The Man with the Wooden Spectacles. Harry Stephen Keeler
Never before in her life had Elsa seen a phenomenon anything like it. And—
“Well,” was all she could say, “conceding even, Aunt, that Mrs. Hirschberg has unwillingly spilled—to Mrs. Levinstein —that her roomer is playing possum, as you put it, in a matter involving that estate ownership, and that the information has traveled thence to Mr. Levinstein, somehow, thence to Manny, and thence to Uncle Silas—there has still been nothing that Uncle Silas could do personally to change my course of action, or to alter circumstances for me.”
“No! Well, dey is—plentah. Yo’ unc’ des got a mohgage on dat jedge’s house, da’s all, an’—”
“Oh, come—come, Aunt Linda! I’ll accept the possibility of Mrs. Hirschberg spilling an unfortunate hint of the situation to Mrs. Levinstein Senior; but as for mortgages—why, mortgages, Aunt, as a source of pressure against people, went out with the last melodrama!”
“Oh, Ah see,” nodded Aunt Linda, most humbly. Suspiciously so! “Dey has wen’ out, has dey, so fah as pressin’ peoples go? Well—do tell! Count of bein’ sohta ig’nant lak, Elsa, Ah didn’t know dat at all, an’—but by de way, Chil’, w’ud yo’ mind tellin’ me how many peoples in Chicago succeeds in redeemin’ they proputty, once fo’closah suit is act’ally file’ by de mohgage holdah?”
“Well, to be frank, Aunt, statistics are that, in Cook County, less than 5 in 100 so succeed. Because of the huge legal fees, and the Master-in-Chancery fee, and so forth, added on to the mortgage indebtedness. But—”
“An’ mebbe, Chil’,” persisted Aunt Linda, humbly, “you’d tell dis ig’nant ’ooman whut de statiticks is ’bout how many peoples ob de nin’y-fi’, in de hund’ed, gits somet’in’ out ob dey equity, w’en de place is sol’ undah de hammahr? O’ is de hammah gone out too—wid de last melldrammerer ?”
Elsa gave a half laugh. For Aunt Linda’s demeanor was, even to her, suspiciously humble. “No, Aunt, the hammer still actually falls—on foreclosed property. And—but as to your question, only 1 out of the remaining 95—or practically 1 per cent of the whole—gets anything at all out of the sale, because nobody bids foreclosed Cook County property in. Because of the delay, you see, in acquiring transferable title. In fact, Aunt, a party who gets foreclosed in Cook County is darned lucky not to get a deficiency judgment levied against him—or her—as the case may be.”
“Don’ know whut defishincy jedgment is,” proclaimed Aunt Linda, “but de fu’s paht ob whut you tell me is plenty ’pohtant by itself. Well den,”—she rocked gently—“summin’ it all up, a fo’closah suit, it mean—heah in Chicago—goo’night, don’ it?”
And she fixed Elsa with her gaze.
“We’ll—we-ell—” offered Elsa, “yes, it really does. But—”
“An’ oh c’ose,” said Aunt Linda mildly, “peoples don’t min’ packin’ up dey clothes an’ tings an’ gittin’ out ob houses whut dey has lovin’ly built de’sevves wid lil gahdens whut dey wives an’ children’s hab laid out! And ob co’se dey don’ mind gibbing up places eider whah big st’eet improbements goin’ come some day—an’ lettin’ somebody else git de big condamnation fees? No!” And now Aunt Linda’s mildness dropped suddenly. “Well, whut you has des’ tol’ me is ’cisely whut Ah has been tryin’ to convey to you. Dat moh’gages presses people des as bad today as dey did w’en de fus’ one was drawed up by de fus man whut got his eagle eye on somebuddy else’s propitty, o’ else des tryin’ to git intrust on somebody else’s bein’ in trubble. Wheneber dat fus mohgage wuz drawed up! An’ specially do dey presses people today, Chil’, w’en nobody cain’t git no money nowhah. Hah!” Aunt Linda laughed hollowly. “So—dey is gone out, is dey? Wid de ol’ mellerdrammerers? Well Chil’, befo’ you gits done wid life, you is gonna fin’ yo’sef centahed in mo’ an’ one mellerdrammerer whut is mo’ mellerdrammertic dan de ones whut played on dat ol’ showboat, whah I sit once in de back th’ee rows whah niggahs kin sit. Fac’ is—ifn you axes me—you is act’ally libbin’ a mellerdrammerer rahght dis minut’—and don’ eben know it. Dat’s whut! An’—but les us git down to hahd fac’s. Now Ah says yo’ Unc’ Silas done got a mohgage on dat jedge’s house. An’ you laffs at me. So—do dat Jedge lib on Prairie Abenoo?”
“Why yes, Aunt. So I found—when I got his number in the book and tried to call him back.”
“All right! Da’s all Ah wan’s to know! Yo’ Unc’ Silas he got mohgage on dat jedge’s house.”
“But, Aunt, how—how can you know all this—about Uncle Silas’ affairs?”
“How? Lan’ sake, Chil’. Ain’ Ah tell you once already how Ah clean up ‘roun’ yo’ Uncle’s flat off an’ on—an’ wash fo’ dat lazy Bella now an’ ag’in, at dat 8-room house ob huh’s? An’ on’y a few weeks ago w’en Ah wuz dah—yes, at Bella’s—an’ yo’ Uncle wuz stayin’ wid ’em fo’ a few nights, kaze de dec’rators hah made his flo’s all sticky wid vahnish—he an’ Manny wuz in Manny’s libery—talkin’ ’bout de mohgages—all of w’ich dey’s brung home from Manny’s safe downtown—an’ whut dey’s got all laid out for’ discussionin’—an’ I heah ’em discussin’ one on a Jedge Hillbilly’ Somebody’s house. An’ sayin’ he cain’t renew it—and dey don’ lak fo’closin’ neider, cause mebbe de big Prairie Abenoo Improbement don’t nebber come thu! An’—well, Chile, hit’s all clah to me. Yo’ Unc’ somehow fin’ out ’bout dis heah law case—an’ sic dat jedge on you to he’p him steal yo’ fathah’s land.”
Elsa was staggered now. “Well, Aunt’Linda, I’m dead sure there’s no collusion—at least so far as stealing my land is concerned. For Judge Penworth has a reputation for being straight. But as to the mortgage—and his appointing me—yes—there could be an agreement—yet I couldn’t dare claim collusion—just because the Judge has appointed me.”
“Hahdly,” said Aunt Linda sardonically. “You can’t claim nuffin’—wid dis disbahment o’der skimmin’ along to reach you in anotha’ houah o’ so. Hahdly!”
Aunt Linda now asked another question. “But dis heah man whut is to git tried? Whut de case ag’in him? He drunk o’ disohdaly—o’ what?”
Elsa shook her head. “The case against him is bad, Aunt. Burglary! And murder! Not one—but two charges. I ran out and got a Despatch the minute the Judge hung up on me—and got the details of the man’s crime. Or rather,” Elsa corrected herself punctiliously, “his alleged crime! But since the story was written by a man I personally happen to know is brother to the State’s Attorney himself, one can only assume, Aunt, that its facts are—are 24-karat, when it comes to being facts. But the point is, anyway, that the man was caught dead to rights with the stolen goods in his possession.”
“Well, dat don’ mean numen’ def’nit’, Chil’. An’ Ah don’ see w’y you mek sich final comclusions ’bout it—at leas’ at dis p’int. Fo’ dey is a t’ousum reasons why men som’times happens to hab on deysevves stolened goods. And it don’, in itself, mean nuffin’.”
“Sometimes not, maybe,” Elsa admitted ruefully, “but here quite the opposite. For this man, Aunt, admitted, in front of two highly reputable witnesses, that he did have the goods in question—and that he’d cracked the State’s Attorney’s safe, moreover, to get them!”
CHAPTER VIII
There Were 15 at Table!
Louis Vann, State’s Attorney of Cook County, Illinois, seated at his great handcarved mahogany desk in the private office of his official suite in the City Hall, his feet firmly imbedded in the thick green velvet carpet beneath his swivel chair, studied intent1y the foolscap sheet of paper lying on the desk in front of him. The paper being no less than his hastily hand-written roster of State’s witnesses for the forthcoming trial tonight, of one John