Complete Works of Earl Derr Biggers, page 255
She leaned back in her chair, laughing.
“A double life at your age,” she said. “Dad, it’s too funny!”
“But you approve, don’t you? You know you said—”
“Of course I approve. It’s just the thing. Why, the very idea has done wonders for you! But if Mother finds out—”
“I know.” His tone was apprehensive. “But San Marco’s ten miles from here — I’m fairly safe. If you need anything in my line look me up. I’m just a poor young man trying to get along.”
“I’ll drop in to-morrow. Tell me again where it is.” He drew a map for her on the back of an envelope. “Remember,” he said, “my name out there is John Grant.” “Oh, Dad!” she cried. “An assumed name! How thrilling!” In the morning he hunted round in his closet until he found an old blue suit. It was a bit shiny in spots. His wife had informed him he was not to wear it again. Defiantly he put it on and went down-stairs. There ensued a brief argument about it, but his wife did not seem up to her usual form, and he won.
At nine o’clock Haku deposited him before his office building. The building stood on a corner and could be entered from either of two streets. Jim Alden passed through the lobby and out the side door. At a clothing store he supplied himself with dark-blue overalls and jumper, then walked another block, hopped on a car and rode to San Marco. When he reached his new property there seemed to be an air of aimless leisure about the place. Al was sitting on the running board of a car reading the morning paper. Petersen was nowhere in sight. Jim Alden went into the office. A long lean young man with humorous gray eyes untangled himself from a chair and rose to greet him.
“Where’s Petersen?” asked Alden.
“Is this Mr. Grant — Mr. John Grant?” inquired the stranger.
“What? Oh — er — yes, I’m Grant.”
“Merrick’s my name — Bill Merrick. Shake hands with your new partner, Mr. Grant. I bought Petersen out last Friday.”
“What? Well — er — glad to meet you. Petersen didn’t lose any time.”
“I hope you don’t object. He showed me a memorandum you wrote—”
“Oh, no, that’s all right. I was a bit surprised, that’s all. I don’t mind a change of partners — rather like it in fact. I guess we’ve got hold of a live business.”
“Seemed so from the books. I must say, though, I’ve been sitting here an hour and a half, and not a nibble.”
“Oh, well, it’s early yet. Monday morning, too. I’ll just get into my outfit so as to be ready.” The millionaire undid his bundle and spread out his suit of armor. He removed his coat. “I suppose you understand all about automobiles?” he inquired.
“Oh, yes, I know it’s the gasoline seeping through the what- you-may-call-it that sort of encourages ’em to continue. Further than that, I’m a little in the dark. Petersen said you were an excellent mechanic and would be glad to teach me.”
“He did, eh?”
Jim Alden buckled on the overalls thoughtfully. Mr. Petersen grew even less attractive as his character developed.
“You see,” the young man went on, and his manner was winning, “I came darn near being a lawyer. I was studying law in my father’s office in Duluth when the war broke. After I got back from France I was like a lot of the boys — the soles of my feet itched. An aunt died and left me three thousand dollars; and I’d swallowed a bit of gas in the Argonne, which supplied me with a mighty convenient little cough, so it was me for California. I’ve been here two months looking for work. Have you tried to find work out here?”
“You bet I have!”
“Supply seems a bit short of the demand, doesn’t it? My money was sort of dribbling away in the cafeterias, so I plunged with Petersen. Two thousand dollars — the balance of Aunt Elvira’s wad.”
“Two thousand!” repeated Jim Alden, again thinking hard.
“Yes, sir. All little Rollo’s available cash. We’ve got to make good.”
“Oh, we’ll make good all right,” said Alden. But he wasn’t so sure. Petersen was taking on new aspects every minute.
They spent a couple of hours looking over their stock and once more studying the books, which Petersen had accommodatingly left. By noon just two cars had halted at their establishment — one to buy five gallons of gasoline, the other to inquire the way. A suspicion was growing in Jim Alden’s mind. He went to the door of the little office and summoned Al. The boy came in looking rather sheepish.
“See here, Al,” said Alden. “This place does a pretty good business, doesn’t it?”
“Well,” said Al, “it did — up to last Saturday.”
“Eh? What happened on Saturday?”
“Don’t you know?” Al seemed genuinely surprised. “Last Saturday they opened up the new state highway two miles east of here. The road over there has been torn up for six months.”
“I see,” Alden said, “You mean we’re sort of off the main line from now on?”
“You sure are,” admitted Al. “This road is about as necessary as a fifth wheel. You won’t see much traffic here except the folks that live up the line.” He stopped. There ensued a poignant silence. “I thought Petersen let you in on it,” the boy went on. “He claimed he had. Told me he was sellin’ out at a sacrifice.”
“He didn’t tell us, Al,” said Alden slowly. “Go back to your — er — work.” The boy went out.
“Well, that’s cheery news,” cried Bill Merrick bitterly. “Swindled! Every cent that Aunt Elvira and I had in the world!” He paused and looked at his partner. On Jim Alden’s face was an expression of deep chagrin, which Bill Merrick conveniently took to be distress. “How about you?” the young man asked. “All your savings gone blooey, eh?” Alden did not reply. “It’s a darn shame,” the other went on. “It doesn’t matter so much about me, but you — you’re an old — that is, you’re not so young as you were. Well, leave it to me. I’ll find this crook Petersen wherever he is, and when I do — oh, boy!”
“Wait a minute,” Alden cut in. “Finding Petersen won’t help. Perhaps we can pull through yet.”
“How?” asked Bill Merrick. “Come out here.” He led the way outside. “Nice, quiet, pastoral scene, eh what? Not a car in sight — not one!”
“Oh, yes, there’s one,” said Jim Alden.
He pointed. Coming down the otherwise deserted highway, driving the newest and gayest of the Alden roadsters at sixty miles an hour, was Angie. She dashed in at the drive that cut the corner and deftly brought her car to a stop between the gas tank and the garage door. Then for the first time her eyes fell on Jim Alden, standing there looking rather foolish in his painfully new mechanic’s uniform. A peal of laughter was her instant tribute.
“Dad!” she cried. “You old rascal! I hardly knew you!”
At once an expression of contrition crossed her lovely face. Regret, chagrin, an appeal for forgiveness, all were in her eyes. Coming down the road she had been saying to herself, “John Grant, John Grant,” over and over. And now she had blurted out the truth instantly — ruined everything. How like her!
Jim Alden was watching his partner. That young man at sight of Angie had stood as one who beholds an angel descend from heaven. As the import of the angel’s first words dawned slowly on his dazed brain he turned to Alden.
“Dad?” he cried. “She called you Dad!”
“So she did,” said Alden. He raised his voice so that Angie might hear: “This young lady and I are old friends. Her father and I once worked together in the Pontiac shops — that was before he made his money. When her dad — her real dad, I mean — bought his first car I was the family chauffeur. I used to drive this little lady about Pontiac, and she’d fall asleep on my lap and her hair’d get all mixed up with the wheel. She started to call me Dad in those days, and I’m proud to say she’s never stopped.” He paused, and saw that Angie’s eyes were on him, fascinated. “Come over here, Bill. Miss Angie, I want you to meet my partner, Bill Merrick. Bill — Miss Angie Alden.”
Mr. Bill Merrick seemed devoid of speech as his hand touched that of Angie Alden.
“How’s your father?” Jim Alden asked.
“Better, much better,” replied Angie, still looking her admiration. “Dad, I think this is a darling place for a garage.” She stared about her. “And then — having a partner — such a nice partner—”
“Yes, it’s lucky I’ve got Bill. We’ll be company for each other. Otherwise it would be mighty lonesome here. You see, we’ve just discovered they’ve opened a new road east of us, and we’re left high and dry.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that!” cried Angie.
“I knew you would be. I told you the other day — when I happened to run across you in Pasadena — that things looked pretty good for me, but I’m afraid I spoke too soon. However, while there’s life there’s hope. We’ll put it over yet, eh, Bill? Bill ain’t more than twenty-five, and I feel younger every minute. Now what can we do for you, Miss — er — Miss Angie?”
“You can sell me ten gallons of gas — if you will, please.”
They leaped to do her bidding. Alden assumed charge of the pump and Bill Merrick presided at the car. He leaned close to its fair driver.
“I must have seemed stupid when we were introduced,” he said. “You see, I was overcome. It was too good to be true. I mean — meeting you again.”
“Again?”
“Yes, we met once before. I guess you don’t remember.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“You wouldn’t, of course. There were hundreds of us. We were on a train — in 1917 — on our way to camp. It was at the station in Detroit. I was leaning out the window, very greedy, and you came along the platform and gave me a sandwich.”
“Ah, yes! Ham or cheese?”
“I don’t know to this day.”
“Was it as bad as that?”
“It was — wonderful. I wanted to put it in my memory book — only I didn’t have a memory book, so I ate it. I was hungry. Afterward I wished I hadn’t. I wished I’d saved it — always. Wow! Say, hold on a minute! Stop pumping!”
The tank was overflowing.
“I’m so sorry,” said Angie. “I remember now — I had it filled yesterday.”
“That’s only three gallons,” Jim Alden said, disappointed. “Do you need any oil?”
“Always need oil,” answered Angie. “Never can think of it.”
Bill Merrick recalled that he was a partner in the enterprise. He went for the oil, while Alden lifted the hood of the car. Angie watched them. She reflected that Bill Merrick was a very agreeable young man. Just the pal for her father. How nice!
“Need any tires, chains — anything like that?” asked Alden. “No? Well, you owe us two dollars and twelve cents.”
She handed him a five-dollar bill.
“Keep the change, Dad,” she said grandly.
“Oh, no, Miss Angie, I couldn’t, really!”
“But I insist.” She turned to Bill Merrick. “Don’t get discouraged,” she smiled. “You can count on one steady customer.”
“You’ll come again? Say, that’s great!”
“For Dad’s sake,” she said. “He’s the best ever. Be good to him.” She stepped on the gas and was gone.
Slowly Bill Merrick walked over and set down his burden of oil.
“Say, Dad,” he began, “I’m going to call you Dad, too, if you don’t mind. I believe you said something about — before her father made his money. Who is she, anyhow?”
“Why, she’s old Jim Alden’s daughter.”
“Alden! James M. Alden, the automobile man!” An expression of acute despair spread over Bill Merrick’s face. He sank down upon a bench. “Of all the rotten luck!” he moaned.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said his partner. “Alden’s not so bad. Pretty good father, I imagine.”
“Rotten luck for me, I mean.”
“How’s that?”
“I guess you heard me tell her how I’d seen her before — in Detroit. I’ve never got over it — never been able to see any other girl since. She’s — she’s wonderful. I’ve thought of her, dreamed of her—”
He sat staring gloomily in front of him. Jim Alden regarded him with new interest. He liked this boy, liked the look in his eyes, the smile which was for the moment submerged.
Yes, there was something appealing about Bill Merrick. The older man thought of Carter Andrews, who had cabled that morning from Yokohama.
“But why all this gloom?” Alden inquired.
“Why? You know who I am. You know what I’ve got. And now to find out that she’s Alden’s daughter — a man worth millions—”
“Nonsense! Jim Alden’s no better than you or me. I knew him when he was a mechanic in Pontiac. We worked at the same bench. Why, I can remember—”
“Yes, you can remember. But can he? I’ll bet you couldn’t prove to him that he ever worked for his living, not with the aid of a diagram. They get like that. I can see him — pompous, blustering, important. Can you imagine my going to him and saying, ‘Mr. Alden, I have come to ask for your daughter’? ‘And who are you?’ ‘Oh, I’m the Napoleon of finance who bought a garage on a road nobody ever travels. And in addition to your daughter, Mr. Alden, I’d like to ask you for ten cents car fare back to town.’”
Jim Alden laughed.
“It seems to me you’re a bit previous,” he said. “As far as I could see, Miss Angie is still heart-whole and fancy-free. And I tell you right now, Son, we’re up against it here.
“We’ve got a problem on our hands. Are you going to face it with me or must I get a new partner?”
Bill Merrick got to his feet.
“You’re right, Dad,” he answered. “It sort of upset me, seeing her again. But the moment of weakness has passed. Let Alden take his daughter and his millions and go his way. I’m poor but proud. I’m darn poor, come to think of it. What do you suggest?”
“One thing’s clear,” his partner told him: “We’ve got to get over on that main road. This shack isn’t worth moving. We’ll have to rent ground over there, put up a new building and vamoose.”
“But the lease here has two years to go.”
“Yes. Too bad. That’s eight hundred a year we must set down on the wrong side of the ledger — no help for it. We can thank Petersen for that. But he hasn’t put me down and out. I was stunned for a minute, but now I’ve just begun to fight. We’ll be mighty careful picking our new location.”
“But see here, Dad, that’s all a rosy dream. How about funds? I’m nearly broke.”
“Don’t worry about funds. I told you Jim Alden was an old friend of mine. I’m sure he’ll stake us to the limit. I’ll go out to his Pasadena house to-night and have a long talk—”
“Jim Alden!” Bill repeated. “Somehow I don’t like the idea of borrowing money from him — her father.”
“Rot! It will interest him in you. If you make good he’ll respect you.”
“Think so? Maybe I’d better go with you to-night.”
“No, no, that’s all right. I can handle him better alone. Now let’s leave Al in charge here while we run over to that new highway and take a squint around. Then when we get this money—”
“You seem mighty sure we’re going to get it.”
“Of course I’m sure. Jim Alden would do anything on earth for me.”
“Gosh,” said Bill Merrick as they climbed into the car, “I wish I could say the same!”
* * * * *
THAT evening Angie left the family group in the drawing-room, where Arthur was seated at the piano singing a ballad — he had an excellent tenor voice; he would have — and hunted up her father in the library. She found him at his desk thinking hard.
“Hello,” she said, “it’s the old Alden retainer. Our first chauffeur. We treat him just like one of the family.”
“Hush, Angie, hush!”
“So I used to fall asleep in your lap, did I? Really, Dad, I didn’t care for that. It made me seem such a dopy child.”
“Every word I said was the plain truth. I think I did mighty well under the circumstances. A fine fix you put me in.”
“Oh, Dad, I was frightfully sorry—”
“After I’d prepared you — to rush up and bawl out ‘Dad’ the first crack out of the box.”
“It was stupid of me. But you looked so funny. Ha, ha!”
“Hush, I tell you! See here, Angie, what did you think of him?”
“Of whom?”
“You know who I mean. My partner, Bill Merrick.”
“Why, he seemed a worthy young mechanic. Of course I scarcely looked at him.”
“Oh, no, of course not! Well, give him a glance next time. He thinks very highly of you — for some unknown reason. That sandwich you gave him must have been poisoned. He’s never recovered.”
“You don’t say! Well, that’s nice. We aim to please. But how do you know?”
“Oh, he told me all about it afterward.”
“Now, Dad, that isn’t fair — to let him run on to you, not knowing who you are.”
“Nonsense! It’s a great chance for me. I guess a father never had a better opportunity to study a possible son-in-law.”
“Dad! What rot!” Angie stared at him, amazed. “I’m willing to let you run off and play with these rough boys, but you mustn’t drag your grimy little pals into your private life. It won’t do.”
“Oh, you’ll wake up later,” her father said. “This boy has a better education than I have — he’s a gentleman. More than that, he’s got a way with him.”
“A dog-gone dangerous man, eh? Thanks for the warning. But dear old Dad, the family friend, will always be on hand as a chaperon.”
“I will — and I want you to drop in often. A girl like you can buck a young man up — keep him on the job. Our friend needs cheering. Every cent he had went into that garage — and it looks as though we’d been stung.” He told her of Petersen’s duplicity. “I acted too hastily,” he admitted. “It’s one on me. But of course it doesn’t matter in my case. It’s the boy I’m worried about.”
