Frank Gruber - The Limping Goose

To look at Johnny Fletcher, sprawled on the bed, with his hands under his head, you would have thought that he was doing a spot of plain ordinary loafing. But no, Johnny was really working. He was Thinking.

In the bathroom, Sam Cragg splashed away as he washed out their socks and underwear. His stomach was growling, but he was reasonably happy. Theyd missed breakfast and dinner the night before, but thered be something to eat today. Johnny was thinking. Hed come up with something; he always did.

And then the man banged on the door.

Sam came out of the bathroom, holding a pair of dripping socks. He looked at Johnny, whose face was screwed up in thought as he stared at the dingy ceiling.

Somebodys at the door, Johnny, he announced. Shall I see who it is?

Yes, replied Johnny vacantly.

Sam stepped to the door and opened it a few inches. A large, truculent-looking man pushed the door all the way open. Im looking for Sam Cragg, he announced.

You dont have to go lookin no more, Sam replied cheerfully. Thats me.

Good for me, the large man said. He took a card from his pocket and glanced at it. Three years ago you bought a mandolin from the Ajax Mandolin Company.

Thats right, conceded Sam. An I got a beef against that Ajax Mandolin Company. They said a child could learn to play their music maker in two weeks. Well, Im smarter than any child and I banged away at that dingus every day for three months and I couldnt get nothing but noise out of it.

The hell with that crap, the large, truculent man snapped. The point is, you paid three dollars down on that mandolin and you were supposed to pay fifty cents a week on it. Only you didnt. So you owe forty-six fifty, plus interest, or a grand total of sixty-seven seventy-five. Thats all I want from you, brother, sixty-seven seventy-five.

Johnny Fletcher exclaimed petulantly, For the love of Mike, Sam, cant you entertain your friends a little more quietly? Im trying to think.

Sam tossed the wet socks into the bathroom and wiped his lands on his trousers. This aint no friend, Johnny. Hes tryin to collect on that mandolin

What mandolin?

The one I bought three years ago, Johnny. You know we hocked it in Duluth

So! roared the bill collector. You pawned an article that you did not legally own. Mister, thats a penitentiary offense. Yes sir, you certainly made a mistake that time!

Johnny Fletcher sprang to his feet. What the hell is this all about? He stabbed a lean forefinger at the man in the doorway. Dont tell me youre a bill collector?

Thats all I am, brother, just a plain ordinary bill collector. From the Acme Adjustment Agency, A.A.A., thats who. And, brother, have I got you fellows over a barrel. You just confessed that you committed a crime. So pay up or go up!

Johnny rubbed his hands together. A smile played over his lips, but his eyes gleamed metallically. Brother, a bill collector, trying to collect money from Johnny Fletcher. Ha ha ha!

Ha ha to you. Funny, aint it?

No funniern a little woolly lamb trying to take away a mean wolfs dinner. Brother, as you say, youd have better luck squeezing milk out of stones than youll have trying to collect money from Johnny Fletcher.

The big bill collector leaned against the wall and showed big teeth. Well, now, you talk mighty pretty. Johnny Fletcher, huh? Supposed to be somebody, huh? Well, meet J. J. Kilkenny, the meaner man than a barrel of cats by that name. Kilkenny, the Killer, they call me. Just the roughest, toughest bill collector in the business, thats all. When I find them, they pay.

Now youre talkin in my department, Sam Cragg declared. Okay, Johnny? Or do you want to make some more chitchat first?

Oh, lets not be hasty, Sam. The man just made a mistake, thats all. Well talk to him a little and well listen to him a little.

The talkinll be short and the listenll be shorter, said J. J. Kilkenny. In fact, its over. He straightened, hitched up his trousers belt and took a step forward. Sixty-seven seventy-five or the party gets rough.

He reached out a big hand. Sam took the hand lightly in his own. Kilkenny smiled pleasantly, whisked his hand out of Sams, grabbed Sams wrist and stepping quickly around behind Sam, attempted to pull the hand and arm around with him, to clamp on a hammerlock. That was what he intended to do. But Sams hand and arm didnt follow Kilkenny. Instead, Sam stiffened his arm, gave a slight forward jerk and broke Kilkennys hold. Then he turned, grabbed two handsful of Kilkennys coat and shook the big bill collector.

Kilkennys hands flailed out, found Sams head. Muscular arms went around Sam and tightened in a headlock. Sam turned easily in the headlock, reached over his left shoulder with both hands and, catching hold of Kilkennys head, stooped suddenly.

Kilkenny sailed smoothly over Sams shoulders and hit the floor on his back, with a crash that probably broke a few electric light bulbs in the room below.

When Kilkenny climbed shakily to his feet, Sam was leaning easily against the wall. You want to make it two falls out of three?

Kilkenny shook his head groggily. Let me think it over a minute. Youre a ten-dollar skip. Thats okay, I can exert myself for ten bucks. On the other hand, I might tear my suit throwing you and it might cost ten bucks to get it sewed up. There wouldnt be any profit left, would there?

There wouldnt, interposed Johnny. And there might even be a loss, if you had to have a doctor patch up a broken leg or two.

No chance of that. I can throw him, all right. That snap mare was just luck, because I wasnt expectin it.

Ive got news for you, said Johnny. Sam can throw you all day long. And two more guys like you. Sure, youre big and tough. But not tough enough for Sam. Hes the strongest man in the world.

Huh?

Sam Cragg, alias Young Samson, the strongest man in the world. He breaks iron chains merely by expanding his chest. If we had a chain here, Sam would tie it around his chest and when Id give him the word hed draw a deep breath and slowly let it out and his chest would swell and swell until the chain would snap as if it were mere twine. And me, if I had any copies of Every Man a Samson, Id be passing em out to the crowd and collecting two dollars and ninety-five cents for each and every copy.

Johnny paused, sighed heavily. Thats what wed do if we had a chain and if we had any books. But we aint got a chain and we aint got any books. Thats why were holed up at the Forty-Fifth Street Hotel until I can figure out an angle for making some dough, without any investment. And then you a bill collector come in here and try to collect money from us!

The bill collector nodded thoughtfully. So youre broke. Thats fine. You cant count it against me if the customer really aint got the dough.

No, said Johnny, but even if we had the money you couldnt get it from us. Youre not a good enough man.

The hell I aint. If you had the money Id get it out of you.

Uh-uh, said Johnny cheerfully. Even if Sam wasnt here you wouldnt get the money. Id talk you out of it. Oh, I suppose youre all right as bill collectors go, but no bill collector could out-talk Johnny Fletcher.

Kilkenny glowered at Johnny. You think youre pretty good? You could take a bunch of cards like this every Monday morning ten-dollar skips, brother, not the easy five-dollar ones you could take ten-twelve cards like this every Monday, run down the skips and get the money, huh?

I most certainly could.

Talks cheap.

All right, said Johnny. Look over your cards, pick one out at random, or pick one youve failed to locate. Give it to me and by this time tomorrow Ill have the money.

For how much?

For ten bucks. Hows that?