And with this, Chesty Charles outs with a sheet of paper and spreads it out on the table, and begins explaining it to The Macarone with his finger.
“Now,” he says, “this shows every door and window on the ground floor. Here is a wing of the house. Here is Mr. Cleeburn T. Box’s room on the ground floor overlooking the bay. Here is a French window that is never locked,” he says. “Here is his bed against the wall, not two steps from the window. Why,” Chesty says, “it is as simple as WPA.”
“Well,” The Macarone says, “you are dead sure Mr. Box will not mind being pushed? Because, after all, I do not have any reason to push him on my own account, and I am doing my best at this time to lead a clean life and keep out of unpleasant situations.”
“He will love it,” Chesty says.
So The Macarone finally says he will give the matter his earnest consideration and will let Chesty Charles have his answer in a couple of days. Then we all have some more Scotches, and it is now past closing time, and The Macarone and Willie take their departure, and I say to Chesty like this:
“Chesty,” I say, “all this sounds to me like a very strange proposition, and I do not believe anybody in this world is dumb enough to accept same.”
“Well,” Chesty says, “I always hear The Macarone is the dumbest character in the Middle West. Maybe he will wind up taking in the South too,” he says, and then Chesty laughs and we have another Scotch by ourselves before we leave.
Now, the next afternoon I am over on South Beach, taking a little dip in the ocean, and who do I run into engaged in the same pastime but The Macarone and Willie. There are also numerous other parties along the beach, splashing about in the water in their bathing suits or stretched out on the sand, and The Macarone speaks of Chesty Charles’s proposition like this:
“It sounds all right,” The Macarone says. “In fact,” he says, “it sounds so all right that the only thing that bothers me is I cannot figure out why Chesty does not take it over one hundred percent. But,” he says, “I can see Chesty is getting old, and maybe he loses his nerve. Well,” The Macarone says, “that is the way it always is with old folks. They lose their nerve.”
Then The Macarone starts swimming towards a float pretty well out in the water, and what happens when he is about halfway to the float but he starts flapping around in the water no little, and it is plain to be seen that he is in some difficulty and seems about to drown. In fact, The Macarone issues loud cries for help, but, personally, I do not see where it is any of my put-in to help him, as he is just a chance acquaintance of mine and, furthermore, I cannot swim.
Well, it seems that Willie cannot swim either, and he is saying it is too bad that The Macarone has to go in such a fashion, and he is also saying he better go and get The Macarone’s clothes before someone else thinks of it. But about this time a little Judy with about as much bathing suit on as will make a boxing glove for a mosquito jumps off the float and swims to The Macarone and seizes him by one ear and holds his head above the water until a lifeguard with hair on his chest gets out there and takes The Macarone off her hands.
Well, the lifeguard tows The Macarone ashore and rolls him over a barrel and gets enough water out of him to float the Queen Mary, and by and by The Macarone is as good as new, and he starts looking around for the little Judy who holds him up in the water.
“She almost pulls my ear out by the roots,” The Macarone says. “But,” he says, “I will forgive this torture because she saves my life. Who is she, and where is she?”
Well, the lifeguard, who turns out to be a character by the name of Dorgan, says she is Miss Mary Peering and that she works in the evening in a barbecue stand over on Fifth Street, and what is more, she is a right nifty little swimmer, but, of course, The Macarone already knows this. But now nothing will do but we must go to the barbecue stand and find Miss Mary Peering, and there she is in a blue linen uniform and with a Southern accent, dealing hot dogs and hamburger sandwiches and one thing and another, to the customers.
She is a pretty little Judy who is maybe nineteen years of age, and when The Macarone steps forward and thanks her for saving his life, she laughs and says it is nothing whatever, and at first The Macarone figures that this crack is by no means complimentary, and is disposed to chide her for same, especially when he gets to thinking about his ear. But he can see that the little Judy has no idea of getting out of line with him, and he becomes very friendly towards her.
We sit there quite a while with The Macarone talking to her between customers, and finally he asks her if she has a sweet-pea anywhere in the background of her career, and at this she bursts into tears and almost drops an order of pork and beans.
“Yes,” she says, “I am in love with a wonderful young character by the name of Lionel Box. He is a nephew of Mr. Cleeburn T. Box, and Mr. Cleeburn T. Box is greatly opposed to our friendship. Lionel wishes to marry me, but,” she says, “Mr. Cleeburn T. Box is his guardian and says he will not hear of Lionel marrying beneath his station. Lionel will be very rich when he is of age, a year from now, and then he can do as he pleases, but just at present his Uncle Cleeburn keeps him from even seeing me. Oh,” she says, “I am heartbroken.”
“Where is this Lionel now?” The Macarone says.
“That is just it,” Miss Mary Peering says. “He is home, sick with the grippe or some such, and his Uncle Cleeburn will not as much as let him answer the telephone. His Uncle Cleeburn acts awful crazy, if you ask me. But,” she says, “just wait until Lionel is of age and we can be married. Then we will go so far away from his Uncle Cleeburn he can never catch up with us again.”
Well, at this news The Macarone seems to become very thoughtful, and at first I think it is because he is disappointed to find Miss Mary Peering has a sweet-pea in the background, but after a little more talk, he thanks her again for saving his life and pats her hand and tells her not to worry about nothing, not even about what she does to his ear.
Then we go to the Shark Fin Grill and find Chesty Charles sitting out in front with his chair tilted up against the wall, and The Macarone says to him like this:
“Chesty,” he says, “have the dough on call for me from now on. I will take care of this matter for Mr. Cleeburn T. Box. I study it over carefully,” The Macarone says, “and I can see how I will render Mr. Box a service and at the same time do a new friend of mine a favor.
“In the meantime,” The Macarone says, “you keep Willie here amused. It is a one-handed job, and I do not care to use him on it in any manner, shape or form. He is a nice character, but,” The Macarone says, “he sometimes makes wrong moves. He is too handy with that thing to suit me. By the way, Chesty,” he says, “what does Mr. Cleeburn T. Box look like?”
“Well,” Chesty says, “he will be the only one you find in the room indicated on the diagram, so his looks do not make any difference, but,” he says, “he is smooth-shaved and has thick black hair.”
Now, several nights pass away, and every night I drop into the Shark Fin Grill to visit with Chesty Charles, but The Macarone does not show up but once, and this is to personally view the five thousand dollars that Charles now has in his safe, although Willie comes in now and then and sits around a while. But Willie is a most restless character, and he does not seem to be able to hold still more than a few minutes at a time, and he is always wandering around and about the city.
Finally, along towards four bells one morning, when Chesty Charles is getting ready to close the Shark Fin Grill, in walks The Macarone, and it is plain to be seen that he has something on his mind.
A couple of customers are still in the joint and The Macarone waits until they depart, and then he steps over to the bar, where Chesty Charles is working, and gazes at Chesty for quite a spell without saying as much as aye, yes, or no.