Black Cat Weekly #18

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 1It was gathering dusk when the northbound express thundered to a halt. From the front of the Pullman there arose a majestic figure in high silk hat and fur-collared overcoat. The man’s clothes were evidence that he had money, and the proud, almost haughty dignity of his carriage indicated that he had possessed money for a considerable length of time.’ No less stately than a king, he followed the Pullman porter to the vestibule.

“Pipe the ‘Emperor of Hickville,’ ” grinned James Early, jerking his thumb in the direction of the disembarking passenger.

Mr. Amos Clackworthy, confidence man deluxe, nodded; he had already observed the personage. Briefly he consulted the railroad folder; it told him that the stop was Higbeeville. Illinois. He looked out the car window to the well-lit platform which ran the length of the attractive station of brick tile. He saw a liveried chauffeur taking possession of the traveler’s luggage, bowingly ushering him to a long-hooded limousine on the door of which gleamed the gold-lettered monogram “W. C. H.”

“I should not be greatly surprised if the ‘H’ means Higbee,” murmured Mr. Clackworthy. “That is Mr. Higbee himself, no doubt.”

He continued to stare out upon the town, taking in the ambitious-looking business street stretching away from the station, well paved and well lighted. It seemed to be quite a forward-looking community, a conclusion which was verified by a huge electric sign, blazing imposingly from the roof of a building half a block away for the purpose of attracting the attention of the traveling public. It read:

HIGBEEVILLE WANTS FACTORIES!

Free Factory Sites,

No City Taxes For New Industries,

Wonderful Shipping Facilities.

STOP—LOOK US OVER!

HIGBEEVILLE CHAMBER OF COMMERCE.

At Higbeeville the train changed engines, for it was a division point. Mr. Clackworthy and The Early Bird were returning to Chicago from two weeks in Florida, and James was fretting, as was his wont, for a fresh adventure in the quest of easy money. The master confidence man sat for a moment, taking stock of the hunch which had seized him.

“I think I will accept the invitation, James,” he said thoughtfully. “I think that I will accept that invitation—now.”

“Say, what’s eatin’ you?” inelegantly demanded The Early Bird. “I ain’t heard nobody invitin’ us nowhere.”

With one hand Mr. Clack worthy pointed out at the big electric sign; with the other he reached for his over-

coat and jabbed the button for the porter.

“ ‘Stop—look us over,’ ” he repeated. “Certainly, that is an invitation, James. I suppose the porter isn’t coming; we will have to carry our own bags. Come; let us be getting off.”

“Are you practicin’ for vaudeville, boss, or are you on the level?” gasped out The Early Bird. “Aw, boss, let’s be gettin’ on to Chi; nix on this hick-town stuff. I wanna see if Lake Michigan is in the same place we left it.”

Mr. Clackworthy shook his head.

“Nay, James,” he said, chuckling: “I have heard the call of Higbeeville, and I must answer. It is evident that this town has money; and where there is money, there I like to be also.”

Having no further choice in the matter The Early Bird grumblingly picked up his own bag and followed.

And thus it was that the diverse pair, the elegant, suave Mr. Clackworthy and his slangy co-plotter came to Higbeeville. As they passed up the street, James glared disgustedly at the sign which had lured them from the train which, a brief two hours hence, would have brought them to his beloved Chicago.

“Free factory sites!” he said sneeringly. “Huh! Generous, ain’t they? I wouldn’t give seven bucks for the whole darn burg!”

Despite his prejudice, however, The Early Bird lost much of his peeve when he sat down to dinner in the Higbeeville House. The hotel was a credit to the town, and the menu had been known to tempt less-willing appetites. There was an orchestra, too, with a tendency to zippy tones, for the town was rural in location and metropolitan in tendency.

After the meal, Mr. Clackworthy led the way into the lobby and cast about a practiced eye in search of some loquacious soul from whom might be pried bits of intimate local gossip. In the center of the room stood a beaming individual who declaimed loudly upon the commercial future of Higbeeville. This, it later developed, was none other than Mr. Percival Shores, the chamber of commerce’s imported enthuser, a human dynamo who would continue to generate enthusiasm so long as he got his one hundred dollars a week.

But it was not to Mr. Shores that Mr. Clackworthy turned; he sought, instead, a morose individual who looked as if his rich uncle had just died, willing everything to charity. What he wanted was the bare and unvarnished truth about the town, not the rhetorical pictures of a second Chicago.

Leaving The Early Bird to his own devices, the master confidence man strolled over and occupied the vacant chair beside the local “Gloomy Gus.”

“Wonderful little city you have here,” said Mr. Clackworthy by way of beginning. “Wonderful.”

“Yeah?” grunted the other. “Been living here twenty-five years. Don’t see nothing wonderful about it.”

“Seems to be a most progressive town. Have a cigar.”

The local pessimist accepted the smoke, inspected the band critically, and struck a match.

“Yeah, some of the folks here think they’ve got the world by the tail,” he said. “Good cigar, this. Linn’s my name. I sell cigars; got a*****e up in the next block.”

“So you don’t think much of the boom?” asked Mr. Clackworthy.

“Won’t last long,” prophesied Mr. Linn. “These boosters make me sick. It’s pure selfishness. All trying to grab some stranger’s money. Chamber of commerce is made up of our best local grabbers.”

“I see they’re offering free factory sites,” suggested Mr. Clackworthy. “Not much profit in that, I take it.”

“Factory sites!” exclaimed the tobacconist. “All they’re giving away no sane man would have—way out on the edge of town. If they do get somebody interested in putting up a factory it generally ends up by him paying old man Higbee two prices for the land. Oh, yes, Higbee’s president of the chamber of commerce. He’s the head of darn near everything in this town.

“Then Zeke Todd is vice president. He owns the lumber yard and gets a fat profit for furnishing the building materials for the factory. Ben Pruitt’s in on it, too—secretary. He aims to get the contract to build the factory—he’s the local contractor, you know.

“After that comes Apperson Pool—he’s treasurer. App gets his later on, when the factory feller has to borrow money at the bank. He’s the big gun at the State Bank.

“There, you got ‘em all—Higbeeville’s ‘Big Four.’ Our best dollar-chasing quartet. The dollar that gets away from that outfit has to move fast.”

Mr. Clackworthy nodded thoughtfully. The information pleased him, for nothing gave him more pleasure than getting into a money scramble with dollar chasers.

“I was thinking about locating in your charming and thriving city.” he announced.

Mr. Linn looked at him intently.

“If you’re going to locate here after what I’ve told you, then you’re either a fool or a slicker. I hope you’re a slicker. I’d like to see them four leeches get trimmed so hard they’ll holler for a year. They order all their cigars from the city; don’t think mine are good enough for ‘em. Make ’em squeal, and I’ll give you the best box of smokes in my store.”

Mr. Clackworthy laughed. He made no reply to this offer, but he decided that before he said farewell to Higbeeville, he would call upon Mr. Linn and collect that box of cigars.