Ethel Watts Mumford

“ Funeral Frank donned his oldest suit and his most battered hat. He had seen himself delineated with some pride, be it confessed, as “a middle-aged man of gentlemanly appearance, always well and appropriately dressed and of pleasant and sympathetic approach.” The man who sallied forth might have been described as “an elderly man, of seedy appearance and furtive manner.” Vicky he laid tenderly on the little blanket in his basket, and he caressed the wrinkled forehead and fondled the hot ears, noting for the thousandth time the brittle feeling of the skin and hair. ”

“ Animals somehow creep into my heart. Vicky, let's go before Miss Manning thinks your master is quite the old fool he is.” He rose and tiptoed toward the door. “I'm infinitely obliged, Miss Elsie. Forgive me for the freedom of speech, but your dear father used to speak of you so often. I knew him very well in a business way, you see. In my younger and more prosperous days I was a stock-broker—met him first on the Exchange. Dear, dear, how time flies, and now Gerald Manning is gone, and a worthless old codger like me lives on. ”

“ Mr. Davis had planned to drop in at the darkened home of Mrs. Elbert Peabody, whose son had just met with a fatal motor accident, but decided to be satisfied with the morning's work and go home. He was already well ahead on his week, and there was an excellent lead in Hartford that should be worked the following day, and he must look up his fraternal-society button and tooth charm. He redeemed his dog basket, disguised as a black leather hand bag, at the parcel room at the railway station, settled Vicky comfortably and boarded an uptown subway. ”

“ He only knew that he grieved and suffered, as he had never dreamed it possible that living man could grieve and suffer. He could not eat, he could not sleep. When night came he sat by the window in the easy-chair, aching with loneliness for the dog that once cuddled in the crook of his arm, protesting with a whimper if he moved, sighing with supreme content if he caressed. He had bragged that he had no heart. Alas, he had! A small heart, a narrow heart, only large enough to hold a little dog. ”

“ His notes had informed him that the late Gerald Manning had been an office holder in the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Doubtless his daughter would see that the society looked out for Vicky. Well, he had no hope of escape for himself. If Vicky was to be saved, his master would have to take the medicine, bottled between dark stone walls. But she'd help a dog if she wouldn't help a mean hound, That much he knew. ”

“ The chauffeur, who evidently considered it the part of policy to conciliate, was still brushing him off and advising him: “I'd go over to the police station and leave a description of the dog and call up the pound.” He was aghast, he could do neither. “And advertise.” The chauffeur was trying to thrust a bill into his hand. “I'll pay for it.”
Automatically his hand closed on the bill. Just then a movement in the crowd revealed another policeman making his way forward, already he was fumbling for his notebook. ”

“ The maid stared at the little old gentleman and at the drooping dog in his arms and opened her mouth several times before she could articulate. “Why, why, Mr. Manning's dead, sir!”
The visitor stepped back. He seemed immeasurably shocked and grieved. “Dead—not Mr. Gerald Manning?” ”

“ When they get through, you an' your dawg is goin' to be too all-fired famous for your own health. Get me?”
That Mr. Davis “got” him became obvious. Spilling the astonished Vicky from his lap, he jumped to his feet. “Whitey Welsh told you that?” he asked. “Now isn't that the luck! I've got a prospect up the line for to-morrow, but I hate this running round, me and Vicky do!”
“Try Chi,” suggested Frothy.
“Chicago! Naw!” snorted Mr. Davis. He opened out his hands in a gesture that embraced all the simple, but comfortable, furnishings of his simple and comfortable flat. ”

“ The dog was always an actor in the lone man's little dramas. The dog's adoration of him inspired confidence, and his ability to play hurt and yelp when handled by a stranger was touching.
Funeral Frank hurried down the steps and walked rapidly toward Fifth Avenue, cradling the dog tenderly. Although Vicky's four feet were perfectly good, he did not like to run, especially in crowds. If his master put him down he would stand on his hind legs and yap loudly until taken up. Mr. Davis never displayed him very conspicuously. ”

“ Davis relapsed into gloomy silence, from which he emerged into a string of curses that fell ill from his benevolent elderly mouth. “Anyway,” he said at length when he had eased his injured feelings, “I've got a good bit laid by. Guess I'll lay off and take it easy. One thing I've always noted, suckers fall even quicker than most folks, and it's a good, easy little act. ”

“ He cared not at all, and it let him out of collections for various funds that were continually being passed around. Aid for the families of men sent to stir, funds for lawyers to defend unlucky crooks, money to buy evidence for some worthy who needed an alibi, all the underworld charities passed him by. ”

“ Vicky looked up whining, and Funeral Frank's heart, that had been leather and iron to the grief of others, was likely to burst with his own anxiety and sorrow. There wasn't any danger, he told himself, and Vicky must have attention, Carrying the dog basket so as to avoid the slightest unnecessary jolting, Mr. Davis set out. He found himself surprisingly nervous, in spite of his new mustache and the unwonted slovenliness of his appearance. He caught himself looking furtively at every policeman ”

“ Frothy crossed to the sideboard and composed two soothers, one of which he placed before his friend, and Mr. Davis, having no present use for his fatherly and respectable appearance, and Mr. Wellington, having no need for such in his business, the two meanest crooks in Christendom, spent a pleasant and unprofitable evening. ”

“ They'll be a whole army of suckers will fall in line to get you, and, what's worse for you, a charity organization is going to put an ad in all the papers, and they're goin' to make a Sunday story, all about the meanest crook, see? ”

“ De dog iss gone, and Funeral Frank he hass found oud wat it iss, a funeral. He want someboty should an advertisement make and a reward.” He collapsed over his mahogany in his merriment, waving the dirty bar rag to emphasize the humor of the situation. “Please to redurn de chile's playmate und receive a mudder's blessing. Loog at him, der meanest crook alife, und he got de mourning crepes for dat dawg!” ”