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Page 76
He hauled Ram-tah out of the closet and stood him at the foot of the bed
for the night, so that courage might come to him as he slept. The plan
proved to be an excellent one after Nap grew quiet. Nap had always been
excited in Ram-tah's immediate presence, and now he insisted upon
sniffing about the royal cadaver in a manner atrociously suggestive.
Being dissuaded from this and consenting to sleep, Bean sank into dreams
of mastery beneath Ram-tah's lofty aspect.
He awoke with a giant's strength. He arrayed himself in the newest check
suit, and an especially beautiful shirt with a lavender stripe that bore
his embroidered initials on one sleeve. He thought he would like to face
them in his shirtsleeves, and give Breede and the fussy old gentlemen a
good look at that lettered arm. He was almost persuaded to don the
entirely red cravat, let the consequences be what they might. His
refreshed spirit was equal to this audacity--but the red car. Wearing a
red cravat in a very red car was just a little _too_ loud--"different"
enough, to be sure, but hardly "dignified." Too advanced, in short. At
eight o'clock he went out upon the world, grasping his yellow stick and
gloves. Most heroically would he enter the office with stick and gloves.
Make Bulger stare! And if they put him in jail he must look
right--papers get his picture, of course!
[Illustration: Thereafter, until late at night, the red car was trailed
by the taxi-cab]
On the curb, before the car that vibrated so excitingly he had a happy
thought. Was he to go down there and wait, pallid, perhaps trembling,
until they came in and did things with him? Not he! A certain Corsican
upstart would let them assemble first, let them miss him--wonder if he
would come at all. Then he would saunter in, superbly define the extreme
limits of his imagination, and coolly ask them what they were going to
do about it. This would irritate them. It would irritate them all, and
especially the little oldest director. He would swell up and grow
purple. Perhaps he would have a stroke right there on the rug. Good
work!
"Can't go to business this early," he said genially to the ever
respectful Paul. "Too fine a day. And I got a deal on hand; have to
think it over. Go on out that way for a nice little spin."
Paul directed the car out that way, spinning it nicely. It was a
monstrous performance, to spin at that hour in a direction quite away
from the place where you are expected by all the laws of business and
common decency. This seemed to be the opinion of an inconspicuous man
who followed discreetly in a taxi-cab. But Bean enjoyed it, thinking
that the night might find him in a narrow cell. He looked with new
interest on the street-cars full of office-bound people. They were
meekly going to their tasks while he was affronting men with more
millions than he had checks on the newest suit.
As they left the city and came to outlying villages, he saw that he was
going in the direction of Breede's place. He thought it would be a fine
thing to get the flapper and go and be just perfectly married. Then he
could send a telegram to the office, telling them he could imagine
nothing of less consequence, and that they might all go to the devil. It
was easy to be "snappy" in a telegram. But he remembered that the
flapper just perfectly wished to manage it herself; probably she
wouldn't like his taking a hand in the game. Better not be rough with
the child at the start.
They were miles away. The person in the taxi-cab might have been observed
searching his pockets curiously, and to be counting what money he found
therein as he cast anxious glances toward the dial of the taxi-metre.
Bean surveyed the landscape approvingly. Anyway, it was a fine enough
performance to keep them waiting there. They would all be enraged.
Perhaps the old one would have his stroke before the arrival of the
spectator to whom it would give the most pleasure. They might be taking
him out to the ambulance, and all the other directors would stand there
and say, "This is _your_ work. Officer, do your duty!" Well, it would be
worth it. He'd tell them so, too!
Looking ahead, he became aware that an electric car had suffered an
accident. The passengers streamed out and gathered around the motorman
who was peering under the car. As Paul slowed down and turned aside to
pass, the motorman declared, "She's burned out. Have to wait for the
next car to push us."
There were annoyed stirrings in the group. A few passengers started for
a suburban railway station that could be seen a half-mile distant. Bean
looked down upon these delayed people with amused sympathy.
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