels Copper is a concern with wide interests. I am not at liberty to speak of them at present.”

“Look, I’m not trying to take a liberty. Wide interests: so if I’m interested? And believe me, Sam Yudenow is wide. Oh, believe me! Wide as a carpet. They used to call me ‘Sam Wide’ in Billingsgate. You know that, you must know that, mustn’t you? And believe me, I’m open—wide open—I gape like ... Uxcuse me. To conclude, let me continue. A yes or a no; to who belongs lots in Ullage?”

The lawyer said, “Mr. Yudenow, you are asking for information which I am at present not at liberty to divulge—”

“Divulge!” cried Sam Yudenow.

“I’m sorry I can’t do that but—”

“Never mind the ‘sorry,’ give me the ‘but’!”

Then the solicitor told Sam Yudenow that, as far as he knew, this land around Ullage was, according to his information, being bought (always provided his information were correct) by some firm, as he was informed, of motorcar manufacturers who proposed to deal with it accordingly. “Accordingly miv what?” shouted Sam Yudenow, and the lawyer replied, “Accordingly.”

Sam Yudenow said, “What is a copper company doing miv Ullage?”

The solicitor said gravely, “I have not the faintest idea. But, as you know, there are ramifications.”

Sam Yudenow muttered, “Ramifications. Hm! So that’s what they’re up to. So long as we know. I don’t want no ramifications. Piss-hounds!”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Let’s get together, just you and me.”

“I’m free tomorrow, if you wish to consult me.”

“Not for the world! All I want to do is consult you and praps buy you a little smoked salmon in Bootle’s. Who is trying to insult you? Gord forbid. All I want is to make a deal, so you want to kick up a row? A person wants a few lots in Ullage, so you should be civil.... Civil, be! You get it? The angle is, you ough’ to be civil. Not to be a wild Indian miv stomach’awks, only civil. Go on, scowp me. Better not. I don’t care if you’re Norman Birkett and Marshall Hall, I’ll prove to you there’s a law in this land! So where do you think you are? Russia? The Czar’s dead, believe me. I read it i
n the newspapers. And the Cossacks are unhanded. Who do you think you are?” Sam Yudenow shrieked, carried away,” the Preobrazhensky Regiment, or what? Give me a yes or a no. Get off the line before I cut you off. Wait a minute, I’ll cut you off. Bollocks to you, pisspot!” Then he sang,
“Bollocks, and the same to you— Bollocks, they make a bloody fine stew ...
Got it? Only be civil. Is this too much to ask? I want a few lots rahnd Ullage. So what are you in business for? ... Confidentially, between us, I am an untimate friend o’ the Lord Mayor London. We went to school together and
we are like brothers.”

“What’s his name?”

“Aha! If I told you, you would be as wise as I am. Look it up in the dictionary, in the dictionary look it up. I
gave ‘im ‘is first cat, and if you don’t believe me ring ‘im up and ask ‘im. But uxcuse me, I get carried away. A civil question demands a civil answer. My middle name is Show Biz. I am proprietor of all sorts o’ property all over the place, let alone Ullage, where I own the skating rink—beg pardon, the ‘Ippodrome—and I am a freeholder, a lease holder, a copyholder, et cetera. Also, a British subject, which entitles me to liberty o’ conscience. So say something, or has the cat got your tongue?”

“Well, I must, as you understand, pass the matter on to Daniels Copper, Mr.... What did you say your name was? Biz?”

“Yudenow!”

“That is why I asked you,” the solicitor said; so Sam Yudenow spelled it out, adding, “Listen. I’m a rich man and I can make it worth your while. I want a few lots in Ullage. I’ll retain you. I’m a poor man, but you know. A fiddle ‘ere, a fiddle there. Look at Booligan. Believe me, I can put my ‘and in my pocket. What comes out, that all depends. So is it so much to ask, a few lots in that smomp at Ullage? Ullage! Where
is
Ullage?
What
is Ullage? What do you think, I’m going to dig for copper there? Ullage? ... No jokes, a few lots, how much?”

“I must consult my principals.”

“Mr. Ullage, listen to me: in business you don’t want no principles. Ethics, by all means. Morals, yes. Principles, no. They lead you to the work ‘ouse. If we are to do business, let me un-stipulate—no
principles?’

“Mr. Yudenow, you must understand that I am only a servant of the company, Daniels Copper Limited.”

“I’d make it worth your while,” Sam Yudenow insinuated.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Yudenow, but that’s quite out of the question.”

“Servant o’ the company—believe me, I know servants. I got one. She comes from Dublin, whereas evidently they don’t ‘ave laventories, if you will uxcuse the expression. So she leaves a turd shaped like a triangle, like Egypt—a veritable pyramid—and runs away miv an Irish Guardsman who deserted, yet. Miv my best overcoat. What did ‘e want to do miv it, I ask you? Make a weskit of it? Go argue miv servants.... But uxcuse me, Mr. Ullage, W comes the servant problem? Uxcuse me, please, I ask only to be informed. That’s Gveek, for your information. Gveeks! Your worst enemies, beli
eve me, Mr. Thingummybob, should ‘ave Gveeks! I ‘ad one, and what a layabout ‘e turned out to be! Let alone never mind. So this Gveek—the other one, thank Gord, poisoned ‘imself miv ‘emlock. In a bowl, yet—never trust a Gveek miv a bowl. And sex. ‘Is last words—I got it out of a magazine—was. ‘I owe a cock to Esculapenheim.’ ... You take me off my point. A few lots, Mr. Cox?”

The lawyer said, “I’m afraid you don’t grasp the situation, Mr. Yudenow. You own, you say, the Ullage Hippodrome? Then I dare say you have heard that the Anglo-American Automobile Associates—in other words, A.A.A.A.—have bought up considerable properties in Ullage. I have it on the authority of a respected, client that the railway is going to run a branch line out there. Solely for the purposes of transport, sir, solely for the purposes of transport. Daniels Copper has considerable interests in Ullage, as I have indicated. I don’t imagine they propose to mine for copper, but there is such a t
hing as building speculation—what our transatlantic cousins call ‘real estate.’ It is quite romantic, really. What was once a village will become a thriving industrial town. Something like San Francisco on a smaller scale. When you ask for a lot in Ullage at present, you are asking—if you will pardon the pun—for quite a lot.”

“Are you in business or are you not? Give me a simple ‘yes.’”

“Daniels Copper has holdings, some of which might be available. Let me see, just a moment; why, yes, I believe there is some land on the southeast, unless I am very much mistaken. And bless my soul—it must be an appalling oversight on the part of A.A.A.A.—according to the map there would appear to be a piece of frontage. But this seems too good to be true: I can’t see a concern like A.A.A.A. leaving vacant frontage where they are bound to build.”

Philosophically, Sam Yudenow shrugged into the telephone and said, “So we all make mistakes. I ain’t much to look at, but I’m funny that way myself. Did you ever see a picture called
Russian
Duel?Acouple loafers put one bullet in a gun and spin the barrel. In turn (they toss a sixpence for who goes first) each one puts the muzzle to ‘is head and pulls the trigger. The villain goes first.
Click!—and
the glycerin is dropping down ‘is face. Then the ‘ero goes next.
Click!—’e
makes miv a mysterious smile. Believe me, now the villain ‘as got a proper sweat on, trembling like an aspirin. Like Booli
gan.
Click!—and
gives the gun back to the ‘ero.
Click!—so
there’s only one bullet left; who’s got to get it? The villain. So ‘e goes yellow, puts the gun down and gives up the girl. Later, the ‘ero opens ‘is hand and there’s the bullet. It was never in the gun. Believe me, I’m like that. I’ll gamble my life away. So what is Daniels Copper asking for lots—because, in any case, I can’t afford it? Only I’m curious. The
Covered Wagon
spirit I got; I’m a pioneer myself. Well?”

Mr. Payne said, “It is difficult to make head or tail of you.”

“What do you mean, ‘ead or tail? You think you can toss me like a coin? Tails! A dog am I? I ask a civil question. You give me tails. Forever hold your peace—speak up!”

Mr. Payne recounted this telephone conversation later, with a kind of mystified amazement. He said that there was something about Yudenow that made one want him to go on and on. He added that he wished he could write books. Anyway, Yudenow came to the office and did an under-the-counter deal in landed property around Ullage. He got half the housing project on the northwest, and on the southeast a third of the factory frontage (Mr. Payne would not let him have more) for seven thousand pounds. He must have been extraordinarily voluble, because even Mr. Payne, with his snaky memory, c
ould not recall the whole of the conversation, or discussion, which lasted three and a half hours by the clock. We wouldn’t take a check; the deal had to be settled by banker’s draft, in return for which the solicitor drew up a deed of unbelievable magnitude. With the name of Daniels Copper fixed firmly in his head, Sam Yudenow wanted mineral rights, these to include oil. He also claimed the right to open a clay-pipe factory, a smithy, and a fried-fish shop. He slipped in a clause that entitled him to set up a brickyard and a lime kiln. He was leaving nothing to chance.

He got back to the Pantheon at about six in the evening, just when I was undertaking what is to me the almost impossible task of throwing out an old lady. She was considerably less than sober, so I ran over to the Load of Mischief, bought a glass of “Red Lizzie,” and lured her with it. It must have looked ridiculous—me walking backward, holding this glass, and making caressing noises like squeaky kisses such as you make to a cat; she following, hypnotized. Having got her into the street, I gave her the glass, which she drained at a gulp, then fell on my neck and cried.

Sam Yudenow would choose this moment to arrive in his big Renault. He nodded in a most unpleasant way and said, “The place for this is the genevator room. Do any
thing, only I don’t want a bad name.” He looked pale but happy.