Sam Cragg bobbed his head. “Yah!”
Johnny threw up his hands. “You see, he admits it. He gives me the sole credit for his amazing strength. How did I do it? Ah, my friends, that is the secret. I’m going to tell you only that several years ago, I, too, was a weakling. I was consumptive — weighed ninety-five pounds. The doctors gave me three months to live. I was desperate. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to be well and strong, like other men. I wanted the respect of my fellow men — women. For who loves a weakling?... Well, look at me now. I’m not exactly a weakling although not nearly the specimen that Sa — Young Samson is. I don’t want to be. But I do want to impart my knowledge to others — the things I discovered back there in those black days. The secret of life, you might call it. This secret, my friends, I cannot tell you in public — except that it was exercise. Oh — don’t wince, my friends. It’s not as bad as all that. For these exercises are simple — so simple that anyone can perform them without strain. And so marvelous that in a week you will be a new man... in two weeks you will be able to break belts like my friend did a moment ago... In a month... LOOK!”
Sam Cragg suddenly went into a crouch. Clenching his fists he came up slowly, his chest expanding, the chain cutting into his chest...
The chain broke. It flew away from Sam Cragg, and almost struck a man six feet away.
A murmur of awe ran through the audience. It was punctuated by Johnny Fletcher’s scream. “He did it! He broke the chain that no human being could break — except Young Samson!” He stooped, whipped open the carton and took out a book.
“Here it is, folks! The book that contains the secrets of health, vitality, strength... the same simple rules and exercises that made Young Samson the strongest man in this country — in the whole world. They’re all in here, simplified, condensed, abbreviated. I’m going to let you have these books now — not for twenty-five dollars each, not even twenty and God knows that would be little enough to pay for such secrets. No, friends, it’s my duty to make these books available to everyone and that’s why I’m going to practically give them away, asking just enough to pay for the printing and binding — a measly, paltry, insignificant two dollars and ninety-five cents...”
“How much?” asked a voice.
Joe Cotter, the strong man from San Bernardino, pushed through the crowd. Johnny took one look at him and faltered. “T-two, n-ninety... five...”
“Cheap,” said Joe Cotter. He stopped and picked up the chain with the broken link. With a quick movement he raised his knee and placing the chain under the knee gave a mighty jerk. The chain broke in two!
For a moment there was a dead silence. Then someone laughed. The crowd took it up and in a moment Sam and Johnny were in the midst of a jeering, roaring crowd. At the same time Sam saw a blue uniform come running across the street. He grabbed up his coat and shirt, the carton of books and ducked into the closest store. Johnny followed, crowding a thin anemic-looking man.
The man closed the door behind Johnny. “The cop won’t come in here,” he assured Johnny.
Johnny nodded. “Thanks, old man.” He looked around and saw that they were in a luggage store. Sam began putting on his shirt. “I’ll murder that Joe Cotter,” he muttered.
“Next time we see him, I’ll let you murder him,” Johnny replied.
The little man was watching Sam closely. “You certainly got a good build, mister.” He turned to Johnny. “I saw your act. I, uh, wonder, if you’d mind selling me one of your books?”
Johnny blinked. “Are you kidding?”
“Not at all. Your friend’s pretty strong. ’Course that other guy was strong, too, but I imagine he’s naturally that way. Young Samson used to be like, I, ha, am now.”
Johnny reached out and clapped the little man on the shoulder.
“Friend, this is your lucky day!”
The little man backed away suddenly. “Course, you understand I’m a merchant myself. I expect you to sell me the book, wholesale... say about forty per cent off.”
Johnny grinned hugely. “Mister, I’ll do better than that. I’ll swap.” He looked around the store. “What I need is a nice, expensive-looking suitcase — something like that genuine imitation leather one right there.”
“Oh, but that bag’s eight ninety-five...”
“Retail,” said Johnny.
Five minutes later the deal was concluded — an even swap of two volumes of Every Man A Samson for the suitcase. Johnny emptied the remaining books into the suitcase and handed it to Sam.
When they reached the street, Sam Cragg exploded. “What was the good of that? The suitcase doesn’t make us any better off. The box was good enough to carry the books...”
“Ah, but could you check into a hotel with just a paper carton?”
Sam was startled. “You mean you’re going to clip a hotel again?”
“I don’t like that word ‘clip,’ Sam. I ask you — can a man walk the street all night and be expected to go out and earn a living the next day? Is it my fault that hotels are owned by soulless corporations who don’t think an honest man has the right to sleep in a bed? Just because they have a silly rule about making a man pay in advance if he hasn’t got luggage is no reason why I should be deprived of my rights as a citizen.”
Sam groaned and pointed ahead. “Is that the hotel we’re going to — the Fremont?”
“It looks like a nice place.”
“They always are. We couldn’t clip a nice, small hotel. No, we’ve got to pick the biggest and most expensive ones.”
“Here’s the proposition,” Johnny chuckled. “We can’t both check in with a single piece of luggage, so one of us will have to rent the room and the other come for a visit. I’ll toss you for it.”
“No-no,” Sam said hastily. “You get the room.”
Johnny nodded and taking the suitcase went ahead of Sam. At the last moment his nerve failed him a little and he went around the corner to the side entrance in order to duck the doorman. A bellboy grabbed him just inside the lobby, however.
Johnny surrendered the suitcase and bore down upon the desk.
“What’ve you got in a nice room and bath?” he asked the clerk.
“I can give you something for four, five or six.” The clerk hesitated a moment. “Or a lovely sitting room and bedroom for only ten dollars.”
“Has the bedroom got a bed big enough for a man to stretch out in?”
“Just the biggest bed in California, that’s all.”
“Good! I’ll take it.”
The clerk tapped a bell. “Front!”
The bellboy who had grabbed Johnny’s suitcase sprang forward. The clerk handed him a key. “Show Mr. Fletcher to Suite 1032.”
“1032,” Johnny said, loudly. “Is that in front?”
“Oh yes — and very quiet.”
Johnny followed the bellboy toward the elevators, winking at Sam Cragg, sitting in a leather chair.
The suite was a very nice one, containing a pull-down bed in the sitting room, in addition to the double bed in the bedroom. The bellboy fussed around the bathroom and opened and closed windows. Finally, when he could stall no longer he stepped up to Johnny and looked him straight in the eye. “Will that be all... sir?”
Johnny reached into a pocket. “Have you got change for a twenty?”
“Of course,” said the bellboy. “I always carry change for a twenty.”
“Oh,” said Johnny. “Then a quarter wouldn’t mean very much to you.”
“It wouldn’t — but I’ll take it.”
Johnny shook his head. “My boy, you’re a cynic. You know all the answers—”