“Pull yourself together, Skinner! You can’t monkey about with the employer’s library like that.” Jimmy restored the books to their places. “Simmer down and tell me more. Postpone the gossip from the diamond. What plans have you made? Have you considered the future at all? You aren’t going to hold down this buttling job forever, are you? When do you go back to London?”
The light died out of Mr. Crocker’s face.
“I guess I shall have to go back some time. But how can I yet, with the Giants leading the league like this?”
“But did you just light out without saying anything?”
“I left a note for your step-mother telling her I had gone to America for a vacation. Jimmy, I hate to think what she’s going to do to me when she gets me back!”
“Assert yourself, dad! Tell her that woman’s place is the home and man’s the ball-park! Be firm!”
Mr. Crocker shook his head dubiously.
“It’s all very well to talk that way when you’re three thousand miles from home, but you know as well as I do, Jim, that your step-mother, though she’s a delightful woman, isn’t the sort you can assert yourself with. Look at this sister of hers here. I guess you haven’t been in the house long enough to have noticed, but she’s very like Eugenia in some ways. She’s the boss all right, and old Pett does just what he’s told to. I guess it’s the same with me, Jim. There’s a certain type of man that’s just born to have it put over on him by a certain type of woman. I’m that sort of man and your stepmother’s that sort of woman. No, I guess I’m going to get mine all right, and the only thing to do is to keep it from stopping me having a good time now.”
There was truth in what he said, and Jimmy recognised it. He changed the subject.
“Well, never mind that. There’s no sense in worrying oneself about the future. Tell me, dad, where did you get all the ‘dinner-is-served, madam’ stuff? How did you ever learn to be a butler?”
“Bayliss taught me back in London. And, of course, I’ve played butlers when I was on the stage.”
Jimmy did not speak for a moment.
“Did you ever play a kidnapper, dad?” he asked at length.
“Sure. I was Chicago Ed. in a crook play called ‘This Way Out.’ Why, surely you saw me in that? I got some good notices.”
Jimmy nodded.
“Of course. I knew I’d seen you play that sort of part some time. You came on during the dark scene and–”
“–switched on the lights and–”
“–covered the bunch with your gun while they were still blinking! You were great in that part, dad.”
“It was a good part,” said Mr. Crocker modestly. “It had fat. I’d like to have a chance to play a kidnapper again. There’s a lot of pep to kidnappers.”
“You -shall- play one again,” said Jimmy. “I am putting on a little sketch with a kidnapper as the star part.”
“Eh? A sketch? You, Jim? Where?”
“Here. In this house. It is entitled ‘Kidnapping Ogden’ and opens to-night.”
Mr. Crocker looked at his only son in concern. Jimmy appeared to him to be rambling.
“Amateur theatricals?” he hazarded.
“In the sense that there is no pay for performing, yes. Dad, you know that kid Ogden upstairs? Well, it’s quite simple. I want you to kidnap him for me.”
Mr. Crocker sat down heavily. He shook his head.
“I don’t follow all this.”
“Of course not. I haven’t begun to explain. Dad, in your rambles through this joint you’ve noticed a girl with glorious red-gold hair, I imagine?”
“Ann Chester?”
“Ann Chester. I’m going to marry her.”
“Jimmy!”
“But she doesn’t know it yet. Now, follow me carefully, dad. Five years ago Ann Chester wrote a book of poems. It’s on that desk there. You were using it a moment back as second-base or something. Now, I was working at that time on the -Chronicle-. I wrote a skit on those poems for the Sunday paper. Do you begin to follow the plot?”