Dr. Jones told me what was coming. I hardly got out of his office when a coughing fit seemed as thought it might kill me there and then.

If not for a lad happening along, I might have fallen face first into the horseshit.

"You work for me now," I said, reaching in my pocket for change gathering there since I got to town. "Put out your hand."

He did as he was told and as the coins dropped into his palm, his blue eyes got large at the sight of several dollars in change.

"Yes, Sir," he said, opening the door even wider.

We sat next to the clerk's desk. Mr. Callahan was busy. He'd see us in a few minutes.

The bottom of the offices had desks scattered about and people to speak with customers about their needs. Ordinarily, I'd have come in and sat next to one of the desks, but because Dr. Jones knew someone, I'd be going upstairs into one of the offices.

As a man came down the stairs, I looked up to see George Callahan looking out of his window at me.

The man came down the stairs and left the building.

"Mr. Callahan will see you now. First office, top of the stairs," the clerk advised.

My coughing fit had passed and I walked up the stairs on my own with Barnaby close behind to catch me if I fell.

When I entered the office, George had his back turned. He was smoothing his jacket and straightening his cuffs before turning around to greet me.

I handed him the note Dr Jones gave me. George gave it a glance and he stuck out his hand.

"John Tanner. I guess Dr. Jones told you that I was one of his kids too. He came in yesterday to talk about you. Nice meeting you in person. You want to go west and you need to be able to have money available to you when the need arises."

"He has recommended I go west for my health. I have extensive holdings in 1st National Bank of Atlanta. If I'm traveling, I'll need access to my funds. I don't know what to do about that. I can't travel and carry a bundle with me. It's asking for trouble with so many outlaws looking to take your poke."

"Nothing to worry about, John. Have a seat and I'll run past you what I'm able to do in the nature of what you are telling me."

"Thank you," I said, looking at the only chair.

"This is my man, Barnaby. Barnaby, George Callahan."

Barnaby was immediately flustered, grabbing the hat off his head. When George stuck out his hand to shake, the boy had to change his hat to the other hand before giving George's hand an uncertain shake.

I could see Barnaby's confusion written all over his face.

"Let me get you a chair," George said, moving out on to the landing and coming back a minute later with a chair for Barnaby.

I liked George already. He was a thoughtful man.

My man Barnaby wasn't much to look at. His clothes weren't clean or stylish, and he came with a smell that said a lot, but George shook his hand and got him a chair because he was my man and he needed to be considered as such.

"I'm well known in backing circles from here to California, John. My name is as good as gold. In most towns, my name will get you some credit, until I can wire your funds to you. I don't get everywhere in the country, but my reputation does, and there won't be any trouble wiring you funds in a couple of days when and where you require them."

"My holdings are in 1st National Bank of Atlanta. I'm a land speculator and commodities broker. I've spent most of my time in the south, and Atlanta was what I considered my base of operation. Although, I went all over."

"You'll be happy to know, we own all 1st National Banks. This consolidation has taken place in the past year, and I can have you sign some papers, and we'll have your funds transferred to this bank. When you need funds, you'll wire me, and I'll send them along."

"I was expecting some complicated maneuvers that might take weeks, and from what you are saying, it will be easier than I thought. Dr. Jones thinks I need to get out of New York City right away. I must admit, since my last visit, the city has grown immense, and the smell of horseshit is one of the main features coming from the growth."

George Chuckled.

"It's a city on the move, John. Unfortunately, to move, you need horses. Twenty pounds of horse crap a day comes from each horse. Makes for one hell of a smelly city."

"Since my problem is with breathing, the smell doesn't help."

"About going west. I had cause to travel to St Louis by stagecoach a couple of years ago. I was meeting with the president of our branch there, and the ride nearly beat me to death. I wouldn't recommend traveling by stage to anyone, especially someone who isn't in tiptop condition, but as luck would have it, I have a surveyor who has been in town to review some lands he has completed surveys for."

"We are heavily into land speculation, and Phillip heads our western division's survey teams. He will be leaving for the west at the end of the week. I've spoken to him about you. I had the idea that we could make you a comfortable space in his wagon, and survey equipment doesn't take up a lot of room, you could ride in comfort and get safely to where you are going."

"Your surveyor knows of my condition?"

"Yes, you need to go west for your health and comfort is important," George said.

"He is willing to take me on? Why would a surveyor want to take on the likes of me to slow him down."

"You'll need to meet Phillip. When I say he's a surveyor, Phillip is far more than that. He surveys for us. He's a well respected wagon master, and in fact, he has some wagons he'll be taking west with him. He has knowledge of the west few people have. He specializes in getting settlers safely across. Phillip has a wide variety of talents."

"If you say so, George. I'll need to meet him. I've got to tell you, most people I meet are less than enjoyable to be around. I find far fewer I want to be around than people I like. Phillip might be your cup of tea, but until I meet him, let's say, he may not be mine."

"Understood, John. Nothing I'm telling you is written in stone, until you say it is. I'm here to serve you. Phillip is but one aspect of how I be of service to you. We both know, if I don't give you the red carpet treatment, Dr. Jones will have my old man hide me."

I laughed. I liked George.

"I don't want to get myself into a situation I can't get out of," I explained.

"You leave everything up to me. I can make whatever arrangements we agree on for you. It's what I do. Believe me when I say, you'll be glad Dr Jones sent you to me, John. I work for you and you always get the final say in any matter."

This was a far more expansive meeting than I'd thought it might be. My biggest worry was getting my funds positioned to make sure I had money once I started west.

"I'll need the name of your banker at 1st National, Atlanta, and give me some idea of the amount we're talking about transferring."

"I left Atlanta several weeks ago to come here. The amount I was quoted was around fifty and change. Most are liquid assets, because I speculate land, I keep a lot of cash to draw on, its no doubt a bit more than fifty with interest accumulating."

"Fifty?"

"Fifty thousand with some of it in investments Lincoln O'Henry put me in. He's my banker this week. They change often in Atlanta. It's a growing enterprise."

Barnaby coughed and squirmed. George looked at me closely as if he found something he hadn't seen before.

"Linc," George said with an uncomfortable sound in his voice.

"You know, Lincoln?"

"We've met. I don't know him. John, I've know a lot of land speculators. Most are older and more experienced than you. None of them have anywhere near the number you just quoted me. You are one hell of a land speculator."

"Lucky, I guess. I was often in the right place when choice parcels of land became available. I made a point of being the early bird, and I got lots of worms."

"You sure as hell did. I'll need to have you sign papers, and we can get busy having your assets moved here where I can get them to you once you start west."

"George, I'm fading. It hasn't been an easy morning. If you tell me more, I'll need you to repeat it at our next meeting. Maybe we can break off for now, and let me rest before we go further."

"Oh, John, how thoughtless of me. Of course, we'll go at your pace. Let me get you some coffee and a glass of water. I won't send you away without letting you regain your composure."

George stepped out on the landing and a minute later a woman was carrying a cup of coffee and a glass of water up the stairs.

"Barnaby. You are Barnaby?"

"Yes, Sir," Barnaby said, standing at attention.

"Step out on the landing and take the coffee and water."

"Yes, Sir," Barnaby said.

In a minute I was drinking a few sips of coffee and Barnaby sat next to me with the water for when I needed it. The coffee was refreshing but it didn't stifle my coughing, which I hoped I'd avoid until I got outside. I didn't want to make a scene in George's office.

The coughing wasn't as severe as at Dr. Jones office, but I spilled the coffee before Barnaby could take it from me.

George stood beside me as I was racked by the pain of it. Once the coughing subsided, I took some more coffee, and then I needed water. Each coughing fit took me to the edge of being disabled. Conducting business was becoming impossible.

"Barnaby, you will stay with Mr. Tanner?"

"Yes, Sir," Barnaby said, feeling the change in his pocket.

"This is what I want you to do. Go with him to his hotel. Make sure he has plenty of medication. What do you take, John."

"Laudanum," I said. "It helps. Sometimes it helps."

"You have plenty? Barnaby, if he needs laudanum, right across the street from his hotel is a store that will sell you all he requires. If there's a problem, tell the man that George Callahan sent you. He'll give you anything you ask for. Almost anything."

"Yes, Sir."

"John, I want you to eat. Send Barnaby for some soup, toasted bread and butter. You need to keep up your strength."

"I'll be fine, George," I said, wanting to get out of there.

With the coughing somewhat subdued, Barnaby helped me back down the stairs and back outside for more of the enriched air. He had me to my hotel in a few minutes, and I was lying down in my room shortly thereafter. It had been a taxing morning. We were in the middle of deciding my future when the present grabbed hold of me.

I felt like I was moving in the right direction, but I couldn't be sure I'd live to leave New York City. My future was in doubt.

I was to be back in George Callahan's office the next morning to sign papers to transfer my funds and get the ball rolling. My meeting with Phillip Dubois would come in a day or two, if I was up to it, and Barnaby agreed to carry papers back and forth if I wasn't well enough to go to the bank.

George thought of everything, and there was little to worry about, except I was dying, and I never knew if a coughing fit might be my last, but they always seemed to end with me still being alive if shaken by their intensity.

Having someone nearby made me feel better. If something went terribly wrong, Barnaby was there to get me help. I watched him when he wasn't watching me, and he looked young, a bit worn, and there was an unpleasant smell that accompanied him.

"Barnaby, we shall go to the clothier. You can't be in a hotel like this in clothes like that. Do you mind if I dress you properly?"

He had an inquiring look on his face as he looked at my face.

"No," he said, not being sure that was the proper answer.

We went out in the afternoon sun, once I was told where I could get proper clothes. As we went into the shop, Barnaby looked like he didn't want to be there.

I picked a shirt that went with his vivid blue eyes.

"Do you like this?" I asked, holding it up for him to look at.

"Yes, Sir," he said hesitantly. "It's pretty."

When I asked the man for a nice pair of brown slacks that would fit a too thin young man, he took a tape measure, ran it up from Barnaby's heel up between his legs, Barnaby's big blue eyes became much bigger as he studied the hand in his crotch.

"Twenty-nine. Waist, non existent. Do you eat, Son?" the proprietor asked.

"I eat fine," Barnaby advised him in no uncertain terms.

"Dress him here, and get rid of those awful things?"

"No, he needs a bath before I let him wear his new things."

When we got back to the hotel I made a suggestion that made Barnaby uneasy.

"Barnaby, I made arrangements for you to bathe in the hotel's bath," I told him.

"I had a bath before leaving Ireland," he said in the hopes of escaping this indignity.

"Yes, but I've bought you new things. A gentlemen must remain fresh at all times. You are with me now. A gentleman's man must be fresh."

"Yes, Sir," he said reluctantly.

He felt the coins in his pocket, realizing he'd need to agree to some irregularities if he wanted to stay employed, and he wanted to stay employed.

I walked him to where the tubs were and a neatly dressed Chinese man smiled and told me in plain English, "I'll see to him."

Barnaby watched me leaving him in someone else's hands. If he didn't bolt, he'd no longer have that annoying smell around him.

After an hour, which I spent reading the newspaper left at my door that morning, I began to worry about Barnaby. I was sure it had been more than an hour, and by the way he reacted to the idea of a bath, I didn't think he'd be long.

I opened the door to the bathing room, when no one was around to advise me of the proper procedure for seeing if a young man might have drowned or fallen asleep in one of the tubs.

With his back to me and hat on his head, Barnaby was luxuriating in a tub full of hot water and suds that billowed up around him. What I saw and didn't approve of, he had a cigar in his mouth as he hummed his way through his bath.

"Barnaby," I said, moving so he could see me.

"Yes, Sir," he said, standing up at attention.

The offending cigar dropped from his lips into the suds. He had his hat off and in his hand.

I'd have laughed if I wasn't trying to discipline the lad.

"Sit down, Barnaby," I said.

"Yes, Sir. I'm sorry," he said mournfully.

He fished the now drowned cigar out of his bathwater.

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for whatever I did that made you angry."

"Barnaby, you didn't do anything. Did you know that smoking will stunt your growth?"

"No, Sir. I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry about. You won't smoke any longer, will you."

"Ah, I'll try not to," he said, wrestling with the idea.

Seeing how really thin he was, and I could count his ribs, I realized we'd been together all day. I wasn't hungry because I was sick, and he said nothing when I ate toast and drank tea.

"Have you eaten today, Barnaby?"

"Oh, yes, Sir. I had a potato at the freight yards this morning. I like the carrots better, but it was potatoes this morning," he said.

"A potato?"

"Yes, Sir. When one of us gets money, he buys potatoes or carrots for everyone. Potatoes this morning. They let the hobos sleep there at night."

"Are you a hobo, Barnaby."

"No, I'm Irish."

I wanted to laugh again, but then it struck me as sad. He'd eaten a potato and I'd had tea and toast in front of him and never wondered if he might be hungry.

"You can't live on potatoes and carrots, Barnaby."

"Oh, yes. It's quite good when you're hungry."

"That's all you eat?"

"Oh, no, the baker gives me a stale roll from time to time. A woman at the restaurant next door will give me broth to dip the stale roll in. Some days the broth has pieces of meat in it. Those are the days when it's best."

"I'm sure but something more substantial might not hurt," I said, considering his words.

That potato must be wearing off by this time. When you're through here, I'll send down for supper," I told him.

"Yes, Sir."

I needed a bath and fresh clothes and I didn't have the energy to do anything about it. When Barnaby came in from his bath, I had him put on his new clothes and sent him down to order supper delivered to the room.

"Barnaby, I want you to take this down to the restaurant," I said, handing him a five dollar bill. "Tell them I want two of tonight's main dishes with all the trimmings. I want it delivered to the room. Can you do that for me?"

Barnaby's big blue eyes got very big again.

"Is this real?" he asked, holding it up to the light.

"If it isn't, we can expect a visit from the sheriff. You take it down and give it to the waiter. He'll make sure I get the food. Tell him the extra is his tip"

"You going to eat all that food?"

"We're going to eat it. That reminds me, I want a glass of beer with mine, and get a glass of milk to go with yours."

"Do they have milk here?" Barnaby asked surprised.

"They'll tell you if they don't. I suppose they have milk. With all the cow shit on the street, I hope some of them give up some milk. Terrible waste if they don't."

Barnaby laughed.

He smartly left that terrible looking hat in the chair he'd taken his clothes from. He cleaned up like a schoolboy. What was a boy his age doing fending for himself?

"You sleep in the freightyard, Barnaby?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Go down and ask for bedding you can use on the settee. I don't want you to get too far. I might need you. Can you do that for me?"

"You want me to sleep in your room?" he asked surprised.

"The sitting room is plenty large enough for you to get some sleep. It's not as big as all outdoors, but you'll need to rough it on the settee."

"Yes, Sir," he said.

It was meatloaf, mashed potatoes, something that looked like string beans, and they did have milk. I wasn't hungry, but I'd seen Barnaby's ribs. That wasn't a site I wanted to see again. I went about doing my best to hide those ribs while I was in town.

"How old are you, Barnaby," I asked as he cleaned up my plate by mopping bread on the ample amount of gravy.

"Sixteen," he said proudly.

"Barnaby, you and I will do a lot better if you don't lie to me. I've seen your body. You don't have a hair on you. You aren't sixteen."

"Fourteen," he said. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. If you want me to mind my own business, tell me that. Don't lie to me. People think less of you if you lie to them. You are a big help to me. There's no sorry involved in that."

"No, Sir," he said, looking like a whipped puppy.

"Where are your parents?"

"Ireland."

"What do they do."

"Farm. We have a farm. Nothing grows. We were starving. I went to the docks, got a job on a ship that would take me. I worked my way across. America, no place like it in the world."

"A potato for breakfast. No place like it?"

"Beats nothing," he told me.

I'd never missed a meal. We were poor. We didn't have much, but we always had food. When I turned sixteen, I went off to make my fortune.

Both my mother and father died the year I turned twenty. Dr. Jones sent a message to general delivery Atlanta, Georgia. My mother died in September. My father died in October. They had consumption.

Once I left home, I never saw my parents again.

I'd made a lot of money. I planned to live later, after I had enough money. I'd be rich and I could do anything I wanted. Now, I wanted to live. I wish I hadn't spent so much time making money. There would be no time left for me to live now.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm
@yahoo.com

On to Chapter Three
"Phillip Dubois"

Back to Chapter One
"John Tanner"

Chapter Index
Going Home Main Page

Rick Beck Home Page