The Whispering Master

Chapter Eighteen

The waiter went off and Johnny, leaning back, searched the interior of the Club Mague for familiar faces. He saw two in a booth a short distance away. Doniger and Farnham, late of the late Mariota Record Company. A woman with a bosom sat beside Doniger.

“Holler when the meat comes, Sam,” he said, getting to his feet. He bore down on the trio in the booth.

“Hello, fellows,” he said as he came up.

Doniger looked up at him coldly. “Yes?”

“Too bad about the old Mariota outfit, isn’t it?” Johnny sympathized. “Although I don’t suppose it’ll mean so much to you two. With your backgrounds you shouldn’t have any trouble getting jobs.”

“How long is it since you’ve had a job?” Doniger asked pointedly.

Johnny chuckled. “Right there with the old one-two! Guess I asked for that one.” He seated himself in the booth beside Farnham and facing Doniger and the woman with the bosom. He smiled confidentially at Farnham. “H’arya, Eddie?” Then, without waiting for a response he looked across at Doniger again. “I’ve got a friend named Doug Esbenshade might be able to give you something, Donny...”

“You know Esbenshade?” Doniger exclaimed.

Johnny held up two fingers, pressed tightly together. “Like that, Doug and me. One of the richest men in Iowa, Doug is. But sharp, too. That’s why he foreclosed on Mariota.”

The woman beside Doniger nudged him sharply. Doniger started. “Oh, excuse me — Ruthie, this is Mr. Fletcher. Fletcher, my wife...”

“Mrs. Doniger! Well, I’m certainly glad to meet you.” To Doniger: “You sly dog, I didn’t know you were married. Why don’t you tell people?”

“He’s very much married,” Mrs. Doniger said sharply. “And there are two children at home, too. I don’t suppose he told about them either?”

“Now, now, Ruthie,” said Doniger, squirming.

“Two kids!” exclaimed Johnny. “Well...!” He leaned back and looked fatuously at Doniger. Then he said: “By the way, Vi phoned me today.”

“Vi?” asked Mrs. Doniger.

“Violet Rodgers, the switchboard operator at Mariota. A stunner...!”

Doniger was as pale as the newly washed sheet of a Ku-Kluxer. He said nervously, “When do you expect to see Esbenshade again?”

“Oh, probably tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll put in a good word for you. But I was going to tell you about Vi—”

“Cut it out,” Doniger snarled.

“Oh, no, Mr. Fletcher,” said Mrs. Doniger in a deadly calm voice. “Tell us about Vi. A stunner, I believe you said...”

Johnny whistled suggestively and rolled his eyes. Then he appealed to Farnham. “Isn’t she, Eddie?”

Farnham just looked dumb, which was par for him.

“I suppose Vi’s going to lose her job, too,” purred Mrs. Doniger.

“With her looks she’s got nothing to worry about,” said Johnny.

Sam Cragg hissed loudly, “Johnny, grub!”

Johnny got up. “Oh, excuse me, folks, I’ll drop by again later.”

He walked quickly back to his own table, where the ham sandwiches, loaded with lettuce, butter and mayonnaise, were just being placed on the table. Johnny scowled as he sat down and picked up his sandwich.

“Is there a law says you’ve got to put mayonnaise on a sandwich?” he demanded of the waiter.

“Why, I don’t think so,” said the waiter. “The cook—”

“Tell him there are more people don’t like mayonnaise than do. When I get back to Congress I’m going to introduce a bill forbidding the manufacture of the damn stuff. Take this back — and see that the cook doesn’t just put new bread around the ham. I don’t want a speck of mayonnaise on it. Not even a smell. Understand...?”

“And that goes for me, too!” growled Sam.

The waiter gathered up the sandwiches. Johnny looked over at the Doniger booth. Mrs. Doniger was giving her husband the business and the latter was defending himself warmly and with the expression of a cat being whipped after upsetting the cream bowl.

“I just fixed up Doniger with his wife,” Johnny said, cheerfully to Sam.

“He’s sure catching it, too. What’d you say?”

“It wasn’t what I said; it was the way I said it. Mrs. D. is sure now that her husband’s been two-timing her with Violet Rodgers.”

Sam jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out a slip. “Jeez, I forgot — she telephoned today. Said she’d meet you at the same place as last night.”

“This is a fine time to tell me — oh-oh...!” He looked past Sam.

Susan Fair was coming into the room. Behind her was Orville Seebright, wearing a neat blue suit with white piping around the vest lapels, and black piping on the coat. The head waiter was bringing them to the table next to Johnny’s and Sam’s, and as they approached Johnny got to his feet.

“Miss Fair and Mr. Seebright! Why don’t you join us?”

Susan didn’t seem to like the idea, but Seebright was all for it. Ensued a bit of business with the head waiter and the other table was pushed against Johnny’s.

The quartet seated themselves.

“You got my phone call?” Seebright asked.

“Four of them, but I had a little trouble at the gym.” He indicated his battered face. “Picked a rough sparring partner and had to teach him a lesson.”

“Or he you,” remarked Susan.

Johnny smiled. “You ought to see the other guy.”

The waiter came back with the ham sandwiches. Johnny said, “Just a moment,” and picked up the top layer of bread. He examined the ham critically. “Just as I thought — he brushed the mayonnaise off the ham and put new bread on it. Take it back again and tell him I want new bread and new ham — untainted by mayonnaise.”

The waiter gave Johnny a dirty look, but said, “Yes, sir,” and took the sandwiches away again. “I’m going to get me some cards printed,” Johnny went on. “They’re going to read: ‘People DONT like mayonnaise,’ and everywhere I go I’m going to pass them out.” He shook his head. “When you were in the record business, Mr. Seebright, you should have hired only former mayonnaise salesmen. They’re the best salesmen in the world, the way they’ve pushed that goo all around the country.”

Seebright smiled. “You said when I was in the record business. What makes you think I’m not still in the record business?”

“Why, I read something in the papers today...”

“True, true. But what does the receiver know about the record business? They’ve got to keep someone in the place who knows things. Besides — the firm will be in receivership only a day or two.”

“You raised the dough?” Johnny looked pointedly at Susan Fair.

“I expect to,” Seebright said calmly. “I’ve been talking to a bank that’s practically agreed to refinance the company.” He cleared his throat. “As soon as I show them the Con Carson master.”

“Oh, you’ve found it?”

“Why, no — not yet. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Mmm,” said Johnny.

“I wanted to continue our little talk of last night.”

“Is that so?”

“I thought I might sweeten that offer I made you. Say twice the amount?” He looked inquiringly at Johnny and as the latter shook his head, added: “And I’ll personally add, out of my own pocket, another five thousand.”

“Fifteen thousand altogether? That’s a lot of money. Mr. Seebright.”

“I think so.”

“It’s enough to make a man want to go out and find the record for you.”

“I had that in mind.”

“Only I don’t know where to start looking.”

Seebright regarded Johnny steadily. “Think it over.”

“I have, Mr. Seebright, I have. As a matter of fact, I’m going to let you in on a secret. I didn’t get this face massage in a gymnasium today. I got it because of the Con Carson record; somebody thought I had it. Somebody paid a couple of fellows a thousand dollars to persuade me to give it to them.”

Seebright exhaled heavily. “I never know when you’re telling the truth or talking nonsense, Fletcher.”

“This time I’m not talking nonsense. I might add that I’ve got some assorted bruises where they don’t show; such as a couple of awfully sore ribs. In fact, I’m sore all over.”

“Me, too,” chimed in Sam.

“I’m no hero, Mr. Seebright. I would have given them the record when they were asking for it, but I couldn’t because I didn’t have it at the time.”

“At the time?”

“An idiom of speech.”

“It seems to me,” Susan Fair said, “one or the other of you two is always going around looking for trouble.”

“You’re referring to Sam’s little fracas with Mr. Armstrong? He told me about it.”

“Armstrong?” Seebright asked, looking at Susan. “Charles Armstrong?”

“He called this afternoon to offer condolences,” Susan said quietly.

“Armstrong was interested in Marjorie,” Johnny amplified.

Seebright showed interest. “I didn’t know that. In fact, I find it a little hard to believe. I seem to recall that it was he who voted against giving your sister a contract. I liked the recording myself but in the interests of unity in the company...” He shrugged.

“Armstrong makes the decisions at Mariota?” Johnny asked. “Dorcas was all for Marjorie, you were for her, the sales manager liked her voice, but Charles Armstrong decided against her, so you turned her down.”

“Unity, Fletcher, unity. Miss Fair” — to Susan — “forgive me, Miss Fair, your sister made a fine recording, but her name was, after all, unknown. It’s more difficult to sell an unknown and since a vice-president of the company seemed to feel so strongly, well...”

“I understand, Mr. Seebright,” said Susan in a low tone.

Seebright-suddenly pushed back his chair. “I declare, there’s Doniger over there now. And Ed Farnham. Will you excuse me, Miss Fair? There’s something I’d like to ask Doniger.”

He got up and went over to the Doniger table. Johnny winked at Sam and hitched his chair around so that he was virtually on Susan Fair’s side of the table.

“When are you going back to Iowa, Susan?”

“In a few days — why?”

“Why, I was thinking, what can you do in Iowa that you can’t do in New York? I know some people here in the show business...”

“And you’ll get me a job in the Follies?”

“They don’t put on the Follies any more, not THE Follies. Ziegfeld’s dead. But they still have plenty of other shows and with your looks...”

“Sorry, not interested.”

“Modeling, maybe?”

“No modeling.”

“I was thinking of magazine covers.”

“I was thinking of your line,” Susan said. “I’ve heard better routines back in Des Moines.”

Johnny grinned. “Well, suppose you consider that I’ve broken the ice, then. What do you say we ditch old Seebright and go some place where there’s a little more life?”

“Why, Mr. Fletcher!” Susan mocked. “I came here with Mr. Seebright. It wouldn’t be right for me to walk out on him, would it?”

“It’s been done.”

“What sort of a place did you have in mind? I mean, the place you’d like to take me — a nice, cozy little Hungarian restaurant, where the lights are kind of dim and the man in the gypsy uniform plays When A Gypsy Makes His Violin Cry on the violin? Is that the kind of place you had in mind?”

“All right,” said Johnny. “Man to girl, then, let’s get away from all these people, where I can tell you all about myself and you can tell me what you’ve been doing all your life.”

“Object — what?”

“Object, how do we know, unless we get better acquainted?”

Susan pursed her lips and studied Johnny’s face. “Well, your looks haven’t been improved any by the plastic surgery. I’ll admit your personality is a bit on the picaresque side and I like the picaresque, but girl to man, Johnny Fletcher, do you really think you’re the sort a girl can take by the hand and lead into her home and say, ‘Ma, this is the man?’ ”

“I haven’t got hydrophobia.”

Susan smiled. “I was talking to one of the bellboys at the hotel this afternoon, the little chap who seems to be the head of the bellboys...”

“Eddie Miller.”

“Yes, Eddie. He’s an admirer of yours. He was telling me of some of the outrages you’ve perpetrated upon the hotel management at one time or another. Oh — all in a spirit of tremendous admiration, for Eddie thinks you’re wonderful—”

“I pay him a small salary to plug me to the right people.”

Susan looked at Sam Cragg. “I see you’ve gotten your trousers back.”

Sam reddened. “Oh, we’re in the dough.”

“Because of Mr. Esbenshade?”

“I suppose some girls prefer men like Esbenshade,” said Johnny. “But what fun is there in counting money and clipping coupons? You just get callouses on your fingers. Although I wouldn’t mind counting about a thousand dollars right now.”

“What would you do with a thousand dollars?”

“The question should be, what am I going to do if I don’t get a thousand dollars?”

Susan looked at him in surprise. “You’re in debt a thousand dollars?”

“Not exactly. As a matter of fact, I’m not in debt at all. I don’t owe anyone a dime. I did owe a little hotel bill yesterday, but I took care of that.”

“Then why do you need the thousand dollars?”

“Why, as that bright little bellboy told you, I, ah, pledged Sam’s suit to pay the hotel bill. And then in order to get Sam’s suit back for him, well, that’s cost me eleven hundred dollars, so far...”

“That suit certainly didn’t cost eleven hundred dollars.”

“Twenty-seven-fifty, lady,” said Sam Cragg. “I walked up a flight of stairs and saved ten bucks. They’ve got ’em all over the country.”