Heiney shrugs his shoulders and lifts his eyebrows in a lifeless sort of style. He does most of his conversin’ that way; but he can say more with a few shrugs than Swifty Joe can by usin’ both sides of his mouth. What Heiney means is that one place is as good as another, and he don’t care how soon he finds it.
“Well, cheer up, Heiney,” says I; “for I’ve just decided to give you the use of my back room to shuffle off in. I’ve got comp’ny for you, too. Here’s a friend of mine that feels the same way you do. Mr. Jarvis, Mr. Heiney Kirschwasser.”
And you should have seen the look of disgust on Jarvis’s face as he sizes up the specimen. “Oh, I say now, Shorty,” he begins, “there’s such a thing as——”
“G’wan!” says I. “Wa’n’t you just tellin’ me about how you was plannin’ a job for the coroner? And Heiney’s been threatenin’ to do the same thing for weeks. He comes in here every day or so and talks about jumpin’ off the dock, or doin’ the air dance. I’ve been stavin’ him off with slugs of prune brandy and doses of good advice; but if a chap like you has caught the fever, then I see I’ve been doin’ wrong not to let Heiney have his way. Now there’s the back room, with plenty of rope and gasjets. Get on in there, both of you, and make a reg’lar bee of it!”
Heiney, he stands blinkin’ and starin’ at Jarvis, until he gets him so nervous he almost screams.
“For Heaven’s sake, Shorty,” says Jarvis, “let’s not joke about such a subject!”
“Joke!” says I. “You’re the one that’s supplyin’ the comedy here. Now Heiney is serious. He’d do the trick in a minute if he had the nerve. He’s got things on his mind, Heiney has. And what’s the odds if they ain’t so? Compared to what you’ve been fussin’ about, they’re——Here, Heiney, you tell the gentleman that tale of yours. Begin where you was a cook in some seashore hotel in Switzerland.”
“Not zeashore! Non!” says Heiney, droppin’ his pail and wavin’ one hand. “Eet ees at Lack Como, in ze montongs. I am ze head chef, moi!”
“Yes, you look it!” says I. “A fine figure of a chef you’d make! wouldn’t you? Well, go on: about bein’ full of prunes when they called on you to season the soup. What was it you dumped in instead of salt,—arsenic, eh?”
“Non, non!” says Heiney, gettin’ excited. “Ze poison for ze r-r-rat. I keep heem in one tin can, same as ze salt. I am what you call intoxicate. I make ze mistak’. Ah, diable! Deux, trois—t’ree hundred guests are zere. Zey eat ze soup. Zen come by me ze maître d’hôtel. He say ze soup ees spoil. Eet has ze foony taste. Ah, mon Dieu! Mon——”