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Updated: August 26, 2024
"What!" cried Joe, affecting indignation. "I know it's more than that. You've made a mistake somewhere." This touched Stiffy at his weakest. "I never make a mistake!" he returned with heat. "You fellows go along ordering stuff, and expect your balance to stay the same, like the widow's cruse. Come and look for yourself!" This was what Joe desired. He slouched over, grumbling.
He tipped a wink in his partner's direction. "What's your fancy, Stiffy." "Oh, I leave the mean-you to you, Mahooley." "Well, I guess you can give us some patty de foy grass, and squab on toast, and angel cake." "Sure," said Sam. "How about a biscuit Tortoni for dessert?" "Don't you give me no lip!" cried Mahooley.
She was about to blow a little silver whistle to call her steward when a step at the door halted her. A figure entered, a stranger. It was a tall stripling, half armed like one who is not for battle but expects a brush at any corner of the road. A long surcoat of dark green and crimson fell stiffy as if it covered metal, and the boots were spurred and defended in front with thin plates of steel.
As a rule, the slightest disturbance of their routine was heralded in advance by "moccasin telegraph," and this was like a bolt from the blue. Mahooley's chair came to the floor with a thump. "Well, I'm damned!" he said, staring. Stiffy came quickly out of his little box to see what was up. "How are you?" began the stranger youth diffidently. "Who the hell are you?" asked Mahooley.
Joe darted on moccasined feet to Stiffy's little sanctum, and with swift fingers turned up M in the index. "Musq'oosis; page 452." Silently opening the big book, he thumbed the pages. The noises from upstairs kept him exactly informed of what Stiffy was doing. Joe found the place, and there, in Stiffy's neat copper plate, was spread out all that he wished to know.
Mahooley's eyes gleamed. "Well, out with it!" "I want you not tell nobody I buy your team. Nobody but Stiffy. I want hire white man to drive, see? Maybe he not lak work for red man. So you mak' out he workin' for you, see?" "All right," agreed Mahooley. "That's easy. But who can you get?" "Sam." Mahooley indignantly exploded.
Half our friends may be thieves for all we know, and as for our ancestors what are you doing?" Gora had taken a roll of yellow bills from her purse. She counted them on the table; ten bills denominating a thousand dollars each. "I won't take them." said Alexina stiffy. "I think you are horrid, simply horrid," "And do you imagine I would keep it? I What do you take me for?"
"Hello, Bela!" cried Sam. "Can I have some supper?" She looked him over coolly. "Sure," she said. "Sit down by Stiffy." They roared with laughter at her manner. Sam laughed, too, to hide the discomfiture he privately felt. Sam took his allotted place. The laughter of the crowd was perfectly good-natured, except in the case of one man whom Sam marked. Opposite him sat Joe Hagland.
Their proper names were Henry Stiff and John Mahool, but as Stiffy and Mahooley they were known from Miwasa Landing to Fort Ochre. The shelves of the store were sadly depleted; never was a store open for business with so little in it. A few canned goods of ancient vintages and a bolt or two of coloured cotton were all that could be seen.
He was advanced by learning how the book was kept, but the grand difficulty remained to be solved; how to get a look at it without Stiffy's knowledge. Here fortune unexpectedly favoured him. When he was not adding up his columns, Stiffy was for ever taking stock. By rights, he should have been the chief clerk of a great city emporium.
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