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Title: The Hard-boiled Egg
Author: Ellis Parker Butler
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Language:  English
Date first posted: March 2007
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Title: The Hard-boiled Egg
Author: Ellis Parker Butler

Walking close along the wall, to avoid the creaking floor boards, Philo
Gubb, paper-hanger and student of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's
Correspondence School of Detecting, tiptoed to the door of the bedroom he
shared with the mysterious Mr Critz. In appearance Mr Gubb was tall and
gaunt, reminding one of a modern Don Quixote or a human flamingo; by
nature Mr Gubb was the gentlest and most simple-minded of men. Now,
bending his long, angular body almost double, he placed his eye to a
crack in the door panel and stared into the room. Within, just out of the
limited area of Mr Gubb's vision, Roscoe Critz paused in his work and
listened carefully. He heard the sharp whistle of Mr Gubb's breath as it
cut against the sharp edge of the crack in the panel, and he knew he was
being spied upon. He placed his chubby hands on his knees and smiled at
the door, while a red flush of triumph spread over his face.

Through the crack in the door Mr Gubb could see the top of the washstand
beside which Mr Critz was sitting, but he could not see Mr Critz. As he
stared, however, he saw a plump hand appear and pick up, one by one, the
articles lying on the washstand. They were:

First, seven or eight half shells of English walnuts; second, a rubber
shoe heel out of which a piece had been cut; third, a small rubber ball
no larger than a pea; fourth, a paper-bound book; and lastly, a large and
glittering brick of yellow gold. As the hand withdrew the golden brick,
Mr Gubb pressed his face closer against the door in his effort to see
more, and suddenly the door flew open and Mr Gubb sprawled on his hands
and knees on the worn carpet of the bedroom.

"There, now!" said Mr Critz. "There, now! Serves you right. Hope you hurt

Mr Gubb arose slowly, like a giraffe, and brushed his knees.

"Why?" he asked.

"Snoopin' an' sneakin' like that!" said Mr Critz crossly. "Scarin' me to
fits, a'most. How'd I know who 't was? If you want to come in, why don't
you come right in, 'stead of snoopin' an' sneakin' an' fallin' in that

As he talked, Mr Critz replaced the shells and the rubber heel and the
rubber pea and the gold-brick on the washstand. He was a plump little man
with a shiny bald head and a white goatee. As he talked, he bent his head
down, so that he might look above the glasses of his spectacles; and in
spite of his pretended anger he looked like nothing so much as a kindly,
benevolent old gentleman--the sort of old gentleman that keeps a small
store in a small village and sells writing-paper that smells of soap, and
candy sticks out of a glass jar with a glass cover.

"How'd I know but what you was a detective?" he asked, in a gentler tone.

"I am," said Mr Gubb soberly, seating himself on one of the two beds.
"I'm putty near a deteckative, as you might say."

"Ding it all!" said Mr Critz. "Now I got to go and hunt another room. I
can't room with no detective."

"Well, now, Mr Critz," said Mr Gubb, "I don't want you should feel that

"Knowin' you are a detective makes me all neryous," complained Mr Critz;
"and a man in my business has to have a steady hand, don't he?"

"You ain't told me what your business is," said Mr Gubb.

"You needn't pretend you don't know," said Mr Critz. "Any detective that
saw that stuff on the washstand would know."

"Well, of course," said Mr Gubb, "I ain't a full deteckative yet. You
can't look for me to guess things as quick as a full deteckative would.
Of course that brick son of looks like a gold-brick--"

"It is a gold--brick," said Mr Critz.

"Yes," said Mr Gubb. "But--I don't mean no offence, Mr Critz--from the
way you look--I sort of thought--well, that it was a gold-brick you'd

Mr Critz turned very red.

"Well, what if I did buy it?" he said. "That ain't any reason I can't
sell it, is it? Just because a man buys eggs once--or twice--ain't any
reason he shouldn't go into the business of egg-selling, is it? Just
because I've bought one or two gold-bricks in my day ain't any reason I
shouldn't go to sellin' 'em, is it?"

Mr Gubb stared at Mr Critz with unconcealed surprise. "You ain't--you
ain't a con' man, are you, Mr Critz?" he asked.

"If I ain't yet, that's no sign I ain't goin' to be," said Mr Critz
firmly. "One man has as good a right to try his hand at it as another,
especially when a man has had my experience in it. Mr Gubb, there ain't
hardly a con' game I ain't been conned with. I been confidenced long
enough; from now on I'm goin' to confidence other folks. That's what I'm
goin' to do; and I won't be bothered by no detective livin' in the same
room with me. Detectives and con' men don't mix noways! No, sir!"

"Well, sir," said Mr Gubb, "I can see the sense of that. But you don't
need to move right away. I don't aim to start in deteckating in earnest
for a couple of months yet. I got a couple of jobs of paper-hanging and
decorating to finish up, and I can't start in sleuthing until I get my
star, anyway. And I don't get my star until I get one more lesson, and
learn it, and send in the examination paper, and five dollars extra for
the diploma. Then I'm goin'at it as a reg'lar business. It's a good
business. Every day there's more crooks--excuse me, I didn't mean to say

"That's all right," said Mr Critz kindly. "Call a spade a spade. If I
ain't a crook yet, I hope to be soon."

"I didn't know how you'd feel about it," explained Mr Gubb-"Tactfulness
is strongly advised into the lessons of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency
Correspondence School of Dcteckating--"

"Slocum, Ohio?" asked Mr Critz quickly. "You didn't see the ad. in the
'Hearthstone and Farmside,' did you?"

"Yes, Slocum, Ohio," said Mr Gubb, "and that is the paper I saw the ad.
into; 'Big Money in Deteckating. Be a Sleuth. We can make you the equal
of Sherlock Holmes in twelve lessons.' Why?"

"Well, sir," said Mr Critz, "that's funny. That ad. was right atop of the
one I saw, and I studied quite considerable before I could make up my
mind whether 'twould be best for me to be a detective and go out and get
square with the fellers that sold me gold-bricks and things by putting
them in jail, or to even things up by sending for this book that was
advertised right under the 'Rising Sun Correspondence School.' How come I
settled to do as I done was that I had a sort of stock to start with,
with a fust-class gold-brick, and some green goods I'd bought; and this
book only cost a quatter of a dollar. And she's a hummer for a quatter of
a dollar! A hummer!"

He pulled the paper-covered book from his pocket and handed it to Mr
Gubb. The title of the book was "The Complete Con' Man, by the King of
the Grafters. Price 25 cents."

"That there book," said Mr Critz proudly, as if he himself had written
it, "tells everything a man need to know to work every con' game there
is. Once I get it by heart, I won't be afraid to try any of them. Of
course, I got to start in small. I can't hope to pull off a wire-tapping
game right at the start, because that has to have a gang. You don't know
anybody you could recommend for a gang, do you?"

"Not right offhand," said Mr Gubb thoughtfully.

"If you wasn't goin' into the detective business," said Mr Critz, "you'd
be just the feller for me. You look sort of honest and not as if you was
too bright, and that counts a lot. Even in this here simple little shell
game I got to have a podner. I got to have a podner I can trust, so I can
let him look like he was winnin' money off of me. You see," he explained,
moving to the washstand, "this shell game is easy enough when you know
how. I put three shells down like this, on a stand, and I put the little
rubber pea on the stand, and then I take up the three shells like this,
two in one hand and one in the other, and I wave 'em around over the pea,
and maybe push the pea around a little, and I say, 'Come on! Come on! The
hand is quicker than the eye!' And all of a suddent I put the shells
down, and you think the pea is under one of them, like that--"

"I don't think the pea is under one of 'em," said Mr Gubb. "I seen it
roll onto the floor."

"It did roll onto the floor that time," said Mr Critz apologetically. It
most generally does for me, yet. I ain't got it down to perfection yet.
This is the way it ought to work--oh, pshaw! there she goes onto the
floor again! Went under the bed that time. Here she is! Now, the way she
ought to work is--there she goes again!"

"You got to practice that game a lot before you try it onto folks in
public, Mr Critz," said Mr Gubb seriously.

"Don't I know that?" said Mr Critz rather impatiently. "Same as you've
got to practice snoopin', Mr Gubb. Maybe you thought I didn't know you
was snoopin' after me wherever I went last night."

"Did you?" asked Mr Gubb, with surprise plainly written on his face.

"I seen you every moment from nine p.m. till eleven!" said Mr Critz. "I
didn't like it, neither."

"I didn't think to annoy you," apologized Mr Gubb. "I was practicin'
Lesson Four. You wasn't supposed to know I was there at all."

"Well, I don't like it," said Mr Critz. "'Twas all right last night, for
I didn't have nothin' important on hand, but if I'd been workin' up a
con' game, the feller I was after would have thought it mighty strange to
see a man follerin' me everywhere like that. If you went about it quiet
and unobtrusive, I wouldn't mind; but if I'd had a customer on hand and
he'd seen you it would make him neryous. He'd think there was a--a crazy
man follerin' us."

"I was just practicin'," apologized Mr Gubb. "It won't be so bad when I
get the hang of it. We all got to be beginners sometime."

"I guess so," said Mr Critz, rearranging the shells and the little rubber
pea. "Well, I put the pea down like this, and I dare you to bet which
shell she's goin' to be under, and you don't bet, see? So I put the
shells down, and you're willin' to bet you see me put the first shell
over the pea like this. So you keep your eye on that shell, and I move
the shells around like this--"

"She's under the same shell," said Mr Gubb.

"Well, yes, she is," said Mr Critz placidly, "but she hadn't ought to be.
By rights she ought to sort of ooze out from under whilst I'm movin' the
shells around, and I'd ought to sort of catch her in between my fingers
and hold her there so you don't see her. Then when you say which shell
she's under, she ain't under any shell; she's between my fingers. So when
you put down your money I tell you to pick up that shell and there ain't
anything under it. And before you can pick up the other shells I pick one
up, and let the pea fall on the stand like it had been under that shell
all the time. That's the game, only up to now I ain't got the hang of it.
She won't ooze out from under, and she won't stick between my fingers,
and when she does stick, she won't drop at the right time."

"Except for that, you've got her all right, have you?" asked Mr Gubb.

"Except for that," said Mr Critz; "and I'd have that, only my fingers are

"What was it you thought of having me do if I wasn't a deteckative?"
asked Mr Gubb.

"The work you'd have to do would he capping work," said Mr Critz.
"Capper--that's the professional name for it. You'd guess which shell the
ball was under--"

"That would be easy, the way you do it now," said Mr Gubb.

"I told you I'd got to learn it better, didn't I?" asked Mr Critz
impatiently. "You'd be capper, and you'd guess which shell the pea was
under. No matter which you guessed, I'd leave it under that one, so'd
you'd win, and you'd win ten dollars every time you bet--but not for
keeps. That's why I've got to have an honest capper."

"I can see that," said Mr Gubb; "but what's the use lettin' me win t if
I've got to bring it back?"

"That starts the boobs bettin'," said Mr Critz. "The boobs see how you
look to be winnin', and they want to win too. But they don't. When they
bet, I win."

"That ain't a square game," said Mr Gubb seriously, "is it?"

"A crook ain't expected to be square," said Mr Critz. "It stands to
reason, if a crook wants to be a crook, he's got to be crooked, ain't

"Yes, of course," said Mr Gubb. "I hadn't looked at it that way."

"As far as I can see," said Mr Critz, "the more I know how a detective
acts, the better off I'll be when I start in doin' real business. Ain't
that so? I guess, till I get the hang of things better, I'll stay right

"I'm glad to hear you say so, Mr Critz," said Mr Gubb with relief. "I
like you, and I like your looks, and there's no tellin' who I might get
for a roommate next time. I might get some one that wasn't onest."

So it was agreed, and Mr Critz stood over the washstand and manipulated
the little rubber pea and the three shells, while Mr Gubb sat on the edge
of the bed and studied Lesson Eleven of the "Rising Sun Detective
Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting."

When, presently, Mr Critz learned to work the little pea neatly, he urged
Mr Gubb to take the part of capper, and each time Mr Gubb won he gave him
a five-dollar bill. Then Mr Gubb posed as a "boob" and Mr Critz won all
the money back again, beaming over his spectacle rims, and chuckling
again and again until he burst into a fit of coughing that made him red
in the face, and did not cease until he had taken a big drink of water
out of the wash-pitcher. Never had he seemed more like a kindly old
gentleman from behind the candy counter of a small village. He hung over
the washstand, manipulating the little rubber pea as if fascinated.

"Ain't it curyus how a feller catches onto a thing like that all to
once?" he said after a while. "If it hadn't been that I was so anxious, I
might have fooled with that for weeks and weeks and not got anywheres
with it. I do wisht you could be my capper a while anyway, until I could
get one."

"I need all my time to study," said Mr Gubb. "It ain't easy to learn
deteckating by mail."

"Pshaw, now!" said Mr Critz. "I'm real sorry! Maybe if I was to pay you
for your time and trouble five dollars a night? How say?"

Mr Gubb considered. "Well, I dunno!" he said slowly. "I sort of hate to
take money for doin' a favor like that."

"Now, there ain't no need to feel that way," said Mr Critz. "Your time's
wuth somethin' to me--it's wuth a lot to me to get the hang of this
gold-brick game. Once I get the hang of it, it won't be no trouble for me
to sell gold-bricks like this one for all the way from a thousand dollars
up. I paid fifteen hundred for this one myself, and got it cheap. That's
a good profit, for this brick ain't wuth a cent over one hundred dollars,
and I know, for I took it to the bank after I bought it, and that's what
they was willin' to pay me for it. So it's easy wuth a few dollars for me
to have help whilst I'm learnin'. I can easy afford to pay you a few
dollars, and to pay a friend of yours the same."

"Well, now," said Mr Gubb, "I don't know but what I might as well make a
little that way as any other. I got a friend--" He stopped short. "You
don't aim to sell the gold-brick to him, do you?"

Mr Critz's eyes opened wide behind their spectacles. "Land's sakes, no!"
he said.

"Well, I got a friend may be willing to help out," said Mr Gubb. "What'd
he have to do?"

"You or him," said Mr Critz, "would be the 'come-on,'and pretend to buy
the brick. And you or him would pretend to help me to sell it. Maybe you
better have the brick, because you can look stupid, and the feller that's
got the brick has got to look that."

"I can look anyway a'most," said Mr Gubb with pride.

"Do tell!" said Mr Critz, and so it was arranged that the first rehearsal
of the gold-brick game should lake place the next evening, but as Mr Gubb
turned away Mr Critz deftly slipped something into the student
detective's coat pocket.

It was toward noon the next day that Mr Critz, peering over his
spectacles and avoiding as best he could the pails of paste, entered the
parlor of the vacant house where Mr Gubb was at work.

"I just come around," said Mr Critz, rather reluctantly, "to say you
better not say nothing to your friend. I guess that deal's off."

"Pshaw, now!" said Mr Gubb. "You don't mean so!"

"I don't mean nothing in the way of aspersions, you mind," said Mr Critz
with reluctance, "but I guess we better call it off. Of course, so far as
I know, you are all right--"

"I don't know what you're gettin' at," said Mr Gubb. "Why don't you say

"Well, I been buncoed so often," said Mr Critz, "Seems like anyone can
get money from me any time and any way, and I got to thinkin' it over. I
don't know anything about you, do I? And here I am, going to give you a
gold-brick that cost me fifteen hundred dollars, and let you go out and
wait until I come for it with your friend, and--well, what's to stop you
from just goin' away with that brick and never comin' back?"

Mr Gubb looked at Mr Critz blankly. "I've went and told my friend," he
said. "He's all ready to start in."

"I hate it, to have to say it," said Mr Critz, "but when I come to count
over them bills I lent you to cap the shell game with, there was
five-dollar one short."

"I know," said Gubb, turning red. "And if you go over there to my coat,
you'll find it in my pocket, all ready to hand back to you. I don't know
how I come to keep it in my pocket. Must ha' missed it, when I handed you
back the rest."

"Well, I had a notion it was that way," said Mr Critz kindly. "You look
like you was honest, Mr Gubb. But a thousand-dollar gold-brick, that any
bank will pay a hundred dollars for--I got to get out of this ay of
trustin' everybody--"

Mr Critz was evidently distressed.

"If't was anybody else but you," he said with an effort, "I'd make him
put up a hundred dollars to cover the cost of a brick like that whilst he
had it. There! I've said it, and I guess you're mad!"

"I ain't mad," protested Mr Gubb, "'long as you're goin' to pay me and
Pete, and it's business; I ain't so set against puttin' up what the brick
is worth."

Mr Critz heaved a deep sigh of relief. "You don't know how good that
makes me feel," he said. "I was lmost losin' what faith in mankind I had

Mr Gubb ate his frugal evening meals at the Pie Wagon, on Willow Street,
just off Main, where, by day, Pie-Wagon Pete dispensed light viands; and
Pie-Wagon Pete was the friend he had invited to share Mr Critz's
generosity. The seal of secrecy had been put on Pie-Wagon Pete's lips
before Mr Gubb offered him the opportunity to accept or decline; and when
Mr Gubb stopped for his evening meal, Pie-Wagon Pete--now off duty--was
waiting for him. The story of Mr Critz and his amateur con' business had
amused Pie-Wagon Pete. He could hardly believe such utter innocence
existed. Perhaps he did not believe it existed, for he had come from the
city, and he had had shady companions before he landed in Riverbank. He
was a sharp-eyed, red-headed fellow, with a hard fist, and a scar across
his face, and when Mr Gubb had told him of Mr Critz and his affairs he
had seen an opportunity to shear a country lamb.

"How goes it for to-night, Philo?" he asked Mr Gubb, taking the stool
next to Mr Gubb, while the night man drew a cup of coffee.

"Quite well," said Mr Gubb. "Everything is arranged satisfactory. I'm to
be on the old houseboat by the wharf-house on the levee at nine, with
it." He glanced at the night man's back and lowered his voice. "And Mr
Critz will bring you there."

"Nine, eh?" said Pie-Wagon. "I meet him at your room, do I?"

"You meet him at the Riverbank Hotel at eight-forty-five," said Mr Gubb.
"Like it was the real thing. I'm goin' over to my room now, and give him
the money--"

"What money?" asked Pie-Wagon Pete quickly.

"Well, you see," said Mr Gubb, "he sort of hated to trust the--trust it
out of his hands without a deposit. It's the only one he has. So I
thought I'd put up a hundred dollars. He's all right--"

"Oh, sure!" said Pie-Wagon. "A hundred dollars, eh?" He looked at Mr
Gubb, who was eating a piece of apple pie hand-to-mouth fashion, and
studied him in a new light. "One hundred dollars, eh?" he repeated
thoughtfully. "You give him a hundred-dollar deposit now and he meets you
at nine, and me at eight-forty-five, and the train leaves for Chicago at
eight-forty-three, halfway between the house-boat and the hotel! Say,
Gubby, what does this old guy look like?"

Mr Gubb, albeit with a tongue unused to description, delineated Mr Critz
as best he could, and as he proceeded, Pie-Wagon Pete became interested.

"Pinkish, and bald? Top of his head like a hard-boiled egg? He ain't got
a scar across his face? The dickens he has! Short and plump, and a
reg'lar old nice grandpa? Blue eyes? Say, did he have a coughin' spell
and choke red in the face? Well, sir, for a brand-new detective, you've
done well. Listen, Jim: Gubby's got the Hard-Boiled Egg!"

The night man almost dropped his cup of coffee. "Go 'way!" he said. "Old
Hard-Boiled? Himself?"

"That's right! And caught him with the goods. Say, listen, Gubby!" For
five minutes Pie-Wagon Pete talked, while Mr Gubb sat with is mouth wide

"See?" said Pie-Wagon at last. "And don't you mention me at all. Don't
mention no one. Just say to the Chief: 'And havin' trailed him this far,
Mr Wittaker, and arranged to have him caught with the goods, it's up to
you?' See? And as soon as you say that, have him send a couple of bulls
with you, and if they can do it, they'll nab Old Hard-Boiled just as he
takes your cash. And Old Sleuth and Sherlock Holmes won't be in it with
you when tomorrow mornin's papers come out. Get it?"

Mr Gubb got it. When he entered his bedroom, Mr Critz was waiting for
him. It was slightly after eight o'clock; perhaps eight-fifteen. Mr Critz
had what appeared to be the gold-brick neatly wrapped in newspaper, and
he looked up with his kindly blue eyes. He had been reading the "Complete
Con' Man," and had pushed his spectacles up on his forehead as Mr Gubb

"I done that brick up for you," he said, indicating it with his hand,
"so's it wouldn't glitter whilst you was goin' through the street. If
word got passed around there was a gold-brick in town, folks might sort
of get suspicious-like. Nice night for goin' out, ain't it? Got a letter
from my wife this aft'noon," he chuckled. "She says she hopes I'm doin'
well. Sally'd have a fit if she knew what business I was goin' into.
Well, time's gettin' along--"

"I brung the money," said Mr Gubb, drawing it from his pocket.

"Don't seem hardly necess'ry, does it?" said Mr Critz mildly. "But I
s'pose it's just as well. Thankee, Mister Gubb. I'll just pile into my

Mr Gubb had picked up the gold-brick, and now he let it fall. Once more
the door flew open, but this time it opened for three stalwart policemen,
whose revolvers pointed unwaveringly at Mr Critz. The plump little man
gave one glance, and put up his hands.

"All right, boys, you've got me," he said in quite another voice, and
allowed them to seize his arms. He paid no attention to the police, but
at Mr Gubb, who was tearing the wrapper from what proved to be but a
common vitrified paving-brick, he looked long and hard.

"Say," said Mr Critz to Mr Gubb, "I'm the goat. You stung me all right.
You worked me to a finish. I thought I knew all of you from Burns down,
but you're a new one to me. Who are you, anyway?"

Mr Gubb looked up.

"Me?" he said with pride. "Why--why--I'm Gubb, the foremost deteckative
of Riverbank, Iowa."


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