Delphi complete works of.., p.271
Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 271
“Don’t talk like that,” Pat scolded, “or I’ll lock you up for baiting an officer.”
“Please you do,” replied Nokashima. “Lock me up from beast of monster when sure it not turn to beautiful naked lady. I know Japanese fella—”
“Shut up!” gasped Spray. “Would you tell dirty stories in the very jaws of death?”
“Not in jaws,” murmured Nokashima. “I want but small how-do-you-do with jaws.”
“It will soon be good-bye,” said Spray.
Suddenly the overhead lights flashed up in all parts of the floor. Hal, who was passing a mirror at the moment, caught a glimpse of his unamiable reflection and jumped two feet from the ground, uttering hoarse cries the while.
“I’m worse than I expected,” he mouthed hollowly. “I’m even scared of myself.”
“Listen, he admits it,” said Spray. “The damned thing’s talking to itself.”
“It’s better than having it screaming at us,” observed the philosophical Mr. Pebble, clinging to his dripping tablecloth. “Any fair-minded monster with eyes in its head would have to admit it isn’t a hot number. That thing would be silly as hell if it considered itself a bathing beauty.”
“Your sarcasm is about as labored as my legs,” retorted Spray. “Heavens! What’s that?”
It was the sound of several revolvers all talking at once. From various parts of the room excited policemen were taking pot shots at the fleeing monster. In self-defense Hal removed the lion’s head from his and hurled it well before him. Cries of horror and stupefaction broke from all beholders of this ghastly act save Nokashima. That one was giggling knowingly.
“Very funny business, this,” he managed to get out. “I fairly stream with mirth.”
Spray blinked, then closed her lovely eyes, although running at full speed. “I wish it would chuck its legs away next,” she wheezed; “then we might be able to give ours a bit of a rest.”
“Never a dull moment,” said Rex Pebble. “We got our youth and strength back just in time to become physical wrecks.”
“Rex,” cried Spray suddenly, “it’s got me!” So saying she catapulted through the air, rolled over several times, then came to rest with Hal’s helmet miraculously on her head and the lion’s on her left foot. “Rex! Rex!” she sobbed. “The monster’s swallowed my foot with his neck. Please do something about it.”
“What do you want him to swallow it with?” Rex Pebble asked reasonably enough.
“I don’t want him to swallow my foot at all,” she complained rather pathetically, “especially since I’ve lost my corns. Come here and take it away.”
Here she waved one slim, lion-capped leg aloft in a frantic effort to dislodge it. A carefully concealed police-man thrust his head from behind a pillar just in time to witness this odd spectacle.
“Hey, boys!” he shouted, quickly withdrawing his head. “It’s one half fireman now, and the other half’s a wild beast. And both ends are peering at each other.”
The boys received this devastating bit of news in stunned silence. Presently a timid voice spoke up.
“Which half of the thing is wild beast?” it wanted to be told.
“I don’t know,” replied the policeman behind the pillar. “Both halves are heads and a lot of mouth.”
“And what’s become of that lower half of a lady?” the voice continued.
“Damned if I know that either,” said the policeman. “I’m out of luck entirely.”
“Why not take a shot at the wild beast?” suggested the voice. “That is, if you’re sure no part of it is the lower half of a lady.”
This suggestion paralyzed Spray. She strove so hard to get her leg as far away from the rest of her body as possible that she was lying on the back of her neck. A shot rang out, and the lion’s head became merely a matter of record, its fragments flying through the air. They flew no faster than Spray. With one bound she was clear of the floor, and with another she was climbing up Rex Pebble’s back.
“That ends all hope of poise,” he bitterly observed. “What are we going to do with each other?”
“I don’t know,” she retorted wearily, “but I’ve been a half of this and a half of that for so long I might just as well pretend I’m a part of you. Run away somewhere and hide us. My foot still tingles.”
“This way!” suddenly bellowed the parade-ground voice of Major Jaffey. “This way for the fire party. An exit. It is here!”
Although the good Major had not the vaguest idea as to what new dangers the exit led, he rightly assumed they could be no worse than those already confronting them. With the Pebble party at his heels, he dashed down several flights of stairs and at last emerged into the main floor of Crown’s Cosmopolitan. Here, protected once more by darkness, the old business of hiding began all over again.
“Grab whatever clothes you can find and put them on,” ordered the Major. “Thus we will be disguised for a later flight. If you insist on being honest we can charge them to Mrs. Pebble. Her husband will explain later.”
“In detail,” came the caustic voice of Rex Pebble through the darkness. “My wife will enjoy it.”
For some minutes the darkness of the main floor was filled with the stealthy yet industrious sound of searching feet. Rex Pebble fortunately encountered the figure of a gentleman in evening clothes. This he promptly stripped of all garments and transferred them to his own person. He was completely attired in every detail, including a top hat. No sooner had he finished his toilet than he felt a pair of hands furtively investigating his body. Mr. Pebble froze in his tracks and tried to emulate the position of the figure he had just denuded. Suddenly his hat was deftly whisked from his head. Mr. Pebble made no remonstrance. The next minute one of his feet was lifted from the floor and the pump flipped from it. This happened to the other foot, and still Mr. Pebble made no demur. But when his trousers were firmly seized and neatly slipped down his legs he thought it was high time to take a little interest in himself.
“Whoever you are,” he said in his most formal tones, “be so good as to put those trousers back where you found them. Also the shoes and hat.”
“All right, boss,” came the depressed voice of Nokashima. “You must look so nice. Not first time I undress you. He! He! Where I put pants?”
“Where I usually wear them, Nocka,” replied Rex Pebble patiently. “On the legs and middle section.” When the little servant had finished redressing him, Mr. Pebble patted him affectionately on the shoulder. “Sorry to have disappointed you. Better luck next time. Go find an outfit of your own.”
“I go, boss,” replied Nokashima. “I array myself like baron. All very fine.”
But like many whose hearts are overflowing with the best intentions, Nokashima soon became discouraged and finally desperate. This unsettled state of mind led to another contretemps.
Spray Summers, who had got herself into something rather good in the line of an evening gown, was at first a little flattered when she felt masculine hands laid upon her. However, she remained motionless and silent until she had assured herself that the hands were on friendly business. When her step-ins were seized and zipped from their place of repose she did not scream as would have some women, but merely satisfied her emotions by giving the unseen gentleman a playful little push. What was her surprise when she received a push back of such vigor that the breath was nearly knocked from her body. Staggering back, she rallied her forces, shook her head like a dazed boxer, then gamely returned to the assault. No matter how friendly his intentions, this man must be taught a lesson. His advances had been satisfactorily direct. Those step-ins had been handled with the deftness of an expert. But the man’s idea of playfulness was altogether too rough. He needed a little polishing to make him entirely acceptable. She would be forced to show the fellow that there was a right way and a wrong way to everything. In such affairs technique meant much to a lady. There was nothing to be gained in crippling a woman one intended to amuse later on. Therefore, when this time Spray Summers unleashed a blow in the darkness, she did so with a will. The flat of her swiftly traveling hand forcibly encountered a closely cropped head. There was a sudden gasp, the sound of a body operating out of control, then an alarming crash of glass as a show case was definitely and permanently put out of business. Spray smiled grimly but not for long. If he returned to her after that one, she reflected, he would be a determined chap indeed. And return he did, but in no soliciting mood. Spray felt herself grasped firmly round the knees, lifted from the floor, then violently deposited thereon. For a moment or so she sat moodily where she had landed and rubbed the spot of contact. Then she sighed. This last attack of her unseen admirer was sufficiently ruthless to convince her that no matter how agreeable he ultimately intended to be, he was certainly making a shambles of things at the present moment. In short, the ends failed to justify the means. The wear and tear was too terrific.
Heaving herself to her hands and knees, she was about to crawl from the field, using the better part of valor for an excuse, when she was seized from behind and the slippers — a size too large — dragged from her feet.
“What the hell!” she muttered, twisting her head back over her shoulder. “I say there, are you still playing, or are you mad at me?”
“Not each,” came back the answer. “Striving to retain life in small body. Also to disguise same beneath alien garments.”
Spray was appalled. The cool effrontery of this imp from some Japanese hell made her momentarily speech-less.
“Will you stop trying to disguise yourself beneath my garments?” she demanded at last. “Give me back my shoes and pants. You deliberately stole them from me.”
“Not steal, madam,” said Nokashima. “All charged up. Very sorry. Every figure I attempt to uncover turns into angry being. ‘Go ‘way, vile Jap,’ all say. Night of vast frustration. Here things, madam. Want me to slip on?”
“You slip on through the darkness,” replied Spray. “And don’t come near me for years.”
“As I thought,” said Nocka, sorrowfully. “Once more driven round about. Don’t angry, madam. Maybe I suicide in own blood. Not sure, though. Maybe dogs of flatties mangle first. Where are dogs of flatties? I not see one.”
“Don’t trouble to look for them,” advised Spray a little more kindly. “They’ll find us soon enough.”
Nocka suddenly giggled.
“I thought you dog of flattie,” he told her. “Fight grimly for life.”
“Dogs don’t wear pants, Nocka,” she informed him.
“Dogs of flatties might,” he argued. “How I know? Dogs of flatties adopt confusing disguise, maybe. I not surprise if do. What a romp we had. I almost repose in glass casket like famous Russian redman.”
“Are you still drunk, Nokashima?”
“A mere pushover,” replied Nocka. “I suspend, madam.”
“I wish you could find a drink.” Spray’s voice sounded wistful.
“Wish could,” said Nocka. “No disgrace in valiant endeavor. I worm in search, teeteringly. Excuse please, madam.”
Spray listened to his quiet departure for a few minutes, then she no longer had to strain her ears. A great rumpus somewhere out in the black void apprised her of the fact that the little yellow man had once more established contact with an angry being.
“Take your hands off me, whoever you are,” she heard Hal, the fireman, declaiming. “Neither man nor beast is going to handle me that way.”
Seemingly the small creature was out of luck again. Feeling a little sorry for him and a lot more for herself, Spray rose slowly from the floor and rearranged her dress and things.
While she was thus engaged, several lights flooded on in various parts of the store. The darkness was decimated. She glanced quickly around, then froze in her tracks. Other than the invading policemen there seemed to be no sign of life. This was due to the fact that, like herself, each member of the Pebble party stood poised in a position of suspended animation. Major Jaffey was modishly attired in a checked cap and light raglan. Hal, the fire-man, looking like an example of what the well dressed man was not wearing, had rigged himself up in a cross between a yachting outfit and a riding costume, retaining the worst features of each. Of Nokashima there was no sign.
“They’re hiding on us,” said Pat Murphy in a low voice. “Spread out and comb the floor.”
Looking tremendously impressive in his evening clothes, Mr. Pebble stepped forward and confronted Officer Murphy.
“Murphy,” he said severely, “I would like to know just what you and your men mean by making a play-ground of this store? I am chairman of the board of directors and have a perfect right to be here. I was telephoned to during a party I was giving and forced to hurry right down. If you haven’t a satisfactory explanation, I’m afraid things are going to go very badly with you.”
“Sorry, sir,” said Murphy. “We were looking for a thing that was half fireman and half lady. One of the halves turned to a wild beast right before our eyes.”
“I’m sorry, Murphy,” said Rex Pebble regretfully. “When your buttons are popping off, just think of what you’ve been telling me.”
“But this store was full of robbers and things,” Pat desperately assured Mr. Pebble. “Ask any of the boys. We saw ’em and we heard ’em. Look, sir, that case is smashed a bit.”
“True,” admitted Rex Pebble. “I want to be fair and reasonable. We heard that disturbance. Perhaps robbers are in the store. If so, it is your duty to apprehend them. In the meantime have one of your men open a door and let us out.”
With a stately stride Rex Pebble walked to the nearest door, a policeman preceding him. To the surprise and consternation of Pat Murphy and his brother officers the figures of a woman and two men suddenly came to life and followed their leader. Well in the rear glided the most surprising of all the figures. It was the stiff, lifeless form of a store model clad in the costume of a maid. This model had two pairs of feet, only one pair of which was moving.
“Look,” cried Pat, pointing. “Look, for the love of God! It moves and it’s not alive.”
Major Jaffey, with great presence of mind, lifted the strange object in his arms and bore it to the door.
“It’s the lady’s maid,” he explained over his shoulder. “The poor girl’s scared stiff.”
When the Pebble party was a safe distance from the store, the Major set his burden down, and the small body of the little yellow man was extracted with some difficulty, owing to the fact that various parts of him had become wedged within the hollow shell of his temporarily adopted habitation.
“Unable to disrobe one similar to Fifi in time,” Nokashima explained blinkingly. “I attack from under. Amazed at own brilliance. What say, boss?”
“Ask that diminutive Japanese maniac to say as little as possible to me for at least ten minutes,” Rex Pebble said to Spray. “I will need all of that time to rehabilitate my poise. We are now going home — to my home, for a change.”
“Look what I apprehend,” announced Nocka, producing the lion’s head from some recess within the shell of his recent disguise. “I bring home to Mist’ Henry, and he bound with alarm.”
Without a word Rex Pebble turned on his heel and led the way through the night.
Later that same night Officer Pat Murphy encountered the abandoned model of the maid leaning dejectedly against a wall. It was only after questioning it closely for some minutes that he discovered the object was not alive.
“I knew all along,” he said to the fading stars, “there was some monkey business going on.”
But when he gave his report to the sergeant he made no mention of his discovery. Things were bad enough to explain as they were, without adding another mystery to the list.
10. A WALK THROUGH TOWN
“NEVER MIND ABOUT my excitable nature,” remarked Spray Summers, as they turned into a particularly quiet and deserted street. “I never would have believed that being bottled up in a department store with so many men could make me so nervous, but I feel like jumping at every shadow. Can’t we keep off these side streets? I expect to meet Frankenstein or Dracula any minute.”
“After our recent experiences,” said the Major gravely, “side streets are the thing for us. It was just about here, only one block down on the main thoroughfare, that we made that corner on two wheels.”
The night was black. Black as ink. Black as pitch. Black as Egypt. Any one of the stand-by comparisons would have done, but the truth is that this particular alley looked like nothing so much as the inside of a stovepipe or a coal cellar in the dark. You felt as though something might be living in it, beyond eyesight, sneaking along, maybe tap-tapping with an invisible cane.
“Where are the stars?” asked Hal, the fireman, sleepily and innocently.
“Hasn’t anybody told you?” returned Spray with kindly venom. “We’re not using them since the Light and Gas Code was signed. They’re on a strike. Wish they’d do some picketing, though,” added the woman, shivering, as an afterthought. Rex Pebble, in the lead of the group, stepped into a doorway to light a cigarette. It seemed a shame to run the risk of having their trail again picked up by the police just for the sake of one little light. He opened a packet of matches and struck one. Nothing happened. He struck another match head, and this one, just as his companions caught up, ignited. Rex stepped out from the doorway.
“My God,” screamed Spray at the top of her none too delicate lungs, “the place is alive with men!” She clutched the arm of Hal, who, stumbling along in his weariness, suddenly leaped forward like a fire horse at the sound of the bell. From the rear Hal tackled Major Lynnhaven Jaffey, who in turn whirled upon Nokashima. Spray Summers, seeing herself deserted, flung her lissom young form harshly against Rex Pebble.
“It’s I!” cried Rex, pushing her away.
“Oh, yeah?” retorted the woman. “Well, plenty of women have gone wrong from believing men who said it’s I in the dark.” Spray landed a swift slap on Rex’s right cheek, while Hal, the Major, and Nokashima, after banging one another around, recovered their wits sufficiently to rush to her defense. They all landed upon Rex full force. The poor fellow was sinking under their combined weight when Spray discovered their mistake.
