CHAPTER III
SOME DISCOURTESIES
Sidney Prale obtained accommodations in a prominent hostelry on FifthAvenue, bathed, dressed, ate luncheon, and then went out upon thestreets, walking briskly and swinging his stick, going about New Yorklike a stranger who never had seen it before.
As a matter of fact, he never had seen this New York before. He hadexpected a multitude of changes, but nothing compared to what he found.He watched the crowds on the Avenue, cut over to Broadway andinvestigated the electric signs by daylight, observed the congestion ofvehicles and the efforts of traffic policemen to straighten it out. Hedarted into the subway and rode far downtown and back again just for thesport of it. After that he got on an omnibus and rode up to CentralPark, and acted as if every tree and twig were an old friend.
He made himself acquainted with the animals in the zoo there, andpromised himself to go to the other zoo in the Bronx before the end ofthe week. He stood back at the curb and lifted his head to look at newbuildings after the manner of the comic supplement farmer with a strawbetween his teeth.
"Great--great!" said Sidney Prale.
Then he hurried back to the hotel, dressed for dinner, and went down tothe dining room, stopping on the way to obtain a ticket for a musicalrevue that was the talk of the town at the moment.
Prale ordered a dinner that made the waiter open his eyes. He made it apoint to select things that were not on the menus of the hotels inHonduras. Then he sat back in his chair and listened to the orchestra,and watched well-dressed men and women come in and get their places atthe tables.
But the dinner was a disappointment to Prale after all. It seemed to himthat the waiter was a long time giving him service. He remonstrated, andthe man asked pardon and said that he would do better, but he did not.
Prale found that his soup was lukewarm, his salad dressing preparedimperfectly, the salad itself a mere mess of vegetables. The fish andfowl he had ordered were not served properly, the dessert was withoutflavor, the cheese was stale. He sent for the head waiter.
"I'm disgusted with the food and the service," he complained. "I rarelyfind fault, but I am compelled to do so this time. The man who has beenserving me seems to be a rank amateur, and twice he was almost insolent.This hotel has a reputation which it scarcely is maintaining thisevening."
"I'll see about it, sir," the head waiter said.
Prale saw him stop the waiter and speak to him, and the waiter glared athim when he brought the demi-tasse. Prale did not care. He glared backat the man, drank the coffee, and touched the match to a cigar. Then hesigned the check and went from the dining room, an angry and disgustedman.
"Another thing like that, and I look for the manager," he told himself.
He supposed that he was a victim of circumstances--that the waiter was anew man and that it happened that the portions he served were poorportions. His happiness at being home again prevented Sidney Prale fromfeeling anger for any length of time. He got his hat and coat and wentout upon the street again.
He had an hour before time to go to the theater. He walked over toBroadway and went toward the north, looking at the bright lights and thecrowds. He passed through two or three hotel lobbies, satisfied for thetime merely to be in the midst of the throngs.
At the proper time, he hurried to the theater and claimed his seat. Theperformance was a mediocre one, but it pleased Sidney Prale. He had seena better show in Honduras a month before, had seen better dancing andheard better singing and comedy, but this was New York!
The show at an end, Prale claimed his hat and coat at the check room andwalked down the street toward a cabaret restaurant. He reached into hisovercoat pocket for his gloves, and his hand encountered a slip ofpaper. He took it out.
There was the same rough handwriting on the same kind of paper, andevidently with the same blunt pencil.
"Remember--retribution is sure!"
"This thing ceases to be a joke!" Prale told himself.
His face flushed with anger, and he turned back toward the theater. Buthe had been among the last to leave, and already the lights of theplayhouse were being turned out. The boy in charge of the check roomwould be gone, Prale knew.
He thought of Kate Gilbert again, and the bit of paper she had droppedas she got into the limousine down on the water front. Surely she couldhave no hand in this, he thought. What interest could Kate Gilbert, acasual acquaintance and reputed daughter of a wealthy house, have in himand his affairs?
"Somebody is making a mistake," he declared to himself, "or else it issome sort of a new advertising dodge. If I ever catch the jokesmith whois responsible for these dainty little messages, I'll tell him a thingor two."
Prale turned into the restaurant and found a seat at a little table atone side of the room. The after-theater crowd was filling the place. Theorchestra was playing furiously, and the cabaret performance wasbeginning. Sidney Prale leaned back in his chair and watched the show.The waiter came to his side, and he ordered something to eat and drink.
Then he saw Kate Gilbert again, at a table not very far away from his.She was dressed in an evening gown, as if she had just come from thetheater or opera. She was in the company of the elderly man who had mether at the wharf, and a young man and an older woman were at the sametable.
Prale's eyes met hers for an instant, and he inclined his head a bit ina respectful manner. But Kate Gilbert looked through him as if he hadnot been present, and then turned her head and began talking to theelderly man.
Prale's face flushed. He hadn't done anything wrong, he told himself. Hemerely had bowed to her, as he would have bowed to any woman to whom hehad been properly introduced. She had seen fit to cut him. Well, hecould exist without Kate Gilbert, he told himself, but he wondered ather peculiar manner.
He left the place within the hour and went back to the hotel and to bed.In the morning he walked up the Avenue as far as the Circle, droppedinto a restaurant for a good breakfast, and then engaged a taxicab anddrove downtown to the financial district. He had remembered that he wasa man with a million, and that he had to pay some attention to business.
He went into the establishment of a famous trust company and sent hiscard in to the president. An attendant ushered him into the president'sprivate office immediately.
"Sit down, Mr. Prale," said the financier. "I am glad that you came tosee me this morning. I was just about to have somebody look you up."
"Anything the matter?" Prale asked.
"Your funds were transferred to us by our Honduras correspondent," thefinancier said. "Since you were leaving Honduras almost immediately, wedecided to care for the funds until you arrived and we could talk toyou."
"I shall want some good investments, of course," Prale said. "I havedisposed of all my holdings in Honduras, and I don't want the money tobe idle."
"Idleness is as bad for dollars as for men," said the financier,clearing his throat.
"Can you suggest some investments? I have engaged no broker as yet, ofcourse."
"I--er--I am afraid that we have nothing at the present moment," thefinancier said.
"The market must be good," Prale observed. "I never knew a time wheninvestments were lacking."
"I would not offer you a poor one, and good ones are scarce with us atpresent," said the banker. "Sorry that we cannot attend to the businessfor you. Perhaps some other trust company----"
"Well, I can wait for something to turn up," Prale said. "There is nohurry, of course. Probably you'll have something in a few weeks thatwill take care of at least a part of the money."
The banker cleared his throat again, and looked a trifle embarrassed ashe spoke. "The fact of the matter is, Mr. Prale," he said, "that we donot care for the account."
"I beg your pardon!" Prale exclaimed. "You mean you don't want me toleave my money in your bank?"
"Just that, Mr. Prale."
"But in Heaven's name, why? I should think that any financialinstitution would be glad to get a new account of that size."
/> "I--er--I cannot go into details, sir," the banker said. "But I musttell you that we'd be glad if you'd make arrangements to move thedeposit to some other bank."
"I suppose you don't like to be bothered with small accounts," saidPrale, with the suspicion of a sneer in his voice. "Very well, sir! I'llsee that the deposit is transferred before night. Perhaps I can findbanks that will be glad to take the money and treat me with respect. AndI shall remember this, sir!"
"I--er--have no choice in the matter," the banker said.
"Can't you explain what it means?"
"I have nothing to say--nothing at all to say," stammered the financier."We took the money because of our Honduras correspondent, but we'llappreciate it very much if you do business with some other institution."
"You can bet I'll do that little thing!" Prale exclaimed.
He left the office angrily and stalked from the building. Were the bigfinanciers of New York insane? A man with a million in cold cash has theright to expect that he will be treated decently in a bank. Prale walkeddown the street and grew angrier with every step he took.
Before going to Honduras he had worked for a firm of brokers. He hurriedtoward their office now. He would send in his card to his old employer,Griffin, he decided, and ask his advice about banking his funds, andincidentally whether the financier he had just left was an imbecile.
He found the Griffin concern in the same building, though the officeswere twice as large now, and there were evidences of prosperity on everyside.
"Got an appointment?" an office boy demanded.
"No, but I fancy that Mr. Griffin will see me," said Prale. "I used towork for him years ago."
Then he sat down to wait. Griffin would be glad to see him, he thought.Griffin was a man who always liked to see younger men get along. Hewould want to know how Sidney Prale got his million. He would want totake him to luncheon and exhibit him to his friends--tell how one of hisyoung men had forged ahead in the world.
The boy came back with his card. "Mr. Griffin can't see you," heannounced.
"Oh, he's busy, eh? Did he make an appointment?"
"No, he ain't busy," said the boy. "He's got his feet set up on the deskand he's readin' about yesterday's ball game. He said to say that hedidn't have time to see you this mornin', and that he wouldn't ever havetime to see you."
"Don't be discourteous, you young imp!" Prale said, his face flushing."You're sure you handed Mr. Griffin my card?"
"Oh, I handed it to him--and don't you try to run any bluff on me!" theboy answered. "From the way the boss acted, I guess you don't stand veryhigh with him!"
The boy went back to his chair, and Sidney Prale went from the office, apuzzled and angry man. There probably was some mistake, he told himself.He'd meet Griffin during the day and tell him about the adventure.
He was anxious to meet some of the men with whom he had worked ten yearsbefore, but he did not know where to find them. He'd have to wait andask Griffin what had become of them. Then, too, he wanted to transferhis funds.
Prale got another taxicab and started making the rounds of the banks heknew to be solid institutions. Within a few hours he had madearrangements to transfer the account, using four financial institutions.He said nothing, except that the money had been transferred to the trustcompany from Honduras, because the company had a correspondent there.
His funds secure, Prale went back uptown and to the hotel. The clerkhanded him a note with his key. Prale tore it open after he stepped intothe elevator. This time it was a sheet of paper upon which a message hadbeen typewritten.
"You can't dodge the law of compensation. For what you have done, youmust pay."
Sidney Prale gasped when he read that message, and went back to theground floor.
"Who left this note for me?" he demanded of the clerk.
"Messenger boy."
"You don't know where he came from?"
"No, sir."
Prale turned away and started for the elevator again. A bell hop stoppedhim.
"Manager would like to see you in his office, sir," the boy said. "Thisway, sir."
Prale followed the boy, wondering what was coming now. He found themanager to be a sort of austere individual who seemed impressed with hisown importance.
"Mr. Prale," he said, "I regret to have to say this, but I find that itcannot be avoided. When you arrived yesterday, the clerk assigned you toa suite on the fifth floor. He made a mistake. We had a telegraphicreservation for that suite from an old guest of ours, and it should havebeen kept for him. You appreciate the situation, I feel sure."
"No objection to being moved," Prale said. "I have unpacked scarcely anyof my things."
"But--again I regret it--there isn't a vacant suite in the house, Mr.Prale."
"A room, then, until you have one."
"We haven't a room. We haven't as much as a cot, Mr. Prale. We cannottake care of you, I'm afraid. So many regular guests, you understand,and out-of-town visitors."
"Then I'll have to move, I suppose. You may have the suite within twohours."
"Thank you, Mr. Prale."
Prale was angry again when he left the office of the manager. It seemedthat everything was conspiring against his comfort. He got a cab, droveto another hotel, inspected a suite and reserved it, paying a month inadvance, and then went back to the big hotel on Fifth Avenue to get hisbaggage. He paid his bill at the cashier's window, and overheard theroom clerk speaking to a woman.
"Certainly, madam," the clerk was saying. "We will have an excellentsuite on the fifth floor within half an hour. The party is just vacatingit. Plenty of suites on the third floor, of course, but, if you want tobe up higher in the building----"
Sidney Prale felt the blood pounding in his temples, felt rage wellingup within him. He felt as he had once in a Honduras forest when hebecame aware that a dishonest foreman was betraying business secrets. Hehurried to the office of the manager, but the stenographer said themanager was busy and could not be seen.
Prale whirled away, going through the lobby toward the entrance. He metKate Gilbert face to face. She did not seem to see him, though he wasforced to step aside to let her pass.