Excuse Me! Part 44

As he swung out of the men's room he was b.u.t.tonholed by an individual new to the little Trans-American colony. One of the camp-followers and sutlers who prosper round the edges of all great enterprises had waylaid him on the way to the battleground of marital freedom.

The stranger had got on at an earlier stop and worked his way through the train to the car named "Snowdrop." Wellington was his first victim here. His pus.h.i.+ng manner, the almost vulture-like rapacity of his gleaming eyes, and the very vulturine contour of his profile, his palmy gestures, his thick lisp, and everything about him gave Wellington his immediate pedigree.

It ill behooves Christendom to need reminding that the Jewish race has adorned and still adorns humanity with some of its n.o.blest specimens; but this interloper was of the type that must have irritated Voltaire into answering the plat.i.tude that the Jews are G.o.d's chosen people with that other plat.i.tude, "Tastes differ."

Little Jimmie Wellington, hot in pursuit of Ashton, found himself checked in spite of himself; in spite of himself deposited somehow into a seat, and in spite of himself confronted with a curvilinear person, who said:

"Excoose, plea.s.s! but are you gettink off at R-r-reno?"

"I am," Wellington answered, curtly, essaying to rise, only to be delicately restored to his place with a gesture and a phrase:

"Then you neet me."

"Oh, I need you, do I? And who are you?"

"Who ain't I? I am Baumann and Blumen. Our cart, plea.s.s."

Wellington found a pasteboard in his hand and read the legend:

Real Estate Agents. Baggage Transfer.

Baumann & Blumen

DIVORCE OUTFITTERS,

212 Alimony Avenue, Reno, Nev.

Notary Public. Divorces Secured.

Justice of the Peace. Satisfaction Guaranteed.

Wellington looked from the crowded card to the zealous face. "Divorce Outfitters, eh? I don't quite get you."

"Vell, in the foist place----"

"'The foist place,' eh? You're from New York."

"Yes, oritchinally. How did you know it? By my fes.h.i.+onable clothink?"

"Yes," laughed Wellington. "But you say I need you. How?"

"Vell, you've got maybe some beggetch, some trunks--yes?"

"Yes."

"Vell, in the foist place, I am an expressman. I deliver 'em to your address--yes? Vere iss it?"

"I haven't got any yet."

"Also I am addressman. Do you vant it a nice hotel?--or a fine house?--or an apartment?--or maybe a boarding-house?--yes? How long do you make a residence?"

"Six months."

"No longer?"

"Not a minute."

"Take a fine house, den. I got some beauties just wacated."

"For a year?--no thanks."

"All the leases in Reno run for six months only."

"Well, I'd like to look around a little first."

"Good. Don't forget us. You come out here for six months. You vant maybe a good quick divorce--yes?"

"The quickest I can get."

"Do you vant it confidential? or very nice and noisy?"

"What's that?"

"Ve are press agents and also suppress agents. Some likes 'em one way, some likes 'em anudder. Vich do you vant it?"

"Quick and quiet."

"Painless divorce is our specialty. If you pay me an advence deposit now, I file your claim de minute de train stops and your own vife don't know you're divorced."

"I'll think it over," said Wellington, rising with resolution.

"Don't forget us. Baumann and Blumen. Satisfaction guaranteed or your wife refunded. Avoid subst.i.toots." And then, seeing that he could not extract any cash from Little Jimmie, Mr. Baumann descended upon Mallory, who was just finis.h.i.+ng his shave. Laying his hand on Mallory's arm, he began:

"Excoose, plea.s.s. Can I fit you out vit a nice divorce?"

"Divorce?--me!--that's good," laughed Mallory at the vision of it.

Then a sudden idea struck him. It took no great genius to see that Mr.

Baumann was not a clergyman, but there were other marriers to be had.

"You don't perform marriages, do you?" he asked.

Mr. Baumann drew himself up: "Who says I don't? Ain't I a justice of the peaces?"

Mallory put out his hand in welcome: then a new anxiety chilled him.

He had a license for Chicago, but Chicago was far away: "Do I need a license in Nevada?"

"Why shouldn't you?" said Mr. Baumann. "Don't all sorts of things got to have a license in Nevada, saloons, husbands, dogs----"

"How could I get one?" Mallory asked as he went on dressing.