A Cool Million by Nathanael West Read Free Book Online

of mind.
    She smiled kindly at our hero, and
led her irate parent from the scene.
    Lem had
been unable to utter one word in explanation because, during his tussle with
the horses, his teeth had jarred loose and without them he was afraid to speak.
All he could do was to gaze after their departing backs with mute but
ineffectual anguish.
    There being nothing else for it, Lem gave over the reins of the team to Mr. Goldstein’s
groom: who came running up at this juncture, and turned to search for his oral
equipment in the mud of the bridle path. While he was thus occupied, a man
representing the insurance company with which Mr. Goldstein carried a public
liability policy approached him.
    “Here is ten dollars, my lad,” said
the claim adjuster. “The gentleman whose horses you so bravely stopped wishes
you to have this money as a reward.”
    Lem took
it without thinking.
    “Please sign this for me,” added the
insurance man, holding out a legal form which released his company from any and
all claim to damages.
    One of Lem’s eyes had been so badly injured by a flying stone that he could not see out of
it, but nevertheless he refused to sign.
    The claim adjuster had recourse to a
ruse. “I am an autograph collector,” he said slyly. “Unfortunately, I have not
my album with me, but if you will be so kind as to sign this piece of paper
which I happened to have in my pocket, you will make me very happy. When I
return home, I will immediately transfer your autograph to a distinguished
place in my collection.”
    Befuddled by the pain in his injured
eye, Lem signed in order to be rid of the importunate
fellow, then bent again to the task of finding his
store teeth. He finally discovered them deep in the mud of the bridle path.
After carefully prying the set loose, he went to a public drinking fountain for
the dual purpose of bathing both it and his hurt eye.

 
12
     
    While he busied himself at the
fountain, a young man approached. This stranger was distinguished from the
usual run by his long black hair which tumbled in waves over the back of his
collar and by an unusually high and broad forehead. On his head he wore a soft,
black hat with an enormously wide brim. Both his tie, which
was Windsor, and his gestures, which were Latin, floated with the same graceful
freedom as his hair.
    “Excuse me,” said this odd-appearing
individual, “but I witnessed your heroic act and I wish to take the liberty of
congratulating you. In these effete times, it is rare indeed for one to witness
a hero in action.”
    Lem was
embarrassed. He hurriedly replaced his teeth and thanked the stranger for his
praise. He continued, however, to bathe his wounded eye, which was still giving
him considerable pain.
    “Let me introduce myself,” the young
man continued. “I am Sylvanus Snodgrasse ,
a poet both by vocation and avocation. May I ask your name?”
    “ Lemuel Pitkin,” answered our hero, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was
suspicious of this self-styled “poet.” In fact there were many things about him
that reminded Lem of Mr. Wellington Mape .
    “Mr. Pitkin,” he said grandly, “I
intend to write an ode about the deed performed by you this day. You do not
perhaps appreciate, having a true hero’s modesty, the significance, the
classicality—if I may be permitted a neologism—of your performance. Poor Boy,
Flying Team, Banker’s Daughter…it’s in the real American tradition and
perfectly fitted to my native lyre. Fie on your sickly Prousts ,
U.S. poets must write about the U.S.”
    Our hero did not venture to comment
on these sentiments. For one thing, his eye hurt so much that even his sense of
hearing was occupied with the pain.
    Snodgrasse kept talking, and soon a crowd of curious people gathered around him and poor Lemuel . The “poet” no longer addressed our hero, but the
crowd in general.
    “Gentlemen,” said he in a voice that
carried all the way to Central Park South, “and ladies, I am moved by