Putting it over

Front matter

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COPHUGKT DEPOSIT.

PUTTING IT OYER

Chapter I

The door of O’Reilly’s office stood open, and Jimmy Blake, strolling leisurely down the gym¬ nasium corridor, could see that the head coach was seated at his desk, gazing straight before him, as though deep in thought.

“ I’ll bet five dollars,” reflected Jimmy, “ that he’s doping out some inside stuff for to-morrow’s game. And I’ll bet another five that we’re going to need it. There’s not much difference between their team and ours; it’s a toss-up which wins.”

As he entered the room, O’Reilly glanced absent-mindedly up at him; then, recognizing his star pitcher and favorite pupil, gave him a cordial welcome.

“ Hullo there, Jimmy,” he cried; “ you’re just the man I was looking for. I want to talk to you about that delayed steal play. Sit down a minute, and let’s work it out.”

“ Fd like to, first-rate, Mike/’ Jimmy answered, “ but I haven’t time now. I’ve got to catch the next train in town. That’s what I came over for — to tell you I shouldn’t be out for practice.”

O’Reilly, famous “ big leaguer ” in his day, and now head coach of the college ball team, frowned portentously.

“ Won’t be out for practice,” he repeated. “ And the last game of the season to-morrow. Say, what’s the matter with you, anyway? ”

For answer, Jimmy fumbled in his pocket, and drawing forth a letter, handed it to the coach. O’Reilly read it through, once, twice and thrice, and with each perusal his frown deepened. At length he looked up, stroking his chin with his hand.

“ Humph,” he observed; “ your uncle, eh? Well, I’m sorry, Jimmy; that’s too bad.”

“ Yes,” Jimmy responded, though without any great display of feeling, “ it is too bad. But then,” he added, “ there’s no use making a bluff about it. I never laid eyes on him in my life, so it’s really just the same as if he’d been no rela¬ tion at all. Still,” he concluded, “ I suppose I’d better show up, as requested. It sounds impres¬ sive: that ‘ business of the utmost importance ’ part.”

“ Yes/’ O’Reilly agreed, “ it sure does. Looks to be the real goods. It’s a pity, though, you have to go this afternoon. I don’t feel any too easy about to-morrow’s game. Those boys are going to put up an awful fight.”

There fell silence, O’Reilly’s thoughts revert¬ ing to the problem of the delayed steal, while Jimmy stood gazing pensively forth from the open window across the sunlit yard. Suddenly, with the air of a man who comes to a definite conclusion, he addressed the coach.

“ Say, Mike,” he observed, “ I’ll give you one dandy little bet. I never saw this lawyer guy, and I never heard of him, but I’ll lay you one to two — five dollars against ten — that he’s over fifty years old, and has side-whiskers. Now what do you say to that? ”

O’Reilly, after a moment of justifiable surprise, proceeded to divert his thoughts from the topic of delayed steals, and to focus them, instead, upon the alien subject of whiskers. His inclination was to regard Jimmy’s proposition favorably, but being a man of caution where money was con¬ cerned, he first, before committing himself, re-read the letter for the fourth time, as if seeking to dis¬ cover there some clue to his pupil’s willingness to bet. Finding none, he meditated for a moment, then briefly observed, “ You’re on/’ and methodi¬ cally entered the wager in his note-book. After which, he handed the letter back to Jimmy, remarking, as he did so, “ I don’t doubt he’s an old man. You’re figuring, of course, that he knew your uncle, and you’ve probably doped that right. But I can’t see the rest of your bet at all. For Heaven’s sake, Jimmy, why whiskers? ”

Blake’s answer was vague, and savored of the feminine.

“ Oh, just because,” he rejoined. “ The whole thing, you know. I’ve seen it on the stage, a hundred times. He has to have ’em.”

O’Reilly’s face showed a distinct failure to comprehend.

“ Don’t get you, my son,” was his reply.

Jimmy roused himself to further effort.

“ Why, look here,” he explained, “ it’s as simple as ABC. A man’s uncle goes out west, and nothing is heard of him for long, long years. At last he dies. Then you know what happens, as well as I do.”

“ Certainly, Jimmy,” the coach assented, with an almost suspicious ingenuousness; “ any one could guess that. They bury him.”

Jimmy looked his disgust.

“ Oh, shut up,” he retorted; “ don’t spring any of that old stuff. No, the next thing is to find the missing heir, to tell him his uncle has left him a million dollars. It’s happened so often, there’s no use trying to prevent it. Any uncle who dies out west has to leave that much, just as a matter of pride. It’s a kind of occidendal avuncular precedent, as you might say.”

O’Reilly grinned.

“ Accidental avuncular fiddlesticks,” he re¬ torted. “ But I’m sure I hope it’s so, Jimmy; I always like to know some one I can borrow from. Do you happen to be the only pebble, or are there others, besides you? ”

“ There’s one other,” Jimmy answered. “ My cousin Harold. As far as I know, he and I are all that are left of the Blake family. But wouldn’t I hate, though,” he added, “ to have to divvy up with Hal. I tell you, that would certainly hurt.”

“ Humph,” commented O’Reilly; “ never knew you to be a hog before, Jimmy. Isn’t a half million enough? ”

“ Oh, it wasn’t the money I was thinking about,” returned Jimmy. “ It was Harold. He’s a chap you like to pin the bug on, if you can. Though he’s not a bad sort, in his way; Sunday school teacher, and all that kind of thing. But he’s awfully stuck on himself. Thinks little Harold is just about right. You know what I mean. You’ve seen plenty of ’em here.”

“ You bet I have,” O’Reilly responded with feeling; “ but say, Jimmy, you’re wandering from the subject. Admitting the million dollars, and allowing that you’re the heir, you’re not answering my question. Give it to me straight, now. Why does the lawyer wear whiskers? ”

Jimmy sighed.

“ Well, don’t ask it,” he complained, “ as if it were an end man’s gag in a minstrel show. I’m disappointed in you, Mike; I thought you were better informed about such things. It’s the lawyer, of course, who has to break the news about the money. He finds the heir in the old garden, in front of the heroine’s house, and begins, ‘ My dear boy, Mr. So and So, your uncle, was my oldest friend.’ And after that, by easy stages, he pro¬ ceeds to put him wise to the million. There’s never any variation to it. And the lawyer is always elderly, with a rosy face and white side-whiskers. It can’t,” he added flippantly, “ be done without the make-up. And your ten dollars, old top, is gone, just as sure as a gun.”

But O’Reilly did not appear to be in the least disturbed.

“ Now look here, Jimmy,” he responded, “ when it’s a case of outguessing a batter, I’ve always said, and I’ll say it again now, that there isn’t a college boy in this country who can touch you. With your speed, and your head, and that ‘spitter ’ of yours, you’ve got the makings of a real genuine big league pitcher. But when it comes to figuring whether or not a guy has whiskers, why that’s an altogether different proposition. They say you’ve made more crazy bets in four years than any chap who ever came to college, but it seems to me this whisker business is kind of crowding the limit pretty hard. I’d call it sort of overdoing the thing.”

Jimmy grinned.

“ You wait,” he returned. “ You say I’m good at outguessing batters. Well, that’s because I use my imagination on ’em. And that’s all I’m doing now. Why, I’d almost make the bet, Mike, just on the man’s name. Edgar J. Ellison. He just naturally has to have ’em. It’s a perfect cinch.”

O’Reilly heaved a pitying sigh.

“ My son,” he replied, “ you’re crazy as a loon, and you’re throwing away five dollars. But all jokes aside, I really hate to have you go this after¬ noon. There were a lot of things I wanted to talk over with you. In the first place, I can’t be sure of Charley Craven. He’s as nervous as a witch. If he has one of his good days, he’ll be all right, but if he happens to get going bad, then he’ll be simply rotten, and I’ll have to yank him out, and put you in, even though it isn’t your turn. I’m sorry now I didn’t save you for this game, Jimmy, for it’s going to be a tough one. It’s got me worried, good and plenty.”

“ Yes,” Jimmy admitted, “ they’re a hard hitting team, and they’re fast on the bases, too. But I really think,” he added comfortingly, “ that we ought to win. Charley was steaming ’em over yesterday, in practice. I doubt if you need me at all.”

O’Reilly, however, did not seem to share his confidence.

“ You can’t tell anything about it,” he answered. “ It’s easy to say who’ll start a game, but it’s mighty hard to guess who’ll finish it. Still, as you say, Charley might be able to turn the trick. I’ll know better when I’ve seen him work this afternoon. Stop in to-night, anyway, Jimmy, when you come back, and we’ll have our talk then.”

“ All right,” Jimmy agreed. “ I won’t forget,” and with a sigh of regret at the thought of being absent from practice, he forthwith reluctantly departed for town.

Half way across the yard, he came face to face with Charley Craven, second string pitcher on the ’Varsity team. His classmate greeted him heartily.

“ Hullo, sport/’ he cried. “ Going the wrong way, aren’t you? ”

“ Got to get in town,” Jimmy answered. “ Just stopped to tell Mike about it. And I told him something else, too. I said if you pitched to¬ morrow the way you did yesterday, you’d win that game in a walk.”

“ Gee, but I hope so,” rejoined Craven. “ It’s our last chance to be on a championship team. And my girl’s come on, too, to see the game. So if I’m ever going to show anything, to-morrow’s the time. Say, Jimmy,” he added, “ did I tell you I was giving a tea for her this afternoon. I want you to be there, sure. She’s asked a lot about you. So drop in, when you get back.”

Blake regarded him pensively.

“ Charley,” he responded, “ I’d do ’most any¬ thing for you. You could have my last ounce of tobacco, my last nickel, just for the asking. But to go to a tea, to meet a lot of silly girls — that’s where I draw the line. What’s the use of having principles, if you don’t live up to ’em? ”

But Craven would not be denied.

“ Well, I know you don’t like girls/’ he admitted, “ but Dorothy is different. She’s not the silly kind. And she’s crazy about base ball, too; she can talk it by the hour. She’s the best ever, Jimmy; you come.”

“ Well, if I get back in time,” Jimmy tempo¬ rized, “ I will,” and with a glance at his watch, he hastened away toward the station.

Two hours later, the elevator had propelled him upward, like a bullet, to the tenth floor of the Granger Building, and half way down the corridor he found himself pausing in front of Mr. Ellison’s door. To the casual caller, the neat black letter¬ ing on the glass would have possessed no special significance, but to Jimmy, intent upon winning his bet, “ 1025, Edgar J. Ellison, Private; Enter 1026,” seemed essentially correct and dignified, and pleasantly corroborative of his theories regard¬ ing the appearance of Mr. Ellison, himself. And thus, as he opened the door, it was his wager which was still uppermost in his mind, but as he crossed the threshold all such thoughts were suddenly put to flight, for over by the window, leisurely reading the paper, sat a young man, well-groomed, immaculate, wearing a decorous black tie, and with a band of crepe on his left arm. And immediately

Jimmy’s brow clouded, for it needed no second glance to tell him that it was his particular aver¬ sion, his cousin, Harold Blake.

The feeling of distaste seemed to be entirely mutual. One cousin did not rise; the other did not advance; and a constrained “ How are you, Jimmy,” and a stiff “ Hullo, Harold,” appeared, for the time being, to exhaust the conversational powers of both.

After a moment’s hesitation, however, Jimmy decided that he might as well be civil, and accord¬ ingly drew a chair toward the window and sat down.

“ Ellison in? ” he inquired.

“ Yes,” Harold answered, “ he’ll see us shortly. He’s dictating some letters to his stenographer just now, but she said he’d be through in a very few minutes.”

As he spoke, he surveyed his cousin’s light suit and cheery tie with a glance of disapproval.

“ You don’t seem,” he chided, “ to have gone out of your way to show respect to our uncle’s memory.”

But Jimmy ignored the reproof.

“ Oh well,” he returned, “ what’s the sense of being a hypocrite. From all I hear, I guess Uncle Eb was a pretty good old sport, and I don’t believe, if he knew about it, he’d care a hang whether we wore black or not. So what’s the odds? ”

Harold looked pained, and his answer was characteristic of him.

“ The custom,” he observed coldly, “ is well established,” and the conversation flagged again.

At length, Jimmy could stand it no longer.

“ Harold,” he questioned, “ any idea what’s doing? ”

Harold sighed, as the grown person sighs at the prattle of an inquisitive child.

“ Not the slightest,” he returned.

Jimmy, meeting with such poor success, decided to approach the subject from a different angle.

“ Know anything about Ellison? ” he persisted.

And this time he did manage to elicit some positive information.

“ A little,” Harold answered. “ He has the reputation of being a very conservative man. Not a jury lawyer, at all. Estates, trusts, and that sort of thing.”

Jimmy’s face beamed.

“ Exactly,” he murmured to himself. “ That would be it, of course. He never is a jury lawyer. Care of large estates — that’s his specialty. Say, Harold,” he queried aloud, “ did you ever see Ellison? ”

“ Never/’ Harold replied.

Jimmy brightened still more.

“ Then look here,” he suggested cheerfully, “ I’d like to give you a dandy bet. I’ll go you five dollars against ten—”

But Harold, with a look of horror, interrupted him.

“ I think you are aware,” he remarked stiffly, “ of my opinions in regard to wagering. There is no habit in the world which is more foolish, and at the same time more pernicious —”

But now it was Jimmy’s turn to interrupt, for from sad experience he dreaded nothing in the world more than one of Harold’s sermons.

“ All right,” he cried hastily; “ excuse me. I forgot. I won’t mention it again, believe me .”

Once more quiet settled down over the office. From time to time, from the inner room, the mild, monotonous murmur of Mr. Ellison’s voice came to their ears. Otherwise, all was silence. Jimmy, staring out of the window at the sapphire sky, was reminded of the practice going on at the ball field, and instinctively his fingers wrapped themselves about the cover of an imaginary ball. He thought of his beloved “ spitter,” and sighed. Then his ideas reverted once more to his uncle, and sud¬ denly he burst forth impulsively, “ Oh, darn it all, Harold, what’s the use of being so holy about it, anyway? What do you think? Did he leave us some coin, or didn’t he? ”

Harold pursed up his lips; then answered, as gravely as if he not only meant what he said, but expected his cousin to believe him, as well, “ That is a matter, Jimmy, on which I have no opinion whatever. I have scarcely given it a thought. Although, from various anecdotes which my father told me, in his lifetime, I should imagine that while Uncle Ebenezer was a man of the most irregular habits, he was at the same time pos¬ sessed of rather remarkable acuteness. I under¬ stand that he made several fortunes, and then lost them again. But as to his circumstances, when he was taken from us, I know absolutely nothing.”

Jimmy reflected.

“ Well,” he rejoined at length, “ let’s hope he had great stacks of it. I wouldn’t care how much he left — I could use it, all right, every cent. It’s funny, you know, but I’m always broke. It seems to come natural to me. I’m broke now.”

Harold raised his eyebrows.

“ That’s unfortunate,” he dryly observed, and after a brief pause, he inquired, “ When you’re graduated, Jimmy, what do you mean to do for a living? ”

Jimmy shook his head helplessly.

“ You can search me,” he answered. “ I haven’t the faintest idea. I wish I had.”

“ What kind of a degree did you take? ” pur¬ sued Harold. “ Honors in any branch? ”

“ Honorsf ” Jimmy echoed. “ Please don’t make me laugh. Why, I was lucky to pass at all. I thought I was going to flunk English, till we came to exposition, and then I wrote a thesis on the theory of the drop curve that pulled me through with a C for the course. I can pitch, but that —” he modestly added, “ is about all.”

Harold perceived an opportunity for some sound moral teaching.

“ I should think, Jimmy,” he observed, “ now that your college days are over, that you would sometimes wish you’d devoted more time to your books, and less to base ball. Of course, you have attained considerable notoriety in the sporting columns, but when it comes to choosing a career, I don’t suppose you will find that of much real help.”

Jimmy looked thoughtful.

“ Much real help,” he repeated. “ Financially, you mean? ”

“ Exactly,” Harold assented. “ You’ve spent a great deal of time on something which, after all, is only a game.”

Jimmy stifled a smile.

“No, Harold, you’re wrong there,” he an¬ swered. “ It’s a good deal more than a game; it’s a mania. The whole country is base ball mad. Why, just for example, I had an offer the other day from one of the big league teams to sign with them for the balance of the season. Twenty-five hundred was the figure. So I call that some help. Don’t you? ”

Harold stared.

“ Twenty-five hundred,” he echoed, and if he had not known that truth telling was one of his cousin’s characteristics, he would have been tempted to call him a liar upon the spot. As it was, he made haste to shift his ground.

“ But professional base ball,” he exclaimed scornfully. “ What a way to earn it.”

Jimmy considered.

“ Well, I don’t know,” he rejoined. “ Nothing disgraceful about it that I can see. I might do it, at that. But then,” he added, “ if we’re left a lot of money, I don’t have to.”

“ If ball playing is to be the alternative —” Harold began, but the sentence was cut short on his lips as the door of the inner office opened, and Mr. Ellison’s stenographer, emerging, came quickly toward them.

“ He will see you now,” she said. “ Will you please walk in,” but Jimmy scarcely heeded her, for his eyes were fixed on the man who stood wait¬ ing for them in the doorway, and all at once he drew a quick breath, half of wonder, half of relief, for Edgar J. Ellison was well on in years, slender, erect, ruddy of complexion, with snow-white hair, and to match it a really magnificent pair of white side-whiskers. Jimmy gazed, and gasped.

It was not until some moments later, while greetings were being exchanged, and identities disclosed, that he managed to regain his com¬ posure, little dreaming how soon he was to lose it again, for Mr. Ellison, resuming his place at his desk, sat for some time without speaking, and then, glancing abruptly up at them, broke the silence in most unlooked-for fashion.

“ Gentlemen,” he observed, “ your uncle, Ebenezer Blake, was my oldest friend.”

Chapter II

Jimmy, listening to Mr. Ellison’s words, was both amazed and enraptured at this second ful¬ fillment of his dreams. Occasionally, in a ball game, on one of those blissful days when he “ had everything,” and could deal with his adversaries almost as he chose, he had felt this same delightful sense of power, this joy in dominating the destinies of other men. But nothing had ever equalled the glory of the moment.

“ It certainly seems,” he thought complacently to himself, “ to be my lucky afternoon. Now if I’m only right about the million, what a cinch that would be. Perhaps I’ve put it too low, though; I believe I’ll guess again.”

But before he had an opportunity to revise his stimate, Mr. Ellison once more broke the silence.

“ In our youth,” the lawyer went on, “ Ebenezer Blake and I were inseparable, and when he decided to seek his fortune in the west, we made a boyish vow that if either of us, in his lifetime, or from the grave, should make a demand upon the other, his request, if within the bounds of reason, should be promptly and punctiliously performed. So we parted, and although for some time we wrote each other regularly, at length other interests inter¬ vened, our letters grew gradually less and less frequent, and finally altogether ceased. He must, however, have kept track of me, and of my work, for while on my part no request was ever made, and while none was ever made by him, in his life¬ time, yet now, from the grave, he has called upon me to fulfill my oath.”

He spoke with dignity, almost with solemnity, even, and Jimmy, who had listened with the liveliest curiosity, felt that his chance of inheriting a million dollars was growing rapidly less. For why, he reasoned, should the lawyer display such evident emotion, if the only task before him were the simple one of paying over money to the heirs. Yet he had small time for speculation, for Mr. Ellison, placing a packet of papers, neatly tied with tape, on the desk before him, now went on, “ The will of Ebenezer Blake, as presented for probate, is a very simple document indeed. The whole of his estate, real, personal, and mixed, is left, outright, to me.”

At the words, Jimmy experienced a sudden shock of disappointment, yet despite the downfall of his hopes, he felt, none the less, a dismal satis¬ faction in knowing that the holy Harold was also “ stung,” and he hastened to steal a glance at his cousin’s face. The youth who cared so little about money appeared paler than usual, and sat regarding the lawyer with an expression both unfriendly and vindictive. Suddenly he burst forth into vehement speech.

“ Mr. Ellison,” he exclaimed, “ I consider that will an outrage.”

The lawyer frowned, but his rejoinder showed that it was not Harold’s words, but merely the interruption itself, which annoyed him.

“ One moment, please,” he testily replied. “ I quite agree with you that such a will, without further modification, undoubtedly would be an outrage. But as it happens, your uncle has chosen to qualify it, most materially, with the singular result that although it was bad enough before, yet in its present form I think I may fairly term it a greater outrage still.”

Jimmy felt his head beginning to whirl. A devoted lover of “ mystery stories,” it seemed to him as though he were actually taking part in one, and this impression was strengthened as Mr. Ellison, after a brief pause, presently resumed,

“ As I told you, Ebenezer Blake has made a demand upon me, and that demand is this; that I shall dispose of this property which he has left to me, in exact accordance with his express com¬ mands. These instructions are contained in another instrument, which no eyes except his own and mine have ever seen. And I could wish,” he concluded, with deep feeling, “ that your uncle had cut off his right hand before making such a perverse and wicked distribution of his wealth.”

For the first time, Jimmy felt that he could understand the lawyer’s indignation.

“ No wonder,” he reflected, “ that the old gentleman is a trifle jarred. What’s the use of having money left you, if you’ve got to pass it along to someone else. And from the way he acts, I’ll bet it’s a fool thing, like a home for aged cats, or something of that sort. Anyway, I don’t see where Harold and I are going to fit at all.”

But his guesses seemed to be falling wider and wider of the mark, for now, like a bolt from the sky, Mr. Ellison was to make another, and still more startling, announcement.

“ My first duty,” he continued, speaking slowly and with emphasis, “ is this. To-day, in this office, I am required to give to each of you the sum of ten thousand dollars in cash.”

As he spoke, he reached into a pigeonhole in his desk, and drew forth two small bundles of notes. From where he sat, Jimmy could distinguish the “ 1000 ” in the corner of each topmost bill, and gazed upon the sight, wide-eyed and well content. From his visions of boundless wealth, it was, to be sure, something of a descent to plain, everyday life; but since there was no million with which to compare it, ten thousand dollars, by itself, seemed a most satisfying sum.

Yet the day was destined to be one of continual surprises, for Mr. Ellison, who had made no immediate move toward handing over the money, now went on, “ This ten thousand dollars, I regret to say, is not a gift outright, but one made upon certain conditions, which I must now, though most unwillingly, explain/’

By this time, it seemed to Jimmy as though his nerves had nearly reached the breaking point. To have had visions of being a millionaire; then to find himself apparently a pauper; next to believe himself the inheritor of ten thousand dollars — to see it actually lying there on the desk before him — and now to hear this further dis¬ heartening talk of “ conditions ” — it was too much for human endurance.

Harold, also, was evidently in a similar state of mind, for he now suddenly exclaimed, “ Couldn’t we come straight to the point, sir, and listen to all these explanations afterward? ”

But the lawyer answered him, roundly enough, “ My dear young man, your uncle gave much time and thought to the drawing up of this most unusual will. It is to your advantage to have its provisions made absolutely clear. And I am explaining them, not at all for my own pleasure, as you seem to imagine, but wholly in the interests of yourself and your cousin. Do I make myself plain? ”

Harold flushed scarlet.

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” he murmured, and Mr. Ellison, accepting the apology with a nod, went on, more calmly, “ One point in your uncle’s character needs to be explained. From his boy¬ hood, he had an almost abnormal love for contests of every sort, kind and description. A foot race, a boxing match, a horse trot — these things were as the very breath of life to him. And as he grew older, and to some extent abandoned these sports of his youth, he concentrated this love of competi¬ tion upon the making of money, not in the spirit of the miser, but rather as a man who esteems gold chiefly as an evidence of his shrewdness and ability to succeed. Furthermore, according to his own statements, in the papers left with me, he admits that as he advanced in years, he gradually lost all faith in everything pertaining to religion, so that in consequence this interest in the accu¬ mulation of money came to play an altogether disproportionate part in his life. To pit his judg¬ ment against that of other men, with gold for the stake — for thirty years and more, that was his only aim. And now, with this knowledge of your uncle, I think you are both in a position to under¬ stand the singular provisions of his most repre¬ hensible will.”

At the conclusion of this lengthy speech, Mr. Ellison paused for breath, and Jimmy, who had listened intently to every word, found himself more perplexed than ever. In what mysterious way, he wondered, could Ebenezer Blake have disposed of his property. His guess concerning the home for aged cats now appeared to have been a singularly poor one; more probably, it was some jockey club or society for the promotion of prize fighting which was to benefit through his uncle’s sporting proclivities. But with the lawyer’s next words, Jimmy’s meditations abruptly ceased, for the critical moment in the interview had clearly arrived.