Return of the Thin Man Page 17

  She is asking: “Is Papa in a very bad humor this afternoon?”

  Freddie answers: “You won’t like me to say it, but not much worse than usual.”

  She pats his arm and says: “Be a little patient, Freddie. He’s not well, and he hasn’t had an easy life, and now that he’s getting old I know that he is difficult sometimes. But if you knew him as well as I do, you’d know he doesn’t mean one-tenth of the things he says.”

  Freddie exclaims: “Be a little patient? Good lord! When I think of the things I’ve had to put up with. If it hadn’t been for you—”

  She puts her hand on his arm and says: “I know, I know, and I’m grateful.”

  They go into the house.

  When they come into the room where MacFay and Horn are, MacFay looks up from his correspondence and asks point-blank: “See here, Lois, has this young nitwit been making googoo eyes at you?”

  Lois and Freddie look at him dumbfounded.

  Horn says good-naturedly: “Come, come, Colonel MacFay, if there was anything like that, it seems to me I ought to be the one to ask questions.”

  MacFay, ignoring Horn, says to Lois: “Answer me. Has he been making love to you?”

  Horn, scowling at MacFay, says bluntly: “This is pretty damned insulting to all three of us.”

  Lois cries: “Papa—how can you say things like that?”

  Freddie, the last to recover his speech, says, half in tears: “This is too much. I’m through—I’m leaving!” He starts out the door, then turns back and yells: “I know Lois is engaged to Dudley, but my feelings for her are my own business!”

  MacFay, thus outnumbered, whines: “How am I going to know what’s going on if I don’t ask? Everybody hides everything from me. You all think I’m just a useless old fool.”

  Lois goes over to him, runs her hand over his head, and says: “No we don’t, but sometimes you are a problem. Won’t you ever learn not to say these terrible things to people?”

  Horn goes out after Freddie, who has left the room, and catches him at the head of the stairs, saying: “You’re not going to be foolish, are you?”

  Freddie says: “I’m going away.”

  Horn says: “Don’t do it, kid. Lois is going to feel that it’s partly her fault. You ought to know what to expect from the old man by now.”

  Freddie says: “But I couldn’t stay—I feel too ashamed.”

  Horn says: “So do Lois and I, and so does the old man if he’d admit it. Try it a little longer, kid. We don’t want you going like this.”

  While Freddie hesitates, MacFay’s voice comes through the open doorway. “Freddie!”

  Freddie looks at Horn, nods, and starts back to the office. Horn puts his arm around Freddie’s shoulder. They go into the office.

  MacFay says: “Where’s that bill from Nichols and Brackett?”

  Lois says gaily: “I know what’s coming and you needn’t bother. A sports dress for $62.50. I haven’t worn it yet, so I can send it back tomorrow and there’ll be no hard feelings.”

  MacFay says: “That’s not it. I don’t begrudge you the dress, but it’s for your own good—you’re too extravagant.”

  Lois: “I guess you’re right. I guess that’s why I didn’t wear it before you saw the bill—so I wouldn’t have to keep it if you didn’t want me to.”

  MacFay whines: “Oh, you can keep it, but I wish you’d be a little more careful.”

  Nick and Nora come in.

  Nick, briskly: “Shall we have that little business chat now, Colonel?”

  MacFay: “Whenever you’re ready. There’s no particular hurry.”

  Nick: “But you wired us to come straight down as soon as we got to New York. We thought—”

  MacFay: “You’ll forgive an old man’s inconsiderateness, children. There’s really nothing but routine matters.”

  Horn winks at Nick. (Lois and Freddie have left the room.)

  Nick: “I get it. You wanted me down here on account of Church—and used the business angle as bait.”

  MacFay: “Now that it’s over, perhaps I should confess that there may be a little truth in what you say.” He pinches Nora’s cheek. “You’ll forgive the old scoundrel, won’t you?”

  Nick: “I wouldn’t be too sure it’s over.”

  MacFay: “What do you mean?”

  Nick: “My guess is that whatever Church meant to do in the first place, he still means to do.”

  MacFay starts up from his chair, then sinks down with a little laugh and relaxes again. “You’re trying to frighten me as punishment for bringing you down here on the run. You can’t do it, son. As soon as Church found out you were here, he lit out, and that’s all there is to it.”

  Nick: “I hope you’re right, but his talk to me didn’t sound like that.”

  MacFay shakes his head from side to side. “The years it takes young men to learn not to pay any attention to what other young men say!”

  Nick: “He wants to include Nora and me in this shakedown on the grounds that her father was your partner. Was he tied up in this mess?”

  MacFay: “What difference can all that make now?”

  Nora, reproachfully: “Colonel MacFay!”

  Nick: “If Church went to jail to shield Nora’s father, we want to settle with him.”

  Nora nods vigorously.

  MacFay, angrily: “You want to settle with him! Sure! Neither of you know what it means to have to scrape together your dollars. You don’t have to work for money! People die and leave it to you! What’s a few thousand here, a few thousand there? It grows on trees!”

  Nick: “That’s not answering my question. Was Nora’s father in with you on this deal?”

  MacFay to Horn: “Run along, Dudley.”

  Horn goes out, shutting the door behind him, and stands there listening.

  MacFay, patiently to Nick: “You knew Nora’s father, son. Did you think he was a crook?”

  Nick: “No.”

  MacFay: “Do you think I’m a crook?”

  Nick, hesitantly: “No-o.”

  MacFay: “Can you pretend you think I’m a crook?”

  Nick: “Yes, I can do that all right.”

  MacFay: “I thought you could. Well, Nora’s father knew mines and he knew timber as well as anybody in the world, but he didn’t know the first thing about finance. I did. I built his fortune for him. If it hadn’t been for me, he’d never have had a hundred thousand dollars in his life.”

  Nick, pityingly: “As poor as that!” To Nora: “You’d never have got a first-rate husband that way.”

  MacFay: “So if I’m a crook, and my partner’s an honest man who doesn’t know anything about finance, why should I give him a share in the profits from any crooked deal I put over? I have to do all the work myself, don’t I? Even if I use his money now and then, why should I let him know it? Isn’t it enough to give him his share of the profits from straight deals, where he knows what’s going on and where I need his honest knowledge of mining and timber?”

  Nick, blinking at MacFay: “There’s probably a catch in that somewhere, but you certainly make it sound reasonable.”

  Nora goes over and kisses MacFay on the cheek. She says: “I don’t understand it, but I know you’ve said something nice.”

  MacFay pats Nora’s hand, says: “So you needn’t worry about your father ever having been mixed up in anything like that.”

  Nora: “And if you hadn’t told us this, we’d have paid Church and he’d probably never have bothered you anymore.”

  MacFay: “You young idiots! Money’s not to pass out to the first person that asks for it.”

  Nora: “But it would have been our money and you—”

  MacFay: “Your money? Yes, but I’m the one that slaved getting it together for
you and I feel about it just as I do about my own.”

  Nick and Nora exchange suspicious glances.

  Nick clears his throat, says: “That’s swell of you. Now about those routine business matters you mentioned. Don’t you think we may as well—uh—you know—kind of go over them now that we’re here?”

  MacFay: “If you want to.” He puts his hand on a desk drawer.

  Nick, trying to speak casually: “I sometimes feel ashamed of myself for not knowing more about business than I do. I think a man ought to—well, I’m going to try to take more of an interest in things. For instance, if a man’s money is invested in—say in any kind of business—he should know something about it; he should be able to understand—uh—­balance sheets and things.”

  Nora: “Why, Mr. Charles, I’m proud of you!”

  MacFay, dryly: “You’re not still pretending you think I’m a crook?”

  Nick laughs insincerely. “Oh, of course not! But seriously, my conscience hurts me sometimes. Here we are, going along not bothering about anything, just okaying—uh—routine matters when you show them to us. Kind of like butterflies, you might say. And there you are, having to shoulder all the responsibilities, look after all the details for us. It’s not right. Is it hard to learn to—uh—you know—make heads or tails of these rows of numbers and things?”

  MacFay: “No, all it takes is a little application.”

  Nick: “Well, suppose instead of just skimming the surface the way we usually do, would it take too long if we—uh—went into things a little more thoroughly this time?”

  MacFay: “An excellent idea, and I’ve all the time in the world. Pull your chairs up.” He smiles maliciously. “We’ll take our lumber company first. It’s a little simpler than the others.” He takes a bale of papers from a drawer and puts it on the desk, selecting one sheet of paper from the bale and putting it on the desk in front of them. “To start at the beginning, this graph shows the production of lumber, seasonally adjusted, for our company—that’s the solid line—for all other companies in the United States combined—that’s the dotted line—for all Canadian companies—the double lines, and for all Canadian and United States companies, exclusive of our company—the chain line—from January 1929, to the present month, both inclusive. Here”—passing them another sheet of paper covered with columns of typewritten figures—“are the figures, if you wish to check them.”

  Nick: “Not at all.”

  MacFay: “Study them. Don’t fall back into your habit of skimming over things again.”

  Nick and Nora bend their heads over the figures.

  MacFay: “You’ll notice that production, seasonally adjusted, has been falling off since June.” He fishes out another sheet of paper. “You can see by this that new business in the last couple of months has slowed up and unfilled orders are some 20 percent below last year’s figure, while gross stocks are considerably higher than they were a year ago.”

  Nick, trying to pretend he knows what it is all about, asks: “How large a stock of grosses do we usually have on hand?”

  MacFay dives into his bale of papers again.

  Nora, who has been counting on her fingers under the desk, nudges Nick and whispers: “The first row of figures in that left-hand column is added up right.”

  Nick, whispering: “But are they seasonally adjusted?”

  Nora nods: “Like a watch!”

  Nick: “Good!”

  MacFay gives them a still larger sheet of paper with still more figures on it. “Now here are our yearly figures from 1929 to 1936, both inclusive. You’ll find them very interesting.” He leans over to point out the various columns to them. “Here are the Sales, here Depreciation and Depletion, here Net Income—you’ll notice that the figure for 1931 excludes unrealized inventory loss—then Interest, Interest Times Earned, Earned Per Share, Cash Dividends, Surplus For Year—you’ll notice there were deficits for the years 1931 to 1934, both inclusive; and here below are Invested Capital—the 1934 figure is after drastic adjustments in the value of land and development—then Percentage Earned on Capital, Properties, Percentage Earned on Properties, Cash and Equivalent, Working Capital, Current Ration, and, last of all, Profit and Loss Surplus. Now here’s a statement of . . .”

  We leave Nick and Nora nodding determinedly, but groggily, at each item the Colonel shows them.

  In a shabby saloon

  Face Peppler is standing at the bar with a big thug.

  Face, giving the bartender a dollar bill: “Give me twenty nickels—twenty.”

  The big thug, plaintively: “I want to go to Nick’s party, Face. I love Nick.”

  Face, as if repeating something he had said before: “It’s a kid’s party, Whacky. Nobody can’t go unless they bring a kid.”

  Whacky: “But Pete and Larry are going.”

  Face: “Larry’s got a kid, and I’m lending Pete one of my brother’s brats.”

  Whacky: “I’ll bring a kid.” He buttons his coat with an air of determination. “What kind of kid do you want?”

  Face grabs his lapel. “Wait a minute, Whacky! No snatch, for God’s sake! We don’t want to put the big heat on this party!”

  Whacky mumbles: “Well, I want to go.”

  Face: “Okay, but borrow a kid legitimate. Don’t show with no hot tot.”

  Face carefully counts the nickels the bartender gives him, then, with the nickels in one hand, Nora’s address book in the other, goes into the telephone booth and dials the first number in the address book.

  Face, into the phone: “Is Miss Adams there? . . . This is Nick Charles’s society sekkatary. Put her on the wire.”

  At the other end of the wire, Miss Adams is being handed a telephone by a maid. Miss Adams: “Hello.”

  Face: “This is Nick Charles’s society sekkatary. We’re throwing a binge for Nick’s kid Tuesday afternoon. Can you make it?”

  Miss Adams: “Nick Charles? Are they in town?”

  Face: “Are they in town? You ought to be in town like they are! But, hey!—wait a minute. Have you got any kids?”

  Miss Adams: “Kids? Why, no!”

  Face: “Then don’t bother. Give it a skip.” He hangs up muttering, “That dame wasting my nickels!” dials another number, says into the phone: “Is Mrs. Alliston there? This is Nick Charles’s society sekkatary . . .”

  MACFAY’S OFFICE

  The lights have been turned on.

  MacFay, straightening up from the last sheet of paper in his bale, is saying: “And now I think I’ve given you a pretty good rough picture of the situation.”

  Nick and Nora rise with deep sighs of relief. Nora seems to be having trouble focusing her eyes. Nick’s hair is rumpled, his tie askew, and his face tired.

  Nick, pulling himself together and trying to sound hearty: “This has been awfully nice of you, Colonel MacFay, and we’ve learned a lot. It’s—uh—it’s opened up—uh—new vistas to us. Hasn’t it, Nora?”

  Nora: “It’s been marvelous!”

  MacFay: “But sit down. That’s only the lumber company. You’ll find the railroad much more interesting. It’s more complicated.” He takes a larger bale of papers from another drawer. “And after that, we’ll take the mining properties.”

  Nora strikes a pose with a hand to one ear and says: “I hear Nicky crying.” She moves toward the door. “Isn’t that like him—to make a fuss just when I’ve found something so fascinating!”

  Nick: “I’ll go with you.”

  Nora: “Oh, no! I’ll be right back, and you must show me afterwards what Colonel MacFay explained to you while I’m gone, because I don’t want to miss a thing.”

  Nick, glaring at her: “Well, at least send me in a Scotch and soda.”

  MacFay: “No, son. I want to give you a piece of advice. A lot of men say liquor and busine
ss don’t mix. I don’t say that, but I do say there’s one time they don’t mix. Drink all you can handle any other time, but don’t touch it while you’re checking up the figures.”

  Nora: “That sounds like mighty sound advice to me.”

  As she goes out, MacFay is beginning: “First, I must tell you that the courts have authorized us to make payments of 20 percent of the principal amount on equipment trust certificates, series D, maturing December 15th.”

  Nora goes to her room, blows a kiss at Nick Jr., who is sleeping, smiles at the nurse, and begins to change for dinner.

  LIVING ROOM OF SMITTY’S APARTMENT IN NEW YORK

  It is a typical middle-class furnished apartment, to which Smitty has added feminine touches in the shape of some beribboned cushions, a doll or two, etc.

  Dum-Dum is sitting on his heels in one corner of the room eating a dish of ice cream.

  Smitty, at the telephone, is saying: “I want to speak to Lieutenant John Guild, Homicide Bureau. This is Mrs. R. Culver Smith speaking.” She gets Guild on the phone. “This is Mrs. R. Culver Smith.”

  He asks: “Who?”

  She says disgustedly: “This is Smitty.”

  He says: “Oh, Smitty—how are you? What do you hear from Tip?”

  She says: “He’s still kicking about wanting a larger cell—but that ain’t what I called you about. I don’t know whether it’s one of those half-smart tricks that you people think up, or what it is, but some guy phoned me a little while ago, all excited. He won’t tell me who he is except he claims he’s a friend of Tip’s, and he wants to know if I’m going to be home after midnight. He won’t tell me what it’s all about except that it’s something that won’t get me in a jam if I give him a square break, but he said he don’t want any monkey business, because he’s got two murder raps hanging over his head and he’s playing for keeps. That wouldn’t be some kind of charade you boys thought up, would it?”

  Guild says: “It’s all news to me. What are you going to do about it?”

  Smitty says: “I ain’t going to do anything but keep as far away from trouble as I can until Tip gets out of Sing Sing.”

  Guild says: “That’s showing sense. I think the best thing for you to do is to stick around home after midnight and give us a chance to see what this setup is.”