The Gold That Glittered
A story with a moral appended is like the bill of a mosquito. It boresyou, and then injects a stinging drop to irritate your conscience.Therefore let us have the moral first and be done with it. All is notgold that glitters, but it is a wise child that keeps the stopper in hisbottle of testing acid.
Where Broadway skirts the corner of the square presided over by Georgethe Veracious is the Little Rialto. Here stand the actors of thatquarter, and this is their shibboleth: "'Nit,' says I to Frohman, 'youcan't touch me for a kopeck less than two-fifty per,' and out I walks."
Westward and southward from the Thespian glare are one or two streetswhere a Spanish-American colony has huddled for a little tropicalwarmth in the nipping North. The centre of life in this precinct is "ElRefugio," a café and restaurant that caters to the volatile exiles fromthe South. Up from Chili, Bolivia, Colombia, the rolling republics ofCentral America and the ireful islands of the Western Indies flit thecloaked and sombreroed señores, who are scattered like burning lava bythe political eruptions of their several countries. Hither they come tolay counterplots, to bide their time, to solicit funds, to enlistfilibusterers, to smuggle out arms and ammunitions, to play the game atlong taw. In El Refugio, they find the atmosphere in which they thrive.
In the restaurant of El Refugio are served compounds delightful to thepalate of the man from Capricorn or Cancer. Altruism must halt the storythus long. On, diner, weary of the culinary subterfuges of the Gallicchef, hie thee to El Refugio! There only will you find a fish--bluefish,shad or pompano from the Gulf--baked after the Spanish method. Tomatoesgive it color, individuality and soul; chili colorado bestows uponit zest, originality and fervor; unknown herbs furnish piquancy andmystery, and--but its crowning glory deserves a new sentence. Aroundit, above it, beneath it, in its vicinity--but never in it--hovers anethereal aura, an effluvium so rarefied and delicate that only theSociety for Psychical Research could note its origin. Do not say thatgarlic is in the fish at El Refugio. It is not otherwise than as if thespirit of Garlic, flitting past, has wafted one kiss that lingers in theparsley-crowned dish as haunting as those kisses in life, "by hopelessfancy feigned on lips that are for others." And then, when Conchito, thewaiter, brings you a plate of brown frijoles and a carafe of wine thathas never stood still between Oporto and El Refugio--ah, Dios!
One day a Hamburg-American liner deposited upon Pier No. 55 Gen. PerricoXimenes Villablanca Falcon, a passenger from Cartagena. The Generalwas between a claybank and a bay in complexion, had a 42-inch waistand stood 5 feet 4 with his Du Barry heels. He had the mustache ofa shooting-gallery proprietor, he wore the full dress of a Texascongressman and had the important aspect of an uninstructed delegate.
Gen. Falcon had enough English under his hat to enable him to inquirehis way to the street in which El Refugio stood. When he reached thatneighborhood he saw a sign before a respectable red-brick house thatread, "Hotel Español." In the window was a card in Spanish, "Aqui sehabla Español." The General entered, sure of a congenial port.
In the cozy office was Mrs. O'Brien, the proprietress. She hadblond--oh, unimpeachably blond hair. For the rest she was amiability,and ran largely to inches around. Gen. Falcon brushed the floor withhis broad-brimmed hat, and emitted a quantity of Spanish, the syllablessounding like firecrackers gently popping their way down the string ofa bunch.
"Spanish or Dago?" asked Mrs. O'Brien, pleasantly.
"I am a Colombian, madam," said the General, proudly. "I speak theSpanish. The advisement in your window say the Spanish he is spokenhere. How is that?"
"Well, you've been speaking it, ain't you?" said the madam. "I'm sure Ican't."
At the Hotel Español General Falcon engaged rooms and establishedhimself. At dusk he sauntered out upon the streets to view the wondersof this roaring city of the North. As he walked he thought of thewonderful golden hair of Mme. O'Brien. "It is here," said the Generalto himself, no doubt in his own language, "that one shall find the mostbeautiful señoras in the world. I have not in my Colombia viewed amongour beauties one so fair. But no! It is not for the General Falcon tothink of beauty. It is my country that claims my devotion."
At the corner of Broadway and the Little Rialto the General becameinvolved. The street cars bewildered him, and the fender of one upsethim against a pushcart laden with oranges. A cab driver missed him aninch with a hub, and poured barbarous execrations upon his head. Hescrambled to the sidewalk and skipped again in terror when the whistleof a peanut-roaster puffed a hot scream in his ear. "Válgame Dios! Whatdevil's city is this?"
As the General fluttered out of the streamers of passers like a woundedsnipe he was marked simultaneously as game by two hunters. One was"Bully" McGuire, whose system of sport required the use of a strong armand the misuse of an eight-inch piece of lead pipe. The other Nimrod ofthe asphalt was "Spider" Kelley, a sportsman with more refined methods.
In pouncing upon their self-evident prey, Mr. Kelley was a shade thequicker. His elbow fended accurately the onslaught of Mr. McGuire.
"G'wan!" he commanded harshly. "I saw it first." McGuire slunk away,awed by superior intelligence.
"Pardon me," said Mr. Kelley, to the General, "but you got balled up inthe shuffle, didn't you? Let me assist you." He picked up the General'shat and brushed the dust from it.
The ways of Mr. Kelley could not but succeed. The General, bewilderedand dismayed by the resounding streets, welcomed his deliverer as acaballero with a most disinterested heart.
"I have a desire," said the General, "to return to the hotel of O'Brien,in which I am stop. Caramba! señor, there is a loudness and rapidness ofgoing and coming in the city of this Nueva York."
Mr. Kelley's politeness would not suffer the distinguished Colombian tobrave the dangers of the return unaccompanied. At the door of the HotelEspañol they paused. A little lower down on the opposite side of thestreet shone the modest illuminated sign of El Refugio. Mr. Kelley, towhom few streets were unfamiliar, knew the place exteriorly as a "Dagojoint." All foreigners Mr. Kelley classed under the two heads of"Dagoes" and Frenchmen. He proposed to the General that they repairthither and substantiate their acquaintance with a liquid foundation.
An hour later found General Falcon and Mr. Kelley seated at a table inthe conspirator's corner of El Refugio. Bottles and glasses were betweenthem. For the tenth time the General confided the secret of his missionto the Estados Unidos. He was here, he declared, to purchase arms--2,000stands of Winchester rifles--for the Colombian revolutionists. Hehad drafts in his pocket drawn by the Cartagena Bank on its New Yorkcorrespondent for $25,000. At other tables other revolutionists wereshouting their political secrets to their fellow-plotters; but none wasas loud as the General. He pounded the table; he hallooed for some wine;he roared to his friend that his errand was a secret one, and not to behinted at to a living soul. Mr. Kelley himself was stirred tosympathetic enthusiasm. He grasped the General's hand across the table.
"Monseer," he said, earnestly, "I don't know where this country of yoursis, but I'm for it. I guess it must be a branch of the United States,though, for the poetry guys and the schoolmarms call us Columbia, too,sometimes. It's a lucky thing for you that you butted into me to-night.I'm the only man in New York that can get this gun deal through for you.The Secretary of War of the United States is me best friend. He's in thecity now, and I'll see him for you to-morrow. In the meantime, monseer,you keep them drafts tight in your inside pocket. I'll call for youto-morrow, and take you to see him. Say! that ain't the District ofColumbia you're talking about, is it?" concluded Mr. Kelley, with asudden qualm. "You can't capture that with no 2,000 guns--it's beentried with more."
"No, no, no!" exclaimed the General. "It is the Republic of Colombia--itis a g-r-reat republic on the top side of America of the South. Yes.Yes."
"All right," said Mr. Kelley, reassured. "Now suppose we trek along homeand go by-by. I'll write to the Secretary to-night and make a date withhim. It's a ticklish job to get guns out of New York. McClusky himselfcan't do it."
They parted at the door of the Hotel Español. The General rolled hiseyes at the moon and sighed.
"It is a great country, your Nueva York," he said. "Truly the cars inthe streets devastate one, and the engine that cooks the nuts terriblymakes a squeak in the ear. But, ah, Señor Kelley--the señoras with hairof much goldness, and admirable fatness--they are magnificas! Muymagnificas!"
Kelley went to the nearest telephone booth and called up McCrary's café,far up on Broadway. He asked for Jimmy Dunn.
"Is that Jimmy Dunn?" asked Kelley.
"Yes," came the answer.
"You're a liar," sang back Kelley, joyfully. "You're the Secretary ofWar. Wait there till I come up. I've got the finest thing down here inthe way of a fish you ever baited for. It's a Colorado-maduro, with agold band around it and free coupons enough to buy a red hall lamp and astatuette of Psyche rubbering in the brook. I'll be up on the next car."
Jimmy Dunn was an A. M. of Crookdom. He was an artist in the confidenceline. He never saw a bludgeon in his life; and he scorned knockoutdrops. In fact, he would have set nothing before an intended victim butthe purest of drinks, if it had been possible to procure such a thing inNew York. It was the ambition of "Spider" Kelley to elevate himself intoJimmy's class.
These two gentlemen held a conference that night at McCrary's. Kelleyexplained.
"He's as easy as a gumshoe. He's from the Island of Colombia, wherethere's a strike, or a feud, or something going on, and they've sent himup here to buy 2,000 Winchesters to arbitrate the thing with. He showedme two drafts for $10,000 each, and one for $5,000 on a bank here. 'Struth, Jimmy, I felt real mad with him because he didn't have it inthousand-dollar bills, and hand it to me on a silver waiter. Now, we'vegot to wait till he goes to the bank and gets the money for us."
They talked it over for two hours, and then Dunn said; "Bring him toNo. ---- Broadway, at four o'clock to-morrow afternoon."
In due time Kelley called at the Hotel Español for the General. He foundthe wily warrior engaged in delectable conversation with Mrs. O'Brien.
"The Secretary of War is waitin' for us," said Kelley.
The General tore himself away with an effort.
"Ay, señor," he said, with a sigh, "duty makes a call. But, señor, theseñoras of your Estados Unidos--how beauties! For exemplification, takeyou la Madame O'Brien--que magnifica! She is one goddess--one Juno--whatyou call one ox-eyed Juno."
Now Mr. Kelley was a wit; and better men have been shriveled by the fireof their own imagination.
"Sure!" he said with a grin; "but you mean a peroxide Juno, don't you?"
Mrs. O'Brien heard, and lifted an auriferous head. Her businesslike eyerested for an instant upon the disappearing form of Mr. Kelley. Exceptin street cars one should never be unnecessarily rude to a lady.
When the gallant Colombian and his escort arrived at the Broadwayaddress, they were held in an anteroom for half an hour, and thenadmitted into a well-equipped office where a distinguished looking man,with a smooth face, wrote at a desk. General Falcon was presented to theSecretary of War of the United States, and his mission made known by hisold friend, Mr. Kelley.
"Ah--Colombia!" said the Secretary, significantly, when he was made tounderstand; "I'm afraid there will be a little difficulty in that case.The President and I differ in our sympathies there. He prefers theestablished government, while I--" the secretary gave the General amysterious but encouraging smile. "You, of course, know, General Falcon,that since the Tammany war, an act of Congress has been passed requiringall manufactured arms and ammunition exported from this country to passthrough the War Department. Now, if I can do anything for you I will beglad to do so to oblige my old friend, Mr. Kelley. But it must be inabsolute secrecy, as the President, as I have said, does not regardfavorably the efforts of your revolutionary party in Colombia. I willhave my orderly bring a list of the available arms now in thewarehouse."
The Secretary struck a bell, and an orderly with the letters A. D. T. onhis cap stepped promptly into the room.
"Bring me Schedule B of the small arms inventory," said the Secretary.
The orderly quickly returned with a printed paper. The Secretary studiedit closely.
"I find," he said, "that in Warehouse 9, of Government stores, there isshipment of 2,000 stands of Winchester rifles that were ordered by theSultan of Morocco, who forgot to send the cash with his order. Our ruleis that legal-tender money must be paid down at the time of purchase.My dear Kelley, your friend, General Falcon, shall have this lot ofarms, if he desires it, at the manufacturer's price. And you willforgive me, I am sure, if I curtail our interview. I am expecting theJapanese Minister and Charles Murphy every moment!"
As one result of this interview, the General was deeply grateful to hisesteemed friend, Mr. Kelley. As another, the nimble Secretary of War wasextremely busy during the next two days buying empty rifle cases andfilling them with bricks, which were then stored in a warehouse rentedfor that purpose. As still another, when the General returned to theHotel Español, Mrs. O'Brien went up to him, plucked a thread from hislapel, and said:
"Say, señor, I don't want to 'butt in,' but what does that monkey-faced,cat-eyed, rubber-necked tin horn tough want with you?"
"Sangre de mi vida!" exclaimed the General. "Impossible it is that youspeak of my good friend, Señor Kelley."
"Come into the summer garden," said Mrs. O'Brien. "I want to have a talkwith you."
Let us suppose that an hour has elapsed.
"And you say," said the General, "that for the sum of $18,000 can bepurchased the furnishment of the house and the lease of one year withthis garden so lovely--so resembling unto the patios of my caraColombia?"
"And dirt cheap at that," sighed the lady.
"Ah, Dios!" breathed General Falcon. "What to me is war and politics?This spot is one paradise. My country it have other brave heroes tocontinue the fighting. What to me should be glory and the shooting ofmans? Ah! no. It is here I have found one angel. Let us buy the HotelEspañol and you shall be mine, and the money shall not be waste onguns."
Mrs. O'Brien rested her blond pompadour against the shoulder of theColombian patriot.
"Oh, señor," she sighed, happily, "ain't you terrible!"
Two days later was the time appointed for the delivery of the arms tothe General. The boxes of supposed rifles were stacked in the rentedwarehouse, and the Secretary of War sat upon them, waiting for hisfriend Kelley to fetch the victim.
Mr. Kelley hurried, at the hour, to the Hotel Español. He found theGeneral behind the desk adding up accounts.
"I have decide," said the General, "to buy not guns. I have to-day buythe insides of this hotel, and there shall be marrying of the GeneralPerrico Ximenes Villablanca Falcon with la Madame O'Brien."
Mr. Kelley almost strangled.
"Say, you old bald-headed bottle of shoe polish," he spluttered, "you'rea swindler--that's what you are! You've bought a boarding house withmoney belonging to your infernal country, wherever it is."
"Ah," said the General, footing up a column, "that is what you callpolitics. War and revolution they are not nice. Yes. It is not best thatone shall always follow Minerva. No. It is of quite desirable to keephotels and be with that Juno--that ox-eyed Juno. Ah! what hair of thegold it is that she have!"
Mr. Kelley choked again.
"Ah, Senor Kelley!" said the General, feelingly and finally, "is it thatyou have never eaten of the corned beef hash that Madame O'Brien shemake?"
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