Chapter VI: Jack Hines in Love

“Say, Miss Peaches-and-cream, is the main squeeze in?” At this unconventional salutation Dallas Worthington looked up from her typewriter, and stared curiously at the person who had given utterance to it.

She saw that the visitor was a stout, red-faced young man, who wore a suit of exceedingly loud pattern, a soft felt hat of the very latest and most rakish design, and a red necktie, in which glittered a diamond of huge proportions.

“If by ‘the main squeeze’ you mean Mr. Sammis,” she said, with dignity, “he is in his private office. Do you wish to see him?”

“That’s what I came for--originally,” answered the young man, staring at her ardently, “but now that I’ve seen you, I’ve almost changed my mind. I hate to tear myself away from this spot. Say, kid, you make a big hit with me. I didn’t know there was anything so pretty in this vicinity. If I’d suspected it I’d have dropped in here long ago.”

“What name shall I take in to Mr. Sammis?” inquired the girl coldly.

“Gee, but you’re in a hurry to get rid of me!” said the visitor reproachfully. “Well, if you insist, you might tell the boss that Mr. Hines is here--Mr. Jake Hines.”

As the girl arose and stepped into the private office at the rear of the store, Mr. Hines gazed after her trim, graceful figure admiringly.

“Peach!” he said to himself. “I’m mighty glad I called. Even if I don’t sell any tickets here, my time won’t be wasted. If I ain’t taking this queen to Coney Island before another week has passed, I’m a dead one.”

Dallas reappeared and told him that Mr. Sammis would see him immediately. With another ardent glance at her, Mr. Hines stepped into the private office.

“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” inquired the real-estate broker, an elderly man with gray mutton-chop whiskers and a rather severe demeanor.

“I’ve come to see how many tickets you’ll take for the annual chowder and outing of the Samuel J. Coggswell Association,” replied Hines.

“Chowder!” repeated Mr. Sammis testily; “I don’t eat chowder, and I don’t attend outings; consequently I don’t want any tickets.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” retorted Hines, his tone almost bullying. “You don’t have to go, yourself, if you don’t want to. You can buy the tickets and give ’em away to your friends. Boss Coggswell expects you to take at least five, Mr. Sammis. That’s the number all the other real-estate men in the district are takin’.”

“I don’t care what others are doing, and I don’t care what Mr. Coggswell expects,” snapped Sammis. “I must ask you to get out of here at once, young man. This is my busy day.”

“Oh, very well,” growled Hines, rising. “It don’t make no difference to me whether you take any tickets or not, my friend; but take it from me, it’s going to make a whole lot of difference to you. No man that’s interested in property in this district can afford to antagonize Boss Coggswell. You’ll be mighty sorry. There’s lots of ways we can make it unpleasant for you if you get gay with us.”

He swaggered out of the private office, and, as he caught sight of Dallas Worthington at her typewriter, the scowl disappeared from his beefy face.

“Say, bright eyes, how would you like to run down to the Island with me this evening?” he inquired, stepping up to her desk.

“I wouldn’t like it at all,” she answered, without looking up from her work.

“Stung!” he exclaimed ruefully. “May I ask why not?”

“Oh, for several reasons.”

“Give me one.”

“Well, for one thing,” she answered, glancing at him scornfully, “I’d be afraid, Mr. Hines, that on the way you might try to intimidate me into buying a ticket for the Coggswell Association’s outing.”

“Gee!” he said to himself, “she must have overheard what I said to her boss inside.”

Aloud he said earnestly: “You needn’t be afraid of that. I’d make you a present of all the tickets you want, honeybud. Tell me another reason why I can’t make a date with you.”

“Because I don’t make engagements with strangers,” said Dallas haughtily. “Please close the door as you go out.”

“It ain’t my fault that I’m a stranger,” said Mr. Hines plaintively, taking no notice of the hint. “I’m doin’ my best to get acquainted. Say, give it to me straight, little one--am I on a busy wire? Is there any other feller ahead of me?”

“There is!” declared Dallas, with great emphasis. “And even if there weren’t----”

“Then I’m sorry for him,” the young man interrupted.

“Sorry! Why?” she asked, in astonishment.

“Because I’m goin’ to take his girl away from him. I don’t know who the feller is; but whoever he is, he ain’t good enough for you. I never took much stock before in all this talk about fallin’ in love at first sight, but, honest, kid, you’ve hit me straight between the eyes. The minute I came in here and saw you sittin’ at that typewriter, I----”

“Will you please close that door on the outside?” interrupted Dallas, pointing impatiently toward the street door. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, and if you don’t get out of here immediately, I shall have to call Mr. Sammis.”

“Oh, very well,” said Mr. Hines, somewhat crestfallen. “I guess that’s a hint for me to be goin’. So long, girlie. I’ll drop in again some other time when you ain’t quite so busy.

“Gee!” he said to himself as he reached the sidewalk, “I certainly am hard hit. I do believe that I’ve actually fallen in love with that peach--and I don’t even know her name.”

A short distance up the avenue he encountered Carrier Greene.

“Hello, Jake,” said the postman; “didn’t I see you in Sammis’ real-estate office a few minutes ago, talking to Sheridan’s girl?”

“Whose girl?” demanded the politician quickly. “What Sheridan do you mean?”

“Owen Sheridan--the carrier that used to have this route,” answered Greene. “Don’t you know that he’s keeping company with that typewriter girl? It’s a fact. She almost cried, the other morning, when I came in and told her that Sheridan didn’t have this route any more. I understand that they’re going to be married soon.”

“I don’t believe it,” growled Hines. “A queen like that goin’ to marry a twelve-dollar-a-week carrier? It ain’t possible.”

Two evenings later, Mr. Hines, happening to be down at Coney Island with a party of friends, met Dallas Worthington on Surf Avenue, walking arm in arm with Owen Sheridan. The manner in which the girl was looking up into her escort’s face caused Hines to utter an exclamation of jealous rage. For the young politician’s infatuation for Dallas had proved to be more than a passing fancy. Strange as it may appear, he had seriously fallen in love with the girl, and the lapse of two days found him even more hard hit than at first.

Consequently, that meeting at Coney Island was a great blow to him. Until then he had refused to believe what Carrier Greene had told him, and, being an egotistical young man, he felt confident that, although the girl appeared to have somewhat of a prejudice against him at the start, she could not continue to hold out for long against the charm of his personality.

He returned home from Coney Island with the dislike which he had already formed for Carrier Owen Sheridan increased tenfold.

The next day he received a summons from Boss Coggswell to come to the clubhouse immediately. When he got there he found that politician in a state of considerable agitation.

“Have you heard the news?” exclaimed the district leader, pacing nervously up and down the floor of his private office.

“No, boss; what is it?”

“Carrier Greene has been arrested--and Tom Hovey, too.”

“Tom Hovey! The fellow you sent to get those letters from Greene? What are they arrested for?” inquired Hines anxiously.

“Tampering with the mails, of course. I understand they’ve got them dead to rights, too. Greene was seen handing the letters to Hovey, and Hovey was caught in the act of opening the envelope over a steam kettle. Lawrence has got a strong case against us.”

“Against _us_?” repeated Jake Hines, with a crafty smile. “Don’t say that, boss. They haven’t got anything on you--and you can rest assured that you’ll not be implicated. Neither Greene nor Hovey will squeal, no matter what happens. I’m willing to stake my bottom dollar on those fellows standing pat. They’ll go to jail for life rather than give you away. There’s only one man we’ve got to fear, so far as you’re concerned.”

“Who’s that?” inquired Boss Coggswell nervously.

“That letter carrier, Owen Sheridan. He’s behind these arrests, of course. It was him that put Judge Lawrence wise to the whole business.”

Coggswell nodded gloomily. “Yes, and he can implicate me by testifying that I sent for him the other day, and tried to bribe him to hand over that mail. His evidence----”

“Will put you in stripes, boss, I’m afraid,” broke in Jake Hines grimly. “But he’s the only man we’ve got to be afraid of.”

Coggswell agitatedly paced the full length of the room several times before he spoke again. Hines observed that the boss’ ears were wiggling furiously--that peculiar physical indication of the sinister thoughts that were brewing within the crooked brain.

At length Coggswell halted. “You’re right, Jake,” he said, very quietly; “Sheridan is dangerous. He must be got out of the way.”

Jake nodded his head vigorously. “I agree with you, boss,” he said fervently. “He must be got out of the way.”