David Lannarck, Midget

G >> George S. Harney >> David Lannarck, Midget

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More than eighteen months ago, while his regiment was resting after an
effective foray against the enemy in the vicinity of Lyons, he
received a letter informing him of the death of his father and
indicating that a telegram had been sent. He never received the
telegram, and judging by a lack of replies to his letters, he doubted
that one had been sent.

Now he was an orphan. In letters from friends he learned that his
elder brother, Carson, was in charge of the family bank at Bransford,
a suburb of Chicago, and that he was connected with active interests
in that city. He learned, too, that Carson now lived in the ancient
but beautiful home formerly occupied by his parents. What about the
boys and girls with whom he was associated in school days? Was Loretta
Young married? Was the strong little bank, the pride of two
generations, still rendering the service that had made it famous? And
what of the other family assets? This returning soldier was deeply
involved in the complications that come to all veterans who are
hastily transferred back to civilian duties and are to encounter the
radical changes that have been made to maintain a vast fighting force
in distant lands.

However, Shirley Wells noted little difference in conditions in the
cities of Washington and Chicago as he hastened homeward. Buildings
and streets appeared about as usual but the general populace appeared
indifferent and unconcerned. Unemployment prevailed, but he seemed to
contact more women in business places than he did in former days.

At Chicago he transferred to the morning local for Bransford. He was
disappointed that he found no old-time acquaintances among those who
were bound for the suburbs. The first person to recognize him was the
station agent at Bransford and his greeting was casual as he trundled
the truck of empty milk cans to the far end of the platform. "Maybe
these London tweeds are taboo in this central zone," he grumbled as he
made his way up the shaded street to the business district.

At the bank, he planned to walk right up to the receiver's window and
ask old Powell if this was Tellson's bank and was Mr. Tellson in? As a
schoolboy he had often kidded the aged cashier as to the close
resemblance of these quarters to the little, gloomy, narrow affair
described by author Dickens as being located at Temple Bar in the city
of London. But the aged cashier's place was occupied by an alert young
man who asked to be of service and Shirley could only inquire if
Carson was in.

The aged woman working at a filing cabinet turned quickly when she
heard the voice of the inquirer. She walked to the counter to get a
better view. "Why, it's Shirley!" she cried as she ran out in the
corridor. "It's Shirley!--twice as big!" She made ineffective attempts
to hug and caress the big man, who laughingly lifted her up to plant a
kiss on either cheek. "That's the first--and best--welcome I've had
since I landed in America, Aunt Carrie," said he. "Now I feel that I
am home."

Carson Wells came from the little private room at the rear. The
greetings of the brothers were not so effusive. Shirley was invited to
the private room by his brother.

"I want to loaf around for a week or two," the veteran explained. "I
want to hunt up a few old friends and hear 'em detail the awful
experiences they suffered during the war. If you can find me a
temporary hangout where I can store some keepsakes while I get myself
oriented, it will be quite all right."

"The housing situation is a little tight just now," said Carson, "but
we should be able to find quarters somewhere. The Grand Union is badly
congested of weekends and rooming houses are full up. I live in the
three west rooms of our old home and Mr. Breen and his family occupy
the rest. However, there's plenty of room at the farmhouse, and Davis,
the tenant, certainly needs a lot of personal supervision, the way
things have been going lately. At times I have felt that I should
share the big house at the farm but my wife protests--"

"Are you married?" interrupted Shirley. "And who is the fortunate
lady?"

"Why, sure I'm married. Didn't you get our announcement? I married
Loretta Young a year ago last April."

Shirley Wells occupied quarters at the family farmhome for nearly four
years. In the first few weeks he drove an ancient model back and forth
to the little city to renew acquaintances. The American Legion,
quartered in a small room over a meat market, was one of his hangouts.
Here, two or three of the unimportant members were in constant
attendance quibbling and complaining that the general public did not
plan and build for their uses the ornate structure they had in mind.
For a week or two he frequented the local movies, but compared with
past experiences he failed to find the production up to the
announcements that the portrayals were stupendous and thrilling.
Social affairs in the community seemed confined to "groups." Luncheon
clubs, such as Rotary, Kiwanis, and Lions seemed to dominate
commercial activities while the Dramatic Club and P.T.A. organizations
took care of other community gatherings.

But to Shirley Wells, the one big change from old-time conditions was
in the liquor business. The saloons that flourished in the days before
his enlistment were not now operating. Of the seven places where
liquor was sold only one maintained a resemblance to former
conditions. Dinty O'Neal's place, across the tracks, appeared about as
disreputable as it was in former days. Some of the young sports
laughingly insisted that Dinty's home-brew was in a fair way of making
the city famous.

Two of the uptown places continued to operate a few pool tables and
sell soft drinks. One room, formerly occupied by a saloon, was now the
office of a trucking company with headquarters in Chicago. Shirley was
later to learn that young Anzio, the new bank employee, was a nephew
of the manager of the trucking company.

Shirley gave little attention to the affairs at the bank. Carson
seemed unwilling to share the responsibilities of a business that was
severely affected by the growing depression. As a youngster Shirley
knew much of the details of the business but he realized that he had
no present-day knowledge of credits and loans. He made no effort to
intrude.

Knowing that he must rely on his own efforts to earn a living, Shirley
secured desk-room in the elaborate offices of Fred Townsend, a
personal friend and a leading lawyer in the community. Here he acted
as a receiver in several complicated cases and was often busy in
securing evidence. This employment occupied much of his time and gave
opportunity to note the trend in community affairs.

Meanwhile, Carson found a customer for the family farm. "The Model
Trucking Company wants the place for storage," he explained, "and they
are the only concern on our books that has a growing account." Shirley
moved into town to an apartment over the Banner office.

Indeed, the trucking company was an active concern. Trucks grew in
number. Night shipping was a principal activity. Local "night hawks"
were to learn that coal and corn composed most of the incoming loads,
and the finished product went to Chicago. Local distributors were
supplied only from that central city.

As is usually the case, revulsion follows negligence. Now sober-minded
but financially distressed citizens would correct the prevailing evil.
The eighteenth amendment must be repealed. The people of the nation
were voting to undo what had been done.

Locally, Reverend James Branch of the Fourth Avenue Church called a
meeting of ministers and church officials to discuss the probable loss
of the amendment that was to have been the cure for liquor evils. The
call to the meeting was announced in the local newspapers.

Shirley Wells had not been specifically invited to the conference. He
was curious to learn, however, if there was a cure for this festering
ailment that afflicted the nation other than the repeal of the
amendment. He quietly took a back seat at the small but select
gathering in the church parlors to listen to the protests and
complaints. And there was little else in the several talks--protests
against the lack of law enforcement; complaints that Chicago gangsters
were broadening their sphere of activity to include adjacent cities
and suburbs in the distribution and sale of raw alcohol and needled
beer. In these discussions no speaker offered a solution to the
problem.

The Reverend Branch presided. Following the several talks he
recognized Shirley Wells and in an elaborate introduction, reciting
his war service, he asked Shirley if he had a solution for the problem
now under discussion.

"I came here seeking information," said Shirley quietly. "I surely
must be the most ignorant one present. I wasn't in the States when the
amendment was passed and have had limited opportunity to note the
effects. It is apparent, however, that there is something wrong,
radically wrong, with the whole population--both the criminal and the
law-abiding."

"Why! what's wrong with the better element?" demanded the chairman
quickly. "It was the law-abiding citizen that planned and urged and
voted for the eighteenth amendment to the Constitution. Our planning
and work was effective. And now, they would nullify our past labors."

"And then, what did you do?" demanded Shirley as he rose to his feet
to emphasize what was to follow. "You, figuratively, folded fat hands
across pudgy stomachs and left the enforcement of your edict to the
officers who were friends of the bootleggers. Your failure to act
causes this repeal."

"Is it your idea that the better element of a community must quit
their business to take up the matter of law enforcement?" the chairman
asked in scornful tones.

"It's my idea," retorted Shirley as he advanced from the rear to the
center of the gathered group, "it's my idea that anyone who launches a
new, untried craft in unexplored waters had better stay at the helm
instead of leaving the management of the boat to those who deride the
plan. It wouldn't have taken much of your time, Doctor Branch, to have
organized an enforcement committee to assist the policeman who was a
friendly acquaintance of the former liquor man, who has now turned
bootlegger. Policemen are selected because of their acquaintance with
the underworld and they are very human. Void of any contacts with the
better element of the community, they allow their friends to run wild
in lawlessness until the affair gets beyond control. That's what
happened in Bransford; that's what happened everywhere. Lawless greed
flourishes in the atmosphere of negligence.

"But I didn't come here to quarrel with the better element of my home
town," concluded Shirley as he reached for his hat. "I had hoped that
you had a solution, a plan, to meet the oncoming conditions. Just now
the States are voting to repeal the amendment. It seems certain that
it will be repealed and within the next year or two, the old saloon
will be functioning as in former days. It will pay a tax to the
government on the product sold, it will pay a tax to the city, it will
furnish a bond to operate legally and at stated hours, and its return
will be welcomed by many. But remember that the greedy and grasping
back of it all will overdo, as always, and the amendment will be
re-enacted. This time, if it has the support of a well-organized
enforcement committee, it will function despite the efforts of the
greedy."

19

The Bransford Morning Herald contained no account of the meeting at
the Fourth Avenue Church. News of the rebuff as administered to the
better element by a rank outsider was slow in gaining circulation. But
the incident was not wholly suppressed. Judge Parker, who had been
present, chuckled the incident to a few friends; Holstroff, the
merchant, recited the details to a few customers as they discussed the
probable outcome of the state elections now being held; and Joe
Dansford, the church janitor, told the incident of how the meeting
ended in a general row, without the formality of a motion to adjourn.
Lacking a correct account, the general public of the little city
elaborated the story to include fisticuffs and swear words.

Carson Wells, of the Wells National, heard the story and was much
concerned. It affected his leading customer. Just now, banks were
closing in increasing numbers, local factories were shut down,
retailing limited to bare necessities, and only one concern in the
community earned money. Carson, as well as the managers of the Model
Trucking Company, realized that in the event of the repeal of the
amendment, ruin was inevitable. It was Carson's problem to stop such
publicity. Shirley must be silenced. He was found at the public
library and was invited to come to the bank after three o'clock.

"That vindictive speech you made at the church meeting is proving very
costly," said Carson as the brothers seated themselves in the little
consultation room in the rear of the bank. "It affects your own
personal affairs, and seeks to wreck the only concern in the city that
is functioning and making money. Your interest in this bank demands a
retraction of what you said at that meeting."

"Why, I didn't know I had an interest in this bank," said Shirley in
even tones. "In the years past, I have been shunted around from pillar
to post, living on the few small fees received from receiverships and
bankruptcy petitions. And I didn't think that I had banking interests.
I certainly am an object of personal negligence, but hereafter the
matter will have my attention."

Carson was nonplused at both the answer and attitude. He had planned
his remarks, however, and he proceeded along prepared lines.

"Your remarks at that meeting were uncalled for. Your insistence
created enemies. No one at the meeting was in favor of repealing the
amendment and restoring the unwanted saloon. Yours was the attitude of
the drinking ne'er-do-wells of the underworld. Two of those present at
that meeting have withdrawn their account, others will do the same.
You were simply undermining your own foundations."

"And just what sort of a structure stands on my foundations?" drawled
Shirley. "I am a sort of a misfit in the community structure. I do not
live in my family home, am not employed in my family bank, was moved
away from my family's farm, have never been consulted on business or
social affairs since my parents died. Really, I have no foundations
that could be undermined."

Carson's face reddened as he listened to the truth. He walked to the
water-cooler, took a drink, and returned to his seat. "In some things
you are right," he confessed. "When you came home from France, I hoped
you would seek a professional career--would turn to politics and make
a name for yourself and the family. It seemed my business to work hard
and aid in building that career, but you didn't go the way I hoped."

"Just what aid did you render in building such a career? It takes
money to acquire a profession. How much did you contribute?"

Again Carson was unable to make a specific answer to the cutting,
personal questions. He cleared his throat. "I didn't make any
contributions. I wasn't asked. I was...."

"Do you have to ask for your own property, in this day and age?"
demanded Shirley. "When Father died, I was an heir to one half of what
he possessed: home, farm, bank, bonds, and money on hand. Very
properly, in the absence of the other heir, you took charge of the
property and managed the business. But on the return of the other heir
you made no accounting. In fact, you resented his interest in anything
connected with the business."

"When you returned from the war," said Carson, "we were approaching a
depression that grew to disastrous proportions. Banks are the first to
feel such a calamity. My whole time has been devoted to
curtailment--to restricting loans and seeking deposits. Truly, we
haven't earned a cent since the war ended."

"So that's the reason you bought the fancy, high-priced limousine and
gave several parties at the country club! That's the reason why you
maintain those luxurious quarters in Chicago! You were wanting to show
the public that...."

"Never mind what I was doing," interrupted Carson angrily. "It's what
you have done that is the matter under discussion, and we are getting
nowhere. We might as well adjourn."

"Not yet," demanded Shirley hastily. "Keep your seat. The show has now
reached the second act. Let's sit it out." It was Shirley who stood up
as Carson resumed his seat.

"Our family was always reticent. We avoided publicity; didn't want
Mister John Q. to know about our affairs. You surely remember how
reluctant our father was when it was found that his private bank must
be nationalized. One little share was issued to Aunt Carrie, one to
John Powell, his old, trusted employee, and he held the rest. He
didn't want the public to know about his private affairs.

"I think I inherited most of his secretive qualities," Shirley
continued. "I listened to a lot of rumors and then I began to
investigate. My findings lead to but one conclusion: you allied
yourself with gangsters in the hope of participating in their enormous
gains only to find that you are the biggest sucker on their list."

"I didn't favor anybody," said Carson hotly. "Our relations were
simply that of banker and customer."

"And to maintain cordial relations you deeded to them a fine but
isolated farm where, uninterrupted, they could produce 'rotgut' to
supply the entire Chicago area. Have you been out there lately? Father
used to call it Forest Home. The Hereford cattle that he reared topped
the market. It's different now. The gates are locked. A thug stands
out in the roadway to divert traffic. In the night, truckloads of corn
and coal arrive to produce the 'hell-fire' that is bottled, labeled,
and distributed over the district."

In the midst of this recital Carson dropped his head down on his arms,
folded on the table.

"I don't know a thing about the conditions here at the bank," Shirley
continued in softer tones, "but there are public records that tell an
incriminating story. The records at the courthouse show a mortgage to
the Reliable Insurance Company on our home here in the city. My
signature on such a mortgage was forged. I didn't know about this
until I was forced into this investigation. You, and your bank, must
have needed money very badly and you committed forgery to get it.
Based on this fact alone, one has a right to believe that you are
fooling the busy bank examiners with forged securities. It's just a
question as to what hour you will be uncovered and convicted."

Carson still reclined his head on folded arms. Shirley was preparing
to leave. "We are broke, Carson. I haven't a dime and you have less.
But I am not going to stay in Bransford and be a party to your
downfall. My word alone would prove your guilt. I don't know where I
am going, but I intend hiding out until this thing blows over. But
before I go, Carson, I want an interview with your criminal friends to
tell 'em what a set of dirty, crooks they are."

Late in the afternoon, as Shirley was busy in clearing his desk of
unneeded papers, his friend Townsend dropped in to confer on some
pending matters.

"I am sorry, Fred, to tell you I am leaving," said Shirley as he
closed the desk. "I don't know where I am going and I don't want the
public to know where I am located. If you have the time, I would like
to tell you the cause of it all and put you wise to some incidents
that seem sure to happen."

"I think you are going to confirm some suspicions I had formed in
connection with the Larwell estate. The account at the Wells Bank
didn't conform to the little credit slips as issued."

"You are on the right road, oldtimer," said Shirley, and he proceeded
to relate what was said in his recent conference with Carson. He cited
the incident of the forged deed and detailed conditions at the farm.
"The Wells National is not only broke," he added, "but Carson is
involved in several criminal activities. I don't want to be present
when the crash comes; I don't want my evidence to convict him. I am
going to hide out where a summons-server cannot find me."

"Maybe you are right," said Townsend thoughtfully, "but there are some
things you should do before you leave. The crash will come, no doubt;
Carson's share of the estate will be charged with his criminal
actions; yours is not involved. Before you go, you should give to
someone a full power of attorney to take care of your interests. In
the midst of juggled accounts and forgeries, there may be something
left, and anyhow, the receivership cannot be closed without your
consent."

"You are right, as always, Fred, and you are the very person to have
that power. Let's get it done right away. I have another thing on hand
that must be taken care of after supper."

"When are you leaving, and have you enough money to get you out of
town?" asked Townsend as the two returned from across the hall where
the instrument had been notarized.

"I think I will leave tonight. The bubble may not burst for a while. I
want the public to become accustomed to my absence. As for money, when
I pay for my supper, I may have as much as forty cents left."

"You are braver than I thought and as stubborn as I suspected," said
Townsend as he searched his pocketbook. "Here's a twenty. That may get
you across the river and on your way. You will make your way all
right, but if your case becomes desperate draw on me under the name
A.Z., and I will understand. Your financial affairs are in desperate
condition but the case is not hopeless. You are young and healthy but
you lack a definite plan of life. If someone will throw you a line
while you are floundering in this slough you will come out all right.
Now what's this thing you are to do after the evening meal?"

"I've made a phone date to tell Anzio and his set of crooks what a
rotten set of gangsters they are. It won't take me long to tell 'em
and then I am ready to leave."

"You might not be able to make a get-away from those mobsters. Taking
an enemy for a final 'ride' is one of their favorite pastimes. And
anyhow, you can't tell 'em anything that they don't already know. You
have no right to do such an uncalled for thing."

"Oh, yes I have," said Shirley as he took his hat preparing to leave.
"My visit might precipitate an incident. Anyhow, I'm on my way."

Shirley left the office. Townsend went to the telephone in the front
room.

20

Shirley had delayed his evening meal to fit his appointment at the
Model Trucking Company. Near eight o'clock he crossed the street to go
up the alley to Cherry Street. At the crossing of the dark alley he
encountered a policeman and was greeted casually by that officer. In
front of the lighted office he accosted another officer, standing in a
darkened area near a car parked in front. "Maybe this is a warning,"
he thought, as he stepped into the well-lighted office.

He was greeted cordially by Anzio and was introduced to the two others
present. "This is Don Carlin, our custodian here, and this is Jan
Damino, our most trusted employee." Carlin was a slight young man, but
his companion differed much in size and considerably in age. Damino,
aging to baldness, was a commanding figure. Thick-chested, with arms
and legs of considerable size, his seamed face revealed a ragged scar
from temple to chin. Both nodded acknowledgment of the introduction
and Carlin brought a chair for the visitor.

"I'm glad you've come," said Anzio in pleasing tones. "Your brother
reports that you have been badly informed as to what this company is
doing. We want to correct any such wrong ideas."

"No one has given me any information about you," said Shirley
scornfully. "I was out to the old farm and saw with my own eyes just
what's going on."

"Ah! You paid us a visit and we didn't know it. Somebody has been
negligent."

"That's right! Your carefully guarded distillery had a visitor. I used
to live out there. Knowing about your locked gates and posted guard, I
went on the farm from the rear. I edged up to see your still in
operation in the old shed. I saw your bottling plant in the big barn.
It recalls the old adage: 'You can't fool all the people all the
time.'"

Anzio's face clouded as he planned a reply. "You didn't go in close
enough to see what was being bottled and labeled? You are willing to
spread a false report without having the facts?

"What you glimpsed in your casual snooping was the details of the one
business in this community that is prospering. Out in your family's
old farm, Doctor David Allen, formerly of St. Louis, is preparing,
mixing, bottling, and labeling 'Allen's Stomach Bitters' that has been
famous in the South and Southwest for many years. He is now pushing
sales in the North and East. Because of its vegetable content, just a
small amount of alcohol is a part of the mixture.

"You saw only the sidelines in your snooping and you are putting out a
lot of misinformation," concluded Anzio, "and to set you right, I have
arranged for our trusted employee, Damino, to take you out there and
show you the whole works. The night shift is on and I want 'em to show
you every detail of the business."

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