The Autobiography of a Quack [13]
this worthy waiting in my office. I looked around uneasily, which was clearly understood by my friend, who retorted: ``Ain't took nothin' of yours, doc. You don't seem right awful glad to see me. You needn't be afraid--I've only fetched you a job, and a right good one, too.''
I replied that I had my regular business, that I preferred he should get some one else, and pretty generally made Mr. Stagers aware that I had had enough of him. I did not ask him to sit down, and, just as I supposed him about to leave, he seated himself with a grin, remarking, ``No use, doc; got to go into it this one time.''
At this I, naturally enough, grew angry and used several rather violent phrases.
``No use, doc,'' said Stagers.
Then I softened down, and laughed a little, and treated the thing as a joke, whatever it was, for I dreaded to hear.
But Stagers was fate. Stagers was inevitable. ``Won't do, doc--not even money wouldn't get you off.''
``No?'' said I, interrogatively, and as coolly as I could, contriving at the same time to move toward the window. It was summer, the sashes were up, the shutters half drawn in, and a policeman whom I knew was lounging opposite, as I had noticed when I entered. I would give Stagers a scare, charge him with theft--anything but get mixed up with his kind again. It was the folly of a moment and I should have paid dear for it.
He must have understood me, the scoundrel, for in an instant I felt a cold ring of steel against my ear, and a tiger clutch on my cravat. ``Sit down,'' he said. ``What a fool you are! Guess you forgot that there coroner's business and the rest.'' Needless to say that I obeyed. ``Best not try that again,'' continued my guest. ``Wait a moment''; and rising, he closed the window.
There was no resource left but to listen; and what followed I shall condense rather than relate it in the language employed by Mr. Stagers.
It appeared that my other acquaintance Mr. File had been guilty of a cold-blooded and long-premeditated murder, for which he had been tried and convicted. He now lay in jail awaiting his execution, which was to take place at Carsonville, Ohio. It seemed that with Stagers and others he had formed a band of expert counterfeiters in the West. Their business lay in the manufacture of South American currencies. File had thus acquired a fortune so considerable that I was amazed at his having allowed his passion to seduce him into unprofitable crime. In his agony he unfortunately thought of me, and had bribed Stagers largely in order that he might be induced to find me. When the narration had reached this stage, and I had been made fully to understand that I was now and hereafter under the sharp eye of Stagers and his friends, that, in a word, escape was out of the question, I turned on my tormentor.
``What does all this mean?'' I said. ``What does File expect me to do?''
``Don't believe he exactly knows,'' said Stagers. ``Something or other to get him clear of hemp.''
``But what stuff!'' I replied. ``How can I help him? What possible influence could I exert?''
``Can't say,'' answered Stagers, imperturbably. ``File has a notion you're 'most cunning enough for anything. Best try something, doc.''
``And what if I won't do it?'' said I. ``What does it matter to me if the rascal swings or no?''
``Keep cool, doc,'' returned Stagers. ``I'm only agent in this here business. My principal, that's File, he says: `Tell Sanderaft to find some way to get me clear. Once out, I give him ten thousand dollars. If he don't turn up something that will suit, I'll blow about that coroner business and Lou Wilson, and break him up generally.' ''
``You don't mean,'' said I, in a cold sweat --``you don't mean that, if I can't do this impossible thing, he will inform on me?''
``Just so,'' returned Stagers. ``Got a cigar, doc?''
I only half heard him. What a frightful position! I had been leading a happy and an increasingly profitable life--no scrapes and no dangers; and here, on a sudden, I had presented to me the alternative of saving a wretch from the
I replied that I had my regular business, that I preferred he should get some one else, and pretty generally made Mr. Stagers aware that I had had enough of him. I did not ask him to sit down, and, just as I supposed him about to leave, he seated himself with a grin, remarking, ``No use, doc; got to go into it this one time.''
At this I, naturally enough, grew angry and used several rather violent phrases.
``No use, doc,'' said Stagers.
Then I softened down, and laughed a little, and treated the thing as a joke, whatever it was, for I dreaded to hear.
But Stagers was fate. Stagers was inevitable. ``Won't do, doc--not even money wouldn't get you off.''
``No?'' said I, interrogatively, and as coolly as I could, contriving at the same time to move toward the window. It was summer, the sashes were up, the shutters half drawn in, and a policeman whom I knew was lounging opposite, as I had noticed when I entered. I would give Stagers a scare, charge him with theft--anything but get mixed up with his kind again. It was the folly of a moment and I should have paid dear for it.
He must have understood me, the scoundrel, for in an instant I felt a cold ring of steel against my ear, and a tiger clutch on my cravat. ``Sit down,'' he said. ``What a fool you are! Guess you forgot that there coroner's business and the rest.'' Needless to say that I obeyed. ``Best not try that again,'' continued my guest. ``Wait a moment''; and rising, he closed the window.
There was no resource left but to listen; and what followed I shall condense rather than relate it in the language employed by Mr. Stagers.
It appeared that my other acquaintance Mr. File had been guilty of a cold-blooded and long-premeditated murder, for which he had been tried and convicted. He now lay in jail awaiting his execution, which was to take place at Carsonville, Ohio. It seemed that with Stagers and others he had formed a band of expert counterfeiters in the West. Their business lay in the manufacture of South American currencies. File had thus acquired a fortune so considerable that I was amazed at his having allowed his passion to seduce him into unprofitable crime. In his agony he unfortunately thought of me, and had bribed Stagers largely in order that he might be induced to find me. When the narration had reached this stage, and I had been made fully to understand that I was now and hereafter under the sharp eye of Stagers and his friends, that, in a word, escape was out of the question, I turned on my tormentor.
``What does all this mean?'' I said. ``What does File expect me to do?''
``Don't believe he exactly knows,'' said Stagers. ``Something or other to get him clear of hemp.''
``But what stuff!'' I replied. ``How can I help him? What possible influence could I exert?''
``Can't say,'' answered Stagers, imperturbably. ``File has a notion you're 'most cunning enough for anything. Best try something, doc.''
``And what if I won't do it?'' said I. ``What does it matter to me if the rascal swings or no?''
``Keep cool, doc,'' returned Stagers. ``I'm only agent in this here business. My principal, that's File, he says: `Tell Sanderaft to find some way to get me clear. Once out, I give him ten thousand dollars. If he don't turn up something that will suit, I'll blow about that coroner business and Lou Wilson, and break him up generally.' ''
``You don't mean,'' said I, in a cold sweat --``you don't mean that, if I can't do this impossible thing, he will inform on me?''
``Just so,'' returned Stagers. ``Got a cigar, doc?''
I only half heard him. What a frightful position! I had been leading a happy and an increasingly profitable life--no scrapes and no dangers; and here, on a sudden, I had presented to me the alternative of saving a wretch from the