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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/20627-8.txt b/20627-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f22c953 --- /dev/null +++ b/20627-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9733 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy, Private Sec., by Sewell Ford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Torchy, Private Sec. + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Illustrator: F. Foster Lincoln + +Release Date: February 19, 2007 [EBook #20627] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +By SEWELL FORD + +TORCHY +TRYING OUT TORCHY +ON WITH TORCHY +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. +ODD NUMBERS + "Shorty McCabe" +SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +[Illustration: "Why didn't you tell me before that you had such a grand +name?" Frontispiece] + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +TORCHY, +PRIVATE SEC. + +BY +SEWELL FORD + +AUTHOR OF +TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY, +ON WITH TORCHY, ETC. + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY +F. FOSTER LINCOLN + +NEW YORK +GROSSET & DUNLAP +PUBLISHERS + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +COPYRIGHT, 1914, 1915, BY +SEWELL FORD + +COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY +EDWARD J. CLODE + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. The Up Call for Torchy 1 + II. Torchy Makes the Sir Class 19 + III. Torchy Takes a Chance 37 + IV. Breaking It to the Boss 56 + V. Showing Gilkey the Way 75 + VI. When Skeet Had His Day 95 + VII. Getting a Jolt from Westy 113 + VIII. Some Guesses on Ruby 129 + IX. Torchy Gets an Inside Tip 148 + X. Then Along Came Sukey 170 + XI. Teamwork with Aunty 188 + XII. Zenobia Digs Up a Late One 206 + XIII. Sifting Out Uncle Bill 223 + XIV. How Aunty Got the News 243 + XV. Mr. Robert and a Certain Party 259 + XVI. Torchy Tackles a Short Circuit 275 + XVII. Mr. Robert Gets a Slant 290 + XVIII. When Ella May Came By 306 + XIX. Some Hoop-la for the Boss 323 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. + +CHAPTER I + +THE UP CALL FOR TORCHY + + +Well, it's come! Uh-huh! And sudden, too, like I knew it would, if it +came at all. No climbin' the ladder for me, not while they run express +elevators. And, believe me, when the gate opened, I was right there with +my foot out. + +It was like this: One mornin' I'm in my old place behind the brass rail, +at the jump-end of the buzzer. I'm everybody's slave in general, and +Piddie's football in particular. You know--head office boy of the +Corrugated Trust. + +That's description enough, ain't it? And I'd been there so long---- +Honest, when I first went on the job I used to sneak the city directory +under the chair so my toes could touch. Now my knees rub the under-side +of the desk. Familiar with the place? Say, there are just seventeen +floor cracks between me and the opposite wall; it's fifty-eight steps +through into Old Hickory's roll-top and back; and the ink I've poured +into all them desk-wells would be enough to float a ferry-boat. + +At 8.30 on this special mornin' there I am, as I said; and at 2.21 P.M. +the same day I'm---- Well, of course, there was a few preliminaries, +though I didn't tag 'em as such when they come along. I expect the new +spring costume helped some. And the shave--oh, I was goin' it strong! No +cut-price, closing-out, House-of-Smartheimer bargain, altered free to +fit--not so, Lobelia! Why, I pawed over whole bales of stuff in a +sure-enough Fifth-ave. tailor works; had blueprint plans of the front +and side elevations drawn, even to the number of buttons on the cuffs, +and spent three diff'rent noon hours havin' it modeled on me before they +could pull a single bastin' thread. + +But it's some stream line effect at the finish, take it from me! Nothing +sporty or cake-walky, you understand: just quiet and dignified and +rich-like, same as any second vice or gen'ral manager would wear. +Two-button sack with wide English roll and no turn-up to the +trousers--oh, I should ripple! + +The shave was an afterthought. I'd worked up to it by havin' some of my +lurid locks trimmed, and as Giuseppe quits shearin' and asks if there'll +be anything else I rubs my hand casual across my jaw and remarks: + +"Could you find anything there to mow with a razor?" + +Could he? He'd go through the motions on a glass doorknob! + +Then it's me tilted back with my heels up and the suds artist decoratin' +my map until it looks like a Polish weddin' cake. Don't it hit you +foolish the first time, though? I felt like everybody in the shop, +includin' the brush boy and the battery of lady manicures, was all +gathered around pipin' me off as a raw beginner. So I stares haughty at +the ceilin' and tries to put on a bored look. + +I'd been scraped twice over, and was just bein' unwrapped from the hot +towel, when I turns to see who it is has camped down in the next chair, +and finds Mr. Robert gazin' at me curious. + +"Why!" says he, chucklin'. "If it isn't Torchy! Indulging in a shave, +eh?" + +"Oh, no, Sir," says I. "Been havin' my eye teeth tested for color +blindness, that's all." + +Mr. Robert grins amiable and reaches out for the check. "This is on me +then," says he. "I claim the privilege." + +As he comes in after luncheon he has to stop and grin again; and later +on, when I answers the buzzer, he makes me turn clear around so he can +inspect the effect and size up the new suit. + +"Excellent, Torchy!" says he. "Whoever your tailor may be, you do him +credit." + +"This trip I paid cash, though," says I. "It's all right, is it?" + +"In every particular," says he. "Why, you look almost grown up. May I +ask the occasion? Can it be that Miss Verona is on the point of +returning from somewhere or other?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Bermuda. Got in yesterday." + +"And Aunty, I trust," goes on Mr. Robert, "is as well as usual?" + +"I'm hoping for the worst," says I; "but I expect she is." + +We swaps merry expressions again, and Mr. Robert pats me chummy on the +shoulder. "You're quite all right, Torchy," says he, "and I wish you +luck." Then the twinkle fades out of his eyes and he turns serious. "I +wish," he goes on, "that I could do more than just--well, some time, +perhaps." And with another friendly pat he swings around to his desk, +where the letters are stacked a foot high. + +Say, he's the real thing, Mr. Robert is, no matter if he does take it +out in wishin'! It ain't every boss would do that much, specially with +the load he's carryin'. For you know since Old Hickory's been down South +takin' seven kinds of baths, and prob'ly cussin' out them resort doctors +as they was never cussed before, Mr. Robert Ellins has been doin' a +heap more than give an imitation of bein' a busy man. But he's there +with the wallop, and I guess it's goin' to take more'n a commerce court +to put the Corrugated out of business. + +Too bad, though, that Congress can't spare the time from botherin' about +interlockin' directors to suppress a few padlockin' aunties. Say, the +way that old girl does keep the bars up against an inoffensive party +like me is something fierce! I tries to call Vee on the 'phone as soon +as I've discovered where she is, and all the satisfaction I get is a +message delivered by a French maid that "Miss Hemmingway is otherwise +engaged." Wouldn't that crust you? + +But I've been up against this embargo game before, you know; so the +first chance I gets I slips uptown to do a little scoutin' at close +range. It's an apartment hotel this time, and I hangs around the +entrance, inspectin' the bay trees out front for half an hour, before I +can work up the nerve to make the Brodie break. Fin'lly I marches in +bold and calls for Aunty herself. + +"Is she in, Cephas?" says I to the brunette Jamaican in the olive-green +liv'ry who juggles the elevator. + +"I don't rightly know, Suh," says he; "but you can send up a call, Suh, +from the desk there, and----" + +"Ah, let's not disturb the operator," says I. "Give a guess." + +"I'm thinking she'll be taking her drive, Suh," says Cephas, blinkin' +stupid. + +"Then I'll have to go up and wait," says I. "She'd be mighty sore on us +both if she missed me. Up, Cephas!" + +"Yes, Suh," says he, pullin' the lever. + +I should have known, though, from one look at that to-let expression of +his, that his ideas on any subject would be vague. And this was a bum +hunch on Aunty. Out? Why, she was propped up in an easy-chair with a +sprained ankle, and had been for three days! And you should have seen +the tight-lipped, welcome-to-our-grand-jury-room smile that she greets +me with. + +"Humph!" she says. "You! Well, young man, what is your excuse this +time?" + +I grins sheepish and shuffles my feet. "Same old excuse," says I. + +"Do you mean to tell me," she gasps, "that you have the impudence to try +to see my niece, after all I have----" + +"Uh-huh," I breaks in. "Don't you ever take a sportin' chance yourself?" + +She gurgles somethin' throaty, goes purple in the gills, and prepares to +smear me on the spot; but I gives her the straight look between the +eyes and hurries on. + +"Oh, I know where you stand, all right," says I; "but ain't you drawin' +it a little strong? Say, where's the harm in me takin' Verona out for a +half-hour walk along the Drive? We ain't had a chat for over two months, +you know, not a word, and I'd kind of like to----" + +"No doubt," says Aunty. "Are you quite certain, however, that Verona +would like it too?" + +"I'm always guessin' where Vee is concerned," I admits; "but by the +latest dope I had on the subject, I expect she wouldn't object +strenuous." + +Aunty sniffs. "It is quite possible," says she. "Verona is a whimsical, +wilful girl at times, just as her poor mother was. Keeping up this +pretense of friendship for you is one of her silly notions." + +"Thanks awfully, Ma'am," says I. + +"Let me see," goes on Aunty, squintin' foxy at me, "you are employed in +Mr. Ellins's office, I believe?" + +I nods. + +"As office boy, still?" says she. + +"No, as a live one," says I. "Anybody that stays still very long at the +Corrugated gets canned." + +"Please omit meaningless jargon," says Aunty. "Does my niece know just +how humble a position you occupy? Have you ever told her?" + +"Why," says I, "I don't know as I've ever gone into details." + +"Ah-h-h!" says she. "I was certain that Verona did not fully realize. +Perhaps it would be as well that she----" and here she breaks off +sudden, like she'd been struck with a new idea. For a second or so she +gazes blank over the top of my head, and then she comes to with a brisk, +"That will do, young man! Verona is not at home. You need not trouble to +call again. The maid will show you out. Celeste!" + +And the next thing I knew I was ridin' down again with Cephas. I'm some +shunter myself; but I dip the colors to Aunty: she does it so neat and +sudden! It must be like the sensation of havin' a flight of trick stairs +fold up under you,--one minute you're most to the top, the next you're +pickin' yourself up at the bottom. + +What worries me most, though, is this hint she drops about Vee. Looks +like the old girl had something up her sleeve; but what it is I can't +dope out. So all I can do is keep my eyes open and my ear stretched for +the next few days, watchin' for something to happen. + +Course, I had one or two other things on my mind meanwhile; for down at +the gen'ral offices we wa'n't indulgin' in any spring-fever +symptoms,--not with three big deals under way, all this income mess of +deductin' at the source goin' on, and Mr. Robert's grand scheme for +dissolvin' the Corrugated--on paper--bein' worked out. Oh, sure, that's +the easiest thing we do. We've split up into nineteen sep'rate and +distinct corporations, with a diff'rent set of directors for each one, +and if the Attorney General can sleuth out where they're tied together +he's got to do some high-class snoopin' around. + +Maybe you think too, that little Sunny Haired Hank, guardin' the brass +gate, ain't wise to every move. Say, I make that part of my job. If I +didn't, I'd be towin' a grouchy bunch of minority kickers in where the +reorganization board was cookin' up a new stock-transfer game, or make +some other fool break that would spill the beans all over the pantry +floor. + +"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, chewin' his cigar nervous and pawin' through +pigeonholes, "ask Mr. Piddie what was done with those Mesaba contracts." + +"Filed under Associated Developments," says I. + +"Oh, yes, so they were," says he. "Thanks. And could you find out for me +when we organized General Transportation?" + +"Wa'n't that pulled off the day you waited for that Duluth delegation +to show up, just after Easter?" says I. + +"That's it," says he, "the fifteenth! Has Marling of Chicago been called +up yet?" + +"Nope," says I. "He'll be waitin' for the closing quotations, won't he? +But there's that four-eyed guy with the whiskers who's been hangin' +around a couple of hours." + +"Ah!" says Mr. Robert, huntin' out a card on his desk. "That Rowley +person! I'd forgotten. What does he want?" + +"Didn't say," says I. "Got a roll of something under one arm--crank +promoter, maybe. Will I ditch him?" + +"Not without being heard," says Mr. Robert. "I haven't time myself, +though. Perhaps Mr. Piddie might interview him and----" + +"Ah, Piddie!" says I. "He'd take one look at the old gink's round cuffs +and turn him down haughty. You know Piddie?" + +Mr. Robert smiles. "Then suppose you do it," says he. "Go ahead--full +powers. Only remember this: My policy is to give everyone who has a +proposition to submit to the Corrugated a respectful and adequate +hearing. Get the idea?" + +"I'm right behind you," says I. "The smooth stuff goes; and if we must +spill 'em, grease the skids. Me for Rowley!" + +And, say, you should have heard me shove over the diplomacy, tellin' +how sorry Mr. Robert was he couldn't see him in person; but wouldn't he +please state the case in full so no time might be lost in actin' one way +or the other? Inside of three minutes too, he has his papers spread out +and is explainin' his by-product scheme for mill tailings, with me busy +takin' notes on a pad. He had it all figured out into big money; but of +course I couldn't tell whether he had a sure thing, or was just +exercisin' squirrels in the connin' tower. + +"Ten millions a year," says he, "and I am offering to put this process +in operation for a five-per-cent. royalty! I've been a mine +superintendent for twenty years, young man, and I know what I'm talking +about." + +"Your spiel listens like the real thing, Mr. Rowley," says I; "only we +can't jump at these things offhand. We have to chew 'em over, you know." + +Rowley shakes his head decided. "You can't put me off for six months or +a year," says he. "I've been through all that. If the Corrugated doesn't +want to go into this----" + +"Right you are!" I breaks in. "Ten days is enough. I'll put this up to +the board next Wednesday week and get a decision. Much obliged to you, +Mr. Rowley, for givin' us first whack at it. We 're out for anything +that looks good, and we always take care of the parties that put us +next. That's the Corrugated way. Good afternoon, Mr. Rowley. Drop in +again. Here's your hat." + +And as he drifts out, smilin', pleased and hopeful, I glances over the +spring-water bottle, to see Mr. Robert standin' there listenin' with a +grin on. + +"Congratulations!" says he. "That peroration of yours was a classic, +Torchy; the true Chesterfield spirit, if not the form. I am tempted to +utilize your talent for that sort of thing once more. What do you say?" + +"Then put it over the plate while I'm on my battin' streak," says I. +"Who's next?" + +"A lady this time," says he; "perchance two ladies." And he develops +that eye twinkle of his. + +"Huh!" says I, twistin' my neck and feelin' of my tie. "You ain't +springin' any tea-pourin' stunt, are you?" + +"Strictly business," says he; "at least," he adds, chucklin', "that is +the presumption. As a matter of fact, I've just been called over the +'phone by Miss Verona Hemmingway's aunt." + +"Eh!" says I, gawpin'. + +"She holds some of our debenture bonds, you know," says Mr. Robert, "and +I gather that she has been somewhat disturbed by these reorganization +rumors." + +"But she ought to know," says I, "that our D.B.'s. are as solid as----" + +"The feminine mind," cuts in Mr. Robert, "does not readily grasp such +simple facts. But I haven't half an hour or more to devote to the +process of soothing her alarm; besides, you could do it so much more +gracefully." + +"Mooshwaw!" says I. "Maybe I could. But she's only one. Who's the +other?" + +"She failed to state," says Mr. Robert. "She merely said, 'We shall be +down about three o'clock.'" + +"We?" says I. Then I whistles. So that was her game! It was Vee she was +bringin' along! + +"Well?" says Mr. Robert. + +I expect I was some pinked up, and fussed, too, at the prospect. "Excuse +me," says I, "but I got to sidestep." + +"Why," says he, "I rather thought this assignment might be somewhat +agreeable." + +"I know," says I. "You mean well enough; but, honest, Mr. Robert, if +that foxy old dame's comin' down here with Miss Vee, I'm--well, I don't +stand for it, that's all! I'm off; with a blue ticket or without one, +just as you say." + +I was reachin' for my new lid too, when Mr. Robert puts out his hand. + +"Wouldn't that be--er--rather a serious breach of office discipline?" +says he. "Surely, without some good reason----" + +"Ah, say!" says I. "You don't think I'm springin' any prima donna whim, +do you? It's this plot to show me up through the wrong end of the +telescope that gets me sore." + +"Scarcely lucid," says he, lookin' puzzled. "Could you put it a little +simpler?" + +"I'll make it long primer," says I. "How do I stand here in the +Corrugated? You know, maybe, and sometimes I give a guess myself; but on +the books, and as far as outsiders go, I'm just plain office boy, ain't +I, like 'steen thousand other four-dollar-a-week kids that's old enough +to have work papers? I've been here goin' on four years now, and I ain't +beefed much about it, have I? That's because I've been used white and +the pay has been decent. Also I'm strong for you and Mr. Ellins. I +expect you know that, Mr. Robert. Maybe I ain't got it in me to be +anything but an office boy, either; but when it comes to goin' on +exhibition before certain parties as the double cipher on the east side +of the decimal--well, that's where I make my foolish play." + +"Ah!" says he, rubbin' his chin thoughtful. "Now I fully understand. And, +as you suggest, there has been for some time past something--er--equivocal +about your position here. However, just at this moment I have hardly time +to---- By Jove!" Here he breaks off and glances at the clock. "Two-fifteen, +and a general council of our attorneys called for half-past in the +directors' room! Someone else must attend to Miss Verona's estimable +aunt--positively! Now if there was anyone who could relieve you from +the gate----" + +"Heiny, the bondroom boy," says I. + +"Why not?" says Mr. Robert. "Then, if you should choose to stay and +prime yourself with facts about those debentures, there is that extra +desk in my office, you know. Would you mind using that?" + +"But see here, Mr. Robert," says I, "I wa'n't plannin' any masquerade, +either." + +"Quite so," says he; "nor I. It so happens, though, that the gentleman +whose name appears as president of our Mutual Funding Company is--well, +hardly in active business life. It is necessary that he be represented +here in some nominal capacity. The directors are now meeting in Room 19. +I have authority to name a private secretary pro tem. Do you accept the +position?" + +"With a pro-tem. salary, stage money barred?" says I. + +"Oh, most certainly," says he. + +"Then I'm the guy," says I. + +"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "These debentures come in your department. I +will notify Mr. Piddie that----" + +"Say, Mr. Robert," says I, grinnin' once more, "I'd break it gentle to +Piddie." + +I don't know whether he did or not; for five minutes after that Heiny +has my old seat, and I'm inside behind the ground-glass door, sittin' at +a reg'lar roll-top, with a lot of file cases spread out, puzzlin' over +this incorporation junk that makes the Fundin' Comp'ny the little joker +in the Corrugated deck. + +And next thing I know in comes Heiny, gawpin' foolish, and trailin' +behind him Aunty and Vee. I wa'n't throwin' any bluff about tryin' to +look busy, either. I was elbow-deep in papers, with a pen behind one ear +and ink on three fingers. + +You should have heard the gasp that comes from Aunty as she pipes off +who it is at the desk. My surprise as I'm discovered is the real thing +too. + +"Chairs, Boy!" says I, snappin' my fingers at Heiny. + +But Aunty catches her breath, draws herself up stiff, and waves away the +seats. "Young man," says she, "I came here to consult with Mr. Robert +Ellins about----" + +"Yes'm," says I, "I understand. Debenture six's, ain't they? Not +affected by the reorganization, Ma'am. You see, it's like this: Those +bonds were issued in exchange for----" + +"Young man," she breaks in, aimin' her lorgnette at me threatenin', "I +prefer to discuss this matter with Mr. Robert." + +"Sorry," says I, "but as he's very busy he asked me to----" + +"And who, pray," snaps the old girl, "are you?" + +"Representin' the president of the Mutual Funding Comp'ny," says I. + +"Just how?" she demands. + +"Private secretary, Ma'am," says I. + +"Humph!" she snorts. "This is too absurd of Mr. Robert--wholly absurd! +Come, Verona." + +And as she sails out I just has time for a glance at Vee, and catches a +wink. Believe me, though, a friendly wink from one of them gray eyes is +worth waitin' for! She follows Aunty through the door with a +handkerchief stuffed in her mouth like she was smotherin' a snicker; so +I guess Vee was on. And I'm left feelin' all warmed up and chirky. + +Mr. Robert comes in from his lawyer session just before closin' time; +rubbin' his hands sort of satisfied too. + +"Well," says I, jumpin' up from the swing-chair, "it was some jolt you +slipped Aunty. I expect I can resign now?" + +"Oh, I trust not," says he. "The board indorsed your appointment an hour +ago. Keep your desk, Torchy. It is to be yours from now on." + +"Wh-a-a-at?" says I, my eyes bugged. "Off the gate for good, am I?" + +"We are hoping," says he, "that the gate's loss will be the Funding +Company's gain." + +I gurgles gaspy a couple of times before I catches my breath. "Will it?" +says I. "Say, just watch me! I'm goin' to show you that fundin' is my +long suit!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +TORCHY MAKES THE SIR CLASS + + +Say, it's all right, gettin' the quick boost up the ladder, providin' +you don't let it make you dizzy in the head. And, believe me, I was near +it! You see, bein' jumped from office boy to private sec, all in one +afternoon, was some breath-takin' yank. + +I expect the full force of what had happened didn't hit me until here +the other mornin' when I strolls into the Corrugated gen'ral offices on +the new nine o'clock schedule and finds this raw recruit holdin' down my +old chair behind the rail. Nice, smooth-haired, bright-eyed youngster, +with his ears all scoured out pink and his knickerbocker suit brushed +neat. He hops up and opens the gate real respectful for me. + +"Well, Son," says I, "what does Mother call you?" + +"Vincent, Sir," says he. + +"Some class to that, too," says I. "But how do you know, Vincent, that +I'm one of the reg'lar staff and not canvassin' for something?" + +"I don't, Sir," says he, "until I see if you know where to hang your +hat." + +"Good domework, Vincent," says I. "On that I'm backin' you to hold the +job." + +"Thank you, Sir," says he. "I told Mother I'd do my best." + +And with that he springs a bashful smile. It was the "Sir" every time +that caught me, though. For more'n four years I'd been just Torchy or +Boy to all hands in the shop, from Old Hickory down; and now all of a +sudden I finds there's one party at least that rates me in the Sir +class. Kind of braced me for swingin' past all that row of giggly lady +typists and on into Mr. Robert's private office. + +Thrill No. 2 arrived half an hour later. In postin' myself as to what +this Mutual Fundin' Company really is that I'm supposed to be workin' +for, I needed some papers from the document safe. And for the first time +I pushes the buzzer button. Prompt and eager in comes Vincent, the fair +haired. + +"Know which is Mr. Piddie, do you?" says I. + +"Oh, yes, Sir," says he. + +"Well," says I, "tell him I need those--no, better ask him to step in +here a minute." + +Honest, I wa'n't plannin' to rub it in, either. Course, I'd done a good +deal of trottin' for Piddie, and a lot of it wa'n't for anything else +than to let him show his authority; but I didn't hold any grudge. I'd +squared the account in my own way. How he was goin' to take it now I +was the one to send for him, I didn't know; but there wa'n't any use +dodgin' the issue. + +And you should have seen Piddie make his first official entrance! You +know how stiff and wooden he is as a rule? Well, as he marches in over +the rug and comes to a parade rest by the desk, he's about as limber as +a length of gas pipe. And solemn? That long face of his would have +soured condensed milk! + +"Yes, Sir?" says he. And to me, mind you! It come out a little husky, +like it was bein' filtered through strong emotions; but there it is. +Piddie has sirred me his first "Sir." + +He knows a roll-top when he sees one, Piddie does, and he ain't omittin' +any deference due. You know the type? He's one of the kind that was born +to be "our Mr. Piddie"; the sort that takes off his hat to a +vice-president, and holds his breath in the presence of the big wheeze. +But, say, I don't want any joss-sticks burned for me. + +"Ditch it, Piddie," says I, "ditch it!" + +"I--er--I beg pardon?" says he. + +"The Sir stuff," says I. "Just because I'm behind the ground glass +instead of the brass rail don't make me a sacred being, or you a +lobbygow, does it? I guess we've known each other too long for that, +eh?" And I holds out the friendly mitt. + +Honest, he's got a human streak in him, Piddie has, if you know where +to strike it. The cast-iron effect comes out of his shoulders, the +wooden look from his face. He almost smiles. + +"Thank you, Torchy," says he. "I--er--my congratulations on your +new----" + +"We'll spread 'em on the minutes," says I, "and proceed to show the +Corrugated some teamwork that mere salaries can't buy. Are you on?" + +He was. Inside of three minutes he'd chucked that stiff-necked, flunky +pose and was coachin' me like a big brother, and by the time he'd beat +into my head all he knew about the Fundin' Comp'ny we was as chummy as +two survivors of the same steamer wreck. Simple, I know; but this little +experience made me feel like I'd signed a gen'ral peace treaty with the +world at large. + +I hadn't, though. An hour later I runs up against Willis G. Briscoe. +He's kind of an outside development manager, who makes preliminary +reports on new deals. One of these cold-eyed, chesty parties, Willis G. +is; tall and thin, and with a big, bowwow voice that has a rasp to it. + +"Huh!" says he, as he discovers me busy at the desk. "I heard of this +out in Chicago three days ago; but I thought it must be a joke." + +"Them reporters do get things straight now and then, don't they?" says +I. + +"Reporters!" he snorts. "Philip wrote me about it." + +"Oh!" says I. "Cousin Philip, eh?" + +And that gave me the whole plot of the piece. Cousin Phil was a +cigarette-consumin' college discard that Willis G. had been nursin' +along in the bondroom, waitin' for a better openin'; and this jump of +mine had filled a snap job that he'd had his eyes on for Cousin. + +"I suppose you're only temporary, though," says he. + +"That's all," says I. "Mr. Ellins will be resignin' in eight or ten +years, I expect, and then they'll want me in his chair. Nice mornin', +ain't it?" + +"Bah!" says he, registerin' deep disgust, as they say in the movie +scripts. "You'll do well if you last eight or ten days." + +"How cheerin'!" says I, and as he swings off with a final glare I tips +him the humorous wink. + +Why not? No young-man-afraid-of-his-job part for me! Briscoe might get +it away from me, or he might not; but I wa'n't goin' to get panicky over +it. Let him do his worst! + +He didn't need any urgin'. With a little scoutin' around he discovers +that about the only assignment on my hook so far is this Rowley matter: +you know, the old inventor guy with the mill-tailings scheme. And the +first hint I had that he was wise to that was when Mr. Robert calls me +over after lunch and explains how this Rowley business sort of comes in +Mr. Briscoe's department. + +"So I suppose you'd better turn it over to him," says he. + +"Just as you say," says I. "The old gent is due at two-fifteen, and I'll +shunt him onto Briscoe." + +Which I did. And at two-thirty-five Briscoe breezes in with his report. + +"Nothing to it," says he. "This Rowley person has a lot of half-baked +ideas about briquets and retort recoveries, and talks vaguely of big +profits; but he's got nothing practical. I shipped him off." + +"But," says Mr. Robert, "I think he was promised that his schemes should +have a consideration by the board." + +"Very well," says Willis G. jaunty. "I'll give 'em a report next +meeting. Wednesday, isn't it? Hardly worth wasting their time over, +though." + +And here I'd been boostin' the Rowley proposition to Mr. Robert good and +hard, almost gettin' him enthusiastic over it! I was smeared, that's +all! My first stab at makin' myself useful in my new swing-chair job has +been brushed aside as a beginner's bungle; and there sits Mr. Robert, +prob'ly wonderin' if he hadn't made a mistake in takin' me off the gate! + +I stares at a row of empty pigeonholes for a solid hour after that, not +doin' a blamed thing but race my thinkin' gears tryin' to find out where +I was at. This dummy act that I'd been let in for might be all right for +some; but it didn't suit me. I've got to have action in mine. + +So, long before quittin' time, I slams the desk cover down and pikes out +on Rowley's trail. He might be a dead duck; but I wanted to know how and +why. I had his address all right, and it didn't take me long to locate +him in a fifth-story loft down on lower Sixth-ave. It's an odd joint +too, with a cot bed in one corner, a work bench along the avenue side, a +cook-stove in the middle, and a kitchen table where the coffeepot was +crowded on each side by a rack of test tubes. Old Rowley himself, with +his sleeves rolled up, is sittin' in a rickety arm chair peelin' +potatoes. He's grouchy too. + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" says he. "Well, you might just as well trot right +back to the Corrugated Trust and tell 'em that Old Hen Rowley don't give +two hoots for their whole outfit." + +"I take it you didn't get on so well with Mr. Briscoe?" says I. + +"Briscoe!" he grunts savage. "Who could talk business to a smart Alec +like that! He knew it all before I'd begun. You'd think I was trying to +sell him a gold brick. All right! We'll see what the Bethlehem people +have to say." + +"What?" says I. "Before you get the final word from us?" + +"I've had it," says he. "Briscoe is final enough for me." + +"You're easy satisfied," says I, "or else you're easy beat. I didn't +take you for a quitter, either." + +Say, that got to him. "Quitter, eh!" says he. "See here, Son, how long +do you think I've been plugging at this thing? Nine years. And for the +last four I've been giving it all my time, day in and day out, and many +a night as well. I've been living with it, in this loft here, like a +blessed hermit; testing and perfecting, trying out my processes, and +fighting the Patent Office sharks between times. Nine years--the best of +my life! Call that quitting, do you?" + +"Well, that is sticking around some," says I. "Think you've got your +schemes so they'll work?" + +"I don't think," says he; "I know." + +"But what's the good," I goes on, "if you can't make other folks see +you've got a good thing?" + +"I can, though," he says. "Why, any person with even ordinary +intelligence can----" + +"That's me," says I. "My nut is just about a stock pattern size, six +and seven-eighths, or maybe seven. Come, try it on me, if it's so +simple. Now what about this retort business?" + +That got him goin'. Rowley drops the potatoes, and in another minute +we're neck-deep in the science of makin' an ore puddin', doin' stunts +with the steam, skimmin' dividends off the pot, and coinin' the slag +into dollars. + +I ain't lettin' him slip over any gen'ral propositions on me, either. +I'm right there with the Missouri stuff. He has to go clear back to +first principles every time he makes a statement, and work up to it +gradual. Course, I was keepin' him jollied along too, and while it must +have been sort of hopeless at the start, inoculatin' a cauliflower like +mine with higher chemistry, I fin'lly showed one or two gleams that +encouraged him to keep on. Anyway, we hammered away at the subject, only +stoppin' to make coffee and sandwiches, until near two o'clock in the +mornin'. + +"Help!" says I, glancin' at the nickel alarm clock. "My head feels like +a stuffed sausage. A little more, and I won't know whether I'm a nitrous +sulphide or a ferrous oxide of bromo seltzer. Let's take the rest in +another dose." + +Rowley chuckles and agrees to call it a day, I didn't let on anything at +the office next morning; but by eight A.M. I was planted at the +roll-top with my elbows squared, tryin' to write out as much of that +chemistry dope as I could remember. And it's surprising ain't it, what a +lot of information you can sop up when you do the sponge act in earnest? +I found there was a lot of points, though, that I was foggy on; so I +makes an early getaway and puts in another long session with Rowley. + +And, take it from me, by Tuesday I was well loaded. Also I had my plan +of campaign all mapped out; for you mustn't get the idea I was packin' +my bean full of all this science dope just to see if it would stand the +strain. Not so, Clarice! I'd woke up to the fact that I was bein' +carried along by the Corrugated as a sort of misfit inner tube stowed in +the bottom of the tool-box, and that it was up to me to make good. + +So the first openin' I has I tackles Mr. Robert on the side. + +"About that Rowley proposition?" says I. + +"Oh, yes," says he. "I fear Mr. Briscoe thinks unfavorably of it." + +"Then he's fruity in the pan," says I. + +"We have been in the habit of accepting his judgment in such matters," +says Mr. Robert. + +"Maybe," says I; "but here's once when he's handin' you a stall. And +you're missin' out on something good too." + +Mr. Robert smiles skeptical. "Really?" says he. "Perhaps you would like +to present a minority report?" + +"Nothin' less," says I. "Oh, it may listen like a joke, but that's just +what I got in mind." + +"H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Robert. "You realize that Briscoe is one of the +leading mining authorities in the country, I suppose, and that we pay +him a large salary as consulting engineer?" + +I nods. "I know," says I. "And the nearest I ever got to seein' a mine +was watchin' 'em excavate for the subway. I'm admittin' all that." + +"I may add too," goes on Mr. Robert, "that he has a way of stating his +opinions quite convincingly." + +"Yep," says I, "I should judge that. But if I think he's bilkin' you on +this, is it my play to sit behind and chew my tongue?" + +"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, his sportin' instincts comin' to the top. +"You shall have your chance, Torchy. The directors shall hear your +views; to-morrow, at two-thirty. You will follow Briscoe." + +"Let's not bill it ahead, then," says I, "if it'll be fair to spring it +on him." + +"Quite," says Mr. Robert; "and rather more amusing, I fancy. I will +arrange it." + +"I'd like to have old Rowley on the side lines, in case I get stuck," +says I. + +"Oh, certainly," says he. "Bring Mr. Rowley if you wish. And if there +are any preparations you would like to make----" + +"I got one or two," says I, startin' for the door; "so mark me off until +about to-morrow noon." + +Busy? Well, say, a kitten with four feet stuck in the flypaper didn't +have anything on me. I streaks it for Sixth-ave. and lands in Rowley's +loft all out of breath. + +"What's up?" says he. + +"The case of Briscoe _et al. vs._ Rowley," says I. "It's to be threshed +out before the full Corrugated board to-morrow at two-thirty. I'm the +counsel for the defense." + +"Well, what of it?" says he. + +"I want to use you as Exhibit A," says I, "in case of an emergency." + +"All right," says he. "I'll go along if you say so." + +"Good!" says I. And then came the hard part. "Rowley," I goes on, "what +size collar do you wear?" + +"But what has that to do with it?" says he. + +"Now don't get peeved," says I; "but you know the kind our directors +are,--flossy, silk-lined old sports, most of 'em; and they're apt to +size up strangers a good deal by their haberdashery. So I was wonderin' +if I couldn't blow you to a neat, pleated bosom effect with attached +cuffs." + +"Oh, I see," says Rowley, glancin' at his gray flannel workin' shirt. +"Anything else?" + +"I don't expect you'd want to part with that face shrubbery, or have it +landscaped into a Vandyke, eh?" says I. "You know they ain't wearin' the +bushy kind now in supertax circles." + +"Would you insist on my being manicured too?" says he, chucklin' easy. + +"It would help," says I. "And this would be my buy all round." + +"That's a generous offer, Son," says he, "and I don't know how long it's +been since anyone has taken so much personal interest in Old Hen Rowley. +Seems nice too. I suppose I am rather a shabby old duffer to be visiting +the offices of great and good corporations. Yes, I'll spruce up a bit; +and if I find it costs more than I can afford--now let's see how my cash +stands." + +With that he digs into a hip pocket and unlimbers a roll of corn-tinted +kale the size of your wrist. Maybe they wa'n't all hundreds clear to the +core, but that's what was on the outside. + +"Whiffo!" says I. "Excuse me for classin' you so near the bread line; +but by your campin' in a loft, and the longshoreman's shirt, and so +on----" + +"Very natural, Son," he breaks in. "And I see your point all the +clearer. I've no business going about so. The whiskers shall be trimmed. +But your people up at the Corrugated have evidently made up their minds +to turn us down." + +"Maybe," says I; "but if they do, it won't be on any snap decision of +Briscoe's. And unless I get tongue tied at the last minute we're goin' +to have a run for our money." + +That was what worried me most,--could I come across with the standin' +spiel? But, believe me, I wa'n't trustin' to any offhand stuff! I'd got +to know in advance what I meant to feed 'em, line for line and word for +word. By ten o'clock that night I had it all down on paper too--and +perhaps I didn't chew the penholder and leak some from the brow while I +was doin' it! + +Then came the rehearsin'. Say, you should have seen me risin' dignified +behind the washstand in my room, strikin' a Bill Bryan pose, and smilin' +calm at the bedposts as I launched out on my speech. Not that I was +tryin' to chuck any flowers of oratory. What I aimed to do was to tell +'em about Rowley's schemes as simple and straight away as I could, +usin' one-syllable words for the most part, cannin' the slang, and +soundin' as many final G's as my tongue would let me. Before I turned in +too, I had it almost pat; but I hardly dared to go to sleep for fear it +would get away from me. + +Say, but it ain't any cinch, this breakin' into public life, is it? The +obscure guy with the dinner pail and the calloused palms thinks he has +hard lines; but when the whistle blows he can wipe his trowel on his +overalls and forget it all until next day. But here I tosses around +restless in the feathers, and am up at daybreak goin' over my piece +again, trembly in the knees, with a vivid mental picture of how cheap +I'd feel if I should go to pieces when the time came. + +A good breakfast pepped me up a lot, though, and by noon I had them few +remarks of mine so I could say 'em backwards or forwards. How they was +goin' to sound outside of my room was another matter. I had my doubts +along that line; but I was goin' to give 'em the best I had in stock. + +It was most time for the session to begin when Vincent boy trots in with +a card announcin' Mr. Henry Clay Rowley. And, say, when this +smooth-faced party in the sporty Scotch tweed suit and the new model +pearl gray lid shows up, I has to gasp! He's had himself tailored and +barbered until he looks like an English investor come over huntin' six +per cent. dividends for a Bank of England surplus. + +"Zowie!" says I. "Some speed to you, Mr. Rowley. And class? Say, you +look like you was about to dump a trunkful of Steel preferred on the +market, instead of a few patents." + +"I'm giving your advice a thorough trial, you see," says he. + +"That's the stuff!" says I. "It's the dolled up gets the dollars these +days. Be sure and sit where they'll get a good view." + +Then we went into the directors' room and heard Willis G. Briscoe +deliver his knock. He does it snappy and vigorous, and when he's through +it didn't listen like anything more could be said. He humps his eyebrows +humorous when Mr. Robert announces that perhaps the board might like to +hear another view of the subject. + +"Torchy," goes on Mr. Robert, "you have the floor." + +For a second or so, though, I felt like spreadin' out so I wouldn't slip +through a crack. All of a sudden too, my mouth had gone dry and I had a +panicky notion that my brain had ossified. Then I got a glimpse of them +shrewd blue eyes of Rowley's smilin' encouragin' at me, the first few +sentences of my speech filtered back through the bone, I got my tongue +movin', and I was off. + +Funny how you can work out of a scare that way, ain't it? Why, say, the +first thing I knew I'd picked out old D. K. Rutgers, the worst fish-face +in the bunch, and was throwin' the facts into him like I was shovelin' +coal into a cellar chute. Beginnin' with Rowley's plan for condensin' +commercial acids from the blast fumes, explainin' the chemical process +that produced 'em, and how they could be caught on the fly and canned in +carboys for the trade, I galloped through the whole proposition, backin' +up every item with figures and formulas; until I showed 'em how the slag +that now cost 'em so much to get rid of could be sold for road +ballastin' and pressed into buildin' blocks at a profit of twenty +dollars a ton. I didn't let anything go just by statin' it bald. I took +Briscoe's objections one by one, shot 'em full of holes with the +come-backs Rowley had coached me on, and then proceeded to clinch the +argument until I had old Rutgers noddin' his head. + +"And these, Gentlemen," I winds up with, "are what Mr. Briscoe calls the +vague, half-baked ideas of an unpractical inventor. He's an expert, Mr. +Briscoe is! I'm not. I wouldn't know a supersaturated solution of +methylcalcites from a stein of Hoboken beer; but I'm willin' to believe +there's big money in handling either, providing you don't spill too much +on the inside. Mr. Rowley claims you're throwing away millions a year. +He says he can save it for you. He wants to show you how you can juggle +ore so you can save everything but the smell. He's here on the spot, and +if you want to quiz him about details, go as deep as you like." + +Did they? Say, that séance didn't break up until six-fifteen, and before +the board adjourns Rowley had a whackin' big option check in his fist, +and a resolution had gone through to install an experiment plan as soon +as it could be put up. An hour before that Willis G. Briscoe had done +the silent sneak, wearin' his mouth droopy. + +Mr. Robert meets me outside with the fraternal grip and says he's proud +of me. + +"Thanks, Mr. Robert," says I. "It was a case of framin' up a job for +myself, or else four-flushin' along until you tied the can to me. And I +need the Corrugated just now." + +"No more, I'm beginning to suspect," says he, "than the Corrugated needs +you." + +Which was some happy josh for an amateur private sec to get from the +boss! Eh? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +TORCHY TAKES A CHANCE + + +Say, I expected that after I got to be a salaried man, with a +swing-chair in Mr. Robert's private office, I'd be called on only to +pull the brainy stuff, calm and dignified, without any outside chasin' +around. I had a soothin' idea it would be a case of puttin' in my +mornin's dictatin' letters to gen'ral managers, and my afternoons to +holdin' interviews with the Secretary of the Treasury, and so on. I was +lookin' for plenty of high-speed domework, but nothin' more wearin' on +the arms than pushin' a call button or usin' a rubber stamp. + +But somehow I can't seem to do finance, or anything else, without +throwin' in a lot of extra pep. No matter how I start, first thing I +know I'm mixed up with quick action, and as likely as not gettin' my +clothes mussed. This last stunt, though--believe me I couldn't have got +more thrills if I'd joined a circus! + +It opens innocent enough too. I was moochin' around the bondroom when I +happens to glance over the transfer book and notices that a big block of +our debenture 6's are listed as goin' to the Federated Tractions. And +the name of the party who's about to swap the 6's for Tractions +preferred is a familiar one. It's Aunty's. Uh-huh--Vee's! + +Maybe you remember how Aunty played up her skittish symptoms about them +same bonds a few weeks back, the time she planned to exhibit me to Vee +in my office boy job and got so badly jolted when she finds me posin' as +a private sec instead? Went away real peeved, Aunty did that time. And +now it looks like she was takin' it out by unloadin' her bond holdin's. +It's to be some swap too, runnin' up into six figures. + +"Chee!" thinks I. "That's an income, all right, with Tractions payin' +between 7 and 9, besides cuttin' a melon now and then." + +They have their gen'ral offices three floors below us, you know. Not +that I wouldn't have had a line on 'em anyway; for whatever that bunch +of Philadelphia live wires gets hold of is worth watchin'. Say, they'd +consolidate city breathin' air if they could, and make it pay dividends. +It's important to note too, that they're buyin' into Corrugated so deep. +I mentions the fact casual to Mr. Robert. + +"Really," says he, liftin' his eyebrows surprised. "Federated Tractions! +Are you certain?" + +"Unless our registry clerk has had a funny dream," says I. "The notice +was listed yesterday. And you know how grouchy the old girl was on us." + +"H-m-m-m!" says he, drummin' his fingers nervous. "Thanks, Torchy. I +must look into this." + +Seemed to worry Mr. Robert a bit; so maybe that's why I had my ears +stretched wider'n usual. It wa'n't an hour later that I runs across Izzy +Budheimer down in the Arcade. He's on the Curb now, Izzy is, and by the +size of the diamond horseshoe decoratin' the front of his silk shirt he +must be tradin' some in wildcats. Hails me like a friend and brother, +Izzy does, tries to wish a tinfoil Fumadora on me, and gives me the +happy josh about bein' boosted off the gate. + +"You'll be gettin' wise to all the inside deals now, eh?" says he, +winkin' foxy. "And maybe we might work off something together. Yes?" + +"Sure!" says I. "I'll come down every noon with the office secrets and +let you peddle 'em around Broad street from a pushcart. Gwan, you +parrot-beaked near-broker! Why, I wouldn't trust tellin' you the time of +day!" + +Izzy grins like I'd paid him a compliment. "Such a joker!" says he. "But +listen! Which side do the Tractions people come down on?" + +"Federated?" says I. "North corridor, just around the corner. Sleuthin' +around that bunch, are you? What's doing in Tractions?" + +"How should I know?" protests Izzy, openin' his eyes innocent. "Maybe I +got a customer on the general staff, ain't it?" + +"You'd be scoutin' up here at this time of day after a ten-dollar +commission, wouldn't you?" says I. "And with that slump in Connecticut +Gas in full blast! Can it, Izzy! I know a thing or two about Tractions +myself." + +"Yes?" he whispers persuasive, almost holdin' his breath. "What do you +hear, now?" + +"Don't say I told you," says I, "but they're thinkin' of puttin' in +left-handed straps for south-paw passengers." + +Izzy looks pained and disgusted. He's got a serious mind, Izzy has, and +if you could take a thumbprint of his brain, it would be all fractions +and dollar signs. + +"I have to meet my cousin Abie Moss," says he, edgin' away. "He has a +bookkeeper's job with Tractions for a month now, and I promised his aunt +I would ask how he's comin'." + +"How touchin'!" says I as he moves off. + +I gazes after him curious a minute, and then follows a sudden hunch. Why +not see just how much of a bluff this was about Cousin Abie? So I slips +around by the cigar stand, steps behind a pillar, and keeps him in +range. Three or four minutes I watched Izzy waitin' at the elevator +exit, without seein' him give anyone the fraternal grip. Then he seems +to quit. He drifts back towards the Arcade with the lunch crowd, and I +was about to turn away when I lamps him bein' slipped a piece of paper +by a short, squatty-built guy who brushes by him casual. Izzy gathers it +in with never a word and strolls over to the 'phone booths, where he +lets on to be huntin' a number in the directory. All he does there, +though, is spread out that paper, read it through hasty, and then tear +it up and chuck it in the waste basket. + +"Huh!" says I, seein' Izzy scuttle off towards Broadway. "Looks like +there was a plot to the piece. I wonder?" + +And just for the fun of the thing I collected them twenty-eight pieces +of yellow paper, carried 'em over to my lunch place, and spent the best +part of my noon-hour piecin' 'em together. What I got was this, +scribbled in lead pencil: + +Grebel out. Larkin melding. Teg morf rednu. + +"Whiffo!" thinks I. "What kind of a Peruvian dialect is this?" + +Course the names was plain enough. Everybody knows Grebel and Larkin, +and that they're the big wheezes in that Philly crowd. But what then? +Had Grebel gone out to lunch? And was Larkin playin' penuchle? +Thrillin', if true. Then comes this "Teg morf rednu" stuff. Was that +Russian, or Chinese? + +"Heiney," says I, callin' the dough-faced food juggler. "Heiney," I +repeats solemn, "Teg morf rednu." + +Not a smile from Heiney. He grabs the bill of fare and begins to hunt +through the cheese list panicky. + +"Never mind," says I, "you won't find it there. But here's another: What +do you do when you meld a hundred aces, say?" + +A look of almost human intelligence flickers into Heiney's face. +"_Ach!_" says he. "By the table you pud 'em--so!" + +"Thanks, Heiney," says I. "That helps a little." + +So Larkin was chuckin' something on the table, was he! But this other +dope, "Teg morf rednu?" Say, I'd come back to that after every bite. I +wrote it out on an envelope, tried runnin' it together and splittin' it +up diff'rent, and turned it upside down. Then in a flash I got it. + +When Mr. Robert sails in from the club I was waitin' for him. He'd heard +a rumor that Grebel was to retire soon. Also he'd met young Larkin in +the billiard room, and found that the fam'ly was goin' abroad for the +summer. + +"But all that may mean nothing at all, you know," says Mr. Robert. + +"And then again," says I. "Study that out and see if it don't tally with +your dope," and I produces a copy of Izzy's wireless. + +Mr. Robert wrinkles his forehead over it without any result. "What is +it?" says he. + +"An inside tip on Tractions," says I, and sketches out how I'd got it. + +"Oh, I see now," says he. "That about Grebel? But what is melding? And +this last--'Teg morf rednu'? I can make no sense of that." + +"Try it backwards," says I. + +"Why--er--by Jove!" says he. "Get from under, eh? Then--then there is a +slump coming. And with all that new stock issue, I'm not surprised. But +that hits Miss Vee's aunt rather heavily, doesn't it? That is, if the +deal has gone through." + +"Who's her lawyers?" says I. "They ought to know." + +"Of course," says Mr. Robert, reachin' for the 'phone. "Winkler, Burt & +Winkler. Look up the number, will you? Eh? Broad, did you say?" + +And inside of three minutes he has explained the case and got the +verdict. "They don't know," says he. "The transfer receipts were sent +for her to sign last night. If she's signed them, there's nothing to be +done." + +"But if she hasn't?" says I. + +"Then she mustn't," says Mr. Robert. "It would mean letting that crowd +get a foothold in Corrugated, and a loss of thousands to her. See if +the tape shows any recent fluctuations." + +"Bluey-ooey!" says I, runnin' over the mornin' sales hasty. "Opened at +seven-eighths, then 500 at three-quarters, another block at a half, 300 +at a quarter--why, it's on the toboggan!" + +"She must be found and warned at once," says Mr. Robert. + +"Am I the guy?" says I. + +"You are," says he. "And minutes may count. I'll get the address for +you. It's in that----" + +"Say," I throws over my shoulder on my way to the door, "whose aunt is +this, anyway?" + +Looked like a simple matter for me to locate Aunty. And if she was out +takin' her drive or anything--why, I could be explainin' to Vee while I +waited. That would be tough luck, of course; but I could stand it for +once. + +At their apartment hotel I finds nobody home but Celeste, the maid, all +dolled up like Thursday afternoon. She hands it to me cold and haughty +that Madame and Ma'mselle are out. + +"I could almost guess that from the lid you're wearin'," says I. "One of +Miss Vee's, ain't it?" + +She pinks up and goes gaspy at that. "Please," she begins pleadin', "if +you would not mention----" + +"I might forget to," I breaks in, "if you'll tell me where I can find +'em quickest." + +And Celeste gets the information out rapid. They're house-partyin' at +the Morley Beckhams, over at Quehassett, Long Island. "Rosemere" is the +name of the joint. + +"Me for Quehassett!" says I, dashin' for the elevator. + +But, say, I needn't have lost my breath. Parts of Long Island you can +get to every half-hour or so; but Quehassett ain't one of 'em. Huntin' +it up on the railroad map, I discovers that it's 'way out to the deuce +and gone on the north shore, and the earliest start I can get is the +four o'clock local. + +Ever cruise around much on them Long Island branch lines? Say, it must +be int'restin' sport, providin' you don't care whether you get there +this week or next. I missed one connection by waitin' for the brakeman +to call out the change. And when I'd caught another train back to the +right junction I got the pleasin' bulletin that the next for Quehassett +is the theater train, that comes along somewhere about midnight. + +So there I was hung up in a rummy little commuter town where the chief +industry is sellin' bungalow sites on the salt marsh. Then I tackles the +'phone, which results in three snappy conversations with a grouchy +butler at sixty cents a throw, but no real dope on the Beckhams or +their guests. + +Well, it's near two A.M. when I fin'lly lands in Quehassett, which is no +proper time to call on anybody's aunt. Everything is shut tight too; so +I spreads out an evenin' edition on a baggage truck and turns in weary. +I'd overlooked pullin' down the front shades to the station, though, and +the next thing I knew the sun was hittin' me square in the face. + +I wanders around Quehassett until a Dago opens up a little fruitstand. +He sold me some bananas and a couple of muskmelons for breakfast, and +points out which road leads to Rosemere. It's down on the shore about a +mile and a half, and I strolls along, eatin' fruit and enjoyin' the +early mornin' air. + +Some joint Rosemere turns out to be,--acres of lawn, and rows of striped +awnin's at the windows. The big iron gates was locked, with nobody in +sight; so I has plenty of time to write a note to Vee, beggin' her for +the love of soup, if Aunty hasn't signed the transfer papers, not to let +her do it until she hears from me. My scheme was to get one of the help +to take the message to Vee before she got up. + +Must have been near seven o'clock when I gets hold of one of the +gardeners, tips him a dollar, and drags out of him the fact that cook +says how all the folks are off on the yacht, which is gen'rally +anchored off the dock. He don't know if it's there now or not. It was +last night. I can tell by goin' down. The road follows that little +creek. + +So I gallops down to the shore. No yacht in sight. There's a point of +land juts out to the left. Maybe she's anchored behind that. Comin' down +along the creek too, I'd seen an old tub of a boat tied up. Back I +chases for it. + +Looked simple for me to keep on; but when I get started on a trail I +never know when to stop. I was paddlin' down the creek, bound for +nowhere special, when along comes a sporty-dressed young gent, wearin' +puttee leggin's and a leather cap with goggles attached. He's luggin' a +five-gallon can of gasoline, and strikes me for a lift down the shore a +bit. + +"Keepin' your car in the Sound, are you?" says I, shovin' in towards the +bank. + +"It's an aërohydro," says he. + +"Eh?" says I. "A--a which?" + +"An air boat, you know," says he. "I'm going to try her out. Bully +morning for a flight, isn't it?" + +"Maybe," says I. "Get aboard. Always have to cart your gas down this +way?" + +At that he grows real chatty. Seems this is a brand-new machine, just +delivered the night before, and he's keepin' it a dead secret from the +fam'ly, so Mother won't worry. He says that's all nonsense, though; for +he's been takin' lessons on the quiet for more than a year, has earned +his pilot's license, and can handle any kind of a plane. + +"Just straight driving, of course," he goes on. "I don't attempt spiral +dips, or exhibition work. I've never been up more than five hundred +feet. And this is such a safe type. Oh, the folks will come around to it +after they've seen me up once or twice. I want to surprise 'em. There +she is, up the shore. See!" + +Hanged if I hadn't missed it before, when I was lookin' for the yacht! +Spidery lookin' affairs, ain't they, when you get close to, with all +them slim wire guys? And the boat part is about as substantial as a +pasteboard battleship. While he's pourin' in the gasoline I paddles +around and inspects the thing. + +"Five hundred feet up?" says I. "Excuse me!" + +He grins good natured. "Think you wouldn't like it, eh?" says he. "Why?" + +"Too cobwebby," says I. "Why, them wings are nothin' but cloth." + +"Best quality duck, two layers," says he. "And the frame has a tensile +strength of three hundred and fifty pounds to the square foot. Isn't +that motor a beauty? Ninety-horse." + +"Guess I'll take my joy ridin' closer to the turf, though," says I. +"Course, I've always had a batty notion I'd like to fly some time; +but----" + +"Hello!" he breaks in. "There goes the Katrina!" and he points out a big +white yacht that's slippin' along through the water about half a mile +off. "It's the Beckhams'," he goes on. "They're our neighbors here at +Rosemere, you know. They have guests from town, and my folks are aboard. +By Jove! Here's my chance to surprise 'em. I say, would you mind +paddling around and giving me a shove off?" + +But I stands gawpin' out at the yacht. "The Morley Beckhams?" says I. + +"Yes, yes!" says he. "But hurry, please. I want to catch them." + +"You--you----?" But I was thinkin' too rapid to talk much. Vee and Aunty +was out on that boat, and maybe at the next landin' Aunty would mail +them transfers. If it was goin' to hit her alone, I might have stood it +calmer; but there was Vee. + +"Say," I sputters out, "ain't there room for two?" + +"Why, ye-e-e-es," says he sort of draggy. "I've never taken up a +passenger, though; but I've thought that----" + +"Then why not now?" says I. "I want to go the worst way." + +"But a moment ago," he protests, "you----" + +"It's different now," says I. "There's a party on that yacht I want to +get word to,--Miss Hemmingway. I got to, that's all! And what's a neck +more or less? I'll take the chance if you will." + +"By Jove!" says he. "I'll do it. Shove off. Here, stick your oar into +the mud and push. That's it! Now climb in and give that old tub of yours +a shove so she'll clear that left plane. Good work! Here's your seat, +beside me. Don't get your knees in the way of that lever, please, or put +your feet on that cross bar. That's my rudder control. Now! Are you +ready? Then I'll start her." + +Say, I didn't have time to work up any spine chills, or even say a +"Now-I-lay-me." He reaches up behind him, gives the crank a whirl, and +the next thing I know we're shootin' over the water like an express +train, with the spray flyin', the wind whistlin' in my ears, and eight +cylinders exhaustin' direct within two feet of the back of my neck. Talk +about speedin'! When you're travelin' through the water at a +forty-mile-an-hour gait, and so close you can trail your fingers, you +know all about it. Although it's a calm mornin', with hardly a ripple, +the motion was a little bumpy. No wonder! + +Then all of a sudden I has a sinkin' sensation somewhere under my vest, +the bumpin' stops, and I feels like I'd shuffled off somethin' heavy. I +had--a billion tons or more! Glancin' over the side, I sees the water +ten or a dozen feet below us. We were in the air. And, believe me, I +reaches out for something solid to hold onto! All I could find was a +two-inch upright, and I takes a fond grip on that. If it had been a +telephone pole, I'd felt better. + +My sporty-dressed friend smiles encouragin' over his shoulder. I hope I +smiled back; but I wouldn't swear to it. Not that I'm scared. Hush, +hush! But I wa'n't used to bein' shot through the air so impetuous. I +takes another glance overboard. Hel-lup! Someone's pullin' Long Island +Sound from under us. The water must have been fifty or sixty feet down, +and gettin' more so. For a while after that I looks straight ahead. +What's the use keepin' track of how high you are, anyway? You'll only +bore just so big a hole in the water if you fall. + +But it's funny how soon you can get over feelin's like that. Inside of +three minutes I'd quit grippin' the stanchion and was sittin' there +peaceful, enjoyin' the ride. We seemed to be sailin' along on a level +now, about housetop high, and so far as I could see we was as steady as +if we'd been on a front veranda. There's no sway or rock to the machine +at all. I'd been holdin' myself as rigid as if I'd been in a tippy +canoe; but now I took a chance on shiftin' my position a little. I even +leaned over the side. Nothing happened. That was comfortin'. How easy +and smooth it was, glidin' along up there! + +Meanwhile we'd taken a wide sweep and was leavin' the yacht far behind. + +"Say," I shouts to my aviatin' friend, "how do we get to her?" + +But it's no use tryin' to converse with that roar in your ears. I points +back to the boat. He nods and smiles. + +"Wait!" he yells at me. + +With that he pulls his plane lever and we begins to climb some more. You +hardly know you're doin' it, though. Up or down don't mean anything in +the air, where the goin' is all the same. Only as we gets higher the +Sound narrows and Long Island stretches further and further. And, take +it from me, that's the way to view scenery! Up and up we slid, just +soarin' free and careless. He turns to me with another grin, to see how +I'm takin' it. And this time I grins back. + +"About three hundred!" he shouts, puttin' his mouth close. "Eighty an +hour too!" + +"Zippy stuff!" says I. + +Then he gives me a nudge, juggles his deflectors, and down we shoots. I +never had any part of the map come at me so fast. Seemed like the Sound +was just rushin' at us, and I was tryin' to guess how far into the +bottom we'd go, when he pulls the lever again and we skims along just +above the surface. Shootin' the chutes--say, that Coney stunt seems tame +compared to this! + +In no time at all we've made a circle around the yacht and are comin' up +behind her once more. We could see the people pilin' out on deck to +rubber at us. In a minute more we'd be even with 'em. And how was I +goin' to deliver that message to Vee? Just then I looks in my lap, where +I was grippin' my straw lid between my knees, and discovers that I've +lugged along one of them muskmelons in a paper bag. That gives me my +hunch. + +Fishin' out the note I'd written, I slits the melon with my knife and +jabs it in. Then I shows the breakfast bomb to my friend and points to +the yacht. He nods. Some bean, that guy had! + +"I'll sail over her," he howls in my ear. "You can drop it on the deck." + +There was no time for gettin' ready or takin' practice shots. Up we +glides into the air right over the white wake she was leavin'. The folks +on her was wavin' to us. First I made out Vee, standin' on the little +bridge amidships, lookin' cute and classy in white serge. Then I spots +Aunty, who's tumbled out in her boudoir cap and kimono. I leans over and +waves enthusiastic. + +"Hey, Vee!" I shouts. "Watch this!" + +I'd picked out the widest part of the deck forward, where there's no +awnin' up, and when it was exactly underneath I lets the melon go, hard +as I could shoot it. Some shot that was too! I saw it smash on the deck, +watched one of the sailors stare at it stupid, and then caught a glimpse +of Vee rushin' towards the spot. Course I wa'n't sure she knew me at +that distance, or had heard what I said; but trust her for doin' the +right thing at the right time! + +"There's Mother!" I hears my sporty friend roar out. "I say! Mother! +It's Billy, you know." + +No doubt about Mother's catchin' on. Maybe she'd suspicioned, anyway; +but the last I saw of her she was slumpin' into the arms of a +white-haired old gent behind her. + +Another minute and we'd left the Katrina behind like she had seven +anchors out. On we went and up once more, turnin' with a dizzy swoop and +skimmin' past her, back towards where we started from. And just as I was +wishin' he'd go faster and higher we settles down on the water, dashes +in behind the dock, the motor slows up, the plane floats drag in the +mud, and it's all over. + +Took the yacht near an hour to get back to us. Mother had insisted, and +when she found Billy all safe and sound she fell on his neck and forgave +him. + +As for me? Well, maybe I didn't have some swell report to turn in to Mr. +Robert! I had him listenin' with his mouth open before I got through +too. + +"Aunty was mighty suspicious first off," says I; "but after she'd used +the long distance and got a line on how Tractions was waverin', she +warms up quite a lot, for her. Uh-huh! Gives me a vote of thanks, and +says she'll call off the deal." + +"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "I am speechless with admiration. Your +business methods are certainly advanced. I had not thought of flying as +a modern requisite for a commercial career." + +"The real thing in high finance, eh?" says I. "And, say, me for the air +after this! I've swallowed the bug. I know how a bloomin' seagull feels +when he's on the wing; and, believe me, it's got everything else in the +sport line lookin' like playin' tag with your feet tied!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BREAKING IT TO THE BOSS + + +I don't admit it went to my head,--not so bad as that,--only maybe my +chest measure had swelled an inch or so, and I wouldn't say my heels +wa'n't hittin' a bit hard as I strolls dignified up and down the private +office. + +You see, Mr. Robert was snitchin' a couple of days off for the Newport +regatta, and he'd sort of left me on the lid, as you might say. So far +as there bein' any real actin' head of the Corrugated Trust for the time +being--well, I was it. Anyway, I'd passed along some confidential dope +to our Western sales manager, stood by to take a report from the special +audit committee, and had an interview with the president of a big bond +house, all in one forenoon. That was speedin' up some for a private sec, +wa'n't it? + +And now I was just markin' time, waitin' for what might turn up, and +feelin' equal to pullin' off any sort of a deal, from matchin' Piddie +for the lunches to orderin' a new stock issue. What if the asphalt over +on Fifth-ave. was softenin' up, with the mercury hittin' the nineties, +and half the force off on vacations? I had a real job to attend to. I +was doin' things! + +And as I stops by the roll-top to lean up against it casual I had that +comf'table, easy feelin' of bein' the right man in the right place. You +know, I guess? You're there with the goods. You ain't the whole works +maybe; but you're a special, particular party, one that can push buttons +and have 'em answered, paw over the mail, or put your initials under a +signature. + +And right in the midst of them rosy reflections the door to the private +office swings open abrupt and in pads a stout old party wearin' a +generous-built pongee suit and a high-crowned Panama. Also there's +something familiar about the bushy eyebrows and the lima bean ears. It's +Old Hickory himself. I chokes down a gasp and straightens up. + +"Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "I thought you was down at the Springs?" + +"Didn't think I'd been banished for life, did you?" says he. + +"But Mr. Robert," I goes on, "didn't look for you until----" + +"No doubt," he breaks in. "Robert and those fool doctors would have kept +me soaking in those infernal mud baths until I turned into a crocodile. +I know. I'm a gouty, rheumatic old wreck, I suppose; but I'll be dad +blistered if I'm going to end my days wallowing in medicated mud! I've +had enough. Where is everybody?" + +So I has to account for Mr. Robert, tell how Mrs. Ellins and Marjorie +and Son-in-Law Ferdie are up to Bar Harbor, and hint that they're +expectin' him to come up as soon as he lands. + +"That's their programme, is it?" he growls. "Think I'm going to spend +the rest of the season sitting on a veranda taking pills, do they? Well, +they're mistaken!" + +And off he goes into his own room. I don't know what he thought he was +goin' to do there. Just habit, I expect. For we've been gettin' along +without Old Hickory for quite some time now, while he's been away. First +off he tried to keep in touch with things by night letters, then he had +a weekly report sent him; but gradually he lost the run of the new +deals, and for the last month or so he'd quit firin' over any orders at +all. + +Through the open door I could see him sittin' at his big, flat-topped +mahogany desk, starin' around sort of aimless. Then he pulls out a +drawer and shuffles over some old papers that had been there ever since +he left. Next he picks up a pen and starts to make some notes. + +"Boy!" he sings out. "Ink!" + +Course I could have pushed the buzzer and had Vincent do it; but seein' +how nobody had put him wise to the change, I didn't feel like +announcin' it myself. So I fills the inkwell, chases up a waste basket +for him, and turns on the electric fan. + +"Now bring the mail!" says he snappy. + +He was back to; so it was safe to smile. You see, I'd attended to all +the mornin' deliveries, sorted out what I knew had to be held over for +Mr. Robert, opened what was doubtful, and sent off a few answers +accordin' to orders. But, after all, he was the big boss. He had a right +to go through the motions if he wanted to. So I lugs in the mail, dumps +it in the tray, and leaves him with it. + +Must have been half an hour later, and I was back at my own desk doping +out a schedule I'd promised to fix up for Mr. Robert, when I glances up +to find Old Hickory wanderin' around the room absent-minded. He's +starin' hard at a letter he holds in one paw. All of a sudden he +discovers me at the roll-top. For a second he scowls at me from under +the bushy eyebrows, and then comes the explosion. + +"Boy!" he sings out. "What the hyphenated maledictions are you doing +there?" + +Well, I broke it to him as gentle as I could. + +"Promoted, eh?" he snorts. "To what?" + +And I explains how I'm private secretary to the president of the Mutual +Funding Company. + +"Never heard of such an organization," says he. "What is it, anyway?" + +"Dummy concern mostly," says I, "faked up to stall off the I. C. C." + +"Eh?" he gawps. + +"Interstate Commerce Commission," says I. "We beat 'em to it, you know, +by dissolvin'--on paper. Had to have somebody to use the rubber stamp; +so they picked me off the gate." + +"Humph!" he grunts. "So you're no longer an office boy, eh? But I had +you hopping around like one. How was that?" + +"Guess I got a hop or two left in me," says I, "specially for you, Mr. +Ellins." + +"Hah!" says he. "Also more or less blarney left on the tongue. Well, +young man, we'll see. As office boy you had your good points, I +remember; but as----" Then he breaks off and repeats, "We'll see, Son." +And he goes to studyin' the letter once more. + +Fin'lly he sends for Piddie. They confabbed for a while, and as Piddie +comes out he's still explainin' how he's sure he don't know, but most +likely Mr. Robert understands all about it. + +"Hang what Robert understands!" snaps Old Hickory. "He isn't here, is +he? And I want to know now. Torchy, come in here!" + +"Yes, Sir," says I, scentin' trouble and salutin' respectful. + +"What about these Universal people refusing to renew that Manistee +terminal lease?" he demands. + +And if he'd asked how many feathers in a rooster's tail I'd been just as +full of information. But from what Piddie's drawn by declarin' an alibi, +it didn't look like that was my cue. + +"Suppose I get you the correspondence on that?" says I, and rushes out +after the copybook. + +But the results wa'n't enlightenin'. We'd applied for renewal on the old +terms, the Universal folks had sent back word that in due course the +matter would be taken up, and that's all until this notice comes in that +there's nothin' doin'. "Inexpedient under present conditions," was the +way they put it. + +"I expect Mr. Robert will be back Monday," I suggests cautious. + +"Oh, do you?" raps out Old Hickory. "And meanwhile this lease expires +to-morrow noon, leaving us without a foot of ore wharf anywhere on the +Great Lakes. What does Mr. Robert intend to do then--transport by +aëroplane? Just asked pleasant and polite for a renewal, did he? And +before I could make 'em grant the original I all but had their directors +strung up by the thumbs! Hah!" + +He settles back heavy in his chair and sets them cut granite jaws of his +solid. He don't look so much like an invalid, after all. There's good +color in his cheeks, and behind the droopy lids you could see the +fighting light in his eyes. He glances once more at the letter. + +"Hello!" says he. "I thought their main offices were in Chicago. This is +from Broadway, International Utilities Building. Perhaps you can tell me +what they're doing down there?" + +"Subsidiary of I. U.," says I. "Been listed that way all summer." + +"Then," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim, "we have to do once more with no +less a personage than Gedney Nash. Well, so be it. He and I have fought +out other differences. We'll try again. And if I'm a back number, I'll +soon know it. Now get me a list of our outside security holdings." + +That was his first order; but, say, inside of half an hour he had +everybody in the shop, from little Vincent up to the head of the bond +department, doin' flipflops and pinwheels. Didn't take 'em long to find +out that he was back on the job, either. + +"Breezy with that now!" I'd tell 'em. "This is a rush order for the old +man. Sure he's in there. Can't you smell the sulphur?" + +In the midst of it comes a hundred-word code message from Dalton, our +traffic superintendent, sayin' how he'd been notified to remove his +wharf spurs within twenty-four hours and askin' panicky what he should +do about it. + +"Tell him to hold his tracks with loaded ore trains, and keep his shirt +on," growls Old Hickory over his shoulder. "And 'phone Peabody, Frost & +Co. to send up their railroad securities expert on the double quick." + +That's the way it went from eleven A.M. until two-thirty, and all the +lunch I indulged in was two bites of a cheese sandwich that Vincent +split with me. At two-thirty-five Old Hickory jams on his hat and +signals for me. + +"Gather up those papers and come along," says he. "I think we're ready +now to talk to Gedney Nash." + +I smothered a gasp. Was he nutty, or what? You know you don't drop in +offhand on a man like Gedney Nash, same as you would on a shrimp bank +president, or a corporation head. You hear a lot about him, of +course,--now givin' a million to charity, then bein' denounced as a +national highway robber,--but you don't see him. Anyway, I never knew of +anyone who did. He's the man behind, the one that pulls the strings. +Course, he's supposed to be at the head of International Utilities, but +he claims not to hold any office. And you know what happened when +Congress tried to get him before an investigatin' committee. All that +showed up was a squad of lawyers, who announced they was ready to +answer any questions they couldn't file an exception to, and three +doctors with affidavits to prove that Mr. Nash was about to expire from +as many incurable diseases. So Congress gave it up. + +Yet here we was, pikin' downtown without any notice, expectin' to find +him as easy as if he was a traffic cop on a fixed post. Well, we didn't. +The minute we blows into the arcade and begins to ask for him, up slides +a smooth-talkin' buildin' detective who listens polite what I feed him +and suggests that if we wait a minute he'll call up the gen'ral offices. +Which he does and reports that they've no idea where Mr. Nash can be +found. Maybe he's gone to the mountains, or over to his Long Island +place, or abroad on a vacation. + +"Tommyrot!" says Old Hickory. "Gedney Nash never took a vacation in his +life. I know he's in New York now." + +The gentleman sleuth shrugs his shoulders and allows that if Mr. Ellins +ain't satisfied he might go up to Floor 11 and ask for himself. So up we +went. Ever in the Tractions Buildin'? Say, it's like bein' caught in a +fog down the bay,--all silence and myst'ry. I expect it's the +headquarters of a hundred or more diff'rent corporations, all tied up +some way or other with I. U. interests; but on the doors never the name +of one shows: just "Mr. So-and-So," "Mr. Whadye Callum," "Mr. +This-and-That." Clerks hurry by you with papers in their hands, walkin' +soft on rubber heels. They tap respectful on a door, it opens silent, +they disappear. When they meet in the corridors they pass without +hailin', without even a look. You feel that there's something doin' +around you, something big and important. But the gears don't give out +any hum. It's like a game of blind man's bluff played in the dark. + +And the sharp-eyed, gray-haired gent we talked to through the brass +gratin' acted like he'd never heard the name Gedney Nash before. When +Old Hickory cuts loose with the tabasco remarks at him he only smiles +patient and insists that if he can locate Mr. Nash, which he doubts, +he'll do his best to arrange an interview. It may take a day, or a week, +or a month, but---- + +"Bah!" snorts Old Hickory, turnin' on his heel, and he cusses eloquent +all the way down and out to the taxi. + +"Seems to me I've heard how Mr. Nash uses a private elevator," I +suggests. + +"Quite like him," says Old Hickory. "Think you could find it?" + +"I could make a stab," says I. + +But at that I knew I was kiddin' myself. Why not? Ain't there been times +when whole bunches of live-wire reporters, not to mention relays of +court deputies, have raked New York with a fine-tooth comb, lookin' for +Gedney Nash, without even gettin' so much as a glimpse of his limousine +rollin' round a corner. + +"Suppose we circle the block once or twice, while I tear off a few +Sherlock Holmes thoughts?" says I. + +Mr. Ellins sniffs scornful; but he'd gone the limit himself, so he gives +the directions. I leaned back, shut my eyes, and tried to guess how a +foxy old guy like Nash would fix it up so he could do the unseen duck +off Broadway into his private office. Was it a tunnel from the subway +through the boiler basement, or a bridge from the next skyscraper, +or---- But the sight of a blue cap made me ditch this dream stuff. Funny +I hadn't thought of that line before--and me an A. D. T. once myself! + +"Hey, you!" I calls out the window. "Wait up, Cabby, while we take on a +passenger. Yes, you, Skinny. Hop in here. Ah, what for would we be +kidnappin' a remnant like you? It's your birthday, ain't it? And the +gentleman here has a present for you--a whole dollar. Eh, Mr. Ellins?" + +Old Hickory looks sort of puzzled; but he forks out the singleton, and +the messenger climbs in after it. A chunky, round-faced kid he was too. +I pushed him into one of the foldin' front seats and proceeds to apply +the pump. + +"What station do you run from, Sport?" says I. + +"Number six," says he. + +"Oh, yes," says I. "Just back of the Exchange. And is old Connolly chief +down there still?" + +"Yes, Sir," says he. + +"Give him my regards when you get back," says I, "and tell him Torchy +says he's a flivver." + +The kid grins enthusiastic. + +"By the way," I goes on, "who's he sendin' out with the Nash +work--Gedney Nash's, you know?" + +"Number 17," says he, "Loppy Miller." + +"What!" says I. "Old Loppy carryin' the book yet? Why, he had grown kids +when I wore the stripes. Well, well! Cagy old duffer, Loppy. Ever ask +him where he delivers the Nash business?" + +"Yep," says the youngster, "and he near got me fired for it." + +"But you found out, didn't you?" says I. + +He glances at me suspicious and rolls his eyes. "M-m-m-m," says he, +shakin' his head. + +"Ah, come!" says I. "You don't mean that a real sure-fire like you could +be shunted that way? There'd be no harm in your givin' a guess, and if +it was right--well, we could run that birthday stake up five more; +couldn't we, Mr. Ellins?" + +Old Hickory nods, and passes me a five-spot prompt. + +"Well?" says I, wavin' it careless. + +The kid might have been scared, but he had the kale-itch in his fingers. +"All I know," says he, "is that Loppy allus goes into the William Street +lobby of the Farmers' National." + +"Go on!" says I. "That don't come within two numbers of backin' against +the Traction Buildin'." + +"But Loppy allus does," he insists. "There's a door to the right, just +beyond the teller's window. But you can't get past the gink in the gray +helmet. I tried once." + +"Secret entrance, eh?" says I. "Sounds convincin'. Anyway, I got your +number. So here's your five. Invest it in baby bonds, and don't let on +to Mother. You're six to the good, and your job safe. By-by!" + +"What now?" says Old Hickory. "Shall we try the secret door?" + +"Not unless we're prepared to do strong arm work on the guard," says I. +"No. What we got to frame up now is a good excuse. Let's see, you can't +ring in as one of the fam'ly, can you?" + +"Not as any relative of Gedney's," says Old Hickory. "I'm not built +right." + +"How about his weak points?" says I. "Know of any fads of his?" + +"Why," says Mr. Ellins, "he is a good deal interested in landscape +gardening, and he goes in for fancy poultry, I believe." + +"That's the line!" says I. "Poultry! Ain't there a store down near +Fulton Market where we could buy a sample?" + +I was in too much of a rush to go into details, and it must have seemed +a batty performance to Old Hickory; but off we chases, and when we drove +up to the Farmers' National half an hour later I has a wicker cage in +each hand and Mr. Ellins has both fists full of poultry literature +displayed prominent. Sure enough too, we finds the door beyond the +teller's window, also the gink in the gray helmet. He's a husky-built +party, with narrow-set, suspicious eyes. + +"Up to Mr. Nash's," says I casual, makin' a move to walk right past. + +"Back up!" says he, steppin' square across the way. "What Mr. Nash?" + +"Whadye mean, what Mr. Nash?" says I. "There ain't clusters of 'em, are +there? Mr. Gedney Nash, of course." + +"Wrong street," says he. "Try around on Broadway." + +"What a kidder!" says I. "But if you will delay the champion hen expert +of the country," and I nods to Old Hickory, "just send word up to Mr. +Nash that Mr. Skellings has come with that pair of silver-slashed blue +Orpingtons he wanted to see." + +"Blue which?" says the guard. + +"Ah, take a look!" says I. "Ain't they some birds? Gold medal winners, +both of 'em." + +I holds open the paper wrappings while he inspects the cacklers. And, +believe me, they was the fanciest poultry specimens I'd ever seen! +Honest, they looked like they'd been got up for the pullets' annual +costume ball. + +"And Mr. Nash," I goes on, "said Mr. Skellings was to bring 'em in this +way." + +The guard takes another glance at Old Hickory, and that got him; for in +his high-crowned Panama the boss does look more like a fancy farmer than +he does like the head of the Corrugated. + +"I'll see," says he, openin' a little closet and producin' a 'phone. He +was havin' some trouble too, tellin' someone just who we was, when I +cuts in. + +"Ah, just describe the birds," says I. "Silver-slashed blue Orpingtons, +you know." + +Does it work? Say, in less than two minutes we was being towed through a +windin' passage that fin'lly ends in front of a circular shaft with a +cute little elevator waitin' at the bottom. + +"Pass two," says the guard. + +Another minute and we're bein' shot up I don't know how many stories, +and are steppin' out into the swellest set of office rooms I was ever +in. A mahogany door opens, and in comes a wispy, yellow-skinned, +dried-up little old party with eyes like a rat. Didn't look much like +the pictures they print of him, but I guessed it was Gedney. + +"Some prize Orpingtons, did I understand?" says he, in a soft, purry +voice. "I don't recall having----" Then he gets a good look at Old +Hickory, and his tone changes sudden. "What!" he snaps. "You, Ellins? +How did you get in here?" + +"With those fool chickens," says the boss. + +"But--but I didn't know," goes on Mr. Nash, "that you were interested in +that sort of thing." + +"Glad to say I'm not," comes back Old Hickory. "Just a scheme of my +brilliant-haired young friend here to smuggle me into the sacred +presence. Great Zacharias, Nash! why don't you shut yourself in a steel +vault, and have done with it?" + +Gedney bites his upper lip, annoyed. "I find it necessary," says he, "to +avoid interruptions. I presume, however, that you came on some errand of +importance?" + +"I did," says Old Hickory. "I want to get a renewal of that Manistee +terminal lease." + +Say, of all the scientific squirmin', Gedney Nash can put up the +slickest specimen. First off he lets on not to know a thing about it. +Well, perhaps it was true that International Utilities did control those +wharves: he really couldn't say. And besides that matter would be left +entirely to the discretion of---- + +"No, it won't," breaks in Old Hickory, shakin' a stubby forefinger at +him. "It's between us, Nash. You know what those terminal privileges +mean to us. We can't get on without them. And if you take 'em away, it's +a fight to a finish--that's all!" + +"Sorry, Ellins," says Mr. Nash, "but I can do nothing." + +"Wait," says Old Hickory. "Did you know that we held a big block of your +M., K. & T.'s? Well, we do. They happen to be first lien bonds too. And +M., K. & T. defaulted on its last interest coupons. Entirely +unnecessary, I know, but it throws the company open to a foreclosure +petition. Want us to put it in?" + +"H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Nash. "Er--won't you sit down?" + +Now if it had been two common, everyday parties, debatin' which owned a +yellow dog, they'd gone hoarse over it; but not these two plutes. Gedney +Nash asks Old Hickory only three more questions before he turns to the +wicker cages and begins admirin' the fancy poultry. + +"Excellent specimens, excellent!" says he. "And in the pink of condition +too. I have a few Orpingtons on my place; but--oh, by the way, Ellins, +are these really intended for me?" + +"With Torchy's compliments," says Old Hickory. + +"By Jove!" says Gedney. "I--I'm greatly obliged--truly, I am. What +plumage! What hackles! And--er--just leave that terminal lease, will +you? I'll have it renewed and sent up. Would you mind too if I sent you +out by the Broadway entrance?" + +I didn't mind, for one, and I guess the boss didn't; for the last office +we passes through was where the gray-haired gent camped watchful behind +the brass gratin'. + +"Well, wouldn't that crimp you?" I remarks, givin' him the passin' grin. +"Our old friend Ananias, ain't it?" + +And he never bats an eyelash. + +But Gedney wa'n't in that class. Before closin' time up comes a +secretary with the lease all signed. I was in the boss's room when it's +delivered. + +"Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "You don't need any more mud baths, I guess." + +All the rise that gets out of him is a flicker in the mouth corners. +"Young man," says he, "whose idea was it, taking you off the gate?" + +"Mr. Robert's," says I. + +"I am glad to learn," says he, "that Robert had occasional lapses into +sanity while I was away. What about your salary? Any ambitions in that +direction?" + +"I only want what I'm worth," says I. + +"Oh, be reasonable, Son," says he. "We must save something for the +stockholders, you know. Suppose we double what you're getting now? Will +that do?" + +And the grin I carries out is that broad I has to go sideways through +the door. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SHOWING GILKEY THE WAY + + +I got to say this about Son-in-Law Ferdie: He's a help! Not constant, +you know; for there's times when it seems like his whole scheme of +usefulness was in providin' something to hang a pair of shell-rimmed +glasses on, and givin' Marjorie Ellins the right to change her name. But +outside of that, and furnishin' a comic relief to the rest of the +fam'ly, blamed if he don't come in real handy now and then. + +Last Friday was a week, for a sample. I meets up with him as he's +driftin' aimless through the arcade, sort of caromin' round and round, +bein' bumped by the elevator rushers and watched suspicious by the floor +detective. + +"What ho, Ferdie!" I sings out, grabbin' him by the elbow and swingin' +him out of the line of traffic. "This ain't no place to practice the +maxixe." + +"I--I beg--oh, it's you, Torchy, is it?" says he, sighin' relieved. +"Where do I go to send a telegram?" + +"Why," says I, "you might try the barber shop and file it with the +brush boy, or you could wish it on the candy-counter queen over there +and see what would happen; but the simple way would be to step around to +the W. U. T. window, by the north exit, and shove it at Gladys." + +"Ah, thanks," says he, "North exit, did you say? Let's see, that +is--er----" + +"'Bout face!" says I, takin' him in tow. "Now guide right! Hep, hep, +hep--parade rest--here you are! And here's the blank you write it on. +Now go to it!" + +"I--er--but I'm not quite sure," protests Ferdie, peelin' off one of his +chamois gloves, "I'm not quite sure of just what I ought to say." + +"That bein' the case," says I, "it's lucky you ran into me, ain't it? +Now what's the argument?" + +Course it was a harrowin' crisis. Him and Marjorie had got an invite +some ten days ago to spend the week-end at a swell country house over on +Long Island. They'd hemmed and hawed, and fin'lly ducked by sendin' word +they was so sorry, but they was expectin' a young gent as guest about +then. The answer they got back was, "Bring him along, for the love of +Mike!" or words to that effect. Then they'd debated the question some +more. Meanwhile the young gent had canceled his date, and the time has +slipped by, and here it was almost Saturday, and nothin' doing in the +reply line from them. Marjorie had thought of it while they was havin' +lunch in town, and she'd chased Ferdie out to send a wire, without +tellin' him what to say. + +"And you want someone to make up your mind for you, eh?" says I. "All +right. That's my long suit. Take this: 'Regret very much unable to +accept your kind invitation'--which might mean anything, from a previous +engagement to total paralysis." + +"Ye-e-es," says Ferdie, hangin' his bamboo stick over his left arm and +chewin' the penholder thoughtful, "but Marjorie'll be awfully +disappointed. I think she really does want to go." + +"Ah, squiffle!" says I. "She'll get over it. Whose joint is it, anyway?" + +"Why," says he, "the Pulsifers', you know." + +"Eh?" says I. "Not the Adam K.'s place, Cedarholm?" + +Ferdie nods. And, say, it was like catchin' a chicken sandwich dropped +out of a clear sky. The Pulsifers! Didn't I know who was there? I did! +I'd had a bulletin from a very special and particular party, sayin' how +she'd be there for a week, while Aunty was in the Berkshires. And up to +this minute my chances of gettin' inside Cedarholm gates had been null +and void, or even worse. But now--say, I wanted to be real kind to +Ferdie! + +"One or two old friends of Marjorie's are to be there," he goes on +dreamy. + +"They are?" says I. "Then that's diff'rent. You got to go, of course." + +"But--but," says he, "only a moment ago you----" + +"Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "You don't want Marjorie grumpin' around for the +next week, do you, wishin' she'd gone, and layin' it all to you?" + +Ferdie blinks a couple of times as the picture forms on the screen. +"That's so," says he. "She would." + +"Then gimme that blank," says I. "Now here, how's this, 'Have at last +arranged things so we can come. Charmed to accept'? Eh?" + +"But--but there's Baby's milk," objects Ferdie. "Marjorie always watches +the nurse sterilize it, you know." + +"Do up a gallon before you leave," says I. + +"It's such a puzzling place to get to, though," says Ferdie. "I'm sure +we'd never get on the right train." + +"Whadye mean, train," says I. "Ah, show some class! Go in your +limousine." + +"So we could," says Ferdie. "But then, you know, they'll be expectin' us +to bring an extra young man." + +"They needn't be heartbroken over that," says I. "You didn't say who he +was, did you?" + +"Why, no," says Ferdie; "but----" + +"Since you press me so hard," says I, "I'll sub for him. Guess you need +me to get you there, anyway." + +"By Jove!" says Ferdie, as the proposition percolates through the +hominy. "I wonder if----" + +"Never waste time wonderin'," says I. "Take a chance. Here, sign your +name to that; then we'll go hunt up Marjorie and tell her the glad +news." + +Ferdie was still in a daze when we found the other three-quarters of the +sketch, and Marjorie was some set back herself when I springs the +scheme. But she's a good sport, Marjorie is, and if she was hooked up to +a live one she'd travel just as lively as the next heavyweight. + +"Oh, let's!" says she, clappin' her hands. "You know we haven't been +away from home overnight for an age. And Edna Pulsifer's such a dear, +even if her father is a grouchy old thing. We'll take Torchy along too. +What do you say, Ferdie?" + +Foolish question! Ferdie was still dazed. And anyhow she had said it +herself. + +So that's how it happens I'm one of the chosen few to be landed under +the Cedarholm porte-cochère that Saturday afternoon. Course the +Pulsifers ain't reg'lar old fam'ly people, like Ferdie's folks. They +date back to about the last Broadway horse-car period, I understand, +when old Adam K. begun to ship his Cherryola dope in thousand-case lots. +Now, you know, it's all handled for him by the drug trust, and he only +sits by the safety-vault door watchin' the profits roll in. But with his +name still on every label you could hardly expect the Pulsifers to +qualify for Mrs. Astor's list. + +Seems Edna went to the same boardin' school as Marjorie and Vee, though, +and neither of 'em ever thinks of throwin' Cherryola at her. And as far +as an establishment goes, Cedarholm is the real thing. Gave me quite +some thrill to watch two footmen in silver and baby blue pryin' Marjorie +out of the limousine. + +"Gee!" thinks I, glancin' around at the deep verandas, the swing seats, +and the cozy corner nooks. "If Vee and I can't get together for a few +chatty words among all this, then I'm a punk plottist!" + +These country house joints are so calm and peaceful too! It's a wonder +anybody could work up a case of nerves, havin' this for a steady thing. +But Edna and Mrs. Pulsifer acted sort of restless and jumpy. She's a +tall, thin, hollow-eyed dame, Mrs. Pulsifer is, with gray hair and a +smooth, easy voice. Miss Edna must take more after her Pa; for she's +filled out better, and while she ain't what you'd call mug-mapped, she +has one of these low-bridge noses and a lot of oily, dark red hair that +she does in a weird fashion of her own with a side part. Seems shy and +bashful too, except when she snuggles up on the lee side of Marjorie and +trails off with her. + +The particular party I was strainin' my eyesight for ain't in evidence, +though, and all the hint I gets of her bein' there was hearin' a ripply +laugh at the far end of the hallway when she and Marjorie go to a fond +clinch. That was some comfort, though,--she was in the house! + +As I couldn't very well go scoutin' around whistlin' for her to come +out, I does the next best thing. After bein' shown my room I drifts +downstairs and out on the lawn where I'd be some conspicuous. Course I +wa'n't suggestin' anything, but if somebody should happen to see me and +judge that I was lonesome, they might wander out that way too. Sure +enough somebody did,--Ferdie. + +"I thought you had to take a nap before dinner," says I, maybe not so +cordial. + +"Bother!" says he. "There's no such thing as that possible with those +three girls chattering away in the next room." + +"Well, they ain't been together for some time, I expect," says I. + +"It's worse than usual," says Ferdie. "A man in the case, you might +know." + +"Eh?" says I, prickin' up my ears. "Whose man?" + +"Oh, Edna Pulsifer's absurd ditch digger," says Ferdie. "He's a young +engineer, you know, that she's been interested in for a couple of years. +Her father put a stop to it once; kept her in Munich for ten months--and +that's a perfectly deadly place out of season, you know. But it doesn't +seem to have done much good." + +I grins. Surprisin' how cheerful I could be so long as it was a case of +Miss Pulsifer's young man. I pumps the whole tale out of Ferdie,--how +this Mr. Bert Gilkey--cute name too--had been writin' her letters all +the time from out West, how he'd been seized with a sudden fit, wired on +that he must see her once more, and had rushed East. Then how Pa +Pulsifer had caught 'em lalligaggin' out by the hedge, had talked real +rough to Gilkey, and ordered him never to muddy his front doormat again. + +"And now," goes on Ferdie, "he sends word to Edna that he means to try +it once more, no matter what happens, and everyone is all stirred up." + +"So that accounts for the nervous motions, eh?" says I. "What does Pa +Pulsifer have to say to this defi?" + +"Goodness!" says Ferdie, shudderin'. "He doesn't know. No one dares tell +him a word. If he found out--well, it would be awful!" + +"Huh!" says I. "One of these fam'ly ringmasters, is he?" + +That was it, and from Ferdie's description I gathered that old Adam K. +was a reg'lar domestic tornado, once he got started. Maybe you know the +brand? And it seems Pa Pulsifer was the limit. So long as things went +his way he was a prince,--right there with the jolly haw-haw, fond of +callin' wifey pet names before strangers, and posin' as an easy +mark,--but let anybody try to pull off any programme that didn't jibe +with his, and black clouds rolled up sudden in the West. + +"I do hope," goes on Ferdie, "that nothing of that sort occurs while we +are here." + +So did I, for more reasons than one. What I wanted was peace, and plenty +of it, with Vee more or less disengaged. + +Nothin' could have been more promisin' either than the openin' of that +first dinner party. Pa Pulsifer had showed up about six o'clock from the +Country Club, with his rugged, hand-hewed face tinted up cheery. Some of +it was sunburn, and some of it was rye, I expect, but he was glad to see +all of us. He patted Marjorie on the cheek, pinched Vee by the ear, and +slapped Ferdie on the back so hearty he near knocked the breath out of +him. So far as our genial host could make it, it was a gay and festive +scene. Best of all too, I'd been put next to Vee, and I was just workin' +up to exchangin' a hand squeeze under the tablecloth when, right in the +middle of one of Pa Pulsifer's best stories, there floats in through the +open windows a crash that makes everybody sit up. It sounds like +breakin' glass. + +"Hah!" snorts Pulsifer, scowlin' out into the dark. "Now what in blazes +was that?" + +"I--I think it must have been something in the kitchen, Dear," says Mrs. +Pulsifer. "Don't mind." + +"But I do mind," says he. "In the first place, it wasn't in the kitchen +at all, and if you'll all excuse me, I'll just see for myself." + +Meanwhile Edna has turned pale, Marjorie has almost choked herself with +a bread stick, and Ferdie has let his fork clatter to the floor. Ma +Pulsifer is bitin' her lip; but she's right there with the soothin' +words. + +"Please, Dear," says she, "let me go. They want you to finish your +story." + +It was a happy touch, that last. Pa Pulsifer recovers his napkin, +settles back in his chair, and goes on with the tale, while Mother slips +out quiet. She comes back after a while, springs a nervous little +laugh, and announces that it was only the glass in one of the hotbed +frames. + +"Some stupid person taking a short cut across the grounds, I suppose," +says she. + +Didn't sound very convincin' to me; but Pulsifer had got started on +another boyhood anecdote, and he let it pass. I had a hunch, though, +that Mrs. Pulsifer hadn't told all. I caught a glance between her and +Edna, and some flashes between Edna and Vee, and I didn't need any sixth +sense to feel that something was in the air. + +No move was made, though, until after coffee had been served in the +lib'ry and Pa Pulsifer was fittin' his fav'rite Harry Lauder record on +the music machine. + +First Mrs. Pulsifer slips out easy. Next Edna follows her, and after +them Marjorie and Vee, havin' exchanged some whispered remarks, +disappears too. Maybe it was my play to stick it out with Ferdie and the +old boy, but I couldn't see any percentage in that, with Vee gone; so I +wanders casual into the hall, butts around through the music room, +follows a bright light at the rear, and am almost run down by Marjorie +hurrying the other way sleuthy. + +"Oh!" she squeals. "It's you, is it, Torchy? S-s-s-sh!" + +"What you shushin' about?" says I. + +"Oh, it's dreadful!" puffs Marjorie. "He--he's come!" + +"That Gilkey guy?" says I. + +"Ye-e-es," says she. "But--but how did you know?" + +"I'm a seventh son, born with a cowlick," says I. "Was it Gilkey made +his entrance through the cucumber frame?" + +It was. Also he'd managed to cut himself in the ankles and right wrist. +They had him in the kitchen, patchin' him up now, and they was all +scared stiff for fear Pa Pulsifer would discover it before they could +send him away. + +"He'll be a nut if he don't," says I, "with all you women out here. Your +game is to chase back and keep Pulsifer interested." + +"I suppose you're right," says Marjorie. "Let's tell them." + +So I follows into the big kitchen, where I finds the disabled Romeo +propped up in a chair, with the whole push of 'em, includin' the fat +cook, a couple of maids, and the butler, all tryin' to bandage him in +diff'rent spots. He's a big, gawky-lookin' young gent, with a thick crop +of pale hair and a solemn, serious look on his face, like he was one of +the kind that took everything hard. As soon as Marjorie gives 'em my +hint about goin' back to Father there's a gen'ral protest. + +"Oh, I can't do it!" says Edna. + +"He would notice at once how nervous I am," groans Mrs. Pulsifer. + +"But you don't want him walking out here, do you?" demands Marjorie. + +That settled 'em. They bunched together panicky and started back for the +lib'ry. + +"I'll stay and attend to the getaway," says I. "Nobody'll miss me." + +"Thank you," says Gilkey; "but I'm not sure I wish to go away. I came to +see Edna, you know." + +"So I hear," says I. "Unique idea of yours too, rollin' in the hotbeds +first." + +"I--I was only trying to avoid meeting Mr. Pulsifer," says he; +"exploring a bit, you see. I could hear voices in the dining-room; but I +couldn't quite look in. There was a little shed out there, though, and +by climbing on that I could get a view. That was how I lost my balance." + +"Before you go callin' again," says I, "you ought to practice roostin' +in the dark. Say, the old man must have thrown quite a scare into you +last time." + +"I am not afraid of Mr. Pulsifer, not a bit," says he. + +"Well, well!" says I. "Think of that!" + +"Anyway," says he, "I just wasn't goin' to be driven off that way. +It--it isn't fair to either of us." + +"Then it's a clear case with both of you, is it?" says I. + +"We are engaged," says Gilkey, "and I don't care who knows it! It's not +her money I'm after, either. We don't want a dollar from Mr. Pulsifer. +We--we just want each other." + +"Now you're talkin'!" says I; for, honest, the simple, slushy way he +puts it across sort of wins me. And if that was how the case stood, with +Edna longin' for him, and him yearnin' for Edna, why shouldn't they? If +I'm any judge, Edna wouldn't find another right away who'd be so crazy +about her, and anyone who could discover charms about Gilkey ought to be +rewarded. + +"See here!" says I. "Why not sail right in there, look Father between +the eyes, and hand that line of dope out to him as straight as you gave +it to me?" + +He gawps at me a second, like I'd advised him to jump off the roof. +"Do--do you think I ought?" says he. + +I has to choke back a chuckle. Wanted my advice, did he? Well, say, I +could give him a truckload of that! + +"It depends," says I, "on how deep the yellow runs in you. Course it's +all right for you to register this leader about not bein' scared of him. +You may think you ain't, but you are all the same; and as long as you're +in that state you're licked. That's the big trouble with most of +us,--bein' limp in the spine. We're afraid of our jobs, afraid of what +the neighbors will say, afraid of our stomachs, afraid of to-morrow. And +here you are, prowlin' around on the outside, gettin' yourself messed +up, and standin' to lose the one and only girl, all because an old stuff +like Pulsifer says 'Boo!' at you and tells you to 'Scat!' Come on now, +better let me lead you out and see you safe through the gate." + +Course that was proddin' him a little rough, but I wanted to bring this +thing to a head somehow. Made Gilkey squirm in his chair too. He begins +rollin' his trousers down over the bandages and struggles into his coat. + +"I suppose you're right," says he. "I--I think I will go in and see Mr. +Pulsifer." + +"Wha-a-at?" says I. "Now?" + +"Why not?" says he, pushin' through the swing door. + +"Hey!" I calls out, jumpin' after him. "Better let me break it to 'em in +there." + +"As you please," says Gilkey; "only let's have no delay." + +So I skips across the hall and into the lib'ry, where they're all makin' +a stab at bein' chatty and gay, with Pa Pulsifer in the center. + +"Excuse me," says I, "but there's a young gent wants a few words with +Mr. Pulsifer." + +"What's that?" growls Adam K., glarin' about suspicious at the gaspy +circle. "What young man?" + +"Why," says I, "it's----" But then in he stalks. + +"Oh, Herbert!" sobs Edna, makin' a wild grab at Marjorie for support. + +As for Pa Pulsifer, his eyes get stary, the big vein in the middle of +his forehead swells threatenin', and his bushy white eyebrows seem to +bristle up. + +"You!" he snorts. "How did you get in here, Sir?" + +"Through the kitchen," says Gilkey. "I came to tell you that----" + +"Stop!" roars Pulsifer, stampin' his foot and bunchin' his fists +menacin'. "You can't tell me anything, not a word, you--you +good-for-nothing young scoundrel! Haven't I warned you never to step +foot in my house again? Didn't I tell you----" + +Well, it's the usual irate parent stuff, only a little more wild and +ranty than anything Belasco would put over. He abuses Gilkey up and +down, threatens him with all kinds of things, from arrest to sudden +death, and gets purple in the face doin' it. While Gilkey, he just +stands there, takin' it calm and patient. Then, when there comes a lull, +he remarks casual: + +"If that is all, Sir, I wish to say to you that Edna and I are engaged, +and that I intend to marry her early next week." + +Wow! That's the cue for another explosion. It starts in just as fierce +as the first; but it don't last so long, and towards the end Pa Pulsifer +is talkin' husky and puffing hard. + +"Go!" he winds up. "Get out of my house before I--I----" + +"Oh, I say," breaks in Gilkey, "before you do what?" + +"Throw you out!" bellows Pulsifer. + +"Don't be absurd," says Gilkey, statin' it quiet and matter of fact. +"You couldn't, you know. Besides, it isn't being done." + +And it takes Pa Pulsifer a full minute before he can choke down his +temper and get his wind again. Then he advances a step or so, points +dramatic to the door, and gurgles throaty: + +"Will--you--get--out?" + +"No," says Gilkey. "I came to see Edna. I've had no dinner either, and +I'd like a bite to eat." + +Pulsifer stood there, not two feet from him, glarin' and puffin', and +tryin' to decide what to do next; but it's no use. He'd made his grand +roarin' lion play, which had always scared the tar out of his folks, and +he'd responded to an encore. Yet here was this mild-eyed young gent +with the pale hair and the square jaw not even wabbly in the knees from +it. + +"Come, Edna," says Gilkey, holdin' out a hand to her. "Let's go into the +dining-room." + +"But--but see here!" gasps Pa Pulsifer, makin' a final effort. +"I--I----" + +"Oh, hush up!" says Gilkey, turnin' away weary. "Come, Edna." + +And Edna, she went; also Mrs. Pulsifer; likewise Vee and Marjorie. Trust +women for knowin' when a bluff has been called. I expect they was wise, +two or three minutes before either me or Gilkey, that Pa Pulsifer was +beat. I stayed long enough to see him slump into an easy-chair, his +under lip limp and a puzzled look in his eyes, like he was tryin' to +figure out just what had hit him. And over by the fireplace is Ferdie, +gawpin' at him foolish, and exercisin' his gears, I expect, on the same +problem. Neither of them had said a word up to the time I left. + +It took the women half an hour or more to feed Herbert up proper with +all the nice things they could drag from the icebox. Then Mother +Pulsifer patted him on the shoulder and shooed Edna and him through the +French doors out on the veranda. + +And what do you guess is Mrs. Pulsifer's openin' as we drifts back +towards the scene of the late conflict? + +"Why, Deary!" says she. "You haven't your cigars, have you? Here they +are--and the matches. There! Now for the surprise. Our young people have +decided--that is, Edna has--not to be married until two weeks from next +Wednesday." + +Does Pa Pulsifer rant any more rants? No. He gets his perfecto goin' +nicely, blows a couple of smoke rings up towards the ceilin', and then +remarks in sort of a weak growl: + +"Hanged if I'll walk down a church aisle, Maria--hanged if I do!" + +"I told them you wouldn't," says Ma Pulsifer, smoothin' the hair back +over his ears soothin'; "so they've agreed on a simple home wedding, +with only four bridesmaids." + +"Huh!" says he. "It's lucky they did." + +But, say, take it from me, his days of crackin' the whip around that +joint are over. I'm beginnin' to believe too how some of that dope I fed +to Herbert must have been straight goods. Vee insists on talkin' it over +later, as we are camped in one of them swing seats out on the veranda. + +"Wasn't he just splendid," says she: "standing up to Mr. Pulsifer that +way, you know?" + +"Some hero!" says I. "I wonder would he give me a few lessons, in case I +should run across your Aunty some day?" + +"Pooh!" says Vee. "Just as though I didn't go back to see if he'd gone +and hear you putting him up to all that yourself! It was fine of you to +do it too, Torchy." + +"Right here, then!" says I. "Place the laurel wreath right here." + +"Silly!" says she, givin' me a reprovin' pat. "Besides, that porch light +is on." + +Which was one of the reasons why I turned it off, and maybe accounts for +our sudden break when Marjorie comes out to tell us it's near twelve +o'clock. + +Yes, indeed, though he may not look it, Ferdie is more or less of a +help. + +[Illustration: "Which was one of the reasons I turned the porch light +off."] + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WHEN SKEET HAD HIS DAY + + +There's one thing about bein' a private sec,--you stand somewhere on the +social list. It may be down towards the foot among the discards; but +you're in the running. + +Not that I'm thinkin' of havin' a fam'ly crest worked on my shirt +sleeves, or that I'm beginnin' to sympathize with the lower clawsses. +Nothing like that! Only it does help, when Marjorie, the boss's married +daughter, has planned some social doin's, to get an invite like a +reg'lar guy. + +What do you know too? It's dance! Not out at their country place, +either. She'd dragged Ferdie into town for a couple of weeks, and they'd +been stayin' at the Ellins's Fifth-ave. house, just visitin' and havin' +a good time. That is, Marjorie had. Ferdie, he spends his days mopin' +about the club and taggin' Mr. Robert. + +"Better sneak off up to the Maison Maxixe with me," says I, "and brush +up on your hesitation." + +A look of deep disgust from Ferdie. "I'm not a dancing man, you know," +says he. + +"Both feet Methodists, eh?" says I. + +Ferdie stares puzzled. "It's only that I'm sure I'd look absurd," says +he. + +"For once," says I, "you ain't so far from wrong. I expect you would." + +Even that don't seem to please him, and he refuses peevish to trail +along and watch me blow myself to a pair of dancin' pumps. Gee! but this +society life runs into coin, don't it? I'd dropped into one of them +swell booterers and was beefin' away at the clerk about havin' to pay +six-fifty just for a pair of tango moccasins, when I hears someone on +the bench back of me remark casual: + +"Nine dollars? Very well. Send them up to my hotel. Here's my card." + +And as there's somethin' familiar about the voice I takes a peek over my +shoulder. But neither the braid-bound cutaway fittin' so snug at the +waist, nor the snappy fall derby snuggled down over the lop ears, +suggested any old friends. Not until he swings around and I gets a view +of that nosy profile do I gasp any gasps. + +"Sizzlin' Stepsisters!" says I. "If it ain't Skeet Keyser!" + +"I--ah--I beg pardon?" says he, doin' it cold and haughty. Blamed if I +don't think he meant to hand me the mistaken identity dope first off; +but after another glance he thinks better of it. "Oh, yes," says he, +sort of languid, "Torchy, isn't it?" + +"Good guess, Skeet," says I, "seein' it's been all of two years since +you used to shove me my coffee reg'lar at the----" + +"Yes, yes," he breaks in hasty; "but--I--ah--I have an appointment. Glad +to have seen you again." + +"You act it," says I. And then, grabbin' him by the sleeve as he's +backin' off, I whispers, "What's the disguise, Skeet?" + +"Really, now!" he protests indignant. + +"Oh, very well, very well!" says I. "But how should I know if someone +has wished a life income on you? Congrats." + +"Ah--er--thanks," says he. "I--I'll see you again--perhaps." + +I loved the way he puts that last touch on too, and you could almost +hear the sigh of relief as he fades down the aisle, leavin' me in one +stockin' foot gawpin' after him. + +No wonder I'm left open faced! Skeet Keyser in a tail coat, orderin' +nine-dollar pumps sent to his hotel! Why, say, more'n once I've staked +him to the price of a twenty-cent lodgin', and the only way I ever got +any of it back was by tippin' him off to this vacancy on the coffee urn +at the dairy lunch. Used to be copy boy on the Sunday, Skeet did; but +that was 'way back. It didn't last long either; for he was just as punk +a performer at that as he ever was at any of the other things he's +tackled. + +Gettin' the can tied to him was always Skeet's specialty. No mystery +about that, either; for of all the useless specimens that ever grafted +cigarettes he was about the limit. All he lacks is pep and bean and a +few other trifles. You wouldn't exactly call him ornamental, either. No, +him and that Apolloniris guy was quite diff'rent in their front and side +elevation. Mostly arms and legs, Skeet is, and sort of swivel-jointed +all over, with a back slope to his forehead and an under-cut chin. +Nothin' reticent about his beak, though. It juts out from the middle of +his face like the handle of a lovin' cup, and with his habit of +stretchin' his neck forward he always seems to be followin' a scent, +like one of these wienerwurst retrievers. + +Brought up somewhere back of Jefferson Market, down in old Greenwich +Village--if you know where that is. He's the only boy in a fam'ly of +five, and I understand all the Keyser girls have done first rate; one +bein' forelady in a big hair-dressin' joint, another married to the +lieutenant of a hook and ladder company, and two well placed in service. + +It was through bein' in on a little mix-up Skeet had with one of his +sisters that I got so well posted on the fam'ly hist'ry. Must have been +more'n a year ago, while Old Hickory was laid up at home there for a +spell, and I was chasin' back and forth from the Corrugated to the +Ellins house most every day. This time I hears a debate goin' on down at +the area door, and the next thing I knows out comes Skeet, assisted +active by the butler. + +Seems that one of the new maids is his sister Maggie, and he'd just been +callin' friendly in the hopes of sep'ratin' her from a dollar or so. It +wa'n't Maggie's day for contributin' to the prodigal son fund, though, +and Skeet was statin' his opinion of her reckless when the butler +interfered. Come near losin' Maggie her job, that little scene did; but +she promises faithful it sha'n't happen again, and was kept on. + +"Blast her!" says Skeet to me later. "She's just as bad as the rest of +'em. They're all tightwads. Why, even the old lady runs me out now when +I happen to be carryin' the banner and can't come across with my little +old five of a Saturday night! I might starve in the streets for all they +care. But I'll show 'em some day. You'll see!" + +Hanged if it don't look like he'd turned the trick too; for, as I've +hinted, Skeet is costumed like a lily of the field. But how he'd managed +to do it is what gets me. And for two days after that I wasted valuable +time tryin' to frame up just where in the gen'ral scheme of things a +party like Skeet Keyser could connect with real money. After that I gave +up the myst'ry and spent my spare minutes wonderin' if I could do this +"One-two-three--hold!" business as successful in public as I could while +them dancin' school fairies was drillin' it into my nut at one-fifty per +throw. + +That's right, grin! But if you're billed to mingle in the merry throng +at a dance fest, you ain't goin' to trot out on the floor with any such +antique act as last season's Boston dip, are you? Might as well spring +the minuet. And specially when I'd had word that among others was to be +a certain party. Uh-huh! You can play it both ways too that Vee would be +up on the very latest, and if it was in me I meant to be right behind +her. + +Was I? Say, maybe if I wa'n't so blamed modest I could give you an idea +of how Vee and I just naturally--but I can't do it. Besides, there's +other matters; the grand jolt that come early in the evenin', for +instance. It was after the second number, and I'd made a dash into the +gents' dressin' room to see if my white tie showed any symptoms of +ridin' up in the back, and I'd just strolled out into the entrance hall +again, watchin' the push straggle in, when who should show up through +the double doors but a tall, lanky young chap with lop ears and a nose +one was bound to remember. + +It's Skeet Keyser; Skeet in shiny, thin-soled pumps, a pleated dress +shirt, black silk vest, and a top hat! He's bein' bowed in dignified by +the same butler, and is passed on to--well, it's a funny world, ain't +it? The maid on duty just inside the door happens to be Sister Maggie. +She has the respectful bow all ready when she gets a full-face view. + +"Aloysius!" says she, scared and husky. + +I got to hand it to Skeet, though, that he bears up noble. All he does +is to try to swallow his throat apple a couple of times, and then he +stares at her stern and distant. Also Maggie makes a quick recovery. + +"Gentlemen this way, Sir," says she, and waves Skeet into the dressin' +room. + +I wanted to follow him up and tip him off that there's one or two other +reasons why this was the wrong house to put over any sporty bluff in; +but as it was I'm overdue in another quarter. You see, Marjorie has been +sittin' out on the side lines, as usual, and Vee has hinted how it would +be nice and charitable of me to brace her for a spiel. I'd sort of been +workin' myself up to the sacrifice, for you know Marjorie's some hefty +partner for anybody not in trainin' to steer around a ballroom floor; +but I'd figured out that the longer I put it off the worse it would be. +So off I trails with my heels draggin' a little heavy. + +"Why, thanks ever so much, Torchy," says she, "but I think I have a +partner for the first four or five. After that, though----" + +"Don't mention it," says I. "I mean, much obliged," and I backs off +hasty before she can change her mind. + +I had to kill time while Vee was dividin' a couple dances between two +young shrimps; so I sidles into a corner where Ferdie sits behind his +shell-rimmed glasses, lookin' bored and lonesome. + +"Now don't you wish you'd gone and had your feet educated?" says I. + +Ferdie yawns. "I think it quite sufficient," says he, "that one of us +intends making an exhibition. Marjorie has been taking lessons, you +know." + +"So I hear," says I. "And it's all right if she don't tackle the maxixe. +Hello! There it goes. Now you will see some stunts!" + +Yep, we did! And among the first couples to sail out on the floor, if +you'll believe it, was none other than Marjorie and our lop-eared young +hero, Skeet Keyser. + +"Oh, Gosh!" I groans. "Don't look, Ferdie!" + +I meant well too; It was goin' to be bad enough to see a corn-fed young +matron the size of Marjorie, who can spin the arrow well up to the +hundred and eighty mark, monkey with them twisty evolutions; but to have +her get let in for it with a roughneck ringer like Skeet--well, that was +goin' to be a real tragedy. How he'd worked it, or what his excuse was +for bein' here at all, was useless questions to ask then. What was +comin' next was the thing to watch for. + +As for Ferdie, he just sits there and blinks, followin' 'em through his +spare panes. Course I could guess he wa'n't hep to any facts about +Skeet. He was just a strange young gent to him, and it wa'n't up to me +to add any details. So I settles back and watches 'em too. + +And, say, you know how surprised you'd be to see any fat friend of yours +buckle on a pair of ice skates and do the double grapevine up and down +the rink? Well, that's the identical kind of jar I got when Marjorie +begins that willowy bendy figure. It ain't any waddly caricature of it, +either. It's the real thing. Honest, she's as light on her feet as if +her middle name was Pavlowa! + +At the same time it's lucky Skeet has arms, long enough to reach 'way +round when he's steerin' her. If they'd been an inch or so shorter, he'd +have had to break his clinch in some of them whirls, and then there'd +been a big dent in the floor. He seems just built for the job, though. +In and out, round and round, through the Parisienne, the flirtation, and +all the other frills, he pilots her safe, bendin' and swayin' to the +music, his number ten feet glidin' easy, and kind of a smirky, satisfied +look on that sappy mug of his; while Marjorie, she simply lets herself +go for all she's worth, her eyes sparklin', and the pink and white in +her cheeks showin' clear and fresh. + +Take it from me too, it's some swell exhibit! There was four or five +other couples on at the same time, the girls all slender, wispy young +things, that never split out a waist seam in their lives; but Marjorie +and her partner had the gallery right with 'em. Two or three times +durin' the dance they got scatterin' applause, and when the music +fin'lly stops, leavin' 'em alone in the middle of the floor, they got a +reg'lar big hand. + +"I take it all back," says I to Ferdie. "That was real classy spielin'. +Now wa'n't it?." + +"No doubt," he grunts. "And I suppose I should be thankful that Marjorie +didn't try to jump through a paper hoop. I trust, however, that this +concludes the performance." + +It did not! Next on the card was a onestep, with Marjorie and her +unknown goin' to it like professionals; and if they omitted any fancy +waves, you couldn't prove it by me. By this time too, Ferdie was sittin' +up and takin' notice. "Oh, I say," says he, "isn't that the same fellow +she danced with before?" + +"You don't think a bunch of works like that could be twins, do you?" +says I. + +"But--but I'm sure I don't remember having met him, you know," says +Ferdie, rubbin' his chin thoughtful. + +"Then maybe you ain't," says I. + +When they comes on for a third time, though, and prances through about +as flossy a half-and-half as I've ever seen pulled at a private dance, +Ferdie is some agitated in the mind. He ain't exactly green-eyed, but +he's some disturbed. Yes, all of that! + +"I--I think I'd best speak to Marjorie," says he. + +"You'll have plenty of competition," says I. "Look!" + +For the young chappies are crowdin' around her two deep, makin' dates +for the next numbers. "Ferdie stares at the spectacle puzzled. He's a +persistent messer, though. + +"But really," he goes on, "I think I ought to meet that young fellow and +find out who he is." + +"Ah, bottle it up until afterwards!" says I. "Don't rock the skiff." + +But there's a streak of mule in Ferdie a foot wide. "People will be +asking me who he is!" he insists, "and if I don't know, what will they +think? See, isn't that he, standing just over there?" + +And then Mr. Robert has to drift along and complicate matters by joshin' +brother-in-law a little. "Congratulations on your substitute, Ferdie," +says he. "Where did he come from?" + +Which brings a ruddy tint into Ferdie's ears. "Ask Marjorie," says he. +"I'm sure he's an utter stranger to me." + +"Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert, and when he's had the full situation mapped +out for him blamed if he don't begin to take it serious too. + +"To be sure, Ferdie," says he. "Everyone seems to think he must be a +guest of yours; but as he isn't--well, it's quite time someone +discovered. Let's go over and introduce ourselves." + +And somehow that didn't listen good to me, either. Marjorie's done a lot +of nice turns for me, and this looked like it was my play to lend a +hand. + +"With two or three more," says I, "you could form a perfectly good mob, +couldn't you?" + +Mr. Robert whirls and demands sarcastic, "Well, what would you suggest, +young man?" + +"He's got all the earmarks of a reg'lar invited guest, ain't he?" says +I. "And unless you're achin' to start somethin', why not let me handle +this 'Who the blazes are you?' act?" + +He sees the point too, Mr. Robert does. He shrugs his shoulders and +grins. "That's so," says he. "All right, Torchy. Full diplomatic powers, +and if necessary I shall restrain Ferdie by the collar." + +I wa'n't wastin' time on any subtle strategy, though. Walkin' over to +Skeet I taps him on the shoulder, and then it's his turn to gawp at my +costume. + +"Why," he gasps, "how--er--where did you----" + +"Oh, I brought myself out last season," says I. "But just a minute, if +you don't mind," and I jerks my thumb towards the dressin' room. + +"But, you know," he begins, "I--I----" + +"Ah, ditch the shifty stuff!" says I. "This is orders from headquarters. +Come!" + +And he trots right along. Once I gets him behind the draperies I shoots +it at him straight. "Who'd you pinch the invite from?" says I. + +"See here, now!" he comes back peevish. "You have no call to say that. I +had a bid, all right; got it with me. There! What about that?" And he +flashes a card on me. + +It's one of Marjorie's! + +"Huh!" says I. "Met her at Mrs. Astor's, I expect?" + +Skeet shuffles his feet and tries to look indignant. + +"Come on, give us the plot of the piece," says I, "or I'll call up +Sister Maggie and put her on the stand. Where was it, now?" + +"If you must know," says Skeet sulky, "it was at Roselle's." + +"The tango factory?" says I. "Oh, I'm beginnin' to get the thread. The +place where she's been takin' lessons, eh?" + +Skeet nods. + +"Is this romance, or business, then?" says I. + +"Think I'm a fathead?" says he. "I'm gettin' fifteen for this, and I'm +earnin' the money too. It's a regular thing. Last night I was Cousin +Harry for an old maid from Washington--went to a swell house dance up on +Riverside Drive. She came across with twenty for that, and paid for the +taxi." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Then them long legs of yours has turned out a +good asset after all. What you pullin' down, Skeet, on an average?" + +"Twenty regular, and a hundred or so on the side," says he, swellin' his +chest out. "And, say, I guess I got it some on the rest of the family. +You know how they used me,--like dirt, the old lady callin' me a loafer, +and Annie so stuck up on livin' in an elevator apartment she wouldn't +have me around. Maggie too! Didn't I hand it to her, though? Notice me +frost her, eh? But I said I'd show 'em some day. Guess I've delivered +the goods. Look at me now, all dolled up every night, and mixin' with +the best people! Say, you watch me! Why, I can go out there and pick any +queen you want to name. They're crazy about me. I could show you mash +notes and photos too. Oh, I'm Winning Willie with the fluffs, I am!" + +Well, it was worth listenin' to. He struts around waggin' his silly +head, until I can hardly keep from throwin' a chair at him. Course +something had to be dealt out. He needed it bad. So I sizes him up rapid +and makes the first play that comes into my head. + +"You're a wonder, Skeet," says I. "And it's a great game as long as you +can get away with it. But whisper!" Here I glances around cautious. "You +know I'm a friend of yours." + +"Oh, sure," says he careless. "What then?" + +"Only this," says I. "Here's once when I'm afraid you're about to pull +down trouble." + +"How's that?" says he, twistin' his neck uneasy. + +"Notice the two gents I was just talkin' with," I goes on, "specially +the savage-lookin' one with the framed lamps? Well, that was Hubby. +He's got one of these hair-trigger dispositions too." + +"Pooh!" says Skeet. But he's listenin' close. + +"I'm only tellin' you," says I. "Then the big one with the wide +shoulders--that's Brother. Reg'lar brute, he is, and a temper----" + +That gets him stary eyed. "You--you don't mean," says he, "that----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "You know you and the young lady was some conspicuous. +There's been talk all round the room. They've both heard, and they're +beefin' something awful. Course I ain't sayin' they'll spring any +gunplay right in the house; but--why, what's wrong, Skeet?" + +Honest, he's gone putty faced and panicky. He begins pawin' around for +his overcoat. + +"Ain't goin' so soon, are you," says I, "without breakin' a few more +hearts?" + +"I--I'm goin' to get out of here!" says he, his teeth chattery. He'd +grabbed his silk lid and was makin' a dash for the front door when I +stopped him. + +"Not that way, for the love of soup!" says I. "They'll be layin' for you +there. Why not bluff it out and cut up with some of the other queens?" + +"I'm not feeling well," says he. "I--I'm going, I tell you!" + +"If you insist, then," says I, "perhaps I can sneak you out. Here, this +way. Now slide in behind that portière until I find one of the maids. +Oh, here's one now. S-s-s-t! That you, Maggie? Well, smuggle Mr. Keyser +out the back way, will you? And if you don't want to witness bloodshed, +do it quick!" + +I tipped her the wink over his shoulder, and the last glimpse I had of +Skeet he was bein' hustled and shoved towards the back way by willin' +hands. + +By the time I gets back into the ballroom I finds Marjorie right in the +midst of a fam'ly court martial. She's makin' a full confession. + +"Of course I hired him," she's sayin' to Brother Robert. "Why? Because +I've been a wall flower at too many dances, and I'm tired of it. No, I +don't know who he is, I'm sure; but he's a perfectly lovely dancer. I +wonder where he's disappeared to?" + +Which seemed to be my cue to report. "Mr. Keyser presents his +compliments," says I, "and begs to be excused for the rest of the +evenin' on account of feelin' suddenly indisposed. He says you can send +him that fifteen by mail, if you like." + +"Well, the idea!" gasps Marjorie. + +As for Mr. Robert, he chuckles. Takin' me one side, he asks +confidential, "What did you use on our young friend, persuasion, or +assault with intent?" + +"On a fish-face like that?" says I. "Nope. This was just a simple case +of spill." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +GETTING A JOLT FROM WESTY + + +You might call it time out, or suspended hostilities durin' peace +negotiations, or anything like that. Anyway, Aunty has softened up to +the extent of lettin' me come around once a week without makin' me +assume a disguise, or crawl in through the coal chute. Course I'm still +under suspicion; but while the ban ain't lifted complete she don't treat +me quite so much like a porch climber or a free speech agitator. + +"Remember," says she, "Friday evenings only, from half after eight until +not later than ten." + +"Yes'm," says I, "and it's mighty----" + +"Please!" she breaks in. "No grotesquely phrased effusions of gratitude. +I am merely indulging Verona in one of her absurd whims. You understand +that, I trust?" + +"I get your idea," says I, "and even if it don't swell my chest any, +I'm----" + +"Kindly refrain from using such patois," says Aunty. + +"Eh?" says I. "You mean ditch the gabby talk? All right, Ma'am." + +Aunty rolls her eyes and sighs hopeless. "How my niece can find +entertainment in such----" Here Aunty stops and shrugs her shoulders. +"Well," she goes on, "it is a mystery to me." + +"Me too," says I; "so for once we're playin' on the same side of the +net, ain't we! Say, but she's some girl though!" + +Aunty's mouth corners wrinkle into one of them sarcastic smiles that's +her specialty, and she remarks careless: "Quite a number of young men +seem to have discovered that Verona is rather attractive." + +"They'd have to be blind in both eyes and born without ears if they +didn't," says I, "believe me!" + +Oh, yes, we had a nice confidential little chat, me and Aunty +did,--almost chummy, you know,--and as it breaks up and I backs out into +the hall, givin' her the polite "Good evenin', Ma'am," I thought I heard +a half-smothered snicker behind the draperies. Maybe it was that flossy +French maid of theirs. But I floats downtown as gay and chirky as though +I'd been promoted to first vice-president of something. + +Course I was wise to the fact that Aunty wa'n't arrangin' any duo act +with the lights shaded soft. Not her! Even if I had an official ratin' +in the Corrugated now, and a few weeks back had shunted her off from a +losin' stock deal, she wa'n't tryin' to decoy me into the fam'ly. +Hardly! I could guess how she'd set the stage for my weekly call, and if +I found myself with anything more than a walk-on part in a mob scene I'd +be lucky. + +You know she's taken a house for the winter, one of them old-fashioned +brownstone fronts up on Madison-ave. that some friends of hers was goin' +to close durin' a tour abroad. Nothin' swell, but real comfy and +substantial, and as I marches up bold for my first push at the bell +button I'm kind of relieved that I don't have to stand in line. + +Who should I get a glimpse of, though, as I'm handin' my things to the +butler, but the favored candidate, Sappy Westlake? Yep, big as life, +with his slick, pale hair, his long legs, and his woodeny face! Looked +like his admission card must have been punched for eight P.M., or else +he'd been asked for dinner. Anyway, he was right on the ground, thumpin' +out a new rag on the piano, and enjoyin' the full glare of the +limelight. The only other entry I can discover is a girl. + +"My friend Miss Ull," explains Vee. + +A good deal of a queen Miss Ull is too, tall and slim and tinted up +delicate, but one of these poutin', peevish beauts that can look you +over cold and distant and say "Howdy do" in such a bored, tired tone +that you feel like apologizin' for the intrusion. + +They didn't get wildly enthusiastic over my entrance, Miss Ull and +Westy. In fact, almost before the honors are done they turns their backs +on me and drifts to the piano once more. + +"Do play that 'Try-trimmer-Träumerei' thing again," urges Miss Ull, and +begins to hum it as Westy proceeds to bang it out. + +But there's Vee, her wheat-colored hair fluffin' about her seashell ears +and her big gray eyes watchin' me sort of quizzin' and impish. "Well, +Mr. Private Secretary?" says she. + +"When does the rest of the chorus come on?" says I. + +"The what?" says Vee. + +"The full panel," says I. "Aunty's planned to have the S. R. O. sign out +on my evenin's, ain't she?" + +At which Vee tosses her head. "How silly!" says she. "No one else is +expected that I know of. Why?" + +"Oh, she might think we'd be lonesome," says I. "Honest, I was lookin' +for a bunch; but if it's only a mixed foursome, that ain't so bad. I got +the scheme, though. She counts Westy as better than a crowd. 'Safety +First' is her motto. But who's the Peevish Priscilla here, that's so +tickled to see me come in she has to turn away to hide her emotion?" + +"Doris?" says Vee. "Oh, we got to know her on the steamer coming back +from the Mediterranean last winter. Stunning, isn't she?" + +"Specially her manners," says I. "Almost paralyzin'." + +"Oh, that's just her way," says Vee. "Really, she's very nice when you +get to know her. I'm rather sorry for her too. Her home life is--well, +not at all congenial. That's one reason why I asked her to visit me for +a week or so." + +"That's the easiest thing you do, ain't it," says I, "bein' nice to +folks that ain't used to it?" + +"Thank goodness," says Vee, "someone has discovered my angelic qualities +at last! Go on, Torchy, think of some more, can't you?" And she claps +her hands enthusiastic. + +"Quit your spoofin'," says I, "or I'll ring for Aunty and tell how +you've been kiddin' the guest of honor. I might talk easier too, if we +could adjourn to the window alcove over there. No rule against that, is +there?" + +Didn't seem to be. And we'd have had a perfectly good chat if it hadn't +been for Doris. Such a restless young female! First she wants to drum +something out on the piano herself. Then she must have Vee come show +her how it ought to go. Next she wants to practice a new fancy dance, +and so on. She keeps Westy trottin' around, and Vee comin' and goin', +and things stirred up gen'rally. One minute she's gigglin' hysterical +over nothin' at all, and the next she's poutin' sulky. + +Anyway, she managed to queer the best part of the evenin', and I'd just +settled down with Vee in a corner when the big hall clock starts to +chime ten, and in through the draperies marches Aunty. It ain't any +accidental droppin' in, either. She glances at me stern and suggestive +and nods towards the door. So it was all over! + +"Say," I whispers to Vee as I does a draggy exit, "if Doris is to be +with us again, would you mind my bringin' a clothesline and ropin' her +to the piano?" + +Maybe it wa'n't some discouragin' a week later to find the same pair +still on the job, with Doris as much of a peace disturber as ever. I got +a little more of her history sketched out by Vee that night. Seems that +Doris didn't really belong, for all her airs. Her folks had only lived +up in the West 70's for four or five years, and before that---- + +"Well, you know," says Vee, archin' her eyebrows expressive, "on the +East Side somewhere." + +You see, Father had been comin' strong in business of late,--antiques +and house decoratin'. I remember havin' seen the name over the door of +his big Fifth-ave. shop,--Leo Ull. You know there's about five hundred +per cent, profit in that game when you get it goin', and while Pa Ull +might have started small, in an East 14th Street basement, with livin' +rooms in the rear, he kept branchin' out,--gettin' to Fourth-ave., and +fin'lly to Fifth, jumpin' from a flat to an apartment, and from that to +a reg'lar house. + +So the two boys went to college, and later on little Doris, with long +braids down her back and weeps in her eyes, is sent off to a girls' +boardin' school. By the time her turn came too, the annual income was +runnin' into six figures. Besides, Doris was the pet. And when Pa and Ma +Ull sat down to pick out a young ladies' culture fact'ry for her the +process was simple. They discarded all but three of the catalogues, +savin' them that was printed on the thickest paper and havin' the most +halftone pictures, and then put the tag on the one where the rates was +highest. Near Washington, I think it was; anyway, somewhere +South,--board and tuition, two thousand dollars and up; everything +extra, from lead pencils to lessons in court etiquette; and the young +ladies limited to ten new evenin' dresses a term. + +Maybe you've seen products of such exclusive establishments? And if you +have perhaps you can frame up a faint picture of what Doris was like +after four years at Hetherington Hall and a five months' trip abroad +chaperoned by the Baroness Parcheezi. No wonder she didn't find home a +happy spot after that! + +"Her brothers are quite nice, I believe," says Vee. "They're both +married, though. Mr. Ull is not so bad, either,--a little crude perhaps; +but he has learned to wear a frock coat in the shop and not to talk to +lady customers when he has a cigar between his teeth. But Mrs. +Ull--well, she hasn't kept up, that's all." + +"Still on East 14th Street, eh?" says I. + +Vee admits that nearly states the case. "And of course," she goes on, +"she doesn't understand Doris. They don't get on at all well. So when +Doris told me how lonely and unhappy she was at home and begged me to +visit her for a week in return--well, what could I do? I'm going back +with her Monday." + +"Then," says I, "I see where I cut next Friday off the calendar." + +"Unless," suggests Vee, droppin' her long eyelashes coy, "you were not +too stupid to think of----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "gimme that number again, will you? Suppose I could +duck meetin' Westy if I came the first evenin'?" + +"If you're at all afraid of him, you shouldn't run the risk," comes back +Vee. + +"Chance is my middle name," says I. "Only him stickin' around does make +a room so crowded. I didn't know but he might miss a night +occasionally." + +Vee sticks the tip of her tongue out. "Just two during the last ten +days, if you want to know," says she. + +"Huh!" says I. "Must think he holds a season ticket." + +I couldn't make out, either, what it was that Vee seems so amused over; +for as near as I can judge she was never very strong for Sappy herself. +Maybe it was just a string she was handin' me. + +Havin' decided on that, I waits patient until eight-fifteen Monday +evenin', and then breezes cheery and hopeful through the Ulls' front +door and into the front room. No Westy in sight, or anybody else. The +maid says the young ladies are in somewhere, and she'll tell 'em I've +come. + +So I wanders about amongst the furniture, that's set around almost as +thick as in a showroom,--heavy, fancy pieces, most likely ones that had +been sent up from the store as stickers. The samples of art on the walls +struck me as a bit gaudy too, and I was tryin' to guess how it would +seem if you had to live in that sort of clutter continual, when out +through the slidin' doors from the lib'ry appears Sappy the Constant. + +"The poor prune!" thinks I. "I wonder if I've got time to work up some +scheme of puttin' the skids under him?" + +But instead of givin' me the haughty stare as usual he rushes towards me +smilin' and excited. "Oh, I say!" he breaks out. "Torchy, isn't it? +Well, I--I've got a big piece of news." + +"I know," says I. "Someone's told you that the Panama Canal's full of +water." + +"No, no!" says he. "It--it's about me. Just happened, you know. And +really I must tell someone." + +I had a choky sensation in my throat about then, and my breath came a +little short; but I managed to get out husky, "Well, toss it over." + +Westy beams grateful. "Isn't it wonderful?" says he. "I--I've got her!" + +"Eh?" I gasps, grippin' a chair back. + +"She just told me," says he, "in there. She's--she's wearing my ring +now." + +Got me right under the belt buckle, that did. I felt wabbly and dizzy +for a second, and I expect I gawps at him open faced. Then I takes a +brace. Had to. I don't know how well I did it either, or how convincin' +it sounded, but I found myself shakin' him by the mitt and sayin': +"Congratulations, Westlake. You--you've got a girl worth gettin', +believe me!" + +"Thanks awfully, old man," says he, still pumpin' my arm up and down. "I +can hardly realize it myself. Awfully bad case I had, you know. And now, +while I have the courage, I suppose I'd best see her mother." + +"Wha-a-at?" says I, starin' at him. + +"I know," says he, "it isn't being done much nowadays, but somehow I +think I ought. You know I haven't even met Mrs. Ull as yet." + +I hope he was so fussed he didn't notice that sigh of relief I let out; +for I'll admit it was some able-bodied affair,--a good deal like +shuttin' off the air in a brake connection, or rippin' a sheet. Anyway, +I made up for it the next minute. + +"You and Doris, eh?" says I, poundin' him on the back hearty. "Ain't you +the foxy pair, though? Well, well! Here, let's have another shake on +that. But why not see Father and tell him about it? Know the old gent, +don't you?" + +"Ye-e-es," says Westy, flushin' a bit. "But he--well, he's her father, +of course. She can't help that. And it makes no difference at all to me +if he isn't really refined--not a bit. But--but I'd rather not talk to +him just now. I--I prefer to see Mrs. Ull." + +I can't say just what I felt so friendly and fraternal to him about +then; but I did. "Westy," says I, "take my advice about this hunch of +yours to see Mother. Don't!" + +"But really," he insists, "I must tell one or the other, don't you see. +And unless I do it right away I know I never can at all. Besides I've +made up my mind that Mrs. Ull ought to be the first to know. I--I'm +going to ring for the maid and ask to see her." + +"Good nerve!" says I, slappin' him on the shoulder. "In that case I'll +just slip into the back room there and shut the door." + +"Oh, I say!" says he, glancin' around panicky. "I--I wish you'd stay. +I--I don't fancy facing her alone. Please stay!" + +"It ain't reg'lar," says I. + +"I don't care," says Westy, pleadin'. "You could sort of introduce me, +you know, and--and help me out if I got stuck. You would, wouldn't you?" + +And it was amazin' how diff'rent I felt towards Westy from five minutes +before. His best friend couldn't have looked on him fonder, or promised +to stand by him closer. I calls the maid myself, discovers that Mrs. Ull +is in the upstairs sittin' room, and sends the message that Mr. Westlake +would like to see her right off about something important. + +"But you got to buck up, my boy," says I; "for from all the dope I've +had you've got a jolt comin' to you." + +That wa'n't any idle rumor, either. He'd hardly begun pacin' restless in +and out among the chairs and tables before we hears a heavy pad-pad on +the stairs, and the next thing we know the lady is standin' in the door. + +Not such an awful stout old party as I'd looked for, nor she didn't have +such a bad face; but with the funny way she has her hair bobbed up, and +the weird way her dress fits her, like it had been cut out left-handed +in a blind asylum--well, she's a mess, that's all. It's an expensive +lookin' outfit too, and the jew'lry display around her lumpy neck and on +her pudgy fingers was enough to make you blink; but somehow it all +looked out of place. + +For a second she stands there fingerin' her rings fidgety, and then +remarks unexpected: "It's about Doris, ain't it? Well, young feller, +what is it you got on your mind?" + +And all of a sudden I tumbles to the fact that she's lookin' straight at +me. Then it was my turn to go panicky. "Excuse me, Ma'am," says I hasty, +"but that's the guilty party, the one over by the fireplace. Mr. +Westlake, Ma'am." + +"Oh!" says she. "That one, eh? Well, let's have it!" and with that she +paddles over to a high-backed, carved mahogany chair and settles +herself sort of grim and defiant. I almost had to push Westy to the +front too. + +"I expect you've talked this all over with her father, eh?" she goes on. +"I'm always the last to get wise to anything that goes on in this house, +specially if it's about Doris. Come, let's have it!" + +"But I haven't seen Mr. Ull at all," protests Westy. "It--it's just +happened. And I thought you ought to know first. I want to ask you, Mrs. +Ull, if I may marry Doris?" + +We wa'n't lookin' for what come next, either of us; her big red face had +such a hard, sullen look on it, like she knew we was sizin' her up and +meant to show us she didn't give a hoot what we thought. But as Westy +finishes and bows real respectful, holdin' out his hand friendly, the +change come. The hard lines around her mouth softens, the narrowed eyes +widen and light up, and her stiff under jaw gets trembly. A tear or so +trickles foolish down the side of her nose; but she don't pay any +attention. She's just starin' at Westy. + +"You--you wanted me to know first, did you?" says she, with a break in +her shrill, cackly voice. "Me?" + +"I thought it only right," says Westy. "You're Doris's mother, you know, +and----" + +"Good boy!" says she, reachin' out after one of his hands and pattin' +it. "I'm glad you did too. Doris, she's got too fine for her old +mother. That ain't so much her fault as it is mine, I expect. I'm kind +of rough, and a good deal behind the times. I ain't kept up, not even +the way Leo has. But then, I ain't had the chance. I've been at home, +lookin' after the boys and--and Doris. I saw she was gettin' spoiled; +but I didn't have the heart to bring her home and stop it. She's young, +though. She'll get over it. You'll help her. Oh, I know about you. Quite +a young swell, you are; but I guess you're all right. And I'm glad for +Doris. Maybe too, she'll find out some day that her rough old mother, +who got left so far behind, thinks a lot of her still. You--you'll tell +her as much some time perhaps. Won't you?" + +Say, take it from me, I was so misty in the eyes about then, and so +choky under my collar, that I couldn't have done it myself. But Westy +did. There's a heap more to him than shows on the outside. + +"Mrs. Ull," says he, "I shall tell Doris all of that, and much more. And +I'm sure that both of us are going to be very fond of you. And if you +don't mind, I'm going to begin now to call you Mother." + +Yes, I was gettin' a little uneasy at that stage. I hadn't counted on +bein' let in for quite such a close fam'ly scene. And when the two girls +showed up with their arms locked about each other, and Vee leads Doris +up to Mother Ull, and they goes to a three-cornered clinch, sobbin' on +one another's shoulder--well, I faded. + +On the way home I was struck by a sudden thought that trickled all the +way down my spine like a splinter of ice. "If I ever had the luck to get +that far," thinks I, "would I have to go through any such an act with +Aunty? Hel-lup, Hubert! Hel-lup!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SOME GUESSES ON RUBY + + +Well, I'm shocked at Ruby, that's all. Also I'm beginnin' to suspicion I +ain't such a human-nature dope artist as I thought, for I've made at +least three fruity forecasts on Ruby, and the returns are still comin' +in. + +My first frame-up was natural enough. When this goose-necked young +female with the far-away look in her eyes appeared as No. 7 in our +batt'ry of lady typists, and I heard Mr. Robert havin' a séance tryin' +to dictate some of the mornin' correspondence to her, I swung round with +a grin on my face and took a second look. She was fussed and scared. + +No wonder; for Mr. Robert has a shorthand system of his own that he uses +in dictatin' letters. He'll reel off the name and address all right, and +then simply sketch in what he wants said, without takin' pains to throw +in such details as "Replying to yours of even date," or "We are in +receipt of yours of the 20th inst." And the connectin' links he always +leaves to the stenog. + +Course that don't take much bean after they get used to his ways; but +this fairy in the puckered black velvet waist and the white linen cuffs +hadn't been on the Corrugated staff more 'n three days, and this was her +first tryout on private officework. She'd been told to read over the +last letter fired at her, and she was doin' it like this: + + BAILY, BANKS & BAKER, Something-or-other Chestnut, Philadelphia. + Look up the number, will you? Gentlemen--and so on. Ah--er--what's + that note of theirs? Oh, yes! Shipments of ore will be resumed-- + +Which was where Mr. Robert stops her. "Pardon me," says he, "but before +we go any further just how much of that rubbish do you mean to +transcribe?" + +"Why," says Ruby, starin' at him vacant, "I--I took down just what you +said." + +"Mm-m-m!" says he sarcastic. "My error. And--er--that will be all." +Then, when she's gone, he growls savage: "Delightful, eh? You noticed +her, didn't you, Torchy?" + +"The mouth breather?" says I. "Sure! That's Ruby. Nobody home, and the +front door left open. One of Piddie's finds, I expect." + +"Ring for him, will you?" says Mr. Robert. + +Poor Piddie! He was almost as fussed as Ruby had been. He admits takin' +her on, but insists that she brought a good letter from some Western +mill concern and was a wonder at takin' figures. + +"Keep her on them and out of here, then," says Mr. Robert. "And if you +love peace, Mr. Piddie, avoid sending her to the governor." + +Which was a good hunch too. What Old Hickory would have remarked if them +letters had got to him it ain't best to imagine. Besides, that stare of +Ruby's would have got on his nerves from the start; for it's the +weirdest, emptiest, why-am-I-here look I ever saw outside a nut fact'ry. +Kind of a hauntin' look too. I couldn't help watchin' for it every time +I passes through the front office, just to see if it had changed any. +And it didn't--always the same! + +Then here one day when I has to cook up some tabulated stuff for the +Semiannual me and Ruby had a three-hour session together, me readin' off +long strings of numbers, and her thumpin' 'em out on the keys. We got +along fine too, and when I says as much at the finish she jars me almost +speechless by shootin' over a shy, grateful look and smilin' coy. + +From then on it was almost a case of friendly relations between me and +Ruby, conducted on the basis of about two smiles a day. Poor thing! I +expect them was about the only friendly motions she went through durin' +business hours; for she didn't seem to mix at all with the other lady +typists, and as for the young sports around the shop--well, to them Ruby +was a standin' joke. + +And you could hardly blame 'em. Them back-number costumes of hers looked +odd enough mixed in with all the harem effects and wired-neck ruffs that +the others wore down to work. But when it come to doin' her hair Ruby +was in a class by herself. No spit curls or French rolls for her! She +sticks to the plain double braid, wound around her head smooth and +slick, like the stuff they wrap Chianti bottles in, and with her long +soup-viaduct it gives her sort of a top-heavy look. Sort of dull, +ginger-colored hair it is too. Besides that she's a tall, +shingle-chested female, well along in the twenties, I should judge, and +with all the earmarks of bein' an old maid. + +So shock No. 2 is handed me when I discovers how the high-shouldered +young husk with the wide-set blue eyes, that I'd seen hangin' round the +Arcade on and off, was really waitin' for Ruby. Uh-huh! I stood and +watched 'em sidle up to each other and go driftin' out into Broadway +hand in hand. A swell pair they'd make for a Rube vaudeville act! +Honest, with a few make-up touches, they could have walked right on and +had the gallery with 'em! + +Believe me, I couldn't miss a chance to josh Ruby some on that. I shoves +it at her next day when I comes back early from lunch and finds her +brushin' her sandwich crumbs into the waste basket. + +"Now don't spring any musty first-cousin gag on me," says I; "for it +don't go with the fond, palm-pressin' act. Steady comp'ny, ain't he?" + +Which was where you'd expect her to turn pink in the ears and let loose +a giggle. But not Ruby. She's a solemn, serious-minded party, Ruby is. +"Do you mean Mr. Lindholm?" says she. + +"Heavings!" says I. "Do you have relays of 'em? I'm referrin' to the +stocky-built young Romeo that picked you up at the door last night." + +"Oh, yes," says she placid, "Nelson Lindholm. We had Sanskrit together." + +"Eh?" says I. "Sans-which? What kind of a disease is that?" + +"It's a language," explains Ruby. "We were in the same class. I thought +it might help me in my foreign mission work. I'm sure I don't know why +Nelson took it, though. He was studying electrical engineering." + +"Maybe it was catchin', at that," says I. "Where was all this?" + +"At the Co-ed," says Ruby. "But then I'd known Nelson before. He's from +Naukeesha too." + +"Come again," says I. "From what?" + +"Naukeesha," repeats Ruby, just as if it was some common name like +Patchogue or Hoboken. + +"Is that an island somewhere," says I, "or just a mixed drink?" + +"Why," says she, "it's a town; in Wisconsin, you know." + +"Think of that!" says I. "How they do mess up the map! What's it like, +this Naukeesha?" + +And for the first time Ruby shows some traces of life. "It's nice," says +she, "real nice. Not at all like New York." + +"Ah come, not so rough!" says I. "What you got special against our burg +here?" + +Ruby lapses back into her vacant stare and sort of shivers. "It's so big +and--and whirly!" says she. "I don't like things to be whirly. Then the +people are so strange, and their faces so hard. If--if I should fall +down in one of those crowds, I'm sure they would walk right over me, +trample on me, without caring." + +"Pooh!" says I. "You'll work up a rush-hour nerve in a month or so. Of +course, havin' always lived in a place like Naukeesha----" + +"But I haven't," corrects Ruby. "I was born in Kansas." + +"As bad as that!" says I. "And your folks moved up there later, eh?" + +"No," says she. "They--they--I lost them there. A cyclone, you know." + +"You don't mean," says I, "that--that----" + +"Yes," says she, "Mother, Father, and my two brothers. We were all +together when it struck; that is, I was just coming in from the kitchen. +I'd been shutting the windows. I saw them all go--whirled off, just like +that. The chimney fell, big beams came down, then it was all smoky and +dark. I must have been blown through a window. My face was cut a little. +I never knew. Neighbors found me in a field by a stump. They found the +others too--laid them side by side in the wagon shed. Nothing else was +left standing. It's dreadful, being in a cyclone--the roar, you know, +and things coming at you in the dark, and that feeling of being lifted +and whirled. I was only twelve; but I--I can't forget. And when I'm in +big, noisy places it all comes back. I suppose I'm silly." + +Was she? Say, what's your guess about that? And, take it from me, I +didn't wonder any more at that stary look of hers. She'd seen 'em all +go--four of 'em. Good-night! I talked easy and soothin' to Ruby after +that. + +"Then I went up to live with Uncle Edward at Naukeesha," she trails +along. "He's a minister there. It was he who suggested my going into +foreign mission work. I had to do something, you know, and I'd always +been such a good scholar. I love books. So I studied hard, and was sent +to the Co-ed. But the languages took so much time. Then I had to skip +several terms and work to help pay my expenses. I worked during +vacations too, at anything. Now I'm waiting for a field. They send you +out when there's a vacancy." + +"How about Nelson?" says I. "He's goin' to be a missionary too?" + +"He doesn't want me to go," says Ruby, shakin' her head. "That is why he +came on. He had charge of the electric light plant too, a good place. +And here he gets only odd jobs. I tell him he's silly to stay. I can't +see why he does." + +"Asked him, have you?" says I. + +"Why, no," says Ruby. + +"Shoot it at him to-night," says I. + +But she shakes her head, opens her notebook, and feeds in a copyin' +sheet as the clock points to 1. I looks up just in time to catch a +couple of them cheap bondroom sports nudgin' each other as they passes +by. Thought I'd been joshin' the Standin' Joke, I expect. Well, that's +the way I started in, I'll admit. + +It's only a day or so later I has the luck to run across Oakley Mills. +Something had come up that needed to be passed on by Mr. Robert, and as +he was still out lunchin' I scouts over to his club, and finds him +stowed away at a corner table with this chatty playwright party. + +He's quite a swell, Oakley is, you know; and I guess with one Broadway +hit in its second year, and a lot of road comp'nies out, he can afford +to flit around under the white lights. Him and Mr. Robert has always +been more or less chummy, and every now and then they get together like +this for a talkfest. As Mr. Mills seems to be right in the middle of +something as I drifts in, Mr. Robert waves me to a chair and signals him +to keep on, which he does. + +"It's a curious mess, that's all," says Oakley, spreadin' out his +manicured fingers and shruggin' his shoulders under his Donegal Norfolk. +"I'm not sure if the new piece will ever go on." + +"Another procrastinating producer?" asks Mr. Robert careless. + +"No, a finicky author this time," says Oakley. "You see, there is one +part, a character part, which I'm insisting must be cast right. It +seemed easy at first. But these women of our American stage! No +training, no facility, no understanding! Not one of them can fill it, +and we've tried nearly a dozen. If I could only find the original!" + +"Eh?" says Mr. Robert, who's been payin' more attention to manipulatin' +the soda siphon than to Oakley's beefin'. "What original?" + +"The dumbest, woodenest, most conscientious young female person it has +ever been my lot to meet," goes on Mr. Mills. "Talk about your rare +types! You should have known Faithful Fannie (my name for her, you +know). It was out in the Middle West last summer. I had two or three +weeks' work to do on the new piece, revising it to fit Amy Dean. All +stars of that magnitude demand it, you understand. + +"Well, I should have stayed right here until it was done, but some +Chicago friends wanted me to go with them up into the lake region, +promised me an ideal place to work in--all that. So I went. I might have +had better sense. You know these bungalow colonies in the woods--where +they live in fourteen-room log cabins, fitted with electric lights and +English butlers? Bah! It was bridge and tennis and dancing day and +night, with a new mob every week-end. Work? As well try it in the middle +of the Newport Casino. + +"So I hunted up a little third-rate summer hotel a mile or so off, where +the guests were few and the food wretched, and camped down with my +mangled script and my typewriter. There I met Fannie the Unforgetful. +She was the waitress I happened to draw out of a job lot. I suppose it +was her début at that sort of thing. For the sake of hungry humanity I +hope it was. What she did not know about serving was simply amazing; but +her capacity for absorbing suggestions and obeying orders was profound. +'Could I have a warm plate?' I asked at the first meal. 'Oh, certainly, +Sir,' says Fannie, and from then on every dish she brought me was piping +hot, even to the cold-meat platter and the ice cream saucer. It was that +way with every wish I was rash enough to express. Fannie never forgot, +and she kept to the letter of the law. + +"Also she would stand patiently and watch me eat. That is, she would fix +her eyes on me intently, never moving, and keep them there for a quarter +of an hour at a time. A little embarrassing, you know, to be so +constantly observed. She had such big, stary eyes too, absolutely +without any expression in them. To break the spell I would order things +I didn't want, just to get her out of the way for a moment or so while I +snatched a few unwatched bites. You know how it is? There's green corn. +Now I like to tackle that with both hands; but I don't care to be +closely inspected while I'm at it. I used to fancy that her gaze was +somewhat critical. 'Good heavens, Girl!' I said one day. 'Can't you look +somewhere else--at the ceiling, or out of the window?' She chose the +ceiling. It was a bit weird to have her stationed opposite me, her eyes +rolled heavenward. Uncanny! It attracted the attention of the other +guests. But it was something of a relief. I could watch her then. + +"There was something fascinating about Faithful Fannie, though, as there +is about all unusually plain persons. Not that she was positively +homely. Her features were regular enough, I suppose. But she was such a +tall, slim, colorless, neutral creature! And awkward! You've seen a +young turkey, all legs and neck, with its silly head bobbing above the +tall grass? Well, something like that. And as I never read at my meals I +had nothing else to do but study that sallow, unmoving face of hers with +its steady, emotionless, upward gaze. Was she thinking? And what about! +Who was she? Where had she come from? + +"A haunting face, Fannie's was; at least, for me. It became almost an +obsession. I could see it as I sat down to my work. And the first thing +I knew I was writing Fannie into my play. There was a maid's part in +it,--the conventional, table-dusting, note-carrying, tea-serving maid, +with not half a dozen words to speak. But before I knew it this +insignificant part had become so elaborated, I had sketched in Fannie's +personality so vividly, that the whole action and theme of the piece +were revolving about her--hinged on her. I couldn't seem to stop, +either. I wrote on and on and--well, by Jove! it ended in my turning out +something entirely different from that which I had begun. The original +skeleton is still there, the characters are the same; but the values +have exchanged places. This is a Fannie play through and through. And +it's good, the biggest thing I've done; but----" Once more Oakley shrugs +his shoulders and ends with a deep sigh. + +"Rubbish!" says Mr. Robert. "You and your artistic temperament! What's +the real trouble, anyway?" + +"As I've tried to make clear to your limited and wholly commercialized +intelligence," comes back Mr. Mills, "I have created a character which +is too deep and too subtle for any available American actress to handle. +If I could only find the original now, with her tractable genius for +doing exactly what she was told----" + +"Why not send out for her, then?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"As though I hadn't!" says Oakley. "Two weeks ago I located the hotel +manager in Florida and wired him a full description of the girl. All I +got from him was that he'd heard she was somewhere in New York." + +"How simple!" says Mr. Robert. "Here is my young friend Torchy, with +wits even more brilliant than his hair. Ask him to find Fannie for +you." + +"A girl whose name I don't even know!" protests Oakley. "How in blazes +could anyone trace a----" + +"I'll bet you the dinners," cuts in Mr. Robert, "that Torchy can do it." + +"Taken," says Mr. Mills, and turns to me brisk. "Now, young man, what +further details would you like?" + +"Don't happen to have a lock of her hair with you?" says I, grinnin'. + +"Alas, no!" says he. "She favored me with no such mark of her esteem." + +"Was it kind of ginger-colored," says I, "and done in a braid round her +head?" + +"Why--er--I believe it was," says he. + +"And didn't she have sort of droopy shoulders," I goes on, "and a trick +of starin' vague, with her mouth part way open?" + +"Yes, yes!" says he eager. "But--but whom are you describing?" + +"Ruby Everschott," says I. "Come down to the Corrugated and take a +look." + +Course it seemed like a 100 to 1 chance, but when I got the Wisconsin +part of his yarn, and tacked it onto the rest, it didn't seem likely one +State could produce two such specimens. Inside of fifteen minutes the +three of us was strollin' casual through the front offices. + +"Glance down the line of lady typists," I whispers to Oakley. + +"By George!" says he gaspy. "The one at the far end?" + +"You win," says I. + +"And you also, my young wizard," says Oakley. + +"I'll have her sent into my private office," suggests Mr. Robert. + +And once more I was lookin' for some startled motions from Ruby when she +discovers Mr. Mills. But in she comes, as woodeny and stiff as ever, +goes to her little table, and spreads out her notebook, without glancin' +at any of us. + +"Pardon me, Miss Everschott," says Mr. Robert, "but--er--my friend Mills +here fancies that he--er--ah--oh, hang it all! you say it, Oakley." + +At which Mr. Mills steps up smilin'. I should judge he was a fairly +smooth, high-polished gent as a rule; but after Ruby has turned that +stupid, stary look on him, without battin' an eyelash or liftin' an +eyebrow, the smile fades out. She don't say a word or make a move: just +continues to stare. As for Oakley, he shifts uneasy on his feet and +flushes up under the eyes. + +"Well?" says he. "I trust you remember me?" + +Ruby shakes her head slow. "No, Sir," says she. + +"Eh?" says Oakley. "Weren't you a waitress at the Lakeside Hotel last +summer?" + +"Certainly, Sir," says Ruby. + +"And didn't you bring me my meals three times a day for four mortal +weeks?" he insists. + +"Did I?" says Ruby, starin' stupider than ever. + +"Great Scott, young woman!" breaks out Oakley. "Didn't you look at me +long enough and steadily enough to remember? Don't you recall I was +disagreeable enough to ask you not to watch me eat?" + +"Oh!" says Ruby, a flicker of almost human intelligence in her big eyes. +"The one who wanted hot plates!" + +"At last," says Oakley, "I am properly identified. Yes, I am the +hot-plate person." + +"You had tea for breakfast too, didn't you?" asks Ruby. + +"Always," says he. "An eccentricity of mine." + +"And you put salt on your muskmelon, and wanted your eggs opened, and +didn't like tomato soup," adds Ruby, like she was repeatin' a lesson. + +"Guilty on all three counts," says Mr. Mills. + +"I tried to remember," says Ruby, sort of meek. + +"Tried!" gasps Oakley. "Why, you made an art of it. You never so much +as---- But tell me, was it those foolish little whims of mine you were +thinking so hard about while you stood there gazing so intently at me?" + +Ruby nods; a shy, bashful little nod. + +Mr. Mills makes a low bow. "A thousand pardons, my dear young lady!" +says he. "I stand convicted of utter selfishness. But perhaps I can +atone." + +And with that he proceeds to put his proposition up to her. He tells her +about the play, the trouble he's had tryin' to fit one special part, and +how he's sure she could do it to a T. He asks her to give it a try. + +"Go on the stage!" says Ruby, her big eyes starin' at him like he'd +asked her to jump off the Metropolitan Tower. "No, I don't think I +could. I'm going to be a foreign missionary, you know." + +"A--a what?" gasps Oakley. "Missionary! But see here--that can wait. And +in one season on the stage you could make----" + +Well, I must say Oakley argued it well and put it strong; but he'd have +produced just as good results if he'd been out in the square askin' the +bronze statue of Lafayette to hand him down a match. Ruby drops back +into her vague gazin' act and shakes her head. So at last he ends by +askin' her to think it over for a day, and Ruby goes back to her desk. + +"How absurd!" growls Oakley. "But I simply must have her. Why, we would +pay her three hundred dollars a week." + +I catches my breath at that. "Excuse me if I seem to crash in," says I, +"but was that a gust of superheated air, or did you mean it?" + +"I should be glad to submit a contract to Miss Everschott on those +terms," says he. + +"Then leave it to me," says I; "that is, to me and Nelson." + +Did we win Ruby? Say, with our descriptions of what three hundred a week +might mean in the way of Christmas presents to Uncle Ed, and donations +to the poor box, and a few personal frills on the side, we shot that +foreign missionary scheme so full of holes it looked like a last year +mosquito bar at the attic window. + +"But I'm sure I sha'n't like it at all," says Ruby as she signs her +name. + +I didn't deny that. I knew she was in for a three weeks' drillin' by the +roughest stage manager in the business. You know who. But he can deliver +the goods, can't he? He makes the green ones act. Look at what he did +with Ruby! Only it don't seem like actin' at all. She's just Ruby, in +the same puckered waist, her hair mopped around her head in the same +silly braid, and that same stary look in her big eyes. But it gets 'em +strong. Packed every night! + +I meets Nelson here only yesterday, and he was tellin' me. Comin' along +some himself, Nelson is. He's opened an office and is biddin' for big +jobs. + +"I've just landed my first contract," says he. + +"Good!" says I. "What's it for?" + +"A fifty-foot, twenty-thousand-candle-power sign over the theater," says +he, "with Ruby's name in it. She's signed up for another year, you +know." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Then it's all off with the heathen, eh?" + +And Nelson he drifts up the street wearin' a grin. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +TORCHY GETS AN INSIDE TIP + + +There was two commuters, one loaded down with a patent runner sled, the +other chewin' a cigar impatient and consultin' his watch; a fat woman +with a six-year-old who was teasin' to go see Santa Claus in the window +again; a sporty-lookin' old boy with a red tie who was blinkin' googoos +out of his puffy eyes; and then there was me, draped in my new +near-English top coat and watchin' the swing doors expectant. + +So you see they ain't particular who hangs out in these department store +vestibules. But I'll bet I had the best excuse! I was waitin' for Vee! +She'd gone in at five-twenty-one, sayin' she'd be only a couple of +minutes; so she wa'n't really due for half an hour yet. + +The commuter with the sled had just been picked up by Wifey, loaded down +with more bundles, and rushed off for the five-forty-something for +Somewhere, and a new recruit in the shape of a fish-eyed gink with a +double-chin dimple had drifted in, when I has the feelin' that someone +has sidled up to me from the far door at the left and is standin' +there. Then comes the timid hail: + +"I beg pardon, Sir." + +You'd naturally look for somebody special after that, wouldn't you? But +what I finds close to my elbow is a wispy little girl with a pinched, +high-strung look on her thin face, an amazin' collection of freckles, +and a pleadin' look in her big, blue-gray eyes. She's costumed mainly in +a shaggy tam-o'-shanter that comes down over her ears, and an old plaid +cape that must have been some vivid in its color scheme when it was new. + +"Eh, Sister?" says I, gawpin' at her. + +"Is it true about the work papers, Sir?" says she. + +"The which?" says I, not gettin' her for a second. "Oh! Work papers? +Sure! They can't take you on unless you're over fourteen and have been +to school so many weeks." + +"Not anywhere? Wouldn't they?" she insists. + +I shakes my head. "Wouldn't dare," says I. "They'd be fined if they +did." + +"Th-thank you, Sir," says she. "That's what the man said." + +She was winkin' both eyes hard to hold the brine back, and her under lip +was trembly; but she was keepin' her chin up brave and steady. She'd +turned to go when she swings around. + +"Please, Sir," says she, "where does one go when one is tired?" + +"Why, Sis," says I sort of quizzin', "what's the matter with home?" + +"But if one has no home?" she comes back at me solemn. + +"The case being that of a little girl," says I, "she wanders around +until she's collected by a cop, turned over to the Children's Society, +and committed to some home." + +"But I mustn't go there," says she, glancin' around scary. "No, not to a +home. Daddums said not to." + +"Did, eh?" says I. "Then why don't he---- By the way, just where is +Daddums?" + +"Taken up," says she. + +"You mean pinched?" says I. + +"I think so," says she. "Cook says the bobbies came for him. He left +word with her that I wasn't to worry, as he'd be let out soon, and I was +to stay where I was. Three weeks ago that was, and--and I haven't heard +from Daddums since." + +"Huh!" says I. "Listens like a case of circumstances over which---- But +where did you pick up that trick of speakin' of coppers as bobbies?" + +"I beg pardon, Sir?" says she. + +"That tells it," says I. "English, ain't you?" + +"London, Sir, Brompton Road," says she. + +"Been over long?" says I. + +"A matter of three months, Sir," says she. + +"And what's the name?" says I. + +"Mine?" says she. "Helma Allston. And yours, please, Sir?" + +I wa'n't lookin' for her to send it back so prompt. She ain't at all +fresh about it, you know: just easy and natural. I don't know when I've +run across a youngster with such nice manners. + +"Why," says I, "I guess you can call me Torchy." + +"Thank you, Mr. Torchy," says she, doin' a little dancin'-school duck. +"And if you don't mind, I'd like to--to stay here for a minute or two +while I think what I 'd best---- O-o-o-oh!" She sort of moans out this +last panicky and shrinks against the wall. + +"Well, what's the trouble now?" says I. + +"That's the one!" she whispers husky. "The--the man in the blue cap--the +one who told me about the work papers. He said I was to clear out too." + +And by followin' her scared glances I discovers this low-brow store +sleuth scowlin' ugly at her. + +"Pooh!" says I. "Only one of them cheap flat-foots. Don't mind him. +You're waitin' with me, you know. Here!" And I reaches down a hand to +her. + +Maybe it wa'n't some grateful look Helma flashes up as she slips her +slim, cold little fingers into mine and snuggles up like a lost kitten. +The store sleuth he stares puzzled for a second; but the near-English +top coat must have impressed him, for he goes sneakin' back down the +main aisle. + +So here I am, with this freaky little stray under my wing, when Vee +comes sailin' out, all trim and classy in her silver fox furs, with a +cute little hat to match, and takes in the picture. Maybe you can guess +too, how the average young queen in her set would have curled her lip at +sight of that faded cape and oversized cap. But not Vee! She just +indulges in a flickery smile, then straightens her face out and remarks: + +"Well, Torchy, I haven't had the pleasure, have I?" + +Say, she's a real sport, Vee is, take it from me! + +"Guess not," says I. "This is Helma, late of London, just now at large. +It's a case of one's havin' mislaid one's home." + +"Oh!" says Vee, a little doubtful. "And one's parents too?" + +"Painful subject," says I, shakin' my head warnin'. + +But Helma ain't the kind to gloss things over. She speaks right out. "If +you please, Miss," says she, "I've no mother, and Daddums has been taken +up--the bobbies, you know. And I fancy the money he left for my board +must have been all used; for I heard the landlady say I'd have to go to +a home. So before daylight this morning I slipped out the front door. +I'm not going back, either. I--I'm looking for work." + +"For work!" says Vee, starin' first at me and then at Helma. "You absurd +little thing! Why, how old are you?" + +"I was twelve last month, Miss," says Helma, bobbin' polite. + +"And you've been out since daylight?" demands Vee. "Where did you have +breakfast and luncheon?" + +"I--I didn't have them at all, Miss," admits Helma. + +Vee presses her lips together sudden and then shoots a knowin' look at +me. "There!" says she. "That reminds me. I haven't had tea, either. +Well, Torchy?" + +"My blow," says I. "I was just goin' to mention it. There's a joint +somewhere near, ain't there?" + +"Top floor," says Vee. "Come, Helma, you'll go with us, won't you?" + +And you should have seen the admirin' look Vee got back in exchange for +the smile she gives Helma! The look never fades, either, all the while +Helma is puttin' away a pot of chocolate, a club sandwich, and an order +of toasted muffins and marmalade. She just lets them big eyes of hers +travel up and down, from Vee's smooth-fittin' gloves to the little wisp +of straw-colored hair that curls up over the side of her fur hat. You +couldn't blame Helma. I took a peek now and then myself. + +Meanwhile we has a good chance to inspect this waif that's been sort of +wished on us. Such a sharp, peaked little face she has, and such bright, +active eyes, that it gives her a wide-awake, live-wire look, like a fox +terrier. Then the freckles--just spattered with 'em, clear across the +bridge of her nose and up to where the carroty hair begins. Like rust +specks on a knife blade, they were. + +"You didn't get all those livin' in London, did you?" says I. + +"Oh, no, Sir," says she. "Egypt mostly, and then down in Devon. You see, +Sir Alfred used to let Daddums take me along. Head butler, you know, +Daddums was--until the war. Then Sir Alfred went off with his regiment, +and Haldeane House was shut up, like so many others. Daddums was too old +to enlist, and besides there was no one to leave me with. So he had to +try for a place over here. I--I wish he hadn't. It was awful of the +bobbies, wasn't it?" + +"Looks so from here," says I. "Was it jew'lry that was missin', or +what?" + +"Money, Cook said," says Helma. "Oh, a lot! Fancy! Why, everyone knows +Daddums wouldn't do a thing like that. They could ask Sir Alfred. +Daddums was with him ever so long--since I was a little, little girl." + +I glances across at Vee, and she glances back. That's all; but them big +eyes of Helma's don't miss it. + +"You--you don't believe he took the money, do you?" says she, wistful +and pleadin'. + +At which Vee reaches over and pats her soothin' on the hand. "I don't +believe a word of it," says she. + +"He's a good Daddums," goes on Helma, spreadin' the last of the +marmalade on a buttered muffin. "He was going to take me to Australia, +where Uncle Verne has a big sheep ranch. And he'd promised to buy me a +sheep pony, all for my very own. I love riding, don't you? In Egypt I +had a donkey with a white face; but only hired from Hassan, you know. +And in Devon there was a cunning little Shetland that Hobbs would +sometimes let me take out. But here! I stay in a dark little room alone +for hours. I--I don't like it at all. But it costs such a lot to get to +Australia, and Daddums hasn't been well,--he's had a cold on his +chest,--and he's been afraid he would lose his place and have to go to a +hospital. Just before he was taken up, though, he told me we were to +sail for Melbourne soon. Daddums had found a way." + +This time I took care that Helma wa'n't lookin' before I glances at Vee. +I shakes my head dubious, indicatin' I wa'n't so sure about Daddums. But +Vee only tosses up her chin and turns to Helma. + +"Of course he would!" says she. "What have you in your lap, Child?" + +The kid pinks up and produces a battered old doll,--one of these +cloth-topped, everlastin' affairs, that looks like it had come from the +Christmas tree quite some seasons back. + +"This is my dear Arabella," says Helma in her old-maid way. "I suppose +I'm too old to play with dolls now; but I--I can't give her up. Only the +night before Daddums went off I missed her for a while and thought she +was lost. I cried myself to sleep. But what do you think? In the morning +I found her again, right beside me on the pillow. I haven't gone a step +without her since." + +"You dear little goose!" says Vee, reachin' out impetuous and givin' her +a hug. "And where do you think you're going, you and your Arabella?" + +"I don't know," says Helma. "Only I mustn't let them put me in a home; +for then I couldn't go with Daddums when he came out--you see?" + +Sure, we saw--that and a lot more. I could tell that Vee was puzzlin' +over the situation by the way she was starin' at the youngster and +grippin' her muff. Course you might say we wa'n't any Rescue Mission, or +anything like that; but somehow this was diff'rent. Here was Helma, +right in front of us! And I'm free to admit the proposition was too much +for me. + +"Gee!" says I. "Handed out rough sometimes, ain't it? What's the answer, +Vee?" + +"There's only one," says she. "I'm going to take Helma home with me." + +"What about Aunty?" says I. + +At which Vee's lips come together and her shoulders straighten. "I +know," says she, "there'll be a row. Aunty's always saying that such +affairs should be handled by institutions. But this time--well, we'll +see. Come, Helma." + +"Oh, is it true?" gasps the youngster. "May I go with you? May I?" + +And as I tucked 'em into a taxi, Arabella and all, Vee whispers: +"Torchy, if you're any good at all, you'll go straight and find out all +about Daddums and just make them let him out!" + +"Eh?" says I. "Make 'em--say, ain't that some life-sized order?" + +"Perhaps," says she. "But you needn't come to see us until you've found +him. Good-by!" + +Just like that I got it! And, say, there wa'n't any use tryin' to kid +myself into thinkin' maybe she don't mean it. I'd seen how strong this +story of little Helma's had got to her; and, believe me, when Vee gets +real stirred up over anything she's some earnest party--no four-flushin' +about her! And it don't seem to make much diff'rence who blocks the +path. Look at her then, sailin' off to go up against a stiff-necked, +cold-eyed Aunty, who's a believer in checkbook charity, and mighty +little of that! And just so I won't feel out of it she tosses me a job +that would keep a detective bureau and a board of pardons busy for a +month. + +"Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' up the avenue after the cab. "And I pulled +this down just by bein' halfway human! Oh, very well, very well! Here's +where I strain something!" + +Course, if I hadn't knocked around a newspaper office more or less, I +wouldn't have known where to begin any more than--well, than the average +private sec would. But them two years I spent outside the Sunday +editor's door wa'n't all wasted. For instance, that's where I got to +know Whitey Weeks. And now my first move is to pike down to old +Newspaper Row and locate him. Inside of half an hour we'd done a lot +too. We'd called up their headquarters' man on the 'phone and had him +sketch off the case against one Allston, a butler. + +"Yep, grand larceny," says Whitey, his ear to the receiver. "We know +that. How much? Eh? Twenty thousand!" + +"Ah, tell him to turn over: he's on his back!" says I. "Not twenty +thousand cash?" + +"That's what he says," insists Whitey, "all in hundreds. Lifted out of a +secret wall safe." + +"Ask him where this guy was buttling,--in a bank," says I, "or at the +Subtreasury?" + +And Whitey reports that Allston was workin' for a Mrs. Murtha, West 76th +Street; "Mrs. Connie Murtha, you know," he goes on, "the big poolroom +backer, and one of the flossiest, foxiest widows in New York." + +"Then that accounts for the husky wad," says I. "Twenty thousand! No +piker, was he? Ask your man who's on the case?" + +"Rusitelli & Donahue," says Whitey. "Mike's a friend of mine too; but he +never talks much." + +"Let's have a try, anyway," says I. + +So we runs this partic'lar detective sergeant down, drags him away from +a penuchle game, and Whitey begins by suggestin' that we hear how he's +done some clever work on the Allston case. + +"I got him right, that's all," says Mike. "And he'd faked up a nice +little stall too." + +"Anything on him when you rounded him up?" asks Whitey. + +Donahue shakes his head disgusted. "Stowed it," says he. + +"Some cute, eh?" says Whitey. + +"Bah!" says Mike. "Who was it sprung that tale about his being a big +English crook? The Yard never heard of him. I doped him out from the +first, though. Plain nut! The Chief wouldn't believe it until I showed +him." + +"Showed him what?" says Whitey, innocent like. + +"This," says the sleuth, haulin' out of his pocket a bulgy envelope. "I +found that in his room. Take a look," and he lifts the flap at the end. + +"What the deuce!" says Whitey. + +"Sawdust," says Mike, "just plain, everyday sawdust. I had it +analyzed,--no dope, no nothing. Now tell me, would anyone but a nut do a +thing like that?" + +We both agreed nobody but a nut would; also we remarks in chorus that +Mr. Donahue is some classy sleuth, which he don't object to at all. In +fact, after I've explained how a relation of Allston's had asked me to +look him up he fixes it so I can get a pass into the Tombs. Followin' +which I blows Whitey to one of Farroni's seventy-five-cent spaghetti +banquets and then goes home to think a few chunks of thought. + +As the case stood it looked bad for Daddums. A party like Mrs. Connie +Murtha, with all the police drag she must have, wa'n't goin' to be +separated from her reserve roll without makin' somebody squirm good and +plenty. He might have known that, if it was him turned the trick. Or was +he nutty, like Donahue had said? Before I went any further I had to +settle that point, and while I ain't strong for payin' visits through +the iron bars I was up early next mornin' and down presentin' my pass. + +"You cub lawyers give me shootin' pains in the neck!" grumbles the +turnkey that tows me in. + +"How'd you guess I wa'n't the new District Attorney?" says I. "Here, +have a perfecto for that pain." And that soothes him so much he loafs +against the tier rail while I knocks on the door of Cell 69. + +"I beg pardon?" says a deep, smooth voice, and up to the bars steps a +tall, round-shouldered gent, with hair a little thin on top and a pair +of reddish-gray butler sideboards in front of his ears. Not a bad face +either, only the pointed chin is a little weak. + +"I'm from Helma," says I. + +That jolts him at the start. His hands go trembly, and twice he makes a +stab at speakin' before he can get the words out. "Is--isn't she all +right?" says he. "I left her in lodgings, you know. I--I trust she----" + +"She quit," says I. "They was goin' to put her in a home. Picked me up +on the street, you might say. But she's safe enough now." + +"Safe?" says he, dartin' over a suspicious look. "Where?" + +"Take my word for it," says I. "Maybe we can swap a little information +later on. Now what about this grand larceny charge?" + +"All rubbish!" says he. "Why, I hadn't been out of the house! They admit +that. If I'd taken the money, wouldn't it have been found on me?" + +"Then they pinched you on the premises?" says I. "I rather thought from +what Helma said you'd been to see her that night?" + +"Not since the night before," says he. "Helma was down in the kitchen +with Cook when they came." + +"Huh!" says I, rubbin' my chin as a help to deep thought. "The night +before?" + +I don't know why, either, but somehow that makes me think of sawdust, +and from sawdust--say, I had it in a flash. + +"Sorry, Allston," says I, "but on account of Helma I was kind of in hopes +they was just makin' a goat of you. She's a cute youngster--Helma." + +"She is all I have to live for, Sir," says he, bowin' his head. + +"Then why take such chances as this?" says I. "Twenty thousand! Say, you +know this ain't any jay burg. You can't expect to get away with a wad +like that." + +"I know nothing about the money," says he, stiffenin' up. "They'll have +to find it to prove I took it." + +"Big mistake No. 2," says I. "They got to convict somebody, and the +arrow points to you. About fifteen years would be my guess. Now come, +Allston, what good would you be after fifteen years' hard?" + +He shivers, but shrugs his shoulders dogged. "Poor little Helma!" says +he. "Where is she?" + +"Excuse me, Mr. Allston," says I, "but that ain't the order of events. +It's like this: First off you tell me where the wad is; then I tell you +about Helma." + +Makes him groan a bit, that does, and he scowls at me stubborn. "They +tried all that on at Headquarters," says he. "It's no use." + +"You'd get off lighter if you told," says I. + +"I've nothing to tell," he insists. + +"How about swappin' what you know for two tickets to Australia?" I +suggests. + +"Hah!" says he. "Helma's been talkin'!" + +"She's a chatty youngster," says I, "and she thinks a heap of her +Daddums. I ain't sure, though, whether you come first--or Arabella." + +If I hadn't been watchin' for it, I might not have noticed, but the +quiver that begins in the fingers grippin' the bars runs clear up to the +sagged shoulders. His mouth twitches nervous, and then he gets hold of +himself. + +"Oh, yes," says he, forcin' a smile. "Her doll. She--she still has that, +has she?" + +"Uh-huh!" says I, watchin' him keen. "I'm keepin' close track of both." + +That little touch did the business. He begins pacin' up and down his +cell, wringin' his hands. About the fourth lap he stops. + +"If I only could take her to Australia," says he, "and get her out +of--of all this, I would be willing to--to----" + +"That's enough," says I. "All I want is your O. K. on any terms I can +make with Mrs. Murtha." + +"She's a hard woman," says he. "And she doesn't come by her money +straight." + +"Nor lose it easy," says I. "She wants it back. Might talk business, +though, if I could show her how----" + +"Anything!" says Allston. "Anything to get me out!" + +"Now you're usin' your bean," says I. "I'm off. Maybe you'll hear from +me later." + +Course I didn't know what could be done, but I 'phones Piddie at the +office to tell 'em I won't be in before lunch, and then I boards an +uptown subway express. Easy enough findin' Mrs. Connie Murtha too. She's +just finished a ten o'clock breakfast. A big, well-built, dashin' sort +of party she is, with an enameled complexion and drugged hair. She's +brisk and businesslike. + +"If you've come to beg me to let up on that sneaking English butler," +says she, "you needn't waste any more breath. He's going to do time for +this job." + +"But suppose he could be coaxed into tellin' where the loot was?" says +I. + +"He's had the third degree good and strong," says she. "The boys told me +so. He won't squeal. Donahue says he ain't right in his head. Anyway, he +goes up." + +"He's leavin' a little girl," I puts in, "without anyone to look after +her." + +"Most crooks do," says she, sniffin'. + +"But if you could get the wad back?" says I. + +"All of it?" says she quick. + +"Every bean," says I. + +She leans forward, starin' at me hard and eager. "He'll tell, then?" +says she. + +"Said he would," says I, "providin' him and the little girl could be +shipped to Australia." + +She chews that over a minute. "That's cheap enough," says she. "I could +claim I'd remembered putting the money somewhere and forgotten. Young +man, it's a bargain. I'll have my lawyer go down and----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "why fat up a lawyer? Let's settle this between you +and me." + +"But how?" says she. + +"Just a minute," says I, lookin' her full in the eyes. "I'm playin' you +to give Allston a square deal, you know." + +"You can bank on that," says she. "Connie Murtha's word was always as +good as government bonds. And if you can wish back that twenty thousand, +I'll put a quick crimp in this prosecution." + +"What could be fairer than that?" says I. "I'll be back in an hour." + +It was only forty-five minutes, in fact; but Mrs. Connie was watchin' +for me. + +"Let's have a pair of scissors," says I, as I sheds my overcoat and +produced from under one arm, where it had been buttoned up snug and +tight, about the worst-lookin' doll you ever saw. I hadn't figured on +Mrs. Murtha goin' huffy so sudden, either. + +"You fresh young shrimp you!" she blazes out. "What's that?" + +"This is Arabella," says I. "She's sufferin' from a bad case of +undigested securities, and I got to amputate." + +She stands by watchin' the operation suspicious and ready to lam me one +on the ear, I expect. But on the way down I'd sounded Arabella's chest, +and I was backin' my guess. When I found the coarse stitchin' done with +heavy black thread I chuckles. + +"More or less the worse for wear, Arabella, eh?" says I. "But how that +youngster did hang onto her! Little Helma Allston, you know. And me +offerin' to swap a brand-new two-dollar one that could open and shut its +eyes! 'It's for Daddums,' I says at last, and she gives up. There! Now +we're gettin' to it. No wonder Arabella was some plump!" + +"Well, of all places!" gasps out Mrs. Murtha, and, believe me, it don't +take her long to leave Arabella flat as a pancake. "But how did he +manage to----" + +"It was the night before," says I. "You didn't miss the roll until the +next afternoon. And he ain't a reg'lar crook, you know. It was a case of +bein' up against it,--sickness, and wantin' to get away somewhere with +the kid. Honest, he don't strike me as such a bad lot: only a little +limber in the backbone. Better count it." + +"All there," she announces after runnin' through the bunch. "And maybe +I'm not tickled to get it back! Catch me forgetting to lock that safe +again! But I thought no one knew. Allston must have seen me moving the +picture and guessed. Well, I'm not sore. Poor devil! I'll call up the +District Attorney's office right away. He gets those tickets to +Australia, too. Leave that to me." + +Yep! Mrs. Connie wa'n't chuckin' any bluff. She went down herself and +had the indictment ditched. + +I didn't mean to stage any heart-throb piece, either; but it just +happens that yesterday, when we pulls off the final act, Vee tells me +that Helma is in the libr'y, playin' nurse and hairdresser to Aunty's +chief pet, a big orange Persian that she calls Prince Hal. That's how +Helma had won out with Aunty, you know, by makin' friends with the cat. + +"You tell her," says Vee. + +So I steps in quiet where the youngster is busy with the comb and brush. +"Someone special to see Miss Helma," says I. + +"To see me?" says she, droppin' pussy and gazin' at the door. "Why, who +can---- O-o-o-o-o! Daddums! Daddums!" + +And as they rush to a fond clinch in one room something happens to me in +the other. Uh-huh! I'm caught around the neck quick, and something soft +and sweet hits me on the right cheek, and the next minute I'm bein' +pushed away just as sudden. + +"No, no!" says Vee. "That's enough. You're a dear, all the same. Of +course I knew he didn't take it; but how in the world did you ever make +them let him go?" + +"Cinch!" says I. "I saw through the sawdust, and they didn't." + +I couldn't let on, though, about that inside tip I got from Arabella. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THEN ALONG CAME SUKEY + + +It looked like it was Kick-in Day, or something like that; for here was +Nutt Hamilton, a sporty young plute friend of Mr. Robert's, that I'm +tryin' to entertain, camped in the private office, when fair-haired +Vincent comes in off the brass gate to report respectful this new +arrival. + +"A gentleman to see Mr. Robert, Sir," says he. + +"Well, he's still out," says I. + +"So I told him, Sir," says Vincent; "but then he asks if Mr. Ferdinand +isn't here. I didn't know, Sir. Is there a----" + +"Sure, Vincent, sure!" says I. "Brother-in-law Ferdie, you know. What's +the gentleman's real name?" + +"Mr. Blair Hiscock," says Vincent, readin' the card. + +"Ever hear that one?" I asks Hamilton, and he says he ain't. "Must be +some fam'ly friend, though," I goes on. "We'll take a chance, Vincent. +Tell Blair to breeze in." + +I might have had bean enough to have looked for another pair of +shell-rimmed glasses too. That's what shows up. Only this party, instead +of beamin' mild and foolish through 'em, same as Ferdie does, stares +through his sort of peevish. He's a pale-haired, sharp-faced, undersized +young gent too, and dressed sort of finicky in one of them Ballyhooly +cape coats, an artist necktie, and a two-story soft hat with a striped +scarf wound around it. + +"Well?" says I, leanin' back in the swing chair and doin' my best to +spring the genial smile. + +"Isn't Ferdinand here, then?" he demands, glancin' about impatient. + +"Good guess," says I. "He ain't. Drifts in about once a month, though, +as a rule, and as it's been three weeks or so since he was here last, +maybe you'd like to----" + +"How absurd!" snaps Blair. "But he was to meet me here to-day at this +time." + +"Was, eh?" says I. "Well, if you know Ferdie, you can gamble that he'll +be an hour or two behind, if he gets here at all." + +"Thanks," says Blair, real crisp. "You needn't bother. I fancy I know +Ferdie quite as well as you do." + +"Oh, I wa'n't boastin'," says I, "and you don't bother me a bit. If you +think Ferdie's liable to remember, you're welcome to stick around as +long as----" + +"I'll wait half an hour, anyway," he breaks in. + +"Then you might as well meet Mr. Hamilton," says I. "Friend of Mr. +Robert's--Marjorie's too, I expect." + +The two of 'em nods casual, and then I notices Nutt take a closer look. +A second later a humorous quirk flickers across his wide face. + +"Well, well!" says he. "It's Sukey, isn't it?" + +At which Mr. Hiscock winces like he'd been jabbed with a pin. He flushes +up too, and his thin-lipped, narrow mouth takes on a pout. + +"I don't care to be called that," he snaps back. + +"Eh?" says Nutt. "Sorry, old man; but you know, up at the camp summer +before last--why, everyone called you Sukey." + +"A lot of bounders they were too!" flares out Blair. "I--I'd asked them +not to. And I'll not stand it! So there!" + +"Oh!" says Hamilton, grinnin' tantalizin'. "My error. I take back the +Sukey, _Mr._ Hiscock." + +There's some contrast between the pair as they faces each other,--young +Hiscock all bristled up bantam like and glarin' through his student +panes; while Nutt Hamilton, who'd make three of him, tilts back easy in +the heavy office armchair until he makes it creak, and just chuckles. + +He's a chronic josher, Nutt is,--always puttin' up some deep and +elaborate game on Mr. Robert, or relatin' by the hour the horse-play +stunts he's pulled on others. A bit heavy, his sense of humor is, I +judge. His idea of a perfectly good joke is to call up a bald-headed +waiter at the club and crack a soft-boiled egg on his White Way, or +balance a water cooler on top of a door so that the first party to walk +under gets soaked by it,--playful little stunts like that. And between +times, when he ain't makin' merry around town, he's off on huntin' +trips, killin' things with portable siege guns. You know the kind, +maybe. + +So we ain't the chummiest trio that could be got together. Blair makes +it plain that he has mighty little use for me, and still less for +Hamilton. But Nutt seems to get a lot of satisfaction in keepin' him +stirred up, winkin' now and then at me when he gets a rise out of Blair; +though I must say, so far as repartee went, the little chap had all the +best of it. + +"Let's see," says Nutt, "what is your specialty? You do something or +other, don't you?" + +"Yes," says Blair. "Do you?" + +"Oh, come!" says Nutt. "You play the violin, don't you?" + +"How clever of you to remember!" says Blair. "Sorry I can't +reciprocate." And he turns his back. + +But you can't squelch Hamilton that way. "Me?" says he. "Oh, potting big +game is my fad. I got three caribou last fall, you know, and this spring +I'm--say, Sukey,--I beg your pardon, Hiscock,--but you ought to come +along with us. Do you good. Put some meat on your bones. We're going +'way up into Montana after black bear and silver-tips. I'd like to see +you facing a nine-hundred-pound she bear with----" + +"Would you?" cuts in Blair. "You know very well I'd be frightened half +to death." + +"Oh, well," says Nutt, "we'd stack you up against a cinnamon cub." + +"Any kind of bear I should be afraid of," says Sukey. + +"Not really!" says Hamilton. "Why, say----" + +"Please!" protests Blair. "I don't care to talk about such creatures. +I'm afraid of them even when I see them caged. I've an instinctive dread +of all big beasts. Smile, if you like. But all truly civilized persons +feel the same. I'm not a cave man, you know. Besides, I prefer telling +the truth about such things to making believe I'm not afraid, as a lot +of would-be mighty hunters do." + +"Not meaning me, I hope?" asks Nutt. + +"If you're innocent, don't dodge," says Blair. "And I--I think I'll not +wait for Ferdinand any longer. Tell him I was here, will you?" And with +a nod to me he does a snappy exit. + +"A constant joy, Sukey is," remarks Hamilton. "Why, when we were up in +the Adirondacks that summer, we used to----" + +What they used to do to Sukey I'll never know; for just then Mr. Robert +sails in, and Nutt breaks off the account. He'd spieled along for half +an hour in his usual vein when Mr. Robert flags him long enough to call +me over. + +"By the way, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "before I forget it----" and he +hands me one of Marjorie's cards with a date and "Music" written in the +southwest corner. I gazes at it puzzled. + +"I strongly suspect," he goes on, "that a certain young lady may be +among those present." + +"Oh!" says I, pinkin' up some, I expect. "Much obliged. In that case I'm +strong for music. Some swell piano performer, eh?" + +"A young violinist," says Mr. Robert, "a friend of Ferdie's, I believe, +who----" + +"Bet a million it's Sukey!" breaks in Nutt. "Blair Hiscock, isn't it!" + +"That is his name," admits Mr. Robert. "But this is to be nothing +formal, you know: only Marjorie is bringing him down to the house, and +has asked in a few people." + +"By George!" says Nutt, slappin' his knee enthusiastic. "Couldn't you +get me in on that affair, Bob?" + +"Why--er--I might," says Mr. Robert. "I didn't know, though, that you +were passionately fond of violin music. It's to be rather a classical +programme, and----" + +"Classic be blowed!" says Nutt. "What I want is a fair whack at Sukey. +Seen him, haven't you?" + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. + +"Well, wait until you do," says Hamilton. "Say, he's a rare treat, +Sukey. About as big as a fox terrier, and just as snappy. Oh, you'll +love Sukey! If he doesn't hand you something peppery before you've known +him ten minutes, then I'm mistaken. Know what he used to call your +sister Marjorie, summer before last? Baby Dimple! After a golf ball, you +know. That's a sample of Sukey's tongue." + +Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. "Quite her own affair, I suppose," says +he. + +"Oh, she didn't mind," says Nutt. "Everyone stands for Sukey--on account +of his music. Only he is such a conceited, snobbish little whelp that +it makes you ache to cuff him. Couldn't, of course. Why, he'll begin +sniveling if you look cross at him! But it would be great sport to---- +Say, Bob, who's going to be there--anyone special?" + +"Only the family," says Mr. Robert, "and a few of Marjorie's friends, +such as Verona Hemmingway and--er--Torchy here, and Josephine Billings, +who's just come for the week-end." + +"What!" says Hamilton. "Joey Billings? Say, she's a good sort, Joey; +bully fun, and always in for anything. You ought to see her shoot! Yes, +Sir! Bring down quail with a choke-bore, or knock over a buck deer with +a rifle. Plays billiards like a wizard, Joey does, and can swat a golf +ball off the tee for two hundred yards. She's a star. Staying at +Ferdie's, eh? Must be a great combination, she and Sukey. I'd like to +see 'em together. Say, old man, let me in on this musicfest if you can, +will you?" + +Course there wa'n't much left for Mr. Robert to do but promise, and +while he don't do it with any great enthusiasm, Mr. Hamilton don't seem +a bit discouraged. In fact, just before he goes he has a chucklin' fit +like he'd been struck by some amazin' comic thought. + +"I have it, Bob!" says he, poundin' Mr. Robert on the back. "I have +it!" + +"Anything you're likely to recover from?" remarks Mr. Robert. + +"Never mind," says Nutt. "You wait and see! And the first chance you get +ask Sukey if he's afraid of bears." + +Just to finish off the afternoon too, and make the Corrugated gen'ral +offices seem more like a fam'ly meetin' place, about four o'clock in +blows Sister Marjorie from the shoppin' district, trailin' a friend with +her; a stranger too. First off, from a hasty glimpse at the hard-boiled +lid and the man's collar and the loose-fittin' top coat, I thought it +was some chappy. So it's more or less of a shock when I discovers the +short skirt and the high walkin' boots below. Then I tumbled. It's Joey, +the real sport! + +Believe me, she looked the part! One of these female good fellows, you +know, ready to roll her own dope sticks, or sit in with the boys and +draw three to a pair. Built substantial and heavy, Joey was, but not +lumpy, like Marjorie. She swings in swaggery, gives Mr. Robert the +college hick greetin', and when I'm introduced to her treats me to a +grip that I felt the tingle of for half an hour. + +"Hello, Kid!" says she. "I've heard of you. Torchy, eh? Well, the name's +a fine fit." + +"Yes," says I, "I was baptized with my hat off." + +"Ripping!" says she. "I like that. Torchy! Couldn't be better." + +"Not so poetic as Crimson Rambler," says I, "but easier to remember." + +Hearty chuckles from Joey. "You're all right, Torchy," says she, +rumplin' my hair playful. + +Not at all hard to get acquainted with, Joey. One of the free and easy +kind that gets to call men by their front names durin' the first +half-hour. But somehow them's the ones that always seem to hang longest +on the branch. You've noticed? Take Joey now,--well along towards +thirty, so I finds out later, but still untagged and unchosen. Maybe she +likes it better that way. Who knows? And, as Nutt Hamilton has +suggested, it would be int'restin' to see her and Sukey lined up +together. + +That ain't exactly why I'm so early showin' up at the Ellins' house the +night of the musical--not altogether. But what Vee and I has to say to +one another durin' the half-hour we managed to slip over on Aunty don't +matter. Vee was supposed to be arrangin' some flowers in the drawin' +room, and I--well, I was helpin'. My long suit, arrangin' flowers; that +is, when the planets are right. + +But it goes quick. Pretty soon others begun buttin' in, and by +eight-thirty there was a roomful, includin' Vee's Aunty, who watches me +as severe as if I was a New Haven director. Joey Billings floats in too. +And I got to admit that in an evenin' gown she ain't such a worse +looker. Course her jaw outline is a trifle strong, and she has quite a +swing to her hips; but she's so good-natured and cheerful lookin' that +you 'most forget them trifles. + +And Blair Hiscock, in his John Drew regalia, looks even thinner and +whiter than ever; but he struts around as perky and important as if he +was Big Bill Edwards. First off he has to have the piano turned the +other way. Then, when he goes to unlimber his music rack, it develops +that a big vase of American Beauties is too near his elbow. He glares at +'em pettish. + +"Can't those things be taken out?" says he. "I detest heavy odors while +I'm playin'!" + +So the flowers are carted off. Then some draperies just back of him must +be pulled together, so he won't feel a draught. After that he has the +usual battle with his violin strings, while the audience waits patient, +only exchangin' a smile now and then when Blair shows his disposition +strongest. + +At last, though, after makin' the accompanist take two fresh starts, +he's off. Some goulash rhapsody, I believe it was, by a guy whose name +sounds like a sneezin' fit. But, take it from me, that sharp-faced +little wisp could do things to a violin! Zowie! He could just naturally +make it sing, with weeps and laughs, and moans and giggles, and groans +and cusswords, all strung along a jumpy, jerky little air that sort of +played hide and seek with itself. Music? I should quiver! He had us all +sittin' up with our ears stretched, and when he finishes and the +applause starts in like a sudden shower on a tin roof what does he do +but turn away with a bored look and shoot some spicy remark at the young +lady pianist! + +Next he gives a lullaby kind of thing, that's as sweet and touchin' as +anything Farrar or Gluck could put over. He's just windin' that up and +we're gettin' ready with more handclaps, when---- + +"Woof! Woof-woof!" + +Some of the ladies gasps panicky. I got a little start myself, before I +tumbled to what it was; for in through the draperies behind Sukey has +shuffled about as good an imitation of a black bear as you'd want to +see; a big, bulky bear, all complete, even to the dishpan paws and the +wicked little eyes. It's scuffin' along on all-fours, waddlin' lifelike +from side to side and lettin' out that deep, grumbly "Woof! Woof!" +remark. + +Blair is so deep in his music that he don't hear it for a minute. Then +he must have caught on from the folks in front that something was up. +He stops, glarin' indignant through his big glasses. Then he turns. + +It wa'n't exactly a scream he lets out, nor a moan. It's the sort of a +weird, muffled noise you'll sometimes make in your sleep, after a late +welsh rabbit. I didn't think he could turn any whiter; but he does. His +face has about as much color left in it as a marshmallow. + +Then the thing on the floor rears up on its hind legs until it tops +Blair by two feet, and there comes another of them deep "Woofs!" + +I was lookin' for him to pass away complete; but he don't. He sets his +jaw, tosses his violin on a chair, grabs the music rack, and swings it +over his shoulder defiant. + +"Come on, you brute!" he breathes husky. "I don't know what you are; +but----" + +Just what happens next, though, is a cry of "Shame, shame!" Someone +dashes from the back row of chairs, and we sees Joey Billings makin' a +clutch at the bear's head. It came off too, with a rip of snap hooks, +and reveals Nutt Hamilton's big moon face with a wide grin on it. + +"You, eh?" says Joey. "I thought as much. Your old masquerade trick! And +anyone else would have had better sense. Don't you think you're beast +enough without----" + +"Stop!" breaks in Blair, his lips blue and trembly and the tears +beginnin' to trickle down his nose. "You--you've no right to interfere. +I--I was going to smash him. I'll kill the big brute! I--I'll----" + +Once more Joey does the right thing; for Blair is blubberin' hysterical +and the scene is gettin' worse. So she just tucks him under one arm, +claps a hand over his mouth, and lugs him kickin' and strugglin' into +the lib'ry, givin' Nutt a shove to one side as she brushes by. + +You can guess too there was some panicky doin's in the Ellins's drawin' +room for the next few minutes; Mr. Robert and Marjorie and others tryin' +to tell Hamilton what they thought of him, all at the same time. And +Nutt was takin' it sheepish. + +"Oh, I say!" he protests. "I was only trying to have a bit of fun with +the little runt, you know. I only meant to----" + +"Fun!" breaks in Mr. Robert savage. "This is neither a backwoods barroom +nor a hunting camp, and I want to assure you right now, Hamilton, +that----" + +But in comes young Blair again. He's had the tear stains swabbed off, +and he's got some of his color back; but he's still wabbly in the knees. +He pushes right to the front, though. + +"I suppose you all think me a great baby," says he, "to get so +frightened and to cry over such a silly trick. Perhaps I am a baby. At +least I haven't control of my nerves. Would you, though, if you had +been an invalid for fifteen years? Well, I have. And a good part of that +time, you know, I spent in hospitals and sanatoriums, and traveling +around with trained nurses and three or four relatives to wait on me and +humor my whims. Even when I was studying music abroad it was that way. +And I suppose I'm not really strong now. So I couldn't help being +afraid. But I don't want your sympathy. You need not scold Hamilton any +more, either. He can't help being a big bully any more than I can help +acting like a baby. He doesn't know any better--never will. All beef and +no brains! And at that I don't care to change places with him. Some day +I shall be well and fairly strong. He'll never have any better sense or +manners than he has now. And I prefer to fight my own battles. So let it +drop, please." + +Well, they did. But for the first time, I expect, a few cuttin' remarks +got through Nutt Hamilton's thick hide. He shuffles out of his bear skin +and sneaks off with his head down. + +He'd hardly gone when Vee slips up beside me and touches me on the arm. +"We can't do anything with her," she whispers mysterious. "Don't say a +word, but come." + +"Can't do anything with who?" says I. + +"Joey," says she. "She's in the library, and we can't find out what is +the matter." + +"Wha-a-at! Joey?" says I. + +It's a fact, though. I finds Joey slumped on a couch with her shoulders +heavin'. She's doin' the sob act genuine and earnest. + +"Well, well!" says I. "Why the big weeps?" + +She looks up and sees who it is. "Torchy!" says she between sobs. +"Dud-don't tell him. Please!" + +"Tell who?" says I. + +"B-b-b-blair," says she. "I--wouldn't have him know for--for anything. +But he--he--what he said hurt. He--he called me a meddlesome old maid. +It was something I had to do too. I--I thought he'd understand. I--I +thought he knew I--I liked him!" + +"Eh?" says I gaspy. + +"I've never cared so much before--about what the others thought," she +goes on. "I'm just Joey to them, out for a good time. I'll always be +Joey, I suppose, to most of them. But I--I thought Blair was different, +you know. I--I----" + +And the sobs get the best of the argument. I glances over at Vee +puzzled, and Vee shrugs her shoulders. We drifts back as far as the +door. + +"Poor Joey!" says Vee. + +"Is it straight," says I, "about her and Blair?" + +Vee nods. "Only he doesn't know," says she. + +"Then it's time he did," says I. + +"There!" says Vee, givin' me a grateful look that tingles clear down to +my toes. "I just knew you could help. But how can----" + +"Watch!" says I. + +I finds him packin' his precious violin and preparin' to beat it. + +"See here, Hiscock," says I. "Maybe you think you're the only one whose +feelin's have been hurt this evenin'." + +He stares at me grouchy. + +"Ah, ditch the assault and battery!" says I. "It ain't me. But there's +someone in the lib'ry you could soothe with a word or two maybe. Why not +go in and see her?" + +"Her?" says he, starin' pop-eyed. "You--you don't mean Miss Billings?" + +"Sure!" says I. "Joey, it's you she wants, and if I was you I'd----" But +he's off on the run, with a queer, eager look on his face. I don't +expect there's been so many who've wanted Sukey. + +But the worst of it was I had to go without hearin' how it all come out. +Mr. Robert didn't have much to report next mornin', either. "Oh, we left +them in the library, still talking," says he. + +It's near a week later too that I gets anything more definite. Then I +was up to the Ellins's on an errand when I discovers Blair waitin' in +the front room. He greets me real cordial and friendly, which is quite +a jar. A minute later down the stairs floats Marjorie and her friend +Miss Billings. + +"Oh, there you are, Joey!" says Blair, rushin' out and grabbin' her by +the arm impetuous. "Come along. I'm going to take you both to dinner and +then to the opera. Come!" + +"Isn't he brutal?" laughs Joey, pattin' him folksy on the cheek. + +So I take it there's been something doin' in the solitaire and wilt-thou +line. Some cross-mated pair they'll make; but I ain't so sure it won't +be a good match. + +Anyway, when he gets her as a side partner, Sukey needn't do any more +worryin' about bears. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +TEAMWORK WITH AUNTY + + +As Mr. Robert hangs up the desk 'phone and turns to me I catches him +smotherin' a smile. "Torchy," says he, "are you a patron of the plastic +art?" + +"Corns, or backache?" says I. + +"Not plasters," says he; "plastic; in short, sculpture." + +"Never sculped a sculpin," says I. "What's the joke?" + +"On the contrary," says he, "it's quite serious,--a sculptor in +distress; a noble young Belgian at that, one Djickyns, in whose cause, +it seems, I was rash enough to enlist at a recent dinner party. And +now----" Mr. Robert waves towards his piled-up desk. + +"I'd be a hot substitute along that line, wouldn't I?" says I. + +"As I understand the situation," goes on Mr. Robert, "it is not a matter +of giving artistic advice, but of--er--financing the said Djickyns." + +"Oh!" says I. "Slippin' him a check?" + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. "Nothing so simple," says he. "One doesn't +slip checks to noble young sculptors. In this instance I am supposed to +assist in outlining a plan whereby certain alleged objects of art may +be--er----" + +"Wished onto suckers in exchange for real money, eh?" says I. "Ain't +that it?" + +Mr. Robert nods. + +"With so many dividends bein' passed," says I, "that's goin' to take +some strategy." + +"Hence this appeal to us," says he. "And I might add, Torchy, that one +of those most interested is a near relative of a certain young lady +who----" + +"Aunty?" says I. + +It was. So I grins and grabs my hat. + +"That bein' the case, Mr. Robert," says I, "we'll finance this Djickyns +party if we have to bull the sculpture market till it hits the rafters." + +With that I takes the address of the scene of trouble and breezes uptown +to a third-rate studio buildin'; where I finds Aunty and Vee and Sister +Marjorie all grouped around a stepladder on top of which is balanced a +pallid youth with long black hair and a fair white brow projectin' out +like a double dormer on a cement bungalow. He seems to be tryin' to +drape a fish net across the top of an alcove accordin' to three +diff'rent sets of directions; but leaves off abrupt when I blows in. + +You'd hardly guess I'd been sent for, either. "Humph!" remarks Aunty, +after I've announced how sorry Mr. Robert was he couldn't come himself +and that he's detailed me instead. "How perfectly absurd!" + +"But, Aunty," protests Vee, "you know Torchy is a private secretary now +and understands all about such things. Besides, he knows such heaps of +important business men who----" + +"If he can bring them here Wednesday afternoon, very well," says Aunty; +"but I have my doubts that he can." + +"What's the game?" says I. + +"It is not a game at all, young man," says Aunty. "Our project, if that +is what you mean, is to have a studio tea for Mr. Djickyns and to secure +the attendance of as many purchasers for his works as possible. Have you +any suggestions?" + +"Why," says I, "not right off the bat. Maybe if I could chew over the +proposition awhile, I might----" + +"Oh, I say," breaks in the noble young gent on the stepladder, "I--I'm +getting dizzy up here, you know. I--I'm feeling rather----" + +"Mercy!" squeals Marjorie. "He's fainting!" + +[Illustration: "I gathers him in on the fly."] + +"Steady there!" I sings out to Djickyns, makin' a jump. "Don't wabble +until I get you. Easy!" + +I ain't a second too soon, either; for as I reaches up he topples toward +me, as limp as a sack of flour. I was fieldin' my position well for an +amateur; for I gathers him in on the fly, slides him down head first +with only a bump or two, and stretches him out on the rug. It's only a +near-faint, though, and after a drink of water and a sniff at Aunty's +smellin' salts he's able to be helped onto a couch and propped up with +cushions. + +"Awfully sorry," says he, smilin' mushy, "but I fear I can't go on with +the decorating to-day." + +"Never mind," says Aunty, comfortin'. "This young man will help us." + +"Please do, Torchy," adds Marjorie. + +"You will, won't you?" says Vee, shootin' over a glance from them gray +eyes that makes me feel all rosy and tingly. + +"That's my job in life," says I, pickin' up the fish net. "Now how does +this go?" + +And for the next hour or so, when I wa'n't clingin' to the ceilin' with +my eyelids, tackin' things up, I was down on all-fours arrangin' rugs, +or executin' other merry little stunts. Aunty had collected a whole +truckload of fancy junk,--wall tapestries, old armor, Russian tea +machines, and such,--with the idea of transformin' this half-bare loft +of Djickyns's into a swell studio. And, believe me, we came mighty near +turnin' the trick! + +"There!" says she. "With a few flowers I believe it will do. Now, young +man, have you thought how we can get the right people here? Of course we +shall advertise in all the papers." + +"As an open show?" says I. "Say, that's nutty! Don't you do it. You'd +only get in a bunch of suburban shoppers and cheap-skate art students. +My tip is, make it exclusive,--admission by card only. Then if it's done +right you can graft a lot of free press agent stuff by playin' up the +Belgian part of it strong. See? Lets you ring in on this fund for +Belgian sufferers. I take it you want to unload as much of this plaster +junk as you can? Well, all you got to do is mark it up twenty per cent. +and announce that you'll chip in that much towards the fund. Get me?" + +She never bats an eye, Aunty don't. "To be sure," says she. "I think +that is precisely what we had in mind all the time; only we--er----" + +"I know," says I. "You hadn't been playin' the relief act strong enough. +But that's what'll get you into the headlines. 'Social Leader to the +Rescue,'--all that dope. I'll send some of the boys up to see you +to-night. Don't let your butler frost 'em, though. Give 'em a clear +track to the lib'ry, and if you're servin' after-dinner coffee and +frosted green cordials, so much the better. Reporters are almost human, +you know. It would help too if you'd happen to be just startin' for the +op'ra, with all your pearl ropes on. And whisper,--soft pedal on +Djickyns here, but heavy on his suff'rin' countrymen! That's the line." + +Aunty shudders a couple of times, and once she starts to crash in with +the sharp reproof; but she swallows it. Some little old diplomat, Aunty +is! She was gettin' the picture. Havin' planned that part of the +campaign, she switches the debate as to who should go on the list of +invited guests. + +"Leave it to me," says I. "You just pick out about a dozen patronesses. +Pick 'em from the top, the ones that are featured oftenest in the +society notes. And me, I'll sift out a couple of hundred sound +propositions from the corporation lists,--parties that have stayed on +the right side of the market and still have cash to spend." + +Aunty nods approvin'. She even hands over some names she'd jotted down +herself and asks me to put 'em in if they're all right. + +"Most of 'em are fine," says I, glancin' over the slip; "but who's this +W. T. Wiggins with no address?" + +"I particularly want to reach him," says she. "He is a wealthy merchant +who is apt to be rather generous, I am told, if properly approached." + +"I'll look him up," says I, "and see that he gets an +invite--registered." + +"Of course," goes on Aunty, "he doesn't belong socially, you understand; +but in this instance----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "You'll be pleased to meet his checkbook. And, by the +way, what schedule are you runnin' this on,--doors open at when?" + +"The cards will read, 'From half after four until seven,'" says Aunty. + +"I see," says I. "Then if I drift in before six a frock coat will pass +me." + +And for the first time durin' the session she inspects me insultin' +through her lorgnette. "Really," says she, "I had not considered that it +would be necessary----" + +"Eh?" I gasps. "Ah, have a heart! Think how handy I'd be if someone did +another flop, or if Miss Vee wanted----" + +"Verona will be fully occupied in serving tea," breaks in Aunty. +"Besides, we shall try to give this affair the appearance, at least, of +a genuine social function. I imagine that the presence of such persons +as Mr. Wiggins will make the task sufficiently difficult. Don't you +see?" + +"I ought to," says I. "You ain't left much to the imagination. Sort of a +blot on the landscape I'd be, would I?" + +Aunty shrugs her shoulders. "Please remember," says she, "that I am not +making social distinctions. I merely recognize those which exist. You +must not hold me responsible for----" + +"Oh, Aunty," breaks in Vee, trippin' into our corner impulsive, "we've +forgotten the tea things. I must go out and find a store and get them at +once. Mayn't Torchy come to carry the bundles?" + +"Yes," says Aunty; "but I think I will go also, to be sure you order the +right things." + +Think of carryin' round a disposition like that! She trails right along +with us too, and just to make the trip int'restin' for her I strikes for +Eighth-ave. through one of them messy cross streets where last week's +snow piles and garbage cans was mixed careless along the curb. + +"What a wretched district!" complains Aunty. + +"I thought you wanted to get to the nearest grocery," says I. "Hello! +Here's one of the Wiggins chain. How about patronizin' this?" + +It's one of them cheap, cut-rate joints, you know, with the windows +plastered all over with daily bargain hints,--"Three pounds of +Wiggins's best creamery butter for 97 cents--to-day only," "Canned +corn, 6 cents--our big Monday special," and so on. Aunty sniffs a bit, +but fin'lly decides to take a chance and sails in in all her grandeur. +The one visible clerk was busy waitin' on lady customers, one with a +shawl over her head and the other luggin' a baby on her hip. So Aunty +raps impatient on the counter. + +At that out from behind a stack of Wiggins's breakfast food boxes +appears a middle-aged gent strugglin' into a blue jumper three sizes too +small for him. He's kind of heavy built and slow movin' for an average +grocery clerk, and he's wearin' gold-rimmed specs; but when Aunty +proceeds to cross-examine him about his stock of tea he sure showed he +was onto his job. He seems to know about every kind of tea ever grown, +and produces samples of the best he has in the shop. + +Aunty was watchin' him casual as he weighs out a couple of pounds, when +all of a sudden she unlimbers her long-handled glasses and takes a +closer look. "My good man," says she, "haven't I seen you somewhere +before?" + +"Oh, yes," says he, scoopin' a pinch off the scales so they'd register +exactly to the quarter ounce. + +"In some other store, perhaps?" says she. + +"I think not," says he. + +"Then where?" asks Aunty. + +"Cooperstown," says he, reachin' for a paper bag and shootin' the tea in +skillful. "Anything more, Madam?" + +"Cooperstown!" echoes Aunty. "Why, I haven't been there since I was a +girl." + +"Yes, I know," says he. "You didn't even finish at high school. Cut +sugar, did you say, Madam?" + +"A box," says Aunty, starin' puzzled. "Perhaps you attended the same +school?" + +He nods. + +"Oh, I seem to remember now," says she. "Aren't you the one they +called--er---- What was it you were called?" + +"Woodie," says he. "Will you have lemons too? Fresh Floridas." + +"Two dozen," says Aunty. "Well, well! You used to ask me to skate with +you on the lake, didn't you?" + +"When my courage was running high," says he. "Sometimes you would; but +more often you wouldn't. I lived at the wrong end of town, you know." + +"In the Hollow, wasn't it?" says she. "And there was something queer +about--about your family, wasn't there?" + +He looks her straight in the eye at that, Woodie does. "Yes," says he. +"Mother went out sewing. She was a widow." + +"Oh!" says Aunty. "I recall your skates--those funny old wooden-topped +ones, weren't they?" + +"I was lucky to have those," says he. + +"Hm-m-m!" muses Aunty. "But you could skate very well. You taught me the +Dutch roll. I remember now. Then there was the night we had the big +bonfire on the ice." + +Woodie lets on not to hear this last, but grabs a sales slip and gets +busy jottin' down items. + +I nudges Vee, and she smothers a snicker. We was enjoyin' this little +peek into their past. Could you have guessed it? Aunty! She orders six +loaves of sandwich bread and asks to see the canned caviar. + +"You've never found anything better to do," she goes on, "than--than +this?" + +"No," says Woodie, on his way down from the top shelf. + +Once more Aunty levels her lorgnette and gives him the cold, curious +look over. "Hm-m-mff!" says she through her aristocratic nose. "I must +say that as a boy you were presuming enough." + +"I got over that," says he. + +"So I should hope," says she. "You manage to make a living at this sort +of thing, I suppose?" + +"In a way," says he. + +"You've no family, I trust?" says Aunty. + +"There are six of us all told," admits Woodie humble. + +"Good heavens!" she gasps. "But I presume some of them are able to help +you?" + +"A little," says Woodie. + +"Think of it!" says Aunty. "Six! And on such wages! Are any of them +girls?" + +"Two," says he. + +"I must send you some of my niece's discarded gowns," says Aunty +impulsive. "You are not a drinking man, are you?" + +"Not to excess, Madam," says Woodie. + +"How you can afford to drink at all is beyond me," says she. "Or even +eat! Yet you are rather stout. I've no doubt, though, that plain food is +best. But you show your age." + +"I know," says he, smoothin' one hand over his bald spot. "Anything else +to-day?" + +There's just a hint of an amused flicker behind the glasses that makes +Aunty glare at him suspicious for a second. "No," says she. "Put all +those things in two stout bags and tie them carefully." + +"Yes, Madam," says Woodie. + +He was doin' it too, when the other clerk steps up, salutes him polite, +and says: "You're wanted at the telephone, Sir." + +"Tell them to hold the wire," says Woodie. + +We was still tryin' to dope that out when a big limousine rolls up in +front of the store, out hops a footman in livery, walks in to Woodie +with his cap in his hand, and holds out a bunch of telegrams. + +"From the office, Sir," says he. + +"Wait," says Woodie, wavin' him one side. + +Now was them any proper motions for a grocery clerk to be goin' through? +I leave it to you. Vee is watchin' with her nose wrinkled up, like she +always does when anything stumps her; and me, I was just starin' +open-faced and foolish. I couldn't get the connection at all. But Aunty +ain't one to stand gaspin' over a mystery while her tongue's still +workin'. + +"Whose car is that?" she demands. + +Woodie slips the string from between his front teeth, puts a double knot +scientific on the end of the package, and peers over his glasses out +through the door. "That?" says he. "Oh, that's mine." + +"Yours!" comes back Aunty. "And--and this store too?" + +"Oh, yes," says he. + +"Then--then your name is Wiggins?" she goes on. + +"Yes," says he. "Don't you remember,--Woodie Wiggins?" + +"I'd forgotten," says Aunty. "And all the other stores like this--how +many of them have you?" + +"Something less than a hundred," says he. "Ninety-six or seven, I +think." + +Most got Aunty's breath, that did; but in a jiffy she's recovered. +"Perhaps," says she, "you don't mind telling me the reason for this +masquerade?" + +"It's not quite that," says Wiggins. "I try to keep in touch with all my +places. In making my rounds to-day I found my local manager here too ill +to be at work. Bad case of grip. So I sent him home, telephoned for a +substitute, and while waiting took off my coat and filled in. Fortunate +coincidence, wasn't it?--for it gave me the pleasure of serving you." + +"You mean," cuts in Aunty, "that it gave you the opportunity of making +me appear absurd. Those gowns I promised to send!" + +Wiggins grins good natured. "Is this the niece you mentioned?" says he. + +Aunty admits that it is, and introduces Vee. + +Then Wiggins looks inquirin' at me. "Your son?" he asks. + +And you should have seen Aunty's face pink up at that. "Certainly not!" +says she. + +"Oh!" says Woodie, screwin' up one corner of his mouth and tippin' me +the wink. + +I knew if I got a look at Vee I'd have to haw-haw; so I backs around +with one hand behind me and we swaps a finger squeeze. + +Then Aunty jumps in with the quick shift. She asks him patronizin' if +he finds the grocery business int'restin'. He admits that he does. + +"How odd!" says Aunty. "But I presume that you hope to retire very +soon?" + +"Eh?" says he. "Quit the one thing I can do best? Why?" + +"But surely," she goes on, "you can hardly find such a business +congenial. It is so--so--well, so petty and sordid?" + +"Is it, though?" says Wiggins. "With more than five thousand employees +on my payroll and a daily expense bill running well over thirty +thousand, I find it far from petty. Anyway, it keeps me hustling. I used +to think I was a hard worker too, when I had my one little general store +at Smiths Corners." + +"And now you've nearly a hundred stores!" says Aunty. "How did you do +it?" + +"I was kicked into doing it, I guess," says Wiggins, smilin' grim. "The +manufacturers and jobbers, you know. They weren't willing to allow me a +fair profit. So I had to go under or spread out. Well, I've +spread,--flour mills in Minnesota, canning factories from Portland, +Oregon, to Bridgeton, Maine, potato farms in Michigan and the Aroostook, +cracker and bread bakeries, creameries, raisin and prune +plantations,--all that sort of thing,--until gradually I've weeded out +most of the greedy middlemen who stood between me and my customers. +They're poor folks, most of 'em, and when they trade with me their slim +wages go further than in most stores. My ambition is to give them honest +goods at a five per cent. profit. + +"If they all knew what was best for them, the Wiggins stores would soon +become a national institution, and I could hand it over to the federal +government; but they don't. If they did, I suppose they wouldn't be +working for wages. So my chain grows slowly, at the rate of two or three +stores a year. But every Wiggins store is a center for economic and +scientific distribution of pure food products. That's my job, and I find +it neither petty nor sordid. I can even get a certain satisfaction and +pride from it. Incidentally there is my five per cent. profit to be +made, which makes the game fascinating. Retire? Not until I've found +something better to do, and up to date I haven't." + +Havin' got this off his mind and the parcels done up, Mr. Wiggins walks +back to answer the 'phone. + +When he comes out again, in a minute or so, he's shucked the jumper and +is buttonin' himself into a mink-lined overcoat. + +"As a rule," says he, "we do not deliver goods; but in this instance I +beg leave to make an exception. Permit me," and he waves toward the +limousine. + +It's the first time too that I ever saw Aunty stunned for more than a +second or two at a stretch. She acts sort of dazed as he leads her out +to the car and helps stow Vee and me and the bundles before gettin' in +himself. Only when we pulls up in front of the studio buildin' does she +come to. She revives enough to tell Wiggins all about this noble young +Belgian sculptor and his wonderful work. + +"Sculpture!" says Wiggins. "I'd like to see it." + +And inside of three minutes Woodruff T. Wiggins, the chain grocery +magnate, is right where we'd been schemin' to get him. He inspects the +various groups of plaster stuff ranged around the studio, squintin' at +'em critical like he was a judge of such junk, and now and then he makes +notes on the back of an envelope. + +Meanwhile Aunty explains all about the tea, namin' over some of the +swell dowagers that was goin' to act as patronesses, and invites him +cordial to drop around on the big day. + +"Thanks," says he; "but I guess I'd better not. I'm still from the wrong +end of the town, you know. But here's a memorandum of four pieces I +should like done in bronze for my country house. And suppose I leave Mr. +Djickyns a check for five thousand on account. Will that do?" + +Would it? Say, Aunty almost pats him fond on the cheek as she follows +him to the door. + +Must have been something romantic about that bonfire episode back in +Cooperstown too; for she mellows up a lot durin' the next few minutes, +and when I fin'lly calls a taxi and tucks 'em all in she comes near +beamin' on me. + +"Remember, young man," says she, "promptly at five on Wednesday." + +"Wha-a-at?" says I. + +"And be sure to wear your best frock coat," she adds as a partin' shot. + +Do you wonder I stands gaspin' on the curb until after they've turned +the corner? Think of that from Aunty! + +"Well?" says Mr. Robert, as I blows in about quittin' time. "Any new +quotations in sculpture?" + +"If you think that's a merry jest," says I, "call up Aunty. Why, say, +before we get through with this tea stunt of hers that Djickyns party +will be runnin' his studio works day and night shifts and rebuildin' +Belgium! We're a great team, me and dear old Aunty. We've just found it +out." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ZENOBIA DIGS UP A LATE ONE + + +And first off I had him listed in the joke column. Think of that! But +when I caught my first glimpse of him, there in the Corrugated gen'ral +offices that mornin', there was more or less comedy idea to his get-up; +the high-sided, flat-topped derby, for instance. Once in a while you run +across an old sport who still sticks to that type of hard-boiled lid. +Gen'rally they're short-stemmed old ginks who seem to think the high +crown makes 'em loom up taller. Maybe so; but where they find +back-number hats like that is beyond me. + +Then there was the buff-cochin spats and the wide ribbon to his +eyeglasses. Beyond that I don't know as there was anything real freaky +about him. A rich-colored old gent he is, the pink in his cheeks shadin' +off into a deep mahogany tint back of his ears, makin' his frosted hair +and mustache stand out some prominent. + +He'd been shown into the private office on a call for Mr. Robert; but as +I was well heeled with work of my own I didn't even glance up from the +desk until I hears this scrappy openin' of his. + +"Bob Ellins, you young scoundrel, what the blighted beatitudes does this +mean!" he demands. + +Naturally that gets me stretchin' my neck, and I turns just in time to +watch the gaspy expression on Mr. Robert's face fade out and turn into a +chuckle. + +"Why, Mr. Ballard!" says he, extendin' the cordial palm. "I had no idea +you were on this side. Really! I understood, you know, that you were +settled over there for good, and that----" + +"So you take advantage of the fact, do you, to make me president of one +of your fool companies?" says Ballard. "My imbecile attorney just let it +leak out. What do you mean, eh?" + +Mr. Robert pushes him into a chair and shrugs his shoulders. "It was +rather a liberty, I admit," says he; "one of the exigencies of business, +however. When a meddlesome administration insists on dissolving into its +component parts such an extensive organization as ours--well, we had to +have a lot of presidents in a hurry. Really, we didn't think you'd mind, +Mr. Ballard, and we had no intention of bothering you with the details." + +"Huh!" snorts Mr. Ballard. "And what is this precious corporation of +which I'm supposed to be the head?" + +"Why, Mutual Funding," says Mr. Robert. + +"Funding, eh?" comes back Ballard snappy. "What tommyrot! Bob Ellins, +you ought to know that I haven't the vaguest notion as to what funding +is,--never did,--and at my time of life, Sir, I don't propose to learn!" + +"Of course, of course," says Mr. Robert, soothin'. "Quite unnecessary +too. You are adequately and efficiently represented, Mr. Ballard, by a +private secretary who has mastered the art of funding, mutual and +otherwise, until he can do it backward with one hand tied behind him. +Torchy, will you step here a moment?" + +I was comin' too; but Mr. Ballard waves me off. + +"Stop!" says he. "I'll not listen to a word of it. I'd have you know, +Bob Ellins, that I have worried along for sixty-two years without having +been criminally implicated in business affairs. The worst I've done has +been to pose as a dummy director on your rascally board and to see that +my letter of credit was renewed every three months. Use my name if you +must; but allow me to keep a clear conscience. I'm going in now for a +chat with your father, Bob, and if he mentions funding I shall stuff my +fingers in my ears and run. He won't, though. Old Hickory knows me +better. This his door? All right. Thanks. Hah, you old freebooter! In +your den, are you? Well, well!" + +At which he stalks into the other office and leaves Mr. Robert and me +grinnin' at each other. + +"Listened like you was in Dutch for a minute or so there," says I. "Case +of the cat comin' back, eh?" + +"From Kyrle Ballard," says he, "one expects the unexpected. Only we need +not worry about his wanting to become the acting head of your +department. To-morrow or next week he is quite likely to be off again, +bound for some remote corner of the earth, to hobnob with the native +rulers thereof, participate in their games of chance, and invent a new +punch especially suitable for that particular climate." + +"Gee!" says I. "That's my idea of a perfectly good boss,--one that gives +his job absent treatment." + +I thought too that Mr. Robert had doped out his motions correct; for a +week goes by and no Mr. Ballard shows up to take the rubber stamp away +from me, or even ask fool questions. I was hopin' too that Ballard had +gone a long ways from here, accordin' to custom. Then one night--well, +it was at the theater, one of them highbrow Shaw plays that I was +chucklin' through with Aunt Zenobia. + +Eh? Remember her, don't you? Why, she's one of the pair of aunts that I +got half adopted by, 'way back when I first started in with the +Corrugated. Yep, I've been stayin' on with 'em. Why not? Course our +little side street is 'way down in an old-fashioned part of the town; +the upper edge of old Greenwich village, in fact, if you know where that +is. + +The house is one of a row that sports about the only survivin' specimens +of the cast-iron grapevine school of architecture. Honest, we got a +double-decked veranda built of foundry work that was meant to look like +leaves and vines, I expect. Cute idea, eh? Bein' all painted brick red, +though, it ain't so convincing but stragglin' over ours is a wistaria +that has a few sickly-lookin' blossoms on it every spring and manages to +carry a sprinklin' of dusty leaves through the summer. Also there's a +nine-by-twelve lawn, that costs a dollar a square foot to keep in shape, +I'll bet. + +From that description maybe you'd judge that the place where I hang out +is a little antique. It is. But inside it's mighty comf'table, and it's +the best imitation of a home I've ever carried a latch-key to. As for +the near-aunts, Zenobia and Martha, take it from me they're the real +things in that line, even if they did let me in off the street without +askin' who or what! The best of it is they never have asked, which +makes it convenient. I couldn't tell 'em much, if they did. + +There's Martha--well, she's the pious one. It ain't any case of sudden +spasms with her. It's a settled habit. She's just as pious Monday +mornin' as she is Sunday afternoon, and it lasts her all through the +week. You know how she started in by readin' them Delilah and Jona yarns +to me. She's kept it up. About twice a week she corners me and pumps in +a slice of Scripture readin', until I guess we must be more 'n half +through the Book. Course there's a lot of it I don't see any percentage +in at all; but I've got so I don't mind it, and it seems to give Aunt +Martha a lot of satisfaction. She's a lumpy, heavy-set old girl, Martha, +and a little slow; but the only thing that ain't genuine about her is +the yellowish white frontispiece she pins on over her own hair when she +dolls up for dinner. + +But Zenobia--say, she's a diff'rent party! A few years younger than +Martha, Zenobia is,--in the early sixties, I should say,--and she's just +as active and up to date and foxy as Martha is logy and antique and +dull. While Martha is sayin' grace Zenobia is gen'rally pourin' herself +out a glass of port. + +About once a week Martha loads herself into an old horse cab and goes +off to a meetin' of the foreign mission society, or something like +that; but almost every afternoon Zenobia goes whizzin' off in a taxi, +maybe to hear some long-haired violinist, maybe to sit on the platform +with Emma Goldman and Bouck White and applaud enthusiastic when the +established order gets another jolt. Just as likely as not too, she'll +bring some of 'em home to dinner with her. + +Zenobia never shoves any advice on me, good or otherwise, and never asks +nosey questions; but she's the one who sees that my socks are kept +mended and has my suits sent to the presser. She don't read things to +me, or expound any of her fads. She just talks to me like she does to +anyone else--minor poets or social reformers--about anything she happens +to be int'rested in at the time,--music, plays, Mother Jones, the war, +or how suffrage is comin' on,--and never seems to notice when I make +breaks or get over my head. + +A good sport Zenobia is, and so busy sizin' up to-day that she ain't got +time for reminiscin' about the days before Brooklyn Bridge was built. +And the most chronic kidder you ever saw. Say, what we don't do to Aunt +Martha when both of us gets her on a string is a caution! That's what +makes so many of our meals such cheerful events. + +You might think, from a casual glance at Zenobia, with her gray hair and +the lines around her eyes, that she'd be kind of slow comp'ny for me, +especially to chase around to plays with and so on. But, believe me, +there's nothin' dull about her, and when she suggests that she's got an +extra ticket to anything I don't stop to ask what it is, but just gets +into the proper evenin' uniform and trots along willin'! + +So that's how I happens to be with her at this Shaw play, and discussin' +between the acts what Barney was really tryin' to put over on us. The +first intermission was most over too before I discovers this ruddy-faced +old party in the back of Box A with his opera glasses trained steady in +our direction. I glances along the row to see if anyone's gazin' back; +but I can't spot a soul lookin' his way. After he's kept it up a minute +or two I nudges Aunt Zenobia. + +"Looks like we was bein' inspected from the box seats," says I. + +"How flatterin'!" says she. "Where?" + +I points him out. "Must be you," says I, grinnin'. + +"I hope so," says Zenobia. "If I'm really being flirted with, I shall +boast of it to Sister Martha." + +But just then the lights go out and the second act begins. We got so +busy followin' the nutty scheme of this conversation expert who plots to +pass off a flower-girl for a Duchess that the next wait is well under +way before I remembers the gent in the box. + +"Say, he's at it again," says I. "You must be makin' a hit for fair." + +"Precisely what I've always hoped might happen,--to be stared at in +public," says Zenobia. "I'm greatly obliged to him, I'm sure. You are +quite certain, though, that it isn't someone just behind me?" + +I whispers that there's no one behind her but a fat woman munchin' +chocolates and rubberin' back to see if Hubby ain't through gettin' his +drink. + +"There! He's takin' his glasses down," says I. "Know the party, do you?" + +"Not at this distance," says Zenobia. "No, I shall insist that he is an +unknown admirer." + +By that time, though, I'd got a better view myself. And--say, hadn't I +seen them ruddy cheeks and that gray hair and them droopy eyes before? +Why, sure! It's what's-his-name, the old guy who blew into the +Corrugated awhile ago, my absentee boss--Ballard! + +Maybe I'd have told Zenobia all about him if there'd been time; but +there wa'n't. Another flash of the lights, and we was watchin' the last +act, where this gutter-bred Pygmalion sprouts a soul. And when it's all +over of course we're swept out with the ebb tide, make a scramble for +our taxi, and are off for home. Then as we gets to the door I has the +sudden hunch about eats. + +"There's a joint around on Sixth-ave.," says I, lettin' Aunt Zenobia in, +"where they sell hot dog sandwiches with sauerkraut trimmin's. I believe +I could just do with one about now." + +"What an atrocious suggestion at this hour of the night!" says she. +"Torchy, don't you dare bring one of those abominations into the +house--unless you have enough to divide with me. About four, I should +say." + +"With mustard?" says I. + +"Heaps!" says she. + +Three minutes later I'm hurryin' back with both hands full, when I +notices another taxi standin' out front. Then who should step out but +this Ballard party, in a silk hat and a swell fur-lined overcoat. + +"Young man," says he, "haven't I seen you somewhere before?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "I'm your private sec." + +"Wha-a-at?" says he. "My--oh, yes! I remember. I saw you at the +Corrugated." + +"And then again at the show to-night," says I. + +"To be sure," says he. "With a lady, eh?" + +I nods. + +"Lives here, doesn't she?" asks Ballard. + +"Right again," says I. "Goin' to call?" + +"Why," says he, "the fact is, young man, I--er--see here, it's Zenobia +Hadley, isn't it?" + +"Preble," says I. "Mrs. Zenobia Preble." + +"Hang the Preble part!" says he. "He's dead years ago. What I want to +know is, who else lives here?" + +"Only her and Sister Martha and me," says I. + +"Martha, eh?" says he. "Still alive, is she? Well, well! And Zenobia +now, is she--er--a good deal like her sister?" + +"About as much as Z is like M," says I. "She's a live one, Aunt Zenobia +is, if that's what you're gettin' at." + +"Thank you," says he. "That is it exactly. And I am glad to hear it. She +used to be, as you put it, rather a live one; but I didn't quite know +how----" + +"Kyrle Ballard, is that you?" comes floatin' out from the front door. +"If it is, and you wish to know anything more about Zenobia Hadley, I +should advise you to come to headquarters. Torchy, bring in those +sandwiches--and Mr. Ballard, if he cares to follow." + +"There!" says I to Ballard. "You've got a sample. That's Zenobia. Are +you comin' or goin'?" + +Foolish question! He's leadin' the way up the steps. + +"Zenobia," says he, holdin' out both hands, "I humbly apologize for +following you in this impulsive fashion. I saw you at the theater, +and----" + +"If you hadn't done something of the kind," says she, "I shouldn't have +been at all sure it was really you. You've changed so much!" + +"I admit it," says he. "One does, you know, in forty years." + +"There, there, Kyrle Ballard!" warns Zenobia. "Throw the calendar at me +again, and out you go! I simply won't have it! Besides, I'm hungry. +Torchy is to blame. He suggested hot dog sandwiches. Take a sniff. Do +they appeal to you, or have you cultivated epicurean tastes to such an +extent that----" + +"Ah-h-h-h!" says Ballard, bendin' over the paper bag I'm holdin'. "My +favorite delicacy. And if I might be permitted to add a bottle or two of +cold St. Louis----" + +"Do you think I keep house without an icebox?" demands Zenobia. "Stop +your silly speeches, and let's get into the dining-room." + +Some hustler, Zenobia is, too. Inside of two minutes she's shed her +wraps, passed out plates and glasses, and we're tacklin' a Coney Island +collation. + +"I had been wondering if it could be you," says Ballard. "I'd been +watching you through the glasses." + +"Yes, I know," says Zenobia. "And we had quite settled it that you were +a strange admirer. I'm frightfully disappointed!" + +"Then you didn't know me?" says he. "But just now----" + +"Voices don't turn gray or change color," says Zenobia. "Yours sounds +just as it did--well, the last time I heard it." + +"That August night, eh?" suggests Mr. Ballard, suspendin' operations on +the sandwich and leanin' eager across the table. + +He's a chirky, chipper old scout, with a lot of twinkles left in his +blue eyes. Must have been some gay boy in his day too; for even now he +shows up more or less ornamental in his evenin' clothes. And Zenobia +ain't such a bad looker either, you know; especially just now, with her +ears pinked up and her eyes sparklin' mischievous. I don't know whether +it's from takin' massage treatments reg'lar, or if it just comes +natural, but she don't need to cover up her collar bone or wear things +around her neck. + +"Yes, that night," says she, liftin' her glass. "Shall we drink just +once to the memory of it?" + +Which they did. + +"And now," goes on Zenobia, "we will forget it, if you please." + +"Not I," says Ballard. "Another thing: I've never forgiven your sister +Martha for what she did then. I never will." + +Zenobia indulges in a trilly little laugh. "No more has she forgiven +you," says she. "How absurd of you both, just as though--but we'll not +talk about it. I've no time for yesterdays. To-day is too full. Tell me, +why are you back here?" + +"Because seven armies have chased me out of Europe," says he, "and my +charming Vienna is too full of typhus to be quite healthy. If I'd +dreamed of finding you like this, I should have come long ago." + +"Very pretty," says Zenobia. "I'd love to believe it, just for the sake +of repeating it to Martha in the morning. She is still with me, you +know." + +"As saintly as ever?" asks Ballard. + +"At thirty Martha was quite as good as she could be," says Zenobia. +"There she seems to have stopped. So naturally her opinion of you hasn't +altered in the least." + +"And yours?" says he. + +"Did I have opinions at twenty-two?" says she. "How ridiculous! I had +emotions, moods, mad impulses; anyway, something that led me to give you +seven dances in a row and stay until after one A.M. when I had promised +someone to leave at eleven. You don't think I've kept up that sort of +thing, do you?" + +"I don't know," says Ballard. "I wouldn't be sure. One never could be +sure of Zenobia Hadley. I suppose that was why I took my chance when I +did, why I----" + +"Kyrle Ballard, you've finished your sandwich, haven't you?" breaks in +Zenobia. "There! It's striking twelve, and I make it a rule never to be +sentimental after midnight. You and Martha wouldn't enjoy meeting each +other; so you'll not be coming again. Besides, I've a busy week ahead of +me. When you get settled abroad again, though, you might let me know. +Good-night. Happy dreams." + +And before Ballard can protest he's bein' shooed out. + +"You'll take luncheon with me to-morrow," he calls back from his cab. + +"Probably not," says Zenobia. + +"Oh yes, you will, Zenobia," says he. "I'm a desperate character still. +Remember that!" + +She laughs and shuts the door. "There, Torchy!" says she. "See what +complications come from combining hot dogs with Bernard Shaw. And if +Martha should happen to get down before those bottles are removed--well, +I should have to tell her all." + +Trust Martha. She did. And when I finished breakfast she was still +waitin' for Zenobia to come down and be quizzed. I don't know how far +back into fam'ly hist'ry that little chat took 'em, or what Martha had +to say. All I know is that when I shows up for dinner and comes +downstairs about six-thirty there sits Martha in the lib'ry, rocking +back and forth with that patient, resigned look on her face, as if she +was next in line at the dentist's. + +"Zenobia isn't in yet," says she. "We will wait dinner awhile for her." + +Then chunks of silence from Martha, which ain't usual. At seven o'clock +we gives it up and sits down alone. We hadn't finished our soup when +this telegram comes. First off I thought Martha was goin' to choke or +blow a cylinder head, I didn't know which. Then she takes to sobbin' +into the consommé, and fin'lly she shoves the message over to me. + +"Wh-a-at?" I gasps. "Eloped, have they?" + +"I--I knew they would," says Martha, "just as soon as I heard he'd been +here. He--he always wanted her to do it." + +"Always?" says I. "Why, I thought he hadn't seen her for forty years or +so. How could that be?" + +"We-we-well," sobs Martha, "I--I stopped them once. And she engaged to +the Rev. Mr. Preble at the time! It was scandalous! Such a wild, +reckless fellow Kyrle Ballard was too." + +"Wh-e-ew!" I whistles. "That was goin' some for Zenobia, wasn't it? How +near did they come to doin' the slope?" + +"She--she was actually stealing out to meet him, her things all on," +says Martha, "when--when I woke up and found her. I made her come back +by threatening to call Mother. Engaged for two years, she and Mr. Preble +had been, and the wedding day all set. He'd just got a nice church too, +his first. I saved her that time; but now----" Martha relapses into the +sob act. + +"The giddy young things!" says I. "Gone off on a honeymoon trip too! +Say, that ain't such slow work, is it? Gettin' there a little late, +maybe; but if there ever was a pair of silver sixties meant to be mated +up, I guess it's them. Well, well! I stand to lose a near-aunt by the +deal; but they get my blessin', anyway." + +As for Aunt Martha, she keeps right on thinnin' out the soup. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +SIFTING OUT UNCLE BILL + + +Things happen to you quick, don't they, when the happenin' is good? Take +this affair of Zenobia's. One day I'm settled down all comfy and solid +with two old near-aunts who'd been livin' in the same place and doin' +the same things for the last thirty years or so, and the next--well, off +one of 'em goes, elopes with an old-time beau of hers that happens to +show up here just because Europe is bein' shot up. + +And then, before I've recovered from that jolt, comes this human +surprise package labeled Dorsett, who blows breezy into the Corrugated. +Fair-haired Vincent, who still holds my old place on the brass gate, +brings in his card. + +"William H. Dorsett?" says I. "Never heard of the party. Did he ask for +Mutual Funding?" + +"No, Sir," says Vincent. "He asked for you, Sir." + +"How?" says I. + +At which Vincent tints up embarrassed. "He said he wished to talk to a +young fellow known as Torchy, Sir," says he. + +"Almost a description of me, ain't it?" says I. "Well, tow him in, +Vincent, until I see if his map's any more familiar than his name." + +It wa'n't. He's a middle-aged gent, kind of tall and stoop-shouldered, +with curly hair that's started to frost up above the ears. The raincoat +he's wearin' is a little seedy, specially about the collar and cuffs; +but he's sportin' a silver-mounted walkin'-stick, and has a new pair of +yellow gloves stickin' from his breast pocket. + +With a free and easy stride he follows Vincent's directions, sails over +to my corner of the private office, pulls up a chair, and camps down by +the desk without any urgin'. Also he favors me with a friendly smile +that he produces from one corner of his mouth. Sort of a catchy smile it +is too, and before we've swapped a word I finds myself smilin' back. + +"Well!" says I. "You're introducin' what?" + +"Just William H. Dorsett," says he. + +"You do it well," says I. + +He allows the off corner of his mouth to loosen up again, and for a +second his deep-set brown eyes steady down as he gives me the once-over. +Kind of an amused, quizzin' look it is, but more or less foxy. He +crosses his legs and hitches up his chair confidential. + +"I imagine you're rather used to handling big propositions here," says +he, takin' in the office mahogany, the expensive floor rugs, and +everything else in a quick glance: "so I hope you won't mind if I +present a small one." + +"In funding?" says I. + +"It might very well come under that head," says he. "Ever do much with +municipal franchises,--trolleys, lighting, that sort of thing?" + +"Nope," says I; "nor racin' tips, church fair chances, or Danish lottery +tickets. We don't even back new movie concerns." + +That gets a twinkle out of his restless eyes. "I don't blame you in the +least," says he. "I suppose there are more worthless franchises hawked +around New York than you could stuff into a moving van. That's what +makes it so difficult to get action on any real, gilt-edged +propositions." + +"Such as you've got in your inside pocket eh?" says I. + +"Precisely," says he. "Mine are the worthwhile kind. Of course +franchises are common enough. It's no trick at all to go into the +average Rube village, 'steen miles from a railroad, and get 'em thrilled +with the notion of being connected by trolley with Jaytown, umpteen +miles south. Why, they'll hand you anything in sight! A deaf-mute could +go out and get that sort of franchise. But to prospect through the whole +cotton belt, locate opportunities where the dividends will follow the +rails, pick out the cream of them all, get in right with the board of +trade, fix things up with a suspicious town council, stall off the local +capitalist who would like to hog all the profits himself, and set the +real estate operators working for you tooth and nail--well, that is +legitimate promoting; my brand, if you will permit me." + +"Maybe," says I. "But the Corrugated don't----" + +"I understand," breaks in Mr. Dorsett. "Quite right too. But here I +produce the personal equation. For five weary weeks I've skittered about +this city, carrying around with me half a dozen of the ripest, richest +franchise propositions ever matured. Bona-fide prospects, mind you, +communities just yearning for transportation facilities, with tentative +stock subscriptions running as high as two hundred thousand in some +cases. They're schemes I've nursed from the seed up, as you might say. +I've laid all the underground wires, seen all the officials that need +seeing, planned for every right of way. Six splendid opportunities that +may be coined into cash simply by pressing the button! And the nearest I +can get to any man with real money to invest is a two-minute interview +in a reception room with some clerk. All because I lack someone to take +me into a private office and remark casually: 'Mr. So-and-So, here's my +friend Dorsett, who's bringing us something good from the South.' That's +all. Why, only last week I actually offered to deliver a +fifty-thousand-dollar franchise on a ten per cent. commission basis, +provided I was given a beggarly two hundred advance for expenses--and +had it turned down!" + +"Ye-e-es," says I. "The way some of them Wall Street plutes shrink from +bein' made richer is painful, ain't it? But I don't see where I fit in." + +Mr. Dorsett pats me chummy on the shoulder and proceeds to show me +exactly where. "You know the right people," says he. "You're in with +them. Very well. All I ask of you is the 'Here's Mr. Dorsett' part. I'll +do the rest." + +"How simple!" says I. "And us old friends of about five minutes' +standin'! Say, throw in your reverse or you'll be off the bridge. Who's +been tellin' you I was such a simp?" + +Mr. Dorsett smiles indulgent. "My error," says he. "But I was hoping +that perhaps you might---- Come, Torchy, hasn't it occurred to you that +I would hardly come as an utter stranger? Who do you suppose now gave me +your address?" + +"The chairman of the Stock Exchange?" says I. + +"Mother Leary," says he. + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"A flip of fate," says he. "At my hotel I got to talking with the room +clerk, and discovered that his name was Leary. It turned out that he +was Aloysius, the eldest boy. Remember him, don't you?" + +Seein' how I'd almost been brought up in the fam'ly when I was a kid, I +couldn't deny it. Course I'd run more with Hunch than any of the other +boys. We'd sold papers together, and gone into the A. D. T. at the same +time. But there wasn't a Leary I didn't know all about. + +"You must have boarded there too," says I. "But if I ever heard your +name, it didn't stick." + +"It may have been," says he, "that I was not using the Dorsett part of +it just at that time. Business reasons, you understand. But the H in my +name stands for Hines. What about William Hines, now?" + +"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at him. Sure enough, that did have a familiar +sound to it. + +"Let's try it this way," says he: "Uncle Bill Hines." + +And, say, that got me! I expect I made some gaspy motions before I +managed to get out my next remark. "You--you ain't the one that left me +with Mother Leary, are you?" I asks. + +Dorsett nods. "I'm a trifle late in explaining that carelessness," says +he, "and I can only plead guilty to all your reproaches. But consider +the circumstances. There I was, a free lance of fortune, down to my last +dollar, and rich only in the companionship of a bright-eyed, +four-year-old youngster who had been trusted to my care. You remember +very little of that period, I suppose; but it is all vivid enough to me, +even now,--how we tramped up and down Broadway, you chattering away, +excited and happy, while I was wondering what I should do when that last +dollar was gone. + +"Then, just when things seem blackest, arrived opportunity,--the +Birmingham boom. I ran across one of the boomers, who was struck with +the brilliant idea that he could make use of my peculiar talents in +making known the coming glories of the new South. But I must join him at +once, that very day. And he waved yellow-backed bills at me. I simply +had to drop you and go. Mother Leary promised to take care of you for +three months, or until your--well, until someone else claimed you. I +sent word to them both, at least I tried to, and rushed gayly down into +Dixie. Perhaps you never heard of the bursting of that first Birmingham +boom? It was an abrupt but very-complete smash. I came out of it owning +two gorgeous suits of clothes, one silk hat, and an opulent-looking +pocketbook, bulging with thirty-day options on corner lots. One of the +clerks in our office staked me with carfare to Atlanta, where I got a +job collecting tenement house rents. + +"Since then I've been up and down. Half a dozen times I've almost had +my fingers on the tail feathers of fortune: only to stumble into some +hidden pit of poverty. And in time--well, time mends all things. +Besides, I hardly relished facing Mother Leary. There was the chance too +that you no longer needed rescuing. I'm not trying to excuse my breach +of faith: I am merely telling you how it came about. You realize that, I +trust?" + +Did I? I don't know. I expect I was just sittin' there gazing stary at +him. Only one thing was shapin' itself clear in my head, and fin'lly I +states it flat. + +"Say," says I, "you--you ain't my reg'lar uncle, are you?" + +Maybe I wa'n't as enthusiastic as the case called for. He springs that +smile of his. "Hardly a flattering way to put it," says he. "Would you +be disappointed if I was?" + +"Well," says I, eyin' him up and down, "you don't strike me as such a +swell uncle, you know." + +Don't faze him a bit, either. "Our near relatives are seldom quite +satisfactory," says he. "Of course, though, if I fail to suit----" He +hunches his shoulders and reaches for his hat. + +So he had it on me, you see. Suppose you was as shy on relations as I +am, would you turn down the only one that ever showed up? + +"Excuse me if I don't get the cues right," says I; "but--but this has +been put over a little sudden. Course I'll take Mrs. Leary's word. If +she says you're my Uncle Bill, that goes. Anyway, you can give me a line +on--on my folks, I suppose?" + +Yes, he admits that he can; but he don't. And I will say for him that he +states his case smooth enough, smilin' that catchy smile of his, and +tappin' me friendly on the knee. But when he's all through it amounts to +this: He needs the loan of a couple of hundred cash the worst way, and +he wants to be put next to a few plutes that are in the market for new +trolley franchises. If I can boost him along that way, it'll relieve his +mind so much that he'll be in just the right mood to go into my personal +hist'ry as deep as I care to dip. + +"Gee!" says I. "But this raisin' a fam'ly tree comes high, don't it? +Besides, I'd have to get Mother Leary's O. K. on you first, you know." + +"Naturally," says he. "And any time within the next day or so will +answer. Suppose I drop around again, or look you up at your quarters?" + +"Better make it at the house," says I. "Here's the street number. Some +evenin' after seven-thirty. I--I'll be thinkin' things over." + +And as I watches him swing jaunty through the door I remarks under my +breath to nobody in partic'lar: "Uncle Bill, eh? My Uncle Bill! Well, +well!" + +You can be sure too that my first move is to sound Mother Leary. She +says he's the one, all right, and I gathers that she gave him the +tongue-lashin' she'd been savin' up all these years. But I don't stop +for details. If I've really had an uncle wished on me, it's up to me to +make the best of it, or find out the worst. But somehow I ain't so +chesty about havin' dug up a relation. I don't brag about it to Martha +when I go home. In fact, Martha has fam'ly troubles of her own about +now, you remember. I finds her weepy-eyed and solemn. + +"They've been gone more than a week," says she, "Zenobia and that +reckless Kyrle Ballard. Pretty soon they will be coming back, and +then----" + +"Well, what then?" says I. + +"I've been packing up to-day," says she, swabbin' off a stray tear from +the side of her nose. "I have engaged rooms at the Lady Louise. I +suppose you will be leaving too." + +"Me?" says I. + +It hadn't struck me that Aunt Zenobia's getting married was goin' to +throw us all out on the street. But Aunt Martha had it doped diff'rent. + +"Stay in the same house with that man?" says she. "Not I! And I am quite +sure he will not want either of us around when he comes back here as +Zenobia's husband." + +"If that's the case," says I, "it won't take me long to clear out; but I +guess I'll wait until I get the hint direct. You'd better wait too." + +Martha'd made up her mind, though. She says she'd go right then if it +wa'n't for leavin' the servants alone in the house; but the very minute +Sister Zenobia arrives she means to beat it. And sure enough next day +she has her trunk brought down into the front hall and begins wearin' +her bonnet around the house. It's a little weird to see her pokin' about +dressed that way, and her wraps and rubbers laid out handy, as if she +belonged to a volunteer hose comp'ny. + +It was after the second day of this watchful waitin', and we're sittin' +down to a six-forty-five dinner, when a big racket breaks loose out +front. The bell rings four times rapid, Lizzie the maid almost breaks +her neck gettin' to the door, and in breezes the runaway pair with all +their baggage, chucklin' and chatterin' like a couple of kids. Some +stunnin' Aunt Zenobia looks, for all her gray hair; and Mr. Ballard, in +his Scotch tweed suit and with his ruddy cheeks, don't look a day over +fifty. They're giggling merry over some remark of Lizzie's, and Zenobia +calls in through the draperies. + +"Hello, Martha--Torchy--everybody!" she sings out. "Well, here we are, +back from that absurd boardwalk resort, back to--well, for the love of +ladies! Martha Hadley, why in the name of nonsense are you eating dinner +with your hat on?" + +"Because," says Martha, beginnin' to sniffle, "I--I'm going away." + +"But where? Why?" demands Zenobia. + +And between sobs Martha explains. She includes me in it too. + +"Then why aren't you wearing your hat also, Torchy?" asks Zenobia. + +"Well," says I, "I ain't so sure about quittin' as she is. I thought I'd +stick around until I got the word to move." + +"Which you're not at all likely to get, young man," says Zenobia. "And +as for you, Martha, you should have better sense. Trapsing off to a +hotel, at your time of life! Rubbish! And why, please?" + +Aunt Martha nods towards Ballard. + +"Well, you're just going to get over that nonsense," says Zenobia. +"Kyrle, you know what you promised when you told me you'd make up with +Martha? Now is the appointed time. Do it!" + +And Mr. Ballard, chuckin' his hat and overcoat on a chair, sails right +in. I expect it was the last thing in the world Martha was lookin' for; +for she sits there gazin' at him sort of stupid until he's done the +trick. Uh-huh! No halfway business about it, either. He just naturally +takes her chubby old face between his two hands, tilts up her chin, and +plants a reg'lar final curtain smack where I'll bet it's been forty +years since the lips of man had trod before. + +First off Martha flops her arms and squeals. Then, when she finds it's +all over and ain't goin' to be any continuous performance, she quiets +down and stares at the two of 'em, who are chucklin' away merry. + +"Please, Sister Martha," says Ballard, "try to overlook that old affair +of mine when I tried to cut out the Rev. Preble. I was rather +irresponsible then, I'll own; but I have steadied down a lot, although +for the last week or so--well, you know how giddy Zenobia is. But you +will help us. We can't either of us spare you, you see." + +Maybe it was the jollyin' speech, or maybe it was the unexpected smack, +but inside of five minutes Martha has shed her bonnet and we're all +sittin' around the table as friendly and jolly as you please. + +I suppose it was by way of makin' Martha feel comf'table and as if she +was really part of the game that they got to reminiscin' about old times +and the folks they used to know. I wa'n't followin' it very close until +Martha gets to askin' Ballard about some of his people, and he starts in +on this story about his nephew. + +"Poor Dick!" says he, pushin' back his demitasse and lightin' up a big +perfecto. "Now if he'd been my boy, things might have turned out +differently. But my respected brother--well, you knew Richard, Martha. +Not at all like me,--eminently respectable, a bit solemn, and +tremendously stiff-necked on occasion. The way he took on about that +red-headed Irish girl, for instance. Irene, you know. Why, you might +have thought, to have heard him storm around, that she was a veritable +sorceress, or something of the kind; when, as a matter of fact, she was +just a nice, wholesome, keen-witted young woman. Pretty as a picture, +she was, and as true as gold too,--a lot too good for young Dick +Ballard, even if she was merely a girl in his father's office. You +couldn't blame her for liking Dick, though. Everyone did--the +scatter-brained scamp! And when my brother went through all that +melodramatic folly of cutting him off with a thousand a year--well, we +had our big row over that. That was when I took my money out of the +firm. Lucky I did too. When the panic came I was safe." + +"Let's see," says Zenobia, "Dick and the girl ran off and were married, +weren't they?" + +"Yes," says Ballard. "It's in the blood, you see. They went to Paris, to +carry out one of Dick's great schemes. He had persuaded some of his +friends, big real estate dealers, to make him their foreign agent. His +idea was, I believe, to catch Western millionaires abroad and sell 'em +Fifth-ave. mansions. Actually did land one or two customers, I think. +But it was his wife's notion that turned out to be really +practical,--leasing French and Italian villas to rich Americans. +Something in that, you know, and if Dick had only stuck to it--but Dick +never could. He got in with some mine promoters, and after that nothing +would answer but that he must rush right back to Goldfield and look over +some properties that were for sale dirt cheap. As though Dick would have +been any wiser after he'd seen 'em! But his biggest piece of folly was +in taking the little boy along with him." + +"What! Away from his mother?" says Martha. + +"Just like Dick," says Ballard. "They couldn't both leave the leasing +business, and as she knew more about it than he did--well, that's the +way they settled it. He persuaded her it would be a fine thing for the +youngster. Huh! I came over on the same boat with them, and I want to +tell you that little chap simply owned the steamer! Bright? Why, he was +the cutest kid you ever saw,--red-headed, like his mother, and with his +father's laugh. Spent most of his time on the bridge with the first +officer, or down in the engine room with the chief. Dick never knew +where he was half the time. + +"He was for taking the boy out into the mining country with him too. I +supposed he had until I got this frantic cable from Irene. They'd sent +her word about Dick's sudden end,--he always did have a weak heart, you +know,--and something about the high altitude got him. Went off like +that. But Irene was demanding of me to tell her where the boy was. Of +course I didn't know. I did my best to find him, hunted high and low. I +traced Dick to Goldfield. No use. The boy was not with him when he went +West. Where he had left him was a mystery that----" + +Buz-z-z-z! goes the front doorbell, right in the middle of Mr. Ballard's +story, and in comes Lizzie sayin' it's someone to see me. For a second I +couldn't think who'd be huntin' me up here at this time of the evenin'. +And then I remembered,--Dorsett. + +"It--it's an uncle of mine," says I to Zenobia, "a reg'lar uncle." + +"Why," says she, "I didn't know you had one." + +"Me either," says I, "until the other day. He just turned up. Could I +take him into the libr'y?" + +"Of course," says Zenobia. + +I was kind of sorry he'd come. I hadn't been so chesty over Uncle Bill +at the office; but here, where things are sort of quiet and +classy--well, I could see where he wouldn't show up so strong. Besides, +I hadn't made up my mind just how I was goin' to turn down his +proposition. + +I towed him in, though. He was glancin' around the room approvin', and +makin' a few openin' remarks, when the folks come strollin' out from the +dinin'-room. I glances up, and sees Mr. Ballard just as he's about to +pass the door. So does Dorsett. And, say, the minute them two spots each +other things sort of hung fire and stopped. Dorsett he breaks short off +what he's sayin', and Mr. Ballard comes to a halt and stands starin' in +the room. Next I know he's pushed in, and they're facin' each other. + +"Pardon me, Sir," says Ballard, "but didn't you cross with me on the +_Lucania_ once? And weren't you thick with Dick Ballard?" + +Course I could see something coming right then; but I didn't know what +it was. Mr. Dorsett's shifty eyes take another look at Ballard, and then +he hitches uneasy in his chair. + +"Rather an odd coincidence, isn't it?" says he. "Yes, I was on board +that trip." + +"Then you're one of the men I've been looking for a good many years," +says Ballard. "You knew Dick very well, didn't you? Then perhaps you +can tell me who he left that boy of his with when he went West?" + +"Why, yes," says Dorsett, smilin' fidgety. "He--er--the fact is, he left +him with me." + +"With you, eh?" says Ballard. "I might have guessed as much. Well, Sir, +where's the boy now?" + +"Wha-a-at?" gasps Dorsett, lookin' from me to Mr. Ballard. "Where, did +you say?" + +"Yes, Sir," comes back Ballard snappy. "Where?" + +More gasps from Dorsett. But he's good at duckin' trouble. With a wink +at me and a chuckle he remarks: "Torchy, suppose you tell the gentleman +where you are?" + +Well, say, it was some complicated unravelin' we did durin' the next few +minutes, believe me; but after Zenobia and Martha had been called in, +and Dorsett has done some more of his smooth explainin', we all begun to +see where we were at. + +"Torchy," says Zenobia at last, "bring down from your room that little +gold locket you've always had." + +And when Mr. Ballard has opened it and held the picture under the +readin' light, he winds up the whole debate as to who's who. + +"It's Irene, of course," says he. "Poor girl! But she had her day, after +all. Married a French army officer, you know, and for a while they were +happy together. Then the war. He was dropped somewhere around Rheims, I +believe. Then I heard of her doing volunteer work at a field hospital. +She lasted a month or so at that--typhus, or a German shell, I don't +know which. But she's gone too." + +And me, I stands there, listenin' gawpy, with my eyes beginnin' to blur. +It's Zenobia, you might know, who notices first. She steps over and +gathers me in motherly. Not that I needs it, as I know of, but--well, it +was kind of good to feel her arm around me just then. + +"We'll find out all about it later; won't we, Torchy?" she whispers. + +Meanwhile Mr. Ballard has swung on Dorsett. "So you were trying to pose +as Uncle Bill, were you?" he demands. "Well, Sir, you're just about the +caliber of man Dick would choose to put his trust in! But I'll bet a +thousand you were not finding it so easy to fool his boy here! Going, +are you? This way, Sir." + +"At that, though," says I, as the door shuts after Dorsett, "he had me +guessin'." + +"Yes," says Mr. Ballard, "he would, any of us." + +"And I don't see," I goes on, "as I got any fam'ly left, after all." + +"You--you don't, eh, you young scamp?" says Mr. Ballard. "Well, as +there's no doubt about your being my nephew's boy, I'd like to know why +I don't qualify as a perfectly good great-uncle to you!" + +"Why, that's so!" says I, grinnin' at him. "I--I guess you do. And, say, +if you don't mind my sayin' so, you'll do fine!" + +So what if Uncle Bill did turn out a ringer! He was more or less useful, +even if he did gum up the plot there for a while. Uh-huh! Mighty useful! +For there's nothin' phony about my new Uncle Kyrle, take it from me! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +HOW AUNTY GOT THE NEWS + + +Say, I expect it ain't good form to get chesty over your relations, +specially when they're so new as mine; but I've got to hand it to Mr. +Kyrle Ballard. After three weeks' tryout he shapes up as some grand +little great-uncle, take it from me! + +First off, you know, I had him card indexed as havin' more or less +tabasco in his temper'ment, with a wide grumpy streak runnin' through +his ego. And he is kind of crisp and snappy in his talk, I'll admit. +Strangers might think he was a grouch toter. But that's just his way. +It's all on the outside. Back of that gruff, offhand talk and behind +them bushy, gray eyebrows there's a lot of fun and good nature. One of +the kind that's never seemed to grow up, Uncle Kyrle is, sixty-odd and +still a kid; always springin' some josh or other, and disguisin' the +good turns he does with foolish remarks. And to hear him string Aunt +Martha along from one thing to another is sure a circus. + +"Good morning, Sister Martha," says he, blowin' in to a late Sunday +breakfast, all pinked up in the cheeks from a cold tub and a clean +shave. "I trust that you begin the day with a deep conviction of sin?" + +"Why, I--I suppose I do, Kyrle," says she, gettin' fussed. "That is, I +try to." + +"Good!" says Uncle Kyrle. "It is important that some one in this family +should recognize that this is a sad and wicked world, with Virtue below +par and Honest Worth going baggy at the knees. Zenobia here has no +conviction of sin whatever. Mine is rather weak at times. So you, +Martha, must do the piety for all of us. And please ring for the griddle +cakes and sausage." + +Then he winks at Zenobia, gives his grapefruit a sherry bath, and +proceeds to tackle a hearty breakfast. + +A few days after him and Zenobia got back from their runaway honeymoon +trip he calls her to the front door. "There's a person out here who says +he has a car for you," says he. + +"Nonsense!" says Zenobia. "Why, I haven't ordered a car." + +"The impudent rascal!" says Uncle Kyrle. "I'll send him off, then. The +idea!" + +"Oh, but isn't it a beauty?" says Zenobia, peekin' out. "Let's see what +he says about it first." + +So they go out to the curb, while Uncle Kyrle demands violent of the +young chap in charge what he means by such an outrage. At which the +party grins and shows the tag on the steerin' wheel. + +"Why!" says Zenobia. "It has my name on it. Oh, Kyrle, you dear man! +I've a notion to hug you." + +"Tut, tut!" says he. "Such a bad example to set the neighbors! Besides, +this young man may object. He has a Y. M. C. A. certificate as a +first-class chauffeur." + +That's the way he springs on Aunt Zenobia an imported landaulet, this +year's model, all complete even to monogrammed laprobes and a morocco +vanity case in the tonneau. It's one of these low-hung French cars, with +an eight-cylinder motor that runs as sweet as the purr of a kitten. + +Then here Sunday noon he takes me one side confidential. "Torchy," says +he, "could you assist a poor but deserving citizen to retain the respect +of his chauffeur!" + +"Go on, shoot it," says I. + +"Don't be rash, young man," says he, "for the situation is desperate. +You see, Herman seems to think we ought to use the machine more than we +do. Just to please him we have been whirled through thousands of miles +of adjacent suburbs during the last week. Still Herman is unsatisfied. +Would it be asking too much if I requested you to let him take you out +for the afternoon?" + +I gives him the grin. "Maybe I could stand it for this once," says I. + +"Noble youth!" says he. "You deserve the iron cross. And should there be +perchance anyone who could be induced to share your self-sacrifice----" + +The grin plays tag with my ears. "How'd you guess?" says I. + +Uncle Kyrle winks and pikes off. + +So about two-thirty P.M. I'm landed at a certain number on Madison-ave. +and runs jaunty up the front steps. I was hopin' Aunty would either be +out or takin' her after-dinner nap. But when it comes to forecastin' her +moves you got to figure on reverse English nine cases out of ten. And if +ever you want a picture of bad luck to hang up anywhere, get a portrait +of Aunty. Out? She's right on hand, as stiff and sour as a frozen dill +pickle. Her way of greetin' me cordial as I'm shown into the drawin' +room is by humping her eyebrows and passin' me the marble stare. + +"Well, young man?" says she. + +"Why," says I, "not so well as I was a couple of minutes--er--that it's +a fine, spiffy afternoon, ain't it?" + +"Spiffy!" says she, drawin' in her breath menacin'. + +"Vassarese for lovely," says I. "But I don't insist on the word. By the +way, is Miss Vee in?" + +"She is," says Aunty. "This is not Friday evening, however." + +"Ah, say!" says I. "Can't we suspend the rules and regulations for once? +You see, I got a machine outside that's a reg'lar--well, it's some car, +believe me!--and seein' how there couldn't be a slicker day for a spin, +I didn't know but what you'd let Vee off for an hour or so." + +"Just you and Verona?" demands Aunty, stiffenin'. + +It was some pill to swallow, but after a few uneasy throat wiggles I got +it down. "Unless," says I, "you--you'd like to go along too. You +wouldn't, would you?" + +Aunty indulges in one of them tight-lipped smiles of hers that's about +as merry as a crack in a vinegar cruet. "How thoughtful of you!" says +she. "However, I am not fond of motoring." + +I don't know whether someone punctured an air cushion just then, or +whether it was me heavin' a sigh of relief. "Ain't you?" says I. "But +Vee's strong for it, and if you don't mind----" + +"My niece is writing letters," says Aunty, "and asked not to be +disturbed until after five o'clock." + +"But in this case," I goes on, "maybe she'd sidetrack the letters if +you'd send up word how----" + +"Young man," says Aunty, settin' her chin firm, "I think you are quite +aware of my attitude. Your persistent attentions to my niece are wholly +unwelcome. True, you are no longer a mere office boy; but--well, just +who are you?" + +"Private sec. of Mutual Funding," says I. + +"And a youth known as Torchy?" she adds sarcastic. + +"Yes; but see here!" says I. "I've just dug up a----" + +"That will do," she breaks in. "We have discussed all this before. And +I've no doubt you think me simply a disagreeable, crotchety old person. +Has it ever occurred to you, however, that you may have failed to get my +point of view? Can you not conceive then that it might be somewhat +humiliating to me to know that my maids suppress a smile as they +announce--Mr. Torchy? Understand, I am not censuring you for being a +nameless waif. No, do not interrupt. I realize that this is something +for which you should not be held responsible. But can't you see, young +man----" + +"If I can't," I cuts in, "I need an eye doctor bad. I'll tell you what +I'll do about this name business, though. I'm going to issue a white +paper on the subject." + +"A--a what?" says Aunty. + +"Seein' you ain't much of a listener," says I, "I'll submit the case in +writin'. You win the round, though. And if it don't hurt you too much, +you might tell Vee I was here. You can use a bichloride of mercury mouth +wash afterwards, you know." + +Saying which, I does the young hero act, swings proudly on muh heel, and +exits left center, leavin' Aunty speechless in her chair. + +So Herman and me starts off all by our lonesome, swings into the Grand +Boulevard and out through Pelham Parkway to the Boston Post Road. Deep +glooms for me! Even the way we breezed by speedy roadsters don't bring +me any thrills. + +I was still chewin' over that zippy roast Aunty had handed me. Nameless +waif, eh? Say, that's the rawest she'd ever stated it. Course I was +fixed now to show her where she'd overdone the part; but somehow I +couldn't seem to frame up any way of gettin' my fam'ly tree on record +without seemin' to do it boastful. Besides, Aunty wouldn't take my word +for Uncle Kyrle and all the rest. She'd want an affidavit, at least. + +But I had made up my mind to have a talk with Vee. I hadn't had more'n a +glimpse of her for weeks now, and while I might not feel like givin' +her complete details of all that had happened to me recent, I thought I +might drop an illuminatin' hint or so. Was I goin' to let a gimlet-eyed +old dame with an acetic acid disposition block me off as easy as that? + +"Herman," says I, "you can just drop me on Madison-ave. as we go down. +And you better report at the house before you put up the machine. They +may want to be goin' somewhere." + +I'd heard Uncle Kyrle speak of promisin' to make a call on someone he'd +met lately that he'd known abroad. As for me, I just strolls up and down +two or three blocks, takin' a chance that Vee might drift out. But I +sticks around near an hour without any luck. + +"Huh!" says I to myself at last. "Might as well risk it again, and if I +can't run the gate--well, swappin' a few more plain words with Aunty'll +relieve my feelin's some, anyway." + +With that I marches up bold and presses the button. "Say," says I to the +maid, "don't tell me Aunty's gone out since I left!" + +Selma shakes her head solemn as her mighty Swedish intellect struggles +to surround the situation. "Meesis she dress by supper in den room yet," +says she. + +"Such sadness!" says I. "Maybe there's nobody but Miss Vee downstairs?" + +"_Ja_," says Selma, starin' stupid. "Not nobody else but Miss Verona, +no." + +"You're a bright girl--from the feet down," says I, pushin' in past her. +"Shut the door easy so as not to disturb Aunty, and I'll try to cheer up +Miss Verona until she comes down. She's in the lib'ry, eh?" + +Yep, I was doin' my best. We'd exchanged the greetin's of the season and +was camped cozy in a corner davenport just big enough for two, while I +was explainin' how tough it was not havin' her along for the drive, and +I'd collected one of her hands casual, pattin' it sort of absent-minded, +when--say, no trained bloodhound has anything on Aunty! There she is, +standin' rigid between the double doors glarin' at us accusin'. + +"So you returned after all that, did you?" she demands. + +"I didn't know but you might want to tack on a postscript," says I. + +"Young man," says she, just as friendly as a Special Sessions Judge +callin' the prisoner to the bar, "you are quite right. And I wish to say +to you now, in the presence of my niece, that----" + +"Now, Aunty! Please!" breaks in Verona, shruggin' her shoulders +expressive. + +"Verona, kindly be silent," goes on Aunty. "This young person known as +Torchy has----" + +When in drifts Selma and sticks out the silver card plate like she was +presentin' arms. + +"What is it?" asks Aunty. "Oh!" Then she inspects the names. + +For half a minute she stands there, glancin' from me to the cards +undecided, and I expect if she could have electrocuted me with a look +I'd have sizzled once or twice and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. +But her voltage wa'n't quite high enough for that. Instead she turns to +Selma and gives some quick orders. + +"Draw these draperies," says she; "then show in the guests. As for you, +young man, wait!" + +"Gee!" I whispers, as we're shut in. "I wish I knew how to draw up a +will." + +Vee snickers. "Silly!" says she. "Whatever have you been saying to Aunty +now?" + +"Me?" says I. "Why, not much. Just a little chat about fam'ly trees and +so on, durin' which she----" + +Then the arrival chatter in the next room breaks loose, and I stops +sudden, starin' at the closed portières with my mouth open. + +"Hello!" says I. "Listen who's here!" + +"Who?" says Vee. + +"That's so," says I. "You don't know 'em, do you? Well, this adds +thickenin' to the plot for fair. Remember hearin' me tell of Aunt +Zenobia and her new hubby? Well, that's 'em." + +"How odd!" says Vee. "But--why, I've heard his voice before! It was +at--oh, I know! The nice old gentleman who had the villa next to ours at +Mentone." + +"Ballard?" I suggests. + +"That's it!" says Vee. "And you say he is----" + +"My Uncle Kyrle," says I. "My reg'lar uncle, you know." + +"Why, Torchy!" gasps Vee, grabbin' me by the arm. "Then--then you----" + +"Listen!" says I. "Hear your Aunty usin' her comp'ny voice. My! ain't +she the gentle, cooin' dove, though? Now they're gettin' acquainted. So +this was where Uncle Kyrle spoke of callin'! Hot time he picked out for +it, didn't he, with me here in the condemned cell? Say, what do you know +about that, eh?" + +Vee smothers another giggle, and slips one of her hands into mine. +"Don't you care!" says she, whisperin'. "And isn't it thrilling? But +what shall we do?" + +"It's by me," says I. "Aunty told me to wait, didn't she? Well, let's." + +Which we done, sittin' there sociable, and every now and then swappin' +smiles as the conversation in the next room took a new turn. + +Fin'lly Uncle Kyrle remarks: "You had your little niece with you then, +didn't you?" + +"Little Verona? Oh, yes," says Aunty. "She is still with me. Rather +grown up now, though. I must send for her. Pardon me." And she rings for +Selma. + +Well, that queers the game entirely. Two minutes more, and Vee has been +towed in for inspection and I'm left alone in banishment. + +"Well, well!" I can hear Uncle Kyrle sing out. "Why, young lady, what +right had you to change from a tow-headed schoolgirl into such +a--Zenobia, please face the other way and don't listen, while I try to +tell this radiant young person how utterly charming she has become. No, +I can't begin to do the subject justice. Twenty or thirty years ago I +might have had some success. Ah, me! Those gray eyes of yours, my dear, +hold mischief enough to wreck a convention of saints. Ah, blushing, are +you? Forgive me. I ought to know better. Let me tell you, though, I've a +young nephew with a pair of blue eyes that might be a match for your +gray ones. You must allow me to bring him up some day." + +And I'd like to have had a glimpse of Vee's face just then. About there, +though, Aunty breaks in. + +"A nephew, Mr. Ballard?" says she. + +"Poor Dick's boy," says he. "The one we hunted all over the States for +after Dick took him on that wild goose chase from which he never came +back. Let's see, you must have known the youngster's mother,--Irene +Ballard." + +"That stunning young woman with the copper-red hair whom you introduced +at Palermo?" asks Aunty. "Is--is she----" + +"No," says Uncle Kyrle. "Poor Irene! She was always doing something for +someone, you know, and when this big war got under way--well, she went +to the front at the first call from the Red Cross. I might have known +she would. I suppose she simply couldn't bear to keep out of it--all +that suffering, and so much help needed. No more skillful or efficient +hands than hers, I'll wager, Madam, were ever volunteered, nor any +braver soul. She was pure gold, Irene." + +"And," puts in Aunty, "she was--er----" + +Uncle Kyrle nods. "In a field hospital, under fire," says he, "late last +September. That's all we know. Where do you think, though, I ran across +that boy of hers? Found him at Zenobia's; found them both rather, at a +theater. Sheer luck. For if you'll pardon my saying it, that youth is a +nephew I'm going to be proud of some of these days unless I am----" + +Say, this was gettin' a little too personal for me. I'd been shiftin' +around uneasy for a minute or two, and about then I decided it wouldn't +be polite to listen any longer. So I make a dash out the side door into +the hall, not knowin' just what to do or where to go. And I bumps into +Selma wheelin' in the tea wagon. That gives me a hunch. + +"Say, Bright Eyes," says I, pushin' a dollar at her, "take this and +ditch that tea stuff for a minute, can't you? Harken! There's goin' to +be a new arrival at the front door in about a minute, and you must +answer the bell. No, don't indulge in that open-face movement. Just +watch me close!" + +With that I clips past the drawin'-room entrance, opens the front door +gentle, and gives the button a good long push. Then I slides back and +digs up a card case that Aunt Zenobia has presented me with only a +couple of days ago. + +"Here!" says I. "Get out your plate and pass one of these to the Missus. +That's it. Push it right on her conspicuous. Now! On your way!" + +She's real quick at startin', Selma is, when she's shoved brisk from +behind. And as she goes through the doorway I stretches my ear to hear +what Aunty will say to the new arrival. And, believe me, if I'd given +her the lines myself, she couldn't have done it better! + +"Mr. Richard Taber Ballard?" says she, readin' the card. Then she turns +to Uncle Kyrle. "Why, this must be some----" + +"Eh?" says he. "Did you hear that, Zenobia? Torchy, you young rascal, +come in here and explain yourself!" + +"Torchy!" gasps Aunty. "Did--did you say--Torchy?" + +"Anybody callin' for me?" says I, steppin' into the room with a grin on. + +And to watch that stary look settle in Aunty's eyes, and see the purple +tint spread back to her ears, was worth standin' for all the rough deals +I'd ever had from her. At last I had her bumpin' the bumps! Sort of +dazed she inspects the card once more, and then glances at me. Do you +wonder? Richard Taber Ballard! I ain't got used to it myself. + +"Here he is," says Uncle Kyrle jovial, draggin' me to the front, "that +scamp nephew I was telling you about. The Richard is for his father, you +know; the Taber he gets from his mother--also his red hair. Eh, +Torchy? And this, young man, is Miss Verona." + +He swings me around facin' her, and I expect I must have acted some +sheepish. But trust Vee! What does she do but let loose one of them +ripply laughs of hers. Then she steps up, pulls my head down playful +with both hands, and looks me square in the eyes. + +"Why didn't you tell me before, Torchy," says she, "that you had such a +perfectly grand name as all that?" + +"Huh!" says I. "A swell chance I've had to tell you anything, ain't I? +But if the folks will excuse us for half an hour, I'll tell you all I +know about a lot of things." + +And, say, Aunty don't even glare after us as we slips through the +draperies into the lib'ry, leavin' 'em to explain to each other how I +come to be on hand so accidental. The only disturbance comes when Selma +butts in pushin' the tea cart, and, just from force of habit, I makes a +panicky breakaway. After she's insisted on loadin' us up with sandwiches +and so forth, though, I slips my arm back where it fits the snuggest. + +"Now, Sir," says Vee, "how are you going to hold your cup?" + +"I'd be willin' to miss out on tea forever," says I, "for a chance like +this." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +MR. ROBERT AND A CERTAIN PARTY + + +We was havin' a directors' meetin'. Get that, do you? _We_, you know! +For nowadays, as private sec. and actin' head of Mutual Funding, I +crashes into all sorts of confidential pow-wows. Uh-huh! Right in where +they put a crimp in the surplus and make plots to slip things over on +the Commerce Board! Oh my, yes! I'm gettin' almost respectable enough to +be indicted. + +Well, we'd just pared the dividend on common and was about breakin' up +the session when Mr. Robert misses some figures on export clearances +he'd had made up and was pawin' about on the table aimless. + +"Didn't I see you stowin' that away in one of your desk pigeonholes +yesterday?" I suggests. + +"By George!" says he. "Think you could find it for me, Torchy? And, by +the way, bring along my cigarettes too. You will find them in a leather +case somewhere about." + +I locates the export notes first stab; but the dope sticks ain't in +sight. I claws through the whole top of the desk before I fin'lly +discovers, shoved clear into a corner, a thin old blue morocco affair +with a gold catch. By the time I gets back he's smokin' a borrowed brand +and tosses the case one side. + +Half an hour later the meetin' is over. Mr. Robert sighs relieved, +bunches up a lot of papers in front of him, and begins feelin' +absent-minded in his pockets. Seein' which I pushes the leather case at +him. + +"Ah, yes, thanks," says he, and snaps it open careless. + +But no neat little row of paper pipes shows up. Inside is nothing but a +picture, one of these dinky portraits on ivory--mini'tures, ain't they? +It shows a young lady with a perky chin and kind of a quizzin' look in +her eyes: not a reg'lar front row pippin', you know, but a fairly good +looker of the highbrow type. + +For a second Mr. Robert stares at the portrait foolish, and then he +glances up quick to see if I'm watchin'. As it happens, I am, and blamed +if he don't tint up over it! + +"Excuse," says I. "Only leather case I could find. Besides, I didn't +know you had any such souvenirs as this on your desk." + +He chuckles throaty. "Nor I," says he. "That is, I'd almost forgotten. +You see----" + +"I see," says I. "She's one of the discards, eh?" + +Sort of jolts him, that does. "Eh?" says he. "A discard? No, no! +I--er--I suppose, if I must confess, Torchy, that I am one of hers." + +"Gwan!" says I. "You? Look like a discard, don't you? Tush, tush!" + +The idea of him tryin' to feed that to me! Why, say, I expect there +ain't half a dozen bachelors in town that's rated any higher on the +eligible list than Mr. Bob Ellins. It's no dark secret, either. I've +heard of whole summer campaigns bein' planned just to land Mr. Robert, +of house parties made up special to give some fair young queen a chance +at him, and of one enterprisin' young widow that chased him up for two +seasons before she quit. + +How he's been able to dodge the net so long has puzzled more than me, +and up to date I'd never had a hint that there was such a thing for him +as a certain party. So I expect I was gawpin' some curious at the +picture. + +"Huh!" says I, but more or less to myself. + +"Not intending any adverse criticism of the young lady, I trust?" +remarks Mr. Robert. + +"Far be it from me!" says I. "Only--well, maybe the paintin' don't do +her justice." + +"Rather discreetly phrased, that," says he, chucklin' quiet. "Thank you, +Torchy. And you are quite right. No mere painter ever could do her full +justice. While the likeness is excellent, the flesh tones much as I +remember them, yet I fancy a great deal has escaped the brush,--the +queer, quirky little smile, for instance, that used to come at times in +the mouth corners, a quick tilting of the chin as she talked, and that +trick of widening the eyes as she looked at you. China blue, I think her +eyes would be called; rather unusual eyes, in fact." + +He seems to be enjoyin' the monologue; so I don't break in, but just +stands there while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic. +Even after he's finished he still sits there starin'. + +"Gee!" says I. "It ain't a hopeless case, is it, Mr. Robert?" + +Which brings him out of his spell. He shrugs his shoulders, indulges in +an unconvincin' little laugh, snaps the case shut, and then tosses it +careless down onto the table. + +"Perhaps you failed to notice the dust," says he. "The back part of the +bottom drawer is where that belongs, Torchy--or in the waste basket. +It's quite hopeless, you see." + +"Huh!" says I as I turns to go. And this time I meant to get it across +to him. + +Honest, I couldn't figure why a headliner like Mr. Robert, with all his +good bank ratin', good fam'ly, and good looks to back him, should get +the gate on any kind of a matrimonial proposition, unless it was a case +of coppin' a Princess of royal blood, and even then I'd back him to show +in the runnin'. Who was this finicky party with the willow-ware eyes, +anyway? Queen of what? Or was it wings she was demandin'? + +[Illustration: "He seems to be enjoying the monologue; so I just stands +there while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic."] + +Say, I most got peeved with this unknown that had ditched Mr. Robert so +hard. All that evenin' I mulls over it, wonderin' how long ago it had +happened and if that accounted for him bein' so cagy in makin' social +dates. Not that he's what you'd call skirt-shy exactly; but I've noticed +that he's always cautious about bein' backed into a corner or paired off +with any special one. + +Course, not knowin' the details of the tragedy, it wa'n't much use +speculatin'. And somehow I didn't feel like askin' for the whole story +right out. You know--there's times when you just can't. I ain't any more +curious than usual over this special case, either; but, seein' how many +good turns Mr. Robert's done for me along the only-girl line, I got to +wishin' there was some way I could sort of balance the account. + +So when I stumbles across this concert folder it almost looks like a +special act, with the arrow pointin' my way. I was payin' my reg'lar +official Friday evenin' call. No, nothin' romantic. Just because Aunty's +mellowed up a bit since I'm announced proper by the front door help as +Mr. Ballard, don't get tangled up with the idea that she stands for any +dark corner twosin'. Nothin' like that! All the lights are on full +blast, Aunty's right there prominent with her crochet, and on the other +side of the table is me and Vee. And I couldn't be behavin' more +innocent if I'd been roped to the chair. All I was holdin' was a skein +of yarn. Uh-huh! You see, Vee got the knittin' habit last winter, +turnin' out stuff for the Belgians, and now she keeps right on; though +who she's goin' to wish a pink and white shawl onto in this weather is a +myst'ry. + +"It's for a sufferer--isn't that enough?" says she. + +"From what--chilblains on the ears?" says I. + +"Silly!" says she. "There! Didn't I tell you to bend your thumbs? How +awkward!" + +"Who, me?" says I. "Why, for a first attempt I thought I was puttin' up +a real classy performance. Say, lemme wind awhile, and let's see you try +this yarn-jugglin' act." + +She won't, though; so it's me sittin' there playin' dummy, with my arms +held out stiff and my eyes roamin' around restless. + +Which is how I happen to spot this folder with the halftone cut on it. +It's been tossed casual on the table, and the picture is wrong side to +from where I am; but even then there's something mighty familiar about +it. I wiggles around to get a better view, and lets half a dozen loops +of yarn slip off at a time. + +"Stupid!" says Vee, runnin' her tongue out at me. + +"Didn't I tell you you'd do better by drapin' it over a chair back?" +says I. "But say, time out while I snoop into something. Who's the girl +with the press notice stuff?" and I points an elbow at the halftone. + +"That?" says she. "Oh, some concert singer, I think. Let's see. +Yes--Miss Elsa Hampton. She's to give a benefit song recital in the +Plutoria pink room for the Belgian war orphans, tickets two dollars. +Want to go?" And Vee flips the folder into my lap. + +Gettin' the picture right side to, I lets out a whistle. No mistakin' +that. "Sure I want to go," says I. + +"Why?" says Vee. + +"Well, for one thing," says I, "she has china blue eyes that widen out +when they look at you, and a queer, quirky little smile that----" + +"How thrilling!" says Vee. "You must know her very well." + +"Almost that," says I. "Anyway, I know someone that did know her very +well--once." + +"Oh!" says Vee, forgettin' all about the yarn windin' and hitchin' her +chair up close. "That does sound interesting. I hope it isn't a deep +secret." + +"If it wa'n't," says I, "what would be the fun in tellin' it to you?" + +"Goody!" says Vee. "Who is the poor man who knew her once but doesn't +any more?" + +"Whisper!" says I. "It's Mr. Bob Ellins!" + +"Wha-a-at!" gasps Vee. "Do you really mean it?" + +I'd pulled a sensation, all right, and for the next half-hour she keeps +me busy tryin' to explain the details of a situation I hadn't more'n +half sketched out myself. + +"Kept a miniature of her on his desk!" Vee rattles on. "And it hadn't +been opened for ever so long, you say? What makes you think it hadn't?" + +"Dusty," says I. + +"Oh!" says Vee. "Just fancy! And she must have given it to him +herself--an ivory miniature, you know. Was--was there another man, do +you think, or just some silly misunderstanding? I wonder?" + +"I hadn't got in that deep," says I. + +"But suppose it was," says Vee, "only a misunderstanding, wouldn't it be +lovely if we could find some way of--of--well, why don't you suggest +something?" + +Did I? Say, we was plottin' so lively there for a spell, with our heads +close together, that I can't tell for a fact which it was did get the +idea first. + +But, anyway, when I'm busy at the Corrugated next mornin', openin' the +first batch of mail and sortin' the junk from the important letters, I +laid the mine. All I had to do was pick out an envelope postmarked +Madison Square, ditch the art dealers' card that came in it, and +substitute this song recital folder, opened so the picture couldn't be +missed. And when I stacks the letters on Mr. Robert's desk I tucks that +one in second from the top. Some grand little strategy that, eh? + +Then I keeps my ear stretched for any remarks Mr. Robert may unload when +he makes the great discovery. But, say, when you try dopin' out such a +complicated party as Mr. Bob Ellins you've tackled some deep +proposition. Nothin' emotional about him, and although I'm sittin' only +a dozen feet off, half facin' his way too, I don't get even the hint of +a smothered gasp. Couldn't even tell whether he'd seen the picture or +not, and by the time I works up an excuse to drift over by his elbow +he's halfway through the pile. + +"Nothin' startlin' in the mornin' run, eh?" I throws out. + +"Oh, yes," says he. "Mallory reports that those St. Louis people have +applied for another injunction. Ring up Bates, will you, and have him +call a general council of our legal staff for two-thirty?" + +"Right," says I. "Er--anything else, Mr. Robert?" + +He simply shakes his head and dives into another letter. At that, +though, I was lookin' for him to sound me out sooner or later on the +picture business; but the forenoon breezes by without a word. By +lunchtime I'm more twisted than ever. Had he glanced at the halftone +without recognizin' her? Or was he just keepin' mum? Not until I gets a +chance to explore the waste basket did I get any line. The folder wa'n't +there. Neither was it on his desk. And all the hints I threw out durin' +the day he don't seem to notice at all. So I didn't have much to tell +Vee over the 'phone that night. + +"Couldn't get a rise out of him at all," says I. + +"But you're certain Miss Hampton is the one, are you?" says she. + +"If she wa'n't," says I, "why should he keep the folder?" + +"That's so," says Vee. "Then--then shall we do it?" + +"I'm game if you are," says I. + +"All right," says she, and I hears one of them ripplin' laughs of hers +comin' over the wire. "It's to-morrow at half after three, you know." + +"I'll be on hand," says I. + +And, believe me, when I gets there and sees the swell mob collectin' in +the pink ballroom, I'm some pleased with myself for gettin' that hunch +to doll up in my frock coat and lavender tie. It's mostly a fluff +audience; but there's enough of a sprinklin' of Johnnies and old sports +so I don't feel too conspicuous. + +Course I wa'n't lookin' forward to any treat. I ain't so strong for this +recital stuff as a rule; but I was anxious to size up the young lady +who'd thrown the harpoon into Mr. Robert so hard. Same way with Vee. So +we edges through to a front seat and waits expectant. + +And, say, what fin'lly glides out on the stage and bows offhand to the +soft patter of kid gloves is only an average looker. She's simple +dressed and simple actin'. No frills about Miss Hampton at all. Why, you +might easy mistake her for one of the girl ushers! + +"Pooh!" says Vee. + +"Also pooh for me," says I. + +More or less easy and graceful in her motions Miss Hampton is, though, I +got to admit, as she stands there chattin' with the accompanist and +lettin' them big blue eyes of hers rove careless over the crowd in +front. They ain't the stary, baby blue sort, you know. China blue +describes 'em best, I guess; and they're the calm, steady kind that it's +sort of restful and fascinatin' to watch. + +Almost before we know it she's stepped to the front and started in on +the programme. Italian folk songs is what is down on the card, and she +leads off with that swingin' rollickin' piece, "Santa Lucia." You've +heard it, eh? That's some song, ain't it? + +But, say, I never knew how much snap and go there was to it until I +heard Miss Hampton trill it out. Why, she just tosses up that perky chin +of hers and turns loose the catchy melody until you felt the warm waves +splashin' and saw the moonlight dancin' across the bay! I don't know +where or what this Santa Lucia thing is, but she most made me homesick +to go back there. Honest! And if you think a set of odd-shaded blue eyes +can't light up and sparkle with diff'rent expressions, you should have +seen hers. When she finishes and springs that folksy, chummy sort of +smile--well, take it from me, the hand she gets ain't any polite, +halfway, for-charity's-sake applause. They just went to it strong, +gloves or no gloves. + +"Isn't she bully?" whispers Vee. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "We take back the pooh-poohs, eh?" + +The next number was diff'rent, but just as good. At the finish of the +fourth a wide old dame in the middle row unpins a cluster of orchids +from her belt and aims 'em enthusiastic at the stage. Course they swats +a dignified old boy three seats beyond me back of the ear; but that +starts the floral offerings. I gets a quick nudge from Vee. + +"Go on, Torchy," she whispers. "Do it now!" + +We hadn't been sure first off that we'd have the nerve to carry the +thing that far; but we'd come all primed. So I yanks the tissue paper +off a dozen long-stemmed American beauts that I'd smuggled in under my +coat, Vee ties on the card, and I tosses the bunch so accurate it lands +almost on Miss Hampton's toes. + +Course any paid performer would have been tickled to death to have a +crowd break loose like that; but Miss Hampton acts a bit dazed by it +all. For a second or so she stands there gazin' sort of puzzled, bitin' +her upper lip. Then she springs that quirky, good-natured smile of hers, +bows a couple of times, and proceeds to help the accompanist gather up +the flowers and stack 'em on the piano. + +When she comes to our big bunch she swoops it up graceful, and is about +to pile it with the rest when her eyes must have caught the card. Just +as easy and natural as if she'd been at home, she turns it over and +reads the name. + +And, say, for a minute there I thought we had bust up the show. Talk +about goin' pink! Why, you could see the strawb'rry tint spread over her +cheeks and up into her ears! Blamed if her eyes don't moisten up too, +and she sweeps over the audience with a quick nervous glance, like she +was tryin' to single someone out! She don't seem to know what to do +next. Once she turns as if she meant to beat it into the wings; but as +the applause simmers down the pianist strikes up the beginning of an +encore. So she had to stick it out. + +Her voice is more or less shaky at the start; but pretty soon she +strikes her gait again and sings the last verse better than she had +before. Then comes an intermission, and when Miss Hampton appears again +she's wearin' that whole dozen roses pinned over her heart. Vee nudges +me excited when she spots it. + +"See, Torchy?" says she. + +"Guess we've started something, eh?" says I. + +Just what it was, though, we didn't know. I didn't get cold feet either, +until the concert is all over and the folks begun swarmin' around the +stage to pass over the hot-air congratulations. + +But Miss Hampton wa'n't content to stand there quiet and take 'em. She +seems to have something on her mind, and the next thing I knew she was +pikin' down the steps right towards the middle aisle. + +"Gee!" says I, grabbin' Vee by the arm. "Maybe she saw who passed 'em +up. Let's do the quick exit." + +We was gettin' away as fast as we could too, squirmin' through the push, +when I looks over my shoulder and discovers that Miss Hampton is almost +on our heels. + +"Good-night!" says I. + +Believe me, I was doin' some high-tension thinkin' about then, tryin' to +frame up an alibi, when she reaches over my shoulder and holds out her +hand to someone leanin' against a pillar. It's Mr. Robert. + +"How absurd of you, Robert!" says she. + +"Eh! I--I beg pardon?" I hears him gasp out. + +And, say, I expect that's the first and only time I've ever seen him +good and fussed. Why, he's flyin' the scarlatina signal clear to the +back of his neck! + +"The roses, you know," she goes on. "So nice of you to remember me. I--I +thought you'd forgotten. Thank you for them." + +"Roses?" says he husky, starin' stupid at the bunch. + +Then he turns his head a bit, and his eyes light on me, strugglin' to +slip behind a tall female party who's bein' helped into her silk wrap. I +must have looked guilty or something; for he shoots me a crisp, knowin' +glance. + +"Oh, yes--the--the roses," I hears him go on. "It was silly of me, +wasn't it? I--I'll explain some time, if I may." + +"Oh!" says she. "Of course you may, if they really need explaining." + +Which was the last we heard, as Vee had found an openin' into the +corridor and was dashin' out panicky. You can bet I follows! + +"Did--did you ever?" pants Vee as we gets out to the carriage entrance. +"Now we have done it, haven't we?" + +"And I'm caught with the goods on, I guess," says I. + +"Just fancy!" says she. "Mr. Robert was there all the time. I wonder +what he will----" + +"Pardon me, you pair of mischief makers," says a voice behind, "but I +haven't quite decided." + +It's Mr. Robert! + +"Hel-lup!" says I gaspy. + +"Do I understand," he goes on, "that one of my cards went with those +roses?" + +"Yep," says I prompt. "Little idea of mine. I--I wanted to see what +would happen." + +"Really!" says he sarcastic. "Well, I trust that my part of the +performance was quite satisfactory to you." And with that he wheels and +marches off. + +"Whiffo!" says I, drawin' in a long breath. "But he is grouched for +fair, ain't he!" + +All the sympathy I gets from Vee, though, is a chuckle. "Don't you +believe a word of it," says she. "Just wait!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +TORCHY TACKLES A SHORT CIRCUIT + + +There was no use discountin' the fact, or tryin' to smooth it over. I +was in Dutch with Mr. Robert--all because Vee and I tried to pull a +little Cupid stunt for his benefit. I'd invested six whole dollars in +that bunch of roses we'd passed up to Miss Hampton, too! And just +because we thought it would be a happy hunch to tie in his card with +'em, he goes and gets peevish. + +Not that he comes right out and roasts me for gettin' gay. Say, that +would have been a relief; but he don't. He just lugs around a dignified, +injured air and gives me the cold eye. Say, that's the limit, that is! +Makes me feel as mean and little as a green strawb'rry on top of a +bakery shortcake. + +Three days I'd had of it, mind you, with never a show to put in any +defense, or plead guilty but sorry, or anything like that. And me all +the time hoping it would wear off. I expect it would too, if someone +could have throttled Billy Bounce. Course nobody could, or it would have +happened long ago. Havin' no more neck than an ice-water pitcher has +been Billy's salvation all through his career. + +Maybe you don't remember my mentionin' him before; but he's the +roly-poly club friend of Mr. Robert's who went with us on that alligator +shootin' trip up the Wiggywash two winters ago. Hadn't shown up at the +Corrugated General Offices for months before; but here the other +afternoon he breezed in, dumps his 220 excess into a chair by the +roll-top, mops the heavy dew from various parts of his full-moon face, +and proceeds to get real folksy. + +At the time I was waitin' on the far side of the desk for Mr. Robert to +O. K. a fundin' report, and there was other signs of a busy day in plain +sight; but Billy Bounce ain't a bit disturbed by that. He'd come in +loaded with chat. + +"Oh, I say, Bob," he breaks out, after a few preliminary joshes, "who do +you suppose I ran across up in the Fitz-William palm room the other +night?" + +"A head waiter," says Mr. Robert. + +"Oh, come!" says Billy. "Give a guess." + +"One of your front-row friends from the Winter Garden?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"No, a friend of yours," says Billy. "That blue-eyed warbler you used to +be so nutty over--Miss Hampton. Eh, Bob? How about it?" With which he +reaches over playful and pokes Mr. Robert in the ribs. + +I expect he'd have put it across just as raw if there'd been a dozen +around instead of only me. That's Billy Bounce. About as much delicate +reserve, Billy has, as a traffic cop clearin' up a street tangle. + +"Indeed!" says Mr. Robert, flushin' a bit. "Clever of you to remember +her. I--er--I trust she was charmed to meet you again?" + +"The deuce you do!" comes back Billy. "Anyway, she wasn't as grouchy +about it as you are. Say, she's all right, Miss Hampton is; a heap too +nice for a big ham like you, as I always said." + +"Yes, I believe I recall your hinting as much," says Mr. Robert; "but if +you don't mind I'd rather not discuss----" + +"You'd better, though," says Billy. "You see, I thought I had to drag +you into the conversation. Asked her if she'd seen you lately. And say, +old man, she's expecting you to call or something. Lord knows why; but +she is, you know. Said you'd probably be up to-night. As much as asked +me to pass on the word. Eh, Bob? + +"Well, I've done it. S'long. See you at the club afterwards, and you can +tell me all about it." + +He winks roguish over his shoulder as he waddles out, leavin' Mr. +Robert starin' puzzled over the top of the desk, and me with my mouth +open. + +And the next thing I know I'm gettin' the inventory look-over from them +keen eyes of Mr. Robert's. "You heard, I suppose?" says he. + +"Uh-huh," says I, sort of husky. + +"And I presume you understand just what that means?" he goes on. "I am +expected to call and explain about those roses." + +"Well?" says I. "Why not stand pat? Sendin' flowers to a young lady +ain't any penal offense, is it?" + +"As a simple statement of an abstract proposition," says Mr. Robert, +"that is quite correct; but in this instance the situation is somewhat +more complicated. As a matter of fact, I find myself in a deucedly +awkward position." + +"That's easy," says I. "Lay it to me, then." + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. "I've considered that," says he; "but +sometimes the bald truth sounds singularly unconvincing. I'm sure it +would in this case. If the young lady was familiar with all the buoyant +audacity of your irrepressible nature, perhaps it would be different. +No, young man, I fear I must ask you to do your own explaining." + +"Me?" says I, gawpin'. + +"We will call on Miss Hampton about four-thirty," says he. + +And say, Mr. Robert has stacked me up against some batty excursions +before now; but this billin' me for orator of the day when he goes to +look up an old girl of his is about the fruitiest performance he'd ever +sprung. + +I don't know when I've ever seen him with a worse case of the fidgets, +either. Why, you'd 'most think he was due to answer a charge of breakin' +and enterin', or something like that! And you know he's some nervy +sport, Mr. Robert--all except when it's a matter of skirts. Then he's +more or less of a skittish party, believe me! + +But at four-thirty we went. It wa'n't any joy ride we had, either. All +the way up Mr. Robert sits there fillin' the limousine with gloom thick +enough to slice. I tried chirkin' him up with a few frivolous side +remarks; but they don't take, and I sighs relieved when we're landed at +the apartment hotel where Miss Hampton lives. + +"Say," I suggests, "you ain't goin' to lead me in by the ear, are you?" + +"I'm not sure but that would be an appropriate entrance," says he. +"However, it might appear a trifle theatrical." + +"What's the programme, anyway?" says I, as we boards the elevator. "Do +you open for the defense, or do I?" + +"Hanged if I know!" he almost groans out. "I wish I did." + +"Then let's stick around outside in the corridor here," says I, "until +we frame up something. Now how would it do if----" + +"You're to explain, that's all!" says he, steppin' up and pushin' the +button. + +It's a wonder too, from the panicky way he's actin', he don't shove me +ahead of him for a buffer as we goes in. But he has just enough courage +left to let me trail along behind. + +So it's him gets the cordial greetin' from the vision in blue net that +floats out easy and graceful from the window nook. + +I couldn't see why it wa'n't goin' to be just as awkward for her, +meetin' him again so long after their grand smash, or whatever it was; +but, take it from me, there ain't any fussed motions about Miss Hampton +at all. Them big china blue eyes of hers is steady and calm, her perky +chin is carried well up, and in one corner of her mouth she's displayin' +that quirky smile he'd described to me. + +"Ah, Robert!" says she. "So good of you to----" + +Then she discovers me and breaks off sudden. + +I'm introduced reg'lar and formal, and Mr. Robert adds: "A young friend +of mine from the office." + +"Oh!" says Miss Hampton, liftin' her eyebrows a little. + +"I brought him along," blurts out Mr. Robert, "to tell you about how you +happened to get the roses." + +"Really!" says she. "How considerate of you!" + +And if Mr. Robert hadn't been actin' so much like a poor prune he'd have +quit that line right there. But on he blunders. + +"You see," says he, "I've asked Torchy to explain for me." + +"Ye-e-es?" says she, bitin' her upper lip thoughtful and glancin' from +one to the other of us. "Then--then you needn't have bothered to come +yourself, need you?" + +Say, that was something to lean against, wa'n't it? You could almost +hear the dull thud as it reached him. + +"Oh, I say, Elsa!" he gets out gaspy. "Of course I--I wished to come, +too." + +"Thank you," says she. "I wasn't sure. And now that you've brought him, +may I hear what your young friend has to say, all by myself?" + +She even springs another one of them twisty smiles; but her head nods +suggestive at the door. I expects I starts a grin; but one glimpse of +Mr. Robert's face and it fades out. He wa'n't happy a bit. For a minute +he stands there lookin' sort of dazed, as if he'd been hit with a lead +pipe, and with his neck and ears tinted up like a raspb'rry sundae. + +"Very well," says he, and does a slow exit, leavin' me gawpin' after him +sympathetic. + +Not for long, though. My turn came as soon as the latch was clicked. + +"Now, Torchy," says she, chummy and encouragin', as she slips into an +old-rose armchair and waves me towards another. + +I'm still gazin' at the door, wonderin' if Mr. Robert has jumped down +the elevator shaft or is takin' it out on the lever juggler. + +"Ah, say, Miss Hampton!" says I. "Why throw the harpoon so hasty when he +was doin' his best?" + +"Was he?" says she. "Then his best isn't very wonderful, is it?" + +"But you didn't give him a show," says I. "Course it was a dippy play of +his, luggin' me along, as I warned him. Believe me, though, he meant all +right. There ain't any more yellow in Mr. Robert than there is in my +tie. Honest! Maybe he don't show up brilliant when he's talkin' to +ladies; but I want to tell you he's about as good as they come." + +"Indeed!" says she, widenin' her eyes and chucklin' easy. "That is what +I should call an unreserved indorsement. But about the roses, now?" + +Well, I sketched the plot of the piece all out for her, from findin' her +miniature accidental in Mr. Robert's desk, to the day of the concert, +when she got the bunch with his card tied to it. + +"I'll admit it was takin' a chance," says I; "but you see, Miss Hampton, +when I was joshin' him as to whose picture it was he got so enthusiastic +in describin' you----" + +"Did he, truly?" she cuts in. + +"Unless I don't know a Romeo gaze when I see one," says I. "And then, +when I figures out that if you'd given him the chuck it might have been +through some mistaken notion, why--well, come to talk it over with Vee, +we thought----" + +"Pardon me," says Miss Hampton, "but just who is Vee?" + +"Eh?" says I, pinkin' up. "Why, in my case, she's the only girl." + +"Ah-ha!" says she. "So you--er----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "I've come near bein' ditched myself. And Mr. Robert +he's helped out more'n once. So this looked like my cue to hand back +something. We thought maybe the roses would kind of patch things up. +Say, how about it, Miss Hampton? Suppose he hadn't boobed it this way, +wouldn't there be a show of----" + +"You absurd youth!" says she, liftin' both hands protestin', but failin' +to smother that smile. + +And say, when it's aimed straight at you so you get the full benefit, +that's some winnin' smile of hers--sort of genuine and folksy, you know! +It got me. Why, I felt like I'd been put on her list of old friends. And +I grins back. + +"It wa'n't a case of another party, was it?" says I. + +She laughs and shakes her head. + +"Or an old watch-dog aunt, eh?" I goes on. + +"Whatever made you think of that?" says she. + +"You ought to see the one that stands guard over Vee," says I. "But how +was it, anyway, that Mr. Robert got himself in wrong with you?" + +"How?" says Miss Hampton, restin' her perky chin on one knuckle and +studyin' the rug pattern. "Why, I think it must have been--well, perhaps +it was my fault, after all. You see, when I left for Italy we were very +good friends. And over there it was all so new to me,--Italian life, our +villa hung on a mountainside overlooking that wonderful blue sea, the +people I met, everything,--I wrote to him, oh, pages and pages, about +all I did or saw. He must have been horribly bored reading them. I +didn't realize until--but there! We'll not go into that. I stopped, +that's all." + +"Huh!" says I. + +"So it's all over," says she. "Only, when I thought he had sent the +roses, of course I was pleased. But now that he has taken such pains to +prove that he didn't----" + +She ends with a shoulder shrug. + +"Say, Miss Hampton," I breaks in, "you leave it to me." + +"But there isn't anything to leave," says she, "not a shred! Sometime, +though, I hope I may meet your Miss Vee. May I?" + +"I should guess!" says I. "Why, she thinks you're a star! We both do." + +"Thank you, Torchy," says she. "I'm glad someone approves of me. +Good-by." And we shakes hands friendly at the door. + +It was long after five by that time; but I made a break back to the +office. Had to get the floor janitor to let me in. I was glad, though, +to have the place to myself. + +What I was after was a peek at some back letter files. Course I wa'n't +sure he could be such a chump; but, knowin' somethin' about his habits +along the correspondence line, I meant to settle the point. And, fishin' +out Mr. Robert's personal book, I begun the hunt. I had the right dope, +too. + +"The lobster!" says I. + +There it was, all typed out neat, "My Dear Miss Hampton." And dictated! +Much as ten lines, too! It starts real chatty and familiar with, "Yours +of the 16th inst. at hand," just like he always does, whether he's +closin' a million-dollar deal or payin' a tailor's bill. He goes on to +confide to her how the weather's beastly, business on the fritz, and how +he's just ordered a new sixty-footer that he hopes will be in commission +for the July regattas. + +A hot billy-doo to a young lady he's supposed to be clean nutty over, +one that had been sittin' up nights writin' on both sides of half a +dozen sheets to him! I found four or five more just like it, the last +one bein' varied a little by startin', "Yours of the 5th inst. still at +hand." Do you wonder she quit? + +If this had been a letter-writin' competition, I'd have thrown up both +hands; but it wa'n't. + +I'd seen Mr. Robert gazin' mushy at that picture of her, and I'd watched +Miss Hampton when she was tellin' me about him. Only they was +short-circuited somewhere. And it seemed like a blamed shame. + +Half an hour more and I'd located Mr. Robert at his club. + +He ain't very enthusiastic, either, when one of the doormen tows me +into the corner of the loungin' room where he's sittin' behind a tall +glass gazin' moody at nothin' in particular. + +"I suppose you told her all about it!" says he. + +"And then a few," says I. + +"Well?" says he sort of hopeless. + +"Verdict for the defense," says I. "I didn't even have to produce the +florist's receipt." + +"Then that's settled," says he, sighin'. + +"You couldn't have made the job more complete if you'd submitted +affidavits," says I. "And if you don't mind my sayin' so, Mr. Robert, +when it comes to the Romeo stuff, you're ten points off, with no bids." + +Course that gets a squirm out of him, like I hoped it would. But he +don't blow out a fuse or anything. "Naturally," says he, "I am charmed +to hear such a frank estimate of myself. But suppose I am simply trying +to avoid the--the Romeo stuff, as you put it?" + +"Gwan!" says I. "You're only kiddin' yourself. Come now, ain't you as +strong for Miss Hampton as ever?" + +He stiffens up for a second; but then his shoulders sag. "Torchy," says +he, "your perceptions are altogether too acute. I admit it. But what's +the use? As you have so clearly pointed out, this little affair of mine +seems to be quite thoroughly ended." + +"It is if you let things slide as they stand," says I. + +"Eh?" says he, sort of eager. "You mean that she--that if----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "do you want it straight from a rank amateur? Then +here goes. You don't gen'rally wait to have things handed to you on a +tray, do you? You ain't that kind. You go after 'em. And the harder you +want 'em the quicker you are on the grab. You don't stop to ask whether +you deserve 'em or not, either. You just stretch your fingers and sing +out, 'Hey, that's mine!' And if somebody or something's in the way, you +give 'em the shoulder. Well, that's my dope in this case. You ain't +goin' to get a young lady like Miss Hampton by doin' the long-distance +mope. You got to buck up. Rush her off her feet!" + +"By Jove, though, Torchy," says he, bangin' his fist down on the table, +"I believe you're right! And I do want her. I've been afraid to say it, +that's all. But now----" + +He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw solid. + +"That's the slant!" says I. "And the sooner the quicker, you know." + +"Yes, yes!" says he, jumpin' up. "Tonight! I--I'll write to her at +once." + +"Ah, squiffle!" says I, indicatin' deep disgust. + +Mr. Robert gazes at me astonished. "I beg pardon!" says he. + +"Don't be a nut!" says I. "Excuse me if I seem to throw out any hints, +but maybe letter writin' ain't your long suit. Is it?" + +"Why," says he, "I'm not sure, but I had an idea I could----" + +"Maybe you can," says I; "but from the samples I've seen I should have +my doubts. You know this 'Yours of the steenth just received' and so on +may do for vice-presidents and gen'ral managers; but it's raw style to +spring on your best girl. Take it from me, sizzlin' sentiments that's +strained through a typewriter are apt to get delivered cold." + +"But I'm not good at making fine speeches, either," he protests. + +"You ain't exactly tongue-tied, though," says I. "And you ain't startin' +out on this expedition with both arms roped behind you, are you?" + +For a minute he stares at me gaspy, while that simmers through the +oatmeal. + +Then he chuckles. "Torchy," says he, givin' me the inside-brother grip, +"there's no telling how this will turn out, but I--I'm going up!" + +I stayed long enough to see him start, too. + +Then I goes home, not sure whether I'd set the scene for an ear cuffin', +or had plugged him in on a through wire. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +MR. ROBERT GETS A SLANT + + +It's all wrong, Percy, all wrong. Somebody's been and rung in a revise +on this Romeo dope, and here we find ourselves tryin' to make the Cupid +Express on a canceled time-card. What do I mean--we? Why, me and Mr. +Robert. Ah, there you go! No, not Miss Vee. She's all right--don't +worry. We're gettin' along fine, Vee and me; that is, so far as we've +gone. Course there's 'steen diff'rent varieties of Vee; but I'm strong +for all of 'em. So there's no room for tragedy there. + +But when it comes to this case of Mr. Robert and a certain party! + +You see, after I've sent him back to Miss Hampton loaded up with all +them wise hints about rushin' her off her feet, and added that hunch as +to rememberin' that he has a pair of arms--well, I leave it to you. +Ain't that all reg'lar? Don't they pass it out that way in plays and +magazines? Sure! It's the hero with the quick-action strong-arm stuff +that wins out in the big scene. So why shouldn't it work for him? + +I could tell, though, by the rugged set of his jaw as he marches into +the private office next mornin', that it hadn't. I expect maybe he'd +just as soon not have gone into the subject then, with me or anyone +else; but so long as he'd sort of dragged me into this fractured romance +of his I felt like I had a right to be let in on the results. So I +pivots round and springs a sympathetic grin. + +"Did you pull it?" says I. + +He shrugs his shoulders kind of weary. "Oh, yes," says he. "I--er--I +pulled it." + +"Well?" says I, steppin' over and leanin' confidential on the roll-top. + +"Torchy," says he, "please understand that I am in no way censuring you. +You--you meant well." + +"Ah, say, Mr. Robert!" says I. "Not so rough. I only gave you the usual +get-busy line, and if you went and----" + +"Wasn't there some advice," he breaks in, "about using my arms?" + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him. "You--you didn't open the act by goin' to +a clinch, did you?" + +He lets his chin drop and sort of shivers. "I'm afraid I did," says he. + +"Z-z-z-zingo!" I gasps. + +"You see, the part of your suggestions which impressed me most was +something to that effect, as I recall it. And then--oh, the deuce take +it, I lost my head! Anyway, the next I knew she was in my arms, and I--I +was----" He ends with a shoulder shrug and spreads out his hands. "I +thought you ought to know," he goes on, "that it isn't being done." + +"But what then?" says I. "Did she hand you one?" + +"No," says he. "She merely slipped away and--and stood laughing at me. +She hardly seemed indignant: just amused." + +"Huh!" says I, starin' puzzled. "Then she ain't like any I ever heard of +before. Now accordin' to dope she'd either----" + +"Miss Hampton is not a conventional young woman," says he. "She made +that quite plain. It seems, Torchy, that your--er--that my method was +somewhat crude and primitive. In fact, I believe she pointed out that +the customs of the Stone Age were obsolete. I was given to understand +that she was not to be won in any such manner. Perhaps you can imagine +that I was not thoroughly at ease after that." + +And, honest, I'd never seen Mr. Robert when he was feelin' so low. + +"Gee!" says I. "You didn't quit at that, did you?" + +"Unfortunately no," says he. "Our caveman tactics having failed, I tried +the modern style--at least, I thought I was being modern. The usual +thing, you know." + +"Eh?" says I. "Both knees on the rug and the reg'lar conservatory nook +wilt-thou-be-mine lines?" + +"I spoke my piece standing," says he, "making it as impassioned and +eloquent as I knew how. Miss Hampton continued to be amused." + +"Did you get any hint as to what was so funny about all that?" says I. + +"It appears," says Mr. Robert, "that impassioned declarations are +equally out of date--early-Victorian, to quote Elsa exactly. Anyway, she +gave me to understand that while my love-making was somewhat +entertaining, it was hopelessly medieval. She very kindly explained that +undying affection, tender devotion, and the protection of manly arms +were all tommyrot; that she really didn't care to be enshrined queen of +anyone's heart or home. She wishes to avoid any step that may hinder the +development of her own personality. You--er--get that, I trust, Torchy?" + +"Clear as mush," says I. "Was it just her way of handin' you the blue +ticket?" + +"Not quite," says Mr. Robert. "That is, I'm a little vague as to my +exact status myself. I assume, however, that I've been put on probation, +as it were, until we become better acquainted." + +"And you're standin' for that, Mr. Robert!" says I. + +He hunches his shoulders. "Miss Hampton has taught me to be humble," +says he. "I don't pretend to understand her, or to explain her. She is a +brilliant and superior young person. She has, too, certain advanced +ideas which are a bit startling to me. And yet, even when she's hurling +Bernard Shaw or H. G. Wells at me she--she's fascinating. That quirky +smile of hers, the quick changes of expression that flash into those +big, china-blue eyes, the sudden lift of her fine chin,--how thoroughly +alive she is, how well poised! So I--well, I want her, that's all. I--I +want her!" + +"Huh!" says I. "Suppose you happened to get her? What would you----" + +"Heaven only knows!" says he. "The question seems rather, what would she +do with me? Hence the probation." + +"Is this going to be a long-distance tryout," says I, "with you +reportin' for inspection every other Tuesday?" + +He says it ain't. Miss Hampton's idea is to shelve the matrimony +proposition and begin by seein' if they can qualify as friends. She +shows him how they'd never really seen enough of each other to know if +they had any common tastes. + +"So I am to go with her to a few concerts, art exhibits, lectures, and +so on," says he, "while she has consented to try a week-end yachting +cruise with me. We start Saturday; that is, if I can make up a little +party. But I don't just know whom to ask." + +"Pardon me if I seem to hint," says I, "but what's the matter with +brother-in-law Ferdie and Marjorie, with Vee and me thrown in for luck?" + +"By Jove!" says he, brightenin' up. "Would you? And would Miss Vee?" + +"Maybe we could stand it," says I. + +"Done, then!" says he. "I'll 'phone Marjorie at once." + +And you should have watched Mr. Robert for the next few days. Talk about +consistent trainin'! Why, he quits goin' to the club, cuts out his +lunch-hour, and reports at the office at eight-thirty. Not for business, +though: Bernard Shaw. Seems he's decided to specialize in Shaw. + +Honest, I finds him one noon with a whole tray of lunch gettin' cold, +and him sittin' there with his brow furrowed up over one of them batty +plays. + +"Must be some thrillin'," says I. + +"It's clever," says he; "but hanged if I know what it's all about! I +must find out though--I must!" + +He didn't need to state why. I could see him preparin' to swap highbrow +chat with Miss Hampton. + +Meanwhile he barely takes time to 'phone a few orders about gettin' the +cruisin' yawl ready for the trip. I hear him ring up the Captain, tell +him casual to hire a cook and a couple of extra hands, provision for +three or four days, and be ready to sail Saturday noon. Which ain't the +way he usually does it, believe me! Why, I've known him to hold up a +directors' meetin' for an hour while he debated with a yacht tailor +whether a mainsail should be thirty-two foot on the hoist, or thirty-one +foot six. And instead of shippin' up cases of mineral water and crates +of fancy fruit, he has them blamed Shaw books packed careful and +expressed to Travers Island, where the boat is. + +We was to meet there about noon; but it's after eleven before Mr. Robert +shuts his desk and sings out to me to come along. We piles into his +roadster and breezes up through town and out towards the Sound. Found +the whole party waitin' for us at the club-house: Vee and Marjorie and +Miss Hampton, all lookin' more or less yachty. + +"Hello!" says Mr. Robert. "Haven't gone aboard yet?" + +"Go aboard what, I'd like to know?" speaks up Marjorie. + +"Why, the _Pyxie_," says he. "See, there she is anchored off--well, what +the deuce! Pardon me for a moment." + +With that he steps over to a six-foot megaphone swung from the club +veranda and proceeds to boom out a few remarks. + +"_Pyxie_ ahoy! Hey, there! On board the _Pyxie_!" he roars. + +No response from the _Pyxie_, and just as he's startin' to repeat the +performance up strolls one of the float tenders and hands him a note +which soon has him gaspy and pink in the ears. It's from his fool +captain, explainin' how that rich uncle of his in Providence had been +taken very bad again and how he had to go on at once. The message is +dated last Wednesday. Course, there's nothing for Mr. Robert to do but +tell the crowd just how the case stands. + +"How absurd--just an uncle!" pouts Marjorie. "Now we can't go cruising +at all, and--and I have three pairs of perfectly dear deck shoes that I +wanted to wear!" + +"Really!" says Mr. Robert. "Then we'll go anyway; that is, if you'll all +agree to ship as a Corinthian crew. What do you say?" And he glances +doubtful at Miss Hampton. + +"I'm sure I don't know what that means," says she; "but I am quite ready +to try." + +"Oh, let's!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I can help." + +"And Ferdie is a splendid sailor," chimes in. Marjorie. "He's crossed a +dozen times." + +"Then we're off," says Mr. Robert. + +And inside of ten minutes the club launch has landed us, bag and +baggage, on the _Pyxie_. + +She's a roomy, comf'table sort of craft, with a kicker engine stowed +under the cockpit. There's a couple of staterooms, plenty of bunks, and +a good big cabin. We leaves the ladies to settle themselves below while +Mr. Robert inspects things on deck. + +"Plenty of gasoline, thank goodness!" says he. "And the water butts are +full. We can touch at Greenwich for supplies. Now let's get sail on her, +boys." + +And it was rich to see Ferdie, all gussied up in yellow gloves, throwin' +his whole one hundred and twenty-three pounds onto a rope. Say, about +all the yachtin' Ferdie and me had ever done before was to stand around +and look picturesque. But this was the real thing, and it comes mighty +near bein' reg'lar work, take it from me. + +But by the time the girls appeared we had yanked up all the sails that +was handy, and the _Pyxie_ was slanted over, just scootin' through the +choppy water gay and careless, like she was glad to be tied loose. + +"Isn't this glorious?" exclaims Miss Hampton, steadying herself on the +high side and glancin' admirin' up at the white sails stretched tight +as drumheads. + +I expect that should have been Mr. Robert's cue to shoot off something +snappy from Bernard Shaw; but just about then he's busy cuttin' across +in front of a big coastin' schooner, and all he remarks is: + +"Hey, Torchy! Trim in on that main sheet. Trim in, you duffer! Pull! +That's it. Now make fast." + +Nothin' fancy about Mr. Robert's yachtin' outfit. He's costumed in an +old pair of wide-bottomed white ducks some splashed with paint, and with +his sleeves rolled up and a faded old cap pulled down over his eyes he +sure looks like business. I could see Miss Hampton glancin' at him sort +of curious. + +But he don't have time to glance back; for we was zigzaggin' up the +Sound, dodgin' steamers and motor-boats and other yachts, and he was +keepin' both eyes peeled. Every now and then too something had to be +done in a hurry. + +"Ready about!" he'd call. "Now! Hard alee! Leggo that jib sheet--you, +Ferdie. Slack it off. Now trim in on the other side. Flatter. Oh, haul +it home!" + +And I expect Ferdie and me wa'n't any too much help. + +"Why, I never knew that yachting could be so exciting," says Miss +Hampton. "It's really quite a game, isn't it?" + +"Especially with a green crew," says Mr. Robert. + +"But what a splendid breeze!" + +"It'll be fresh enough by the time we open up Captain's Island," says +he. "Just wait!" + +Sure enough, as we gets further up the Sound the harder it blows. The +waves got bigger too, and begun sloppin' over the bow, up where Ferdie +was managin' the jib. + +"Oh, I say!" he sings out. "I'm getting all splashed, you know." + +"Couldn't he have an umbrella?" asks Marjorie. + +"Please," puts in Vee, "let me handle the jib sheets. I've sailed a +half-rater, and I don't mind getting wet, not a bit." + +"Then for the love of soup go forward and send Ferdie aft!" says Mr. +Robert. "Quick now! I'm coming about again. Hard alee!" + +"How wonderful!" says Miss Hampton as she watches Vee juggle the ropes +skillful. "I wish I could do that!" + +"Do you?" says Mr. Robert eager. "Perhaps you'll let me teach you how to +sail. Would you like to try the wheel? Here! Now this way puts her off, +and the other brings her up. See?" + +"N-n-not exactly," says Miss Hampton, grippin' the spokes gingerly. + +It wa'n't any day, though, for a steerin' lesson. Most of the time the +deck was on quite a slant, which seems to amuse Miss Hampton a lot. + +"How odd!" says she. "We're sailing almost on edge, aren't we? Isn't it +glorious!" + +Mr. Robert don't seem to be so enthusiastic. He keeps watching the sails +and the water and rollin' the wheel constant. + +"I suppose we really ought to get some of this canvas off her," says he. +"Ferdie, could you help tie in a reef?" + +"I--I don't know, I'm sure," says Ferdie. "I think perhaps----" + +"This wouldn't be a thinking job," says Mr. Robert. "Of course I might +douse the mainsail altogether and run under jib and jigger; but--no, I +guess she'll carry it. Ease off on that main sheet a trifle, Torchy." + +We was makin' a straight run for it now, slap up the Sound--and believe +me we was breezin' along some swift! Vee had come back with the rest of +us, her hair all sparkled up with salt spray and her eyes shinin', and +shows me how to coil up the slack of the sheet like a doormat. On and +on we booms, with the land miles away on either side. + +"But see here!" protests Ferdie. "I thought we were to stop at +Greenwich for provisions." + +"Make in there against this head wind?" says Mr. Robert. "Not to-day." + +It's comin' in heavy puffs now, and the sky is cloudin' up some. Two or +three times Mr. Robert heads the _Pyxie_ up into it and debates about +takin' in the mainsail. Then he decides it would be better to square off +and make for some cove he knows of on the north shore of Long Island. So +we let out the sheet a bit more and go plungin' along. + +Must have been about four o'clock when it got to blowin' hardest. A puff +would hit us and souse the bow under, with the spray flyin' clear over +us. We'd heel until the water was runnin' white along the lee deck from +bow to stern. Then it would let up a bit, and the yacht would straighten +and sort of shake herself before another came. + +"I think we'll have to slack away on our peak and spill some of this +over the gaff," says Mr. Robert. "Torchy, stand by that halyard, and +when I give the word----" + +Cr-r-r-rack! It come mighty abrupt. For a minute I can't make out what +has happened; but when I sees the mast stagger and go lurchin' +overboard, sail and all, I thought it was a case of women and children +first. + +"Oh, dear! How dreadful of you, Robert!" wails Ferdie. "We're wrecked! +Help! Help!" + +"Oh, dry up, Ferdie!" says Mr. Robert. "No hysterics, please. Can't we +lose a mast or so without gettin' panicky? Just a weak turn-buckle on +the weather stay, that's all. Here, Vee, take the wheel, will you, and +see if you can keep her headed into it while we chop away this wreckage. +Torchy, you'll find a couple of axes over the forward lockers. Get 'em +up. Lively, now!" + +We hacked away reckless, choppin' through wire stays and ropes, until we +has it all clear. Then we trims in the jigger and gets away from it. Two +minutes later and we've got the engine started and are wallowin' along +towards land. It was near six before we made the cove and anchored in +smooth water behind a little point. + +Meanwhile the girls had gone below to explore the galley, and when we +fin'lly makes everything snug, and trails on down into the cabin to see +how they're comin' on, what do we find but the table all set and +Marjorie fillin' the water glasses. Also there's a welcome smell of food +driftin' about. + +"Well, well!" says Mr. Robert. "Found something to eat, did you? What's +the menu?" + +"Smothered potatoes with salt pork, baked beans, hard-tack, and +coffee," says Marjorie. "Here it comes." + +And, say, maybe that don't sound so thrillin' to you, but to me it +listens luscious. + +"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, after he's sampled the layout. "Who's the +cook!" + +Vee says it was Miss Hampton. + +"Wha-a-at?" says he, starin'. "Not really?" + +Miss Hampton comes back at him with that quirky smile of hers. "Why the +intense surprise?" says she. + +"But I didn't dream," says Mr. Robert, "that you ever did anything +so--er----" + +"Commonplace?" + +"Early-Victorian," he corrects. + +"Cook?" says she. "Oh, dear, yes! I can wash dishes, too." + +"Can you?" says he. "I'm fine at wiping 'em." + +"Such conceit!" says she. + +"Then I'll prove it," says he, "right after dinner." + +"I'll help you, Robert," says Marjorie. + +"My dear sister," says he, "please consider the size of the _Pyxie's_ +galley." + +So, as there didn't seem to be any more competition, after we'd finished +everything in sight we left the two of 'em joshin' away merry, doin' the +dishes. Later on, while Ferdie's pokin' around, he makes a discovery. + +"Oh, I say, Bob," he calls down, "there's a box up here that hasn't been +opened. Groceries, I think. Come have a look at it." + +Mr. Robert he takes one glance and turns away disgusted. "No," says he. +"I know what's in there. No use at all on this trip." Then, as he passes +me he whispers: "I say, when you get a chance, chuck that box overboard, +will you?" + +I nods, grinnin', and explains confidential to Vee. + +And half an hour or so afterwards, ten perfectly good volumes of Bernard +Shaw splashed overboard. + +Next we sends Ferdie to take a peek down the companionway and report. + +"They're looking at a chart," says he. + +"Same side of the table," says I, "or opposite?" + +"Why, they're both on one side." + +"Huh!" says I, nudgin' Vee. "That highbrow line might work out in time, +but for a quick get-together proposition I'm backin' the dishpan." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +WHEN ELLA MAY CAME BY + + +Believe me, this job of bein' private sec. all day and doublin' as +assistant Cupid after hours may be entertainin' and all that, but it +ain't any drowsy detail. Don't leave you much time for restin' your +heels high or framin' up peace programmes. Course, the fact that Vee is +in with me on this affair between Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton is a help. +I ain't overlookin' that. + +And after our mix-up yachtin' cruise, when we lost a mast and Bernard +Shaw overboard the same day, it looked like we'd got everything all +straightened out. Why not? Mr. Robert seems to have decided that his +lady-love wa'n't such a confirmed highbrow as he'd suspected, and he was +doin' the steady comp'ny act constant and enthusiastic, just the way he +does everything he tackles, from yacht racin' to puttin' a crimp in an +independent. In fact, he wa'n't doin' much else. + +"Where's Robert?" demands Old Hickory, marchin' out of his private +office and glarin' at the closed roll-top. + +"I expect he's takin' the afternoon off," says I, maybe grinnin' a bit. + +"Huh!" says the boss. "The second this week! I thought that fool regatta +was over." + +"Yes, sir, it is," says I. "Besides, he didn't enter." + +"Oh!" says Mr. Ellins. "Then it isn't a case of a sixty-footer!" + +"The one he's tryin' to manage now is about five-foot six," says I. + +"Eh?" says Old Hickory, workin' his eyebrows. "That Miss Hampton again?" + +I nods. + +"Torchy," he goes on, "of course I've no particular right to be +informed, being only his father, but--er--about how much longer should +you say that affair would run before it comes to some sort of climax? In +other words, how is he getting on?" + +"The last I knew," says I, "he was comin' strong. Course, he made a +couple of false starts there at the send-off, but now he seems to have +struck his gait." + +"Really!" says Old Hickory. "And now, solely in the interest of the +Corrugated Trust, could you go so far as to predict a date when he might +reasonably be expected to resume business activities?" + +I chews that over a minute, and runs my fingers thoughtful through my +red thatch. + +"Nope," says I. "If I was any such prize guesser as that, I'd be down in +Wall Street buckin' the market. Maybe after Sunday, though, I might make +a report one way or the other." + +"Ah! You scent a crisis, do you?" says he. + +"It's this way," says I. "Marjorie's givin' a little week-end house +party for 'em out at her place, and--well, you know how that's apt to +work out at this stage of the game." + +"You think it may end the agony?" says he. + +"There'll be a swell chance for twosin'," says I. "Marjorie's plannin' +for that." + +"I see," says Mr. Ellins. "Undisturbed propinquity--a love charm that +was old when the world was young. And if Marjorie is managing the +campaign, it's all over with Robert." + +That was my dope on the subject too, after I'd seen the layout of her +first skirmish. There was just half a dozen of us mobilized at this +flossy suburban joint Saturday afternoon, but from the start it was +plain that four of us was on hand only to keep each other out of the way +of this pair. Course, Vee and I hardly needs to have the cue passed. We +were satisfied to hunt up a veranda corner of our own and stick to it. + +But Brother-in-law Ferdie, with that doubleply slate roof of his, needs +watchin' close. He has a nutty idea that he ought to be sociable, and +he no sooner spots Mr. Robert and Miss Elsa Hampton, chattin' cozy in a +garden nook, than he's prompted to kick in and explain to 'em all about +the Latin names of the surroundin' vines and shrubbery. Which brings out +business of distress from Marjorie. So one of us has to go shoo him +away. + +"Why--er--what's the matter?" says he, blinkin' puzzled, after he's been +led off. + +"You was makin' a noise like a seed catalogue, that's all," says I. +"Chop it, can't you?" + +Ferdie only stares at me through his thick window-panes and puts on an +injured air. Half an hour later, though, he's at it again. + +"You tell him, Torchy," sighs Marjorie. "Try to make him understand." + +So I makes a strong stab. + +"Look," says I, towin' him off on a thin excuse. "That ain't any +convention they're holdin' out there. So far as they know, it's just a +happy chance. If they're let alone the meetin' may develop tender +moments. Anyway, you might give 'em a show, and if they want you bad +they can run up a flag. See? There's times, you know, when two is bliss, +but a third is a blister. Get me?" + +I expect he did, in a way. The idea filters through sort of slow, but he +finally decides that, for some reason too deep for him to dig up, he +ain't wanted mixin' around folksy. + +So from then on until dinnertime our couple had all the chance in the +world. Looked like they was doin' noble, too; for every once in a while +we could hear that ripply laugh of hers, or Mr. Robert's hearty +chuckle--which should have been good signs that they was enjoyin' each +other's comp'ny. We even had to send out word it was time to doll up for +dinner. + +But an affair like that is like a feather balanced on your nose. Any +boob is liable to open a door on you. In this case, all was lovely and +serene until Marjorie gets this 'phone call. I hears her summonin' Vee +panicky and sketchin' out the details. + +"It's Ella May Buell!" says she. "She's down at the station." + +Seems that Miss Buell was a boardin'-school friend who was about to cash +in one of them casual blanket invitations that girls give out so +reckless--you know, the Do-come-and-see-me-any-time kind. And, with her +livin' down in Alabama or Georgia somewhere, maybe it looked safe at the +time. But now she was on her way to the White Mountains for a summer +flit, and she'd just remembered Marjorie for the first time in three +years. + +"Goodness!" says Marjorie, whisperin' husky across the hall. "Someone +ought to go right down to meet her. I can't, of course; and Ferdie's +only begun to dress." + +"Ask Torchy," suggests Vee. + +And, as I'm all ready except another half hitch to my white tie, I'm +elected. Three minutes more and I'm whizzin' down in the limousine to +receive the Southern delegate. And say, when I pipes the fairy in the +half-masted skirt and the zippy Balkan bonnet, I begins bracin' myself +for what I could see comin'. + +One of these pouty-lipped, rich-tinted fairies, Ella May is, wearin' a +baby stare and chorus-girl ear-danglers. Does she wait to be hunted up +and rescued? Not her! The minute I drops out of the machine, she trips +right over and gives me the hail. + +"Are you looking for me?" says she. "I hope you are, for I've been +waiting at this wretched station for ages." + +"If it's Miss Buell, I am," says I. + +"Of course I'm Miss Buell," says she. "Help me in. Now get my bags. +They're inside, Honey." + +"Inside what?" I gasps. + +"Why, the station," says she. "And give the man a quarter for +me--there's a dear." + +Talk about speed! Leave it to the Dixie girls of this special type. I +used to think our Broadway matinée fluffs was about the swiftest +fascinators using the goo-goo tactics. But say, when it comes right +down to quick action, some of these cotton-belt belles can throw in a +high gear that makes our Gwendolyns look like they was only hittin' on +odd cylinders. Ella May was a sample. We was havin' our first glimpse of +each other, but in less 'n forty-five seconds by the watch she'd called +me honey, dearied me twice, and patted me chummy on the arm. And we +hadn't driven two blocks before she had me snuggled up in the corner +like we was old friends. + +"Tell me, Honey," says she, "what is dear old Marjorie's hubby like?" + +"Ferdie!" says I. "Why, he's all right when you get to know him." + +"Oh!" says she. "That kind! But aren't there any other men around?" + +"Only Mr. Robert Ellins," says I. + +"Really!" says she, her eyes widenin'! "Bob Ellins! That's nice. I met +him once when he came to see Marjorie at boarding school. I was such an +infant then, though. But now----" + +She dives into her vanity bag and proceeds to retouch the scenic effects +on her face. + +"Don't waste it," says I. "He's sewed up--a Miss Hampton. She's there, +too." + +"Pooh!" pouts Miss Buell. "Who cares? She doesn't keep him in a cage, +does she?" + +"It ain't that," says I; "but his eyesight for anyone else is mighty +poor." + +"Oh, is it?" says she, sarcastic and doubtful. "We'll see about that. +But, anyway, I'm beginning to be glad I came. Can you guess why?" + +"I'm a wild guesser," says I. "Shoot it." + +"Because," says she, "I think I'm going to like you rather well." + +More business of cuddlin', and a hand dropped careless on my shoulder. +We were still more 'n a mile from the house, and if I was to do any +blockin'-off stunt, it was high time I begun. I twists my head around +and gazes at the careless hand. + +"Excuse me, sister," says I, "but before this goes any further I got to +ask a question. Are your intentions serious?" + +"Why, the idea!" says she. "What on earth do you mean?" + +"I only want to be sure," says I, "that you ain't tryin' to trifle with +my young affections." + +She stiffens at that and goes a little gaspy. Also she grabs away the +hand. + +"Of all the conceit!" says she. "Anyone might think that--that----" + +"So they might," says I. "Of course, it's sweet to be picked out this +way; but it's a little sudden, ain't it? You know, I'm kind of young +and----" + +"I've a great mind to box your ears!" breaks in Ella May. + +"In that case," says I, "I couldn't even promise to be a brother to +you." + +"Wretch!" says she, her eyes snappin'. + +"Sorry," says I, "but you'll get over it. It may be a little hard at +first, but in time you'll meet another who will make you forget." + +That last jab had her speechless, and all she could do was run her +tongue out at me. But it worked. After that she snuggled in her own +corner, and when we lands at the house she's treatin' me with cold +disdain, almost as if I'd been a reg'lar brother. There's no knowin', +either, what report Marjorie got. Must have been something interestin', +for when she finally comes down after steerin' Miss Buell to her room, +she gives me the knowin' wink. + +Ella May gets even, though. She holds up dinner forty-five minutes while +she sheds her travelin' costume for an evenin' gown. And it's some +startlin' creation she springs on us about the time we're ready to bite +the glass knobs off the dinin'-room doors. She's a stunner, all right, +and she sails down with that baby stare turned on full voltage. + +You'd most thought, though, with all the hints me and Marjorie had +dropped, and her seein' Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton chattin' so busy +together, that she'd have hung up the net and waited until she struck +better huntin' grounds. But not Ella May. Here was a perfectly good man; +and as long as nobody had handcuffs on him, or hadn't guarded him with +barbed wire, she was ready to take a chance. + +Just how she managed it I couldn't say, even if it was done right under +my eyes; but when we starts in for dinner she's clingin' sort of playful +to one side of Mr. Robert, chatterin' a steady stream, while Miss +Hampton is left to drift along on the other, almost as if she was an +"also-ran." + +Mr. Robert wa'n't havin' such a swell time that meal, either. About once +in three or four minutes he'd get a chance to say a few words to Miss +Hampton, but most of the time he was busy listenin' to Ella May. So was +the rest of us, in fact. Not that she was sayin' anything important or +specially interestin'. Mainly it's snappy personal anecdotes--about Ella +May, or her brother Glenn, or Uncle Wash Lee, the Buell fam'ly butler. +Or else she's teasin' Mr. Robert about not rememberin' her better, +darin' him to look her square in the eyes, and such little tricks. + +Say, she was some whirlwind performer, take it from me. I discovers that +everybody was "Honey" to her, even Ferdie. And you should have seen him +tint up and glance panicky at Marjorie the first time she put it over on +him. + +As for Miss Hampton, she appears to be enjoyin' the whole thing. She +watches Miss Buell sparkle and roll her eyes, and only smiles sort of +amused. For what Ella May is unlimberin' is an attack in force, as a war +correspondent would put it--an assault with cavalry, heavy guns, and +infantry. And, for all his society experience, Mr. Robert don't seem to +know how to meet it. He acts sort of dazed and helpless, now and then +glancin' appealin' across to Sister Marjorie, or around at Miss Hampton. + +All that evenin' the attack goes on, Ella May workin' the spell +overtime, gettin' Mr. Robert to let her read his palm, pinnin' flowers +in his buttonhole, and keepin' him cornered; while the rest of us sits +around like cheap deadheads that had been let in on passes. + +And next mornin', when Mr. Robert makes a desperate stab to duck right +after breakfast, only to be captured again and led into the garden, +Marjorie finally gets her mad up. + +"Really," says she, "this is too absurd! Of course, she always was an +outrageous flirt. You should have seen her at boarding school--with the +music professor, the principal's brother, the school doctor. Twice they +threatened to send her home. But after I've told her that Robert was +practically engaged to Miss Hampton--well, it must be stopped, that's +all. Ferdie, can't you think of some way?" + +"Eh?" says Ferdie. "What? How?" + +That's the sort of help he contributes to this council of war Marjorie's +called on the side terrace. + +And all Vee will do is to chuckle. "It's such, a joke!" says she. + +"But it isn't," says Marjorie. "Do you know where Elsa Hampton is at +this minute? In the library, reading a magazine--alone! And she and +Robert were getting on so nicely, too. Torchy, can't you suggest +something?" + +"Might slip out there with a rope and tie her to a tree while Mr. Robert +makes his escape," says I. + +A snicker from Vee. + +"Please!" says Marjorie. "This is really serious. I can't explain to +Elsa. But what must she think of Robert? I've simply got to get rid of +that girl somehow. She's one of the kind, you know, who would stay and +stay until----" + +"Hello!" says I, glancin' out towards the entrance-gates. "What sort of +a delegation is this?" + +A tall, loppy young female in a sagged skirt and a faded pink +shirtwaist is driftin' up the driveway, towin' a bow-legged +three-year-old boy by one hand and luggin' a speckle-faced baby on her +hip. + +"Oh!" says Marjorie. "That scamp of a Bob Flynn's Katie again." + +Seems Flynn had been one of Mr. Robert's chauffeurs that he'd wished +onto Ferdie a year or so back on account of Flynn's bein' married and +complainin' he couldn't support his fam'ly in the city. If he could get +a place in the country, where the rents wa'n't so high and his old +chowder-party friends wa'n't so thick, Flynn thought he might do better. +He had steadied down for a while, too, until he took a sudden notion to +slope and leave his interestin' fam'ly behind. + +"She's coming to ask if we've heard anything of him," goes on Marjorie. +"I've a good notion to send her straight to Robert." + +"Say," says I, havin' one of my thought-flashes, "wait a minute. We +might--do I understand that the flitting hubby's name was Robert?" + +Marjorie nods. + +"And will you stand for anything I can pull off that might jar Ella +May's strangle-hold over there!" + +"Anything," says Marjorie. + +"Then lend me this deserted fam'ly for a few minutes," says I. "I ain't +had time to sketch out the plot of the piece exactly, but if you say so +I'll breeze ahead." + +It was going to be a bit raw, I'll admit; but Marjorie has insisted that +it's a desperate case. So, after a short confab with Mrs. Flynn and the +kids, they're turned over to me. + +"I ain't sure, ma'am," says I, "that young Mr. Ellins can spare the +time. He's pretty busy just now. But maybe I can break in long enough to +ask him, and if he's heard anything--well, you can be handy. Suppose you +wait here at the garden gate. No, leave it open, that way." + +I had 'em grouped conspicuous and dramatic; and, with Mrs. Flynn's straw +lid tilted on one side, and the youngster whimperin' to be let loose +among the flowers, and the baby sound asleep with its mouth open, the +picture was more or less pathetic. + +At the far end of the garden path was a different sort of scene. Ella +May was making Mr. Robert hold one end of a daisy chain she was weavin', +and she's prattlin' away kittenish when I edges up, scufflin' my feet +warnin' on the gravel. She greets me with a pout. Mr. Robert hangs his +head sort of sheepish, but asks hopeful: + +"Well, Torchy?" + +"She--she's here again, sir," says I. + +"Eh?" says he, starin' puzzled. "Who is here?" + +"S-s-s-sh!" says I, shakin' my head mysterious. + +All of which don't escape Miss Buell. Her ears are up and her eyes wide +open. "What is it?" she asks. + +"If I could have a few words in private with you, Mr. Robert," says I, +"maybe it would be----" + +"Nonsense!" says he. "Out with it." + +"Just as you like," says I. "Only, she's brought the kids with her this +time. She says how she wants her Robert back." + +"Wha-a-at!" he gasps. + +"Couldn't keep her out," says I. "You know how she is. There they are, +at the gate." + +I don't know which was quicker to turn and look, him or Ella May. And +just then Mrs. Flynn happens to be gazin' our way, pleadin' and +expectant. + +"Oh!" says Mr. Robert, laughin' careless. "Katie, eh?" + +Miss Buell has jumped and is starin' at the group. Then, at that laugh +of Mr. Robert's, she whirls on him. + +"Brute!" says she. "I'm glad she's found you." + +With which she dashes towards the house and disappears, leavin' Mr. +Robert gawpin' after her. + +"Why," says he, "you--you don't suppose she could have imagined +that--that----" + +"Maybe she did," says I. "My fault, I expect. I could find her, though, +and explain how it was. I'll bet that inside of five minutes she'd be +back here finishin' the floral wreath. Shall I?" + +"Back here?" he echoes, kind of vague. Then he comes to. + +"No, no!" says he. "I--I'd rather not. I want first to---- Where is Miss +Hampton, Torchy?" + +Well, I gives him full directions for findin' her, slips Mrs. Ryan the +twenty he sends her instead of news from hubby, and then goes in, to +find that Ella May is demandin' to be taken to the next train. We saw +that she caught it, too, before she changed her mind. + +"By George!" Mr. Robert whispers confidential to me, as the limousine +rolls off with her in it, "if I could insure against such risks as that, +I would take out a policy." + +"You can," says I. "Any justice of the peace or minister will fix you up +for life." + +Does that sink in? I wouldn't wonder. Anyway, from the hasty glimpse I +caught of him and Miss Hampton strollin' out in the moonlight that +night, it looked that way. + +So I did have a bulletin for Old Hickory Monday mornin'. + +"It's all over but the shoutin'," says I. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SOME HOOP-LA FOR THE BOSS + + +I must say it wa'n't such a swell time for Mr. Robert to be indulgin' in +any complicated love affair. You know how business has been, specially +our line. And our directors was about as calm as a bunch of high school +girls havin' hysterics. Jumpy? Say, some of them double-chinned old +plutes couldn't reach for a glass of ice water without goin' through +motions like they was shakin' dice. + +It's this sporty market that had got on their nerves. You know, all +these combine rumors--this bunk about Germany buyin' up plants +wholesale, and the grand scrabble to fill all them whackin' big foreign +orders, with steamer charters about as numerous as twin baby carriages +along Riverside Drive. Why, say, at one time there you could have sold +us ferryboats or garbage-scows, we was so hungry for anything that would +carry ocean freights. + +And, of course, with Old Hickory Ellins at the helm, the Corrugated +Trust was right in the thick of it. About twice a week some fool yarn +was floated about us. We'd sold out to Krupps and was goin' to close; +we'd tied up with Bethlehem; we'd underbid on a flock of submarines and +was due for a receivership--oh, a choice lot of piffle! + +But a few of them nervous old boys, who was placid enough at annual +meetin's watchin' a melon bein' cut, just couldn't stand the strain. +Every time they got fed up on some new dope from the Wall Street panic +peddlers, they'd come around howlin' for a safe and sane policy. I stood +it until here the other mornin' when a bunch of soreheads showed up +before nine o'clock and proceeds to hold an indignation meetin' in front +of my desk. + +"Gwan!" says I. "Nobody's rockin' the boat but you. Go sit on your +checkbooks." + +They just glares at me. + +"Where is Old Hickory?" one of 'em wants to know. + +"About now," says I, "Mr. Ellins would be finishin' the last of three +soft-boiled eggs. He'll show up here at nine-forty-five." + +"Mr. Robert Ellins, then?" demands another. + +"Say, I'm no puzzle editor," says I. "Maybe he'll be here to-day and +maybe he won't." + +"But we couldn't find him yesterday, either," comes back an old goat +with tufts in his ears. + +"That's a way he has these days," says I. + +No use tryin' to smooth things over. It's Mr. Robert they'd been sore on +all along, suspectin' him of startin' all the wild schemes just because +he's young. I'd heard 'em, after they'd moved into the directors' room, +insistin' that he ought to be asked to resign. And what they was beefin' +specially about to-day was because of a tale that a Chicago syndicate +had jumped in and bought the _Balboa_, a 10,000-ton Norwegian freighter +that we was supposed to have an option on. It was the final blow. That +satisfied 'em they was being sold out, and their best guess was that Mr. +Robert was turnin' the trick. + +I was standin' by, listenin' to the general grouch develop, and +wonderin' how long before they'd organize a lynchin' committee, when I +hears the brass gate slam, and into the private office breezes Mr. +Robert himself, lookin' fresh and chirky, his hat tilted well back, and +swingin' a bamboo walkin'-stick. When he sees me, he springs a wide grin +and grabs me by the shoulders. + +"Torchy, you sunny-haired emblem of good luck!" he sings out. "What do +you think! I've--got--her!" + +"Eh!" says I. "The _Balboa_?" + +"The _Balboa_ be hanged!" says he. "No, no! Elsa--Miss Hampton, you +know! She's mine, Torchy; she's mine!" + +"S-s-s-sh!" says I, noddin' towards the other room. "Forget her a minute +and brace yourself for a run-in with that gang of rag-chewers in there." + +Does he? Say, without even stoppin' to size 'em up, he prances right in +amongst 'em, free and careless. + +"Why, hello, Ryder!" says he, handin' out a brisk shoulder-pat. "Ah, Mr. +Larkin! Mr. Busbee! Well, well! You too, Hyde? Hail, all of you, and the +top of the morning! Gentlemen," he goes on, shakin' hands right and left +without noticin' how reluctant some of the palms came out, "I--er--I +have a little announcement to make." + +"Humph!" snorts old Busbee. "Have you?" + +"Yes," says Mr. Robert, smilin' mushy. "I--er--the fact is, I am going +to be married." + +"The bonehead!" I whispers husky. + +Old Lawson T. Ryder, the one with the bushy white eyebrows and the heavy +dewlaps, he puffs out his cheeks and works that under jaw of his +menacin'. + +"Really!" says he. "But what about the _Balboa_? Eh?" + +"Oh!" says Mr. Robert casual. "The _Balboa_? Yes, yes! Didn't I tell +someone to attend to that? A charter, wasn't it? Torchy, were you----" + +I shakes my head. + +"Perhaps it was Mr. Piddie, then," says he. "Anyway, I thought I +asked----" + +"Here's Piddie now, sir," says I. "Looks like he'd been after +something." + +He's a wreck, that's all. His derby is caved in, his black cutaway all +smooched with lime or something, and one eye is tinted up lovely. In his +right fist, though, he has a long yellow envelope. + +"The charter!" he gasps out dramatic. "_Balboa!_" + +And, by piecin' out more jerky bulletins, it's clear that Piddie has +pulled off the prize stunt of his whole career. He'd gone out after that +charter at lunchtime the day before, been stalled off by office clerks +probably subsidized by the opposition, spent the night hangin' around +the water-front, and got mixed up with a dock gang; but, by bein' on +hand early, he'd caught one of the shippin' firm and closed the option +barely two hours before it lapsed. And as he sinks limp into a chair he +glances appealin' at Mr. Robert, no doubt expectin' to be decorated on +the spot. + +"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Good work! But you haven't heard of my +great luck meantime. Listen, Piddie. I am to be married!" + +I thought Piddie would croak. + +"Think of that, gentlemen," cuts in old Busbee sarcastic. "He is to be +married!" + +But it needs more 'n a little jab like that to bring Mr. Robert out of +his Romeo trance. Honest, the way he carries on is amazin'. You might +have thought this was the first case on record where a girl who'd said +she wouldn't had changed her mind. And, so far as any other happenin's +was concerned, he might have been deaf, dumb, and blind. The entire news +of the world that mornin' he could boil down into one official +statement: Elsa had said she'd have him! Hip, hip! Banzai! Elsa forever! +He flashed that miniature of her and passed it around. He nudges Lawson +T. Ryder playful in the short ribs, hammers Deacon Larkin on the back, +and then groups himself, beamin' foolish, with one arm around old Busbee +and the other around Mr. Hyde. + +Maybe you know how catchin' that sort of thing is? It's got the measles +or barber's itch beat seven ways. That bunch of grouches just couldn't +resist. Inside of five minutes they was grinnin' with him, and when I +finally shoos 'em out they was formin' a committee to shake each other +down for two hundred per towards a weddin' present. + +I finds it about as much use tryin' to get Mr. Robert to settle down to +business as it would be teachin' a hummin'-bird to sit for his +photograph. So I gives up, and asks for details of the big event. + +"When does it come off?" says I. + +"Oh, right away," says he. "I don't know just when; but soon--very +soon." + +"Home or church?" says I. + +"Oh, either," says he. "It doesn't matter in the least." + +"Maybe it don't," says I, "but it's a point someone has to settle, you +know." + +"Yes, yes," says he, wavin' careless. "I've no doubt someone will." + +He was right. Up to then I hadn't heard much about Miss Hampton's fam'ly +except that she was an orphan, and I expect Mr. Robert had an idea there +wa'n't any nosey relations to butt in. But it ain't three days after the +engagement got noised around that a cousin of Elsa's shows up, a Mrs. +Montgomery Pulsifer--a swell party with a big place in the Berkshires. + +Seems she'd been kind of cold and distant to Miss Hampton on account of +her bein' a concert singer; but, now that Elsa has drawn down a prize +like Robert Ellins, here comes Mrs. Pulsifer flutterin' to town, all +smiles and greatly excited. Where was the wedding to be? And the +reception? Not in this stuffy little hotel suite, she hopes! Why not at +Crag Oaks, her place near Lenox? There was the dearest little +ivy-covered church! And a perfectly charming rector! + +Then Sister Marjorie is called in. Sure, she was strong for the frilly +stuff. If Brother Robert had finally decided to be married, it must be +done properly. And Mrs. Pulsifer's country house would be just the +place. Only, she had an idea that their old fam'ly friend, the Bishop, +ought to be asked to officiate. The perfectly charming rector might +assist. + +"Why, to be sure!" says Mrs. Pulsifer. "The Bishop, by all means." + +Anyway, it went something like that; and the first thing Mr. Robert +knows, they've doped out for him a regulation three-ring splicefest with +all the trimmin's, from a gold-braided carriage caller to a special +train for the Newport guests. And, bein' still busy with his rosy +dreams, Mr. Robert don't get wise to what's been framed up for him until +here Saturday afternoon out at Marjorie's, when they start to spring the +programme on him. + +"Why, see here, sis," says he, "you've put this three weeks off!" + +"The bridesmaids' gowns can't be finished a day sooner," says Marjorie. +"Besides, the invitations must be engraved; you can't get a caterer +like Marselli at a moment's notice; and there is the organ to be +installed, you know." + +"Organ!" protests Mr. Robert. "Oh, I say!" + +"You don't expect the Lohengrin March to be played on drums, I hope," +said Marjorie. "Do be sensible! You've been best man times enough to +know that----" + +"Great Scott, yes," says Mr. Robert. "But really, sis, I don't want to +go through all that dreary business--dragging in to the wedding-march, +with everyone looking solemn and holding their breath while they stare +at you! Why, it's deadly! Gloomy, you know; a relic of barbarism worthy +of some savage tribe." + +"Why, Robert!" protests Marjorie. + +"But it is," he goes on. "Haven't I pitied the poor victims who had to +go through with it? Think of having to run that gauntlet--morbidly +curious old women, silly girls, bored men--and trying to keep step to +that confounded dirge. Wedding march, indeed! They make it sound more +like the march of the condemned. _Tum-tum-te-dum!_ Ugh! I tell you, +Marjorie, I'm not going to have it. Nor any of this stodgy, grewsome +fuss. I mean to have a cheerful wedding." + +"Humph!" says Marjorie. "I suppose you would like to hop-skip-and-jump +down to the altar?" + +"Why not?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"Don't be absurd, Robert," says she. "You'll be married quite +respectably and sanely, as other people are. Anyway, you'll just have +to. Mrs. Pulsifer and I are managing the affair, remember." + +"Are you?" says Mr. Robert, lettin' out the first growl I'd heard from +him in over a week. + +I nudges Vee and we exchanges grins. + +"The groom always takes on that way," she whispers. "It's the usual +thing." + +I was sorry for the Boss, too. He'd been havin' such a good time before. +But now he goes off with his chin down and his brow all wrinkled up. +Course we knew he'd go straight to Elsa and tell her his troubles. But I +couldn't see where that was goin' to do him any good. You know how women +are about such things. They may be willin' to take a chance along some +lines, but when it comes to weddin's and funerals they're stand-patters. + +So Sunday afternoon, when I gets a 'phone call from Mr. Robert askin' me +to meet him at Miss Hampton's apartment, and he adds that he's decided +to duck the whole Crag Oaks proposition and do it his own way, I demands +suspicious: + +"But how about Miss Elsa?" + +"She feels just as I do about it," says he. "Come up. She will tell you +so herself." + +And she does. + +"I think it's the silly veil to which I object most," says she. "As if +anyone ever did see a blushing bride! Why, the ordeal has them half +scared to death, poor things! And no wonder. Yes, I quite agree with +Robert. Weddings should be actually happy affairs--not stiff, gloomy +ceremonies cumbered with outworn conventions. I've seen women weep at +weddings. If I should catch one doing that at mine, I should be tempted +to box her ears. Really! So we have decided that our wedding must be a +merry one. That is why, Torchy, we have sent for you." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"You are to be best man," says Mr. Robert, clappin' me on the back. + +"Me?" I gasps. "Ah, say!" + +"Your Miss Verona," adds Elsa, "is to be my only bridesmaid." + +"Well, that helps," says I. "But how--where----" + +"It doesn't matter," says Mr. Robert. "Anywhere in the State--or I can +get a Connecticut or New Jersey license. It shall be wherever you +decide." + +"Wha-a-at?" says I. + +Mr. Robert chuckles. + +"As best man," he goes on, "we appoint you general manager of the whole +affair; don't we, Elsa?" + +She nods, smilin'. + +"With full powers," says she. + +"We'll motor out somewhere," adds Mr. Robert. "You and Miss Vee take the +limousine; we will go in the roadster. If Marjorie and Ferdie wish to +come along, they can join us in their car." + +"How about a dominie?" says I. "Do I pick up one casual along the road?" + +"Oh, I forgot the Reverend Percy," says Mr. Robert. "He's consented to +quit that East Side settlement work of his for a day. You'll have to +take him along. Now, how soon may we start? To-morrow morning, say?" + +"Hel-lup!" says I. "I'm gettin' dizzy." + +"Then Tuesday," says he, "at nine-thirty sharp." + +"But say, Mr. Robert," says I, "just what----" + +"Only make it as merry as you know how," he breaks in. "That's the main +idea; isn't it, Elsa?" + +Another nod from Elsa. + +"Robert has great faith in you as a promoter of cheerful affairs," says +she. "I think I have, too." + +"That being the case," says I, "I got to live up to my rep. or strip a +gear. So here goes." + +With which I breezes out and pikes uptown to consult Vee. + +"Did you ever hear anything so batty?" says I. + +"Why, I think it's perfectly splendid fun," says Vee. "Just think, +Torchy, you can do anything you choose!" + +"It's the choosin' that's goin' to bother me," says I. "I'm no +matrimonial stage manager. I don't even know where to pull the thing +off." + +"I've thought of just the place," says she. "Harbor Hill, the Vernon +Markleys' place out on Long Island. They're in the mountains now, you +know, and the house is closed; but----" + +"You ain't thinkin' of borrowin' their garage for this, are you?" says +I. + +"Silly!" says she. "Mrs. Markley's open-air Greek theater! You must have +seen pictures of it. It's a dream--white cement pergolas covered with +woodbine and pink ramblers, and a wonderful stretch of lawn in front. It +would be an ideal setting. She's a great friend of Aunty's. We'll just +wire for her permission; shall we?" + +"Listens good," says I. "But we got to get busy. Tuesday, you know. What +about eats, though?" + +"There's a country club only half a mile away," says she. + +"You're some grand little planner," says I. "Now let me go plot out how +to put the tra-la-la business into the proceedin's." + +I had a hunch that part would come easy, too; but after a couple of +hours' steady thinkin' I decided that as a joy producer I'd been +overrated. The best I could dig out was to hunt up some music, and by +Monday noon that was my total contribution. I'd hired a band. It's some +band, though--one of these fifteen-piece dance-hall combinations that +had just closed a Coney Island engagement and was guaranteed to tear off +this affair in zippy style. I left word what station they was to get off +at, and 'phoned for a couple of jitneys to meet 'em. For the rest, I was +bankin' on my luck. + +And right on schedule we makes a nine-thirty getaway--three machines in +all; for, while Marjorie had thrown seventeen cat fits when she first +heard that Brother Robert had renigged, she shows up with Ferdie at the +last minute. Catch her missin' out on any kind of a weddin'! + +"But just where, Robert," she demands, "is this absurd affair to take +place?" + +"Haven't the least idea," says he. "Ask Torchy." + +So I names the spot, gives the chauffeurs their route directions, and +off we booms across the College Point ferry and out towards the far end +of the north shore. The Reverend Percy turns out to be kind of a solemn, +serious-minded gink. Seems he'd been in college with Mr. Robert, had +rooms just across the hall, and accordin' to his tell them must have +been lively days. + +"Although I can't say," he adds, "that at all times I enjoyed being +pulled out of bed at 2 A.M. to act as judge of an ethical debate between +a fuddled cab-driver and a star halfback who had been celebrating a +football victory. I fear I considered Bob's sense of humor somewhat +overdeveloped. Just like him, running off like this. I trust the affair +is not going to be made too unconventional." + +I winks at Vee. + +"Only an open-air performance," says I, "with maybe a little cheerin' +music to liven things up. His instructions are to have it merry." + +"Ah, yes!" says the Reverend Percy. "Quite so. I understand." + +If he did he was a better guesser than me. For I was more or less at +sea. We hadn't more than whirled in through the stone gate-posts of +Harbor Hill, too, than I begun to scent complications. For there, lined +up in front of the house, are four other machines, with a whole mob of +people around 'em. + +"Why!" says Vee. "Who can they be?" + +"Looks like someone had beaten us to it," says I. "I'll go do some +scoutin'." + +Course, one close-up look is all that's needed. It's a movie outfit. I'm +just gettin' hot under the collar, too, when I discovers that the gent +in charge is none other than my old newspaper friend, Whitey Weeks. I'd +heard how he'd gone into the film game as stage director, but I hadn't +seen him at it yet. And here he is, big as life, wearin' a suit of noisy +plaids as usual, and bossin' this assorted bunch of screen favorites +like he'd done it all his life. + +"A little lively with those grease-paints now, ladies," he's callin' +out. "This isn't for a next spring release, you know." + +"Huh!" says I, strollin' up. "Got the same old nerve with you, eh, +Whitey?" + +"Well, well!" says he. "The illustrious and illuminating Torchy! Don't +tell me you've just bought the estate?" + +"Would it matter to you who owned it," says I, "if you wanted to use it +bad?" + +"Such cruel suspicions!" says he. "Sir, my permit!" + +He's got it, straight enough--a note to the lodge-keeper, signed by Mrs. +Vernon Markley, and statin' that the Unexcelled Film Company was to +have the courtesy of the grounds any afternoon between the 15th and +25th. + +"You see," explains Whitey, "we're staging an old English costume piece, +and this Greek theater of Mrs. Markley's just fits in. Our president +worked the deal for us. And we've got to do a thousand feet between now +and five o'clock. Not in the same line, are you?" + +And he glances towards our crowd, that's pilin' out of the cars and +gazin' puzzled towards us. + +"Do we look it?" says I. "No, what we was plannin' to pull off here was +a weddin'. That's the groom there--my boss, Mr. Robert Ellins." + +"Bob Ellins!" says Whitey. "Whe-e-ew!" + +"Mrs. Markley must have forgot," says I. "Makes it kind of awkward for +us, though." + +"But see here," says Whitey. "A real wedding, you say? Why, that's odd! +That's our stunt, with merry villagers and all that stuff. Now, say, why +couldn't we---- Let's see! Do you suppose Mr. Ellins would mind if----" + +I got the idea in a flash. + +"He won't mind anything," says I, "so long as he can be married merry. +He's leavin' that to me--the whole act." + +"By Jove!" says Whitey. "The very thing, then. We'll---- But who else is +this arriving? Look, coming in, two motor-buses full!" + +"That's our band," says I. + +"Great!" says Whitey. "Rovelli's, too! Say, this is going to be a bit of +all right! Have him form 'em on between those cedars, out of range. Now +we'll just get your folks into costume, let our company trail along as +part of the wedding procession, and shoot the dear public the real +thing, for once. What do you say?" + +Course, considerin' how Mr. Robert had shied at a hundred or so +spectators, this lettin' him in on a film exchange circuit might seem a +little raw; but it was too good a chance to miss. Another minute, and +I'm strollin' over, lookin' bland and innocent. + +"Any hitch?" says Mr. Robert. "Have we got to the wrong place?" + +"Not much," says I. "This is the right place at the right time. Didn't +you tell me to go as far as I liked, so long as I made it merry?" + +"So I did, Torchy," he admits. + +"Then prepare to cut loose," says I. "This way, everybody, and get on +your weddin' clothes!" + +For a second or so Mr. Robert hangs back. He glances doubtful at Miss +Hampton. But say, she's a good sport, she is. + +"Come along, Robert," says she. "I'm sure Torchy has planned something +unique." + +I didn't dispute her. It was all of that. First we groups the ladies on +the south veranda behind a lot of screens, and herds the men around the +corner. Then we unpacks them suitcases of Whitey's and distributes the +things. Such regalias, too! What Mr. Robert draws is mostly two colored +tights, spangled trunks, a gorgeous cape, peak-toed shoes of red +leather, and a sword. Maybe he didn't look some spiffy in it! + +You should have seen Ferdie, though, with a tow-colored wig clapped down +over his ears and his spindle shanks revealed to a cold and cruel world +in a pair of faded pink ballet trousers. For the Reverend Percy they dug +out a fuzzy brown bathrobe with a hood, and tied a rope around his +waist. Me, I'm dolled up in green tights and a leather coat, and get a +bugle to carry. + +How frisky a few freak clothes make you feel, don't they? Mr. Robert +begins cuttin' up at once, and even Ferdie shows signs of wantin' to +indulge in frivolous motions, if he only knew how. The reg'lar movie +people gets the idea this is goin' to be some kind of a lark, and they +joins in, too. When the ladies appeared they sure looked stunnin'. Miss +Hampton has on a fancy flarin' collar two feet high, and a skirt like a +balloon; but she's a star in it just the same. Sister Marjorie, who's a +bit husky anyway, looks like a human hay-stack in that rig. And +Vee--well, say, she'd be a winner in any date costume you could name. + +Meanwhile Whitey has posted his camera men in the shrubbery, where they +can get the focus without bein' seen, and has rounded us up for a little +preliminary coachin'. + +"Remember," says he, "what we're supposed to be doing is a wedding, back +in the days of Robin Hood, with all the merry villagers given a day off. +So make it snappy. We want action, lots of it. Let yourselves go. Laugh, +kick up your heels, let out the hi-yi-yips! Now, then! Are you ready?" + +"Wait until I start the band," says I. "Hey, there, Mr. Rovelli! Music +cue! Something zippy and raggy. Shoot it!" + +Say, I don't know how them early English parties used to put it over +when they got together for a mad, gladsome romp on the greensward, but +if they had anything on us they must have been double-jointed. For, with +Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton skippin' along hand in hand, Vee and me +keepin' step behind, a couple of movie ladies rushin' the Reverend Percy +over the grass rapid, and the other couples with arms linked, doin' +fancy steps to a jingly fox-trot--well, take it from me, it was gay +doin's. + +And when we'd galloped around over the lawn until we'd bunched for the +weddin' picture in front of this Greek theater effect, the Reverend +Percy had barely breath enough left to go through his lines. He does, +though, with Mr. Robert addin' joshin' remarks; and we winds up by +givin' the bride and groom three rousin' cheers and peltin' 'em with +roses as they makes a run through the double line we forms. + +Yep, that was some weddin', if I do say it. And the sit-down luncheon +I'd ordered at the Country Club in Mr. Robert's name wa'n't any skimpy +affair, even though we did spring an extra number on 'em offhand. For +the boss insists on goin' just as we are, in our costumes, and luggin' +along all the movie people. The reckless way he buys fizz for 'em, too! + +And, by the time the party breaks up, Whitey Weeks is so full of +gratitude and enthusiasm and other things that he near bubbles over. + +"Torchy," says he, wringin' my hand fraternal, "you have given my +company the time of their lives. They're all strong for you. And, say, +I've got a thousand feet of film that's simply going to knock 'em cold +at the first-run houses. Any time I can----" + +"Don't mention it," says I. "Specially about that film. The boss don't +know yet that you had the camera goin'. Thought it was only rehearsin', +I guess. All he's sure of now is that he's been married merry. And if he +ever forgets just how merry, for a dime he can go take a look and +refresh his mem'ry, can't he? But I'm bettin' he never forgets." + +THE END + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +JOHN FOX, JR'S. STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. + +THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE. +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + + The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree + that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine + lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he + finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the + _foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and + the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder + chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." + +THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + + This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." + It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which + often springs the flower of civilization. + + "Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he + came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, + seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and + mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming + waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in + the mountains. + +A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND. +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + + The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of + moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the + heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two + impetuous young Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's" + charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in + the love making of the mountaineers. + + Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some + of Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives. + +Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +ZANE GREY'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list + +THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS +Colored frontispiece by W. Herbert Dunton. + + Most of the action of this story takes place near the turbulent Mexican + border of the present day. A New York society girl buys a ranch which + becomes the center of frontier warfare. Her loyal cowboys defend her + property from bandits, and her superintendent rescues her when she is + captured by them. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful + close. + +DESERT GOLD +Illustrated by Douglas Duer. + + Another fascinating story of the Mexican border. Two men, lost in the + desert, discover gold when, overcome by weakness, they can go no + farther. The rest of the story describes the recent uprising along the + border, and ends with the finding of the gold which the two prospectors + had willed to the girl who is the story's heroine. + +RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE +Illustrated by Douglas Duer. + + A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon + authority ruled. In the persecution of Jane Withersteen, a rich ranch + owner, we are permitted to see the methods employed by the invisible + hand of the Mormon Church to break her will. + +THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN +Illustrated with photograph reproductions. + + This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, + known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert + and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of yellow crags, deep canons + and giant pines." It is a fascinating story. + +THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT +Jacket in color. Frontispiece. + + This big human drama is played in the Painted Desert. A lovely girl, + who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New + Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall + become the second wife of one of the Mormons---- + + Well, that's the problem of this sensational, big selling story. + +BETTY ZANE +Illustrated by Louis F. Grant. + + This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful + young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. Life + along the frontier, attacks by Indians, Betty's heroic defense of the + beleaguered garrison at Wheeling, the burning of the Fort, and Betty's + final race for life, make up this never-to-be-forgotten story. + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy, Private Sec., by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. *** + +***** This file should be named 20627-8.txt or 20627-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/2/20627/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/20627-8.zip b/20627-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..019a35a --- /dev/null +++ b/20627-8.zip diff --git a/20627-h.zip b/20627-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..dca9aeb --- /dev/null +++ b/20627-h.zip diff --git a/20627-h/20627-h.htm b/20627-h/20627-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c1b414 --- /dev/null +++ b/20627-h/20627-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9884 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Torchy, Private Sec, by Sewell Ford. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + <!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: gray; + text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute; + border: 1px solid silver; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; + font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;} + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + /* horizontal rules present in text */ + hr.full {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.major {width: 75%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.minor {width: 30%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + /* title block present in text */ + td.pr {padding-right: 10px; vertical-align: top;} + p.titleblock {text-indent: 0; text-align: center;} + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy, Private Sec., by Sewell Ford + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Torchy, Private Sec. + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Illustrator: F. Foster Lincoln + +Release Date: February 19, 2007 [EBook #20627] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table summary="" style="font-size: smaller; border-collapse:collapse; border: 1px solid black;"> +<tr><td style="text-align:center; font-size: 160%; border-bottom:1px solid black;"><i>By</i> SEWELL FORD</td></tr> +<tr><td> +<div style="margin-left:5%; margin-right:5%;"> +<p>TORCHY<br /> +TRYING OUT TORCHY<br /> +ON WITH TORCHY<br /> +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC.<br /> +ODD NUMBERS<br /> + "Shorty McCabe"<br /> +SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB</p> +</div></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 667px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="illus-001" id="illus-001"></a> +<img src="images/illus-fpc.jpg" alt=""Why didn't you tell me before that you had such a grand name?" Frontispiece" title="" width="667" height="400" /><br /> +<span class="caption">"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME BEFORE THAT YOU HAD SUCH A GRAND NAME?" Frontispiece</span> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table width="400" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" border="1"><tr><td> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 30px; font-size: 260%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">TORCHY,</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 240%; margin-bottom: 30px; ">PRIVATE SEC.</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">BY</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 140%; margin-bottom: 40px; ">SEWELL FORD</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 5px; ">AUTHOR OF</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY,</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 70px; ">ON WITH TORCHY, ETC.</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">ILLUSTRATIONS BY</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 120%; margin-bottom: 50px; ">F. FOSTER LINCOLN</p> +<p class="titleblock"><img src="images/illus-emb.png" width="90" height="52" alt="emblem" /></p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 50px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; letter-spacing: .2em">NEW YORK</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; letter-spacing: .2em">GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 30px; letter-spacing: .2em">PUBLISHERS</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table width="400" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" border="0"><tr><td> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 0px; font-variant: small-caps">Copyright, 1914, 1915, by</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">SEWELL FORD</p> +<hr style="width:2em" /> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 0px; font-variant: small-caps">Copyright, 1915, by</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">EDWARD J. CLODE</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> +<div class="smcap"> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<col style="width:20%;" /> +<col style="width:70%;" /> +<col style="width:10%;" /> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">I</td> + <td align="left">THE UP CALL FOR TORCHY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">II</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY MAKES THE SIR CLASS</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">19</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">III</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY TAKES A CHANCE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">37</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">IV</td> + <td align="left">BREAKING IT TO THE BOSS</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">56</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">V</td> + <td align="left">SHOWING GILKEY THE WAY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VI</td> + <td align="left">WHEN SKEET HAD HIS DAY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">95</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VII</td> + <td align="left">GETTING A JOLT FROM WESTY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">113</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VIII</td> + <td align="left">SOME GUESSES ON RUBY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">129</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">IX</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY GETS AN INSIDE TIP</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">148</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">X</td> + <td align="left">THEN ALONG CAME SUKEY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">170</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XI</td> + <td align="left">TEAMWORK WITH AUNTY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">188</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XII</td> + <td align="left">ZENOBIA DIGS UP A LATE ONE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">206</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XIII</td> + <td align="left">SIFTING OUT UNCLE BILL</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">223</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XIV</td> + <td align="left">HOW AUNTY GOT THE NEWS</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">243</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XV</td> + <td align="left">MR. ROBERT AND A CERTAIN PARTY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">259</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XVI</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY TACKLES A SHORT CIRCUIT</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">275</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XVII</td> + <td align="left">MR. ROBERT GETS A SLANT</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">290</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XVIII</td> + <td align="left">WHEN ELLA MAY CAME BY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">306</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XIX</td> + <td align="left">SOME HOOP-LA FOR THE BOSS</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">323</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h1>TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC.</h1> + +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">1</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2><h3>THE UP CALL FOR TORCHY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Well, it's come! Uh-huh! And sudden, too, like I knew it would, if it +came at all. No climbin' the ladder for me, not while they run express +elevators. And, believe me, when the gate opened, I was right there with +my foot out.</p> + +<p>It was like this: One mornin' I'm in my old place behind the brass rail, +at the jump-end of the buzzer. I'm everybody's slave in general, and +Piddie's football in particular. You know—head office boy of the +Corrugated Trust.</p> + +<p>That's description enough, ain't it? And I'd been there so long—— +Honest, when I first went on the job I used to sneak the city directory +under the chair so my toes could touch. Now my knees rub the under-side +of the desk. Familiar with the place? Say, there are just seventeen +floor cracks between me and the opposite wall; it's fifty-eight steps +through into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span> Old Hickory's roll-top and back; and the ink I've poured +into all them desk-wells would be enough to float a ferry-boat.</p> + +<p>At 8.30 on this special mornin' there I am, as I said; and at 2.21 <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> +the same day I'm—— Well, of course, there was a few preliminaries, +though I didn't tag 'em as such when they come along. I expect the new +spring costume helped some. And the shave—oh, I was goin' it strong! No +cut-price, closing-out, House-of-Smartheimer bargain, altered free to +fit—not so, Lobelia! Why, I pawed over whole bales of stuff in a +sure-enough Fifth-ave. tailor works; had blueprint plans of the front +and side elevations drawn, even to the number of buttons on the cuffs, +and spent three diff'rent noon hours havin' it modeled on me before they +could pull a single bastin' thread.</p> + +<p>But it's some stream line effect at the finish, take it from me! Nothing +sporty or cake-walky, you understand: just quiet and dignified and +rich-like, same as any second vice or gen'ral manager would wear. +Two-button sack with wide English roll and no turn-up to the +trousers—oh, I should ripple!</p> + +<p>The shave was an afterthought. I'd worked up to it by havin' some of my +lurid locks trimmed, and as Giuseppe quits shearin' and asks if there'll +be anything else I rubs my hand casual across my jaw and remarks:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span></p> + +<p>"Could you find anything there to mow with a razor?"</p> + +<p>Could he? He'd go through the motions on a glass doorknob!</p> + +<p>Then it's me tilted back with my heels up and the suds artist decoratin' +my map until it looks like a Polish weddin' cake. Don't it hit you +foolish the first time, though? I felt like everybody in the shop, +includin' the brush boy and the battery of lady manicures, was all +gathered around pipin' me off as a raw beginner. So I stares haughty at +the ceilin' and tries to put on a bored look.</p> + +<p>I'd been scraped twice over, and was just bein' unwrapped from the hot +towel, when I turns to see who it is has camped down in the next chair, +and finds Mr. Robert gazin' at me curious.</p> + +<p>"Why!" says he, chucklin'. "If it isn't Torchy! Indulging in a shave, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Sir," says I. "Been havin' my eye teeth tested for color +blindness, that's all."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert grins amiable and reaches out for the check. "This is on me +then," says he. "I claim the privilege."</p> + +<p>As he comes in after luncheon he has to stop and grin again; and later +on, when I answers the buzzer, he makes me turn clear around so he can +inspect the effect and size up the new suit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span></p> + +<p>"Excellent, Torchy!" says he. "Whoever your tailor may be, you do him +credit."</p> + +<p>"This trip I paid cash, though," says I. "It's all right, is it?"</p> + +<p>"In every particular," says he. "Why, you look almost grown up. May I +ask the occasion? Can it be that Miss Verona is on the point of +returning from somewhere or other?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I. "Bermuda. Got in yesterday."</p> + +<p>"And Aunty, I trust," goes on Mr. Robert, "is as well as usual?"</p> + +<p>"I'm hoping for the worst," says I; "but I expect she is."</p> + +<p>We swaps merry expressions again, and Mr. Robert pats me chummy on the +shoulder. "You're quite all right, Torchy," says he, "and I wish you +luck." Then the twinkle fades out of his eyes and he turns serious. "I +wish," he goes on, "that I could do more than just—well, some time, +perhaps." And with another friendly pat he swings around to his desk, +where the letters are stacked a foot high.</p> + +<p>Say, he's the real thing, Mr. Robert is, no matter if he does take it +out in wishin'! It ain't every boss would do that much, specially with +the load he's carryin'. For you know since Old Hickory's been down South +takin' seven kinds of baths, and prob'ly cussin' out them resort doctors +as they was never cussed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> before, Mr. Robert Ellins has been doin' a +heap more than give an imitation of bein' a busy man. But he's there +with the wallop, and I guess it's goin' to take more'n a commerce court +to put the Corrugated out of business.</p> + +<p>Too bad, though, that Congress can't spare the time from botherin' about +interlockin' directors to suppress a few padlockin' aunties. Say, the +way that old girl does keep the bars up against an inoffensive party +like me is something fierce! I tries to call Vee on the 'phone as soon +as I've discovered where she is, and all the satisfaction I get is a +message delivered by a French maid that "Miss Hemmingway is otherwise +engaged." Wouldn't that crust you?</p> + +<p>But I've been up against this embargo game before, you know; so the +first chance I gets I slips uptown to do a little scoutin' at close +range. It's an apartment hotel this time, and I hangs around the +entrance, inspectin' the bay trees out front for half an hour, before I +can work up the nerve to make the Brodie break. Fin'lly I marches in +bold and calls for Aunty herself.</p> + +<p>"Is she in, Cephas?" says I to the brunette Jamaican in the olive-green +liv'ry who juggles the elevator.</p> + +<p>"I don't rightly know, Suh," says he; "but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> you can send up a call, Suh, +from the desk there, and——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, let's not disturb the operator," says I. "Give a guess."</p> + +<p>"I'm thinking she'll be taking her drive, Suh," says Cephas, blinkin' +stupid.</p> + +<p>"Then I'll have to go up and wait," says I. "She'd be mighty sore on us +both if she missed me. Up, Cephas!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Suh," says he, pullin' the lever.</p> + +<p>I should have known, though, from one look at that to-let expression of +his, that his ideas on any subject would be vague. And this was a bum +hunch on Aunty. Out? Why, she was propped up in an easy-chair with a +sprained ankle, and had been for three days! And you should have seen +the tight-lipped, welcome-to-our-grand-jury-room smile that she greets +me with.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" she says. "You! Well, young man, what is your excuse this +time?"</p> + +<p>I grins sheepish and shuffles my feet. "Same old excuse," says I.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to tell me," she gasps, "that you have the impudence to try +to see my niece, after all I have——"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," I breaks in. "Don't you ever take a sportin' chance yourself?"</p> + +<p>She gurgles somethin' throaty, goes purple in the gills, and prepares to +smear me on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> spot; but I gives her the straight look between the +eyes and hurries on.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I know where you stand, all right," says I; "but ain't you drawin' +it a little strong? Say, where's the harm in me takin' Verona out for a +half-hour walk along the Drive? We ain't had a chat for over two months, +you know, not a word, and I'd kind of like to——"</p> + +<p>"No doubt," says Aunty. "Are you quite certain, however, that Verona +would like it too?"</p> + +<p>"I'm always guessin' where Vee is concerned," I admits; "but by the +latest dope I had on the subject, I expect she wouldn't object +strenuous."</p> + +<p>Aunty sniffs. "It is quite possible," says she. "Verona is a whimsical, +wilful girl at times, just as her poor mother was. Keeping up this +pretense of friendship for you is one of her silly notions."</p> + +<p>"Thanks awfully, Ma'am," says I.</p> + +<p>"Let me see," goes on Aunty, squintin' foxy at me, "you are employed in +Mr. Ellins's office, I believe?"</p> + +<p>I nods.</p> + +<p>"As office boy, still?" says she.</p> + +<p>"No, as a live one," says I. "Anybody that stays still very long at the +Corrugated gets canned."</p> + +<p>"Please omit meaningless jargon," says<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> Aunty. "Does my niece know just +how humble a position you occupy? Have you ever told her?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "I don't know as I've ever gone into details."</p> + +<p>"Ah-h-h!" says she. "I was certain that Verona did not fully realize. +Perhaps it would be as well that she——" and here she breaks off +sudden, like she'd been struck with a new idea. For a second or so she +gazes blank over the top of my head, and then she comes to with a brisk, +"That will do, young man! Verona is not at home. You need not trouble to +call again. The maid will show you out. Celeste!"</p> + +<p>And the next thing I knew I was ridin' down again with Cephas. I'm some +shunter myself; but I dip the colors to Aunty: she does it so neat and +sudden! It must be like the sensation of havin' a flight of trick stairs +fold up under you,—one minute you're most to the top, the next you're +pickin' yourself up at the bottom.</p> + +<p>What worries me most, though, is this hint she drops about Vee. Looks +like the old girl had something up her sleeve; but what it is I can't +dope out. So all I can do is keep my eyes open and my ear stretched for +the next few days, watchin' for something to happen.</p> + +<p>Course, I had one or two other things on my mind meanwhile; for down at +the gen'ral offices we wa'n't indulgin' in any spring-fever +symptoms,—not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> with three big deals under way, all this income mess of +deductin' at the source goin' on, and Mr. Robert's grand scheme for +dissolvin' the Corrugated—on paper—bein' worked out. Oh, sure, that's +the easiest thing we do. We've split up into nineteen sep'rate and +distinct corporations, with a diff'rent set of directors for each one, +and if the Attorney General can sleuth out where they're tied together +he's got to do some high-class snoopin' around.</p> + +<p>Maybe you think too, that little Sunny Haired Hank, guardin' the brass +gate, ain't wise to every move. Say, I make that part of my job. If I +didn't, I'd be towin' a grouchy bunch of minority kickers in where the +reorganization board was cookin' up a new stock-transfer game, or make +some other fool break that would spill the beans all over the pantry +floor.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, chewin' his cigar nervous and pawin' through +pigeonholes, "ask Mr. Piddie what was done with those Mesaba contracts."</p> + +<p>"Filed under Associated Developments," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, so they were," says he. "Thanks. And could you find out for me +when we organized General Transportation?"</p> + +<p>"Wa'n't that pulled off the day you waited<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> for that Duluth delegation +to show up, just after Easter?" says I.</p> + +<p>"That's it," says he, "the fifteenth! Has Marling of Chicago been called +up yet?"</p> + +<p>"Nope," says I. "He'll be waitin' for the closing quotations, won't he? +But there's that four-eyed guy with the whiskers who's been hangin' +around a couple of hours."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says Mr. Robert, huntin' out a card on his desk. "That Rowley +person! I'd forgotten. What does he want?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't say," says I. "Got a roll of something under one arm—crank +promoter, maybe. Will I ditch him?"</p> + +<p>"Not without being heard," says Mr. Robert. "I haven't time myself, +though. Perhaps Mr. Piddie might interview him and——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, Piddie!" says I. "He'd take one look at the old gink's round cuffs +and turn him down haughty. You know Piddie?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert smiles. "Then suppose you do it," says he. "Go ahead—full +powers. Only remember this: My policy is to give everyone who has a +proposition to submit to the Corrugated a respectful and adequate +hearing. Get the idea?"</p> + +<p>"I'm right behind you," says I. "The smooth stuff goes; and if we must +spill 'em, grease the skids. Me for Rowley!"</p> + +<p>And, say, you should have heard me shove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> over the diplomacy, tellin' +how sorry Mr. Robert was he couldn't see him in person; but wouldn't he +please state the case in full so no time might be lost in actin' one way +or the other? Inside of three minutes too, he has his papers spread out +and is explainin' his by-product scheme for mill tailings, with me busy +takin' notes on a pad. He had it all figured out into big money; but of +course I couldn't tell whether he had a sure thing, or was just +exercisin' squirrels in the connin' tower.</p> + +<p>"Ten millions a year," says he, "and I am offering to put this process +in operation for a five-per-cent. royalty! I've been a mine +superintendent for twenty years, young man, and I know what I'm talking +about."</p> + +<p>"Your spiel listens like the real thing, Mr. Rowley," says I; "only we +can't jump at these things offhand. We have to chew 'em over, you know."</p> + +<p>Rowley shakes his head decided. "You can't put me off for six months or +a year," says he. "I've been through all that. If the Corrugated doesn't +want to go into this——"</p> + +<p>"Right you are!" I breaks in. "Ten days is enough. I'll put this up to +the board next Wednesday week and get a decision. Much obliged to you, +Mr. Rowley, for givin' us first whack at it. We 're out for anything +that looks good, and we always take care of the parties<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> that put us +next. That's the Corrugated way. Good afternoon, Mr. Rowley. Drop in +again. Here's your hat."</p> + +<p>And as he drifts out, smilin', pleased and hopeful, I glances over the +spring-water bottle, to see Mr. Robert standin' there listenin' with a +grin on.</p> + +<p>"Congratulations!" says he. "That peroration of yours was a classic, +Torchy; the true Chesterfield spirit, if not the form. I am tempted to +utilize your talent for that sort of thing once more. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>"Then put it over the plate while I'm on my battin' streak," says I. +"Who's next?"</p> + +<p>"A lady this time," says he; "perchance two ladies." And he develops +that eye twinkle of his.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, twistin' my neck and feelin' of my tie. "You ain't +springin' any tea-pourin' stunt, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Strictly business," says he; "at least," he adds, chucklin', "that is +the presumption. As a matter of fact, I've just been called over the +'phone by Miss Verona Hemmingway's aunt."</p> + +<p>"Eh!" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"She holds some of our debenture bonds, you know," says Mr. Robert, "and +I gather that she has been somewhat disturbed by these reorganization +rumors."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span></p> + +<p>"But she ought to know," says I, "that our D.B.'s. are as solid as——"</p> + +<p>"The feminine mind," cuts in Mr. Robert, "does not readily grasp such +simple facts. But I haven't half an hour or more to devote to the +process of soothing her alarm; besides, you could do it so much more +gracefully."</p> + +<p>"Mooshwaw!" says I. "Maybe I could. But she's only one. Who's the +other?"</p> + +<p>"She failed to state," says Mr. Robert. "She merely said, 'We shall be +down about three o'clock.'"</p> + +<p>"We?" says I. Then I whistles. So that was her game! It was Vee she was +bringin' along!</p> + +<p>"Well?" says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>I expect I was some pinked up, and fussed, too, at the prospect. "Excuse +me," says I, "but I got to sidestep."</p> + +<p>"Why," says he, "I rather thought this assignment might be somewhat +agreeable."</p> + +<p>"I know," says I. "You mean well enough; but, honest, Mr. Robert, if +that foxy old dame's comin' down here with Miss Vee, I'm—well, I don't +stand for it, that's all! I'm off; with a blue ticket or without one, +just as you say."</p> + +<p>I was reachin' for my new lid too, when Mr. Robert puts out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't that be—er—rather a serious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> breach of office discipline?" +says he. "Surely, without some good reason——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, say!" says I. "You don't think I'm springin' any prima donna whim, +do you? It's this plot to show me up through the wrong end of the +telescope that gets me sore."</p> + +<p>"Scarcely lucid," says he, lookin' puzzled. "Could you put it a little +simpler?"</p> + +<p>"I'll make it long primer," says I. "How do I stand here in the +Corrugated? You know, maybe, and sometimes I give a guess myself; but on +the books, and as far as outsiders go, I'm just plain office boy, ain't +I, like 'steen thousand other four-dollar-a-week kids that's old enough +to have work papers? I've been here goin' on four years now, and I ain't +beefed much about it, have I? That's because I've been used white and +the pay has been decent. Also I'm strong for you and Mr. Ellins. I +expect you know that, Mr. Robert. Maybe I ain't got it in me to be +anything but an office boy, either; but when it comes to goin' on +exhibition before certain parties as the double cipher on the east side +of the decimal—well, that's where I make my foolish play."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says he, rubbin' his chin thoughtful. "Now I fully understand. +And, as you suggest, there has been for some time past +something—er—equivocal about your position here.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> However, just at +this moment I have hardly time to—— By Jove!" Here he breaks off and +glances at the clock. "Two-fifteen, and a general council of our +attorneys called for half-past in the directors' room! Someone else must +attend to Miss Verona's estimable aunt—positively! Now if there was +anyone who could relieve you from the gate——"</p> + +<p>"Heiny, the bondroom boy," says I.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" says Mr. Robert. "Then, if you should choose to stay and +prime yourself with facts about those debentures, there is that extra +desk in my office, you know. Would you mind using that?"</p> + +<p>"But see here, Mr. Robert," says I, "I wa'n't plannin' any masquerade, +either."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," says he; "nor I. It so happens, though, that the gentleman +whose name appears as president of our Mutual Funding Company is—well, +hardly in active business life. It is necessary that he be represented +here in some nominal capacity. The directors are now meeting in Room 19. +I have authority to name a private secretary pro tem. Do you accept the +position?"</p> + +<p>"With a pro-tem. salary, stage money barred?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, most certainly," says he.</p> + +<p>"Then I'm the guy," says I.</p> + +<p>"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "These debentures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> come in your department. I +will notify Mr. Piddie that——"</p> + +<p>"Say, Mr. Robert," says I, grinnin' once more, "I'd break it gentle to +Piddie."</p> + +<p>I don't know whether he did or not; for five minutes after that Heiny +has my old seat, and I'm inside behind the ground-glass door, sittin' at +a reg'lar roll-top, with a lot of file cases spread out, puzzlin' over +this incorporation junk that makes the Fundin' Comp'ny the little joker +in the Corrugated deck.</p> + +<p>And next thing I know in comes Heiny, gawpin' foolish, and trailin' +behind him Aunty and Vee. I wa'n't throwin' any bluff about tryin' to +look busy, either. I was elbow-deep in papers, with a pen behind one ear +and ink on three fingers.</p> + +<p>You should have heard the gasp that comes from Aunty as she pipes off +who it is at the desk. My surprise as I'm discovered is the real thing +too.</p> + +<p>"Chairs, Boy!" says I, snappin' my fingers at Heiny.</p> + +<p>But Aunty catches her breath, draws herself up stiff, and waves away the +seats. "Young man," says she, "I came here to consult with Mr. Robert +Ellins about——"</p> + +<p>"Yes'm," says I, "I understand. Debenture six's, ain't they? Not +affected by the reorganization, Ma'am. You see, it's like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> this: Those +bonds were issued in exchange for——"</p> + +<p>"Young man," she breaks in, aimin' her lorgnette at me threatenin', "I +prefer to discuss this matter with Mr. Robert."</p> + +<p>"Sorry," says I, "but as he's very busy he asked me to——"</p> + +<p>"And who, pray," snaps the old girl, "are you?"</p> + +<p>"Representin' the president of the Mutual Funding Comp'ny," says I.</p> + +<p>"Just how?" she demands.</p> + +<p>"Private secretary, Ma'am," says I.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" she snorts. "This is too absurd of Mr. Robert—wholly absurd! +Come, Verona."</p> + +<p>And as she sails out I just has time for a glance at Vee, and catches a +wink. Believe me, though, a friendly wink from one of them gray eyes is +worth waitin' for! She follows Aunty through the door with a +handkerchief stuffed in her mouth like she was smotherin' a snicker; so +I guess Vee was on. And I'm left feelin' all warmed up and chirky.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert comes in from his lawyer session just before closin' time; +rubbin' his hands sort of satisfied too.</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, jumpin' up from the swing-chair, "it was some jolt you +slipped Aunty. I expect I can resign now?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I trust not," says he. "The board indorsed your appointment an hour +ago. Keep your desk, Torchy. It is to be yours from now on."</p> + +<p>"Wh-a-a-at?" says I, my eyes bugged. "Off the gate for good, am I?"</p> + +<p>"We are hoping," says he, "that the gate's loss will be the Funding +Company's gain."</p> + +<p>I gurgles gaspy a couple of times before I catches my breath. "Will it?" +says I. "Say, just watch me! I'm goin' to show you that fundin' is my +long suit!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2><h3>TORCHY MAKES THE SIR CLASS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Say, it's all right, gettin' the quick boost up the ladder, providin' +you don't let it make you dizzy in the head. And, believe me, I was near +it! You see, bein' jumped from office boy to private sec, all in one +afternoon, was some breath-takin' yank.</p> + +<p>I expect the full force of what had happened didn't hit me until here +the other mornin' when I strolls into the Corrugated gen'ral offices on +the new nine o'clock schedule and finds this raw recruit holdin' down my +old chair behind the rail. Nice, smooth-haired, bright-eyed youngster, +with his ears all scoured out pink and his knickerbocker suit brushed +neat. He hops up and opens the gate real respectful for me.</p> + +<p>"Well, Son," says I, "what does Mother call you?"</p> + +<p>"Vincent, Sir," says he.</p> + +<p>"Some class to that, too," says I. "But how do you know, Vincent, that +I'm one of the reg'lar staff and not canvassin' for something?"</p> + +<p>"I don't, Sir," says he, "until I see if you know where to hang your +hat."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span></p> + +<p>"Good domework, Vincent," says I. "On that I'm backin' you to hold the +job."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Sir," says he. "I told Mother I'd do my best."</p> + +<p>And with that he springs a bashful smile. It was the "Sir" every time +that caught me, though. For more'n four years I'd been just Torchy or +Boy to all hands in the shop, from Old Hickory down; and now all of a +sudden I finds there's one party at least that rates me in the Sir +class. Kind of braced me for swingin' past all that row of giggly lady +typists and on into Mr. Robert's private office.</p> + +<p>Thrill No. 2 arrived half an hour later. In postin' myself as to what +this Mutual Fundin' Company really is that I'm supposed to be workin' +for, I needed some papers from the document safe. And for the first time +I pushes the buzzer button. Prompt and eager in comes Vincent, the fair +haired.</p> + +<p>"Know which is Mr. Piddie, do you?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Sir," says he.</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "tell him I need those—no, better ask him to step in +here a minute."</p> + +<p>Honest, I wa'n't plannin' to rub it in, either. Course, I'd done a good +deal of trottin' for Piddie, and a lot of it wa'n't for anything else +than to let him show his authority; but I didn't hold any grudge. I'd +squared the account in my own way. How he was goin' to take it now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> I +was the one to send for him, I didn't know; but there wa'n't any use +dodgin' the issue.</p> + +<p>And you should have seen Piddie make his first official entrance! You +know how stiff and wooden he is as a rule? Well, as he marches in over +the rug and comes to a parade rest by the desk, he's about as limber as +a length of gas pipe. And solemn? That long face of his would have +soured condensed milk!</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir?" says he. And to me, mind you! It come out a little husky, +like it was bein' filtered through strong emotions; but there it is. +Piddie has sirred me his first "Sir."</p> + +<p>He knows a roll-top when he sees one, Piddie does, and he ain't omittin' +any deference due. You know the type? He's one of the kind that was born +to be "our Mr. Piddie"; the sort that takes off his hat to a +vice-president, and holds his breath in the presence of the big wheeze. +But, say, I don't want any joss-sticks burned for me.</p> + +<p>"Ditch it, Piddie," says I, "ditch it!"</p> + +<p>"I—er—I beg pardon?" says he.</p> + +<p>"The Sir stuff," says I. "Just because I'm behind the ground glass +instead of the brass rail don't make me a sacred being, or you a +lobbygow, does it? I guess we've known each other too long for that, +eh?" And I holds out the friendly mitt.</p> + +<p>Honest, he's got a human streak in him,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> Piddie has, if you know where +to strike it. The cast-iron effect comes out of his shoulders, the +wooden look from his face. He almost smiles.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Torchy," says he. "I—er—my congratulations on your +new——"</p> + +<p>"We'll spread 'em on the minutes," says I, "and proceed to show the +Corrugated some teamwork that mere salaries can't buy. Are you on?"</p> + +<p>He was. Inside of three minutes he'd chucked that stiff-necked, flunky +pose and was coachin' me like a big brother, and by the time he'd beat +into my head all he knew about the Fundin' Comp'ny we was as chummy as +two survivors of the same steamer wreck. Simple, I know; but this little +experience made me feel like I'd signed a gen'ral peace treaty with the +world at large.</p> + +<p>I hadn't, though. An hour later I runs up against Willis G. Briscoe. +He's kind of an outside development manager, who makes preliminary +reports on new deals. One of these cold-eyed, chesty parties, Willis G. +is; tall and thin, and with a big, bowwow voice that has a rasp to it.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says he, as he discovers me busy at the desk. "I heard of this +out in Chicago three days ago; but I thought it must be a joke."</p> + +<p>"Them reporters do get things straight now and then, don't they?" says +I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span></p> + +<p>"Reporters!" he snorts. "Philip wrote me about it."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "Cousin Philip, eh?"</p> + +<p>And that gave me the whole plot of the piece. Cousin Phil was a +cigarette-consumin' college discard that Willis G. had been nursin' +along in the bondroom, waitin' for a better openin'; and this jump of +mine had filled a snap job that he'd had his eyes on for Cousin.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're only temporary, though," says he.</p> + +<p>"That's all," says I. "Mr. Ellins will be resignin' in eight or ten +years, I expect, and then they'll want me in his chair. Nice mornin', +ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" says he, registerin' deep disgust, as they say in the movie +scripts. "You'll do well if you last eight or ten days."</p> + +<p>"How cheerin'!" says I, and as he swings off with a final glare I tips +him the humorous wink.</p> + +<p>Why not? No young-man-afraid-of-his-job part for me! Briscoe might get +it away from me, or he might not; but I wa'n't goin' to get panicky over +it. Let him do his worst!</p> + +<p>He didn't need any urgin'. With a little scoutin' around he discovers +that about the only assignment on my hook so far is this Rowley matter: +you know, the old inventor guy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> with the mill-tailings scheme. And the +first hint I had that he was wise to that was when Mr. Robert calls me +over after lunch and explains how this Rowley business sort of comes in +Mr. Briscoe's department.</p> + +<p>"So I suppose you'd better turn it over to him," says he.</p> + +<p>"Just as you say," says I. "The old gent is due at two-fifteen, and I'll +shunt him onto Briscoe."</p> + +<p>Which I did. And at two-thirty-five Briscoe breezes in with his report.</p> + +<p>"Nothing to it," says he. "This Rowley person has a lot of half-baked +ideas about briquets and retort recoveries, and talks vaguely of big +profits; but he's got nothing practical. I shipped him off."</p> + +<p>"But," says Mr. Robert, "I think he was promised that his schemes should +have a consideration by the board."</p> + +<p>"Very well," says Willis G. jaunty. "I'll give 'em a report next +meeting. Wednesday, isn't it? Hardly worth wasting their time over, +though."</p> + +<p>And here I'd been boostin' the Rowley proposition to Mr. Robert good and +hard, almost gettin' him enthusiastic over it! I was smeared, that's +all! My first stab at makin' myself useful in my new swing-chair job has +been brushed aside as a beginner's bungle; and there sits<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> Mr. Robert, +prob'ly wonderin' if he hadn't made a mistake in takin' me off the gate!</p> + +<p>I stares at a row of empty pigeonholes for a solid hour after that, not +doin' a blamed thing but race my thinkin' gears tryin' to find out where +I was at. This dummy act that I'd been let in for might be all right for +some; but it didn't suit me. I've got to have action in mine.</p> + +<p>So, long before quittin' time, I slams the desk cover down and pikes out +on Rowley's trail. He might be a dead duck; but I wanted to know how and +why. I had his address all right, and it didn't take me long to locate +him in a fifth-story loft down on lower Sixth-ave. It's an odd joint +too, with a cot bed in one corner, a work bench along the avenue side, a +cook-stove in the middle, and a kitchen table where the coffeepot was +crowded on each side by a rack of test tubes. Old Rowley himself, with +his sleeves rolled up, is sittin' in a rickety arm chair peelin' +potatoes. He's grouchy too.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's you, is it?" says he. "Well, you might just as well trot right +back to the Corrugated Trust and tell 'em that Old Hen Rowley don't give +two hoots for their whole outfit."</p> + +<p>"I take it you didn't get on so well with Mr. Briscoe?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Briscoe!" he grunts savage. "Who could talk business to a smart Alec +like that! He knew it all before I'd begun. You'd think I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> was trying to +sell him a gold brick. All right! We'll see what the Bethlehem people +have to say."</p> + +<p>"What?" says I. "Before you get the final word from us?"</p> + +<p>"I've had it," says he. "Briscoe is final enough for me."</p> + +<p>"You're easy satisfied," says I, "or else you're easy beat. I didn't +take you for a quitter, either."</p> + +<p>Say, that got to him. "Quitter, eh!" says he. "See here, Son, how long +do you think I've been plugging at this thing? Nine years. And for the +last four I've been giving it all my time, day in and day out, and many +a night as well. I've been living with it, in this loft here, like a +blessed hermit; testing and perfecting, trying out my processes, and +fighting the Patent Office sharks between times. Nine years—the best of +my life! Call that quitting, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that is sticking around some," says I. "Think you've got your +schemes so they'll work?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think," says he; "I know."</p> + +<p>"But what's the good," I goes on, "if you can't make other folks see +you've got a good thing?"</p> + +<p>"I can, though," he says. "Why, any person with even ordinary +intelligence can——"</p> + +<p>"That's me," says I. "My nut is just about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> a stock pattern size, six +and seven-eighths, or maybe seven. Come, try it on me, if it's so +simple. Now what about this retort business?"</p> + +<p>That got him goin'. Rowley drops the potatoes, and in another minute +we're neck-deep in the science of makin' an ore puddin', doin' stunts +with the steam, skimmin' dividends off the pot, and coinin' the slag +into dollars.</p> + +<p>I ain't lettin' him slip over any gen'ral propositions on me, either. +I'm right there with the Missouri stuff. He has to go clear back to +first principles every time he makes a statement, and work up to it +gradual. Course, I was keepin' him jollied along too, and while it must +have been sort of hopeless at the start, inoculatin' a cauliflower like +mine with higher chemistry, I fin'lly showed one or two gleams that +encouraged him to keep on. Anyway, we hammered away at the subject, only +stoppin' to make coffee and sandwiches, until near two o'clock in the +mornin'.</p> + +<p>"Help!" says I, glancin' at the nickel alarm clock. "My head feels like +a stuffed sausage. A little more, and I won't know whether I'm a nitrous +sulphide or a ferrous oxide of bromo seltzer. Let's take the rest in +another dose."</p> + +<p>Rowley chuckles and agrees to call it a day, I didn't let on anything at +the office next morning; but by eight <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> I was planted at the +roll-top<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> with my elbows squared, tryin' to write out as much of that +chemistry dope as I could remember. And it's surprising ain't it, what a +lot of information you can sop up when you do the sponge act in earnest? +I found there was a lot of points, though, that I was foggy on; so I +makes an early getaway and puts in another long session with Rowley.</p> + +<p>And, take it from me, by Tuesday I was well loaded. Also I had my plan +of campaign all mapped out; for you mustn't get the idea I was packin' +my bean full of all this science dope just to see if it would stand the +strain. Not so, Clarice! I'd woke up to the fact that I was bein' +carried along by the Corrugated as a sort of misfit inner tube stowed in +the bottom of the tool-box, and that it was up to me to make good.</p> + +<p>So the first openin' I has I tackles Mr. Robert on the side.</p> + +<p>"About that Rowley proposition?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says he. "I fear Mr. Briscoe thinks unfavorably of it."</p> + +<p>"Then he's fruity in the pan," says I.</p> + +<p>"We have been in the habit of accepting his judgment in such matters," +says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," says I; "but here's once when he's handin' you a stall. And +you're missin' out on something good too."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Robert smiles skeptical. "Really?" says he. "Perhaps you would like +to present a minority report?"</p> + +<p>"Nothin' less," says I. "Oh, it may listen like a joke, but that's just +what I got in mind."</p> + +<p>"H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Robert. "You realize that Briscoe is one of the +leading mining authorities in the country, I suppose, and that we pay +him a large salary as consulting engineer?"</p> + +<p>I nods. "I know," says I. "And the nearest I ever got to seein' a mine +was watchin' 'em excavate for the subway. I'm admittin' all that."</p> + +<p>"I may add too," goes on Mr. Robert, "that he has a way of stating his +opinions quite convincingly."</p> + +<p>"Yep," says I, "I should judge that. But if I think he's bilkin' you on +this, is it my play to sit behind and chew my tongue?"</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, his sportin' instincts comin' to the top. +"You shall have your chance, Torchy. The directors shall hear your +views; to-morrow, at two-thirty. You will follow Briscoe."</p> + +<p>"Let's not bill it ahead, then," says I, "if it'll be fair to spring it +on him."</p> + +<p>"Quite," says Mr. Robert; "and rather more amusing, I fancy. I will +arrange it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'd like to have old Rowley on the side lines, in case I get stuck," +says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly," says he. "Bring Mr. Rowley if you wish. And if there +are any preparations you would like to make——"</p> + +<p>"I got one or two," says I, startin' for the door; "so mark me off until +about to-morrow noon."</p> + +<p>Busy? Well, say, a kitten with four feet stuck in the flypaper didn't +have anything on me. I streaks it for Sixth-ave. and lands in Rowley's +loft all out of breath.</p> + +<p>"What's up?" says he.</p> + +<p>"The case of Briscoe <i>et al. vs.</i> Rowley," says I. "It's to be threshed +out before the full Corrugated board to-morrow at two-thirty. I'm the +counsel for the defense."</p> + +<p>"Well, what of it?" says he.</p> + +<p>"I want to use you as Exhibit A," says I, "in case of an emergency."</p> + +<p>"All right," says he. "I'll go along if you say so."</p> + +<p>"Good!" says I. And then came the hard part. "Rowley," I goes on, "what +size collar do you wear?"</p> + +<p>"But what has that to do with it?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Now don't get peeved," says I; "but you know the kind our directors +are,—flossy, silk-lined old sports, most of 'em; and they're apt to +size up strangers a good deal by their haberdashery.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> So I was wonderin' +if I couldn't blow you to a neat, pleated bosom effect with attached +cuffs."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see," says Rowley, glancin' at his gray flannel workin' shirt. +"Anything else?"</p> + +<p>"I don't expect you'd want to part with that face shrubbery, or have it +landscaped into a Vandyke, eh?" says I. "You know they ain't wearin' the +bushy kind now in supertax circles."</p> + +<p>"Would you insist on my being manicured too?" says he, chucklin' easy.</p> + +<p>"It would help," says I. "And this would be my buy all round."</p> + +<p>"That's a generous offer, Son," says he, "and I don't know how long it's +been since anyone has taken so much personal interest in Old Hen Rowley. +Seems nice too. I suppose I am rather a shabby old duffer to be visiting +the offices of great and good corporations. Yes, I'll spruce up a bit; +and if I find it costs more than I can afford—now let's see how my cash +stands."</p> + +<p>With that he digs into a hip pocket and unlimbers a roll of corn-tinted +kale the size of your wrist. Maybe they wa'n't all hundreds clear to the +core, but that's what was on the outside.</p> + +<p>"Whiffo!" says I. "Excuse me for classin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> you so near the bread line; +but by your campin' in a loft, and the longshoreman's shirt, and so +on——"</p> + +<p>"Very natural, Son," he breaks in. "And I see your point all the +clearer. I've no business going about so. The whiskers shall be trimmed. +But your people up at the Corrugated have evidently made up their minds +to turn us down."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," says I; "but if they do, it won't be on any snap decision of +Briscoe's. And unless I get tongue tied at the last minute we're goin' +to have a run for our money."</p> + +<p>That was what worried me most,—could I come across with the standin' +spiel? But, believe me, I wa'n't trustin' to any offhand stuff! I'd got +to know in advance what I meant to feed 'em, line for line and word for +word. By ten o'clock that night I had it all down on paper too—and +perhaps I didn't chew the penholder and leak some from the brow while I +was doin' it!</p> + +<p>Then came the rehearsin'. Say, you should have seen me risin' dignified +behind the washstand in my room, strikin' a Bill Bryan pose, and smilin' +calm at the bedposts as I launched out on my speech. Not that I was +tryin' to chuck any flowers of oratory. What I aimed to do was to tell +'em about Rowley's schemes as simple and straight away as I could, +usin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> one-syllable words for the most part, cannin' the slang, and +soundin' as many final G's as my tongue would let me. Before I turned in +too, I had it almost pat; but I hardly dared to go to sleep for fear it +would get away from me.</p> + +<p>Say, but it ain't any cinch, this breakin' into public life, is it? The +obscure guy with the dinner pail and the calloused palms thinks he has +hard lines; but when the whistle blows he can wipe his trowel on his +overalls and forget it all until next day. But here I tosses around +restless in the feathers, and am up at daybreak goin' over my piece +again, trembly in the knees, with a vivid mental picture of how cheap +I'd feel if I should go to pieces when the time came.</p> + +<p>A good breakfast pepped me up a lot, though, and by noon I had them few +remarks of mine so I could say 'em backwards or forwards. How they was +goin' to sound outside of my room was another matter. I had my doubts +along that line; but I was goin' to give 'em the best I had in stock.</p> + +<p>It was most time for the session to begin when Vincent boy trots in with +a card announcin' Mr. Henry Clay Rowley. And, say, when this +smooth-faced party in the sporty Scotch tweed suit and the new model +pearl gray lid shows up, I has to gasp! He's had himself tailored and +barbered until he looks like an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> English investor come over huntin' six +per cent. dividends for a Bank of England surplus.</p> + +<p>"Zowie!" says I. "Some speed to you, Mr. Rowley. And class? Say, you +look like you was about to dump a trunkful of Steel preferred on the +market, instead of a few patents."</p> + +<p>"I'm giving your advice a thorough trial, you see," says he.</p> + +<p>"That's the stuff!" says I. "It's the dolled up gets the dollars these +days. Be sure and sit where they'll get a good view."</p> + +<p>Then we went into the directors' room and heard Willis G. Briscoe +deliver his knock. He does it snappy and vigorous, and when he's through +it didn't listen like anything more could be said. He humps his eyebrows +humorous when Mr. Robert announces that perhaps the board might like to +hear another view of the subject.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," goes on Mr. Robert, "you have the floor."</p> + +<p>For a second or so, though, I felt like spreadin' out so I wouldn't slip +through a crack. All of a sudden too, my mouth had gone dry and I had a +panicky notion that my brain had ossified. Then I got a glimpse of them +shrewd blue eyes of Rowley's smilin' encouragin' at me, the first few +sentences of my speech filtered back through the bone, I got my tongue +movin', and I was off.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span></p> + +<p>Funny how you can work out of a scare that way, ain't it? Why, say, the +first thing I knew I'd picked out old D. K. Rutgers, the worst fish-face +in the bunch, and was throwin' the facts into him like I was shovelin' +coal into a cellar chute. Beginnin' with Rowley's plan for condensin' +commercial acids from the blast fumes, explainin' the chemical process +that produced 'em, and how they could be caught on the fly and canned in +carboys for the trade, I galloped through the whole proposition, backin' +up every item with figures and formulas; until I showed 'em how the slag +that now cost 'em so much to get rid of could be sold for road +ballastin' and pressed into buildin' blocks at a profit of twenty +dollars a ton. I didn't let anything go just by statin' it bald. I took +Briscoe's objections one by one, shot 'em full of holes with the +come-backs Rowley had coached me on, and then proceeded to clinch the +argument until I had old Rutgers noddin' his head.</p> + +<p>"And these, Gentlemen," I winds up with, "are what Mr. Briscoe calls the +vague, half-baked ideas of an unpractical inventor. He's an expert, Mr. +Briscoe is! I'm not. I wouldn't know a supersaturated solution of +methylcalcites from a stein of Hoboken beer; but I'm willin' to believe +there's big money in handling either, providing you don't spill too much +on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> the inside. Mr. Rowley claims you're throwing away millions a year. +He says he can save it for you. He wants to show you how you can juggle +ore so you can save everything but the smell. He's here on the spot, and +if you want to quiz him about details, go as deep as you like."</p> + +<p>Did they? Say, that séance didn't break up until six-fifteen, and before +the board adjourns Rowley had a whackin' big option check in his fist, +and a resolution had gone through to install an experiment plan as soon +as it could be put up. An hour before that Willis G. Briscoe had done +the silent sneak, wearin' his mouth droopy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert meets me outside with the fraternal grip and says he's proud +of me.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Mr. Robert," says I. "It was a case of framin' up a job for +myself, or else four-flushin' along until you tied the can to me. And I +need the Corrugated just now."</p> + +<p>"No more, I'm beginning to suspect," says he, "than the Corrugated needs +you."</p> + +<p>Which was some happy josh for an amateur private sec to get from the +boss! Eh?</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2><h3>TORCHY TAKES A CHANCE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Say, I expected that after I got to be a salaried man, with a +swing-chair in Mr. Robert's private office, I'd be called on only to +pull the brainy stuff, calm and dignified, without any outside chasin' +around. I had a soothin' idea it would be a case of puttin' in my +mornin's dictatin' letters to gen'ral managers, and my afternoons to +holdin' interviews with the Secretary of the Treasury, and so on. I was +lookin' for plenty of high-speed domework, but nothin' more wearin' on +the arms than pushin' a call button or usin' a rubber stamp.</p> + +<p>But somehow I can't seem to do finance, or anything else, without +throwin' in a lot of extra pep. No matter how I start, first thing I +know I'm mixed up with quick action, and as likely as not gettin' my +clothes mussed. This last stunt, though—believe me I couldn't have got +more thrills if I'd joined a circus!</p> + +<p>It opens innocent enough too. I was moochin' around the bondroom when I +happens to glance over the transfer book and notices that a big block of +our debenture 6's are listed as goin' to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> the Federated Tractions. And +the name of the party who's about to swap the 6's for Tractions +preferred is a familiar one. It's Aunty's. Uh-huh—Vee's!</p> + +<p>Maybe you remember how Aunty played up her skittish symptoms about them +same bonds a few weeks back, the time she planned to exhibit me to Vee +in my office boy job and got so badly jolted when she finds me posin' as +a private sec instead? Went away real peeved, Aunty did that time. And +now it looks like she was takin' it out by unloadin' her bond holdin's. +It's to be some swap too, runnin' up into six figures.</p> + +<p>"Chee!" thinks I. "That's an income, all right, with Tractions payin' +between 7 and 9, besides cuttin' a melon now and then."</p> + +<p>They have their gen'ral offices three floors below us, you know. Not +that I wouldn't have had a line on 'em anyway; for whatever that bunch +of Philadelphia live wires gets hold of is worth watchin'. Say, they'd +consolidate city breathin' air if they could, and make it pay dividends. +It's important to note too, that they're buyin' into Corrugated so deep. +I mentions the fact casual to Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Really," says he, liftin' his eyebrows surprised. "Federated Tractions! +Are you certain?"</p> + +<p>"Unless our registry clerk has had a funny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> dream," says I. "The notice +was listed yesterday. And you know how grouchy the old girl was on us."</p> + +<p>"H-m-m-m!" says he, drummin' his fingers nervous. "Thanks, Torchy. I +must look into this."</p> + +<p>Seemed to worry Mr. Robert a bit; so maybe that's why I had my ears +stretched wider'n usual. It wa'n't an hour later that I runs across Izzy +Budheimer down in the Arcade. He's on the Curb now, Izzy is, and by the +size of the diamond horseshoe decoratin' the front of his silk shirt he +must be tradin' some in wildcats. Hails me like a friend and brother, +Izzy does, tries to wish a tinfoil Fumadora on me, and gives me the +happy josh about bein' boosted off the gate.</p> + +<p>"You'll be gettin' wise to all the inside deals now, eh?" says he, +winkin' foxy. "And maybe we might work off something together. Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "I'll come down every noon with the office secrets and +let you peddle 'em around Broad street from a pushcart. Gwan, you +parrot-beaked near-broker! Why, I wouldn't trust tellin' you the time of +day!"</p> + +<p>Izzy grins like I'd paid him a compliment. "Such a joker!" says he. "But +listen! Which side do the Tractions people come down on?"</p> + +<p>"Federated?" says I. "North corridor, just around the corner. Sleuthin' +around that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> bunch, are you? What's doing in Tractions?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" protests Izzy, openin' his eyes innocent. "Maybe I +got a customer on the general staff, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"You'd be scoutin' up here at this time of day after a ten-dollar +commission, wouldn't you?" says I. "And with that slump in Connecticut +Gas in full blast! Can it, Izzy! I know a thing or two about Tractions +myself."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" he whispers persuasive, almost holdin' his breath. "What do you +hear, now?"</p> + +<p>"Don't say I told you," says I, "but they're thinkin' of puttin' in +left-handed straps for south-paw passengers."</p> + +<p>Izzy looks pained and disgusted. He's got a serious mind, Izzy has, and +if you could take a thumbprint of his brain, it would be all fractions +and dollar signs.</p> + +<p>"I have to meet my cousin Abie Moss," says he, edgin' away. "He has a +bookkeeper's job with Tractions for a month now, and I promised his aunt +I would ask how he's comin'."</p> + +<p>"How touchin'!" says I as he moves off.</p> + +<p>I gazes after him curious a minute, and then follows a sudden hunch. Why +not see just how much of a bluff this was about Cousin Abie? So I slips +around by the cigar stand, steps behind a pillar, and keeps him in +range. Three or four minutes I watched Izzy waitin' at the elevator +exit, without seein' him give anyone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> the fraternal grip. Then he seems +to quit. He drifts back towards the Arcade with the lunch crowd, and I +was about to turn away when I lamps him bein' slipped a piece of paper +by a short, squatty-built guy who brushes by him casual. Izzy gathers it +in with never a word and strolls over to the 'phone booths, where he +lets on to be huntin' a number in the directory. All he does there, +though, is spread out that paper, read it through hasty, and then tear +it up and chuck it in the waste basket.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, seein' Izzy scuttle off towards Broadway. "Looks like +there was a plot to the piece. I wonder?"</p> + +<p>And just for the fun of the thing I collected them twenty-eight pieces +of yellow paper, carried 'em over to my lunch place, and spent the best +part of my noon-hour piecin' 'em together. What I got was this, +scribbled in lead pencil:</p> + +<p>Grebel out. Larkin melding. Teg morf rednu.</p> + +<p>"Whiffo!" thinks I. "What kind of a Peruvian dialect is this?"</p> + +<p>Course the names was plain enough. Everybody knows Grebel and Larkin, +and that they're the big wheezes in that Philly crowd. But what then? +Had Grebel gone out to lunch? And was Larkin playin' penuchle? +Thrillin', if true. Then comes this "Teg morf rednu" stuff. Was that +Russian, or Chinese?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span></p> + +<p>"Heiney," says I, callin' the dough-faced food juggler. "Heiney," I +repeats solemn, "Teg morf rednu."</p> + +<p>Not a smile from Heiney. He grabs the bill of fare and begins to hunt +through the cheese list panicky.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," says I, "you won't find it there. But here's another: What +do you do when you meld a hundred aces, say?"</p> + +<p>A look of almost human intelligence flickers into Heiney's face. +"<i>Ach!</i>" says he. "By the table you pud 'em—so!"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Heiney," says I. "That helps a little."</p> + +<p>So Larkin was chuckin' something on the table, was he! But this other +dope, "Teg morf rednu?" Say, I'd come back to that after every bite. I +wrote it out on an envelope, tried runnin' it together and splittin' it +up diff'rent, and turned it upside down. Then in a flash I got it.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Robert sails in from the club I was waitin' for him. He'd heard +a rumor that Grebel was to retire soon. Also he'd met young Larkin in +the billiard room, and found that the fam'ly was goin' abroad for the +summer.</p> + +<p>"But all that may mean nothing at all, you know," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"And then again," says I. "Study that out and see if it don't tally with +your dope," and I produces a copy of Izzy's wireless.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Robert wrinkles his forehead over it without any result. "What is +it?" says he.</p> + +<p>"An inside tip on Tractions," says I, and sketches out how I'd got it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see now," says he. "That about Grebel? But what is melding? And +this last—'Teg morf rednu'? I can make no sense of that."</p> + +<p>"Try it backwards," says I.</p> + +<p>"Why—er—by Jove!" says he. "Get from under, eh? Then—then there is a +slump coming. And with all that new stock issue, I'm not surprised. But +that hits Miss Vee's aunt rather heavily, doesn't it? That is, if the +deal has gone through."</p> + +<p>"Who's her lawyers?" says I. "They ought to know."</p> + +<p>"Of course," says Mr. Robert, reachin' for the 'phone. "Winkler, Burt & +Winkler. Look up the number, will you? Eh? Broad, did you say?"</p> + +<p>And inside of three minutes he has explained the case and got the +verdict. "They don't know," says he. "The transfer receipts were sent +for her to sign last night. If she's signed them, there's nothing to be +done."</p> + +<p>"But if she hasn't?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Then she mustn't," says Mr. Robert. "It would mean letting that crowd +get a foothold<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> in Corrugated, and a loss of thousands to her. See if +the tape shows any recent fluctuations."</p> + +<p>"Bluey-ooey!" says I, runnin' over the mornin' sales hasty. "Opened at +seven-eighths, then 500 at three-quarters, another block at a half, 300 +at a quarter—why, it's on the toboggan!"</p> + +<p>"She must be found and warned at once," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Am I the guy?" says I.</p> + +<p>"You are," says he. "And minutes may count. I'll get the address for +you. It's in that——"</p> + +<p>"Say," I throws over my shoulder on my way to the door, "whose aunt is +this, anyway?"</p> + +<p>Looked like a simple matter for me to locate Aunty. And if she was out +takin' her drive or anything—why, I could be explainin' to Vee while I +waited. That would be tough luck, of course; but I could stand it for +once.</p> + +<p>At their apartment hotel I finds nobody home but Celeste, the maid, all +dolled up like Thursday afternoon. She hands it to me cold and haughty +that Madame and Ma'mselle are out.</p> + +<p>"I could almost guess that from the lid you're wearin'," says I. "One of +Miss Vee's, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>She pinks up and goes gaspy at that. "Please," she begins pleadin', "if +you would not mention——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span></p> + +<p>"I might forget to," I breaks in, "if you'll tell me where I can find +'em quickest."</p> + +<p>And Celeste gets the information out rapid. They're house-partyin' at +the Morley Beckhams, over at Quehassett, Long Island. "Rosemere" is the +name of the joint.</p> + +<p>"Me for Quehassett!" says I, dashin' for the elevator.</p> + +<p>But, say, I needn't have lost my breath. Parts of Long Island you can +get to every half-hour or so; but Quehassett ain't one of 'em. Huntin' +it up on the railroad map, I discovers that it's 'way out to the deuce +and gone on the north shore, and the earliest start I can get is the +four o'clock local.</p> + +<p>Ever cruise around much on them Long Island branch lines? Say, it must +be int'restin' sport, providin' you don't care whether you get there +this week or next. I missed one connection by waitin' for the brakeman +to call out the change. And when I'd caught another train back to the +right junction I got the pleasin' bulletin that the next for Quehassett +is the theater train, that comes along somewhere about midnight.</p> + +<p>So there I was hung up in a rummy little commuter town where the chief +industry is sellin' bungalow sites on the salt marsh. Then I tackles the +'phone, which results in three snappy conversations with a grouchy +butler at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> sixty cents a throw, but no real dope on the Beckhams or +their guests.</p> + +<p>Well, it's near two <span class="smcap">a.m</span>. when I fin'lly lands in Quehassett, which is no +proper time to call on anybody's aunt. Everything is shut tight too; so +I spreads out an evenin' edition on a baggage truck and turns in weary. +I'd overlooked pullin' down the front shades to the station, though, and +the next thing I knew the sun was hittin' me square in the face.</p> + +<p>I wanders around Quehassett until a Dago opens up a little fruitstand. +He sold me some bananas and a couple of muskmelons for breakfast, and +points out which road leads to Rosemere. It's down on the shore about a +mile and a half, and I strolls along, eatin' fruit and enjoyin' the +early mornin' air.</p> + +<p>Some joint Rosemere turns out to be,—acres of lawn, and rows of striped +awnin's at the windows. The big iron gates was locked, with nobody in +sight; so I has plenty of time to write a note to Vee, beggin' her for +the love of soup, if Aunty hasn't signed the transfer papers, not to let +her do it until she hears from me. My scheme was to get one of the help +to take the message to Vee before she got up.</p> + +<p>Must have been near seven o'clock when I gets hold of one of the +gardeners, tips him a dollar, and drags out of him the fact that cook +says how all the folks are off on the yacht,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> which is gen'rally +anchored off the dock. He don't know if it's there now or not. It was +last night. I can tell by goin' down. The road follows that little +creek.</p> + +<p>So I gallops down to the shore. No yacht in sight. There's a point of +land juts out to the left. Maybe she's anchored behind that. Comin' down +along the creek too, I'd seen an old tub of a boat tied up. Back I +chases for it.</p> + +<p>Looked simple for me to keep on; but when I get started on a trail I +never know when to stop. I was paddlin' down the creek, bound for +nowhere special, when along comes a sporty-dressed young gent, wearin' +puttee leggin's and a leather cap with goggles attached. He's luggin' a +five-gallon can of gasoline, and strikes me for a lift down the shore a +bit.</p> + +<p>"Keepin' your car in the Sound, are you?" says I, shovin' in towards the +bank.</p> + +<p>"It's an aërohydro," says he.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "A—a which?"</p> + +<p>"An air boat, you know," says he. "I'm going to try her out. Bully +morning for a flight, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe," says I. "Get aboard. Always have to cart your gas down this +way?"</p> + +<p>At that he grows real chatty. Seems this is a brand-new machine, just +delivered the night before, and he's keepin' it a dead secret from the +fam'ly, so Mother won't worry. He says<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> that's all nonsense, though; for +he's been takin' lessons on the quiet for more than a year, has earned +his pilot's license, and can handle any kind of a plane.</p> + +<p>"Just straight driving, of course," he goes on. "I don't attempt spiral +dips, or exhibition work. I've never been up more than five hundred +feet. And this is such a safe type. Oh, the folks will come around to it +after they've seen me up once or twice. I want to surprise 'em. There +she is, up the shore. See!"</p> + +<p>Hanged if I hadn't missed it before, when I was lookin' for the yacht! +Spidery lookin' affairs, ain't they, when you get close to, with all +them slim wire guys? And the boat part is about as substantial as a +pasteboard battleship. While he's pourin' in the gasoline I paddles +around and inspects the thing.</p> + +<p>"Five hundred feet up?" says I. "Excuse me!"</p> + +<p>He grins good natured. "Think you wouldn't like it, eh?" says he. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"Too cobwebby," says I. "Why, them wings are nothin' but cloth."</p> + +<p>"Best quality duck, two layers," says he. "And the frame has a tensile +strength of three hundred and fifty pounds to the square foot. Isn't +that motor a beauty? Ninety-horse."</p> + +<p>"Guess I'll take my joy ridin' closer to the turf, though," says I. +"Course, I've always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> had a batty notion I'd like to fly some time; +but——"</p> + +<p>"Hello!" he breaks in. "There goes the Katrina!" and he points out a big +white yacht that's slippin' along through the water about half a mile +off. "It's the Beckhams'," he goes on. "They're our neighbors here at +Rosemere, you know. They have guests from town, and my folks are aboard. +By Jove! Here's my chance to surprise 'em. I say, would you mind +paddling around and giving me a shove off?"</p> + +<p>But I stands gawpin' out at the yacht. "The Morley Beckhams?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes!" says he. "But hurry, please. I want to catch them."</p> + +<p>"You—you——?" But I was thinkin' too rapid to talk much. Vee and Aunty +was out on that boat, and maybe at the next landin' Aunty would mail +them transfers. If it was goin' to hit her alone, I might have stood it +calmer; but there was Vee.</p> + +<p>"Say," I sputters out, "ain't there room for two?"</p> + +<p>"Why, ye-e-e-es," says he sort of draggy. "I've never taken up a +passenger, though; but I've thought that——"</p> + +<p>"Then why not now?" says I. "I want to go the worst way."</p> + +<p>"But a moment ago," he protests, "you——"</p> + +<p>"It's different now," says I. "There's a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> party on that yacht I want to +get word to,—Miss Hemmingway. I got to, that's all! And what's a neck +more or less? I'll take the chance if you will."</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" says he. "I'll do it. Shove off. Here, stick your oar into +the mud and push. That's it! Now climb in and give that old tub of yours +a shove so she'll clear that left plane. Good work! Here's your seat, +beside me. Don't get your knees in the way of that lever, please, or put +your feet on that cross bar. That's my rudder control. Now! Are you +ready? Then I'll start her."</p> + +<p>Say, I didn't have time to work up any spine chills, or even say a +"Now-I-lay-me." He reaches up behind him, gives the crank a whirl, and +the next thing I know we're shootin' over the water like an express +train, with the spray flyin', the wind whistlin' in my ears, and eight +cylinders exhaustin' direct within two feet of the back of my neck. Talk +about speedin'! When you're travelin' through the water at a +forty-mile-an-hour gait, and so close you can trail your fingers, you +know all about it. Although it's a calm mornin', with hardly a ripple, +the motion was a little bumpy. No wonder!</p> + +<p>Then all of a sudden I has a sinkin' sensation somewhere under my vest, +the bumpin' stops, and I feels like I'd shuffled off somethin' heavy. I +had—a billion tons or more! Glancin' over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> the side, I sees the water +ten or a dozen feet below us. We were in the air. And, believe me, I +reaches out for something solid to hold onto! All I could find was a +two-inch upright, and I takes a fond grip on that. If it had been a +telephone pole, I'd felt better.</p> + +<p>My sporty-dressed friend smiles encouragin' over his shoulder. I hope I +smiled back; but I wouldn't swear to it. Not that I'm scared. Hush, +hush! But I wa'n't used to bein' shot through the air so impetuous. I +takes another glance overboard. Hel-lup! Someone's pullin' Long Island +Sound from under us. The water must have been fifty or sixty feet down, +and gettin' more so. For a while after that I looks straight ahead. +What's the use keepin' track of how high you are, anyway? You'll only +bore just so big a hole in the water if you fall.</p> + +<p>But it's funny how soon you can get over feelin's like that. Inside of +three minutes I'd quit grippin' the stanchion and was sittin' there +peaceful, enjoyin' the ride. We seemed to be sailin' along on a level +now, about housetop high, and so far as I could see we was as steady as +if we'd been on a front veranda. There's no sway or rock to the machine +at all. I'd been holdin' myself as rigid as if I'd been in a tippy +canoe; but now I took a chance on shiftin' my position a little. I even +leaned over the side. Nothing happened. That was comfortin'. How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> easy +and smooth it was, glidin' along up there!</p> + +<p>Meanwhile we'd taken a wide sweep and was leavin' the yacht far behind.</p> + +<p>"Say," I shouts to my aviatin' friend, "how do we get to her?"</p> + +<p>But it's no use tryin' to converse with that roar in your ears. I points +back to the boat. He nods and smiles.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" he yells at me.</p> + +<p>With that he pulls his plane lever and we begins to climb some more. You +hardly know you're doin' it, though. Up or down don't mean anything in +the air, where the goin' is all the same. Only as we gets higher the +Sound narrows and Long Island stretches further and further. And, take +it from me, that's the way to view scenery! Up and up we slid, just +soarin' free and careless. He turns to me with another grin, to see how +I'm takin' it. And this time I grins back.</p> + +<p>"About three hundred!" he shouts, puttin' his mouth close. "Eighty an +hour too!"</p> + +<p>"Zippy stuff!" says I.</p> + +<p>Then he gives me a nudge, juggles his deflectors, and down we shoots. I +never had any part of the map come at me so fast. Seemed like the Sound +was just rushin' at us, and I was tryin' to guess how far into the +bottom we'd go, when he pulls the lever again and we skims<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> along just +above the surface. Shootin' the chutes—say, that Coney stunt seems tame +compared to this!</p> + +<p>In no time at all we've made a circle around the yacht and are comin' up +behind her once more. We could see the people pilin' out on deck to +rubber at us. In a minute more we'd be even with 'em. And how was I +goin' to deliver that message to Vee? Just then I looks in my lap, where +I was grippin' my straw lid between my knees, and discovers that I've +lugged along one of them muskmelons in a paper bag. That gives me my +hunch.</p> + +<p>Fishin' out the note I'd written, I slits the melon with my knife and +jabs it in. Then I shows the breakfast bomb to my friend and points to +the yacht. He nods. Some bean, that guy had!</p> + +<p>"I'll sail over her," he howls in my ear. "You can drop it on the deck."</p> + +<p>There was no time for gettin' ready or takin' practice shots. Up we +glides into the air right over the white wake she was leavin'. The folks +on her was wavin' to us. First I made out Vee, standin' on the little +bridge amidships, lookin' cute and classy in white serge. Then I spots +Aunty, who's tumbled out in her boudoir cap and kimono. I leans over and +waves enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Vee!" I shouts. "Watch this!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span></p> + +<p>I'd picked out the widest part of the deck forward, where there's no +awnin' up, and when it was exactly underneath I lets the melon go, hard +as I could shoot it. Some shot that was too! I saw it smash on the deck, +watched one of the sailors stare at it stupid, and then caught a glimpse +of Vee rushin' towards the spot. Course I wa'n't sure she knew me at +that distance, or had heard what I said; but trust her for doin' the +right thing at the right time!</p> + +<p>"There's Mother!" I hears my sporty friend roar out. "I say! Mother! +It's Billy, you know."</p> + +<p>No doubt about Mother's catchin' on. Maybe she'd suspicioned, anyway; +but the last I saw of her she was slumpin' into the arms of a +white-haired old gent behind her.</p> + +<p>Another minute and we'd left the Katrina behind like she had seven +anchors out. On we went and up once more, turnin' with a dizzy swoop and +skimmin' past her, back towards where we started from. And just as I was +wishin' he'd go faster and higher we settles down on the water, dashes +in behind the dock, the motor slows up, the plane floats drag in the +mud, and it's all over.</p> + +<p>Took the yacht near an hour to get back to us. Mother had insisted, and +when she found Billy all safe and sound she fell on his neck and forgave +him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span></p> + +<p>As for me? Well, maybe I didn't have some swell report to turn in to Mr. +Robert! I had him listenin' with his mouth open before I got through +too.</p> + +<p>"Aunty was mighty suspicious first off," says I; "but after she'd used +the long distance and got a line on how Tractions was waverin', she +warms up quite a lot, for her. Uh-huh! Gives me a vote of thanks, and +says she'll call off the deal."</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "I am speechless with admiration. Your +business methods are certainly advanced. I had not thought of flying as +a modern requisite for a commercial career."</p> + +<p>"The real thing in high finance, eh?" says I. "And, say, me for the air +after this! I've swallowed the bug. I know how a bloomin' seagull feels +when he's on the wing; and, believe me, it's got everything else in the +sport line lookin' like playin' tag with your feet tied!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2><h3>BREAKING IT TO THE BOSS</h3> +</div> + +<p>I don't admit it went to my head,—not so bad as that,—only maybe my +chest measure had swelled an inch or so, and I wouldn't say my heels +wa'n't hittin' a bit hard as I strolls dignified up and down the private +office.</p> + +<p>You see, Mr. Robert was snitchin' a couple of days off for the Newport +regatta, and he'd sort of left me on the lid, as you might say. So far +as there bein' any real actin' head of the Corrugated Trust for the time +being—well, I was it. Anyway, I'd passed along some confidential dope +to our Western sales manager, stood by to take a report from the special +audit committee, and had an interview with the president of a big bond +house, all in one forenoon. That was speedin' up some for a private sec, +wa'n't it?</p> + +<p>And now I was just markin' time, waitin' for what might turn up, and +feelin' equal to pullin' off any sort of a deal, from matchin' Piddie +for the lunches to orderin' a new stock issue. What if the asphalt over +on Fifth-ave. was softenin' up, with the mercury hittin' the nineties,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> +and half the force off on vacations? I had a real job to attend to. I +was doin' things!</p> + +<p>And as I stops by the roll-top to lean up against it casual I had that +comf'table, easy feelin' of bein' the right man in the right place. You +know, I guess? You're there with the goods. You ain't the whole works +maybe; but you're a special, particular party, one that can push buttons +and have 'em answered, paw over the mail, or put your initials under a +signature.</p> + +<p>And right in the midst of them rosy reflections the door to the private +office swings open abrupt and in pads a stout old party wearin' a +generous-built pongee suit and a high-crowned Panama. Also there's +something familiar about the bushy eyebrows and the lima bean ears. It's +Old Hickory himself. I chokes down a gasp and straightens up.</p> + +<p>"Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "I thought you was down at the Springs?"</p> + +<p>"Didn't think I'd been banished for life, did you?" says he.</p> + +<p>"But Mr. Robert," I goes on, "didn't look for you until——"</p> + +<p>"No doubt," he breaks in. "Robert and those fool doctors would have kept +me soaking in those infernal mud baths until I turned into a crocodile. +I know. I'm a gouty, rheumatic old wreck, I suppose; but I'll be dad +blistered if I'm going to end my days wallowing in medicated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> mud! I've +had enough. Where is everybody?"</p> + +<p>So I has to account for Mr. Robert, tell how Mrs. Ellins and Marjorie +and Son-in-Law Ferdie are up to Bar Harbor, and hint that they're +expectin' him to come up as soon as he lands.</p> + +<p>"That's their programme, is it?" he growls. "Think I'm going to spend +the rest of the season sitting on a veranda taking pills, do they? Well, +they're mistaken!"</p> + +<p>And off he goes into his own room. I don't know what he thought he was +goin' to do there. Just habit, I expect. For we've been gettin' along +without Old Hickory for quite some time now, while he's been away. First +off he tried to keep in touch with things by night letters, then he had +a weekly report sent him; but gradually he lost the run of the new +deals, and for the last month or so he'd quit firin' over any orders at +all.</p> + +<p>Through the open door I could see him sittin' at his big, flat-topped +mahogany desk, starin' around sort of aimless. Then he pulls out a +drawer and shuffles over some old papers that had been there ever since +he left. Next he picks up a pen and starts to make some notes.</p> + +<p>"Boy!" he sings out. "Ink!"</p> + +<p>Course I could have pushed the buzzer and had Vincent do it; but seein' +how nobody had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> put him wise to the change, I didn't feel like +announcin' it myself. So I fills the inkwell, chases up a waste basket +for him, and turns on the electric fan.</p> + +<p>"Now bring the mail!" says he snappy.</p> + +<p>He was back to; so it was safe to smile. You see, I'd attended to all +the mornin' deliveries, sorted out what I knew had to be held over for +Mr. Robert, opened what was doubtful, and sent off a few answers +accordin' to orders. But, after all, he was the big boss. He had a right +to go through the motions if he wanted to. So I lugs in the mail, dumps +it in the tray, and leaves him with it.</p> + +<p>Must have been half an hour later, and I was back at my own desk doping +out a schedule I'd promised to fix up for Mr. Robert, when I glances up +to find Old Hickory wanderin' around the room absent-minded. He's +starin' hard at a letter he holds in one paw. All of a sudden he +discovers me at the roll-top. For a second he scowls at me from under +the bushy eyebrows, and then comes the explosion.</p> + +<p>"Boy!" he sings out. "What the hyphenated maledictions are you doing +there?"</p> + +<p>Well, I broke it to him as gentle as I could.</p> + +<p>"Promoted, eh?" he snorts. "To what?"</p> + +<p>And I explains how I'm private secretary to the president of the Mutual +Funding Company.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span></p> + +<p>"Never heard of such an organization," says he. "What is it, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Dummy concern mostly," says I, "faked up to stall off the I. C. C."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" he gawps.</p> + +<p>"Interstate Commerce Commission," says I. "We beat 'em to it, you know, +by dissolvin'—on paper. Had to have somebody to use the rubber stamp; +so they picked me off the gate."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" he grunts. "So you're no longer an office boy, eh? But I had +you hopping around like one. How was that?"</p> + +<p>"Guess I got a hop or two left in me," says I, "specially for you, Mr. +Ellins."</p> + +<p>"Hah!" says he. "Also more or less blarney left on the tongue. Well, +young man, we'll see. As office boy you had your good points, I +remember; but as——" Then he breaks off and repeats, "We'll see, Son." +And he goes to studyin' the letter once more.</p> + +<p>Fin'lly he sends for Piddie. They confabbed for a while, and as Piddie +comes out he's still explainin' how he's sure he don't know, but most +likely Mr. Robert understands all about it.</p> + +<p>"Hang what Robert understands!" snaps Old Hickory. "He isn't here, is +he? And I want to know now. Torchy, come in here!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir," says I, scentin' trouble and salutin' respectful.</p> + +<p>"What about these Universal people refusing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> to renew that Manistee +terminal lease?" he demands.</p> + +<p>And if he'd asked how many feathers in a rooster's tail I'd been just as +full of information. But from what Piddie's drawn by declarin' an alibi, +it didn't look like that was my cue.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I get you the correspondence on that?" says I, and rushes out +after the copybook.</p> + +<p>But the results wa'n't enlightenin'. We'd applied for renewal on the old +terms, the Universal folks had sent back word that in due course the +matter would be taken up, and that's all until this notice comes in that +there's nothin' doin'. "Inexpedient under present conditions," was the +way they put it.</p> + +<p>"I expect Mr. Robert will be back Monday," I suggests cautious.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you?" raps out Old Hickory. "And meanwhile this lease expires +to-morrow noon, leaving us without a foot of ore wharf anywhere on the +Great Lakes. What does Mr. Robert intend to do then—transport by +aëroplane? Just asked pleasant and polite for a renewal, did he? And +before I could make 'em grant the original I all but had their directors +strung up by the thumbs! Hah!"</p> + +<p>He settles back heavy in his chair and sets them cut granite jaws of his +solid. He don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> look so much like an invalid, after all. There's good +color in his cheeks, and behind the droopy lids you could see the +fighting light in his eyes. He glances once more at the letter.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" says he. "I thought their main offices were in Chicago. This is +from Broadway, International Utilities Building. Perhaps you can tell me +what they're doing down there?"</p> + +<p>"Subsidiary of I. U.," says I. "Been listed that way all summer."</p> + +<p>"Then," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim, "we have to do once more with no +less a personage than Gedney Nash. Well, so be it. He and I have fought +out other differences. We'll try again. And if I'm a back number, I'll +soon know it. Now get me a list of our outside security holdings."</p> + +<p>That was his first order; but, say, inside of half an hour he had +everybody in the shop, from little Vincent up to the head of the bond +department, doin' flipflops and pinwheels. Didn't take 'em long to find +out that he was back on the job, either.</p> + +<p>"Breezy with that now!" I'd tell 'em. "This is a rush order for the old +man. Sure he's in there. Can't you smell the sulphur?"</p> + +<p>In the midst of it comes a hundred-word code message from Dalton, our +traffic superintendent, sayin' how he'd been notified to remove his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> +wharf spurs within twenty-four hours and askin' panicky what he should +do about it.</p> + +<p>"Tell him to hold his tracks with loaded ore trains, and keep his shirt +on," growls Old Hickory over his shoulder. "And 'phone Peabody, Frost & +Co. to send up their railroad securities expert on the double quick."</p> + +<p>That's the way it went from eleven <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> until two-thirty, and all the +lunch I indulged in was two bites of a cheese sandwich that Vincent +split with me. At two-thirty-five Old Hickory jams on his hat and +signals for me.</p> + +<p>"Gather up those papers and come along," says he. "I think we're ready +now to talk to Gedney Nash."</p> + +<p>I smothered a gasp. Was he nutty, or what? You know you don't drop in +offhand on a man like Gedney Nash, same as you would on a shrimp bank +president, or a corporation head. You hear a lot about him, of +course,—now givin' a million to charity, then bein' denounced as a +national highway robber,—but you don't see him. Anyway, I never knew of +anyone who did. He's the man behind, the one that pulls the strings. +Course, he's supposed to be at the head of International Utilities, but +he claims not to hold any office. And you know what happened when +Congress tried to get him before an investigatin' committee. All that +showed up was a squad of lawyers, who announced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> they was ready to +answer any questions they couldn't file an exception to, and three +doctors with affidavits to prove that Mr. Nash was about to expire from +as many incurable diseases. So Congress gave it up.</p> + +<p>Yet here we was, pikin' downtown without any notice, expectin' to find +him as easy as if he was a traffic cop on a fixed post. Well, we didn't. +The minute we blows into the arcade and begins to ask for him, up slides +a smooth-talkin' buildin' detective who listens polite what I feed him +and suggests that if we wait a minute he'll call up the gen'ral offices. +Which he does and reports that they've no idea where Mr. Nash can be +found. Maybe he's gone to the mountains, or over to his Long Island +place, or abroad on a vacation.</p> + +<p>"Tommyrot!" says Old Hickory. "Gedney Nash never took a vacation in his +life. I know he's in New York now."</p> + +<p>The gentleman sleuth shrugs his shoulders and allows that if Mr. Ellins +ain't satisfied he might go up to Floor 11 and ask for himself. So up we +went. Ever in the Tractions Buildin'? Say, it's like bein' caught in a +fog down the bay,—all silence and myst'ry. I expect it's the +headquarters of a hundred or more diff'rent corporations, all tied up +some way or other with I. U. interests; but on the doors never the name +of one shows: just "Mr. So-and-So,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> "Mr. Whadye Callum," "Mr. +This-and-That." Clerks hurry by you with papers in their hands, walkin' +soft on rubber heels. They tap respectful on a door, it opens silent, +they disappear. When they meet in the corridors they pass without +hailin', without even a look. You feel that there's something doin' +around you, something big and important. But the gears don't give out +any hum. It's like a game of blind man's bluff played in the dark.</p> + +<p>And the sharp-eyed, gray-haired gent we talked to through the brass +gratin' acted like he'd never heard the name Gedney Nash before. When +Old Hickory cuts loose with the tabasco remarks at him he only smiles +patient and insists that if he can locate Mr. Nash, which he doubts, +he'll do his best to arrange an interview. It may take a day, or a week, +or a month, but——</p> + +<p>"Bah!" snorts Old Hickory, turnin' on his heel, and he cusses eloquent +all the way down and out to the taxi.</p> + +<p>"Seems to me I've heard how Mr. Nash uses a private elevator," I +suggests.</p> + +<p>"Quite like him," says Old Hickory. "Think you could find it?"</p> + +<p>"I could make a stab," says I.</p> + +<p>But at that I knew I was kiddin' myself. Why not? Ain't there been times +when whole bunches of live-wire reporters, not to mention<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> relays of +court deputies, have raked New York with a fine-tooth comb, lookin' for +Gedney Nash, without even gettin' so much as a glimpse of his limousine +rollin' round a corner.</p> + +<p>"Suppose we circle the block once or twice, while I tear off a few +Sherlock Holmes thoughts?" says I.</p> + +<p>Mr. Ellins sniffs scornful; but he'd gone the limit himself, so he gives +the directions. I leaned back, shut my eyes, and tried to guess how a +foxy old guy like Nash would fix it up so he could do the unseen duck +off Broadway into his private office. Was it a tunnel from the subway +through the boiler basement, or a bridge from the next skyscraper, +or—— But the sight of a blue cap made me ditch this dream stuff. Funny +I hadn't thought of that line before—and me an A. D. T. once myself!</p> + +<p>"Hey, you!" I calls out the window. "Wait up, Cabby, while we take on a +passenger. Yes, you, Skinny. Hop in here. Ah, what for would we be +kidnappin' a remnant like you? It's your birthday, ain't it? And the +gentleman here has a present for you—a whole dollar. Eh, Mr. Ellins?"</p> + +<p>Old Hickory looks sort of puzzled; but he forks out the singleton, and +the messenger climbs in after it. A chunky, round-faced kid he was too. +I pushed him into one of the foldin' front seats and proceeds to apply +the pump.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span></p> + +<p>"What station do you run from, Sport?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Number six," says he.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says I. "Just back of the Exchange. And is old Connolly chief +down there still?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir," says he.</p> + +<p>"Give him my regards when you get back," says I, "and tell him Torchy +says he's a flivver."</p> + +<p>The kid grins enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>"By the way," I goes on, "who's he sendin' out with the Nash +work—Gedney Nash's, you know?"</p> + +<p>"Number 17," says he, "Loppy Miller."</p> + +<p>"What!" says I. "Old Loppy carryin' the book yet? Why, he had grown kids +when I wore the stripes. Well, well! Cagy old duffer, Loppy. Ever ask +him where he delivers the Nash business?"</p> + +<p>"Yep," says the youngster, "and he near got me fired for it."</p> + +<p>"But you found out, didn't you?" says I.</p> + +<p>He glances at me suspicious and rolls his eyes. "M-m-m-m," says he, +shakin' his head.</p> + +<p>"Ah, come!" says I. "You don't mean that a real sure-fire like you could +be shunted that way? There'd be no harm in your givin' a guess, and if +it was right—well, we could run<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> that birthday stake up five more; +couldn't we, Mr. Ellins?"</p> + +<p>Old Hickory nods, and passes me a five-spot prompt.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says I, wavin' it careless.</p> + +<p>The kid might have been scared, but he had the kale-itch in his fingers. +"All I know," says he, "is that Loppy allus goes into the William Street +lobby of the Farmers' National."</p> + +<p>"Go on!" says I. "That don't come within two numbers of backin' against +the Traction Buildin'."</p> + +<p>"But Loppy allus does," he insists. "There's a door to the right, just +beyond the teller's window. But you can't get past the gink in the gray +helmet. I tried once."</p> + +<p>"Secret entrance, eh?" says I. "Sounds convincin'. Anyway, I got your +number. So here's your five. Invest it in baby bonds, and don't let on +to Mother. You're six to the good, and your job safe. By-by!"</p> + +<p>"What now?" says Old Hickory. "Shall we try the secret door?"</p> + +<p>"Not unless we're prepared to do strong arm work on the guard," says I. +"No. What we got to frame up now is a good excuse. Let's see, you can't +ring in as one of the fam'ly, can you?"</p> + +<p>"Not as any relative of Gedney's," says Old Hickory. "I'm not built +right."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span></p> + +<p>"How about his weak points?" says I. "Know of any fads of his?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says Mr. Ellins, "he is a good deal interested in landscape +gardening, and he goes in for fancy poultry, I believe."</p> + +<p>"That's the line!" says I. "Poultry! Ain't there a store down near +Fulton Market where we could buy a sample?"</p> + +<p>I was in too much of a rush to go into details, and it must have seemed +a batty performance to Old Hickory; but off we chases, and when we drove +up to the Farmers' National half an hour later I has a wicker cage in +each hand and Mr. Ellins has both fists full of poultry literature +displayed prominent. Sure enough too, we finds the door beyond the +teller's window, also the gink in the gray helmet. He's a husky-built +party, with narrow-set, suspicious eyes.</p> + +<p>"Up to Mr. Nash's," says I casual, makin' a move to walk right past.</p> + +<p>"Back up!" says he, steppin' square across the way. "What Mr. Nash?"</p> + +<p>"Whadye mean, what Mr. Nash?" says I. "There ain't clusters of 'em, are +there? Mr. Gedney Nash, of course."</p> + +<p>"Wrong street," says he. "Try around on Broadway."</p> + +<p>"What a kidder!" says I. "But if you will delay the champion hen expert +of the country,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> and I nods to Old Hickory, "just send word up to Mr. +Nash that Mr. Skellings has come with that pair of silver-slashed blue +Orpingtons he wanted to see."</p> + +<p>"Blue which?" says the guard.</p> + +<p>"Ah, take a look!" says I. "Ain't they some birds? Gold medal winners, +both of 'em."</p> + +<p>I holds open the paper wrappings while he inspects the cacklers. And, +believe me, they was the fanciest poultry specimens I'd ever seen! +Honest, they looked like they'd been got up for the pullets' annual +costume ball.</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Nash," I goes on, "said Mr. Skellings was to bring 'em in this +way."</p> + +<p>The guard takes another glance at Old Hickory, and that got him; for in +his high-crowned Panama the boss does look more like a fancy farmer than +he does like the head of the Corrugated.</p> + +<p>"I'll see," says he, openin' a little closet and producin' a 'phone. He +was havin' some trouble too, tellin' someone just who we was, when I +cuts in.</p> + +<p>"Ah, just describe the birds," says I. "Silver-slashed blue Orpingtons, +you know."</p> + +<p>Does it work? Say, in less than two minutes we was being towed through a +windin' passage that fin'lly ends in front of a circular shaft with a +cute little elevator waitin' at the bottom.</p> + +<p>"Pass two," says the guard.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span></p> + +<p>Another minute and we're bein' shot up I don't know how many stories, +and are steppin' out into the swellest set of office rooms I was ever +in. A mahogany door opens, and in comes a wispy, yellow-skinned, +dried-up little old party with eyes like a rat. Didn't look much like +the pictures they print of him, but I guessed it was Gedney.</p> + +<p>"Some prize Orpingtons, did I understand?" says he, in a soft, purry +voice. "I don't recall having——" Then he gets a good look at Old +Hickory, and his tone changes sudden. "What!" he snaps. "You, Ellins? +How did you get in here?"</p> + +<p>"With those fool chickens," says the boss.</p> + +<p>"But—but I didn't know," goes on Mr. Nash, "that you were interested in +that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Glad to say I'm not," comes back Old Hickory. "Just a scheme of my +brilliant-haired young friend here to smuggle me into the sacred +presence. Great Zacharias, Nash! why don't you shut yourself in a steel +vault, and have done with it?"</p> + +<p>Gedney bites his upper lip, annoyed. "I find it necessary," says he, "to +avoid interruptions. I presume, however, that you came on some errand of +importance?"</p> + +<p>"I did," says Old Hickory. "I want to get a renewal of that Manistee +terminal lease."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span></p> + +<p>Say, of all the scientific squirmin', Gedney Nash can put up the +slickest specimen. First off he lets on not to know a thing about it. +Well, perhaps it was true that International Utilities did control those +wharves: he really couldn't say. And besides that matter would be left +entirely to the discretion of——</p> + +<p>"No, it won't," breaks in Old Hickory, shakin' a stubby forefinger at +him. "It's between us, Nash. You know what those terminal privileges +mean to us. We can't get on without them. And if you take 'em away, it's +a fight to a finish—that's all!"</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Ellins," says Mr. Nash, "but I can do nothing."</p> + +<p>"Wait," says Old Hickory. "Did you know that we held a big block of your +M., K. & T.'s? Well, we do. They happen to be first lien bonds too. And +M., K. & T. defaulted on its last interest coupons. Entirely +unnecessary, I know, but it throws the company open to a foreclosure +petition. Want us to put it in?"</p> + +<p>"H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Nash. "Er—won't you sit down?"</p> + +<p>Now if it had been two common, everyday parties, debatin' which owned a +yellow dog, they'd gone hoarse over it; but not these two plutes. Gedney +Nash asks Old Hickory only three more questions before he turns to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> +wicker cages and begins admirin' the fancy poultry.</p> + +<p>"Excellent specimens, excellent!" says he. "And in the pink of condition +too. I have a few Orpingtons on my place; but—oh, by the way, Ellins, +are these really intended for me?"</p> + +<p>"With Torchy's compliments," says Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" says Gedney. "I—I'm greatly obliged—truly, I am. What +plumage! What hackles! And—er—just leave that terminal lease, will +you? I'll have it renewed and sent up. Would you mind too if I sent you +out by the Broadway entrance?"</p> + +<p>I didn't mind, for one, and I guess the boss didn't; for the last office +we passes through was where the gray-haired gent camped watchful behind +the brass gratin'.</p> + +<p>"Well, wouldn't that crimp you?" I remarks, givin' him the passin' grin. +"Our old friend Ananias, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>And he never bats an eyelash.</p> + +<p>But Gedney wa'n't in that class. Before closin' time up comes a +secretary with the lease all signed. I was in the boss's room when it's +delivered.</p> + +<p>"Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "You don't need any more mud baths, I guess."</p> + +<p>All the rise that gets out of him is a flicker in the mouth corners. +"Young man," says he,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> "whose idea was it, taking you off the gate?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Robert's," says I.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to learn," says he, "that Robert had occasional lapses into +sanity while I was away. What about your salary? Any ambitions in that +direction?"</p> + +<p>"I only want what I'm worth," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, be reasonable, Son," says he. "We must save something for the +stockholders, you know. Suppose we double what you're getting now? Will +that do?"</p> + +<p>And the grin I carries out is that broad I has to go sideways through +the door.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2><h3>SHOWING GILKEY THE WAY</h3> +</div> + +<p>I got to say this about Son-in-Law Ferdie: He's a help! Not constant, +you know; for there's times when it seems like his whole scheme of +usefulness was in providin' something to hang a pair of shell-rimmed +glasses on, and givin' Marjorie Ellins the right to change her name. But +outside of that, and furnishin' a comic relief to the rest of the +fam'ly, blamed if he don't come in real handy now and then.</p> + +<p>Last Friday was a week, for a sample. I meets up with him as he's +driftin' aimless through the arcade, sort of caromin' round and round, +bein' bumped by the elevator rushers and watched suspicious by the floor +detective.</p> + +<p>"What ho, Ferdie!" I sings out, grabbin' him by the elbow and swingin' +him out of the line of traffic. "This ain't no place to practice the +maxixe."</p> + +<p>"I—I beg—oh, it's you, Torchy, is it?" says he, sighin' relieved. +"Where do I go to send a telegram?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "you might try the barber<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> shop and file it with the +brush boy, or you could wish it on the candy-counter queen over there +and see what would happen; but the simple way would be to step around to +the W. U. T. window, by the north exit, and shove it at Gladys."</p> + +<p>"Ah, thanks," says he, "North exit, did you say? Let's see, that +is—er——"</p> + +<p>"'Bout face!" says I, takin' him in tow. "Now guide right! Hep, hep, +hep—parade rest—here you are! And here's the blank you write it on. +Now go to it!"</p> + +<p>"I—er—but I'm not quite sure," protests Ferdie, peelin' off one of his +chamois gloves, "I'm not quite sure of just what I ought to say."</p> + +<p>"That bein' the case," says I, "it's lucky you ran into me, ain't it? +Now what's the argument?"</p> + +<p>Course it was a harrowin' crisis. Him and Marjorie had got an invite +some ten days ago to spend the week-end at a swell country house over on +Long Island. They'd hemmed and hawed, and fin'lly ducked by sendin' word +they was so sorry, but they was expectin' a young gent as guest about +then. The answer they got back was, "Bring him along, for the love of +Mike!" or words to that effect. Then they'd debated the question some +more. Meanwhile the young gent had canceled his date, and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> time has +slipped by, and here it was almost Saturday, and nothin' doing in the +reply line from them. Marjorie had thought of it while they was havin' +lunch in town, and she'd chased Ferdie out to send a wire, without +tellin' him what to say.</p> + +<p>"And you want someone to make up your mind for you, eh?" says I. "All +right. That's my long suit. Take this: 'Regret very much unable to +accept your kind invitation'—which might mean anything, from a previous +engagement to total paralysis."</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es," says Ferdie, hangin' his bamboo stick over his left arm and +chewin' the penholder thoughtful, "but Marjorie'll be awfully +disappointed. I think she really does want to go."</p> + +<p>"Ah, squiffle!" says I. "She'll get over it. Whose joint is it, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says he, "the Pulsifers', you know."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "Not the Adam K.'s place, Cedarholm?"</p> + +<p>Ferdie nods. And, say, it was like catchin' a chicken sandwich dropped +out of a clear sky. The Pulsifers! Didn't I know who was there? I did! +I'd had a bulletin from a very special and particular party, sayin' how +she'd be there for a week, while Aunty was in the Berkshires. And up to +this minute my chances of gettin' inside Cedarholm gates had been null +and void,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> or even worse. But now—say, I wanted to be real kind to +Ferdie!</p> + +<p>"One or two old friends of Marjorie's are to be there," he goes on +dreamy.</p> + +<p>"They are?" says I. "Then that's diff'rent. You got to go, of course."</p> + +<p>"But—but," says he, "only a moment ago you——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "You don't want Marjorie grumpin' around for the +next week, do you, wishin' she'd gone, and layin' it all to you?"</p> + +<p>Ferdie blinks a couple of times as the picture forms on the screen. +"That's so," says he. "She would."</p> + +<p>"Then gimme that blank," says I. "Now here, how's this, 'Have at last +arranged things so we can come. Charmed to accept'? Eh?"</p> + +<p>"But—but there's Baby's milk," objects Ferdie. "Marjorie always watches +the nurse sterilize it, you know."</p> + +<p>"Do up a gallon before you leave," says I.</p> + +<p>"It's such a puzzling place to get to, though," says Ferdie. "I'm sure +we'd never get on the right train."</p> + +<p>"Whadye mean, train," says I. "Ah, show some class! Go in your +limousine."</p> + +<p>"So we could," says Ferdie. "But then, you know, they'll be expectin' us +to bring an extra young man."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span></p> + +<p>"They needn't be heartbroken over that," says I. "You didn't say who he +was, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, no," says Ferdie; "but——"</p> + +<p>"Since you press me so hard," says I, "I'll sub for him. Guess you need +me to get you there, anyway."</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" says Ferdie, as the proposition percolates through the +hominy. "I wonder if——"</p> + +<p>"Never waste time wonderin'," says I. "Take a chance. Here, sign your +name to that; then we'll go hunt up Marjorie and tell her the glad +news."</p> + +<p>Ferdie was still in a daze when we found the other three-quarters of the +sketch, and Marjorie was some set back herself when I springs the +scheme. But she's a good sport, Marjorie is, and if she was hooked up to +a live one she'd travel just as lively as the next heavyweight.</p> + +<p>"Oh, let's!" says she, clappin' her hands. "You know we haven't been +away from home overnight for an age. And Edna Pulsifer's such a dear, +even if her father is a grouchy old thing. We'll take Torchy along too. +What do you say, Ferdie?"</p> + +<p>Foolish question! Ferdie was still dazed. And anyhow she had said it +herself.</p> + +<p>So that's how it happens I'm one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> chosen few to be landed under +the Cedarholm porte-cochère that Saturday afternoon. Course the +Pulsifers ain't reg'lar old fam'ly people, like Ferdie's folks. They +date back to about the last Broadway horse-car period, I understand, +when old Adam K. begun to ship his Cherryola dope in thousand-case lots. +Now, you know, it's all handled for him by the drug trust, and he only +sits by the safety-vault door watchin' the profits roll in. But with his +name still on every label you could hardly expect the Pulsifers to +qualify for Mrs. Astor's list.</p> + +<p>Seems Edna went to the same boardin' school as Marjorie and Vee, though, +and neither of 'em ever thinks of throwin' Cherryola at her. And as far +as an establishment goes, Cedarholm is the real thing. Gave me quite +some thrill to watch two footmen in silver and baby blue pryin' Marjorie +out of the limousine.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" thinks I, glancin' around at the deep verandas, the swing seats, +and the cozy corner nooks. "If Vee and I can't get together for a few +chatty words among all this, then I'm a punk plottist!"</p> + +<p>These country house joints are so calm and peaceful too! It's a wonder +anybody could work up a case of nerves, havin' this for a steady thing. +But Edna and Mrs. Pulsifer acted sort of restless and jumpy. She's a +tall, thin, hollow-eyed dame, Mrs. Pulsifer is, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> gray hair and a +smooth, easy voice. Miss Edna must take more after her Pa; for she's +filled out better, and while she ain't what you'd call mug-mapped, she +has one of these low-bridge noses and a lot of oily, dark red hair that +she does in a weird fashion of her own with a side part. Seems shy and +bashful too, except when she snuggles up on the lee side of Marjorie and +trails off with her.</p> + +<p>The particular party I was strainin' my eyesight for ain't in evidence, +though, and all the hint I gets of her bein' there was hearin' a ripply +laugh at the far end of the hallway when she and Marjorie go to a fond +clinch. That was some comfort, though,—she was in the house!</p> + +<p>As I couldn't very well go scoutin' around whistlin' for her to come +out, I does the next best thing. After bein' shown my room I drifts +downstairs and out on the lawn where I'd be some conspicuous. Course I +wa'n't suggestin' anything, but if somebody should happen to see me and +judge that I was lonesome, they might wander out that way too. Sure +enough somebody did,—Ferdie.</p> + +<p>"I thought you had to take a nap before dinner," says I, maybe not so +cordial.</p> + +<p>"Bother!" says he. "There's no such thing as that possible with those +three girls chattering away in the next room."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, they ain't been together for some time, I expect," says I.</p> + +<p>"It's worse than usual," says Ferdie. "A man in the case, you might +know."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, prickin' up my ears. "Whose man?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Edna Pulsifer's absurd ditch digger," says Ferdie. "He's a young +engineer, you know, that she's been interested in for a couple of years. +Her father put a stop to it once; kept her in Munich for ten months—and +that's a perfectly deadly place out of season, you know. But it doesn't +seem to have done much good."</p> + +<p>I grins. Surprisin' how cheerful I could be so long as it was a case of +Miss Pulsifer's young man. I pumps the whole tale out of Ferdie,—how +this Mr. Bert Gilkey—cute name too—had been writin' her letters all +the time from out West, how he'd been seized with a sudden fit, wired on +that he must see her once more, and had rushed East. Then how Pa +Pulsifer had caught 'em lalligaggin' out by the hedge, had talked real +rough to Gilkey, and ordered him never to muddy his front doormat again.</p> + +<p>"And now," goes on Ferdie, "he sends word to Edna that he means to try +it once more, no matter what happens, and everyone is all stirred up."</p> + +<p>"So that accounts for the nervous motions,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> eh?" says I. "What does Pa +Pulsifer have to say to this defi?"</p> + +<p>"Goodness!" says Ferdie, shudderin'. "He doesn't know. No one dares tell +him a word. If he found out—well, it would be awful!"</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "One of these fam'ly ringmasters, is he?"</p> + +<p>That was it, and from Ferdie's description I gathered that old Adam K. +was a reg'lar domestic tornado, once he got started. Maybe you know the +brand? And it seems Pa Pulsifer was the limit. So long as things went +his way he was a prince,—right there with the jolly haw-haw, fond of +callin' wifey pet names before strangers, and posin' as an easy +mark,—but let anybody try to pull off any programme that didn't jibe +with his, and black clouds rolled up sudden in the West.</p> + +<p>"I do hope," goes on Ferdie, "that nothing of that sort occurs while we +are here."</p> + +<p>So did I, for more reasons than one. What I wanted was peace, and plenty +of it, with Vee more or less disengaged.</p> + +<p>Nothin' could have been more promisin' either than the openin' of that +first dinner party. Pa Pulsifer had showed up about six o'clock from the +Country Club, with his rugged, hand-hewed face tinted up cheery. Some of +it was sunburn, and some of it was rye, I expect, but he was glad to see +all of us. He patted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> Marjorie on the cheek, pinched Vee by the ear, and +slapped Ferdie on the back so hearty he near knocked the breath out of +him. So far as our genial host could make it, it was a gay and festive +scene. Best of all too, I'd been put next to Vee, and I was just workin' +up to exchangin' a hand squeeze under the tablecloth when, right in the +middle of one of Pa Pulsifer's best stories, there floats in through the +open windows a crash that makes everybody sit up. It sounds like +breakin' glass.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" snorts Pulsifer, scowlin' out into the dark. "Now what in blazes +was that?"</p> + +<p>"I—I think it must have been something in the kitchen, Dear," says Mrs. +Pulsifer. "Don't mind."</p> + +<p>"But I do mind," says he. "In the first place, it wasn't in the kitchen +at all, and if you'll all excuse me, I'll just see for myself."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Edna has turned pale, Marjorie has almost choked herself with +a bread stick, and Ferdie has let his fork clatter to the floor. Ma +Pulsifer is bitin' her lip; but she's right there with the soothin' +words.</p> + +<p>"Please, Dear," says she, "let me go. They want you to finish your +story."</p> + +<p>It was a happy touch, that last. Pa Pulsifer recovers his napkin, +settles back in his chair, and goes on with the tale, while Mother slips +out quiet. She comes back after a while, springs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> a nervous little +laugh, and announces that it was only the glass in one of the hotbed +frames.</p> + +<p>"Some stupid person taking a short cut across the grounds, I suppose," +says she.</p> + +<p>Didn't sound very convincin' to me; but Pulsifer had got started on +another boyhood anecdote, and he let it pass. I had a hunch, though, +that Mrs. Pulsifer hadn't told all. I caught a glance between her and +Edna, and some flashes between Edna and Vee, and I didn't need any sixth +sense to feel that something was in the air.</p> + +<p>No move was made, though, until after coffee had been served in the +lib'ry and Pa Pulsifer was fittin' his fav'rite Harry Lauder record on +the music machine.</p> + +<p>First Mrs. Pulsifer slips out easy. Next Edna follows her, and after +them Marjorie and Vee, havin' exchanged some whispered remarks, +disappears too. Maybe it was my play to stick it out with Ferdie and the +old boy, but I couldn't see any percentage in that, with Vee gone; so I +wanders casual into the hall, butts around through the music room, +follows a bright light at the rear, and am almost run down by Marjorie +hurrying the other way sleuthy.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she squeals. "It's you, is it, Torchy? S-s-s-sh!"</p> + +<p>"What you shushin' about?" says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, it's dreadful!" puffs Marjorie. "He—he's come!"</p> + +<p>"That Gilkey guy?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es," says she. "But—but how did you know?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a seventh son, born with a cowlick," says I. "Was it Gilkey made +his entrance through the cucumber frame?"</p> + +<p>It was. Also he'd managed to cut himself in the ankles and right wrist. +They had him in the kitchen, patchin' him up now, and they was all +scared stiff for fear Pa Pulsifer would discover it before they could +send him away.</p> + +<p>"He'll be a nut if he don't," says I, "with all you women out here. Your +game is to chase back and keep Pulsifer interested."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're right," says Marjorie. "Let's tell them."</p> + +<p>So I follows into the big kitchen, where I finds the disabled Romeo +propped up in a chair, with the whole push of 'em, includin' the fat +cook, a couple of maids, and the butler, all tryin' to bandage him in +diff'rent spots. He's a big, gawky-lookin' young gent, with a thick crop +of pale hair and a solemn, serious look on his face, like he was one of +the kind that took everything hard. As soon as Marjorie gives 'em my +hint about goin' back to Father there's a gen'ral protest.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can't do it!" says Edna.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span></p> + +<p>"He would notice at once how nervous I am," groans Mrs. Pulsifer.</p> + +<p>"But you don't want him walking out here, do you?" demands Marjorie.</p> + +<p>That settled 'em. They bunched together panicky and started back for the +lib'ry.</p> + +<p>"I'll stay and attend to the getaway," says I. "Nobody'll miss me."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," says Gilkey; "but I'm not sure I wish to go away. I came to +see Edna, you know."</p> + +<p>"So I hear," says I. "Unique idea of yours too, rollin' in the hotbeds +first."</p> + +<p>"I—I was only trying to avoid meeting Mr. Pulsifer," says he; +"exploring a bit, you see. I could hear voices in the dining-room; but I +couldn't quite look in. There was a little shed out there, though, and +by climbing on that I could get a view. That was how I lost my balance."</p> + +<p>"Before you go callin' again," says I, "you ought to practice roostin' +in the dark. Say, the old man must have thrown quite a scare into you +last time."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid of Mr. Pulsifer, not a bit," says he.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "Think of that!"</p> + +<p>"Anyway," says he, "I just wasn't goin' to be driven off that way. +It—it isn't fair to either of us."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then it's a clear case with both of you, is it?" says I.</p> + +<p>"We are engaged," says Gilkey, "and I don't care who knows it! It's not +her money I'm after, either. We don't want a dollar from Mr. Pulsifer. +We—we just want each other."</p> + +<p>"Now you're talkin'!" says I; for, honest, the simple, slushy way he +puts it across sort of wins me. And if that was how the case stood, with +Edna longin' for him, and him yearnin' for Edna, why shouldn't they? If +I'm any judge, Edna wouldn't find another right away who'd be so crazy +about her, and anyone who could discover charms about Gilkey ought to be +rewarded.</p> + +<p>"See here!" says I. "Why not sail right in there, look Father between +the eyes, and hand that line of dope out to him as straight as you gave +it to me?"</p> + +<p>He gawps at me a second, like I'd advised him to jump off the roof. +"Do—do you think I ought?" says he.</p> + +<p>I has to choke back a chuckle. Wanted my advice, did he? Well, say, I +could give him a truckload of that!</p> + +<p>"It depends," says I, "on how deep the yellow runs in you. Course it's +all right for you to register this leader about not bein' scared of him. +You may think you ain't, but you are all the same; and as long as you're +in that state<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> you're licked. That's the big trouble with most of +us,—bein' limp in the spine. We're afraid of our jobs, afraid of what +the neighbors will say, afraid of our stomachs, afraid of to-morrow. And +here you are, prowlin' around on the outside, gettin' yourself messed +up, and standin' to lose the one and only girl, all because an old stuff +like Pulsifer says 'Boo!' at you and tells you to 'Scat!' Come on now, +better let me lead you out and see you safe through the gate."</p> + +<p>Course that was proddin' him a little rough, but I wanted to bring this +thing to a head somehow. Made Gilkey squirm in his chair too. He begins +rollin' his trousers down over the bandages and struggles into his coat.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're right," says he. "I—I think I will go in and see Mr. +Pulsifer."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" says I. "Now?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" says he, pushin' through the swing door.</p> + +<p>"Hey!" I calls out, jumpin' after him. "Better let me break it to 'em in +there."</p> + +<p>"As you please," says Gilkey; "only let's have no delay."</p> + +<p>So I skips across the hall and into the lib'ry, where they're all makin' +a stab at bein' chatty and gay, with Pa Pulsifer in the center.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," says I, "but there's a young gent wants a few words with +Mr. Pulsifer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's that?" growls Adam K., glarin' about suspicious at the gaspy +circle. "What young man?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "it's——" But then in he stalks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Herbert!" sobs Edna, makin' a wild grab at Marjorie for support.</p> + +<p>As for Pa Pulsifer, his eyes get stary, the big vein in the middle of +his forehead swells threatenin', and his bushy white eyebrows seem to +bristle up.</p> + +<p>"You!" he snorts. "How did you get in here, Sir?"</p> + +<p>"Through the kitchen," says Gilkey. "I came to tell you that——"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" roars Pulsifer, stampin' his foot and bunchin' his fists +menacin'. "You can't tell me anything, not a word, you—you +good-for-nothing young scoundrel! Haven't I warned you never to step +foot in my house again? Didn't I tell you——"</p> + +<p>Well, it's the usual irate parent stuff, only a little more wild and +ranty than anything Belasco would put over. He abuses Gilkey up and +down, threatens him with all kinds of things, from arrest to sudden +death, and gets purple in the face doin' it. While Gilkey, he just +stands there, takin' it calm and patient. Then, when there comes a lull, +he remarks casual:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span></p> + +<p>"If that is all, Sir, I wish to say to you that Edna and I are engaged, +and that I intend to marry her early next week."</p> + +<p>Wow! That's the cue for another explosion. It starts in just as fierce +as the first; but it don't last so long, and towards the end Pa Pulsifer +is talkin' husky and puffing hard.</p> + +<p>"Go!" he winds up. "Get out of my house before I—I——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say," breaks in Gilkey, "before you do what?"</p> + +<p>"Throw you out!" bellows Pulsifer.</p> + +<p>"Don't be absurd," says Gilkey, statin' it quiet and matter of fact. +"You couldn't, you know. Besides, it isn't being done."</p> + +<p>And it takes Pa Pulsifer a full minute before he can choke down his +temper and get his wind again. Then he advances a step or so, points +dramatic to the door, and gurgles throaty:</p> + +<p>"Will—you—get—out?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Gilkey. "I came to see Edna. I've had no dinner either, and +I'd like a bite to eat."</p> + +<p>Pulsifer stood there, not two feet from him, glarin' and puffin', and +tryin' to decide what to do next; but it's no use. He'd made his grand +roarin' lion play, which had always scared the tar out of his folks, and +he'd responded to an encore. Yet here was this mild-eyed young gent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> +with the pale hair and the square jaw not even wabbly in the knees from +it.</p> + +<p>"Come, Edna," says Gilkey, holdin' out a hand to her. "Let's go into the +dining-room."</p> + +<p>"But—but see here!" gasps Pa Pulsifer, makin' a final effort. +"I—I——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, hush up!" says Gilkey, turnin' away weary. "Come, Edna."</p> + +<p>And Edna, she went; also Mrs. Pulsifer; likewise Vee and Marjorie. Trust +women for knowin' when a bluff has been called. I expect they was wise, +two or three minutes before either me or Gilkey, that Pa Pulsifer was +beat. I stayed long enough to see him slump into an easy-chair, his +under lip limp and a puzzled look in his eyes, like he was tryin' to +figure out just what had hit him. And over by the fireplace is Ferdie, +gawpin' at him foolish, and exercisin' his gears, I expect, on the same +problem. Neither of them had said a word up to the time I left.</p> + +<p>It took the women half an hour or more to feed Herbert up proper with +all the nice things they could drag from the icebox. Then Mother +Pulsifer patted him on the shoulder and shooed Edna and him through the +French doors out on the veranda.</p> + +<p>And what do you guess is Mrs. Pulsifer's openin' as we drifts back +towards the scene of the late conflict?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, Deary!" says she. "You haven't your cigars, have you? Here they +are—and the matches. There! Now for the surprise. Our young people have +decided—that is, Edna has—not to be married until two weeks from next +Wednesday."</p> + +<p>Does Pa Pulsifer rant any more rants? No. He gets his perfecto goin' +nicely, blows a couple of smoke rings up towards the ceilin', and then +remarks in sort of a weak growl:</p> + +<p>"Hanged if I'll walk down a church aisle, Maria—hanged if I do!"</p> + +<p>"I told them you wouldn't," says Ma Pulsifer, smoothin' the hair back +over his ears soothin'; "so they've agreed on a simple home wedding, +with only four bridesmaids."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says he. "It's lucky they did."</p> + +<p>But, say, take it from me, his days of crackin' the whip around that +joint are over. I'm beginnin' to believe too how some of that dope I fed +to Herbert must have been straight goods. Vee insists on talkin' it over +later, as we are camped in one of them swing seats out on the veranda.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't he just splendid," says she: "standing up to Mr. Pulsifer that +way, you know?"</p> + +<p>"Some hero!" says I. "I wonder would he give me a few lessons, in case I +should run across your Aunty some day?"</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says Vee. "Just as though I didn't go back to see if he'd gone +and hear you putting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> him up to all that yourself! It was fine of you to +do it too, Torchy."</p> + +<p>"Right here, then!" says I. "Place the laurel wreath right here."</p> + +<p>"Silly!" says she, givin' me a reprovin' pat. "Besides, that porch light +is on."</p> + +<p>Which was one of the reasons why I turned it off, and maybe accounts for +our sudden break when Marjorie comes out to tell us it's near twelve +o'clock.</p> + +<p>Yes, indeed, though he may not look it, Ferdie is more or less of a +help.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="illus-002" id="illus-002"></a> +<img src="images/illus-094.jpg" alt=""Which was one of the reasons I turned the porch light off."" title="" width="400" height="479" /><br /> +<span class="caption">"WHICH WAS ONE OF THE REASONS I TURNED THE PORCH LIGHT OFF."</span> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2><h3>WHEN SKEET HAD HIS DAY</h3> +</div> + +<p>There's one thing about bein' a private sec,—you stand somewhere on the +social list. It may be down towards the foot among the discards; but +you're in the running.</p> + +<p>Not that I'm thinkin' of havin' a fam'ly crest worked on my shirt +sleeves, or that I'm beginnin' to sympathize with the lower clawsses. +Nothing like that! Only it does help, when Marjorie, the boss's married +daughter, has planned some social doin's, to get an invite like a +reg'lar guy.</p> + +<p>What do you know too? It's dance! Not out at their country place, +either. She'd dragged Ferdie into town for a couple of weeks, and they'd +been stayin' at the Ellins's Fifth-ave. house, just visitin' and havin' +a good time. That is, Marjorie had. Ferdie, he spends his days mopin' +about the club and taggin' Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Better sneak off up to the Maison Maxixe with me," says I, "and brush +up on your hesitation."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span></p> + +<p>A look of deep disgust from Ferdie. "I'm not a dancing man, you know," +says he.</p> + +<p>"Both feet Methodists, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>Ferdie stares puzzled. "It's only that I'm sure I'd look absurd," says +he.</p> + +<p>"For once," says I, "you ain't so far from wrong. I expect you would."</p> + +<p>Even that don't seem to please him, and he refuses peevish to trail +along and watch me blow myself to a pair of dancin' pumps. Gee! but this +society life runs into coin, don't it? I'd dropped into one of them +swell booterers and was beefin' away at the clerk about havin' to pay +six-fifty just for a pair of tango moccasins, when I hears someone on +the bench back of me remark casual:</p> + +<p>"Nine dollars? Very well. Send them up to my hotel. Here's my card."</p> + +<p>And as there's somethin' familiar about the voice I takes a peek over my +shoulder. But neither the braid-bound cutaway fittin' so snug at the +waist, nor the snappy fall derby snuggled down over the lop ears, +suggested any old friends. Not until he swings around and I gets a view +of that nosy profile do I gasp any gasps.</p> + +<p>"Sizzlin' Stepsisters!" says I. "If it ain't Skeet Keyser!"</p> + +<p>"I—ah—I beg pardon?" says he, doin' it cold and haughty. Blamed if I +don't think he meant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> to hand me the mistaken identity dope first off; +but after another glance he thinks better of it. "Oh, yes," says he, +sort of languid, "Torchy, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Good guess, Skeet," says I, "seein' it's been all of two years since +you used to shove me my coffee reg'lar at the——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," he breaks in hasty; "but—I—ah—I have an appointment. Glad +to have seen you again."</p> + +<p>"You act it," says I. And then, grabbin' him by the sleeve as he's +backin' off, I whispers, "What's the disguise, Skeet?"</p> + +<p>"Really, now!" he protests indignant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well, very well!" says I. "But how should I know if someone +has wished a life income on you? Congrats."</p> + +<p>"Ah—er—thanks," says he. "I—I'll see you again—perhaps."</p> + +<p>I loved the way he puts that last touch on too, and you could almost +hear the sigh of relief as he fades down the aisle, leavin' me in one +stockin' foot gawpin' after him.</p> + +<p>No wonder I'm left open faced! Skeet Keyser in a tail coat, orderin' +nine-dollar pumps sent to his hotel! Why, say, more'n once I've staked +him to the price of a twenty-cent lodgin', and the only way I ever got +any of it back was by tippin' him off to this vacancy on the coffee urn +at the dairy lunch. Used to be copy boy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> on the Sunday, Skeet did; but +that was 'way back. It didn't last long either; for he was just as punk +a performer at that as he ever was at any of the other things he's +tackled.</p> + +<p>Gettin' the can tied to him was always Skeet's specialty. No mystery +about that, either; for of all the useless specimens that ever grafted +cigarettes he was about the limit. All he lacks is pep and bean and a +few other trifles. You wouldn't exactly call him ornamental, either. No, +him and that Apolloniris guy was quite diff'rent in their front and side +elevation. Mostly arms and legs, Skeet is, and sort of swivel-jointed +all over, with a back slope to his forehead and an under-cut chin. +Nothin' reticent about his beak, though. It juts out from the middle of +his face like the handle of a lovin' cup, and with his habit of +stretchin' his neck forward he always seems to be followin' a scent, +like one of these wienerwurst retrievers.</p> + +<p>Brought up somewhere back of Jefferson Market, down in old Greenwich +Village—if you know where that is. He's the only boy in a fam'ly of +five, and I understand all the Keyser girls have done first rate; one +bein' forelady in a big hair-dressin' joint, another married to the +lieutenant of a hook and ladder company, and two well placed in service.</p> + +<p>It was through bein' in on a little mix-up Skeet had with one of his +sisters that I got so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> well posted on the fam'ly hist'ry. Must have been +more'n a year ago, while Old Hickory was laid up at home there for a +spell, and I was chasin' back and forth from the Corrugated to the +Ellins house most every day. This time I hears a debate goin' on down at +the area door, and the next thing I knows out comes Skeet, assisted +active by the butler.</p> + +<p>Seems that one of the new maids is his sister Maggie, and he'd just been +callin' friendly in the hopes of sep'ratin' her from a dollar or so. It +wa'n't Maggie's day for contributin' to the prodigal son fund, though, +and Skeet was statin' his opinion of her reckless when the butler +interfered. Come near losin' Maggie her job, that little scene did; but +she promises faithful it sha'n't happen again, and was kept on.</p> + +<p>"Blast her!" says Skeet to me later. "She's just as bad as the rest of +'em. They're all tightwads. Why, even the old lady runs me out now when +I happen to be carryin' the banner and can't come across with my little +old five of a Saturday night! I might starve in the streets for all they +care. But I'll show 'em some day. You'll see!"</p> + +<p>Hanged if it don't look like he'd turned the trick too; for, as I've +hinted, Skeet is costumed like a lily of the field. But how he'd managed +to do it is what gets me. And for two days<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> after that I wasted valuable +time tryin' to frame up just where in the gen'ral scheme of things a +party like Skeet Keyser could connect with real money. After that I gave +up the myst'ry and spent my spare minutes wonderin' if I could do this +"One-two-three—hold!" business as successful in public as I could while +them dancin' school fairies was drillin' it into my nut at one-fifty per +throw.</p> + +<p>That's right, grin! But if you're billed to mingle in the merry throng +at a dance fest, you ain't goin' to trot out on the floor with any such +antique act as last season's Boston dip, are you? Might as well spring +the minuet. And specially when I'd had word that among others was to be +a certain party. Uh-huh! You can play it both ways too that Vee would be +up on the very latest, and if it was in me I meant to be right behind +her.</p> + +<p>Was I? Say, maybe if I wa'n't so blamed modest I could give you an idea +of how Vee and I just naturally—but I can't do it. Besides, there's +other matters; the grand jolt that come early in the evenin', for +instance. It was after the second number, and I'd made a dash into the +gents' dressin' room to see if my white tie showed any symptoms of +ridin' up in the back, and I'd just strolled out into the entrance hall +again, watchin' the push straggle in, when who should show up through +the double doors but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> a tall, lanky young chap with lop ears and a nose +one was bound to remember.</p> + +<p>It's Skeet Keyser; Skeet in shiny, thin-soled pumps, a pleated dress +shirt, black silk vest, and a top hat! He's bein' bowed in dignified by +the same butler, and is passed on to—well, it's a funny world, ain't +it? The maid on duty just inside the door happens to be Sister Maggie. +She has the respectful bow all ready when she gets a full-face view.</p> + +<p>"Aloysius!" says she, scared and husky.</p> + +<p>I got to hand it to Skeet, though, that he bears up noble. All he does +is to try to swallow his throat apple a couple of times, and then he +stares at her stern and distant. Also Maggie makes a quick recovery.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen this way, Sir," says she, and waves Skeet into the dressin' +room.</p> + +<p>I wanted to follow him up and tip him off that there's one or two other +reasons why this was the wrong house to put over any sporty bluff in; +but as it was I'm overdue in another quarter. You see, Marjorie has been +sittin' out on the side lines, as usual, and Vee has hinted how it would +be nice and charitable of me to brace her for a spiel. I'd sort of been +workin' myself up to the sacrifice, for you know Marjorie's some hefty +partner for anybody not in trainin' to steer around a ballroom floor; +but I'd figured out that the longer I put it off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> the worse it would be. +So off I trails with my heels draggin' a little heavy.</p> + +<p>"Why, thanks ever so much, Torchy," says she, "but I think I have a +partner for the first four or five. After that, though——"</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it," says I. "I mean, much obliged," and I backs off +hasty before she can change her mind.</p> + +<p>I had to kill time while Vee was dividin' a couple dances between two +young shrimps; so I sidles into a corner where Ferdie sits behind his +shell-rimmed glasses, lookin' bored and lonesome.</p> + +<p>"Now don't you wish you'd gone and had your feet educated?" says I.</p> + +<p>Ferdie yawns. "I think it quite sufficient," says he, "that one of us +intends making an exhibition. Marjorie has been taking lessons, you +know."</p> + +<p>"So I hear," says I. "And it's all right if she don't tackle the maxixe. +Hello! There it goes. Now you will see some stunts!"</p> + +<p>Yep, we did! And among the first couples to sail out on the floor, if +you'll believe it, was none other than Marjorie and our lop-eared young +hero, Skeet Keyser.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Gosh!" I groans. "Don't look, Ferdie!"</p> + +<p>I meant well too; It was goin' to be bad enough to see a corn-fed young +matron the size<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> of Marjorie, who can spin the arrow well up to the +hundred and eighty mark, monkey with them twisty evolutions; but to have +her get let in for it with a roughneck ringer like Skeet—well, that was +goin' to be a real tragedy. How he'd worked it, or what his excuse was +for bein' here at all, was useless questions to ask then. What was +comin' next was the thing to watch for.</p> + +<p>As for Ferdie, he just sits there and blinks, followin' 'em through his +spare panes. Course I could guess he wa'n't hep to any facts about +Skeet. He was just a strange young gent to him, and it wa'n't up to me +to add any details. So I settles back and watches 'em too.</p> + +<p>And, say, you know how surprised you'd be to see any fat friend of yours +buckle on a pair of ice skates and do the double grapevine up and down +the rink? Well, that's the identical kind of jar I got when Marjorie +begins that willowy bendy figure. It ain't any waddly caricature of it, +either. It's the real thing. Honest, she's as light on her feet as if +her middle name was Pavlowa!</p> + +<p>At the same time it's lucky Skeet has arms, long enough to reach 'way +round when he's steerin' her. If they'd been an inch or so shorter, he'd +have had to break his clinch in some of them whirls, and then there'd +been a big dent in the floor. He seems just built for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> the job, though. +In and out, round and round, through the Parisienne, the flirtation, and +all the other frills, he pilots her safe, bendin' and swayin' to the +music, his number ten feet glidin' easy, and kind of a smirky, satisfied +look on that sappy mug of his; while Marjorie, she simply lets herself +go for all she's worth, her eyes sparklin', and the pink and white in +her cheeks showin' clear and fresh.</p> + +<p>Take it from me too, it's some swell exhibit! There was four or five +other couples on at the same time, the girls all slender, wispy young +things, that never split out a waist seam in their lives; but Marjorie +and her partner had the gallery right with 'em. Two or three times +durin' the dance they got scatterin' applause, and when the music +fin'lly stops, leavin' 'em alone in the middle of the floor, they got a +reg'lar big hand.</p> + +<p>"I take it all back," says I to Ferdie. "That was real classy spielin'. +Now wa'n't it?."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," he grunts. "And I suppose I should be thankful that Marjorie +didn't try to jump through a paper hoop. I trust, however, that this +concludes the performance."</p> + +<p>It did not! Next on the card was a onestep, with Marjorie and her +unknown goin' to it like professionals; and if they omitted any fancy +waves, you couldn't prove it by me. By this time too, Ferdie was sittin' +up and takin' notice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> "Oh, I say," says he, "isn't that the same fellow +she danced with before?"</p> + +<p>"You don't think a bunch of works like that could be twins, do you?" +says I.</p> + +<p>"But—but I'm sure I don't remember having met him, you know," says +Ferdie, rubbin' his chin thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"Then maybe you ain't," says I.</p> + +<p>When they comes on for a third time, though, and prances through about +as flossy a half-and-half as I've ever seen pulled at a private dance, +Ferdie is some agitated in the mind. He ain't exactly green-eyed, but +he's some disturbed. Yes, all of that!</p> + +<p>"I—I think I'd best speak to Marjorie," says he.</p> + +<p>"You'll have plenty of competition," says I. "Look!"</p> + +<p>For the young chappies are crowdin' around her two deep, makin' dates +for the next numbers. "Ferdie stares at the spectacle puzzled. He's a +persistent messer, though.</p> + +<p>"But really," he goes on, "I think I ought to meet that young fellow and +find out who he is."</p> + +<p>"Ah, bottle it up until afterwards!" says I. "Don't rock the skiff."</p> + +<p>But there's a streak of mule in Ferdie a foot wide. "People will be +asking me who he is!" he insists, "and if I don't know, what will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> they +think? See, isn't that he, standing just over there?"</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Robert has to drift along and complicate matters by joshin' +brother-in-law a little. "Congratulations on your substitute, Ferdie," +says he. "Where did he come from?"</p> + +<p>Which brings a ruddy tint into Ferdie's ears. "Ask Marjorie," says he. +"I'm sure he's an utter stranger to me."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert, and when he's had the full situation mapped +out for him blamed if he don't begin to take it serious too.</p> + +<p>"To be sure, Ferdie," says he. "Everyone seems to think he must be a +guest of yours; but as he isn't—well, it's quite time someone +discovered. Let's go over and introduce ourselves."</p> + +<p>And somehow that didn't listen good to me, either. Marjorie's done a lot +of nice turns for me, and this looked like it was my play to lend a +hand.</p> + +<p>"With two or three more," says I, "you could form a perfectly good mob, +couldn't you?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert whirls and demands sarcastic, "Well, what would you suggest, +young man?"</p> + +<p>"He's got all the earmarks of a reg'lar invited guest, ain't he?" says +I. "And unless you're achin' to start somethin', why not let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> me handle +this 'Who the blazes are you?' act?"</p> + +<p>He sees the point too, Mr. Robert does. He shrugs his shoulders and +grins. "That's so," says he. "All right, Torchy. Full diplomatic powers, +and if necessary I shall restrain Ferdie by the collar."</p> + +<p>I wa'n't wastin' time on any subtle strategy, though. Walkin' over to +Skeet I taps him on the shoulder, and then it's his turn to gawp at my +costume.</p> + +<p>"Why," he gasps, "how—er—where did you——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I brought myself out last season," says I. "But just a minute, if +you don't mind," and I jerks my thumb towards the dressin' room.</p> + +<p>"But, you know," he begins, "I—I——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, ditch the shifty stuff!" says I. "This is orders from headquarters. +Come!"</p> + +<p>And he trots right along. Once I gets him behind the draperies I shoots +it at him straight. "Who'd you pinch the invite from?" says I.</p> + +<p>"See here, now!" he comes back peevish. "You have no call to say that. I +had a bid, all right; got it with me. There! What about that?" And he +flashes a card on me.</p> + +<p>It's one of Marjorie's!</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Met her at Mrs. Astor's, I expect?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span></p> + +<p>Skeet shuffles his feet and tries to look indignant.</p> + +<p>"Come on, give us the plot of the piece," says I, "or I'll call up +Sister Maggie and put her on the stand. Where was it, now?"</p> + +<p>"If you must know," says Skeet sulky, "it was at Roselle's."</p> + +<p>"The tango factory?" says I. "Oh, I'm beginnin' to get the thread. The +place where she's been takin' lessons, eh?"</p> + +<p>Skeet nods.</p> + +<p>"Is this romance, or business, then?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Think I'm a fathead?" says he. "I'm gettin' fifteen for this, and I'm +earnin' the money too. It's a regular thing. Last night I was Cousin +Harry for an old maid from Washington—went to a swell house dance up on +Riverside Drive. She came across with twenty for that, and paid for the +taxi."</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "Then them long legs of yours has turned out a +good asset after all. What you pullin' down, Skeet, on an average?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty regular, and a hundred or so on the side," says he, swellin' his +chest out. "And, say, I guess I got it some on the rest of the family. +You know how they used me,—like dirt, the old lady callin' me a loafer, +and Annie so stuck up on livin' in an elevator apartment she wouldn't +have me around. Maggie<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> too! Didn't I hand it to her, though? Notice me +frost her, eh? But I said I'd show 'em some day. Guess I've delivered +the goods. Look at me now, all dolled up every night, and mixin' with +the best people! Say, you watch me! Why, I can go out there and pick any +queen you want to name. They're crazy about me. I could show you mash +notes and photos too. Oh, I'm Winning Willie with the fluffs, I am!"</p> + +<p>Well, it was worth listenin' to. He struts around waggin' his silly +head, until I can hardly keep from throwin' a chair at him. Course +something had to be dealt out. He needed it bad. So I sizes him up rapid +and makes the first play that comes into my head.</p> + +<p>"You're a wonder, Skeet," says I. "And it's a great game as long as you +can get away with it. But whisper!" Here I glances around cautious. "You +know I'm a friend of yours."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure," says he careless. "What then?"</p> + +<p>"Only this," says I. "Here's once when I'm afraid you're about to pull +down trouble."</p> + +<p>"How's that?" says he, twistin' his neck uneasy.</p> + +<p>"Notice the two gents I was just talkin' with," I goes on, "specially +the savage-lookin' one with the framed lamps? Well, that was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> Hubby. +He's got one of these hair-trigger dispositions too."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says Skeet. But he's listenin' close.</p> + +<p>"I'm only tellin' you," says I. "Then the big one with the wide +shoulders—that's Brother. Reg'lar brute, he is, and a temper——"</p> + +<p>That gets him stary eyed. "You—you don't mean," says he, "that——"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "You know you and the young lady was some conspicuous. +There's been talk all round the room. They've both heard, and they're +beefin' something awful. Course I ain't sayin' they'll spring any +gunplay right in the house; but—why, what's wrong, Skeet?"</p> + +<p>Honest, he's gone putty faced and panicky. He begins pawin' around for +his overcoat.</p> + +<p>"Ain't goin' so soon, are you," says I, "without breakin' a few more +hearts?"</p> + +<p>"I—I'm goin' to get out of here!" says he, his teeth chattery. He'd +grabbed his silk lid and was makin' a dash for the front door when I +stopped him.</p> + +<p>"Not that way, for the love of soup!" says I. "They'll be layin' for you +there. Why not bluff it out and cut up with some of the other queens?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not feeling well," says he. "I—I'm going, I tell you!"</p> + +<p>"If you insist, then," says I, "perhaps I can sneak you out. Here, this +way. Now slide in behind that portière until I find one of the maids. +Oh, here's one now. S-s-s-t! That you, Maggie? Well, smuggle Mr. Keyser +out the back way, will you? And if you don't want to witness bloodshed, +do it quick!"</p> + +<p>I tipped her the wink over his shoulder, and the last glimpse I had of +Skeet he was bein' hustled and shoved towards the back way by willin' +hands.</p> + +<p>By the time I gets back into the ballroom I finds Marjorie right in the +midst of a fam'ly court martial. She's makin' a full confession.</p> + +<p>"Of course I hired him," she's sayin' to Brother Robert. "Why? Because +I've been a wall flower at too many dances, and I'm tired of it. No, I +don't know who he is, I'm sure; but he's a perfectly lovely dancer. I +wonder where he's disappeared to?"</p> + +<p>Which seemed to be my cue to report. "Mr. Keyser presents his +compliments," says I, "and begs to be excused for the rest of the +evenin' on account of feelin' suddenly indisposed. He says you can send +him that fifteen by mail, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Well, the idea!" gasps Marjorie.</p> + +<p>As for Mr. Robert, he chuckles. Takin' me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> one side, he asks +confidential, "What did you use on our young friend, persuasion, or +assault with intent?"</p> + +<p>"On a fish-face like that?" says I. "Nope. This was just a simple case +of spill."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2><h3>GETTING A JOLT FROM WESTY</h3> +</div> + +<p>You might call it time out, or suspended hostilities durin' peace +negotiations, or anything like that. Anyway, Aunty has softened up to +the extent of lettin' me come around once a week without makin' me +assume a disguise, or crawl in through the coal chute. Course I'm still +under suspicion; but while the ban ain't lifted complete she don't treat +me quite so much like a porch climber or a free speech agitator.</p> + +<p>"Remember," says she, "Friday evenings only, from half after eight until +not later than ten."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm," says I, "and it's mighty——"</p> + +<p>"Please!" she breaks in. "No grotesquely phrased effusions of gratitude. +I am merely indulging Verona in one of her absurd whims. You understand +that, I trust?"</p> + +<p>"I get your idea," says I, "and even if it don't swell my chest any, +I'm——"</p> + +<p>"Kindly refrain from using such patois," says Aunty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "You mean ditch the gabby talk? All right, Ma'am."</p> + +<p>Aunty rolls her eyes and sighs hopeless. "How my niece can find +entertainment in such——" Here Aunty stops and shrugs her shoulders. +"Well," she goes on, "it is a mystery to me."</p> + +<p>"Me too," says I; "so for once we're playin' on the same side of the +net, ain't we! Say, but she's some girl though!"</p> + +<p>Aunty's mouth corners wrinkle into one of them sarcastic smiles that's +her specialty, and she remarks careless: "Quite a number of young men +seem to have discovered that Verona is rather attractive."</p> + +<p>"They'd have to be blind in both eyes and born without ears if they +didn't," says I, "believe me!"</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, we had a nice confidential little chat, me and Aunty +did,—almost chummy, you know,—and as it breaks up and I backs out into +the hall, givin' her the polite "Good evenin', Ma'am," I thought I heard +a half-smothered snicker behind the draperies. Maybe it was that flossy +French maid of theirs. But I floats downtown as gay and chirky as though +I'd been promoted to first vice-president of something.</p> + +<p>Course I was wise to the fact that Aunty wa'n't arrangin' any duo act +with the lights<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> shaded soft. Not her! Even if I had an official ratin' +in the Corrugated now, and a few weeks back had shunted her off from a +losin' stock deal, she wa'n't tryin' to decoy me into the fam'ly. +Hardly! I could guess how she'd set the stage for my weekly call, and if +I found myself with anything more than a walk-on part in a mob scene I'd +be lucky.</p> + +<p>You know she's taken a house for the winter, one of them old-fashioned +brownstone fronts up on Madison-ave. that some friends of hers was goin' +to close durin' a tour abroad. Nothin' swell, but real comfy and +substantial, and as I marches up bold for my first push at the bell +button I'm kind of relieved that I don't have to stand in line.</p> + +<p>Who should I get a glimpse of, though, as I'm handin' my things to the +butler, but the favored candidate, Sappy Westlake? Yep, big as life, +with his slick, pale hair, his long legs, and his woodeny face! Looked +like his admission card must have been punched for eight <span class="smcap">p.m.</span>, or else +he'd been asked for dinner. Anyway, he was right on the ground, thumpin' +out a new rag on the piano, and enjoyin' the full glare of the +limelight. The only other entry I can discover is a girl.</p> + +<p>"My friend Miss Ull," explains Vee.</p> + +<p>A good deal of a queen Miss Ull is too, tall and slim and tinted up +delicate, but one of these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> poutin', peevish beauts that can look you +over cold and distant and say "Howdy do" in such a bored, tired tone +that you feel like apologizin' for the intrusion.</p> + +<p>They didn't get wildly enthusiastic over my entrance, Miss Ull and +Westy. In fact, almost before the honors are done they turns their backs +on me and drifts to the piano once more.</p> + +<p>"Do play that 'Try-trimmer-Träumerei' thing again," urges Miss Ull, and +begins to hum it as Westy proceeds to bang it out.</p> + +<p>But there's Vee, her wheat-colored hair fluffin' about her seashell ears +and her big gray eyes watchin' me sort of quizzin' and impish. "Well, +Mr. Private Secretary?" says she.</p> + +<p>"When does the rest of the chorus come on?" says I.</p> + +<p>"The what?" says Vee.</p> + +<p>"The full panel," says I. "Aunty's planned to have the S. R. O. sign out +on my evenin's, ain't she?"</p> + +<p>At which Vee tosses her head. "How silly!" says she. "No one else is +expected that I know of. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she might think we'd be lonesome," says I. "Honest, I was lookin' +for a bunch; but if it's only a mixed foursome, that ain't so bad. I got +the scheme, though. She counts Westy as better than a crowd. 'Safety +First'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> is her motto. But who's the Peevish Priscilla here, that's so +tickled to see me come in she has to turn away to hide her emotion?"</p> + +<p>"Doris?" says Vee. "Oh, we got to know her on the steamer coming back +from the Mediterranean last winter. Stunning, isn't she?"</p> + +<p>"Specially her manners," says I. "Almost paralyzin'."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's just her way," says Vee. "Really, she's very nice when you +get to know her. I'm rather sorry for her too. Her home life is—well, +not at all congenial. That's one reason why I asked her to visit me for +a week or so."</p> + +<p>"That's the easiest thing you do, ain't it," says I, "bein' nice to +folks that ain't used to it?"</p> + +<p>"Thank goodness," says Vee, "someone has discovered my angelic qualities +at last! Go on, Torchy, think of some more, can't you?" And she claps +her hands enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>"Quit your spoofin'," says I, "or I'll ring for Aunty and tell how +you've been kiddin' the guest of honor. I might talk easier too, if we +could adjourn to the window alcove over there. No rule against that, is +there?"</p> + +<p>Didn't seem to be. And we'd have had a perfectly good chat if it hadn't +been for Doris. Such a restless young female! First she wants to drum +something out on the piano herself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> Then she must have Vee come show +her how it ought to go. Next she wants to practice a new fancy dance, +and so on. She keeps Westy trottin' around, and Vee comin' and goin', +and things stirred up gen'rally. One minute she's gigglin' hysterical +over nothin' at all, and the next she's poutin' sulky.</p> + +<p>Anyway, she managed to queer the best part of the evenin', and I'd just +settled down with Vee in a corner when the big hall clock starts to +chime ten, and in through the draperies marches Aunty. It ain't any +accidental droppin' in, either. She glances at me stern and suggestive +and nods towards the door. So it was all over!</p> + +<p>"Say," I whispers to Vee as I does a draggy exit, "if Doris is to be +with us again, would you mind my bringin' a clothesline and ropin' her +to the piano?"</p> + +<p>Maybe it wa'n't some discouragin' a week later to find the same pair +still on the job, with Doris as much of a peace disturber as ever. I got +a little more of her history sketched out by Vee that night. Seems that +Doris didn't really belong, for all her airs. Her folks had only lived +up in the West 70's for four or five years, and before that——</p> + +<p>"Well, you know," says Vee, archin' her eyebrows expressive, "on the +East Side somewhere."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span></p> + +<p>You see, Father had been comin' strong in business of late,—antiques +and house decoratin'. I remember havin' seen the name over the door of +his big Fifth-ave. shop,—Leo Ull. You know there's about five hundred +per cent, profit in that game when you get it goin', and while Pa Ull +might have started small, in an East 14th Street basement, with livin' +rooms in the rear, he kept branchin' out,—gettin' to Fourth-ave., and +fin'lly to Fifth, jumpin' from a flat to an apartment, and from that to +a reg'lar house.</p> + +<p>So the two boys went to college, and later on little Doris, with long +braids down her back and weeps in her eyes, is sent off to a girls' +boardin' school. By the time her turn came too, the annual income was +runnin' into six figures. Besides, Doris was the pet. And when Pa and Ma +Ull sat down to pick out a young ladies' culture fact'ry for her the +process was simple. They discarded all but three of the catalogues, +savin' them that was printed on the thickest paper and havin' the most +halftone pictures, and then put the tag on the one where the rates was +highest. Near Washington, I think it was; anyway, somewhere +South,—board and tuition, two thousand dollars and up; everything +extra, from lead pencils to lessons in court etiquette; and the young +ladies limited to ten new evenin' dresses a term.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span></p> + +<p>Maybe you've seen products of such exclusive establishments? And if you +have perhaps you can frame up a faint picture of what Doris was like +after four years at Hetherington Hall and a five months' trip abroad +chaperoned by the Baroness Parcheezi. No wonder she didn't find home a +happy spot after that!</p> + +<p>"Her brothers are quite nice, I believe," says Vee. "They're both +married, though. Mr. Ull is not so bad, either,—a little crude perhaps; +but he has learned to wear a frock coat in the shop and not to talk to +lady customers when he has a cigar between his teeth. But Mrs. +Ull—well, she hasn't kept up, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Still on East 14th Street, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>Vee admits that nearly states the case. "And of course," she goes on, +"she doesn't understand Doris. They don't get on at all well. So when +Doris told me how lonely and unhappy she was at home and begged me to +visit her for a week in return—well, what could I do? I'm going back +with her Monday."</p> + +<p>"Then," says I, "I see where I cut next Friday off the calendar."</p> + +<p>"Unless," suggests Vee, droppin' her long eyelashes coy, "you were not +too stupid to think of——"</p> + +<p>"Say," I breaks in, "gimme that number again, will you? Suppose I could +duck meetin' Westy if I came the first evenin'?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span></p> + +<p>"If you're at all afraid of him, you shouldn't run the risk," comes back +Vee.</p> + +<p>"Chance is my middle name," says I. "Only him stickin' around does make +a room so crowded. I didn't know but he might miss a night +occasionally."</p> + +<p>Vee sticks the tip of her tongue out. "Just two during the last ten +days, if you want to know," says she.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Must think he holds a season ticket."</p> + +<p>I couldn't make out, either, what it was that Vee seems so amused over; +for as near as I can judge she was never very strong for Sappy herself. +Maybe it was just a string she was handin' me.</p> + +<p>Havin' decided on that, I waits patient until eight-fifteen Monday +evenin', and then breezes cheery and hopeful through the Ulls' front +door and into the front room. No Westy in sight, or anybody else. The +maid says the young ladies are in somewhere, and she'll tell 'em I've +come.</p> + +<p>So I wanders about amongst the furniture, that's set around almost as +thick as in a showroom,—heavy, fancy pieces, most likely ones that had +been sent up from the store as stickers. The samples of art on the walls +struck me as a bit gaudy too, and I was tryin' to guess how it would +seem if you had to live<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> in that sort of clutter continual, when out +through the slidin' doors from the lib'ry appears Sappy the Constant.</p> + +<p>"The poor prune!" thinks I. "I wonder if I've got time to work up some +scheme of puttin' the skids under him?"</p> + +<p>But instead of givin' me the haughty stare as usual he rushes towards me +smilin' and excited. "Oh, I say!" he breaks out. "Torchy, isn't it? +Well, I—I've got a big piece of news."</p> + +<p>"I know," says I. "Someone's told you that the Panama Canal's full of +water."</p> + +<p>"No, no!" says he. "It—it's about me. Just happened, you know. And +really I must tell someone."</p> + +<p>I had a choky sensation in my throat about then, and my breath came a +little short; but I managed to get out husky, "Well, toss it over."</p> + +<p>Westy beams grateful. "Isn't it wonderful?" says he. "I—I've got her!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" I gasps, grippin' a chair back.</p> + +<p>"She just told me," says he, "in there. She's—she's wearing my ring +now."</p> + +<p>Got me right under the belt buckle, that did. I felt wabbly and dizzy +for a second, and I expect I gawps at him open faced. Then I takes a +brace. Had to. I don't know how well I did it either, or how convincin' +it sounded, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> I found myself shakin' him by the mitt and sayin': +"Congratulations, Westlake. You—you've got a girl worth gettin', +believe me!"</p> + +<p>"Thanks awfully, old man," says he, still pumpin' my arm up and down. "I +can hardly realize it myself. Awfully bad case I had, you know. And now, +while I have the courage, I suppose I'd best see her mother."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" says I, starin' at him.</p> + +<p>"I know," says he, "it isn't being done much nowadays, but somehow I +think I ought. You know I haven't even met Mrs. Ull as yet."</p> + +<p>I hope he was so fussed he didn't notice that sigh of relief I let out; +for I'll admit it was some able-bodied affair,—a good deal like +shuttin' off the air in a brake connection, or rippin' a sheet. Anyway, +I made up for it the next minute.</p> + +<p>"You and Doris, eh?" says I, poundin' him on the back hearty. "Ain't you +the foxy pair, though? Well, well! Here, let's have another shake on +that. But why not see Father and tell him about it? Know the old gent, +don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es," says Westy, flushin' a bit. "But he—well, he's her father, +of course. She can't help that. And it makes no difference at all to me +if he isn't really refined—not a bit. But—but I'd rather not talk to +him just now. I—I prefer to see Mrs. Ull."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span></p> + +<p>I can't say just what I felt so friendly and fraternal to him about +then; but I did. "Westy," says I, "take my advice about this hunch of +yours to see Mother. Don't!"</p> + +<p>"But really," he insists, "I must tell one or the other, don't you see. +And unless I do it right away I know I never can at all. Besides I've +made up my mind that Mrs. Ull ought to be the first to know. I—I'm +going to ring for the maid and ask to see her."</p> + +<p>"Good nerve!" says I, slappin' him on the shoulder. "In that case I'll +just slip into the back room there and shut the door."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!" says he, glancin' around panicky. "I—I wish you'd stay. +I—I don't fancy facing her alone. Please stay!"</p> + +<p>"It ain't reg'lar," says I.</p> + +<p>"I don't care," says Westy, pleadin'. "You could sort of introduce me, +you know, and—and help me out if I got stuck. You would, wouldn't you?"</p> + +<p>And it was amazin' how diff'rent I felt towards Westy from five minutes +before. His best friend couldn't have looked on him fonder, or promised +to stand by him closer. I calls the maid myself, discovers that Mrs. Ull +is in the upstairs sittin' room, and sends the message that Mr. Westlake +would like to see her right off about something important.</p> + +<p>"But you got to buck up, my boy," says I;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> "for from all the dope I've +had you've got a jolt comin' to you."</p> + +<p>That wa'n't any idle rumor, either. He'd hardly begun pacin' restless in +and out among the chairs and tables before we hears a heavy pad-pad on +the stairs, and the next thing we know the lady is standin' in the door.</p> + +<p>Not such an awful stout old party as I'd looked for, nor she didn't have +such a bad face; but with the funny way she has her hair bobbed up, and +the weird way her dress fits her, like it had been cut out left-handed +in a blind asylum—well, she's a mess, that's all. It's an expensive +lookin' outfit too, and the jew'lry display around her lumpy neck and on +her pudgy fingers was enough to make you blink; but somehow it all +looked out of place.</p> + +<p>For a second she stands there fingerin' her rings fidgety, and then +remarks unexpected: "It's about Doris, ain't it? Well, young feller, +what is it you got on your mind?"</p> + +<p>And all of a sudden I tumbles to the fact that she's lookin' straight at +me. Then it was my turn to go panicky. "Excuse me, Ma'am," says I hasty, +"but that's the guilty party, the one over by the fireplace. Mr. +Westlake, Ma'am."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says she. "That one, eh? Well, let's have it!" and with that she +paddles over to a high-backed, carved mahogany chair and settles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> +herself sort of grim and defiant. I almost had to push Westy to the +front too.</p> + +<p>"I expect you've talked this all over with her father, eh?" she goes on. +"I'm always the last to get wise to anything that goes on in this house, +specially if it's about Doris. Come, let's have it!"</p> + +<p>"But I haven't seen Mr. Ull at all," protests Westy. "It—it's just +happened. And I thought you ought to know first. I want to ask you, Mrs. +Ull, if I may marry Doris?"</p> + +<p>We wa'n't lookin' for what come next, either of us; her big red face had +such a hard, sullen look on it, like she knew we was sizin' her up and +meant to show us she didn't give a hoot what we thought. But as Westy +finishes and bows real respectful, holdin' out his hand friendly, the +change come. The hard lines around her mouth softens, the narrowed eyes +widen and light up, and her stiff under jaw gets trembly. A tear or so +trickles foolish down the side of her nose; but she don't pay any +attention. She's just starin' at Westy.</p> + +<p>"You—you wanted me to know first, did you?" says she, with a break in +her shrill, cackly voice. "Me?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it only right," says Westy. "You're Doris's mother, you know, +and——"</p> + +<p>"Good boy!" says she, reachin' out after one of his hands and pattin' +it. "I'm glad you did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> too. Doris, she's got too fine for her old +mother. That ain't so much her fault as it is mine, I expect. I'm kind +of rough, and a good deal behind the times. I ain't kept up, not even +the way Leo has. But then, I ain't had the chance. I've been at home, +lookin' after the boys and—and Doris. I saw she was gettin' spoiled; +but I didn't have the heart to bring her home and stop it. She's young, +though. She'll get over it. You'll help her. Oh, I know about you. Quite +a young swell, you are; but I guess you're all right. And I'm glad for +Doris. Maybe too, she'll find out some day that her rough old mother, +who got left so far behind, thinks a lot of her still. You—you'll tell +her as much some time perhaps. Won't you?"</p> + +<p>Say, take it from me, I was so misty in the eyes about then, and so +choky under my collar, that I couldn't have done it myself. But Westy +did. There's a heap more to him than shows on the outside.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Ull," says he, "I shall tell Doris all of that, and much more. And +I'm sure that both of us are going to be very fond of you. And if you +don't mind, I'm going to begin now to call you Mother."</p> + +<p>Yes, I was gettin' a little uneasy at that stage. I hadn't counted on +bein' let in for quite such a close fam'ly scene. And when the two girls +showed up with their arms locked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> about each other, and Vee leads Doris +up to Mother Ull, and they goes to a three-cornered clinch, sobbin' on +one another's shoulder—well, I faded.</p> + +<p>On the way home I was struck by a sudden thought that trickled all the +way down my spine like a splinter of ice. "If I ever had the luck to get +that far," thinks I, "would I have to go through any such an act with +Aunty? Hel-lup, Hubert! Hel-lup!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2><h3>SOME GUESSES ON RUBY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Well, I'm shocked at Ruby, that's all. Also I'm beginnin' to suspicion I +ain't such a human-nature dope artist as I thought, for I've made at +least three fruity forecasts on Ruby, and the returns are still comin' +in.</p> + +<p>My first frame-up was natural enough. When this goose-necked young +female with the far-away look in her eyes appeared as No. 7 in our +batt'ry of lady typists, and I heard Mr. Robert havin' a séance tryin' +to dictate some of the mornin' correspondence to her, I swung round with +a grin on my face and took a second look. She was fussed and scared.</p> + +<p>No wonder; for Mr. Robert has a shorthand system of his own that he uses +in dictatin' letters. He'll reel off the name and address all right, and +then simply sketch in what he wants said, without takin' pains to throw +in such details as "Replying to yours of even date," or "We are in +receipt of yours of the 20th inst." And the connectin' links he always +leaves to the stenog.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span></p> + +<p>Course that don't take much bean after they get used to his ways; but +this fairy in the puckered black velvet waist and the white linen cuffs +hadn't been on the Corrugated staff more 'n three days, and this was her +first tryout on private officework. She'd been told to read over the +last letter fired at her, and she was doin' it like this:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Baily, Banks & Baker</span>, Something-or-other Chestnut, Philadelphia. +Look up the number, will you? Gentlemen—and so on. Ah—er—what's +that note of theirs? Oh, yes! Shipments of ore will be resumed—</p></div> + +<p>Which was where Mr. Robert stops her. "Pardon me," says he, "but before +we go any further just how much of that rubbish do you mean to +transcribe?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says Ruby, starin' at him vacant, "I—I took down just what you +said."</p> + +<p>"Mm-m-m!" says he sarcastic. "My error. And—er—that will be all." +Then, when she's gone, he growls savage: "Delightful, eh? You noticed +her, didn't you, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"The mouth breather?" says I. "Sure! That's Ruby. Nobody home, and the +front door left open. One of Piddie's finds, I expect."</p> + +<p>"Ring for him, will you?" says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>Poor Piddie! He was almost as fussed as Ruby had been. He admits takin' +her on, but insists that she brought a good letter from some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> Western +mill concern and was a wonder at takin' figures.</p> + +<p>"Keep her on them and out of here, then," says Mr. Robert. "And if you +love peace, Mr. Piddie, avoid sending her to the governor."</p> + +<p>Which was a good hunch too. What Old Hickory would have remarked if them +letters had got to him it ain't best to imagine. Besides, that stare of +Ruby's would have got on his nerves from the start; for it's the +weirdest, emptiest, why-am-I-here look I ever saw outside a nut fact'ry. +Kind of a hauntin' look too. I couldn't help watchin' for it every time +I passes through the front office, just to see if it had changed any. +And it didn't—always the same!</p> + +<p>Then here one day when I has to cook up some tabulated stuff for the +Semiannual me and Ruby had a three-hour session together, me readin' off +long strings of numbers, and her thumpin' 'em out on the keys. We got +along fine too, and when I says as much at the finish she jars me almost +speechless by shootin' over a shy, grateful look and smilin' coy.</p> + +<p>From then on it was almost a case of friendly relations between me and +Ruby, conducted on the basis of about two smiles a day. Poor thing! I +expect them was about the only friendly motions she went through durin' +business hours; for she didn't seem to mix at all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> with the other lady +typists, and as for the young sports around the shop—well, to them Ruby +was a standin' joke.</p> + +<p>And you could hardly blame 'em. Them back-number costumes of hers looked +odd enough mixed in with all the harem effects and wired-neck ruffs that +the others wore down to work. But when it come to doin' her hair Ruby +was in a class by herself. No spit curls or French rolls for her! She +sticks to the plain double braid, wound around her head smooth and +slick, like the stuff they wrap Chianti bottles in, and with her long +soup-viaduct it gives her sort of a top-heavy look. Sort of dull, +ginger-colored hair it is too. Besides that she's a tall, +shingle-chested female, well along in the twenties, I should judge, and +with all the earmarks of bein' an old maid.</p> + +<p>So shock No. 2 is handed me when I discovers how the high-shouldered +young husk with the wide-set blue eyes, that I'd seen hangin' round the +Arcade on and off, was really waitin' for Ruby. Uh-huh! I stood and +watched 'em sidle up to each other and go driftin' out into Broadway +hand in hand. A swell pair they'd make for a Rube vaudeville act! +Honest, with a few make-up touches, they could have walked right on and +had the gallery with 'em!</p> + +<p>Believe me, I couldn't miss a chance to josh Ruby some on that. I shoves +it at her next day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> when I comes back early from lunch and finds her +brushin' her sandwich crumbs into the waste basket.</p> + +<p>"Now don't spring any musty first-cousin gag on me," says I; "for it +don't go with the fond, palm-pressin' act. Steady comp'ny, ain't he?"</p> + +<p>Which was where you'd expect her to turn pink in the ears and let loose +a giggle. But not Ruby. She's a solemn, serious-minded party, Ruby is. +"Do you mean Mr. Lindholm?" says she.</p> + +<p>"Heavings!" says I. "Do you have relays of 'em? I'm referrin' to the +stocky-built young Romeo that picked you up at the door last night."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says she placid, "Nelson Lindholm. We had Sanskrit together."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "Sans-which? What kind of a disease is that?"</p> + +<p>"It's a language," explains Ruby. "We were in the same class. I thought +it might help me in my foreign mission work. I'm sure I don't know why +Nelson took it, though. He was studying electrical engineering."</p> + +<p>"Maybe it was catchin', at that," says I. "Where was all this?"</p> + +<p>"At the Co-ed," says Ruby. "But then I'd known Nelson before. He's from +Naukeesha too."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span></p> + +<p>"Come again," says I. "From what?"</p> + +<p>"Naukeesha," repeats Ruby, just as if it was some common name like +Patchogue or Hoboken.</p> + +<p>"Is that an island somewhere," says I, "or just a mixed drink?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says she, "it's a town; in Wisconsin, you know."</p> + +<p>"Think of that!" says I. "How they do mess up the map! What's it like, +this Naukeesha?"</p> + +<p>And for the first time Ruby shows some traces of life. "It's nice," says +she, "real nice. Not at all like New York."</p> + +<p>"Ah come, not so rough!" says I. "What you got special against our burg +here?"</p> + +<p>Ruby lapses back into her vacant stare and sort of shivers. "It's so big +and—and whirly!" says she. "I don't like things to be whirly. Then the +people are so strange, and their faces so hard. If—if I should fall +down in one of those crowds, I'm sure they would walk right over me, +trample on me, without caring."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says I. "You'll work up a rush-hour nerve in a month or so. Of +course, havin' always lived in a place like Naukeesha——"</p> + +<p>"But I haven't," corrects Ruby. "I was born in Kansas."</p> + +<p>"As bad as that!" says I. "And your folks moved up there later, eh?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," says she. "They—they—I lost them there. A cyclone, you know."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean," says I, "that—that——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says she, "Mother, Father, and my two brothers. We were all +together when it struck; that is, I was just coming in from the kitchen. +I'd been shutting the windows. I saw them all go—whirled off, just like +that. The chimney fell, big beams came down, then it was all smoky and +dark. I must have been blown through a window. My face was cut a little. +I never knew. Neighbors found me in a field by a stump. They found the +others too—laid them side by side in the wagon shed. Nothing else was +left standing. It's dreadful, being in a cyclone—the roar, you know, +and things coming at you in the dark, and that feeling of being lifted +and whirled. I was only twelve; but I—I can't forget. And when I'm in +big, noisy places it all comes back. I suppose I'm silly."</p> + +<p>Was she? Say, what's your guess about that? And, take it from me, I +didn't wonder any more at that stary look of hers. She'd seen 'em all +go—four of 'em. Good-night! I talked easy and soothin' to Ruby after +that.</p> + +<p>"Then I went up to live with Uncle Edward at Naukeesha," she trails +along. "He's a minister there. It was he who suggested my going into +foreign mission work. I had to do something,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> you know, and I'd always +been such a good scholar. I love books. So I studied hard, and was sent +to the Co-ed. But the languages took so much time. Then I had to skip +several terms and work to help pay my expenses. I worked during +vacations too, at anything. Now I'm waiting for a field. They send you +out when there's a vacancy."</p> + +<p>"How about Nelson?" says I. "He's goin' to be a missionary too?"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't want me to go," says Ruby, shakin' her head. "That is why he +came on. He had charge of the electric light plant too, a good place. +And here he gets only odd jobs. I tell him he's silly to stay. I can't +see why he does."</p> + +<p>"Asked him, have you?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Why, no," says Ruby.</p> + +<p>"Shoot it at him to-night," says I.</p> + +<p>But she shakes her head, opens her notebook, and feeds in a copyin' +sheet as the clock points to 1. I looks up just in time to catch a +couple of them cheap bondroom sports nudgin' each other as they passes +by. Thought I'd been joshin' the Standin' Joke, I expect. Well, that's +the way I started in, I'll admit.</p> + +<p>It's only a day or so later I has the luck to run across Oakley Mills. +Something had come up that needed to be passed on by Mr. Robert, and as +he was still out lunchin' I scouts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> over to his club, and finds him +stowed away at a corner table with this chatty playwright party.</p> + +<p>He's quite a swell, Oakley is, you know; and I guess with one Broadway +hit in its second year, and a lot of road comp'nies out, he can afford +to flit around under the white lights. Him and Mr. Robert has always +been more or less chummy, and every now and then they get together like +this for a talkfest. As Mr. Mills seems to be right in the middle of +something as I drifts in, Mr. Robert waves me to a chair and signals him +to keep on, which he does.</p> + +<p>"It's a curious mess, that's all," says Oakley, spreadin' out his +manicured fingers and shruggin' his shoulders under his Donegal Norfolk. +"I'm not sure if the new piece will ever go on."</p> + +<p>"Another procrastinating producer?" asks Mr. Robert careless.</p> + +<p>"No, a finicky author this time," says Oakley. "You see, there is one +part, a character part, which I'm insisting must be cast right. It +seemed easy at first. But these women of our American stage! No +training, no facility, no understanding! Not one of them can fill it, +and we've tried nearly a dozen. If I could only find the original!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Mr. Robert, who's been payin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> more attention to manipulatin' +the soda siphon than to Oakley's beefin'. "What original?"</p> + +<p>"The dumbest, woodenest, most conscientious young female person it has +ever been my lot to meet," goes on Mr. Mills. "Talk about your rare +types! You should have known Faithful Fannie (my name for her, you +know). It was out in the Middle West last summer. I had two or three +weeks' work to do on the new piece, revising it to fit Amy Dean. All +stars of that magnitude demand it, you understand.</p> + +<p>"Well, I should have stayed right here until it was done, but some +Chicago friends wanted me to go with them up into the lake region, +promised me an ideal place to work in—all that. So I went. I might have +had better sense. You know these bungalow colonies in the woods—where +they live in fourteen-room log cabins, fitted with electric lights and +English butlers? Bah! It was bridge and tennis and dancing day and +night, with a new mob every week-end. Work? As well try it in the middle +of the Newport Casino.</p> + +<p>"So I hunted up a little third-rate summer hotel a mile or so off, where +the guests were few and the food wretched, and camped down with my +mangled script and my typewriter. There I met Fannie the Unforgetful. +She was the waitress I happened to draw out of a job<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> lot. I suppose it +was her début at that sort of thing. For the sake of hungry humanity I +hope it was. What she did not know about serving was simply amazing; but +her capacity for absorbing suggestions and obeying orders was profound. +'Could I have a warm plate?' I asked at the first meal. 'Oh, certainly, +Sir,' says Fannie, and from then on every dish she brought me was piping +hot, even to the cold-meat platter and the ice cream saucer. It was that +way with every wish I was rash enough to express. Fannie never forgot, +and she kept to the letter of the law.</p> + +<p>"Also she would stand patiently and watch me eat. That is, she would fix +her eyes on me intently, never moving, and keep them there for a quarter +of an hour at a time. A little embarrassing, you know, to be so +constantly observed. She had such big, stary eyes too, absolutely +without any expression in them. To break the spell I would order things +I didn't want, just to get her out of the way for a moment or so while I +snatched a few unwatched bites. You know how it is? There's green corn. +Now I like to tackle that with both hands; but I don't care to be +closely inspected while I'm at it. I used to fancy that her gaze was +somewhat critical. 'Good heavens, Girl!' I said one day. 'Can't you look +somewhere else—at the ceiling, or out of the window?' She<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> chose the +ceiling. It was a bit weird to have her stationed opposite me, her eyes +rolled heavenward. Uncanny! It attracted the attention of the other +guests. But it was something of a relief. I could watch her then.</p> + +<p>"There was something fascinating about Faithful Fannie, though, as there +is about all unusually plain persons. Not that she was positively +homely. Her features were regular enough, I suppose. But she was such a +tall, slim, colorless, neutral creature! And awkward! You've seen a +young turkey, all legs and neck, with its silly head bobbing above the +tall grass? Well, something like that. And as I never read at my meals I +had nothing else to do but study that sallow, unmoving face of hers with +its steady, emotionless, upward gaze. Was she thinking? And what about! +Who was she? Where had she come from?</p> + +<p>"A haunting face, Fannie's was; at least, for me. It became almost an +obsession. I could see it as I sat down to my work. And the first thing +I knew I was writing Fannie into my play. There was a maid's part in +it,—the conventional, table-dusting, note-carrying, tea-serving maid, +with not half a dozen words to speak. But before I knew it this +insignificant part had become so elaborated, I had sketched in Fannie's +personality so vividly, that the whole action and theme of the piece +were revolving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> about her—hinged on her. I couldn't seem to stop, +either. I wrote on and on and—well, by Jove! it ended in my turning out +something entirely different from that which I had begun. The original +skeleton is still there, the characters are the same; but the values +have exchanged places. This is a Fannie play through and through. And +it's good, the biggest thing I've done; but——" Once more Oakley shrugs +his shoulders and ends with a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>"Rubbish!" says Mr. Robert. "You and your artistic temperament! What's +the real trouble, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"As I've tried to make clear to your limited and wholly commercialized +intelligence," comes back Mr. Mills, "I have created a character which +is too deep and too subtle for any available American actress to handle. +If I could only find the original now, with her tractable genius for +doing exactly what she was told——"</p> + +<p>"Why not send out for her, then?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"As though I hadn't!" says Oakley. "Two weeks ago I located the hotel +manager in Florida and wired him a full description of the girl. All I +got from him was that he'd heard she was somewhere in New York."</p> + +<p>"How simple!" says Mr. Robert. "Here is my young friend Torchy, with +wits even more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> brilliant than his hair. Ask him to find Fannie for +you."</p> + +<p>"A girl whose name I don't even know!" protests Oakley. "How in blazes +could anyone trace a——"</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you the dinners," cuts in Mr. Robert, "that Torchy can do it."</p> + +<p>"Taken," says Mr. Mills, and turns to me brisk. "Now, young man, what +further details would you like?"</p> + +<p>"Don't happen to have a lock of her hair with you?" says I, grinnin'.</p> + +<p>"Alas, no!" says he. "She favored me with no such mark of her esteem."</p> + +<p>"Was it kind of ginger-colored," says I, "and done in a braid round her +head?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—I believe it was," says he.</p> + +<p>"And didn't she have sort of droopy shoulders," I goes on, "and a trick +of starin' vague, with her mouth part way open?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes!" says he eager. "But—but whom are you describing?"</p> + +<p>"Ruby Everschott," says I. "Come down to the Corrugated and take a +look."</p> + +<p>Course it seemed like a 100 to 1 chance, but when I got the Wisconsin +part of his yarn, and tacked it onto the rest, it didn't seem likely one +State could produce two such specimens. Inside of fifteen minutes the +three of us was strollin' casual through the front offices.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span></p> + +<p>"Glance down the line of lady typists," I whispers to Oakley.</p> + +<p>"By George!" says he gaspy. "The one at the far end?"</p> + +<p>"You win," says I.</p> + +<p>"And you also, my young wizard," says Oakley.</p> + +<p>"I'll have her sent into my private office," suggests Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>And once more I was lookin' for some startled motions from Ruby when she +discovers Mr. Mills. But in she comes, as woodeny and stiff as ever, +goes to her little table, and spreads out her notebook, without glancin' +at any of us.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Miss Everschott," says Mr. Robert, "but—er—my friend Mills +here fancies that he—er—ah—oh, hang it all! you say it, Oakley."</p> + +<p>At which Mr. Mills steps up smilin'. I should judge he was a fairly +smooth, high-polished gent as a rule; but after Ruby has turned that +stupid, stary look on him, without battin' an eyelash or liftin' an +eyebrow, the smile fades out. She don't say a word or make a move: just +continues to stare. As for Oakley, he shifts uneasy on his feet and +flushes up under the eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says he. "I trust you remember me?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span></p> + +<p>Ruby shakes her head slow. "No, Sir," says she.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Oakley. "Weren't you a waitress at the Lakeside Hotel last +summer?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Sir," says Ruby.</p> + +<p>"And didn't you bring me my meals three times a day for four mortal +weeks?" he insists.</p> + +<p>"Did I?" says Ruby, starin' stupider than ever.</p> + +<p>"Great Scott, young woman!" breaks out Oakley. "Didn't you look at me +long enough and steadily enough to remember? Don't you recall I was +disagreeable enough to ask you not to watch me eat?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Ruby, a flicker of almost human intelligence in her big eyes. +"The one who wanted hot plates!"</p> + +<p>"At last," says Oakley, "I am properly identified. Yes, I am the +hot-plate person."</p> + +<p>"You had tea for breakfast too, didn't you?" asks Ruby.</p> + +<p>"Always," says he. "An eccentricity of mine."</p> + +<p>"And you put salt on your muskmelon, and wanted your eggs opened, and +didn't like tomato soup," adds Ruby, like she was repeatin' a lesson.</p> + +<p>"Guilty on all three counts," says Mr. Mills.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span></p> + +<p>"I tried to remember," says Ruby, sort of meek.</p> + +<p>"Tried!" gasps Oakley. "Why, you made an art of it. You never so much +as—— But tell me, was it those foolish little whims of mine you were +thinking so hard about while you stood there gazing so intently at me?"</p> + +<p>Ruby nods; a shy, bashful little nod.</p> + +<p>Mr. Mills makes a low bow. "A thousand pardons, my dear young lady!" +says he. "I stand convicted of utter selfishness. But perhaps I can +atone."</p> + +<p>And with that he proceeds to put his proposition up to her. He tells her +about the play, the trouble he's had tryin' to fit one special part, and +how he's sure she could do it to a T. He asks her to give it a try.</p> + +<p>"Go on the stage!" says Ruby, her big eyes starin' at him like he'd +asked her to jump off the Metropolitan Tower. "No, I don't think I +could. I'm going to be a foreign missionary, you know."</p> + +<p>"A—a what?" gasps Oakley. "Missionary! But see here—that can wait. And +in one season on the stage you could make——"</p> + +<p>Well, I must say Oakley argued it well and put it strong; but he'd have +produced just as good results if he'd been out in the square askin' the +bronze statue of Lafayette to hand him down a match. Ruby drops back +into her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> vague gazin' act and shakes her head. So at last he ends by +askin' her to think it over for a day, and Ruby goes back to her desk.</p> + +<p>"How absurd!" growls Oakley. "But I simply must have her. Why, we would +pay her three hundred dollars a week."</p> + +<p>I catches my breath at that. "Excuse me if I seem to crash in," says I, +"but was that a gust of superheated air, or did you mean it?"</p> + +<p>"I should be glad to submit a contract to Miss Everschott on those +terms," says he.</p> + +<p>"Then leave it to me," says I; "that is, to me and Nelson."</p> + +<p>Did we win Ruby? Say, with our descriptions of what three hundred a week +might mean in the way of Christmas presents to Uncle Ed, and donations +to the poor box, and a few personal frills on the side, we shot that +foreign missionary scheme so full of holes it looked like a last year +mosquito bar at the attic window.</p> + +<p>"But I'm sure I sha'n't like it at all," says Ruby as she signs her +name.</p> + +<p>I didn't deny that. I knew she was in for a three weeks' drillin' by the +roughest stage manager in the business. You know who. But he can deliver +the goods, can't he? He makes the green ones act. Look at what he did +with Ruby! Only it don't seem like actin' at all. She's just Ruby, in +the same puckered waist, her hair<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> mopped around her head in the same +silly braid, and that same stary look in her big eyes. But it gets 'em +strong. Packed every night!</p> + +<p>I meets Nelson here only yesterday, and he was tellin' me. Comin' along +some himself, Nelson is. He's opened an office and is biddin' for big +jobs.</p> + +<p>"I've just landed my first contract," says he.</p> + +<p>"Good!" says I. "What's it for?"</p> + +<p>"A fifty-foot, twenty-thousand-candle-power sign over the theater," says +he, "with Ruby's name in it. She's signed up for another year, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "Then it's all off with the heathen, eh?"</p> + +<p>And Nelson he drifts up the street wearin' a grin.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2><h3>TORCHY GETS AN INSIDE TIP</h3> +</div> + +<p>There was two commuters, one loaded down with a patent runner sled, the +other chewin' a cigar impatient and consultin' his watch; a fat woman +with a six-year-old who was teasin' to go see Santa Claus in the window +again; a sporty-lookin' old boy with a red tie who was blinkin' googoos +out of his puffy eyes; and then there was me, draped in my new +near-English top coat and watchin' the swing doors expectant.</p> + +<p>So you see they ain't particular who hangs out in these department store +vestibules. But I'll bet I had the best excuse! I was waitin' for Vee! +She'd gone in at five-twenty-one, sayin' she'd be only a couple of +minutes; so she wa'n't really due for half an hour yet.</p> + +<p>The commuter with the sled had just been picked up by Wifey, loaded down +with more bundles, and rushed off for the five-forty-something for +Somewhere, and a new recruit in the shape of a fish-eyed gink with a +double-chin dimple had drifted in, when I has the feelin' that someone +has sidled up to me from the far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> door at the left and is standin' +there. Then comes the timid hail:</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon, Sir."</p> + +<p>You'd naturally look for somebody special after that, wouldn't you? But +what I finds close to my elbow is a wispy little girl with a pinched, +high-strung look on her thin face, an amazin' collection of freckles, +and a pleadin' look in her big, blue-gray eyes. She's costumed mainly in +a shaggy tam-o'-shanter that comes down over her ears, and an old plaid +cape that must have been some vivid in its color scheme when it was new.</p> + +<p>"Eh, Sister?" says I, gawpin' at her.</p> + +<p>"Is it true about the work papers, Sir?" says she.</p> + +<p>"The which?" says I, not gettin' her for a second. "Oh! Work papers? +Sure! They can't take you on unless you're over fourteen and have been +to school so many weeks."</p> + +<p>"Not anywhere? Wouldn't they?" she insists.</p> + +<p>I shakes my head. "Wouldn't dare," says I. "They'd be fined if they +did."</p> + +<p>"Th-thank you, Sir," says she. "That's what the man said."</p> + +<p>She was winkin' both eyes hard to hold the brine back, and her under lip +was trembly; but she was keepin' her chin up brave and steady. She'd +turned to go when she swings around.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span></p> + +<p>"Please, Sir," says she, "where does one go when one is tired?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Sis," says I sort of quizzin', "what's the matter with home?"</p> + +<p>"But if one has no home?" she comes back at me solemn.</p> + +<p>"The case being that of a little girl," says I, "she wanders around +until she's collected by a cop, turned over to the Children's Society, +and committed to some home."</p> + +<p>"But I mustn't go there," says she, glancin' around scary. "No, not to a +home. Daddums said not to."</p> + +<p>"Did, eh?" says I. "Then why don't he—— By the way, just where is +Daddums?"</p> + +<p>"Taken up," says she.</p> + +<p>"You mean pinched?" says I.</p> + +<p>"I think so," says she. "Cook says the bobbies came for him. He left +word with her that I wasn't to worry, as he'd be let out soon, and I was +to stay where I was. Three weeks ago that was, and—and I haven't heard +from Daddums since."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Listens like a case of circumstances over which—— But +where did you pick up that trick of speakin' of coppers as bobbies?"</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon, Sir?" says she.</p> + +<p>"That tells it," says I. "English, ain't you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span></p> + +<p>"London, Sir, Brompton Road," says she.</p> + +<p>"Been over long?" says I.</p> + +<p>"A matter of three months, Sir," says she.</p> + +<p>"And what's the name?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Mine?" says she. "Helma Allston. And yours, please, Sir?"</p> + +<p>I wa'n't lookin' for her to send it back so prompt. She ain't at all +fresh about it, you know: just easy and natural. I don't know when I've +run across a youngster with such nice manners.</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "I guess you can call me Torchy."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Mr. Torchy," says she, doin' a little dancin'-school duck. +"And if you don't mind, I'd like to—to stay here for a minute or two +while I think what I 'd best—— O-o-o-oh!" She sort of moans out this +last panicky and shrinks against the wall.</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the trouble now?" says I.</p> + +<p>"That's the one!" she whispers husky. "The—the man in the blue cap—the +one who told me about the work papers. He said I was to clear out too."</p> + +<p>And by followin' her scared glances I discovers this low-brow store +sleuth scowlin' ugly at her.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says I. "Only one of them cheap flat-foots. Don't mind him. +You're waitin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> with me, you know. Here!" And I reaches down a hand to +her.</p> + +<p>Maybe it wa'n't some grateful look Helma flashes up as she slips her +slim, cold little fingers into mine and snuggles up like a lost kitten. +The store sleuth he stares puzzled for a second; but the near-English +top coat must have impressed him, for he goes sneakin' back down the +main aisle.</p> + +<p>So here I am, with this freaky little stray under my wing, when Vee +comes sailin' out, all trim and classy in her silver fox furs, with a +cute little hat to match, and takes in the picture. Maybe you can guess +too, how the average young queen in her set would have curled her lip at +sight of that faded cape and oversized cap. But not Vee! She just +indulges in a flickery smile, then straightens her face out and remarks:</p> + +<p>"Well, Torchy, I haven't had the pleasure, have I?"</p> + +<p>Say, she's a real sport, Vee is, take it from me!</p> + +<p>"Guess not," says I. "This is Helma, late of London, just now at large. +It's a case of one's havin' mislaid one's home."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Vee, a little doubtful. "And one's parents too?"</p> + +<p>"Painful subject," says I, shakin' my head warnin'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span></p> + +<p>But Helma ain't the kind to gloss things over. She speaks right out. "If +you please, Miss," says she, "I've no mother, and Daddums has been taken +up—the bobbies, you know. And I fancy the money he left for my board +must have been all used; for I heard the landlady say I'd have to go to +a home. So before daylight this morning I slipped out the front door. +I'm not going back, either. I—I'm looking for work."</p> + +<p>"For work!" says Vee, starin' first at me and then at Helma. "You absurd +little thing! Why, how old are you?"</p> + +<p>"I was twelve last month, Miss," says Helma, bobbin' polite.</p> + +<p>"And you've been out since daylight?" demands Vee. "Where did you have +breakfast and luncheon?"</p> + +<p>"I—I didn't have them at all, Miss," admits Helma.</p> + +<p>Vee presses her lips together sudden and then shoots a knowin' look at +me. "There!" says she. "That reminds me. I haven't had tea, either. +Well, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"My blow," says I. "I was just goin' to mention it. There's a joint +somewhere near, ain't there?"</p> + +<p>"Top floor," says Vee. "Come, Helma, you'll go with us, won't you?"</p> + +<p>And you should have seen the admirin' look<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> Vee got back in exchange for +the smile she gives Helma! The look never fades, either, all the while +Helma is puttin' away a pot of chocolate, a club sandwich, and an order +of toasted muffins and marmalade. She just lets them big eyes of hers +travel up and down, from Vee's smooth-fittin' gloves to the little wisp +of straw-colored hair that curls up over the side of her fur hat. You +couldn't blame Helma. I took a peek now and then myself.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile we has a good chance to inspect this waif that's been sort of +wished on us. Such a sharp, peaked little face she has, and such bright, +active eyes, that it gives her a wide-awake, live-wire look, like a fox +terrier. Then the freckles—just spattered with 'em, clear across the +bridge of her nose and up to where the carroty hair begins. Like rust +specks on a knife blade, they were.</p> + +<p>"You didn't get all those livin' in London, did you?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Sir," says she. "Egypt mostly, and then down in Devon. You see, +Sir Alfred used to let Daddums take me along. Head butler, you know, +Daddums was—until the war. Then Sir Alfred went off with his regiment, +and Haldeane House was shut up, like so many others. Daddums was too old +to enlist, and besides there was no one to leave me with. So he had to +try for a place over here. I—I wish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> he hadn't. It was awful of the +bobbies, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Looks so from here," says I. "Was it jew'lry that was missin', or +what?"</p> + +<p>"Money, Cook said," says Helma. "Oh, a lot! Fancy! Why, everyone knows +Daddums wouldn't do a thing like that. They could ask Sir Alfred. +Daddums was with him ever so long—since I was a little, little girl."</p> + +<p>I glances across at Vee, and she glances back. That's all; but them big +eyes of Helma's don't miss it.</p> + +<p>"You—you don't believe he took the money, do you?" says she, wistful +and pleadin'.</p> + +<p>At which Vee reaches over and pats her soothin' on the hand. "I don't +believe a word of it," says she.</p> + +<p>"He's a good Daddums," goes on Helma, spreadin' the last of the +marmalade on a buttered muffin. "He was going to take me to Australia, +where Uncle Verne has a big sheep ranch. And he'd promised to buy me a +sheep pony, all for my very own. I love riding, don't you? In Egypt I +had a donkey with a white face; but only hired from Hassan, you know. +And in Devon there was a cunning little Shetland that Hobbs would +sometimes let me take out. But here! I stay in a dark little room alone +for hours. I—I don't like it at all. But it costs such a lot to get to +Australia, and Daddums<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> hasn't been well,—he's had a cold on his +chest,—and he's been afraid he would lose his place and have to go to a +hospital. Just before he was taken up, though, he told me we were to +sail for Melbourne soon. Daddums had found a way."</p> + +<p>This time I took care that Helma wa'n't lookin' before I glances at Vee. +I shakes my head dubious, indicatin' I wa'n't so sure about Daddums. But +Vee only tosses up her chin and turns to Helma.</p> + +<p>"Of course he would!" says she. "What have you in your lap, Child?"</p> + +<p>The kid pinks up and produces a battered old doll,—one of these +cloth-topped, everlastin' affairs, that looks like it had come from the +Christmas tree quite some seasons back.</p> + +<p>"This is my dear Arabella," says Helma in her old-maid way. "I suppose +I'm too old to play with dolls now; but I—I can't give her up. Only the +night before Daddums went off I missed her for a while and thought she +was lost. I cried myself to sleep. But what do you think? In the morning +I found her again, right beside me on the pillow. I haven't gone a step +without her since."</p> + +<p>"You dear little goose!" says Vee, reachin' out impetuous and givin' her +a hug. "And where do you think you're going, you and your Arabella?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know," says Helma. "Only I mustn't let them put me in a home; +for then I couldn't go with Daddums when he came out—you see?"</p> + +<p>Sure, we saw—that and a lot more. I could tell that Vee was puzzlin' +over the situation by the way she was starin' at the youngster and +grippin' her muff. Course you might say we wa'n't any Rescue Mission, or +anything like that; but somehow this was diff'rent. Here was Helma, +right in front of us! And I'm free to admit the proposition was too much +for me.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" says I. "Handed out rough sometimes, ain't it? What's the answer, +Vee?"</p> + +<p>"There's only one," says she. "I'm going to take Helma home with me."</p> + +<p>"What about Aunty?" says I.</p> + +<p>At which Vee's lips come together and her shoulders straighten. "I +know," says she, "there'll be a row. Aunty's always saying that such +affairs should be handled by institutions. But this time—well, we'll +see. Come, Helma."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is it true?" gasps the youngster. "May I go with you? May I?"</p> + +<p>And as I tucked 'em into a taxi, Arabella and all, Vee whispers: +"Torchy, if you're any good at all, you'll go straight and find out all +about Daddums and just make them let him out!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "Make 'em—say, ain't that some life-sized order?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span></p> + +<p>"Perhaps," says she. "But you needn't come to see us until you've found +him. Good-by!"</p> + +<p>Just like that I got it! And, say, there wa'n't any use tryin' to kid +myself into thinkin' maybe she don't mean it. I'd seen how strong this +story of little Helma's had got to her; and, believe me, when Vee gets +real stirred up over anything she's some earnest party—no four-flushin' +about her! And it don't seem to make much diff'rence who blocks the +path. Look at her then, sailin' off to go up against a stiff-necked, +cold-eyed Aunty, who's a believer in checkbook charity, and mighty +little of that! And just so I won't feel out of it she tosses me a job +that would keep a detective bureau and a board of pardons busy for a +month.</p> + +<p>"Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' up the avenue after the cab. "And I pulled +this down just by bein' halfway human! Oh, very well, very well! Here's +where I strain something!"</p> + +<p>Course, if I hadn't knocked around a newspaper office more or less, I +wouldn't have known where to begin any more than—well, than the average +private sec would. But them two years I spent outside the Sunday +editor's door wa'n't all wasted. For instance, that's where I got to +know Whitey Weeks. And now my first move is to pike down to old +Newspaper Row and locate him. Inside of half an hour<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> we'd done a lot +too. We'd called up their headquarters' man on the 'phone and had him +sketch off the case against one Allston, a butler.</p> + +<p>"Yep, grand larceny," says Whitey, his ear to the receiver. "We know +that. How much? Eh? Twenty thousand!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, tell him to turn over: he's on his back!" says I. "Not twenty +thousand cash?"</p> + +<p>"That's what he says," insists Whitey, "all in hundreds. Lifted out of a +secret wall safe."</p> + +<p>"Ask him where this guy was buttling,—in a bank," says I, "or at the +Subtreasury?"</p> + +<p>And Whitey reports that Allston was workin' for a Mrs. Murtha, West 76th +Street; "Mrs. Connie Murtha, you know," he goes on, "the big poolroom +backer, and one of the flossiest, foxiest widows in New York."</p> + +<p>"Then that accounts for the husky wad," says I. "Twenty thousand! No +piker, was he? Ask your man who's on the case?"</p> + +<p>"Rusitelli & Donahue," says Whitey. "Mike's a friend of mine too; but he +never talks much."</p> + +<p>"Let's have a try, anyway," says I.</p> + +<p>So we runs this partic'lar detective sergeant down, drags him away from +a penuchle game, and Whitey begins by suggestin' that we hear how he's +done some clever work on the Allston case.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span></p> + +<p>"I got him right, that's all," says Mike. "And he'd faked up a nice +little stall too."</p> + +<p>"Anything on him when you rounded him up?" asks Whitey.</p> + +<p>Donahue shakes his head disgusted. "Stowed it," says he.</p> + +<p>"Some cute, eh?" says Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Bah!" says Mike. "Who was it sprung that tale about his being a big +English crook? The Yard never heard of him. I doped him out from the +first, though. Plain nut! The Chief wouldn't believe it until I showed +him."</p> + +<p>"Showed him what?" says Whitey, innocent like.</p> + +<p>"This," says the sleuth, haulin' out of his pocket a bulgy envelope. "I +found that in his room. Take a look," and he lifts the flap at the end.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce!" says Whitey.</p> + +<p>"Sawdust," says Mike, "just plain, everyday sawdust. I had it +analyzed,—no dope, no nothing. Now tell me, would anyone but a nut do a +thing like that?"</p> + +<p>We both agreed nobody but a nut would; also we remarks in chorus that +Mr. Donahue is some classy sleuth, which he don't object to at all. In +fact, after I've explained how a relation of Allston's had asked me to +look him up he fixes it so I can get a pass into the Tombs. Followin' +which I blows Whitey to one of Farroni's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> seventy-five-cent spaghetti +banquets and then goes home to think a few chunks of thought.</p> + +<p>As the case stood it looked bad for Daddums. A party like Mrs. Connie +Murtha, with all the police drag she must have, wa'n't goin' to be +separated from her reserve roll without makin' somebody squirm good and +plenty. He might have known that, if it was him turned the trick. Or was +he nutty, like Donahue had said? Before I went any further I had to +settle that point, and while I ain't strong for payin' visits through +the iron bars I was up early next mornin' and down presentin' my pass.</p> + +<p>"You cub lawyers give me shootin' pains in the neck!" grumbles the +turnkey that tows me in.</p> + +<p>"How'd you guess I wa'n't the new District Attorney?" says I. "Here, +have a perfecto for that pain." And that soothes him so much he loafs +against the tier rail while I knocks on the door of Cell 69.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon?" says a deep, smooth voice, and up to the bars steps a +tall, round-shouldered gent, with hair a little thin on top and a pair +of reddish-gray butler sideboards in front of his ears. Not a bad face +either, only the pointed chin is a little weak.</p> + +<p>"I'm from Helma," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span></p> + +<p>That jolts him at the start. His hands go trembly, and twice he makes a +stab at speakin' before he can get the words out. "Is—isn't she all +right?" says he. "I left her in lodgings, you know. I—I trust she——"</p> + +<p>"She quit," says I. "They was goin' to put her in a home. Picked me up +on the street, you might say. But she's safe enough now."</p> + +<p>"Safe?" says he, dartin' over a suspicious look. "Where?"</p> + +<p>"Take my word for it," says I. "Maybe we can swap a little information +later on. Now what about this grand larceny charge?"</p> + +<p>"All rubbish!" says he. "Why, I hadn't been out of the house! They admit +that. If I'd taken the money, wouldn't it have been found on me?"</p> + +<p>"Then they pinched you on the premises?" says I. "I rather thought from +what Helma said you'd been to see her that night?"</p> + +<p>"Not since the night before," says he. "Helma was down in the kitchen +with Cook when they came."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, rubbin' my chin as a help to deep thought. "The night +before?"</p> + +<p>I don't know why, either, but somehow that makes me think of sawdust, +and from sawdust—say, I had it in a flash.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Allston," says I, "but on account of Helma I was kind of in +hopes they was just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> makin' a goat of you. She's a cute +youngster—Helma."</p> + +<p>"She is all I have to live for, Sir," says he, bowin' his head.</p> + +<p>"Then why take such chances as this?" says I. "Twenty thousand! Say, you +know this ain't any jay burg. You can't expect to get away with a wad +like that."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about the money," says he, stiffenin' up. "They'll have +to find it to prove I took it."</p> + +<p>"Big mistake No. 2," says I. "They got to convict somebody, and the +arrow points to you. About fifteen years would be my guess. Now come, +Allston, what good would you be after fifteen years' hard?"</p> + +<p>He shivers, but shrugs his shoulders dogged. "Poor little Helma!" says +he. "Where is she?"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Mr. Allston," says I, "but that ain't the order of events. +It's like this: First off you tell me where the wad is; then I tell you +about Helma."</p> + +<p>Makes him groan a bit, that does, and he scowls at me stubborn. "They +tried all that on at Headquarters," says he. "It's no use."</p> + +<p>"You'd get off lighter if you told," says I.</p> + +<p>"I've nothing to tell," he insists.</p> + +<p>"How about swappin' what you know for two tickets to Australia?" I +suggests.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hah!" says he. "Helma's been talkin'!"</p> + +<p>"She's a chatty youngster," says I, "and she thinks a heap of her +Daddums. I ain't sure, though, whether you come first—or Arabella."</p> + +<p>If I hadn't been watchin' for it, I might not have noticed, but the +quiver that begins in the fingers grippin' the bars runs clear up to the +sagged shoulders. His mouth twitches nervous, and then he gets hold of +himself.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says he, forcin' a smile. "Her doll. She—she still has that, +has she?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I, watchin' him keen. "I'm keepin' close track of both."</p> + +<p>That little touch did the business. He begins pacin' up and down his +cell, wringin' his hands. About the fourth lap he stops.</p> + +<p>"If I only could take her to Australia," says he, "and get her out +of—of all this, I would be willing to—to——"</p> + +<p>"That's enough," says I. "All I want is your O. K. on any terms I can +make with Mrs. Murtha."</p> + +<p>"She's a hard woman," says he. "And she doesn't come by her money +straight."</p> + +<p>"Nor lose it easy," says I. "She wants it back. Might talk business, +though, if I could show her how——"</p> + +<p>"Anything!" says Allston. "Anything to get me out!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span></p> + +<p>"Now you're usin' your bean," says I. "I'm off. Maybe you'll hear from +me later."</p> + +<p>Course I didn't know what could be done, but I 'phones Piddie at the +office to tell 'em I won't be in before lunch, and then I boards an +uptown subway express. Easy enough findin' Mrs. Connie Murtha too. She's +just finished a ten o'clock breakfast. A big, well-built, dashin' sort +of party she is, with an enameled complexion and drugged hair. She's +brisk and businesslike.</p> + +<p>"If you've come to beg me to let up on that sneaking English butler," +says she, "you needn't waste any more breath. He's going to do time for +this job."</p> + +<p>"But suppose he could be coaxed into tellin' where the loot was?" says +I.</p> + +<p>"He's had the third degree good and strong," says she. "The boys told me +so. He won't squeal. Donahue says he ain't right in his head. Anyway, he +goes up."</p> + +<p>"He's leavin' a little girl," I puts in, "without anyone to look after +her."</p> + +<p>"Most crooks do," says she, sniffin'.</p> + +<p>"But if you could get the wad back?" says I.</p> + +<p>"All of it?" says she quick.</p> + +<p>"Every bean," says I.</p> + +<p>She leans forward, starin' at me hard and eager. "He'll tell, then?" +says she.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span></p> + +<p>"Said he would," says I, "providin' him and the little girl could be +shipped to Australia."</p> + +<p>She chews that over a minute. "That's cheap enough," says she. "I could +claim I'd remembered putting the money somewhere and forgotten. Young +man, it's a bargain. I'll have my lawyer go down and——"</p> + +<p>"Say," I breaks in, "why fat up a lawyer? Let's settle this between you +and me."</p> + +<p>"But how?" says she.</p> + +<p>"Just a minute," says I, lookin' her full in the eyes. "I'm playin' you +to give Allston a square deal, you know."</p> + +<p>"You can bank on that," says she. "Connie Murtha's word was always as +good as government bonds. And if you can wish back that twenty thousand, +I'll put a quick crimp in this prosecution."</p> + +<p>"What could be fairer than that?" says I. "I'll be back in an hour."</p> + +<p>It was only forty-five minutes, in fact; but Mrs. Connie was watchin' +for me.</p> + +<p>"Let's have a pair of scissors," says I, as I sheds my overcoat and +produced from under one arm, where it had been buttoned up snug and +tight, about the worst-lookin' doll you ever saw. I hadn't figured on +Mrs. Murtha goin' huffy so sudden, either.</p> + +<p>"You fresh young shrimp you!" she blazes out. "What's that?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span></p> + +<p>"This is Arabella," says I. "She's sufferin' from a bad case of +undigested securities, and I got to amputate."</p> + +<p>She stands by watchin' the operation suspicious and ready to lam me one +on the ear, I expect. But on the way down I'd sounded Arabella's chest, +and I was backin' my guess. When I found the coarse stitchin' done with +heavy black thread I chuckles.</p> + +<p>"More or less the worse for wear, Arabella, eh?" says I. "But how that +youngster did hang onto her! Little Helma Allston, you know. And me +offerin' to swap a brand-new two-dollar one that could open and shut its +eyes! 'It's for Daddums,' I says at last, and she gives up. There! Now +we're gettin' to it. No wonder Arabella was some plump!"</p> + +<p>"Well, of all places!" gasps out Mrs. Murtha, and, believe me, it don't +take her long to leave Arabella flat as a pancake. "But how did he +manage to——"</p> + +<p>"It was the night before," says I. "You didn't miss the roll until the +next afternoon. And he ain't a reg'lar crook, you know. It was a case of +bein' up against it,—sickness, and wantin' to get away somewhere with +the kid. Honest, he don't strike me as such a bad lot: only a little +limber in the backbone. Better count it."</p> + +<p>"All there," she announces after runnin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> through the bunch. "And maybe +I'm not tickled to get it back! Catch me forgetting to lock that safe +again! But I thought no one knew. Allston must have seen me moving the +picture and guessed. Well, I'm not sore. Poor devil! I'll call up the +District Attorney's office right away. He gets those tickets to +Australia, too. Leave that to me."</p> + +<p>Yep! Mrs. Connie wa'n't chuckin' any bluff. She went down herself and +had the indictment ditched.</p> + +<p>I didn't mean to stage any heart-throb piece, either; but it just +happens that yesterday, when we pulls off the final act, Vee tells me +that Helma is in the libr'y, playin' nurse and hairdresser to Aunty's +chief pet, a big orange Persian that she calls Prince Hal. That's how +Helma had won out with Aunty, you know, by makin' friends with the cat.</p> + +<p>"You tell her," says Vee.</p> + +<p>So I steps in quiet where the youngster is busy with the comb and brush. +"Someone special to see Miss Helma," says I.</p> + +<p>"To see me?" says she, droppin' pussy and gazin' at the door. "Why, who +can—— O-o-o-o-o! Daddums! Daddums!"</p> + +<p>And as they rush to a fond clinch in one room something happens to me in +the other. Uh-huh! I'm caught around the neck quick, and something soft +and sweet hits me on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> right cheek, and the next minute I'm bein' +pushed away just as sudden.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" says Vee. "That's enough. You're a dear, all the same. Of +course I knew he didn't take it; but how in the world did you ever make +them let him go?"</p> + +<p>"Cinch!" says I. "I saw through the sawdust, and they didn't."</p> + +<p>I couldn't let on, though, about that inside tip I got from Arabella.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2><h3>THEN ALONG CAME SUKEY</h3> +</div> + +<p>It looked like it was Kick-in Day, or something like that; for here was +Nutt Hamilton, a sporty young plute friend of Mr. Robert's, that I'm +tryin' to entertain, camped in the private office, when fair-haired +Vincent comes in off the brass gate to report respectful this new +arrival.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman to see Mr. Robert, Sir," says he.</p> + +<p>"Well, he's still out," says I.</p> + +<p>"So I told him, Sir," says Vincent; "but then he asks if Mr. Ferdinand +isn't here. I didn't know, Sir. Is there a——"</p> + +<p>"Sure, Vincent, sure!" says I. "Brother-in-law Ferdie, you know. What's +the gentleman's real name?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Blair Hiscock," says Vincent, readin' the card.</p> + +<p>"Ever hear that one?" I asks Hamilton, and he says he ain't. "Must be +some fam'ly friend, though," I goes on. "We'll take a chance, Vincent. +Tell Blair to breeze in."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span></p> + +<p>I might have had bean enough to have looked for another pair of +shell-rimmed glasses too. That's what shows up. Only this party, instead +of beamin' mild and foolish through 'em, same as Ferdie does, stares +through his sort of peevish. He's a pale-haired, sharp-faced, undersized +young gent too, and dressed sort of finicky in one of them Ballyhooly +cape coats, an artist necktie, and a two-story soft hat with a striped +scarf wound around it.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says I, leanin' back in the swing chair and doin' my best to +spring the genial smile.</p> + +<p>"Isn't Ferdinand here, then?" he demands, glancin' about impatient.</p> + +<p>"Good guess," says I. "He ain't. Drifts in about once a month, though, +as a rule, and as it's been three weeks or so since he was here last, +maybe you'd like to——"</p> + +<p>"How absurd!" snaps Blair. "But he was to meet me here to-day at this +time."</p> + +<p>"Was, eh?" says I. "Well, if you know Ferdie, you can gamble that he'll +be an hour or two behind, if he gets here at all."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," says Blair, real crisp. "You needn't bother. I fancy I know +Ferdie quite as well as you do."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wa'n't boastin'," says I, "and you don't bother me a bit. If you +think Ferdie's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> liable to remember, you're welcome to stick around as +long as——"</p> + +<p>"I'll wait half an hour, anyway," he breaks in.</p> + +<p>"Then you might as well meet Mr. Hamilton," says I. "Friend of Mr. +Robert's—Marjorie's too, I expect."</p> + +<p>The two of 'em nods casual, and then I notices Nutt take a closer look. +A second later a humorous quirk flickers across his wide face.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says he. "It's Sukey, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>At which Mr. Hiscock winces like he'd been jabbed with a pin. He flushes +up too, and his thin-lipped, narrow mouth takes on a pout.</p> + +<p>"I don't care to be called that," he snaps back.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Nutt. "Sorry, old man; but you know, up at the camp summer +before last—why, everyone called you Sukey."</p> + +<p>"A lot of bounders they were too!" flares out Blair. "I—I'd asked them +not to. And I'll not stand it! So there!"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Hamilton, grinnin' tantalizin'. "My error. I take back the +Sukey, <i>Mr.</i> Hiscock."</p> + +<p>There's some contrast between the pair as they faces each other,—young +Hiscock all bristled up bantam like and glarin' through his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> student +panes; while Nutt Hamilton, who'd make three of him, tilts back easy in +the heavy office armchair until he makes it creak, and just chuckles.</p> + +<p>He's a chronic josher, Nutt is,—always puttin' up some deep and +elaborate game on Mr. Robert, or relatin' by the hour the horse-play +stunts he's pulled on others. A bit heavy, his sense of humor is, I +judge. His idea of a perfectly good joke is to call up a bald-headed +waiter at the club and crack a soft-boiled egg on his White Way, or +balance a water cooler on top of a door so that the first party to walk +under gets soaked by it,—playful little stunts like that. And between +times, when he ain't makin' merry around town, he's off on huntin' +trips, killin' things with portable siege guns. You know the kind, +maybe.</p> + +<p>So we ain't the chummiest trio that could be got together. Blair makes +it plain that he has mighty little use for me, and still less for +Hamilton. But Nutt seems to get a lot of satisfaction in keepin' him +stirred up, winkin' now and then at me when he gets a rise out of Blair; +though I must say, so far as repartee went, the little chap had all the +best of it.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," says Nutt, "what is your specialty? You do something or +other, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Blair. "Do you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, come!" says Nutt. "You play the violin, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"How clever of you to remember!" says Blair. "Sorry I can't +reciprocate." And he turns his back.</p> + +<p>But you can't squelch Hamilton that way. "Me?" says he. "Oh, potting big +game is my fad. I got three caribou last fall, you know, and this spring +I'm—say, Sukey,—I beg your pardon, Hiscock,—but you ought to come +along with us. Do you good. Put some meat on your bones. We're going +'way up into Montana after black bear and silver-tips. I'd like to see +you facing a nine-hundred-pound she bear with——"</p> + +<p>"Would you?" cuts in Blair. "You know very well I'd be frightened half +to death."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," says Nutt, "we'd stack you up against a cinnamon cub."</p> + +<p>"Any kind of bear I should be afraid of," says Sukey.</p> + +<p>"Not really!" says Hamilton. "Why, say——"</p> + +<p>"Please!" protests Blair. "I don't care to talk about such creatures. +I'm afraid of them even when I see them caged. I've an instinctive dread +of all big beasts. Smile, if you like. But all truly civilized persons +feel the same. I'm not a cave man, you know. Besides, I prefer telling +the truth about such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> things to making believe I'm not afraid, as a lot +of would-be mighty hunters do."</p> + +<p>"Not meaning me, I hope?" asks Nutt.</p> + +<p>"If you're innocent, don't dodge," says Blair. "And I—I think I'll not +wait for Ferdinand any longer. Tell him I was here, will you?" And with +a nod to me he does a snappy exit.</p> + +<p>"A constant joy, Sukey is," remarks Hamilton. "Why, when we were up in +the Adirondacks that summer, we used to——"</p> + +<p>What they used to do to Sukey I'll never know; for just then Mr. Robert +sails in, and Nutt breaks off the account. He'd spieled along for half +an hour in his usual vein when Mr. Robert flags him long enough to call +me over.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "before I forget it——" and he +hands me one of Marjorie's cards with a date and "Music" written in the +southwest corner. I gazes at it puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I strongly suspect," he goes on, "that a certain young lady may be +among those present."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I, pinkin' up some, I expect. "Much obliged. In that case I'm +strong for music. Some swell piano performer, eh?"</p> + +<p>"A young violinist," says Mr. Robert, "a friend of Ferdie's, I believe, +who——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bet a million it's Sukey!" breaks in Nutt. "Blair Hiscock, isn't it!"</p> + +<p>"That is his name," admits Mr. Robert. "But this is to be nothing +formal, you know: only Marjorie is bringing him down to the house, and +has asked in a few people."</p> + +<p>"By George!" says Nutt, slappin' his knee enthusiastic. "Couldn't you +get me in on that affair, Bob?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—I might," says Mr. Robert. "I didn't know, though, that you +were passionately fond of violin music. It's to be rather a classical +programme, and——"</p> + +<p>"Classic be blowed!" says Nutt. "What I want is a fair whack at Sukey. +Seen him, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert shakes his head.</p> + +<p>"Well, wait until you do," says Hamilton. "Say, he's a rare treat, +Sukey. About as big as a fox terrier, and just as snappy. Oh, you'll +love Sukey! If he doesn't hand you something peppery before you've known +him ten minutes, then I'm mistaken. Know what he used to call your +sister Marjorie, summer before last? Baby Dimple! After a golf ball, you +know. That's a sample of Sukey's tongue."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. "Quite her own affair, I suppose," says +he.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she didn't mind," says Nutt. "Everyone stands for Sukey—on account +of his music.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> Only he is such a conceited, snobbish little whelp that +it makes you ache to cuff him. Couldn't, of course. Why, he'll begin +sniveling if you look cross at him! But it would be great sport to—— +Say, Bob, who's going to be there—anyone special?"</p> + +<p>"Only the family," says Mr. Robert, "and a few of Marjorie's friends, +such as Verona Hemmingway and—er—Torchy here, and Josephine Billings, +who's just come for the week-end."</p> + +<p>"What!" says Hamilton. "Joey Billings? Say, she's a good sort, Joey; +bully fun, and always in for anything. You ought to see her shoot! Yes, +Sir! Bring down quail with a choke-bore, or knock over a buck deer with +a rifle. Plays billiards like a wizard, Joey does, and can swat a golf +ball off the tee for two hundred yards. She's a star. Staying at +Ferdie's, eh? Must be a great combination, she and Sukey. I'd like to +see 'em together. Say, old man, let me in on this musicfest if you can, +will you?"</p> + +<p>Course there wa'n't much left for Mr. Robert to do but promise, and +while he don't do it with any great enthusiasm, Mr. Hamilton don't seem +a bit discouraged. In fact, just before he goes he has a chucklin' fit +like he'd been struck by some amazin' comic thought.</p> + +<p>"I have it, Bob!" says he, poundin' Mr. Robert on the back. "I have +it!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span></p> + +<p>"Anything you're likely to recover from?" remarks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," says Nutt. "You wait and see! And the first chance you get +ask Sukey if he's afraid of bears."</p> + +<p>Just to finish off the afternoon too, and make the Corrugated gen'ral +offices seem more like a fam'ly meetin' place, about four o'clock in +blows Sister Marjorie from the shoppin' district, trailin' a friend with +her; a stranger too. First off, from a hasty glimpse at the hard-boiled +lid and the man's collar and the loose-fittin' top coat, I thought it +was some chappy. So it's more or less of a shock when I discovers the +short skirt and the high walkin' boots below. Then I tumbled. It's Joey, +the real sport!</p> + +<p>Believe me, she looked the part! One of these female good fellows, you +know, ready to roll her own dope sticks, or sit in with the boys and +draw three to a pair. Built substantial and heavy, Joey was, but not +lumpy, like Marjorie. She swings in swaggery, gives Mr. Robert the +college hick greetin', and when I'm introduced to her treats me to a +grip that I felt the tingle of for half an hour.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Kid!" says she. "I've heard of you. Torchy, eh? Well, the name's +a fine fit."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "I was baptized with my hat off."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span></p> + +<p>"Ripping!" says she. "I like that. Torchy! Couldn't be better."</p> + +<p>"Not so poetic as Crimson Rambler," says I, "but easier to remember."</p> + +<p>Hearty chuckles from Joey. "You're all right, Torchy," says she, +rumplin' my hair playful.</p> + +<p>Not at all hard to get acquainted with, Joey. One of the free and easy +kind that gets to call men by their front names durin' the first +half-hour. But somehow them's the ones that always seem to hang longest +on the branch. You've noticed? Take Joey now,—well along towards +thirty, so I finds out later, but still untagged and unchosen. Maybe she +likes it better that way. Who knows? And, as Nutt Hamilton has +suggested, it would be int'restin' to see her and Sukey lined up +together.</p> + +<p>That ain't exactly why I'm so early showin' up at the Ellins' house the +night of the musical—not altogether. But what Vee and I has to say to +one another durin' the half-hour we managed to slip over on Aunty don't +matter. Vee was supposed to be arrangin' some flowers in the drawin' +room, and I—well, I was helpin'. My long suit, arrangin' flowers; that +is, when the planets are right.</p> + +<p>But it goes quick. Pretty soon others begun buttin' in, and by +eight-thirty there was a roomful, includin' Vee's Aunty, who watches<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> me +as severe as if I was a New Haven director. Joey Billings floats in too. +And I got to admit that in an evenin' gown she ain't such a worse +looker. Course her jaw outline is a trifle strong, and she has quite a +swing to her hips; but she's so good-natured and cheerful lookin' that +you 'most forget them trifles.</p> + +<p>And Blair Hiscock, in his John Drew regalia, looks even thinner and +whiter than ever; but he struts around as perky and important as if he +was Big Bill Edwards. First off he has to have the piano turned the +other way. Then, when he goes to unlimber his music rack, it develops +that a big vase of American Beauties is too near his elbow. He glares at +'em pettish.</p> + +<p>"Can't those things be taken out?" says he. "I detest heavy odors while +I'm playin'!"</p> + +<p>So the flowers are carted off. Then some draperies just back of him must +be pulled together, so he won't feel a draught. After that he has the +usual battle with his violin strings, while the audience waits patient, +only exchangin' a smile now and then when Blair shows his disposition +strongest.</p> + +<p>At last, though, after makin' the accompanist take two fresh starts, +he's off. Some goulash rhapsody, I believe it was, by a guy whose name +sounds like a sneezin' fit. But, take it from me, that sharp-faced +little wisp<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> could do things to a violin! Zowie! He could just naturally +make it sing, with weeps and laughs, and moans and giggles, and groans +and cusswords, all strung along a jumpy, jerky little air that sort of +played hide and seek with itself. Music? I should quiver! He had us all +sittin' up with our ears stretched, and when he finishes and the +applause starts in like a sudden shower on a tin roof what does he do +but turn away with a bored look and shoot some spicy remark at the young +lady pianist!</p> + +<p>Next he gives a lullaby kind of thing, that's as sweet and touchin' as +anything Farrar or Gluck could put over. He's just windin' that up and +we're gettin' ready with more handclaps, when——</p> + +<p>"Woof! Woof-woof!"</p> + +<p>Some of the ladies gasps panicky. I got a little start myself, before I +tumbled to what it was; for in through the draperies behind Sukey has +shuffled about as good an imitation of a black bear as you'd want to +see; a big, bulky bear, all complete, even to the dishpan paws and the +wicked little eyes. It's scuffin' along on all-fours, waddlin' lifelike +from side to side and lettin' out that deep, grumbly "Woof! Woof!" +remark.</p> + +<p>Blair is so deep in his music that he don't hear it for a minute. Then +he must have caught on from the folks in front that something was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> up. +He stops, glarin' indignant through his big glasses. Then he turns.</p> + +<p>It wa'n't exactly a scream he lets out, nor a moan. It's the sort of a +weird, muffled noise you'll sometimes make in your sleep, after a late +welsh rabbit. I didn't think he could turn any whiter; but he does. His +face has about as much color left in it as a marshmallow.</p> + +<p>Then the thing on the floor rears up on its hind legs until it tops +Blair by two feet, and there comes another of them deep "Woofs!"</p> + +<p>I was lookin' for him to pass away complete; but he don't. He sets his +jaw, tosses his violin on a chair, grabs the music rack, and swings it +over his shoulder defiant.</p> + +<p>"Come on, you brute!" he breathes husky. "I don't know what you are; +but——"</p> + +<p>Just what happens next, though, is a cry of "Shame, shame!" Someone +dashes from the back row of chairs, and we sees Joey Billings makin' a +clutch at the bear's head. It came off too, with a rip of snap hooks, +and reveals Nutt Hamilton's big moon face with a wide grin on it.</p> + +<p>"You, eh?" says Joey. "I thought as much. Your old masquerade trick! And +anyone else would have had better sense. Don't you think you're beast +enough without——"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" breaks in Blair, his lips blue and trembly and the tears +beginnin' to trickle down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> his nose. "You—you've no right to interfere. +I—I was going to smash him. I'll kill the big brute! I—I'll——"</p> + +<p>Once more Joey does the right thing; for Blair is blubberin' hysterical +and the scene is gettin' worse. So she just tucks him under one arm, +claps a hand over his mouth, and lugs him kickin' and strugglin' into +the lib'ry, givin' Nutt a shove to one side as she brushes by.</p> + +<p>You can guess too there was some panicky doin's in the Ellins's drawin' +room for the next few minutes; Mr. Robert and Marjorie and others tryin' +to tell Hamilton what they thought of him, all at the same time. And +Nutt was takin' it sheepish.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!" he protests. "I was only trying to have a bit of fun with +the little runt, you know. I only meant to——"</p> + +<p>"Fun!" breaks in Mr. Robert savage. "This is neither a backwoods barroom +nor a hunting camp, and I want to assure you right now, Hamilton, +that——"</p> + +<p>But in comes young Blair again. He's had the tear stains swabbed off, +and he's got some of his color back; but he's still wabbly in the knees. +He pushes right to the front, though.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you all think me a great baby," says he, "to get so +frightened and to cry over such a silly trick. Perhaps I am a baby. At +least I haven't control of my nerves. Would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> you, though, if you had +been an invalid for fifteen years? Well, I have. And a good part of that +time, you know, I spent in hospitals and sanatoriums, and traveling +around with trained nurses and three or four relatives to wait on me and +humor my whims. Even when I was studying music abroad it was that way. +And I suppose I'm not really strong now. So I couldn't help being +afraid. But I don't want your sympathy. You need not scold Hamilton any +more, either. He can't help being a big bully any more than I can help +acting like a baby. He doesn't know any better—never will. All beef and +no brains! And at that I don't care to change places with him. Some day +I shall be well and fairly strong. He'll never have any better sense or +manners than he has now. And I prefer to fight my own battles. So let it +drop, please."</p> + +<p>Well, they did. But for the first time, I expect, a few cuttin' remarks +got through Nutt Hamilton's thick hide. He shuffles out of his bear skin +and sneaks off with his head down.</p> + +<p>He'd hardly gone when Vee slips up beside me and touches me on the arm. +"We can't do anything with her," she whispers mysterious. "Don't say a +word, but come."</p> + +<p>"Can't do anything with who?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Joey," says she. "She's in the library, and we can't find out what is +the matter."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at! Joey?" says I.</p> + +<p>It's a fact, though. I finds Joey slumped on a couch with her shoulders +heavin'. She's doin' the sob act genuine and earnest.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "Why the big weeps?"</p> + +<p>She looks up and sees who it is. "Torchy!" says she between sobs. +"Dud-don't tell him. Please!"</p> + +<p>"Tell who?" says I.</p> + +<p>"B-b-b-blair," says she. "I—wouldn't have him know for—for anything. +But he—he—what he said hurt. He—he called me a meddlesome old maid. +It was something I had to do too. I—I thought he'd understand. I—I +thought he knew I—I liked him!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I gaspy.</p> + +<p>"I've never cared so much before—about what the others thought," she +goes on. "I'm just Joey to them, out for a good time. I'll always be +Joey, I suppose, to most of them. But I—I thought Blair was different, +you know. I—I——"</p> + +<p>And the sobs get the best of the argument. I glances over at Vee +puzzled, and Vee shrugs her shoulders. We drifts back as far as the +door.</p> + +<p>"Poor Joey!" says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Is it straight," says I, "about her and Blair?"</p> + +<p>Vee nods. "Only he doesn't know," says she.</p> + +<p>"Then it's time he did," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span></p> + +<p>"There!" says Vee, givin' me a grateful look that tingles clear down to +my toes. "I just knew you could help. But how can——"</p> + +<p>"Watch!" says I.</p> + +<p>I finds him packin' his precious violin and preparin' to beat it.</p> + +<p>"See here, Hiscock," says I. "Maybe you think you're the only one whose +feelin's have been hurt this evenin'."</p> + +<p>He stares at me grouchy.</p> + +<p>"Ah, ditch the assault and battery!" says I. "It ain't me. But there's +someone in the lib'ry you could soothe with a word or two maybe. Why not +go in and see her?"</p> + +<p>"Her?" says he, starin' pop-eyed. "You—you don't mean Miss Billings?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "Joey, it's you she wants, and if I was you I'd——" But +he's off on the run, with a queer, eager look on his face. I don't +expect there's been so many who've wanted Sukey.</p> + +<p>But the worst of it was I had to go without hearin' how it all come out. +Mr. Robert didn't have much to report next mornin', either. "Oh, we left +them in the library, still talking," says he.</p> + +<p>It's near a week later too that I gets anything more definite. Then I +was up to the Ellins's on an errand when I discovers Blair waitin' in +the front room. He greets me real<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> cordial and friendly, which is quite +a jar. A minute later down the stairs floats Marjorie and her friend +Miss Billings.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there you are, Joey!" says Blair, rushin' out and grabbin' her by +the arm impetuous. "Come along. I'm going to take you both to dinner and +then to the opera. Come!"</p> + +<p>"Isn't he brutal?" laughs Joey, pattin' him folksy on the cheek.</p> + +<p>So I take it there's been something doin' in the solitaire and wilt-thou +line. Some cross-mated pair they'll make; but I ain't so sure it won't +be a good match.</p> + +<p>Anyway, when he gets her as a side partner, Sukey needn't do any more +worryin' about bears.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2><h3>TEAMWORK WITH AUNTY</h3> +</div> + +<p>As Mr. Robert hangs up the desk 'phone and turns to me I catches him +smotherin' a smile. "Torchy," says he, "are you a patron of the plastic +art?"</p> + +<p>"Corns, or backache?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Not plasters," says he; "plastic; in short, sculpture."</p> + +<p>"Never sculped a sculpin," says I. "What's the joke?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," says he, "it's quite serious,—a sculptor in +distress; a noble young Belgian at that, one Djickyns, in whose cause, +it seems, I was rash enough to enlist at a recent dinner party. And +now——" Mr. Robert waves towards his piled-up desk.</p> + +<p>"I'd be a hot substitute along that line, wouldn't I?" says I.</p> + +<p>"As I understand the situation," goes on Mr. Robert, "it is not a matter +of giving artistic advice, but of—er—financing the said Djickyns."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "Slippin' him a check?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Robert shakes his head. "Nothing so simple," says he. "One doesn't +slip checks to noble young sculptors. In this instance I am supposed to +assist in outlining a plan whereby certain alleged objects of art may +be—er——"</p> + +<p>"Wished onto suckers in exchange for real money, eh?" says I. "Ain't +that it?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert nods.</p> + +<p>"With so many dividends bein' passed," says I, "that's goin' to take +some strategy."</p> + +<p>"Hence this appeal to us," says he. "And I might add, Torchy, that one +of those most interested is a near relative of a certain young lady +who——"</p> + +<p>"Aunty?" says I.</p> + +<p>It was. So I grins and grabs my hat.</p> + +<p>"That bein' the case, Mr. Robert," says I, "we'll finance this Djickyns +party if we have to bull the sculpture market till it hits the rafters."</p> + +<p>With that I takes the address of the scene of trouble and breezes uptown +to a third-rate studio buildin'; where I finds Aunty and Vee and Sister +Marjorie all grouped around a stepladder on top of which is balanced a +pallid youth with long black hair and a fair white brow projectin' out +like a double dormer on a cement bungalow. He seems to be tryin' to +drape a fish net across the top of an alcove accordin' to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> three +diff'rent sets of directions; but leaves off abrupt when I blows in.</p> + +<p>You'd hardly guess I'd been sent for, either. "Humph!" remarks Aunty, +after I've announced how sorry Mr. Robert was he couldn't come himself +and that he's detailed me instead. "How perfectly absurd!"</p> + +<p>"But, Aunty," protests Vee, "you know Torchy is a private secretary now +and understands all about such things. Besides, he knows such heaps of +important business men who——"</p> + +<p>"If he can bring them here Wednesday afternoon, very well," says Aunty; +"but I have my doubts that he can."</p> + +<p>"What's the game?" says I.</p> + +<p>"It is not a game at all, young man," says Aunty. "Our project, if that +is what you mean, is to have a studio tea for Mr. Djickyns and to secure +the attendance of as many purchasers for his works as possible. Have you +any suggestions?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "not right off the bat. Maybe if I could chew over the +proposition awhile, I might——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say," breaks in the noble young gent on the stepladder, "I—I'm +getting dizzy up here, you know. I—I'm feeling rather——"</p> + +<p>"Mercy!" squeals Marjorie. "He's fainting!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="illus-003" id="illus-003"></a> +<img src="images/illus-190.jpg" alt=""I GATHERS HIM IN ON THE FLY."" title="" width="400" height="473" /><br /> +<span class="caption">"I GATHERS HIM IN ON THE FLY."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span>"Steady there!" I sings out to Djickyns, makin' a jump. "Don't wabble +until I get you. Easy!"</p> + +<p>I ain't a second too soon, either; for as I reaches up he topples toward +me, as limp as a sack of flour. I was fieldin' my position well for an +amateur; for I gathers him in on the fly, slides him down head first +with only a bump or two, and stretches him out on the rug. It's only a +near-faint, though, and after a drink of water and a sniff at Aunty's +smellin' salts he's able to be helped onto a couch and propped up with +cushions.</p> + +<p>"Awfully sorry," says he, smilin' mushy, "but I fear I can't go on with +the decorating to-day."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," says Aunty, comfortin'. "This young man will help us."</p> + +<p>"Please do, Torchy," adds Marjorie.</p> + +<p>"You will, won't you?" says Vee, shootin' over a glance from them gray +eyes that makes me feel all rosy and tingly.</p> + +<p>"That's my job in life," says I, pickin' up the fish net. "Now how does +this go?"</p> + +<p>And for the next hour or so, when I wa'n't clingin' to the ceilin' with +my eyelids, tackin' things up, I was down on all-fours arrangin' rugs, +or executin' other merry little stunts. Aunty had collected a whole +truckload of fancy junk,—wall tapestries, old armor, Russian tea +machines, and such,—with the idea of transformin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> this half-bare loft +of Djickyns's into a swell studio. And, believe me, we came mighty near +turnin' the trick!</p> + +<p>"There!" says she. "With a few flowers I believe it will do. Now, young +man, have you thought how we can get the right people here? Of course we +shall advertise in all the papers."</p> + +<p>"As an open show?" says I. "Say, that's nutty! Don't you do it. You'd +only get in a bunch of suburban shoppers and cheap-skate art students. +My tip is, make it exclusive,—admission by card only. Then if it's done +right you can graft a lot of free press agent stuff by playin' up the +Belgian part of it strong. See? Lets you ring in on this fund for +Belgian sufferers. I take it you want to unload as much of this plaster +junk as you can? Well, all you got to do is mark it up twenty per cent. +and announce that you'll chip in that much towards the fund. Get me?"</p> + +<p>She never bats an eye, Aunty don't. "To be sure," says she. "I think +that is precisely what we had in mind all the time; only we—er——"</p> + +<p>"I know," says I. "You hadn't been playin' the relief act strong enough. +But that's what'll get you into the headlines. 'Social Leader to the +Rescue,'—all that dope. I'll send some of the boys up to see you +to-night. Don't let your butler frost 'em, though. Give 'em a clear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> +track to the lib'ry, and if you're servin' after-dinner coffee and +frosted green cordials, so much the better. Reporters are almost human, +you know. It would help too if you'd happen to be just startin' for the +op'ra, with all your pearl ropes on. And whisper,—soft pedal on +Djickyns here, but heavy on his suff'rin' countrymen! That's the line."</p> + +<p>Aunty shudders a couple of times, and once she starts to crash in with +the sharp reproof; but she swallows it. Some little old diplomat, Aunty +is! She was gettin' the picture. Havin' planned that part of the +campaign, she switches the debate as to who should go on the list of +invited guests.</p> + +<p>"Leave it to me," says I. "You just pick out about a dozen patronesses. +Pick 'em from the top, the ones that are featured oftenest in the +society notes. And me, I'll sift out a couple of hundred sound +propositions from the corporation lists,—parties that have stayed on +the right side of the market and still have cash to spend."</p> + +<p>Aunty nods approvin'. She even hands over some names she'd jotted down +herself and asks me to put 'em in if they're all right.</p> + +<p>"Most of 'em are fine," says I, glancin' over the slip; "but who's this +W. T. Wiggins with no address?"</p> + +<p>"I particularly want to reach him," says she.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> "He is a wealthy merchant +who is apt to be rather generous, I am told, if properly approached."</p> + +<p>"I'll look him up," says I, "and see that he gets an +invite—registered."</p> + +<p>"Of course," goes on Aunty, "he doesn't belong socially, you understand; +but in this instance——"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "You'll be pleased to meet his checkbook. And, by the +way, what schedule are you runnin' this on,—doors open at when?"</p> + +<p>"The cards will read, 'From half after four until seven,'" says Aunty.</p> + +<p>"I see," says I. "Then if I drift in before six a frock coat will pass +me."</p> + +<p>And for the first time durin' the session she inspects me insultin' +through her lorgnette. "Really," says she, "I had not considered that it +would be necessary——"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" I gasps. "Ah, have a heart! Think how handy I'd be if someone did +another flop, or if Miss Vee wanted——"</p> + +<p>"Verona will be fully occupied in serving tea," breaks in Aunty. +"Besides, we shall try to give this affair the appearance, at least, of +a genuine social function. I imagine that the presence of such persons +as Mr. Wiggins will make the task sufficiently difficult. Don't you +see?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span></p> + +<p>"I ought to," says I. "You ain't left much to the imagination. Sort of a +blot on the landscape I'd be, would I?"</p> + +<p>Aunty shrugs her shoulders. "Please remember," says she, "that I am not +making social distinctions. I merely recognize those which exist. You +must not hold me responsible for——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Aunty," breaks in Vee, trippin' into our corner impulsive, "we've +forgotten the tea things. I must go out and find a store and get them at +once. Mayn't Torchy come to carry the bundles?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Aunty; "but I think I will go also, to be sure you order the +right things."</p> + +<p>Think of carryin' round a disposition like that! She trails right along +with us too, and just to make the trip int'restin' for her I strikes for +Eighth-ave. through one of them messy cross streets where last week's +snow piles and garbage cans was mixed careless along the curb.</p> + +<p>"What a wretched district!" complains Aunty.</p> + +<p>"I thought you wanted to get to the nearest grocery," says I. "Hello! +Here's one of the Wiggins chain. How about patronizin' this?"</p> + +<p>It's one of them cheap, cut-rate joints, you know, with the windows +plastered all over with daily bargain hints,—"Three pounds of +Wiggins's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> best creamery butter for 97 cents—to-day only," "Canned +corn, 6 cents—our big Monday special," and so on. Aunty sniffs a bit, +but fin'lly decides to take a chance and sails in in all her grandeur. +The one visible clerk was busy waitin' on lady customers, one with a +shawl over her head and the other luggin' a baby on her hip. So Aunty +raps impatient on the counter.</p> + +<p>At that out from behind a stack of Wiggins's breakfast food boxes +appears a middle-aged gent strugglin' into a blue jumper three sizes too +small for him. He's kind of heavy built and slow movin' for an average +grocery clerk, and he's wearin' gold-rimmed specs; but when Aunty +proceeds to cross-examine him about his stock of tea he sure showed he +was onto his job. He seems to know about every kind of tea ever grown, +and produces samples of the best he has in the shop.</p> + +<p>Aunty was watchin' him casual as he weighs out a couple of pounds, when +all of a sudden she unlimbers her long-handled glasses and takes a +closer look. "My good man," says she, "haven't I seen you somewhere +before?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says he, scoopin' a pinch off the scales so they'd register +exactly to the quarter ounce.</p> + +<p>"In some other store, perhaps?" says she.</p> + +<p>"I think not," says he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then where?" asks Aunty.</p> + +<p>"Cooperstown," says he, reachin' for a paper bag and shootin' the tea in +skillful. "Anything more, Madam?"</p> + +<p>"Cooperstown!" echoes Aunty. "Why, I haven't been there since I was a +girl."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," says he. "You didn't even finish at high school. Cut +sugar, did you say, Madam?"</p> + +<p>"A box," says Aunty, starin' puzzled. "Perhaps you attended the same +school?"</p> + +<p>He nods.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I seem to remember now," says she. "Aren't you the one they +called—er—— What was it you were called?"</p> + +<p>"Woodie," says he. "Will you have lemons too? Fresh Floridas."</p> + +<p>"Two dozen," says Aunty. "Well, well! You used to ask me to skate with +you on the lake, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"When my courage was running high," says he. "Sometimes you would; but +more often you wouldn't. I lived at the wrong end of town, you know."</p> + +<p>"In the Hollow, wasn't it?" says she. "And there was something queer +about—about your family, wasn't there?"</p> + +<p>He looks her straight in the eye at that, Woodie does. "Yes," says he. +"Mother went out sewing. She was a widow."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Aunty. "I recall your skates—those funny old wooden-topped +ones, weren't they?"</p> + +<p>"I was lucky to have those," says he.</p> + +<p>"Hm-m-m!" muses Aunty. "But you could skate very well. You taught me the +Dutch roll. I remember now. Then there was the night we had the big +bonfire on the ice."</p> + +<p>Woodie lets on not to hear this last, but grabs a sales slip and gets +busy jottin' down items.</p> + +<p>I nudges Vee, and she smothers a snicker. We was enjoyin' this little +peek into their past. Could you have guessed it? Aunty! She orders six +loaves of sandwich bread and asks to see the canned caviar.</p> + +<p>"You've never found anything better to do," she goes on, "than—than +this?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Woodie, on his way down from the top shelf.</p> + +<p>Once more Aunty levels her lorgnette and gives him the cold, curious +look over. "Hm-m-mff!" says she through her aristocratic nose. "I must +say that as a boy you were presuming enough."</p> + +<p>"I got over that," says he.</p> + +<p>"So I should hope," says she. "You manage to make a living at this sort +of thing, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"In a way," says he.</p> + +<p>"You've no family, I trust?" says Aunty.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span></p> + +<p>"There are six of us all told," admits Woodie humble.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens!" she gasps. "But I presume some of them are able to help +you?"</p> + +<p>"A little," says Woodie.</p> + +<p>"Think of it!" says Aunty. "Six! And on such wages! Are any of them +girls?"</p> + +<p>"Two," says he.</p> + +<p>"I must send you some of my niece's discarded gowns," says Aunty +impulsive. "You are not a drinking man, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Not to excess, Madam," says Woodie.</p> + +<p>"How you can afford to drink at all is beyond me," says she. "Or even +eat! Yet you are rather stout. I've no doubt, though, that plain food is +best. But you show your age."</p> + +<p>"I know," says he, smoothin' one hand over his bald spot. "Anything else +to-day?"</p> + +<p>There's just a hint of an amused flicker behind the glasses that makes +Aunty glare at him suspicious for a second. "No," says she. "Put all +those things in two stout bags and tie them carefully."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Madam," says Woodie.</p> + +<p>He was doin' it too, when the other clerk steps up, salutes him polite, +and says: "You're wanted at the telephone, Sir."</p> + +<p>"Tell them to hold the wire," says Woodie.</p> + +<p>We was still tryin' to dope that out when a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> big limousine rolls up in +front of the store, out hops a footman in livery, walks in to Woodie +with his cap in his hand, and holds out a bunch of telegrams.</p> + +<p>"From the office, Sir," says he.</p> + +<p>"Wait," says Woodie, wavin' him one side.</p> + +<p>Now was them any proper motions for a grocery clerk to be goin' through? +I leave it to you. Vee is watchin' with her nose wrinkled up, like she +always does when anything stumps her; and me, I was just starin' +open-faced and foolish. I couldn't get the connection at all. But Aunty +ain't one to stand gaspin' over a mystery while her tongue's still +workin'.</p> + +<p>"Whose car is that?" she demands.</p> + +<p>Woodie slips the string from between his front teeth, puts a double knot +scientific on the end of the package, and peers over his glasses out +through the door. "That?" says he. "Oh, that's mine."</p> + +<p>"Yours!" comes back Aunty. "And—and this store too?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says he.</p> + +<p>"Then—then your name is Wiggins?" she goes on.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says he. "Don't you remember,—Woodie Wiggins?"</p> + +<p>"I'd forgotten," says Aunty. "And all the other stores like this—how +many of them have you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span></p> + +<p>"Something less than a hundred," says he. "Ninety-six or seven, I +think."</p> + +<p>Most got Aunty's breath, that did; but in a jiffy she's recovered. +"Perhaps," says she, "you don't mind telling me the reason for this +masquerade?"</p> + +<p>"It's not quite that," says Wiggins. "I try to keep in touch with all my +places. In making my rounds to-day I found my local manager here too ill +to be at work. Bad case of grip. So I sent him home, telephoned for a +substitute, and while waiting took off my coat and filled in. Fortunate +coincidence, wasn't it?—for it gave me the pleasure of serving you."</p> + +<p>"You mean," cuts in Aunty, "that it gave you the opportunity of making +me appear absurd. Those gowns I promised to send!"</p> + +<p>Wiggins grins good natured. "Is this the niece you mentioned?" says he.</p> + +<p>Aunty admits that it is, and introduces Vee.</p> + +<p>Then Wiggins looks inquirin' at me. "Your son?" he asks.</p> + +<p>And you should have seen Aunty's face pink up at that. "Certainly not!" +says she.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Woodie, screwin' up one corner of his mouth and tippin' me +the wink.</p> + +<p>I knew if I got a look at Vee I'd have to haw-haw; so I backs around +with one hand behind me and we swaps a finger squeeze.</p> + +<p>Then Aunty jumps in with the quick shift.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> She asks him patronizin' if +he finds the grocery business int'restin'. He admits that he does.</p> + +<p>"How odd!" says Aunty. "But I presume that you hope to retire very +soon?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he. "Quit the one thing I can do best? Why?"</p> + +<p>"But surely," she goes on, "you can hardly find such a business +congenial. It is so—so—well, so petty and sordid?"</p> + +<p>"Is it, though?" says Wiggins. "With more than five thousand employees +on my payroll and a daily expense bill running well over thirty +thousand, I find it far from petty. Anyway, it keeps me hustling. I used +to think I was a hard worker too, when I had my one little general store +at Smiths Corners."</p> + +<p>"And now you've nearly a hundred stores!" says Aunty. "How did you do +it?"</p> + +<p>"I was kicked into doing it, I guess," says Wiggins, smilin' grim. "The +manufacturers and jobbers, you know. They weren't willing to allow me a +fair profit. So I had to go under or spread out. Well, I've +spread,—flour mills in Minnesota, canning factories from Portland, +Oregon, to Bridgeton, Maine, potato farms in Michigan and the Aroostook, +cracker and bread bakeries, creameries, raisin and prune +plantations,—all that sort of thing,—until gradually I've weeded out +most of the greedy middlemen who stood between me and my customers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> +They're poor folks, most of 'em, and when they trade with me their slim +wages go further than in most stores. My ambition is to give them honest +goods at a five per cent. profit.</p> + +<p>"If they all knew what was best for them, the Wiggins stores would soon +become a national institution, and I could hand it over to the federal +government; but they don't. If they did, I suppose they wouldn't be +working for wages. So my chain grows slowly, at the rate of two or three +stores a year. But every Wiggins store is a center for economic and +scientific distribution of pure food products. That's my job, and I find +it neither petty nor sordid. I can even get a certain satisfaction and +pride from it. Incidentally there is my five per cent. profit to be +made, which makes the game fascinating. Retire? Not until I've found +something better to do, and up to date I haven't."</p> + +<p>Havin' got this off his mind and the parcels done up, Mr. Wiggins walks +back to answer the 'phone.</p> + +<p>When he comes out again, in a minute or so, he's shucked the jumper and +is buttonin' himself into a mink-lined overcoat.</p> + +<p>"As a rule," says he, "we do not deliver goods; but in this instance I +beg leave to make an exception. Permit me," and he waves toward the +limousine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span></p> + +<p>It's the first time too that I ever saw Aunty stunned for more than a +second or two at a stretch. She acts sort of dazed as he leads her out +to the car and helps stow Vee and me and the bundles before gettin' in +himself. Only when we pulls up in front of the studio buildin' does she +come to. She revives enough to tell Wiggins all about this noble young +Belgian sculptor and his wonderful work.</p> + +<p>"Sculpture!" says Wiggins. "I'd like to see it."</p> + +<p>And inside of three minutes Woodruff T. Wiggins, the chain grocery +magnate, is right where we'd been schemin' to get him. He inspects the +various groups of plaster stuff ranged around the studio, squintin' at +'em critical like he was a judge of such junk, and now and then he makes +notes on the back of an envelope.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Aunty explains all about the tea, namin' over some of the +swell dowagers that was goin' to act as patronesses, and invites him +cordial to drop around on the big day.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," says he; "but I guess I'd better not. I'm still from the wrong +end of the town, you know. But here's a memorandum of four pieces I +should like done in bronze for my country house. And suppose I leave Mr. +Djickyns a check for five thousand on account. Will that do?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span></p> + +<p>Would it? Say, Aunty almost pats him fond on the cheek as she follows +him to the door.</p> + +<p>Must have been something romantic about that bonfire episode back in +Cooperstown too; for she mellows up a lot durin' the next few minutes, +and when I fin'lly calls a taxi and tucks 'em all in she comes near +beamin' on me.</p> + +<p>"Remember, young man," says she, "promptly at five on Wednesday."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" says I.</p> + +<p>"And be sure to wear your best frock coat," she adds as a partin' shot.</p> + +<p>Do you wonder I stands gaspin' on the curb until after they've turned +the corner? Think of that from Aunty!</p> + +<p>"Well?" says Mr. Robert, as I blows in about quittin' time. "Any new +quotations in sculpture?"</p> + +<p>"If you think that's a merry jest," says I, "call up Aunty. Why, say, +before we get through with this tea stunt of hers that Djickyns party +will be runnin' his studio works day and night shifts and rebuildin' +Belgium! We're a great team, me and dear old Aunty. We've just found it +out."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2><h3>ZENOBIA DIGS UP A LATE ONE</h3> +</div> + +<p>And first off I had him listed in the joke column. Think of that! But +when I caught my first glimpse of him, there in the Corrugated gen'ral +offices that mornin', there was more or less comedy idea to his get-up; +the high-sided, flat-topped derby, for instance. Once in a while you run +across an old sport who still sticks to that type of hard-boiled lid. +Gen'rally they're short-stemmed old ginks who seem to think the high +crown makes 'em loom up taller. Maybe so; but where they find +back-number hats like that is beyond me.</p> + +<p>Then there was the buff-cochin spats and the wide ribbon to his +eyeglasses. Beyond that I don't know as there was anything real freaky +about him. A rich-colored old gent he is, the pink in his cheeks shadin' +off into a deep mahogany tint back of his ears, makin' his frosted hair +and mustache stand out some prominent.</p> + +<p>He'd been shown into the private office on a call for Mr. Robert; but as +I was well heeled with work of my own I didn't even glance up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> from the +desk until I hears this scrappy openin' of his.</p> + +<p>"Bob Ellins, you young scoundrel, what the blighted beatitudes does this +mean!" he demands.</p> + +<p>Naturally that gets me stretchin' my neck, and I turns just in time to +watch the gaspy expression on Mr. Robert's face fade out and turn into a +chuckle.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mr. Ballard!" says he, extendin' the cordial palm. "I had no idea +you were on this side. Really! I understood, you know, that you were +settled over there for good, and that——"</p> + +<p>"So you take advantage of the fact, do you, to make me president of one +of your fool companies?" says Ballard. "My imbecile attorney just let it +leak out. What do you mean, eh?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert pushes him into a chair and shrugs his shoulders. "It was +rather a liberty, I admit," says he; "one of the exigencies of business, +however. When a meddlesome administration insists on dissolving into its +component parts such an extensive organization as ours—well, we had to +have a lot of presidents in a hurry. Really, we didn't think you'd mind, +Mr. Ballard, and we had no intention of bothering you with the details."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" snorts Mr. Ballard. "And what is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> this precious corporation of +which I'm supposed to be the head?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Mutual Funding," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Funding, eh?" comes back Ballard snappy. "What tommyrot! Bob Ellins, +you ought to know that I haven't the vaguest notion as to what funding +is,—never did,—and at my time of life, Sir, I don't propose to learn!"</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," says Mr. Robert, soothin'. "Quite unnecessary +too. You are adequately and efficiently represented, Mr. Ballard, by a +private secretary who has mastered the art of funding, mutual and +otherwise, until he can do it backward with one hand tied behind him. +Torchy, will you step here a moment?"</p> + +<p>I was comin' too; but Mr. Ballard waves me off.</p> + +<p>"Stop!" says he. "I'll not listen to a word of it. I'd have you know, +Bob Ellins, that I have worried along for sixty-two years without having +been criminally implicated in business affairs. The worst I've done has +been to pose as a dummy director on your rascally board and to see that +my letter of credit was renewed every three months. Use my name if you +must; but allow me to keep a clear conscience. I'm going in now for a +chat with your father, Bob, and if he mentions funding I shall stuff my +fingers in my ears and run. He won't, though. Old Hickory<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> knows me +better. This his door? All right. Thanks. Hah, you old freebooter! In +your den, are you? Well, well!"</p> + +<p>At which he stalks into the other office and leaves Mr. Robert and me +grinnin' at each other.</p> + +<p>"Listened like you was in Dutch for a minute or so there," says I. "Case +of the cat comin' back, eh?"</p> + +<p>"From Kyrle Ballard," says he, "one expects the unexpected. Only we need +not worry about his wanting to become the acting head of your +department. To-morrow or next week he is quite likely to be off again, +bound for some remote corner of the earth, to hobnob with the native +rulers thereof, participate in their games of chance, and invent a new +punch especially suitable for that particular climate."</p> + +<p>"Gee!" says I. "That's my idea of a perfectly good boss,—one that gives +his job absent treatment."</p> + +<p>I thought too that Mr. Robert had doped out his motions correct; for a +week goes by and no Mr. Ballard shows up to take the rubber stamp away +from me, or even ask fool questions. I was hopin' too that Ballard had +gone a long ways from here, accordin' to custom. Then one night—well, +it was at the theater, one of them highbrow Shaw plays that I was +chucklin' through with Aunt Zenobia.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span></p> + +<p>Eh? Remember her, don't you? Why, she's one of the pair of aunts that I +got half adopted by, 'way back when I first started in with the +Corrugated. Yep, I've been stayin' on with 'em. Why not? Course our +little side street is 'way down in an old-fashioned part of the town; +the upper edge of old Greenwich village, in fact, if you know where that +is.</p> + +<p>The house is one of a row that sports about the only survivin' specimens +of the cast-iron grapevine school of architecture. Honest, we got a +double-decked veranda built of foundry work that was meant to look like +leaves and vines, I expect. Cute idea, eh? Bein' all painted brick red, +though, it ain't so convincing but stragglin' over ours is a wistaria +that has a few sickly-lookin' blossoms on it every spring and manages to +carry a sprinklin' of dusty leaves through the summer. Also there's a +nine-by-twelve lawn, that costs a dollar a square foot to keep in shape, +I'll bet.</p> + +<p>From that description maybe you'd judge that the place where I hang out +is a little antique. It is. But inside it's mighty comf'table, and it's +the best imitation of a home I've ever carried a latch-key to. As for +the near-aunts, Zenobia and Martha, take it from me they're the real +things in that line, even if they did let me in off the street without +askin' who or what! The best of it is they never have asked, which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> +makes it convenient. I couldn't tell 'em much, if they did.</p> + +<p>There's Martha—well, she's the pious one. It ain't any case of sudden +spasms with her. It's a settled habit. She's just as pious Monday +mornin' as she is Sunday afternoon, and it lasts her all through the +week. You know how she started in by readin' them Delilah and Jona yarns +to me. She's kept it up. About twice a week she corners me and pumps in +a slice of Scripture readin', until I guess we must be more 'n half +through the Book. Course there's a lot of it I don't see any percentage +in at all; but I've got so I don't mind it, and it seems to give Aunt +Martha a lot of satisfaction. She's a lumpy, heavy-set old girl, Martha, +and a little slow; but the only thing that ain't genuine about her is +the yellowish white frontispiece she pins on over her own hair when she +dolls up for dinner.</p> + +<p>But Zenobia—say, she's a diff'rent party! A few years younger than +Martha, Zenobia is,—in the early sixties, I should say,—and she's just +as active and up to date and foxy as Martha is logy and antique and +dull. While Martha is sayin' grace Zenobia is gen'rally pourin' herself +out a glass of port.</p> + +<p>About once a week Martha loads herself into an old horse cab and goes +off to a meetin' of the foreign mission society, or something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> like +that; but almost every afternoon Zenobia goes whizzin' off in a taxi, +maybe to hear some long-haired violinist, maybe to sit on the platform +with Emma Goldman and Bouck White and applaud enthusiastic when the +established order gets another jolt. Just as likely as not too, she'll +bring some of 'em home to dinner with her.</p> + +<p>Zenobia never shoves any advice on me, good or otherwise, and never asks +nosey questions; but she's the one who sees that my socks are kept +mended and has my suits sent to the presser. She don't read things to +me, or expound any of her fads. She just talks to me like she does to +anyone else—minor poets or social reformers—about anything she happens +to be int'rested in at the time,—music, plays, Mother Jones, the war, +or how suffrage is comin' on,—and never seems to notice when I make +breaks or get over my head.</p> + +<p>A good sport Zenobia is, and so busy sizin' up to-day that she ain't got +time for reminiscin' about the days before Brooklyn Bridge was built. +And the most chronic kidder you ever saw. Say, what we don't do to Aunt +Martha when both of us gets her on a string is a caution! That's what +makes so many of our meals such cheerful events.</p> + +<p>You might think, from a casual glance at Zenobia, with her gray hair and +the lines around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> her eyes, that she'd be kind of slow comp'ny for me, +especially to chase around to plays with and so on. But, believe me, +there's nothin' dull about her, and when she suggests that she's got an +extra ticket to anything I don't stop to ask what it is, but just gets +into the proper evenin' uniform and trots along willin'!</p> + +<p>So that's how I happens to be with her at this Shaw play, and discussin' +between the acts what Barney was really tryin' to put over on us. The +first intermission was most over too before I discovers this ruddy-faced +old party in the back of Box A with his opera glasses trained steady in +our direction. I glances along the row to see if anyone's gazin' back; +but I can't spot a soul lookin' his way. After he's kept it up a minute +or two I nudges Aunt Zenobia.</p> + +<p>"Looks like we was bein' inspected from the box seats," says I.</p> + +<p>"How flatterin'!" says she. "Where?"</p> + +<p>I points him out. "Must be you," says I, grinnin'.</p> + +<p>"I hope so," says Zenobia. "If I'm really being flirted with, I shall +boast of it to Sister Martha."</p> + +<p>But just then the lights go out and the second act begins. We got so +busy followin' the nutty scheme of this conversation expert who plots to +pass off a flower-girl for a Duchess<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> that the next wait is well under +way before I remembers the gent in the box.</p> + +<p>"Say, he's at it again," says I. "You must be makin' a hit for fair."</p> + +<p>"Precisely what I've always hoped might happen,—to be stared at in +public," says Zenobia. "I'm greatly obliged to him, I'm sure. You are +quite certain, though, that it isn't someone just behind me?"</p> + +<p>I whispers that there's no one behind her but a fat woman munchin' +chocolates and rubberin' back to see if Hubby ain't through gettin' his +drink.</p> + +<p>"There! He's takin' his glasses down," says I. "Know the party, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Not at this distance," says Zenobia. "No, I shall insist that he is an +unknown admirer."</p> + +<p>By that time, though, I'd got a better view myself. And—say, hadn't I +seen them ruddy cheeks and that gray hair and them droopy eyes before? +Why, sure! It's what's-his-name, the old guy who blew into the +Corrugated awhile ago, my absentee boss—Ballard!</p> + +<p>Maybe I'd have told Zenobia all about him if there'd been time; but +there wa'n't. Another flash of the lights, and we was watchin' the last +act, where this gutter-bred Pygmalion sprouts a soul. And when it's all +over of course we're swept out with the ebb tide, make a scramble for +our taxi, and are off for home. Then as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> we gets to the door I has the +sudden hunch about eats.</p> + +<p>"There's a joint around on Sixth-ave.," says I, lettin' Aunt Zenobia in, +"where they sell hot dog sandwiches with sauerkraut trimmin's. I believe +I could just do with one about now."</p> + +<p>"What an atrocious suggestion at this hour of the night!" says she. +"Torchy, don't you dare bring one of those abominations into the +house—unless you have enough to divide with me. About four, I should +say."</p> + +<p>"With mustard?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Heaps!" says she.</p> + +<p>Three minutes later I'm hurryin' back with both hands full, when I +notices another taxi standin' out front. Then who should step out but +this Ballard party, in a silk hat and a swell fur-lined overcoat.</p> + +<p>"Young man," says he, "haven't I seen you somewhere before?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I. "I'm your private sec."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" says he. "My—oh, yes! I remember. I saw you at the +Corrugated."</p> + +<p>"And then again at the show to-night," says I.</p> + +<p>"To be sure," says he. "With a lady, eh?"</p> + +<p>I nods.</p> + +<p>"Lives here, doesn't she?" asks Ballard.</p> + +<p>"Right again," says I. "Goin' to call?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why," says he, "the fact is, young man, I—er—see here, it's Zenobia +Hadley, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Preble," says I. "Mrs. Zenobia Preble."</p> + +<p>"Hang the Preble part!" says he. "He's dead years ago. What I want to +know is, who else lives here?"</p> + +<p>"Only her and Sister Martha and me," says I.</p> + +<p>"Martha, eh?" says he. "Still alive, is she? Well, well! And Zenobia +now, is she—er—a good deal like her sister?"</p> + +<p>"About as much as Z is like M," says I. "She's a live one, Aunt Zenobia +is, if that's what you're gettin' at."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," says he. "That is it exactly. And I am glad to hear it. She +used to be, as you put it, rather a live one; but I didn't quite know +how——"</p> + +<p>"Kyrle Ballard, is that you?" comes floatin' out from the front door. +"If it is, and you wish to know anything more about Zenobia Hadley, I +should advise you to come to headquarters. Torchy, bring in those +sandwiches—and Mr. Ballard, if he cares to follow."</p> + +<p>"There!" says I to Ballard. "You've got a sample. That's Zenobia. Are +you comin' or goin'?"</p> + +<p>Foolish question! He's leadin' the way up the steps.</p> + +<p>"Zenobia," says he, holdin' out both hands, "I humbly apologize for +following you in this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> impulsive fashion. I saw you at the theater, +and——"</p> + +<p>"If you hadn't done something of the kind," says she, "I shouldn't have +been at all sure it was really you. You've changed so much!"</p> + +<p>"I admit it," says he. "One does, you know, in forty years."</p> + +<p>"There, there, Kyrle Ballard!" warns Zenobia. "Throw the calendar at me +again, and out you go! I simply won't have it! Besides, I'm hungry. +Torchy is to blame. He suggested hot dog sandwiches. Take a sniff. Do +they appeal to you, or have you cultivated epicurean tastes to such an +extent that——"</p> + +<p>"Ah-h-h-h!" says Ballard, bendin' over the paper bag I'm holdin'. "My +favorite delicacy. And if I might be permitted to add a bottle or two of +cold St. Louis——"</p> + +<p>"Do you think I keep house without an icebox?" demands Zenobia. "Stop +your silly speeches, and let's get into the dining-room."</p> + +<p>Some hustler, Zenobia is, too. Inside of two minutes she's shed her +wraps, passed out plates and glasses, and we're tacklin' a Coney Island +collation.</p> + +<p>"I had been wondering if it could be you," says Ballard. "I'd been +watching you through the glasses."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," says Zenobia. "And we had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> quite settled it that you were +a strange admirer. I'm frightfully disappointed!"</p> + +<p>"Then you didn't know me?" says he. "But just now——"</p> + +<p>"Voices don't turn gray or change color," says Zenobia. "Yours sounds +just as it did—well, the last time I heard it."</p> + +<p>"That August night, eh?" suggests Mr. Ballard, suspendin' operations on +the sandwich and leanin' eager across the table.</p> + +<p>He's a chirky, chipper old scout, with a lot of twinkles left in his +blue eyes. Must have been some gay boy in his day too; for even now he +shows up more or less ornamental in his evenin' clothes. And Zenobia +ain't such a bad looker either, you know; especially just now, with her +ears pinked up and her eyes sparklin' mischievous. I don't know whether +it's from takin' massage treatments reg'lar, or if it just comes +natural, but she don't need to cover up her collar bone or wear things +around her neck.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that night," says she, liftin' her glass. "Shall we drink just +once to the memory of it?"</p> + +<p>Which they did.</p> + +<p>"And now," goes on Zenobia, "we will forget it, if you please."</p> + +<p>"Not I," says Ballard. "Another thing: I've never forgiven your sister +Martha for what she did then. I never will."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span></p> + +<p>Zenobia indulges in a trilly little laugh. "No more has she forgiven +you," says she. "How absurd of you both, just as though—but we'll not +talk about it. I've no time for yesterdays. To-day is too full. Tell me, +why are you back here?"</p> + +<p>"Because seven armies have chased me out of Europe," says he, "and my +charming Vienna is too full of typhus to be quite healthy. If I'd +dreamed of finding you like this, I should have come long ago."</p> + +<p>"Very pretty," says Zenobia. "I'd love to believe it, just for the sake +of repeating it to Martha in the morning. She is still with me, you +know."</p> + +<p>"As saintly as ever?" asks Ballard.</p> + +<p>"At thirty Martha was quite as good as she could be," says Zenobia. +"There she seems to have stopped. So naturally her opinion of you hasn't +altered in the least."</p> + +<p>"And yours?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Did I have opinions at twenty-two?" says she. "How ridiculous! I had +emotions, moods, mad impulses; anyway, something that led me to give you +seven dances in a row and stay until after one <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> when I had promised +someone to leave at eleven. You don't think I've kept up that sort of +thing, do you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," says Ballard. "I wouldn't be sure. One never could be +sure of Zenobia<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> Hadley. I suppose that was why I took my chance when I +did, why I——"</p> + +<p>"Kyrle Ballard, you've finished your sandwich, haven't you?" breaks in +Zenobia. "There! It's striking twelve, and I make it a rule never to be +sentimental after midnight. You and Martha wouldn't enjoy meeting each +other; so you'll not be coming again. Besides, I've a busy week ahead of +me. When you get settled abroad again, though, you might let me know. +Good-night. Happy dreams."</p> + +<p>And before Ballard can protest he's bein' shooed out.</p> + +<p>"You'll take luncheon with me to-morrow," he calls back from his cab.</p> + +<p>"Probably not," says Zenobia.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, you will, Zenobia," says he. "I'm a desperate character still. +Remember that!"</p> + +<p>She laughs and shuts the door. "There, Torchy!" says she. "See what +complications come from combining hot dogs with Bernard Shaw. And if +Martha should happen to get down before those bottles are removed—well, +I should have to tell her all."</p> + +<p>Trust Martha. She did. And when I finished breakfast she was still +waitin' for Zenobia to come down and be quizzed. I don't know how far +back into fam'ly hist'ry that little chat took 'em, or what Martha had +to say. All I know is that when I shows up for dinner and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> comes +downstairs about six-thirty there sits Martha in the lib'ry, rocking +back and forth with that patient, resigned look on her face, as if she +was next in line at the dentist's.</p> + +<p>"Zenobia isn't in yet," says she. "We will wait dinner awhile for her."</p> + +<p>Then chunks of silence from Martha, which ain't usual. At seven o'clock +we gives it up and sits down alone. We hadn't finished our soup when +this telegram comes. First off I thought Martha was goin' to choke or +blow a cylinder head, I didn't know which. Then she takes to sobbin' +into the consommé, and fin'lly she shoves the message over to me.</p> + +<p>"Wh-a-at?" I gasps. "Eloped, have they?"</p> + +<p>"I—I knew they would," says Martha, "just as soon as I heard he'd been +here. He—he always wanted her to do it."</p> + +<p>"Always?" says I. "Why, I thought he hadn't seen her for forty years or +so. How could that be?"</p> + +<p>"We-we-well," sobs Martha, "I—I stopped them once. And she engaged to +the Rev. Mr. Preble at the time! It was scandalous! Such a wild, +reckless fellow Kyrle Ballard was too."</p> + +<p>"Wh-e-ew!" I whistles. "That was goin' some for Zenobia, wasn't it? How +near did they come to doin' the slope?"</p> + +<p>"She—she was actually stealing out to meet him, her things all on," +says Martha, "when—when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> I woke up and found her. I made her come back +by threatening to call Mother. Engaged for two years, she and Mr. Preble +had been, and the wedding day all set. He'd just got a nice church too, +his first. I saved her that time; but now——" Martha relapses into the +sob act.</p> + +<p>"The giddy young things!" says I. "Gone off on a honeymoon trip too! +Say, that ain't such slow work, is it? Gettin' there a little late, +maybe; but if there ever was a pair of silver sixties meant to be mated +up, I guess it's them. Well, well! I stand to lose a near-aunt by the +deal; but they get my blessin', anyway."</p> + +<p>As for Aunt Martha, she keeps right on thinnin' out the soup.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2><h3>SIFTING OUT UNCLE BILL</h3> +</div> + +<p>Things happen to you quick, don't they, when the happenin' is good? Take +this affair of Zenobia's. One day I'm settled down all comfy and solid +with two old near-aunts who'd been livin' in the same place and doin' +the same things for the last thirty years or so, and the next—well, off +one of 'em goes, elopes with an old-time beau of hers that happens to +show up here just because Europe is bein' shot up.</p> + +<p>And then, before I've recovered from that jolt, comes this human +surprise package labeled Dorsett, who blows breezy into the Corrugated. +Fair-haired Vincent, who still holds my old place on the brass gate, +brings in his card.</p> + +<p>"William H. Dorsett?" says I. "Never heard of the party. Did he ask for +Mutual Funding?"</p> + +<p>"No, Sir," says Vincent. "He asked for you, Sir."</p> + +<p>"How?" says I.</p> + +<p>At which Vincent tints up embarrassed. "He said he wished to talk to a +young fellow known as Torchy, Sir," says he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span></p> + +<p>"Almost a description of me, ain't it?" says I. "Well, tow him in, +Vincent, until I see if his map's any more familiar than his name."</p> + +<p>It wa'n't. He's a middle-aged gent, kind of tall and stoop-shouldered, +with curly hair that's started to frost up above the ears. The raincoat +he's wearin' is a little seedy, specially about the collar and cuffs; +but he's sportin' a silver-mounted walkin'-stick, and has a new pair of +yellow gloves stickin' from his breast pocket.</p> + +<p>With a free and easy stride he follows Vincent's directions, sails over +to my corner of the private office, pulls up a chair, and camps down by +the desk without any urgin'. Also he favors me with a friendly smile +that he produces from one corner of his mouth. Sort of a catchy smile it +is too, and before we've swapped a word I finds myself smilin' back.</p> + +<p>"Well!" says I. "You 're introducin' what?"</p> + +<p>"Just William H. Dorsett," says he.</p> + +<p>"You do it well," says I.</p> + +<p>He allows the off corner of his mouth to loosen up again, and for a +second his deep-set brown eyes steady down as he gives me the once-over. +Kind of an amused, quizzin' look it is, but more or less foxy. He +crosses his legs and hitches up his chair confidential.</p> + +<p>"I imagine you're rather used to handling big propositions here," says +he, takin' in the office mahogany, the expensive floor rugs, and +everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> else in a quick glance: "so I hope you won't mind if I +present a small one."</p> + +<p>"In funding?" says I.</p> + +<p>"It might very well come under that head," says he. "Ever do much with +municipal franchises,—trolleys, lighting, that sort of thing?"</p> + +<p>"Nope," says I; "nor racin' tips, church fair chances, or Danish lottery +tickets. We don't even back new movie concerns."</p> + +<p>That gets a twinkle out of his restless eyes. "I don't blame you in the +least," says he. "I suppose there are more worthless franchises hawked +around New York than you could stuff into a moving van. That's what +makes it so difficult to get action on any real, gilt-edged +propositions."</p> + +<p>"Such as you've got in your inside pocket eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Precisely," says he. "Mine are the worthwhile kind. Of course +franchises are common enough. It's no trick at all to go into the +average Rube village, 'steen miles from a railroad, and get 'em thrilled +with the notion of being connected by trolley with Jaytown, umpteen +miles south. Why, they'll hand you anything in sight! A deaf-mute could +go out and get that sort of franchise. But to prospect through the whole +cotton belt, locate opportunities where the dividends will follow the +rails, pick out the cream of them all, get in right with the board<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> of +trade, fix things up with a suspicious town council, stall off the local +capitalist who would like to hog all the profits himself, and set the +real estate operators working for you tooth and nail—well, that is +legitimate promoting; my brand, if you will permit me."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," says I. "But the Corrugated don't——"</p> + +<p>"I understand," breaks in Mr. Dorsett. "Quite right too. But here I +produce the personal equation. For five weary weeks I've skittered about +this city, carrying around with me half a dozen of the ripest, richest +franchise propositions ever matured. Bona-fide prospects, mind you, +communities just yearning for transportation facilities, with tentative +stock subscriptions running as high as two hundred thousand in some +cases. They're schemes I've nursed from the seed up, as you might say. +I've laid all the underground wires, seen all the officials that need +seeing, planned for every right of way. Six splendid opportunities that +may be coined into cash simply by pressing the button! And the nearest I +can get to any man with real money to invest is a two-minute interview +in a reception room with some clerk. All because I lack someone to take +me into a private office and remark casually: 'Mr. So-and-So, here's my +friend Dorsett, who's bringing us something good from the South.' That's +all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> Why, only last week I actually offered to deliver a +fifty-thousand-dollar franchise on a ten per cent. commission basis, +provided I was given a beggarly two hundred advance for expenses—and +had it turned down!"</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es," says I. "The way some of them Wall Street plutes shrink from +bein' made richer is painful, ain't it? But I don't see where I fit in."</p> + +<p>Mr. Dorsett pats me chummy on the shoulder and proceeds to show me +exactly where. "You know the right people," says he. "You're in with +them. Very well. All I ask of you is the 'Here's Mr. Dorsett' part. I'll +do the rest."</p> + +<p>"How simple!" says I. "And us old friends of about five minutes' +standin'! Say, throw in your reverse or you'll be off the bridge. Who's +been tellin' you I was such a simp?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Dorsett smiles indulgent. "My error," says he. "But I was hoping +that perhaps you might—— Come, Torchy, hasn't it occurred to you that +I would hardly come as an utter stranger? Who do you suppose now gave me +your address?"</p> + +<p>"The chairman of the Stock Exchange?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Mother Leary," says he.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"A flip of fate," says he. "At my hotel I got to talking with the room +clerk, and discovered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> that his name was Leary. It turned out that he +was Aloysius, the eldest boy. Remember him, don't you?"</p> + +<p>Seein' how I'd almost been brought up in the fam'ly when I was a kid, I +couldn't deny it. Course I'd run more with Hunch than any of the other +boys. We'd sold papers together, and gone into the A. D. T. at the same +time. But there wasn't a Leary I didn't know all about.</p> + +<p>"You must have boarded there too," says I. "But if I ever heard your +name, it didn't stick."</p> + +<p>"It may have been," says he, "that I was not using the Dorsett part of +it just at that time. Business reasons, you understand. But the H in my +name stands for Hines. What about William Hines, now?"</p> + +<p>"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at him. Sure enough, that did have a familiar +sound to it.</p> + +<p>"Let's try it this way," says he: "Uncle Bill Hines."</p> + +<p>And, say, that got me! I expect I made some gaspy motions before I +managed to get out my next remark. "You—you ain't the one that left me +with Mother Leary, are you?" I asks.</p> + +<p>Dorsett nods. "I'm a trifle late in explaining that carelessness," says +he, "and I can only plead guilty to all your reproaches. But consider +the circumstances. There I was, a free lance of fortune, down to my last +dollar, and rich only in the companionship of a bright-eyed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> +four-year-old youngster who had been trusted to my care. You remember +very little of that period, I suppose; but it is all vivid enough to me, +even now,—how we tramped up and down Broadway, you chattering away, +excited and happy, while I was wondering what I should do when that last +dollar was gone.</p> + +<p>"Then, just when things seem blackest, arrived opportunity,—the +Birmingham boom. I ran across one of the boomers, who was struck with +the brilliant idea that he could make use of my peculiar talents in +making known the coming glories of the new South. But I must join him at +once, that very day. And he waved yellow-backed bills at me. I simply +had to drop you and go. Mother Leary promised to take care of you for +three months, or until your—well, until someone else claimed you. I +sent word to them both, at least I tried to, and rushed gayly down into +Dixie. Perhaps you never heard of the bursting of that first Birmingham +boom? It was an abrupt but very-complete smash. I came out of it owning +two gorgeous suits of clothes, one silk hat, and an opulent-looking +pocketbook, bulging with thirty-day options on corner lots. One of the +clerks in our office staked me with carfare to Atlanta, where I got a +job collecting tenement house rents.</p> + +<p>"Since then I've been up and down. Half a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> dozen times I've almost had +my fingers on the tail feathers of fortune: only to stumble into some +hidden pit of poverty. And in time—well, time mends all things. +Besides, I hardly relished facing Mother Leary. There was the chance too +that you no longer needed rescuing. I'm not trying to excuse my breach +of faith: I am merely telling you how it came about. You realize that, I +trust?"</p> + +<p>Did I? I don't know. I expect I was just sittin' there gazing stary at +him. Only one thing was shapin' itself clear in my head, and fin'lly I +states it flat.</p> + +<p>"Say," says I, "you—you ain't my reg'lar uncle, are you?"</p> + +<p>Maybe I wa'n't as enthusiastic as the case called for. He springs that +smile of his. "Hardly a flattering way to put it," says he. "Would you +be disappointed if I was?"</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, eyin' him up and down, "you don't strike me as such a +swell uncle, you know."</p> + +<p>Don't faze him a bit, either. "Our near relatives are seldom quite +satisfactory," says he. "Of course, though, if I fail to suit——" He +hunches his shoulders and reaches for his hat.</p> + +<p>So he had it on me, you see. Suppose you was as shy on relations as I +am, would you turn down the only one that ever showed up?</p> + +<p>"Excuse me if I don't get the cues right,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> says I; "but—but this has +been put over a little sudden. Course I'll take Mrs. Leary's word. If +she says you're my Uncle Bill, that goes. Anyway, you can give me a line +on—on my folks, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>Yes, he admits that he can; but he don't. And I will say for him that he +states his case smooth enough, smilin' that catchy smile of his, and +tappin' me friendly on the knee. But when he's all through it amounts to +this: He needs the loan of a couple of hundred cash the worst way, and +he wants to be put next to a few plutes that are in the market for new +trolley franchises. If I can boost him along that way, it'll relieve his +mind so much that he'll be in just the right mood to go into my personal +hist'ry as deep as I care to dip.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" says I. "But this raisin' a fam'ly tree comes high, don't it? +Besides, I'd have to get Mother Leary's O. K. on you first, you know."</p> + +<p>"Naturally," says he. "And any time within the next day or so will +answer. Suppose I drop around again, or look you up at your quarters?"</p> + +<p>"Better make it at the house," says I. "Here's the street number. Some +evenin' after seven-thirty. I—I'll be thinkin' things over."</p> + +<p>And as I watches him swing jaunty through the door I remarks under my +breath to nobody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> in partic'lar: "Uncle Bill, eh? My Uncle Bill! Well, +well!"</p> + +<p>You can be sure too that my first move is to sound Mother Leary. She +says he's the one, all right, and I gathers that she gave him the +tongue-lashin' she'd been savin' up all these years. But I don't stop +for details. If I've really had an uncle wished on me, it's up to me to +make the best of it, or find out the worst. But somehow I ain't so +chesty about havin' dug up a relation. I don't brag about it to Martha +when I go home. In fact, Martha has fam'ly troubles of her own about +now, you remember. I finds her weepy-eyed and solemn.</p> + +<p>"They've been gone more than a week," says she, "Zenobia and that +reckless Kyrle Ballard. Pretty soon they will be coming back, and +then——"</p> + +<p>"Well, what then?" says I.</p> + +<p>"I've been packing up to-day," says she, swabbin' off a stray tear from +the side of her nose. "I have engaged rooms at the Lady Louise. I +suppose you will be leaving too."</p> + +<p>"Me?" says I.</p> + +<p>It hadn't struck me that Aunt Zenobia's getting married was goin' to +throw us all out on the street. But Aunt Martha had it doped diff'rent.</p> + +<p>"Stay in the same house with that man?" says she. "Not I! And I am quite +sure he will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> not want either of us around when he comes back here as +Zenobia's husband."</p> + +<p>"If that's the case," says I, "it won't take me long to clear out; but I +guess I'll wait until I get the hint direct. You'd better wait too."</p> + +<p>Martha'd made up her mind, though. She says she'd go right then if it +wa'n't for leavin' the servants alone in the house; but the very minute +Sister Zenobia arrives she means to beat it. And sure enough next day +she has her trunk brought down into the front hall and begins wearin' +her bonnet around the house. It's a little weird to see her pokin' about +dressed that way, and her wraps and rubbers laid out handy, as if she +belonged to a volunteer hose comp'ny.</p> + +<p>It was after the second day of this watchful waitin', and we're sittin' +down to a six-forty-five dinner, when a big racket breaks loose out +front. The bell rings four times rapid, Lizzie the maid almost breaks +her neck gettin' to the door, and in breezes the runaway pair with all +their baggage, chucklin' and chatterin' like a couple of kids. Some +stunnin' Aunt Zenobia looks, for all her gray hair; and Mr. Ballard, in +his Scotch tweed suit and with his ruddy cheeks, don't look a day over +fifty. They're giggling merry over some remark of Lizzie's, and Zenobia +calls in through the draperies.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Martha—Torchy—everybody!" she sings out. "Well, here we are, +back from that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> absurd boardwalk resort, back to—well, for the love of +ladies! Martha Hadley, why in the name of nonsense are you eating dinner +with your hat on?"</p> + +<p>"Because," says Martha, beginnin' to sniffle, "I—I'm going away."</p> + +<p>"But where? Why?" demands Zenobia.</p> + +<p>And between sobs Martha explains. She includes me in it too.</p> + +<p>"Then why aren't you wearing your hat also, Torchy?" asks Zenobia.</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "I ain't so sure about quittin' as she is. I thought I'd +stick around until I got the word to move."</p> + +<p>"Which you're not at all likely to get, young man," says Zenobia. "And +as for you, Martha, you should have better sense. Trapsing off to a +hotel, at your time of life! Rubbish! And why, please?"</p> + +<p>Aunt Martha nods towards Ballard.</p> + +<p>"Well, you're just going to get over that nonsense," says Zenobia. +"Kyrle, you know what you promised when you told me you'd make up with +Martha? Now is the appointed time. Do it!"</p> + +<p>And Mr. Ballard, chuckin' his hat and overcoat on a chair, sails right +in. I expect it was the last thing in the world Martha was lookin' for; +for she sits there gazin' at him sort of stupid until he's done the +trick. Uh-huh! No<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> halfway business about it, either. He just naturally +takes her chubby old face between his two hands, tilts up her chin, and +plants a reg'lar final curtain smack where I'll bet it's been forty +years since the lips of man had trod before.</p> + +<p>First off Martha flops her arms and squeals. Then, when she finds it's +all over and ain't goin' to be any continuous performance, she quiets +down and stares at the two of 'em, who are chucklin' away merry.</p> + +<p>"Please, Sister Martha," says Ballard, "try to overlook that old affair +of mine when I tried to cut out the Rev. Preble. I was rather +irresponsible then, I'll own; but I have steadied down a lot, although +for the last week or so—well, you know how giddy Zenobia is. But you +will help us. We can't either of us spare you, you see."</p> + +<p>Maybe it was the jollyin' speech, or maybe it was the unexpected smack, +but inside of five minutes Martha has shed her bonnet and we're all +sittin' around the table as friendly and jolly as you please.</p> + +<p>I suppose it was by way of makin' Martha feel comf'table and as if she +was really part of the game that they got to reminiscin' about old times +and the folks they used to know. I wa'n't followin' it very close until +Martha gets to askin' Ballard about some of his people, and he starts in +on this story about his nephew.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span></p> + +<p>"Poor Dick!" says he, pushin' back his demitasse and lightin' up a big +perfecto. "Now if he'd been my boy, things might have turned out +differently. But my respected brother—well, you knew Richard, Martha. +Not at all like me,—eminently respectable, a bit solemn, and +tremendously stiff-necked on occasion. The way he took on about that +red-headed Irish girl, for instance. Irene, you know. Why, you might +have thought, to have heard him storm around, that she was a veritable +sorceress, or something of the kind; when, as a matter of fact, she was +just a nice, wholesome, keen-witted young woman. Pretty as a picture, +she was, and as true as gold too,—a lot too good for young Dick +Ballard, even if she was merely a girl in his father's office. You +couldn't blame her for liking Dick, though. Everyone did—the +scatter-brained scamp! And when my brother went through all that +melodramatic folly of cutting him off with a thousand a year—well, we +had our big row over that. That was when I took my money out of the +firm. Lucky I did too. When the panic came I was safe."</p> + +<p>"Let's see," says Zenobia, "Dick and the girl ran off and were married, +weren't they?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Ballard. "It's in the blood, you see. They went to Paris, to +carry out one of Dick's great schemes. He had persuaded some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> of his +friends, big real estate dealers, to make him their foreign agent. His +idea was, I believe, to catch Western millionaires abroad and sell 'em +Fifth-ave. mansions. Actually did land one or two customers, I think. +But it was his wife's notion that turned out to be really +practical,—leasing French and Italian villas to rich Americans. +Something in that, you know, and if Dick had only stuck to it—but Dick +never could. He got in with some mine promoters, and after that nothing +would answer but that he must rush right back to Goldfield and look over +some properties that were for sale dirt cheap. As though Dick would have +been any wiser after he'd seen 'em! But his biggest piece of folly was +in taking the little boy along with him."</p> + +<p>"What! Away from his mother?" says Martha.</p> + +<p>"Just like Dick," says Ballard. "They couldn't both leave the leasing +business, and as she knew more about it than he did—well, that's the +way they settled it. He persuaded her it would be a fine thing for the +youngster. Huh! I came over on the same boat with them, and I want to +tell you that little chap simply owned the steamer! Bright? Why, he was +the cutest kid you ever saw,—red-headed, like his mother, and with his +father's laugh. Spent most of his time on the bridge with the first +officer, or down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> in the engine room with the chief. Dick never knew +where he was half the time.</p> + +<p>"He was for taking the boy out into the mining country with him too. I +supposed he had until I got this frantic cable from Irene. They'd sent +her word about Dick's sudden end,—he always did have a weak heart, you +know,—and something about the high altitude got him. Went off like +that. But Irene was demanding of me to tell her where the boy was. Of +course I didn't know. I did my best to find him, hunted high and low. I +traced Dick to Goldfield. No use. The boy was not with him when he went +West. Where he had left him was a mystery that——"</p> + +<p>Buz-z-z-z! goes the front doorbell, right in the middle of Mr. Ballard's +story, and in comes Lizzie sayin' it's someone to see me. For a second I +couldn't think who'd be huntin' me up here at this time of the evenin'. +And then I remembered,—Dorsett.</p> + +<p>"It—it's an uncle of mine," says I to Zenobia, "a reg'lar uncle."</p> + +<p>"Why," says she, "I didn't know you had one."</p> + +<p>"Me either," says I, "until the other day. He just turned up. Could I +take him into the libr'y?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," says Zenobia.</p> + +<p>I was kind of sorry he'd come. I hadn't been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> so chesty over Uncle Bill +at the office; but here, where things are sort of quiet and +classy—well, I could see where he wouldn't show up so strong. Besides, +I hadn't made up my mind just how I was goin' to turn down his +proposition.</p> + +<p>I towed him in, though. He was glancin' around the room approvin', and +makin' a few openin' remarks, when the folks come strollin' out from the +dinin'-room. I glances up, and sees Mr. Ballard just as he's about to +pass the door. So does Dorsett. And, say, the minute them two spots each +other things sort of hung fire and stopped. Dorsett he breaks short off +what he's sayin', and Mr. Ballard comes to a halt and stands starin' in +the room. Next I know he's pushed in, and they're facin' each other.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Sir," says Ballard, "but didn't you cross with me on the +<i>Lucania</i> once? And weren't you thick with Dick Ballard?"</p> + +<p>Course I could see something coming right then; but I didn't know what +it was. Mr. Dorsett's shifty eyes take another look at Ballard, and then +he hitches uneasy in his chair.</p> + +<p>"Rather an odd coincidence, isn't it?" says he. "Yes, I was on board +that trip."</p> + +<p>"Then you're one of the men I've been looking for a good many years," +says Ballard. "You knew Dick very well, didn't you? Then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> perhaps you +can tell me who he left that boy of his with when he went West?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," says Dorsett, smilin' fidgety. "He—er—the fact is, he left +him with me."</p> + +<p>"With you, eh?" says Ballard. "I might have guessed as much. Well, Sir, +where's the boy now?"</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" gasps Dorsett, lookin' from me to Mr. Ballard. "Where, did +you say?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir," comes back Ballard snappy. "Where?"</p> + +<p>More gasps from Dorsett. But he's good at duckin' trouble. With a wink +at me and a chuckle he remarks: "Torchy, suppose you tell the gentleman +where you are?"</p> + +<p>Well, say, it was some complicated unravelin' we did durin' the next few +minutes, believe me; but after Zenobia and Martha had been called in, +and Dorsett has done some more of his smooth explainin', we all begun to +see where we were at.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says Zenobia at last, "bring down from your room that little +gold locket you've always had."</p> + +<p>And when Mr. Ballard has opened it and held the picture under the +readin' light, he winds up the whole debate as to who's who.</p> + +<p>"It's Irene, of course," says he. "Poor girl! But she had her day, after +all. Married a French army officer, you know, and for a while<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> they were +happy together. Then the war. He was dropped somewhere around Rheims, I +believe. Then I heard of her doing volunteer work at a field hospital. +She lasted a month or so at that—typhus, or a German shell, I don't +know which. But she's gone too."</p> + +<p>And me, I stands there, listenin' gawpy, with my eyes beginnin' to blur. +It's Zenobia, you might know, who notices first. She steps over and +gathers me in motherly. Not that I needs it, as I know of, but—well, it +was kind of good to feel her arm around me just then.</p> + +<p>"We'll find out all about it later; won't we, Torchy?" she whispers.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Mr. Ballard has swung on Dorsett. "So you were trying to pose +as Uncle Bill, were you?" he demands. "Well, Sir, you're just about the +caliber of man Dick would choose to put his trust in! But I'll bet a +thousand you were not finding it so easy to fool his boy here! Going, +are you? This way, Sir."</p> + +<p>"At that, though," says I, as the door shuts after Dorsett, "he had me +guessin'."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Mr. Ballard, "he would, any of us."</p> + +<p>"And I don't see," I goes on, "as I got any fam'ly left, after all."</p> + +<p>"You—you don't, eh, you young scamp?" says Mr. Ballard. "Well, as +there's no doubt about your being my nephew's boy, I'd like to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> know why +I don't qualify as a perfectly good great-uncle to you!"</p> + +<p>"Why, that's so!" says I, grinnin' at him. "I—I guess you do. And, say, +if you don't mind my sayin' so, you'll do fine!"</p> + +<p>So what if Uncle Bill did turn out a ringer! He was more or less useful, +even if he did gum up the plot there for a while. Uh-huh! Mighty useful! +For there's nothin' phony about my new Uncle Kyrle, take it from me!</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2><h3>HOW AUNTY GOT THE NEWS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Say, I expect it ain't good form to get chesty over your relations, +specially when they're so new as mine; but I've got to hand it to Mr. +Kyrle Ballard. After three weeks' tryout he shapes up as some grand +little great-uncle, take it from me!</p> + +<p>First off, you know, I had him card indexed as havin' more or less +tabasco in his temper'ment, with a wide grumpy streak runnin' through +his ego. And he is kind of crisp and snappy in his talk, I'll admit. +Strangers might think he was a grouch toter. But that's just his way. +It's all on the outside. Back of that gruff, offhand talk and behind +them bushy, gray eyebrows there's a lot of fun and good nature. One of +the kind that's never seemed to grow up, Uncle Kyrle is, sixty-odd and +still a kid; always springin' some josh or other, and disguisin' the +good turns he does with foolish remarks. And to hear him string Aunt +Martha along from one thing to another is sure a circus.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Sister Martha," says he, blowin' in to a late Sunday +breakfast, all pinked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> up in the cheeks from a cold tub and a clean +shave. "I trust that you begin the day with a deep conviction of sin?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I—I suppose I do, Kyrle," says she, gettin' fussed. "That is, I +try to."</p> + +<p>"Good!" says Uncle Kyrle. "It is important that some one in this family +should recognize that this is a sad and wicked world, with Virtue below +par and Honest Worth going baggy at the knees. Zenobia here has no +conviction of sin whatever. Mine is rather weak at times. So you, +Martha, must do the piety for all of us. And please ring for the griddle +cakes and sausage."</p> + +<p>Then he winks at Zenobia, gives his grapefruit a sherry bath, and +proceeds to tackle a hearty breakfast.</p> + +<p>A few days after him and Zenobia got back from their runaway honeymoon +trip he calls her to the front door. "There's a person out here who says +he has a car for you," says he.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" says Zenobia. "Why, I haven't ordered a car."</p> + +<p>"The impudent rascal!" says Uncle Kyrle. "I'll send him off, then. The +idea!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, but isn't it a beauty?" says Zenobia, peekin' out. "Let's see what +he says about it first."</p> + +<p>So they go out to the curb, while Uncle Kyrle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> demands violent of the +young chap in charge what he means by such an outrage. At which the +party grins and shows the tag on the steerin' wheel.</p> + +<p>"Why!" says Zenobia. "It has my name on it. Oh, Kyrle, you dear man! +I've a notion to hug you."</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut!" says he. "Such a bad example to set the neighbors! Besides, +this young man may object. He has a Y. M. C. A. certificate as a +first-class chauffeur."</p> + +<p>That's the way he springs on Aunt Zenobia an imported landaulet, this +year's model, all complete even to monogrammed laprobes and a morocco +vanity case in the tonneau. It's one of these low-hung French cars, with +an eight-cylinder motor that runs as sweet as the purr of a kitten.</p> + +<p>Then here Sunday noon he takes me one side confidential. "Torchy," says +he, "could you assist a poor but deserving citizen to retain the respect +of his chauffeur!"</p> + +<p>"Go on, shoot it," says I.</p> + +<p>"Don't be rash, young man," says he, "for the situation is desperate. +You see, Herman seems to think we ought to use the machine more than we +do. Just to please him we have been whirled through thousands of miles +of adjacent suburbs during the last week. Still Herman is unsatisfied. +Would it be asking too much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> if I requested you to let him take you out +for the afternoon?"</p> + +<p>I gives him the grin. "Maybe I could stand it for this once," says I.</p> + +<p>"Noble youth!" says he. "You deserve the iron cross. And should there be +perchance anyone who could be induced to share your self-sacrifice——"</p> + +<p>The grin plays tag with my ears. "How'd you guess?" says I.</p> + +<p>Uncle Kyrle winks and pikes off.</p> + +<p>So about two-thirty <span class="smcap">p.m</span>. I'm landed at a certain number on Madison-ave. +and runs jaunty up the front steps. I was hopin' Aunty would either be +out or takin' her after-dinner nap. But when it comes to forecastin' her +moves you got to figure on reverse English nine cases out of ten. And if +ever you want a picture of bad luck to hang up anywhere, get a portrait +of Aunty. Out? She's right on hand, as stiff and sour as a frozen dill +pickle. Her way of greetin' me cordial as I'm shown into the drawin' +room is by humping her eyebrows and passin' me the marble stare.</p> + +<p>"Well, young man?" says she.</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "not so well as I was a couple of minutes—er—that it's +a fine, spiffy afternoon, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Spiffy!" says she, drawin' in her breath menacin'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span></p> + +<p>"Vassarese for lovely," says I. "But I don't insist on the word. By the +way, is Miss Vee in?"</p> + +<p>"She is," says Aunty. "This is not Friday evening, however."</p> + +<p>"Ah, say!" says I. "Can't we suspend the rules and regulations for once? +You see, I got a machine outside that's a reg'lar—well, it's some car, +believe me!—and seein' how there couldn't be a slicker day for a spin, +I didn't know but what you'd let Vee off for an hour or so."</p> + +<p>"Just you and Verona?" demands Aunty, stiffenin'.</p> + +<p>It was some pill to swallow, but after a few uneasy throat wiggles I got +it down. "Unless," says I, "you—you'd like to go along too. You +wouldn't, would you?"</p> + +<p>Aunty indulges in one of them tight-lipped smiles of hers that's about +as merry as a crack in a vinegar cruet. "How thoughtful of you!" says +she. "However, I am not fond of motoring."</p> + +<p>I don't know whether someone punctured an air cushion just then, or +whether it was me heavin' a sigh of relief. "Ain't you?" says I. "But +Vee's strong for it, and if you don't mind——"</p> + +<p>"My niece is writing letters," says Aunty,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> "and asked not to be +disturbed until after five o'clock."</p> + +<p>"But in this case," I goes on, "maybe she'd sidetrack the letters if +you'd send up word how——"</p> + +<p>"Young man," says Aunty, settin' her chin firm, "I think you are quite +aware of my attitude. Your persistent attentions to my niece are wholly +unwelcome. True, you are no longer a mere office boy; but—well, just +who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Private sec. of Mutual Funding," says I.</p> + +<p>"And a youth known as Torchy?" she adds sarcastic.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but see here!" says I. "I've just dug up a——"</p> + +<p>"That will do," she breaks in. "We have discussed all this before. And +I've no doubt you think me simply a disagreeable, crotchety old person. +Has it ever occurred to you, however, that you may have failed to get my +point of view? Can you not conceive then that it might be somewhat +humiliating to me to know that my maids suppress a smile as they +announce—Mr. Torchy? Understand, I am not censuring you for being a +nameless waif. No, do not interrupt. I realize that this is something +for which you should not be held responsible. But can't you see, young +man——"</p> + +<p>"If I can't," I cuts in, "I need an eye doctor bad. I'll tell you what +I'll do about this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> name business, though. I'm going to issue a white +paper on the subject."</p> + +<p>"A—a what?" says Aunty.</p> + +<p>"Seein' you ain't much of a listener," says I, "I'll submit the case in +writin'. You win the round, though. And if it don't hurt you too much, +you might tell Vee I was here. You can use a bichloride of mercury mouth +wash afterwards, you know."</p> + +<p>Saying which, I does the young hero act, swings proudly on muh heel, and +exits left center, leavin' Aunty speechless in her chair.</p> + +<p>So Herman and me starts off all by our lonesome, swings into the Grand +Boulevard and out through Pelham Parkway to the Boston Post Road. Deep +glooms for me! Even the way we breezed by speedy roadsters don't bring +me any thrills.</p> + +<p>I was still chewin' over that zippy roast Aunty had handed me. Nameless +waif, eh? Say, that's the rawest she'd ever stated it. Course I was +fixed now to show her where she'd overdone the part; but somehow I +couldn't seem to frame up any way of gettin' my fam'ly tree on record +without seemin' to do it boastful. Besides, Aunty wouldn't take my word +for Uncle Kyrle and all the rest. She'd want an affidavit, at least.</p> + +<p>But I had made up my mind to have a talk with Vee. I hadn't had more'n a +glimpse of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> her for weeks now, and while I might not feel like givin' +her complete details of all that had happened to me recent, I thought I +might drop an illuminatin' hint or so. Was I goin' to let a gimlet-eyed +old dame with an acetic acid disposition block me off as easy as that?</p> + +<p>"Herman," says I, "you can just drop me on Madison-ave. as we go down. +And you better report at the house before you put up the machine. They +may want to be goin' somewhere."</p> + +<p>I'd heard Uncle Kyrle speak of promisin' to make a call on someone he'd +met lately that he'd known abroad. As for me, I just strolls up and down +two or three blocks, takin' a chance that Vee might drift out. But I +sticks around near an hour without any luck.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I to myself at last. "Might as well risk it again, and if I +can't run the gate—well, swappin' a few more plain words with Aunty'll +relieve my feelin's some, anyway."</p> + +<p>With that I marches up bold and presses the button. "Say," says I to the +maid, "don't tell me Aunty's gone out since I left!"</p> + +<p>Selma shakes her head solemn as her mighty Swedish intellect struggles +to surround the situation. "Meesis she dress by supper in den room yet," +says she.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span></p> + +<p>"Such sadness!" says I. "Maybe there's nobody but Miss Vee downstairs?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ja</i>," says Selma, starin' stupid. "Not nobody else but Miss Verona, +no."</p> + +<p>"You're a bright girl—from the feet down," says I, pushin' in past her. +"Shut the door easy so as not to disturb Aunty, and I'll try to cheer up +Miss Verona until she comes down. She's in the lib'ry, eh?"</p> + +<p>Yep, I was doin' my best. We'd exchanged the greetin's of the season and +was camped cozy in a corner davenport just big enough for two, while I +was explainin' how tough it was not havin' her along for the drive, and +I'd collected one of her hands casual, pattin' it sort of absent-minded, +when—say, no trained bloodhound has anything on Aunty! There she is, +standin' rigid between the double doors glarin' at us accusin'.</p> + +<p>"So you returned after all that, did you?" she demands.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know but you might want to tack on a postscript," says I.</p> + +<p>"Young man," says she, just as friendly as a Special Sessions Judge +callin' the prisoner to the bar, "you are quite right. And I wish to say +to you now, in the presence of my niece, that——"</p> + +<p>"Now, Aunty! Please!" breaks in Verona, shruggin' her shoulders +expressive.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span></p> + +<p>"Verona, kindly be silent," goes on Aunty. "This young person known as +Torchy has——"</p> + +<p>When in drifts Selma and sticks out the silver card plate like she was +presentin' arms.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asks Aunty. "Oh!" Then she inspects the names.</p> + +<p>For half a minute she stands there, glancin' from me to the cards +undecided, and I expect if she could have electrocuted me with a look +I'd have sizzled once or twice and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. +But her voltage wa'n't quite high enough for that. Instead she turns to +Selma and gives some quick orders.</p> + +<p>"Draw these draperies," says she; "then show in the guests. As for you, +young man, wait!"</p> + +<p>"Gee!" I whispers, as we're shut in. "I wish I knew how to draw up a +will."</p> + +<p>Vee snickers. "Silly!" says she. "Whatever have you been saying to Aunty +now?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" says I. "Why, not much. Just a little chat about fam'ly trees and +so on, durin' which she——"</p> + +<p>Then the arrival chatter in the next room breaks loose, and I stops +sudden, starin' at the closed portières with my mouth open.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" says I. "Listen who's here!"</p> + +<p>"Who?" says Vee.</p> + +<p>"That's so," says I. "You don't know 'em, do you? Well, this adds +thickenin' to the plot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> for fair. Remember hearin' me tell of Aunt +Zenobia and her new hubby? Well, that's 'em."</p> + +<p>"How odd!" says Vee. "But—why, I've heard his voice before! It was +at—oh, I know! The nice old gentleman who had the villa next to ours at +Mentone."</p> + +<p>"Ballard?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"That's it!" says Vee. "And you say he is——"</p> + +<p>"My Uncle Kyrle," says I. "My reg'lar uncle, you know."</p> + +<p>"Why, Torchy!" gasps Vee, grabbin' me by the arm. "Then—then you——"</p> + +<p>"Listen!" says I. "Hear your Aunty usin' her comp'ny voice. My! ain't +she the gentle, cooin' dove, though? Now they're gettin' acquainted. So +this was where Uncle Kyrle spoke of callin'! Hot time he picked out for +it, didn't he, with me here in the condemned cell? Say, what do you know +about that, eh?"</p> + +<p>Vee smothers another giggle, and slips one of her hands into mine. +"Don't you care!" says she, whisperin'. "And isn't it thrilling? But +what shall we do?"</p> + +<p>"It's by me," says I. "Aunty told me to wait, didn't she? Well, let's."</p> + +<p>Which we done, sittin' there sociable, and every now and then swappin' +smiles as the conversation in the next room took a new turn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span></p> + +<p>Fin'lly Uncle Kyrle remarks: "You had your little niece with you then, +didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Little Verona? Oh, yes," says Aunty. "She is still with me. Rather +grown up now, though. I must send for her. Pardon me." And she rings for +Selma.</p> + +<p>Well, that queers the game entirely. Two minutes more, and Vee has been +towed in for inspection and I'm left alone in banishment.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" I can hear Uncle Kyrle sing out. "Why, young lady, what +right had you to change from a tow-headed schoolgirl into such +a—Zenobia, please face the other way and don't listen, while I try to +tell this radiant young person how utterly charming she has become. No, +I can't begin to do the subject justice. Twenty or thirty years ago I +might have had some success. Ah, me! Those gray eyes of yours, my dear, +hold mischief enough to wreck a convention of saints. Ah, blushing, are +you? Forgive me. I ought to know better. Let me tell you, though, I've a +young nephew with a pair of blue eyes that might be a match for your +gray ones. You must allow me to bring him up some day."</p> + +<p>And I'd like to have had a glimpse of Vee's face just then. About there, +though, Aunty breaks in.</p> + +<p>"A nephew, Mr. Ballard?" says she.</p> + +<p>"Poor Dick's boy," says he. "The one we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> hunted all over the States for +after Dick took him on that wild goose chase from which he never came +back. Let's see, you must have known the youngster's mother,—Irene +Ballard."</p> + +<p>"That stunning young woman with the copper-red hair whom you introduced +at Palermo?" asks Aunty. "Is—is she——"</p> + +<p>"No," says Uncle Kyrle. "Poor Irene! She was always doing something for +someone, you know, and when this big war got under way—well, she went +to the front at the first call from the Red Cross. I might have known +she would. I suppose she simply couldn't bear to keep out of it—all +that suffering, and so much help needed. No more skillful or efficient +hands than hers, I'll wager, Madam, were ever volunteered, nor any +braver soul. She was pure gold, Irene."</p> + +<p>"And," puts in Aunty, "she was—er——"</p> + +<p>Uncle Kyrle nods. "In a field hospital, under fire," says he, "late last +September. That's all we know. Where do you think, though, I ran across +that boy of hers? Found him at Zenobia's; found them both rather, at a +theater. Sheer luck. For if you'll pardon my saying it, that youth is a +nephew I'm going to be proud of some of these days unless I am——"</p> + +<p>Say, this was gettin' a little too personal for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> me. I'd been shiftin' +around uneasy for a minute or two, and about then I decided it wouldn't +be polite to listen any longer. So I make a dash out the side door into +the hall, not knowin' just what to do or where to go. And I bumps into +Selma wheelin' in the tea wagon. That gives me a hunch.</p> + +<p>"Say, Bright Eyes," says I, pushin' a dollar at her, "take this and +ditch that tea stuff for a minute, can't you? Harken! There's goin' to +be a new arrival at the front door in about a minute, and you must +answer the bell. No, don't indulge in that open-face movement. Just +watch me close!"</p> + +<p>With that I clips past the drawin'-room entrance, opens the front door +gentle, and gives the button a good long push. Then I slides back and +digs up a card case that Aunt Zenobia has presented me with only a +couple of days ago.</p> + +<p>"Here!" says I. "Get out your plate and pass one of these to the Missus. +That's it. Push it right on her conspicuous. Now! On your way!"</p> + +<p>She's real quick at startin', Selma is, when she's shoved brisk from +behind. And as she goes through the doorway I stretches my ear to hear +what Aunty will say to the new arrival. And, believe me, if I'd given +her the lines myself, she couldn't have done it better!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mr. Richard Taber Ballard?" says she, readin' the card. Then she turns +to Uncle Kyrle. "Why, this must be some——"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he. "Did you hear that, Zenobia? Torchy, you young rascal, +come in here and explain yourself!"</p> + +<p>"Torchy!" gasps Aunty. "Did—did you say—Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Anybody callin' for me?" says I, steppin' into the room with a grin on.</p> + +<p>And to watch that stary look settle in Aunty's eyes, and see the purple +tint spread back to her ears, was worth standin' for all the rough deals +I'd ever had from her. At last I had her bumpin' the bumps! Sort of +dazed she inspects the card once more, and then glances at me. Do you +wonder? Richard Taber Ballard! I ain't got used to it myself.</p> + +<p>"Here he is," says Uncle Kyrle jovial, draggin' me to the front, "that +scamp nephew I was telling you about. The Richard is for his father, you +know; the Taber he gets from his mother—also his red hair. Eh, +Torchy? And this, young man, is Miss Verona."</p> + +<p>He swings me around facin' her, and I expect I must have acted some +sheepish. But trust Vee! What does she do but let loose one of them +ripply laughs of hers. Then she steps up, pulls my head down playful +with both hands, and looks me square in the eyes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell me before, Torchy," says she, "that you had such a +perfectly grand name as all that?"</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "A swell chance I've had to tell you anything, ain't I? +But if the folks will excuse us for half an hour, I'll tell you all I +know about a lot of things."</p> + +<p>And, say, Aunty don't even glare after us as we slips through the +draperies into the lib'ry, leavin' 'em to explain to each other how I +come to be on hand so accidental. The only disturbance comes when Selma +butts in pushin' the tea cart, and, just from force of habit, I makes a +panicky breakaway. After she's insisted on loadin' us up with sandwiches +and so forth, though, I slips my arm back where it fits the snuggest.</p> + +<p>"Now, Sir," says Vee, "how are you going to hold your cup?"</p> + +<p>"I'd be willin' to miss out on tea forever," says I, "for a chance like +this."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2><h3>MR. ROBERT AND A CERTAIN PARTY</h3> +</div> + +<p>We was havin' a directors' meetin'. Get that, do you? <i>We</i>, you know! +For nowadays, as private sec. and actin' head of Mutual Funding, I +crashes into all sorts of confidential pow-wows. Uh-huh! Right in where +they put a crimp in the surplus and make plots to slip things over on +the Commerce Board! Oh my, yes! I'm gettin' almost respectable enough to +be indicted.</p> + +<p>Well, we'd just pared the dividend on common and was about breakin' up +the session when Mr. Robert misses some figures on export clearances +he'd had made up and was pawin' about on the table aimless.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I see you stowin' that away in one of your desk pigeonholes +yesterday?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"By George!" says he. "Think you could find it for me, Torchy? And, by +the way, bring along my cigarettes too. You will find them in a leather +case somewhere about."</p> + +<p>I locates the export notes first stab; but the dope sticks ain't in +sight. I claws through the whole top of the desk before I fin'lly +discovers,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> shoved clear into a corner, a thin old blue morocco affair +with a gold catch. By the time I gets back he's smokin' a borrowed brand +and tosses the case one side.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later the meetin' is over. Mr. Robert sighs relieved, +bunches up a lot of papers in front of him, and begins feelin' +absent-minded in his pockets. Seein' which I pushes the leather case at +him.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, thanks," says he, and snaps it open careless.</p> + +<p>But no neat little row of paper pipes shows up. Inside is nothing but a +picture, one of these dinky portraits on ivory—mini'tures, ain't they? +It shows a young lady with a perky chin and kind of a quizzin' look in +her eyes: not a reg'lar front row pippin', you know, but a fairly good +looker of the highbrow type.</p> + +<p>For a second Mr. Robert stares at the portrait foolish, and then he +glances up quick to see if I'm watchin'. As it happens, I am, and blamed +if he don't tint up over it!</p> + +<p>"Excuse," says I. "Only leather case I could find. Besides, I didn't +know you had any such souvenirs as this on your desk."</p> + +<p>He chuckles throaty. "Nor I," says he. "That is, I'd almost forgotten. +You see——"</p> + +<p>"I see," says I. "She's one of the discards, eh?"</p> + +<p>Sort of jolts him, that does. "Eh?" says he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> "A discard? No, no! +I—er—I suppose, if I must confess, Torchy, that I am one of hers."</p> + +<p>"Gwan!" says I. "You? Look like a discard, don't you? Tush, tush!"</p> + +<p>The idea of him tryin' to feed that to me! Why, say, I expect there +ain't half a dozen bachelors in town that's rated any higher on the +eligible list than Mr. Bob Ellins. It's no dark secret, either. I've +heard of whole summer campaigns bein' planned just to land Mr. Robert, +of house parties made up special to give some fair young queen a chance +at him, and of one enterprisin' young widow that chased him up for two +seasons before she quit.</p> + +<p>How he's been able to dodge the net so long has puzzled more than me, +and up to date I'd never had a hint that there was such a thing for him +as a certain party. So I expect I was gawpin' some curious at the +picture.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, but more or less to myself.</p> + +<p>"Not intending any adverse criticism of the young lady, I trust?" +remarks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Far be it from me!" says I. "Only—well, maybe the paintin' don't do +her justice."</p> + +<p>"Rather discreetly phrased, that," says he, chucklin' quiet. "Thank you, +Torchy. And you are quite right. No mere painter ever could do her full +justice. While the likeness is excellent, the flesh tones much as I +remember them, yet I fancy a great deal has escaped the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> brush,—the +queer, quirky little smile, for instance, that used to come at times in +the mouth corners, a quick tilting of the chin as she talked, and that +trick of widening the eyes as she looked at you. China blue, I think her +eyes would be called; rather unusual eyes, in fact."</p> + +<p>He seems to be enjoyin' the monologue; so I don't break in, but just +stands there while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic. +Even after he's finished he still sits there starin'.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" says I. "It ain't a hopeless case, is it, Mr. Robert?"</p> + +<p>Which brings him out of his spell. He shrugs his shoulders, indulges in +an unconvincin' little laugh, snaps the case shut, and then tosses it +careless down onto the table.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you failed to notice the dust," says he. "The back part of the +bottom drawer is where that belongs, Torchy—or in the waste basket. +It's quite hopeless, you see."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I as I turns to go. And this time I meant to get it across +to him.</p> + +<p>Honest, I couldn't figure why a headliner like Mr. Robert, with all his +good bank ratin', good fam'ly, and good looks to back him, should get +the gate on any kind of a matrimonial proposition, unless it was a case +of coppin' a Princess of royal blood, and even then I'd back him to show +in the runnin'. Who was this finicky party with the willow-ware eyes, +anyway? Queen of what? Or was it wings she was demandin'?</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="illus-004" id="illus-004"></a> +<img src="images/illus-262.jpg" alt=""He seems to be enjoying the monologue; so I just stands there while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic."" title="" width="400" height="486" /><br /> +<span class="caption">"HE SEEMS TO BE ENJOYING THE MONOLOGUE; SO I JUST STANDS THERE WHILE HE GAZES AT THE PICTURE AND HOLDS FORTH ENTHUSIASTIC."</span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span>Say, +I most got peeved with this unknown that had ditched Mr. Robert so +hard. All that evenin' I mulls over it, wonderin' how long ago it had +happened and if that accounted for him bein' so cagy in makin' social +dates. Not that he's what you'd call skirt-shy exactly; but I've noticed +that he's always cautious about bein' backed into a corner or paired off +with any special one.</p> + +<p>Course, not knowin' the details of the tragedy, it wa'n't much use +speculatin'. And somehow I didn't feel like askin' for the whole story +right out. You know—there's times when you just can't. I ain't any more +curious than usual over this special case, either; but, seein' how many +good turns Mr. Robert's done for me along the only-girl line, I got to +wishin' there was some way I could sort of balance the account.</p> + +<p>So when I stumbles across this concert folder it almost looks like a +special act, with the arrow pointin' my way. I was payin' my reg'lar +official Friday evenin' call. No, nothin' romantic. Just because Aunty's +mellowed up a bit since I'm announced proper by the front door help as +Mr. Ballard, don't get tangled up with the idea that she stands for any +dark corner twosin'. Nothin' like that! All the lights are on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> full +blast, Aunty's right there prominent with her crochet, and on the other +side of the table is me and Vee. And I couldn't be behavin' more +innocent if I'd been roped to the chair. All I was holdin' was a skein +of yarn. Uh-huh! You see, Vee got the knittin' habit last winter, +turnin' out stuff for the Belgians, and now she keeps right on; though +who she's goin' to wish a pink and white shawl onto in this weather is a +myst'ry.</p> + +<p>"It's for a sufferer—isn't that enough?" says she.</p> + +<p>"From what—chilblains on the ears?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Silly!" says she. "There! Didn't I tell you to bend your thumbs? How +awkward!"</p> + +<p>"Who, me?" says I. "Why, for a first attempt I thought I was puttin' up +a real classy performance. Say, lemme wind awhile, and let's see you try +this yarn-jugglin' act."</p> + +<p>She won't, though; so it's me sittin' there playin' dummy, with my arms +held out stiff and my eyes roamin' around restless.</p> + +<p>Which is how I happen to spot this folder with the halftone cut on it. +It's been tossed casual on the table, and the picture is wrong side to +from where I am; but even then there's something mighty familiar about +it. I wiggles around to get a better view, and lets half a dozen loops +of yarn slip off at a time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stupid!" says Vee, runnin' her tongue out at me.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I tell you you'd do better by drapin' it over a chair back?" +says I. "But say, time out while I snoop into something. Who's the girl +with the press notice stuff?" and I points an elbow at the halftone.</p> + +<p>"That?" says she. "Oh, some concert singer, I think. Let's see. +Yes—Miss Elsa Hampton. She's to give a benefit song recital in the +Plutoria pink room for the Belgian war orphans, tickets two dollars. +Want to go?" And Vee flips the folder into my lap.</p> + +<p>Gettin' the picture right side to, I lets out a whistle. No mistakin' +that. "Sure I want to go," says I.</p> + +<p>"Why?" says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Well, for one thing," says I, "she has china blue eyes that widen out +when they look at you, and a queer, quirky little smile that——"</p> + +<p>"How thrilling!" says Vee. "You must know her very well."</p> + +<p>"Almost that," says I. "Anyway, I know someone that did know her very +well—once."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Vee, forgettin' all about the yarn windin' and hitchin' her +chair up close. "That does sound interesting. I hope it isn't a deep +secret."</p> + +<p>"If it wa'n't," says I, "what would be the fun in tellin' it to you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span></p> + +<p>"Goody!" says Vee. "Who is the poor man who knew her once but doesn't +any more?"</p> + +<p>"Whisper!" says I. "It's Mr. Bob Ellins!"</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at!" gasps Vee. "Do you really mean it?"</p> + +<p>I'd pulled a sensation, all right, and for the next half-hour she keeps +me busy tryin' to explain the details of a situation I hadn't more'n +half sketched out myself.</p> + +<p>"Kept a miniature of her on his desk!" Vee rattles on. "And it hadn't +been opened for ever so long, you say? What makes you think it hadn't?"</p> + +<p>"Dusty," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Vee. "Just fancy! And she must have given it to him +herself—an ivory miniature, you know. Was—was there another man, do +you think, or just some silly misunderstanding? I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"I hadn't got in that deep," says I.</p> + +<p>"But suppose it was," says Vee, "only a misunderstanding, wouldn't it be +lovely if we could find some way of—of—well, why don't you suggest +something?"</p> + +<p>Did I? Say, we was plottin' so lively there for a spell, with our heads +close together, that I can't tell for a fact which it was did get the +idea first.</p> + +<p>But, anyway, when I'm busy at the Corrugated next mornin', openin' the +first batch of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> mail and sortin' the junk from the important letters, I +laid the mine. All I had to do was pick out an envelope postmarked +Madison Square, ditch the art dealers' card that came in it, and +substitute this song recital folder, opened so the picture couldn't be +missed. And when I stacks the letters on Mr. Robert's desk I tucks that +one in second from the top. Some grand little strategy that, eh?</p> + +<p>Then I keeps my ear stretched for any remarks Mr. Robert may unload when +he makes the great discovery. But, say, when you try dopin' out such a +complicated party as Mr. Bob Ellins you've tackled some deep +proposition. Nothin' emotional about him, and although I'm sittin' only +a dozen feet off, half facin' his way too, I don't get even the hint of +a smothered gasp. Couldn't even tell whether he'd seen the picture or +not, and by the time I works up an excuse to drift over by his elbow +he's halfway through the pile.</p> + +<p>"Nothin' startlin' in the mornin' run, eh?" I throws out.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says he. "Mallory reports that those St. Louis people have +applied for another injunction. Ring up Bates, will you, and have him +call a general council of our legal staff for two-thirty?"</p> + +<p>"Right," says I. "Er—anything else, Mr. Robert?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span></p> + +<p>He simply shakes his head and dives into another letter. At that, +though, I was lookin' for him to sound me out sooner or later on the +picture business; but the forenoon breezes by without a word. By +lunchtime I'm more twisted than ever. Had he glanced at the halftone +without recognizin' her? Or was he just keepin' mum? Not until I gets a +chance to explore the waste basket did I get any line. The folder wa'n't +there. Neither was it on his desk. And all the hints I threw out durin' +the day he don't seem to notice at all. So I didn't have much to tell +Vee over the 'phone that night.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't get a rise out of him at all," says I.</p> + +<p>"But you're certain Miss Hampton is the one, are you?" says she.</p> + +<p>"If she wa'n't," says I, "why should he keep the folder?"</p> + +<p>"That's so," says Vee. "Then—then shall we do it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm game if you are," says I.</p> + +<p>"All right," says she, and I hears one of them ripplin' laughs of hers +comin' over the wire. "It's to-morrow at half after three, you know."</p> + +<p>"I'll be on hand," says I.</p> + +<p>And, believe me, when I gets there and sees the swell mob collectin' in +the pink ballroom, I'm some pleased with myself for gettin' that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> hunch +to doll up in my frock coat and lavender tie. It's mostly a fluff +audience; but there's enough of a sprinklin' of Johnnies and old sports +so I don't feel too conspicuous.</p> + +<p>Course I wa'n't lookin' forward to any treat. I ain't so strong for this +recital stuff as a rule; but I was anxious to size up the young lady +who'd thrown the harpoon into Mr. Robert so hard. Same way with Vee. So +we edges through to a front seat and waits expectant.</p> + +<p>And, say, what fin'lly glides out on the stage and bows offhand to the +soft patter of kid gloves is only an average looker. She's simple +dressed and simple actin'. No frills about Miss Hampton at all. Why, you +might easy mistake her for one of the girl ushers!</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Also pooh for me," says I.</p> + +<p>More or less easy and graceful in her motions Miss Hampton is, though, I +got to admit, as she stands there chattin' with the accompanist and +lettin' them big blue eyes of hers rove careless over the crowd in +front. They ain't the stary, baby blue sort, you know. China blue +describes 'em best, I guess; and they're the calm, steady kind that it's +sort of restful and fascinatin' to watch.</p> + +<p>Almost before we know it she's stepped to the front and started in on +the programme. Italian folk songs is what is down on the card,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> and she +leads off with that swingin' rollickin' piece, "Santa Lucia." You've +heard it, eh? That's some song, ain't it?</p> + +<p>But, say, I never knew how much snap and go there was to it until I +heard Miss Hampton trill it out. Why, she just tosses up that perky chin +of hers and turns loose the catchy melody until you felt the warm waves +splashin' and saw the moonlight dancin' across the bay! I don't know +where or what this Santa Lucia thing is, but she most made me homesick +to go back there. Honest! And if you think a set of odd-shaded blue eyes +can't light up and sparkle with diff'rent expressions, you should have +seen hers. When she finishes and springs that folksy, chummy sort of +smile—well, take it from me, the hand she gets ain't any polite, +halfway, for-charity's-sake applause. They just went to it strong, +gloves or no gloves.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she bully?" whispers Vee.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "We take back the pooh-poohs, eh?"</p> + +<p>The next number was diff'rent, but just as good. At the finish of the +fourth a wide old dame in the middle row unpins a cluster of orchids +from her belt and aims 'em enthusiastic at the stage. Course they swats +a dignified old boy three seats beyond me back of the ear; but that +starts the floral offerings. I gets a quick nudge from Vee.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go on, Torchy," she whispers. "Do it now!"</p> + +<p>We hadn't been sure first off that we'd have the nerve to carry the +thing that far; but we'd come all primed. So I yanks the tissue paper +off a dozen long-stemmed American beauts that I'd smuggled in under my +coat, Vee ties on the card, and I tosses the bunch so accurate it lands +almost on Miss Hampton's toes.</p> + +<p>Course any paid performer would have been tickled to death to have a +crowd break loose like that; but Miss Hampton acts a bit dazed by it +all. For a second or so she stands there gazin' sort of puzzled, bitin' +her upper lip. Then she springs that quirky, good-natured smile of hers, +bows a couple of times, and proceeds to help the accompanist gather up +the flowers and stack 'em on the piano.</p> + +<p>When she comes to our big bunch she swoops it up graceful, and is about +to pile it with the rest when her eyes must have caught the card. Just +as easy and natural as if she'd been at home, she turns it over and +reads the name.</p> + +<p>And, say, for a minute there I thought we had bust up the show. Talk +about goin' pink! Why, you could see the strawb'rry tint spread over her +cheeks and up into her ears! Blamed if her eyes don't moisten up too, +and she sweeps over the audience with a quick nervous glance,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> like she +was tryin' to single someone out! She don't seem to know what to do +next. Once she turns as if she meant to beat it into the wings; but as +the applause simmers down the pianist strikes up the beginning of an +encore. So she had to stick it out.</p> + +<p>Her voice is more or less shaky at the start; but pretty soon she +strikes her gait again and sings the last verse better than she had +before. Then comes an intermission, and when Miss Hampton appears again +she's wearin' that whole dozen roses pinned over her heart. Vee nudges +me excited when she spots it.</p> + +<p>"See, Torchy?" says she.</p> + +<p>"Guess we've started something, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>Just what it was, though, we didn't know. I didn't get cold feet either, +until the concert is all over and the folks begun swarmin' around the +stage to pass over the hot-air congratulations.</p> + +<p>But Miss Hampton wa'n't content to stand there quiet and take 'em. She +seems to have something on her mind, and the next thing I knew she was +pikin' down the steps right towards the middle aisle.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" says I, grabbin' Vee by the arm. "Maybe she saw who passed 'em +up. Let's do the quick exit."</p> + +<p>We was gettin' away as fast as we could too, squirmin' through the push, +when I looks over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> my shoulder and discovers that Miss Hampton is almost +on our heels.</p> + +<p>"Good-night!" says I.</p> + +<p>Believe me, I was doin' some high-tension thinkin' about then, tryin' to +frame up an alibi, when she reaches over my shoulder and holds out her +hand to someone leanin' against a pillar. It's Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"How absurd of you, Robert!" says she.</p> + +<p>"Eh! I—I beg pardon?" I hears him gasp out.</p> + +<p>And, say, I expect that's the first and only time I've ever seen him +good and fussed. Why, he's flyin' the scarlatina signal clear to the +back of his neck!</p> + +<p>"The roses, you know," she goes on. "So nice of you to remember me. I—I +thought you'd forgotten. Thank you for them."</p> + +<p>"Roses?" says he husky, starin' stupid at the bunch.</p> + +<p>Then he turns his head a bit, and his eyes light on me, strugglin' to +slip behind a tall female party who's bein' helped into her silk wrap. I +must have looked guilty or something; for he shoots me a crisp, knowin' +glance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—the—the roses," I hears him go on. "It was silly of me, +wasn't it? I—I'll explain some time, if I may."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says she. "Of course you may, if they really need explaining."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span></p> + +<p>Which was the last we heard, as Vee had found an openin' into the +corridor and was dashin' out panicky. You can bet I follows!</p> + +<p>"Did—did you ever?" pants Vee as we gets out to the carriage entrance. +"Now we have done it, haven't we?"</p> + +<p>"And I'm caught with the goods on, I guess," says I.</p> + +<p>"Just fancy!" says she. "Mr. Robert was there all the time. I wonder +what he will——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, you pair of mischief makers," says a voice behind, "but I +haven't quite decided."</p> + +<p>It's Mr. Robert!</p> + +<p>"Hel-lup!" says I gaspy.</p> + +<p>"Do I understand," he goes on, "that one of my cards went with those +roses?"</p> + +<p>"Yep," says I prompt. "Little idea of mine. I—I wanted to see what +would happen."</p> + +<p>"Really!" says he sarcastic. "Well, I trust that my part of the +performance was quite satisfactory to you." And with that he wheels and +marches off.</p> + +<p>"Whiffo!" says I, drawin' in a long breath. "But he is grouched for +fair, ain't he!"</p> + +<p>All the sympathy I gets from Vee, though, is a chuckle. "Don't you +believe a word of it," says she. "Just wait!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2><h3>TORCHY TACKLES A SHORT CIRCUIT</h3> +</div> + +<p>There was no use discountin' the fact, or tryin' to smooth it over. I +was in Dutch with Mr. Robert—all because Vee and I tried to pull a +little Cupid stunt for his benefit. I'd invested six whole dollars in +that bunch of roses we'd passed up to Miss Hampton, too! And just +because we thought it would be a happy hunch to tie in his card with +'em, he goes and gets peevish.</p> + +<p>Not that he comes right out and roasts me for gettin' gay. Say, that +would have been a relief; but he don't. He just lugs around a dignified, +injured air and gives me the cold eye. Say, that's the limit, that is! +Makes me feel as mean and little as a green strawb'rry on top of a +bakery shortcake.</p> + +<p>Three days I'd had of it, mind you, with never a show to put in any +defense, or plead guilty but sorry, or anything like that. And me all +the time hoping it would wear off. I expect it would too, if someone +could have throttled Billy Bounce. Course nobody could, or it would have +happened long ago. Havin' no more neck than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span> an ice-water pitcher has +been Billy's salvation all through his career.</p> + +<p>Maybe you don't remember my mentionin' him before; but he's the +roly-poly club friend of Mr. Robert's who went with us on that alligator +shootin' trip up the Wiggywash two winters ago. Hadn't shown up at the +Corrugated General Offices for months before; but here the other +afternoon he breezed in, dumps his 220 excess into a chair by the +roll-top, mops the heavy dew from various parts of his full-moon face, +and proceeds to get real folksy.</p> + +<p>At the time I was waitin' on the far side of the desk for Mr. Robert to +O. K. a fundin' report, and there was other signs of a busy day in plain +sight; but Billy Bounce ain't a bit disturbed by that. He'd come in +loaded with chat.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Bob," he breaks out, after a few preliminary joshes, "who do +you suppose I ran across up in the Fitz-William palm room the other +night?"</p> + +<p>"A head waiter," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come!" says Billy. "Give a guess."</p> + +<p>"One of your front-row friends from the Winter Garden?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"No, a friend of yours," says Billy. "That blue-eyed warbler you used to +be so nutty over—Miss Hampton. Eh, Bob? How about it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span> With which he +reaches over playful and pokes Mr. Robert in the ribs.</p> + +<p>I expect he'd have put it across just as raw if there'd been a dozen +around instead of only me. That's Billy Bounce. About as much delicate +reserve, Billy has, as a traffic cop clearin' up a street tangle.</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" says Mr. Robert, flushin' a bit. "Clever of you to remember +her. I—er—I trust she was charmed to meet you again?"</p> + +<p>"The deuce you do!" comes back Billy. "Anyway, she wasn't as grouchy +about it as you are. Say, she's all right, Miss Hampton is; a heap too +nice for a big ham like you, as I always said."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe I recall your hinting as much," says Mr. Robert; "but if +you don't mind I'd rather not discuss——"</p> + +<p>"You'd better, though," says Billy. "You see, I thought I had to drag +you into the conversation. Asked her if she'd seen you lately. And say, +old man, she's expecting you to call or something. Lord knows why; but +she is, you know. Said you'd probably be up to-night. As much as asked +me to pass on the word. Eh, Bob?</p> + +<p>"Well, I've done it. S'long. See you at the club afterwards, and you can +tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>He winks roguish over his shoulder as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> waddles out, leavin' Mr. +Robert starin' puzzled over the top of the desk, and me with my mouth +open.</p> + +<p>And the next thing I know I'm gettin' the inventory look-over from them +keen eyes of Mr. Robert's. "You heard, I suppose?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I, sort of husky.</p> + +<p>"And I presume you understand just what that means?" he goes on. "I am +expected to call and explain about those roses."</p> + +<p>"Well?" says I. "Why not stand pat? Sendin' flowers to a young lady +ain't any penal offense, is it?"</p> + +<p>"As a simple statement of an abstract proposition," says Mr. Robert, +"that is quite correct; but in this instance the situation is somewhat +more complicated. As a matter of fact, I find myself in a deucedly +awkward position."</p> + +<p>"That's easy," says I. "Lay it to me, then."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert shakes his head. "I've considered that," says he; "but +sometimes the bald truth sounds singularly unconvincing. I'm sure it +would in this case. If the young lady was familiar with all the buoyant +audacity of your irrepressible nature, perhaps it would be different. +No, young man, I fear I must ask you to do your own explaining."</p> + +<p>"Me?" says I, gawpin'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span></p> + +<p>"We will call on Miss Hampton about four-thirty," says he.</p> + +<p>And say, Mr. Robert has stacked me up against some batty excursions +before now; but this billin' me for orator of the day when he goes to +look up an old girl of his is about the fruitiest performance he'd ever +sprung.</p> + +<p>I don't know when I've ever seen him with a worse case of the fidgets, +either. Why, you'd 'most think he was due to answer a charge of breakin' +and enterin', or something like that! And you know he's some nervy +sport, Mr. Robert—all except when it's a matter of skirts. Then he's +more or less of a skittish party, believe me!</p> + +<p>But at four-thirty we went. It wa'n't any joy ride we had, either. All +the way up Mr. Robert sits there fillin' the limousine with gloom thick +enough to slice. I tried chirkin' him up with a few frivolous side +remarks; but they don't take, and I sighs relieved when we're landed at +the apartment hotel where Miss Hampton lives.</p> + +<p>"Say," I suggests, "you ain't goin' to lead me in by the ear, are you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure but that would be an appropriate entrance," says he. +"However, it might appear a trifle theatrical."</p> + +<p>"What's the programme, anyway?" says I,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> as we boards the elevator. "Do +you open for the defense, or do I?"</p> + +<p>"Hanged if I know!" he almost groans out. "I wish I did."</p> + +<p>"Then let's stick around outside in the corridor here," says I, "until +we frame up something. Now how would it do if——"</p> + +<p>"You're to explain, that's all!" says he, steppin' up and pushin' the +button.</p> + +<p>It's a wonder too, from the panicky way he's actin', he don't shove me +ahead of him for a buffer as we goes in. But he has just enough courage +left to let me trail along behind.</p> + +<p>So it's him gets the cordial greetin' from the vision in blue net that +floats out easy and graceful from the window nook.</p> + +<p>I couldn't see why it wa'n't goin' to be just as awkward for her, +meetin' him again so long after their grand smash, or whatever it was; +but, take it from me, there ain't any fussed motions about Miss Hampton +at all. Them big china blue eyes of hers is steady and calm, her perky +chin is carried well up, and in one corner of her mouth she's displayin' +that quirky smile he'd described to me.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Robert!" says she. "So good of you to——"</p> + +<p>Then she discovers me and breaks off sudden.</p> + +<p>I'm introduced reg'lar and formal, and Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span> Robert adds: "A young friend +of mine from the office."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Miss Hampton, liftin' her eyebrows a little.</p> + +<p>"I brought him along," blurts out Mr. Robert, "to tell you about how you +happened to get the roses."</p> + +<p>"Really!" says she. "How considerate of you!"</p> + +<p>And if Mr. Robert hadn't been actin' so much like a poor prune he'd have +quit that line right there. But on he blunders.</p> + +<p>"You see," says he, "I've asked Torchy to explain for me."</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es?" says she, bitin' her upper lip thoughtful and glancin' from +one to the other of us. "Then—then you needn't have bothered to come +yourself, need you?"</p> + +<p>Say, that was something to lean against, wa'n't it? You could almost +hear the dull thud as it reached him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Elsa!" he gets out gaspy. "Of course I—I wished to come, +too."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," says she. "I wasn't sure. And now that you've brought him, +may I hear what your young friend has to say, all by myself?"</p> + +<p>She even springs another one of them twisty smiles; but her head nods +suggestive at the door. I expects I starts a grin; but one glimpse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> of +Mr. Robert's face and it fades out. He wa'n't happy a bit. For a minute +he stands there lookin' sort of dazed, as if he'd been hit with a lead +pipe, and with his neck and ears tinted up like a raspb'rry sundae.</p> + +<p>"Very well," says he, and does a slow exit, leavin' me gawpin' after him +sympathetic.</p> + +<p>Not for long, though. My turn came as soon as the latch was clicked.</p> + +<p>"Now, Torchy," says she, chummy and encouragin', as she slips into an +old-rose armchair and waves me towards another.</p> + +<p>I'm still gazin' at the door, wonderin' if Mr. Robert has jumped down +the elevator shaft or is takin' it out on the lever juggler.</p> + +<p>"Ah, say, Miss Hampton!" says I. "Why throw the harpoon so hasty when he +was doin' his best?"</p> + +<p>"Was he?" says she. "Then his best isn't very wonderful, is it?"</p> + +<p>"But you didn't give him a show," says I. "Course it was a dippy play of +his, luggin' me along, as I warned him. Believe me, though, he meant all +right. There ain't any more yellow in Mr. Robert than there is in my +tie. Honest! Maybe he don't show up brilliant when he's talkin' to +ladies; but I want to tell you he's about as good as they come."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" says she, widenin' her eyes and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> chucklin' easy. "That is what +I should call an unreserved indorsement. But about the roses, now?"</p> + +<p>Well, I sketched the plot of the piece all out for her, from findin' her +miniature accidental in Mr. Robert's desk, to the day of the concert, +when she got the bunch with his card tied to it.</p> + +<p>"I'll admit it was takin' a chance," says I; "but you see, Miss Hampton, +when I was joshin' him as to whose picture it was he got so enthusiastic +in describin' you——"</p> + +<p>"Did he, truly?" she cuts in.</p> + +<p>"Unless I don't know a Romeo gaze when I see one," says I. "And then, +when I figures out that if you'd given him the chuck it might have been +through some mistaken notion, why—well, come to talk it over with Vee, +we thought——"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," says Miss Hampton, "but just who is Vee?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, pinkin' up. "Why, in my case, she's the only girl."</p> + +<p>"Ah-ha!" says she. "So you—er——"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "I've come near bein' ditched myself. And Mr. Robert +he's helped out more'n once. So this looked like my cue to hand back +something. We thought maybe the roses would kind of patch things up. +Say, how about it, Miss Hampton? Suppose he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> hadn't boobed it this way, +wouldn't there be a show of——"</p> + +<p>"You absurd youth!" says she, liftin' both hands protestin', but failin' +to smother that smile.</p> + +<p>And say, when it's aimed straight at you so you get the full benefit, +that's some winnin' smile of hers—sort of genuine and folksy, you know! +It got me. Why, I felt like I'd been put on her list of old friends. And +I grins back.</p> + +<p>"It wa'n't a case of another party, was it?" says I.</p> + +<p>She laughs and shakes her head.</p> + +<p>"Or an old watch-dog aunt, eh?" I goes on.</p> + +<p>"Whatever made you think of that?" says she.</p> + +<p>"You ought to see the one that stands guard over Vee," says I. "But how +was it, anyway, that Mr. Robert got himself in wrong with you?"</p> + +<p>"How?" says Miss Hampton, restin' her perky chin on one knuckle and +studyin' the rug pattern. "Why, I think it must have been—well, perhaps +it was my fault, after all. You see, when I left for Italy we were very +good friends. And over there it was all so new to me,—Italian life, our +villa hung on a mountainside overlooking that wonderful blue sea, the +people I met, everything,—I wrote to him, oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> pages and pages, about +all I did or saw. He must have been horribly bored reading them. I +didn't realize until—but there! We'll not go into that. I stopped, +that's all."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I.</p> + +<p>"So it's all over," says she. "Only, when I thought he had sent the +roses, of course I was pleased. But now that he has taken such pains to +prove that he didn't——"</p> + +<p>She ends with a shoulder shrug.</p> + +<p>"Say, Miss Hampton," I breaks in, "you leave it to me."</p> + +<p>"But there isn't anything to leave," says she, "not a shred! Sometime, +though, I hope I may meet your Miss Vee. May I?"</p> + +<p>"I should guess!" says I. "Why, she thinks you're a star! We both do."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Torchy," says she. "I'm glad someone approves of me. +Good-by." And we shakes hands friendly at the door.</p> + +<p>It was long after five by that time; but I made a break back to the +office. Had to get the floor janitor to let me in. I was glad, though, +to have the place to myself.</p> + +<p>What I was after was a peek at some back letter files. Course I wa'n't +sure he could be such a chump; but, knowin' somethin' about his habits +along the correspondence line, I meant to settle the point. And, fishin' +out Mr. Robert's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> personal book, I begun the hunt. I had the right dope, +too.</p> + +<p>"The lobster!" says I.</p> + +<p>There it was, all typed out neat, "My Dear Miss Hampton." And dictated! +Much as ten lines, too! It starts real chatty and familiar with, "Yours +of the 16th inst. at hand," just like he always does, whether he's +closin' a million-dollar deal or payin' a tailor's bill. He goes on to +confide to her how the weather's beastly, business on the fritz, and how +he's just ordered a new sixty-footer that he hopes will be in commission +for the July regattas.</p> + +<p>A hot billy-doo to a young lady he's supposed to be clean nutty over, +one that had been sittin' up nights writin' on both sides of half a +dozen sheets to him! I found four or five more just like it, the last +one bein' varied a little by startin', "Yours of the 5th inst. still at +hand." Do you wonder she quit?</p> + +<p>If this had been a letter-writin' competition, I'd have thrown up both +hands; but it wa'n't.</p> + +<p>I'd seen Mr. Robert gazin' mushy at that picture of her, and I'd watched +Miss Hampton when she was tellin' me about him. Only they was +short-circuited somewhere. And it seemed like a blamed shame.</p> + +<p>Half an hour more and I'd located Mr. Robert at his club.</p> + +<p>He ain't very enthusiastic, either, when one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> of the doormen tows me +into the corner of the loungin' room where he's sittin' behind a tall +glass gazin' moody at nothin' in particular.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you told her all about it!" says he.</p> + +<p>"And then a few," says I.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says he sort of hopeless.</p> + +<p>"Verdict for the defense," says I. "I didn't even have to produce the +florist's receipt."</p> + +<p>"Then that's settled," says he, sighin'.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't have made the job more complete if you'd submitted +affidavits," says I. "And if you don't mind my sayin' so, Mr. Robert, +when it comes to the Romeo stuff, you're ten points off, with no bids."</p> + +<p>Course that gets a squirm out of him, like I hoped it would. But he +don't blow out a fuse or anything. "Naturally," says he, "I am charmed +to hear such a frank estimate of myself. But suppose I am simply trying +to avoid the—the Romeo stuff, as you put it?"</p> + +<p>"Gwan!" says I. "You're only kiddin' yourself. Come now, ain't you as +strong for Miss Hampton as ever?"</p> + +<p>He stiffens up for a second; but then his shoulders sag. "Torchy," says +he, "your perceptions are altogether too acute. I admit it. But what's +the use? As you have so clearly pointed out, this little affair of mine +seems to be quite thoroughly ended."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is if you let things slide as they stand," says I.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he, sort of eager. "You mean that she—that if——"</p> + +<p>"Say," I breaks in, "do you want it straight from a rank amateur? Then +here goes. You don't gen'rally wait to have things handed to you on a +tray, do you? You ain't that kind. You go after 'em. And the harder you +want 'em the quicker you are on the grab. You don't stop to ask whether +you deserve 'em or not, either. You just stretch your fingers and sing +out, 'Hey, that's mine!' And if somebody or something's in the way, you +give 'em the shoulder. Well, that's my dope in this case. You ain't +goin' to get a young lady like Miss Hampton by doin' the long-distance +mope. You got to buck up. Rush her off her feet!"</p> + +<p>"By Jove, though, Torchy," says he, bangin' his fist down on the table, +"I believe you're right! And I do want her. I've been afraid to say it, +that's all. But now——"</p> + +<p>He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw solid.</p> + +<p>"That's the slant!" says I. "And the sooner the quicker, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes!" says he, jumpin' up. "Tonight! I—I'll write to her at +once."</p> + +<p>"Ah, squiffle!" says I, indicatin' deep disgust.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Robert gazes at me astonished. "I beg pardon!" says he.</p> + +<p>"Don't be a nut!" says I. "Excuse me if I seem to throw out any hints, +but maybe letter writin' ain't your long suit. Is it?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says he, "I'm not sure, but I had an idea I could——"</p> + +<p>"Maybe you can," says I; "but from the samples I've seen I should have +my doubts. You know this 'Yours of the steenth just received' and so on +may do for vice-presidents and gen'ral managers; but it's raw style to +spring on your best girl. Take it from me, sizzlin' sentiments that's +strained through a typewriter are apt to get delivered cold."</p> + +<p>"But I'm not good at making fine speeches, either," he protests.</p> + +<p>"You ain't exactly tongue-tied, though," says I. "And you ain't startin' +out on this expedition with both arms roped behind you, are you?"</p> + +<p>For a minute he stares at me gaspy, while that simmers through the +oatmeal.</p> + +<p>Then he chuckles. "Torchy," says he, givin' me the inside-brother grip, +"there's no telling how this will turn out, but I—I'm going up!"</p> + +<p>I stayed long enough to see him start, too.</p> + +<p>Then I goes home, not sure whether I'd set the scene for an ear cuffin', +or had plugged him in on a through wire.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2><h3>MR. ROBERT GETS A SLANT</h3> +</div> + +<p>It's all wrong, Percy, all wrong. Somebody's been and rung in a revise +on this Romeo dope, and here we find ourselves tryin' to make the Cupid +Express on a canceled time-card. What do I mean—we? Why, me and Mr. +Robert. Ah, there you go! No, not Miss Vee. She's all right—don't +worry. We're gettin' along fine, Vee and me; that is, so far as we've +gone. Course there's 'steen diff'rent varieties of Vee; but I'm strong +for all of 'em. So there's no room for tragedy there.</p> + +<p>But when it comes to this case of Mr. Robert and a certain party!</p> + +<p>You see, after I've sent him back to Miss Hampton loaded up with all +them wise hints about rushin' her off her feet, and added that hunch as +to rememberin' that he has a pair of arms—well, I leave it to you. +Ain't that all reg'lar? Don't they pass it out that way in plays and +magazines? Sure! It's the hero with the quick-action strong-arm stuff +that wins out in the big scene. So why shouldn't it work for him?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span></p> + +<p>I could tell, though, by the rugged set of his jaw as he marches into +the private office next mornin', that it hadn't. I expect maybe he'd +just as soon not have gone into the subject then, with me or anyone +else; but so long as he'd sort of dragged me into this fractured romance +of his I felt like I had a right to be let in on the results. So I +pivots round and springs a sympathetic grin.</p> + +<p>"Did you pull it?" says I.</p> + +<p>He shrugs his shoulders kind of weary. "Oh, yes," says he. "I—er—I +pulled it."</p> + +<p>"Well?" says I, steppin' over and leanin' confidential on the roll-top.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says he, "please understand that I am in no way censuring you. +You—you meant well."</p> + +<p>"Ah, say, Mr. Robert!" says I. "Not so rough. I only gave you the usual +get-busy line, and if you went and——"</p> + +<p>"Wasn't there some advice," he breaks in, "about using my arms?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him. "You—you didn't open the act by goin' to +a clinch, did you?"</p> + +<p>He lets his chin drop and sort of shivers. "I'm afraid I did," says he.</p> + +<p>"Z-z-z-zingo!" I gasps.</p> + +<p>"You see, the part of your suggestions which impressed me most was +something to that effect,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> as I recall it. And then—oh, the deuce take +it, I lost my head! Anyway, the next I knew she was in my arms, and I—I +was——" He ends with a shoulder shrug and spreads out his hands. "I +thought you ought to know," he goes on, "that it isn't being done."</p> + +<p>"But what then?" says I. "Did she hand you one?"</p> + +<p>"No," says he. "She merely slipped away and—and stood laughing at me. +She hardly seemed indignant: just amused."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, starin' puzzled. "Then she ain't like any I ever heard of +before. Now accordin' to dope she'd either——"</p> + +<p>"Miss Hampton is not a conventional young woman," says he. "She made +that quite plain. It seems, Torchy, that your—er—that my method was +somewhat crude and primitive. In fact, I believe she pointed out that +the customs of the Stone Age were obsolete. I was given to understand +that she was not to be won in any such manner. Perhaps you can imagine +that I was not thoroughly at ease after that."</p> + +<p>And, honest, I'd never seen Mr. Robert when he was feelin' so low.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" says I. "You didn't quit at that, did you?"</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately no," says he. "Our caveman tactics having failed, I tried +the modern<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> style—at least, I thought I was being modern. The usual +thing, you know."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "Both knees on the rug and the reg'lar conservatory nook +wilt-thou-be-mine lines?"</p> + +<p>"I spoke my piece standing," says he, "making it as impassioned and +eloquent as I knew how. Miss Hampton continued to be amused."</p> + +<p>"Did you get any hint as to what was so funny about all that?" says I.</p> + +<p>"It appears," says Mr. Robert, "that impassioned declarations are +equally out of date—early-Victorian, to quote Elsa exactly. Anyway, she +gave me to understand that while my love-making was somewhat +entertaining, it was hopelessly medieval. She very kindly explained that +undying affection, tender devotion, and the protection of manly arms +were all tommyrot; that she really didn't care to be enshrined queen of +anyone's heart or home. She wishes to avoid any step that may hinder the +development of her own personality. You—er—get that, I trust, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Clear as mush," says I. "Was it just her way of handin' you the blue +ticket?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite," says Mr. Robert. "That is, I'm a little vague as to my +exact status myself. I assume, however, that I've been put on probation, +as it were, until we become better acquainted."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span></p> + +<p>"And you're standin' for that, Mr. Robert!" says I.</p> + +<p>He hunches his shoulders. "Miss Hampton has taught me to be humble," +says he. "I don't pretend to understand her, or to explain her. She is a +brilliant and superior young person. She has, too, certain advanced +ideas which are a bit startling to me. And yet, even when she's hurling +Bernard Shaw or H. G. Wells at me she—she's fascinating. That quirky +smile of hers, the quick changes of expression that flash into those +big, china-blue eyes, the sudden lift of her fine chin,—how thoroughly +alive she is, how well poised! So I—well, I want her, that's all. I—I +want her!"</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Suppose you happened to get her? What would you——"</p> + +<p>"Heaven only knows!" says he. "The question seems rather, what would she +do with me? Hence the probation."</p> + +<p>"Is this going to be a long-distance tryout," says I, "with you +reportin' for inspection every other Tuesday?"</p> + +<p>He says it ain't. Miss Hampton's idea is to shelve the matrimony +proposition and begin by seein' if they can qualify as friends. She +shows him how they'd never really seen enough of each other to know if +they had any common tastes.</p> + +<p>"So I am to go with her to a few concerts,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> art exhibits, lectures, and +so on," says he, "while she has consented to try a week-end yachting +cruise with me. We start Saturday; that is, if I can make up a little +party. But I don't just know whom to ask."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me if I seem to hint," says I, "but what's the matter with +brother-in-law Ferdie and Marjorie, with Vee and me thrown in for luck?"</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" says he, brightenin' up. "Would you? And would Miss Vee?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe we could stand it," says I.</p> + +<p>"Done, then!" says he. "I'll 'phone Marjorie at once."</p> + +<p>And you should have watched Mr. Robert for the next few days. Talk about +consistent trainin'! Why, he quits goin' to the club, cuts out his +lunch-hour, and reports at the office at eight-thirty. Not for business, +though: Bernard Shaw. Seems he's decided to specialize in Shaw.</p> + +<p>Honest, I finds him one noon with a whole tray of lunch gettin' cold, +and him sittin' there with his brow furrowed up over one of them batty +plays.</p> + +<p>"Must be some thrillin'," says I.</p> + +<p>"It's clever," says he; "but hanged if I know what it's all about! I +must find out though—I must!"</p> + +<p>He didn't need to state why. I could see him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> preparin' to swap highbrow +chat with Miss Hampton.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile he barely takes time to 'phone a few orders about gettin' the +cruisin' yawl ready for the trip. I hear him ring up the Captain, tell +him casual to hire a cook and a couple of extra hands, provision for +three or four days, and be ready to sail Saturday noon. Which ain't the +way he usually does it, believe me! Why, I've known him to hold up a +directors' meetin' for an hour while he debated with a yacht tailor +whether a mainsail should be thirty-two foot on the hoist, or thirty-one +foot six. And instead of shippin' up cases of mineral water and crates +of fancy fruit, he has them blamed Shaw books packed careful and +expressed to Travers Island, where the boat is.</p> + +<p>We was to meet there about noon; but it's after eleven before Mr. Robert +shuts his desk and sings out to me to come along. We piles into his +roadster and breezes up through town and out towards the Sound. Found +the whole party waitin' for us at the club-house: Vee and Marjorie and +Miss Hampton, all lookin' more or less yachty.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" says Mr. Robert. "Haven't gone aboard yet?"</p> + +<p>"Go aboard what, I'd like to know?" speaks up Marjorie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, the <i>Pyxie</i>," says he. "See, there she is anchored off—well, what +the deuce! Pardon me for a moment."</p> + +<p>With that he steps over to a six-foot megaphone swung from the club +veranda and proceeds to boom out a few remarks.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pyxie</i> ahoy! Hey, there! On board the <i>Pyxie</i>!" he roars.</p> + +<p>No response from the <i>Pyxie</i>, and just as he's startin' to repeat the +performance up strolls one of the float tenders and hands him a note +which soon has him gaspy and pink in the ears. It's from his fool +captain, explainin' how that rich uncle of his in Providence had been +taken very bad again and how he had to go on at once. The message is +dated last Wednesday. Course, there's nothing for Mr. Robert to do but +tell the crowd just how the case stands.</p> + +<p>"How absurd—just an uncle!" pouts Marjorie. "Now we can't go cruising +at all, and—and I have three pairs of perfectly dear deck shoes that I +wanted to wear!"</p> + +<p>"Really!" says Mr. Robert. "Then we'll go anyway; that is, if you'll all +agree to ship as a Corinthian crew. What do you say?" And he glances +doubtful at Miss Hampton.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know what that means," says she; "but I am quite ready +to try."</p> + +<p>"Oh, let's!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I can help."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span></p> + +<p>"And Ferdie is a splendid sailor," chimes in. Marjorie. "He's crossed a +dozen times."</p> + +<p>"Then we're off," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>And inside of ten minutes the club launch has landed us, bag and +baggage, on the <i>Pyxie</i>.</p> + +<p>She's a roomy, comf'table sort of craft, with a kicker engine stowed +under the cockpit. There's a couple of staterooms, plenty of bunks, and +a good big cabin. We leaves the ladies to settle themselves below while +Mr. Robert inspects things on deck.</p> + +<p>"Plenty of gasoline, thank goodness!" says he. "And the water butts are +full. We can touch at Greenwich for supplies. Now let's get sail on her, +boys."</p> + +<p>And it was rich to see Ferdie, all gussied up in yellow gloves, throwin' +his whole one hundred and twenty-three pounds onto a rope. Say, about +all the yachtin' Ferdie and me had ever done before was to stand around +and look picturesque. But this was the real thing, and it comes mighty +near bein' reg'lar work, take it from me.</p> + +<p>But by the time the girls appeared we had yanked up all the sails that +was handy, and the <i>Pyxie</i> was slanted over, just scootin' through the +choppy water gay and careless, like she was glad to be tied loose.</p> + +<p>"Isn't this glorious?" exclaims Miss Hampton, steadying herself on the +high side and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span> glancin' admirin' up at the white sails stretched tight +as drumheads.</p> + +<p>I expect that should have been Mr. Robert's cue to shoot off something +snappy from Bernard Shaw; but just about then he's busy cuttin' across +in front of a big coastin' schooner, and all he remarks is:</p> + +<p>"Hey, Torchy! Trim in on that main sheet. Trim in, you duffer! Pull! +That's it. Now make fast."</p> + +<p>Nothin' fancy about Mr. Robert's yachtin' outfit. He's costumed in an +old pair of wide-bottomed white ducks some splashed with paint, and with +his sleeves rolled up and a faded old cap pulled down over his eyes he +sure looks like business. I could see Miss Hampton glancin' at him sort +of curious.</p> + +<p>But he don't have time to glance back; for we was zigzaggin' up the +Sound, dodgin' steamers and motor-boats and other yachts, and he was +keepin' both eyes peeled. Every now and then too something had to be +done in a hurry.</p> + +<p>"Ready about!" he'd call. "Now! Hard alee! Leggo that jib sheet—you, +Ferdie. Slack it off. Now trim in on the other side. Flatter. Oh, haul +it home!"</p> + +<p>And I expect Ferdie and me wa'n't any too much help.</p> + +<p>"Why, I never knew that yachting could be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span> so exciting," says Miss +Hampton. "It's really quite a game, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Especially with a green crew," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"But what a splendid breeze!"</p> + +<p>"It'll be fresh enough by the time we open up Captain's Island," says +he. "Just wait!"</p> + +<p>Sure enough, as we gets further up the Sound the harder it blows. The +waves got bigger too, and begun sloppin' over the bow, up where Ferdie +was managin' the jib.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!" he sings out. "I'm getting all splashed, you know."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't he have an umbrella?" asks Marjorie.</p> + +<p>"Please," puts in Vee, "let me handle the jib sheets. I've sailed a +half-rater, and I don't mind getting wet, not a bit."</p> + +<p>"Then for the love of soup go forward and send Ferdie aft!" says Mr. +Robert. "Quick now! I'm coming about again. Hard alee!"</p> + +<p>"How wonderful!" says Miss Hampton as she watches Vee juggle the ropes +skillful. "I wish I could do that!"</p> + +<p>"Do you?" says Mr. Robert eager. "Perhaps you'll let me teach you how to +sail. Would you like to try the wheel? Here! Now this way puts her off, +and the other brings her up. See?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span></p> + +<p>"N-n-not exactly," says Miss Hampton, grippin' the spokes gingerly.</p> + +<p>It wa'n't any day, though, for a steerin' lesson. Most of the time the +deck was on quite a slant, which seems to amuse Miss Hampton a lot.</p> + +<p>"How odd!" says she. "We're sailing almost on edge, aren't we? Isn't it +glorious!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert don't seem to be so enthusiastic. He keeps watching the sails +and the water and rollin' the wheel constant.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we really ought to get some of this canvas off her," says he. +"Ferdie, could you help tie in a reef?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know, I'm sure," says Ferdie. "I think perhaps——"</p> + +<p>"This wouldn't be a thinking job," says Mr. Robert. "Of course I might +douse the mainsail altogether and run under jib and jigger; but—no, I +guess she'll carry it. Ease off on that main sheet a trifle, Torchy."</p> + +<p>We was makin' a straight run for it now, slap up the Sound—and believe +me we was breezin' along some swift! Vee had come back with the rest of +us, her hair all sparkled up with salt spray and her eyes shinin', and +shows me how to coil up the slack of the sheet like a doormat. On and +on we booms, with the land miles away on either side.</p> + +<p>"But see here!" protests Ferdie. "I thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span> we were to stop at +Greenwich for provisions."</p> + +<p>"Make in there against this head wind?" says Mr. Robert. "Not to-day."</p> + +<p>It's comin' in heavy puffs now, and the sky is cloudin' up some. Two or +three times Mr. Robert heads the <i>Pyxie</i> up into it and debates about +takin' in the mainsail. Then he decides it would be better to square off +and make for some cove he knows of on the north shore of Long Island. So +we let out the sheet a bit more and go plungin' along.</p> + +<p>Must have been about four o'clock when it got to blowin' hardest. A puff +would hit us and souse the bow under, with the spray flyin' clear over +us. We'd heel until the water was runnin' white along the lee deck from +bow to stern. Then it would let up a bit, and the yacht would straighten +and sort of shake herself before another came.</p> + +<p>"I think we'll have to slack away on our peak and spill some of this +over the gaff," says Mr. Robert. "Torchy, stand by that halyard, and +when I give the word——"</p> + +<p>Cr-r-r-rack! It come mighty abrupt. For a minute I can't make out what +has happened; but when I sees the mast stagger and go lurchin' +overboard, sail and all, I thought it was a case of women and children +first.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! How dreadful of you, Robert!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span> wails Ferdie. "We're wrecked! +Help! Help!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dry up, Ferdie!" says Mr. Robert. "No hysterics, please. Can't we +lose a mast or so without gettin' panicky? Just a weak turn-buckle on +the weather stay, that's all. Here, Vee, take the wheel, will you, and +see if you can keep her headed into it while we chop away this wreckage. +Torchy, you'll find a couple of axes over the forward lockers. Get 'em +up. Lively, now!"</p> + +<p>We hacked away reckless, choppin' through wire stays and ropes, until we +has it all clear. Then we trims in the jigger and gets away from it. Two +minutes later and we've got the engine started and are wallowin' along +towards land. It was near six before we made the cove and anchored in +smooth water behind a little point.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the girls had gone below to explore the galley, and when we +fin'lly makes everything snug, and trails on down into the cabin to see +how they're comin' on, what do we find but the table all set and +Marjorie fillin' the water glasses. Also there's a welcome smell of food +driftin' about.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says Mr. Robert. "Found something to eat, did you? What's +the menu?"</p> + +<p>"Smothered potatoes with salt pork, baked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span> beans, hard-tack, and +coffee," says Marjorie. "Here it comes."</p> + +<p>And, say, maybe that don't sound so thrillin' to you, but to me it +listens luscious.</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, after he's sampled the layout. "Who's the +cook!"</p> + +<p>Vee says it was Miss Hampton.</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" says he, starin'. "Not really?"</p> + +<p>Miss Hampton comes back at him with that quirky smile of hers. "Why the +intense surprise?" says she.</p> + +<p>"But I didn't dream," says Mr. Robert, "that you ever did anything +so—er——"</p> + +<p>"Commonplace?"</p> + +<p>"Early-Victorian," he corrects.</p> + +<p>"Cook?" says she. "Oh, dear, yes! I can wash dishes, too."</p> + +<p>"Can you?" says he. "I'm fine at wiping 'em."</p> + +<p>"Such conceit!" says she.</p> + +<p>"Then I'll prove it," says he, "right after dinner."</p> + +<p>"I'll help you, Robert," says Marjorie.</p> + +<p>"My dear sister," says he, "please consider the size of the <i>Pyxie's</i> +galley."</p> + +<p>So, as there didn't seem to be any more competition, after we'd finished +everything in sight we left the two of 'em joshin' away merry, doin' the +dishes. Later on, while Ferdie's pokin' around, he makes a discovery.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Bob," he calls down, "there's a box up here that hasn't been +opened. Groceries, I think. Come have a look at it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert he takes one glance and turns away disgusted. "No," says he. +"I know what's in there. No use at all on this trip." Then, as he passes +me he whispers: "I say, when you get a chance, chuck that box overboard, +will you?"</p> + +<p>I nods, grinnin', and explains confidential to Vee.</p> + +<p>And half an hour or so afterwards, ten perfectly good volumes of Bernard +Shaw splashed overboard.</p> + +<p>Next we sends Ferdie to take a peek down the companionway and report.</p> + +<p>"They're looking at a chart," says he.</p> + +<p>"Same side of the table," says I, "or opposite?"</p> + +<p>"Why, they're both on one side."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, nudgin' Vee. "That highbrow line might work out in time, +but for a quick get-together proposition I'm backin' the dishpan."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2><h3>WHEN ELLA MAY CAME BY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Believe me, this job of bein' private sec. all day and doublin' as +assistant Cupid after hours may be entertainin' and all that, but it +ain't any drowsy detail. Don't leave you much time for restin' your +heels high or framin' up peace programmes. Course, the fact that Vee is +in with me on this affair between Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton is a help. +I ain't overlookin' that.</p> + +<p>And after our mix-up yachtin' cruise, when we lost a mast and Bernard +Shaw overboard the same day, it looked like we'd got everything all +straightened out. Why not? Mr. Robert seems to have decided that his +lady-love wa'n't such a confirmed highbrow as he'd suspected, and he was +doin' the steady comp'ny act constant and enthusiastic, just the way he +does everything he tackles, from yacht racin' to puttin' a crimp in an +independent. In fact, he wa'n't doin' much else.</p> + +<p>"Where's Robert?" demands Old Hickory, marchin' out of his private +office and glarin' at the closed roll-top.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span></p> + +<p>"I expect he's takin' the afternoon off," says I, maybe grinnin' a bit.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says the boss. "The second this week! I thought that fool regatta +was over."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, it is," says I. "Besides, he didn't enter."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Mr. Ellins. "Then it isn't a case of a sixty-footer!"</p> + +<p>"The one he's tryin' to manage now is about five-foot six," says I.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Old Hickory, workin' his eyebrows. "That Miss Hampton again?"</p> + +<p>I nods.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," he goes on, "of course I've no particular right to be +informed, being only his father, but—er—about how much longer should +you say that affair would run before it comes to some sort of climax? In +other words, how is he getting on?"</p> + +<p>"The last I knew," says I, "he was comin' strong. Course, he made a +couple of false starts there at the send-off, but now he seems to have +struck his gait."</p> + +<p>"Really!" says Old Hickory. "And now, solely in the interest of the +Corrugated Trust, could you go so far as to predict a date when he might +reasonably be expected to resume business activities?"</p> + +<p>I chews that over a minute, and runs my fingers thoughtful through my +red thatch.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nope," says I. "If I was any such prize guesser as that, I'd be down in +Wall Street buckin' the market. Maybe after Sunday, though, I might make +a report one way or the other."</p> + +<p>"Ah! You scent a crisis, do you?" says he.</p> + +<p>"It's this way," says I. "Marjorie's givin' a little week-end house +party for 'em out at her place, and—well, you know how that's apt to +work out at this stage of the game."</p> + +<p>"You think it may end the agony?" says he.</p> + +<p>"There'll be a swell chance for twosin'," says I. "Marjorie's plannin' +for that."</p> + +<p>"I see," says Mr. Ellins. "Undisturbed propinquity—a love charm that +was old when the world was young. And if Marjorie is managing the +campaign, it's all over with Robert."</p> + +<p>That was my dope on the subject too, after I'd seen the layout of her +first skirmish. There was just half a dozen of us mobilized at this +flossy suburban joint Saturday afternoon, but from the start it was +plain that four of us was on hand only to keep each other out of the way +of this pair. Course, Vee and I hardly needs to have the cue passed. We +were satisfied to hunt up a veranda corner of our own and stick to it.</p> + +<p>But Brother-in-law Ferdie, with that doubleply slate roof of his, needs +watchin' close. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span> has a nutty idea that he ought to be sociable, and +he no sooner spots Mr. Robert and Miss Elsa Hampton, chattin' cozy in a +garden nook, than he's prompted to kick in and explain to 'em all about +the Latin names of the surroundin' vines and shrubbery. Which brings out +business of distress from Marjorie. So one of us has to go shoo him +away.</p> + +<p>"Why—er—what's the matter?" says he, blinkin' puzzled, after he's been +led off.</p> + +<p>"You was makin' a noise like a seed catalogue, that's all," says I. +"Chop it, can't you?"</p> + +<p>Ferdie only stares at me through his thick window-panes and puts on an +injured air. Half an hour later, though, he's at it again.</p> + +<p>"You tell him, Torchy," sighs Marjorie. "Try to make him understand."</p> + +<p>So I makes a strong stab.</p> + +<p>"Look," says I, towin' him off on a thin excuse. "That ain't any +convention they're holdin' out there. So far as they know, it's just a +happy chance. If they're let alone the meetin' may develop tender +moments. Anyway, you might give 'em a show, and if they want you bad +they can run up a flag. See? There's times, you know, when two is bliss, +but a third is a blister. Get me?"</p> + +<p>I expect he did, in a way. The idea filters through sort of slow, but he +finally decides that,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span> for some reason too deep for him to dig up, he +ain't wanted mixin' around folksy.</p> + +<p>So from then on until dinnertime our couple had all the chance in the +world. Looked like they was doin' noble, too; for every once in a while +we could hear that ripply laugh of hers, or Mr. Robert's hearty +chuckle—which should have been good signs that they was enjoyin' each +other's comp'ny. We even had to send out word it was time to doll up for +dinner.</p> + +<p>But an affair like that is like a feather balanced on your nose. Any +boob is liable to open a door on you. In this case, all was lovely and +serene until Marjorie gets this 'phone call. I hears her summonin' Vee +panicky and sketchin' out the details.</p> + +<p>"It's Ella May Buell!" says she. "She's down at the station."</p> + +<p>Seems that Miss Buell was a boardin'-school friend who was about to cash +in one of them casual blanket invitations that girls give out so +reckless—you know, the Do-come-and-see-me-any-time kind. And, with her +livin' down in Alabama or Georgia somewhere, maybe it looked safe at the +time. But now she was on her way to the White Mountains for a summer +flit, and she'd just remembered Marjorie for the first time in three +years.</p> + +<p>"Goodness!" says Marjorie, whisperin' husky across the hall. "Someone +ought to go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span> right down to meet her. I can't, of course; and Ferdie's +only begun to dress."</p> + +<p>"Ask Torchy," suggests Vee.</p> + +<p>And, as I'm all ready except another half hitch to my white tie, I'm +elected. Three minutes more and I'm whizzin' down in the limousine to +receive the Southern delegate. And say, when I pipes the fairy in the +half-masted skirt and the zippy Balkan bonnet, I begins bracin' myself +for what I could see comin'.</p> + +<p>One of these pouty-lipped, rich-tinted fairies, Ella May is, wearin' a +baby stare and chorus-girl ear-danglers. Does she wait to be hunted up +and rescued? Not her! The minute I drops out of the machine, she trips +right over and gives me the hail.</p> + +<p>"Are you looking for me?" says she. "I hope you are, for I've been +waiting at this wretched station for ages."</p> + +<p>"If it's Miss Buell, I am," says I.</p> + +<p>"Of course I'm Miss Buell," says she. "Help me in. Now get my bags. +They're inside, Honey."</p> + +<p>"Inside what?" I gasps.</p> + +<p>"Why, the station," says she. "And give the man a quarter for +me—there's a dear."</p> + +<p>Talk about speed! Leave it to the Dixie girls of this special type. I +used to think our Broadway matinée fluffs was about the swiftest +fascinators<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span> using the goo-goo tactics. But say, when it comes right +down to quick action, some of these cotton-belt belles can throw in a +high gear that makes our Gwendolyns look like they was only hittin' on +odd cylinders. Ella May was a sample. We was havin' our first glimpse of +each other, but in less 'n forty-five seconds by the watch she'd called +me honey, dearied me twice, and patted me chummy on the arm. And we +hadn't driven two blocks before she had me snuggled up in the corner +like we was old friends.</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Honey," says she, "what is dear old Marjorie's hubby like?"</p> + +<p>"Ferdie!" says I. "Why, he's all right when you get to know him."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says she. "That kind! But aren't there any other men around?"</p> + +<p>"Only Mr. Robert Ellins," says I.</p> + +<p>"Really!" says she, her eyes widenin'! "Bob Ellins! That's nice. I met +him once when he came to see Marjorie at boarding school. I was such an +infant then, though. But now——"</p> + +<p>She dives into her vanity bag and proceeds to retouch the scenic effects +on her face.</p> + +<p>"Don't waste it," says I. "He's sewed up—a Miss Hampton. She's there, +too."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" pouts Miss Buell. "Who cares? She doesn't keep him in a cage, +does she?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span></p> + +<p>"It ain't that," says I; "but his eyesight for anyone else is mighty +poor."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is it?" says she, sarcastic and doubtful. "We'll see about that. +But, anyway, I'm beginning to be glad I came. Can you guess why?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a wild guesser," says I. "Shoot it."</p> + +<p>"Because," says she, "I think I'm going to like you rather well."</p> + +<p>More business of cuddlin', and a hand dropped careless on my shoulder. +We were still more 'n a mile from the house, and if I was to do any +blockin'-off stunt, it was high time I begun. I twists my head around +and gazes at the careless hand.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, sister," says I, "but before this goes any further I got to +ask a question. Are your intentions serious?"</p> + +<p>"Why, the idea!" says she. "What on earth do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"I only want to be sure," says I, "that you ain't tryin' to trifle with +my young affections."</p> + +<p>She stiffens at that and goes a little gaspy. Also she grabs away the +hand.</p> + +<p>"Of all the conceit!" says she. "Anyone might think that—that——"</p> + +<p>"So they might," says I. "Of course, it's sweet to be picked out this +way; but it's a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span> little sudden, ain't it? You know, I'm kind of young +and——"</p> + +<p>"I've a great mind to box your ears!" breaks in Ella May.</p> + +<p>"In that case," says I, "I couldn't even promise to be a brother to +you."</p> + +<p>"Wretch!" says she, her eyes snappin'.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," says I, "but you'll get over it. It may be a little hard at +first, but in time you'll meet another who will make you forget."</p> + +<p>That last jab had her speechless, and all she could do was run her +tongue out at me. But it worked. After that she snuggled in her own +corner, and when we lands at the house she's treatin' me with cold +disdain, almost as if I'd been a reg'lar brother. There's no knowin', +either, what report Marjorie got. Must have been something interestin', +for when she finally comes down after steerin' Miss Buell to her room, +she gives me the knowin' wink.</p> + +<p>Ella May gets even, though. She holds up dinner forty-five minutes while +she sheds her travelin' costume for an evenin' gown. And it's some +startlin' creation she springs on us about the time we're ready to bite +the glass knobs off the dinin'-room doors. She's a stunner, all right, +and she sails down with that baby stare turned on full voltage.</p> + +<p>You'd most thought, though, with all the hints<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span> me and Marjorie had +dropped, and her seein' Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton chattin' so busy +together, that she'd have hung up the net and waited until she struck +better huntin' grounds. But not Ella May. Here was a perfectly good man; +and as long as nobody had handcuffs on him, or hadn't guarded him with +barbed wire, she was ready to take a chance.</p> + +<p>Just how she managed it I couldn't say, even if it was done right under +my eyes; but when we starts in for dinner she's clingin' sort of playful +to one side of Mr. Robert, chatterin' a steady stream, while Miss +Hampton is left to drift along on the other, almost as if she was an +"also-ran."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert wa'n't havin' such a swell time that meal, either. About once +in three or four minutes he'd get a chance to say a few words to Miss +Hampton, but most of the time he was busy listenin' to Ella May. So was +the rest of us, in fact. Not that she was sayin' anything important or +specially interestin'. Mainly it's snappy personal anecdotes—about Ella +May, or her brother Glenn, or Uncle Wash Lee, the Buell fam'ly butler. +Or else she's teasin' Mr. Robert about not rememberin' her better, +darin' him to look her square in the eyes, and such little tricks.</p> + +<p>Say, she was some whirlwind performer, take it from me. I discovers that +everybody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span> was "Honey" to her, even Ferdie. And you should have seen him +tint up and glance panicky at Marjorie the first time she put it over on +him.</p> + +<p>As for Miss Hampton, she appears to be enjoyin' the whole thing. She +watches Miss Buell sparkle and roll her eyes, and only smiles sort of +amused. For what Ella May is unlimberin' is an attack in force, as a war +correspondent would put it—an assault with cavalry, heavy guns, and +infantry. And, for all his society experience, Mr. Robert don't seem to +know how to meet it. He acts sort of dazed and helpless, now and then +glancin' appealin' across to Sister Marjorie, or around at Miss Hampton.</p> + +<p>All that evenin' the attack goes on, Ella May workin' the spell +overtime, gettin' Mr. Robert to let her read his palm, pinnin' flowers +in his buttonhole, and keepin' him cornered; while the rest of us sits +around like cheap deadheads that had been let in on passes.</p> + +<p>And next mornin', when Mr. Robert makes a desperate stab to duck right +after breakfast, only to be captured again and led into the garden, +Marjorie finally gets her mad up.</p> + +<p>"Really," says she, "this is too absurd! Of course, she always was an +outrageous flirt. You should have seen her at boarding school—with the +music professor, the principal's brother, the school doctor. Twice they +threatened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span> to send her home. But after I've told her that Robert was +practically engaged to Miss Hampton—well, it must be stopped, that's +all. Ferdie, can't you think of some way?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Ferdie. "What? How?"</p> + +<p>That's the sort of help he contributes to this council of war Marjorie's +called on the side terrace.</p> + +<p>And all Vee will do is to chuckle. "It's such, a joke!" says she.</p> + +<p>"But it isn't," says Marjorie. "Do you know where Elsa Hampton is at +this minute? In the library, reading a magazine—alone! And she and +Robert were getting on so nicely, too. Torchy, can't you suggest +something?"</p> + +<p>"Might slip out there with a rope and tie her to a tree while Mr. Robert +makes his escape," says I.</p> + +<p>A snicker from Vee.</p> + +<p>"Please!" says Marjorie. "This is really serious. I can't explain to +Elsa. But what must she think of Robert? I've simply got to get rid of +that girl somehow. She's one of the kind, you know, who would stay and +stay until——"</p> + +<p>"Hello!" says I, glancin' out towards the entrance-gates. "What sort of +a delegation is this?"</p> + +<p>A tall, loppy young female in a sagged skirt<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span> and a faded pink +shirtwaist is driftin' up the driveway, towin' a bow-legged +three-year-old boy by one hand and luggin' a speckle-faced baby on her +hip.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Marjorie. "That scamp of a Bob Flynn's Katie again."</p> + +<p>Seems Flynn had been one of Mr. Robert's chauffeurs that he'd wished +onto Ferdie a year or so back on account of Flynn's bein' married and +complainin' he couldn't support his fam'ly in the city. If he could get +a place in the country, where the rents wa'n't so high and his old +chowder-party friends wa'n't so thick, Flynn thought he might do better. +He had steadied down for a while, too, until he took a sudden notion to +slope and leave his interestin' fam'ly behind.</p> + +<p>"She's coming to ask if we've heard anything of him," goes on Marjorie. +"I've a good notion to send her straight to Robert."</p> + +<p>"Say," says I, havin' one of my thought-flashes, "wait a minute. We +might—do I understand that the flitting hubby's name was Robert?"</p> + +<p>Marjorie nods.</p> + +<p>"And will you stand for anything I can pull off that might jar Ella +May's strangle-hold over there!"</p> + +<p>"Anything," says Marjorie.</p> + +<p>"Then lend me this deserted fam'ly for a few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span> minutes," says I. "I ain't +had time to sketch out the plot of the piece exactly, but if you say so +I'll breeze ahead."</p> + +<p>It was going to be a bit raw, I'll admit; but Marjorie has insisted that +it's a desperate case. So, after a short confab with Mrs. Flynn and the +kids, they're turned over to me.</p> + +<p>"I ain't sure, ma'am," says I, "that young Mr. Ellins can spare the +time. He's pretty busy just now. But maybe I can break in long enough to +ask him, and if he's heard anything—well, you can be handy. Suppose you +wait here at the garden gate. No, leave it open, that way."</p> + +<p>I had 'em grouped conspicuous and dramatic; and, with Mrs. Flynn's straw +lid tilted on one side, and the youngster whimperin' to be let loose +among the flowers, and the baby sound asleep with its mouth open, the +picture was more or less pathetic.</p> + +<p>At the far end of the garden path was a different sort of scene. Ella +May was making Mr. Robert hold one end of a daisy chain she was weavin', +and she's prattlin' away kittenish when I edges up, scufflin' my feet +warnin' on the gravel. She greets me with a pout. Mr. Robert hangs his +head sort of sheepish, but asks hopeful:</p> + +<p>"Well, Torchy?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span></p> + +<p>"She—she's here again, sir," says I.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he, starin' puzzled. "Who is here?"</p> + +<p>"S-s-s-sh!" says I, shakin' my head mysterious.</p> + +<p>All of which don't escape Miss Buell. Her ears are up and her eyes wide +open. "What is it?" she asks.</p> + +<p>"If I could have a few words in private with you, Mr. Robert," says I, +"maybe it would be——"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" says he. "Out with it."</p> + +<p>"Just as you like," says I. "Only, she's brought the kids with her this +time. She says how she wants her Robert back."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at!" he gasps.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't keep her out," says I. "You know how she is. There they are, +at the gate."</p> + +<p>I don't know which was quicker to turn and look, him or Ella May. And +just then Mrs. Flynn happens to be gazin' our way, pleadin' and +expectant.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Mr. Robert, laughin' careless. "Katie, eh?"</p> + +<p>Miss Buell has jumped and is starin' at the group. Then, at that laugh +of Mr. Robert's, she whirls on him.</p> + +<p>"Brute!" says she. "I'm glad she's found you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span></p> + +<p>With which she dashes towards the house and disappears, leavin' Mr. +Robert gawpin' after her.</p> + +<p>"Why," says he, "you—you don't suppose she could have imagined +that—that——"</p> + +<p>"Maybe she did," says I. "My fault, I expect. I could find her, though, +and explain how it was. I'll bet that inside of five minutes she'd be +back here finishin' the floral wreath. Shall I?"</p> + +<p>"Back here?" he echoes, kind of vague. Then he comes to.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" says he. "I—I'd rather not. I want first to—— Where is Miss +Hampton, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>Well, I gives him full directions for findin' her, slips Mrs. Ryan the +twenty he sends her instead of news from hubby, and then goes in, to +find that Ella May is demandin' to be taken to the next train. We saw +that she caught it, too, before she changed her mind.</p> + +<p>"By George!" Mr. Robert whispers confidential to me, as the limousine +rolls off with her in it, "if I could insure against such risks as that, +I would take out a policy."</p> + +<p>"You can," says I. "Any justice of the peace or minister will fix you up +for life."</p> + +<p>Does that sink in? I wouldn't wonder. Anyway, from the hasty glimpse I +caught of him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span> and Miss Hampton strollin' out in the moonlight that +night, it looked that way.</p> + +<p>So I did have a bulletin for Old Hickory Monday mornin'.</p> + +<p>"It's all over but the shoutin'," says I.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2><h3>SOME HOOP-LA FOR THE BOSS</h3> +</div> + +<p>I must say it wa'n't such a swell time for Mr. Robert to be indulgin' in +any complicated love affair. You know how business has been, specially +our line. And our directors was about as calm as a bunch of high school +girls havin' hysterics. Jumpy? Say, some of them double-chinned old +plutes couldn't reach for a glass of ice water without goin' through +motions like they was shakin' dice.</p> + +<p>It's this sporty market that had got on their nerves. You know, all +these combine rumors—this bunk about Germany buyin' up plants +wholesale, and the grand scrabble to fill all them whackin' big foreign +orders, with steamer charters about as numerous as twin baby carriages +along Riverside Drive. Why, say, at one time there you could have sold +us ferryboats or garbage-scows, we was so hungry for anything that would +carry ocean freights.</p> + +<p>And, of course, with Old Hickory Ellins at the helm, the Corrugated +Trust was right in the thick of it. About twice a week some fool yarn +was floated about us. We'd sold out to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span> Krupps and was goin' to close; +we'd tied up with Bethlehem; we'd underbid on a flock of submarines and +was due for a receivership—oh, a choice lot of piffle!</p> + +<p>But a few of them nervous old boys, who was placid enough at annual +meetin's watchin' a melon bein' cut, just couldn't stand the strain. +Every time they got fed up on some new dope from the Wall Street panic +peddlers, they'd come around howlin' for a safe and sane policy. I stood +it until here the other mornin' when a bunch of soreheads showed up +before nine o'clock and proceeds to hold an indignation meetin' in front +of my desk.</p> + +<p>"Gwan!" says I. "Nobody's rockin' the boat but you. Go sit on your +checkbooks."</p> + +<p>They just glares at me.</p> + +<p>"Where is Old Hickory?" one of 'em wants to know.</p> + +<p>"About now," says I, "Mr. Ellins would be finishin' the last of three +soft-boiled eggs. He'll show up here at nine-forty-five."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Robert Ellins, then?" demands another.</p> + +<p>"Say, I'm no puzzle editor," says I. "Maybe he'll be here to-day and +maybe he won't."</p> + +<p>"But we couldn't find him yesterday, either," comes back an old goat +with tufts in his ears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's a way he has these days," says I.</p> + +<p>No use tryin' to smooth things over. It's Mr. Robert they'd been sore on +all along, suspectin' him of startin' all the wild schemes just because +he's young. I'd heard 'em, after they'd moved into the directors' room, +insistin' that he ought to be asked to resign. And what they was beefin' +specially about to-day was because of a tale that a Chicago syndicate +had jumped in and bought the <i>Balboa</i>, a 10,000-ton Norwegian freighter +that we was supposed to have an option on. It was the final blow. That +satisfied 'em they was being sold out, and their best guess was that Mr. +Robert was turnin' the trick.</p> + +<p>I was standin' by, listenin' to the general grouch develop, and +wonderin' how long before they'd organize a lynchin' committee, when I +hears the brass gate slam, and into the private office breezes Mr. +Robert himself, lookin' fresh and chirky, his hat tilted well back, and +swingin' a bamboo walkin'-stick. When he sees me, he springs a wide grin +and grabs me by the shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Torchy, you sunny-haired emblem of good luck!" he sings out. "What do +you think! I've—got—her!"</p> + +<p>"Eh!" says I. "The <i>Balboa</i>?"</p> + +<p>"The <i>Balboa</i> be hanged!" says he. "No, no!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span> Elsa—Miss Hampton, you +know! She's mine, Torchy; she's mine!"</p> + +<p>"S-s-s-sh!" says I, noddin' towards the other room. "Forget her a minute +and brace yourself for a run-in with that gang of rag-chewers in there."</p> + +<p>Does he? Say, without even stoppin' to size 'em up, he prances right in +amongst 'em, free and careless.</p> + +<p>"Why, hello, Ryder!" says he, handin' out a brisk shoulder-pat. "Ah, Mr. +Larkin! Mr. Busbee! Well, well! You too, Hyde? Hail, all of you, and the +top of the morning! Gentlemen," he goes on, shakin' hands right and left +without noticin' how reluctant some of the palms came out, "I—er—I +have a little announcement to make."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" snorts old Busbee. "Have you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Mr. Robert, smilin' mushy. "I—er—the fact is, I am going +to be married."</p> + +<p>"The bonehead!" I whispers husky.</p> + +<p>Old Lawson T. Ryder, the one with the bushy white eyebrows and the heavy +dewlaps, he puffs out his cheeks and works that under jaw of his +menacin'.</p> + +<p>"Really!" says he. "But what about the <i>Balboa?</i> Eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Mr. Robert casual. "The <i>Balboa?</i> Yes, yes! Didn't I tell +someone to attend<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span> to that? A charter, wasn't it? Torchy, were you——"</p> + +<p>I shakes my head.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it was Mr. Piddie, then," says he. "Anyway, I thought I +asked——"</p> + +<p>"Here's Piddie now, sir," says I. "Looks like he'd been after +something."</p> + +<p>He's a wreck, that's all. His derby is caved in, his black cutaway all +smooched with lime or something, and one eye is tinted up lovely. In his +right fist, though, he has a long yellow envelope.</p> + +<p>"The charter!" he gasps out dramatic. "<i>Balboa!</i>"</p> + +<p>And, by piecin' out more jerky bulletins, it's clear that Piddie has +pulled off the prize stunt of his whole career. He'd gone out after that +charter at lunchtime the day before, been stalled off by office clerks +probably subsidized by the opposition, spent the night hangin' around +the water-front, and got mixed up with a dock gang; but, by bein' on +hand early, he'd caught one of the shippin' firm and closed the option +barely two hours before it lapsed. And as he sinks limp into a chair he +glances appealin' at Mr. Robert, no doubt expectin' to be decorated on +the spot.</p> + +<p>"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Good work! But you haven't heard of my +great luck<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span> meantime. Listen, Piddie. I am to be married!"</p> + +<p>I thought Piddie would croak.</p> + +<p>"Think of that, gentlemen," cuts in old Busbee sarcastic. "He is to be +married!"</p> + +<p>But it needs more 'n a little jab like that to bring Mr. Robert out of +his Romeo trance. Honest, the way he carries on is amazin'. You might +have thought this was the first case on record where a girl who'd said +she wouldn't had changed her mind. And, so far as any other happenin's +was concerned, he might have been deaf, dumb, and blind. The entire news +of the world that mornin' he could boil down into one official +statement: Elsa had said she'd have him! Hip, hip! Banzai! Elsa forever! +He flashed that miniature of her and passed it around. He nudges Lawson +T. Ryder playful in the short ribs, hammers Deacon Larkin on the back, +and then groups himself, beamin' foolish, with one arm around old Busbee +and the other around Mr. Hyde.</p> + +<p>Maybe you know how catchin' that sort of thing is? It's got the measles +or barber's itch beat seven ways. That bunch of grouches just couldn't +resist. Inside of five minutes they was grinnin' with him, and when I +finally shoos 'em out they was formin' a committee to shake each other +down for two hundred per towards a weddin' present.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span></p> + +<p>I finds it about as much use tryin' to get Mr. Robert to settle down to +business as it would be teachin' a hummin'-bird to sit for his +photograph. So I gives up, and asks for details of the big event.</p> + +<p>"When does it come off?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, right away," says he. "I don't know just when; but soon—very +soon."</p> + +<p>"Home or church?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, either," says he. "It doesn't matter in the least."</p> + +<p>"Maybe it don't," says I, "but it's a point someone has to settle, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," says he, wavin' careless. "I've no doubt someone will."</p> + +<p>He was right. Up to then I hadn't heard much about Miss Hampton's fam'ly +except that she was an orphan, and I expect Mr. Robert had an idea there +wa'n't any nosey relations to butt in. But it ain't three days after the +engagement got noised around that a cousin of Elsa's shows up, a Mrs. +Montgomery Pulsifer—a swell party with a big place in the Berkshires.</p> + +<p>Seems she'd been kind of cold and distant to Miss Hampton on account of +her bein' a concert singer; but, now that Elsa has drawn down a prize +like Robert Ellins, here comes Mrs. Pulsifer flutterin' to town, all +smiles and greatly excited. Where was the wedding to be?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">330</a></span> And the +reception? Not in this stuffy little hotel suite, she hopes! Why not at +Crag Oaks, her place near Lenox? There was the dearest little +ivy-covered church! And a perfectly charming rector!</p> + +<p>Then Sister Marjorie is called in. Sure, she was strong for the frilly +stuff. If Brother Robert had finally decided to be married, it must be +done properly. And Mrs. Pulsifer's country house would be just the +place. Only, she had an idea that their old fam'ly friend, the Bishop, +ought to be asked to officiate. The perfectly charming rector might +assist.</p> + +<p>"Why, to be sure!" says Mrs. Pulsifer. "The Bishop, by all means."</p> + +<p>Anyway, it went something like that; and the first thing Mr. Robert +knows, they've doped out for him a regulation three-ring splicefest with +all the trimmin's, from a gold-braided carriage caller to a special +train for the Newport guests. And, bein' still busy with his rosy +dreams, Mr. Robert don't get wise to what's been framed up for him until +here Saturday afternoon out at Marjorie's, when they start to spring the +programme on him.</p> + +<p>"Why, see here, sis," says he, "you've put this three weeks off!"</p> + +<p>"The bridesmaids' gowns can't be finished a day sooner," says Marjorie. +"Besides, the invitations must be engraved; you can't get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">331</a></span> a caterer +like Marselli at a moment's notice; and there is the organ to be +installed, you know."</p> + +<p>"Organ!" protests Mr. Robert. "Oh, I say!"</p> + +<p>"You don't expect the Lohengrin March to be played on drums, I hope," +said Marjorie. "Do be sensible! You've been best man times enough to +know that——"</p> + +<p>"Great Scott, yes," says Mr. Robert. "But really, sis, I don't want to +go through all that dreary business—dragging in to the wedding-march, +with everyone looking solemn and holding their breath while they stare +at you! Why, it's deadly! Gloomy, you know; a relic of barbarism worthy +of some savage tribe."</p> + +<p>"Why, Robert!" protests Marjorie.</p> + +<p>"But it is," he goes on. "Haven't I pitied the poor victims who had to +go through with it? Think of having to run that gauntlet—morbidly +curious old women, silly girls, bored men—and trying to keep step to +that confounded dirge. Wedding march, indeed! They make it sound more +like the march of the condemned. <i>Tum-tum-te-dum!</i> Ugh! I tell you, +Marjorie, I'm not going to have it. Nor any of this stodgy, grewsome +fuss. I mean to have a cheerful wedding."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" says Marjorie. "I suppose you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">332</a></span> would like to hop-skip-and-jump +down to the altar?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Don't be absurd, Robert," says she. "You'll be married quite +respectably and sanely, as other people are. Anyway, you'll just have +to. Mrs. Pulsifer and I are managing the affair, remember."</p> + +<p>"Are you?" says Mr. Robert, lettin' out the first growl I'd heard from +him in over a week.</p> + +<p>I nudges Vee and we exchanges grins.</p> + +<p>"The groom always takes on that way," she whispers. "It's the usual +thing."</p> + +<p>I was sorry for the Boss, too. He'd been havin' such a good time before. +But now he goes off with his chin down and his brow all wrinkled up. +Course we knew he'd go straight to Elsa and tell her his troubles. But I +couldn't see where that was goin' to do him any good. You know how women +are about such things. They may be willin' to take a chance along some +lines, but when it comes to weddin's and funerals they're stand-patters.</p> + +<p>So Sunday afternoon, when I gets a 'phone call from Mr. Robert askin' me +to meet him at Miss Hampton's apartment, and he adds that he's decided +to duck the whole Crag Oaks proposition and do it his own way, I demands +suspicious:</p> + +<p>"But how about Miss Elsa?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">333</a></span></p> + +<p>"She feels just as I do about it," says he. "Come up. She will tell you +so herself."</p> + +<p>And she does.</p> + +<p>"I think it's the silly veil to which I object most," says she. "As if +anyone ever did see a blushing bride! Why, the ordeal has them half +scared to death, poor things! And no wonder. Yes, I quite agree with +Robert. Weddings should be actually happy affairs—not stiff, gloomy +ceremonies cumbered with outworn conventions. I've seen women weep at +weddings. If I should catch one doing that at mine, I should be tempted +to box her ears. Really! So we have decided that our wedding must be a +merry one. That is why, Torchy, we have sent for you."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"You are to be best man," says Mr. Robert, clappin' me on the back.</p> + +<p>"Me?" I gasps. "Ah, say!"</p> + +<p>"Your Miss Verona," adds Elsa, "is to be my only bridesmaid."</p> + +<p>"Well, that helps," says I. "But how—where——"</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter," says Mr. Robert. "Anywhere in the State—or I can +get a Connecticut or New Jersey license. It shall be wherever you +decide."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" says I.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert chuckles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">334</a></span></p> + +<p>"As best man," he goes on, "we appoint you general manager of the whole +affair; don't we, Elsa?"</p> + +<p>She nods, smilin'.</p> + +<p>"With full powers," says she.</p> + +<p>"We'll motor out somewhere," adds Mr. Robert. "You and Miss Vee take the +limousine; we will go in the roadster. If Marjorie and Ferdie wish to +come along, they can join us in their car."</p> + +<p>"How about a dominie?" says I. "Do I pick up one casual along the road?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I forgot the Reverend Percy," says Mr. Robert. "He's consented to +quit that East Side settlement work of his for a day. You'll have to +take him along. Now, how soon may we start? To-morrow morning, say?"</p> + +<p>"Hel-lup!" says I. "I'm gettin' dizzy."</p> + +<p>"Then Tuesday," says he, "at nine-thirty sharp."</p> + +<p>"But say, Mr. Robert," says I, "just what——"</p> + +<p>"Only make it as merry as you know how," he breaks in. "That's the main +idea; isn't it, Elsa?"</p> + +<p>Another nod from Elsa.</p> + +<p>"Robert has great faith in you as a promoter of cheerful affairs," says +she. "I think I have, too."</p> + +<p>"That being the case," says I, "I got to live<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">335</a></span> up to my rep. or strip a +gear. So here goes."</p> + +<p>With which I breezes out and pikes uptown to consult Vee.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear anything so batty?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Why, I think it's perfectly splendid fun," says Vee. "Just think, +Torchy, you can do anything you choose!"</p> + +<p>"It's the choosin' that's goin' to bother me," says I. "I'm no +matrimonial stage manager. I don't even know where to pull the thing +off."</p> + +<p>"I've thought of just the place," says she. "Harbor Hill, the Vernon +Markleys' place out on Long Island. They're in the mountains now, you +know, and the house is closed; but——"</p> + +<p>"You ain't thinkin' of borrowin' their garage for this, are you?" says +I.</p> + +<p>"Silly!" says she. "Mrs. Markley's open-air Greek theater! You must have +seen pictures of it. It's a dream—white cement pergolas covered with +woodbine and pink ramblers, and a wonderful stretch of lawn in front. It +would be an ideal setting. She's a great friend of Aunty's. We'll just +wire for her permission; shall we?"</p> + +<p>"Listens good," says I. "But we got to get busy. Tuesday, you know. What +about eats, though?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">336</a></span></p> + +<p>"There's a country club only half a mile away," says she.</p> + +<p>"You're some grand little planner," says I. "Now let me go plot out how +to put the tra-la-la business into the proceedin's."</p> + +<p>I had a hunch that part would come easy, too; but after a couple of +hours' steady thinkin' I decided that as a joy producer I'd been +overrated. The best I could dig out was to hunt up some music, and by +Monday noon that was my total contribution. I'd hired a band. It's some +band, though—one of these fifteen-piece dance-hall combinations that +had just closed a Coney Island engagement and was guaranteed to tear off +this affair in zippy style. I left word what station they was to get off +at, and 'phoned for a couple of jitneys to meet 'em. For the rest, I was +bankin' on my luck.</p> + +<p>And right on schedule we makes a nine-thirty getaway—three machines in +all; for, while Marjorie had thrown seventeen cat fits when she first +heard that Brother Robert had renigged, she shows up with Ferdie at the +last minute. Catch her missin' out on any kind of a weddin'!</p> + +<p>"But just where, Robert," she demands, "is this absurd affair to take +place?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't the least idea," says he. "Ask Torchy."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">337</a></span></p> + +<p>So I names the spot, gives the chauffeurs their route directions, and +off we booms across the College Point ferry and out towards the far end +of the north shore. The Reverend Percy turns out to be kind of a solemn, +serious-minded gink. Seems he'd been in college with Mr. Robert, had +rooms just across the hall, and accordin' to his tell them must have +been lively days.</p> + +<p>"Although I can't say," he adds, "that at all times I enjoyed being +pulled out of bed at 2 <span class="smcap">a.m</span>. to act as judge of an ethical debate between +a fuddled cab-driver and a star halfback who had been celebrating a +football victory. I fear I considered Bob's sense of humor somewhat +overdeveloped. Just like him, running off like this. I trust the affair +is not going to be made too unconventional."</p> + +<p>I winks at Vee.</p> + +<p>"Only an open-air performance," says I, "with maybe a little cheerin' +music to liven things up. His instructions are to have it merry."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes!" says the Reverend Percy. "Quite so. I understand."</p> + +<p>If he did he was a better guesser than me. For I was more or less at +sea. We hadn't more than whirled in through the stone gate-posts of +Harbor Hill, too, than I begun to scent complications. For there, lined +up in front of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">338</a></span> house, are four other machines, with a whole mob of +people around 'em.</p> + +<p>"Why!" says Vee. "Who can they be?"</p> + +<p>"Looks like someone had beaten us to it," says I. "I'll go do some +scoutin'."</p> + +<p>Course, one close-up look is all that's needed. It's a movie outfit. I'm +just gettin' hot under the collar, too, when I discovers that the gent +in charge is none other than my old newspaper friend, Whitey Weeks. I'd +heard how he'd gone into the film game as stage director, but I hadn't +seen him at it yet. And here he is, big as life, wearin' a suit of noisy +plaids as usual, and bossin' this assorted bunch of screen favorites +like he'd done it all his life.</p> + +<p>"A little lively with those grease-paints now, ladies," he's callin' +out. "This isn't for a next spring release, you know."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, strollin' up. "Got the same old nerve with you, eh, +Whitey?"</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says he. "The illustrious and illuminating Torchy! Don't +tell me you've just bought the estate?"</p> + +<p>"Would it matter to you who owned it," says I, "if you wanted to use it +bad?"</p> + +<p>"Such cruel suspicions!" says he. "Sir, my permit!"</p> + +<p>He's got it, straight enough—a note to the lodge-keeper, signed by Mrs. +Vernon Markley, and statin' that the Unexcelled Film Company<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">339</a></span> was to +have the courtesy of the grounds any afternoon between the 15th and +25th.</p> + +<p>"You see," explains Whitey, "we're staging an old English costume piece, +and this Greek theater of Mrs. Markley's just fits in. Our president +worked the deal for us. And we've got to do a thousand feet between now +and five o'clock. Not in the same line, are you?"</p> + +<p>And he glances towards our crowd, that's pilin' out of the cars and +gazin' puzzled towards us.</p> + +<p>"Do we look it?" says I. "No, what we was plannin' to pull off here was +a weddin'. That's the groom there—my boss, Mr. Robert Ellins."</p> + +<p>"Bob Ellins!" says Whitey. "Whe-e-ew!"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Markley must have forgot," says I. "Makes it kind of awkward for +us, though."</p> + +<p>"But see here," says Whitey. "A real wedding, you say? Why, that's odd! +That's our stunt, with merry villagers and all that stuff. Now, say, why +couldn't we—— Let's see! Do you suppose Mr. Ellins would mind if——"</p> + +<p>I got the idea in a flash.</p> + +<p>"He won't mind anything," says I, "so long as he can be married merry. +He's leavin' that to me—the whole act."</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" says Whitey. "The very thing, then. We'll—— But who else is +this arriving? Look, coming in, two motor-buses full!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">340</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's our band," says I.</p> + +<p>"Great!" says Whitey. "Rovelli's, too! Say, this is going to be a bit of +all right! Have him form 'em on between those cedars, out of range. Now +we'll just get your folks into costume, let our company trail along as +part of the wedding procession, and shoot the dear public the real +thing, for once. What do you say?"</p> + +<p>Course, considerin' how Mr. Robert had shied at a hundred or so +spectators, this lettin' him in on a film exchange circuit might seem a +little raw; but it was too good a chance to miss. Another minute, and +I'm strollin' over, lookin' bland and innocent.</p> + +<p>"Any hitch?" says Mr. Robert. "Have we got to the wrong place?"</p> + +<p>"Not much," says I. "This is the right place at the right time. Didn't +you tell me to go as far as I liked, so long as I made it merry?"</p> + +<p>"So I did, Torchy," he admits.</p> + +<p>"Then prepare to cut loose," says I. "This way, everybody, and get on +your weddin' clothes!"</p> + +<p>For a second or so Mr. Robert hangs back. He glances doubtful at Miss +Hampton. But say, she's a good sport, she is.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Robert," says she. "I'm sure Torchy has planned something +unique."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">341</a></span></p> + +<p>I didn't dispute her. It was all of that. First we groups the ladies on +the south veranda behind a lot of screens, and herds the men around the +corner. Then we unpacks them suitcases of Whitey's and distributes the +things. Such regalias, too! What Mr. Robert draws is mostly two colored +tights, spangled trunks, a gorgeous cape, peak-toed shoes of red +leather, and a sword. Maybe he didn't look some spiffy in it!</p> + +<p>You should have seen Ferdie, though, with a tow-colored wig clapped down +over his ears and his spindle shanks revealed to a cold and cruel world +in a pair of faded pink ballet trousers. For the Reverend Percy they dug +out a fuzzy brown bathrobe with a hood, and tied a rope around his +waist. Me, I'm dolled up in green tights and a leather coat, and get a +bugle to carry.</p> + +<p>How frisky a few freak clothes make you feel, don't they? Mr. Robert +begins cuttin' up at once, and even Ferdie shows signs of wantin' to +indulge in frivolous motions, if he only knew how. The reg'lar movie +people gets the idea this is goin' to be some kind of a lark, and they +joins in, too. When the ladies appeared they sure looked stunnin'. Miss +Hampton has on a fancy flarin' collar two feet high, and a skirt like a +balloon; but she's a star in it just the same. Sister Marjorie, who's a +bit husky anyway,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">342</a></span> looks like a human hay-stack in that rig. And +Vee—well, say, she'd be a winner in any date costume you could name.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Whitey has posted his camera men in the shrubbery, where they +can get the focus without bein' seen, and has rounded us up for a little +preliminary coachin'.</p> + +<p>"Remember," says he, "what we're supposed to be doing is a wedding, back +in the days of Robin Hood, with all the merry villagers given a day off. +So make it snappy. We want action, lots of it. Let yourselves go. Laugh, +kick up your heels, let out the hi-yi-yips! Now, then! Are you ready?"</p> + +<p>"Wait until I start the band," says I. "Hey, there, Mr. Rovelli! Music +cue! Something zippy and raggy. Shoot it!"</p> + +<p>Say, I don't know how them early English parties used to put it over +when they got together for a mad, gladsome romp on the greensward, but +if they had anything on us they must have been double-jointed. For, with +Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton skippin' along hand in hand, Vee and me +keepin' step behind, a couple of movie ladies rushin' the Reverend Percy +over the grass rapid, and the other couples with arms linked, doin' +fancy steps to a jingly fox-trot—well, take it from me, it was gay +doin's.</p> + +<p>And when we'd galloped around over the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">343</a></span> lawn until we'd bunched for the +weddin' picture in front of this Greek theater effect, the Reverend +Percy had barely breath enough left to go through his lines. He does, +though, with Mr. Robert addin' joshin' remarks; and we winds up by +givin' the bride and groom three rousin' cheers and peltin' 'em with +roses as they makes a run through the double line we forms.</p> + +<p>Yep, that was some weddin', if I do say it. And the sit-down luncheon +I'd ordered at the Country Club in Mr. Robert's name wa'n't any skimpy +affair, even though we did spring an extra number on 'em offhand. For +the boss insists on goin' just as we are, in our costumes, and luggin' +along all the movie people. The reckless way he buys fizz for 'em, too!</p> + +<p>And, by the time the party breaks up, Whitey Weeks is so full of +gratitude and enthusiasm and other things that he near bubbles over.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says he, wringin' my hand fraternal, "you have given my +company the time of their lives. They're all strong for you. And, say, +I've got a thousand feet of film that's simply going to knock 'em cold +at the first-run houses. Any time I can——"</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it," says I. "Specially about that film. The boss don't +know yet that you had the camera goin'. Thought it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">344</a></span> only rehearsin', +I guess. All he's sure of now is that he's been married merry. And if he +ever forgets just how merry, for a dime he can go take a look and +refresh his mem'ry, can't he? But I'm bettin' he never forgets."</p> + +<p style='text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 3em;'>THE END</p> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<p class="center"><span style="font-size: 160%">JOHN FOX, JR’S.</span><br /> +<span style="font-size: 130%">STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS</span></p> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-family:sans-serif; font-size:75%">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.</p> + +<p>Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</p> + +<p>The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree +that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine +lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he +finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the +<i>foot-prints of a girl</i>. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and +the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder +chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine."</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME</p> + +<p>Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</p> + +<p>This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." It +is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often +springs the flower of civilization.</p> + +<p>"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he +came—he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, +seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and +mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery—a charming waif, +by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the +mountains.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.</p> + +<p>Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</p> + +<p>The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of +moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the +heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two +impetuous young Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's" +charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in the +love making of the mountaineers.</p> + +<p>Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some of +Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives.</p> + +<p class="center" style="font-size: smaller; font-style: italic">Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + +<hr class='full' /> + +<h2>ZANE GREY’S NOVELS</h2> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-family:sans-serif; font-size:75%">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS</p> + +<p>Colored frontispiece by W. Herbert Dunton.</p> + +<p>Most of the action of this story takes place near the turbulent Mexican +border of the present day. A New York society girl buys a ranch which +becomes the center of frontier warfare. Her loyal cowboys defend her +property from bandits, and her superintendent rescues her when she is +captured by them. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful +close.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">DESERT GOLD</p> + +<p>Illustrated by Douglas Duer.</p> + +<p>Another fascinating story of the Mexican border. Two men, lost in the +desert, discover gold when, overcome by weakness, they can go no +farther. The rest of the story describes the recent uprising along the +border, and ends with the finding of the gold which the two prospectors +had willed to the girl who is the story's heroine.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE</p> + +<p>Illustrated by Douglas Duer.</p> + +<p>A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon +authority ruled. In the persecution of Jane Withersteen, a rich ranch +owner, we are permitted to see the methods employed by the invisible +hand of the Mormon Church to break her will.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN</p> + +<p>Illustrated with photograph reproductions.</p> + +<p>This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, +known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert +and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of yellow crags, deep canons +and giant pines." It is a fascinating story.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT</p> + +<p>Jacket in color. Frontispiece.</p> + +<p>This big human drama is played in the Painted Desert. A lovely girl, who +has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New Englander. The +Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become the second +wife of one of the Mormons——</p> + +<p>Well, that's the problem of this sensational, big selling story.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">BETTY ZANE</p> + +<p>Illustrated by Louis F. Grant.</p> + +<p>This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful +young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. Life +along the frontier, attacks by Indians, Betty's heroic defense of the +beleaguered garrison at Wheeling, the burning of the Fort, and Betty's +final race for life, make up this never-to-be-forgotten story.</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy, Private Sec., by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. *** + +***** This file should be named 20627-h.htm or 20627-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/2/20627/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Torchy, Private Sec. + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Illustrator: F. Foster Lincoln + +Release Date: February 19, 2007 [EBook #20627] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +By SEWELL FORD + +TORCHY +TRYING OUT TORCHY +ON WITH TORCHY +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. +ODD NUMBERS + "Shorty McCabe" +SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +[Illustration: "Why didn't you tell me before that you had such a grand +name?" Frontispiece] + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +TORCHY, +PRIVATE SEC. + +BY +SEWELL FORD + +AUTHOR OF +TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY, +ON WITH TORCHY, ETC. + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY +F. FOSTER LINCOLN + +NEW YORK +GROSSET & DUNLAP +PUBLISHERS + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +COPYRIGHT, 1914, 1915, BY +SEWELL FORD + +COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY +EDWARD J. CLODE + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. The Up Call for Torchy 1 + II. Torchy Makes the Sir Class 19 + III. Torchy Takes a Chance 37 + IV. Breaking It to the Boss 56 + V. Showing Gilkey the Way 75 + VI. When Skeet Had His Day 95 + VII. Getting a Jolt from Westy 113 + VIII. Some Guesses on Ruby 129 + IX. Torchy Gets an Inside Tip 148 + X. Then Along Came Sukey 170 + XI. Teamwork with Aunty 188 + XII. Zenobia Digs Up a Late One 206 + XIII. Sifting Out Uncle Bill 223 + XIV. How Aunty Got the News 243 + XV. Mr. Robert and a Certain Party 259 + XVI. Torchy Tackles a Short Circuit 275 + XVII. Mr. Robert Gets a Slant 290 + XVIII. When Ella May Came By 306 + XIX. Some Hoop-la for the Boss 323 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. + +CHAPTER I + +THE UP CALL FOR TORCHY + + +Well, it's come! Uh-huh! And sudden, too, like I knew it would, if it +came at all. No climbin' the ladder for me, not while they run express +elevators. And, believe me, when the gate opened, I was right there with +my foot out. + +It was like this: One mornin' I'm in my old place behind the brass rail, +at the jump-end of the buzzer. I'm everybody's slave in general, and +Piddie's football in particular. You know--head office boy of the +Corrugated Trust. + +That's description enough, ain't it? And I'd been there so long---- +Honest, when I first went on the job I used to sneak the city directory +under the chair so my toes could touch. Now my knees rub the under-side +of the desk. Familiar with the place? Say, there are just seventeen +floor cracks between me and the opposite wall; it's fifty-eight steps +through into Old Hickory's roll-top and back; and the ink I've poured +into all them desk-wells would be enough to float a ferry-boat. + +At 8.30 on this special mornin' there I am, as I said; and at 2.21 P.M. +the same day I'm---- Well, of course, there was a few preliminaries, +though I didn't tag 'em as such when they come along. I expect the new +spring costume helped some. And the shave--oh, I was goin' it strong! No +cut-price, closing-out, House-of-Smartheimer bargain, altered free to +fit--not so, Lobelia! Why, I pawed over whole bales of stuff in a +sure-enough Fifth-ave. tailor works; had blueprint plans of the front +and side elevations drawn, even to the number of buttons on the cuffs, +and spent three diff'rent noon hours havin' it modeled on me before they +could pull a single bastin' thread. + +But it's some stream line effect at the finish, take it from me! Nothing +sporty or cake-walky, you understand: just quiet and dignified and +rich-like, same as any second vice or gen'ral manager would wear. +Two-button sack with wide English roll and no turn-up to the +trousers--oh, I should ripple! + +The shave was an afterthought. I'd worked up to it by havin' some of my +lurid locks trimmed, and as Giuseppe quits shearin' and asks if there'll +be anything else I rubs my hand casual across my jaw and remarks: + +"Could you find anything there to mow with a razor?" + +Could he? He'd go through the motions on a glass doorknob! + +Then it's me tilted back with my heels up and the suds artist decoratin' +my map until it looks like a Polish weddin' cake. Don't it hit you +foolish the first time, though? I felt like everybody in the shop, +includin' the brush boy and the battery of lady manicures, was all +gathered around pipin' me off as a raw beginner. So I stares haughty at +the ceilin' and tries to put on a bored look. + +I'd been scraped twice over, and was just bein' unwrapped from the hot +towel, when I turns to see who it is has camped down in the next chair, +and finds Mr. Robert gazin' at me curious. + +"Why!" says he, chucklin'. "If it isn't Torchy! Indulging in a shave, +eh?" + +"Oh, no, Sir," says I. "Been havin' my eye teeth tested for color +blindness, that's all." + +Mr. Robert grins amiable and reaches out for the check. "This is on me +then," says he. "I claim the privilege." + +As he comes in after luncheon he has to stop and grin again; and later +on, when I answers the buzzer, he makes me turn clear around so he can +inspect the effect and size up the new suit. + +"Excellent, Torchy!" says he. "Whoever your tailor may be, you do him +credit." + +"This trip I paid cash, though," says I. "It's all right, is it?" + +"In every particular," says he. "Why, you look almost grown up. May I +ask the occasion? Can it be that Miss Verona is on the point of +returning from somewhere or other?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Bermuda. Got in yesterday." + +"And Aunty, I trust," goes on Mr. Robert, "is as well as usual?" + +"I'm hoping for the worst," says I; "but I expect she is." + +We swaps merry expressions again, and Mr. Robert pats me chummy on the +shoulder. "You're quite all right, Torchy," says he, "and I wish you +luck." Then the twinkle fades out of his eyes and he turns serious. "I +wish," he goes on, "that I could do more than just--well, some time, +perhaps." And with another friendly pat he swings around to his desk, +where the letters are stacked a foot high. + +Say, he's the real thing, Mr. Robert is, no matter if he does take it +out in wishin'! It ain't every boss would do that much, specially with +the load he's carryin'. For you know since Old Hickory's been down South +takin' seven kinds of baths, and prob'ly cussin' out them resort doctors +as they was never cussed before, Mr. Robert Ellins has been doin' a +heap more than give an imitation of bein' a busy man. But he's there +with the wallop, and I guess it's goin' to take more'n a commerce court +to put the Corrugated out of business. + +Too bad, though, that Congress can't spare the time from botherin' about +interlockin' directors to suppress a few padlockin' aunties. Say, the +way that old girl does keep the bars up against an inoffensive party +like me is something fierce! I tries to call Vee on the 'phone as soon +as I've discovered where she is, and all the satisfaction I get is a +message delivered by a French maid that "Miss Hemmingway is otherwise +engaged." Wouldn't that crust you? + +But I've been up against this embargo game before, you know; so the +first chance I gets I slips uptown to do a little scoutin' at close +range. It's an apartment hotel this time, and I hangs around the +entrance, inspectin' the bay trees out front for half an hour, before I +can work up the nerve to make the Brodie break. Fin'lly I marches in +bold and calls for Aunty herself. + +"Is she in, Cephas?" says I to the brunette Jamaican in the olive-green +liv'ry who juggles the elevator. + +"I don't rightly know, Suh," says he; "but you can send up a call, Suh, +from the desk there, and----" + +"Ah, let's not disturb the operator," says I. "Give a guess." + +"I'm thinking she'll be taking her drive, Suh," says Cephas, blinkin' +stupid. + +"Then I'll have to go up and wait," says I. "She'd be mighty sore on us +both if she missed me. Up, Cephas!" + +"Yes, Suh," says he, pullin' the lever. + +I should have known, though, from one look at that to-let expression of +his, that his ideas on any subject would be vague. And this was a bum +hunch on Aunty. Out? Why, she was propped up in an easy-chair with a +sprained ankle, and had been for three days! And you should have seen +the tight-lipped, welcome-to-our-grand-jury-room smile that she greets +me with. + +"Humph!" she says. "You! Well, young man, what is your excuse this +time?" + +I grins sheepish and shuffles my feet. "Same old excuse," says I. + +"Do you mean to tell me," she gasps, "that you have the impudence to try +to see my niece, after all I have----" + +"Uh-huh," I breaks in. "Don't you ever take a sportin' chance yourself?" + +She gurgles somethin' throaty, goes purple in the gills, and prepares to +smear me on the spot; but I gives her the straight look between the +eyes and hurries on. + +"Oh, I know where you stand, all right," says I; "but ain't you drawin' +it a little strong? Say, where's the harm in me takin' Verona out for a +half-hour walk along the Drive? We ain't had a chat for over two months, +you know, not a word, and I'd kind of like to----" + +"No doubt," says Aunty. "Are you quite certain, however, that Verona +would like it too?" + +"I'm always guessin' where Vee is concerned," I admits; "but by the +latest dope I had on the subject, I expect she wouldn't object +strenuous." + +Aunty sniffs. "It is quite possible," says she. "Verona is a whimsical, +wilful girl at times, just as her poor mother was. Keeping up this +pretense of friendship for you is one of her silly notions." + +"Thanks awfully, Ma'am," says I. + +"Let me see," goes on Aunty, squintin' foxy at me, "you are employed in +Mr. Ellins's office, I believe?" + +I nods. + +"As office boy, still?" says she. + +"No, as a live one," says I. "Anybody that stays still very long at the +Corrugated gets canned." + +"Please omit meaningless jargon," says Aunty. "Does my niece know just +how humble a position you occupy? Have you ever told her?" + +"Why," says I, "I don't know as I've ever gone into details." + +"Ah-h-h!" says she. "I was certain that Verona did not fully realize. +Perhaps it would be as well that she----" and here she breaks off +sudden, like she'd been struck with a new idea. For a second or so she +gazes blank over the top of my head, and then she comes to with a brisk, +"That will do, young man! Verona is not at home. You need not trouble to +call again. The maid will show you out. Celeste!" + +And the next thing I knew I was ridin' down again with Cephas. I'm some +shunter myself; but I dip the colors to Aunty: she does it so neat and +sudden! It must be like the sensation of havin' a flight of trick stairs +fold up under you,--one minute you're most to the top, the next you're +pickin' yourself up at the bottom. + +What worries me most, though, is this hint she drops about Vee. Looks +like the old girl had something up her sleeve; but what it is I can't +dope out. So all I can do is keep my eyes open and my ear stretched for +the next few days, watchin' for something to happen. + +Course, I had one or two other things on my mind meanwhile; for down at +the gen'ral offices we wa'n't indulgin' in any spring-fever +symptoms,--not with three big deals under way, all this income mess of +deductin' at the source goin' on, and Mr. Robert's grand scheme for +dissolvin' the Corrugated--on paper--bein' worked out. Oh, sure, that's +the easiest thing we do. We've split up into nineteen sep'rate and +distinct corporations, with a diff'rent set of directors for each one, +and if the Attorney General can sleuth out where they're tied together +he's got to do some high-class snoopin' around. + +Maybe you think too, that little Sunny Haired Hank, guardin' the brass +gate, ain't wise to every move. Say, I make that part of my job. If I +didn't, I'd be towin' a grouchy bunch of minority kickers in where the +reorganization board was cookin' up a new stock-transfer game, or make +some other fool break that would spill the beans all over the pantry +floor. + +"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, chewin' his cigar nervous and pawin' through +pigeonholes, "ask Mr. Piddie what was done with those Mesaba contracts." + +"Filed under Associated Developments," says I. + +"Oh, yes, so they were," says he. "Thanks. And could you find out for me +when we organized General Transportation?" + +"Wa'n't that pulled off the day you waited for that Duluth delegation +to show up, just after Easter?" says I. + +"That's it," says he, "the fifteenth! Has Marling of Chicago been called +up yet?" + +"Nope," says I. "He'll be waitin' for the closing quotations, won't he? +But there's that four-eyed guy with the whiskers who's been hangin' +around a couple of hours." + +"Ah!" says Mr. Robert, huntin' out a card on his desk. "That Rowley +person! I'd forgotten. What does he want?" + +"Didn't say," says I. "Got a roll of something under one arm--crank +promoter, maybe. Will I ditch him?" + +"Not without being heard," says Mr. Robert. "I haven't time myself, +though. Perhaps Mr. Piddie might interview him and----" + +"Ah, Piddie!" says I. "He'd take one look at the old gink's round cuffs +and turn him down haughty. You know Piddie?" + +Mr. Robert smiles. "Then suppose you do it," says he. "Go ahead--full +powers. Only remember this: My policy is to give everyone who has a +proposition to submit to the Corrugated a respectful and adequate +hearing. Get the idea?" + +"I'm right behind you," says I. "The smooth stuff goes; and if we must +spill 'em, grease the skids. Me for Rowley!" + +And, say, you should have heard me shove over the diplomacy, tellin' +how sorry Mr. Robert was he couldn't see him in person; but wouldn't he +please state the case in full so no time might be lost in actin' one way +or the other? Inside of three minutes too, he has his papers spread out +and is explainin' his by-product scheme for mill tailings, with me busy +takin' notes on a pad. He had it all figured out into big money; but of +course I couldn't tell whether he had a sure thing, or was just +exercisin' squirrels in the connin' tower. + +"Ten millions a year," says he, "and I am offering to put this process +in operation for a five-per-cent. royalty! I've been a mine +superintendent for twenty years, young man, and I know what I'm talking +about." + +"Your spiel listens like the real thing, Mr. Rowley," says I; "only we +can't jump at these things offhand. We have to chew 'em over, you know." + +Rowley shakes his head decided. "You can't put me off for six months or +a year," says he. "I've been through all that. If the Corrugated doesn't +want to go into this----" + +"Right you are!" I breaks in. "Ten days is enough. I'll put this up to +the board next Wednesday week and get a decision. Much obliged to you, +Mr. Rowley, for givin' us first whack at it. We 're out for anything +that looks good, and we always take care of the parties that put us +next. That's the Corrugated way. Good afternoon, Mr. Rowley. Drop in +again. Here's your hat." + +And as he drifts out, smilin', pleased and hopeful, I glances over the +spring-water bottle, to see Mr. Robert standin' there listenin' with a +grin on. + +"Congratulations!" says he. "That peroration of yours was a classic, +Torchy; the true Chesterfield spirit, if not the form. I am tempted to +utilize your talent for that sort of thing once more. What do you say?" + +"Then put it over the plate while I'm on my battin' streak," says I. +"Who's next?" + +"A lady this time," says he; "perchance two ladies." And he develops +that eye twinkle of his. + +"Huh!" says I, twistin' my neck and feelin' of my tie. "You ain't +springin' any tea-pourin' stunt, are you?" + +"Strictly business," says he; "at least," he adds, chucklin', "that is +the presumption. As a matter of fact, I've just been called over the +'phone by Miss Verona Hemmingway's aunt." + +"Eh!" says I, gawpin'. + +"She holds some of our debenture bonds, you know," says Mr. Robert, "and +I gather that she has been somewhat disturbed by these reorganization +rumors." + +"But she ought to know," says I, "that our D.B.'s. are as solid as----" + +"The feminine mind," cuts in Mr. Robert, "does not readily grasp such +simple facts. But I haven't half an hour or more to devote to the +process of soothing her alarm; besides, you could do it so much more +gracefully." + +"Mooshwaw!" says I. "Maybe I could. But she's only one. Who's the +other?" + +"She failed to state," says Mr. Robert. "She merely said, 'We shall be +down about three o'clock.'" + +"We?" says I. Then I whistles. So that was her game! It was Vee she was +bringin' along! + +"Well?" says Mr. Robert. + +I expect I was some pinked up, and fussed, too, at the prospect. "Excuse +me," says I, "but I got to sidestep." + +"Why," says he, "I rather thought this assignment might be somewhat +agreeable." + +"I know," says I. "You mean well enough; but, honest, Mr. Robert, if +that foxy old dame's comin' down here with Miss Vee, I'm--well, I don't +stand for it, that's all! I'm off; with a blue ticket or without one, +just as you say." + +I was reachin' for my new lid too, when Mr. Robert puts out his hand. + +"Wouldn't that be--er--rather a serious breach of office discipline?" +says he. "Surely, without some good reason----" + +"Ah, say!" says I. "You don't think I'm springin' any prima donna whim, +do you? It's this plot to show me up through the wrong end of the +telescope that gets me sore." + +"Scarcely lucid," says he, lookin' puzzled. "Could you put it a little +simpler?" + +"I'll make it long primer," says I. "How do I stand here in the +Corrugated? You know, maybe, and sometimes I give a guess myself; but on +the books, and as far as outsiders go, I'm just plain office boy, ain't +I, like 'steen thousand other four-dollar-a-week kids that's old enough +to have work papers? I've been here goin' on four years now, and I ain't +beefed much about it, have I? That's because I've been used white and +the pay has been decent. Also I'm strong for you and Mr. Ellins. I +expect you know that, Mr. Robert. Maybe I ain't got it in me to be +anything but an office boy, either; but when it comes to goin' on +exhibition before certain parties as the double cipher on the east side +of the decimal--well, that's where I make my foolish play." + +"Ah!" says he, rubbin' his chin thoughtful. "Now I fully understand. And, +as you suggest, there has been for some time past something--er--equivocal +about your position here. However, just at this moment I have hardly time +to---- By Jove!" Here he breaks off and glances at the clock. "Two-fifteen, +and a general council of our attorneys called for half-past in the +directors' room! Someone else must attend to Miss Verona's estimable +aunt--positively! Now if there was anyone who could relieve you from +the gate----" + +"Heiny, the bondroom boy," says I. + +"Why not?" says Mr. Robert. "Then, if you should choose to stay and +prime yourself with facts about those debentures, there is that extra +desk in my office, you know. Would you mind using that?" + +"But see here, Mr. Robert," says I, "I wa'n't plannin' any masquerade, +either." + +"Quite so," says he; "nor I. It so happens, though, that the gentleman +whose name appears as president of our Mutual Funding Company is--well, +hardly in active business life. It is necessary that he be represented +here in some nominal capacity. The directors are now meeting in Room 19. +I have authority to name a private secretary pro tem. Do you accept the +position?" + +"With a pro-tem. salary, stage money barred?" says I. + +"Oh, most certainly," says he. + +"Then I'm the guy," says I. + +"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "These debentures come in your department. I +will notify Mr. Piddie that----" + +"Say, Mr. Robert," says I, grinnin' once more, "I'd break it gentle to +Piddie." + +I don't know whether he did or not; for five minutes after that Heiny +has my old seat, and I'm inside behind the ground-glass door, sittin' at +a reg'lar roll-top, with a lot of file cases spread out, puzzlin' over +this incorporation junk that makes the Fundin' Comp'ny the little joker +in the Corrugated deck. + +And next thing I know in comes Heiny, gawpin' foolish, and trailin' +behind him Aunty and Vee. I wa'n't throwin' any bluff about tryin' to +look busy, either. I was elbow-deep in papers, with a pen behind one ear +and ink on three fingers. + +You should have heard the gasp that comes from Aunty as she pipes off +who it is at the desk. My surprise as I'm discovered is the real thing +too. + +"Chairs, Boy!" says I, snappin' my fingers at Heiny. + +But Aunty catches her breath, draws herself up stiff, and waves away the +seats. "Young man," says she, "I came here to consult with Mr. Robert +Ellins about----" + +"Yes'm," says I, "I understand. Debenture six's, ain't they? Not +affected by the reorganization, Ma'am. You see, it's like this: Those +bonds were issued in exchange for----" + +"Young man," she breaks in, aimin' her lorgnette at me threatenin', "I +prefer to discuss this matter with Mr. Robert." + +"Sorry," says I, "but as he's very busy he asked me to----" + +"And who, pray," snaps the old girl, "are you?" + +"Representin' the president of the Mutual Funding Comp'ny," says I. + +"Just how?" she demands. + +"Private secretary, Ma'am," says I. + +"Humph!" she snorts. "This is too absurd of Mr. Robert--wholly absurd! +Come, Verona." + +And as she sails out I just has time for a glance at Vee, and catches a +wink. Believe me, though, a friendly wink from one of them gray eyes is +worth waitin' for! She follows Aunty through the door with a +handkerchief stuffed in her mouth like she was smotherin' a snicker; so +I guess Vee was on. And I'm left feelin' all warmed up and chirky. + +Mr. Robert comes in from his lawyer session just before closin' time; +rubbin' his hands sort of satisfied too. + +"Well," says I, jumpin' up from the swing-chair, "it was some jolt you +slipped Aunty. I expect I can resign now?" + +"Oh, I trust not," says he. "The board indorsed your appointment an hour +ago. Keep your desk, Torchy. It is to be yours from now on." + +"Wh-a-a-at?" says I, my eyes bugged. "Off the gate for good, am I?" + +"We are hoping," says he, "that the gate's loss will be the Funding +Company's gain." + +I gurgles gaspy a couple of times before I catches my breath. "Will it?" +says I. "Say, just watch me! I'm goin' to show you that fundin' is my +long suit!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +TORCHY MAKES THE SIR CLASS + + +Say, it's all right, gettin' the quick boost up the ladder, providin' +you don't let it make you dizzy in the head. And, believe me, I was near +it! You see, bein' jumped from office boy to private sec, all in one +afternoon, was some breath-takin' yank. + +I expect the full force of what had happened didn't hit me until here +the other mornin' when I strolls into the Corrugated gen'ral offices on +the new nine o'clock schedule and finds this raw recruit holdin' down my +old chair behind the rail. Nice, smooth-haired, bright-eyed youngster, +with his ears all scoured out pink and his knickerbocker suit brushed +neat. He hops up and opens the gate real respectful for me. + +"Well, Son," says I, "what does Mother call you?" + +"Vincent, Sir," says he. + +"Some class to that, too," says I. "But how do you know, Vincent, that +I'm one of the reg'lar staff and not canvassin' for something?" + +"I don't, Sir," says he, "until I see if you know where to hang your +hat." + +"Good domework, Vincent," says I. "On that I'm backin' you to hold the +job." + +"Thank you, Sir," says he. "I told Mother I'd do my best." + +And with that he springs a bashful smile. It was the "Sir" every time +that caught me, though. For more'n four years I'd been just Torchy or +Boy to all hands in the shop, from Old Hickory down; and now all of a +sudden I finds there's one party at least that rates me in the Sir +class. Kind of braced me for swingin' past all that row of giggly lady +typists and on into Mr. Robert's private office. + +Thrill No. 2 arrived half an hour later. In postin' myself as to what +this Mutual Fundin' Company really is that I'm supposed to be workin' +for, I needed some papers from the document safe. And for the first time +I pushes the buzzer button. Prompt and eager in comes Vincent, the fair +haired. + +"Know which is Mr. Piddie, do you?" says I. + +"Oh, yes, Sir," says he. + +"Well," says I, "tell him I need those--no, better ask him to step in +here a minute." + +Honest, I wa'n't plannin' to rub it in, either. Course, I'd done a good +deal of trottin' for Piddie, and a lot of it wa'n't for anything else +than to let him show his authority; but I didn't hold any grudge. I'd +squared the account in my own way. How he was goin' to take it now I +was the one to send for him, I didn't know; but there wa'n't any use +dodgin' the issue. + +And you should have seen Piddie make his first official entrance! You +know how stiff and wooden he is as a rule? Well, as he marches in over +the rug and comes to a parade rest by the desk, he's about as limber as +a length of gas pipe. And solemn? That long face of his would have +soured condensed milk! + +"Yes, Sir?" says he. And to me, mind you! It come out a little husky, +like it was bein' filtered through strong emotions; but there it is. +Piddie has sirred me his first "Sir." + +He knows a roll-top when he sees one, Piddie does, and he ain't omittin' +any deference due. You know the type? He's one of the kind that was born +to be "our Mr. Piddie"; the sort that takes off his hat to a +vice-president, and holds his breath in the presence of the big wheeze. +But, say, I don't want any joss-sticks burned for me. + +"Ditch it, Piddie," says I, "ditch it!" + +"I--er--I beg pardon?" says he. + +"The Sir stuff," says I. "Just because I'm behind the ground glass +instead of the brass rail don't make me a sacred being, or you a +lobbygow, does it? I guess we've known each other too long for that, +eh?" And I holds out the friendly mitt. + +Honest, he's got a human streak in him, Piddie has, if you know where +to strike it. The cast-iron effect comes out of his shoulders, the +wooden look from his face. He almost smiles. + +"Thank you, Torchy," says he. "I--er--my congratulations on your +new----" + +"We'll spread 'em on the minutes," says I, "and proceed to show the +Corrugated some teamwork that mere salaries can't buy. Are you on?" + +He was. Inside of three minutes he'd chucked that stiff-necked, flunky +pose and was coachin' me like a big brother, and by the time he'd beat +into my head all he knew about the Fundin' Comp'ny we was as chummy as +two survivors of the same steamer wreck. Simple, I know; but this little +experience made me feel like I'd signed a gen'ral peace treaty with the +world at large. + +I hadn't, though. An hour later I runs up against Willis G. Briscoe. +He's kind of an outside development manager, who makes preliminary +reports on new deals. One of these cold-eyed, chesty parties, Willis G. +is; tall and thin, and with a big, bowwow voice that has a rasp to it. + +"Huh!" says he, as he discovers me busy at the desk. "I heard of this +out in Chicago three days ago; but I thought it must be a joke." + +"Them reporters do get things straight now and then, don't they?" says +I. + +"Reporters!" he snorts. "Philip wrote me about it." + +"Oh!" says I. "Cousin Philip, eh?" + +And that gave me the whole plot of the piece. Cousin Phil was a +cigarette-consumin' college discard that Willis G. had been nursin' +along in the bondroom, waitin' for a better openin'; and this jump of +mine had filled a snap job that he'd had his eyes on for Cousin. + +"I suppose you're only temporary, though," says he. + +"That's all," says I. "Mr. Ellins will be resignin' in eight or ten +years, I expect, and then they'll want me in his chair. Nice mornin', +ain't it?" + +"Bah!" says he, registerin' deep disgust, as they say in the movie +scripts. "You'll do well if you last eight or ten days." + +"How cheerin'!" says I, and as he swings off with a final glare I tips +him the humorous wink. + +Why not? No young-man-afraid-of-his-job part for me! Briscoe might get +it away from me, or he might not; but I wa'n't goin' to get panicky over +it. Let him do his worst! + +He didn't need any urgin'. With a little scoutin' around he discovers +that about the only assignment on my hook so far is this Rowley matter: +you know, the old inventor guy with the mill-tailings scheme. And the +first hint I had that he was wise to that was when Mr. Robert calls me +over after lunch and explains how this Rowley business sort of comes in +Mr. Briscoe's department. + +"So I suppose you'd better turn it over to him," says he. + +"Just as you say," says I. "The old gent is due at two-fifteen, and I'll +shunt him onto Briscoe." + +Which I did. And at two-thirty-five Briscoe breezes in with his report. + +"Nothing to it," says he. "This Rowley person has a lot of half-baked +ideas about briquets and retort recoveries, and talks vaguely of big +profits; but he's got nothing practical. I shipped him off." + +"But," says Mr. Robert, "I think he was promised that his schemes should +have a consideration by the board." + +"Very well," says Willis G. jaunty. "I'll give 'em a report next +meeting. Wednesday, isn't it? Hardly worth wasting their time over, +though." + +And here I'd been boostin' the Rowley proposition to Mr. Robert good and +hard, almost gettin' him enthusiastic over it! I was smeared, that's +all! My first stab at makin' myself useful in my new swing-chair job has +been brushed aside as a beginner's bungle; and there sits Mr. Robert, +prob'ly wonderin' if he hadn't made a mistake in takin' me off the gate! + +I stares at a row of empty pigeonholes for a solid hour after that, not +doin' a blamed thing but race my thinkin' gears tryin' to find out where +I was at. This dummy act that I'd been let in for might be all right for +some; but it didn't suit me. I've got to have action in mine. + +So, long before quittin' time, I slams the desk cover down and pikes out +on Rowley's trail. He might be a dead duck; but I wanted to know how and +why. I had his address all right, and it didn't take me long to locate +him in a fifth-story loft down on lower Sixth-ave. It's an odd joint +too, with a cot bed in one corner, a work bench along the avenue side, a +cook-stove in the middle, and a kitchen table where the coffeepot was +crowded on each side by a rack of test tubes. Old Rowley himself, with +his sleeves rolled up, is sittin' in a rickety arm chair peelin' +potatoes. He's grouchy too. + +"Oh, it's you, is it?" says he. "Well, you might just as well trot right +back to the Corrugated Trust and tell 'em that Old Hen Rowley don't give +two hoots for their whole outfit." + +"I take it you didn't get on so well with Mr. Briscoe?" says I. + +"Briscoe!" he grunts savage. "Who could talk business to a smart Alec +like that! He knew it all before I'd begun. You'd think I was trying to +sell him a gold brick. All right! We'll see what the Bethlehem people +have to say." + +"What?" says I. "Before you get the final word from us?" + +"I've had it," says he. "Briscoe is final enough for me." + +"You're easy satisfied," says I, "or else you're easy beat. I didn't +take you for a quitter, either." + +Say, that got to him. "Quitter, eh!" says he. "See here, Son, how long +do you think I've been plugging at this thing? Nine years. And for the +last four I've been giving it all my time, day in and day out, and many +a night as well. I've been living with it, in this loft here, like a +blessed hermit; testing and perfecting, trying out my processes, and +fighting the Patent Office sharks between times. Nine years--the best of +my life! Call that quitting, do you?" + +"Well, that is sticking around some," says I. "Think you've got your +schemes so they'll work?" + +"I don't think," says he; "I know." + +"But what's the good," I goes on, "if you can't make other folks see +you've got a good thing?" + +"I can, though," he says. "Why, any person with even ordinary +intelligence can----" + +"That's me," says I. "My nut is just about a stock pattern size, six +and seven-eighths, or maybe seven. Come, try it on me, if it's so +simple. Now what about this retort business?" + +That got him goin'. Rowley drops the potatoes, and in another minute +we're neck-deep in the science of makin' an ore puddin', doin' stunts +with the steam, skimmin' dividends off the pot, and coinin' the slag +into dollars. + +I ain't lettin' him slip over any gen'ral propositions on me, either. +I'm right there with the Missouri stuff. He has to go clear back to +first principles every time he makes a statement, and work up to it +gradual. Course, I was keepin' him jollied along too, and while it must +have been sort of hopeless at the start, inoculatin' a cauliflower like +mine with higher chemistry, I fin'lly showed one or two gleams that +encouraged him to keep on. Anyway, we hammered away at the subject, only +stoppin' to make coffee and sandwiches, until near two o'clock in the +mornin'. + +"Help!" says I, glancin' at the nickel alarm clock. "My head feels like +a stuffed sausage. A little more, and I won't know whether I'm a nitrous +sulphide or a ferrous oxide of bromo seltzer. Let's take the rest in +another dose." + +Rowley chuckles and agrees to call it a day, I didn't let on anything at +the office next morning; but by eight A.M. I was planted at the +roll-top with my elbows squared, tryin' to write out as much of that +chemistry dope as I could remember. And it's surprising ain't it, what a +lot of information you can sop up when you do the sponge act in earnest? +I found there was a lot of points, though, that I was foggy on; so I +makes an early getaway and puts in another long session with Rowley. + +And, take it from me, by Tuesday I was well loaded. Also I had my plan +of campaign all mapped out; for you mustn't get the idea I was packin' +my bean full of all this science dope just to see if it would stand the +strain. Not so, Clarice! I'd woke up to the fact that I was bein' +carried along by the Corrugated as a sort of misfit inner tube stowed in +the bottom of the tool-box, and that it was up to me to make good. + +So the first openin' I has I tackles Mr. Robert on the side. + +"About that Rowley proposition?" says I. + +"Oh, yes," says he. "I fear Mr. Briscoe thinks unfavorably of it." + +"Then he's fruity in the pan," says I. + +"We have been in the habit of accepting his judgment in such matters," +says Mr. Robert. + +"Maybe," says I; "but here's once when he's handin' you a stall. And +you're missin' out on something good too." + +Mr. Robert smiles skeptical. "Really?" says he. "Perhaps you would like +to present a minority report?" + +"Nothin' less," says I. "Oh, it may listen like a joke, but that's just +what I got in mind." + +"H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Robert. "You realize that Briscoe is one of the +leading mining authorities in the country, I suppose, and that we pay +him a large salary as consulting engineer?" + +I nods. "I know," says I. "And the nearest I ever got to seein' a mine +was watchin' 'em excavate for the subway. I'm admittin' all that." + +"I may add too," goes on Mr. Robert, "that he has a way of stating his +opinions quite convincingly." + +"Yep," says I, "I should judge that. But if I think he's bilkin' you on +this, is it my play to sit behind and chew my tongue?" + +"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, his sportin' instincts comin' to the top. +"You shall have your chance, Torchy. The directors shall hear your +views; to-morrow, at two-thirty. You will follow Briscoe." + +"Let's not bill it ahead, then," says I, "if it'll be fair to spring it +on him." + +"Quite," says Mr. Robert; "and rather more amusing, I fancy. I will +arrange it." + +"I'd like to have old Rowley on the side lines, in case I get stuck," +says I. + +"Oh, certainly," says he. "Bring Mr. Rowley if you wish. And if there +are any preparations you would like to make----" + +"I got one or two," says I, startin' for the door; "so mark me off until +about to-morrow noon." + +Busy? Well, say, a kitten with four feet stuck in the flypaper didn't +have anything on me. I streaks it for Sixth-ave. and lands in Rowley's +loft all out of breath. + +"What's up?" says he. + +"The case of Briscoe _et al. vs._ Rowley," says I. "It's to be threshed +out before the full Corrugated board to-morrow at two-thirty. I'm the +counsel for the defense." + +"Well, what of it?" says he. + +"I want to use you as Exhibit A," says I, "in case of an emergency." + +"All right," says he. "I'll go along if you say so." + +"Good!" says I. And then came the hard part. "Rowley," I goes on, "what +size collar do you wear?" + +"But what has that to do with it?" says he. + +"Now don't get peeved," says I; "but you know the kind our directors +are,--flossy, silk-lined old sports, most of 'em; and they're apt to +size up strangers a good deal by their haberdashery. So I was wonderin' +if I couldn't blow you to a neat, pleated bosom effect with attached +cuffs." + +"Oh, I see," says Rowley, glancin' at his gray flannel workin' shirt. +"Anything else?" + +"I don't expect you'd want to part with that face shrubbery, or have it +landscaped into a Vandyke, eh?" says I. "You know they ain't wearin' the +bushy kind now in supertax circles." + +"Would you insist on my being manicured too?" says he, chucklin' easy. + +"It would help," says I. "And this would be my buy all round." + +"That's a generous offer, Son," says he, "and I don't know how long it's +been since anyone has taken so much personal interest in Old Hen Rowley. +Seems nice too. I suppose I am rather a shabby old duffer to be visiting +the offices of great and good corporations. Yes, I'll spruce up a bit; +and if I find it costs more than I can afford--now let's see how my cash +stands." + +With that he digs into a hip pocket and unlimbers a roll of corn-tinted +kale the size of your wrist. Maybe they wa'n't all hundreds clear to the +core, but that's what was on the outside. + +"Whiffo!" says I. "Excuse me for classin' you so near the bread line; +but by your campin' in a loft, and the longshoreman's shirt, and so +on----" + +"Very natural, Son," he breaks in. "And I see your point all the +clearer. I've no business going about so. The whiskers shall be trimmed. +But your people up at the Corrugated have evidently made up their minds +to turn us down." + +"Maybe," says I; "but if they do, it won't be on any snap decision of +Briscoe's. And unless I get tongue tied at the last minute we're goin' +to have a run for our money." + +That was what worried me most,--could I come across with the standin' +spiel? But, believe me, I wa'n't trustin' to any offhand stuff! I'd got +to know in advance what I meant to feed 'em, line for line and word for +word. By ten o'clock that night I had it all down on paper too--and +perhaps I didn't chew the penholder and leak some from the brow while I +was doin' it! + +Then came the rehearsin'. Say, you should have seen me risin' dignified +behind the washstand in my room, strikin' a Bill Bryan pose, and smilin' +calm at the bedposts as I launched out on my speech. Not that I was +tryin' to chuck any flowers of oratory. What I aimed to do was to tell +'em about Rowley's schemes as simple and straight away as I could, +usin' one-syllable words for the most part, cannin' the slang, and +soundin' as many final G's as my tongue would let me. Before I turned in +too, I had it almost pat; but I hardly dared to go to sleep for fear it +would get away from me. + +Say, but it ain't any cinch, this breakin' into public life, is it? The +obscure guy with the dinner pail and the calloused palms thinks he has +hard lines; but when the whistle blows he can wipe his trowel on his +overalls and forget it all until next day. But here I tosses around +restless in the feathers, and am up at daybreak goin' over my piece +again, trembly in the knees, with a vivid mental picture of how cheap +I'd feel if I should go to pieces when the time came. + +A good breakfast pepped me up a lot, though, and by noon I had them few +remarks of mine so I could say 'em backwards or forwards. How they was +goin' to sound outside of my room was another matter. I had my doubts +along that line; but I was goin' to give 'em the best I had in stock. + +It was most time for the session to begin when Vincent boy trots in with +a card announcin' Mr. Henry Clay Rowley. And, say, when this +smooth-faced party in the sporty Scotch tweed suit and the new model +pearl gray lid shows up, I has to gasp! He's had himself tailored and +barbered until he looks like an English investor come over huntin' six +per cent. dividends for a Bank of England surplus. + +"Zowie!" says I. "Some speed to you, Mr. Rowley. And class? Say, you +look like you was about to dump a trunkful of Steel preferred on the +market, instead of a few patents." + +"I'm giving your advice a thorough trial, you see," says he. + +"That's the stuff!" says I. "It's the dolled up gets the dollars these +days. Be sure and sit where they'll get a good view." + +Then we went into the directors' room and heard Willis G. Briscoe +deliver his knock. He does it snappy and vigorous, and when he's through +it didn't listen like anything more could be said. He humps his eyebrows +humorous when Mr. Robert announces that perhaps the board might like to +hear another view of the subject. + +"Torchy," goes on Mr. Robert, "you have the floor." + +For a second or so, though, I felt like spreadin' out so I wouldn't slip +through a crack. All of a sudden too, my mouth had gone dry and I had a +panicky notion that my brain had ossified. Then I got a glimpse of them +shrewd blue eyes of Rowley's smilin' encouragin' at me, the first few +sentences of my speech filtered back through the bone, I got my tongue +movin', and I was off. + +Funny how you can work out of a scare that way, ain't it? Why, say, the +first thing I knew I'd picked out old D. K. Rutgers, the worst fish-face +in the bunch, and was throwin' the facts into him like I was shovelin' +coal into a cellar chute. Beginnin' with Rowley's plan for condensin' +commercial acids from the blast fumes, explainin' the chemical process +that produced 'em, and how they could be caught on the fly and canned in +carboys for the trade, I galloped through the whole proposition, backin' +up every item with figures and formulas; until I showed 'em how the slag +that now cost 'em so much to get rid of could be sold for road +ballastin' and pressed into buildin' blocks at a profit of twenty +dollars a ton. I didn't let anything go just by statin' it bald. I took +Briscoe's objections one by one, shot 'em full of holes with the +come-backs Rowley had coached me on, and then proceeded to clinch the +argument until I had old Rutgers noddin' his head. + +"And these, Gentlemen," I winds up with, "are what Mr. Briscoe calls the +vague, half-baked ideas of an unpractical inventor. He's an expert, Mr. +Briscoe is! I'm not. I wouldn't know a supersaturated solution of +methylcalcites from a stein of Hoboken beer; but I'm willin' to believe +there's big money in handling either, providing you don't spill too much +on the inside. Mr. Rowley claims you're throwing away millions a year. +He says he can save it for you. He wants to show you how you can juggle +ore so you can save everything but the smell. He's here on the spot, and +if you want to quiz him about details, go as deep as you like." + +Did they? Say, that seance didn't break up until six-fifteen, and before +the board adjourns Rowley had a whackin' big option check in his fist, +and a resolution had gone through to install an experiment plan as soon +as it could be put up. An hour before that Willis G. Briscoe had done +the silent sneak, wearin' his mouth droopy. + +Mr. Robert meets me outside with the fraternal grip and says he's proud +of me. + +"Thanks, Mr. Robert," says I. "It was a case of framin' up a job for +myself, or else four-flushin' along until you tied the can to me. And I +need the Corrugated just now." + +"No more, I'm beginning to suspect," says he, "than the Corrugated needs +you." + +Which was some happy josh for an amateur private sec to get from the +boss! Eh? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +TORCHY TAKES A CHANCE + + +Say, I expected that after I got to be a salaried man, with a +swing-chair in Mr. Robert's private office, I'd be called on only to +pull the brainy stuff, calm and dignified, without any outside chasin' +around. I had a soothin' idea it would be a case of puttin' in my +mornin's dictatin' letters to gen'ral managers, and my afternoons to +holdin' interviews with the Secretary of the Treasury, and so on. I was +lookin' for plenty of high-speed domework, but nothin' more wearin' on +the arms than pushin' a call button or usin' a rubber stamp. + +But somehow I can't seem to do finance, or anything else, without +throwin' in a lot of extra pep. No matter how I start, first thing I +know I'm mixed up with quick action, and as likely as not gettin' my +clothes mussed. This last stunt, though--believe me I couldn't have got +more thrills if I'd joined a circus! + +It opens innocent enough too. I was moochin' around the bondroom when I +happens to glance over the transfer book and notices that a big block of +our debenture 6's are listed as goin' to the Federated Tractions. And +the name of the party who's about to swap the 6's for Tractions +preferred is a familiar one. It's Aunty's. Uh-huh--Vee's! + +Maybe you remember how Aunty played up her skittish symptoms about them +same bonds a few weeks back, the time she planned to exhibit me to Vee +in my office boy job and got so badly jolted when she finds me posin' as +a private sec instead? Went away real peeved, Aunty did that time. And +now it looks like she was takin' it out by unloadin' her bond holdin's. +It's to be some swap too, runnin' up into six figures. + +"Chee!" thinks I. "That's an income, all right, with Tractions payin' +between 7 and 9, besides cuttin' a melon now and then." + +They have their gen'ral offices three floors below us, you know. Not +that I wouldn't have had a line on 'em anyway; for whatever that bunch +of Philadelphia live wires gets hold of is worth watchin'. Say, they'd +consolidate city breathin' air if they could, and make it pay dividends. +It's important to note too, that they're buyin' into Corrugated so deep. +I mentions the fact casual to Mr. Robert. + +"Really," says he, liftin' his eyebrows surprised. "Federated Tractions! +Are you certain?" + +"Unless our registry clerk has had a funny dream," says I. "The notice +was listed yesterday. And you know how grouchy the old girl was on us." + +"H-m-m-m!" says he, drummin' his fingers nervous. "Thanks, Torchy. I +must look into this." + +Seemed to worry Mr. Robert a bit; so maybe that's why I had my ears +stretched wider'n usual. It wa'n't an hour later that I runs across Izzy +Budheimer down in the Arcade. He's on the Curb now, Izzy is, and by the +size of the diamond horseshoe decoratin' the front of his silk shirt he +must be tradin' some in wildcats. Hails me like a friend and brother, +Izzy does, tries to wish a tinfoil Fumadora on me, and gives me the +happy josh about bein' boosted off the gate. + +"You'll be gettin' wise to all the inside deals now, eh?" says he, +winkin' foxy. "And maybe we might work off something together. Yes?" + +"Sure!" says I. "I'll come down every noon with the office secrets and +let you peddle 'em around Broad street from a pushcart. Gwan, you +parrot-beaked near-broker! Why, I wouldn't trust tellin' you the time of +day!" + +Izzy grins like I'd paid him a compliment. "Such a joker!" says he. "But +listen! Which side do the Tractions people come down on?" + +"Federated?" says I. "North corridor, just around the corner. Sleuthin' +around that bunch, are you? What's doing in Tractions?" + +"How should I know?" protests Izzy, openin' his eyes innocent. "Maybe I +got a customer on the general staff, ain't it?" + +"You'd be scoutin' up here at this time of day after a ten-dollar +commission, wouldn't you?" says I. "And with that slump in Connecticut +Gas in full blast! Can it, Izzy! I know a thing or two about Tractions +myself." + +"Yes?" he whispers persuasive, almost holdin' his breath. "What do you +hear, now?" + +"Don't say I told you," says I, "but they're thinkin' of puttin' in +left-handed straps for south-paw passengers." + +Izzy looks pained and disgusted. He's got a serious mind, Izzy has, and +if you could take a thumbprint of his brain, it would be all fractions +and dollar signs. + +"I have to meet my cousin Abie Moss," says he, edgin' away. "He has a +bookkeeper's job with Tractions for a month now, and I promised his aunt +I would ask how he's comin'." + +"How touchin'!" says I as he moves off. + +I gazes after him curious a minute, and then follows a sudden hunch. Why +not see just how much of a bluff this was about Cousin Abie? So I slips +around by the cigar stand, steps behind a pillar, and keeps him in +range. Three or four minutes I watched Izzy waitin' at the elevator +exit, without seein' him give anyone the fraternal grip. Then he seems +to quit. He drifts back towards the Arcade with the lunch crowd, and I +was about to turn away when I lamps him bein' slipped a piece of paper +by a short, squatty-built guy who brushes by him casual. Izzy gathers it +in with never a word and strolls over to the 'phone booths, where he +lets on to be huntin' a number in the directory. All he does there, +though, is spread out that paper, read it through hasty, and then tear +it up and chuck it in the waste basket. + +"Huh!" says I, seein' Izzy scuttle off towards Broadway. "Looks like +there was a plot to the piece. I wonder?" + +And just for the fun of the thing I collected them twenty-eight pieces +of yellow paper, carried 'em over to my lunch place, and spent the best +part of my noon-hour piecin' 'em together. What I got was this, +scribbled in lead pencil: + +Grebel out. Larkin melding. Teg morf rednu. + +"Whiffo!" thinks I. "What kind of a Peruvian dialect is this?" + +Course the names was plain enough. Everybody knows Grebel and Larkin, +and that they're the big wheezes in that Philly crowd. But what then? +Had Grebel gone out to lunch? And was Larkin playin' penuchle? +Thrillin', if true. Then comes this "Teg morf rednu" stuff. Was that +Russian, or Chinese? + +"Heiney," says I, callin' the dough-faced food juggler. "Heiney," I +repeats solemn, "Teg morf rednu." + +Not a smile from Heiney. He grabs the bill of fare and begins to hunt +through the cheese list panicky. + +"Never mind," says I, "you won't find it there. But here's another: What +do you do when you meld a hundred aces, say?" + +A look of almost human intelligence flickers into Heiney's face. +"_Ach!_" says he. "By the table you pud 'em--so!" + +"Thanks, Heiney," says I. "That helps a little." + +So Larkin was chuckin' something on the table, was he! But this other +dope, "Teg morf rednu?" Say, I'd come back to that after every bite. I +wrote it out on an envelope, tried runnin' it together and splittin' it +up diff'rent, and turned it upside down. Then in a flash I got it. + +When Mr. Robert sails in from the club I was waitin' for him. He'd heard +a rumor that Grebel was to retire soon. Also he'd met young Larkin in +the billiard room, and found that the fam'ly was goin' abroad for the +summer. + +"But all that may mean nothing at all, you know," says Mr. Robert. + +"And then again," says I. "Study that out and see if it don't tally with +your dope," and I produces a copy of Izzy's wireless. + +Mr. Robert wrinkles his forehead over it without any result. "What is +it?" says he. + +"An inside tip on Tractions," says I, and sketches out how I'd got it. + +"Oh, I see now," says he. "That about Grebel? But what is melding? And +this last--'Teg morf rednu'? I can make no sense of that." + +"Try it backwards," says I. + +"Why--er--by Jove!" says he. "Get from under, eh? Then--then there is a +slump coming. And with all that new stock issue, I'm not surprised. But +that hits Miss Vee's aunt rather heavily, doesn't it? That is, if the +deal has gone through." + +"Who's her lawyers?" says I. "They ought to know." + +"Of course," says Mr. Robert, reachin' for the 'phone. "Winkler, Burt & +Winkler. Look up the number, will you? Eh? Broad, did you say?" + +And inside of three minutes he has explained the case and got the +verdict. "They don't know," says he. "The transfer receipts were sent +for her to sign last night. If she's signed them, there's nothing to be +done." + +"But if she hasn't?" says I. + +"Then she mustn't," says Mr. Robert. "It would mean letting that crowd +get a foothold in Corrugated, and a loss of thousands to her. See if +the tape shows any recent fluctuations." + +"Bluey-ooey!" says I, runnin' over the mornin' sales hasty. "Opened at +seven-eighths, then 500 at three-quarters, another block at a half, 300 +at a quarter--why, it's on the toboggan!" + +"She must be found and warned at once," says Mr. Robert. + +"Am I the guy?" says I. + +"You are," says he. "And minutes may count. I'll get the address for +you. It's in that----" + +"Say," I throws over my shoulder on my way to the door, "whose aunt is +this, anyway?" + +Looked like a simple matter for me to locate Aunty. And if she was out +takin' her drive or anything--why, I could be explainin' to Vee while I +waited. That would be tough luck, of course; but I could stand it for +once. + +At their apartment hotel I finds nobody home but Celeste, the maid, all +dolled up like Thursday afternoon. She hands it to me cold and haughty +that Madame and Ma'mselle are out. + +"I could almost guess that from the lid you're wearin'," says I. "One of +Miss Vee's, ain't it?" + +She pinks up and goes gaspy at that. "Please," she begins pleadin', "if +you would not mention----" + +"I might forget to," I breaks in, "if you'll tell me where I can find +'em quickest." + +And Celeste gets the information out rapid. They're house-partyin' at +the Morley Beckhams, over at Quehassett, Long Island. "Rosemere" is the +name of the joint. + +"Me for Quehassett!" says I, dashin' for the elevator. + +But, say, I needn't have lost my breath. Parts of Long Island you can +get to every half-hour or so; but Quehassett ain't one of 'em. Huntin' +it up on the railroad map, I discovers that it's 'way out to the deuce +and gone on the north shore, and the earliest start I can get is the +four o'clock local. + +Ever cruise around much on them Long Island branch lines? Say, it must +be int'restin' sport, providin' you don't care whether you get there +this week or next. I missed one connection by waitin' for the brakeman +to call out the change. And when I'd caught another train back to the +right junction I got the pleasin' bulletin that the next for Quehassett +is the theater train, that comes along somewhere about midnight. + +So there I was hung up in a rummy little commuter town where the chief +industry is sellin' bungalow sites on the salt marsh. Then I tackles the +'phone, which results in three snappy conversations with a grouchy +butler at sixty cents a throw, but no real dope on the Beckhams or +their guests. + +Well, it's near two A.M. when I fin'lly lands in Quehassett, which is no +proper time to call on anybody's aunt. Everything is shut tight too; so +I spreads out an evenin' edition on a baggage truck and turns in weary. +I'd overlooked pullin' down the front shades to the station, though, and +the next thing I knew the sun was hittin' me square in the face. + +I wanders around Quehassett until a Dago opens up a little fruitstand. +He sold me some bananas and a couple of muskmelons for breakfast, and +points out which road leads to Rosemere. It's down on the shore about a +mile and a half, and I strolls along, eatin' fruit and enjoyin' the +early mornin' air. + +Some joint Rosemere turns out to be,--acres of lawn, and rows of striped +awnin's at the windows. The big iron gates was locked, with nobody in +sight; so I has plenty of time to write a note to Vee, beggin' her for +the love of soup, if Aunty hasn't signed the transfer papers, not to let +her do it until she hears from me. My scheme was to get one of the help +to take the message to Vee before she got up. + +Must have been near seven o'clock when I gets hold of one of the +gardeners, tips him a dollar, and drags out of him the fact that cook +says how all the folks are off on the yacht, which is gen'rally +anchored off the dock. He don't know if it's there now or not. It was +last night. I can tell by goin' down. The road follows that little +creek. + +So I gallops down to the shore. No yacht in sight. There's a point of +land juts out to the left. Maybe she's anchored behind that. Comin' down +along the creek too, I'd seen an old tub of a boat tied up. Back I +chases for it. + +Looked simple for me to keep on; but when I get started on a trail I +never know when to stop. I was paddlin' down the creek, bound for +nowhere special, when along comes a sporty-dressed young gent, wearin' +puttee leggin's and a leather cap with goggles attached. He's luggin' a +five-gallon can of gasoline, and strikes me for a lift down the shore a +bit. + +"Keepin' your car in the Sound, are you?" says I, shovin' in towards the +bank. + +"It's an aerohydro," says he. + +"Eh?" says I. "A--a which?" + +"An air boat, you know," says he. "I'm going to try her out. Bully +morning for a flight, isn't it?" + +"Maybe," says I. "Get aboard. Always have to cart your gas down this +way?" + +At that he grows real chatty. Seems this is a brand-new machine, just +delivered the night before, and he's keepin' it a dead secret from the +fam'ly, so Mother won't worry. He says that's all nonsense, though; for +he's been takin' lessons on the quiet for more than a year, has earned +his pilot's license, and can handle any kind of a plane. + +"Just straight driving, of course," he goes on. "I don't attempt spiral +dips, or exhibition work. I've never been up more than five hundred +feet. And this is such a safe type. Oh, the folks will come around to it +after they've seen me up once or twice. I want to surprise 'em. There +she is, up the shore. See!" + +Hanged if I hadn't missed it before, when I was lookin' for the yacht! +Spidery lookin' affairs, ain't they, when you get close to, with all +them slim wire guys? And the boat part is about as substantial as a +pasteboard battleship. While he's pourin' in the gasoline I paddles +around and inspects the thing. + +"Five hundred feet up?" says I. "Excuse me!" + +He grins good natured. "Think you wouldn't like it, eh?" says he. "Why?" + +"Too cobwebby," says I. "Why, them wings are nothin' but cloth." + +"Best quality duck, two layers," says he. "And the frame has a tensile +strength of three hundred and fifty pounds to the square foot. Isn't +that motor a beauty? Ninety-horse." + +"Guess I'll take my joy ridin' closer to the turf, though," says I. +"Course, I've always had a batty notion I'd like to fly some time; +but----" + +"Hello!" he breaks in. "There goes the Katrina!" and he points out a big +white yacht that's slippin' along through the water about half a mile +off. "It's the Beckhams'," he goes on. "They're our neighbors here at +Rosemere, you know. They have guests from town, and my folks are aboard. +By Jove! Here's my chance to surprise 'em. I say, would you mind +paddling around and giving me a shove off?" + +But I stands gawpin' out at the yacht. "The Morley Beckhams?" says I. + +"Yes, yes!" says he. "But hurry, please. I want to catch them." + +"You--you----?" But I was thinkin' too rapid to talk much. Vee and Aunty +was out on that boat, and maybe at the next landin' Aunty would mail +them transfers. If it was goin' to hit her alone, I might have stood it +calmer; but there was Vee. + +"Say," I sputters out, "ain't there room for two?" + +"Why, ye-e-e-es," says he sort of draggy. "I've never taken up a +passenger, though; but I've thought that----" + +"Then why not now?" says I. "I want to go the worst way." + +"But a moment ago," he protests, "you----" + +"It's different now," says I. "There's a party on that yacht I want to +get word to,--Miss Hemmingway. I got to, that's all! And what's a neck +more or less? I'll take the chance if you will." + +"By Jove!" says he. "I'll do it. Shove off. Here, stick your oar into +the mud and push. That's it! Now climb in and give that old tub of yours +a shove so she'll clear that left plane. Good work! Here's your seat, +beside me. Don't get your knees in the way of that lever, please, or put +your feet on that cross bar. That's my rudder control. Now! Are you +ready? Then I'll start her." + +Say, I didn't have time to work up any spine chills, or even say a +"Now-I-lay-me." He reaches up behind him, gives the crank a whirl, and +the next thing I know we're shootin' over the water like an express +train, with the spray flyin', the wind whistlin' in my ears, and eight +cylinders exhaustin' direct within two feet of the back of my neck. Talk +about speedin'! When you're travelin' through the water at a +forty-mile-an-hour gait, and so close you can trail your fingers, you +know all about it. Although it's a calm mornin', with hardly a ripple, +the motion was a little bumpy. No wonder! + +Then all of a sudden I has a sinkin' sensation somewhere under my vest, +the bumpin' stops, and I feels like I'd shuffled off somethin' heavy. I +had--a billion tons or more! Glancin' over the side, I sees the water +ten or a dozen feet below us. We were in the air. And, believe me, I +reaches out for something solid to hold onto! All I could find was a +two-inch upright, and I takes a fond grip on that. If it had been a +telephone pole, I'd felt better. + +My sporty-dressed friend smiles encouragin' over his shoulder. I hope I +smiled back; but I wouldn't swear to it. Not that I'm scared. Hush, +hush! But I wa'n't used to bein' shot through the air so impetuous. I +takes another glance overboard. Hel-lup! Someone's pullin' Long Island +Sound from under us. The water must have been fifty or sixty feet down, +and gettin' more so. For a while after that I looks straight ahead. +What's the use keepin' track of how high you are, anyway? You'll only +bore just so big a hole in the water if you fall. + +But it's funny how soon you can get over feelin's like that. Inside of +three minutes I'd quit grippin' the stanchion and was sittin' there +peaceful, enjoyin' the ride. We seemed to be sailin' along on a level +now, about housetop high, and so far as I could see we was as steady as +if we'd been on a front veranda. There's no sway or rock to the machine +at all. I'd been holdin' myself as rigid as if I'd been in a tippy +canoe; but now I took a chance on shiftin' my position a little. I even +leaned over the side. Nothing happened. That was comfortin'. How easy +and smooth it was, glidin' along up there! + +Meanwhile we'd taken a wide sweep and was leavin' the yacht far behind. + +"Say," I shouts to my aviatin' friend, "how do we get to her?" + +But it's no use tryin' to converse with that roar in your ears. I points +back to the boat. He nods and smiles. + +"Wait!" he yells at me. + +With that he pulls his plane lever and we begins to climb some more. You +hardly know you're doin' it, though. Up or down don't mean anything in +the air, where the goin' is all the same. Only as we gets higher the +Sound narrows and Long Island stretches further and further. And, take +it from me, that's the way to view scenery! Up and up we slid, just +soarin' free and careless. He turns to me with another grin, to see how +I'm takin' it. And this time I grins back. + +"About three hundred!" he shouts, puttin' his mouth close. "Eighty an +hour too!" + +"Zippy stuff!" says I. + +Then he gives me a nudge, juggles his deflectors, and down we shoots. I +never had any part of the map come at me so fast. Seemed like the Sound +was just rushin' at us, and I was tryin' to guess how far into the +bottom we'd go, when he pulls the lever again and we skims along just +above the surface. Shootin' the chutes--say, that Coney stunt seems tame +compared to this! + +In no time at all we've made a circle around the yacht and are comin' up +behind her once more. We could see the people pilin' out on deck to +rubber at us. In a minute more we'd be even with 'em. And how was I +goin' to deliver that message to Vee? Just then I looks in my lap, where +I was grippin' my straw lid between my knees, and discovers that I've +lugged along one of them muskmelons in a paper bag. That gives me my +hunch. + +Fishin' out the note I'd written, I slits the melon with my knife and +jabs it in. Then I shows the breakfast bomb to my friend and points to +the yacht. He nods. Some bean, that guy had! + +"I'll sail over her," he howls in my ear. "You can drop it on the deck." + +There was no time for gettin' ready or takin' practice shots. Up we +glides into the air right over the white wake she was leavin'. The folks +on her was wavin' to us. First I made out Vee, standin' on the little +bridge amidships, lookin' cute and classy in white serge. Then I spots +Aunty, who's tumbled out in her boudoir cap and kimono. I leans over and +waves enthusiastic. + +"Hey, Vee!" I shouts. "Watch this!" + +I'd picked out the widest part of the deck forward, where there's no +awnin' up, and when it was exactly underneath I lets the melon go, hard +as I could shoot it. Some shot that was too! I saw it smash on the deck, +watched one of the sailors stare at it stupid, and then caught a glimpse +of Vee rushin' towards the spot. Course I wa'n't sure she knew me at +that distance, or had heard what I said; but trust her for doin' the +right thing at the right time! + +"There's Mother!" I hears my sporty friend roar out. "I say! Mother! +It's Billy, you know." + +No doubt about Mother's catchin' on. Maybe she'd suspicioned, anyway; +but the last I saw of her she was slumpin' into the arms of a +white-haired old gent behind her. + +Another minute and we'd left the Katrina behind like she had seven +anchors out. On we went and up once more, turnin' with a dizzy swoop and +skimmin' past her, back towards where we started from. And just as I was +wishin' he'd go faster and higher we settles down on the water, dashes +in behind the dock, the motor slows up, the plane floats drag in the +mud, and it's all over. + +Took the yacht near an hour to get back to us. Mother had insisted, and +when she found Billy all safe and sound she fell on his neck and forgave +him. + +As for me? Well, maybe I didn't have some swell report to turn in to Mr. +Robert! I had him listenin' with his mouth open before I got through +too. + +"Aunty was mighty suspicious first off," says I; "but after she'd used +the long distance and got a line on how Tractions was waverin', she +warms up quite a lot, for her. Uh-huh! Gives me a vote of thanks, and +says she'll call off the deal." + +"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "I am speechless with admiration. Your +business methods are certainly advanced. I had not thought of flying as +a modern requisite for a commercial career." + +"The real thing in high finance, eh?" says I. "And, say, me for the air +after this! I've swallowed the bug. I know how a bloomin' seagull feels +when he's on the wing; and, believe me, it's got everything else in the +sport line lookin' like playin' tag with your feet tied!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BREAKING IT TO THE BOSS + + +I don't admit it went to my head,--not so bad as that,--only maybe my +chest measure had swelled an inch or so, and I wouldn't say my heels +wa'n't hittin' a bit hard as I strolls dignified up and down the private +office. + +You see, Mr. Robert was snitchin' a couple of days off for the Newport +regatta, and he'd sort of left me on the lid, as you might say. So far +as there bein' any real actin' head of the Corrugated Trust for the time +being--well, I was it. Anyway, I'd passed along some confidential dope +to our Western sales manager, stood by to take a report from the special +audit committee, and had an interview with the president of a big bond +house, all in one forenoon. That was speedin' up some for a private sec, +wa'n't it? + +And now I was just markin' time, waitin' for what might turn up, and +feelin' equal to pullin' off any sort of a deal, from matchin' Piddie +for the lunches to orderin' a new stock issue. What if the asphalt over +on Fifth-ave. was softenin' up, with the mercury hittin' the nineties, +and half the force off on vacations? I had a real job to attend to. I +was doin' things! + +And as I stops by the roll-top to lean up against it casual I had that +comf'table, easy feelin' of bein' the right man in the right place. You +know, I guess? You're there with the goods. You ain't the whole works +maybe; but you're a special, particular party, one that can push buttons +and have 'em answered, paw over the mail, or put your initials under a +signature. + +And right in the midst of them rosy reflections the door to the private +office swings open abrupt and in pads a stout old party wearin' a +generous-built pongee suit and a high-crowned Panama. Also there's +something familiar about the bushy eyebrows and the lima bean ears. It's +Old Hickory himself. I chokes down a gasp and straightens up. + +"Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "I thought you was down at the Springs?" + +"Didn't think I'd been banished for life, did you?" says he. + +"But Mr. Robert," I goes on, "didn't look for you until----" + +"No doubt," he breaks in. "Robert and those fool doctors would have kept +me soaking in those infernal mud baths until I turned into a crocodile. +I know. I'm a gouty, rheumatic old wreck, I suppose; but I'll be dad +blistered if I'm going to end my days wallowing in medicated mud! I've +had enough. Where is everybody?" + +So I has to account for Mr. Robert, tell how Mrs. Ellins and Marjorie +and Son-in-Law Ferdie are up to Bar Harbor, and hint that they're +expectin' him to come up as soon as he lands. + +"That's their programme, is it?" he growls. "Think I'm going to spend +the rest of the season sitting on a veranda taking pills, do they? Well, +they're mistaken!" + +And off he goes into his own room. I don't know what he thought he was +goin' to do there. Just habit, I expect. For we've been gettin' along +without Old Hickory for quite some time now, while he's been away. First +off he tried to keep in touch with things by night letters, then he had +a weekly report sent him; but gradually he lost the run of the new +deals, and for the last month or so he'd quit firin' over any orders at +all. + +Through the open door I could see him sittin' at his big, flat-topped +mahogany desk, starin' around sort of aimless. Then he pulls out a +drawer and shuffles over some old papers that had been there ever since +he left. Next he picks up a pen and starts to make some notes. + +"Boy!" he sings out. "Ink!" + +Course I could have pushed the buzzer and had Vincent do it; but seein' +how nobody had put him wise to the change, I didn't feel like +announcin' it myself. So I fills the inkwell, chases up a waste basket +for him, and turns on the electric fan. + +"Now bring the mail!" says he snappy. + +He was back to; so it was safe to smile. You see, I'd attended to all +the mornin' deliveries, sorted out what I knew had to be held over for +Mr. Robert, opened what was doubtful, and sent off a few answers +accordin' to orders. But, after all, he was the big boss. He had a right +to go through the motions if he wanted to. So I lugs in the mail, dumps +it in the tray, and leaves him with it. + +Must have been half an hour later, and I was back at my own desk doping +out a schedule I'd promised to fix up for Mr. Robert, when I glances up +to find Old Hickory wanderin' around the room absent-minded. He's +starin' hard at a letter he holds in one paw. All of a sudden he +discovers me at the roll-top. For a second he scowls at me from under +the bushy eyebrows, and then comes the explosion. + +"Boy!" he sings out. "What the hyphenated maledictions are you doing +there?" + +Well, I broke it to him as gentle as I could. + +"Promoted, eh?" he snorts. "To what?" + +And I explains how I'm private secretary to the president of the Mutual +Funding Company. + +"Never heard of such an organization," says he. "What is it, anyway?" + +"Dummy concern mostly," says I, "faked up to stall off the I. C. C." + +"Eh?" he gawps. + +"Interstate Commerce Commission," says I. "We beat 'em to it, you know, +by dissolvin'--on paper. Had to have somebody to use the rubber stamp; +so they picked me off the gate." + +"Humph!" he grunts. "So you're no longer an office boy, eh? But I had +you hopping around like one. How was that?" + +"Guess I got a hop or two left in me," says I, "specially for you, Mr. +Ellins." + +"Hah!" says he. "Also more or less blarney left on the tongue. Well, +young man, we'll see. As office boy you had your good points, I +remember; but as----" Then he breaks off and repeats, "We'll see, Son." +And he goes to studyin' the letter once more. + +Fin'lly he sends for Piddie. They confabbed for a while, and as Piddie +comes out he's still explainin' how he's sure he don't know, but most +likely Mr. Robert understands all about it. + +"Hang what Robert understands!" snaps Old Hickory. "He isn't here, is +he? And I want to know now. Torchy, come in here!" + +"Yes, Sir," says I, scentin' trouble and salutin' respectful. + +"What about these Universal people refusing to renew that Manistee +terminal lease?" he demands. + +And if he'd asked how many feathers in a rooster's tail I'd been just as +full of information. But from what Piddie's drawn by declarin' an alibi, +it didn't look like that was my cue. + +"Suppose I get you the correspondence on that?" says I, and rushes out +after the copybook. + +But the results wa'n't enlightenin'. We'd applied for renewal on the old +terms, the Universal folks had sent back word that in due course the +matter would be taken up, and that's all until this notice comes in that +there's nothin' doin'. "Inexpedient under present conditions," was the +way they put it. + +"I expect Mr. Robert will be back Monday," I suggests cautious. + +"Oh, do you?" raps out Old Hickory. "And meanwhile this lease expires +to-morrow noon, leaving us without a foot of ore wharf anywhere on the +Great Lakes. What does Mr. Robert intend to do then--transport by +aeroplane? Just asked pleasant and polite for a renewal, did he? And +before I could make 'em grant the original I all but had their directors +strung up by the thumbs! Hah!" + +He settles back heavy in his chair and sets them cut granite jaws of his +solid. He don't look so much like an invalid, after all. There's good +color in his cheeks, and behind the droopy lids you could see the +fighting light in his eyes. He glances once more at the letter. + +"Hello!" says he. "I thought their main offices were in Chicago. This is +from Broadway, International Utilities Building. Perhaps you can tell me +what they're doing down there?" + +"Subsidiary of I. U.," says I. "Been listed that way all summer." + +"Then," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim, "we have to do once more with no +less a personage than Gedney Nash. Well, so be it. He and I have fought +out other differences. We'll try again. And if I'm a back number, I'll +soon know it. Now get me a list of our outside security holdings." + +That was his first order; but, say, inside of half an hour he had +everybody in the shop, from little Vincent up to the head of the bond +department, doin' flipflops and pinwheels. Didn't take 'em long to find +out that he was back on the job, either. + +"Breezy with that now!" I'd tell 'em. "This is a rush order for the old +man. Sure he's in there. Can't you smell the sulphur?" + +In the midst of it comes a hundred-word code message from Dalton, our +traffic superintendent, sayin' how he'd been notified to remove his +wharf spurs within twenty-four hours and askin' panicky what he should +do about it. + +"Tell him to hold his tracks with loaded ore trains, and keep his shirt +on," growls Old Hickory over his shoulder. "And 'phone Peabody, Frost & +Co. to send up their railroad securities expert on the double quick." + +That's the way it went from eleven A.M. until two-thirty, and all the +lunch I indulged in was two bites of a cheese sandwich that Vincent +split with me. At two-thirty-five Old Hickory jams on his hat and +signals for me. + +"Gather up those papers and come along," says he. "I think we're ready +now to talk to Gedney Nash." + +I smothered a gasp. Was he nutty, or what? You know you don't drop in +offhand on a man like Gedney Nash, same as you would on a shrimp bank +president, or a corporation head. You hear a lot about him, of +course,--now givin' a million to charity, then bein' denounced as a +national highway robber,--but you don't see him. Anyway, I never knew of +anyone who did. He's the man behind, the one that pulls the strings. +Course, he's supposed to be at the head of International Utilities, but +he claims not to hold any office. And you know what happened when +Congress tried to get him before an investigatin' committee. All that +showed up was a squad of lawyers, who announced they was ready to +answer any questions they couldn't file an exception to, and three +doctors with affidavits to prove that Mr. Nash was about to expire from +as many incurable diseases. So Congress gave it up. + +Yet here we was, pikin' downtown without any notice, expectin' to find +him as easy as if he was a traffic cop on a fixed post. Well, we didn't. +The minute we blows into the arcade and begins to ask for him, up slides +a smooth-talkin' buildin' detective who listens polite what I feed him +and suggests that if we wait a minute he'll call up the gen'ral offices. +Which he does and reports that they've no idea where Mr. Nash can be +found. Maybe he's gone to the mountains, or over to his Long Island +place, or abroad on a vacation. + +"Tommyrot!" says Old Hickory. "Gedney Nash never took a vacation in his +life. I know he's in New York now." + +The gentleman sleuth shrugs his shoulders and allows that if Mr. Ellins +ain't satisfied he might go up to Floor 11 and ask for himself. So up we +went. Ever in the Tractions Buildin'? Say, it's like bein' caught in a +fog down the bay,--all silence and myst'ry. I expect it's the +headquarters of a hundred or more diff'rent corporations, all tied up +some way or other with I. U. interests; but on the doors never the name +of one shows: just "Mr. So-and-So," "Mr. Whadye Callum," "Mr. +This-and-That." Clerks hurry by you with papers in their hands, walkin' +soft on rubber heels. They tap respectful on a door, it opens silent, +they disappear. When they meet in the corridors they pass without +hailin', without even a look. You feel that there's something doin' +around you, something big and important. But the gears don't give out +any hum. It's like a game of blind man's bluff played in the dark. + +And the sharp-eyed, gray-haired gent we talked to through the brass +gratin' acted like he'd never heard the name Gedney Nash before. When +Old Hickory cuts loose with the tabasco remarks at him he only smiles +patient and insists that if he can locate Mr. Nash, which he doubts, +he'll do his best to arrange an interview. It may take a day, or a week, +or a month, but---- + +"Bah!" snorts Old Hickory, turnin' on his heel, and he cusses eloquent +all the way down and out to the taxi. + +"Seems to me I've heard how Mr. Nash uses a private elevator," I +suggests. + +"Quite like him," says Old Hickory. "Think you could find it?" + +"I could make a stab," says I. + +But at that I knew I was kiddin' myself. Why not? Ain't there been times +when whole bunches of live-wire reporters, not to mention relays of +court deputies, have raked New York with a fine-tooth comb, lookin' for +Gedney Nash, without even gettin' so much as a glimpse of his limousine +rollin' round a corner. + +"Suppose we circle the block once or twice, while I tear off a few +Sherlock Holmes thoughts?" says I. + +Mr. Ellins sniffs scornful; but he'd gone the limit himself, so he gives +the directions. I leaned back, shut my eyes, and tried to guess how a +foxy old guy like Nash would fix it up so he could do the unseen duck +off Broadway into his private office. Was it a tunnel from the subway +through the boiler basement, or a bridge from the next skyscraper, +or---- But the sight of a blue cap made me ditch this dream stuff. Funny +I hadn't thought of that line before--and me an A. D. T. once myself! + +"Hey, you!" I calls out the window. "Wait up, Cabby, while we take on a +passenger. Yes, you, Skinny. Hop in here. Ah, what for would we be +kidnappin' a remnant like you? It's your birthday, ain't it? And the +gentleman here has a present for you--a whole dollar. Eh, Mr. Ellins?" + +Old Hickory looks sort of puzzled; but he forks out the singleton, and +the messenger climbs in after it. A chunky, round-faced kid he was too. +I pushed him into one of the foldin' front seats and proceeds to apply +the pump. + +"What station do you run from, Sport?" says I. + +"Number six," says he. + +"Oh, yes," says I. "Just back of the Exchange. And is old Connolly chief +down there still?" + +"Yes, Sir," says he. + +"Give him my regards when you get back," says I, "and tell him Torchy +says he's a flivver." + +The kid grins enthusiastic. + +"By the way," I goes on, "who's he sendin' out with the Nash +work--Gedney Nash's, you know?" + +"Number 17," says he, "Loppy Miller." + +"What!" says I. "Old Loppy carryin' the book yet? Why, he had grown kids +when I wore the stripes. Well, well! Cagy old duffer, Loppy. Ever ask +him where he delivers the Nash business?" + +"Yep," says the youngster, "and he near got me fired for it." + +"But you found out, didn't you?" says I. + +He glances at me suspicious and rolls his eyes. "M-m-m-m," says he, +shakin' his head. + +"Ah, come!" says I. "You don't mean that a real sure-fire like you could +be shunted that way? There'd be no harm in your givin' a guess, and if +it was right--well, we could run that birthday stake up five more; +couldn't we, Mr. Ellins?" + +Old Hickory nods, and passes me a five-spot prompt. + +"Well?" says I, wavin' it careless. + +The kid might have been scared, but he had the kale-itch in his fingers. +"All I know," says he, "is that Loppy allus goes into the William Street +lobby of the Farmers' National." + +"Go on!" says I. "That don't come within two numbers of backin' against +the Traction Buildin'." + +"But Loppy allus does," he insists. "There's a door to the right, just +beyond the teller's window. But you can't get past the gink in the gray +helmet. I tried once." + +"Secret entrance, eh?" says I. "Sounds convincin'. Anyway, I got your +number. So here's your five. Invest it in baby bonds, and don't let on +to Mother. You're six to the good, and your job safe. By-by!" + +"What now?" says Old Hickory. "Shall we try the secret door?" + +"Not unless we're prepared to do strong arm work on the guard," says I. +"No. What we got to frame up now is a good excuse. Let's see, you can't +ring in as one of the fam'ly, can you?" + +"Not as any relative of Gedney's," says Old Hickory. "I'm not built +right." + +"How about his weak points?" says I. "Know of any fads of his?" + +"Why," says Mr. Ellins, "he is a good deal interested in landscape +gardening, and he goes in for fancy poultry, I believe." + +"That's the line!" says I. "Poultry! Ain't there a store down near +Fulton Market where we could buy a sample?" + +I was in too much of a rush to go into details, and it must have seemed +a batty performance to Old Hickory; but off we chases, and when we drove +up to the Farmers' National half an hour later I has a wicker cage in +each hand and Mr. Ellins has both fists full of poultry literature +displayed prominent. Sure enough too, we finds the door beyond the +teller's window, also the gink in the gray helmet. He's a husky-built +party, with narrow-set, suspicious eyes. + +"Up to Mr. Nash's," says I casual, makin' a move to walk right past. + +"Back up!" says he, steppin' square across the way. "What Mr. Nash?" + +"Whadye mean, what Mr. Nash?" says I. "There ain't clusters of 'em, are +there? Mr. Gedney Nash, of course." + +"Wrong street," says he. "Try around on Broadway." + +"What a kidder!" says I. "But if you will delay the champion hen expert +of the country," and I nods to Old Hickory, "just send word up to Mr. +Nash that Mr. Skellings has come with that pair of silver-slashed blue +Orpingtons he wanted to see." + +"Blue which?" says the guard. + +"Ah, take a look!" says I. "Ain't they some birds? Gold medal winners, +both of 'em." + +I holds open the paper wrappings while he inspects the cacklers. And, +believe me, they was the fanciest poultry specimens I'd ever seen! +Honest, they looked like they'd been got up for the pullets' annual +costume ball. + +"And Mr. Nash," I goes on, "said Mr. Skellings was to bring 'em in this +way." + +The guard takes another glance at Old Hickory, and that got him; for in +his high-crowned Panama the boss does look more like a fancy farmer than +he does like the head of the Corrugated. + +"I'll see," says he, openin' a little closet and producin' a 'phone. He +was havin' some trouble too, tellin' someone just who we was, when I +cuts in. + +"Ah, just describe the birds," says I. "Silver-slashed blue Orpingtons, +you know." + +Does it work? Say, in less than two minutes we was being towed through a +windin' passage that fin'lly ends in front of a circular shaft with a +cute little elevator waitin' at the bottom. + +"Pass two," says the guard. + +Another minute and we're bein' shot up I don't know how many stories, +and are steppin' out into the swellest set of office rooms I was ever +in. A mahogany door opens, and in comes a wispy, yellow-skinned, +dried-up little old party with eyes like a rat. Didn't look much like +the pictures they print of him, but I guessed it was Gedney. + +"Some prize Orpingtons, did I understand?" says he, in a soft, purry +voice. "I don't recall having----" Then he gets a good look at Old +Hickory, and his tone changes sudden. "What!" he snaps. "You, Ellins? +How did you get in here?" + +"With those fool chickens," says the boss. + +"But--but I didn't know," goes on Mr. Nash, "that you were interested in +that sort of thing." + +"Glad to say I'm not," comes back Old Hickory. "Just a scheme of my +brilliant-haired young friend here to smuggle me into the sacred +presence. Great Zacharias, Nash! why don't you shut yourself in a steel +vault, and have done with it?" + +Gedney bites his upper lip, annoyed. "I find it necessary," says he, "to +avoid interruptions. I presume, however, that you came on some errand of +importance?" + +"I did," says Old Hickory. "I want to get a renewal of that Manistee +terminal lease." + +Say, of all the scientific squirmin', Gedney Nash can put up the +slickest specimen. First off he lets on not to know a thing about it. +Well, perhaps it was true that International Utilities did control those +wharves: he really couldn't say. And besides that matter would be left +entirely to the discretion of---- + +"No, it won't," breaks in Old Hickory, shakin' a stubby forefinger at +him. "It's between us, Nash. You know what those terminal privileges +mean to us. We can't get on without them. And if you take 'em away, it's +a fight to a finish--that's all!" + +"Sorry, Ellins," says Mr. Nash, "but I can do nothing." + +"Wait," says Old Hickory. "Did you know that we held a big block of your +M., K. & T.'s? Well, we do. They happen to be first lien bonds too. And +M., K. & T. defaulted on its last interest coupons. Entirely +unnecessary, I know, but it throws the company open to a foreclosure +petition. Want us to put it in?" + +"H-m-m-m!" says Mr. Nash. "Er--won't you sit down?" + +Now if it had been two common, everyday parties, debatin' which owned a +yellow dog, they'd gone hoarse over it; but not these two plutes. Gedney +Nash asks Old Hickory only three more questions before he turns to the +wicker cages and begins admirin' the fancy poultry. + +"Excellent specimens, excellent!" says he. "And in the pink of condition +too. I have a few Orpingtons on my place; but--oh, by the way, Ellins, +are these really intended for me?" + +"With Torchy's compliments," says Old Hickory. + +"By Jove!" says Gedney. "I--I'm greatly obliged--truly, I am. What +plumage! What hackles! And--er--just leave that terminal lease, will +you? I'll have it renewed and sent up. Would you mind too if I sent you +out by the Broadway entrance?" + +I didn't mind, for one, and I guess the boss didn't; for the last office +we passes through was where the gray-haired gent camped watchful behind +the brass gratin'. + +"Well, wouldn't that crimp you?" I remarks, givin' him the passin' grin. +"Our old friend Ananias, ain't it?" + +And he never bats an eyelash. + +But Gedney wa'n't in that class. Before closin' time up comes a +secretary with the lease all signed. I was in the boss's room when it's +delivered. + +"Gee, Mr. Ellins!" says I. "You don't need any more mud baths, I guess." + +All the rise that gets out of him is a flicker in the mouth corners. +"Young man," says he, "whose idea was it, taking you off the gate?" + +"Mr. Robert's," says I. + +"I am glad to learn," says he, "that Robert had occasional lapses into +sanity while I was away. What about your salary? Any ambitions in that +direction?" + +"I only want what I'm worth," says I. + +"Oh, be reasonable, Son," says he. "We must save something for the +stockholders, you know. Suppose we double what you're getting now? Will +that do?" + +And the grin I carries out is that broad I has to go sideways through +the door. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SHOWING GILKEY THE WAY + + +I got to say this about Son-in-Law Ferdie: He's a help! Not constant, +you know; for there's times when it seems like his whole scheme of +usefulness was in providin' something to hang a pair of shell-rimmed +glasses on, and givin' Marjorie Ellins the right to change her name. But +outside of that, and furnishin' a comic relief to the rest of the +fam'ly, blamed if he don't come in real handy now and then. + +Last Friday was a week, for a sample. I meets up with him as he's +driftin' aimless through the arcade, sort of caromin' round and round, +bein' bumped by the elevator rushers and watched suspicious by the floor +detective. + +"What ho, Ferdie!" I sings out, grabbin' him by the elbow and swingin' +him out of the line of traffic. "This ain't no place to practice the +maxixe." + +"I--I beg--oh, it's you, Torchy, is it?" says he, sighin' relieved. +"Where do I go to send a telegram?" + +"Why," says I, "you might try the barber shop and file it with the +brush boy, or you could wish it on the candy-counter queen over there +and see what would happen; but the simple way would be to step around to +the W. U. T. window, by the north exit, and shove it at Gladys." + +"Ah, thanks," says he, "North exit, did you say? Let's see, that +is--er----" + +"'Bout face!" says I, takin' him in tow. "Now guide right! Hep, hep, +hep--parade rest--here you are! And here's the blank you write it on. +Now go to it!" + +"I--er--but I'm not quite sure," protests Ferdie, peelin' off one of his +chamois gloves, "I'm not quite sure of just what I ought to say." + +"That bein' the case," says I, "it's lucky you ran into me, ain't it? +Now what's the argument?" + +Course it was a harrowin' crisis. Him and Marjorie had got an invite +some ten days ago to spend the week-end at a swell country house over on +Long Island. They'd hemmed and hawed, and fin'lly ducked by sendin' word +they was so sorry, but they was expectin' a young gent as guest about +then. The answer they got back was, "Bring him along, for the love of +Mike!" or words to that effect. Then they'd debated the question some +more. Meanwhile the young gent had canceled his date, and the time has +slipped by, and here it was almost Saturday, and nothin' doing in the +reply line from them. Marjorie had thought of it while they was havin' +lunch in town, and she'd chased Ferdie out to send a wire, without +tellin' him what to say. + +"And you want someone to make up your mind for you, eh?" says I. "All +right. That's my long suit. Take this: 'Regret very much unable to +accept your kind invitation'--which might mean anything, from a previous +engagement to total paralysis." + +"Ye-e-es," says Ferdie, hangin' his bamboo stick over his left arm and +chewin' the penholder thoughtful, "but Marjorie'll be awfully +disappointed. I think she really does want to go." + +"Ah, squiffle!" says I. "She'll get over it. Whose joint is it, anyway?" + +"Why," says he, "the Pulsifers', you know." + +"Eh?" says I. "Not the Adam K.'s place, Cedarholm?" + +Ferdie nods. And, say, it was like catchin' a chicken sandwich dropped +out of a clear sky. The Pulsifers! Didn't I know who was there? I did! +I'd had a bulletin from a very special and particular party, sayin' how +she'd be there for a week, while Aunty was in the Berkshires. And up to +this minute my chances of gettin' inside Cedarholm gates had been null +and void, or even worse. But now--say, I wanted to be real kind to +Ferdie! + +"One or two old friends of Marjorie's are to be there," he goes on +dreamy. + +"They are?" says I. "Then that's diff'rent. You got to go, of course." + +"But--but," says he, "only a moment ago you----" + +"Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "You don't want Marjorie grumpin' around for the +next week, do you, wishin' she'd gone, and layin' it all to you?" + +Ferdie blinks a couple of times as the picture forms on the screen. +"That's so," says he. "She would." + +"Then gimme that blank," says I. "Now here, how's this, 'Have at last +arranged things so we can come. Charmed to accept'? Eh?" + +"But--but there's Baby's milk," objects Ferdie. "Marjorie always watches +the nurse sterilize it, you know." + +"Do up a gallon before you leave," says I. + +"It's such a puzzling place to get to, though," says Ferdie. "I'm sure +we'd never get on the right train." + +"Whadye mean, train," says I. "Ah, show some class! Go in your +limousine." + +"So we could," says Ferdie. "But then, you know, they'll be expectin' us +to bring an extra young man." + +"They needn't be heartbroken over that," says I. "You didn't say who he +was, did you?" + +"Why, no," says Ferdie; "but----" + +"Since you press me so hard," says I, "I'll sub for him. Guess you need +me to get you there, anyway." + +"By Jove!" says Ferdie, as the proposition percolates through the +hominy. "I wonder if----" + +"Never waste time wonderin'," says I. "Take a chance. Here, sign your +name to that; then we'll go hunt up Marjorie and tell her the glad +news." + +Ferdie was still in a daze when we found the other three-quarters of the +sketch, and Marjorie was some set back herself when I springs the +scheme. But she's a good sport, Marjorie is, and if she was hooked up to +a live one she'd travel just as lively as the next heavyweight. + +"Oh, let's!" says she, clappin' her hands. "You know we haven't been +away from home overnight for an age. And Edna Pulsifer's such a dear, +even if her father is a grouchy old thing. We'll take Torchy along too. +What do you say, Ferdie?" + +Foolish question! Ferdie was still dazed. And anyhow she had said it +herself. + +So that's how it happens I'm one of the chosen few to be landed under +the Cedarholm porte-cochere that Saturday afternoon. Course the +Pulsifers ain't reg'lar old fam'ly people, like Ferdie's folks. They +date back to about the last Broadway horse-car period, I understand, +when old Adam K. begun to ship his Cherryola dope in thousand-case lots. +Now, you know, it's all handled for him by the drug trust, and he only +sits by the safety-vault door watchin' the profits roll in. But with his +name still on every label you could hardly expect the Pulsifers to +qualify for Mrs. Astor's list. + +Seems Edna went to the same boardin' school as Marjorie and Vee, though, +and neither of 'em ever thinks of throwin' Cherryola at her. And as far +as an establishment goes, Cedarholm is the real thing. Gave me quite +some thrill to watch two footmen in silver and baby blue pryin' Marjorie +out of the limousine. + +"Gee!" thinks I, glancin' around at the deep verandas, the swing seats, +and the cozy corner nooks. "If Vee and I can't get together for a few +chatty words among all this, then I'm a punk plottist!" + +These country house joints are so calm and peaceful too! It's a wonder +anybody could work up a case of nerves, havin' this for a steady thing. +But Edna and Mrs. Pulsifer acted sort of restless and jumpy. She's a +tall, thin, hollow-eyed dame, Mrs. Pulsifer is, with gray hair and a +smooth, easy voice. Miss Edna must take more after her Pa; for she's +filled out better, and while she ain't what you'd call mug-mapped, she +has one of these low-bridge noses and a lot of oily, dark red hair that +she does in a weird fashion of her own with a side part. Seems shy and +bashful too, except when she snuggles up on the lee side of Marjorie and +trails off with her. + +The particular party I was strainin' my eyesight for ain't in evidence, +though, and all the hint I gets of her bein' there was hearin' a ripply +laugh at the far end of the hallway when she and Marjorie go to a fond +clinch. That was some comfort, though,--she was in the house! + +As I couldn't very well go scoutin' around whistlin' for her to come +out, I does the next best thing. After bein' shown my room I drifts +downstairs and out on the lawn where I'd be some conspicuous. Course I +wa'n't suggestin' anything, but if somebody should happen to see me and +judge that I was lonesome, they might wander out that way too. Sure +enough somebody did,--Ferdie. + +"I thought you had to take a nap before dinner," says I, maybe not so +cordial. + +"Bother!" says he. "There's no such thing as that possible with those +three girls chattering away in the next room." + +"Well, they ain't been together for some time, I expect," says I. + +"It's worse than usual," says Ferdie. "A man in the case, you might +know." + +"Eh?" says I, prickin' up my ears. "Whose man?" + +"Oh, Edna Pulsifer's absurd ditch digger," says Ferdie. "He's a young +engineer, you know, that she's been interested in for a couple of years. +Her father put a stop to it once; kept her in Munich for ten months--and +that's a perfectly deadly place out of season, you know. But it doesn't +seem to have done much good." + +I grins. Surprisin' how cheerful I could be so long as it was a case of +Miss Pulsifer's young man. I pumps the whole tale out of Ferdie,--how +this Mr. Bert Gilkey--cute name too--had been writin' her letters all +the time from out West, how he'd been seized with a sudden fit, wired on +that he must see her once more, and had rushed East. Then how Pa +Pulsifer had caught 'em lalligaggin' out by the hedge, had talked real +rough to Gilkey, and ordered him never to muddy his front doormat again. + +"And now," goes on Ferdie, "he sends word to Edna that he means to try +it once more, no matter what happens, and everyone is all stirred up." + +"So that accounts for the nervous motions, eh?" says I. "What does Pa +Pulsifer have to say to this defi?" + +"Goodness!" says Ferdie, shudderin'. "He doesn't know. No one dares tell +him a word. If he found out--well, it would be awful!" + +"Huh!" says I. "One of these fam'ly ringmasters, is he?" + +That was it, and from Ferdie's description I gathered that old Adam K. +was a reg'lar domestic tornado, once he got started. Maybe you know the +brand? And it seems Pa Pulsifer was the limit. So long as things went +his way he was a prince,--right there with the jolly haw-haw, fond of +callin' wifey pet names before strangers, and posin' as an easy +mark,--but let anybody try to pull off any programme that didn't jibe +with his, and black clouds rolled up sudden in the West. + +"I do hope," goes on Ferdie, "that nothing of that sort occurs while we +are here." + +So did I, for more reasons than one. What I wanted was peace, and plenty +of it, with Vee more or less disengaged. + +Nothin' could have been more promisin' either than the openin' of that +first dinner party. Pa Pulsifer had showed up about six o'clock from the +Country Club, with his rugged, hand-hewed face tinted up cheery. Some of +it was sunburn, and some of it was rye, I expect, but he was glad to see +all of us. He patted Marjorie on the cheek, pinched Vee by the ear, and +slapped Ferdie on the back so hearty he near knocked the breath out of +him. So far as our genial host could make it, it was a gay and festive +scene. Best of all too, I'd been put next to Vee, and I was just workin' +up to exchangin' a hand squeeze under the tablecloth when, right in the +middle of one of Pa Pulsifer's best stories, there floats in through the +open windows a crash that makes everybody sit up. It sounds like +breakin' glass. + +"Hah!" snorts Pulsifer, scowlin' out into the dark. "Now what in blazes +was that?" + +"I--I think it must have been something in the kitchen, Dear," says Mrs. +Pulsifer. "Don't mind." + +"But I do mind," says he. "In the first place, it wasn't in the kitchen +at all, and if you'll all excuse me, I'll just see for myself." + +Meanwhile Edna has turned pale, Marjorie has almost choked herself with +a bread stick, and Ferdie has let his fork clatter to the floor. Ma +Pulsifer is bitin' her lip; but she's right there with the soothin' +words. + +"Please, Dear," says she, "let me go. They want you to finish your +story." + +It was a happy touch, that last. Pa Pulsifer recovers his napkin, +settles back in his chair, and goes on with the tale, while Mother slips +out quiet. She comes back after a while, springs a nervous little +laugh, and announces that it was only the glass in one of the hotbed +frames. + +"Some stupid person taking a short cut across the grounds, I suppose," +says she. + +Didn't sound very convincin' to me; but Pulsifer had got started on +another boyhood anecdote, and he let it pass. I had a hunch, though, +that Mrs. Pulsifer hadn't told all. I caught a glance between her and +Edna, and some flashes between Edna and Vee, and I didn't need any sixth +sense to feel that something was in the air. + +No move was made, though, until after coffee had been served in the +lib'ry and Pa Pulsifer was fittin' his fav'rite Harry Lauder record on +the music machine. + +First Mrs. Pulsifer slips out easy. Next Edna follows her, and after +them Marjorie and Vee, havin' exchanged some whispered remarks, +disappears too. Maybe it was my play to stick it out with Ferdie and the +old boy, but I couldn't see any percentage in that, with Vee gone; so I +wanders casual into the hall, butts around through the music room, +follows a bright light at the rear, and am almost run down by Marjorie +hurrying the other way sleuthy. + +"Oh!" she squeals. "It's you, is it, Torchy? S-s-s-sh!" + +"What you shushin' about?" says I. + +"Oh, it's dreadful!" puffs Marjorie. "He--he's come!" + +"That Gilkey guy?" says I. + +"Ye-e-es," says she. "But--but how did you know?" + +"I'm a seventh son, born with a cowlick," says I. "Was it Gilkey made +his entrance through the cucumber frame?" + +It was. Also he'd managed to cut himself in the ankles and right wrist. +They had him in the kitchen, patchin' him up now, and they was all +scared stiff for fear Pa Pulsifer would discover it before they could +send him away. + +"He'll be a nut if he don't," says I, "with all you women out here. Your +game is to chase back and keep Pulsifer interested." + +"I suppose you're right," says Marjorie. "Let's tell them." + +So I follows into the big kitchen, where I finds the disabled Romeo +propped up in a chair, with the whole push of 'em, includin' the fat +cook, a couple of maids, and the butler, all tryin' to bandage him in +diff'rent spots. He's a big, gawky-lookin' young gent, with a thick crop +of pale hair and a solemn, serious look on his face, like he was one of +the kind that took everything hard. As soon as Marjorie gives 'em my +hint about goin' back to Father there's a gen'ral protest. + +"Oh, I can't do it!" says Edna. + +"He would notice at once how nervous I am," groans Mrs. Pulsifer. + +"But you don't want him walking out here, do you?" demands Marjorie. + +That settled 'em. They bunched together panicky and started back for the +lib'ry. + +"I'll stay and attend to the getaway," says I. "Nobody'll miss me." + +"Thank you," says Gilkey; "but I'm not sure I wish to go away. I came to +see Edna, you know." + +"So I hear," says I. "Unique idea of yours too, rollin' in the hotbeds +first." + +"I--I was only trying to avoid meeting Mr. Pulsifer," says he; +"exploring a bit, you see. I could hear voices in the dining-room; but I +couldn't quite look in. There was a little shed out there, though, and +by climbing on that I could get a view. That was how I lost my balance." + +"Before you go callin' again," says I, "you ought to practice roostin' +in the dark. Say, the old man must have thrown quite a scare into you +last time." + +"I am not afraid of Mr. Pulsifer, not a bit," says he. + +"Well, well!" says I. "Think of that!" + +"Anyway," says he, "I just wasn't goin' to be driven off that way. +It--it isn't fair to either of us." + +"Then it's a clear case with both of you, is it?" says I. + +"We are engaged," says Gilkey, "and I don't care who knows it! It's not +her money I'm after, either. We don't want a dollar from Mr. Pulsifer. +We--we just want each other." + +"Now you're talkin'!" says I; for, honest, the simple, slushy way he +puts it across sort of wins me. And if that was how the case stood, with +Edna longin' for him, and him yearnin' for Edna, why shouldn't they? If +I'm any judge, Edna wouldn't find another right away who'd be so crazy +about her, and anyone who could discover charms about Gilkey ought to be +rewarded. + +"See here!" says I. "Why not sail right in there, look Father between +the eyes, and hand that line of dope out to him as straight as you gave +it to me?" + +He gawps at me a second, like I'd advised him to jump off the roof. +"Do--do you think I ought?" says he. + +I has to choke back a chuckle. Wanted my advice, did he? Well, say, I +could give him a truckload of that! + +"It depends," says I, "on how deep the yellow runs in you. Course it's +all right for you to register this leader about not bein' scared of him. +You may think you ain't, but you are all the same; and as long as you're +in that state you're licked. That's the big trouble with most of +us,--bein' limp in the spine. We're afraid of our jobs, afraid of what +the neighbors will say, afraid of our stomachs, afraid of to-morrow. And +here you are, prowlin' around on the outside, gettin' yourself messed +up, and standin' to lose the one and only girl, all because an old stuff +like Pulsifer says 'Boo!' at you and tells you to 'Scat!' Come on now, +better let me lead you out and see you safe through the gate." + +Course that was proddin' him a little rough, but I wanted to bring this +thing to a head somehow. Made Gilkey squirm in his chair too. He begins +rollin' his trousers down over the bandages and struggles into his coat. + +"I suppose you're right," says he. "I--I think I will go in and see Mr. +Pulsifer." + +"Wha-a-at?" says I. "Now?" + +"Why not?" says he, pushin' through the swing door. + +"Hey!" I calls out, jumpin' after him. "Better let me break it to 'em in +there." + +"As you please," says Gilkey; "only let's have no delay." + +So I skips across the hall and into the lib'ry, where they're all makin' +a stab at bein' chatty and gay, with Pa Pulsifer in the center. + +"Excuse me," says I, "but there's a young gent wants a few words with +Mr. Pulsifer." + +"What's that?" growls Adam K., glarin' about suspicious at the gaspy +circle. "What young man?" + +"Why," says I, "it's----" But then in he stalks. + +"Oh, Herbert!" sobs Edna, makin' a wild grab at Marjorie for support. + +As for Pa Pulsifer, his eyes get stary, the big vein in the middle of +his forehead swells threatenin', and his bushy white eyebrows seem to +bristle up. + +"You!" he snorts. "How did you get in here, Sir?" + +"Through the kitchen," says Gilkey. "I came to tell you that----" + +"Stop!" roars Pulsifer, stampin' his foot and bunchin' his fists +menacin'. "You can't tell me anything, not a word, you--you +good-for-nothing young scoundrel! Haven't I warned you never to step +foot in my house again? Didn't I tell you----" + +Well, it's the usual irate parent stuff, only a little more wild and +ranty than anything Belasco would put over. He abuses Gilkey up and +down, threatens him with all kinds of things, from arrest to sudden +death, and gets purple in the face doin' it. While Gilkey, he just +stands there, takin' it calm and patient. Then, when there comes a lull, +he remarks casual: + +"If that is all, Sir, I wish to say to you that Edna and I are engaged, +and that I intend to marry her early next week." + +Wow! That's the cue for another explosion. It starts in just as fierce +as the first; but it don't last so long, and towards the end Pa Pulsifer +is talkin' husky and puffing hard. + +"Go!" he winds up. "Get out of my house before I--I----" + +"Oh, I say," breaks in Gilkey, "before you do what?" + +"Throw you out!" bellows Pulsifer. + +"Don't be absurd," says Gilkey, statin' it quiet and matter of fact. +"You couldn't, you know. Besides, it isn't being done." + +And it takes Pa Pulsifer a full minute before he can choke down his +temper and get his wind again. Then he advances a step or so, points +dramatic to the door, and gurgles throaty: + +"Will--you--get--out?" + +"No," says Gilkey. "I came to see Edna. I've had no dinner either, and +I'd like a bite to eat." + +Pulsifer stood there, not two feet from him, glarin' and puffin', and +tryin' to decide what to do next; but it's no use. He'd made his grand +roarin' lion play, which had always scared the tar out of his folks, and +he'd responded to an encore. Yet here was this mild-eyed young gent +with the pale hair and the square jaw not even wabbly in the knees from +it. + +"Come, Edna," says Gilkey, holdin' out a hand to her. "Let's go into the +dining-room." + +"But--but see here!" gasps Pa Pulsifer, makin' a final effort. +"I--I----" + +"Oh, hush up!" says Gilkey, turnin' away weary. "Come, Edna." + +And Edna, she went; also Mrs. Pulsifer; likewise Vee and Marjorie. Trust +women for knowin' when a bluff has been called. I expect they was wise, +two or three minutes before either me or Gilkey, that Pa Pulsifer was +beat. I stayed long enough to see him slump into an easy-chair, his +under lip limp and a puzzled look in his eyes, like he was tryin' to +figure out just what had hit him. And over by the fireplace is Ferdie, +gawpin' at him foolish, and exercisin' his gears, I expect, on the same +problem. Neither of them had said a word up to the time I left. + +It took the women half an hour or more to feed Herbert up proper with +all the nice things they could drag from the icebox. Then Mother +Pulsifer patted him on the shoulder and shooed Edna and him through the +French doors out on the veranda. + +And what do you guess is Mrs. Pulsifer's openin' as we drifts back +towards the scene of the late conflict? + +"Why, Deary!" says she. "You haven't your cigars, have you? Here they +are--and the matches. There! Now for the surprise. Our young people have +decided--that is, Edna has--not to be married until two weeks from next +Wednesday." + +Does Pa Pulsifer rant any more rants? No. He gets his perfecto goin' +nicely, blows a couple of smoke rings up towards the ceilin', and then +remarks in sort of a weak growl: + +"Hanged if I'll walk down a church aisle, Maria--hanged if I do!" + +"I told them you wouldn't," says Ma Pulsifer, smoothin' the hair back +over his ears soothin'; "so they've agreed on a simple home wedding, +with only four bridesmaids." + +"Huh!" says he. "It's lucky they did." + +But, say, take it from me, his days of crackin' the whip around that +joint are over. I'm beginnin' to believe too how some of that dope I fed +to Herbert must have been straight goods. Vee insists on talkin' it over +later, as we are camped in one of them swing seats out on the veranda. + +"Wasn't he just splendid," says she: "standing up to Mr. Pulsifer that +way, you know?" + +"Some hero!" says I. "I wonder would he give me a few lessons, in case I +should run across your Aunty some day?" + +"Pooh!" says Vee. "Just as though I didn't go back to see if he'd gone +and hear you putting him up to all that yourself! It was fine of you to +do it too, Torchy." + +"Right here, then!" says I. "Place the laurel wreath right here." + +"Silly!" says she, givin' me a reprovin' pat. "Besides, that porch light +is on." + +Which was one of the reasons why I turned it off, and maybe accounts for +our sudden break when Marjorie comes out to tell us it's near twelve +o'clock. + +Yes, indeed, though he may not look it, Ferdie is more or less of a +help. + +[Illustration: "Which was one of the reasons I turned the porch light +off."] + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +WHEN SKEET HAD HIS DAY + + +There's one thing about bein' a private sec,--you stand somewhere on the +social list. It may be down towards the foot among the discards; but +you're in the running. + +Not that I'm thinkin' of havin' a fam'ly crest worked on my shirt +sleeves, or that I'm beginnin' to sympathize with the lower clawsses. +Nothing like that! Only it does help, when Marjorie, the boss's married +daughter, has planned some social doin's, to get an invite like a +reg'lar guy. + +What do you know too? It's dance! Not out at their country place, +either. She'd dragged Ferdie into town for a couple of weeks, and they'd +been stayin' at the Ellins's Fifth-ave. house, just visitin' and havin' +a good time. That is, Marjorie had. Ferdie, he spends his days mopin' +about the club and taggin' Mr. Robert. + +"Better sneak off up to the Maison Maxixe with me," says I, "and brush +up on your hesitation." + +A look of deep disgust from Ferdie. "I'm not a dancing man, you know," +says he. + +"Both feet Methodists, eh?" says I. + +Ferdie stares puzzled. "It's only that I'm sure I'd look absurd," says +he. + +"For once," says I, "you ain't so far from wrong. I expect you would." + +Even that don't seem to please him, and he refuses peevish to trail +along and watch me blow myself to a pair of dancin' pumps. Gee! but this +society life runs into coin, don't it? I'd dropped into one of them +swell booterers and was beefin' away at the clerk about havin' to pay +six-fifty just for a pair of tango moccasins, when I hears someone on +the bench back of me remark casual: + +"Nine dollars? Very well. Send them up to my hotel. Here's my card." + +And as there's somethin' familiar about the voice I takes a peek over my +shoulder. But neither the braid-bound cutaway fittin' so snug at the +waist, nor the snappy fall derby snuggled down over the lop ears, +suggested any old friends. Not until he swings around and I gets a view +of that nosy profile do I gasp any gasps. + +"Sizzlin' Stepsisters!" says I. "If it ain't Skeet Keyser!" + +"I--ah--I beg pardon?" says he, doin' it cold and haughty. Blamed if I +don't think he meant to hand me the mistaken identity dope first off; +but after another glance he thinks better of it. "Oh, yes," says he, +sort of languid, "Torchy, isn't it?" + +"Good guess, Skeet," says I, "seein' it's been all of two years since +you used to shove me my coffee reg'lar at the----" + +"Yes, yes," he breaks in hasty; "but--I--ah--I have an appointment. Glad +to have seen you again." + +"You act it," says I. And then, grabbin' him by the sleeve as he's +backin' off, I whispers, "What's the disguise, Skeet?" + +"Really, now!" he protests indignant. + +"Oh, very well, very well!" says I. "But how should I know if someone +has wished a life income on you? Congrats." + +"Ah--er--thanks," says he. "I--I'll see you again--perhaps." + +I loved the way he puts that last touch on too, and you could almost +hear the sigh of relief as he fades down the aisle, leavin' me in one +stockin' foot gawpin' after him. + +No wonder I'm left open faced! Skeet Keyser in a tail coat, orderin' +nine-dollar pumps sent to his hotel! Why, say, more'n once I've staked +him to the price of a twenty-cent lodgin', and the only way I ever got +any of it back was by tippin' him off to this vacancy on the coffee urn +at the dairy lunch. Used to be copy boy on the Sunday, Skeet did; but +that was 'way back. It didn't last long either; for he was just as punk +a performer at that as he ever was at any of the other things he's +tackled. + +Gettin' the can tied to him was always Skeet's specialty. No mystery +about that, either; for of all the useless specimens that ever grafted +cigarettes he was about the limit. All he lacks is pep and bean and a +few other trifles. You wouldn't exactly call him ornamental, either. No, +him and that Apolloniris guy was quite diff'rent in their front and side +elevation. Mostly arms and legs, Skeet is, and sort of swivel-jointed +all over, with a back slope to his forehead and an under-cut chin. +Nothin' reticent about his beak, though. It juts out from the middle of +his face like the handle of a lovin' cup, and with his habit of +stretchin' his neck forward he always seems to be followin' a scent, +like one of these wienerwurst retrievers. + +Brought up somewhere back of Jefferson Market, down in old Greenwich +Village--if you know where that is. He's the only boy in a fam'ly of +five, and I understand all the Keyser girls have done first rate; one +bein' forelady in a big hair-dressin' joint, another married to the +lieutenant of a hook and ladder company, and two well placed in service. + +It was through bein' in on a little mix-up Skeet had with one of his +sisters that I got so well posted on the fam'ly hist'ry. Must have been +more'n a year ago, while Old Hickory was laid up at home there for a +spell, and I was chasin' back and forth from the Corrugated to the +Ellins house most every day. This time I hears a debate goin' on down at +the area door, and the next thing I knows out comes Skeet, assisted +active by the butler. + +Seems that one of the new maids is his sister Maggie, and he'd just been +callin' friendly in the hopes of sep'ratin' her from a dollar or so. It +wa'n't Maggie's day for contributin' to the prodigal son fund, though, +and Skeet was statin' his opinion of her reckless when the butler +interfered. Come near losin' Maggie her job, that little scene did; but +she promises faithful it sha'n't happen again, and was kept on. + +"Blast her!" says Skeet to me later. "She's just as bad as the rest of +'em. They're all tightwads. Why, even the old lady runs me out now when +I happen to be carryin' the banner and can't come across with my little +old five of a Saturday night! I might starve in the streets for all they +care. But I'll show 'em some day. You'll see!" + +Hanged if it don't look like he'd turned the trick too; for, as I've +hinted, Skeet is costumed like a lily of the field. But how he'd managed +to do it is what gets me. And for two days after that I wasted valuable +time tryin' to frame up just where in the gen'ral scheme of things a +party like Skeet Keyser could connect with real money. After that I gave +up the myst'ry and spent my spare minutes wonderin' if I could do this +"One-two-three--hold!" business as successful in public as I could while +them dancin' school fairies was drillin' it into my nut at one-fifty per +throw. + +That's right, grin! But if you're billed to mingle in the merry throng +at a dance fest, you ain't goin' to trot out on the floor with any such +antique act as last season's Boston dip, are you? Might as well spring +the minuet. And specially when I'd had word that among others was to be +a certain party. Uh-huh! You can play it both ways too that Vee would be +up on the very latest, and if it was in me I meant to be right behind +her. + +Was I? Say, maybe if I wa'n't so blamed modest I could give you an idea +of how Vee and I just naturally--but I can't do it. Besides, there's +other matters; the grand jolt that come early in the evenin', for +instance. It was after the second number, and I'd made a dash into the +gents' dressin' room to see if my white tie showed any symptoms of +ridin' up in the back, and I'd just strolled out into the entrance hall +again, watchin' the push straggle in, when who should show up through +the double doors but a tall, lanky young chap with lop ears and a nose +one was bound to remember. + +It's Skeet Keyser; Skeet in shiny, thin-soled pumps, a pleated dress +shirt, black silk vest, and a top hat! He's bein' bowed in dignified by +the same butler, and is passed on to--well, it's a funny world, ain't +it? The maid on duty just inside the door happens to be Sister Maggie. +She has the respectful bow all ready when she gets a full-face view. + +"Aloysius!" says she, scared and husky. + +I got to hand it to Skeet, though, that he bears up noble. All he does +is to try to swallow his throat apple a couple of times, and then he +stares at her stern and distant. Also Maggie makes a quick recovery. + +"Gentlemen this way, Sir," says she, and waves Skeet into the dressin' +room. + +I wanted to follow him up and tip him off that there's one or two other +reasons why this was the wrong house to put over any sporty bluff in; +but as it was I'm overdue in another quarter. You see, Marjorie has been +sittin' out on the side lines, as usual, and Vee has hinted how it would +be nice and charitable of me to brace her for a spiel. I'd sort of been +workin' myself up to the sacrifice, for you know Marjorie's some hefty +partner for anybody not in trainin' to steer around a ballroom floor; +but I'd figured out that the longer I put it off the worse it would be. +So off I trails with my heels draggin' a little heavy. + +"Why, thanks ever so much, Torchy," says she, "but I think I have a +partner for the first four or five. After that, though----" + +"Don't mention it," says I. "I mean, much obliged," and I backs off +hasty before she can change her mind. + +I had to kill time while Vee was dividin' a couple dances between two +young shrimps; so I sidles into a corner where Ferdie sits behind his +shell-rimmed glasses, lookin' bored and lonesome. + +"Now don't you wish you'd gone and had your feet educated?" says I. + +Ferdie yawns. "I think it quite sufficient," says he, "that one of us +intends making an exhibition. Marjorie has been taking lessons, you +know." + +"So I hear," says I. "And it's all right if she don't tackle the maxixe. +Hello! There it goes. Now you will see some stunts!" + +Yep, we did! And among the first couples to sail out on the floor, if +you'll believe it, was none other than Marjorie and our lop-eared young +hero, Skeet Keyser. + +"Oh, Gosh!" I groans. "Don't look, Ferdie!" + +I meant well too; It was goin' to be bad enough to see a corn-fed young +matron the size of Marjorie, who can spin the arrow well up to the +hundred and eighty mark, monkey with them twisty evolutions; but to have +her get let in for it with a roughneck ringer like Skeet--well, that was +goin' to be a real tragedy. How he'd worked it, or what his excuse was +for bein' here at all, was useless questions to ask then. What was +comin' next was the thing to watch for. + +As for Ferdie, he just sits there and blinks, followin' 'em through his +spare panes. Course I could guess he wa'n't hep to any facts about +Skeet. He was just a strange young gent to him, and it wa'n't up to me +to add any details. So I settles back and watches 'em too. + +And, say, you know how surprised you'd be to see any fat friend of yours +buckle on a pair of ice skates and do the double grapevine up and down +the rink? Well, that's the identical kind of jar I got when Marjorie +begins that willowy bendy figure. It ain't any waddly caricature of it, +either. It's the real thing. Honest, she's as light on her feet as if +her middle name was Pavlowa! + +At the same time it's lucky Skeet has arms, long enough to reach 'way +round when he's steerin' her. If they'd been an inch or so shorter, he'd +have had to break his clinch in some of them whirls, and then there'd +been a big dent in the floor. He seems just built for the job, though. +In and out, round and round, through the Parisienne, the flirtation, and +all the other frills, he pilots her safe, bendin' and swayin' to the +music, his number ten feet glidin' easy, and kind of a smirky, satisfied +look on that sappy mug of his; while Marjorie, she simply lets herself +go for all she's worth, her eyes sparklin', and the pink and white in +her cheeks showin' clear and fresh. + +Take it from me too, it's some swell exhibit! There was four or five +other couples on at the same time, the girls all slender, wispy young +things, that never split out a waist seam in their lives; but Marjorie +and her partner had the gallery right with 'em. Two or three times +durin' the dance they got scatterin' applause, and when the music +fin'lly stops, leavin' 'em alone in the middle of the floor, they got a +reg'lar big hand. + +"I take it all back," says I to Ferdie. "That was real classy spielin'. +Now wa'n't it?." + +"No doubt," he grunts. "And I suppose I should be thankful that Marjorie +didn't try to jump through a paper hoop. I trust, however, that this +concludes the performance." + +It did not! Next on the card was a onestep, with Marjorie and her +unknown goin' to it like professionals; and if they omitted any fancy +waves, you couldn't prove it by me. By this time too, Ferdie was sittin' +up and takin' notice. "Oh, I say," says he, "isn't that the same fellow +she danced with before?" + +"You don't think a bunch of works like that could be twins, do you?" +says I. + +"But--but I'm sure I don't remember having met him, you know," says +Ferdie, rubbin' his chin thoughtful. + +"Then maybe you ain't," says I. + +When they comes on for a third time, though, and prances through about +as flossy a half-and-half as I've ever seen pulled at a private dance, +Ferdie is some agitated in the mind. He ain't exactly green-eyed, but +he's some disturbed. Yes, all of that! + +"I--I think I'd best speak to Marjorie," says he. + +"You'll have plenty of competition," says I. "Look!" + +For the young chappies are crowdin' around her two deep, makin' dates +for the next numbers. "Ferdie stares at the spectacle puzzled. He's a +persistent messer, though. + +"But really," he goes on, "I think I ought to meet that young fellow and +find out who he is." + +"Ah, bottle it up until afterwards!" says I. "Don't rock the skiff." + +But there's a streak of mule in Ferdie a foot wide. "People will be +asking me who he is!" he insists, "and if I don't know, what will they +think? See, isn't that he, standing just over there?" + +And then Mr. Robert has to drift along and complicate matters by joshin' +brother-in-law a little. "Congratulations on your substitute, Ferdie," +says he. "Where did he come from?" + +Which brings a ruddy tint into Ferdie's ears. "Ask Marjorie," says he. +"I'm sure he's an utter stranger to me." + +"Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert, and when he's had the full situation mapped +out for him blamed if he don't begin to take it serious too. + +"To be sure, Ferdie," says he. "Everyone seems to think he must be a +guest of yours; but as he isn't--well, it's quite time someone +discovered. Let's go over and introduce ourselves." + +And somehow that didn't listen good to me, either. Marjorie's done a lot +of nice turns for me, and this looked like it was my play to lend a +hand. + +"With two or three more," says I, "you could form a perfectly good mob, +couldn't you?" + +Mr. Robert whirls and demands sarcastic, "Well, what would you suggest, +young man?" + +"He's got all the earmarks of a reg'lar invited guest, ain't he?" says +I. "And unless you're achin' to start somethin', why not let me handle +this 'Who the blazes are you?' act?" + +He sees the point too, Mr. Robert does. He shrugs his shoulders and +grins. "That's so," says he. "All right, Torchy. Full diplomatic powers, +and if necessary I shall restrain Ferdie by the collar." + +I wa'n't wastin' time on any subtle strategy, though. Walkin' over to +Skeet I taps him on the shoulder, and then it's his turn to gawp at my +costume. + +"Why," he gasps, "how--er--where did you----" + +"Oh, I brought myself out last season," says I. "But just a minute, if +you don't mind," and I jerks my thumb towards the dressin' room. + +"But, you know," he begins, "I--I----" + +"Ah, ditch the shifty stuff!" says I. "This is orders from headquarters. +Come!" + +And he trots right along. Once I gets him behind the draperies I shoots +it at him straight. "Who'd you pinch the invite from?" says I. + +"See here, now!" he comes back peevish. "You have no call to say that. I +had a bid, all right; got it with me. There! What about that?" And he +flashes a card on me. + +It's one of Marjorie's! + +"Huh!" says I. "Met her at Mrs. Astor's, I expect?" + +Skeet shuffles his feet and tries to look indignant. + +"Come on, give us the plot of the piece," says I, "or I'll call up +Sister Maggie and put her on the stand. Where was it, now?" + +"If you must know," says Skeet sulky, "it was at Roselle's." + +"The tango factory?" says I. "Oh, I'm beginnin' to get the thread. The +place where she's been takin' lessons, eh?" + +Skeet nods. + +"Is this romance, or business, then?" says I. + +"Think I'm a fathead?" says he. "I'm gettin' fifteen for this, and I'm +earnin' the money too. It's a regular thing. Last night I was Cousin +Harry for an old maid from Washington--went to a swell house dance up on +Riverside Drive. She came across with twenty for that, and paid for the +taxi." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Then them long legs of yours has turned out a +good asset after all. What you pullin' down, Skeet, on an average?" + +"Twenty regular, and a hundred or so on the side," says he, swellin' his +chest out. "And, say, I guess I got it some on the rest of the family. +You know how they used me,--like dirt, the old lady callin' me a loafer, +and Annie so stuck up on livin' in an elevator apartment she wouldn't +have me around. Maggie too! Didn't I hand it to her, though? Notice me +frost her, eh? But I said I'd show 'em some day. Guess I've delivered +the goods. Look at me now, all dolled up every night, and mixin' with +the best people! Say, you watch me! Why, I can go out there and pick any +queen you want to name. They're crazy about me. I could show you mash +notes and photos too. Oh, I'm Winning Willie with the fluffs, I am!" + +Well, it was worth listenin' to. He struts around waggin' his silly +head, until I can hardly keep from throwin' a chair at him. Course +something had to be dealt out. He needed it bad. So I sizes him up rapid +and makes the first play that comes into my head. + +"You're a wonder, Skeet," says I. "And it's a great game as long as you +can get away with it. But whisper!" Here I glances around cautious. "You +know I'm a friend of yours." + +"Oh, sure," says he careless. "What then?" + +"Only this," says I. "Here's once when I'm afraid you're about to pull +down trouble." + +"How's that?" says he, twistin' his neck uneasy. + +"Notice the two gents I was just talkin' with," I goes on, "specially +the savage-lookin' one with the framed lamps? Well, that was Hubby. +He's got one of these hair-trigger dispositions too." + +"Pooh!" says Skeet. But he's listenin' close. + +"I'm only tellin' you," says I. "Then the big one with the wide +shoulders--that's Brother. Reg'lar brute, he is, and a temper----" + +That gets him stary eyed. "You--you don't mean," says he, "that----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "You know you and the young lady was some conspicuous. +There's been talk all round the room. They've both heard, and they're +beefin' something awful. Course I ain't sayin' they'll spring any +gunplay right in the house; but--why, what's wrong, Skeet?" + +Honest, he's gone putty faced and panicky. He begins pawin' around for +his overcoat. + +"Ain't goin' so soon, are you," says I, "without breakin' a few more +hearts?" + +"I--I'm goin' to get out of here!" says he, his teeth chattery. He'd +grabbed his silk lid and was makin' a dash for the front door when I +stopped him. + +"Not that way, for the love of soup!" says I. "They'll be layin' for you +there. Why not bluff it out and cut up with some of the other queens?" + +"I'm not feeling well," says he. "I--I'm going, I tell you!" + +"If you insist, then," says I, "perhaps I can sneak you out. Here, this +way. Now slide in behind that portiere until I find one of the maids. +Oh, here's one now. S-s-s-t! That you, Maggie? Well, smuggle Mr. Keyser +out the back way, will you? And if you don't want to witness bloodshed, +do it quick!" + +I tipped her the wink over his shoulder, and the last glimpse I had of +Skeet he was bein' hustled and shoved towards the back way by willin' +hands. + +By the time I gets back into the ballroom I finds Marjorie right in the +midst of a fam'ly court martial. She's makin' a full confession. + +"Of course I hired him," she's sayin' to Brother Robert. "Why? Because +I've been a wall flower at too many dances, and I'm tired of it. No, I +don't know who he is, I'm sure; but he's a perfectly lovely dancer. I +wonder where he's disappeared to?" + +Which seemed to be my cue to report. "Mr. Keyser presents his +compliments," says I, "and begs to be excused for the rest of the +evenin' on account of feelin' suddenly indisposed. He says you can send +him that fifteen by mail, if you like." + +"Well, the idea!" gasps Marjorie. + +As for Mr. Robert, he chuckles. Takin' me one side, he asks +confidential, "What did you use on our young friend, persuasion, or +assault with intent?" + +"On a fish-face like that?" says I. "Nope. This was just a simple case +of spill." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +GETTING A JOLT FROM WESTY + + +You might call it time out, or suspended hostilities durin' peace +negotiations, or anything like that. Anyway, Aunty has softened up to +the extent of lettin' me come around once a week without makin' me +assume a disguise, or crawl in through the coal chute. Course I'm still +under suspicion; but while the ban ain't lifted complete she don't treat +me quite so much like a porch climber or a free speech agitator. + +"Remember," says she, "Friday evenings only, from half after eight until +not later than ten." + +"Yes'm," says I, "and it's mighty----" + +"Please!" she breaks in. "No grotesquely phrased effusions of gratitude. +I am merely indulging Verona in one of her absurd whims. You understand +that, I trust?" + +"I get your idea," says I, "and even if it don't swell my chest any, +I'm----" + +"Kindly refrain from using such patois," says Aunty. + +"Eh?" says I. "You mean ditch the gabby talk? All right, Ma'am." + +Aunty rolls her eyes and sighs hopeless. "How my niece can find +entertainment in such----" Here Aunty stops and shrugs her shoulders. +"Well," she goes on, "it is a mystery to me." + +"Me too," says I; "so for once we're playin' on the same side of the +net, ain't we! Say, but she's some girl though!" + +Aunty's mouth corners wrinkle into one of them sarcastic smiles that's +her specialty, and she remarks careless: "Quite a number of young men +seem to have discovered that Verona is rather attractive." + +"They'd have to be blind in both eyes and born without ears if they +didn't," says I, "believe me!" + +Oh, yes, we had a nice confidential little chat, me and Aunty +did,--almost chummy, you know,--and as it breaks up and I backs out into +the hall, givin' her the polite "Good evenin', Ma'am," I thought I heard +a half-smothered snicker behind the draperies. Maybe it was that flossy +French maid of theirs. But I floats downtown as gay and chirky as though +I'd been promoted to first vice-president of something. + +Course I was wise to the fact that Aunty wa'n't arrangin' any duo act +with the lights shaded soft. Not her! Even if I had an official ratin' +in the Corrugated now, and a few weeks back had shunted her off from a +losin' stock deal, she wa'n't tryin' to decoy me into the fam'ly. +Hardly! I could guess how she'd set the stage for my weekly call, and if +I found myself with anything more than a walk-on part in a mob scene I'd +be lucky. + +You know she's taken a house for the winter, one of them old-fashioned +brownstone fronts up on Madison-ave. that some friends of hers was goin' +to close durin' a tour abroad. Nothin' swell, but real comfy and +substantial, and as I marches up bold for my first push at the bell +button I'm kind of relieved that I don't have to stand in line. + +Who should I get a glimpse of, though, as I'm handin' my things to the +butler, but the favored candidate, Sappy Westlake? Yep, big as life, +with his slick, pale hair, his long legs, and his woodeny face! Looked +like his admission card must have been punched for eight P.M., or else +he'd been asked for dinner. Anyway, he was right on the ground, thumpin' +out a new rag on the piano, and enjoyin' the full glare of the +limelight. The only other entry I can discover is a girl. + +"My friend Miss Ull," explains Vee. + +A good deal of a queen Miss Ull is too, tall and slim and tinted up +delicate, but one of these poutin', peevish beauts that can look you +over cold and distant and say "Howdy do" in such a bored, tired tone +that you feel like apologizin' for the intrusion. + +They didn't get wildly enthusiastic over my entrance, Miss Ull and +Westy. In fact, almost before the honors are done they turns their backs +on me and drifts to the piano once more. + +"Do play that 'Try-trimmer-Traeumerei' thing again," urges Miss Ull, and +begins to hum it as Westy proceeds to bang it out. + +But there's Vee, her wheat-colored hair fluffin' about her seashell ears +and her big gray eyes watchin' me sort of quizzin' and impish. "Well, +Mr. Private Secretary?" says she. + +"When does the rest of the chorus come on?" says I. + +"The what?" says Vee. + +"The full panel," says I. "Aunty's planned to have the S. R. O. sign out +on my evenin's, ain't she?" + +At which Vee tosses her head. "How silly!" says she. "No one else is +expected that I know of. Why?" + +"Oh, she might think we'd be lonesome," says I. "Honest, I was lookin' +for a bunch; but if it's only a mixed foursome, that ain't so bad. I got +the scheme, though. She counts Westy as better than a crowd. 'Safety +First' is her motto. But who's the Peevish Priscilla here, that's so +tickled to see me come in she has to turn away to hide her emotion?" + +"Doris?" says Vee. "Oh, we got to know her on the steamer coming back +from the Mediterranean last winter. Stunning, isn't she?" + +"Specially her manners," says I. "Almost paralyzin'." + +"Oh, that's just her way," says Vee. "Really, she's very nice when you +get to know her. I'm rather sorry for her too. Her home life is--well, +not at all congenial. That's one reason why I asked her to visit me for +a week or so." + +"That's the easiest thing you do, ain't it," says I, "bein' nice to +folks that ain't used to it?" + +"Thank goodness," says Vee, "someone has discovered my angelic qualities +at last! Go on, Torchy, think of some more, can't you?" And she claps +her hands enthusiastic. + +"Quit your spoofin'," says I, "or I'll ring for Aunty and tell how +you've been kiddin' the guest of honor. I might talk easier too, if we +could adjourn to the window alcove over there. No rule against that, is +there?" + +Didn't seem to be. And we'd have had a perfectly good chat if it hadn't +been for Doris. Such a restless young female! First she wants to drum +something out on the piano herself. Then she must have Vee come show +her how it ought to go. Next she wants to practice a new fancy dance, +and so on. She keeps Westy trottin' around, and Vee comin' and goin', +and things stirred up gen'rally. One minute she's gigglin' hysterical +over nothin' at all, and the next she's poutin' sulky. + +Anyway, she managed to queer the best part of the evenin', and I'd just +settled down with Vee in a corner when the big hall clock starts to +chime ten, and in through the draperies marches Aunty. It ain't any +accidental droppin' in, either. She glances at me stern and suggestive +and nods towards the door. So it was all over! + +"Say," I whispers to Vee as I does a draggy exit, "if Doris is to be +with us again, would you mind my bringin' a clothesline and ropin' her +to the piano?" + +Maybe it wa'n't some discouragin' a week later to find the same pair +still on the job, with Doris as much of a peace disturber as ever. I got +a little more of her history sketched out by Vee that night. Seems that +Doris didn't really belong, for all her airs. Her folks had only lived +up in the West 70's for four or five years, and before that---- + +"Well, you know," says Vee, archin' her eyebrows expressive, "on the +East Side somewhere." + +You see, Father had been comin' strong in business of late,--antiques +and house decoratin'. I remember havin' seen the name over the door of +his big Fifth-ave. shop,--Leo Ull. You know there's about five hundred +per cent, profit in that game when you get it goin', and while Pa Ull +might have started small, in an East 14th Street basement, with livin' +rooms in the rear, he kept branchin' out,--gettin' to Fourth-ave., and +fin'lly to Fifth, jumpin' from a flat to an apartment, and from that to +a reg'lar house. + +So the two boys went to college, and later on little Doris, with long +braids down her back and weeps in her eyes, is sent off to a girls' +boardin' school. By the time her turn came too, the annual income was +runnin' into six figures. Besides, Doris was the pet. And when Pa and Ma +Ull sat down to pick out a young ladies' culture fact'ry for her the +process was simple. They discarded all but three of the catalogues, +savin' them that was printed on the thickest paper and havin' the most +halftone pictures, and then put the tag on the one where the rates was +highest. Near Washington, I think it was; anyway, somewhere +South,--board and tuition, two thousand dollars and up; everything +extra, from lead pencils to lessons in court etiquette; and the young +ladies limited to ten new evenin' dresses a term. + +Maybe you've seen products of such exclusive establishments? And if you +have perhaps you can frame up a faint picture of what Doris was like +after four years at Hetherington Hall and a five months' trip abroad +chaperoned by the Baroness Parcheezi. No wonder she didn't find home a +happy spot after that! + +"Her brothers are quite nice, I believe," says Vee. "They're both +married, though. Mr. Ull is not so bad, either,--a little crude perhaps; +but he has learned to wear a frock coat in the shop and not to talk to +lady customers when he has a cigar between his teeth. But Mrs. +Ull--well, she hasn't kept up, that's all." + +"Still on East 14th Street, eh?" says I. + +Vee admits that nearly states the case. "And of course," she goes on, +"she doesn't understand Doris. They don't get on at all well. So when +Doris told me how lonely and unhappy she was at home and begged me to +visit her for a week in return--well, what could I do? I'm going back +with her Monday." + +"Then," says I, "I see where I cut next Friday off the calendar." + +"Unless," suggests Vee, droppin' her long eyelashes coy, "you were not +too stupid to think of----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "gimme that number again, will you? Suppose I could +duck meetin' Westy if I came the first evenin'?" + +"If you're at all afraid of him, you shouldn't run the risk," comes back +Vee. + +"Chance is my middle name," says I. "Only him stickin' around does make +a room so crowded. I didn't know but he might miss a night +occasionally." + +Vee sticks the tip of her tongue out. "Just two during the last ten +days, if you want to know," says she. + +"Huh!" says I. "Must think he holds a season ticket." + +I couldn't make out, either, what it was that Vee seems so amused over; +for as near as I can judge she was never very strong for Sappy herself. +Maybe it was just a string she was handin' me. + +Havin' decided on that, I waits patient until eight-fifteen Monday +evenin', and then breezes cheery and hopeful through the Ulls' front +door and into the front room. No Westy in sight, or anybody else. The +maid says the young ladies are in somewhere, and she'll tell 'em I've +come. + +So I wanders about amongst the furniture, that's set around almost as +thick as in a showroom,--heavy, fancy pieces, most likely ones that had +been sent up from the store as stickers. The samples of art on the walls +struck me as a bit gaudy too, and I was tryin' to guess how it would +seem if you had to live in that sort of clutter continual, when out +through the slidin' doors from the lib'ry appears Sappy the Constant. + +"The poor prune!" thinks I. "I wonder if I've got time to work up some +scheme of puttin' the skids under him?" + +But instead of givin' me the haughty stare as usual he rushes towards me +smilin' and excited. "Oh, I say!" he breaks out. "Torchy, isn't it? +Well, I--I've got a big piece of news." + +"I know," says I. "Someone's told you that the Panama Canal's full of +water." + +"No, no!" says he. "It--it's about me. Just happened, you know. And +really I must tell someone." + +I had a choky sensation in my throat about then, and my breath came a +little short; but I managed to get out husky, "Well, toss it over." + +Westy beams grateful. "Isn't it wonderful?" says he. "I--I've got her!" + +"Eh?" I gasps, grippin' a chair back. + +"She just told me," says he, "in there. She's--she's wearing my ring +now." + +Got me right under the belt buckle, that did. I felt wabbly and dizzy +for a second, and I expect I gawps at him open faced. Then I takes a +brace. Had to. I don't know how well I did it either, or how convincin' +it sounded, but I found myself shakin' him by the mitt and sayin': +"Congratulations, Westlake. You--you've got a girl worth gettin', +believe me!" + +"Thanks awfully, old man," says he, still pumpin' my arm up and down. "I +can hardly realize it myself. Awfully bad case I had, you know. And now, +while I have the courage, I suppose I'd best see her mother." + +"Wha-a-at?" says I, starin' at him. + +"I know," says he, "it isn't being done much nowadays, but somehow I +think I ought. You know I haven't even met Mrs. Ull as yet." + +I hope he was so fussed he didn't notice that sigh of relief I let out; +for I'll admit it was some able-bodied affair,--a good deal like +shuttin' off the air in a brake connection, or rippin' a sheet. Anyway, +I made up for it the next minute. + +"You and Doris, eh?" says I, poundin' him on the back hearty. "Ain't you +the foxy pair, though? Well, well! Here, let's have another shake on +that. But why not see Father and tell him about it? Know the old gent, +don't you?" + +"Ye-e-es," says Westy, flushin' a bit. "But he--well, he's her father, +of course. She can't help that. And it makes no difference at all to me +if he isn't really refined--not a bit. But--but I'd rather not talk to +him just now. I--I prefer to see Mrs. Ull." + +I can't say just what I felt so friendly and fraternal to him about +then; but I did. "Westy," says I, "take my advice about this hunch of +yours to see Mother. Don't!" + +"But really," he insists, "I must tell one or the other, don't you see. +And unless I do it right away I know I never can at all. Besides I've +made up my mind that Mrs. Ull ought to be the first to know. I--I'm +going to ring for the maid and ask to see her." + +"Good nerve!" says I, slappin' him on the shoulder. "In that case I'll +just slip into the back room there and shut the door." + +"Oh, I say!" says he, glancin' around panicky. "I--I wish you'd stay. +I--I don't fancy facing her alone. Please stay!" + +"It ain't reg'lar," says I. + +"I don't care," says Westy, pleadin'. "You could sort of introduce me, +you know, and--and help me out if I got stuck. You would, wouldn't you?" + +And it was amazin' how diff'rent I felt towards Westy from five minutes +before. His best friend couldn't have looked on him fonder, or promised +to stand by him closer. I calls the maid myself, discovers that Mrs. Ull +is in the upstairs sittin' room, and sends the message that Mr. Westlake +would like to see her right off about something important. + +"But you got to buck up, my boy," says I; "for from all the dope I've +had you've got a jolt comin' to you." + +That wa'n't any idle rumor, either. He'd hardly begun pacin' restless in +and out among the chairs and tables before we hears a heavy pad-pad on +the stairs, and the next thing we know the lady is standin' in the door. + +Not such an awful stout old party as I'd looked for, nor she didn't have +such a bad face; but with the funny way she has her hair bobbed up, and +the weird way her dress fits her, like it had been cut out left-handed +in a blind asylum--well, she's a mess, that's all. It's an expensive +lookin' outfit too, and the jew'lry display around her lumpy neck and on +her pudgy fingers was enough to make you blink; but somehow it all +looked out of place. + +For a second she stands there fingerin' her rings fidgety, and then +remarks unexpected: "It's about Doris, ain't it? Well, young feller, +what is it you got on your mind?" + +And all of a sudden I tumbles to the fact that she's lookin' straight at +me. Then it was my turn to go panicky. "Excuse me, Ma'am," says I hasty, +"but that's the guilty party, the one over by the fireplace. Mr. +Westlake, Ma'am." + +"Oh!" says she. "That one, eh? Well, let's have it!" and with that she +paddles over to a high-backed, carved mahogany chair and settles +herself sort of grim and defiant. I almost had to push Westy to the +front too. + +"I expect you've talked this all over with her father, eh?" she goes on. +"I'm always the last to get wise to anything that goes on in this house, +specially if it's about Doris. Come, let's have it!" + +"But I haven't seen Mr. Ull at all," protests Westy. "It--it's just +happened. And I thought you ought to know first. I want to ask you, Mrs. +Ull, if I may marry Doris?" + +We wa'n't lookin' for what come next, either of us; her big red face had +such a hard, sullen look on it, like she knew we was sizin' her up and +meant to show us she didn't give a hoot what we thought. But as Westy +finishes and bows real respectful, holdin' out his hand friendly, the +change come. The hard lines around her mouth softens, the narrowed eyes +widen and light up, and her stiff under jaw gets trembly. A tear or so +trickles foolish down the side of her nose; but she don't pay any +attention. She's just starin' at Westy. + +"You--you wanted me to know first, did you?" says she, with a break in +her shrill, cackly voice. "Me?" + +"I thought it only right," says Westy. "You're Doris's mother, you know, +and----" + +"Good boy!" says she, reachin' out after one of his hands and pattin' +it. "I'm glad you did too. Doris, she's got too fine for her old +mother. That ain't so much her fault as it is mine, I expect. I'm kind +of rough, and a good deal behind the times. I ain't kept up, not even +the way Leo has. But then, I ain't had the chance. I've been at home, +lookin' after the boys and--and Doris. I saw she was gettin' spoiled; +but I didn't have the heart to bring her home and stop it. She's young, +though. She'll get over it. You'll help her. Oh, I know about you. Quite +a young swell, you are; but I guess you're all right. And I'm glad for +Doris. Maybe too, she'll find out some day that her rough old mother, +who got left so far behind, thinks a lot of her still. You--you'll tell +her as much some time perhaps. Won't you?" + +Say, take it from me, I was so misty in the eyes about then, and so +choky under my collar, that I couldn't have done it myself. But Westy +did. There's a heap more to him than shows on the outside. + +"Mrs. Ull," says he, "I shall tell Doris all of that, and much more. And +I'm sure that both of us are going to be very fond of you. And if you +don't mind, I'm going to begin now to call you Mother." + +Yes, I was gettin' a little uneasy at that stage. I hadn't counted on +bein' let in for quite such a close fam'ly scene. And when the two girls +showed up with their arms locked about each other, and Vee leads Doris +up to Mother Ull, and they goes to a three-cornered clinch, sobbin' on +one another's shoulder--well, I faded. + +On the way home I was struck by a sudden thought that trickled all the +way down my spine like a splinter of ice. "If I ever had the luck to get +that far," thinks I, "would I have to go through any such an act with +Aunty? Hel-lup, Hubert! Hel-lup!" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SOME GUESSES ON RUBY + + +Well, I'm shocked at Ruby, that's all. Also I'm beginnin' to suspicion I +ain't such a human-nature dope artist as I thought, for I've made at +least three fruity forecasts on Ruby, and the returns are still comin' +in. + +My first frame-up was natural enough. When this goose-necked young +female with the far-away look in her eyes appeared as No. 7 in our +batt'ry of lady typists, and I heard Mr. Robert havin' a seance tryin' +to dictate some of the mornin' correspondence to her, I swung round with +a grin on my face and took a second look. She was fussed and scared. + +No wonder; for Mr. Robert has a shorthand system of his own that he uses +in dictatin' letters. He'll reel off the name and address all right, and +then simply sketch in what he wants said, without takin' pains to throw +in such details as "Replying to yours of even date," or "We are in +receipt of yours of the 20th inst." And the connectin' links he always +leaves to the stenog. + +Course that don't take much bean after they get used to his ways; but +this fairy in the puckered black velvet waist and the white linen cuffs +hadn't been on the Corrugated staff more 'n three days, and this was her +first tryout on private officework. She'd been told to read over the +last letter fired at her, and she was doin' it like this: + + BAILY, BANKS & BAKER, Something-or-other Chestnut, Philadelphia. + Look up the number, will you? Gentlemen--and so on. Ah--er--what's + that note of theirs? Oh, yes! Shipments of ore will be resumed-- + +Which was where Mr. Robert stops her. "Pardon me," says he, "but before +we go any further just how much of that rubbish do you mean to +transcribe?" + +"Why," says Ruby, starin' at him vacant, "I--I took down just what you +said." + +"Mm-m-m!" says he sarcastic. "My error. And--er--that will be all." +Then, when she's gone, he growls savage: "Delightful, eh? You noticed +her, didn't you, Torchy?" + +"The mouth breather?" says I. "Sure! That's Ruby. Nobody home, and the +front door left open. One of Piddie's finds, I expect." + +"Ring for him, will you?" says Mr. Robert. + +Poor Piddie! He was almost as fussed as Ruby had been. He admits takin' +her on, but insists that she brought a good letter from some Western +mill concern and was a wonder at takin' figures. + +"Keep her on them and out of here, then," says Mr. Robert. "And if you +love peace, Mr. Piddie, avoid sending her to the governor." + +Which was a good hunch too. What Old Hickory would have remarked if them +letters had got to him it ain't best to imagine. Besides, that stare of +Ruby's would have got on his nerves from the start; for it's the +weirdest, emptiest, why-am-I-here look I ever saw outside a nut fact'ry. +Kind of a hauntin' look too. I couldn't help watchin' for it every time +I passes through the front office, just to see if it had changed any. +And it didn't--always the same! + +Then here one day when I has to cook up some tabulated stuff for the +Semiannual me and Ruby had a three-hour session together, me readin' off +long strings of numbers, and her thumpin' 'em out on the keys. We got +along fine too, and when I says as much at the finish she jars me almost +speechless by shootin' over a shy, grateful look and smilin' coy. + +From then on it was almost a case of friendly relations between me and +Ruby, conducted on the basis of about two smiles a day. Poor thing! I +expect them was about the only friendly motions she went through durin' +business hours; for she didn't seem to mix at all with the other lady +typists, and as for the young sports around the shop--well, to them Ruby +was a standin' joke. + +And you could hardly blame 'em. Them back-number costumes of hers looked +odd enough mixed in with all the harem effects and wired-neck ruffs that +the others wore down to work. But when it come to doin' her hair Ruby +was in a class by herself. No spit curls or French rolls for her! She +sticks to the plain double braid, wound around her head smooth and +slick, like the stuff they wrap Chianti bottles in, and with her long +soup-viaduct it gives her sort of a top-heavy look. Sort of dull, +ginger-colored hair it is too. Besides that she's a tall, +shingle-chested female, well along in the twenties, I should judge, and +with all the earmarks of bein' an old maid. + +So shock No. 2 is handed me when I discovers how the high-shouldered +young husk with the wide-set blue eyes, that I'd seen hangin' round the +Arcade on and off, was really waitin' for Ruby. Uh-huh! I stood and +watched 'em sidle up to each other and go driftin' out into Broadway +hand in hand. A swell pair they'd make for a Rube vaudeville act! +Honest, with a few make-up touches, they could have walked right on and +had the gallery with 'em! + +Believe me, I couldn't miss a chance to josh Ruby some on that. I shoves +it at her next day when I comes back early from lunch and finds her +brushin' her sandwich crumbs into the waste basket. + +"Now don't spring any musty first-cousin gag on me," says I; "for it +don't go with the fond, palm-pressin' act. Steady comp'ny, ain't he?" + +Which was where you'd expect her to turn pink in the ears and let loose +a giggle. But not Ruby. She's a solemn, serious-minded party, Ruby is. +"Do you mean Mr. Lindholm?" says she. + +"Heavings!" says I. "Do you have relays of 'em? I'm referrin' to the +stocky-built young Romeo that picked you up at the door last night." + +"Oh, yes," says she placid, "Nelson Lindholm. We had Sanskrit together." + +"Eh?" says I. "Sans-which? What kind of a disease is that?" + +"It's a language," explains Ruby. "We were in the same class. I thought +it might help me in my foreign mission work. I'm sure I don't know why +Nelson took it, though. He was studying electrical engineering." + +"Maybe it was catchin', at that," says I. "Where was all this?" + +"At the Co-ed," says Ruby. "But then I'd known Nelson before. He's from +Naukeesha too." + +"Come again," says I. "From what?" + +"Naukeesha," repeats Ruby, just as if it was some common name like +Patchogue or Hoboken. + +"Is that an island somewhere," says I, "or just a mixed drink?" + +"Why," says she, "it's a town; in Wisconsin, you know." + +"Think of that!" says I. "How they do mess up the map! What's it like, +this Naukeesha?" + +And for the first time Ruby shows some traces of life. "It's nice," says +she, "real nice. Not at all like New York." + +"Ah come, not so rough!" says I. "What you got special against our burg +here?" + +Ruby lapses back into her vacant stare and sort of shivers. "It's so big +and--and whirly!" says she. "I don't like things to be whirly. Then the +people are so strange, and their faces so hard. If--if I should fall +down in one of those crowds, I'm sure they would walk right over me, +trample on me, without caring." + +"Pooh!" says I. "You'll work up a rush-hour nerve in a month or so. Of +course, havin' always lived in a place like Naukeesha----" + +"But I haven't," corrects Ruby. "I was born in Kansas." + +"As bad as that!" says I. "And your folks moved up there later, eh?" + +"No," says she. "They--they--I lost them there. A cyclone, you know." + +"You don't mean," says I, "that--that----" + +"Yes," says she, "Mother, Father, and my two brothers. We were all +together when it struck; that is, I was just coming in from the kitchen. +I'd been shutting the windows. I saw them all go--whirled off, just like +that. The chimney fell, big beams came down, then it was all smoky and +dark. I must have been blown through a window. My face was cut a little. +I never knew. Neighbors found me in a field by a stump. They found the +others too--laid them side by side in the wagon shed. Nothing else was +left standing. It's dreadful, being in a cyclone--the roar, you know, +and things coming at you in the dark, and that feeling of being lifted +and whirled. I was only twelve; but I--I can't forget. And when I'm in +big, noisy places it all comes back. I suppose I'm silly." + +Was she? Say, what's your guess about that? And, take it from me, I +didn't wonder any more at that stary look of hers. She'd seen 'em all +go--four of 'em. Good-night! I talked easy and soothin' to Ruby after +that. + +"Then I went up to live with Uncle Edward at Naukeesha," she trails +along. "He's a minister there. It was he who suggested my going into +foreign mission work. I had to do something, you know, and I'd always +been such a good scholar. I love books. So I studied hard, and was sent +to the Co-ed. But the languages took so much time. Then I had to skip +several terms and work to help pay my expenses. I worked during +vacations too, at anything. Now I'm waiting for a field. They send you +out when there's a vacancy." + +"How about Nelson?" says I. "He's goin' to be a missionary too?" + +"He doesn't want me to go," says Ruby, shakin' her head. "That is why he +came on. He had charge of the electric light plant too, a good place. +And here he gets only odd jobs. I tell him he's silly to stay. I can't +see why he does." + +"Asked him, have you?" says I. + +"Why, no," says Ruby. + +"Shoot it at him to-night," says I. + +But she shakes her head, opens her notebook, and feeds in a copyin' +sheet as the clock points to 1. I looks up just in time to catch a +couple of them cheap bondroom sports nudgin' each other as they passes +by. Thought I'd been joshin' the Standin' Joke, I expect. Well, that's +the way I started in, I'll admit. + +It's only a day or so later I has the luck to run across Oakley Mills. +Something had come up that needed to be passed on by Mr. Robert, and as +he was still out lunchin' I scouts over to his club, and finds him +stowed away at a corner table with this chatty playwright party. + +He's quite a swell, Oakley is, you know; and I guess with one Broadway +hit in its second year, and a lot of road comp'nies out, he can afford +to flit around under the white lights. Him and Mr. Robert has always +been more or less chummy, and every now and then they get together like +this for a talkfest. As Mr. Mills seems to be right in the middle of +something as I drifts in, Mr. Robert waves me to a chair and signals him +to keep on, which he does. + +"It's a curious mess, that's all," says Oakley, spreadin' out his +manicured fingers and shruggin' his shoulders under his Donegal Norfolk. +"I'm not sure if the new piece will ever go on." + +"Another procrastinating producer?" asks Mr. Robert careless. + +"No, a finicky author this time," says Oakley. "You see, there is one +part, a character part, which I'm insisting must be cast right. It +seemed easy at first. But these women of our American stage! No +training, no facility, no understanding! Not one of them can fill it, +and we've tried nearly a dozen. If I could only find the original!" + +"Eh?" says Mr. Robert, who's been payin' more attention to manipulatin' +the soda siphon than to Oakley's beefin'. "What original?" + +"The dumbest, woodenest, most conscientious young female person it has +ever been my lot to meet," goes on Mr. Mills. "Talk about your rare +types! You should have known Faithful Fannie (my name for her, you +know). It was out in the Middle West last summer. I had two or three +weeks' work to do on the new piece, revising it to fit Amy Dean. All +stars of that magnitude demand it, you understand. + +"Well, I should have stayed right here until it was done, but some +Chicago friends wanted me to go with them up into the lake region, +promised me an ideal place to work in--all that. So I went. I might have +had better sense. You know these bungalow colonies in the woods--where +they live in fourteen-room log cabins, fitted with electric lights and +English butlers? Bah! It was bridge and tennis and dancing day and +night, with a new mob every week-end. Work? As well try it in the middle +of the Newport Casino. + +"So I hunted up a little third-rate summer hotel a mile or so off, where +the guests were few and the food wretched, and camped down with my +mangled script and my typewriter. There I met Fannie the Unforgetful. +She was the waitress I happened to draw out of a job lot. I suppose it +was her debut at that sort of thing. For the sake of hungry humanity I +hope it was. What she did not know about serving was simply amazing; but +her capacity for absorbing suggestions and obeying orders was profound. +'Could I have a warm plate?' I asked at the first meal. 'Oh, certainly, +Sir,' says Fannie, and from then on every dish she brought me was piping +hot, even to the cold-meat platter and the ice cream saucer. It was that +way with every wish I was rash enough to express. Fannie never forgot, +and she kept to the letter of the law. + +"Also she would stand patiently and watch me eat. That is, she would fix +her eyes on me intently, never moving, and keep them there for a quarter +of an hour at a time. A little embarrassing, you know, to be so +constantly observed. She had such big, stary eyes too, absolutely +without any expression in them. To break the spell I would order things +I didn't want, just to get her out of the way for a moment or so while I +snatched a few unwatched bites. You know how it is? There's green corn. +Now I like to tackle that with both hands; but I don't care to be +closely inspected while I'm at it. I used to fancy that her gaze was +somewhat critical. 'Good heavens, Girl!' I said one day. 'Can't you look +somewhere else--at the ceiling, or out of the window?' She chose the +ceiling. It was a bit weird to have her stationed opposite me, her eyes +rolled heavenward. Uncanny! It attracted the attention of the other +guests. But it was something of a relief. I could watch her then. + +"There was something fascinating about Faithful Fannie, though, as there +is about all unusually plain persons. Not that she was positively +homely. Her features were regular enough, I suppose. But she was such a +tall, slim, colorless, neutral creature! And awkward! You've seen a +young turkey, all legs and neck, with its silly head bobbing above the +tall grass? Well, something like that. And as I never read at my meals I +had nothing else to do but study that sallow, unmoving face of hers with +its steady, emotionless, upward gaze. Was she thinking? And what about! +Who was she? Where had she come from? + +"A haunting face, Fannie's was; at least, for me. It became almost an +obsession. I could see it as I sat down to my work. And the first thing +I knew I was writing Fannie into my play. There was a maid's part in +it,--the conventional, table-dusting, note-carrying, tea-serving maid, +with not half a dozen words to speak. But before I knew it this +insignificant part had become so elaborated, I had sketched in Fannie's +personality so vividly, that the whole action and theme of the piece +were revolving about her--hinged on her. I couldn't seem to stop, +either. I wrote on and on and--well, by Jove! it ended in my turning out +something entirely different from that which I had begun. The original +skeleton is still there, the characters are the same; but the values +have exchanged places. This is a Fannie play through and through. And +it's good, the biggest thing I've done; but----" Once more Oakley shrugs +his shoulders and ends with a deep sigh. + +"Rubbish!" says Mr. Robert. "You and your artistic temperament! What's +the real trouble, anyway?" + +"As I've tried to make clear to your limited and wholly commercialized +intelligence," comes back Mr. Mills, "I have created a character which +is too deep and too subtle for any available American actress to handle. +If I could only find the original now, with her tractable genius for +doing exactly what she was told----" + +"Why not send out for her, then?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"As though I hadn't!" says Oakley. "Two weeks ago I located the hotel +manager in Florida and wired him a full description of the girl. All I +got from him was that he'd heard she was somewhere in New York." + +"How simple!" says Mr. Robert. "Here is my young friend Torchy, with +wits even more brilliant than his hair. Ask him to find Fannie for +you." + +"A girl whose name I don't even know!" protests Oakley. "How in blazes +could anyone trace a----" + +"I'll bet you the dinners," cuts in Mr. Robert, "that Torchy can do it." + +"Taken," says Mr. Mills, and turns to me brisk. "Now, young man, what +further details would you like?" + +"Don't happen to have a lock of her hair with you?" says I, grinnin'. + +"Alas, no!" says he. "She favored me with no such mark of her esteem." + +"Was it kind of ginger-colored," says I, "and done in a braid round her +head?" + +"Why--er--I believe it was," says he. + +"And didn't she have sort of droopy shoulders," I goes on, "and a trick +of starin' vague, with her mouth part way open?" + +"Yes, yes!" says he eager. "But--but whom are you describing?" + +"Ruby Everschott," says I. "Come down to the Corrugated and take a +look." + +Course it seemed like a 100 to 1 chance, but when I got the Wisconsin +part of his yarn, and tacked it onto the rest, it didn't seem likely one +State could produce two such specimens. Inside of fifteen minutes the +three of us was strollin' casual through the front offices. + +"Glance down the line of lady typists," I whispers to Oakley. + +"By George!" says he gaspy. "The one at the far end?" + +"You win," says I. + +"And you also, my young wizard," says Oakley. + +"I'll have her sent into my private office," suggests Mr. Robert. + +And once more I was lookin' for some startled motions from Ruby when she +discovers Mr. Mills. But in she comes, as woodeny and stiff as ever, +goes to her little table, and spreads out her notebook, without glancin' +at any of us. + +"Pardon me, Miss Everschott," says Mr. Robert, "but--er--my friend Mills +here fancies that he--er--ah--oh, hang it all! you say it, Oakley." + +At which Mr. Mills steps up smilin'. I should judge he was a fairly +smooth, high-polished gent as a rule; but after Ruby has turned that +stupid, stary look on him, without battin' an eyelash or liftin' an +eyebrow, the smile fades out. She don't say a word or make a move: just +continues to stare. As for Oakley, he shifts uneasy on his feet and +flushes up under the eyes. + +"Well?" says he. "I trust you remember me?" + +Ruby shakes her head slow. "No, Sir," says she. + +"Eh?" says Oakley. "Weren't you a waitress at the Lakeside Hotel last +summer?" + +"Certainly, Sir," says Ruby. + +"And didn't you bring me my meals three times a day for four mortal +weeks?" he insists. + +"Did I?" says Ruby, starin' stupider than ever. + +"Great Scott, young woman!" breaks out Oakley. "Didn't you look at me +long enough and steadily enough to remember? Don't you recall I was +disagreeable enough to ask you not to watch me eat?" + +"Oh!" says Ruby, a flicker of almost human intelligence in her big eyes. +"The one who wanted hot plates!" + +"At last," says Oakley, "I am properly identified. Yes, I am the +hot-plate person." + +"You had tea for breakfast too, didn't you?" asks Ruby. + +"Always," says he. "An eccentricity of mine." + +"And you put salt on your muskmelon, and wanted your eggs opened, and +didn't like tomato soup," adds Ruby, like she was repeatin' a lesson. + +"Guilty on all three counts," says Mr. Mills. + +"I tried to remember," says Ruby, sort of meek. + +"Tried!" gasps Oakley. "Why, you made an art of it. You never so much +as---- But tell me, was it those foolish little whims of mine you were +thinking so hard about while you stood there gazing so intently at me?" + +Ruby nods; a shy, bashful little nod. + +Mr. Mills makes a low bow. "A thousand pardons, my dear young lady!" +says he. "I stand convicted of utter selfishness. But perhaps I can +atone." + +And with that he proceeds to put his proposition up to her. He tells her +about the play, the trouble he's had tryin' to fit one special part, and +how he's sure she could do it to a T. He asks her to give it a try. + +"Go on the stage!" says Ruby, her big eyes starin' at him like he'd +asked her to jump off the Metropolitan Tower. "No, I don't think I +could. I'm going to be a foreign missionary, you know." + +"A--a what?" gasps Oakley. "Missionary! But see here--that can wait. And +in one season on the stage you could make----" + +Well, I must say Oakley argued it well and put it strong; but he'd have +produced just as good results if he'd been out in the square askin' the +bronze statue of Lafayette to hand him down a match. Ruby drops back +into her vague gazin' act and shakes her head. So at last he ends by +askin' her to think it over for a day, and Ruby goes back to her desk. + +"How absurd!" growls Oakley. "But I simply must have her. Why, we would +pay her three hundred dollars a week." + +I catches my breath at that. "Excuse me if I seem to crash in," says I, +"but was that a gust of superheated air, or did you mean it?" + +"I should be glad to submit a contract to Miss Everschott on those +terms," says he. + +"Then leave it to me," says I; "that is, to me and Nelson." + +Did we win Ruby? Say, with our descriptions of what three hundred a week +might mean in the way of Christmas presents to Uncle Ed, and donations +to the poor box, and a few personal frills on the side, we shot that +foreign missionary scheme so full of holes it looked like a last year +mosquito bar at the attic window. + +"But I'm sure I sha'n't like it at all," says Ruby as she signs her +name. + +I didn't deny that. I knew she was in for a three weeks' drillin' by the +roughest stage manager in the business. You know who. But he can deliver +the goods, can't he? He makes the green ones act. Look at what he did +with Ruby! Only it don't seem like actin' at all. She's just Ruby, in +the same puckered waist, her hair mopped around her head in the same +silly braid, and that same stary look in her big eyes. But it gets 'em +strong. Packed every night! + +I meets Nelson here only yesterday, and he was tellin' me. Comin' along +some himself, Nelson is. He's opened an office and is biddin' for big +jobs. + +"I've just landed my first contract," says he. + +"Good!" says I. "What's it for?" + +"A fifty-foot, twenty-thousand-candle-power sign over the theater," says +he, "with Ruby's name in it. She's signed up for another year, you +know." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Then it's all off with the heathen, eh?" + +And Nelson he drifts up the street wearin' a grin. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +TORCHY GETS AN INSIDE TIP + + +There was two commuters, one loaded down with a patent runner sled, the +other chewin' a cigar impatient and consultin' his watch; a fat woman +with a six-year-old who was teasin' to go see Santa Claus in the window +again; a sporty-lookin' old boy with a red tie who was blinkin' googoos +out of his puffy eyes; and then there was me, draped in my new +near-English top coat and watchin' the swing doors expectant. + +So you see they ain't particular who hangs out in these department store +vestibules. But I'll bet I had the best excuse! I was waitin' for Vee! +She'd gone in at five-twenty-one, sayin' she'd be only a couple of +minutes; so she wa'n't really due for half an hour yet. + +The commuter with the sled had just been picked up by Wifey, loaded down +with more bundles, and rushed off for the five-forty-something for +Somewhere, and a new recruit in the shape of a fish-eyed gink with a +double-chin dimple had drifted in, when I has the feelin' that someone +has sidled up to me from the far door at the left and is standin' +there. Then comes the timid hail: + +"I beg pardon, Sir." + +You'd naturally look for somebody special after that, wouldn't you? But +what I finds close to my elbow is a wispy little girl with a pinched, +high-strung look on her thin face, an amazin' collection of freckles, +and a pleadin' look in her big, blue-gray eyes. She's costumed mainly in +a shaggy tam-o'-shanter that comes down over her ears, and an old plaid +cape that must have been some vivid in its color scheme when it was new. + +"Eh, Sister?" says I, gawpin' at her. + +"Is it true about the work papers, Sir?" says she. + +"The which?" says I, not gettin' her for a second. "Oh! Work papers? +Sure! They can't take you on unless you're over fourteen and have been +to school so many weeks." + +"Not anywhere? Wouldn't they?" she insists. + +I shakes my head. "Wouldn't dare," says I. "They'd be fined if they +did." + +"Th-thank you, Sir," says she. "That's what the man said." + +She was winkin' both eyes hard to hold the brine back, and her under lip +was trembly; but she was keepin' her chin up brave and steady. She'd +turned to go when she swings around. + +"Please, Sir," says she, "where does one go when one is tired?" + +"Why, Sis," says I sort of quizzin', "what's the matter with home?" + +"But if one has no home?" she comes back at me solemn. + +"The case being that of a little girl," says I, "she wanders around +until she's collected by a cop, turned over to the Children's Society, +and committed to some home." + +"But I mustn't go there," says she, glancin' around scary. "No, not to a +home. Daddums said not to." + +"Did, eh?" says I. "Then why don't he---- By the way, just where is +Daddums?" + +"Taken up," says she. + +"You mean pinched?" says I. + +"I think so," says she. "Cook says the bobbies came for him. He left +word with her that I wasn't to worry, as he'd be let out soon, and I was +to stay where I was. Three weeks ago that was, and--and I haven't heard +from Daddums since." + +"Huh!" says I. "Listens like a case of circumstances over which---- But +where did you pick up that trick of speakin' of coppers as bobbies?" + +"I beg pardon, Sir?" says she. + +"That tells it," says I. "English, ain't you?" + +"London, Sir, Brompton Road," says she. + +"Been over long?" says I. + +"A matter of three months, Sir," says she. + +"And what's the name?" says I. + +"Mine?" says she. "Helma Allston. And yours, please, Sir?" + +I wa'n't lookin' for her to send it back so prompt. She ain't at all +fresh about it, you know: just easy and natural. I don't know when I've +run across a youngster with such nice manners. + +"Why," says I, "I guess you can call me Torchy." + +"Thank you, Mr. Torchy," says she, doin' a little dancin'-school duck. +"And if you don't mind, I'd like to--to stay here for a minute or two +while I think what I 'd best---- O-o-o-oh!" She sort of moans out this +last panicky and shrinks against the wall. + +"Well, what's the trouble now?" says I. + +"That's the one!" she whispers husky. "The--the man in the blue cap--the +one who told me about the work papers. He said I was to clear out too." + +And by followin' her scared glances I discovers this low-brow store +sleuth scowlin' ugly at her. + +"Pooh!" says I. "Only one of them cheap flat-foots. Don't mind him. +You're waitin' with me, you know. Here!" And I reaches down a hand to +her. + +Maybe it wa'n't some grateful look Helma flashes up as she slips her +slim, cold little fingers into mine and snuggles up like a lost kitten. +The store sleuth he stares puzzled for a second; but the near-English +top coat must have impressed him, for he goes sneakin' back down the +main aisle. + +So here I am, with this freaky little stray under my wing, when Vee +comes sailin' out, all trim and classy in her silver fox furs, with a +cute little hat to match, and takes in the picture. Maybe you can guess +too, how the average young queen in her set would have curled her lip at +sight of that faded cape and oversized cap. But not Vee! She just +indulges in a flickery smile, then straightens her face out and remarks: + +"Well, Torchy, I haven't had the pleasure, have I?" + +Say, she's a real sport, Vee is, take it from me! + +"Guess not," says I. "This is Helma, late of London, just now at large. +It's a case of one's havin' mislaid one's home." + +"Oh!" says Vee, a little doubtful. "And one's parents too?" + +"Painful subject," says I, shakin' my head warnin'. + +But Helma ain't the kind to gloss things over. She speaks right out. "If +you please, Miss," says she, "I've no mother, and Daddums has been taken +up--the bobbies, you know. And I fancy the money he left for my board +must have been all used; for I heard the landlady say I'd have to go to +a home. So before daylight this morning I slipped out the front door. +I'm not going back, either. I--I'm looking for work." + +"For work!" says Vee, starin' first at me and then at Helma. "You absurd +little thing! Why, how old are you?" + +"I was twelve last month, Miss," says Helma, bobbin' polite. + +"And you've been out since daylight?" demands Vee. "Where did you have +breakfast and luncheon?" + +"I--I didn't have them at all, Miss," admits Helma. + +Vee presses her lips together sudden and then shoots a knowin' look at +me. "There!" says she. "That reminds me. I haven't had tea, either. +Well, Torchy?" + +"My blow," says I. "I was just goin' to mention it. There's a joint +somewhere near, ain't there?" + +"Top floor," says Vee. "Come, Helma, you'll go with us, won't you?" + +And you should have seen the admirin' look Vee got back in exchange for +the smile she gives Helma! The look never fades, either, all the while +Helma is puttin' away a pot of chocolate, a club sandwich, and an order +of toasted muffins and marmalade. She just lets them big eyes of hers +travel up and down, from Vee's smooth-fittin' gloves to the little wisp +of straw-colored hair that curls up over the side of her fur hat. You +couldn't blame Helma. I took a peek now and then myself. + +Meanwhile we has a good chance to inspect this waif that's been sort of +wished on us. Such a sharp, peaked little face she has, and such bright, +active eyes, that it gives her a wide-awake, live-wire look, like a fox +terrier. Then the freckles--just spattered with 'em, clear across the +bridge of her nose and up to where the carroty hair begins. Like rust +specks on a knife blade, they were. + +"You didn't get all those livin' in London, did you?" says I. + +"Oh, no, Sir," says she. "Egypt mostly, and then down in Devon. You see, +Sir Alfred used to let Daddums take me along. Head butler, you know, +Daddums was--until the war. Then Sir Alfred went off with his regiment, +and Haldeane House was shut up, like so many others. Daddums was too old +to enlist, and besides there was no one to leave me with. So he had to +try for a place over here. I--I wish he hadn't. It was awful of the +bobbies, wasn't it?" + +"Looks so from here," says I. "Was it jew'lry that was missin', or +what?" + +"Money, Cook said," says Helma. "Oh, a lot! Fancy! Why, everyone knows +Daddums wouldn't do a thing like that. They could ask Sir Alfred. +Daddums was with him ever so long--since I was a little, little girl." + +I glances across at Vee, and she glances back. That's all; but them big +eyes of Helma's don't miss it. + +"You--you don't believe he took the money, do you?" says she, wistful +and pleadin'. + +At which Vee reaches over and pats her soothin' on the hand. "I don't +believe a word of it," says she. + +"He's a good Daddums," goes on Helma, spreadin' the last of the +marmalade on a buttered muffin. "He was going to take me to Australia, +where Uncle Verne has a big sheep ranch. And he'd promised to buy me a +sheep pony, all for my very own. I love riding, don't you? In Egypt I +had a donkey with a white face; but only hired from Hassan, you know. +And in Devon there was a cunning little Shetland that Hobbs would +sometimes let me take out. But here! I stay in a dark little room alone +for hours. I--I don't like it at all. But it costs such a lot to get to +Australia, and Daddums hasn't been well,--he's had a cold on his +chest,--and he's been afraid he would lose his place and have to go to a +hospital. Just before he was taken up, though, he told me we were to +sail for Melbourne soon. Daddums had found a way." + +This time I took care that Helma wa'n't lookin' before I glances at Vee. +I shakes my head dubious, indicatin' I wa'n't so sure about Daddums. But +Vee only tosses up her chin and turns to Helma. + +"Of course he would!" says she. "What have you in your lap, Child?" + +The kid pinks up and produces a battered old doll,--one of these +cloth-topped, everlastin' affairs, that looks like it had come from the +Christmas tree quite some seasons back. + +"This is my dear Arabella," says Helma in her old-maid way. "I suppose +I'm too old to play with dolls now; but I--I can't give her up. Only the +night before Daddums went off I missed her for a while and thought she +was lost. I cried myself to sleep. But what do you think? In the morning +I found her again, right beside me on the pillow. I haven't gone a step +without her since." + +"You dear little goose!" says Vee, reachin' out impetuous and givin' her +a hug. "And where do you think you're going, you and your Arabella?" + +"I don't know," says Helma. "Only I mustn't let them put me in a home; +for then I couldn't go with Daddums when he came out--you see?" + +Sure, we saw--that and a lot more. I could tell that Vee was puzzlin' +over the situation by the way she was starin' at the youngster and +grippin' her muff. Course you might say we wa'n't any Rescue Mission, or +anything like that; but somehow this was diff'rent. Here was Helma, +right in front of us! And I'm free to admit the proposition was too much +for me. + +"Gee!" says I. "Handed out rough sometimes, ain't it? What's the answer, +Vee?" + +"There's only one," says she. "I'm going to take Helma home with me." + +"What about Aunty?" says I. + +At which Vee's lips come together and her shoulders straighten. "I +know," says she, "there'll be a row. Aunty's always saying that such +affairs should be handled by institutions. But this time--well, we'll +see. Come, Helma." + +"Oh, is it true?" gasps the youngster. "May I go with you? May I?" + +And as I tucked 'em into a taxi, Arabella and all, Vee whispers: +"Torchy, if you're any good at all, you'll go straight and find out all +about Daddums and just make them let him out!" + +"Eh?" says I. "Make 'em--say, ain't that some life-sized order?" + +"Perhaps," says she. "But you needn't come to see us until you've found +him. Good-by!" + +Just like that I got it! And, say, there wa'n't any use tryin' to kid +myself into thinkin' maybe she don't mean it. I'd seen how strong this +story of little Helma's had got to her; and, believe me, when Vee gets +real stirred up over anything she's some earnest party--no four-flushin' +about her! And it don't seem to make much diff'rence who blocks the +path. Look at her then, sailin' off to go up against a stiff-necked, +cold-eyed Aunty, who's a believer in checkbook charity, and mighty +little of that! And just so I won't feel out of it she tosses me a job +that would keep a detective bureau and a board of pardons busy for a +month. + +"Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' up the avenue after the cab. "And I pulled +this down just by bein' halfway human! Oh, very well, very well! Here's +where I strain something!" + +Course, if I hadn't knocked around a newspaper office more or less, I +wouldn't have known where to begin any more than--well, than the average +private sec would. But them two years I spent outside the Sunday +editor's door wa'n't all wasted. For instance, that's where I got to +know Whitey Weeks. And now my first move is to pike down to old +Newspaper Row and locate him. Inside of half an hour we'd done a lot +too. We'd called up their headquarters' man on the 'phone and had him +sketch off the case against one Allston, a butler. + +"Yep, grand larceny," says Whitey, his ear to the receiver. "We know +that. How much? Eh? Twenty thousand!" + +"Ah, tell him to turn over: he's on his back!" says I. "Not twenty +thousand cash?" + +"That's what he says," insists Whitey, "all in hundreds. Lifted out of a +secret wall safe." + +"Ask him where this guy was buttling,--in a bank," says I, "or at the +Subtreasury?" + +And Whitey reports that Allston was workin' for a Mrs. Murtha, West 76th +Street; "Mrs. Connie Murtha, you know," he goes on, "the big poolroom +backer, and one of the flossiest, foxiest widows in New York." + +"Then that accounts for the husky wad," says I. "Twenty thousand! No +piker, was he? Ask your man who's on the case?" + +"Rusitelli & Donahue," says Whitey. "Mike's a friend of mine too; but he +never talks much." + +"Let's have a try, anyway," says I. + +So we runs this partic'lar detective sergeant down, drags him away from +a penuchle game, and Whitey begins by suggestin' that we hear how he's +done some clever work on the Allston case. + +"I got him right, that's all," says Mike. "And he'd faked up a nice +little stall too." + +"Anything on him when you rounded him up?" asks Whitey. + +Donahue shakes his head disgusted. "Stowed it," says he. + +"Some cute, eh?" says Whitey. + +"Bah!" says Mike. "Who was it sprung that tale about his being a big +English crook? The Yard never heard of him. I doped him out from the +first, though. Plain nut! The Chief wouldn't believe it until I showed +him." + +"Showed him what?" says Whitey, innocent like. + +"This," says the sleuth, haulin' out of his pocket a bulgy envelope. "I +found that in his room. Take a look," and he lifts the flap at the end. + +"What the deuce!" says Whitey. + +"Sawdust," says Mike, "just plain, everyday sawdust. I had it +analyzed,--no dope, no nothing. Now tell me, would anyone but a nut do a +thing like that?" + +We both agreed nobody but a nut would; also we remarks in chorus that +Mr. Donahue is some classy sleuth, which he don't object to at all. In +fact, after I've explained how a relation of Allston's had asked me to +look him up he fixes it so I can get a pass into the Tombs. Followin' +which I blows Whitey to one of Farroni's seventy-five-cent spaghetti +banquets and then goes home to think a few chunks of thought. + +As the case stood it looked bad for Daddums. A party like Mrs. Connie +Murtha, with all the police drag she must have, wa'n't goin' to be +separated from her reserve roll without makin' somebody squirm good and +plenty. He might have known that, if it was him turned the trick. Or was +he nutty, like Donahue had said? Before I went any further I had to +settle that point, and while I ain't strong for payin' visits through +the iron bars I was up early next mornin' and down presentin' my pass. + +"You cub lawyers give me shootin' pains in the neck!" grumbles the +turnkey that tows me in. + +"How'd you guess I wa'n't the new District Attorney?" says I. "Here, +have a perfecto for that pain." And that soothes him so much he loafs +against the tier rail while I knocks on the door of Cell 69. + +"I beg pardon?" says a deep, smooth voice, and up to the bars steps a +tall, round-shouldered gent, with hair a little thin on top and a pair +of reddish-gray butler sideboards in front of his ears. Not a bad face +either, only the pointed chin is a little weak. + +"I'm from Helma," says I. + +That jolts him at the start. His hands go trembly, and twice he makes a +stab at speakin' before he can get the words out. "Is--isn't she all +right?" says he. "I left her in lodgings, you know. I--I trust she----" + +"She quit," says I. "They was goin' to put her in a home. Picked me up +on the street, you might say. But she's safe enough now." + +"Safe?" says he, dartin' over a suspicious look. "Where?" + +"Take my word for it," says I. "Maybe we can swap a little information +later on. Now what about this grand larceny charge?" + +"All rubbish!" says he. "Why, I hadn't been out of the house! They admit +that. If I'd taken the money, wouldn't it have been found on me?" + +"Then they pinched you on the premises?" says I. "I rather thought from +what Helma said you'd been to see her that night?" + +"Not since the night before," says he. "Helma was down in the kitchen +with Cook when they came." + +"Huh!" says I, rubbin' my chin as a help to deep thought. "The night +before?" + +I don't know why, either, but somehow that makes me think of sawdust, +and from sawdust--say, I had it in a flash. + +"Sorry, Allston," says I, "but on account of Helma I was kind of in hopes +they was just makin' a goat of you. She's a cute youngster--Helma." + +"She is all I have to live for, Sir," says he, bowin' his head. + +"Then why take such chances as this?" says I. "Twenty thousand! Say, you +know this ain't any jay burg. You can't expect to get away with a wad +like that." + +"I know nothing about the money," says he, stiffenin' up. "They'll have +to find it to prove I took it." + +"Big mistake No. 2," says I. "They got to convict somebody, and the +arrow points to you. About fifteen years would be my guess. Now come, +Allston, what good would you be after fifteen years' hard?" + +He shivers, but shrugs his shoulders dogged. "Poor little Helma!" says +he. "Where is she?" + +"Excuse me, Mr. Allston," says I, "but that ain't the order of events. +It's like this: First off you tell me where the wad is; then I tell you +about Helma." + +Makes him groan a bit, that does, and he scowls at me stubborn. "They +tried all that on at Headquarters," says he. "It's no use." + +"You'd get off lighter if you told," says I. + +"I've nothing to tell," he insists. + +"How about swappin' what you know for two tickets to Australia?" I +suggests. + +"Hah!" says he. "Helma's been talkin'!" + +"She's a chatty youngster," says I, "and she thinks a heap of her +Daddums. I ain't sure, though, whether you come first--or Arabella." + +If I hadn't been watchin' for it, I might not have noticed, but the +quiver that begins in the fingers grippin' the bars runs clear up to the +sagged shoulders. His mouth twitches nervous, and then he gets hold of +himself. + +"Oh, yes," says he, forcin' a smile. "Her doll. She--she still has that, +has she?" + +"Uh-huh!" says I, watchin' him keen. "I'm keepin' close track of both." + +That little touch did the business. He begins pacin' up and down his +cell, wringin' his hands. About the fourth lap he stops. + +"If I only could take her to Australia," says he, "and get her out +of--of all this, I would be willing to--to----" + +"That's enough," says I. "All I want is your O. K. on any terms I can +make with Mrs. Murtha." + +"She's a hard woman," says he. "And she doesn't come by her money +straight." + +"Nor lose it easy," says I. "She wants it back. Might talk business, +though, if I could show her how----" + +"Anything!" says Allston. "Anything to get me out!" + +"Now you're usin' your bean," says I. "I'm off. Maybe you'll hear from +me later." + +Course I didn't know what could be done, but I 'phones Piddie at the +office to tell 'em I won't be in before lunch, and then I boards an +uptown subway express. Easy enough findin' Mrs. Connie Murtha too. She's +just finished a ten o'clock breakfast. A big, well-built, dashin' sort +of party she is, with an enameled complexion and drugged hair. She's +brisk and businesslike. + +"If you've come to beg me to let up on that sneaking English butler," +says she, "you needn't waste any more breath. He's going to do time for +this job." + +"But suppose he could be coaxed into tellin' where the loot was?" says +I. + +"He's had the third degree good and strong," says she. "The boys told me +so. He won't squeal. Donahue says he ain't right in his head. Anyway, he +goes up." + +"He's leavin' a little girl," I puts in, "without anyone to look after +her." + +"Most crooks do," says she, sniffin'. + +"But if you could get the wad back?" says I. + +"All of it?" says she quick. + +"Every bean," says I. + +She leans forward, starin' at me hard and eager. "He'll tell, then?" +says she. + +"Said he would," says I, "providin' him and the little girl could be +shipped to Australia." + +She chews that over a minute. "That's cheap enough," says she. "I could +claim I'd remembered putting the money somewhere and forgotten. Young +man, it's a bargain. I'll have my lawyer go down and----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "why fat up a lawyer? Let's settle this between you +and me." + +"But how?" says she. + +"Just a minute," says I, lookin' her full in the eyes. "I'm playin' you +to give Allston a square deal, you know." + +"You can bank on that," says she. "Connie Murtha's word was always as +good as government bonds. And if you can wish back that twenty thousand, +I'll put a quick crimp in this prosecution." + +"What could be fairer than that?" says I. "I'll be back in an hour." + +It was only forty-five minutes, in fact; but Mrs. Connie was watchin' +for me. + +"Let's have a pair of scissors," says I, as I sheds my overcoat and +produced from under one arm, where it had been buttoned up snug and +tight, about the worst-lookin' doll you ever saw. I hadn't figured on +Mrs. Murtha goin' huffy so sudden, either. + +"You fresh young shrimp you!" she blazes out. "What's that?" + +"This is Arabella," says I. "She's sufferin' from a bad case of +undigested securities, and I got to amputate." + +She stands by watchin' the operation suspicious and ready to lam me one +on the ear, I expect. But on the way down I'd sounded Arabella's chest, +and I was backin' my guess. When I found the coarse stitchin' done with +heavy black thread I chuckles. + +"More or less the worse for wear, Arabella, eh?" says I. "But how that +youngster did hang onto her! Little Helma Allston, you know. And me +offerin' to swap a brand-new two-dollar one that could open and shut its +eyes! 'It's for Daddums,' I says at last, and she gives up. There! Now +we're gettin' to it. No wonder Arabella was some plump!" + +"Well, of all places!" gasps out Mrs. Murtha, and, believe me, it don't +take her long to leave Arabella flat as a pancake. "But how did he +manage to----" + +"It was the night before," says I. "You didn't miss the roll until the +next afternoon. And he ain't a reg'lar crook, you know. It was a case of +bein' up against it,--sickness, and wantin' to get away somewhere with +the kid. Honest, he don't strike me as such a bad lot: only a little +limber in the backbone. Better count it." + +"All there," she announces after runnin' through the bunch. "And maybe +I'm not tickled to get it back! Catch me forgetting to lock that safe +again! But I thought no one knew. Allston must have seen me moving the +picture and guessed. Well, I'm not sore. Poor devil! I'll call up the +District Attorney's office right away. He gets those tickets to +Australia, too. Leave that to me." + +Yep! Mrs. Connie wa'n't chuckin' any bluff. She went down herself and +had the indictment ditched. + +I didn't mean to stage any heart-throb piece, either; but it just +happens that yesterday, when we pulls off the final act, Vee tells me +that Helma is in the libr'y, playin' nurse and hairdresser to Aunty's +chief pet, a big orange Persian that she calls Prince Hal. That's how +Helma had won out with Aunty, you know, by makin' friends with the cat. + +"You tell her," says Vee. + +So I steps in quiet where the youngster is busy with the comb and brush. +"Someone special to see Miss Helma," says I. + +"To see me?" says she, droppin' pussy and gazin' at the door. "Why, who +can---- O-o-o-o-o! Daddums! Daddums!" + +And as they rush to a fond clinch in one room something happens to me in +the other. Uh-huh! I'm caught around the neck quick, and something soft +and sweet hits me on the right cheek, and the next minute I'm bein' +pushed away just as sudden. + +"No, no!" says Vee. "That's enough. You're a dear, all the same. Of +course I knew he didn't take it; but how in the world did you ever make +them let him go?" + +"Cinch!" says I. "I saw through the sawdust, and they didn't." + +I couldn't let on, though, about that inside tip I got from Arabella. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THEN ALONG CAME SUKEY + + +It looked like it was Kick-in Day, or something like that; for here was +Nutt Hamilton, a sporty young plute friend of Mr. Robert's, that I'm +tryin' to entertain, camped in the private office, when fair-haired +Vincent comes in off the brass gate to report respectful this new +arrival. + +"A gentleman to see Mr. Robert, Sir," says he. + +"Well, he's still out," says I. + +"So I told him, Sir," says Vincent; "but then he asks if Mr. Ferdinand +isn't here. I didn't know, Sir. Is there a----" + +"Sure, Vincent, sure!" says I. "Brother-in-law Ferdie, you know. What's +the gentleman's real name?" + +"Mr. Blair Hiscock," says Vincent, readin' the card. + +"Ever hear that one?" I asks Hamilton, and he says he ain't. "Must be +some fam'ly friend, though," I goes on. "We'll take a chance, Vincent. +Tell Blair to breeze in." + +I might have had bean enough to have looked for another pair of +shell-rimmed glasses too. That's what shows up. Only this party, instead +of beamin' mild and foolish through 'em, same as Ferdie does, stares +through his sort of peevish. He's a pale-haired, sharp-faced, undersized +young gent too, and dressed sort of finicky in one of them Ballyhooly +cape coats, an artist necktie, and a two-story soft hat with a striped +scarf wound around it. + +"Well?" says I, leanin' back in the swing chair and doin' my best to +spring the genial smile. + +"Isn't Ferdinand here, then?" he demands, glancin' about impatient. + +"Good guess," says I. "He ain't. Drifts in about once a month, though, +as a rule, and as it's been three weeks or so since he was here last, +maybe you'd like to----" + +"How absurd!" snaps Blair. "But he was to meet me here to-day at this +time." + +"Was, eh?" says I. "Well, if you know Ferdie, you can gamble that he'll +be an hour or two behind, if he gets here at all." + +"Thanks," says Blair, real crisp. "You needn't bother. I fancy I know +Ferdie quite as well as you do." + +"Oh, I wa'n't boastin'," says I, "and you don't bother me a bit. If you +think Ferdie's liable to remember, you're welcome to stick around as +long as----" + +"I'll wait half an hour, anyway," he breaks in. + +"Then you might as well meet Mr. Hamilton," says I. "Friend of Mr. +Robert's--Marjorie's too, I expect." + +The two of 'em nods casual, and then I notices Nutt take a closer look. +A second later a humorous quirk flickers across his wide face. + +"Well, well!" says he. "It's Sukey, isn't it?" + +At which Mr. Hiscock winces like he'd been jabbed with a pin. He flushes +up too, and his thin-lipped, narrow mouth takes on a pout. + +"I don't care to be called that," he snaps back. + +"Eh?" says Nutt. "Sorry, old man; but you know, up at the camp summer +before last--why, everyone called you Sukey." + +"A lot of bounders they were too!" flares out Blair. "I--I'd asked them +not to. And I'll not stand it! So there!" + +"Oh!" says Hamilton, grinnin' tantalizin'. "My error. I take back the +Sukey, _Mr._ Hiscock." + +There's some contrast between the pair as they faces each other,--young +Hiscock all bristled up bantam like and glarin' through his student +panes; while Nutt Hamilton, who'd make three of him, tilts back easy in +the heavy office armchair until he makes it creak, and just chuckles. + +He's a chronic josher, Nutt is,--always puttin' up some deep and +elaborate game on Mr. Robert, or relatin' by the hour the horse-play +stunts he's pulled on others. A bit heavy, his sense of humor is, I +judge. His idea of a perfectly good joke is to call up a bald-headed +waiter at the club and crack a soft-boiled egg on his White Way, or +balance a water cooler on top of a door so that the first party to walk +under gets soaked by it,--playful little stunts like that. And between +times, when he ain't makin' merry around town, he's off on huntin' +trips, killin' things with portable siege guns. You know the kind, +maybe. + +So we ain't the chummiest trio that could be got together. Blair makes +it plain that he has mighty little use for me, and still less for +Hamilton. But Nutt seems to get a lot of satisfaction in keepin' him +stirred up, winkin' now and then at me when he gets a rise out of Blair; +though I must say, so far as repartee went, the little chap had all the +best of it. + +"Let's see," says Nutt, "what is your specialty? You do something or +other, don't you?" + +"Yes," says Blair. "Do you?" + +"Oh, come!" says Nutt. "You play the violin, don't you?" + +"How clever of you to remember!" says Blair. "Sorry I can't +reciprocate." And he turns his back. + +But you can't squelch Hamilton that way. "Me?" says he. "Oh, potting big +game is my fad. I got three caribou last fall, you know, and this spring +I'm--say, Sukey,--I beg your pardon, Hiscock,--but you ought to come +along with us. Do you good. Put some meat on your bones. We're going +'way up into Montana after black bear and silver-tips. I'd like to see +you facing a nine-hundred-pound she bear with----" + +"Would you?" cuts in Blair. "You know very well I'd be frightened half +to death." + +"Oh, well," says Nutt, "we'd stack you up against a cinnamon cub." + +"Any kind of bear I should be afraid of," says Sukey. + +"Not really!" says Hamilton. "Why, say----" + +"Please!" protests Blair. "I don't care to talk about such creatures. +I'm afraid of them even when I see them caged. I've an instinctive dread +of all big beasts. Smile, if you like. But all truly civilized persons +feel the same. I'm not a cave man, you know. Besides, I prefer telling +the truth about such things to making believe I'm not afraid, as a lot +of would-be mighty hunters do." + +"Not meaning me, I hope?" asks Nutt. + +"If you're innocent, don't dodge," says Blair. "And I--I think I'll not +wait for Ferdinand any longer. Tell him I was here, will you?" And with +a nod to me he does a snappy exit. + +"A constant joy, Sukey is," remarks Hamilton. "Why, when we were up in +the Adirondacks that summer, we used to----" + +What they used to do to Sukey I'll never know; for just then Mr. Robert +sails in, and Nutt breaks off the account. He'd spieled along for half +an hour in his usual vein when Mr. Robert flags him long enough to call +me over. + +"By the way, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "before I forget it----" and he +hands me one of Marjorie's cards with a date and "Music" written in the +southwest corner. I gazes at it puzzled. + +"I strongly suspect," he goes on, "that a certain young lady may be +among those present." + +"Oh!" says I, pinkin' up some, I expect. "Much obliged. In that case I'm +strong for music. Some swell piano performer, eh?" + +"A young violinist," says Mr. Robert, "a friend of Ferdie's, I believe, +who----" + +"Bet a million it's Sukey!" breaks in Nutt. "Blair Hiscock, isn't it!" + +"That is his name," admits Mr. Robert. "But this is to be nothing +formal, you know: only Marjorie is bringing him down to the house, and +has asked in a few people." + +"By George!" says Nutt, slappin' his knee enthusiastic. "Couldn't you +get me in on that affair, Bob?" + +"Why--er--I might," says Mr. Robert. "I didn't know, though, that you +were passionately fond of violin music. It's to be rather a classical +programme, and----" + +"Classic be blowed!" says Nutt. "What I want is a fair whack at Sukey. +Seen him, haven't you?" + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. + +"Well, wait until you do," says Hamilton. "Say, he's a rare treat, +Sukey. About as big as a fox terrier, and just as snappy. Oh, you'll +love Sukey! If he doesn't hand you something peppery before you've known +him ten minutes, then I'm mistaken. Know what he used to call your +sister Marjorie, summer before last? Baby Dimple! After a golf ball, you +know. That's a sample of Sukey's tongue." + +Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. "Quite her own affair, I suppose," says +he. + +"Oh, she didn't mind," says Nutt. "Everyone stands for Sukey--on account +of his music. Only he is such a conceited, snobbish little whelp that +it makes you ache to cuff him. Couldn't, of course. Why, he'll begin +sniveling if you look cross at him! But it would be great sport to---- +Say, Bob, who's going to be there--anyone special?" + +"Only the family," says Mr. Robert, "and a few of Marjorie's friends, +such as Verona Hemmingway and--er--Torchy here, and Josephine Billings, +who's just come for the week-end." + +"What!" says Hamilton. "Joey Billings? Say, she's a good sort, Joey; +bully fun, and always in for anything. You ought to see her shoot! Yes, +Sir! Bring down quail with a choke-bore, or knock over a buck deer with +a rifle. Plays billiards like a wizard, Joey does, and can swat a golf +ball off the tee for two hundred yards. She's a star. Staying at +Ferdie's, eh? Must be a great combination, she and Sukey. I'd like to +see 'em together. Say, old man, let me in on this musicfest if you can, +will you?" + +Course there wa'n't much left for Mr. Robert to do but promise, and +while he don't do it with any great enthusiasm, Mr. Hamilton don't seem +a bit discouraged. In fact, just before he goes he has a chucklin' fit +like he'd been struck by some amazin' comic thought. + +"I have it, Bob!" says he, poundin' Mr. Robert on the back. "I have +it!" + +"Anything you're likely to recover from?" remarks Mr. Robert. + +"Never mind," says Nutt. "You wait and see! And the first chance you get +ask Sukey if he's afraid of bears." + +Just to finish off the afternoon too, and make the Corrugated gen'ral +offices seem more like a fam'ly meetin' place, about four o'clock in +blows Sister Marjorie from the shoppin' district, trailin' a friend with +her; a stranger too. First off, from a hasty glimpse at the hard-boiled +lid and the man's collar and the loose-fittin' top coat, I thought it +was some chappy. So it's more or less of a shock when I discovers the +short skirt and the high walkin' boots below. Then I tumbled. It's Joey, +the real sport! + +Believe me, she looked the part! One of these female good fellows, you +know, ready to roll her own dope sticks, or sit in with the boys and +draw three to a pair. Built substantial and heavy, Joey was, but not +lumpy, like Marjorie. She swings in swaggery, gives Mr. Robert the +college hick greetin', and when I'm introduced to her treats me to a +grip that I felt the tingle of for half an hour. + +"Hello, Kid!" says she. "I've heard of you. Torchy, eh? Well, the name's +a fine fit." + +"Yes," says I, "I was baptized with my hat off." + +"Ripping!" says she. "I like that. Torchy! Couldn't be better." + +"Not so poetic as Crimson Rambler," says I, "but easier to remember." + +Hearty chuckles from Joey. "You're all right, Torchy," says she, +rumplin' my hair playful. + +Not at all hard to get acquainted with, Joey. One of the free and easy +kind that gets to call men by their front names durin' the first +half-hour. But somehow them's the ones that always seem to hang longest +on the branch. You've noticed? Take Joey now,--well along towards +thirty, so I finds out later, but still untagged and unchosen. Maybe she +likes it better that way. Who knows? And, as Nutt Hamilton has +suggested, it would be int'restin' to see her and Sukey lined up +together. + +That ain't exactly why I'm so early showin' up at the Ellins' house the +night of the musical--not altogether. But what Vee and I has to say to +one another durin' the half-hour we managed to slip over on Aunty don't +matter. Vee was supposed to be arrangin' some flowers in the drawin' +room, and I--well, I was helpin'. My long suit, arrangin' flowers; that +is, when the planets are right. + +But it goes quick. Pretty soon others begun buttin' in, and by +eight-thirty there was a roomful, includin' Vee's Aunty, who watches me +as severe as if I was a New Haven director. Joey Billings floats in too. +And I got to admit that in an evenin' gown she ain't such a worse +looker. Course her jaw outline is a trifle strong, and she has quite a +swing to her hips; but she's so good-natured and cheerful lookin' that +you 'most forget them trifles. + +And Blair Hiscock, in his John Drew regalia, looks even thinner and +whiter than ever; but he struts around as perky and important as if he +was Big Bill Edwards. First off he has to have the piano turned the +other way. Then, when he goes to unlimber his music rack, it develops +that a big vase of American Beauties is too near his elbow. He glares at +'em pettish. + +"Can't those things be taken out?" says he. "I detest heavy odors while +I'm playin'!" + +So the flowers are carted off. Then some draperies just back of him must +be pulled together, so he won't feel a draught. After that he has the +usual battle with his violin strings, while the audience waits patient, +only exchangin' a smile now and then when Blair shows his disposition +strongest. + +At last, though, after makin' the accompanist take two fresh starts, +he's off. Some goulash rhapsody, I believe it was, by a guy whose name +sounds like a sneezin' fit. But, take it from me, that sharp-faced +little wisp could do things to a violin! Zowie! He could just naturally +make it sing, with weeps and laughs, and moans and giggles, and groans +and cusswords, all strung along a jumpy, jerky little air that sort of +played hide and seek with itself. Music? I should quiver! He had us all +sittin' up with our ears stretched, and when he finishes and the +applause starts in like a sudden shower on a tin roof what does he do +but turn away with a bored look and shoot some spicy remark at the young +lady pianist! + +Next he gives a lullaby kind of thing, that's as sweet and touchin' as +anything Farrar or Gluck could put over. He's just windin' that up and +we're gettin' ready with more handclaps, when---- + +"Woof! Woof-woof!" + +Some of the ladies gasps panicky. I got a little start myself, before I +tumbled to what it was; for in through the draperies behind Sukey has +shuffled about as good an imitation of a black bear as you'd want to +see; a big, bulky bear, all complete, even to the dishpan paws and the +wicked little eyes. It's scuffin' along on all-fours, waddlin' lifelike +from side to side and lettin' out that deep, grumbly "Woof! Woof!" +remark. + +Blair is so deep in his music that he don't hear it for a minute. Then +he must have caught on from the folks in front that something was up. +He stops, glarin' indignant through his big glasses. Then he turns. + +It wa'n't exactly a scream he lets out, nor a moan. It's the sort of a +weird, muffled noise you'll sometimes make in your sleep, after a late +welsh rabbit. I didn't think he could turn any whiter; but he does. His +face has about as much color left in it as a marshmallow. + +Then the thing on the floor rears up on its hind legs until it tops +Blair by two feet, and there comes another of them deep "Woofs!" + +I was lookin' for him to pass away complete; but he don't. He sets his +jaw, tosses his violin on a chair, grabs the music rack, and swings it +over his shoulder defiant. + +"Come on, you brute!" he breathes husky. "I don't know what you are; +but----" + +Just what happens next, though, is a cry of "Shame, shame!" Someone +dashes from the back row of chairs, and we sees Joey Billings makin' a +clutch at the bear's head. It came off too, with a rip of snap hooks, +and reveals Nutt Hamilton's big moon face with a wide grin on it. + +"You, eh?" says Joey. "I thought as much. Your old masquerade trick! And +anyone else would have had better sense. Don't you think you're beast +enough without----" + +"Stop!" breaks in Blair, his lips blue and trembly and the tears +beginnin' to trickle down his nose. "You--you've no right to interfere. +I--I was going to smash him. I'll kill the big brute! I--I'll----" + +Once more Joey does the right thing; for Blair is blubberin' hysterical +and the scene is gettin' worse. So she just tucks him under one arm, +claps a hand over his mouth, and lugs him kickin' and strugglin' into +the lib'ry, givin' Nutt a shove to one side as she brushes by. + +You can guess too there was some panicky doin's in the Ellins's drawin' +room for the next few minutes; Mr. Robert and Marjorie and others tryin' +to tell Hamilton what they thought of him, all at the same time. And +Nutt was takin' it sheepish. + +"Oh, I say!" he protests. "I was only trying to have a bit of fun with +the little runt, you know. I only meant to----" + +"Fun!" breaks in Mr. Robert savage. "This is neither a backwoods barroom +nor a hunting camp, and I want to assure you right now, Hamilton, +that----" + +But in comes young Blair again. He's had the tear stains swabbed off, +and he's got some of his color back; but he's still wabbly in the knees. +He pushes right to the front, though. + +"I suppose you all think me a great baby," says he, "to get so +frightened and to cry over such a silly trick. Perhaps I am a baby. At +least I haven't control of my nerves. Would you, though, if you had +been an invalid for fifteen years? Well, I have. And a good part of that +time, you know, I spent in hospitals and sanatoriums, and traveling +around with trained nurses and three or four relatives to wait on me and +humor my whims. Even when I was studying music abroad it was that way. +And I suppose I'm not really strong now. So I couldn't help being +afraid. But I don't want your sympathy. You need not scold Hamilton any +more, either. He can't help being a big bully any more than I can help +acting like a baby. He doesn't know any better--never will. All beef and +no brains! And at that I don't care to change places with him. Some day +I shall be well and fairly strong. He'll never have any better sense or +manners than he has now. And I prefer to fight my own battles. So let it +drop, please." + +Well, they did. But for the first time, I expect, a few cuttin' remarks +got through Nutt Hamilton's thick hide. He shuffles out of his bear skin +and sneaks off with his head down. + +He'd hardly gone when Vee slips up beside me and touches me on the arm. +"We can't do anything with her," she whispers mysterious. "Don't say a +word, but come." + +"Can't do anything with who?" says I. + +"Joey," says she. "She's in the library, and we can't find out what is +the matter." + +"Wha-a-at! Joey?" says I. + +It's a fact, though. I finds Joey slumped on a couch with her shoulders +heavin'. She's doin' the sob act genuine and earnest. + +"Well, well!" says I. "Why the big weeps?" + +She looks up and sees who it is. "Torchy!" says she between sobs. +"Dud-don't tell him. Please!" + +"Tell who?" says I. + +"B-b-b-blair," says she. "I--wouldn't have him know for--for anything. +But he--he--what he said hurt. He--he called me a meddlesome old maid. +It was something I had to do too. I--I thought he'd understand. I--I +thought he knew I--I liked him!" + +"Eh?" says I gaspy. + +"I've never cared so much before--about what the others thought," she +goes on. "I'm just Joey to them, out for a good time. I'll always be +Joey, I suppose, to most of them. But I--I thought Blair was different, +you know. I--I----" + +And the sobs get the best of the argument. I glances over at Vee +puzzled, and Vee shrugs her shoulders. We drifts back as far as the +door. + +"Poor Joey!" says Vee. + +"Is it straight," says I, "about her and Blair?" + +Vee nods. "Only he doesn't know," says she. + +"Then it's time he did," says I. + +"There!" says Vee, givin' me a grateful look that tingles clear down to +my toes. "I just knew you could help. But how can----" + +"Watch!" says I. + +I finds him packin' his precious violin and preparin' to beat it. + +"See here, Hiscock," says I. "Maybe you think you're the only one whose +feelin's have been hurt this evenin'." + +He stares at me grouchy. + +"Ah, ditch the assault and battery!" says I. "It ain't me. But there's +someone in the lib'ry you could soothe with a word or two maybe. Why not +go in and see her?" + +"Her?" says he, starin' pop-eyed. "You--you don't mean Miss Billings?" + +"Sure!" says I. "Joey, it's you she wants, and if I was you I'd----" But +he's off on the run, with a queer, eager look on his face. I don't +expect there's been so many who've wanted Sukey. + +But the worst of it was I had to go without hearin' how it all come out. +Mr. Robert didn't have much to report next mornin', either. "Oh, we left +them in the library, still talking," says he. + +It's near a week later too that I gets anything more definite. Then I +was up to the Ellins's on an errand when I discovers Blair waitin' in +the front room. He greets me real cordial and friendly, which is quite +a jar. A minute later down the stairs floats Marjorie and her friend +Miss Billings. + +"Oh, there you are, Joey!" says Blair, rushin' out and grabbin' her by +the arm impetuous. "Come along. I'm going to take you both to dinner and +then to the opera. Come!" + +"Isn't he brutal?" laughs Joey, pattin' him folksy on the cheek. + +So I take it there's been something doin' in the solitaire and wilt-thou +line. Some cross-mated pair they'll make; but I ain't so sure it won't +be a good match. + +Anyway, when he gets her as a side partner, Sukey needn't do any more +worryin' about bears. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +TEAMWORK WITH AUNTY + + +As Mr. Robert hangs up the desk 'phone and turns to me I catches him +smotherin' a smile. "Torchy," says he, "are you a patron of the plastic +art?" + +"Corns, or backache?" says I. + +"Not plasters," says he; "plastic; in short, sculpture." + +"Never sculped a sculpin," says I. "What's the joke?" + +"On the contrary," says he, "it's quite serious,--a sculptor in +distress; a noble young Belgian at that, one Djickyns, in whose cause, +it seems, I was rash enough to enlist at a recent dinner party. And +now----" Mr. Robert waves towards his piled-up desk. + +"I'd be a hot substitute along that line, wouldn't I?" says I. + +"As I understand the situation," goes on Mr. Robert, "it is not a matter +of giving artistic advice, but of--er--financing the said Djickyns." + +"Oh!" says I. "Slippin' him a check?" + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. "Nothing so simple," says he. "One doesn't +slip checks to noble young sculptors. In this instance I am supposed to +assist in outlining a plan whereby certain alleged objects of art may +be--er----" + +"Wished onto suckers in exchange for real money, eh?" says I. "Ain't +that it?" + +Mr. Robert nods. + +"With so many dividends bein' passed," says I, "that's goin' to take +some strategy." + +"Hence this appeal to us," says he. "And I might add, Torchy, that one +of those most interested is a near relative of a certain young lady +who----" + +"Aunty?" says I. + +It was. So I grins and grabs my hat. + +"That bein' the case, Mr. Robert," says I, "we'll finance this Djickyns +party if we have to bull the sculpture market till it hits the rafters." + +With that I takes the address of the scene of trouble and breezes uptown +to a third-rate studio buildin'; where I finds Aunty and Vee and Sister +Marjorie all grouped around a stepladder on top of which is balanced a +pallid youth with long black hair and a fair white brow projectin' out +like a double dormer on a cement bungalow. He seems to be tryin' to +drape a fish net across the top of an alcove accordin' to three +diff'rent sets of directions; but leaves off abrupt when I blows in. + +You'd hardly guess I'd been sent for, either. "Humph!" remarks Aunty, +after I've announced how sorry Mr. Robert was he couldn't come himself +and that he's detailed me instead. "How perfectly absurd!" + +"But, Aunty," protests Vee, "you know Torchy is a private secretary now +and understands all about such things. Besides, he knows such heaps of +important business men who----" + +"If he can bring them here Wednesday afternoon, very well," says Aunty; +"but I have my doubts that he can." + +"What's the game?" says I. + +"It is not a game at all, young man," says Aunty. "Our project, if that +is what you mean, is to have a studio tea for Mr. Djickyns and to secure +the attendance of as many purchasers for his works as possible. Have you +any suggestions?" + +"Why," says I, "not right off the bat. Maybe if I could chew over the +proposition awhile, I might----" + +"Oh, I say," breaks in the noble young gent on the stepladder, "I--I'm +getting dizzy up here, you know. I--I'm feeling rather----" + +"Mercy!" squeals Marjorie. "He's fainting!" + +[Illustration: "I gathers him in on the fly."] + +"Steady there!" I sings out to Djickyns, makin' a jump. "Don't wabble +until I get you. Easy!" + +I ain't a second too soon, either; for as I reaches up he topples toward +me, as limp as a sack of flour. I was fieldin' my position well for an +amateur; for I gathers him in on the fly, slides him down head first +with only a bump or two, and stretches him out on the rug. It's only a +near-faint, though, and after a drink of water and a sniff at Aunty's +smellin' salts he's able to be helped onto a couch and propped up with +cushions. + +"Awfully sorry," says he, smilin' mushy, "but I fear I can't go on with +the decorating to-day." + +"Never mind," says Aunty, comfortin'. "This young man will help us." + +"Please do, Torchy," adds Marjorie. + +"You will, won't you?" says Vee, shootin' over a glance from them gray +eyes that makes me feel all rosy and tingly. + +"That's my job in life," says I, pickin' up the fish net. "Now how does +this go?" + +And for the next hour or so, when I wa'n't clingin' to the ceilin' with +my eyelids, tackin' things up, I was down on all-fours arrangin' rugs, +or executin' other merry little stunts. Aunty had collected a whole +truckload of fancy junk,--wall tapestries, old armor, Russian tea +machines, and such,--with the idea of transformin' this half-bare loft +of Djickyns's into a swell studio. And, believe me, we came mighty near +turnin' the trick! + +"There!" says she. "With a few flowers I believe it will do. Now, young +man, have you thought how we can get the right people here? Of course we +shall advertise in all the papers." + +"As an open show?" says I. "Say, that's nutty! Don't you do it. You'd +only get in a bunch of suburban shoppers and cheap-skate art students. +My tip is, make it exclusive,--admission by card only. Then if it's done +right you can graft a lot of free press agent stuff by playin' up the +Belgian part of it strong. See? Lets you ring in on this fund for +Belgian sufferers. I take it you want to unload as much of this plaster +junk as you can? Well, all you got to do is mark it up twenty per cent. +and announce that you'll chip in that much towards the fund. Get me?" + +She never bats an eye, Aunty don't. "To be sure," says she. "I think +that is precisely what we had in mind all the time; only we--er----" + +"I know," says I. "You hadn't been playin' the relief act strong enough. +But that's what'll get you into the headlines. 'Social Leader to the +Rescue,'--all that dope. I'll send some of the boys up to see you +to-night. Don't let your butler frost 'em, though. Give 'em a clear +track to the lib'ry, and if you're servin' after-dinner coffee and +frosted green cordials, so much the better. Reporters are almost human, +you know. It would help too if you'd happen to be just startin' for the +op'ra, with all your pearl ropes on. And whisper,--soft pedal on +Djickyns here, but heavy on his suff'rin' countrymen! That's the line." + +Aunty shudders a couple of times, and once she starts to crash in with +the sharp reproof; but she swallows it. Some little old diplomat, Aunty +is! She was gettin' the picture. Havin' planned that part of the +campaign, she switches the debate as to who should go on the list of +invited guests. + +"Leave it to me," says I. "You just pick out about a dozen patronesses. +Pick 'em from the top, the ones that are featured oftenest in the +society notes. And me, I'll sift out a couple of hundred sound +propositions from the corporation lists,--parties that have stayed on +the right side of the market and still have cash to spend." + +Aunty nods approvin'. She even hands over some names she'd jotted down +herself and asks me to put 'em in if they're all right. + +"Most of 'em are fine," says I, glancin' over the slip; "but who's this +W. T. Wiggins with no address?" + +"I particularly want to reach him," says she. "He is a wealthy merchant +who is apt to be rather generous, I am told, if properly approached." + +"I'll look him up," says I, "and see that he gets an +invite--registered." + +"Of course," goes on Aunty, "he doesn't belong socially, you understand; +but in this instance----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "You'll be pleased to meet his checkbook. And, by the +way, what schedule are you runnin' this on,--doors open at when?" + +"The cards will read, 'From half after four until seven,'" says Aunty. + +"I see," says I. "Then if I drift in before six a frock coat will pass +me." + +And for the first time durin' the session she inspects me insultin' +through her lorgnette. "Really," says she, "I had not considered that it +would be necessary----" + +"Eh?" I gasps. "Ah, have a heart! Think how handy I'd be if someone did +another flop, or if Miss Vee wanted----" + +"Verona will be fully occupied in serving tea," breaks in Aunty. +"Besides, we shall try to give this affair the appearance, at least, of +a genuine social function. I imagine that the presence of such persons +as Mr. Wiggins will make the task sufficiently difficult. Don't you +see?" + +"I ought to," says I. "You ain't left much to the imagination. Sort of a +blot on the landscape I'd be, would I?" + +Aunty shrugs her shoulders. "Please remember," says she, "that I am not +making social distinctions. I merely recognize those which exist. You +must not hold me responsible for----" + +"Oh, Aunty," breaks in Vee, trippin' into our corner impulsive, "we've +forgotten the tea things. I must go out and find a store and get them at +once. Mayn't Torchy come to carry the bundles?" + +"Yes," says Aunty; "but I think I will go also, to be sure you order the +right things." + +Think of carryin' round a disposition like that! She trails right along +with us too, and just to make the trip int'restin' for her I strikes for +Eighth-ave. through one of them messy cross streets where last week's +snow piles and garbage cans was mixed careless along the curb. + +"What a wretched district!" complains Aunty. + +"I thought you wanted to get to the nearest grocery," says I. "Hello! +Here's one of the Wiggins chain. How about patronizin' this?" + +It's one of them cheap, cut-rate joints, you know, with the windows +plastered all over with daily bargain hints,--"Three pounds of +Wiggins's best creamery butter for 97 cents--to-day only," "Canned +corn, 6 cents--our big Monday special," and so on. Aunty sniffs a bit, +but fin'lly decides to take a chance and sails in in all her grandeur. +The one visible clerk was busy waitin' on lady customers, one with a +shawl over her head and the other luggin' a baby on her hip. So Aunty +raps impatient on the counter. + +At that out from behind a stack of Wiggins's breakfast food boxes +appears a middle-aged gent strugglin' into a blue jumper three sizes too +small for him. He's kind of heavy built and slow movin' for an average +grocery clerk, and he's wearin' gold-rimmed specs; but when Aunty +proceeds to cross-examine him about his stock of tea he sure showed he +was onto his job. He seems to know about every kind of tea ever grown, +and produces samples of the best he has in the shop. + +Aunty was watchin' him casual as he weighs out a couple of pounds, when +all of a sudden she unlimbers her long-handled glasses and takes a +closer look. "My good man," says she, "haven't I seen you somewhere +before?" + +"Oh, yes," says he, scoopin' a pinch off the scales so they'd register +exactly to the quarter ounce. + +"In some other store, perhaps?" says she. + +"I think not," says he. + +"Then where?" asks Aunty. + +"Cooperstown," says he, reachin' for a paper bag and shootin' the tea in +skillful. "Anything more, Madam?" + +"Cooperstown!" echoes Aunty. "Why, I haven't been there since I was a +girl." + +"Yes, I know," says he. "You didn't even finish at high school. Cut +sugar, did you say, Madam?" + +"A box," says Aunty, starin' puzzled. "Perhaps you attended the same +school?" + +He nods. + +"Oh, I seem to remember now," says she. "Aren't you the one they +called--er---- What was it you were called?" + +"Woodie," says he. "Will you have lemons too? Fresh Floridas." + +"Two dozen," says Aunty. "Well, well! You used to ask me to skate with +you on the lake, didn't you?" + +"When my courage was running high," says he. "Sometimes you would; but +more often you wouldn't. I lived at the wrong end of town, you know." + +"In the Hollow, wasn't it?" says she. "And there was something queer +about--about your family, wasn't there?" + +He looks her straight in the eye at that, Woodie does. "Yes," says he. +"Mother went out sewing. She was a widow." + +"Oh!" says Aunty. "I recall your skates--those funny old wooden-topped +ones, weren't they?" + +"I was lucky to have those," says he. + +"Hm-m-m!" muses Aunty. "But you could skate very well. You taught me the +Dutch roll. I remember now. Then there was the night we had the big +bonfire on the ice." + +Woodie lets on not to hear this last, but grabs a sales slip and gets +busy jottin' down items. + +I nudges Vee, and she smothers a snicker. We was enjoyin' this little +peek into their past. Could you have guessed it? Aunty! She orders six +loaves of sandwich bread and asks to see the canned caviar. + +"You've never found anything better to do," she goes on, "than--than +this?" + +"No," says Woodie, on his way down from the top shelf. + +Once more Aunty levels her lorgnette and gives him the cold, curious +look over. "Hm-m-mff!" says she through her aristocratic nose. "I must +say that as a boy you were presuming enough." + +"I got over that," says he. + +"So I should hope," says she. "You manage to make a living at this sort +of thing, I suppose?" + +"In a way," says he. + +"You've no family, I trust?" says Aunty. + +"There are six of us all told," admits Woodie humble. + +"Good heavens!" she gasps. "But I presume some of them are able to help +you?" + +"A little," says Woodie. + +"Think of it!" says Aunty. "Six! And on such wages! Are any of them +girls?" + +"Two," says he. + +"I must send you some of my niece's discarded gowns," says Aunty +impulsive. "You are not a drinking man, are you?" + +"Not to excess, Madam," says Woodie. + +"How you can afford to drink at all is beyond me," says she. "Or even +eat! Yet you are rather stout. I've no doubt, though, that plain food is +best. But you show your age." + +"I know," says he, smoothin' one hand over his bald spot. "Anything else +to-day?" + +There's just a hint of an amused flicker behind the glasses that makes +Aunty glare at him suspicious for a second. "No," says she. "Put all +those things in two stout bags and tie them carefully." + +"Yes, Madam," says Woodie. + +He was doin' it too, when the other clerk steps up, salutes him polite, +and says: "You're wanted at the telephone, Sir." + +"Tell them to hold the wire," says Woodie. + +We was still tryin' to dope that out when a big limousine rolls up in +front of the store, out hops a footman in livery, walks in to Woodie +with his cap in his hand, and holds out a bunch of telegrams. + +"From the office, Sir," says he. + +"Wait," says Woodie, wavin' him one side. + +Now was them any proper motions for a grocery clerk to be goin' through? +I leave it to you. Vee is watchin' with her nose wrinkled up, like she +always does when anything stumps her; and me, I was just starin' +open-faced and foolish. I couldn't get the connection at all. But Aunty +ain't one to stand gaspin' over a mystery while her tongue's still +workin'. + +"Whose car is that?" she demands. + +Woodie slips the string from between his front teeth, puts a double knot +scientific on the end of the package, and peers over his glasses out +through the door. "That?" says he. "Oh, that's mine." + +"Yours!" comes back Aunty. "And--and this store too?" + +"Oh, yes," says he. + +"Then--then your name is Wiggins?" she goes on. + +"Yes," says he. "Don't you remember,--Woodie Wiggins?" + +"I'd forgotten," says Aunty. "And all the other stores like this--how +many of them have you?" + +"Something less than a hundred," says he. "Ninety-six or seven, I +think." + +Most got Aunty's breath, that did; but in a jiffy she's recovered. +"Perhaps," says she, "you don't mind telling me the reason for this +masquerade?" + +"It's not quite that," says Wiggins. "I try to keep in touch with all my +places. In making my rounds to-day I found my local manager here too ill +to be at work. Bad case of grip. So I sent him home, telephoned for a +substitute, and while waiting took off my coat and filled in. Fortunate +coincidence, wasn't it?--for it gave me the pleasure of serving you." + +"You mean," cuts in Aunty, "that it gave you the opportunity of making +me appear absurd. Those gowns I promised to send!" + +Wiggins grins good natured. "Is this the niece you mentioned?" says he. + +Aunty admits that it is, and introduces Vee. + +Then Wiggins looks inquirin' at me. "Your son?" he asks. + +And you should have seen Aunty's face pink up at that. "Certainly not!" +says she. + +"Oh!" says Woodie, screwin' up one corner of his mouth and tippin' me +the wink. + +I knew if I got a look at Vee I'd have to haw-haw; so I backs around +with one hand behind me and we swaps a finger squeeze. + +Then Aunty jumps in with the quick shift. She asks him patronizin' if +he finds the grocery business int'restin'. He admits that he does. + +"How odd!" says Aunty. "But I presume that you hope to retire very +soon?" + +"Eh?" says he. "Quit the one thing I can do best? Why?" + +"But surely," she goes on, "you can hardly find such a business +congenial. It is so--so--well, so petty and sordid?" + +"Is it, though?" says Wiggins. "With more than five thousand employees +on my payroll and a daily expense bill running well over thirty +thousand, I find it far from petty. Anyway, it keeps me hustling. I used +to think I was a hard worker too, when I had my one little general store +at Smiths Corners." + +"And now you've nearly a hundred stores!" says Aunty. "How did you do +it?" + +"I was kicked into doing it, I guess," says Wiggins, smilin' grim. "The +manufacturers and jobbers, you know. They weren't willing to allow me a +fair profit. So I had to go under or spread out. Well, I've +spread,--flour mills in Minnesota, canning factories from Portland, +Oregon, to Bridgeton, Maine, potato farms in Michigan and the Aroostook, +cracker and bread bakeries, creameries, raisin and prune +plantations,--all that sort of thing,--until gradually I've weeded out +most of the greedy middlemen who stood between me and my customers. +They're poor folks, most of 'em, and when they trade with me their slim +wages go further than in most stores. My ambition is to give them honest +goods at a five per cent. profit. + +"If they all knew what was best for them, the Wiggins stores would soon +become a national institution, and I could hand it over to the federal +government; but they don't. If they did, I suppose they wouldn't be +working for wages. So my chain grows slowly, at the rate of two or three +stores a year. But every Wiggins store is a center for economic and +scientific distribution of pure food products. That's my job, and I find +it neither petty nor sordid. I can even get a certain satisfaction and +pride from it. Incidentally there is my five per cent. profit to be +made, which makes the game fascinating. Retire? Not until I've found +something better to do, and up to date I haven't." + +Havin' got this off his mind and the parcels done up, Mr. Wiggins walks +back to answer the 'phone. + +When he comes out again, in a minute or so, he's shucked the jumper and +is buttonin' himself into a mink-lined overcoat. + +"As a rule," says he, "we do not deliver goods; but in this instance I +beg leave to make an exception. Permit me," and he waves toward the +limousine. + +It's the first time too that I ever saw Aunty stunned for more than a +second or two at a stretch. She acts sort of dazed as he leads her out +to the car and helps stow Vee and me and the bundles before gettin' in +himself. Only when we pulls up in front of the studio buildin' does she +come to. She revives enough to tell Wiggins all about this noble young +Belgian sculptor and his wonderful work. + +"Sculpture!" says Wiggins. "I'd like to see it." + +And inside of three minutes Woodruff T. Wiggins, the chain grocery +magnate, is right where we'd been schemin' to get him. He inspects the +various groups of plaster stuff ranged around the studio, squintin' at +'em critical like he was a judge of such junk, and now and then he makes +notes on the back of an envelope. + +Meanwhile Aunty explains all about the tea, namin' over some of the +swell dowagers that was goin' to act as patronesses, and invites him +cordial to drop around on the big day. + +"Thanks," says he; "but I guess I'd better not. I'm still from the wrong +end of the town, you know. But here's a memorandum of four pieces I +should like done in bronze for my country house. And suppose I leave Mr. +Djickyns a check for five thousand on account. Will that do?" + +Would it? Say, Aunty almost pats him fond on the cheek as she follows +him to the door. + +Must have been something romantic about that bonfire episode back in +Cooperstown too; for she mellows up a lot durin' the next few minutes, +and when I fin'lly calls a taxi and tucks 'em all in she comes near +beamin' on me. + +"Remember, young man," says she, "promptly at five on Wednesday." + +"Wha-a-at?" says I. + +"And be sure to wear your best frock coat," she adds as a partin' shot. + +Do you wonder I stands gaspin' on the curb until after they've turned +the corner? Think of that from Aunty! + +"Well?" says Mr. Robert, as I blows in about quittin' time. "Any new +quotations in sculpture?" + +"If you think that's a merry jest," says I, "call up Aunty. Why, say, +before we get through with this tea stunt of hers that Djickyns party +will be runnin' his studio works day and night shifts and rebuildin' +Belgium! We're a great team, me and dear old Aunty. We've just found it +out." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ZENOBIA DIGS UP A LATE ONE + + +And first off I had him listed in the joke column. Think of that! But +when I caught my first glimpse of him, there in the Corrugated gen'ral +offices that mornin', there was more or less comedy idea to his get-up; +the high-sided, flat-topped derby, for instance. Once in a while you run +across an old sport who still sticks to that type of hard-boiled lid. +Gen'rally they're short-stemmed old ginks who seem to think the high +crown makes 'em loom up taller. Maybe so; but where they find +back-number hats like that is beyond me. + +Then there was the buff-cochin spats and the wide ribbon to his +eyeglasses. Beyond that I don't know as there was anything real freaky +about him. A rich-colored old gent he is, the pink in his cheeks shadin' +off into a deep mahogany tint back of his ears, makin' his frosted hair +and mustache stand out some prominent. + +He'd been shown into the private office on a call for Mr. Robert; but as +I was well heeled with work of my own I didn't even glance up from the +desk until I hears this scrappy openin' of his. + +"Bob Ellins, you young scoundrel, what the blighted beatitudes does this +mean!" he demands. + +Naturally that gets me stretchin' my neck, and I turns just in time to +watch the gaspy expression on Mr. Robert's face fade out and turn into a +chuckle. + +"Why, Mr. Ballard!" says he, extendin' the cordial palm. "I had no idea +you were on this side. Really! I understood, you know, that you were +settled over there for good, and that----" + +"So you take advantage of the fact, do you, to make me president of one +of your fool companies?" says Ballard. "My imbecile attorney just let it +leak out. What do you mean, eh?" + +Mr. Robert pushes him into a chair and shrugs his shoulders. "It was +rather a liberty, I admit," says he; "one of the exigencies of business, +however. When a meddlesome administration insists on dissolving into its +component parts such an extensive organization as ours--well, we had to +have a lot of presidents in a hurry. Really, we didn't think you'd mind, +Mr. Ballard, and we had no intention of bothering you with the details." + +"Huh!" snorts Mr. Ballard. "And what is this precious corporation of +which I'm supposed to be the head?" + +"Why, Mutual Funding," says Mr. Robert. + +"Funding, eh?" comes back Ballard snappy. "What tommyrot! Bob Ellins, +you ought to know that I haven't the vaguest notion as to what funding +is,--never did,--and at my time of life, Sir, I don't propose to learn!" + +"Of course, of course," says Mr. Robert, soothin'. "Quite unnecessary +too. You are adequately and efficiently represented, Mr. Ballard, by a +private secretary who has mastered the art of funding, mutual and +otherwise, until he can do it backward with one hand tied behind him. +Torchy, will you step here a moment?" + +I was comin' too; but Mr. Ballard waves me off. + +"Stop!" says he. "I'll not listen to a word of it. I'd have you know, +Bob Ellins, that I have worried along for sixty-two years without having +been criminally implicated in business affairs. The worst I've done has +been to pose as a dummy director on your rascally board and to see that +my letter of credit was renewed every three months. Use my name if you +must; but allow me to keep a clear conscience. I'm going in now for a +chat with your father, Bob, and if he mentions funding I shall stuff my +fingers in my ears and run. He won't, though. Old Hickory knows me +better. This his door? All right. Thanks. Hah, you old freebooter! In +your den, are you? Well, well!" + +At which he stalks into the other office and leaves Mr. Robert and me +grinnin' at each other. + +"Listened like you was in Dutch for a minute or so there," says I. "Case +of the cat comin' back, eh?" + +"From Kyrle Ballard," says he, "one expects the unexpected. Only we need +not worry about his wanting to become the acting head of your +department. To-morrow or next week he is quite likely to be off again, +bound for some remote corner of the earth, to hobnob with the native +rulers thereof, participate in their games of chance, and invent a new +punch especially suitable for that particular climate." + +"Gee!" says I. "That's my idea of a perfectly good boss,--one that gives +his job absent treatment." + +I thought too that Mr. Robert had doped out his motions correct; for a +week goes by and no Mr. Ballard shows up to take the rubber stamp away +from me, or even ask fool questions. I was hopin' too that Ballard had +gone a long ways from here, accordin' to custom. Then one night--well, +it was at the theater, one of them highbrow Shaw plays that I was +chucklin' through with Aunt Zenobia. + +Eh? Remember her, don't you? Why, she's one of the pair of aunts that I +got half adopted by, 'way back when I first started in with the +Corrugated. Yep, I've been stayin' on with 'em. Why not? Course our +little side street is 'way down in an old-fashioned part of the town; +the upper edge of old Greenwich village, in fact, if you know where that +is. + +The house is one of a row that sports about the only survivin' specimens +of the cast-iron grapevine school of architecture. Honest, we got a +double-decked veranda built of foundry work that was meant to look like +leaves and vines, I expect. Cute idea, eh? Bein' all painted brick red, +though, it ain't so convincing but stragglin' over ours is a wistaria +that has a few sickly-lookin' blossoms on it every spring and manages to +carry a sprinklin' of dusty leaves through the summer. Also there's a +nine-by-twelve lawn, that costs a dollar a square foot to keep in shape, +I'll bet. + +From that description maybe you'd judge that the place where I hang out +is a little antique. It is. But inside it's mighty comf'table, and it's +the best imitation of a home I've ever carried a latch-key to. As for +the near-aunts, Zenobia and Martha, take it from me they're the real +things in that line, even if they did let me in off the street without +askin' who or what! The best of it is they never have asked, which +makes it convenient. I couldn't tell 'em much, if they did. + +There's Martha--well, she's the pious one. It ain't any case of sudden +spasms with her. It's a settled habit. She's just as pious Monday +mornin' as she is Sunday afternoon, and it lasts her all through the +week. You know how she started in by readin' them Delilah and Jona yarns +to me. She's kept it up. About twice a week she corners me and pumps in +a slice of Scripture readin', until I guess we must be more 'n half +through the Book. Course there's a lot of it I don't see any percentage +in at all; but I've got so I don't mind it, and it seems to give Aunt +Martha a lot of satisfaction. She's a lumpy, heavy-set old girl, Martha, +and a little slow; but the only thing that ain't genuine about her is +the yellowish white frontispiece she pins on over her own hair when she +dolls up for dinner. + +But Zenobia--say, she's a diff'rent party! A few years younger than +Martha, Zenobia is,--in the early sixties, I should say,--and she's just +as active and up to date and foxy as Martha is logy and antique and +dull. While Martha is sayin' grace Zenobia is gen'rally pourin' herself +out a glass of port. + +About once a week Martha loads herself into an old horse cab and goes +off to a meetin' of the foreign mission society, or something like +that; but almost every afternoon Zenobia goes whizzin' off in a taxi, +maybe to hear some long-haired violinist, maybe to sit on the platform +with Emma Goldman and Bouck White and applaud enthusiastic when the +established order gets another jolt. Just as likely as not too, she'll +bring some of 'em home to dinner with her. + +Zenobia never shoves any advice on me, good or otherwise, and never asks +nosey questions; but she's the one who sees that my socks are kept +mended and has my suits sent to the presser. She don't read things to +me, or expound any of her fads. She just talks to me like she does to +anyone else--minor poets or social reformers--about anything she happens +to be int'rested in at the time,--music, plays, Mother Jones, the war, +or how suffrage is comin' on,--and never seems to notice when I make +breaks or get over my head. + +A good sport Zenobia is, and so busy sizin' up to-day that she ain't got +time for reminiscin' about the days before Brooklyn Bridge was built. +And the most chronic kidder you ever saw. Say, what we don't do to Aunt +Martha when both of us gets her on a string is a caution! That's what +makes so many of our meals such cheerful events. + +You might think, from a casual glance at Zenobia, with her gray hair and +the lines around her eyes, that she'd be kind of slow comp'ny for me, +especially to chase around to plays with and so on. But, believe me, +there's nothin' dull about her, and when she suggests that she's got an +extra ticket to anything I don't stop to ask what it is, but just gets +into the proper evenin' uniform and trots along willin'! + +So that's how I happens to be with her at this Shaw play, and discussin' +between the acts what Barney was really tryin' to put over on us. The +first intermission was most over too before I discovers this ruddy-faced +old party in the back of Box A with his opera glasses trained steady in +our direction. I glances along the row to see if anyone's gazin' back; +but I can't spot a soul lookin' his way. After he's kept it up a minute +or two I nudges Aunt Zenobia. + +"Looks like we was bein' inspected from the box seats," says I. + +"How flatterin'!" says she. "Where?" + +I points him out. "Must be you," says I, grinnin'. + +"I hope so," says Zenobia. "If I'm really being flirted with, I shall +boast of it to Sister Martha." + +But just then the lights go out and the second act begins. We got so +busy followin' the nutty scheme of this conversation expert who plots to +pass off a flower-girl for a Duchess that the next wait is well under +way before I remembers the gent in the box. + +"Say, he's at it again," says I. "You must be makin' a hit for fair." + +"Precisely what I've always hoped might happen,--to be stared at in +public," says Zenobia. "I'm greatly obliged to him, I'm sure. You are +quite certain, though, that it isn't someone just behind me?" + +I whispers that there's no one behind her but a fat woman munchin' +chocolates and rubberin' back to see if Hubby ain't through gettin' his +drink. + +"There! He's takin' his glasses down," says I. "Know the party, do you?" + +"Not at this distance," says Zenobia. "No, I shall insist that he is an +unknown admirer." + +By that time, though, I'd got a better view myself. And--say, hadn't I +seen them ruddy cheeks and that gray hair and them droopy eyes before? +Why, sure! It's what's-his-name, the old guy who blew into the +Corrugated awhile ago, my absentee boss--Ballard! + +Maybe I'd have told Zenobia all about him if there'd been time; but +there wa'n't. Another flash of the lights, and we was watchin' the last +act, where this gutter-bred Pygmalion sprouts a soul. And when it's all +over of course we're swept out with the ebb tide, make a scramble for +our taxi, and are off for home. Then as we gets to the door I has the +sudden hunch about eats. + +"There's a joint around on Sixth-ave.," says I, lettin' Aunt Zenobia in, +"where they sell hot dog sandwiches with sauerkraut trimmin's. I believe +I could just do with one about now." + +"What an atrocious suggestion at this hour of the night!" says she. +"Torchy, don't you dare bring one of those abominations into the +house--unless you have enough to divide with me. About four, I should +say." + +"With mustard?" says I. + +"Heaps!" says she. + +Three minutes later I'm hurryin' back with both hands full, when I +notices another taxi standin' out front. Then who should step out but +this Ballard party, in a silk hat and a swell fur-lined overcoat. + +"Young man," says he, "haven't I seen you somewhere before?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "I'm your private sec." + +"Wha-a-at?" says he. "My--oh, yes! I remember. I saw you at the +Corrugated." + +"And then again at the show to-night," says I. + +"To be sure," says he. "With a lady, eh?" + +I nods. + +"Lives here, doesn't she?" asks Ballard. + +"Right again," says I. "Goin' to call?" + +"Why," says he, "the fact is, young man, I--er--see here, it's Zenobia +Hadley, isn't it?" + +"Preble," says I. "Mrs. Zenobia Preble." + +"Hang the Preble part!" says he. "He's dead years ago. What I want to +know is, who else lives here?" + +"Only her and Sister Martha and me," says I. + +"Martha, eh?" says he. "Still alive, is she? Well, well! And Zenobia +now, is she--er--a good deal like her sister?" + +"About as much as Z is like M," says I. "She's a live one, Aunt Zenobia +is, if that's what you're gettin' at." + +"Thank you," says he. "That is it exactly. And I am glad to hear it. She +used to be, as you put it, rather a live one; but I didn't quite know +how----" + +"Kyrle Ballard, is that you?" comes floatin' out from the front door. +"If it is, and you wish to know anything more about Zenobia Hadley, I +should advise you to come to headquarters. Torchy, bring in those +sandwiches--and Mr. Ballard, if he cares to follow." + +"There!" says I to Ballard. "You've got a sample. That's Zenobia. Are +you comin' or goin'?" + +Foolish question! He's leadin' the way up the steps. + +"Zenobia," says he, holdin' out both hands, "I humbly apologize for +following you in this impulsive fashion. I saw you at the theater, +and----" + +"If you hadn't done something of the kind," says she, "I shouldn't have +been at all sure it was really you. You've changed so much!" + +"I admit it," says he. "One does, you know, in forty years." + +"There, there, Kyrle Ballard!" warns Zenobia. "Throw the calendar at me +again, and out you go! I simply won't have it! Besides, I'm hungry. +Torchy is to blame. He suggested hot dog sandwiches. Take a sniff. Do +they appeal to you, or have you cultivated epicurean tastes to such an +extent that----" + +"Ah-h-h-h!" says Ballard, bendin' over the paper bag I'm holdin'. "My +favorite delicacy. And if I might be permitted to add a bottle or two of +cold St. Louis----" + +"Do you think I keep house without an icebox?" demands Zenobia. "Stop +your silly speeches, and let's get into the dining-room." + +Some hustler, Zenobia is, too. Inside of two minutes she's shed her +wraps, passed out plates and glasses, and we're tacklin' a Coney Island +collation. + +"I had been wondering if it could be you," says Ballard. "I'd been +watching you through the glasses." + +"Yes, I know," says Zenobia. "And we had quite settled it that you were +a strange admirer. I'm frightfully disappointed!" + +"Then you didn't know me?" says he. "But just now----" + +"Voices don't turn gray or change color," says Zenobia. "Yours sounds +just as it did--well, the last time I heard it." + +"That August night, eh?" suggests Mr. Ballard, suspendin' operations on +the sandwich and leanin' eager across the table. + +He's a chirky, chipper old scout, with a lot of twinkles left in his +blue eyes. Must have been some gay boy in his day too; for even now he +shows up more or less ornamental in his evenin' clothes. And Zenobia +ain't such a bad looker either, you know; especially just now, with her +ears pinked up and her eyes sparklin' mischievous. I don't know whether +it's from takin' massage treatments reg'lar, or if it just comes +natural, but she don't need to cover up her collar bone or wear things +around her neck. + +"Yes, that night," says she, liftin' her glass. "Shall we drink just +once to the memory of it?" + +Which they did. + +"And now," goes on Zenobia, "we will forget it, if you please." + +"Not I," says Ballard. "Another thing: I've never forgiven your sister +Martha for what she did then. I never will." + +Zenobia indulges in a trilly little laugh. "No more has she forgiven +you," says she. "How absurd of you both, just as though--but we'll not +talk about it. I've no time for yesterdays. To-day is too full. Tell me, +why are you back here?" + +"Because seven armies have chased me out of Europe," says he, "and my +charming Vienna is too full of typhus to be quite healthy. If I'd +dreamed of finding you like this, I should have come long ago." + +"Very pretty," says Zenobia. "I'd love to believe it, just for the sake +of repeating it to Martha in the morning. She is still with me, you +know." + +"As saintly as ever?" asks Ballard. + +"At thirty Martha was quite as good as she could be," says Zenobia. +"There she seems to have stopped. So naturally her opinion of you hasn't +altered in the least." + +"And yours?" says he. + +"Did I have opinions at twenty-two?" says she. "How ridiculous! I had +emotions, moods, mad impulses; anyway, something that led me to give you +seven dances in a row and stay until after one A.M. when I had promised +someone to leave at eleven. You don't think I've kept up that sort of +thing, do you?" + +"I don't know," says Ballard. "I wouldn't be sure. One never could be +sure of Zenobia Hadley. I suppose that was why I took my chance when I +did, why I----" + +"Kyrle Ballard, you've finished your sandwich, haven't you?" breaks in +Zenobia. "There! It's striking twelve, and I make it a rule never to be +sentimental after midnight. You and Martha wouldn't enjoy meeting each +other; so you'll not be coming again. Besides, I've a busy week ahead of +me. When you get settled abroad again, though, you might let me know. +Good-night. Happy dreams." + +And before Ballard can protest he's bein' shooed out. + +"You'll take luncheon with me to-morrow," he calls back from his cab. + +"Probably not," says Zenobia. + +"Oh yes, you will, Zenobia," says he. "I'm a desperate character still. +Remember that!" + +She laughs and shuts the door. "There, Torchy!" says she. "See what +complications come from combining hot dogs with Bernard Shaw. And if +Martha should happen to get down before those bottles are removed--well, +I should have to tell her all." + +Trust Martha. She did. And when I finished breakfast she was still +waitin' for Zenobia to come down and be quizzed. I don't know how far +back into fam'ly hist'ry that little chat took 'em, or what Martha had +to say. All I know is that when I shows up for dinner and comes +downstairs about six-thirty there sits Martha in the lib'ry, rocking +back and forth with that patient, resigned look on her face, as if she +was next in line at the dentist's. + +"Zenobia isn't in yet," says she. "We will wait dinner awhile for her." + +Then chunks of silence from Martha, which ain't usual. At seven o'clock +we gives it up and sits down alone. We hadn't finished our soup when +this telegram comes. First off I thought Martha was goin' to choke or +blow a cylinder head, I didn't know which. Then she takes to sobbin' +into the consomme, and fin'lly she shoves the message over to me. + +"Wh-a-at?" I gasps. "Eloped, have they?" + +"I--I knew they would," says Martha, "just as soon as I heard he'd been +here. He--he always wanted her to do it." + +"Always?" says I. "Why, I thought he hadn't seen her for forty years or +so. How could that be?" + +"We-we-well," sobs Martha, "I--I stopped them once. And she engaged to +the Rev. Mr. Preble at the time! It was scandalous! Such a wild, +reckless fellow Kyrle Ballard was too." + +"Wh-e-ew!" I whistles. "That was goin' some for Zenobia, wasn't it? How +near did they come to doin' the slope?" + +"She--she was actually stealing out to meet him, her things all on," +says Martha, "when--when I woke up and found her. I made her come back +by threatening to call Mother. Engaged for two years, she and Mr. Preble +had been, and the wedding day all set. He'd just got a nice church too, +his first. I saved her that time; but now----" Martha relapses into the +sob act. + +"The giddy young things!" says I. "Gone off on a honeymoon trip too! +Say, that ain't such slow work, is it? Gettin' there a little late, +maybe; but if there ever was a pair of silver sixties meant to be mated +up, I guess it's them. Well, well! I stand to lose a near-aunt by the +deal; but they get my blessin', anyway." + +As for Aunt Martha, she keeps right on thinnin' out the soup. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +SIFTING OUT UNCLE BILL + + +Things happen to you quick, don't they, when the happenin' is good? Take +this affair of Zenobia's. One day I'm settled down all comfy and solid +with two old near-aunts who'd been livin' in the same place and doin' +the same things for the last thirty years or so, and the next--well, off +one of 'em goes, elopes with an old-time beau of hers that happens to +show up here just because Europe is bein' shot up. + +And then, before I've recovered from that jolt, comes this human +surprise package labeled Dorsett, who blows breezy into the Corrugated. +Fair-haired Vincent, who still holds my old place on the brass gate, +brings in his card. + +"William H. Dorsett?" says I. "Never heard of the party. Did he ask for +Mutual Funding?" + +"No, Sir," says Vincent. "He asked for you, Sir." + +"How?" says I. + +At which Vincent tints up embarrassed. "He said he wished to talk to a +young fellow known as Torchy, Sir," says he. + +"Almost a description of me, ain't it?" says I. "Well, tow him in, +Vincent, until I see if his map's any more familiar than his name." + +It wa'n't. He's a middle-aged gent, kind of tall and stoop-shouldered, +with curly hair that's started to frost up above the ears. The raincoat +he's wearin' is a little seedy, specially about the collar and cuffs; +but he's sportin' a silver-mounted walkin'-stick, and has a new pair of +yellow gloves stickin' from his breast pocket. + +With a free and easy stride he follows Vincent's directions, sails over +to my corner of the private office, pulls up a chair, and camps down by +the desk without any urgin'. Also he favors me with a friendly smile +that he produces from one corner of his mouth. Sort of a catchy smile it +is too, and before we've swapped a word I finds myself smilin' back. + +"Well!" says I. "You're introducin' what?" + +"Just William H. Dorsett," says he. + +"You do it well," says I. + +He allows the off corner of his mouth to loosen up again, and for a +second his deep-set brown eyes steady down as he gives me the once-over. +Kind of an amused, quizzin' look it is, but more or less foxy. He +crosses his legs and hitches up his chair confidential. + +"I imagine you're rather used to handling big propositions here," says +he, takin' in the office mahogany, the expensive floor rugs, and +everything else in a quick glance: "so I hope you won't mind if I +present a small one." + +"In funding?" says I. + +"It might very well come under that head," says he. "Ever do much with +municipal franchises,--trolleys, lighting, that sort of thing?" + +"Nope," says I; "nor racin' tips, church fair chances, or Danish lottery +tickets. We don't even back new movie concerns." + +That gets a twinkle out of his restless eyes. "I don't blame you in the +least," says he. "I suppose there are more worthless franchises hawked +around New York than you could stuff into a moving van. That's what +makes it so difficult to get action on any real, gilt-edged +propositions." + +"Such as you've got in your inside pocket eh?" says I. + +"Precisely," says he. "Mine are the worthwhile kind. Of course +franchises are common enough. It's no trick at all to go into the +average Rube village, 'steen miles from a railroad, and get 'em thrilled +with the notion of being connected by trolley with Jaytown, umpteen +miles south. Why, they'll hand you anything in sight! A deaf-mute could +go out and get that sort of franchise. But to prospect through the whole +cotton belt, locate opportunities where the dividends will follow the +rails, pick out the cream of them all, get in right with the board of +trade, fix things up with a suspicious town council, stall off the local +capitalist who would like to hog all the profits himself, and set the +real estate operators working for you tooth and nail--well, that is +legitimate promoting; my brand, if you will permit me." + +"Maybe," says I. "But the Corrugated don't----" + +"I understand," breaks in Mr. Dorsett. "Quite right too. But here I +produce the personal equation. For five weary weeks I've skittered about +this city, carrying around with me half a dozen of the ripest, richest +franchise propositions ever matured. Bona-fide prospects, mind you, +communities just yearning for transportation facilities, with tentative +stock subscriptions running as high as two hundred thousand in some +cases. They're schemes I've nursed from the seed up, as you might say. +I've laid all the underground wires, seen all the officials that need +seeing, planned for every right of way. Six splendid opportunities that +may be coined into cash simply by pressing the button! And the nearest I +can get to any man with real money to invest is a two-minute interview +in a reception room with some clerk. All because I lack someone to take +me into a private office and remark casually: 'Mr. So-and-So, here's my +friend Dorsett, who's bringing us something good from the South.' That's +all. Why, only last week I actually offered to deliver a +fifty-thousand-dollar franchise on a ten per cent. commission basis, +provided I was given a beggarly two hundred advance for expenses--and +had it turned down!" + +"Ye-e-es," says I. "The way some of them Wall Street plutes shrink from +bein' made richer is painful, ain't it? But I don't see where I fit in." + +Mr. Dorsett pats me chummy on the shoulder and proceeds to show me +exactly where. "You know the right people," says he. "You're in with +them. Very well. All I ask of you is the 'Here's Mr. Dorsett' part. I'll +do the rest." + +"How simple!" says I. "And us old friends of about five minutes' +standin'! Say, throw in your reverse or you'll be off the bridge. Who's +been tellin' you I was such a simp?" + +Mr. Dorsett smiles indulgent. "My error," says he. "But I was hoping +that perhaps you might---- Come, Torchy, hasn't it occurred to you that +I would hardly come as an utter stranger? Who do you suppose now gave me +your address?" + +"The chairman of the Stock Exchange?" says I. + +"Mother Leary," says he. + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"A flip of fate," says he. "At my hotel I got to talking with the room +clerk, and discovered that his name was Leary. It turned out that he +was Aloysius, the eldest boy. Remember him, don't you?" + +Seein' how I'd almost been brought up in the fam'ly when I was a kid, I +couldn't deny it. Course I'd run more with Hunch than any of the other +boys. We'd sold papers together, and gone into the A. D. T. at the same +time. But there wasn't a Leary I didn't know all about. + +"You must have boarded there too," says I. "But if I ever heard your +name, it didn't stick." + +"It may have been," says he, "that I was not using the Dorsett part of +it just at that time. Business reasons, you understand. But the H in my +name stands for Hines. What about William Hines, now?" + +"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at him. Sure enough, that did have a familiar +sound to it. + +"Let's try it this way," says he: "Uncle Bill Hines." + +And, say, that got me! I expect I made some gaspy motions before I +managed to get out my next remark. "You--you ain't the one that left me +with Mother Leary, are you?" I asks. + +Dorsett nods. "I'm a trifle late in explaining that carelessness," says +he, "and I can only plead guilty to all your reproaches. But consider +the circumstances. There I was, a free lance of fortune, down to my last +dollar, and rich only in the companionship of a bright-eyed, +four-year-old youngster who had been trusted to my care. You remember +very little of that period, I suppose; but it is all vivid enough to me, +even now,--how we tramped up and down Broadway, you chattering away, +excited and happy, while I was wondering what I should do when that last +dollar was gone. + +"Then, just when things seem blackest, arrived opportunity,--the +Birmingham boom. I ran across one of the boomers, who was struck with +the brilliant idea that he could make use of my peculiar talents in +making known the coming glories of the new South. But I must join him at +once, that very day. And he waved yellow-backed bills at me. I simply +had to drop you and go. Mother Leary promised to take care of you for +three months, or until your--well, until someone else claimed you. I +sent word to them both, at least I tried to, and rushed gayly down into +Dixie. Perhaps you never heard of the bursting of that first Birmingham +boom? It was an abrupt but very-complete smash. I came out of it owning +two gorgeous suits of clothes, one silk hat, and an opulent-looking +pocketbook, bulging with thirty-day options on corner lots. One of the +clerks in our office staked me with carfare to Atlanta, where I got a +job collecting tenement house rents. + +"Since then I've been up and down. Half a dozen times I've almost had +my fingers on the tail feathers of fortune: only to stumble into some +hidden pit of poverty. And in time--well, time mends all things. +Besides, I hardly relished facing Mother Leary. There was the chance too +that you no longer needed rescuing. I'm not trying to excuse my breach +of faith: I am merely telling you how it came about. You realize that, I +trust?" + +Did I? I don't know. I expect I was just sittin' there gazing stary at +him. Only one thing was shapin' itself clear in my head, and fin'lly I +states it flat. + +"Say," says I, "you--you ain't my reg'lar uncle, are you?" + +Maybe I wa'n't as enthusiastic as the case called for. He springs that +smile of his. "Hardly a flattering way to put it," says he. "Would you +be disappointed if I was?" + +"Well," says I, eyin' him up and down, "you don't strike me as such a +swell uncle, you know." + +Don't faze him a bit, either. "Our near relatives are seldom quite +satisfactory," says he. "Of course, though, if I fail to suit----" He +hunches his shoulders and reaches for his hat. + +So he had it on me, you see. Suppose you was as shy on relations as I +am, would you turn down the only one that ever showed up? + +"Excuse me if I don't get the cues right," says I; "but--but this has +been put over a little sudden. Course I'll take Mrs. Leary's word. If +she says you're my Uncle Bill, that goes. Anyway, you can give me a line +on--on my folks, I suppose?" + +Yes, he admits that he can; but he don't. And I will say for him that he +states his case smooth enough, smilin' that catchy smile of his, and +tappin' me friendly on the knee. But when he's all through it amounts to +this: He needs the loan of a couple of hundred cash the worst way, and +he wants to be put next to a few plutes that are in the market for new +trolley franchises. If I can boost him along that way, it'll relieve his +mind so much that he'll be in just the right mood to go into my personal +hist'ry as deep as I care to dip. + +"Gee!" says I. "But this raisin' a fam'ly tree comes high, don't it? +Besides, I'd have to get Mother Leary's O. K. on you first, you know." + +"Naturally," says he. "And any time within the next day or so will +answer. Suppose I drop around again, or look you up at your quarters?" + +"Better make it at the house," says I. "Here's the street number. Some +evenin' after seven-thirty. I--I'll be thinkin' things over." + +And as I watches him swing jaunty through the door I remarks under my +breath to nobody in partic'lar: "Uncle Bill, eh? My Uncle Bill! Well, +well!" + +You can be sure too that my first move is to sound Mother Leary. She +says he's the one, all right, and I gathers that she gave him the +tongue-lashin' she'd been savin' up all these years. But I don't stop +for details. If I've really had an uncle wished on me, it's up to me to +make the best of it, or find out the worst. But somehow I ain't so +chesty about havin' dug up a relation. I don't brag about it to Martha +when I go home. In fact, Martha has fam'ly troubles of her own about +now, you remember. I finds her weepy-eyed and solemn. + +"They've been gone more than a week," says she, "Zenobia and that +reckless Kyrle Ballard. Pretty soon they will be coming back, and +then----" + +"Well, what then?" says I. + +"I've been packing up to-day," says she, swabbin' off a stray tear from +the side of her nose. "I have engaged rooms at the Lady Louise. I +suppose you will be leaving too." + +"Me?" says I. + +It hadn't struck me that Aunt Zenobia's getting married was goin' to +throw us all out on the street. But Aunt Martha had it doped diff'rent. + +"Stay in the same house with that man?" says she. "Not I! And I am quite +sure he will not want either of us around when he comes back here as +Zenobia's husband." + +"If that's the case," says I, "it won't take me long to clear out; but I +guess I'll wait until I get the hint direct. You'd better wait too." + +Martha'd made up her mind, though. She says she'd go right then if it +wa'n't for leavin' the servants alone in the house; but the very minute +Sister Zenobia arrives she means to beat it. And sure enough next day +she has her trunk brought down into the front hall and begins wearin' +her bonnet around the house. It's a little weird to see her pokin' about +dressed that way, and her wraps and rubbers laid out handy, as if she +belonged to a volunteer hose comp'ny. + +It was after the second day of this watchful waitin', and we're sittin' +down to a six-forty-five dinner, when a big racket breaks loose out +front. The bell rings four times rapid, Lizzie the maid almost breaks +her neck gettin' to the door, and in breezes the runaway pair with all +their baggage, chucklin' and chatterin' like a couple of kids. Some +stunnin' Aunt Zenobia looks, for all her gray hair; and Mr. Ballard, in +his Scotch tweed suit and with his ruddy cheeks, don't look a day over +fifty. They're giggling merry over some remark of Lizzie's, and Zenobia +calls in through the draperies. + +"Hello, Martha--Torchy--everybody!" she sings out. "Well, here we are, +back from that absurd boardwalk resort, back to--well, for the love of +ladies! Martha Hadley, why in the name of nonsense are you eating dinner +with your hat on?" + +"Because," says Martha, beginnin' to sniffle, "I--I'm going away." + +"But where? Why?" demands Zenobia. + +And between sobs Martha explains. She includes me in it too. + +"Then why aren't you wearing your hat also, Torchy?" asks Zenobia. + +"Well," says I, "I ain't so sure about quittin' as she is. I thought I'd +stick around until I got the word to move." + +"Which you're not at all likely to get, young man," says Zenobia. "And +as for you, Martha, you should have better sense. Trapsing off to a +hotel, at your time of life! Rubbish! And why, please?" + +Aunt Martha nods towards Ballard. + +"Well, you're just going to get over that nonsense," says Zenobia. +"Kyrle, you know what you promised when you told me you'd make up with +Martha? Now is the appointed time. Do it!" + +And Mr. Ballard, chuckin' his hat and overcoat on a chair, sails right +in. I expect it was the last thing in the world Martha was lookin' for; +for she sits there gazin' at him sort of stupid until he's done the +trick. Uh-huh! No halfway business about it, either. He just naturally +takes her chubby old face between his two hands, tilts up her chin, and +plants a reg'lar final curtain smack where I'll bet it's been forty +years since the lips of man had trod before. + +First off Martha flops her arms and squeals. Then, when she finds it's +all over and ain't goin' to be any continuous performance, she quiets +down and stares at the two of 'em, who are chucklin' away merry. + +"Please, Sister Martha," says Ballard, "try to overlook that old affair +of mine when I tried to cut out the Rev. Preble. I was rather +irresponsible then, I'll own; but I have steadied down a lot, although +for the last week or so--well, you know how giddy Zenobia is. But you +will help us. We can't either of us spare you, you see." + +Maybe it was the jollyin' speech, or maybe it was the unexpected smack, +but inside of five minutes Martha has shed her bonnet and we're all +sittin' around the table as friendly and jolly as you please. + +I suppose it was by way of makin' Martha feel comf'table and as if she +was really part of the game that they got to reminiscin' about old times +and the folks they used to know. I wa'n't followin' it very close until +Martha gets to askin' Ballard about some of his people, and he starts in +on this story about his nephew. + +"Poor Dick!" says he, pushin' back his demitasse and lightin' up a big +perfecto. "Now if he'd been my boy, things might have turned out +differently. But my respected brother--well, you knew Richard, Martha. +Not at all like me,--eminently respectable, a bit solemn, and +tremendously stiff-necked on occasion. The way he took on about that +red-headed Irish girl, for instance. Irene, you know. Why, you might +have thought, to have heard him storm around, that she was a veritable +sorceress, or something of the kind; when, as a matter of fact, she was +just a nice, wholesome, keen-witted young woman. Pretty as a picture, +she was, and as true as gold too,--a lot too good for young Dick +Ballard, even if she was merely a girl in his father's office. You +couldn't blame her for liking Dick, though. Everyone did--the +scatter-brained scamp! And when my brother went through all that +melodramatic folly of cutting him off with a thousand a year--well, we +had our big row over that. That was when I took my money out of the +firm. Lucky I did too. When the panic came I was safe." + +"Let's see," says Zenobia, "Dick and the girl ran off and were married, +weren't they?" + +"Yes," says Ballard. "It's in the blood, you see. They went to Paris, to +carry out one of Dick's great schemes. He had persuaded some of his +friends, big real estate dealers, to make him their foreign agent. His +idea was, I believe, to catch Western millionaires abroad and sell 'em +Fifth-ave. mansions. Actually did land one or two customers, I think. +But it was his wife's notion that turned out to be really +practical,--leasing French and Italian villas to rich Americans. +Something in that, you know, and if Dick had only stuck to it--but Dick +never could. He got in with some mine promoters, and after that nothing +would answer but that he must rush right back to Goldfield and look over +some properties that were for sale dirt cheap. As though Dick would have +been any wiser after he'd seen 'em! But his biggest piece of folly was +in taking the little boy along with him." + +"What! Away from his mother?" says Martha. + +"Just like Dick," says Ballard. "They couldn't both leave the leasing +business, and as she knew more about it than he did--well, that's the +way they settled it. He persuaded her it would be a fine thing for the +youngster. Huh! I came over on the same boat with them, and I want to +tell you that little chap simply owned the steamer! Bright? Why, he was +the cutest kid you ever saw,--red-headed, like his mother, and with his +father's laugh. Spent most of his time on the bridge with the first +officer, or down in the engine room with the chief. Dick never knew +where he was half the time. + +"He was for taking the boy out into the mining country with him too. I +supposed he had until I got this frantic cable from Irene. They'd sent +her word about Dick's sudden end,--he always did have a weak heart, you +know,--and something about the high altitude got him. Went off like +that. But Irene was demanding of me to tell her where the boy was. Of +course I didn't know. I did my best to find him, hunted high and low. I +traced Dick to Goldfield. No use. The boy was not with him when he went +West. Where he had left him was a mystery that----" + +Buz-z-z-z! goes the front doorbell, right in the middle of Mr. Ballard's +story, and in comes Lizzie sayin' it's someone to see me. For a second I +couldn't think who'd be huntin' me up here at this time of the evenin'. +And then I remembered,--Dorsett. + +"It--it's an uncle of mine," says I to Zenobia, "a reg'lar uncle." + +"Why," says she, "I didn't know you had one." + +"Me either," says I, "until the other day. He just turned up. Could I +take him into the libr'y?" + +"Of course," says Zenobia. + +I was kind of sorry he'd come. I hadn't been so chesty over Uncle Bill +at the office; but here, where things are sort of quiet and +classy--well, I could see where he wouldn't show up so strong. Besides, +I hadn't made up my mind just how I was goin' to turn down his +proposition. + +I towed him in, though. He was glancin' around the room approvin', and +makin' a few openin' remarks, when the folks come strollin' out from the +dinin'-room. I glances up, and sees Mr. Ballard just as he's about to +pass the door. So does Dorsett. And, say, the minute them two spots each +other things sort of hung fire and stopped. Dorsett he breaks short off +what he's sayin', and Mr. Ballard comes to a halt and stands starin' in +the room. Next I know he's pushed in, and they're facin' each other. + +"Pardon me, Sir," says Ballard, "but didn't you cross with me on the +_Lucania_ once? And weren't you thick with Dick Ballard?" + +Course I could see something coming right then; but I didn't know what +it was. Mr. Dorsett's shifty eyes take another look at Ballard, and then +he hitches uneasy in his chair. + +"Rather an odd coincidence, isn't it?" says he. "Yes, I was on board +that trip." + +"Then you're one of the men I've been looking for a good many years," +says Ballard. "You knew Dick very well, didn't you? Then perhaps you +can tell me who he left that boy of his with when he went West?" + +"Why, yes," says Dorsett, smilin' fidgety. "He--er--the fact is, he left +him with me." + +"With you, eh?" says Ballard. "I might have guessed as much. Well, Sir, +where's the boy now?" + +"Wha-a-at?" gasps Dorsett, lookin' from me to Mr. Ballard. "Where, did +you say?" + +"Yes, Sir," comes back Ballard snappy. "Where?" + +More gasps from Dorsett. But he's good at duckin' trouble. With a wink +at me and a chuckle he remarks: "Torchy, suppose you tell the gentleman +where you are?" + +Well, say, it was some complicated unravelin' we did durin' the next few +minutes, believe me; but after Zenobia and Martha had been called in, +and Dorsett has done some more of his smooth explainin', we all begun to +see where we were at. + +"Torchy," says Zenobia at last, "bring down from your room that little +gold locket you've always had." + +And when Mr. Ballard has opened it and held the picture under the +readin' light, he winds up the whole debate as to who's who. + +"It's Irene, of course," says he. "Poor girl! But she had her day, after +all. Married a French army officer, you know, and for a while they were +happy together. Then the war. He was dropped somewhere around Rheims, I +believe. Then I heard of her doing volunteer work at a field hospital. +She lasted a month or so at that--typhus, or a German shell, I don't +know which. But she's gone too." + +And me, I stands there, listenin' gawpy, with my eyes beginnin' to blur. +It's Zenobia, you might know, who notices first. She steps over and +gathers me in motherly. Not that I needs it, as I know of, but--well, it +was kind of good to feel her arm around me just then. + +"We'll find out all about it later; won't we, Torchy?" she whispers. + +Meanwhile Mr. Ballard has swung on Dorsett. "So you were trying to pose +as Uncle Bill, were you?" he demands. "Well, Sir, you're just about the +caliber of man Dick would choose to put his trust in! But I'll bet a +thousand you were not finding it so easy to fool his boy here! Going, +are you? This way, Sir." + +"At that, though," says I, as the door shuts after Dorsett, "he had me +guessin'." + +"Yes," says Mr. Ballard, "he would, any of us." + +"And I don't see," I goes on, "as I got any fam'ly left, after all." + +"You--you don't, eh, you young scamp?" says Mr. Ballard. "Well, as +there's no doubt about your being my nephew's boy, I'd like to know why +I don't qualify as a perfectly good great-uncle to you!" + +"Why, that's so!" says I, grinnin' at him. "I--I guess you do. And, say, +if you don't mind my sayin' so, you'll do fine!" + +So what if Uncle Bill did turn out a ringer! He was more or less useful, +even if he did gum up the plot there for a while. Uh-huh! Mighty useful! +For there's nothin' phony about my new Uncle Kyrle, take it from me! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +HOW AUNTY GOT THE NEWS + + +Say, I expect it ain't good form to get chesty over your relations, +specially when they're so new as mine; but I've got to hand it to Mr. +Kyrle Ballard. After three weeks' tryout he shapes up as some grand +little great-uncle, take it from me! + +First off, you know, I had him card indexed as havin' more or less +tabasco in his temper'ment, with a wide grumpy streak runnin' through +his ego. And he is kind of crisp and snappy in his talk, I'll admit. +Strangers might think he was a grouch toter. But that's just his way. +It's all on the outside. Back of that gruff, offhand talk and behind +them bushy, gray eyebrows there's a lot of fun and good nature. One of +the kind that's never seemed to grow up, Uncle Kyrle is, sixty-odd and +still a kid; always springin' some josh or other, and disguisin' the +good turns he does with foolish remarks. And to hear him string Aunt +Martha along from one thing to another is sure a circus. + +"Good morning, Sister Martha," says he, blowin' in to a late Sunday +breakfast, all pinked up in the cheeks from a cold tub and a clean +shave. "I trust that you begin the day with a deep conviction of sin?" + +"Why, I--I suppose I do, Kyrle," says she, gettin' fussed. "That is, I +try to." + +"Good!" says Uncle Kyrle. "It is important that some one in this family +should recognize that this is a sad and wicked world, with Virtue below +par and Honest Worth going baggy at the knees. Zenobia here has no +conviction of sin whatever. Mine is rather weak at times. So you, +Martha, must do the piety for all of us. And please ring for the griddle +cakes and sausage." + +Then he winks at Zenobia, gives his grapefruit a sherry bath, and +proceeds to tackle a hearty breakfast. + +A few days after him and Zenobia got back from their runaway honeymoon +trip he calls her to the front door. "There's a person out here who says +he has a car for you," says he. + +"Nonsense!" says Zenobia. "Why, I haven't ordered a car." + +"The impudent rascal!" says Uncle Kyrle. "I'll send him off, then. The +idea!" + +"Oh, but isn't it a beauty?" says Zenobia, peekin' out. "Let's see what +he says about it first." + +So they go out to the curb, while Uncle Kyrle demands violent of the +young chap in charge what he means by such an outrage. At which the +party grins and shows the tag on the steerin' wheel. + +"Why!" says Zenobia. "It has my name on it. Oh, Kyrle, you dear man! +I've a notion to hug you." + +"Tut, tut!" says he. "Such a bad example to set the neighbors! Besides, +this young man may object. He has a Y. M. C. A. certificate as a +first-class chauffeur." + +That's the way he springs on Aunt Zenobia an imported landaulet, this +year's model, all complete even to monogrammed laprobes and a morocco +vanity case in the tonneau. It's one of these low-hung French cars, with +an eight-cylinder motor that runs as sweet as the purr of a kitten. + +Then here Sunday noon he takes me one side confidential. "Torchy," says +he, "could you assist a poor but deserving citizen to retain the respect +of his chauffeur!" + +"Go on, shoot it," says I. + +"Don't be rash, young man," says he, "for the situation is desperate. +You see, Herman seems to think we ought to use the machine more than we +do. Just to please him we have been whirled through thousands of miles +of adjacent suburbs during the last week. Still Herman is unsatisfied. +Would it be asking too much if I requested you to let him take you out +for the afternoon?" + +I gives him the grin. "Maybe I could stand it for this once," says I. + +"Noble youth!" says he. "You deserve the iron cross. And should there be +perchance anyone who could be induced to share your self-sacrifice----" + +The grin plays tag with my ears. "How'd you guess?" says I. + +Uncle Kyrle winks and pikes off. + +So about two-thirty P.M. I'm landed at a certain number on Madison-ave. +and runs jaunty up the front steps. I was hopin' Aunty would either be +out or takin' her after-dinner nap. But when it comes to forecastin' her +moves you got to figure on reverse English nine cases out of ten. And if +ever you want a picture of bad luck to hang up anywhere, get a portrait +of Aunty. Out? She's right on hand, as stiff and sour as a frozen dill +pickle. Her way of greetin' me cordial as I'm shown into the drawin' +room is by humping her eyebrows and passin' me the marble stare. + +"Well, young man?" says she. + +"Why," says I, "not so well as I was a couple of minutes--er--that it's +a fine, spiffy afternoon, ain't it?" + +"Spiffy!" says she, drawin' in her breath menacin'. + +"Vassarese for lovely," says I. "But I don't insist on the word. By the +way, is Miss Vee in?" + +"She is," says Aunty. "This is not Friday evening, however." + +"Ah, say!" says I. "Can't we suspend the rules and regulations for once? +You see, I got a machine outside that's a reg'lar--well, it's some car, +believe me!--and seein' how there couldn't be a slicker day for a spin, +I didn't know but what you'd let Vee off for an hour or so." + +"Just you and Verona?" demands Aunty, stiffenin'. + +It was some pill to swallow, but after a few uneasy throat wiggles I got +it down. "Unless," says I, "you--you'd like to go along too. You +wouldn't, would you?" + +Aunty indulges in one of them tight-lipped smiles of hers that's about +as merry as a crack in a vinegar cruet. "How thoughtful of you!" says +she. "However, I am not fond of motoring." + +I don't know whether someone punctured an air cushion just then, or +whether it was me heavin' a sigh of relief. "Ain't you?" says I. "But +Vee's strong for it, and if you don't mind----" + +"My niece is writing letters," says Aunty, "and asked not to be +disturbed until after five o'clock." + +"But in this case," I goes on, "maybe she'd sidetrack the letters if +you'd send up word how----" + +"Young man," says Aunty, settin' her chin firm, "I think you are quite +aware of my attitude. Your persistent attentions to my niece are wholly +unwelcome. True, you are no longer a mere office boy; but--well, just +who are you?" + +"Private sec. of Mutual Funding," says I. + +"And a youth known as Torchy?" she adds sarcastic. + +"Yes; but see here!" says I. "I've just dug up a----" + +"That will do," she breaks in. "We have discussed all this before. And +I've no doubt you think me simply a disagreeable, crotchety old person. +Has it ever occurred to you, however, that you may have failed to get my +point of view? Can you not conceive then that it might be somewhat +humiliating to me to know that my maids suppress a smile as they +announce--Mr. Torchy? Understand, I am not censuring you for being a +nameless waif. No, do not interrupt. I realize that this is something +for which you should not be held responsible. But can't you see, young +man----" + +"If I can't," I cuts in, "I need an eye doctor bad. I'll tell you what +I'll do about this name business, though. I'm going to issue a white +paper on the subject." + +"A--a what?" says Aunty. + +"Seein' you ain't much of a listener," says I, "I'll submit the case in +writin'. You win the round, though. And if it don't hurt you too much, +you might tell Vee I was here. You can use a bichloride of mercury mouth +wash afterwards, you know." + +Saying which, I does the young hero act, swings proudly on muh heel, and +exits left center, leavin' Aunty speechless in her chair. + +So Herman and me starts off all by our lonesome, swings into the Grand +Boulevard and out through Pelham Parkway to the Boston Post Road. Deep +glooms for me! Even the way we breezed by speedy roadsters don't bring +me any thrills. + +I was still chewin' over that zippy roast Aunty had handed me. Nameless +waif, eh? Say, that's the rawest she'd ever stated it. Course I was +fixed now to show her where she'd overdone the part; but somehow I +couldn't seem to frame up any way of gettin' my fam'ly tree on record +without seemin' to do it boastful. Besides, Aunty wouldn't take my word +for Uncle Kyrle and all the rest. She'd want an affidavit, at least. + +But I had made up my mind to have a talk with Vee. I hadn't had more'n a +glimpse of her for weeks now, and while I might not feel like givin' +her complete details of all that had happened to me recent, I thought I +might drop an illuminatin' hint or so. Was I goin' to let a gimlet-eyed +old dame with an acetic acid disposition block me off as easy as that? + +"Herman," says I, "you can just drop me on Madison-ave. as we go down. +And you better report at the house before you put up the machine. They +may want to be goin' somewhere." + +I'd heard Uncle Kyrle speak of promisin' to make a call on someone he'd +met lately that he'd known abroad. As for me, I just strolls up and down +two or three blocks, takin' a chance that Vee might drift out. But I +sticks around near an hour without any luck. + +"Huh!" says I to myself at last. "Might as well risk it again, and if I +can't run the gate--well, swappin' a few more plain words with Aunty'll +relieve my feelin's some, anyway." + +With that I marches up bold and presses the button. "Say," says I to the +maid, "don't tell me Aunty's gone out since I left!" + +Selma shakes her head solemn as her mighty Swedish intellect struggles +to surround the situation. "Meesis she dress by supper in den room yet," +says she. + +"Such sadness!" says I. "Maybe there's nobody but Miss Vee downstairs?" + +"_Ja_," says Selma, starin' stupid. "Not nobody else but Miss Verona, +no." + +"You're a bright girl--from the feet down," says I, pushin' in past her. +"Shut the door easy so as not to disturb Aunty, and I'll try to cheer up +Miss Verona until she comes down. She's in the lib'ry, eh?" + +Yep, I was doin' my best. We'd exchanged the greetin's of the season and +was camped cozy in a corner davenport just big enough for two, while I +was explainin' how tough it was not havin' her along for the drive, and +I'd collected one of her hands casual, pattin' it sort of absent-minded, +when--say, no trained bloodhound has anything on Aunty! There she is, +standin' rigid between the double doors glarin' at us accusin'. + +"So you returned after all that, did you?" she demands. + +"I didn't know but you might want to tack on a postscript," says I. + +"Young man," says she, just as friendly as a Special Sessions Judge +callin' the prisoner to the bar, "you are quite right. And I wish to say +to you now, in the presence of my niece, that----" + +"Now, Aunty! Please!" breaks in Verona, shruggin' her shoulders +expressive. + +"Verona, kindly be silent," goes on Aunty. "This young person known as +Torchy has----" + +When in drifts Selma and sticks out the silver card plate like she was +presentin' arms. + +"What is it?" asks Aunty. "Oh!" Then she inspects the names. + +For half a minute she stands there, glancin' from me to the cards +undecided, and I expect if she could have electrocuted me with a look +I'd have sizzled once or twice and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. +But her voltage wa'n't quite high enough for that. Instead she turns to +Selma and gives some quick orders. + +"Draw these draperies," says she; "then show in the guests. As for you, +young man, wait!" + +"Gee!" I whispers, as we're shut in. "I wish I knew how to draw up a +will." + +Vee snickers. "Silly!" says she. "Whatever have you been saying to Aunty +now?" + +"Me?" says I. "Why, not much. Just a little chat about fam'ly trees and +so on, durin' which she----" + +Then the arrival chatter in the next room breaks loose, and I stops +sudden, starin' at the closed portieres with my mouth open. + +"Hello!" says I. "Listen who's here!" + +"Who?" says Vee. + +"That's so," says I. "You don't know 'em, do you? Well, this adds +thickenin' to the plot for fair. Remember hearin' me tell of Aunt +Zenobia and her new hubby? Well, that's 'em." + +"How odd!" says Vee. "But--why, I've heard his voice before! It was +at--oh, I know! The nice old gentleman who had the villa next to ours at +Mentone." + +"Ballard?" I suggests. + +"That's it!" says Vee. "And you say he is----" + +"My Uncle Kyrle," says I. "My reg'lar uncle, you know." + +"Why, Torchy!" gasps Vee, grabbin' me by the arm. "Then--then you----" + +"Listen!" says I. "Hear your Aunty usin' her comp'ny voice. My! ain't +she the gentle, cooin' dove, though? Now they're gettin' acquainted. So +this was where Uncle Kyrle spoke of callin'! Hot time he picked out for +it, didn't he, with me here in the condemned cell? Say, what do you know +about that, eh?" + +Vee smothers another giggle, and slips one of her hands into mine. +"Don't you care!" says she, whisperin'. "And isn't it thrilling? But +what shall we do?" + +"It's by me," says I. "Aunty told me to wait, didn't she? Well, let's." + +Which we done, sittin' there sociable, and every now and then swappin' +smiles as the conversation in the next room took a new turn. + +Fin'lly Uncle Kyrle remarks: "You had your little niece with you then, +didn't you?" + +"Little Verona? Oh, yes," says Aunty. "She is still with me. Rather +grown up now, though. I must send for her. Pardon me." And she rings for +Selma. + +Well, that queers the game entirely. Two minutes more, and Vee has been +towed in for inspection and I'm left alone in banishment. + +"Well, well!" I can hear Uncle Kyrle sing out. "Why, young lady, what +right had you to change from a tow-headed schoolgirl into such +a--Zenobia, please face the other way and don't listen, while I try to +tell this radiant young person how utterly charming she has become. No, +I can't begin to do the subject justice. Twenty or thirty years ago I +might have had some success. Ah, me! Those gray eyes of yours, my dear, +hold mischief enough to wreck a convention of saints. Ah, blushing, are +you? Forgive me. I ought to know better. Let me tell you, though, I've a +young nephew with a pair of blue eyes that might be a match for your +gray ones. You must allow me to bring him up some day." + +And I'd like to have had a glimpse of Vee's face just then. About there, +though, Aunty breaks in. + +"A nephew, Mr. Ballard?" says she. + +"Poor Dick's boy," says he. "The one we hunted all over the States for +after Dick took him on that wild goose chase from which he never came +back. Let's see, you must have known the youngster's mother,--Irene +Ballard." + +"That stunning young woman with the copper-red hair whom you introduced +at Palermo?" asks Aunty. "Is--is she----" + +"No," says Uncle Kyrle. "Poor Irene! She was always doing something for +someone, you know, and when this big war got under way--well, she went +to the front at the first call from the Red Cross. I might have known +she would. I suppose she simply couldn't bear to keep out of it--all +that suffering, and so much help needed. No more skillful or efficient +hands than hers, I'll wager, Madam, were ever volunteered, nor any +braver soul. She was pure gold, Irene." + +"And," puts in Aunty, "she was--er----" + +Uncle Kyrle nods. "In a field hospital, under fire," says he, "late last +September. That's all we know. Where do you think, though, I ran across +that boy of hers? Found him at Zenobia's; found them both rather, at a +theater. Sheer luck. For if you'll pardon my saying it, that youth is a +nephew I'm going to be proud of some of these days unless I am----" + +Say, this was gettin' a little too personal for me. I'd been shiftin' +around uneasy for a minute or two, and about then I decided it wouldn't +be polite to listen any longer. So I make a dash out the side door into +the hall, not knowin' just what to do or where to go. And I bumps into +Selma wheelin' in the tea wagon. That gives me a hunch. + +"Say, Bright Eyes," says I, pushin' a dollar at her, "take this and +ditch that tea stuff for a minute, can't you? Harken! There's goin' to +be a new arrival at the front door in about a minute, and you must +answer the bell. No, don't indulge in that open-face movement. Just +watch me close!" + +With that I clips past the drawin'-room entrance, opens the front door +gentle, and gives the button a good long push. Then I slides back and +digs up a card case that Aunt Zenobia has presented me with only a +couple of days ago. + +"Here!" says I. "Get out your plate and pass one of these to the Missus. +That's it. Push it right on her conspicuous. Now! On your way!" + +She's real quick at startin', Selma is, when she's shoved brisk from +behind. And as she goes through the doorway I stretches my ear to hear +what Aunty will say to the new arrival. And, believe me, if I'd given +her the lines myself, she couldn't have done it better! + +"Mr. Richard Taber Ballard?" says she, readin' the card. Then she turns +to Uncle Kyrle. "Why, this must be some----" + +"Eh?" says he. "Did you hear that, Zenobia? Torchy, you young rascal, +come in here and explain yourself!" + +"Torchy!" gasps Aunty. "Did--did you say--Torchy?" + +"Anybody callin' for me?" says I, steppin' into the room with a grin on. + +And to watch that stary look settle in Aunty's eyes, and see the purple +tint spread back to her ears, was worth standin' for all the rough deals +I'd ever had from her. At last I had her bumpin' the bumps! Sort of +dazed she inspects the card once more, and then glances at me. Do you +wonder? Richard Taber Ballard! I ain't got used to it myself. + +"Here he is," says Uncle Kyrle jovial, draggin' me to the front, "that +scamp nephew I was telling you about. The Richard is for his father, you +know; the Taber he gets from his mother--also his red hair. Eh, +Torchy? And this, young man, is Miss Verona." + +He swings me around facin' her, and I expect I must have acted some +sheepish. But trust Vee! What does she do but let loose one of them +ripply laughs of hers. Then she steps up, pulls my head down playful +with both hands, and looks me square in the eyes. + +"Why didn't you tell me before, Torchy," says she, "that you had such a +perfectly grand name as all that?" + +"Huh!" says I. "A swell chance I've had to tell you anything, ain't I? +But if the folks will excuse us for half an hour, I'll tell you all I +know about a lot of things." + +And, say, Aunty don't even glare after us as we slips through the +draperies into the lib'ry, leavin' 'em to explain to each other how I +come to be on hand so accidental. The only disturbance comes when Selma +butts in pushin' the tea cart, and, just from force of habit, I makes a +panicky breakaway. After she's insisted on loadin' us up with sandwiches +and so forth, though, I slips my arm back where it fits the snuggest. + +"Now, Sir," says Vee, "how are you going to hold your cup?" + +"I'd be willin' to miss out on tea forever," says I, "for a chance like +this." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +MR. ROBERT AND A CERTAIN PARTY + + +We was havin' a directors' meetin'. Get that, do you? _We_, you know! +For nowadays, as private sec. and actin' head of Mutual Funding, I +crashes into all sorts of confidential pow-wows. Uh-huh! Right in where +they put a crimp in the surplus and make plots to slip things over on +the Commerce Board! Oh my, yes! I'm gettin' almost respectable enough to +be indicted. + +Well, we'd just pared the dividend on common and was about breakin' up +the session when Mr. Robert misses some figures on export clearances +he'd had made up and was pawin' about on the table aimless. + +"Didn't I see you stowin' that away in one of your desk pigeonholes +yesterday?" I suggests. + +"By George!" says he. "Think you could find it for me, Torchy? And, by +the way, bring along my cigarettes too. You will find them in a leather +case somewhere about." + +I locates the export notes first stab; but the dope sticks ain't in +sight. I claws through the whole top of the desk before I fin'lly +discovers, shoved clear into a corner, a thin old blue morocco affair +with a gold catch. By the time I gets back he's smokin' a borrowed brand +and tosses the case one side. + +Half an hour later the meetin' is over. Mr. Robert sighs relieved, +bunches up a lot of papers in front of him, and begins feelin' +absent-minded in his pockets. Seein' which I pushes the leather case at +him. + +"Ah, yes, thanks," says he, and snaps it open careless. + +But no neat little row of paper pipes shows up. Inside is nothing but a +picture, one of these dinky portraits on ivory--mini'tures, ain't they? +It shows a young lady with a perky chin and kind of a quizzin' look in +her eyes: not a reg'lar front row pippin', you know, but a fairly good +looker of the highbrow type. + +For a second Mr. Robert stares at the portrait foolish, and then he +glances up quick to see if I'm watchin'. As it happens, I am, and blamed +if he don't tint up over it! + +"Excuse," says I. "Only leather case I could find. Besides, I didn't +know you had any such souvenirs as this on your desk." + +He chuckles throaty. "Nor I," says he. "That is, I'd almost forgotten. +You see----" + +"I see," says I. "She's one of the discards, eh?" + +Sort of jolts him, that does. "Eh?" says he. "A discard? No, no! +I--er--I suppose, if I must confess, Torchy, that I am one of hers." + +"Gwan!" says I. "You? Look like a discard, don't you? Tush, tush!" + +The idea of him tryin' to feed that to me! Why, say, I expect there +ain't half a dozen bachelors in town that's rated any higher on the +eligible list than Mr. Bob Ellins. It's no dark secret, either. I've +heard of whole summer campaigns bein' planned just to land Mr. Robert, +of house parties made up special to give some fair young queen a chance +at him, and of one enterprisin' young widow that chased him up for two +seasons before she quit. + +How he's been able to dodge the net so long has puzzled more than me, +and up to date I'd never had a hint that there was such a thing for him +as a certain party. So I expect I was gawpin' some curious at the +picture. + +"Huh!" says I, but more or less to myself. + +"Not intending any adverse criticism of the young lady, I trust?" +remarks Mr. Robert. + +"Far be it from me!" says I. "Only--well, maybe the paintin' don't do +her justice." + +"Rather discreetly phrased, that," says he, chucklin' quiet. "Thank you, +Torchy. And you are quite right. No mere painter ever could do her full +justice. While the likeness is excellent, the flesh tones much as I +remember them, yet I fancy a great deal has escaped the brush,--the +queer, quirky little smile, for instance, that used to come at times in +the mouth corners, a quick tilting of the chin as she talked, and that +trick of widening the eyes as she looked at you. China blue, I think her +eyes would be called; rather unusual eyes, in fact." + +He seems to be enjoyin' the monologue; so I don't break in, but just +stands there while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic. +Even after he's finished he still sits there starin'. + +"Gee!" says I. "It ain't a hopeless case, is it, Mr. Robert?" + +Which brings him out of his spell. He shrugs his shoulders, indulges in +an unconvincin' little laugh, snaps the case shut, and then tosses it +careless down onto the table. + +"Perhaps you failed to notice the dust," says he. "The back part of the +bottom drawer is where that belongs, Torchy--or in the waste basket. +It's quite hopeless, you see." + +"Huh!" says I as I turns to go. And this time I meant to get it across +to him. + +Honest, I couldn't figure why a headliner like Mr. Robert, with all his +good bank ratin', good fam'ly, and good looks to back him, should get +the gate on any kind of a matrimonial proposition, unless it was a case +of coppin' a Princess of royal blood, and even then I'd back him to show +in the runnin'. Who was this finicky party with the willow-ware eyes, +anyway? Queen of what? Or was it wings she was demandin'? + +[Illustration: "He seems to be enjoying the monologue; so I just stands +there while he gazes at the picture and holds forth enthusiastic."] + +Say, I most got peeved with this unknown that had ditched Mr. Robert so +hard. All that evenin' I mulls over it, wonderin' how long ago it had +happened and if that accounted for him bein' so cagy in makin' social +dates. Not that he's what you'd call skirt-shy exactly; but I've noticed +that he's always cautious about bein' backed into a corner or paired off +with any special one. + +Course, not knowin' the details of the tragedy, it wa'n't much use +speculatin'. And somehow I didn't feel like askin' for the whole story +right out. You know--there's times when you just can't. I ain't any more +curious than usual over this special case, either; but, seein' how many +good turns Mr. Robert's done for me along the only-girl line, I got to +wishin' there was some way I could sort of balance the account. + +So when I stumbles across this concert folder it almost looks like a +special act, with the arrow pointin' my way. I was payin' my reg'lar +official Friday evenin' call. No, nothin' romantic. Just because Aunty's +mellowed up a bit since I'm announced proper by the front door help as +Mr. Ballard, don't get tangled up with the idea that she stands for any +dark corner twosin'. Nothin' like that! All the lights are on full +blast, Aunty's right there prominent with her crochet, and on the other +side of the table is me and Vee. And I couldn't be behavin' more +innocent if I'd been roped to the chair. All I was holdin' was a skein +of yarn. Uh-huh! You see, Vee got the knittin' habit last winter, +turnin' out stuff for the Belgians, and now she keeps right on; though +who she's goin' to wish a pink and white shawl onto in this weather is a +myst'ry. + +"It's for a sufferer--isn't that enough?" says she. + +"From what--chilblains on the ears?" says I. + +"Silly!" says she. "There! Didn't I tell you to bend your thumbs? How +awkward!" + +"Who, me?" says I. "Why, for a first attempt I thought I was puttin' up +a real classy performance. Say, lemme wind awhile, and let's see you try +this yarn-jugglin' act." + +She won't, though; so it's me sittin' there playin' dummy, with my arms +held out stiff and my eyes roamin' around restless. + +Which is how I happen to spot this folder with the halftone cut on it. +It's been tossed casual on the table, and the picture is wrong side to +from where I am; but even then there's something mighty familiar about +it. I wiggles around to get a better view, and lets half a dozen loops +of yarn slip off at a time. + +"Stupid!" says Vee, runnin' her tongue out at me. + +"Didn't I tell you you'd do better by drapin' it over a chair back?" +says I. "But say, time out while I snoop into something. Who's the girl +with the press notice stuff?" and I points an elbow at the halftone. + +"That?" says she. "Oh, some concert singer, I think. Let's see. +Yes--Miss Elsa Hampton. She's to give a benefit song recital in the +Plutoria pink room for the Belgian war orphans, tickets two dollars. +Want to go?" And Vee flips the folder into my lap. + +Gettin' the picture right side to, I lets out a whistle. No mistakin' +that. "Sure I want to go," says I. + +"Why?" says Vee. + +"Well, for one thing," says I, "she has china blue eyes that widen out +when they look at you, and a queer, quirky little smile that----" + +"How thrilling!" says Vee. "You must know her very well." + +"Almost that," says I. "Anyway, I know someone that did know her very +well--once." + +"Oh!" says Vee, forgettin' all about the yarn windin' and hitchin' her +chair up close. "That does sound interesting. I hope it isn't a deep +secret." + +"If it wa'n't," says I, "what would be the fun in tellin' it to you?" + +"Goody!" says Vee. "Who is the poor man who knew her once but doesn't +any more?" + +"Whisper!" says I. "It's Mr. Bob Ellins!" + +"Wha-a-at!" gasps Vee. "Do you really mean it?" + +I'd pulled a sensation, all right, and for the next half-hour she keeps +me busy tryin' to explain the details of a situation I hadn't more'n +half sketched out myself. + +"Kept a miniature of her on his desk!" Vee rattles on. "And it hadn't +been opened for ever so long, you say? What makes you think it hadn't?" + +"Dusty," says I. + +"Oh!" says Vee. "Just fancy! And she must have given it to him +herself--an ivory miniature, you know. Was--was there another man, do +you think, or just some silly misunderstanding? I wonder?" + +"I hadn't got in that deep," says I. + +"But suppose it was," says Vee, "only a misunderstanding, wouldn't it be +lovely if we could find some way of--of--well, why don't you suggest +something?" + +Did I? Say, we was plottin' so lively there for a spell, with our heads +close together, that I can't tell for a fact which it was did get the +idea first. + +But, anyway, when I'm busy at the Corrugated next mornin', openin' the +first batch of mail and sortin' the junk from the important letters, I +laid the mine. All I had to do was pick out an envelope postmarked +Madison Square, ditch the art dealers' card that came in it, and +substitute this song recital folder, opened so the picture couldn't be +missed. And when I stacks the letters on Mr. Robert's desk I tucks that +one in second from the top. Some grand little strategy that, eh? + +Then I keeps my ear stretched for any remarks Mr. Robert may unload when +he makes the great discovery. But, say, when you try dopin' out such a +complicated party as Mr. Bob Ellins you've tackled some deep +proposition. Nothin' emotional about him, and although I'm sittin' only +a dozen feet off, half facin' his way too, I don't get even the hint of +a smothered gasp. Couldn't even tell whether he'd seen the picture or +not, and by the time I works up an excuse to drift over by his elbow +he's halfway through the pile. + +"Nothin' startlin' in the mornin' run, eh?" I throws out. + +"Oh, yes," says he. "Mallory reports that those St. Louis people have +applied for another injunction. Ring up Bates, will you, and have him +call a general council of our legal staff for two-thirty?" + +"Right," says I. "Er--anything else, Mr. Robert?" + +He simply shakes his head and dives into another letter. At that, +though, I was lookin' for him to sound me out sooner or later on the +picture business; but the forenoon breezes by without a word. By +lunchtime I'm more twisted than ever. Had he glanced at the halftone +without recognizin' her? Or was he just keepin' mum? Not until I gets a +chance to explore the waste basket did I get any line. The folder wa'n't +there. Neither was it on his desk. And all the hints I threw out durin' +the day he don't seem to notice at all. So I didn't have much to tell +Vee over the 'phone that night. + +"Couldn't get a rise out of him at all," says I. + +"But you're certain Miss Hampton is the one, are you?" says she. + +"If she wa'n't," says I, "why should he keep the folder?" + +"That's so," says Vee. "Then--then shall we do it?" + +"I'm game if you are," says I. + +"All right," says she, and I hears one of them ripplin' laughs of hers +comin' over the wire. "It's to-morrow at half after three, you know." + +"I'll be on hand," says I. + +And, believe me, when I gets there and sees the swell mob collectin' in +the pink ballroom, I'm some pleased with myself for gettin' that hunch +to doll up in my frock coat and lavender tie. It's mostly a fluff +audience; but there's enough of a sprinklin' of Johnnies and old sports +so I don't feel too conspicuous. + +Course I wa'n't lookin' forward to any treat. I ain't so strong for this +recital stuff as a rule; but I was anxious to size up the young lady +who'd thrown the harpoon into Mr. Robert so hard. Same way with Vee. So +we edges through to a front seat and waits expectant. + +And, say, what fin'lly glides out on the stage and bows offhand to the +soft patter of kid gloves is only an average looker. She's simple +dressed and simple actin'. No frills about Miss Hampton at all. Why, you +might easy mistake her for one of the girl ushers! + +"Pooh!" says Vee. + +"Also pooh for me," says I. + +More or less easy and graceful in her motions Miss Hampton is, though, I +got to admit, as she stands there chattin' with the accompanist and +lettin' them big blue eyes of hers rove careless over the crowd in +front. They ain't the stary, baby blue sort, you know. China blue +describes 'em best, I guess; and they're the calm, steady kind that it's +sort of restful and fascinatin' to watch. + +Almost before we know it she's stepped to the front and started in on +the programme. Italian folk songs is what is down on the card, and she +leads off with that swingin' rollickin' piece, "Santa Lucia." You've +heard it, eh? That's some song, ain't it? + +But, say, I never knew how much snap and go there was to it until I +heard Miss Hampton trill it out. Why, she just tosses up that perky chin +of hers and turns loose the catchy melody until you felt the warm waves +splashin' and saw the moonlight dancin' across the bay! I don't know +where or what this Santa Lucia thing is, but she most made me homesick +to go back there. Honest! And if you think a set of odd-shaded blue eyes +can't light up and sparkle with diff'rent expressions, you should have +seen hers. When she finishes and springs that folksy, chummy sort of +smile--well, take it from me, the hand she gets ain't any polite, +halfway, for-charity's-sake applause. They just went to it strong, +gloves or no gloves. + +"Isn't she bully?" whispers Vee. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "We take back the pooh-poohs, eh?" + +The next number was diff'rent, but just as good. At the finish of the +fourth a wide old dame in the middle row unpins a cluster of orchids +from her belt and aims 'em enthusiastic at the stage. Course they swats +a dignified old boy three seats beyond me back of the ear; but that +starts the floral offerings. I gets a quick nudge from Vee. + +"Go on, Torchy," she whispers. "Do it now!" + +We hadn't been sure first off that we'd have the nerve to carry the +thing that far; but we'd come all primed. So I yanks the tissue paper +off a dozen long-stemmed American beauts that I'd smuggled in under my +coat, Vee ties on the card, and I tosses the bunch so accurate it lands +almost on Miss Hampton's toes. + +Course any paid performer would have been tickled to death to have a +crowd break loose like that; but Miss Hampton acts a bit dazed by it +all. For a second or so she stands there gazin' sort of puzzled, bitin' +her upper lip. Then she springs that quirky, good-natured smile of hers, +bows a couple of times, and proceeds to help the accompanist gather up +the flowers and stack 'em on the piano. + +When she comes to our big bunch she swoops it up graceful, and is about +to pile it with the rest when her eyes must have caught the card. Just +as easy and natural as if she'd been at home, she turns it over and +reads the name. + +And, say, for a minute there I thought we had bust up the show. Talk +about goin' pink! Why, you could see the strawb'rry tint spread over her +cheeks and up into her ears! Blamed if her eyes don't moisten up too, +and she sweeps over the audience with a quick nervous glance, like she +was tryin' to single someone out! She don't seem to know what to do +next. Once she turns as if she meant to beat it into the wings; but as +the applause simmers down the pianist strikes up the beginning of an +encore. So she had to stick it out. + +Her voice is more or less shaky at the start; but pretty soon she +strikes her gait again and sings the last verse better than she had +before. Then comes an intermission, and when Miss Hampton appears again +she's wearin' that whole dozen roses pinned over her heart. Vee nudges +me excited when she spots it. + +"See, Torchy?" says she. + +"Guess we've started something, eh?" says I. + +Just what it was, though, we didn't know. I didn't get cold feet either, +until the concert is all over and the folks begun swarmin' around the +stage to pass over the hot-air congratulations. + +But Miss Hampton wa'n't content to stand there quiet and take 'em. She +seems to have something on her mind, and the next thing I knew she was +pikin' down the steps right towards the middle aisle. + +"Gee!" says I, grabbin' Vee by the arm. "Maybe she saw who passed 'em +up. Let's do the quick exit." + +We was gettin' away as fast as we could too, squirmin' through the push, +when I looks over my shoulder and discovers that Miss Hampton is almost +on our heels. + +"Good-night!" says I. + +Believe me, I was doin' some high-tension thinkin' about then, tryin' to +frame up an alibi, when she reaches over my shoulder and holds out her +hand to someone leanin' against a pillar. It's Mr. Robert. + +"How absurd of you, Robert!" says she. + +"Eh! I--I beg pardon?" I hears him gasp out. + +And, say, I expect that's the first and only time I've ever seen him +good and fussed. Why, he's flyin' the scarlatina signal clear to the +back of his neck! + +"The roses, you know," she goes on. "So nice of you to remember me. I--I +thought you'd forgotten. Thank you for them." + +"Roses?" says he husky, starin' stupid at the bunch. + +Then he turns his head a bit, and his eyes light on me, strugglin' to +slip behind a tall female party who's bein' helped into her silk wrap. I +must have looked guilty or something; for he shoots me a crisp, knowin' +glance. + +"Oh, yes--the--the roses," I hears him go on. "It was silly of me, +wasn't it? I--I'll explain some time, if I may." + +"Oh!" says she. "Of course you may, if they really need explaining." + +Which was the last we heard, as Vee had found an openin' into the +corridor and was dashin' out panicky. You can bet I follows! + +"Did--did you ever?" pants Vee as we gets out to the carriage entrance. +"Now we have done it, haven't we?" + +"And I'm caught with the goods on, I guess," says I. + +"Just fancy!" says she. "Mr. Robert was there all the time. I wonder +what he will----" + +"Pardon me, you pair of mischief makers," says a voice behind, "but I +haven't quite decided." + +It's Mr. Robert! + +"Hel-lup!" says I gaspy. + +"Do I understand," he goes on, "that one of my cards went with those +roses?" + +"Yep," says I prompt. "Little idea of mine. I--I wanted to see what +would happen." + +"Really!" says he sarcastic. "Well, I trust that my part of the +performance was quite satisfactory to you." And with that he wheels and +marches off. + +"Whiffo!" says I, drawin' in a long breath. "But he is grouched for +fair, ain't he!" + +All the sympathy I gets from Vee, though, is a chuckle. "Don't you +believe a word of it," says she. "Just wait!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +TORCHY TACKLES A SHORT CIRCUIT + + +There was no use discountin' the fact, or tryin' to smooth it over. I +was in Dutch with Mr. Robert--all because Vee and I tried to pull a +little Cupid stunt for his benefit. I'd invested six whole dollars in +that bunch of roses we'd passed up to Miss Hampton, too! And just +because we thought it would be a happy hunch to tie in his card with +'em, he goes and gets peevish. + +Not that he comes right out and roasts me for gettin' gay. Say, that +would have been a relief; but he don't. He just lugs around a dignified, +injured air and gives me the cold eye. Say, that's the limit, that is! +Makes me feel as mean and little as a green strawb'rry on top of a +bakery shortcake. + +Three days I'd had of it, mind you, with never a show to put in any +defense, or plead guilty but sorry, or anything like that. And me all +the time hoping it would wear off. I expect it would too, if someone +could have throttled Billy Bounce. Course nobody could, or it would have +happened long ago. Havin' no more neck than an ice-water pitcher has +been Billy's salvation all through his career. + +Maybe you don't remember my mentionin' him before; but he's the +roly-poly club friend of Mr. Robert's who went with us on that alligator +shootin' trip up the Wiggywash two winters ago. Hadn't shown up at the +Corrugated General Offices for months before; but here the other +afternoon he breezed in, dumps his 220 excess into a chair by the +roll-top, mops the heavy dew from various parts of his full-moon face, +and proceeds to get real folksy. + +At the time I was waitin' on the far side of the desk for Mr. Robert to +O. K. a fundin' report, and there was other signs of a busy day in plain +sight; but Billy Bounce ain't a bit disturbed by that. He'd come in +loaded with chat. + +"Oh, I say, Bob," he breaks out, after a few preliminary joshes, "who do +you suppose I ran across up in the Fitz-William palm room the other +night?" + +"A head waiter," says Mr. Robert. + +"Oh, come!" says Billy. "Give a guess." + +"One of your front-row friends from the Winter Garden?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"No, a friend of yours," says Billy. "That blue-eyed warbler you used to +be so nutty over--Miss Hampton. Eh, Bob? How about it?" With which he +reaches over playful and pokes Mr. Robert in the ribs. + +I expect he'd have put it across just as raw if there'd been a dozen +around instead of only me. That's Billy Bounce. About as much delicate +reserve, Billy has, as a traffic cop clearin' up a street tangle. + +"Indeed!" says Mr. Robert, flushin' a bit. "Clever of you to remember +her. I--er--I trust she was charmed to meet you again?" + +"The deuce you do!" comes back Billy. "Anyway, she wasn't as grouchy +about it as you are. Say, she's all right, Miss Hampton is; a heap too +nice for a big ham like you, as I always said." + +"Yes, I believe I recall your hinting as much," says Mr. Robert; "but if +you don't mind I'd rather not discuss----" + +"You'd better, though," says Billy. "You see, I thought I had to drag +you into the conversation. Asked her if she'd seen you lately. And say, +old man, she's expecting you to call or something. Lord knows why; but +she is, you know. Said you'd probably be up to-night. As much as asked +me to pass on the word. Eh, Bob? + +"Well, I've done it. S'long. See you at the club afterwards, and you can +tell me all about it." + +He winks roguish over his shoulder as he waddles out, leavin' Mr. +Robert starin' puzzled over the top of the desk, and me with my mouth +open. + +And the next thing I know I'm gettin' the inventory look-over from them +keen eyes of Mr. Robert's. "You heard, I suppose?" says he. + +"Uh-huh," says I, sort of husky. + +"And I presume you understand just what that means?" he goes on. "I am +expected to call and explain about those roses." + +"Well?" says I. "Why not stand pat? Sendin' flowers to a young lady +ain't any penal offense, is it?" + +"As a simple statement of an abstract proposition," says Mr. Robert, +"that is quite correct; but in this instance the situation is somewhat +more complicated. As a matter of fact, I find myself in a deucedly +awkward position." + +"That's easy," says I. "Lay it to me, then." + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. "I've considered that," says he; "but +sometimes the bald truth sounds singularly unconvincing. I'm sure it +would in this case. If the young lady was familiar with all the buoyant +audacity of your irrepressible nature, perhaps it would be different. +No, young man, I fear I must ask you to do your own explaining." + +"Me?" says I, gawpin'. + +"We will call on Miss Hampton about four-thirty," says he. + +And say, Mr. Robert has stacked me up against some batty excursions +before now; but this billin' me for orator of the day when he goes to +look up an old girl of his is about the fruitiest performance he'd ever +sprung. + +I don't know when I've ever seen him with a worse case of the fidgets, +either. Why, you'd 'most think he was due to answer a charge of breakin' +and enterin', or something like that! And you know he's some nervy +sport, Mr. Robert--all except when it's a matter of skirts. Then he's +more or less of a skittish party, believe me! + +But at four-thirty we went. It wa'n't any joy ride we had, either. All +the way up Mr. Robert sits there fillin' the limousine with gloom thick +enough to slice. I tried chirkin' him up with a few frivolous side +remarks; but they don't take, and I sighs relieved when we're landed at +the apartment hotel where Miss Hampton lives. + +"Say," I suggests, "you ain't goin' to lead me in by the ear, are you?" + +"I'm not sure but that would be an appropriate entrance," says he. +"However, it might appear a trifle theatrical." + +"What's the programme, anyway?" says I, as we boards the elevator. "Do +you open for the defense, or do I?" + +"Hanged if I know!" he almost groans out. "I wish I did." + +"Then let's stick around outside in the corridor here," says I, "until +we frame up something. Now how would it do if----" + +"You're to explain, that's all!" says he, steppin' up and pushin' the +button. + +It's a wonder too, from the panicky way he's actin', he don't shove me +ahead of him for a buffer as we goes in. But he has just enough courage +left to let me trail along behind. + +So it's him gets the cordial greetin' from the vision in blue net that +floats out easy and graceful from the window nook. + +I couldn't see why it wa'n't goin' to be just as awkward for her, +meetin' him again so long after their grand smash, or whatever it was; +but, take it from me, there ain't any fussed motions about Miss Hampton +at all. Them big china blue eyes of hers is steady and calm, her perky +chin is carried well up, and in one corner of her mouth she's displayin' +that quirky smile he'd described to me. + +"Ah, Robert!" says she. "So good of you to----" + +Then she discovers me and breaks off sudden. + +I'm introduced reg'lar and formal, and Mr. Robert adds: "A young friend +of mine from the office." + +"Oh!" says Miss Hampton, liftin' her eyebrows a little. + +"I brought him along," blurts out Mr. Robert, "to tell you about how you +happened to get the roses." + +"Really!" says she. "How considerate of you!" + +And if Mr. Robert hadn't been actin' so much like a poor prune he'd have +quit that line right there. But on he blunders. + +"You see," says he, "I've asked Torchy to explain for me." + +"Ye-e-es?" says she, bitin' her upper lip thoughtful and glancin' from +one to the other of us. "Then--then you needn't have bothered to come +yourself, need you?" + +Say, that was something to lean against, wa'n't it? You could almost +hear the dull thud as it reached him. + +"Oh, I say, Elsa!" he gets out gaspy. "Of course I--I wished to come, +too." + +"Thank you," says she. "I wasn't sure. And now that you've brought him, +may I hear what your young friend has to say, all by myself?" + +She even springs another one of them twisty smiles; but her head nods +suggestive at the door. I expects I starts a grin; but one glimpse of +Mr. Robert's face and it fades out. He wa'n't happy a bit. For a minute +he stands there lookin' sort of dazed, as if he'd been hit with a lead +pipe, and with his neck and ears tinted up like a raspb'rry sundae. + +"Very well," says he, and does a slow exit, leavin' me gawpin' after him +sympathetic. + +Not for long, though. My turn came as soon as the latch was clicked. + +"Now, Torchy," says she, chummy and encouragin', as she slips into an +old-rose armchair and waves me towards another. + +I'm still gazin' at the door, wonderin' if Mr. Robert has jumped down +the elevator shaft or is takin' it out on the lever juggler. + +"Ah, say, Miss Hampton!" says I. "Why throw the harpoon so hasty when he +was doin' his best?" + +"Was he?" says she. "Then his best isn't very wonderful, is it?" + +"But you didn't give him a show," says I. "Course it was a dippy play of +his, luggin' me along, as I warned him. Believe me, though, he meant all +right. There ain't any more yellow in Mr. Robert than there is in my +tie. Honest! Maybe he don't show up brilliant when he's talkin' to +ladies; but I want to tell you he's about as good as they come." + +"Indeed!" says she, widenin' her eyes and chucklin' easy. "That is what +I should call an unreserved indorsement. But about the roses, now?" + +Well, I sketched the plot of the piece all out for her, from findin' her +miniature accidental in Mr. Robert's desk, to the day of the concert, +when she got the bunch with his card tied to it. + +"I'll admit it was takin' a chance," says I; "but you see, Miss Hampton, +when I was joshin' him as to whose picture it was he got so enthusiastic +in describin' you----" + +"Did he, truly?" she cuts in. + +"Unless I don't know a Romeo gaze when I see one," says I. "And then, +when I figures out that if you'd given him the chuck it might have been +through some mistaken notion, why--well, come to talk it over with Vee, +we thought----" + +"Pardon me," says Miss Hampton, "but just who is Vee?" + +"Eh?" says I, pinkin' up. "Why, in my case, she's the only girl." + +"Ah-ha!" says she. "So you--er----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "I've come near bein' ditched myself. And Mr. Robert +he's helped out more'n once. So this looked like my cue to hand back +something. We thought maybe the roses would kind of patch things up. +Say, how about it, Miss Hampton? Suppose he hadn't boobed it this way, +wouldn't there be a show of----" + +"You absurd youth!" says she, liftin' both hands protestin', but failin' +to smother that smile. + +And say, when it's aimed straight at you so you get the full benefit, +that's some winnin' smile of hers--sort of genuine and folksy, you know! +It got me. Why, I felt like I'd been put on her list of old friends. And +I grins back. + +"It wa'n't a case of another party, was it?" says I. + +She laughs and shakes her head. + +"Or an old watch-dog aunt, eh?" I goes on. + +"Whatever made you think of that?" says she. + +"You ought to see the one that stands guard over Vee," says I. "But how +was it, anyway, that Mr. Robert got himself in wrong with you?" + +"How?" says Miss Hampton, restin' her perky chin on one knuckle and +studyin' the rug pattern. "Why, I think it must have been--well, perhaps +it was my fault, after all. You see, when I left for Italy we were very +good friends. And over there it was all so new to me,--Italian life, our +villa hung on a mountainside overlooking that wonderful blue sea, the +people I met, everything,--I wrote to him, oh, pages and pages, about +all I did or saw. He must have been horribly bored reading them. I +didn't realize until--but there! We'll not go into that. I stopped, +that's all." + +"Huh!" says I. + +"So it's all over," says she. "Only, when I thought he had sent the +roses, of course I was pleased. But now that he has taken such pains to +prove that he didn't----" + +She ends with a shoulder shrug. + +"Say, Miss Hampton," I breaks in, "you leave it to me." + +"But there isn't anything to leave," says she, "not a shred! Sometime, +though, I hope I may meet your Miss Vee. May I?" + +"I should guess!" says I. "Why, she thinks you're a star! We both do." + +"Thank you, Torchy," says she. "I'm glad someone approves of me. +Good-by." And we shakes hands friendly at the door. + +It was long after five by that time; but I made a break back to the +office. Had to get the floor janitor to let me in. I was glad, though, +to have the place to myself. + +What I was after was a peek at some back letter files. Course I wa'n't +sure he could be such a chump; but, knowin' somethin' about his habits +along the correspondence line, I meant to settle the point. And, fishin' +out Mr. Robert's personal book, I begun the hunt. I had the right dope, +too. + +"The lobster!" says I. + +There it was, all typed out neat, "My Dear Miss Hampton." And dictated! +Much as ten lines, too! It starts real chatty and familiar with, "Yours +of the 16th inst. at hand," just like he always does, whether he's +closin' a million-dollar deal or payin' a tailor's bill. He goes on to +confide to her how the weather's beastly, business on the fritz, and how +he's just ordered a new sixty-footer that he hopes will be in commission +for the July regattas. + +A hot billy-doo to a young lady he's supposed to be clean nutty over, +one that had been sittin' up nights writin' on both sides of half a +dozen sheets to him! I found four or five more just like it, the last +one bein' varied a little by startin', "Yours of the 5th inst. still at +hand." Do you wonder she quit? + +If this had been a letter-writin' competition, I'd have thrown up both +hands; but it wa'n't. + +I'd seen Mr. Robert gazin' mushy at that picture of her, and I'd watched +Miss Hampton when she was tellin' me about him. Only they was +short-circuited somewhere. And it seemed like a blamed shame. + +Half an hour more and I'd located Mr. Robert at his club. + +He ain't very enthusiastic, either, when one of the doormen tows me +into the corner of the loungin' room where he's sittin' behind a tall +glass gazin' moody at nothin' in particular. + +"I suppose you told her all about it!" says he. + +"And then a few," says I. + +"Well?" says he sort of hopeless. + +"Verdict for the defense," says I. "I didn't even have to produce the +florist's receipt." + +"Then that's settled," says he, sighin'. + +"You couldn't have made the job more complete if you'd submitted +affidavits," says I. "And if you don't mind my sayin' so, Mr. Robert, +when it comes to the Romeo stuff, you're ten points off, with no bids." + +Course that gets a squirm out of him, like I hoped it would. But he +don't blow out a fuse or anything. "Naturally," says he, "I am charmed +to hear such a frank estimate of myself. But suppose I am simply trying +to avoid the--the Romeo stuff, as you put it?" + +"Gwan!" says I. "You're only kiddin' yourself. Come now, ain't you as +strong for Miss Hampton as ever?" + +He stiffens up for a second; but then his shoulders sag. "Torchy," says +he, "your perceptions are altogether too acute. I admit it. But what's +the use? As you have so clearly pointed out, this little affair of mine +seems to be quite thoroughly ended." + +"It is if you let things slide as they stand," says I. + +"Eh?" says he, sort of eager. "You mean that she--that if----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "do you want it straight from a rank amateur? Then +here goes. You don't gen'rally wait to have things handed to you on a +tray, do you? You ain't that kind. You go after 'em. And the harder you +want 'em the quicker you are on the grab. You don't stop to ask whether +you deserve 'em or not, either. You just stretch your fingers and sing +out, 'Hey, that's mine!' And if somebody or something's in the way, you +give 'em the shoulder. Well, that's my dope in this case. You ain't +goin' to get a young lady like Miss Hampton by doin' the long-distance +mope. You got to buck up. Rush her off her feet!" + +"By Jove, though, Torchy," says he, bangin' his fist down on the table, +"I believe you're right! And I do want her. I've been afraid to say it, +that's all. But now----" + +He squares his shoulders and sets his jaw solid. + +"That's the slant!" says I. "And the sooner the quicker, you know." + +"Yes, yes!" says he, jumpin' up. "Tonight! I--I'll write to her at +once." + +"Ah, squiffle!" says I, indicatin' deep disgust. + +Mr. Robert gazes at me astonished. "I beg pardon!" says he. + +"Don't be a nut!" says I. "Excuse me if I seem to throw out any hints, +but maybe letter writin' ain't your long suit. Is it?" + +"Why," says he, "I'm not sure, but I had an idea I could----" + +"Maybe you can," says I; "but from the samples I've seen I should have +my doubts. You know this 'Yours of the steenth just received' and so on +may do for vice-presidents and gen'ral managers; but it's raw style to +spring on your best girl. Take it from me, sizzlin' sentiments that's +strained through a typewriter are apt to get delivered cold." + +"But I'm not good at making fine speeches, either," he protests. + +"You ain't exactly tongue-tied, though," says I. "And you ain't startin' +out on this expedition with both arms roped behind you, are you?" + +For a minute he stares at me gaspy, while that simmers through the +oatmeal. + +Then he chuckles. "Torchy," says he, givin' me the inside-brother grip, +"there's no telling how this will turn out, but I--I'm going up!" + +I stayed long enough to see him start, too. + +Then I goes home, not sure whether I'd set the scene for an ear cuffin', +or had plugged him in on a through wire. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +MR. ROBERT GETS A SLANT + + +It's all wrong, Percy, all wrong. Somebody's been and rung in a revise +on this Romeo dope, and here we find ourselves tryin' to make the Cupid +Express on a canceled time-card. What do I mean--we? Why, me and Mr. +Robert. Ah, there you go! No, not Miss Vee. She's all right--don't +worry. We're gettin' along fine, Vee and me; that is, so far as we've +gone. Course there's 'steen diff'rent varieties of Vee; but I'm strong +for all of 'em. So there's no room for tragedy there. + +But when it comes to this case of Mr. Robert and a certain party! + +You see, after I've sent him back to Miss Hampton loaded up with all +them wise hints about rushin' her off her feet, and added that hunch as +to rememberin' that he has a pair of arms--well, I leave it to you. +Ain't that all reg'lar? Don't they pass it out that way in plays and +magazines? Sure! It's the hero with the quick-action strong-arm stuff +that wins out in the big scene. So why shouldn't it work for him? + +I could tell, though, by the rugged set of his jaw as he marches into +the private office next mornin', that it hadn't. I expect maybe he'd +just as soon not have gone into the subject then, with me or anyone +else; but so long as he'd sort of dragged me into this fractured romance +of his I felt like I had a right to be let in on the results. So I +pivots round and springs a sympathetic grin. + +"Did you pull it?" says I. + +He shrugs his shoulders kind of weary. "Oh, yes," says he. "I--er--I +pulled it." + +"Well?" says I, steppin' over and leanin' confidential on the roll-top. + +"Torchy," says he, "please understand that I am in no way censuring you. +You--you meant well." + +"Ah, say, Mr. Robert!" says I. "Not so rough. I only gave you the usual +get-busy line, and if you went and----" + +"Wasn't there some advice," he breaks in, "about using my arms?" + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him. "You--you didn't open the act by goin' to +a clinch, did you?" + +He lets his chin drop and sort of shivers. "I'm afraid I did," says he. + +"Z-z-z-zingo!" I gasps. + +"You see, the part of your suggestions which impressed me most was +something to that effect, as I recall it. And then--oh, the deuce take +it, I lost my head! Anyway, the next I knew she was in my arms, and I--I +was----" He ends with a shoulder shrug and spreads out his hands. "I +thought you ought to know," he goes on, "that it isn't being done." + +"But what then?" says I. "Did she hand you one?" + +"No," says he. "She merely slipped away and--and stood laughing at me. +She hardly seemed indignant: just amused." + +"Huh!" says I, starin' puzzled. "Then she ain't like any I ever heard of +before. Now accordin' to dope she'd either----" + +"Miss Hampton is not a conventional young woman," says he. "She made +that quite plain. It seems, Torchy, that your--er--that my method was +somewhat crude and primitive. In fact, I believe she pointed out that +the customs of the Stone Age were obsolete. I was given to understand +that she was not to be won in any such manner. Perhaps you can imagine +that I was not thoroughly at ease after that." + +And, honest, I'd never seen Mr. Robert when he was feelin' so low. + +"Gee!" says I. "You didn't quit at that, did you?" + +"Unfortunately no," says he. "Our caveman tactics having failed, I tried +the modern style--at least, I thought I was being modern. The usual +thing, you know." + +"Eh?" says I. "Both knees on the rug and the reg'lar conservatory nook +wilt-thou-be-mine lines?" + +"I spoke my piece standing," says he, "making it as impassioned and +eloquent as I knew how. Miss Hampton continued to be amused." + +"Did you get any hint as to what was so funny about all that?" says I. + +"It appears," says Mr. Robert, "that impassioned declarations are +equally out of date--early-Victorian, to quote Elsa exactly. Anyway, she +gave me to understand that while my love-making was somewhat +entertaining, it was hopelessly medieval. She very kindly explained that +undying affection, tender devotion, and the protection of manly arms +were all tommyrot; that she really didn't care to be enshrined queen of +anyone's heart or home. She wishes to avoid any step that may hinder the +development of her own personality. You--er--get that, I trust, Torchy?" + +"Clear as mush," says I. "Was it just her way of handin' you the blue +ticket?" + +"Not quite," says Mr. Robert. "That is, I'm a little vague as to my +exact status myself. I assume, however, that I've been put on probation, +as it were, until we become better acquainted." + +"And you're standin' for that, Mr. Robert!" says I. + +He hunches his shoulders. "Miss Hampton has taught me to be humble," +says he. "I don't pretend to understand her, or to explain her. She is a +brilliant and superior young person. She has, too, certain advanced +ideas which are a bit startling to me. And yet, even when she's hurling +Bernard Shaw or H. G. Wells at me she--she's fascinating. That quirky +smile of hers, the quick changes of expression that flash into those +big, china-blue eyes, the sudden lift of her fine chin,--how thoroughly +alive she is, how well poised! So I--well, I want her, that's all. I--I +want her!" + +"Huh!" says I. "Suppose you happened to get her? What would you----" + +"Heaven only knows!" says he. "The question seems rather, what would she +do with me? Hence the probation." + +"Is this going to be a long-distance tryout," says I, "with you +reportin' for inspection every other Tuesday?" + +He says it ain't. Miss Hampton's idea is to shelve the matrimony +proposition and begin by seein' if they can qualify as friends. She +shows him how they'd never really seen enough of each other to know if +they had any common tastes. + +"So I am to go with her to a few concerts, art exhibits, lectures, and +so on," says he, "while she has consented to try a week-end yachting +cruise with me. We start Saturday; that is, if I can make up a little +party. But I don't just know whom to ask." + +"Pardon me if I seem to hint," says I, "but what's the matter with +brother-in-law Ferdie and Marjorie, with Vee and me thrown in for luck?" + +"By Jove!" says he, brightenin' up. "Would you? And would Miss Vee?" + +"Maybe we could stand it," says I. + +"Done, then!" says he. "I'll 'phone Marjorie at once." + +And you should have watched Mr. Robert for the next few days. Talk about +consistent trainin'! Why, he quits goin' to the club, cuts out his +lunch-hour, and reports at the office at eight-thirty. Not for business, +though: Bernard Shaw. Seems he's decided to specialize in Shaw. + +Honest, I finds him one noon with a whole tray of lunch gettin' cold, +and him sittin' there with his brow furrowed up over one of them batty +plays. + +"Must be some thrillin'," says I. + +"It's clever," says he; "but hanged if I know what it's all about! I +must find out though--I must!" + +He didn't need to state why. I could see him preparin' to swap highbrow +chat with Miss Hampton. + +Meanwhile he barely takes time to 'phone a few orders about gettin' the +cruisin' yawl ready for the trip. I hear him ring up the Captain, tell +him casual to hire a cook and a couple of extra hands, provision for +three or four days, and be ready to sail Saturday noon. Which ain't the +way he usually does it, believe me! Why, I've known him to hold up a +directors' meetin' for an hour while he debated with a yacht tailor +whether a mainsail should be thirty-two foot on the hoist, or thirty-one +foot six. And instead of shippin' up cases of mineral water and crates +of fancy fruit, he has them blamed Shaw books packed careful and +expressed to Travers Island, where the boat is. + +We was to meet there about noon; but it's after eleven before Mr. Robert +shuts his desk and sings out to me to come along. We piles into his +roadster and breezes up through town and out towards the Sound. Found +the whole party waitin' for us at the club-house: Vee and Marjorie and +Miss Hampton, all lookin' more or less yachty. + +"Hello!" says Mr. Robert. "Haven't gone aboard yet?" + +"Go aboard what, I'd like to know?" speaks up Marjorie. + +"Why, the _Pyxie_," says he. "See, there she is anchored off--well, what +the deuce! Pardon me for a moment." + +With that he steps over to a six-foot megaphone swung from the club +veranda and proceeds to boom out a few remarks. + +"_Pyxie_ ahoy! Hey, there! On board the _Pyxie_!" he roars. + +No response from the _Pyxie_, and just as he's startin' to repeat the +performance up strolls one of the float tenders and hands him a note +which soon has him gaspy and pink in the ears. It's from his fool +captain, explainin' how that rich uncle of his in Providence had been +taken very bad again and how he had to go on at once. The message is +dated last Wednesday. Course, there's nothing for Mr. Robert to do but +tell the crowd just how the case stands. + +"How absurd--just an uncle!" pouts Marjorie. "Now we can't go cruising +at all, and--and I have three pairs of perfectly dear deck shoes that I +wanted to wear!" + +"Really!" says Mr. Robert. "Then we'll go anyway; that is, if you'll all +agree to ship as a Corinthian crew. What do you say?" And he glances +doubtful at Miss Hampton. + +"I'm sure I don't know what that means," says she; "but I am quite ready +to try." + +"Oh, let's!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I can help." + +"And Ferdie is a splendid sailor," chimes in. Marjorie. "He's crossed a +dozen times." + +"Then we're off," says Mr. Robert. + +And inside of ten minutes the club launch has landed us, bag and +baggage, on the _Pyxie_. + +She's a roomy, comf'table sort of craft, with a kicker engine stowed +under the cockpit. There's a couple of staterooms, plenty of bunks, and +a good big cabin. We leaves the ladies to settle themselves below while +Mr. Robert inspects things on deck. + +"Plenty of gasoline, thank goodness!" says he. "And the water butts are +full. We can touch at Greenwich for supplies. Now let's get sail on her, +boys." + +And it was rich to see Ferdie, all gussied up in yellow gloves, throwin' +his whole one hundred and twenty-three pounds onto a rope. Say, about +all the yachtin' Ferdie and me had ever done before was to stand around +and look picturesque. But this was the real thing, and it comes mighty +near bein' reg'lar work, take it from me. + +But by the time the girls appeared we had yanked up all the sails that +was handy, and the _Pyxie_ was slanted over, just scootin' through the +choppy water gay and careless, like she was glad to be tied loose. + +"Isn't this glorious?" exclaims Miss Hampton, steadying herself on the +high side and glancin' admirin' up at the white sails stretched tight +as drumheads. + +I expect that should have been Mr. Robert's cue to shoot off something +snappy from Bernard Shaw; but just about then he's busy cuttin' across +in front of a big coastin' schooner, and all he remarks is: + +"Hey, Torchy! Trim in on that main sheet. Trim in, you duffer! Pull! +That's it. Now make fast." + +Nothin' fancy about Mr. Robert's yachtin' outfit. He's costumed in an +old pair of wide-bottomed white ducks some splashed with paint, and with +his sleeves rolled up and a faded old cap pulled down over his eyes he +sure looks like business. I could see Miss Hampton glancin' at him sort +of curious. + +But he don't have time to glance back; for we was zigzaggin' up the +Sound, dodgin' steamers and motor-boats and other yachts, and he was +keepin' both eyes peeled. Every now and then too something had to be +done in a hurry. + +"Ready about!" he'd call. "Now! Hard alee! Leggo that jib sheet--you, +Ferdie. Slack it off. Now trim in on the other side. Flatter. Oh, haul +it home!" + +And I expect Ferdie and me wa'n't any too much help. + +"Why, I never knew that yachting could be so exciting," says Miss +Hampton. "It's really quite a game, isn't it?" + +"Especially with a green crew," says Mr. Robert. + +"But what a splendid breeze!" + +"It'll be fresh enough by the time we open up Captain's Island," says +he. "Just wait!" + +Sure enough, as we gets further up the Sound the harder it blows. The +waves got bigger too, and begun sloppin' over the bow, up where Ferdie +was managin' the jib. + +"Oh, I say!" he sings out. "I'm getting all splashed, you know." + +"Couldn't he have an umbrella?" asks Marjorie. + +"Please," puts in Vee, "let me handle the jib sheets. I've sailed a +half-rater, and I don't mind getting wet, not a bit." + +"Then for the love of soup go forward and send Ferdie aft!" says Mr. +Robert. "Quick now! I'm coming about again. Hard alee!" + +"How wonderful!" says Miss Hampton as she watches Vee juggle the ropes +skillful. "I wish I could do that!" + +"Do you?" says Mr. Robert eager. "Perhaps you'll let me teach you how to +sail. Would you like to try the wheel? Here! Now this way puts her off, +and the other brings her up. See?" + +"N-n-not exactly," says Miss Hampton, grippin' the spokes gingerly. + +It wa'n't any day, though, for a steerin' lesson. Most of the time the +deck was on quite a slant, which seems to amuse Miss Hampton a lot. + +"How odd!" says she. "We're sailing almost on edge, aren't we? Isn't it +glorious!" + +Mr. Robert don't seem to be so enthusiastic. He keeps watching the sails +and the water and rollin' the wheel constant. + +"I suppose we really ought to get some of this canvas off her," says he. +"Ferdie, could you help tie in a reef?" + +"I--I don't know, I'm sure," says Ferdie. "I think perhaps----" + +"This wouldn't be a thinking job," says Mr. Robert. "Of course I might +douse the mainsail altogether and run under jib and jigger; but--no, I +guess she'll carry it. Ease off on that main sheet a trifle, Torchy." + +We was makin' a straight run for it now, slap up the Sound--and believe +me we was breezin' along some swift! Vee had come back with the rest of +us, her hair all sparkled up with salt spray and her eyes shinin', and +shows me how to coil up the slack of the sheet like a doormat. On and +on we booms, with the land miles away on either side. + +"But see here!" protests Ferdie. "I thought we were to stop at +Greenwich for provisions." + +"Make in there against this head wind?" says Mr. Robert. "Not to-day." + +It's comin' in heavy puffs now, and the sky is cloudin' up some. Two or +three times Mr. Robert heads the _Pyxie_ up into it and debates about +takin' in the mainsail. Then he decides it would be better to square off +and make for some cove he knows of on the north shore of Long Island. So +we let out the sheet a bit more and go plungin' along. + +Must have been about four o'clock when it got to blowin' hardest. A puff +would hit us and souse the bow under, with the spray flyin' clear over +us. We'd heel until the water was runnin' white along the lee deck from +bow to stern. Then it would let up a bit, and the yacht would straighten +and sort of shake herself before another came. + +"I think we'll have to slack away on our peak and spill some of this +over the gaff," says Mr. Robert. "Torchy, stand by that halyard, and +when I give the word----" + +Cr-r-r-rack! It come mighty abrupt. For a minute I can't make out what +has happened; but when I sees the mast stagger and go lurchin' +overboard, sail and all, I thought it was a case of women and children +first. + +"Oh, dear! How dreadful of you, Robert!" wails Ferdie. "We're wrecked! +Help! Help!" + +"Oh, dry up, Ferdie!" says Mr. Robert. "No hysterics, please. Can't we +lose a mast or so without gettin' panicky? Just a weak turn-buckle on +the weather stay, that's all. Here, Vee, take the wheel, will you, and +see if you can keep her headed into it while we chop away this wreckage. +Torchy, you'll find a couple of axes over the forward lockers. Get 'em +up. Lively, now!" + +We hacked away reckless, choppin' through wire stays and ropes, until we +has it all clear. Then we trims in the jigger and gets away from it. Two +minutes later and we've got the engine started and are wallowin' along +towards land. It was near six before we made the cove and anchored in +smooth water behind a little point. + +Meanwhile the girls had gone below to explore the galley, and when we +fin'lly makes everything snug, and trails on down into the cabin to see +how they're comin' on, what do we find but the table all set and +Marjorie fillin' the water glasses. Also there's a welcome smell of food +driftin' about. + +"Well, well!" says Mr. Robert. "Found something to eat, did you? What's +the menu?" + +"Smothered potatoes with salt pork, baked beans, hard-tack, and +coffee," says Marjorie. "Here it comes." + +And, say, maybe that don't sound so thrillin' to you, but to me it +listens luscious. + +"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, after he's sampled the layout. "Who's the +cook!" + +Vee says it was Miss Hampton. + +"Wha-a-at?" says he, starin'. "Not really?" + +Miss Hampton comes back at him with that quirky smile of hers. "Why the +intense surprise?" says she. + +"But I didn't dream," says Mr. Robert, "that you ever did anything +so--er----" + +"Commonplace?" + +"Early-Victorian," he corrects. + +"Cook?" says she. "Oh, dear, yes! I can wash dishes, too." + +"Can you?" says he. "I'm fine at wiping 'em." + +"Such conceit!" says she. + +"Then I'll prove it," says he, "right after dinner." + +"I'll help you, Robert," says Marjorie. + +"My dear sister," says he, "please consider the size of the _Pyxie's_ +galley." + +So, as there didn't seem to be any more competition, after we'd finished +everything in sight we left the two of 'em joshin' away merry, doin' the +dishes. Later on, while Ferdie's pokin' around, he makes a discovery. + +"Oh, I say, Bob," he calls down, "there's a box up here that hasn't been +opened. Groceries, I think. Come have a look at it." + +Mr. Robert he takes one glance and turns away disgusted. "No," says he. +"I know what's in there. No use at all on this trip." Then, as he passes +me he whispers: "I say, when you get a chance, chuck that box overboard, +will you?" + +I nods, grinnin', and explains confidential to Vee. + +And half an hour or so afterwards, ten perfectly good volumes of Bernard +Shaw splashed overboard. + +Next we sends Ferdie to take a peek down the companionway and report. + +"They're looking at a chart," says he. + +"Same side of the table," says I, "or opposite?" + +"Why, they're both on one side." + +"Huh!" says I, nudgin' Vee. "That highbrow line might work out in time, +but for a quick get-together proposition I'm backin' the dishpan." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +WHEN ELLA MAY CAME BY + + +Believe me, this job of bein' private sec. all day and doublin' as +assistant Cupid after hours may be entertainin' and all that, but it +ain't any drowsy detail. Don't leave you much time for restin' your +heels high or framin' up peace programmes. Course, the fact that Vee is +in with me on this affair between Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton is a help. +I ain't overlookin' that. + +And after our mix-up yachtin' cruise, when we lost a mast and Bernard +Shaw overboard the same day, it looked like we'd got everything all +straightened out. Why not? Mr. Robert seems to have decided that his +lady-love wa'n't such a confirmed highbrow as he'd suspected, and he was +doin' the steady comp'ny act constant and enthusiastic, just the way he +does everything he tackles, from yacht racin' to puttin' a crimp in an +independent. In fact, he wa'n't doin' much else. + +"Where's Robert?" demands Old Hickory, marchin' out of his private +office and glarin' at the closed roll-top. + +"I expect he's takin' the afternoon off," says I, maybe grinnin' a bit. + +"Huh!" says the boss. "The second this week! I thought that fool regatta +was over." + +"Yes, sir, it is," says I. "Besides, he didn't enter." + +"Oh!" says Mr. Ellins. "Then it isn't a case of a sixty-footer!" + +"The one he's tryin' to manage now is about five-foot six," says I. + +"Eh?" says Old Hickory, workin' his eyebrows. "That Miss Hampton again?" + +I nods. + +"Torchy," he goes on, "of course I've no particular right to be +informed, being only his father, but--er--about how much longer should +you say that affair would run before it comes to some sort of climax? In +other words, how is he getting on?" + +"The last I knew," says I, "he was comin' strong. Course, he made a +couple of false starts there at the send-off, but now he seems to have +struck his gait." + +"Really!" says Old Hickory. "And now, solely in the interest of the +Corrugated Trust, could you go so far as to predict a date when he might +reasonably be expected to resume business activities?" + +I chews that over a minute, and runs my fingers thoughtful through my +red thatch. + +"Nope," says I. "If I was any such prize guesser as that, I'd be down in +Wall Street buckin' the market. Maybe after Sunday, though, I might make +a report one way or the other." + +"Ah! You scent a crisis, do you?" says he. + +"It's this way," says I. "Marjorie's givin' a little week-end house +party for 'em out at her place, and--well, you know how that's apt to +work out at this stage of the game." + +"You think it may end the agony?" says he. + +"There'll be a swell chance for twosin'," says I. "Marjorie's plannin' +for that." + +"I see," says Mr. Ellins. "Undisturbed propinquity--a love charm that +was old when the world was young. And if Marjorie is managing the +campaign, it's all over with Robert." + +That was my dope on the subject too, after I'd seen the layout of her +first skirmish. There was just half a dozen of us mobilized at this +flossy suburban joint Saturday afternoon, but from the start it was +plain that four of us was on hand only to keep each other out of the way +of this pair. Course, Vee and I hardly needs to have the cue passed. We +were satisfied to hunt up a veranda corner of our own and stick to it. + +But Brother-in-law Ferdie, with that doubleply slate roof of his, needs +watchin' close. He has a nutty idea that he ought to be sociable, and +he no sooner spots Mr. Robert and Miss Elsa Hampton, chattin' cozy in a +garden nook, than he's prompted to kick in and explain to 'em all about +the Latin names of the surroundin' vines and shrubbery. Which brings out +business of distress from Marjorie. So one of us has to go shoo him +away. + +"Why--er--what's the matter?" says he, blinkin' puzzled, after he's been +led off. + +"You was makin' a noise like a seed catalogue, that's all," says I. +"Chop it, can't you?" + +Ferdie only stares at me through his thick window-panes and puts on an +injured air. Half an hour later, though, he's at it again. + +"You tell him, Torchy," sighs Marjorie. "Try to make him understand." + +So I makes a strong stab. + +"Look," says I, towin' him off on a thin excuse. "That ain't any +convention they're holdin' out there. So far as they know, it's just a +happy chance. If they're let alone the meetin' may develop tender +moments. Anyway, you might give 'em a show, and if they want you bad +they can run up a flag. See? There's times, you know, when two is bliss, +but a third is a blister. Get me?" + +I expect he did, in a way. The idea filters through sort of slow, but he +finally decides that, for some reason too deep for him to dig up, he +ain't wanted mixin' around folksy. + +So from then on until dinnertime our couple had all the chance in the +world. Looked like they was doin' noble, too; for every once in a while +we could hear that ripply laugh of hers, or Mr. Robert's hearty +chuckle--which should have been good signs that they was enjoyin' each +other's comp'ny. We even had to send out word it was time to doll up for +dinner. + +But an affair like that is like a feather balanced on your nose. Any +boob is liable to open a door on you. In this case, all was lovely and +serene until Marjorie gets this 'phone call. I hears her summonin' Vee +panicky and sketchin' out the details. + +"It's Ella May Buell!" says she. "She's down at the station." + +Seems that Miss Buell was a boardin'-school friend who was about to cash +in one of them casual blanket invitations that girls give out so +reckless--you know, the Do-come-and-see-me-any-time kind. And, with her +livin' down in Alabama or Georgia somewhere, maybe it looked safe at the +time. But now she was on her way to the White Mountains for a summer +flit, and she'd just remembered Marjorie for the first time in three +years. + +"Goodness!" says Marjorie, whisperin' husky across the hall. "Someone +ought to go right down to meet her. I can't, of course; and Ferdie's +only begun to dress." + +"Ask Torchy," suggests Vee. + +And, as I'm all ready except another half hitch to my white tie, I'm +elected. Three minutes more and I'm whizzin' down in the limousine to +receive the Southern delegate. And say, when I pipes the fairy in the +half-masted skirt and the zippy Balkan bonnet, I begins bracin' myself +for what I could see comin'. + +One of these pouty-lipped, rich-tinted fairies, Ella May is, wearin' a +baby stare and chorus-girl ear-danglers. Does she wait to be hunted up +and rescued? Not her! The minute I drops out of the machine, she trips +right over and gives me the hail. + +"Are you looking for me?" says she. "I hope you are, for I've been +waiting at this wretched station for ages." + +"If it's Miss Buell, I am," says I. + +"Of course I'm Miss Buell," says she. "Help me in. Now get my bags. +They're inside, Honey." + +"Inside what?" I gasps. + +"Why, the station," says she. "And give the man a quarter for +me--there's a dear." + +Talk about speed! Leave it to the Dixie girls of this special type. I +used to think our Broadway matinee fluffs was about the swiftest +fascinators using the goo-goo tactics. But say, when it comes right +down to quick action, some of these cotton-belt belles can throw in a +high gear that makes our Gwendolyns look like they was only hittin' on +odd cylinders. Ella May was a sample. We was havin' our first glimpse of +each other, but in less 'n forty-five seconds by the watch she'd called +me honey, dearied me twice, and patted me chummy on the arm. And we +hadn't driven two blocks before she had me snuggled up in the corner +like we was old friends. + +"Tell me, Honey," says she, "what is dear old Marjorie's hubby like?" + +"Ferdie!" says I. "Why, he's all right when you get to know him." + +"Oh!" says she. "That kind! But aren't there any other men around?" + +"Only Mr. Robert Ellins," says I. + +"Really!" says she, her eyes widenin'! "Bob Ellins! That's nice. I met +him once when he came to see Marjorie at boarding school. I was such an +infant then, though. But now----" + +She dives into her vanity bag and proceeds to retouch the scenic effects +on her face. + +"Don't waste it," says I. "He's sewed up--a Miss Hampton. She's there, +too." + +"Pooh!" pouts Miss Buell. "Who cares? She doesn't keep him in a cage, +does she?" + +"It ain't that," says I; "but his eyesight for anyone else is mighty +poor." + +"Oh, is it?" says she, sarcastic and doubtful. "We'll see about that. +But, anyway, I'm beginning to be glad I came. Can you guess why?" + +"I'm a wild guesser," says I. "Shoot it." + +"Because," says she, "I think I'm going to like you rather well." + +More business of cuddlin', and a hand dropped careless on my shoulder. +We were still more 'n a mile from the house, and if I was to do any +blockin'-off stunt, it was high time I begun. I twists my head around +and gazes at the careless hand. + +"Excuse me, sister," says I, "but before this goes any further I got to +ask a question. Are your intentions serious?" + +"Why, the idea!" says she. "What on earth do you mean?" + +"I only want to be sure," says I, "that you ain't tryin' to trifle with +my young affections." + +She stiffens at that and goes a little gaspy. Also she grabs away the +hand. + +"Of all the conceit!" says she. "Anyone might think that--that----" + +"So they might," says I. "Of course, it's sweet to be picked out this +way; but it's a little sudden, ain't it? You know, I'm kind of young +and----" + +"I've a great mind to box your ears!" breaks in Ella May. + +"In that case," says I, "I couldn't even promise to be a brother to +you." + +"Wretch!" says she, her eyes snappin'. + +"Sorry," says I, "but you'll get over it. It may be a little hard at +first, but in time you'll meet another who will make you forget." + +That last jab had her speechless, and all she could do was run her +tongue out at me. But it worked. After that she snuggled in her own +corner, and when we lands at the house she's treatin' me with cold +disdain, almost as if I'd been a reg'lar brother. There's no knowin', +either, what report Marjorie got. Must have been something interestin', +for when she finally comes down after steerin' Miss Buell to her room, +she gives me the knowin' wink. + +Ella May gets even, though. She holds up dinner forty-five minutes while +she sheds her travelin' costume for an evenin' gown. And it's some +startlin' creation she springs on us about the time we're ready to bite +the glass knobs off the dinin'-room doors. She's a stunner, all right, +and she sails down with that baby stare turned on full voltage. + +You'd most thought, though, with all the hints me and Marjorie had +dropped, and her seein' Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton chattin' so busy +together, that she'd have hung up the net and waited until she struck +better huntin' grounds. But not Ella May. Here was a perfectly good man; +and as long as nobody had handcuffs on him, or hadn't guarded him with +barbed wire, she was ready to take a chance. + +Just how she managed it I couldn't say, even if it was done right under +my eyes; but when we starts in for dinner she's clingin' sort of playful +to one side of Mr. Robert, chatterin' a steady stream, while Miss +Hampton is left to drift along on the other, almost as if she was an +"also-ran." + +Mr. Robert wa'n't havin' such a swell time that meal, either. About once +in three or four minutes he'd get a chance to say a few words to Miss +Hampton, but most of the time he was busy listenin' to Ella May. So was +the rest of us, in fact. Not that she was sayin' anything important or +specially interestin'. Mainly it's snappy personal anecdotes--about Ella +May, or her brother Glenn, or Uncle Wash Lee, the Buell fam'ly butler. +Or else she's teasin' Mr. Robert about not rememberin' her better, +darin' him to look her square in the eyes, and such little tricks. + +Say, she was some whirlwind performer, take it from me. I discovers that +everybody was "Honey" to her, even Ferdie. And you should have seen him +tint up and glance panicky at Marjorie the first time she put it over on +him. + +As for Miss Hampton, she appears to be enjoyin' the whole thing. She +watches Miss Buell sparkle and roll her eyes, and only smiles sort of +amused. For what Ella May is unlimberin' is an attack in force, as a war +correspondent would put it--an assault with cavalry, heavy guns, and +infantry. And, for all his society experience, Mr. Robert don't seem to +know how to meet it. He acts sort of dazed and helpless, now and then +glancin' appealin' across to Sister Marjorie, or around at Miss Hampton. + +All that evenin' the attack goes on, Ella May workin' the spell +overtime, gettin' Mr. Robert to let her read his palm, pinnin' flowers +in his buttonhole, and keepin' him cornered; while the rest of us sits +around like cheap deadheads that had been let in on passes. + +And next mornin', when Mr. Robert makes a desperate stab to duck right +after breakfast, only to be captured again and led into the garden, +Marjorie finally gets her mad up. + +"Really," says she, "this is too absurd! Of course, she always was an +outrageous flirt. You should have seen her at boarding school--with the +music professor, the principal's brother, the school doctor. Twice they +threatened to send her home. But after I've told her that Robert was +practically engaged to Miss Hampton--well, it must be stopped, that's +all. Ferdie, can't you think of some way?" + +"Eh?" says Ferdie. "What? How?" + +That's the sort of help he contributes to this council of war Marjorie's +called on the side terrace. + +And all Vee will do is to chuckle. "It's such, a joke!" says she. + +"But it isn't," says Marjorie. "Do you know where Elsa Hampton is at +this minute? In the library, reading a magazine--alone! And she and +Robert were getting on so nicely, too. Torchy, can't you suggest +something?" + +"Might slip out there with a rope and tie her to a tree while Mr. Robert +makes his escape," says I. + +A snicker from Vee. + +"Please!" says Marjorie. "This is really serious. I can't explain to +Elsa. But what must she think of Robert? I've simply got to get rid of +that girl somehow. She's one of the kind, you know, who would stay and +stay until----" + +"Hello!" says I, glancin' out towards the entrance-gates. "What sort of +a delegation is this?" + +A tall, loppy young female in a sagged skirt and a faded pink +shirtwaist is driftin' up the driveway, towin' a bow-legged +three-year-old boy by one hand and luggin' a speckle-faced baby on her +hip. + +"Oh!" says Marjorie. "That scamp of a Bob Flynn's Katie again." + +Seems Flynn had been one of Mr. Robert's chauffeurs that he'd wished +onto Ferdie a year or so back on account of Flynn's bein' married and +complainin' he couldn't support his fam'ly in the city. If he could get +a place in the country, where the rents wa'n't so high and his old +chowder-party friends wa'n't so thick, Flynn thought he might do better. +He had steadied down for a while, too, until he took a sudden notion to +slope and leave his interestin' fam'ly behind. + +"She's coming to ask if we've heard anything of him," goes on Marjorie. +"I've a good notion to send her straight to Robert." + +"Say," says I, havin' one of my thought-flashes, "wait a minute. We +might--do I understand that the flitting hubby's name was Robert?" + +Marjorie nods. + +"And will you stand for anything I can pull off that might jar Ella +May's strangle-hold over there!" + +"Anything," says Marjorie. + +"Then lend me this deserted fam'ly for a few minutes," says I. "I ain't +had time to sketch out the plot of the piece exactly, but if you say so +I'll breeze ahead." + +It was going to be a bit raw, I'll admit; but Marjorie has insisted that +it's a desperate case. So, after a short confab with Mrs. Flynn and the +kids, they're turned over to me. + +"I ain't sure, ma'am," says I, "that young Mr. Ellins can spare the +time. He's pretty busy just now. But maybe I can break in long enough to +ask him, and if he's heard anything--well, you can be handy. Suppose you +wait here at the garden gate. No, leave it open, that way." + +I had 'em grouped conspicuous and dramatic; and, with Mrs. Flynn's straw +lid tilted on one side, and the youngster whimperin' to be let loose +among the flowers, and the baby sound asleep with its mouth open, the +picture was more or less pathetic. + +At the far end of the garden path was a different sort of scene. Ella +May was making Mr. Robert hold one end of a daisy chain she was weavin', +and she's prattlin' away kittenish when I edges up, scufflin' my feet +warnin' on the gravel. She greets me with a pout. Mr. Robert hangs his +head sort of sheepish, but asks hopeful: + +"Well, Torchy?" + +"She--she's here again, sir," says I. + +"Eh?" says he, starin' puzzled. "Who is here?" + +"S-s-s-sh!" says I, shakin' my head mysterious. + +All of which don't escape Miss Buell. Her ears are up and her eyes wide +open. "What is it?" she asks. + +"If I could have a few words in private with you, Mr. Robert," says I, +"maybe it would be----" + +"Nonsense!" says he. "Out with it." + +"Just as you like," says I. "Only, she's brought the kids with her this +time. She says how she wants her Robert back." + +"Wha-a-at!" he gasps. + +"Couldn't keep her out," says I. "You know how she is. There they are, +at the gate." + +I don't know which was quicker to turn and look, him or Ella May. And +just then Mrs. Flynn happens to be gazin' our way, pleadin' and +expectant. + +"Oh!" says Mr. Robert, laughin' careless. "Katie, eh?" + +Miss Buell has jumped and is starin' at the group. Then, at that laugh +of Mr. Robert's, she whirls on him. + +"Brute!" says she. "I'm glad she's found you." + +With which she dashes towards the house and disappears, leavin' Mr. +Robert gawpin' after her. + +"Why," says he, "you--you don't suppose she could have imagined +that--that----" + +"Maybe she did," says I. "My fault, I expect. I could find her, though, +and explain how it was. I'll bet that inside of five minutes she'd be +back here finishin' the floral wreath. Shall I?" + +"Back here?" he echoes, kind of vague. Then he comes to. + +"No, no!" says he. "I--I'd rather not. I want first to---- Where is Miss +Hampton, Torchy?" + +Well, I gives him full directions for findin' her, slips Mrs. Ryan the +twenty he sends her instead of news from hubby, and then goes in, to +find that Ella May is demandin' to be taken to the next train. We saw +that she caught it, too, before she changed her mind. + +"By George!" Mr. Robert whispers confidential to me, as the limousine +rolls off with her in it, "if I could insure against such risks as that, +I would take out a policy." + +"You can," says I. "Any justice of the peace or minister will fix you up +for life." + +Does that sink in? I wouldn't wonder. Anyway, from the hasty glimpse I +caught of him and Miss Hampton strollin' out in the moonlight that +night, it looked that way. + +So I did have a bulletin for Old Hickory Monday mornin'. + +"It's all over but the shoutin'," says I. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SOME HOOP-LA FOR THE BOSS + + +I must say it wa'n't such a swell time for Mr. Robert to be indulgin' in +any complicated love affair. You know how business has been, specially +our line. And our directors was about as calm as a bunch of high school +girls havin' hysterics. Jumpy? Say, some of them double-chinned old +plutes couldn't reach for a glass of ice water without goin' through +motions like they was shakin' dice. + +It's this sporty market that had got on their nerves. You know, all +these combine rumors--this bunk about Germany buyin' up plants +wholesale, and the grand scrabble to fill all them whackin' big foreign +orders, with steamer charters about as numerous as twin baby carriages +along Riverside Drive. Why, say, at one time there you could have sold +us ferryboats or garbage-scows, we was so hungry for anything that would +carry ocean freights. + +And, of course, with Old Hickory Ellins at the helm, the Corrugated +Trust was right in the thick of it. About twice a week some fool yarn +was floated about us. We'd sold out to Krupps and was goin' to close; +we'd tied up with Bethlehem; we'd underbid on a flock of submarines and +was due for a receivership--oh, a choice lot of piffle! + +But a few of them nervous old boys, who was placid enough at annual +meetin's watchin' a melon bein' cut, just couldn't stand the strain. +Every time they got fed up on some new dope from the Wall Street panic +peddlers, they'd come around howlin' for a safe and sane policy. I stood +it until here the other mornin' when a bunch of soreheads showed up +before nine o'clock and proceeds to hold an indignation meetin' in front +of my desk. + +"Gwan!" says I. "Nobody's rockin' the boat but you. Go sit on your +checkbooks." + +They just glares at me. + +"Where is Old Hickory?" one of 'em wants to know. + +"About now," says I, "Mr. Ellins would be finishin' the last of three +soft-boiled eggs. He'll show up here at nine-forty-five." + +"Mr. Robert Ellins, then?" demands another. + +"Say, I'm no puzzle editor," says I. "Maybe he'll be here to-day and +maybe he won't." + +"But we couldn't find him yesterday, either," comes back an old goat +with tufts in his ears. + +"That's a way he has these days," says I. + +No use tryin' to smooth things over. It's Mr. Robert they'd been sore on +all along, suspectin' him of startin' all the wild schemes just because +he's young. I'd heard 'em, after they'd moved into the directors' room, +insistin' that he ought to be asked to resign. And what they was beefin' +specially about to-day was because of a tale that a Chicago syndicate +had jumped in and bought the _Balboa_, a 10,000-ton Norwegian freighter +that we was supposed to have an option on. It was the final blow. That +satisfied 'em they was being sold out, and their best guess was that Mr. +Robert was turnin' the trick. + +I was standin' by, listenin' to the general grouch develop, and +wonderin' how long before they'd organize a lynchin' committee, when I +hears the brass gate slam, and into the private office breezes Mr. +Robert himself, lookin' fresh and chirky, his hat tilted well back, and +swingin' a bamboo walkin'-stick. When he sees me, he springs a wide grin +and grabs me by the shoulders. + +"Torchy, you sunny-haired emblem of good luck!" he sings out. "What do +you think! I've--got--her!" + +"Eh!" says I. "The _Balboa_?" + +"The _Balboa_ be hanged!" says he. "No, no! Elsa--Miss Hampton, you +know! She's mine, Torchy; she's mine!" + +"S-s-s-sh!" says I, noddin' towards the other room. "Forget her a minute +and brace yourself for a run-in with that gang of rag-chewers in there." + +Does he? Say, without even stoppin' to size 'em up, he prances right in +amongst 'em, free and careless. + +"Why, hello, Ryder!" says he, handin' out a brisk shoulder-pat. "Ah, Mr. +Larkin! Mr. Busbee! Well, well! You too, Hyde? Hail, all of you, and the +top of the morning! Gentlemen," he goes on, shakin' hands right and left +without noticin' how reluctant some of the palms came out, "I--er--I +have a little announcement to make." + +"Humph!" snorts old Busbee. "Have you?" + +"Yes," says Mr. Robert, smilin' mushy. "I--er--the fact is, I am going +to be married." + +"The bonehead!" I whispers husky. + +Old Lawson T. Ryder, the one with the bushy white eyebrows and the heavy +dewlaps, he puffs out his cheeks and works that under jaw of his +menacin'. + +"Really!" says he. "But what about the _Balboa_? Eh?" + +"Oh!" says Mr. Robert casual. "The _Balboa_? Yes, yes! Didn't I tell +someone to attend to that? A charter, wasn't it? Torchy, were you----" + +I shakes my head. + +"Perhaps it was Mr. Piddie, then," says he. "Anyway, I thought I +asked----" + +"Here's Piddie now, sir," says I. "Looks like he'd been after +something." + +He's a wreck, that's all. His derby is caved in, his black cutaway all +smooched with lime or something, and one eye is tinted up lovely. In his +right fist, though, he has a long yellow envelope. + +"The charter!" he gasps out dramatic. "_Balboa!_" + +And, by piecin' out more jerky bulletins, it's clear that Piddie has +pulled off the prize stunt of his whole career. He'd gone out after that +charter at lunchtime the day before, been stalled off by office clerks +probably subsidized by the opposition, spent the night hangin' around +the water-front, and got mixed up with a dock gang; but, by bein' on +hand early, he'd caught one of the shippin' firm and closed the option +barely two hours before it lapsed. And as he sinks limp into a chair he +glances appealin' at Mr. Robert, no doubt expectin' to be decorated on +the spot. + +"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Good work! But you haven't heard of my +great luck meantime. Listen, Piddie. I am to be married!" + +I thought Piddie would croak. + +"Think of that, gentlemen," cuts in old Busbee sarcastic. "He is to be +married!" + +But it needs more 'n a little jab like that to bring Mr. Robert out of +his Romeo trance. Honest, the way he carries on is amazin'. You might +have thought this was the first case on record where a girl who'd said +she wouldn't had changed her mind. And, so far as any other happenin's +was concerned, he might have been deaf, dumb, and blind. The entire news +of the world that mornin' he could boil down into one official +statement: Elsa had said she'd have him! Hip, hip! Banzai! Elsa forever! +He flashed that miniature of her and passed it around. He nudges Lawson +T. Ryder playful in the short ribs, hammers Deacon Larkin on the back, +and then groups himself, beamin' foolish, with one arm around old Busbee +and the other around Mr. Hyde. + +Maybe you know how catchin' that sort of thing is? It's got the measles +or barber's itch beat seven ways. That bunch of grouches just couldn't +resist. Inside of five minutes they was grinnin' with him, and when I +finally shoos 'em out they was formin' a committee to shake each other +down for two hundred per towards a weddin' present. + +I finds it about as much use tryin' to get Mr. Robert to settle down to +business as it would be teachin' a hummin'-bird to sit for his +photograph. So I gives up, and asks for details of the big event. + +"When does it come off?" says I. + +"Oh, right away," says he. "I don't know just when; but soon--very +soon." + +"Home or church?" says I. + +"Oh, either," says he. "It doesn't matter in the least." + +"Maybe it don't," says I, "but it's a point someone has to settle, you +know." + +"Yes, yes," says he, wavin' careless. "I've no doubt someone will." + +He was right. Up to then I hadn't heard much about Miss Hampton's fam'ly +except that she was an orphan, and I expect Mr. Robert had an idea there +wa'n't any nosey relations to butt in. But it ain't three days after the +engagement got noised around that a cousin of Elsa's shows up, a Mrs. +Montgomery Pulsifer--a swell party with a big place in the Berkshires. + +Seems she'd been kind of cold and distant to Miss Hampton on account of +her bein' a concert singer; but, now that Elsa has drawn down a prize +like Robert Ellins, here comes Mrs. Pulsifer flutterin' to town, all +smiles and greatly excited. Where was the wedding to be? And the +reception? Not in this stuffy little hotel suite, she hopes! Why not at +Crag Oaks, her place near Lenox? There was the dearest little +ivy-covered church! And a perfectly charming rector! + +Then Sister Marjorie is called in. Sure, she was strong for the frilly +stuff. If Brother Robert had finally decided to be married, it must be +done properly. And Mrs. Pulsifer's country house would be just the +place. Only, she had an idea that their old fam'ly friend, the Bishop, +ought to be asked to officiate. The perfectly charming rector might +assist. + +"Why, to be sure!" says Mrs. Pulsifer. "The Bishop, by all means." + +Anyway, it went something like that; and the first thing Mr. Robert +knows, they've doped out for him a regulation three-ring splicefest with +all the trimmin's, from a gold-braided carriage caller to a special +train for the Newport guests. And, bein' still busy with his rosy +dreams, Mr. Robert don't get wise to what's been framed up for him until +here Saturday afternoon out at Marjorie's, when they start to spring the +programme on him. + +"Why, see here, sis," says he, "you've put this three weeks off!" + +"The bridesmaids' gowns can't be finished a day sooner," says Marjorie. +"Besides, the invitations must be engraved; you can't get a caterer +like Marselli at a moment's notice; and there is the organ to be +installed, you know." + +"Organ!" protests Mr. Robert. "Oh, I say!" + +"You don't expect the Lohengrin March to be played on drums, I hope," +said Marjorie. "Do be sensible! You've been best man times enough to +know that----" + +"Great Scott, yes," says Mr. Robert. "But really, sis, I don't want to +go through all that dreary business--dragging in to the wedding-march, +with everyone looking solemn and holding their breath while they stare +at you! Why, it's deadly! Gloomy, you know; a relic of barbarism worthy +of some savage tribe." + +"Why, Robert!" protests Marjorie. + +"But it is," he goes on. "Haven't I pitied the poor victims who had to +go through with it? Think of having to run that gauntlet--morbidly +curious old women, silly girls, bored men--and trying to keep step to +that confounded dirge. Wedding march, indeed! They make it sound more +like the march of the condemned. _Tum-tum-te-dum!_ Ugh! I tell you, +Marjorie, I'm not going to have it. Nor any of this stodgy, grewsome +fuss. I mean to have a cheerful wedding." + +"Humph!" says Marjorie. "I suppose you would like to hop-skip-and-jump +down to the altar?" + +"Why not?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"Don't be absurd, Robert," says she. "You'll be married quite +respectably and sanely, as other people are. Anyway, you'll just have +to. Mrs. Pulsifer and I are managing the affair, remember." + +"Are you?" says Mr. Robert, lettin' out the first growl I'd heard from +him in over a week. + +I nudges Vee and we exchanges grins. + +"The groom always takes on that way," she whispers. "It's the usual +thing." + +I was sorry for the Boss, too. He'd been havin' such a good time before. +But now he goes off with his chin down and his brow all wrinkled up. +Course we knew he'd go straight to Elsa and tell her his troubles. But I +couldn't see where that was goin' to do him any good. You know how women +are about such things. They may be willin' to take a chance along some +lines, but when it comes to weddin's and funerals they're stand-patters. + +So Sunday afternoon, when I gets a 'phone call from Mr. Robert askin' me +to meet him at Miss Hampton's apartment, and he adds that he's decided +to duck the whole Crag Oaks proposition and do it his own way, I demands +suspicious: + +"But how about Miss Elsa?" + +"She feels just as I do about it," says he. "Come up. She will tell you +so herself." + +And she does. + +"I think it's the silly veil to which I object most," says she. "As if +anyone ever did see a blushing bride! Why, the ordeal has them half +scared to death, poor things! And no wonder. Yes, I quite agree with +Robert. Weddings should be actually happy affairs--not stiff, gloomy +ceremonies cumbered with outworn conventions. I've seen women weep at +weddings. If I should catch one doing that at mine, I should be tempted +to box her ears. Really! So we have decided that our wedding must be a +merry one. That is why, Torchy, we have sent for you." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"You are to be best man," says Mr. Robert, clappin' me on the back. + +"Me?" I gasps. "Ah, say!" + +"Your Miss Verona," adds Elsa, "is to be my only bridesmaid." + +"Well, that helps," says I. "But how--where----" + +"It doesn't matter," says Mr. Robert. "Anywhere in the State--or I can +get a Connecticut or New Jersey license. It shall be wherever you +decide." + +"Wha-a-at?" says I. + +Mr. Robert chuckles. + +"As best man," he goes on, "we appoint you general manager of the whole +affair; don't we, Elsa?" + +She nods, smilin'. + +"With full powers," says she. + +"We'll motor out somewhere," adds Mr. Robert. "You and Miss Vee take the +limousine; we will go in the roadster. If Marjorie and Ferdie wish to +come along, they can join us in their car." + +"How about a dominie?" says I. "Do I pick up one casual along the road?" + +"Oh, I forgot the Reverend Percy," says Mr. Robert. "He's consented to +quit that East Side settlement work of his for a day. You'll have to +take him along. Now, how soon may we start? To-morrow morning, say?" + +"Hel-lup!" says I. "I'm gettin' dizzy." + +"Then Tuesday," says he, "at nine-thirty sharp." + +"But say, Mr. Robert," says I, "just what----" + +"Only make it as merry as you know how," he breaks in. "That's the main +idea; isn't it, Elsa?" + +Another nod from Elsa. + +"Robert has great faith in you as a promoter of cheerful affairs," says +she. "I think I have, too." + +"That being the case," says I, "I got to live up to my rep. or strip a +gear. So here goes." + +With which I breezes out and pikes uptown to consult Vee. + +"Did you ever hear anything so batty?" says I. + +"Why, I think it's perfectly splendid fun," says Vee. "Just think, +Torchy, you can do anything you choose!" + +"It's the choosin' that's goin' to bother me," says I. "I'm no +matrimonial stage manager. I don't even know where to pull the thing +off." + +"I've thought of just the place," says she. "Harbor Hill, the Vernon +Markleys' place out on Long Island. They're in the mountains now, you +know, and the house is closed; but----" + +"You ain't thinkin' of borrowin' their garage for this, are you?" says +I. + +"Silly!" says she. "Mrs. Markley's open-air Greek theater! You must have +seen pictures of it. It's a dream--white cement pergolas covered with +woodbine and pink ramblers, and a wonderful stretch of lawn in front. It +would be an ideal setting. She's a great friend of Aunty's. We'll just +wire for her permission; shall we?" + +"Listens good," says I. "But we got to get busy. Tuesday, you know. What +about eats, though?" + +"There's a country club only half a mile away," says she. + +"You're some grand little planner," says I. "Now let me go plot out how +to put the tra-la-la business into the proceedin's." + +I had a hunch that part would come easy, too; but after a couple of +hours' steady thinkin' I decided that as a joy producer I'd been +overrated. The best I could dig out was to hunt up some music, and by +Monday noon that was my total contribution. I'd hired a band. It's some +band, though--one of these fifteen-piece dance-hall combinations that +had just closed a Coney Island engagement and was guaranteed to tear off +this affair in zippy style. I left word what station they was to get off +at, and 'phoned for a couple of jitneys to meet 'em. For the rest, I was +bankin' on my luck. + +And right on schedule we makes a nine-thirty getaway--three machines in +all; for, while Marjorie had thrown seventeen cat fits when she first +heard that Brother Robert had renigged, she shows up with Ferdie at the +last minute. Catch her missin' out on any kind of a weddin'! + +"But just where, Robert," she demands, "is this absurd affair to take +place?" + +"Haven't the least idea," says he. "Ask Torchy." + +So I names the spot, gives the chauffeurs their route directions, and +off we booms across the College Point ferry and out towards the far end +of the north shore. The Reverend Percy turns out to be kind of a solemn, +serious-minded gink. Seems he'd been in college with Mr. Robert, had +rooms just across the hall, and accordin' to his tell them must have +been lively days. + +"Although I can't say," he adds, "that at all times I enjoyed being +pulled out of bed at 2 A.M. to act as judge of an ethical debate between +a fuddled cab-driver and a star halfback who had been celebrating a +football victory. I fear I considered Bob's sense of humor somewhat +overdeveloped. Just like him, running off like this. I trust the affair +is not going to be made too unconventional." + +I winks at Vee. + +"Only an open-air performance," says I, "with maybe a little cheerin' +music to liven things up. His instructions are to have it merry." + +"Ah, yes!" says the Reverend Percy. "Quite so. I understand." + +If he did he was a better guesser than me. For I was more or less at +sea. We hadn't more than whirled in through the stone gate-posts of +Harbor Hill, too, than I begun to scent complications. For there, lined +up in front of the house, are four other machines, with a whole mob of +people around 'em. + +"Why!" says Vee. "Who can they be?" + +"Looks like someone had beaten us to it," says I. "I'll go do some +scoutin'." + +Course, one close-up look is all that's needed. It's a movie outfit. I'm +just gettin' hot under the collar, too, when I discovers that the gent +in charge is none other than my old newspaper friend, Whitey Weeks. I'd +heard how he'd gone into the film game as stage director, but I hadn't +seen him at it yet. And here he is, big as life, wearin' a suit of noisy +plaids as usual, and bossin' this assorted bunch of screen favorites +like he'd done it all his life. + +"A little lively with those grease-paints now, ladies," he's callin' +out. "This isn't for a next spring release, you know." + +"Huh!" says I, strollin' up. "Got the same old nerve with you, eh, +Whitey?" + +"Well, well!" says he. "The illustrious and illuminating Torchy! Don't +tell me you've just bought the estate?" + +"Would it matter to you who owned it," says I, "if you wanted to use it +bad?" + +"Such cruel suspicions!" says he. "Sir, my permit!" + +He's got it, straight enough--a note to the lodge-keeper, signed by Mrs. +Vernon Markley, and statin' that the Unexcelled Film Company was to +have the courtesy of the grounds any afternoon between the 15th and +25th. + +"You see," explains Whitey, "we're staging an old English costume piece, +and this Greek theater of Mrs. Markley's just fits in. Our president +worked the deal for us. And we've got to do a thousand feet between now +and five o'clock. Not in the same line, are you?" + +And he glances towards our crowd, that's pilin' out of the cars and +gazin' puzzled towards us. + +"Do we look it?" says I. "No, what we was plannin' to pull off here was +a weddin'. That's the groom there--my boss, Mr. Robert Ellins." + +"Bob Ellins!" says Whitey. "Whe-e-ew!" + +"Mrs. Markley must have forgot," says I. "Makes it kind of awkward for +us, though." + +"But see here," says Whitey. "A real wedding, you say? Why, that's odd! +That's our stunt, with merry villagers and all that stuff. Now, say, why +couldn't we---- Let's see! Do you suppose Mr. Ellins would mind if----" + +I got the idea in a flash. + +"He won't mind anything," says I, "so long as he can be married merry. +He's leavin' that to me--the whole act." + +"By Jove!" says Whitey. "The very thing, then. We'll---- But who else is +this arriving? Look, coming in, two motor-buses full!" + +"That's our band," says I. + +"Great!" says Whitey. "Rovelli's, too! Say, this is going to be a bit of +all right! Have him form 'em on between those cedars, out of range. Now +we'll just get your folks into costume, let our company trail along as +part of the wedding procession, and shoot the dear public the real +thing, for once. What do you say?" + +Course, considerin' how Mr. Robert had shied at a hundred or so +spectators, this lettin' him in on a film exchange circuit might seem a +little raw; but it was too good a chance to miss. Another minute, and +I'm strollin' over, lookin' bland and innocent. + +"Any hitch?" says Mr. Robert. "Have we got to the wrong place?" + +"Not much," says I. "This is the right place at the right time. Didn't +you tell me to go as far as I liked, so long as I made it merry?" + +"So I did, Torchy," he admits. + +"Then prepare to cut loose," says I. "This way, everybody, and get on +your weddin' clothes!" + +For a second or so Mr. Robert hangs back. He glances doubtful at Miss +Hampton. But say, she's a good sport, she is. + +"Come along, Robert," says she. "I'm sure Torchy has planned something +unique." + +I didn't dispute her. It was all of that. First we groups the ladies on +the south veranda behind a lot of screens, and herds the men around the +corner. Then we unpacks them suitcases of Whitey's and distributes the +things. Such regalias, too! What Mr. Robert draws is mostly two colored +tights, spangled trunks, a gorgeous cape, peak-toed shoes of red +leather, and a sword. Maybe he didn't look some spiffy in it! + +You should have seen Ferdie, though, with a tow-colored wig clapped down +over his ears and his spindle shanks revealed to a cold and cruel world +in a pair of faded pink ballet trousers. For the Reverend Percy they dug +out a fuzzy brown bathrobe with a hood, and tied a rope around his +waist. Me, I'm dolled up in green tights and a leather coat, and get a +bugle to carry. + +How frisky a few freak clothes make you feel, don't they? Mr. Robert +begins cuttin' up at once, and even Ferdie shows signs of wantin' to +indulge in frivolous motions, if he only knew how. The reg'lar movie +people gets the idea this is goin' to be some kind of a lark, and they +joins in, too. When the ladies appeared they sure looked stunnin'. Miss +Hampton has on a fancy flarin' collar two feet high, and a skirt like a +balloon; but she's a star in it just the same. Sister Marjorie, who's a +bit husky anyway, looks like a human hay-stack in that rig. And +Vee--well, say, she'd be a winner in any date costume you could name. + +Meanwhile Whitey has posted his camera men in the shrubbery, where they +can get the focus without bein' seen, and has rounded us up for a little +preliminary coachin'. + +"Remember," says he, "what we're supposed to be doing is a wedding, back +in the days of Robin Hood, with all the merry villagers given a day off. +So make it snappy. We want action, lots of it. Let yourselves go. Laugh, +kick up your heels, let out the hi-yi-yips! Now, then! Are you ready?" + +"Wait until I start the band," says I. "Hey, there, Mr. Rovelli! Music +cue! Something zippy and raggy. Shoot it!" + +Say, I don't know how them early English parties used to put it over +when they got together for a mad, gladsome romp on the greensward, but +if they had anything on us they must have been double-jointed. For, with +Mr. Robert and Miss Hampton skippin' along hand in hand, Vee and me +keepin' step behind, a couple of movie ladies rushin' the Reverend Percy +over the grass rapid, and the other couples with arms linked, doin' +fancy steps to a jingly fox-trot--well, take it from me, it was gay +doin's. + +And when we'd galloped around over the lawn until we'd bunched for the +weddin' picture in front of this Greek theater effect, the Reverend +Percy had barely breath enough left to go through his lines. He does, +though, with Mr. Robert addin' joshin' remarks; and we winds up by +givin' the bride and groom three rousin' cheers and peltin' 'em with +roses as they makes a run through the double line we forms. + +Yep, that was some weddin', if I do say it. And the sit-down luncheon +I'd ordered at the Country Club in Mr. Robert's name wa'n't any skimpy +affair, even though we did spring an extra number on 'em offhand. For +the boss insists on goin' just as we are, in our costumes, and luggin' +along all the movie people. The reckless way he buys fizz for 'em, too! + +And, by the time the party breaks up, Whitey Weeks is so full of +gratitude and enthusiasm and other things that he near bubbles over. + +"Torchy," says he, wringin' my hand fraternal, "you have given my +company the time of their lives. They're all strong for you. And, say, +I've got a thousand feet of film that's simply going to knock 'em cold +at the first-run houses. Any time I can----" + +"Don't mention it," says I. "Specially about that film. The boss don't +know yet that you had the camera goin'. Thought it was only rehearsin', +I guess. All he's sure of now is that he's been married merry. And if he +ever forgets just how merry, for a dime he can go take a look and +refresh his mem'ry, can't he? But I'm bettin' he never forgets." + +THE END + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +JOHN FOX, JR'S. STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. + +THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE. +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + + The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree + that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine + lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he + finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the + _foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and + the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder + chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." + +THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + + This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." + It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which + often springs the flower of civilization. + + "Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he + came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, + seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and + mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming + waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in + the mountains. + +A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND. +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + + The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of + moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the + heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two + impetuous young Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's" + charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in + the love making of the mountaineers. + + Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some + of Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives. + +Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +ZANE GREY'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list + +THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS +Colored frontispiece by W. Herbert Dunton. + + Most of the action of this story takes place near the turbulent Mexican + border of the present day. A New York society girl buys a ranch which + becomes the center of frontier warfare. Her loyal cowboys defend her + property from bandits, and her superintendent rescues her when she is + captured by them. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful + close. + +DESERT GOLD +Illustrated by Douglas Duer. + + Another fascinating story of the Mexican border. Two men, lost in the + desert, discover gold when, overcome by weakness, they can go no + farther. The rest of the story describes the recent uprising along the + border, and ends with the finding of the gold which the two prospectors + had willed to the girl who is the story's heroine. + +RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE +Illustrated by Douglas Duer. + + A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon + authority ruled. In the persecution of Jane Withersteen, a rich ranch + owner, we are permitted to see the methods employed by the invisible + hand of the Mormon Church to break her will. + +THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN +Illustrated with photograph reproductions. + + This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, + known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert + and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of yellow crags, deep canons + and giant pines." It is a fascinating story. + +THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT +Jacket in color. Frontispiece. + + This big human drama is played in the Painted Desert. A lovely girl, + who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New + Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall + become the second wife of one of the Mormons---- + + Well, that's the problem of this sensational, big selling story. + +BETTY ZANE +Illustrated by Louis F. Grant. + + This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful + young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. Life + along the frontier, attacks by Indians, Betty's heroic defense of the + beleaguered garrison at Wheeling, the burning of the Fort, and Betty's + final race for life, make up this never-to-be-forgotten story. + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy, Private Sec., by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. *** + +***** This file should be named 20627.txt or 20627.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/2/20627/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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