Philo Gubb, Correspondence-School Detective Part 39

"In Derlingport?" queried Philo Gubb.

"In Derlingport," said the Bald Impostor nervously, "for that is where he went. I'll get him there. But half of the thousand dollars is rightfully yours, and you shall have it."

"Thousand dollars?" queried Philo Gubb in amazement.

"The reward has been increased," said the false Mr. Burns. "The--the publishers of 'Who's Who' increased it to a thousand because the Bald Impostor works on the names in their book. They thought they ought to.

But you shall have your half of the thousand. I can pick him up in Derlingport this afternoon if--if I can get there in time. And of course I _should_ have arrested him here in Riverbank where you are our correspondent and thus ent.i.tled to half the reward earned by any one in the head office. You knew that, didn't you?"

"No!" said Philo Gubb. "Am I?"

"Didn't you get circular No. 786?" asked the Bald Impostor.

"I didn't ever get the receipt of it at all," said Mr. Gubb.

"An oversight," said the Bald Impostor. "I'll send you one the minute I get back to Chicago. I'll pick up the Bald Impostor at Derlingport this afternoon--if--Mr. Gubb, I am ashamed to make an admission to you. I--"

The Bald Impostor sat on the edge of his chair and pearls of perspiration came upon his brow. He took out his silk handkerchief and wiped his forehead.

"Go right on ahead and say whatever you've got upon your mind to say,"

said Mr. Gubb.

"Well, the fact is," said the false Mr. Burns nervously, "I'm short of cash. I need just one dollar and eighty cents to get to Derlingport!"

"Why, of course!" said Philo Gubb heartily. "All of us get into similar or like predicaments at various often times, Mr. Burns. It is a pleasure to be able to help out a feller deteckative in such a time and manner. Only--"

"Yes?" said the Bald Impostor nervously.

"Only I couldn't think of giving you only the bare mere sum to get to Derlingport," said the graduate of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting, generously. "I couldn't think of letting you start off away with anything less than a ten-dollar bill."

DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN

Philo Gubb sat on an upturned bundle of rolls of wall-paper in the dining-room of Mrs. Pilker's famous Pilker mansion, in Riverbank, biting into a thick ham sandwich. It was noon.

Mr. Gubb ate methodically, taking a large bite of sandwich, chewing the bite long and well, and then swallowing it with a wonderful up and down gliding of his k.n.o.bby Adam's apple. From time to time he turned his head and looked at the walls of the dining-room. The time was Sat.u.r.day noon, and but one wall was covered with the new wall-paper, a natural forest tapestry paper, with lifelike representations of leafy trees. He had promised to have the Pilker dining-room completed by Sat.u.r.day night. It seemed quite impossible to Philo Gubb that he could finish the Pilker dining-room before dark, and it worried him.

Other matters, even closer to his heart, worried Mr. Gubb. He had had a great quarrel with Mr. Medderbrook, the father of the fair Fat Lady of the World's Greatest Combined Shows. Judge Orley Morvis had paid Mr. Gubb twenty dollars for certain detective work, but Mr. Gubb had not turned all this over to Mr. Medderbrook, and Mr. Medderbrook had resented this. He told Mr. Gubb he was a cheap, tank-town sport.

"I worked hard," said Mr. Medderbrook, "to sell you that Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock and now you hold out on me. That's not the way I expect a jay-town easy-mark--"

"I beg your pardon, but what was that term of phrase you called me?"

asked Mr. Gubb.

"I called you," said Mr. Medderbrook, changing his tone to one of politeness, "an easy-mark. In high financial circles the term is short for 'easy-market-investor,' meaning one who never buys stocks unless he is sure they are of the highest cla.s.s and at the lowest price."

"Well, I should hereafter prefer not to be so called," said Mr. Gubb.

Almost as soon as he had said the cruel words he regretted them, but the next day Mr. Medderbrook's colored butler came to Mr. Gubb's office with a telegram for which he demanded thirty-six dollars and fifty cents.

Mr. Gubb trembled with emotion as he paid, for it meant that Syrilla was still losing flesh and that Mr. Dorgan must surely cancel his contract with her soon. The telegram read:--

Happy days! Still shrinking. Have lost one hundred and forty-five pounds since last wire. Contract sure to be canceled as soon as Dorgan gets back from hurried trip to Siam. Weather very hot. Can feel myself shrink. Fond thoughts to my Gubby.

The very next day the colored butler brought Mr. Gubb another telegram.

"Fifty dollars, please, sah," he said.

"What!" cried Mr. Gubb.

"Yes, sah," said the negro. "That's the amount Mistah Meddahbrook done say."

Mr. Gubb could hardly believe it, but he wrote his check for the fifty dollars and then read the telegram. It ran:--

Excelsior! Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire. Now weigh only four hundred pounds. Every one guys me when I am ballyhooed as Fat Lady. Affection to Gubby.

Mr. Gubb was greatly pleased by this, but when, the next day, the colored butler again appeared and asked for fifty dollars Mr. Gubb was worried. The telegram this time read:--

Frightened. Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire, now weigh only two hundred. If lose two hundred more will weigh nothing. Have resumed potatoes and water. Love to Gubby.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED]

That same afternoon the negro brought Mr. Gubb another telegram, on which he collected seven dollars and fifty cents. This telegram contained these words:--

Am indeed frightened. Have resumed bread diet, soup, fish, meat, and cereals, but have lost fifty pounds more. Weigh only one hundred and fifty. Taking tonic. Hope for the best.

Tell Gubby I think of him as much as when I weighed half a ton.

Mr. Gubb was much distressed. He had no doubt that his Syrilla would rapidly recover a part of her lost weight, but he felt as if at the moment he had lost Syrilla. He could not picture her as a sylph of one hundred and fifty pounds. He was worried, indeed, as he sat eating his lunch in Mrs. Pilker's mansion. It was then he heard a voice:--

"Say, are you the feller they call Bugg?"

Mr. Gubb looked up. In the dining-room door stood a man who looked like Napoleon Bonaparte gone to seed.

"If the party you are looking for to seek," said Mr. Gubb with somewhat offended pride, "is Mister P. Gubb, him and me are one and the same party. My name is P. Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger."

"Well, youse is the party I'm looking for," said the stranger. "I got a hunch from Horton, the wall-paper-store feller, that youse was up here and that youse wanted a helper. Does youse?"

"If you know paper-hanging as a trade and profession and can go to work immediately at once, I could use you," said Mr. Gubb. "I've got more jobs than I can handle alone by myself."

"Say, me a paper-hanger?" said the stranger scornfully. "Why, sport, I've hung more wall-paper than youse ever saw, see? Honest, when I b.u.t.ted in here and saw that there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John on the wall--"

"That what?" asked Philo Gubb.

"That there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John, on the wall there," explained the stranger. "Don't youse even know the right name of that wall-paper there, that's been a Six Best Seller for the last three years?"

"It is a forest tapestry," said Mr. Gubb.