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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Do I look," he asked, "like the sort of man who'd steal?" His host shook his head. "You certainly don't," he admitted. The dummy-chucker turned back to the mirror. He was still entranced with his own reflection, twenty minutes later, when the valet told him that the car was waiting. He looked like a millionaire.
"You mentioned a hundred dollars what for?" The young man shrugged. "Not hard work. You merely have to look like a gentleman, and act like " "Like a bum?" asked the dummy-chucker. "Well, something like that." The dummy-chucker passed his hand across his stubby chin. "Shoot!" he said. "Anything short of murder anything, friend." His host leaned eagerly forward. "There's a girl " he began.
There might be handsomer men present in this hotel, but was there any one who wore his clothes better? He turned and walked down the corridor. The mâitre d'hôtel stepped forward inquiringly as the dummy-chucker hesitated in the doorway. "A table, sir?" "You have one reserved for me. This right-hand one by the door." "Ah, yes, of course, sir. This way, sir." He turned toward the table.
Part of the silver that the soft-hearted women of the movies had bestowed upon him this afternoon found repository in the doorman's hand. A uniformed boy whirled the revolving door that the dummy-chucker might pass into the hotel. "The coat-room? Dining here, sir? Past the news-stand, sir, to your left. Thank you, sir."
"And you really think that I look enough like Jones to put this over?" "In the shaded light of the dining-room, in Jones' clothes well, I'm risking a hundred dollars on it. Will you do it?" The dummy-chucker grinned. "Didn't I say I'd do anything, barring murder? Where are the clothes?" One hour and a half later, the dummy-chucker stared at himself in the long mirror in his host's dressing-room.
"It ain't a hard part to act," replied the dummy-chucker. "And you can act," said the other. "The way you fooled those women in front of the Concorde proved that you " "Sh-sh!" exclaimed the dummy-chucker reproachfully. "Please don't remind me of what I was before I became a gentleman." His host laughed. "You're all right." He looked at his watch. "I'll have to leave now.
I'll bring back to the girl the flask which you will have left upon the table. If she has any doubt that you are Jones, the flask will dispel it. "And then?" asked the dummy-chucker. "Why, then," responded his host, "I propose to her. You see, I think it was pity that made her accept Jones in the beginning. I think that she cares for me."
But when you were there I saw you at the entrance to the dining-room for God's sake, why didn't you do what you'd agreed to do?" The dummy-chucker turned languidly in his chair. He eyed his host curiously. "Listen, feller," he said: "I told you that I drew the line at murder, didn't I?" "'Murder? What do you mean? What murder was involved?" The dummy-chucker idly blew a smoke ring.
Shoot!" "About a year ago," resumed the host, "she accepted, after a long courtship, a young man by the name of oh, let's call him Jones." The dummy-chucker inhaled happily. "Call him any darned thing you like," he said cheerily. "Jones was a drunkard," said the host. "And she married him?" The dummy-chucker's eyebrows lifted slightly. "No. She told him that if he'd quit drinking she'd marry him.
"Who you given' orders to?" he demanded. The dummy-chucker stepped closer to the man. "You heard my order?" His hands, busily engaged in buttoning his gloves, did not clench. His voice was not raised. And Andrews must have outweighed him by thirty pounds. Yet the chauffeur stepped back and touched his hat. "Yes, sir," he muttered. The dummy-chucker smiled.
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