Gangsters -- Fiction; Rats -- Fiction; Short stories
"Simple enough. I am a hundred per cent American. For five generations
my people have been born and buried in this city. I own over two hundred
million dollars worth of land here. When the dregs of Europe come over
to my city and use the rats of Asia to bleed that city white, then I
personally protest. I am going to start something. I am not sure what,
but when I finish, this city will be practically rat empty and gangster
free."
"A large programme, Mr. Willowby," whispered Perkins.
"But I am a large man. Now, suppose I write you gentlemen a check?"
Five minutes later the two partners were alone. Moyer looked at the
check, then put it in his pocket, and his hat on his head.
"Suppose we get it cashed?" he said to Perkins. "You can do as you
please with your half, but I am going to take my family and go back to
England. That man Willowby is only half pint size, but his blue eyes
look cold to me, and I bet he plays a stiff game of bridge. If he starts
fighting those gangsters, I do not want to be caught on the
battlefield."
"How about starting a business over in England?" asked Perkins.
"Not a bad idea. I came over here and together we made half a million
selling English groceries to Americans. Perhaps we can make a million
more selling American groceries to Englishmen."
Winifred Willowby not only bought the grocery business of Mover &
Perkins; he bought a laundry, a small hotel, an apartment house and a
theatre. He kept all the old employees, put in a manager, instructed
that the weekly tribute should be paid as usual, and then disappeared
from New York City.
Ten days later, in Paradise Valley, in the broken country below the
Poconos of Pennsylvania, he entertained several men, each an authority
in his special line of art or science. They kept the appointment, not
being at all sure what it was for, but unable to refuse the invitation
which was accompanied in each case with a substantial check. They had
all heard of Willowby, but none had ever seen him. No doubt all were
rather disappointed at his apparent lack of color and personality. They
quickly changed their mind when he started to talk, for there was a man
who, when he had something to say, was able to say it briefly and to the
point.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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