Tales From Gavagan's Bar (3 page)

             
Mr. Cohan, who had been neglecting his only other customer to lean on the bar in their direction, spoke up: "Mr. Considine, that's the salesman, was telling me that the most concentrated food you can get is good malt whiskey."

             
"That's it!" The Professor slapped the table. "Not
Elephas microtatus
but
Elephas frumenti,
the whiskey elephant, from what he lives on. We'll breed them for a diet of alcohol. High energy content."

             
"Oh, but that won't do," protested Mrs. Jonas. "Nobody would want a house pet that had to be fed on whiskey all the time. Especially with children around."

             
Said Witherwax: "Look, if you really want these animals, why don't you keep them some place where children aren't around and whiskey is—bars, for instance."

             
"Profound observation," said Professor Thott. "And speaking of rounds, Mr. Cohan, let us have another. We have horses as outdoor pets, cats as house pets, canaries as cage pets. Why not an animal especially designed and developed to be a bar pet? Speaking of which—that stuffed owl you keep for a pet, Mr. Cohan, is getting decidedly mangy."

             
"They would steal things like that," said Mrs. Jonas dreamily. "They would take things like owls' feathers and pretzel sticks and beer mats to build their nests with, up in the dark corners somewhere near the ceiling. They would come out at night—"

             
The Professor bent a benignant gaze on her as Mr. Cohan set out the drinks. "My dear," he said, "either this discussion of the future
Elephas frumenti
or the actual
spiritus frumenti
is going to your head. When you become poetical—"

             
The brass-blonde had leaned back and was looking upward. "I'm not poetical. That thing right up there on top of the pillar is the nest of one of your bar elephants."

             
"What thing up there?" said Thott.

             
"That thing up there, where it's so dark."

             
"I don't see nothing," said Mr. Cohan, "and if you don't mind my saying so, this is a clean bar, not a rat in the place."

             
"They wouldn't be quite tame, ever," said Mrs. Jonas, still looking upward, "and if they didn't feel they were fed enough, they'd come and take for themselves when the bartender wasn't

looking."

             
"That does look funny," said Thott, pushing his chair back and beginning to climb on it.

             
"Don't, Alvin," said Mrs. Jonas. "You'll break your neck ... Think of it, they'd feed their children—"

             
"Stand by me, then, and let me put my hand on your shoulder."

             
"Hey!" said Witherwax suddenly. "Who drank my drink?" Mrs. Jonas lowered her eyes. "Didn't you?" "I didn't even touch it. Mr. Cohan just put it down, didn't you?"

             
"I did that. But that would be a couple of minutes back, and maybe you could—"

             
"I could not. I definitely, positively did not drink—hey, you people, look at the table!"

             
"If I had my other glasses ..." said Thott, swaying somewhat uncertainly as he peered upward into the shadows.

             
"Look at the table," repeated Witherwax, pointing.

             
The glass that had held his drink was empty. Thott's still held about half a cocktail. Mrs. Jonas' glass lay on its side, and from its lip about a thimbleful of Presidente cocktail had flowed pinkly into an irregular patch the size of a child's hand.

             
As the other two followed Witherwax's finger, they saw that, from this patch, a line of little damp footprints led across the table to the far edge, where they suddenly ceased. They were circular, each about the size of a dime, with a small scalloped front edge, as if made by ...
             

-

             
"We were very good to the Swedes when they ruled over us in Bornholm three hundred years ago," said the stocky man, downing his cherry brandy at a gulp and motioning Mr. Cohan for a refill. "We had to kill all of them one night. While it was being done, some of our people ran into the church and rang the church bells, so that the souls of all the Swedes should rise to heaven on the music. For several hours they continued to pull the ropes, although it was terribly hard work for their arms and they became very tired."

             
The second cherry brandy followed the first. Professor Thott contemplated the bald cranium, surrounded by a crescent of pale hair, and said thoughtfully: "I can perceive that you Danes are an extremely tenderhearted people."

             
"That is most true," said the stocky man. His whole face was covered by a network of tiny red lines. "But it is not always for us—how do the English say it?—'beer and skating.' I remember—"

             
The door opened, and he checked as into Gavagan's came a tall, thin, knobby policeman, accompanied by a small man with sharp eyes, in a neat blue serge suit. The policeman extended a hand across the bar to Mr. Cohan, who shook it fervently.

             
"How are you, Julius?"

             
"How are you, my boy?" Then he turned to face the others. "Hello, Professor," he said to Thott. "Meet my friend, Mr. McClintock."

There was more handshaking. Thott said: "This is Captain Axel Ewaldt, of the Danish merchant marine, Officer Cohan, Mr. McClintock. Shall we have a round? He was just telling a story to illustrate how sentimental the Danes are. Make mine a Rye Highball, Mr. Cohan."

             
"Just a sherry," said McClintock. "A people of high moral standards. They have less crime than any nation in Europe."

             
Captain Ewaldt beamed; Patrolman Cohan said: "Mr. McClintock gives talks on crime. He's just been over to the Police Boys' Club doing it. He's an expert."

             
"I have often wondered how one became an expert on crime," said Professor Thott, meditatively.

             
"By personal association in my case," said McClintock. "I don't in the least mind telling you, not in the least. Until the grace of the Lord came upon me, I was engaged in criminal activity. The title of my talk is 'Crime does not pay,' and I am happy to say my efforts have been rewarding."

             
Patrolman Cohan said: "This was known as Dippie Louie. He was a left breech hook and could kiss the dog."

             
Professor Thott gazed at Dippie Louie with polite interest, but Ewaldt said: "Some schnapps, Mr. Cohan. This cherry makes one cold inside, and a man should warm himself." He addressed the officer: "Be so good to explain. I am not understanding."

             
"A left breech hook can lift a poke—beg pardon, take a wallet out of a man's left breeches pocket. And kissing the dog means he can do it while standing face to face."

             
"A highly skilled profession," said McClintock. "Ah, my friends, if the effort and training expended on criminal activity were only employed in the service of humanity, we would not-"

             
Thott said, rather hastily: "You were going to tell us about the Danes being kindhearted, Captain Ewaldt."

             
"That is correct," said the Captain. "I was yust remembering how I am in the city of Boston one St. Patrick's Day, walking down the dock and minding my own business. Along comes this big Irishman, and anybody can see he has too much to drink, and because I do not have green on for the day, he pushes me.
             

             
Once is all right, but the second time, I got my little Danish up, and I pushed him in the water—with my fist. But I was really very good to him, because if I have not done this, he would be falling in the water to drown after dark when there is nobody to rescue him."

             
Mr. Cohan gave an inarticulate sound, but it was McClintock who said: "What makes you so certain?"

             
"More schnapps, please. Because this is early in the morning, and he would be drinking more all day, and everyone knows that an Irishman cannot drink all day without falling down."

             
Patrolman Cohan gave an inarticulate sound; Mr. Cohan put both hands on the bar, and said: "And would you be saying, now, that youse Swedes can hold your liquor better than the Irish that's brought up on it? Go on with you."

             
"I am not Swedish," said Ewaldt, "yust a good Danish man. And I am saying that I am brought up on the island of Bornholm, and I can drink three times as much as any Irishman."

             
"Would you care to bet five dollars on that, now?" said Mr. Cohan, dangerously.

             
"It is too little. Five dollars valuta will not even buy the schnapps I am drinking."