Smoke Bellew

“Huh!” Shorty jeered. “It’s clear an’ plain why you want ‘em with the shells on. But I never thought it of you.”

“Thought what?”

“It’s low-down mean, that’s what it is,” Shorty rushed on, virtuously indignant. “I wouldn’t wonder somebody filled you full of lead for it, an’ you’d deserve it, too.”

Wild Water began to flame toward the verge of one of his notorious Berserker rages. His hands clenched until the cheap fork in one of them began to bend, while his blue eyes flashed warning sparks. “Now look here, Shorty, just what do you mean? If you think anything underhanded – ”

“I mean what I mean,” Shorty retorted doggedly, “an’ you bet your sweet life I don’t mean anything underhanded. Overhand’s the only way to do it. You can’t throw ‘em any other way.”

“Throw what?”

“Eggs, prunes, baseballs, anything. But Wild Water, you’re makin’ a mistake. They ain’t no crowd ever sat at the Opery House that’ll stand for it. Just because she’s a actress is no reason you can publicly lambaste her with hen-fruit.”

For the moment it seemed that Wild Water was going to burst or have apoplexy. He gulped down a mouthful of scalding coffee and slowly recovered himself.

“You’re in wrong, Shorty,” he said with cold deliberation. “I’m not going to throw eggs at her. Why, man,” he cried, with growing excitement, “I want to give them eggs to her, on a platter, shirred – that’s the way she likes ‘em.”

“I knowed I was wrong,” Shorty cried generously, “I knowed you couldn’t do a low-down trick like that.”

“That’s all right, Shorty,” Wild Water forgave him. “But let’s get down to business. You see why I want them eggs. I want ‘em bad.”

“Do you want ‘em ninety-six hundred an’ twenty dollars’ worth?” Shorty queried.

“It’s a hold-up, that’s what it is,” Wild Water declared irately.

“It’s business,” Smoke retorted. “You don’t think we’re peddling eggs for our health, do you?”

“Aw, listen to reason,” Wild Water pleaded. “I only want a couple of dozen. I’ll give you twenty apiece for ‘em. What do I want with all the rest of them eggs? I’ve went years in this country without eggs, an’ I guess I can keep on managin’ without ‘em somehow.”

“Don’t get het up about it,” Shorty counseled. “If you don’t want ‘em, that settles it. We ain’t a-forcin’ ‘em on you.”

“But I do want ‘em,” Wild Water complained.

“Then you know what they’ll cost you – ninety-six hundred an’ twenty dollars, an’ if my figurin’s wrong, I’ll treat.”

“But maybe they won’t turn the trick,” Wild Water objected. “Maybe Miss Arral’s lost her taste for eggs by this time.”

“I should say Miss Arral’s worth the price of the eggs,” Smoke put in quietly.

“Worth it!” Wild Water stood up in the heat of his eloquence. “She’s worth a million dollars. She’s worth all I’ve got. She’s worth all the dust in the Klondike.” He sat down, and went on in a calmer voice. “But that ain’t no call for me to gamble ten thousand dollars on a breakfast for her. Now I’ve got a proposition. Lend me a couple of dozen of them eggs. I’ll turn ‘em over to Slavovitch. He’ll feed ‘em to her with my compliments. She ain’t smiled to me for a hundred years. If them eggs gets a smile for me, I’ll take the whole boiling off your hands.”

“Will you sign a contract to that effect?” Smoke said quickly; for he knew that Lucille Arral had agreed to smile.

Wild Water gasped. “You’re almighty swift with business up here on the hill,” he said, with a hint of a snarl.

“We’re only accepting your own proposition,” Smoke answered.

“All right – bring on the paper – make it out, hard and fast,” Wild Water cried in the anger of surrender.

Smoke immediately wrote out the document, wherein Wild Water agreed to take every egg delivered to him at ten dollars per egg, provided that the two dozen advanced to him brought about a reconciliation with Lucille Arral.

Wild Water paused, with uplifted pen, as he was about to sign. “Hold on,” he said. “When I buy eggs I buy good eggs.”

“They ain’t a bad egg in the Klondike,” Shorty snorted.

“Just the same, if I find one bad egg you’ve got to come back with the ten I paid for it.”

“That’s all right,” Smoke placated. “It’s only fair.”

“An’ every bad egg you come back with I’ll eat,” Shorty declared.

Smoke inserted the word “good” in the contract, and Wild Water sullenly signed, received the trial two dozen in a tin pail, pulled on his mittens, and opened the door.

“Good-by, you robbers,” he growled back at them, and slammed the door.

Smoke was a witness to the play next morning in Slavovitch’s. He sat, as Wild Water’s guest, at the table adjoining Lucille Arral’s. Almost to the letter, as she had forecast it, did the scene come off.

“Haven’t you found any eggs yet?” she murmured plaintively to the waiter.

“No, ma’am,” came the answer. “They say somebody’s cornered every egg in Dawson. Mr. Slavovitch is trying to buy a few just especially for you. But the fellow that’s got the corner won’t let loose.”

It was at this juncture that Wild Water beckoned the proprietor to him, and, with one hand on his shoulder, drew his head down. “Look here, Slavovitch,” Wild Water whispered hoarsely, “I turned over a couple of dozen eggs to you last night. Where are they?”

“In the safe, all but that six I have all thawed and ready for you any time you sing out.”

“I don’t want ‘em for myself,” Wild Water breathed in a still lower voice. “Shir ‘em up and present ‘em to Miss Arral there.”

“I’ll attend to it personally myself,” Slavovitch assured him.

“An’ don’t forget – compliments of me,” Wild Water concluded, relaxing his detaining clutch on the proprietor’s shoulder.

Pretty Lucille Arral was gazing forlornly at the strip of breakfast bacon and the tinned mashed potatoes on her plate when Slavovitch placed before her two shirred eggs.

“Compliments of Mr. Wild Water,” they at the next table heard him say.

Smoke acknowledged to himself that it was a fine bit of acting – the quick, joyous flash in the face of her, the impulsive turn of the head, the spontaneous forerunner of a smile that was only checked by a superb self-control which resolutely drew her face back so that she could say something to the restaurant proprietor.

Smoke felt the kick of Wild Water’s moccasined foot under the table.

“Will she eat ‘em? – that’s the question – will she eat ‘em?” the latter whispered agonizingly.

And with sidelong glances they saw Lucille Arral hesitate, almost push the dish from her, then surrender to its lure.

“I’ll take them eggs,” Wild Water said to Smoke. “The contract holds. Did you see her? Did you see her! She almost smiled. I know her. It’s all fixed. Two more eggs to-morrow an’ she’ll forgive an’ make up. If she wasn’t here I’d shake hands, Smoke, I’m that grateful. You ain’t a robber; you’re a philanthropist.”

Smoke returned jubilantly up the hill to the cabin, only to find Shorty playing solitaire in black despair. Smoke had long since learned that whenever his partner got out the cards for solitaire it was a warning signal that the bottom had dropped out of the world.

“Go ‘way, don’t talk to me,” was the first rebuff Smoke received.