THE RAGGED EDGE
THE RAGGED EDGE
Chapter I
“Arrah, me jewel, sure, Larry’s the boy!”
Old Song.
WEARY horses dragged ponderous trucks homeward; the drivers drooped upon their high seats and thought of cans of beer; a red sun threw shafts of light along the cross-town streets and between the rows of black warehouses.
The porters had all gone for the night from Mason & Sons, and young Mason stood upon the office step, about to lock the door, when Kerrigan jumped from a passing car and hailed him.
“I just happened to notice you as I was going by,” Kerrigan said; “and that reminded me that I wanted to speak to you.”
“Come in and sit down,” said Mason, leading the way into the office.
“I drew up a will the other day in which you werenamed as executor,” said Kerrigan, mounting a stool at the bookkeeper’s desk.
Mason looked at him questioningly.
“It’s old Miss Cassidy who kept house for your father, years ago. She said that she had not spoken to you about the matter, but that she felt sure that you would consent to act.”
“She’s a queer old soul,” smiled Mason.
“No queerer than the will she had me make for her. Quite a tidy sum of money, too.”
“She was very saving; and then father thought well of her and advised her about small investments which were successful. But what induced her to make a will? Is she ill?”
“She says she is getting old, and thought that the matter should be settled. By the way, Mason, there are rumours going about the City Hall that must interest a reformer like you,” and Kerrigan smiled at his friend. “The Motor Traction Company is endeavouring to secure possession of Center and Line streets.”
“Do they contemplate purchasing the rights of the new company?”
“Not while there’s a chance to steal them; and fromwhat I’ve heard during the last few days that has been their object since the time the injunction was granted against the rival concern.”
The young attorney planted his back against the desk and braced himself with his elbows. “Let me give you a sketch of the thing,” said he. “The City Railway Company was duly chartered, secured the franchise from councils for these two streets and spent thousands of good dollars in putting down road-bed, rails and all that sort of thing. At this stage the Motor Company suddenly discovered that Center and Line streets were arteries that would tap the thickly populated sections, and that the new company would reduce their earnings.
“Under cover of a protest from citizens living along the line of the new road, an injunction was gotten out staying all work; the matter was carried into the courts, where it has been hanging fire ever since.”
“But,” put in Mason, “a decision was rendered in favour of the City Company less than a week ago.”
“I know that; and in that decision the new move of the Motor people had its birth. The long delay, thecost of fighting the case and all that, pretty well drained the resources of the City people, who were none too rich to begin with. And a time limit was put upon the building of the line at the time the franchise was granted. The time specified will shortly expire and the road is but half built. The Motor Company intends to put unlimited money into the next local election in order to elect a majority in both branches of councils favourable to revoking the franchise on the ground of failure to live up to their contract.”
“Why, this is infamous!” exclaimed Mason. “How could the road be built in the time specified when the courts prevented their working upon it?”
Kerrigan shrugged his shoulders. “The Motor Company want that franchise and it is not at all particular about how it is gotten.”
The two young men rose and made their way to the sidewalk.
“I understand,” said Mason, as he sprang the catch of the office door, “when the new company was organized that the stock was mostly taken up in smalllots by small store-keepers and people with accounts in saving banks.”
“That’s true,” answered Kerrigan; “and that’s what makes the company easy game.”
A heavy team swung up to the curb and a square-jawed young fellow climbed down from his seat. A battered, drink-sodden man tremulously clutched him by the arm and began mumbling incoherently. The teamster slipped him a nickel and gave him a helpful shove down the street; then he approached and said to Mason:
“There’s a lot o’ stuff up at Shed B for youse people. Shannon wants t’ know when ye want it hauled.”
“Ah, yes,” replied Mason. “We received the notice late this afternoon. Tell Shannon to have it here the first thing in the morning.”
“Good enough!” The driver was about to turn away when Kerrigan exclaimed:
“Hello, Larry! What’s doing?”
“Hello, Johnnie,” greeted the other. “I didn’t know youse.”
“Who’s your friend?” questioned Kerrigan, nodding toward the receding form of the tramp.
“Oh, just a guy what braced me for a nickel so’s he could hang up his hat on the inside of a wall. He said it’s been so long since he covered his stilts wit’ a sheet that he forgets what it feels like.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that I was workin’ this side o’ the street meself. Say, it’s a big t’ing when a guy kin dig down in his pants an’ produce a roll that would stop a window; but the minute I run up against a bundle o’ rags me vest buttons is in danger. Say, Johnnie, was youse ever strapped?”
Kerrigan confessed that he had been.
“I guess every geezer along the line has done the stunt at some stage o’ the game. Why, I’ve been so tight on the hooks that I couldn’t tell the difference between a coon blowin’ a cake walk an’ a gutter band handin’ out the ‘Dead March in Saul’; an’ if Queen Anne cottages was sellin’ for a quarter a bunch I couldn’t buy in a cellar window. I tell youse what it is, Kerrigan, when a guy’s room rent’s six weeks on the wrong side o’ the ledger an’ his meal ticket wontstan’ for another hole in it, it’s time for him to start somethin’ doin’, an’ try an’ git his eyes on a graft what’s got ‘In God we trust’ chalked on its back. Ain’t that right?”
“A man entirely without money,” said Mason, “is certainly an object for sympathy.”
Larry gestured his contempt.
“I’d like to deal in that,” said he. “If I could sell it at two bits a crate I’d make money till youse couldn’t rest. The lobsters what runs the beanery’s got sympathy to give away; but youse couldn’t coax a beef stew out o’ the kitchen if ye had a smile like Maude Adams. And the gent that runs the hock shop keeps it in stock too, but the same guy wouldn’t lend youse a half a plunk on a pair o’ bags wit’ a hole in ’em if ye was spittin’ blood.
“Sympathy,” continued the square-jawed young man, “is the cheapest graft that ever looked over the hill; it’s got every other con game skinned to death and a guy in a tight pull takes chances o’ breakin’ his neck over it every time he opens his mouth. But, say, on the level, when a man’s single, an’ on’y got one end to watch he kin pipe up a breeze if he ain’tdead leary on action; but when he’s got a full hand o’ kids like me friend Chip Nolan, an’ has to keep leather on their tootseys an’ their first teeth busy three times a day, he’s got to keep his t’ink-tank stirrin’ to beat the band, or he’ll look like a last year’s poster on a broken-down fence.”
He climbed up to his high seat and gathered up the reins.
“Don’t t’ink from this song an’ dance,” said he, “that I’ve ever stood in line wit’ a yellow ticket an’ a tin can. But, say, as Chip Nolan ’ed say: ‘Yer on the turf, mate, but youse ain’t under it yet.’ See? Git ’ep, Pete!”