Side-stepping with Shorty   By: Sewell Ford (1868-1946)

Side stepping

with Shorty

By

Sewell Ford

Illustrated by

Francis Vaux Wilson

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1908, by Mitchell Kennerley

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. SHORTY AND THE PLUTE II. ROUNDING UP MAGGIE III. UP AGAINST BENTLEY IV. THE TORTONIS' STAR ACT V. PUTTING PINCKNEY ON THE JOB VI. THE SOARING OF THE SAGAWAS VII. RINKEY AND THE PHONY LAMP VIII. PINCKNEY AND THE TWINS IX. A LINE ON PEACOCK ALLEY X. SHORTY AND THE STRAY XI. WHEN ROSSITER CUT LOOSE XII. TWO ROUNDS WITH SYLVIE XIII. GIVING BOMBAZOULA THE HOOK XIV. A HUNCH FOR LANGDON XV. SHORTY'S GO WITH ART XVI. WHY WILBUR DUCKED XVII. WHEN SWIFTY WAS GOING SOME XVIII. PLAYING WILBUR TO SHOW XIX. AT HOME WITH THE DILLONS XX. THE CASE OF RUSTY QUINN

ILLUSTRATIONS

THEY TACKLES ANYTHING I LEADS 'EM TO . . . . . . Frontispiece

THE TWINS ORGANIZE A GAME OF TAG

"WE E E OUGH! GLORY BE!" YELLS HANK, LETTIN' OUT AN EARSPLITTER

HE HAS THE PO'TRY TAP TURNED ON FULL BLAST

I

SHORTY AND THE PLUTE

Notice any gold dust on my back? No? Well it's a wonder there ain't, for I've been up against the money bags so close I expect you can find eagle prints all over me.

That's what it is to build up a rep. Looks like all the fat wads in New York was gettin' to know about Shorty McCabe, and how I'm a sure cure for everything that ails 'em. You see, I no sooner take hold of one down and outer, sweat the high livin' out of him, and fix him up like new with a private course of rough house exercises, than he passes the word along to another; and so it goes.

This last was the limit, though. One day I'm called to the 'phone by some mealy mouth that wants to know if this is the Physical Culture Studio.

"Sure as ever," says I.

"Well," says he, "I'm secretary to Mr. Fletcher Dawes."

"That's nice," says I. "How's Fletch?"

"Mr. Dawes," says he, "will see the professah at fawh o'clock this awfternoon."

"Is that a guess," says I, "or has he been havin' his fortune told?"

"Who is this?" says the gent at the other end of the wire, real sharp and sassy.

"Only me," says I.

"Well, who are you?" says he.

"I'm the witness for the defence," says I. "I'm Professor McCabe, P. C. D., and a lot more that I don't use on week days."

"Oh!" says he, simmerin' down a bit. "This is Professor McCabe himself, is it? Well, Mr. Fletcher Dawes requiahs youah services. You are to repawt at his apartments at fawh o'clock this awfternoon fawh o'clock, understand?"

"Oh, yes," says I. "That's as plain as a dropped egg on a plate of hash. But say, Buddy; you tell Mr. Dawes that next time he wants me just to pull the string. If that don't work, he can whistle; and when he gets tired of whistlin', and I ain't there, he'll know I ain't comin'. Got them directions? Well, think hard, and maybe you'll figure it out later. Ta, ta, Mister Secretary." With that I hangs up the receiver and winks at Swifty Joe.

"Swifty," says I, "they'll be usin' us for rubber stamps if we don't look out."

"Who was the guy?" says he.

"Some pinhead up to Fletcher Dawes's," says I.

"Hully chee!" says Swifty.

Funny, ain't it, how most everyone'll prick up their ears at that name? And it don't mean so much money as John D.'s or Morgan's does, either. But what them two and Harriman don't own is divided up among Fletcher Dawes and a few others. Maybe it's because Dawes is such a free spender that he's better advertised. Anyway, when you say Fletcher Dawes you think of a red faced gent with a fistful of thousand dollar bills offerin' to buy the White House for a stable.