A Cool Million (9 page)

“How do you like the tie I have on?
It’s a stunner, isn’t it?” asked Sam complacently.

“It’s very striking,” said
Lem
, whose tastes were much more sober.

“I get a new necktie every week. You
see, I get them at half price. The girls always notice a fellow’s necktie.”

The supper bell sounded, and the two
youths parted to go to
their own
tables. After eating,
they met again in the lobby and proceeded to Chinatown.

Lem
and
his new friend wandered through Mott Street and its environs, observing with
considerable interest the curious customs and outlandish manners of that
neighbor-
hod’s
large oriental population.

Early in the evening, however, an
incident occurred which made our hero feel sorry that he had ventured out with
Sam Perkins. When they came upon an ancient celestial, who was quietly reading
a newspaper under an arc lamp, Sam accosted him before
Lem
could interfere.

“Hey, John,” said the youth
mockingly, “no
tickee
, no
washee
.”
And he laughed foolishly in the manner of his kind.

The almond-eyed old man looked up
from his newspaper and stared coldly at him for a full minute, then said with
great dignity, “By the blessed beard of my grandfather, you’re the lousiest
pimple-faced ape I ever did see.”

At this Sam made as though to strike
the aged oriental. But that surprising individual was not in the least
frightened. He took a small hatchet out of his pocket and proceeded to shave the
hair from the back of his hand with its razor-sharp edge.

Sam turned quite pale and began to
bluster until
Lem
thought it best to intervene.

But even his lesson in manners had
no effect on the brash youth. He so persisted in his unmannerly conduct that
our hero was tempted to
part company
with him.

Sam stopped in front of what was
evidently an unlicensed liquor parlor.

“Come on in,” he said, “and have a
whisky.”

“Thank you,” said our hero, “but I
don’t care for whisky.” “Perhaps you prefer beer?”

“I don’t care to drink anything,
thank you.”

“You don’t mean to say you’re a
temperance crank?” “Yes, I think I am.”

“Oh, go to the devil, you prude,”
said Sam, ringing a signal button that was secreted in the door of the “blind
pig.”

To
Lem’s
great relief, he at last found himself alone. It was still early, so he decided
to continue his stroll.

He turned a corner not far from Pell
Street, when, suddenly, a bottle smashed at his feet, missing his skull by
inches.

Was it intentional or accidental?

Lem
looked
around carefully. The street was deserted and all the houses that faced on it
had their blinds drawn. He noticed that the only store front on the block
carried a sign
reading,
“Wu Fong, Wet Wash Laundry,”
but that meant nothing to him.

When he looked closer at the bottle,
he was surprised to see a sheet of notepaper between the bits of shattered
glass and stooped to pick it up.

At this the door of the laundry
opened noiselessly to emit one of Wu Fong’s followers, an enormous Chinaman.
His felt slippers were silent on the pavement, and as he crept up on our hero,
something glittered in his hand.

It was a knife.

Many chapters earlier in this book,
we left our heroine, Betty
Prail
, in the bad house of
Wu Fong, awaiting the visit of a pockmarked Armenian from Malta.

Since then numbers of
orientals
, Slays,
Latins
, Celts and Semites had visited her, sometimes as
many as three in one night. However, so large a number was rare because Wu Fong
held her at a price much above that of the other female inmates.

Naturally enough, Betty was not
quite as happy in her situation as was Wu Fong. At first she struggled against
the series of “husbands” that were forced on her, but when all her efforts
proved futile she adapted herself as best she could to her onerous duties.
Nevertheless, she was continuously seeking a method of escape.

It was Betty, of course, who had
authored the note in the bottle. She had been standing at her window, thinking
with horror of the impending visit of a heavyweight wrestler called
Selim
Hammid
Bey
,
who claimed to be in love with her, when she suddenly saw
Lem
Pitkin turn the corner and pass in front of the laundry. She had hastily
written a note describing her predicament, and putting it into a bottle had
tossed it into the street.

But, unfortunately, her action had
not gone unobserved. One of Wu Fong’s many servants had been carefully watching
her through the keyhole, and had immediately carried the intelligence to his
master, who had sent the enormous Chinaman after
Lem
with a knife.

Before I take up where I left off in
my last chapter, there are several changes in Wu Fong’s establishment which I
would like to report. These changes seem significant to me, and while their
bearing on this story may not be obvious, still I believe it does exist.

The depression hit Wu Fong as hard
as it did more respectable merchants, and like them he decided that he was
over-stocked. In order to cut down, he would have to specialize and could no
longer run a “House of All Nations.”

Wu Fong was a very shrewd man and a
student of fashions. He saw that the trend was in the direction of home
industry and home talent, and when the Hearst papers began their “Buy American”
campaign he decided to get rid of all the foreigners in his employ and turn his
establishment into an hundred per centum American place.

Although in 1928 it would have been
exceedingly difficult for him to have obtained the necessary girls, by 1934
things were different. Many respectable families of genuine native stock had
been reduced to extreme poverty and had thrown their female children on the
open market.

He engaged Mr.
Asa
Goldstein to redecorate the house and that worthy designed a Pennsylvania
Dutch, Old South, Log Cabin Pioneer, Victorian New York, Western Cattle Days,
California Monterey, Indian, and Modern Girl series of interiors. In general
the results were as follows:

Lena
Haubengrauber
from
Perkiomen
Creek, Bucks County, Pennsylvania.
Her rooms were filled with painted
pine furniture and decorated with slip ware, spatter ware, chalk ware and “Gaudy
Dutch.” Her simple farm dress was fashioned of bright gingham.

Alice
Sweethorne
from Paducah, Kentucky.
Besides many fine
pieces of old Sheraton from Savannah, in her suite there was a wonderful iron
grille from Charleston whose beauty of workmanship made every visitor gasp with
pleasure. She wore a ball gown of the Civil War period.

Mary
Judkins
from
Jugtown
Hill,
Arkansas.
Her walls were lined with oak puncheons chinked with mud. Her
mattress was stuffed with field corn and covered by a buffalo rope. There was
real dirt on her floors. She was dressed in homespun, butternut stained, and
wore a pair of men’s hoots.

Patricia Van Riis
from Gramercy Park, Manhattan, New York City.
Her suite was done in the
style known as
Biedermeier
. The windows were draped
with thirty yards of white velvet apiece and the chandelier in her sitting room
had over eight hundred crystal pendants attached to it. She was dressed like an
early “Gibson Girl.
”.

Powder River Rose from Carson’s
Store, Wyoming. Her apartment was the replica of a ranch bunkhouse. Strewn
around it in well-calculated confusion were such miscellaneous articles as
spurs, saddle blankets, straw, guitars, quirts, pearl-handled revolvers,
hayforks and playing cards. She wore goatskin chaps, a silk blouse and a
five-gallon hat with a rattlesnake band.

Dolores
O’Riely
from Alta Vista, California.
In order to
save money, Wu Fong had moved her into the suite that had been occupied by
Conchita
, the Spanish girl. He merely substituted a Mission
chair for the horsehide one with the steer-horn arms and called it “Monterey.”
Asa
Goldstein was very angry when he found out, but Wu Fong
refused to do anything more about it, because he felt that she was bound to be
a losing proposition. The style, he said was not obviously enough American even
in its most authentic forms.

Princess Roan Fawn
from Two Forks, Oklahoma Indian Reservation, Oklahoma.
Her walls were
papered with birch bark to make it look like a wigwam and she did business on
the floor. Except for a necklace of wolf’s teeth, she was naked under her bull’s-eye
blanket.

Miss
Cobina
Wiggs
from Woodstock,
Connecticut.
She lived in one large room that was a combination of a
locker in an athletic club and the office of a mechanical draughtsman. Strewn
around were parts of an
aeroplane
, T-squares,
callipers
, golf clubs, books, gin bottles, hunting horns
and paintings by modern masters. She had broad shoulders, no hips and very long
legs. Her costume was an aviator’s jumper complete with helmet attached. It was
made of silver cloth and fitted very tightly.

Betty
Prail
from Ottsville, Vermont.
Her furnishings and
costume have already been described, and it should suffice to say here that
they remained untouched.

These were not the only vital
changes Wu Fong made in his establishment. He was as painstaking as a great
artist, and in order to be as consistent as one he did away with the French
cuisine and wines traditional to his business. Instead, he substituted an
American kitchen and cellar.

When a client visited Lena
Haubengrauber
, it was possible for him to eat roast
groundhog and drink Sam Thompson rye. While with Alice
Sweethorne
,
he was served sow belly with grits and bourbon. In Mary
Judkins
’
rooms he received, if he so desired, fried squirrel and corn liquor. In the
suite occupied by Patricia Van Riis, lobster and champagne wine were the rule.
The patrons of Powder River Rose usually ordered mountain oysters and washed
them down with forty-rod. And so on down the list: while with Dolores
O’Riely
, tortillas and prune brandy from the Imperial
Valley; while with Princess Roan Fawn, baked dog and firewater; while with
Betty
Prail
,
fishchowder
and Jamaica rum. Finally, those who sought the favors of the “Modern Girl,”
Miss
Cobina
Wiggs
, were
regaled with tomato and lettuce sandwiches and gin.

The enormous Chinaman with the
uplifted knife did not bring it down, because he had been struck by a sudden
thought. While he debated the pros and cons of his idea over in his mind, the
unsuspecting youth picked up the note Betty had thrown at him.

“Dear Mr. Pitkin—” he read. “I am
held captive. Please save me.
Your grateful friend, Elizabeth
Frail.”

When our hero had thoroughly
digested the contents of the little missive, he turned to look for a policeman.
It was this that made the Chinaman
decide
on a course
of action. He dropped the knife, and with a skillful oriental trick that took
our hero entirely by surprise pinned
Lem’s
arms in
such a way as to render him helpless.

He then whistled through his nose in
coolie fashion. In obedience to this signal several more of Wu Fong’s followers
came running to his assistance. Although
Lem
struggled valiantly, he was overpowered and forced to enter the laundry.

Lem’s
captors dragged him into the presence of the sinister Wu Fong, who rubbed his
hands gleefully as he inspected the poor lad.

“You have done well, Chin Lao
Tse
,” he said, praising the man who had captured
Lem
.

“I demand to be set free!”
expostulated
our hero. “You have no right to keep me here.”

But the crafty oriental ignored his
protests and smiled inscrutably. He could well use a nice-looking American boy.
That very night, he expected a visit from the Maharajah of
Kanurani
,
whose tastes were notorious. Wu Fong congratulated himself; the gods were indeed
good.

“Prepare him,” said he in Chinese.

The poor lad was taken to a room
that had been fitted out like a ship’s cabin. The walls were paneled in teak,
and there were sextants, compasses and other such gear in profusion. His
captors then forced him to don a tight-fitting sailor suit. After warning him
in no uncertain terms not to try to escape, they left him to his own devices.