Yollop
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George Barr McCutcheon >> Yollop
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[Illustration: LEAVING MRS. CHAMPNEY SEATED ALONE AND HELPLESS IN
THE MIDST OF THE CONFUSION, SMILK MARCHED MR. YOLLOP TO HIS BEDROOM]
YOLLOP
BY
GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
FRONTISPIECE BY
EDWARD C. CASWELL
NEW YORK
1922
YOLLOP
CHAPTER ONE
In the first place, Mr. Yollop knew nothing about firearms. And so,
after he had overpowered the burglar and relieved him of a fully
loaded thirty-eight, he was singularly unimpressed by the following
tribute from the bewildered and somewhat exasperated captive:
"Say, ain't you got any more sense than to tackle a man with a gun,
you chuckle-headed idiot?" (Only he did not say "chuckle-headed,"
and he inserted several expletives between "say" and "ain't.")
The dazed intruder was hunched limply, in a sitting posture, over
against the wall, one hand clamped tightly to his jaw, the other
being elevated in obedience to a command that had to be thrice
repeated before it found lodgment in his whirling brain. Mr. Yollop,
who seemed to be satisfied with the holding up of but one hand,
cupped his own hand at the back of one ear, and demanded
querulously:
"What say!"
"Are you hard o' hearin'?"
"Hey?"
"Well for the--say, are you deef?"
"Don't say deef. Say deaf,--as if it were spelled d-e-double f.
Yes,--I am a little hard of hearing."
"Now, how the hell did you hear--I say, HOW DID YOU HEAR ME IN THE
ROOM, if it's a fair question?"
"If you've got anything in your mouth, spit it out. I can't make out
half what you say. Sounds like 'ollo--ollo--ollo'!"
The thief opened his mouth and with his tongue instituted a visible
search for the obstruction that appeared to annoy Mr. Yollop.
"They're all here except the one I had pulled last year," he
announced vastly relieved. A sharp spasm of pain in his jaw caused
him to abruptly take advantage of a recent discovery; and while he
was careful to couch his opinions in an undertone, he told Mr.
Yollop what he thought of him in terms that would have put the
hardiest pirate to blush. Something in Mr. Yollop's eye, however,
and the fidgety way in which he was fingering the trigger of the
pistol, moved him to interrupt a particularly satisfying paean of
blasphemy by breaking off short in the very middle of it to wonder
why in God's name he hadn't had sense enough to remember that all
deaf people are lip-readers.
"Spit it out!" repeated Mr. Yollop, with energy. "Don't talk with
your mouth full. I can't understand a word you say."
This was reassuring but not convincing. There was still the ominous
glitter in the speaker's eye to be reckoned with. The man on the
floor took the precaution to explain: "I hope "you didn't hear what
I was callin' myself." He spoke loudly and very distinctly.
"That's better," said Mr. Yollop, his face brightening. "I was
'afraid my hearing had got worse without my knowing it. All you have
to do is to enunciate distinctly and speak slowly like that,--as if
you were isolating the words,--so to speak,--and I can make out
everything you say. What were you calling yourself?"
"Oh, just a lot of names. I'd sooner not repeat 'em if there's any
women in the house."
"Well, bless my soul, that's uncommonly thoughtful of you. My sister
and her young daughter are here to spend the holidays with me. They
sleep at the back of the apartment. Now, if you will just remain as
you are,--I dare say you'd better put up the other hand, too, if you
can spare it,--I will back up to the table here and get my listening
apparatus. Now you won't have to shout so. I don't know much about
revolvers, but I assume that all one has to do to make it go off is
to press rather firmly on this little contrivance--"
"Yes! But DON'T!"
"Not so loud! Not so loud! I'm not as deaf as all that. And don't
move! I give you fair warning. Watch me closely. If you see me shut
my eyes, you will know I'm going to shoot. Remember that, will you?
The instant you detect the slightest indication that my eyes are
about to close,--dodge!"
"By thunder,--I--I wonder if you're as much of a blame fool as you
seem to be,--or are you just playing horse with me," muttered the
victim, as he raised his other hand. "I'd give ten years of my life
to know,--"
"I won't be a second," announced Mr. Yollop, backing gingerly toward
the table. With his free hand he felt for and found the rather
elaborate contraption that furnished him with the means to
counteract his auricular deficiencies. The hand holding the revolver
wobbled a bit; nevertheless, the little black hole at which the
dazed robber stared as if fascinated was amazingly steadfast in its
regard for the second or perhaps the third button of his coat. "It's
a rather complicated arrangement," he went on to explain, "but very
simple once you get it adjusted to the ear. It took me some time to
get used to wearing this steel band over the top of my head. I never
have tried to put it on with one hand before. Amazing how awkward
one can be with his left hand, isn't it? Now, you see how it goes.
This little receiver business clamps right down to the ear,--so.
Then this disc hangs over my chest--and you talk right at it. For
awhile I made a practice of concealing it under my vest, being
somewhat sensitive about having strangers see that I am deaf, but
one day my niece, a very bright child often, asked me why I did it.
I told her it was because I didn't want people to know I was deaf.
Have you ever felt so foolish that you wanted to kick yourself all
over town? Well, then you know how I felt when that blessed infant
pointed to this thing on my ear and--What say?"
"I say, that's the way I've been feeling ever since I came to,"
repeated the disgusted burglar.
"Of course, I realize that it's a physical, you might well say, a
scientific impossibilty, for one to kick himself all over town, but
just the same, I believe you are as nearly in the mood to accomplish
it as any man alive to-day."
"You bet I could," snapped the thief, with great earnestness. "When
I think how I let a skinny, half-witted boob like you walk right
into a clinch with me, and me holdin' a gun, and weighin' forty
pounds more than you do, I--Can you hear what I'm saying?"
"Perfectly. It's a wonderful invention," said Mr. Yollop, who had
approached to within four or five feet of the speaker and was
bending over to afford him every facility for planting his words
squarely upon the disc. "Speak in the same tone of voice that you
would employ if I were about thirty feet away and perfectly sound of
hearing. Just imagine, if you can, that I am out in the hall, with
the door open, and you are carrying on a conversation with me at
that--"
"I've said all I want to say," growled the other sullenly.
"What is your name?"
"None of your damn business."
Mr. Yollop was silent for a moment. Then he inquired steadily:
"Have you any recollection of receiving a blow on the jaw, and
subsequently lying on the flat of your back with my knees jouncing
up and down on your stomach while your bump of amativeness was being
roughly and somewhat regularly pounded against the wall in response
to a certain nervous and uncontrollable movement of my hands which
happened to be squeezing your windpipe so tightly that your
tongue hung out and--"
"You bet I remember it!" ruefully.
"Well, then," said Mr. Yollop, "what is your name?"
"Jones."
"What?"
"I thought you said you could hear with that thing!"
"I heard you say Jones quite distinctly, but why can't you answer my
question? It was civil enough, wasn't it?"
"Well," said the crook, still decidedly uncertain as to the
expression in Mr. Yollop's eye, "if you insist on a civil answer,
it's Smilk."
"Smith?"
"No, NOT Smith," hastily and earnestly; "Smilk,--S-m-i-l-k."
"Smilk?"
"Smilk."
"Extraordinary name. I've never heard it before, have you?"
The rascal blinked. "Sure. It was my father's name before me, and
my--"
"Look me in the eye!"
"I am lookin' you in the eye. It's Smilk,--Cassius Smilk."
"Sounds convincing," admitted Mr. Yollop. "Nobody would take the
name of Cassius in vain, I am sure. As a sensible, discriminating
thief, you would not deliberately steal a name like Cassius, now
would you?"
"Well, you see, they call me Cash for short," explained Smilk.
"That's something I can steal with a clear conscience."
"I perceive you are recovering your wits, Mr. Smilk. You appear to
be a most ingenuous rogue. Have you ever tried writing the book for
a musical comedy?"
"A--what?"
"A musical comedy. A forty-legged thing you see on Broadway."
Mr. Smilk pondered. "No, sir," he replied, allowing himself a
prideful leer; "if I do say it as shouldn't, I'm an honest thief."
"Bless my soul," cried Mr. Yollop delightedly; "you get brighter
every minute. Perhaps you have at one time or another conducted a
humorous column for a Metropolitan newspaper?"
"Well, I've done my share towards fillin' up the 'lost' column,"
said Mr. Smilk modestly. "Say, if we're going to keep up this
talkfest much longer, I got to let my hands down. The blood's
runnin' out of 'em. What are you goin' to do with me? Keep me
sittin' here till morning?"
"I'm glad you reminded me of it. I want to call the police."
"Well, I'm not hindering you, am I?"
"In a way, yes. How can I call them and keep an eye on you at the
same time?"
"I'll tell what I'll do," said Cassius Smilk obligingly. "I'll take
a message 'round to the police station for you."
"Ah! That gives me an idea. You shall telephone to the police for
me. If my memory serves me well, Spring 3100 is the number. Or is it
Spring 3100 that calls out the fire department? It would be very
awkward to call out the fire department, wouldn't it? They'd
probably come rushing around here and drown both of us before they
found out wer'd made a mistake and really wanted the police."
"All you have to do is to say to Central: 'I want a policeman.'"
"Right you are. That's what the telephone book says. Still I believe
Spring 3100--"
"The simplest way to get the police," broke in the burglar, not
without hope, "is to fire five shots out of a window as rapidly as
possible. They always come for that."
"I see what you are after. You want them to come here and arrest me
for violating the Sullivan Law. Don't you know it's against the law
in New York to have a revolver on your premises or person? And
what's more, you would testify against me, confound you. Also
probably have me up for assault and battery. No, Mr. Smilk, your
suggestion is not a good one. We will stick to the telephone. Now,
if you will be kind enough to fold your arms tightly across your
breast,--that's the idea,--and arise slowly to your feet, I will
instruct you--Yes, I know it is harder to get up without the aid of
the hands than it was to go down, but I think you can manage it. Try
again, if you please." Then, as Mr. Smilk sank sullenly back against
the wall, apparently resolved not to budge: "I'm going to count
three, Cassius. If you are not on your feet at the end of the count,
I shall be obliged to do the telephoning myself."
"That suits me," said Cassius grimly.
"Do you object to the smell of powder?"
"Huh?"
"I don't like it myself, but I should, of course, open the windows
immediately and air the room out--"
"I'll get up," said Cassius, and did so, clumsily but promptly.
"Say, I--I believe you WOULD shoot. You're just the kind of boob
that would do a thing like that."
"I dare say I should miss you if I were to fire all five
bullets,--but that's neither here nor there. You're on your feet,
so--by the way, are you sure this thing is loaded?"
"It wouldn't make any difference if it wasn't. It would go off just
the same. They always do when some darn fool idiot is pointin' them
at people."
"Don't be crotchetty, Cassius," reproached Mr. Yollop. "Now, if you
will just sidle around to the left you will come in due time to the
telephone over there on that desk. I shall not be far behind you.
Sit down. Now unfold your arms and lean both elbows on the desk.
That's the idea. You might keep your right hand exposed,--sort of
perpendicular from the elbow up. Take the receiver off the hook
and--"
"Oh, I know how to use a telephone all right."
"Now, the main thing is to get Central," said Mr. Yollop
imperturbably. "Sometimes it is very difficult to wake them after
two o'clock A.M. Just jiggle it if she doesn't respond at once.
Seems that jiggling wakes them when nothing else will."
Mr. Yollop, very tall and spare in his pajamas, stood behind the
burly Mr. Smilk, the dangling disc almost touching the latter's
hunched up shoulders.
"This is a devil of a note," quoth Mr. Smilk, taking down the
receiver. "Makin' a guy telephone to the police to come and arrest
him."
"I wish I had thought to close that window while you were hors de
combat," complained Mr. Yollop shivering. "I'll probably catch my
death of cold standing around here with almost nothing on. That wind
comes straight from the North Pole. Doesn't she answer?"
"No."
"Jiggle it."
"I did jiggle it."
"What?"
"I said I jiggled it."
"Well, jiggle it again."
"Rottenest telephone service in the world," growled Mr. Smilk. "When
you think what we have to pay for telephones these days, you'd
think--hello! Hell--lo!"
"Got her?"
"I thought I had for a second, but I guess it was somebody yawning."
"Awning?"
"Say, if you'll hold that thing around so's I can talk at it, you'll
hear what I'm saying. How do you expect me to--hello! Central?
Central! Hello! Where the hell have you been all--hello! Well, can
you beat it? I had her and she got away."
"No use trying to get her now," said Mr. Yollop, resignedly. "Hang
up for a few minutes. It makes 'em stubborn when you swear at 'em.
Like mules. I've just thought of something else you can do for me
while we're waiting for her to make up her mind to forgive you. Come
along over here and close this window you left open."
Mr. Smilk in closing the window, looked searchingly up and down the
fire escape, peered intently into the street below, sighed
profoundly and muttered something that Mr. Yollop did not hear.
"I've got a fur coat hanging in that closet over there, Cassius. We
will get it out."
Carefully following Mr. Yollop's directions, the obliging rascal
produced the coat and laid it upon the table in the center of the
room.
"Turn your back," commanded the owner of the coat, "and hold up your
hands." Then, after he had slipped into the coat: "Now if I only had
my slippers--but never mind. We won't bother about 'em. They're in
my bed room, and probably lost under the bed. They always are, even
when I take 'em off out in the middle of the room. Ah! Nothing like
a fur coat, Cassius. Do you know what cockles are?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, never mind. Now, let's try Central again. Please remember
that no matter how distant she is, she still expects you to look
upon her as a lady. No lady likes to be sworn at at two o'clock in
the morning. Speak gently to her. Call her Madamoiselle. That always
gets them. Makes 'em think if they keep their ears open they'll hear
something spicy."
"They general fall for dearie," said Mr. Smilk, taking down the
receiver.
"Be good enough to remember that you are calling from my apartment,"
said Mr. Yollop severely. "Jiggle it."
Mr. Smilk jiggled it. "I guess she's still mad."
"Jiggle it slowly, tenderly, caressingly. Sort of seductively. Don't
be so savage about it."
"Hello! Central? What number do I have to call to get Spring 3100?
... I'm not trying to be fresh: ... Yes, that's what I want ... I
know the book says to tell you 'I want to call a policeman' but--
... Yes, there's a burglar in my apartment and I want you to--What's
that? ... I don't want to go to bed. ... Say, now YOU'RE gettin'
fresh. You give me police--"
"Tell her I've got you surrounded," whispered Mr. Yollop.
"Hello! Hell--lo! Central!"
"Jiggle it."
"Ah, Mademoiselle! Pardon my--"
Voice at the other end of the wire: "Ring off! You've got wrong
number. This is police headquarters." Audible sound of distant
receiver being slapped upon its hook.
"Gee whiz! Now, we're up against it, Mister. We'll be all night
gettin' Central again."
"Be patient, Cassius. Start all over again. Ask for the morgue this
time. That will make her realize the grave danger you are in."
"Say, I wish you'd put that gun in your pocket. It makes the goose
flesh creep out all over me. I'm not going to try to get away. Give
you my word of honor I ain't. You seem to have some sort of idea
that I don't want to be arrested."
"I confess I had some such idea, Cassius."
"Well, I don't mind it a bit. Fact is, I've been doin' my best to
get nabbed for the last three months."
"You have?"
"Sure. The trouble is with the police. They somehow seem to overlook
me, no matter how open I am about it. I suppose I've committed
twenty burglaries in the past three months and I'll be cussed if I
can make 'em understand. Take to-night, for instance. I clumb up
that fire escape,--this is the third floor, ain't it?--I clumb up
here with a big electric street light shinin' square on my back,
--why, darn the luck, I had to turn my back on it 'cause the light
hurt my eyes,--and there were two cops standin' right down below
here talkin' about the crime wave bein' all bunk, both of 'em
arguin' that the best proof that there ain't no crime wave is the
fact that the jails are only half full, showin' that the city is
gettin' more and more honest all the time. I could hear 'em plain as
anything. They were talkin' loud, so as to make everybody in this
buildin' rest easy, I guess. I stopped at the second floor and
monkeyed with the window, hopin' to attract their attention. Didn't
work. So I had to climb up another flight. This window of yours was
up about six inches, so there wasn't anything for me to do but to
raise it and come in. What I had in mind was to stick my head out
after a minute or two and yell 'thieves', 'police', and so on. Then
before I knowed what was happenin', you walks in, switches on the
light, and comes straight over and biffs me in the jaw. Does that
look as if I was tryin' to avoid arrest?"
"That's a very pretty story, Cassius, and no doubt will make a
tremendous hit with the jury, but what were you doing with a loaded
revolver in your hand, and why were you so full of vituperation,--I
mean, what made you swear so when I--"
"You let somebody hit you a wallop on the jaw and bang your head
against the wall and dance on your ribs, and you'll cuss worse than
I did."
"But,--about the revolver?"
"Well, to be honest with you, I probably would have shot you if I
hadn't been so low in my mind. I won't deny that. It's a sort of
principle with us, you see. No self-respecting burglar wants to be
captured by the party he's tryin' to rob. Its so damn' mortifyin'.
Besides, if that sort of thing happens to you, the police lose all
kinds of respect for you and try to use you as a stool-pigeon, if
you know what that means."
"This is most interesting, I must say. I should like to hear more
about it, Mr. Smilk. I dare say we can have quite a long and
edifying chat while we are waiting for the police to respond to our
call for help. In the meantime, you might see if you can get them
now. Spring, three one hundred."
"As I was sayin' awhile ago, would you mind puttin' that gun in your
pocket?"
"While you've been chinning, Cassius, I have been making a most
thrilling and amazing experiment. Do you call this thing under
here a trigger?"
"Yes. Don't monkey with it, you--you--"
"I've been pressing it,--very gently and cautiously, of course,--to
see just how near I can come to making it go off without actually--"
"For God's sake! Cut that--Hey, Central! Give me police headquarters
again. ... Lively, please. ... Yes, it's life or death. ... Come on,
Mademoiselle,--please!"
"That's the way," complimented Mr. Yollop.
"By gosh, nobody ever wanted the police more than I do at this
minute," gulped Mr. Smilk. He was perspiring freely. "Hello! Police
headquarters? ... Hustle someone to--to--(over his shoulder to Mr.
Yollop, in a whisper,)--quick! What's the number of this,--"
"418 Sagamore Terrace."
Into the transmitter: "To 418 Sagamore Terrace, third floor front.
Burglar. Hurry up!"
Telephone: "What's yer name?"
Smilk, to Yollop: "What is my name?"
Mr. Yollop: "Crittenden Yollop."
Smilk, to telephone: "Crittelyum Yop."
Telephone, languidly: "Spell it."
Smilk: "Aw, go to--"
Mr. Yollop: "After me now,--Y-o-l-l-o-p."
Telephone: "First name."
Smilk, prompted. "C-r-i-t-t-e-n-d-e-n."
Telephone, after interval: "What floor?"
Smilk: "Third."
Telephone: "Are you sure it's a burglar, or is it just a noise
somewhere?"
Smilk: "It's a burglar. He's got me covered."
Telephone: "What's that?"
Smilk: "I say, I've got him covered. Hurry up or he'll blow my head
off--"
Telephone: "Say, what IS this? Get back to bed, you. You're drunk."
Smilk: "I'm as sober as you are. Can't you get me straight? I tell
you I beat his head off. He's down and out,--but---"
Telephone: "All right. We'll have someone there in a few minutes.
Did you say Yullup?"
Smilk: "No. I said hurry up."
CHAPTER TWO
"The thing that's troubling me now," said Mr. Yollop, as Smilk hung
up the receiver and twisted his head slightly to peek out of the
corner of his eye, "is how to get hold of my slippers. You've no
idea how cold this floor is."
"If it's half as cold as the sweat I'm---"
"We're likely to have a long wait," went on the other, frowning. "It
will probably take the police a couple of hours to find this
building, with absolutely no clue except the number and the name of
the street."
"I'll tell you what you might do, Mr. Scollop, seein' as you won't
trust me to go in and find your slippers for you. Why don't you sit
on your feet? Take that big arm chair over there and--"
"Splendid! By jove, Cassius, you are an uncommonly clever chap. I'll
do it. And then, when the police arrive, we'll have something for
them to do. We'll let them see if they can find my slippers. That
ought to be really quite interesting."
"There's something about you," said Mr. Smilk, not without a touch
of admiration in his voice, "that I simply can't help liking."
"That's what the wolf said to Little Red Riding-Hood, if I remember
correctly. However, I thank you, Cassius. In spite of the thump I
gave you and the disgusting way in which I treated you, a visitor in
my own house, you express a liking for me. It is most gratifying.
Still, for the time being, I believe we can be much better friends
if I keep this pistol pointed at you. Now we 'll do a little
maneuvering. You may remain seated where you are. However, I must
ask you to pull out the two lower drawers in the desk,--one on
either side of where your knees go. You will find them quite empty
and fairly commodious. Now, put your right foot in the drawer on
this side and your left foot in the other one--yes, I know it's
quite a stretch, but I dare say you can manage it. Sort of recalls
the old days when evil-doers were put in the stocks, doesn't it?
They seem to be quite a snug fit, don't they? If it is as difficult
for you to extricate your feet from those drawers as it was to
insert them, I fancy I'm pretty safe from a sudden and impulsive
dash in my direction. Rather bright idea of mine, eh?"
"I'm beginnin' to change my opinion of you," announced Mr. Smilk.
Mr. Yollop pushed a big unholstered library chair up to the opposite
side of the desk and, after several awkward attempts, succeeded in
sitting down, tailor fashion, with his feet neatly tucked away
beneath him.
"I wasn't quite sure I could do it," said he, rather proudly. "I
suppose my feet will go to sleep in a very short time, but I am
assuming, Cassius, that you are too much of a gentleman to attack a
man whose feet are asleep."
"I wouldn't even attack you if they were snoring," said Cassius,
grinning in spite of himself. "Say, this certainly beats anything
I've ever come up against. If one of my pals was to happen to look
in here right now and see me with my feet in these drawers and you
squattin' on yours,--well, I can't help laughin' myself, and God
knows I hate to."
"You were saying a little while ago," said Mr. Yollop, shifting his
position slightly, "that you rather fancy the idea of being
arrested. Isn't that a little quixotic, Mr. Smilk?"
"Huh?"
"I mean to say, do you expect me to believe you when you say you
relish being arrested?"
"I don't care a whoop whether you believe it or not. It's true."
"Have you no fear of the law?"
"Bless your heart, sir, I don't know how I'd keep body and soul
together if it wasn't for the law. If people would only let the law
alone, I'd be one of the happiest guys on earth. But, damn 'em, they
won't let it alone. First, they put their heads together and frame
up this blasted parole game on us. Just about the time we begin to
think we're comfortably settled up the river, 'long cmes some
doggone home-wrecker and gets us out on parole. Then we got to go to
work and begin all over again. Sometimes, the way things are
nowadays, it takes months to get back into the pen again. We got to
live, ain't we? We got to eat, ain't we? Well, there you are. Why
can't they leave us alone instead of drivin' us out into a cold,
unfeelin' world where we got to either steal or starve to death?
There wouldn't be one tenth as much stealin' and murderin' as there
is if they didn't force us into it. Why, doggone it, I've seen some
of the most cruel and pitiful sights you ever heard of up there at
Sing Sing. Fellers leadin' a perfectly honest life suddenly chucked
out into a world full of vice and iniquity and forced--absolutely
forced,--into a life of crime. There they were, livin' a quiet,
peaceful life, harmin' nobody, and bing! they wake up some mornin'
and find themselves homeless. Do you realize what that means, Mr.
Strumpet? It means--"