Delphi Complete Works of Thorne Smith (Illustrated), page 118
“Put down that fish,” said the man.
“Why should I put down this fish?” asked Neptune with deceptive mildness. “Is it your fish?”
“Don’t ask foolish questions,” replied the man. “Of course it’s my fish. Put it down.”
“Who gave you this fish?” asked Neptune. “Where did you get it?”
“Nobody gave me that fish,” declared the man.
“No?” said Neptune, slightly elevating his eyebrows. “Do you mean to say you didn’t come by the fish honestly?”
“Say,” retorted the man, “what are you trying to pull, anyway? I haven’t time to stand talking to you all night long. Put that fish down.”
“Are you busy?” inquired Neptune. “Busy about fish?”
“What’s that to you?” snapped the other. “As it happens, I am busy. It’s fish, fish, fish, morning, noon, and night.”
“You’re fortunate,” observed the sea god. “I envy you your agreeable occupation.”
“What are you trying to be, funny?” demanded the fish-weary individual. “Are you going to put that fish down?”
Mr. Hawk and his party had stopped at the street corner and were clustered there, looking back at the apparently harmlessly conversing god.
“Did it ever occur to you,” Neptune asked of the man, “that I might grow tired of hearing you tell me to put this fish down?”
Here Neptune gently shook the fish under the man’s affronted nose.
“And did it ever occur to you,” sneered the man, “that I might grow tired of having to tell you to put that fish down?”
“Do you happen to know,” demanded Neptune, drawing himself up to his full height, “that I am the god of all fish?”
“You’re not the god of that fish,” the man replied with absolute conviction.
This piece of defiance infuriated Neptune. “What!” he exclaimed, raising his voice slightly. “Not the god of this fish? Do you mean to stand there and tell me that?”
“That fish hasn’t got any god,” said the man.
Neptune examined the fish with renewed interest. “Do I understand you to say that this is a godless fish?”
“I don’t know what you understand me to say,” replied the man, “or what you don’t understand me to say, but I wonder if you understand me when I tell you to put down that fish?”
“I understand you well enough,” said Neptune, “but I’m not going to put down this fish. That’s flat.”
“What are you going to do with that fish?” asked the other, growing pale from exasperation.
Once more the god examined the fish as if seeing it for the first time.
“What am I going to do with this fish?” he repeated in a slightly puzzled voice. “Well, I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do with this fish, but I do know one thing, and that is, I’m not going to put it down.”
“Oh,” said the man, “you’re not going to put it down?”
“No,” replied Neptune with great dignity. “I’m not going to put the fish down.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” exclaimed the other, casting all hope of patience to the wind, “you’re not going to stand there all night long holding that damned fish, are you?”
“No,” replied the sea god, “I’m certainly not going to do that.”
“Then just what do you intend to do with that fish?” asked the man in one of those deadly calms that presages a complete abandonment of reason.
“I don’t just know what my intentions are regarding this fish,” declared Neptune with cocktail begotten ponderosity. “I don’t care to hold the fish, neither do I feel at all inclined to put it down. Furthermore, I’m extremely tired of observing your silly face. If you want to know what I think of you and your fish — watch!”
With this Neptune threw the much-discussed fish into the astounded man’s face. It was a telling shot, and it landed fairly. With the unpleasant sound of a solidified splash the fish impinged on the man’s left cheek and a considerable portion of his nose.
There is something in being hit with a fish that arouses all that is worst in human nature. A pie or a brick may affect different persons in different ways, but with a fish it is always the same. There is only one result — homicidal rage on the part of the recipient of the fish. This invariably happens.
For a moment the man stood stunned; then quite automatically he dipped his hand into the box and hurled several fish into Neptune’s face.
“Just what I wanted,” cried the god with a nasty laugh. “I love fish.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” panted the other, more from anger than from exertion. “Well, how about this one?”
He picked up a fish that barely missed being a whale and flung it with all his might at Neptune. The sea god dodged nimbly, and the fish took up its position in the gutter. As the man bent over to seize upon another fish, Neptune prodded him in an investigatory spirit in the part thus prominently exposed. It was not so much a painful act of retaliation as it was a degrading one. There was something about it that the man found intimately insulting. He snapped erect with another large fish in his hands and this time his aim was more accurate. The fish descended heavily on the sea god’s head, and for a moment the Olympian was dazed. He staggered back, then relieved himself of a roar that meant nothing less than war to the death.
The gods and goddesses gathered at the corner observing that all was not well with their fish-inclined relation, and recognizing from eons past the nature of his bull-throated roar, legged it down the street without even pausing for the formality of a huddle. They were filled with fish and grog, which make a fighting combination. Mr. Hawk, despairing of peace, cast his lot with the gods and bounded down the pavement in the direction of this novel altercation.
Perseus, the professional hero, was the first to arrive at the scene of action. His movements were precise and definite. It was like a smooth first night after weeks of conscientious rehearsals. He picked up a barrel of fish and permitted the silvery shower to play over the head of his uncle’s adversary. The man went down under a deluge of fish. From his clammy place of confinement his head emerged and began to make significant noises. He was earnestly summoning aid. And aid was not long in arriving.
It so seems that men who spend much of their time in the company of fish either dead or alive are strong, hostile, and active men. The group that joined battle with the Olympians were of this type, at any rate. They emerged from many doors, and Hunter Hawk, who was ever interested in experimenting, wrapped a large eel round the leader’s neck. So far eels had not entered into the battle, but from now on they played an important part.
Even a man most accustomed to fish does not like to have his neck adorned with an eel. Proceeding on the assumption that one cares for eels, it is only a person with a perverted taste who cares for them that way. This man did not care for them that way. He unwound the eel from his neck and, twirling it round his head with the dexterity but not the charm of Will Rogers, released it to its own devices. The eel sped over the immediate area of conflict, and as if spying Venus, who was pantingly bringing up the rear, sought seclusion down the bosom of her dress. It was then that this ravishing creature performed on the sidewalks of New York and in sight of the battling multitude what could only be classified as a lascivious dance. An eel on the exterior of one’s stomach is even less agreeable than an eel twined round one’s neck, and a lady finding herself in such a predicament may be forgiven for dancing almost any dance that pops into her head at the moment. So effective were Venus’s convolutions that each faction paused in its effort to outfish the other until the eel had been dislodged from its intimate place of concealment.
Having successfully rid herself of her uninvited guest, Venus turned her thoughts towards methods of reprisal. With a critical observation regarding the casual parentage of the eel slinger, she hurled herself into the forefront of the conflict and, disregarding the aid of fish, knocked the man flat with one Olympian blow. Couched on a layer of slippery fish the semiconscious individual made a surprisingly neat exit towards the gutter, where he remained. Undiscouraged by his enforced absence, the fight continued with, if anything, augmented abandon.
Megaera, with her usual resourcefulness, had endeavored to equalize the discrepancy in cubic stature by arming herself with a swordfish, with which she was doing painful execution. Mr. Hawk, clearing a fish from his eyes, caught a glimpse of her industriously sawing away on the leg of a large party upon whose face Bacchus was comfortably seated while searching about for a certain kind of fish he had in mind. Hawk laughed madly and dispatched a flounder with scientific accuracy into the face of his nearest adversary. Apollo and Diana, from behind a barricade of barrels, were methodically emptying them of their salty contents by leveling an effective barrage upon the enemy. Perseus, having retrieved his head which momentarily he had laid aside, was holding single-handed three stout fish flingers at bay. Everyone seemed to be conscientiously doing his or her bit. They would have done even more had it not been, for the intervention of the police. These civic joy killers arrived in a body of three. Mercury, from his point of vantage on the driver’s seat of a cart, was the first to be aware of their arrival. Mistaking them for partisans, he discharged two handfuls of fish stingingly upon them. The officers of the law were both annoyed and disgusted. Somebody was going to pay for this indignity. A few revolver shots they might have overlooked, but fish, never. One of them sprang to the seat by Mercury and raised his night stick on high. Mr. Hawk broke through the seething crowd and turned the god to stone. The club descended with a loud report and snapped in two. The blank astonishment written on the officer’s face repaid Mr. Hawk for many fast-traveling fish. Incredulously the policeman reached out a hand and felt Mercury’s face. The hand was swiftly withdrawn.
“Be God,” muttered its owner, “it’s the first case on record of a fish-flinging stone.”
For a moment he stood amid the din and confusion, completely submerged in his thoughts. Then with a sigh he decided to dismiss the incident entirely from his life and let one of his brother officers carry on where he had left off. However, he was too late. Mr. Hawk reversed the order of things. He petrified the policeman and released the messenger of the gods. Then, above the shouts and imprecations and the steady patter of fish, the scientist made his voice heard.
“Cease firing,” he shouted, “and follow me. Don’t lose your tags.”
Picking Meg up bodily, he sprinted down the street and turned a corner. The Olympians streaked after him, and after them the policemen, frantically blowing their whistles. This would never do, Hawk decided. There was enough noise already, without the policemen adding to it. He jumped into a doorway, and as the officers rushed past at the heels of the gods he added two more impressive-looking statues to the police force of New York.
Into a cruising taxi he bundled as many gods and goddesses as he could find. He gave the driver the address and told him to drive like hell. He then hurried down the street in search of another taxi. Behind him the two petrified members of the city’s finest looked as if they were playfully indulging in an adult game of Still Water, No More Moving. Later, when two members of the Flying Squad came across their statuesque colleagues, they did not have the temerity to report their find to Police Sergeant Burk, the officer in charge.
“It would sound too damned silly,” said one of the discoverers, “to report to him that Officers Sullivan and O’Boyle had been found turned to stone.”
“We wouldn’t have a button left,” agreed the other.
Police Sergeant Burk, however, had discovered strange things for himself. When he had demanded of the petrified figure on the driver’s seat of the wagon just what was all the trouble about and received no answer he had climbed up beside the figure and examined it closely. It was an odd coincidence that Sergeant Burk, like his two subordinates, made no report of his discovery. He felt that it was one of those things that might lead to profitless discussion. Let others find out for themselves, was his not unwise decision. Thoughtfully he climbed down from the wagon and ordered the arrest of every living being in sight. After that he went home and got speedily into bed. The next day he put in an urgent request for a long vacation. What subsequently became of the three petrified officers was never officially recorded, although rumor has it that they were successfully used as shock absorbers on several important raids. Neither is it known whether they still received pay for their services or were ever carried to visit their respective families. Such purely irrelevant considerations are merely matters of conjecture.
In Mr. Hawk’s arms Meg was singing “Rock-a-bye, baby, on the tree top,” while above her the scientist’s lean face peered into the darkness for a possible means of escape. Presently he spied a taxi, and toward this yellow hope he dashed, head on. It was not until he was seated with his burden in the cab that he noticed she was clinging to a swordfish.
“What do you want that thing for?” he demanded.
Meg looked at the fish in surprise. “I don’t know,” she said. “Didn’t realize I had it. Let’s bring it home to Neptune.”
It was then that a harmless citizen was given something to talk about for many weeks by the sudden appearance at his feet of a swordfish which seemed to have descended from the sky.
“Is anyone in?” Mr. Hawk asked the operator of the private elevator.
“Yes, sir,” replied the operator, then added after a moment’s hesitation, “Ever so many.”
The Olympians, virtually stripped to the skin of their fish-battered garments, had distributed themselves clubbily about the lounge and were thirstily watching Mr. Betts as he diligently mixed cocktails. Hebe was standing by with a trayful of cups.
Meg and Mr. Hawk were greeted enthusiastically upon their entrance. Inquiries were made regarding the probable whereabouts of Neptune, the missing cause of all the trouble. “Probably in jail,” said Mr. Hawk wearily. “If so, Betts will have to bail him out.”
“A well chosen word in connection with Neptune,” observed Mercury whose mind was ever alert for trifles.
There was a hint of dawn in the sky when the sea god finally put in an appearance. He walked jauntily into the room with a huge fish over his shoulder impaled on the prongs of his trident.
“That elevator boy seems to be upset about something,” he told Mr. Hawk.
“I can’t imagine what,” that gentleman replied.
With a dignified bow to the assembled company Neptune hastened to the telephone and removed the receiver.
“Hello,” he said, “I have a fish up here I want you to put on ice. It’s an unusually large fish, and I want it served whole for breakfast. How big is it?” He paused and looked appraisingly at the fish, then turned back to the telephone. “Oh, I’d say about six feet six,” he announced, not without a note of pride. “What’s that? Too big, you say? Then I’ll eat the damn thing in the bathtub.”
He hung up the receiver with a snap and accepted a cocktail that Hebe bore him. Extending his cup courteously towards Mr. Hawk, the god of the sea addressed him.
“My regards, Mr. Hawk,” he said. “This is a splendid town for fish.”
“I’m glad you like it,” said Mr. Hawk rather lamely.
Venus had to be forcibly restrained from attacking her uncle.
In such a strained situation Hebe the cup bearer and Betts the cup filler proved themselves invaluable in restoring congenial relations. By the time the members of the party sought their beds the hint of dawn in the sky had become an open avowal.
CHAPTER XVII
Meg, Mercury & Betts, Inc.
MR. HAWK WAS sitting in his bedroom, and he was a little bit drunk. It was five o’clock in the morning. He was still clad in evening clothes. A high silk hat, straight black stick, and a bottle of Scotch formed a swagger group on a near-by table.
Hawk was looking mildly at nothing. His eyes shifted to the bottle of Scotch and refused to budge therefrom. As if impelled by a desire to satisfy his eyes rather than his thirst he rose from his easy chair and arranged himself a drink. This accomplished he reseated himself, glass in one hand and cigarette in the other.
For the past half hour he had been vaguely troubled by the need of something, the exact nature of which he had not been able to discover. Only a few minutes ago he had succeeded in doing this. Hunter Hawk knew now that he needed a little more Blotto. He missed his dog. Also, he missed Daffy. Several times he had rung for Betts to tell him about his discovery, but either the bell or Betts was out of order. For once the old gentleman had failed to answer the summons. Neither was Meg anywhere to be found. She and Mercury had gotten separated from the party. Hawk was more nervous about this than he cared to admit. Not that he suspected the loyalty of either one of them. What he did suspect most definitely was their honesty. Now that Betts was among the missing, Mr. Hawk’s suspicions became more firmly rooted.
“Meg, Mercury, and Betts,” he said to himself with a hopeless shake of his head. “A bad lot. A very bad lot. They will come to no good end.”
Such bleak reflections quite naturally led to another drink of Scotch. He enjoyed this. He enjoyed being alone. It was the first spell of solitude he had had in the last five days. Since the return of the gods life had whirled at hurricane velocity. There had been little time for reflection. The Olympians were all in bed now, if not asleep.
Mr. Hawk knew for a fact that with the exception of the first night not one of them had slept alone. How they managed to gather in transient guests was still a mystery to the scientist. He had grown quite accustomed to entertaining perfect strangers of both sexes at breakfast. The gods, in spite of the late hours they kept, were early risers and insisted that those who shared their beds should be early risers also. Breakfast over, past favors and friendships were callously forgotten and the guests summarily dismissed. Mr. Hawk ascribed this to a delicate disinclination on the part of the Olympians to be reminded of their delinquencies, whereas the truth of the matter was that they were very easily bored by mortals and were constantly seeking fresh fields to conquer. Venus, Diana, and Hebe, in the order named, had made a strong play for Mr. Hawk, Venus being the strongest, but he had successfully resisted their blandishments, more from a desire for peace than a love of purity. With Meg the gods showed a little more self-restraint. True enough, Apollo had made advances, but they had been tentative to the point of being perfunctory. Meg had found no difficulty in telling the so-called irresistible god to go to hell. Although he had not gone, he had desisted from further endeavors. They were now the best of friends. Although Meg greedily laid claim to virtually every known vice, she scornfully excluded cheating.
