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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/20628-8.txt b/20628-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a2e19ba --- /dev/null +++ b/20628-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8787 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy and Vee, 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 and Vee + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Release Date: February 19, 2007 [EBook #20628] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AND VEE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +TORCHY AND VEE + +BY +SEWELL FORD +AUTHOR OF TORCHY, THE HOUSE OF TORCHY, SHORTY McCABE, Etc. + +GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Copyright, 1918, 1919, by SEWELL FORD +Copyright, 1919, BY EDWARD J. CLODE +All rights reserved + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +FOREWORD + +In the Nature of an Alibi + + +Some of these stories were written while the Great War was still on. So +the setting and local coloring and atmosphere and all that sort of +thing, such as it is, came from those strenuous days when we heroic +civilians read the war extras with stern, unflinching eye, bought as +many Liberty bonds as we were told we should, and subscribed to various +drives as cheerfully as we might. Have you forgotten your reactions of a +few short months ago? Perhaps then, these may revive your memory of some +of them. + +You may note with disappointment that Torchy got no nearer to the +front-line trenches than Bridgeport, Conn. That is a sentiment the +writer shares with you. But the blame lies with an overcautious +government which hesitated, perhaps from super-humane reasons, from +turning loose on a tottering empire a middle-aged semi-literary person +who was known to handle a typewriter with such reckless abandon. And +where he could not go himself he refused to send another. So Torchy +remained on this side, and whether or not his stay was a total loss is +for you to decide. + S. F. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. The Quick Shunt for Puffy 1 + II. Old Hickory Bats Up One 19 + III. Torchy Pulls the Deep Stuff 37 + IV. A Frame-up for Stubby 56 + V. The Vamp in the Window 73 + VI. Turkeys on the Side 91 + VII. Ernie and His Big Night 108 + VIII. How Babe Missed His Step 126 + IX. Hartley and the G. O. G.'s 145 + X. The Case of Old Jonesey 164 + XI. As Lucy Lee Passed By 182 + XII. Torchy Meets Ellery Bean 200 + XIII. Torchy Strays from Broadway 222 + XIV. Subbing for the Boss 238 + XV. A Late Hunch for Lester 256 + XVI. Torchy Tackles a Mystery 272 + XVII. With Vincent at the Turn 290 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +TORCHY AND VEE + +CHAPTER I + +THE QUICK SHUNT FOR PUFFY + + +I must say I didn't get much excited at first over this Marion Gray +tragedy. You see, I'd just blown in from Cleveland, where I'd been +shunted by the Ordnance Department to report on a new motor kitchen. And +after spendin' ten days soppin' up information about a machine that was +a cross between a road roller and an owl lunch wagon, and fillin' my +system with army stews cooked on the fly, I'm suddenly called off. +Someone at Washington had discovered that this flying cook-stove thing +was a problem for the Quartermaster's Department, and wires me to drop +it. + +So I was all for enjoyin' a little fam'ly reunion, havin' Vee tell me +how she's been gettin' along, and what cute little tricks young Master +Richard had developed while I'm gone. But right in the midst of our +intimate little domestic sketch Vee has to break loose with this outside +sigh stuff. + +"I can't help thinking about poor Marion," says she. + +"Eh?" says I, lookin' up from the crib where young Snookums has just +settled himself comfortable and decided to tear off a few more hours of +slumber. "Which Marion?" + +"Why, Marion Gray," says she. + +"Oh!" says I. "The old maid with the patient eyes and the sad smile?" + +"She is barely thirty," says Vee. + +"Maybe," says I; "but she's takin' it hard." + +"Who wouldn't?" says Vee. + +And havin' got that far, I saw I might as well let her get the whole +story off her chest. She's been seein' more and more of this Marion Gray +person ever since we moved out here to Harbor Hills. Kind of a plump, +fresh-colored party, and more or less bright and entertainin' in her +chat when she was in the right mood. I'd often come in and found Vee +chucklin' merry over some of the things Miss Gray had been tellin' her. +And while she was at our house she seemed full of life and pep. Just the +sort that Vee gets along with best. She was the same whenever we met her +up at the Ellinses. But outside of that you never saw her anywhere. She +wasn't in with the Country Club set, and most of the young married crowd +seemed to pass her up too. + +I didn't know why. Guess I hadn't thought much about it. I knew she'd +lost her father and mother within the last year or so, so I expect I put +it down to that as the reason she wasn't mixin' much. + +But Vee has all the inside dope. Seems old man Gray had been a chronic +invalid for years. Heart trouble. And durin' all the last of it he'd +been promisin' to check out constant, but had kept puttin' it off. +Meanwhile Mrs. Gray and Marion had been fillin' in as day and night +nurses. He'd been a peevish, grouchy old boy, too, and the more waitin' +on he got the more he demanded. Little things. He had to have his food +cooked just so, the chair cushions adjusted, the light just right. He +had to be read to so many hours a day, and played to, and sung to. He +couldn't stand it to be alone, not for half an hour. Didn't want to +think, he said. Didn't want to see the women folks knittin' or +crocheting: he wanted 'em to be attending to him all the while. He had a +little silver bell that he kept hung on his chair arm, and when he rang +it one or the other of 'em had to jump. Maybe you know the kind. + +Course, the Grays traveled a lot; South in the winter, North in +summer--always huntin' a place where he'd feel better, and never findin' +it. If he was at the seashore he'd complain that they ought to be in the +mountains, and when they got there it wouldn't be a week before he had +decided the air was bad for him. They should have known better than to +take him there. Most likely one more week would finish him. Another long +railroad trip would anyway. So he might as well stay. But wouldn't +Marion see the landlord and have those fiendish children kept quiet on +that tennis court outside? And wouldn't Mother try to make an eggnog +that didn't taste like a liquid pancake! + +Havin' been humorin' his whims a good deal longer than Marion, and not +being very strong herself, Mrs. Gray finally wore out. And almost before +they knew anything serious was the matter she was gone. Then it all fell +on Marion. Course, if she'd been a paid nurse she never would have stood +for this continuous double-time act. Or if there was home inspectors, +same as there are for factories, the old man would have been jacked up +for violatin' the labor laws. But being only a daughter, there's nobody +to step in and remind him that slavery has gone out of style and that in +most states the female of the species was gettin' to be a reg'lar +person. In fact, there was few who thought Marion was doin' any more'n +she had a right to do. Wasn't he her father, and wasn't he payin' all +the bills? + +"To be sure," adds Vee, "he didn't realize what an old tyrant he was. +Nor did Marion. She considered it her duty, and never complained." + +"Then I don't see who could have crashed in," said I. + +"No one could," said Vee. "That was the pity." + +And it seems for the last couple of years the old boy insisted on +settlin' down in his home here, where he could shuffle off comfortable. +He'd been mighty slow about it, though, and when he finally headed West +it was discovered that, through poor managin' and war conditions, the +income they'd been livin' on had shrunk considerable. The fine old house +was left free and clear, but there was hardly enough to keep it up +unless Marion could rustle a job somewhere. + +"And all she knows how to do is nurse," says Vee. "She's not even a +trained nurse at that." + +"Ain't there anybody she could marry?" I suggests. + +"That's the tragic part, Torchy," says Vee. "There is--Mr. Biggies." + +"What, 'Puffy' Biggles!" says I. "Not that old prune face with the shiny +dome and the baggy eyes?" + +Vee says he's the one. He's been hoverin' 'round, like an old buzzard, +for three or four years now, playin' chess with the old man while he +lasted, but always with his pop-eyes fixed on Marion. And since she's +been left alone he'd been callin' reg'lar once a week, urging her to be +his tootsy-wootsy No. 3. He was the main wheeze in some third-rate life +insurance concern, I believe, and fairly well off, and he owned a classy +place over near the Country Club. But he had a 44 belt, a chin like a +pelican, and he was so short of breath that everybody called him +"Puffy" Biggles. Besides, he was fifty. + +"A hot old Romeo he'd make for a nice girl like that," says I. "Is he +her best bet? Ain't there any second choice?" + +"There was another," says Vee. "Rather a nice chap, too--that Mr. Ellery +Prescott, who played the organ so well and was some kind of a broker. +You remember?" + +"Sure!" says I. "The one who pulled down a captain's commission at +Plattsburg. Did she have him on the string?" + +"They had been friends for a long time," says Vee. "Were as good as +engaged once; though how he managed to see much of Marion I can't +imagine, with Mr. Gray so crusty toward him. You see, he didn't play +chess. Anyway, he finally gave up. I suppose he's at the front now, and +even if he ever should come back---- Well, Marion seldom mentions him. +I'm sure, though, that they thought a good deal of each other. Poor +thing! She was crazy to go across as a canteen worker. And now she +doesn't know what to do. Of course, there's always Biggles. If we could +only save her from that!" + +At which remark I grows skittish. I didn't like the way she was gazin' +at me. "Ah, come, Vee!" says I. "Lay off that rescue stuff. Adoptin' +female orphans of over thirty, or matin' 'em up appropriate is way out +of my line. Suppose we pass resolutions of regret in Marion's case, and +let it ride at that?" + +"At least," goes on Vee, "we can do a little something to cheer her up. +Mrs. Robert Ellins has asked her for dinner tomorrow night. Us too." + +"Oh, I'll go that far," says I, "although the last I knew about the +Ellinses' kitchen squad, it's takin' a chance." + +I was some little prophet, too. I expect Mrs. Robert hadn't been havin' +much worse a time with her help than most folks, but three cooks inside +of ten days was goin' some. Lots of people had been longer'n that +without any, though. But when any pot wrestler can step into a munition +works or an airplane factory and pull down her three or four dollars a +day for an eight-hour shift, what can you expect? + +Answer: What we got that night at the Ellinses'. The soup had been +scorched once, but it had been cooled off nicely before it got to us. +The fish had been warmed through--barely. And the roast lamb tasted like +it had been put through an embalmin' process. But the cookin' was high +art compared to the service, for since their butler had quit to become a +crack riveter in a shipyard they've been havin' maids do their plate +jugglin'. + +And this wide-built fairy, with the eyes that didn't track, sure was +constructed for anything but glidin' graceful around a dinner table. +For one thing, she had the broken-arch roll in her gait, and when she +pads in through the swing-door she's just as easy in her motion as a cow +walkin' the quarter-deck with a heavy sea runnin'. Every now and then +she'd scuff her toe in the rug, and how some of us escaped a soup or a +gravy bath I can't figure out. Maybe we were in luck. + +Also, she don't mind reachin' in front of you and sidewipin' your ear +with her elbow. Accidents like that were merry little jokes to her. + +"Ox-cuse me, Mister!" she'd pipe out shrill and childish, and then +indulged in a maniac giggle that would get Mrs. Robert grippin' the +chair arms. + +She liked to be chatty and folksy while she was servin', too. Her motto +seemed to be, "Eat hearty and give the house a good name." If you +didn't, she tried to coax you into it, or it into you. + +"Oh, do have some more of th' meat, Miss," she says to Vee. "And another +potato, now. Just one more, Miss." + +And all Mrs. Robert can do is pink up, and when she's out of hearin' +apologize for her. "As you see," says Mrs. Robert, "she is hardly a +trained waitress." + +"She'd make a swell auctioneer, though," I suggests. + +"No doubt," says Mrs. Robert. "And I suppose I am fortunate enough to +have anyone in the kitchen at all, even to do the cooking--such as it +is." + +"You ain't lonesome in feelin' that way," says I. "It seems to be a +general complaint." + +Which brings out harrowin' tales of war-wrecked homes, where no buttling +had been done for months, where chauffeurs and gardeners were only +represented by stars on the service flag, and from which even personal +maids had gone to be stenographers and nurses. But chiefly it was the +missin' cook who was mourned. Some had quit to follow their men to +trainin' camps, a lot had copped out better payin' jobs, and others had +been lured to town, where they could get the fake war extras hot off the +press and earn higher wages as well. + +Course, there were some substitute cooks--reformed laundresses, raw +amateurs and back numbers that should have reached the age limit long +before. And pretty awful cookin' they were gettin' away with. Vee had +heard of one who boiled the lettuce and sent in dog biscuit one mornin' +for breakfast cereal. Miss Gray told what happened at the Pemberton +Brookses when their kitchen queen had left for Bridgeport, where she had +a hubby makin' seventy-five dollars a week. The Brookses had lived for +three days on cream toast and sardines, which was all the upstairs girl +had in her culinary repertoire. + +"And look at me," added Marion, "with our old family cook, who can make +the best things in the world, and I can hardly afford to keep her! But I +couldn't drive her away if I tried." + +Course, with our havin' Professor and Madame Battou, the old French +couple we'd annexed over a year ago in town, we had no kick comin'. Not +even the sugar and flour shortage seemed to trouble them, and our fancy +meals continued regular as clock work. But on the way home Vee and I got +to talkin' about what hard times the neighbors was havin'. + +"I guess what they need out here," says I, "is one of them army +kitchens, that would roll around two or three times a day deliverin' hot +nourishment from door to door." + +And I'd hardly finished what I'd meant for a playful little remark +before Vee stops sudden, right in the middle of the road, and lets out +an excited squeal. + +"Torchy!" says she. "Why on earth didn't you suggest that before!" + +"Because this foolish streak has just hit me," says I. + +"But it's the very thing," says she, clappin' her hands. + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"For Marion," says she. "Don't you see?" + +"But she's no perambulatin' rotisserie, is she?" says I. + +"She might be," says Vee. "And she shall." + +"Oh, very well," says I. "If you've decided it that way, I expect she +will. But I don't quite get you." + +When Vee first connects with one of her bright ideas, though, she's apt +to be a little puzzlin' in her remarks about it. As a matter of fact, +her scheme is a bit hazy, but she's sure it's a winner. + +"Listen, Torchy," says she. "Here are all these Harbor Hills +people--perhaps a hundred families--many of them with poor cooks, some +with none at all. And there is Marion with that perfectly splendid old +Martha of hers, who could cook for all of them." + +"Oh, I see," says I. "Marion hangs out a table-board sign?" + +"Stupid!" says Vee. "She does nothing of the sort. People don't want to +go out for their meals; they want to eat at home. Well, Marion brings +them their meals, all deliciously cooked, all hot, and ready to serve." + +"With the kitchen range loaded on a truck and Martha passin' out soup +and roasts over the tailboard, eh?" says I. + +But once more I've missed. No, the plan is to get a lot of them army +containers, such as they send hot chow up to the front trenches in; have +'em filled by Martha at home, and delivered by Marion to her customers. + +"It might work," says I. "It would need some capital, though. She'd have +to invest in a lot of containers, and she'd need a motor truck." + +"I will buy those," says Vee. "I'm going in with her." + +"Oh, come!" says I. "You'd look nice, wouldn't you!" + +"You mean that people would talk?" comes back Vee. "What do I care? It's +quite as patriotic and quite as necessary as Red Cross work, or anything +else. It would be scientific food conservation, man-power saving, all +that sort of thing. And think what a wonderful thing it would be for the +neighborhood." + +"Maybe Marion wouldn't see it that way," I suggests. "Drivin' a dinner +truck around might not appeal to her. You got to remember she's more or +less of an old maid. She might have notions." + +"Trust her," says Vee. "But I mean to have my plan all worked out before +I tell her a word. When you go to town tomorrow, Torchy, I want you to +find out all about those containers--how much the various compartments +will hold, and how much they cost. Also about a light motor truck. There +will be other details, too, which I will be thinking about." + +Yes, there were other details. Nobody seemed to know much about such a +business. It had been tried in places. Vee heard of something of the +sort that was being tested up on the East Side. So it was three or four +days before she was ready to spring this new career on Marion. But one +night, after dinner, she announces that she's all set and drags me down +there with her. Outside of the old Gray house we finds a limousine, with +the driver dozin' inside. + +"It's the Biggles car!" whispers Vee. "Oh, what if he should be---- +Come, Torchy! Quick!" + +"You wouldn't break in on a fond clinch, would you?" I asks. + +"If it came to that, certainly," says Vee, pushin' the front-door button +determined. + +I expect she would have, too. But Biggles hadn't got that far--not +quite. He's on the mat all right, though, with his fat face sort of +flushed and his eyes popped more'n usual. And Marion Gray seems to be +sort of fussed, too. She is some tinted up under the eyes, and when she +sees who it is she glances at Vee sort of appealin'. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt," says Vee, marchin' right in and takin' +Marion by the arm. "You'll pardon me, I hope, Mr. Biggles, but I must +speak to Miss Gray at once about--about something very important." + +And almost before "Puffy" Biggles knows what's happened he's left +staring at an empty armchair. + +In the cozy little library Vee pushes Marion down on a window seat and +camps beside her. Trust Vee for jabbin,' the probe right in, too. + +"Tell me," she demands whispery, "was--was he at it again?" + +Marion pinks up more'n ever. And, say, with them shy brown eyes of hers, +and all the curves, she ain't so hard to look at. "Yes," admits Marion. +"You see, I had promised to give him a final answer tonight." + +"But surely, Marion," says Vee, "you'd never in the world tell him that +you----" + +"I don't know," breaks in Marion, her voice trembly. "There seems to be +nothing else." + +"Isn't there, though!" says Vee. "Just you wait until you hear." + +And with that she plunges into a rapid outline sketch of this dinner +dispensary stunt, quotin' facts and figures and givin' a profit estimate +that sounded more or less generous to me. + +"So you see," she goes on enthusiastic, "you could keep your home, and +you could keep Martha, and you would be doing something perfectly +splendid for the whole community. Besides, you would be entirely +independent of--of everyone." + +"But do you think I could do it?" asks Marion. + +"I know you could," says Vee. "Anyway, we could between us. I will +furnish the capital, and keep the accounts and help you plan the daily +menus. You will do the marketing and delivering. Martha will do the +cooking. And there you are! We may have to start with only a few family +orders at first, but others will come in fast. You'll see." + +By that time Marion was catching the fever. Her eyes brighten and her +chin comes up. + +"I believe we could do it," says she. + +"And you're willing to try?" asks Vee. + +Marion nods. + +"Then," says Vee, "Mr. Biggles ought to be told that he needn't wait +around any longer." + +"Oh, I don't see how I can," wails Marion. "He--he's such a----" + +"A sticker, eh? I know," says Vee. "And it's a shame that he should have +another chance to bother you. Torchy, don't you suppose you could do it +for her?" + +"What?" says I. "Break it to Biggles? Why, I could do it swell. Leave it +to me. I'll shunt him on the siding so quick he won't know he's ever +been on the main track." + +I don't waste any diplomatic language doin' it, either. On my way in +where he's waiting I passes through the hall and gathers up his new +derby and yellow gloves, holdin' 'em behind me as I breaks in on him. + +"Excuse me, Mr. Biggles," says I, "but it's all off." + +"I--I beg pardon?" says he, gazin' at me fish-eyed and stupid. + +"Ah, let's not run around in circles," says I. "Miss Gray presents her +compliments, and all that sort of stuff, but she's goin' into another +line. If you must know, she's going to bust up the cook combine, and +from now on she'll be mighty busy. Get me?" + +Biggles stiffens and stares at me haughty. "I don't in the least +understand anything of all this," says he. "I had an appointment with +Marion for this evening; something quite important to--to us both. I may +as well tell you that I had asked Marion a momentous question. I am +waiting for her answer." + +"Well, here it is," says I, holdin' out the hat. + +Biggles, he gurgles something indignant and turns purple in the gills, +but he ends by snatchin' away the derby and marchin' stiff to the door. + +"Understand," says he, with his hand on the knob, "I do not accept your +impertinence as a reply. I--I shall see Marion again." + +"Sure you will," says I. "She'll be around to get your dinner order +early next week." + +"Bah!" says Biggles, bangin' the door behind him. + +But, say, inside of five minutes he'd been wiped off the slate, and them +two girls was plannin' their hot-food campaign as busy and excited as if +it was Marion's church weddin' they were doping out. It's after midnight +before they breaks away, too. + +You know Vee, though. She ain't one to start things and then quit. She's +a stayer. And some grand little hustler, too. By Monday mornin' the +Harbor Hills Community Kitchen Co. was a going concern. And before the +week was out they had more'n forty families on the standin' order list, +with new squads of soup scorchers bein' fired every day. + +What got a gasp out of me was the first time I gets sight of Marion Gray +in her working rig. Nothing old-maidish about that costume. Not so you'd +notice. She's gone the limit--khaki riding pants, leather leggins and a +zippy cloth cap cut on the overseas pattern. None of them Women's Motor +Corps girls had anything on her. And maybe she ain't some picture, too, +as she jumps in behind the wheel of the truck and steps on the gas +pedal! + +Also, I was some jarred to learn that the enterprise was a payin' one +almost from the start. Folks was just tickled to death with havin' +perfectly good meals, well cooked, well seasoned and pipin' hot, set +down at their back doors prompt every day, with no fractious fryin'-pan +pirates growlin' around the kitchens, and no local food profiteers +soakin' 'em with big weekly bills. + +This has been goin' on a month, when one day as I comes home Vee greets +me with a flyin' tackle. + +"Oh, Torchy!" she squeals, "what do you think has happened?" + +"I know," says I. "Baby's cut a tooth." + +"No," says she. "It's--it's about Marion." + +"Oh!" says I. "She ain't bumped somebody with the truck, has she?" + +"How absurd!" says Vee. "But, listen, Captain Ellery Prescott has come +back." + +"What! The old favorite?" says I. "But I thought he was over with +Pershing?" + +"Not yet," says Vee. "He has been out at some Western camp training +recruits all this time. But now he has his orders. He is to sail very +soon. And he's seen Marion." + +"Has he?" said I. "Did it give him a jolt, or what?" + +Vee giggles and pulls my head down so she can whisper in my ear. "He +thought her perfectly stunning, as she is, of course. And they're to be +married day after tomorrow." + +"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "That puts a crimp in the ready-made dinner +business, I expect." + +"Not at all," says Vee. "Until he comes back, after the war, Marion is +going to carry on." + +"Anyway," says I, "it ends 'Puffy' Biggies as an impendin' tragedy, +don't it? And I expect that's worth while, too." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +OLD HICKORY BATS UP ONE + + +Anybody would most think I'd been with the Corrugated Trust long enough +to know that Old Hickory Ellins generally gets what he wants, whether +it's quick action from an office boy or a two-thirds majority vote from +the board of directors. But once in a while I seem to forget, and +shortly after that I'm wonderin' if it was a tank I went up against so +solid, or if someone threw the bond safe at me. + +What let me in wrong this last time was a snappy little remark I got +shot my way right here in the general offices. I was just back from a +three-days' chase after a delayed shipment of bridge girders and steel +wheelbarrows that was billed for France in a rush, and I'd got myself +disliked by most of the traffic managers between here and Altoona, to +say nothing of freight conductors, yard bosses and so on. But I'd +untangled those nine cars and got 'em movin' toward the North River, and +now I was steamin' through a lot of office detail that had piled up +while I was gone. I'd lunched luxurious on an egg sandwich and a war +doughnut that Vincent had brought up to me from the arcade automat, and +I'd 'phoned Vee that I might not be out home until the 11:13, when in +blows this potty party with the poison ivy leaves on his shoulder straps +and demands to see Mr. Ellins at once. Course, it's me with my heels +together doin' the zippy salute. + +"Sorry, major," says I, "but Mr. Ellins won't be in until 10:30." + +"Hah!" says he, like bitin' off a piece of glass. "And who are you, +lieutenant!" + +"Special detail from the Ordnance Department, sir," says I. + +"Oh, you are, eh?" he snorts. "Another bomb-proofer! Well, tell Mr. +Ellins I shall be back at 11:15--if this sector hasn't been captured in +the meantime," and as he double-quicks out he near runs down Mr. Piddie, +our rubber-stamp office manager, who has towed him in. + +As for me, I stands there swallowin' air bubbles until my red-haired +disposition got below the boiling point once more. Then I turns to +Piddie. + +"You heard, didn't you?" says I. + +Piddie nods. "But I don't quite understand," says he. "What did he mean +by--er--bomb-proofer?" + +"Just rank flattery, Piddie," says I. "The rankest kind. It's his way of +indicatin' that I'm a yellow dog hidin' under a roll-top desk for fear +someone'll kick me out where a parlor Pomeranian will look cross at me. +Excuse me if I don't seem to work up a blush. Fact is, though, I'm +gettin' kind of used to it." + +"Oh, I say, though!" protests Piddie. "Why, everyone knows that you----" + +"That's where you're dead wrong, Piddie," I breaks in. "What everybody +really knows is that while most of the young hicks who've been +Plattsburged into uniforms are already across Periscope Pond helpin' +swat the Hun, I'm still floatin' around here with nothing worse than car +dust on my tailor-built khaki. Why, even them bold Liberty bond patriots +who commute on the 8:03 are tired of asking me when I'm going to be sent +over to tell Pershing how it ought to be done. But when it comes to an +old crab of a swivel chair major chuckin' 'bomb-proofer' in my +teeth--well, I guess that'll be about all. Here's where I get a revise +or quit. Right here." + +And it was sentiments like that, only maybe worded not quite so brash, +that I passed out to Old Hickory a little later on. He listens about as +sympathetic as a traffic cop hearin' why you tried to rush the stop +signal. + +"I think we have discussed all that before, young man," says he. "The +War Department has recognized that, as the head of an essential +industry, I am entitled to a private secretary; also that you might +prove more useful with a commission than without one. And I rather +think you have. So there you are." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but I can't see it that way. I don't +know whether I'm private seccing or getting ready for a masquerade ball. +Any one-legged man could do what I'm doing. I'm ready to chuck the +commission and enlist." + +"Really!" says he. "Well, in the first place, my son, a war-time +commission is something one doesn't chuck back at the United States +government because of any personal whim. It isn't being done. And then +again, you tried enlisting once, didn't you, and were turned down?" + +"But that was early in the game," says I, "when the recruiting officers +weren't passing any but young Sandows. I could get by now. Have a heart, +Mr. Ellins. Lemme make a try." + +He chews his cigar a minute, drums thoughtful on the mahogany desk, and +then seems to have a bright little idea. + +"Very well, Torchy," says he, "we'll see what my friend, Major Wellby, +can do for you when he comes in." + +"Him!" says I. "Why, he'd do anything for me that the law didn't stop +him from." + +And sure enough, when the major drifts in again them two was shut in the +private office for more'n half an hour before I'm called in. I could +guess just by the way the major glares fond at me that if he could work +it he'd get me a nice, easy job mowin' the grass in No Man's Land, or +some snap like that. + +"Huh!" says he, givin' me the night court up and down. "Wants an active +command, does he? And his training has been what? Four years as office +boy, three as private secretary! It's no use, Ellins. We're not fighting +this war with waste baskets or typewriters, you know." + +"Oh, come, major!" puts in Old Hickory. "Why be unreasonable about this? +I will admit that you may be right, so far as it's being folly to send +this young man to the front. But I do insist that as a lieutenant he is +rather useful just where he is." + +"Bah!" snorts the major. "So is the farmer who's raising hogs and corn. +He's useful. But we don't put shoulder straps on him, or send him to +France in command of a company. For jobs like that we try to find +youngsters who've been trained to handle men; who know how to get things +done. What we don't want is--eh? Someone calling me on the 'phone? All +right. Yes, this is Major Wellby. What? Oh, it can't be done today! Yes, +yes! I understand all that. But see here, captain, that transport is due +to sail at--hey, central! I say, central! Oh, what's the use?" + +And as the major bangs up the receiver his face looks like a strawb'ry +shortcake just ready to serve. Somehow Mr. Ellins seems to be enjoyin' +the major's rush of temperament to the ears. Anyhow, there's a familiar +flicker under them bushy eyebrows of his and I ain't at all surprised +when he remarks soothin': "I gather, major, that someone can't seem to +get something done." + +"Precisely," says the major, moppin' a few pearly beads off his shiny +dome. "And when a regular army captain makes up his mind that a thing +can't be done--well, it's hopeless, that's all. In this instance, +however, I fear he's right, worse luck!" + +"Anyway," suggests Mr. Ellins, "he has made you think that the thing is +impossible, eh?" + +"Think!" growls the major, glancin' suspicious at Old Hickory. "I say, +Ellins, what are you getting at? Still harping on that red tape notion, +are you? Perhaps you imagine this to be a case where, if you could only +turn loose your wonderful organization, you could work a miracle?" + +"No, major," says Old Hickory. "We don't claim to work in miracles; but +when we decide that a thing ought to be done at a certain time--well, +generally it gets done." + +"Just like that, eh?" grins the major sarcastic. "Really, Ellins, you +big business men are too good to be true. But see here; why not tap your +amazing efficiency for my benefit. This little job, for instance, which +one of our poor misguided captains reports as impossible within the time +limit. I suppose you would merely press a button and----" + +"Not even that," breaks in Mr. Ellins. "I would simply turn it over to +Torchy here--and he'd do it." + +The major glances at me careless and shrugs his shoulders. "My dear +Ellins," says he, "you probably don't realize it, but that's the sort of +stuff which adds to the horrors of war. Here you haven't the vaguest +idea as to what----" + +"Perhaps," cuts in Old Hickory, "but I'll bet you a hundred to +twenty-five." + +"Taken," says the major. Then he turns to me. "When can you start, +lieutenant?" + +"As soon as I know where I'm starting for, sir," says I. + +"How convenient," says he. "Well, then, here is an order on the New York +Telephone Co. for five spools of wire which you'll find stored somewhere +on Central Park South. See if you can get 'em." + +"Yes, sir," says I. "And suppose I can?" + +"Report to me at the Plutoria before 5:30 this afternoon," says he. "I +shall be having tea there. Ellins, you'd better be on hand, too, so that +I can collect that hundred." + +And that's all there was to it. I'm handed a slip of paper carrying the +Quartermaster General's O. K., and while these two old sports are still +chucklin' at each other I've grabbed my uniform cap off the roll-top and +have caught an express elevator. + +Course, I expected a frame-up. All them army officers are hard boiled +eggs when it comes to risking real money, and I knew the major must +think his twenty-five was as safe as if he'd invested it in thrift +stamps. As for Old Hickory Ellins, he'd toss away a hundred any time on +the chance of pulling a good bluff. So I indulges in a shadowy little +grin myself and beats it up town. + +Simple enough to locate them spools of wire. Oh, yes. They're right in +the middle of the block between Sixth and Broadway, tucked away +inconspicuous among as choice a collection of contractor's junk as you +can find anywhere in town, and that's sayin' a good deal. But maybe +you've noticed what's been happenin' along there where Fifty-ninth +street gets high-toned? Looks like an earthquake had wandered by, but +it's only that down below they're connectin' the new subway with another +East river tunnel. And if there's anything in the way of old derricks, +or scrap iron, or wooden beams, or construction sheds that ain't been +left lying around on top it's because they didn't have it on hand to +leave. + +Cute little things, them spools are, too; about six feet high, three +wide, and weighin' a ton or so each, I should judge. And to make the +job of movin' 'em all the merrier an old cement mixer has been at work +right next to 'em and the surplus concrete has been thrown out until +they've been bedded in as solid as so many bridge piers. I climbs around +and takes a look. + +"How cunnin'!" says I. "Why, they'd make the Rock of Ages look like a +loose front tooth. And all I got to do is pull 'em up by the roots, one +at a time. Ha, ha! Likewise, tee-hee!" + +It sized up like a bad case of bee bite with me at the wrong end of the +stinger. Still, I was just mulish enough to stick around. I had nearly +three hours left before I'd have to listen to the major's mirthsome +cackle, and I might as well spend part of it thinkin' up fool schemes. +So I walks around that cluster of cement-set spools some more. I even +climbs on top of one and gazes up and down the block. + +They were still doing things to make it look less like a city street and +more like the ruins of Louvain. Down near the Fifth Avenue gates was the +fenced-in mouth of a shaft that led somewhere into the bowels of +Manhattan. And while I was lookin' out climbs a dago, unrolls a dirty +red flag, and holds up the traffic until a dull "boom" announces that +the offensive is all over for half an hour or so. Up towards Columbus +Circle more industry was goin' on. A steam roller was smoothin' out a +strip of pavement that had just been relaid, and nearer by a gang was +tearin' up more of the asphalt. I got kind of interested in the way they +was doin' it, too. You know, they used to do this street wreckin' with +picks and crowbars, but this crowd seemed to have more modern methods. +They was usin' three of these pneumatic drills and they sure were +ripping it up slick and speedy. About then I noticed that their +compressor was chugging away nearly opposite me and that the lines of +hose stretched out fifty feet or more. + +"Say!" says I jerky and breathless, but to nobody in particular. I was +just registerin' the fact that I'd had a sudden thought. + +A few minutes before, too, I'd seen a squad of rookies wander past and +into the park. I remembered noticin' what a husky, tanned lot they were, +and from their hat cords that they belonged to the artillery branch. +Well, that was enough. In a flash I'd shinned over the stone wall and +was headin' 'em off. + +You know how these cantonment delegations wander around town aimless +when they're dumped down here on leave waiting to be shunted off quiet +onto some transport? No friends, mighty little money, and nothing to do +but tramp the streets or hang around the Y. They actually looked kind of +grateful when I stops 'em and returns their salute. As luck would have +it there's a top sergeant in the bunch, so I don't have to make a +reg'lar speech. + +"It's this way, sergeant," says I. "I'm looking for a few volunteers." + +"There's ten of us, sir," says he, "with not a thing on our hands but +time." + +"Then perhaps you'll help me put over something on a boss ditch digger," +says I. "It's nothing official, but it may help General Pershing a whole +lot." + +"We sure will," says the sergeant. "Now then, men. 'Shun! And forget +those dope sticks for a minute. How'll you have 'em, lieutenant--twos or +fours?" + +"Twos will look more impressive, I guess," says I. "And just follow me." + +"Fall in!" says the sergeant. "By twos! Right about! March!" + +So when I rounds into the street again and bears down on this gang +foreman I has him bug-eyed from the start. He don't seem to know whether +he's being pinched or not. + +"What's your name, my man?" says I, wavin' the Q. M.'s order +threatenin'. + +It's Mike something or other, as I could have guessed without him near +chokin' to get it out. + +"Very well, Mike," I goes on, as important as I knew how. "See those +spools over there that you people have done your best to bury? Well, +those have been requisitioned from the Telephone Company by the U. S. +army. Here's the order. Now I want you to get busy with your drill gang +and cut 'em loose." + +"But--but see here, boss," sputters Mike, "'tis a private contract +they're workin' on and I couldn't be after----" + +"Couldn't, eh?" says I. "Lemme tell you something. That wire has to go +on a transport that's due to sail the first thing in the morning. It's +for the Signal Corps and they need it to stretch a headquarters' line +into Berlin." + +"Sorry, boss," said Mike, "but I wouldn't dast to----" + +"Sergeant," says I, "do your duty." + +Uh-huh! That got Mike all right. And when we'd yanked him up off his +knees and convinced him that he wouldn't be shot for an hour or so yet +he's so thankful that he gets those drills to work in record time. + +It was a first-class hunch, if I do have to admit it myself. You should +have seen how neat them rapid fire machines begun unbuttonin' those big +wooden spools, specially after a couple of our doughboy squad, who'd +worked pneumatic riveters back home, took hold of the drills. Others +fished some hand sledges and crowbars out of a tool shed and helped the +work along, while Mike encourages his gang with a fluent line of foreman +repartee. + +Course, I didn't have the whole thing doped out at the start, but +gettin' away with this first stab only showed me how easy it was if you +wasn't bashful about callin' for help. From then on I didn't let much +assistance get away from me, either. Yankin' the spools out to the +street level by hookin' on the steam roller was my next play, but +commandeerin' a sand blast outfit that was at work halfway down the +block was all Mike's idea. + +"They need smoothin' up a bit, boss," says he. + +And inside of half an hour we had all five of them spools lookin' new +and bright, like they'd just come from the mill. + +"What next, sir?" asks the sergeant. + +"Why," says I, "the fussy old major who's so hot for getting these +things is waiting at the Plutoria, about ten blocks down. Maybe he wants +'em there. I wonder if we could----" + +"Sure!" says the sergeant. "This heavy gun bunch can move anything. +Here! I'll show 'em how." + +With that he runs a crowbar through the center of one of the spools, +puts a man on either side to push, and rolls it along as easy as +wheelin' a baby carriage. + +"Swell tactics, sergeant," says I. "And just for that I'm goin' to +provide your squad with a little music. Might as well do this in style, +eh? Wait a minute." + +And it wasn't long before I was back from another dash into the park +towin' half a drum corps that I'd borrowed from some Junior Naval +Reserves that was drillin' over on the ballfield. + +So it was some nifty little parade that I finally lines up to lead down +Fifth Avenue. First there's me, then the drum corps, then the sergeant +and his men rollin' them spools of wire. We strings out for more'n a +block. + +You'd think New Yorkers were so used to parades by this time that you +couldn't get 'em stretchin' their necks for anything less'n a regiment +of hand-picked heroes. They've seen the French Blue Devils at close +range, gawped at the Belgians, and chummed with the Anzacs. But, say, +this spool-pushin' stunt was a new one on 'em. Folks just lined the curb +and stared. Then some bird starts to cheer and it's taken up all down +the line, just on faith. + +"Hey, pipe the new rollin' tanks!" shouts someone. + +"Gwan!" sings out another wise guy. "Them's wooden bombs they're goin' +to drop on Willie." + +It's the first time I've been counted in on any of this hooray stuff, +and I can't say I hated it. At the same time I tried not to look too +chesty. But when I wheeled the procession into the side street and got +'em bunched two deep in front of the Plutoria's carriage entrance I +ain't sure but what I was wearin' kind of a satisfied grin. + +Not for long, though. The six-foot taxi starter in the rear admiral's +uniform jumps right in with the prompt protest. He wants to know what +the blinkety-blink I think I'm doin', blockin' up his right of way in +that fashion. + +"You can't do it! Take 'em away!" says he. + +"Ah, keep the lid on, old Goulash," says I. "Sergeant, if he gets messy, +roll one of those spools on him. I'll be back shortly." + +With that I blows into the Plutoria and hunts up the tea room. The +major's there, all right, and Mr. Ellins, also a couple of ladies. +They're just bein' served with Oolong and caviar sandwiches. + +"Ah!" says the major, as he spots me. "Our gallant young office +lieutenant, eh? Well, sir, anything to report?" + +"The spools are outside, sir," says I. + +"Wh--a--at!" he gasps. + +"Where'll you have 'em put, sir?" says I. + +About then, though, in trails the taxi starter, the manager and a brace +of house detectives. + +"That's him!" says the starter, pointin' me out. "He's the one that's +blockin' traffic." + +I will say this for the major, though, he's a good sport. He comes right +to the front and takes all the blame. + +"I'm responsible," he tells the manager. "It's perfectly all right, too. +Military necessity, sir. Well, perhaps you don't like it, but I'll have +you understand, sir, I could block off your whole street if I wished. So +clear out, all of you." + +"Why, Horace!" puts in one of the ladies, grabbin' him by the arm. + +"Yes, yes, my dear," says the major. "I know. No scene. Certainly not. +Only these hotel persons must be put in their place. And if you will +excuse me for a moment I'll see what can be done. Come, lieutenant. I +want to get a look at those spools myself." + +Well, he did. "But--but I understood," says he, "that they were stuck in +concrete or something of the kind." + +"Yes, sir," says I. "We had to unstick 'em. Pneumatic drills and a steam +roller. Very simple." + +"Great Scott!" says he. "Why didn't that fool captain think of---- But, +see here, I don't want 'em here. Now, if we could only get them to Pier +14----" + +"That would be a long way to roll 'em, sir," says I, "but it could be +done. Loadin' 'em on a couple of army trucks would be easier, though. +There's a Quartermaster's depot at the foot of Fifty-seventh Street, you +know." + +"So there is," says he. "I'll call them up. Come in, will you, +lieutenant and--and join us at tea? You've earned it, I think." + +Three minutes more and the major announces that the trucks are on the +way. + +"Which means, Ellins," he adds, "that you win your twenty-five. Here you +are." + +"If you don't mind," says Old Hickory, "I'll keep this and pass on my +hundred to Torchy here. He might like to entertain his volunteer squad +with it." + +Did I? Say, when I got through showin' that bunch of far West artillery +husks how to put in a real pleasant evening along Broadway there wasn't +enough change left to buy a sportin' extra. But they'd had chow in the +giddiest lobster palace under the white lights, they'd occupied two +boxes at the zippiest girl show in town and they was loaded down with +cigarettes and chocolate enough to last 'em clear to France. + +The next mornin', when Old Hickory comes paddin' into the general +offices, he stops to pat me friendly on the shoulder. + +"I think we have succeeded in revising the major's opinion," he remarks, +"as to the general utility of bomb-proofers in certain instances." + +I grins up at him. "Then," says I, "do I get a recommend for active duty +within jabbin' distance of the Huns?" + +"We did consider that," says Old Hickory, "but the decision was just as +I suspected from the first. The major says it would be a shame to waste +you on anything less than a divisional command, and there aren't enough +of those to go around. Chiefly, though, he thinks that anyone who is +able to get things done in New York in the wizard-like way that you can +should be kept within call of Governor's Island. So I fear, Torchy, +that you and I will have to go on serving our country right here." + +"All right, Mr. Ellins," says I. "I expect you win--as per usual." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +TORCHY PULLS THE DEEP STUFF + + +Course, I didn't know what Old Hickory was stackin' me up against when +he calls me into the private office and tells me to shake hands with +this Mr. McCrea. Kind of a short, stubby party he is, with a grayish +mustache and sort of sleepy gray eyes. He's one of these slow motioned, +quiet talking ginks, with restful ways, such as would fit easy into a +swivel chair and hold down a third vice-president's job for life. Or he +might be a champion chess player. + +So when the boss goes on to say how Mr. McCrea is connected with the +Washington sleuth bureau I expect I must have gawped at him a bit +curious. Some relic of the old office force, was my guess; a hold-over +from the times when the S. S. people called it a big day if they could +locate a lead nickel fact'ry in Mulberry Street, or drop on a few Chink +laundrymen bein' run in from Canada in crates. Maybe he was a +thumb-print expert. + +"Howdy," says I, glancin' up at the clock to see if the prospects was +good for makin' the 5:17 out to Harbor Hills. + +"I am told you know the town rather well," suggests McCrea, sort of +mild and apologetic. + +"Me!" says I. "Oh, I can usually find my way back to Broadway even in +foggy weather." + +He indulges in a flickery little smile. "I also understand," he goes on, +"that you have shown yourself to be somewhat quick witted in +emergencies." + +"I must have a good press agent, then," says I, glancin' accusin' at Mr. +Ellins. + +But Old Hickory shakes his head. "I suspect that was my friend, Major +Wellby," says he. + +"Oh!" says I. "The one I rescued the wire spools for? A lucky break, +that was." + +"Mr. McCrea is working on something rather more important," goes on Old +Hickory, "and if you can help him in any way I trust you will do it." + +"Sure," says I. "What's the grand little idea?" + +He don't seem enthusiastic about openin' up, McCrea, and I don't know as +I blame him much. After he's fished a note book out of his inside pocket +he stops and looks me over sort of doubtful. "Perhaps I had better say +at the start," says he, "that some of our best men have been on this job +for several weeks." + +"Nursin' it along, eh?" says I. + +That brings a smothered chuckle from Old Hickory. But Mr. McCrea don't +seem so tickled over it. In fact, he develops a furrow between the eyes +and his next remark ain't quite so soothin'. + +"No doubt if they could have had the assistance of your rapid fire +mentality a little sooner," says he, "it would have been but a matter of +a few hours." + +"There's no telling," says I. "Are you one of the new squad?" + +Here Old Hickory chokes down another gurgle and breaks in hasty with: +"Mr. McCrea, Torchy, is assistant chief of the bureau, you know." + +"Gosh!" says I, under my breath. "My mistake, sir. And I expect I'd +better back out now, while the backin's good." + +"Wouldn't that be rather hard on us?" asks McCrea, liftin' his eyebrows +sarcastic. "Besides, think how disappointed the major will be if we fail +to make use of such remarkable ability as he has assured us you +possess." + +It's a kid, all right, even if he does put it so smooth. And by the +twinkle in Old Hickory's eye I can see he's enjoyin' it just as much as +McCrea. Nothing partial about the boss. His sympathies are always with +the good performer. And rather than let this top-liner sleuth put it +over me so easy I takes a chance on shootin' a little more bull. + +"Oh, if you're goin' to feel bad over it," says I, "course I got to help +you out. Now what part of Manhattan is it that's got your +super-Sherlocks guessin' so hard?" + +He smiles condescendin' and unfolds a neat little diagram showin' a +Broadway corner and part of the cross street. "It is a matter of three +policemen and a barber shop," says he. "Here, in the basement of this +hotel on the corner, is the barber shop." + +"Yes, I remember," says I. "Otto something or other runs it. And on the +side, I expect, he does plain and fancy spyin', eh?" + +"We should be much interested to have you furnish proof of that," says +McCrea. "What we suspect, however, is something slightly different. We +believe that the place is rather a clearing house for spy information. +News seems to reach there and to leave there. What we wish to know is, +how." + +"Had anyone on the inside?" I asks. + +"Yes, that bright little idea occurred to us," says McCrea. "One of our +men has been operating a chair there for three weeks. He discovered +nothing of importance. Also we have had the place watched from the +outside, to no purpose. So you see how crude our methods must have +been." + +"Oh, I ain't knockin' 'em," says I. "Maybe they was out of luck. But +what about the three cops?" + +"Their beats terminate at this corner," says McCrea, "one from uptown, +one from downtown, and the third from the east. And we have good reason +to suppose that one of the three is crooked. Now if you can tell us +which one, and how information can come and go----" + +"I get you," I breaks in. "All you want of me is the answer to a lot of +questions you've been all the fall workin' up. That's some he-sized +order, ain't it?" + +McCrea shrugs his shoulder. "As I mentioned, I think," says he, "it was +Major Wellby who suggested your assistance; and as the major happens to +enjoy the confidence of--well, someone who is a person of considerable +importance in Washington----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "It's a case of my bein' wished on you and you +standin' by with the laugh when I fall down. Oh, very well! I'll be the +goat. But the major's a good scout, just the same, and I don't mean to +throw him without making a stab. How long do I get on this?" + +"Oh, as long as you like," says McCrea. + +"Thanks," says I. "Where do I find you when I want to turn in a report, +blank or otherwise?" + +He gives me the name of his hotel and after collectin' the diagram of +the mystery I does a slow exit to my desk in the next office. I was +sittin' there half an hour later with my hair rumpled, makin' a noise +like deep thinkin', when in walks the hand of fate steppin' heavy on +his heels, as usual. + +Not that I suspected at the time this Barry Wales could be anything much +more than a good natured pest. He didn't used to be even that. No, the +change in Barry is only another little item in the score we got against +the Kaiser; for back in the days before we went into the war Barry was +just one of Mr. Robert's club friends who dropped around casual to date +up for an after-luncheon game of billiards, or tip him off to a new +cabaret act that was worth engagin' a table next to the gold ropes. +Besides, holdin' quite a block of Corrugated stock, I expect Barry +figured it as a day's work when he got me to show him the last +semi-annual report and figure out what his dividends would tot up to. +Outside of that he was a bar-hound and more or less of a window +ornament. + +But the war sure had made a mess of Barry. I don't mean that he went +over and got shell shocked or gassed. Too far past thirty for that, and +he had too many things the matter with him. Oh, I had all the details +direct; bad heart, plumbing out of whack, nerves frazzled from too many +all-night sessions. He was in that shape to begin with. But he didn't +start braggin' about it until so many of his bunch got to makin' +themselves useful in different ways. Mr. Robert, for instance, gettin' +sent out in command of a coast patrol boat; others breakin' into Red +Cross work, ship buildin' and so on. Barry claims he tried 'em all and +was turned down. + +But is he discouraged? Not Barry. If they won't put him in uniform, with +cute little dew-dads on his shoulder, or let him wear $28 puttees that +will take a mahogany finish, there's nothing to prevent him from turnin' +loose that mighty intellect of his and inventin' new ways to win the +war. So when he's sittin' there in his favorite window at the club, +starin' absent minded out on Fifth Avenue with a tall glass at his +elbow, he ain't half the slacker he looks to the people on top of the +green buses. + +Not accordin' to Barry. Ten to one he's just developin' a new idea. +Maybe it's only a design for a thrift stamp poster, but it might be a +scheme for inducin' the Swiss to send their navy down the Rhine. But +whatever it is, as soon as Barry gets it halfway thought out, he has to +trot around and tell about it. + +So when I glance up and see this tall, well tailored party standin' at +my elbow, and notice the eager, excited look in his pale blue eyes, I +know about what to expect. + +"Well, what is it this time, Barry?" says I. "Have you doped out an +explosive pretzel, or are you goin' to turn milliner and release some +woman for war work?" + +"Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. "No chaffing, now. I'm in dead +earnest, you know. Of course, being all shot to pieces physically, I +can't go to the front, where I'd give my neck to be. Why, with this +leaky heart valve of mine I couldn't even----" + +"Yes, yes," I broke in. "We've been over all that. Not that I'd mind +hearing it again, but just now I'm more or less busy." + +"Are you, though?" says Barry. "Isn't that perfectly ripping! Something +important, I suppose?" + +"Might be if I could pull it off," says I, "but as it stands----" + +"That's it!" says Barry. "I was hoping I'd find you starting something +new. That's why I came." + +"Eh?" says I. + +"I'm volunteering--under you," says he. "I'll be anything you say; top +sergeant, corporal, or just plain private. Anything so I can help. See! +I am yours to command, Lieutenant Torchy," and he does a Boy Scout +salute. + +"Sorry," says I, "but I don't see how I could use you just now. The fact +is, I can't even say what I'm working on." + +"Oh, perfectly bully!" says Barry. "You needn't tell me a word, or drop +a hint. Just give me my orders, lieutenant, and let me carry on." + +Well, instead of shooin' him off I'd only got him stickin' tighter'n a +wad of gum to a typewriter's wrist watch, and after trying to do some +more heavy thinkin' with him watchin' admirin' from where I'd planted +him in a corner, I gives it up. + +"All right," says I. "Think you could stand another manicure today?" + +Barry glances at his polished nails doubtful but allows he could if it's +in the line of duty. + +"It is," says I. "I'm goin' to sacrifice some of my red hair on the +altar of human freedom. Come along." + +So, all unsuspectin' where he was goin', I leads him down into Otto's +barber shop. And I must say, as a raid in force, it was more or less of +a fizzle. The scissors artist who revises my pink-plus locks is a +gray-haired old gink who'd never been nearer Berlin than First Avenue. +Two of the other barbers looked like Greeks, and even Otto had clipped +the ends of his Prussian lip whisker. Nobody in the place made a noise +like a spy, and the only satisfaction I got was in lettin' Barry pay the +checks. + +"I got to go somewhere and think," says I. + +"How about a nice quiet dinner at the club?" says Barry. + +"That don't listen so bad," says I. + +And it wasn't, either. Barry insists on spreadin' himself with the +orderin', and don't even complain about havin' to chase out to the bar +to take his drinks, on account of my being in uniform. + +"Makes me feel as if I were doing my bit, you know," says he. + +"Talk about noble sacrifices!" says I. "Why, you'll be qualifyin' for a +D. S. O. if you keep on, Barry." + +And along about the _baba au rhum_ period I did get my fingers on the +tall feathers of an idea. Nothing much, but so long as Barry was anxious +to be used, I thought I saw a way. + +"Suppose anybody around the club could dig up a screwdriver for you?" I +asks. + +Inside of two minutes Barry had everybody in sight on the jump, from the +bus boy to the steward, and in with the demi tasse came the screwdriver. + +"Now what, lieutenant?" demands Barry. + +"S-s-s-h!" says I, mysterious. "We got to drill around until midnight." + +"Why not at the Follies, then?" suggests Barry. + +"Swell thought!" says I. + +And for this brand of active service I couldn't have picked a better man +than Barry. From our box seats he points out the cute little squab with +the big eyes, third from the end, and even gets one of the soloists +singin' a patriotic chorus at us. On the strength of which Barry makes +two more trips down to the café. Not that he gets primed enough so you'd +notice it. Nothing like that. Only he grows more enthusiastic over the +idea of being useful in the great cause. + +"Remember, lieutenant," says he as we drifts out with the midnight push, +"I'm under orders. Eh?" + +"Sure thing," says I. "You're about to get 'em, too. Did you ever do +such a thing as steal a barber's pole?" + +Barry couldn't remember that he ever had. + +"Well," says I, "that's what you're goin' to do now." + +"Which one?" asks Barry. + +"Otto's," says I. "From the joint where we were just before dinner." + +"Right, lieutenant," says Barry, givin' his salute. + +"And listen," says I. "You're dead set on havin' that particular pole. +Understand? You want it bad. And after you get it you ain't goin' to let +anybody get it away from you, no matter what happens, until I give the +word. That's your cue." + +"Trust me, lieutenant," says Barry, straightenin' up. "I shall stand by +the pole." + +Sounds simple, don't it? But that's the way all us great minds work, +along lines like that. And the foolisher we look at the start the deeper +we're apt to be divin' after the plot of the piece. Don't miss that. +What's a bent hairpin in the mud to you? While to us--boy, page old Doc +Watson. + +How many times, for instance, do you suppose you've walked past the +Hotel Northumberland? Yet did you ever notice that the barber shop +entrance was exactly twenty paces east on Umpteenth Street from the +corner of Broadway; that you go down three iron steps to a landin' +before you turn for the other 15; or that the barber pole has a gilt top +with blue stars in it, and is swung out on a single bracket with two +screws on each side? I points out all this to Barry as we strolls down +from the theater district. + +"By jove!" says Barry. "Wonderful!" + +"Ain't it?" says I. "And all done without a change of wig or a jab of +the needle. Now your part is easy. You simply drift down the side +street, step into the shadow where the cab stand juts out, and when +nobody's passin' you work the screws loose. Me, I got to drop into the +writin' room and dash something off. Here we are. Go to it." + +Course, he could have bugged things. Might have dropped the screwdriver +through a grating, or got himself caught in the act. But Barry has +surrounded the idea nicely. He couldn't have done better if he'd been +sent out to a listenin' post. And when I strolls out again five minutes +later there he stands with the pole tucked careful under one arm. + +"Fine work!" says I. "But we don't want to hide it altogether. Carry it +careless like, with your overcoat unbuttoned, so both ends will show. +That's the cheese!" + +It ain't one of these big, vulgar barber poles, you know; not over four +feet long and about as many inches thick. But it's a brilliant one, and +with Barry in evenin' dress he's bound to be some conspicuous luggin' +it. Yet I starts him straight up Broadway, me trailin' 25 or 30 feet +behind. + +If it had been further up town he might have collected quite a mob of +followers, but down here there's only a few passing at that time of +night. Most of 'em only turns to look after him and smile. One or two +gives him the merry hail and asks where the Class of 1910 is holdin' the +banquet. + +He'd done nearly five blocks before a flatfoot steps out of a doorway +and waves a nightstick at him. + +"Hey, whaddye mean, pullin' that hick stuff?" demands the cop. + +"Sir!" says Barry, wavin' him off dignified. + +Then I mixes in. "It's perfectly all right, officer," says I. "I know +him." + +"Oh, do you?" says the cop. "Well, some of you army guys know a lot; and +then again some of you don't. But you can't get away with any such +cut-up motions on my beat." + +"But listen," I begins, "I can explain how----" + +"Ah, feed it to the sergeant," says he. "Come along, you," and he takes +Barry by the arm. + +Being a quiet night in the precinct the desk sergeant had plenty of time +to listen. He'd just decided against Barry, too, when I sprung my scrap +of paper on him. It's a receipt in full for one barber's pole, signed by +Otto Krumpheimer. I knew it was O. K. because I'd signed it myself. + +"How about that?" asks the sergeant of the cop. + +And all the flatty can do is gaze at it and scratch his head. + +"No case," says the sergeant. "Beat it, you." + +Then I nudges Barry. He speaks up prompt, too. "I want my little barber +pole," says he. + +"Ah, take it along," says the sergeant, disgusted. + +"Sorry, officer," says I, as we drifts out, and I slips him a five +casual. + +"Enjoy yourselves, boys," says he. "But pick out another beat." + +Which we done. This time we starts from the Northumberland and walks +east. Barry had got almost to Madison Avenue before another eagle-eyed +copper holds him up. He does it more or less rough, too. + +"Drop that, now!" says he. + +"Certainly not," says Barry, lyin' enthusiastic. "It's my pole." + +"Is it, then?" says the cop. "Maybe you can show the sergeant yet? And +maybe I don't know where you pinched it. Walk along, now." + +You should have seen the desk sergeant grow purple in the gills when we +shows up in front of the rail the second time. "Say, what do you sports +think you're doin', anyway?" he demands. + +"I'll make a charge of petty larceny and disorderly conduct," says the +cop, layin' the evidence on the desk. + +"Will you, Myers?" says the sergeant sarcastic. "Didn't ask him if he +had a receipt, I suppose? Show it to him, lieutenant." + +I grins and hands over the paper. + +"Hah!" grunts Myers. "But Otto Krumpheimer don't sign his name like +that. Never." + +"How do you know?" says I. + +"Why," says Myers, scrapin' his foot nervous, "I--I just know, that's +all. I've seen his writin', plenty times." + +"Hear that, sergeant," says I. "Just jot that down, will you?" + +"Night court," says the sergeant. + +"Never mind, Barry," says I. "Line of duty. And I'll be on hand by the +time your case is called." + +"Right-o!" says Barry cheerful. + +Myers, he was ambitious to lug us both along, but the sergeant couldn't +see it that way. So while Barry's bein' walked off to police court, I +jumps into a taxi and heads for McCrea's hotel. If he'd been in bed I +meant to rout him out. But he wasn't. I finds him in his room havin' a +confab with two other plain clothes gents. He seems surprised to see me +so quick. + +"Well?" says he. "Giving up so soon?" + +"Me?" says I. "Hardly! I've got the crooked cop." + +McCrea gives a gasp. "You--you have?" says he. + +"Yep!" says I. "But he's got my assistant. Can you pull a badge or +anything on the judge at the night court?" + +Mr. McCrea thought he could. And he sure worked the charm, for after +whisperin' a few words across the bench it's all fixed up. Barry gets +the nod that he's free to go. + +"May I take my little barber pole?" demands Barry. + +"No, no!" speaks up Myers. "Don't let him have it, Judge." + +"Silence!" roars the Justice. Then, turnin' to a court officer he says: +"Take this policeman to Headquarters for investigation. Yes, Mr. Wales, +you may have your pole, but I should advise you to carry it home in a +cab." + +"Thank you kindly, sir," says Barry. But after he gets outside he asks +pleadin': "Don't I get arrested any more?" + +I shakes my head. "It's all over for tonight, Barry," says I. "Objective +attained, and if you don't mind I'll take charge of this war loot. Drop +you at your club, shall we?" + +So I still had the striped pole when we rolled up at McCrea's hotel. I +was shiftin' it around in the taxi, wonderin' where I'd better dump it, +when I made the big discovery. + +"Say," I whispers husky to McCrea, "there's something funny about this." + +"The pole?" says he. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "It's hollow. There's a little trap door in one side." + +"Hah!" says McCrea. "Bring it up." + +And you'd think by the way him and his friends proceeded to hog the +thing, that it was their find. After I'd shown 'em where to press the +secret spring they crowded around and blocked off my view. All I got was +a glimpse of some papers that they dug out of the inside somewhere. And +some excited they are as they paws 'em over. + +"In the same old code," says McCrea. + +But finally he leads me to one side. "Myers is the man, all right," says +he. + +"Course he is," says I. "If he wasn't why would he be so wise as to +whose pole it was, or about Otto's handwritin'?" + +"Ah!" says McCrea, noddin' enthusiastic. "So that was your system in +having your friend arrested? You tried out the officers. Very clever! +But how you came to suspect that the barber's pole was being used as a +mail box I don't understand." + +"No," says I, "you wouldn't. That's where the deep stuff comes in." + +McCrea takes that with a smile. "Lieutenant," says he, "I shall be +pleased to report to Major Wellby that his estimate of you was quite +correct. And allow me to say that I believe you have done for the +Government a great service tonight; though how you managed it so neatly +I'll be hanged if I see. And--er--I think that will be all." With which +he urges me polite towards the door. + +But it wasn't all. Not quite. I hear there's something on the way to me +from the chief himself, and Old Hickory has been chucklin' around for +three days. Also I've had a hunch that one boss barber and one New York +cop have done the vanishing act. Anyway, when I was down to the +Northumberland yesterday for a shave there was no Otto in sight, and the +barber pole was still missin'. That's about all the information that's +come my way. + +Barry Wales don't know even that much. But when he comes in to report +for further orders, as he does frequent now, he has his chest out and +his chin up. + +"I say, lieutenant," he remarks confidential this last trip, "we put +something over, didn't we?" + +"I expect we did," says I. + +"But what was it all about, eh?" he whispers. + +"Why," says I, "you got pinched twice without losin' your amateur +standin', and one of the stripes opened in the middle. When they tell me +the rest I'll pass it on to you." + +"By George! Will you, though?" says Barry, and after executin' another +Boy Scout salute he goes off perfectly satisfied. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A FRAME-UP FOR STUBBY + + +I expect I shouldn't have been so finicky. I ain't as a rule. My usual +play is to press the button and take whoever is sent in from the general +office. But the last young lady typist they'd wished on me must have +eased in on the job with a diploma from some hair-dressin' +establishment. She got real haughty when I pointed out that we was using +only one "l" in Albany now, but nothing I could say would keep her from +writing Bridgeport as two words. + +And such a careless way she had of parking her gum on the corner of my +desk and forgettin' to retrieve it. So with four or five more folios to +do on a report I was makin' to the Ordnance Department, I puts it up to +Mr. Piddie personally to pick the best he can spare. + +"Course," says I, "I don't expect to get Old Hickory's star performer, +but I thought you might have one of the old guard left; one that didn't +learn her spellin' by the touch method, at least." + +Piddie sighs. Since so many of his key-pounders has gone to polishin' +shell noses, or sailed to do canteen work, he's been having a poor time +keeping up his office force. "Do you know, Torchy," says he, "I haven't +one left that I can guarantee; but suppose you try Miss Casey, who has +just joined." + +She wouldn't have been my choice if I'd been doin' the pickin'. One of +these tall, limber young females, Miss Casey is, about as thick as a +drink of water, but strong on hair and eyes. She glides in willowy, +drapes herself on a chair, pats her home-grown ear-muffs into shape, and +unfolds her note book business-like. And inside of two minutes she's +doing the Pitman stuff in jazz time, with no call for repeats except +when I'd shoot a string of figures at her. I was handin' myself the +comfortin' thought, too, that I'd drawn a prize. + +We breezes along on the report until near lunch time with never a hitch +until I gets to this paragraph where I mentions Camp Mills, and the next +thing I know she has stopped short and is snifflin' through her nose. + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Have I been feedin' it at you too +speedy?" + +"N--no," says she, "bub--but that's where Stub is--Camp Mills--and it +got to me sudden." + +"Oh!" says I. "And Stub is a brother or something?" + +"He--he--Well, there!" says she, holdin' out her left hand and +displayin' a turquoise set with chip diamonds. + +"Sorry," says I, "but I couldn't tell from the service pin, you +understand, when some wears 'em for second cousins. And anyway, the name +of the camp had to----" + +"'Sall right," snuffles Miss Casey. "I had no call spillin' the weeps +durin' business hours. I wouldn't of either, only I had another session +with his old lady this mornin' and she sort of got me stirred up." + +"Mother taking it hard, is she?" I asks. + +"You've said sumpin," admits Miss Casey, unbuttonin' a locket vanity +case and repairin' the damage done to her facial frescoin' with a few +graceful jabs. "Not but what I ain't strong for Stub Mears myself. He's +all right, Stub is, even if he never could qualify in a beauty +competition with Jack Pickford or Mr. Doug. Fairbanks. He's good comp'ny +and all that, and now he's in the army I expect he'll ditch that +ambition of his to be the champion heavy-weight pool player of the West +Side. + +"But to hear Mrs. Mears talk you'd think he was one of the props of the +universe, and that when the new draft got Stub it was a case where +Congress ought to stop and draw a long breath. Uh-huh! She's 100 per +cent. mother, Mrs. Mears is, and it looks like some of it was catchin' +for me to get leaky-eyed just at mention of the camp he's in. Oh, lady, +lady! Excuse it, please, sir." + +Which I does cheerful enough. And just to prove I ain't any slave +driver I sort of eggs Miss Casey on, from then until the noon hour, to +chat away about this war romance of hers. Seems Mr. Mears could have +been in Class B, on account of his widowed mother and him being a +plumber's helper when he had time to spare from his pool practicin'. +Livin' in the same block, they'd been acquainted for quite some time, +too. + +No, it hadn't been anything serious first off. She'd gone with him to +the annual ball of Union 26 for two years in succession and to such like +important social events. But there'd been other fellers. Two or three. +And one had a perfectly swell job as manager of a United Cigar branch. +Stub had been a great one for stickin' around, though, and when he +showed up in his uniform--well, that clinched things. + +"It wasn't so much the khaki stuff I fell for," confides Miss Casey, +gazin' sentimental at a ham sandwich she's just unwrapped, "as it was +the i-dear back of it. It's in the blood, you might say, for I had an +uncle in the Spanish-American and a grandfather in the Civil War. So +when Mr. Mears tells me how, when it comes time for him to go over the +top, the one he'll be thinkin' most of will be me--Say, that got to me +strong. 'You win, Stubby,' says I. 'Flash the ring.' + +"That's how it was staged, all in one scene. And later when that Jake +Horwitz from the United shop comes around sportin' his instalment +Liberty bond button, but backin' his fallen arches to keep him exempt, I +gives him the cold eye. 'Nix on the coo business, Mister Horwitz,' says +I, 'for when I hold out my ear for that it's got to come from a reg'lar +man. Get me?' Which is a good deal the same I hands the others. + +"But say, between you and I, it's mighty lonesome work. You see, I'd +figured how Stub would be blowin' in from camp every now and then, and +we'd be doin' the Sunday afternoon parade up and down the block, with +all the girls stretchin' their necks after us. You know? Well, he's been +at the blessed camp near three months now and not once since that first +flyin' trip has he showed up here. + +"Which is why I've been droppin' in on his old lady so often, tryin' to +dope why he shouldn't be let off, same as the others. Mrs. Mears, she's +all primed with the notion that her Edgar has been makin' himself so +useful down there that the colonel would get all balled up in his work +if he didn't keep Stub right on the job. 'See,' says she, wavin' a +picture post card at me, 'he's been appointed on the K. P. squad again.' +Honest, she thinks he's something like a Knights of Pythias and goes +marchin' around important with a plume in his hat and a gold sword. +Mothers are easy, ain't they? You can bet though, that Stub don't try to +buffalo little old me with anything like that. What he writes me, which +ain't much, is mostly that his top sergeant's a grouch or that they've +been quarantined on account of influenza. So I sends him back the best +advice I've got in stock, askin' him why he don't buck up on his drill, +keep his equipment clean, and shift that potato peelin' work to some of +the new squads. + +"Course, I don't spill any of this to Mrs. Mears. Poor soul! She's got +troubles enough, right in her joints. Rheumatism. Uh-huh. Most of the +time she has to get around in a wheel chair. Ain't that fierce? And she +was mighty nervy about sendin' Stubby off. Wouldn't let him say a word +about exemption. No, sir! 'Never mind me, Edgar,' says she. 'You kill a +lot of Huns. I'll get along somehow.' That's talkin', ain't it? And her +livin' with a sister-in-law that has a disposition like a green parrot! + +"So I can't find much fault with her when she sort of overdoes the fond +mother act. Seems to me they might let him off now and then, even if he +does miss a few bugle calls, or forgets some of the rules and +regulations. And this bug of hers about wonderin' when and how what he's +doin' for his country is goin' to be reco'nized proper--Well, I don't +debate that with her at all. For one thing I don't get just exactly what +she wants; whether it's for the President to write her a special letter +of thanks, or for Mr. Baker to make Stubby a captain or something right +off. Anyway, she don't feel that Edgar's bein' treated right. He ain't +even had his name in the papers and only a few of the neighbors seem to +know he's a hero. Yep, it's foolish of her, I expect, but I let her +unload it all on me without dodgin'. I've even promised to see what can +be done about it. I--I'd been thinkin', sir, about askin' you." + +"Eh?" says I, "Me? Oh, I couldn't think of a thing." + +"But if I could, sir," goes on Miss Casey, "would--would you help out a +little? She's an old lady, you know, and all crippled up, and Stubby +he's all she's got left and----" + +"Why, sure," I breaks in. "I'd do what I could." + +I throws it off casual as I'm grabbin' my hat on my way out to lunch. +And I supposed that would be all there'd be to it. But I hadn't got +more'n half a line on Miss Casey. She's no easy quitter, that young +lady. Having let me in on her little affair, she seems to think it's no +more'n right I should be kept posted. A day or so later she lugs in a +picture of Private Mears, one of the muddy printed post-card effects +such as these roadside tripod artists take of the buddy boys around the +camps. + +"That's him," says she. "Looks kind of swell in the uniform, don't he?" + +It was a fact. Stubby not only looks swell--but swelling. And it's lucky +them army buttons are sewed on tight or else a good snappy salute would +wreck him from the chin down. He's a sturdy, bulgy party, 'specially +about the leggins. + +"That's right, too," says Miss Casey. "Know what I tell him? If he can +fight like he can eat, good-night Kaiser Bill. But at that they've pared +fifteen pounds off him since he's been in the service." + +"It's a great life," says I. + +"Maybe," sighs Miss Casey, "but I wisht they'd let me have a close-up of +him before they risk loadin' him on a transport. That's all I got +against the Government. You ain't thought of any way it might be worked, +have you?" + +I had to admit that I hadn't, not addin' I didn't expect to. And I must +have been stallin' along that line for a week or more until the forenoon +when Vee blows in unexpected durin' a shoppin' trip and announces that I +may take her out to luncheon. + +"Fine!" says I. "Just as soon as I give two more letters to Miss Casey." + +In the middle of the second one though, there's a call for me to go into +the private office, and when I comes back from a ten-minute interview +with Old Hickory I finds Vee and Miss Casey chattin' away like old +friends. Vee is being told all about Stubby and the hard-boiled eggs he +has for company officers. + +"Three months without a furlough!" says Vee. "Isn't that a shame, +Torchy? What is the number of his regiment?" + +Miss Casey reels it off, addin' the company and division. + +"Really!" says Vee. "Why, that's the company Captain Woodhouse commands. +You remember him, Torchy?" + +"Oh, yes! Woodie," says I. "I'd most forgotten him." + +"I am going to call him up on the long distance right now," says Vee. + +And in spite of all my lay-off signals she does it. Gets the captain, +too. Yes, Woodie knows the case and he regrets to report that Private +Mears's record isn't a good one; three times in the guardhouse and +another week of K. P. coming to him. Under these circumstances he don't +quite see how---- + +"Oh, come, captain!" puts in Vee coaxin'. "Don't be disagreeable. He's +engaged, you know. Such a nice girl. And then there is his poor old +mother who has seen him only once since he was drafted. Please, Woodie!" + +I expect it was the "Woodie" that worked the trick. You see, this +Woodhouse party used to think he was in the runnin' with Vee himself, +way back when Auntie was doin' her best to discourage my little +campaign, and although he quit and picked another several years ago I +don't suppose he minds bein' called Woodie by Vee, even now. Anyway, +after consultin' one of his lieutenants he gives her the word that if +Private Mears don't pull any more cut-up stuff between now and a week +from Wednesday he'll probably have forty-eight hours comin' to him. + +And for a minute there I thought both Vee and I were let in for a fond +clinch act with Miss Casey. As it is she takes it out in pattin' Vee's +hand and callin' her Dearie. + +"A week Wednesday, eh?" says Miss Casey. "Say, ain't that grand! And +believe muh, I mean to work up some little party for Stubby. It's due +him, and the old lady." + +"Of course it is," agrees Vee. "And Torchy, you must do all you can to +help." + +"Very well, major," says I, salutin'. + +And from then on I reports to Vee. It's only the next night that I gives +her the first bulletin from the front. "What do you know?" says I. "Miss +Casey has a hunch that she might organize a block party for the big +night. I don't know whether she can swing it or not, but that's her +scheme." + +"But what on earth is a block party, Torchy?" Vee demands. + +"Why," I explains, "it's a small town stunt that's being used in the +city these days. Very popular, too. They get all the people in the block +to chip in for a celebration--decorations, music, ice cream, all +that--and generally they raise a block service flag. It takes some +organizin', though." + +"How perfectly splendid!" says Vee. "And that is just where you can be +useful." + +So that's how I come to spend that next evenin' trottin' up and down +this block in the sixties between Ninth and Amsterdam. I must say it +didn't look specially promisin' as a place to work up community spirit +and that sort of thing. Just a dingy row of old style dumb-bell flats, +most of 'em with "Room to Rent" signs hung out and little basement shops +tucked in here and there. Maybe you know the kind--the asphalt always +littered with paper, garbage cans left out, and swarms of kids playin' +tip-cat or dashin' about on roller skates. Cheap and messy. And to judge +by the names on the letter boxes you'd say the tenants had been shipped +in from every country on the map. Anyway, our noble allies was well +represented--with the French and Italians in the lead and the rest made +up of Irish, Jews, Poles and I don't know what else. Everything but +straight Americans. + +Yet when you come to count up the service flags in the front windows you +had to admit that Miss Casey's block must have a good many reg'lar +citizens in it at that. There was more blue stars in evidence than you'd +find on any three brownstone front blocks down on Madison or up in the +Seventies. One flag had four, and none of 'em stood for butlers or +chauffeurs. Course, some was only faded cotton, a few nothing but +colored paper, but every star stood for a soldier, and I'll bet there +wasn't a bomb-proofer in the lot. + +Whether you could get these people together on any kind of a celebration +or not was another question. We begins with Mike's place, on the corner. + +"Sure!" says Mike. "Let's have a party. I'll ante twenty-five. And, say, +I got a cousin in the Knights of Columbus who'll give you some tips on +how to manage the thing." + +The little old Frenchy in the Parisian hand laundry gave us a boost, +too. Even J. Streblitz, high-class tailoring for ladies and gents, +chipped in a ten and told us about his boy Herman, who'd been made a +corporal and was at Chateau Thierry. Inside of three hours we'd made a +sketchy canvas of the whole block, got half a dozen of the men to go on +the committee, had over $100 subscribed, and the thing was under way. + +"I just knew you could do it," says Vee, when I tells her about the +start that's been made. + +"Me!" says I. "Why it was mostly Miss Casey. About all I did was tag +along and watch her work up the enthusiasm. She's some breeze, she is. +When I left her she was plannin' on two bands and free ice cream for +everyone who came." + +As a matter of fact, that's about all I had to do with it, after the +first push. Miss Casey must have had a busy week, but she don't lay down +once on her reg'lar work nor beg for any time off. All she asks is if +Vee and me couldn't be persuaded to be on hand Wednesday night as guests +of honor. + +"We wouldn't miss it for anything," says I. + +Well, we didn't. I'd heard more or less about these block parties, but +I'd never been to one. Course, I wasn't sure just how Vee would take it +gettin' mixed up in a mob like that, but I was bankin' on her being a +good sport. Besides, she was wild to go and see how Miss Casey had made +out. + +And say, when we swings in off Ninth Avenue and I gets my first glimpse +of what had been done to that scrubby, messy lookin' block, it got a +gasp out of me. First off there was strings of Japanese lanterns with +electric lights in 'em stretched across the street from the front of +every flat buildin' to the one opposite. Also every doorway and window +was draped and decorated with bunting. Then there was all kinds of +flags, from little ten centers to big twenty footers swung across the +street. There was a whackin' big Irish flag loaned by the A. O. H.; two +Italian flags almost as big; I don't know how many French tri-colors and +some I couldn't place; Czecho-Slovaks maybe. And besides the lanterns +and extra arc-lights there was red fire burnin' liberal. Then at either +end of the block was a truck backed up with a band in it and they was +tearin' away at all kinds of tunes from the "Marseillaise" to +"K-k-k-katie," while bumpin' and bobbin' about on the asphalt were +hundreds of couples doing jazz steps and gettin' pelted with confetti. + +"Why, it's almost like the Mardi Gras!" says Vee. + +"Looks festive, all right," says I. "And I should say Miss Casey has put +over the real thing. I wonder if we can find her in this mob." + +Seemed like a hopeless search, but finally, down in the middle of the +block, I spots an old lady in a wheel chair, and I has a hunch it might +be Mrs. Mears. Sure enough, it is. Not much to look at, she ain't; sort +of humped over, with a shawl 'round her shoulders. But say, when you got +a glimpse of the way her old eyes was lighted up, and saw the smile +flickerin' around her lips, you knew that nobody in that whole crowd was +any happier than she was just at that minute. + +"Oh, yes," says she. "Minnie Casey is looking for you two young folks. +She's dancing with Edgar now, but they'll be back soon. Haven't seen my +son Edgar, have you? Well, you must. He--he's a soldier, you know." + +"We should be delighted," says Vee. And then she whispers to me: "Hasn't +she a nice face, though?" + +We hadn't waited long before I sees a tall, willowy young thing wearin' +one of them zippy French tams come bearin' down on us wavin' energetic +and towin' along a red-faced young doughboy who looks like he'd been +stuffed into his uniform by a sausage machine. It's Minnie and Stub. + +"Hello, folks!" she sings out. "Say, I was just wonderin' if you was +goin' to renig on me. Fine work! An' I want you to meet one of the most +prominent privates in the division, Mr. Mears. Come on, Stubby, pull +that overseas salute of yours. Ain't he a bear-cat, though? And how +about the show? Ain't it some party?" + +"Why, it's simply wonderful," says Vee. "I had no idea, Miss Casey, that +you were planning anything like this." + +"I didn't," says Minnie. "Only after we got started it kept gettin' +bigger and bigger until there wa'n't a soul on the block but what came +in on it. Know what one of the decorators told me? He says there ain't a +block on the West Side has had anything up to this, from Houston Street +up to the Harlem. That's goin' some, ain't it? You got here just in time +for the big doin's, too. It's comin' off right now. See who's standin' +up in the truck over there? That's one of the Paulist Fathers, who's +goin' to make the speech and bless the flag. There it comes, out of that +third-story window. Wow! Hear 'em cheer." + +And as the red-bordered banner with the white field is pulled out where +the searchlight strikes it we can make out the figures formed by blue +stars. + +"What!" says I. "Not 217 from this one block?" + +"Uh-huh!" says Minnie. "And every one of 'em a Fritzie chaser. 'Most a +whole company. But ther'd been one less if it hadn't been for Stubby, +and everybody knows there's luck in odd numbers. That's why we're so +chesty about him. Eh, Mrs. Mears?" + +Yes, it was some lively affair. After the speech Mme. Toscarelli, draped +in red, white and blue, sang the Star-Spangled Banner in spite of strong +opposition from one of the bands that got the wrong cue and played +"Indianola" all through the piece. And a fat boy rolled out of a +second-story window in the Princess flats, but caromed off on an awnin' +and wasn't hurt. Also a few young hicks started some rough stuff when +the ice-cream freezers were opened, but a squad of Junior Naval League +boys soon put a crimp in that. And when we had to leave, along about +nine-thirty, it was as gay a scene as was ever staged on any West Side +block, bar none. I remarked something of the sort to Mrs. Mears. + +"Yes," says she, her eyes sort of dimmin' up. "And to think that all +this should be done for my Edgar!" + +At which Minnie Casey tips us the private wink. "Why not, I'd like to +know?" says she. "Just look who he is." + +"Yes, of course, dear," says Mrs. Mears, smilin' satisfied. + +"Can you beat that for the genuine mother stuff?" whispers Minnie, +givin' us a partin' grin. + +"I do hope," says Vee, as we settles ourselves in a Long Island train +for the ride home, "that Miss Casey gets her Edgar back safe and sound." + +"If she don't," says I, "she's liable to go over and tear what's left of +Germany off the map. Anyway, they'd better not get her started." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE VAMP IN THE WINDOW + + +It was a case of Vee's being in town on a shoppin' orgie and my being +invited to hunt her up about lunch time. + +"Let's see," she 'phoned, "suppose you meet me about 12:30 at the Maison +Noir. You know, West Fifty-sixth. And if I'm having a dress fitted on +the second floor just wait downstairs for me, will you, Torchy?" + +"In among all them young lady models?" says I. "Not a chance. You'll +find me hangin' up outside. And don't make it more'n half an hour behind +schedule, Vee, for this is one of my busy days." + +"Oh, very well," says she careless. + +So that's how I came to be backed up in the lee of the doorway at 12:45 +when this stranger with the mild blue eyes and the chin dimple eases in +with the friendly hail. + +"Excuse me," says he, "but haven't we met somewhere before?" + +Which is where my fatal gift for rememberin' faces and forgettin' names +comes into play. After giving him the quick up and down I had him placed +but not tagged. + +"Not quite," says I. "But we lived in the same apartment buildin' a +couple of years back. Third floor west, wasn't you?" + +"That's it," says he. "And I believe I heard you'd just been married." + +"Yes, we did have a chatty janitor," says I. "You were there with your +mother, from somewhere out on the Coast. We almost got to the noddin' +point when we met in the elevator, didn't we?" + +"If we did," says he, "that was the nearest I came to getting acquainted +with anyone in New York. It's the lonesomest hole I was ever in. +Say----" + +And inside of three minutes he's told me all about it; how he'd brought +Mother on from Seattle to have a heart specialist give her a three +months' treatment that hadn't been any use, and how he'd come East alone +this time to tie up a big spruce lumber contract with the airplane +department. Also he reminds me that he is Crosby Rhodes and writes the +name of the hotel where he's stopping on his card. It's almost like a +reunion with an old college chum. + +"But how do you happen to be sizin' up a show window like this?" says I, +indicatin' the Maison Noir's display of classy gowns. "Got somebody back +home that you might take a few samples to?" + +His big, square-cut face sort of pinks up and his mild blue eyes take on +kind of a guilty look as he glances over his shoulder at the window. +"Not a soul," says he. "The fact is, I'm not much of a ladies' man. Been +in the woods too much, I suppose. All the same, though, I've always +thought that if ever I ran across just the right girl----" Here he +scrapes his foot and works up that fussed expression again. + +"I see," says I, grinnin'. "You have the plans and specifications all +framed up and think you'd know her on sight, eh?" + +Crosby nods and smiles sheepish. "It's gone further than that," says he. +"I--I've seen her." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Where?" + +He looks around cautious and then whispers confidential. "In that show +window." + +"Eh" says I, gawpin'. "Oh! You mean you got the idea from one of the +dummies? Well, that's playin' it safe even if it is a little unique." + +Crosby seems to hesitate a minute, as if debatin' whether to let it ride +at that or not, and then he goes on: + +"Say," he asks, "do--do they ever put live ones in there?" + +"Never heard of it's being done," says I. "Why?" + +"Because," says he, "there's one in this window right now." + +"You don't say?" says I. "Are you sure?" + +"Step around front and I'll point her out," says he. "Now, right over in +that far--Why--why, say! She's gone!" + +"Oh, come!" says I. "You've been seein' things, ain't you? Or maybe it +was only one of the salesladies in rearrangin' the display." + +"No, no," says Crosby emphatic. "I tell you I had been watching her for +several minutes before I saw you, and she never moved except for a +flutter of the eyelids. She was standing back to, facing that mirror, so +I could see her face quite plainly. More than that, she could see me. Of +course, I wasn't quite sure, with all those others around. That's why I +spoke to you. I wanted to see what you'd say about her. And now she's +disappeared." + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "Most likely, too, she was hauled head first through +that door in the back and if you stick around long enough maybe you'll +see her shoved in again, with a different dress on. Say, Mr. Rhodes, no +wonder you're skirt-shy if you never looked 'em over close enough not to +know the dummies from the live ones. Believe me, there's a lot of +difference." + +But the josh don't seem to get him at all. He's still gawpin' puzzled +through the plate glass. Finally he goes on: "If this was the first +time, I might think you were right. But it isn't. I--I've seen her +before; several times, in fact." + +"As bad as that, eh?" says I. "Then if I was you I'd look up a doctor." + +"Now listen," says he. "I don't want you to think I'm foolish in the +head. I'm giving you this straight. Only you haven't heard it all yet. +You see, I've been walking past here nearly every day since I've been in +town--almost three weeks--and at about this time, between twelve-thirty +and one, getting up a luncheon appetite. And about ten days ago I got a +glimpse of this face in the mirror. Somehow I was sure it was a face I'd +seen before, a face I'd been kind of day dreaming about for a year or +more. Yes, I know that may sound kind of batty, but it's a fact. Out in +the big woods you have time for such things. Anyway, when I saw that +reflection it seemed very familiar to me. So the next day I stopped and +took a good look. She was there. And I was certain she was no dummy. I +could see her breathe. She was watching me in the glass, too. It's been +the same every time I've been past." + +"Well," says I, "what then?" + +"Why," says he, "whether it's someone I've known or not, I want to find +out who she is and how I can meet her for--for--Well, she's the girl." + +"Gee!" says I, "you're a reg'lar Mr. Zipp-Zipp when it comes to romantic +notions, ain't you?" And I looks him over curious. As I've always held, +though, that's what you can expect from these boys with chin dimples. +It's the Romeo trade-mark, all right, and Crosby had a deep one. "But +see here," I goes on, "suppose it should turn out that you're wrong; +that this shop window siren of yours was only one of the kind with a +composition head, a figure that they blow up with a bicycle pump, and +wooden feet? Where does that leave you?" + +He shrugs his shoulders. "I wish you could have seen her," says he. + +"What sort of a looker?" I asks. "Blonde or brunette?" + +"I don't know," says he. "She has a wonderful complexion--like old +ivory. Her hair is wonderful, too, sort of a pale gold. But her eyebrows +are quite dark, and her eyes--Ah, they're the kind you couldn't +forget--sort of a deep violet, I think; maybe you'd call 'em plum +colored." + +"Listens too fancy to be true," says I. "But they do get 'em up that way +for the trade." + +There's no jarrin' Crosby loose from his idea, though, and he's just +proposin' that I meet him there at twelve-thirty next day when Vee +drifts out and I has to break away. "I'll let you know if I can," says I +as I walks off. + +Course, Vee wants to know who my friend is and all about it, and when +I've sketched out the plot of the piece she's quite thrilled. "How +interesting!" says she. "I do hope he finds out it's a real girl Some of +those models are simply stunning, you know. And there is such a thing +as a face haunting you. Oh, by the way! Do you remember the Stribbles?" + +"Should I?" I asks. + +"The janitor's family in that apartment building where we used to live," +explains Vee. + +"Stribble?" says I. "Oh, yes, the poddy old party who did all the hard +sitting around while his wife did the work. What reminded you of them?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," says Vee. "But a month or so ago I saw the name +printed in an army list of returned casualty cases--there was a boy, you +know, and a girl--and I thought then that we ought to look them up and +find out. Then I forgot all about it until just a few moments ago. Let's +go there, Torchy, before we go out home tonight?" + +I must say I couldn't get very much excited over the Stribbles, but on +the chance that Vee would forget again I promised, and let her tow me +into one of those cute little tea rooms where we had a perfectly punk +lunch at a dollar ten per each. But even after a three hour session +among the white goods sales Vee still remembered the Stribbles, so about +five o'clock we finds ourselves divin' into a basement that's none too +clean and are being received by a tall, skinny female with a tously mop +of sandy hair bobbed up on her head. + +It seems Ma Stribble was still shovelin' most of the ashes and +scrubbin' the halls as well; while Pa Stribble, fatter than ever and in +the same greasy old togs, continues to camp in a rickety arm chair by +the front window, with a pail of suds at his right elbow. Yes, the one +mentioned in the casualty list was their Jimmy. Only he hadn't come back +a trench hero, exactly. He'd collected his blighty ticket without being +at the front at all--by gettin' mixed up with a steel girder in some +construction work. A mashed foot was the total damage, and he was having +a real good time at the base hospital; would be as good as new in a week +or so. + +"Isn't that fortunate?" says Vee. "And your daughter, where is she?" + +"Mame?" says Ma Stribble, scowlin' up quick. "Gawd knows where she is. I +don't." + +"Why, what do you mean?" asks Vee. "She--she hasn't left home, has she?" + +"Oh, she sleeps here," goes on Ma Stribble, "and comes home for some of +her meals, but the rest of the time----" Here she hunches her shoulders. + +"Huh!" grunts Pa Stribble. "If you could see the way she togs herself +out--like some chorus girl. I don't know where she gets all them flossy +things and she won't tell. Paint on her face, too. It's bringin' shame +on us, I tell her." + +Mrs. Stribble sighs heavy. "And we was tryin' to bring her up decent," +says she. "I got her a job, waitin' in a lunch room up on' the Circle. +But she was too good for that. Oh, my, yes! Chucked it after the first +week. And then she began bloomin' out in fine feathers. Won't say where +she gets 'em, either. And her always throwin' up to her father about not +workin', when he's got the rheumatism so bad he can hardly walk at +times! Gettin' to be too much of a lady to live in a basement, she is. +Humph!" + +It looked like Vee had started something, for the Stribbles were +knockin' Mame something fierce, when all of a sudden they quits and we +hears the street door open. A minute later and in walks a tall, willowy +young party wearin' a near-leopard throw-scarf, one of these snappy +French tams, and a neat black suit that fits her like it had been run on +hot. + +If it hadn't been for the odd shade of hair and the eyes I wouldn't have +remembered her at all for the stringy, sloppy dressed flapper I used to +see going in and out with the growler or helping with the sweepin'. Mame +Stribble had bloomed out, for a fact. Also she'd learned how to use a +lip-stick and an eyebrow pencil. I couldn't say whether she'd touched up +her complexion or not. If she had it was an artistic job--just a faint +rose-leaf tint under the eyes. And I had to admit that the whole effect +was some stunnin'. Course, she's more or less surprised to see all the +comp'ny, but Vee soon explains how we've come to hear about Brother Jim +and she shakes hands real friendly. + +"I suppose you are working somewhere?" suggests Vee. + +Mame nods. + +"Where?" asks Vee, going to the point, as usual. + +Miss Stribble glances accusin' at paw and maw. "Oh, they've been +roastin' me, have they?" she demands. "Well, I can't help it. What they +want to know is how much I'm gettin' so I'll have to give up more. But +it don't work. See! I pay my board--good board, at that--and I'm not +goin' to have paw snoopin' around my place tryin' to queer me. Let him +get out and rustle for himself." + +With that Mame sheds the throw-scarf and tosses her velvet tam on the +table. + +"I'm so sorry," says Vee. "I didn't mean to interfere at all. And I've +no doubt you have a perfectly good situation." + +"It's good enough," says Mame, "until I strike something better." + +"What a cunning little hat!" says Vee, pickin' up the tam. "Such a lot +of style to it, too." + +"Think so?" says Mame. "Well, I built it myself." + +"Really!" says Vee. "Why, you must be very clever. I wish I could do +things like that." + +Trust Vee for smoothin' down rumpled feathers when she wants to. Inside +of two minutes she had Mame smilin' grateful and holdin' her hand as she +says good-by. + +"Poor girl!" says Vee, as we gets to the street. "I don't blame her for +being dissatisfied with such a father as that. And it's just awful the +way they talk about her. I'm going to see if I can't do something for +her at the shop." + +"Eh?" says I. "She didn't tell you where she was working." + +"She didn't need to," says Vee. "The name was in the hat lining--the +Maison Noir." + +"Say, you're some grand little sleuth yourself, ain't you?" says I. + +"And that explains," Vee goes on, "why I happened to remember the +Stribbles today. I must have seen her there. Yes, I'm sure I did--that +pale gold hair and the old ivory complexion are too rare to----" + +"Why!" I breaks in, "that's the description Crosby Rhodes gave me of +this show window charmer of his." + +"Was it?" says Vee. "Then perhaps----" + +"But what could she have been doing, posin' in the window?" I asks. +"That's what gets me." + +It got Vee, too. "Anyway," says she, "you must meet that Mr. Rhodes +tomorrow and tell him what you've discovered. He's rather a nice chap, +isn't he?" + +"Oh, he's all right, I guess," says I. "A bit soft above the ears, +maybe, but out in the tall timber I expect he passes for a solid +citizen. I don't just see how I'm going to help him out much, though." + +"I'll tell you," says Vee. "In the morning I will 'phone to Madame +Maurice that I want you to see the frock I've picked out, and you can +take Mr. Rhodes in with you." + +So that's the way we worked it. I calls up Crosby, makes the date, and +we meets on the corner at twelve-thirty. He's more or less excited. + +"Then you think you know who she is?" he asks. + +"If you're a good describer," says I, "there's a chance that I do. But +listen: suppose she's kind of out of your class--a girl who's been +brought up in a basement, say, with a janitor for a father?" + +"What do I care who her father is?" says Crosby. "I was brought up in a +lumber camp myself. All I ask is a chance to meet her." + +"You sure know what you want," says I. "Come on." + +"See!" he whispers as we get to the Maison Noir's show window. "She's +there!" + +And sure enough, standin' back to, over in the corner facin' the mirror, +is this classy figure in the zippy street dress, with Mame Stribble's +hair and eyes. She's doin' the dummy act well, too. I couldn't see +either breath or eye flutter. + +"Huh!" says I. "It's by me. Let's go in and interview Madame Maurice." + +We had to waste four or five minutes while I inspects the dress Vee has +bought, and I sure felt foolish standin' there watchin' this young lady +model glide back and forth. + +"I trust Monsieur approves?" asks Madame Maurice. + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Quite spiffy. But say, I noticed one in the window +that sort of took my eye--that street dress, in the corner." + +"Street dress?" says the Madame, lookin' puzzled. "Is M'sieur certain?" + +"Maybe I'd better point it out." + +But by the time I'd towed her to the front door there was nothing of the +kind in sight. + +"As I thought," says Madame. "A slight mistake." + +"Looks so, don't it?" says I, as we trails back in. "But you have a Miss +Mamie Stribble working here, haven't you; a young lady with kind of +goldy hair, dark eyebrows and a sort of old ivory complexion?" + +"Ah!" says the Madame. "Perhaps you mean Marie St. Ribble?" + +"That's near enough," says I. "Could I have a few words with her?" + +"But yes," says Madame Maurice. "It is her hour for luncheon. I will +see." With that she calls up an assistant, shoos me into a back parlor +and asks me to wait a moment, leavin' Crosby out front with his mouth +open. + +And two minutes later in breezes the Madame leadin' Mame Stribble by the +arm. The lady boss seems somewhat peeved, too. "Tell me," she demands, +"is this the street dress which you observed in the window?" + +"That's the very one," says I. + +"Hah!" says she. "Then perhaps Marie will explain to me later. For the +present, M'sieur, I leave you." + +"Sorry if I've put you in bad, Miss Stribble," says I, as the Madame +sweeps out. + +"Oh, that's all right," says Mame, tossin' her chin. "She'll get over +it. And, anyway, I was takin' a chance." + +"So I noticed," says I. "What was the big idea, though?" + +"Just sizin' up the people who pass by," says Mame. "It's grand sport +havin' 'em stretch their necks at you and thinkin' you're just a dummy. +I got onto it one day while I was changin' a model. Course, it cuts into +my lunch time, and I have to sneak a dress out of stock, but it's kind +of fun." + +"'Specially when you've got one particular young gent coming to watch +regular, eh?" I suggests. + +That seems to give her sort of a jolt and for a second she stares at me, +bitin' her upper lip. "Who do you mean, now?" she asks. + +"He has a chin dimple and his name's Crosby Rhodes," says I. "You've put +the spell on him for fair, too. He's out front, waiting to meet you." + +"Oh, is he?" says Mame, lettin' on not to care. "And yet when he was +livin' in one of our apartments he passed me every day without seein' me +at all." + +"Oh, ho!" says I. "You took notice of him, though, did you?" + +Miss Stribble pinks up at that. "Yes, I did," says she. "He struck me as +a reg'lar feller, one of the kind you could tie to. And when he'd almost +step over me without noticin'--well, I'll admit that sort of hurt. I +expect that's why I made up my mind to shake the mop and pail outfit and +break in some place where I could pick up a few tricks. After a few +stabs I landed here at the Maison. I remember I had on a saggy skirt and +a shirtwaist that must have looked like it had been improvised out of a +coffee sack. It's a wonder they let me past the door. But they did. For +the first six weeks, though, they kept me in the work rooms. Then I got +one of the girls to help me evenings on a black taffeta; I saved up +enough for two pairs of silk stockin's, blew myself to some pumps with +four inch heels, and begun carryin' a vanity box. It worked. Next thing +I knew they had me down on the main floor carryin' stock to the models +and now and then displayin' misses' styles to customers. I had a hunch +I was gettin' easier to look at, but you never can tell by the way women +size you up. All they see is the dress. And in the window there I had a +chance to see whether I was registerin' with the men. That's the whole +tragic tale." + +"Leaving out Crosby Rhodes." + +"That's so," admits Mame. "And it was some satisfaction, bringin' him to +life." + +"You've done more'n that," says I. "He's one of these guys that wants +what he wants, and goes after it strong. Just now it seems to be you." + +"How inter-estin'!" says Mame. "Tell me, what's his line?" + +"Airplane timber," says I. "He's from out on the Coast." + +"Oh!" says she. "From one of these little +straight-through-on-Main-street burgs, I suppose?" + +"Headquarters in Seattle, I understand," says I. "That's hardly on the +Tom show circuit." + +"Yes, I guess I've heard of the place," says Mame. "But what's his +proposition!" + +"First off," says I, "Crosby wants to get acquainted. If he has any +hymen stuff up his sleeve, I expect you'd better hear that from him +personally. The question now is, do you want to meet him?" + +"Oh, I dunno," says Mame careless. "I guess I'll take a chance." + +"Then forget that vanishing act of yours," says I, "and I'll run him +in." + +And, honest, as I slips out of the Maison Noir and beats it for my +lunch, I felt like I'd done a day's work. What it would come to was by +me. They was off my hands, anyway. + +That couldn't have been over a week ago. And here only yesterday Crosby +comes crashin' into the Corrugated general offices, pounds me +enthusiastic on the back, and announces that I'm the best friend he's +got in the world. + +"Meanin', I expect," says I, "that Miss Stribble and you have been +gettin' on?" + +"Old man," says Crosby, his mild blue eyes sparklin', "she's a wonderful +girl--wonderful! And within a week she's going to be Mrs. Crosby Rhodes. +We start for home just as soon as the Maison Noir can turn out her +trousseau; which is going to be some outfit, take it from me." + +I hope I said something appropriate. If I didn't I expect Crosby was too +excited to notice. Also that night I carried home the bulletin to Vee. + +"There!" says Vee. "I just knew, the moment I saw her, that she wasn't +at all as that horrid old man tried to make us believe." + +"No," says I, "Mame's vamping was just practice stuff. A lot of it is +like that, I expect." + +"But wasn't it odd," goes on Vee, "about her meeting the very man she'd +liked from the first?" + +"Well, not so very," says I. "With that show window act she had the net +spread kind of wide. The only chance Crosby had of escape was by staying +out of New York, and nobody does that for very long at a time." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +TURKEYS ON THE SIDE + + +Say, I hope this Mr. Hoover of ours gets through trying to feed the +world before another fall. It's a cute little idea all right and ought +to get us in strong with a whole lot of people, but if he don't quit I +know of one party whose reputation as a gentleman farmer is going to be +wrecked beyond repair. And that's me. + +I don't know whether it was Vee's auntie that started me out reckless on +this food producin' career, or old Leon Battou, or Mr. G. Basil Pyne. +Maybe they all helped, in their own peculiar way. Auntie's method, of +course, is by throwin' out the scornful sniff. It was while she was +payin' us a month's visit one week way last summer, out at our four-acre +estate on Long Island, that she pulls this sarcastic stuff. Havin' +inspected the baby critical without findin' anything special to kick +about, she suggests that she'd like to look over the grounds. + +"Oh, yes, Torchy," chimes in Vee, "do show Auntie your garden." + +Maybe you don't get that "your garden." It's only Vee's way of playin' +me as a useful and industrious citizen. Course, I did buy the seeds and +all the shiny hoes and rakes and things, and I studied up the catalogues +until I could tell the carrots from the cucumbers; but I must admit that +beyond givin' the different beds the once-over every now and then, and +pullin' up a few tomato plants that I thought was weeds, I didn't do +much more than underwrite the enterprise. + +As a matter of fact, it was mostly Leon Battou, the old Frenchy who does +our cookin', that really ran the garden. Say, that old boy would have +something green growin' if he lived in the subway and had to bring down +his real estate in paper bags. It was partly on his account, you know, +that we left our studio apartment and moved out in the forty-five +minutes commutin' zone. Then, too, there was Joe Cirollo, who comes in +by the day to cut the grass and keep the flower beds slicked up, and do +the heavy spadin'. And with Vee keepin' books on what was spent and what +we got you can guess I wasn't overworked. Also it's a cinch that garden +plot just had to hump itself and make good. + +Auntie ain't wise to all this, though. So she raises her eyebrows and +remarks: "A garden? Really! I should like to see it. A few radishes and +spindly lettuce, I suppose?" + +"Say, come have a look!" says I. + +And when I'd pointed out the half acre of potatoes, and the long rows of +corn and string beans and peas--and I hope I called 'em all by their +right names--I sure had the old girl hedgin' some. But trust her! + +"With so much land, though," she goes on, "it seems to me you ought to +be raising your eggs and chickens as well." + +"Oh, we've planned for all that," says I, "ducks and hens and geese and +turkeys; maybe pheasants and quail." + +"Quail!" says Auntie. "Why, I didn't know one could raise quail. I +thought they----" + +"When I get started raisin' things," says I, "I'm apt to go the limit." + +"I shall be interested to see what success you have," says she. + +"Sure!" says I. "Drop around again--next fall." + +You wouldn't have thought she'd been disagreeable enough to go and +rehearse all this innocent little bluff of mine to Vee, would you? But +she does, it seems. And of course Vee has to back me up. + +"But, Torchy!" she protests, after Auntie's gone. "How could you tell +her such whoppers?" + +"Easiest thing I do," says I. "But who knows what we'll do next in the +nourishment producin' line? Hasn't old Leon been beggin' to go into the +duck and chicken business for months? With eggs near a dollar a dozen +maybe it would be a good scheme. And if we go in for poultry, why not +have all kinds, turkeys as well?" + +So a few days later I put it up to him. Leon shakes his head. "The +chickens and the ducks, yes; but the turkey----" Here he shrugs his +shoulders desperate. "Je ne connais pas." + +"You jennie what?" says I. "Ah, come, Leon, don't be a quitter." + +He explains that the ways of our national bird are a complete mystery to +him. He'd as soon think of tryin' to hatch out ostriches or canaries. So +for the time being we pass up the turkeys and splurge heavy on cacklers +and quackers. Between him and Joe they fixed up part of the old carriage +shed as a poultry barracks and with a mile or so of nettin' they fenced +off a run down to the little pond. And by the middle of August we had +all sorts of music to wake us up for an early breakfast. I nearly +laughed a rib loose watchin' them baby ducks waddle around solemn, every +one with that cut-up look in his eye. Say, they're born comedians, ducks +are. I'll bet if you could translate that quack-quack patter of theirs +you'd get lines that would be a reg'lar scream on the big time circuit. + +And then along in the fall we begun gettin' acquainted with our new +neighbors that had taken that cute little stucco cottage halfway down +to the station from us. The Basil Pynes, a young English couple, we +found out they were. Course, Vee started it by callin' and followin' +that up by a donation of some of our garden truck. Pretty soon we were +swappin' visits reg'lar. + +I can't say I was crazy over 'em. She's a little mouse of a woman, big +eyed and quiet, but Vee seems to like her. Pyne, he's a tall, slim gink +with stooped shoulders and so short sighted that he has to wear extra +thick eyeglasses. He'd come over to work for some book publishin' house +but it seems he wrote things himself. He'd landed one book and was +pluggin' away on another; not a novel, I understands, but something +different. + +"Huh!" says I to Vee. "No wonder he had to go into the lit'ry game, with +that monicker hung on him. Basil Pyne! The worst of it is, he looks it, +too." + +"Now, Torchy!" protests Vee. "I'm sure you'll find him real interesting +when you know him better." + +As usual, she's right. Anyway, it turns out that Basil has his good +points. For one thing he's the most entertaining listener I ever talked +to. Maybe you know the kind. Never has anything to say about himself but +whatever you start, that's what he wants to know about. And from the +friendly look in the mild gray eyes behind the thick panes, and the +earnest way he has of stretchin' his ear you'd think that what you was +tellin' him was the very thing he'd been livin' all these years to hear. +Then he has that trick of throwin' in "My word!" and "Just fancy that!" +sort of admirin' and enthusiastic, until you almost believe that you're +a lot cleverer and smarter than you'd suspected. + +So when I gets on the subject of how we ducked payin' war prices for +vegetables to the local profiteers by raisin' our own he wants to know +all about it. With the help of Vee's set of books and a little promptin' +from her I gives him an earful. I even tows him down cellar and points +out the various bins and barrels full of stuff we've got stowed away for +winter. And next I has to drag him out and exhibit the poultry side +line. + +"Oh, I say!" exclaims Basil. "Isn't that perfectly rippin'! You have +fresh eggs right along?" + +"All we can use," says I. "And we're eatin' the he--hens whenever we +want 'em. Ducks, too." + +"How clever!" says Basil. "But you Americans are always so good at +whatever you take up. And you such a hard drivin' business man, too! I +don't see how you manage it." + +"Oh, it comes easy enough once you get the hang of it," says I. "As a +matter of fact, I'm only just startin' in. Next thing I mean to have is +a lot of turkeys. Might as well live high." + +"Turkeys!" says Basil. "And I've heard they were so difficult to raise. +But I've no doubt you will make a huge success with them." + +"Guess I'll just have to show you," says I, waggin' my head. + +I was for gettin' some turkey eggs right away and rushin' along a flock +so they'd be ready by Christmas, but both Vee and Leon insists that it +can't be done. Seems it's too late in the season or something. They want +to wait until next spring. + +"Not me," says I. "I've promised your Auntie I'd raise turkeys and I +gotta deliver the goods. If we can't start 'em from the seed what's the +matter with gettin' some sprouts? Ain't anybody got any young turkeys +that need bringin' up scientific?" + +Well, I set Joe Cirollo to scoutin' around and inside of a week he has +connected with half a dozen. They comes in a crate as big as a piano box +and we turns 'em loose in the chicken yard. When I paid the bill I was +sure Joe had been stuck about two prices, but after I've discovered what +they're askin' for turkeys in the city markets I has to take it back. + +"Oh, well," says I, "if we can fatten 'em up maybe we'll come out +winners, after all." + +"Sure!" says Joe. "We maka dem biga fat." + +After I'd bought a few bags of feed though, I quit figurin'. I knew that +no matter how they was cooked they'd taste of money. All I was doubtful +of now was whether they was the right breed of turkeys. + +"What's all that red flannel stuff on their necks?" I asks Joe. "Ain't +got sore throats, have they!" + +"Heem?" says Joe. "No, no. Dey gooda turk. All time data way." + +"All right," says I, "if it's the fashion. I don't eat the neck, +anyway." + +I couldn't get Leon at all excited over my gobblers, though. All he'll +do is shake his head dubious. "They walk with such pride and still they +behave so foolish," says he. + +"It ain't their manners I'm fond of," says I, "so much as it is their +white meat. Even at that, when it comes to foolish notions, they've got +nothing on your ducks." + +"Mais non," says Leon, meaning nothing sensible, "you do not understand +the duck perhaps. Me, I raised them as a boy in Perronne. But the +turkey! Pouff! He is what you call silly in the head. One cannot say +what they will do next. Anything may happen to such birds." + +He makes such a fuss over the way they hog the grain at feedin' time +that I have to have a separate run built for 'em. You'd almost think he +was jealous. But Joe, on the other hand, treats 'em like pets. I don't +know how many times a day he feeds 'em, and he's always luggin' one up +to me to show how heavy they're gettin'. I was waitin' until they got +into top notch condition before springin' 'em on Basil Pyne. I meant to +get a gasp out of him when I did. + +Finally I set a day for the private view and asked the Pynes to come +over special. Basil, he's all prepared to be thrilled as I tows him out. +"But you don't mean to say this is your first venture at turkey +raising?" he demands. + +"Ab-so-lutely," says I. + +"Strordinary!" says Basil. + +At the end of the turkey run though I finds Joe starin' through the wire +with a panicky look on his face. "Well, Joe," says I, "anything wrong +with the flock?" + +"I dunno," says he. "Maybe da go bughouse, maybe da got jag on. See!" + +Blamed if it don't look like he'd made two close guesses. Honest, every +one of them gobblers was staggerin' 'round, bumpin' against each other +and runnin' into the fence, with their tails spread and their long necks +wavin' absurd. A 3 a.m. bunch of New Year's Eve booze punishers +couldn't have given a more scandalous exhibition. + +"My word!" says Basil. + +Course, it's up to me to produce an explanation. Which I does prompt. +"Oh, that's nothing!" says I. "They're just tryin' the duck waddle, +imitatin' their neighbors in the next run. Turkeys always do that sooner +or later if you have ducks near 'em. They keep at it until they're +dizzy." + +"Really, now?" says Basil. "I never heard that before." + +"Not many people have," says I. "But they'll get over it in an hour or +so. Look in tomorrow and you'll see." + +Basil says he will. And after he's gone I opens the court martial. + +"Joe," I demands, "what you been feedin' them turks?" + +It took five minutes of cross examination before I got him to remember +that just before breakfast he'd sneaked out and swiped a pail of stuff +that he thought Leon was savin' for his ducks. And what do you guess? +Well, him and Leon had gone into the home-made wine business last fall, +utilizin' all them grapes we grew out in the back lot, and only the day +before they'd gone through the process of rackin' it from one barrel +into another. It was the stuff that was left in the bottom that Joe had +swiped for his pets. + +"Huh!" says I. "And now you've not only disgraced those turkeys for life +but you've made me hand Mr. Pyne some raw nature-fakin' stuff that +nobody but a fool author would swallow." + +"I mucha sorry," says Joe, hangin' his head. + +"All right," says I. "I expect you meant well. But it was a bum hunch. +Now see they have plenty of water to drink and by mornin' maybe they'll +sober up." + +I meant to keep an eye on 'em myself for the rest of the day, but right +after luncheon Auntie blows in again, to pay a farewell visit before +startin' South, and the turkeys slipped my mind. Not until she asks how +I'm gettin' on with my flock of quail did I remember. + +"Oh, quail!" says I. "No, I had to ditch that. Couldn't get the right +sort of eggs." + +Auntie smiles sarcastic. "What a pity!" says she. "But the various kinds +of poultry you were going in for? Did you----" + +"Did I?" says I. "Say, you just come out and---- Well, Leon, anything +you want special?" + +"Pardon, m'sieu," says old Leon, scrapin' his foot, "but--but the +turkeys." + +"Yes, I know," says I. "They're doing that new trot Joe's been teaching +'em." + +"But no, m'sieu," says Leon. "They have become deceased--utterly." + +"Wha-a-a-at?" says I. "Oh, oh, I guess it ain't as bad as that." + +"Pardon," says Leon, "but I discover them steef, les pieds dans le ciel. +Thus!" And he illustrates by holdin' both hands above his head. + +"Perhaps it would be best to investigate," suggests Auntie. "I have no +doubt Leon is right. Turkeys require expert care and handling, and when +you were so sure of raising them I quite expected something like this." + +"Yes, I know you did," says I. "Anyway, let's take a look." + +And there they were, all six of 'em, with their feet in the air, and as +stiff as if they'd just come from cold storage. + +"Like somebody had thrown in a gas attack on 'em," says I. "Good night, +turks! You sure did make it unanimous, didn't you?" + +I expect my smile was kind of a sickly performance, for the last person +I'd have wanted to be in on the obsequies was Auntie. I will say, +though, that she don't try to rub it in. No, she tells of similar cases +she's known of when she was a girl, about whole flocks bein' poisoned by +something they'd found to eat. + +"The only thing to do now," says she, "is to save the feathers." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"The long tail and wing feathers can be used for making fans and +trimming hats," says Auntie, "while the smaller ones are excellent for +stuffing pillows. They must be picked at once." + +"Oh, I'm satisfied to call 'em a total loss," says I. + +Auntie wouldn't have it, though. She sends Leon for a big apron and a +couple of baskets and has me round up Joe to help. When I left they +were all three busy and the turkey feathers were coming off fast. All +there was left for me to do was to go in and break the sad news to Vee. + +"As a turkey raiser, I'm a flivver," says I. + +"But I can't see that it's your fault at all," says Vee. + +"Can't you?" says I. "Ask Auntie." + +If the next day hadn't been Sunday, I could have sneaked off to town and +dodged the little talk Auntie insists on givin' about the folly of +amateurs tacklin' jobs they know nothing about. As it is I has to stick +around and take the gaff. Then about ten o'clock Basil Pyne has to show +up and reopen the subject. + +"Oh, by the way," says he, "how are the turkeys this morning? Are they +still practicing that wonderful duck walk you were telling me about?" + +Auntie has just fixed an accusin' eye on me, and I was wonderin' if it +would be any sin to take Basil out back somewhere and choke him, when in +rushes old Leon with a wild look on his face. He's so excited that he's +almost speechless and all he can get out is a throaty gurgle. + +"For the love of soup, let's have it," says I. "What's gone wrong now?" + +"O-o-o la la!" says Leon. "O-o-o la la!" + +"That's right, sing it if you can't say it," says I. + +"Parbleu! Nom de Dieu! Les dindons!" he gasps. + +"Ah, can the ding-dong stuff, Leon," says I, "and let's hear the English +of it." + +"The--the turkeys!" he pants out. + +And that did get a groan out of me. "Once more!" says I. "Say, have a +heart! Can't anybody think of a more cheerful line? Turkeys! Well, shoot +it. They're still dead, I suppose?" + +"But no," says Leon. "They--they have return to life." + +"Oh come, Leon!" says I. "You must have been sampling some of them wine +dregs yourself. Do you mean to say----" + +"If M'sieu would but go and observe," puts in Leon. "Me, I have seen +them with my eye. Truly they are as in life." + +"Why, after we picked them last night I saw you throw them over the +fence," says I. + +"Even so," says Leon. "But come." + +Well, this time we had a full committee--Vee, Auntie, Basil, Madame +Battou, old Leon and myself--and we all trails out to the back lot. And +say, once again Leon is right. There they are, all huddled together on +the lowest branch of a bent-over apple tree and every last one of 'em as +shy of feathers as the back of your hand. It's the most indecent poultry +exhibit I ever saw. + +"My word!" says Basil, starin' through his thick glasses. + +"That don't half express it, Basil," says I. + +"But--but what happened to them?" he insists. + +"I hate to admit it," says I, "but they had a party yesterday. Uh-huh. +Wine dregs. And they got soused to the limit--paralyzed. Then, on the +advice of a turkey expert"--here I glances at Auntie--"we decided that +they were dead, and we picked 'em to conserve their feathers. Swell +idea, eh? Just a little mistake about their being utterly deceased, as +Leon put it. They were down, but not out. Look at the poor things now, +though." + +And then Vee has to snicker. "Aren't they just too absurd!" says she. +"See them shiver." + +"I should think they'd be blushin'," says I. "What's the next move?" I +asks Auntie. "Do I put in steam heat for 'em?" + +It takes Auntie a few minutes to recover, but when she does she's right +there with the bright little scheme. "We must make jackets for them," +says she. + +"Eh?" says I. + +"Certainly," she goes on. "They'll freeze if we don't. And it's +perfectly practical. Of course, I've never seen it done, but I'm sure +they'll get along just as well if their feathers were replaced by +something that will keep them warm." + +"Couldn't get the Red Cross ladies to knit sweaters for 'em, could we?" +I suggests. + +Auntie pays no attention to this, but asks Vee if she hasn't some old +flannel shirts, or something of the kind. + +Well, while they're plannin' out the new winter styles of turkey +costumes, Joe and Leon rigs up a wood stove in their coop, shoos the +flock in, and proceeds to warm 'em up. They took turns that night +keeping the fire going, I understand. + +And when I comes home Monday afternoon from the office I ain't even +allowed to say howdy to the youngster until I've been dragged out and +introduced triumphant to the only flock of custom-tailored turkeys in +the country. Auntie and Vee and Madame Battou sure had done a neat job +of costumin', considerin' the fact that they'd had no paper patterns to +go by. But somehow they'd doped out a one-piece union suit cut high in +the neck with sort of a knickerbocker effect to the lower end. Mostly +they seemed to have used an old near-silk quilted bathrobe of mine, but +I also recognized a khaki army shirt that I had no notion of throwin' in +the discard yet awhile. And if you'll believe it them gobblers was +struttin' around as chesty as if they hadn't lost a feather. + +"Aren't they just too cute for anything?" demands Vee. + +"Worse than that," says I, "they look almost as human as so many +floor-walkers. I hope they ain't going to be hard on clothes, for my +wardrobe wouldn't stand many such raids." + +"Oh, don't worry about that," says Vee. "We shall be eating one every +week or so." + +"Then don't let me know when the executions take place," says I. "As for +me, I shouldn't feel like tellin' Joe to kill one without an order from +the High Sheriff of the county." + +And say, if I'm ever buffaloed into buyin' any more live turkeys, I'm +going to demand a written guarantee that they're Prohibitionists. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +ERNIE AND HIS BIG NIGHT + + +I'm kind of glad I was with Ernie when he had his big night. If I hadn't +been I never would have believed it of him. Not if he'd produced +affidavits. No! It would have been too much of a strain on the +imagination. + +For somehow it's hard to connect Ernie with anything like that, even +when I've seen what I have. You could almost tell that, just by his +name--Ernest Sudders. And when I add that he's assistant auditor in the +Corrugated offices you ought to have the picture complete. You know what +assistant auditors are like. + +Ernie ran true to type. And then some. I expect there was one or two +other things he might have been; such as manager of a gift shop, or +window dresser for the misses' department, or music teacher in a girls' +boarding school. But I doubt if he'd ever been such a success as he was +at the high desk. Seemed like he was born to be an assistant auditor. He +was holding the job when I first came to the Corrugated as sub office +boy; he still has it, and I can think of only one party that could pry +him loose from it--the old boy with the long scythe. + +For one thing, Ernie gives all his time to being assistant auditor. Not +just office hours. I'll bet he's one even in his sleep. He looks the +part, dresses the part, thinks the part. He don't work at it, he lives +it. Talk about this four dimension stuff. Ernie gets along with two--up +the column from the bottom, and both ways from the decimal point. + +Not such a bad-lookin' chap, Ernie, only a bit stiff from the waist up. +You know, like he had his spine in a cast. Then there's the neck-apple. +Ernie fits his into a high white wing collar and sets it off with a +black ascot tie and a pearl stickpin. Also he sports the only black +cutaway that's worn reg'lar into the General Offices. Oh, yes, Ernie +could go on at a minute's notice as best man or pall-bearer. I don't +mean he's often called on to be either. He only wears that costume +because that's his idea of how an assistant auditor should be arrayed. + +One of these super-system birds, Ernie is. He could turn out an annual +report every Saturday if the directors asked for it. Never has to hunt +for a bunch of stray figures. He has everything cross-indexed neat and +accurate. He's that way about everything, always a spare umbrella and an +extra pair of rubbers in his locker, and he carries a pearl-handle +penknife in a chamois case. + +But in spite of all that I'm sorry to state that around the Corrugated +Ernie is rated as a walking joke. We all josh him, even up to Old +Hickory Ellins. The only ones he ever seems to mind much though are the +lady typists. The hardest thing he does during the day is when he has to +walk past that battery of near-vamps, for they never fail to lay down a +rolling eye barrage that gets him pink in the ears. + +Course, having noticed that, I generally use it as my cue for passing +pleasant words to Ernie. "Honest now," I'll ask him, "which one of them +Lizzie Mauds are you playin' as favorite these days, Ernie?" + +And Ernie, he'll color up like a fire hydrant and protest: "Now, say, +Torchy! You know very well I've never spoken to one of them." + +"Yes, you tell it well," I'll say, "but I'm onto you, old sport." + +I don't know how long I've been shooting stuff like that at Ernie, and +it always gets him going. I have a hunch, though, that he kind of likes +it. These skirt-shy boys usually do. And as a matter of fact I expect +the only female he ever looked square in the eye is that old maid sister +of his that he lives with somewhere over in Jersey. + +So this night when we were doing overtime together at the office and it +was a case of going out for dinner I'd planned to slip a little +something on Ernie by towin' him to a joint where the lights were +bright and they were apt to have silver buckets on the floor. I was +hoping he might see some perfect lady light up a cigarette, or maybe +give him a cut-up glance over the top of her fizz goblet. It would be +cheerin' to watch Ernie tryin' to let on he didn't notice. + +He'd already called Sister on the long distance telephone and told her +not to wait up for him, explainin' just what it was we was workin' on +and how we might not be through until quite late. And Sister had advised +him to be sure to wear his silk muffler and not to sleep past his +station if he had to take the 11:48 out. + +"Gosh, Ernie!" says I. "If you 're that way now what'll you be when +you're married?" + +"But I hadn't thought of getting married," says he. "Really!" + +"Yes," says I, "and you silent, thoughtless boys are the very ones who +jump into matrimony unexpected. Some evenin' you'll meet just the right +babidoll and the next thing we know you'll be sendin' us at home cards. +You act innocent enough in public, but I'll bet you're a bear when it +comes to workin' up to a quick clinch behind the palms." + +Ernie almost gasps with horror at the thought. + +"Oh, I wouldn't put it past you," says I. "I expect, though, you'd like +to have me class you among the great unkissed?" + +"As a matter of fact," says Ernie solemn, "I have never--Well, not +since I was a mere boy, at least. It--it's just happened so." + +"And you past thirty!" says I. "What a long spell to be out of luck!" + +So I suggests that we work through until about 7:45 and then hit the +Regal roof for a $2 feed and a view of some of this fancy skatin' +they're pullin' off there. But that ain't Ernie's plan at all. He has +his mouth all set for an oyster stew and a plate of crullers down in the +Arcade beanerie. + +"Ah, forget your old automatic habits for once," says I. "This dinner is +on the house, you know, so why not make it a reg'lar one? Come along." + +And for a wonder I persuades him to do it. I expect this idea of +chargin' it on the expense account hadn't occurred to him. + +Anyway, that's how it come we were piking through West Forty-fifth +Street with the first of the theater crowds, Ernie still protestin' that +he really didn't care for this sort of thing--cabaret stunts and all +that--and me kiddin' him along as usual, sayin' I'll bet the head waiter +would call him by his first name, when the net is cast sudden over +Ernie's head. + +I don't know which one of us saw her first. All I'm sure of is that we +both sort of slowed up and did the gawp act. You could hardly blame us, +for here in a taxi by the curb is--Well, it would take Robert Chambers a +page and a half at twenty cents a word to do her full justice, so I'll +just say she was a lovely lady. + +No, I ain't gettin' her mixed with any of Mr. Ziegfeld's stars, nor she +ain't any broker's bride plucked from the switch-board. She's the real +thing in the lady line, though how I knew it's hard to tell. Also she's +a home-grown siren that works without the aid of a lip-stick, permanent +wave, or an eyebrow pencil. Anyway, here she is leaning through the taxi +door and shootin' over the alluring smile. + +I couldn't quite believe it was meant for either of us until I'd scouted +around to see if there wasn't someone else in line. No, there wasn't. +And as Ernie is nearest, course I knows it's for him. + +"Ah, ha!" says I. "Who's your friend with the golden tresses?" + +That's what they were, all right. You don't see hair like that every +day, and it ain't the shade which can be produced at a beauty parlor. +It's the 18-karat kind, done up sort of loose and careless, but all the +more dangerous for that. And with that snowy white complexion, except +for the pink flush on the cheeks, and the big, starry blue eyes, she +sure is a stunner. + +"Do--do you think she means me?" whispers Ernie husky, as we stop in our +tracks. + +"Ah come!" says I. "This is no time to stall. If she hadn't spotted you +direct you might have let on you didn't see her, and strolled back +after you'd given me the slip. As it is, Ernie, I've got the goods on +you for once and you might as well----" + +"But I--I don't know her at all," insists Ernie. + +Just then, though, she reaches out a pair of bare arms and remarks real +folksy: "At last you've come, haven't you?" + +"Seems to be fairly well acquainted with you, though, Ernie boy," says +I. + +As for Ernie, he just stands there starin' bug-eyed and gaspy, as if he +didn't know what to do. Course, I couldn't tell why. I knew he always +had acted like a poor prune when he was kidded by the flossy key +pounders in the office, but almost any nut could see this was an +entirely different case. Here was a regular person, all dolled up in a +classy evening gown, with a fur-trimmed opera cape slippin' off her +shoulders. And she was givin' him the straight call. + +"But--but there must be some mistake," protests Ernie. + +"If there is," says I, "it's up to you to put the lady wise. You can't +walk off and leave her with her hands in the air, can you? Ah, don't be +a fish! Step up." + +With that I gives him a push and Ernie staggers over to the curb. + +"It's been so long," I hears the lady murmur, "but I knew you would +remember. Come." + +What Ernie said then I didn't quite catch, but the next thing I knew +he'd been dragged in, the chauffeur had got the signal, and as the taxi +started off toward Fifth Avenue I had a glimpse of what looked very much +like a fond clinch, with Ernie as the clinchee. + +And there I am left with my mouth open. I expect I hung up there fully +ten minutes, tryin' to dope out what had happened. Had Ernie just been +stallin' me off tryin' to establish an alibi? Or was it a case of poor +memory? No, that didn't seem likely. She wasn't the kind of a female +party a man could forget easy, if he'd ever really known her. Specially +a gink like Ernie who'd had such a limited experience. Nor she wasn't +the type that would go out cruisin' in a cab after perfect strangers. +Not her. Besides, hadn't she recognized Ernie on sight? Then there was +the quick clinch. No discountin' that. Whoever it was it's somebody who +don't hesitate to hug Ernie right in public. And yet he sticks to it, +right up to the last, that he don't know her. Well, I gave it up. + +"Either he's a foxier sport than we've been givin' him credit for," +thinks I, "or else the lady has made the mistake of her life. If she has +she'll soon find it out and Ernie will be trailing back on the hunt for +me." + +But after walkin' up and down the block three times without seeing +anything that looked like Ernie I dodges into a chop-house and has a +bite all by my lonesome. Then I wanders back to the general offices and +tries to wind up what we'd been workin' on. But I couldn't help +wondering about Ernie. Had he just plain buffaloed me, or what? If he +had, who was his swell lady friend? And how did she come to be waitin' +there in the taxi? By the way she was costumed she might have been on +her way to some dinner dance on Fifth Avenue. That was a perfectly +spiffy evening dress she had on, what there was of it. And I could +remember jewels sparklin' here and there. Course, she was no chicken; +somewhere under thirty would have been my guess, but she sure was easy +to look at. Such eyes, too! Yes, a little starry maybe, but big and +sparkly. No wonder Ernie didn't care to look at any of our lady typists +if he had that in the background. + +So I wasn't gettin' ahead very fast untanglin' them dockage contracts, +and before 11 o'clock I was yawning. I'd just decided to quit and loaf +around the station until the theater train was ready when I hears an +unsteady step in the outer office and the next minute in blows Ernie. + +That is, it's somebody who looks a little as Ernie did three hours +before. But his derby is busted in on one side, one end of his wing +collar has been carried away and is ridin' up towards his left ear, his +coat is all dusty, and his face is flushed up like a new fire truck. + +"For the love of soup!" says I, gaspy. "Must have been some party?" + +Ernie, he braces himself by grippin' a chair-back and makes a stab at +recoverin' his usual stiff-neck pose. But it's a flat failure. So he +gives up, waves one hand around vague, and indulges in a foolish smile. + +"Wha'--wha' makes you think sho--party?" he demands. + +"I got second sight, Ernie," says I, "and it tells me you've been +spilled off the wagon." + +"You--you think I--I've been drinkin'?" asks Ernie indignant. + +"Oh, no," says I. "I should say you'd been using a funnel." + +"Tha's--tha's because you have 'spischus nashur'," protests Ernie. +"Merely few glasshes. You know--bubblesh in stem." + +"Champagne, eh?" says I. "Then it was a reg'lar party? Ernie, I am +surprised at you." + +"You--you ain't half so shurprised as--as I am myshelf," says he, +chucklin'. "Tha's what I told Louishe." + +"Oh, you mentioned it to Louise, did you?" says I. "I expect that was +the lovely lady who carted you off in the taxi?" + +He nods and springs another one of them silly smiles. "Tha's ri'," says +he. "The lovely Louishe." + +"Tell me, Ernie," says I, "how long has this been going on?" + +And what do you suppose this fathead has the front to spring on me? That +this was the first time he'd ever seen her. Uh-huh! He sticks to that +tale. Even claims he don't know what the rest of her name is. + +"Louishe, tha's all," says he. "Th' lovely Louishe." + +"Oh, very well," says I. "We'll let it ride at that. And I expect she +picked you out all on account of your compelling beauty? Must have been +a sudden case, from the fond clinch I saw you gettin' as the cab +started." + +Ernie closed his eyes slow, like he was goin' over the scene again, and +then remarks: "Thash when I begun to be surprished. Louishe has most +affec-shanate nashur." + +"So it would seem," says I. "But where did the party take place?" + +That little detail appears to have escaped Ernie. He remembered that +there were pink candles on the table, and music playing, and a lot of +nice people around. Also that the waiter's head was shiny, like an egg. +He thought it must have been at some hotel on Fifth Avenue. Yes, they +went in through a sidewalk canopy. It was a very nice dinner, +too--'specially the pheasant and the parfait in the silver cup. And it +was so funny to watch the bubbles keep coming up through the glass stem. + +"Yes," says I, "that's one of New York's favorite winter sports. But +who was all this on--Louise?" + +"She insists I'm her guesh," says Ernie. + +"That made it very nice, then, didn't it?" says I. "But none of this +accounts for the dent in your hat and the other rough-house signs. +Somebody must have got real messy with you at some stage in the game. +Remember anything about that?" + +"Oh!" says Ernie, stiffenin' up and tryin' to scowl. "Most--most +disagreeable persons. Actually rude." + +"Who and where?" I insists. + +"Louishe's family," says Ernie. "I--I don't care for her family. No. +Sorry, but----" + +"Mean to say Louise took you home after dinner?" says I. + +Ernie nods. "Wanted me to meet family," says he. "Dear old daddy, +darling mother, sho on. 'Charmed,' says I. I was willing to meet anyone +then. Right in the mood. 'Certainly,' says I. Feeling friendly. Patted +waiter on back, waved to orchestra leader, shook handsh with perfect +stranger going out. Went to lovely house, uptown somewhere. Fine ol' +butler, fine ol' rugsh in hall, tapeshtries on wall. And then--then----" + +Ernie slumps into a chair, pushes the loose collar end away from his +chin fretful, and indulges in a deep sigh. I expect he thinks he's told +the whole story. + +"I take it," says I, "that you did meet dear old daddy?" + +"Washn't so very old, at thash," says Ernie. "No. Nor such a dear. +Looksh like--like Teddy Roosh'velt. Behavesh like Teddy, too. +Im--impeshuous. Very firsh thing he says is, 'And who the devil are +you?' 'Guesh?' I tells him. 'Give you three guesshes.' He--he's no good +as guessher, daddy. Grabsh me by the collar. 'You, you loafer!' says he. +Then the lovely Louishe comes to rescue. 'Can't you see, daddy?' she +tells him. 'It's Ernie. Found him at lash.' 'Ernie who?' demandsh daddy. +'I--I forget,' says Louishe. 'Bah!' saysh daddy. 'Lash time it was +Harold, wasn't it?' 'Naughty, naughty!' saysh I. 'Mustn't tell talesh. +Bad form, daddy. Lessh all be calm now and--and we'll tell you about +dinner--bubblesh in the glass, 'n'everything. Louishe and I. Lovely +girl, Louishe. Affecshonate nashur.' And thash as far as I got. +Different nashur, daddy." + +"I gather that he didn't insist on your staying?" says I. + +No, he hadn't. As near as I could make out dear old daddy took a firm +grip on Ernie in two places, and while the fine old butler held the +front door open he got more impetuous than ever. As Ernie tells me about +it he rubs himself reminiscent and gazes sorrowful at his dented derby. + +"Mosh annoying," says he. "Couldn't even shay good night to lovely +Louishe." + +"Oh, well," says I. "You can make up for that when you pay your dinner +call. By the way, where was this home of the lovely Louise?" + +Ernie doesn't know. When he'd arrived he was too busy to notice the +street and number, and when he came out he was too much annoyed. Also he +didn't remember having heard Louise's last name. + +"Huh!" says I. "Except for that everything is all clear, eh? It strikes +me, Ernie, as if you'd worked up a perfectly good mystery. You've been +kidnapped by a lovely lady, had a swell dinner, with plenty of fizz on +the side, been introduced to a strong-arm father, and finished on the +sidewalk with your lid caved in. And for an assistant auditor who +blushes as easy as you do that's what I call kind of a large evening." + +Ernie nods. Then he chuckles to himself, sort of satisfied, and remarks +mushy: "Lovely girl, Louishe." + +"Yes, we've admitted all that," says I. "But who the blazes is she?" + +Ernie rumples his hair thoughtful and then shakes his head. + +"But during all that time didn't she say anything about herself, or give +you any hint?" I goes on. + +Ernie can't remember that she did. + +"What was all the chat about?" I demands. + +"Oh, everything," says Ernie. "She--she said she'd been looking for me +long timesh. Knew me by--by my eyesh." + +"How touching!" says I. "That must have been during the clinch." + +"Yes," says Ernie. "But nexsh time----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "if you don't know what her name is, or where she +lives, how do you figure on a next time?" + +"Thash so," says Ernie. "Too bad." + +"Still," says I, "the kiss stringency in your young career has been +lifted, hasn't it? And now it's about time I fixed you up and towed you +out to a hotel where you can hit the feathers for about ten hours. My +hunch is that a pitcher of ice water is going to look mighty good to you +in the morning. And maybe by tomorrow noon you can remember more details +about Louise than you can seem to dig up now." + +You can't always tell about these birds who surprise you that way. I was +only an hour late in getting to the office myself next day, but I finds +Ernie at his desk looking hardly any the worse for wear, and grinding +away as usual. He looks a little sheepish when I ask him if Louise has +'phoned him yet. + +"S-s-sh!" says he, glancin' around cautious. "Please!" + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Trust me. I'm no sieve. But I'm wondering if +you'll ever run across her again." + +"I--I don't know," says Ernie. "It all seems so vague and queer. I can't +recall much of anything except that Louise---- Well, she did show rather +a fondness for me, you know; and perhaps, some time or other----" + +"Yes," says I, "lightnin' does occasionally strike twice in the same +place. But not often, Ernie." + +He's a wonder, Ernie is. Seems satisfied to let it go as it stands, +without trying to dope anything out. But me, I can't let anybody bat a +mystery like that up to me without going through a few Sherlock Holmes +motions. So that evening finds me wandering through Forty-fifth Street +again at about the same hour. Not that I expected to find the same +lovely lady ambushed in a cab. I don't know just what I was looking for. + +And then, all of a sudden, I gets my eye on this yellow taxi. It's an +odd shade of yellow, something like a pale squash pie; a big, lumbering +old bus that had been repainted by some amateur. And I was willing to +bet there wasn't another in town just like it. Also it's the one Ernie +had stepped into the night before, for there's the same driver wearing +the identical square-topped brown derby. Only there's no Louise waiting +inside. + +They're a shifty bunch, these independents. Some you can hire for a +bank robbing job or a little act with gun play in it, and some you +can't. This mutt looked like he'd be up to anything. But when I asks him +if he remembers the lady in the evening dress he had aboard last night +he just looks stupid and shakes his head. + +"Oh, it's all right," says I. "No come-back to it." + +"Mebby so," says he, "but my big line, son, is forgettin' things." + +"Would this help your memory any?" says I, slippin' him a couple of +dollars. + +He grins and stows it away the kale. "Aw, you mean the party with the +wild eyes, eh?" he asks. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "I was just curious to know where you picked her up." + +"That's easy," says he. "She came out of there, third door above. I get +most of my fares from there." + +"Oh," says I, steppin' out for a squint. "Looks like a private house." + +"It's private, all right," says he, "but it's a home for dippy ones. You +know," and he taps his head. "She's a sample. I've had her before. They +slip out now and then. Last night she made her getaway through the +basement door. I expect she's back by now." + +"Yes," says I, "I expect she is." + +And I don't need to ask any more. The mystery of the lovely Louise has +been cleared up complete. + +First off I was going to tell Ernie all about it, but when I saw him +sitting there at his high desk, gazin' sort of blank at nothing at all +and kind of smilin' reminiscent, I didn't have the heart. Instead, I +asks confidential, as usual: + +"Any word yet from Louise?" + +"Not yet," says Ernie, "but then----" + +"I get you," says I. "And I got to hand it to you, Ernie; you're a cagey +old sport, even if you don't look it." + +He don't deny. Hadn't I seen him start on his big night? And say, he's +gettin' so he can walk past that line of lady typists and give 'em the +once over without changin' color in the ears. He's almost skirt broken, +Ernie is. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +HOW BABE MISSED HIS STEP + + +What Babe Cutler was plannin' certainly listened like a swell party--the +kind you read about. He was going to round up three other sports like +himself, charter a nice comfortable yacht, and spend the winter knockin' +about in the West Indies, with a bunch of bananas always hangin' under +the deck awning aft and a cabin steward forward mixing planter's punch +every time the sun got over the yard arm. + +"The lucky stiff!" thinks I, as I heard him runnin' over some of the +details to Mr. Robert, who he thinks can maybe be induced to join. + +"Oh, come along, Bob!" says he. "We'll stop off for a look at Palm Beach +on the way down, hang up a few days at Knight's Key for shark fishing, +then run over to Havana for a week of golf, drop around to Santiago and +cheer up Billy Pickens out on his blooming sugar plantation, cross over +to Jamaica and have some polo with the military bunch up at +Newcastle--little things like that. Besides, we can always have a game +of deuces wild going evenings and----" + +"No use, Babe," breaks in Mr. Robert. "It can't be done. That sort of +thing is all well enough for a foot-loose old bach such as you, but with +me it's quite different." + +"The little lady at home, eh?" says Babe. "I'll bet she'd be glad to get +rid of you for a couple of months." + +"Flatterer!" says Mr. Robert. "And I suppose you think I wouldn't be +missed from the Corrugated Trust, either?" + +"I'll bet a hundred you could hand your job over to Torchy here and the +concern would never know the difference," says Babe, winkin' friendly at +me. "Anyway, don't turn me down flat. Take a day or so to think it +over." + +And with that Mr. Cutler climbs into his mink-lined overcoat, slips me a +ten spot confidential as he passes my desk, and goes breezin' out +towards Broadway. The ten, I take it, is a retainer for me to boost the +yachtin' enterprise. I shows it to Mr. Robert and grins. + +"There's only one Babe," says he. "He'd offer a tip to St. Peter, or +suggest matching quarters to see whether he was let in or barred out." + +"He's what I'd call a perfect sample of the gay and careless sport," +says I. "How does it happen that he's escaped the hymeneal noose so +long?" + +"Because marriage has never been put up to him as a game, a sporting +proposition in which you can either win or lose out," says Mr. Robert. +"He thinks it's merely a life sentence that you get for not watching +your step. Just as well, perhaps, for Babe isn't what you would call +domestic in his tastes. Give him a 'Home, Sweet Home' motto and he'd +tack it inside his wardrobe trunk." + +I expect that's a more or less accurate description, for Mr. Robert has +known him a long time. And yet, you can't help liking Babe. He ain't one +of these noisy tin-horns. He dresses as quiet as he talks, and among +strangers he'd almost pass for a shy bank clerk having a day off. He's +the real thing though when it comes to pleasant ways of spending time +and money; from sailing a 90-footer in a cup race, to qualifying in the +second flight at Pinehurst. No shark at anything particular, I +understand, but good enough to kick in at most any old game you can +propose. + +Also he's an original I. W. W. Uh-huh. Income Without Work. That was +fixed almost before he was born, when his old man horned in on a big +mill combine and grabbed off enough preferred stock to fill a packing +case. Maybe you think you have no interest in financin' Babe Cutler's +career. But you have. Can't duck it. Every time you eat a piece of +bread, or a slice of toast or a bit of pie crust you're contributin' to +Babe's dividends. And he knows about as much how flour is made as he +does about gettin' up in the night to warm a bottle for little +Tootsums. Which isn't Babe's fault any more than it's yours. As he'd +tell you himself, if the case was put up to him, it's all in the +shuffle. + +He must have had some difficulty organizin' his expedition, for that +same afternoon, when I eases myself off the 4:03 at Piping Rock--having +quit early, as a private sec-de-luxe should now and then--who should +show up at the station but Mr. Cutler in his robin's-egg blue sport +phaeton with the white wire wheels. + +"I say," he says, "didn't Bob come out, too?" + +"No," says I. "I think he and Mrs. Ellins have a dinner party on in +town." + +"Bother!" says Babe. "I was counting on him for an hour or so of +billiards and another go at talking up the cruise. We'll land him yet, +eh, Torchy? Hop in and I'll run you out home." + +So I climbs aboard, Babe opens the cut-out, and we make a skyrocket +start. + +"How about swinging around the country club and back through the middle +road? No hurry, are you?" he asks. + +"Not a bit," says I, glancin' at the speedometer, which was touchin' +fifty. + +"Nor I," says Babe. "I'm spending my annual week-end with Sister Mabel, +you know. Good old scout, Mabel, but I can't say I enjoy visiting there. +Runs her house too much for the children. Only three of 'em, but +they're all over the place--climbing on you, mauling you, tripping you +up. Nurses around, too. Regular kindergarten effect. And the youngsters +are always being bathed, or fed, or put to sleep. So I try to keep out +of the way until dinner." + +"I see," says I. "You ain't strong for kids?" + +"Oh, I don't mind 'em when they're kept in their place," says Babe. "But +when they insist on giving you oatmealy kisses, or paw you with sticky +fingers--no, thanks. Can't tell Mabel that, though. She seems to think +they are all little wonders. And Dick is just as bad--rushes home early +every afternoon so he can have half an hour with 'em. Huh!" + +"Maybe you'll feel different," says I, "if you ever collect a family of +your own." + +"Me?" says Babe. "Fat chance!" + +I couldn't help agreein' with him. I could see now why he'd shied +matrimony so consistent. With sentiments like that he'd looked on Sister +Mabel as a horrible example. Besides, followin' sports the way he did, a +wife and kids wouldn't fit in at all. + +We'd made half the circle and was tearing along the middle road on the +back stretch at a Vanderbilt cup gait when all of a sudden Babe jams on +the emergency and we skids along until we brings up a few yards beyond +where this young lady is flaggin' us frantic with a pink-lined +throw-scarf. + +"What the deuce!" asks Babe, starin' back. + +"Looks like a help wanted hail," says I. "She's got a bunch of +youngsters with her and--yep, one of 'em is all gory. See!" + +"O Lord!" groans Babe. "Well, I suppose I must." + +As he backs up the machine I stretches my neck around and takes a look +at this wayside group. Three little girls are huddled panicky around +this young party who wears a brown velvet tam at such a rakish angle on +top of her wavy brown hair. And cuddled up in her left arm she's holdin' +a chubby youngster whose face is smeared with blood something startlin'. + +"You don't happen to be a doctor, do you?" she demands of Babe. + +"Heavens, no!" says he. + +"But perhaps you know what to do to stop nose bleeding?" she goes on. + +"Why, let's see," says Babe. "Oh, yes! Put a cold door key on the back +of his neck." + +"Or a piece of brown paper on his tongue," I adds. + +The young lady shrugs her shoulders disappointed. "I've tried all that," +says she, "and an ice pack, too. But it's no use. I must get him to a +doctor right away. There's one about a mile down this road. Couldn't you +take us?" + +"Sure thing!" says Babe. "Torchy, you can hang on the back, can't you?" + +"Oh, I can walk home," says I. + +"No, no," says Babe, hasty. "You--you'd best come along." + +So I helps load in the young lady and the claret drippin' youngster, +drapes myself on the spare tires, and we're off. + +"Is it little brother?" asks Babe, glancin' at the kid. + +"Mine?" says the young lady. "Of course not. I'm Lucy Snell--one of the +teachers at the public school back there at the cross-roads. Some of the +children always insist on walking part way home with me, especially +little Billy here. Usually he behaves very nicely, but today he seems to +be out of luck. His nose started leaking fully half an hour ago. He must +have leaked quarts and quarts, all over himself and me. You wouldn't +think he could have a drop left in him. I was just about crazy when I +saw you coming. There's Dr. Baker's house on the right around that next +curve. And say, there's some speed to this bus of yours, Mr.--er----" + +"Cutler," says Babe. "Here we are. Anything more I can do?" + +"Why," says Miss Snell, as I'm unbuttonin' the door for her, "you might +stick around a few minutes to see if he wants little Billy taken to the +hospital or anything. I'll let you know." And with that she trips in. + +"Lively young party, eh?" I remarks to Babe. "Don't mind askin' for what +she wants." + +"Perfectly all right, too," says he, "in a case like this. She isn't one +of the helpless kind. Some pep to her, I'll bet. Lucy, eh? I always did +like that name." + +I had to chuckle. "What about the Snell part?" says I. "That one of your +favorite names, too?" + +"N--n--no," says Babe. "But she'll probably change that some of these +days. She's the sort that does, you know." + +"I expect you are right, at that," I agrees. + +Pretty soon out she comes again, calm and smilin'. It's some smile she +has, by the way. Wide and generous and real folksy. And now that the +scare has faded out of her eyes they have more or less snap to 'em. +They're the bright brown kind, that match her hair, and the freckles +across the bridge of her nose. + +"It's all right," says she. "Dr. Baker says the ice pack did the trick. +And he'll take Billy home as soon as he's cleaned him up a bit. Thanks, +Mr. Cutler." + +"Oh, I might as well drive you home, too, and finish the job," says +Babe. + +"Well, I'm not missing anything like that, I can tell you," says Miss +Snell. "I'm simply soaked with that youngster's gore. But I live way +back on the other road. My! Billy dripped some on your seat cushions, +didn't he?" + +"Oh, that will wash out," says Babe careless. "You're fond of +youngsters, I suppose?" + +"Well, in a way I am," says she. "I'm used to 'em anyway, being one of +six myself. That's why I'm out teaching--makes one less for Dad to have +to rustle for. He keeps the little plumber's shop down opposite the +station. You've seen the sign--T. Snell." + +"I've no doubt I have," says Babe. "And you--you like teaching, do you?" + +"Why, I can't say I'm dead in love with it," says Miss Snell. "Not this +second grade stuff, anyway. It's all I could qualify for, though. This +is my second year at it. I don't suppose you ever taught second grade +yourself, did you?" + +Babe almost gasps, but admits that he never has. + +"Then take my advice and don't tackle it," says Miss Snell. "Not that +you would, of course, but that's what I tell all the girls who think I +have such a soft snap with my Saturdays off and a two months' summer +vacation. Believe me, you need it after you've drilled forty youngsters +all through a term. D-o-g, dog; c-a-t, cat. Why will the little imps +sing it through their noses? It's the same with the two-times table. And +they can be so stupid! I don't believe I was meant for a teacher, +anyway, for it all seems so useless to me, making them go through all +that, and keeping still for hours and hours, when they want so much to +be outdoors playing around. I'd like to be out myself." + +"But after school hours," suggests Babe, "you surely have time to go in +for sports of some kind." + +"What do you mean, sports?" asks Miss Snell. + +"Oh, tennis, or horseback riding, or golf," says Babe. + +She turns around quick and stares at him. "Are you kidding?" she +demands. "Or do you want to get me biting my upper lip? Say, on five +hundred a year, with board to pay and clothes to buy, you can't go in +very heavy for sports. I did blow myself to a tennis racquet and +rubber-soled shoes last summer and my financial standing has been below +par ever since. As for spare time, there's no such thing. When I've +finished helping Ma do the supper dishes there's always a pile of lesson +papers to go over, and reports to make out. And Saturdays I can do my +washing and mending, maybe shampoo my hair or make over a hat or +something. Can you figure in any chance for golf or horseback riding? I +can't, even if club dues were free to schoolma'ams and the board should +send around a lot of spotted ponies for our use. Not that I wouldn't +like to give those things a whirl once. I'm just foolish enough to +think I could do the sport stuff with the best of 'em." + +"I'll bet you could, too," says Babe, enthusiastic. "You--you're just +the type." + +"Yes," says Miss Snell, "and a fat lot of good that's going to do me. So +what's the use talking? In a year or so I suppose I'll be swinging a +broom around my own little flat, coaxing a kitchen range to hump itself +at 6:30 a.m., and hanging out a Monday wash for two." + +"Oh!" says Babe. "Then you've picked out the lucky chap?" + +"I don't know whether he's lucky or not," says she. "It isn't really +settled, anyway. Pete Snyder has been hanging around for some time, and +I expect I'll give in if he keeps it up. He's Dad's helper, you know, +and he isn't more'n half as dumb as he looks. Gosh! Here we are. I hope +none of the kids see you bringing me home and tell Pete about it. He'd +be green in the eye for a week. Good-by, Mr. Cutler, and much obliged." + +As she skips out and up the path toward the little ramshackle cottage +she turns and flashes one of them wide smiles on Babe and gives him a +friendly wave. + +"Well," says I. "Pete might do worse." + +"I believe you," says Babe, kind of solemn. + +Course, I didn't keep any close track of Mr. Cutler for the next few +days. There was no special reason why I should. I supposed he was busy +makin' up his quartette for that Southern cruise. So about a week later +I'm mildly surprised to hear that he's still stayin' on over at Sister +Mabel's. I didn't really suspicion anything until one afternoon, along +in the middle of January, when as I steps off the 5:10 I gets a glimpse +of Babe's blue racer waitin' at the crossing gates. And snuggled down +under the fur robe beside him, with her cheeks pinked up by the crisp +air and her brown eyes sparklin', is Miss Lucy Snell. + +"Huh!" thinks I. "Still goin' on, eh? Or has Billy's little beak had +another leaky spell?" + +Couldn't have been many days after that before I comes home to find Vee +all excited over some news she'd heard from Mrs. Robert Ellins. + +"What do you think, Torchy!" says she. "That bachelor friend of Mr. +Robert, a Mr. Cutler, was married last night." + +"Eh!" says I. "Babe?" + +"Yes," says Vee. "And to a village girl, daughter of T. Snell, the +plumber. And his married sister is perfectly wild about it. Isn't it +dreadful?" + +"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Might turn out all right." + +"But--but she's a poor little school-teacher," protests Vee, "and Mr. +Cutler is--is----" + +"A rich sport," I puts in, "who's always had what he wanted. And I +expect he thought he wanted Miss Snell. Looks so, don't it?" + +I understand that Sister Mabel threw seven kinds of fits, and that the +country club set was all worked up over the affair, specially one of the +young ladies that had played in mixed foursomes with Babe and probably +had the net out for him. But he didn't come back to apologize or +anything like that. And the next we heard was that the happy pair had +started for Florida on their honeymoon. + +Well, that seemed to finish the incident. Mr. Robert hunches his +shoulders and allows that Babe is old enough to manage his own affairs. +Sister Mabel calmed down, and the disappointed young ladies crossed Babe +off the last-hope list. Besides, a perfectly good scandal broke out in +the bridge playing and dancing set, and Babe Cutler's rapid little +romance was forgotten. Five or six Sundays came and went, with Mondays +following regular. + +And then here the other afternoon, as I'm camped down next to the car +window on my way home, who should tap me on the shoulder but the same +old Babe. That is, unless you looked close. For there's a worried, +puzzled look in his wide set eyes and he don't spring the usual hail. + +"Hello!" says I. "Ain't lost your baggage checks, have you?" + +"It's worse than that," says he. "I--I've lost--Lucy." + +"Wha-a-t!" says I, gaspy. "You don't mean she--she's----" + +"No," says Babe. "She's just quit me and gone home." + +"But--but why?" I blurted out. + +"Lord knows," groans Babe. "That's what I want to find out." + +Honest, it listens like a first-class mystery. According to him they'd +been staying at one of the swellest joints he could find in the whole +state of Florida. Also he'd bought Lucy all the kinds of clothes she +would let him buy, from sport suits to evening gowns. She'd taken up a +lot of different things, too--golf, riding, swimming, dancing. Seemed to +be having a bully time when--bang! She breaks out into a weepy spell and +announces that she is going home. Does it, too, all by her lonesome, +leaving Babe to trail along by the next train. + +"And for the life of me, Torchy," he declares, "I can't imagine why." + +"Well, let's try to piece it out," says I. "First off, how have you been +spending your honeymoon?" + +"Oh, golf mostly," says he. "I was runner up in the big tournament." + +"I see," says I. "Thirty-six holes a day, eh?" + +He nods. + +"And a jack-pot session with the old crowd every evening?" I asks. + +"Oh, only now and then," says he. + +"With a few late parties down in the grill?" I goes on. + +"Not a party," says Babe. "State's dry, you know. No, generally we went +into the ballroom evenings and I helped Lucy try out the new steps she +was learning." + +"You did!" says I. "Then I give it up." + +"Me too," says Babe. "But I'm not going to give up Lucy. Say, she's a +regular person, she is. She was making good, too, and having a whale of +a time when all of a sudden--Say, Torchy, if it was some break I made I +want to know it, so I can square myself. She wouldn't tell me; wouldn't +have a word to say. But listen, perhaps if you asked her----" + +"Hey, back up!" says I. + +"You know, if it hadn't been for you I might never have seen her," he +goes on. "You were there when it began, and if there's to be a finish +you might as well be in on that, too. I've got to know what it was I +did, though. Honest, I can't remember anything particularly raw. Been +chewing over it for two nights. If you could just----" + +Well, at the end of ten minutes I agrees to go up to the plumber's +house, and if the new Mrs. Cutler will see me I says I'll put it up to +her. + +"But you got to come along and hang around outside while I'm doing it," +I insists. + +"I'll do anything that either you or Lucy asks," says he. "I'll go the +limit." + +"That listens fair enough," says I. + +So that's how it happens I'm waitin' in the plumber's parlor for Babe +Cutler's runaway bride. And say, when she shows up in that zippy sport +suit, just in from a long tramp across country, she looks some classy. +First off she's inclined to be nervous and jumpy and don't want to talk +about Babe at all. + +"Oh, he's all right," says she. "I have nothing against him. He--he +meant well." + +"As bad as that, was he?" says I. "I shall hate to tell him." + +"But it wasn't Babe, at all," she insists. "Don't you dare say it was, +either. If you must know, it was that awful hotel life. I--I just +couldn't stand it." + +"Eh?" says I, and I expect I must have been gawpin' some. "Why, I +understand you were at one of the swellest----" + +"We were," says she. "That was the trouble. And I suppose if I'd known +how, I might have had a swell time. But I didn't. I'd had no practice. +And say, if you think you can learn to be a regular winter resort person +in a few weeks just try it once. I did. I went at it wholesale. All of +the things I'd wanted to do and thought I could do, I tackled. It looks +like a lot of fun to see those girls start off with their golf clubs. +Seems easy to swing a driver and crack out the little white ball. Take +it from me, though, it's nothing of the kind. Why, I spent hours and +hours out on the practice tee with a grouchy Scotch professional trying +my best to hit it right. And I couldn't. At the end of three weeks I was +still a duffer. All I'd accumulated were palm callouses and a backache. +Yet I knew just how it should be done. I can repeat it now. One--you +take your 'stance. Two--you start the head of the club back in a +straight line with the left wrist. Three--you come up on your left toe +and bend the right knee. And so on. Yet I'd dub the ball only a few +yards. + +"Then, when that was over, I'd go in and change for my dancing lessons. +More one--two--three stuff. And say, some of these new jazz steps are +queer, aren't they? I'd about got three or four all mixed up in my head +when I'd have to run and jump into my riding habit and go through a +different lot of one--two--three motions. And just as I'd lamed myself +in a lot of new places there would come the swimming lesson. I thought I +could swim some, too. I learned one summer down at Far Rockaway. But it +seems that was old stuff. They aren't doing that now. No, it's the +double side stroke, the Australian crawl, and a lot more. One, two, +three, four, five, six. Legs straight, chin down, and roll on the +three. And if you dream it's a pleasure to have a big husk of an +instructor pump your arms back and forth for an hour, and say sarcastic +things to you when you get mixed, with a whole gallery of fat old women +and grinning old sports looking on--Well, I'm tellin' you it's fierce. +Ab-so-lutely. It was the swimming lesson that finished me. Especially +the counting. 'Why, Lucy Snell, you poor prune,' says I to myself, +'you're not having a good time. You're back in school, second grade, and +the dunce of the class.' That's what I was, too. A flat failure. And +when I got to thinking of how Babe would take it when he found +out--Well, it got on my nerves so that I simply made a run for home. +There! You can tell him all about it, and I suppose he'll never want to +see or hear of me again." + +"Maybe," says I, "but I have my doubts. Anyway, it won't take long to +make a test." + +And when I'd left her and strolled out to the gate where Babe is pacin' +up and down anxious, he demands at once: "Well, did you find out?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. + +"Was--was it something I did?" he asks trembly. + +"Sure it was," says I. "You let her in for an intensive training act +that would make the Paris Island marine school grind look like a wand +drill. You should have had better sense, too. Why, what she was trying +to sop up in six weeks most young ladies give as many years to. Near as +I can judge she was making a game play of it, too. But of course she +couldn't last out. And it's a wonder she didn't wind up at a nerve +sanitarium." + +"Honest!" says Babe, beamin' on me and grabbin' my hand. "Is--is that +all?" + +"Ain't that enough?" says I. + +"But that's so easy fixed," says he. "Why, I am bored stiff at these +resort places myself. I thought, though, that Lucy was having the time +of her young life. What a chump I was not to see! Say, we'll take a +fresh start. And next time, believe me, she's going to have just what +she wants. That is, if I can persuade her to give me another trial." + +It seems he did, for later on he tells me he's bought that cute little +stucco cottage over near the country club and that him and Lucy are +going to settle down like regular people. + +"With a nursery and all?" I asks. + +"There's no telling," says Babe. + +And with that we swaps grins. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +HARTLEY AND THE G. O. G.'S + + +"Oh, I say, Torchy," calls out Mr. Robert, as I'm reachin' for my hat +here the other noon, "you don't happen to be going up near the club on +your way to luncheon, do you?" + +"Not today," says I. "I'm lunchin' with the general staff." + +"Oh!" says he, grinnin'. "In that case never mind." + +And for fear you shouldn't be wise to this little office joke of ours +maybe I'd better explain that who I meant was Hartley Grue, assistant +chief of our bond room force. + +Just goes to show how hard up we are for comic stuff in the Corrugated +Trust these days when we can squeeze a laugh out of such a +serious-minded party as Hartley. But you know how it is. I expect some +of them green-eyed clerks on the tall stools started callin' him that +when the War Department first turned him loose and he reports back to +tackle the old job wearin' the custom tailored uniform with the gold bar +on his shoulders. And I admit the rest of us might have found something +better to do than listen to them Class B-4 patriots who would have +helped save the world for democracy if the war had lasted a couple years +more. + +Still, that general staff tag for Mr. Grue tickled us a bit. As a matter +of fact he did come back--from the Hoboken piers--about as military as +they made 'em. And to hear him talk about the Aisne drive and the St. +Mihiel campaign and so on you'd think he must have been right at +Pershing's elbow durin' the whole muss, instead of at Camp Mills and +later on at the docks on a transport detail. But he gets away with it, +even among us who have watched all the details of his martial career. + +For the big war gave Hartley his chance, and he grabbed it as eager as a +park squirrel nabbin' a peanut. He'd been hangin' on here in the bond +room for five or six years, edgin' up step by step until he got to be +assistant chief, but at that he wasn't much more'n an office drudge. +Everybody ordered him around, from Old Hickory down to Mr. Piddie. He +was one of the kind that you naturally would, being sort of meek and +spineless. He'd been brought up that way, I understand, for his old man +was a chronic grouch--thirty years at a railroad ticket office +window--and I expect he lugged his ticket sellin' disposition home with +him. + +Anyway, Hartley had that cheap, hang-dog look, like he was always +listenin' for somebody to hand him something rough and would be +disappointed if they didn't. And yet he was quick enough to resent +anything if he thought it was safe. You'd see him scowlin' over his +books and he carried a constant flush under his eyes, as if he'd been +slapped recent across the face, or expected to be. Not what you'd call a +happy disposition, Hartley; nor was he just the type you'd pick out to +handle a bunch of men. + +All he had to start with was a couple of years' trainin' as a private in +one of the National Guard regiments. I suppose he knew "guide right" +from "left oblique" and how to ground arms without mashin' somebody's +pet corn. But I don't think anybody suspected he had any wild military +ambitions concealed under that 2x4 dome of his. Yet while most of us was +still pattin' Wilson on the back for keepin' us out of war Hartley had +already severed diplomatic relations and was wearin' a flag in his +buttonhole. + +When the first Plattsburg camp was organized Hartley was among the first +to get a month's leave of absence and report. He didn't make it, being a +little shy on the book stuff, besides lacking ten pounds or more for his +height. But that didn't discourage him. He begun taking correspondence +courses, eating corn meal mush twice a day, and cutting out the smokes. +And after a four weeks' whirl at the second officers' training camp he +squeezed through, coming out as a near lieutenant. Old Hickory Ellins +gasped some when Hartley showed up with the bar on his shoulders, but he +gave him the husky grip and notified him that his leave was extended for +the duration of the war with half pay. + +And the next we heard from Hartley he was located at Camp Mills drillin' +recruit companies. Two or three times he dropped in to say he expected +to be sent over, but each time something or other happened to keep him +within a trolley ride of Broadway. Once he was caught in a mumps +quarantine just as his division got sailing orders, and again he +developed some trouble with one of his knees. Finally Hartley threw out +that someone at headquarters was blockin' him from gettin' to the front, +and at last he got stuck with this dock detail, which he never got loose +from until he was turned out for good. Way up to the end, though, +Hartley still talked about getting over to help smash the Huns. I guess +he was in earnest about it, too. + +Maybe they thought when they had mustered Hartley out that they'd +returned another citizen to civilian life. But they hadn't more'n half +finished the job. Hartley wouldn't have it that way. He'd stored up a +lot of military enthusiasm that he hadn't been able to work off on +draftees and departin' heroes. In fact, he was just bustin' with it. You +could see that by the way he walked, even when he wasn't sportin' the +old O. D. once more on some excuse or other. He'd come swingin' into the +general offices snappy, like he had important messages for the colonel; +chin up, his narrow shoulders well back, and eyes front. He'd trained +Vincent, the office boy, to give him the zippy salute, and if any of the +rest of us had humored him he'd had us pullin' the same stuff. But those +of us that had been in the service was glad enough to give the right arm +motion a long vacation. + +"Nothing doing, Hartley," I'd say to him. "We've canned the Kaiser, +ain't we? Let's forget that shut-eye business." + +And how he did hate to part with that uniform. Simply couldn't seem to +do it all at once, but had to taper off gradual. First off he was only +going to sport it two days a week, but whenever he could invent a +special occasion, out it came. He even got him a Sam Browne belt, which +was contrary to orders, and once I caught him gazin' longin' in a show +window at some overseas service chevrons and wound stripes. Course, he +wore the allied colors ribbon, which passes with a lot of folks for +foreign decorations; but then, a whole heap of limited service guys have +put that over. + +When it came to provin' that it was us Yanks who really cleaned up the +Huns and finished the war, Hartley was right there. That was his strong +suit. He carried maps around, all marked up with the positions of our +different divisions, and if he could get you to listen to him long +enough he'd make you believe that after we got on the job the French and +English merely hung around the back areas with their mouths open and +watched us wind things up. + +"You see," he'd explain, "it was our superior discipline and our +wonderful morale that did it. Look at our marines. Just average material +to start with. But what training! Same way with a lot of our infantry +regiments. They'd been taught that orders were orders. It had been +hammered into 'em. They knew that when they were told to do a thing it +just had to be done, and that was all there was to it. We didn't wait +until we got over there to win the war. We won it here, on our +cantonment drill grounds. And I rather think, if you'll pardon my saying +so, that I did my share." + +"I'm glad you admit it, Hartley," says I. "I was afraid you wouldn't." + +His latest bug though was this Veteran Reserve Army scheme of his. His +idea was that instead of scrappin' this big army organization that it +had cost so much to build up we ought to save it so it would be ready in +case another country--Japan maybe--started anything. He thought every +man should keep his uniform and equipment and be put on call. They ought +to keep up their training, too. Might need some revisin' of regiments +and so on, but by having the privates report, say once a week, at the +nearest place where officers could meet them, it could be done. Course, +some of the officers might be too busy to bother with it. Well, they +could resign. That would give a chance for promotions. And the gaps in +the enlisted ranks could be kept filled from the new classes which +universal service would account for. + +See Hartley's little plan? He could go on wearin' his shoulder straps +and shiny leggins and maybe in time he'd have a gold or silver poison +ivy leaf instead of the bar. + +It was the details of this scheme that he'd been tryin' to work off on +me for weeks, but I'd kept duckin', until finally I'd agreed to let him +spill it across the luncheon table. + +"It's got to be a swell feed, though, Hartley," I insists as I joins him +out at the express elevator. + +"Will the Café l'Europe do?" he asks. + +"Gee!" says I. "So that's why you 're dolled up in the Sunday uniform, +eh? Got the belt on too. All right. But I mean to wade right through +from hors-d'oeuvres to parfait. Hope you've cashed in your delayed pay +vouchers." + +I notice, too, that Hartley don't hunt out any secluded nook down in the +grill, but leads the way to a table right in the middle of the big room +on the main floor, where most of the ladies are. And believe me, +paradin' through a mob like that is something he don't shrink from at +all. Did I mention that Hartley used to be kind of meek actin'? Well, +that was before I heard him talk severe to a Greek waiter. + +Also I got a new line on the way Hartley looks at the enlisted man. I'd +suggested that a lot of these returned buddies might have had about all +the drill stuff they cared for and that this idea of reportin' once a +week at some armory possibly wouldn't appeal to 'em. + +"They'll have to, that's all," says Hartley. "The new service act will +provide for that. Besides, it will do 'em good, keep 'em in line. +Anyway, that's what they're for." + +"Oh," says I. "Are they? Say, with sentiments like that you must have +been about as popular with your company, Hartley, as an ex-grand duke at +a Bolshevik picnic." + +"What I was after," says he, "was discipline, no popularity. It's what +the average young fellow needs most. As for me, I had it clubbed into me +from the start. If I didn't mind what I was told at home I got a bat on +the ear. Same way here in the Corrugated, you might say. I've always had +to take orders or get kicked. That's what I passed on to my men. At +least I tried to." + +And as Hartley stiffens up and glares across the table at an imaginary +line of doughboys I could guess that he succeeded. + +It was while I was followin' his gaze that I noticed this bunch of five +young heroes at a corner table. Their overseas caps was stacked on a hat +tree nearby and one of 'em was wearin' some sort of medal. And from the +reckless way they were tacklin' big platters of expensive food, such as +broiled live lobster and planked steaks, I judged they'd been mustered +out more or less recent. + +Just now, though, they seemed a good deal interested in something over +our way. First off I didn't know but some of 'em might be old friends of +mine, but pretty soon I decides that it's Hartley they're lookin' at. I +saw 'em nudgin' each other and stretchin' their necks, and they seems to +indulge in a lively debate, which ends in a general haw-haw. I calls +Hartley's attention to the bunch. + +"There's a squad of buddies that I'll bet ain't yearnin' to hear someone +yell 'Shun!' at 'em again," I suggests. "Know any of 'em?" + +"It is quite possible," says Hartley, glancin' at 'em casual. "They all +look so much alike, you know." + +With that he gets back to his Reserve Army scheme and he sure does give +me an earful. We'd got as far as the cheese and demi tasse when I +noticed one of the soldiers--a big, two-fisted husk--wander past us slow +and then drift out. A minute or two later Hartley is being paged and +the boy says there's a 'phone call for him. + +"For me?" says Hartley, lookin' puzzled. "Oh, very well." + +He hadn't more'n left when the other four strolls over, and one of the +lot remarks: "I beg your pardon, but does your friend happen to be +Second Lieutenant Grue?" + +"That's his name," says I, "only it was no accident he got to be second +lieutenant. That just had to be." + +They grins friendly at that. "You've described it," says one. + +"He was some swell officer, too, I understand," says I. + +"Oh, all of that," says another. "He--he's out of the service now, is +he?" + +"Accordin' to the War Department he is," says I, "but if a little plan +of his goes through he'll be back in the game soon." And I sketches out +hasty Hartley's idea of keepin' the returned vets on tap. + +"Wouldn't that be perfectly lovely now!" says the buddy with the medal, +diggin' his elbow enthusiastic into the ribs of the one nearest him. +"Wonder if we couldn't persuade him to make it two drill nights a week +instead of one. Eh, old Cootie Tamer?" + +Course, it develops that these noble young gents, before being sent over +to buck the Hindenburg line, had all been in one of the companies +Hartley had trained so successful. I wouldn't care to state that they +was hep to the fact that if it hadn't been for him they wouldn't have +turned out to be such fine soldiers. But they sure did take a lot of +interest in discoverin' one of their old officers. That was natural and +did them credit. + +Yes, they wanted to know all about Hartley; where he worked; what he +did, and what were his off hours. It was almost touchin' to see how +eager they was for all the details. Havin' been abroad so long, and +among foreigners, and in strange places, I expect Hartley looked like +home to 'em. + +And then again, you know how they say all them boys who went over have +come back men, serious and full of solemn, lofty thoughts. You could see +it shinin' in their eyes, even if they did let on to be chucklin' at +times. So I gives 'em all the dope I could about their dear old second +lieutenant and asks 'em to stick around a few minutes so they could meet +him. + +"We'd love to," says the one the others calls Beans. "Yes, indeed, it +would be a great pleasure, but I think we should defer it until the +lieutenant can be induced to leave off his uniform. You understand, I'm +sure. We--we should feel more at ease." + +"Maybe that could be fixed up, too," says I. + +"If it only could!" says Beans, rollin' his eyes at the bunch. "But +perhaps it would be better as sort of a surprise. Eh? So you needn't +mention us. We--we'll let him know in a day or so." + +Well, they kept their word. Couldn't have been more 'n a couple of days +later when Hartley calls me one side confidential and shows me this note +askin' him if he wouldn't be kind enough to meet with a few of his old +comrades in arms and help form a permanent organization that would +perpetuate the fond ties formed at Camp Mills. + +Hartley is beamin' all over his face. "There!" says he. "That's what I +call the true American spirit. And, speaking as a military man, I've +seen no better example of a morale that lasts through. It's the +discipline that does it, too. I suppose they want me to continue as +their commanding officer; to carry on, as it were." + +"Listens that way, doesn't it?" says I. "But what do the initials at the +end stand for--the G. O. G.'s.?" + +"Can't you guess?" says Hartley, almost blushin'. "Grue's Overseas +Graduates." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Say, that's handin' you something, eh? Looked +like a fine bunch of young chaps. Some of 'em college hicks, I expect?" + +"Oh, yes," says Hartley. "All kinds from plumbers to multi-millionaires. +Fact! I had young Ogden Twombley as company secretary at one time. Yes, +and I remember docking his leave twelve hours once for being late at +assembly. But see what it's done for those boys." + +"And think what they did to the Huns," says I. "But where's this joint +they want to meet you at? What's the number again? Why, that's the +Plutoria." + +"Is it?" says Hartley. "Oh, well, there were a lot of young swells among +'em. I must get them interested in my Veteran Reserve plan. I'll have to +make a little speech, I suppose, welcoming them back and all that sort +of thing. Perhaps you'd like to come along, Torchy?" + +"Sure!" says I. "That is, so long as they don't call on me for any +remarks. How about this at the bottom, though? 'Civilian dress, +please'?" + +"Oh, they'd feel a little easier, I suppose," says Hartley, "if I wasn't +in uniform. Maybe it would be best, the first time." + +So that's how it happened that promptly at 4 p.m. next day we was shown +up to this private suite in the Plutoria. Must have been kind of hard +for Hartley to give up his nifty O. D.'s, for he ain't such an +impressive young gent in a sack coat. And the braid bound cutaway and +striped pants he's dug out for the occasion makes him look more like a +floor walker from the white goods department than ever. But he tries to +look the second lieutenant in spite of it, bracin' his shoulders well +back and swellin' his chest out important. + +It seems the G. O. G.'s has been doin' some recruitin' meantime, for +there's a dozen or more grouped about the room, some in citizens' +clothes but more still in the soldier togs they wore when they came off +the transport. And to judge by the looks of a table I got a squint at +behind a screen, they'd been doin' a little preliminary celebratin'. +However, they all salutes respectful and Hartley had just started to +shoot off his speech, which begins, of course: "Speaking as a military +man----" when this Beans gent interrupts. + +"Pardon me, lieutenant," says he, "but the members of our organization +are quite anxious to know, first of all, if you will accept the high +command of the Gogs, so called." + +"With pleasure," says Hartley. "And as I was about to say----" + +"Just a moment," breaks in Beans again. "Fellow Gogs, we have before us +a willing candidate for the High Command. What is your pleasure?" + +"Initiation!" they whoops in chorus. + +"Carried!" says Beans. "Let the right worthy Buddies proceed to +administer the Camp Mills degree." + +"Signal!" calls out another cheerful. "Four--seven--eleven! Run the +guard!" + +Say, I couldn't tell exactly what happened next, for I was hustled into +a corner and those noble young heroes of the Marne and elsewhere, full +of lofty aims and high ambitions and--and other things--Well, they +certainly didn't need any promptin' to carry out the order of +ceremonies. Without a word or a whisper they proceeds to grab Hartley +wherever the grabbin' was good and then pass him along. By climbin' on a +chair I could get a glimpse of him now and then as he is sent whirlin' +and bumpin' about, like a bottle bobbin' around in rough water. Back and +forth he goes, sometimes touchin' the floor and then again being tossed +toward the ceilin'. Two or three of 'em would get him and start rushin' +him across the room when another bunch would tear him loose and begin +some maneuvers of their own. + +Anyway, runnin' the guard seems to be about as strenuous an act as +anybody could go through and come out whole. It lasts until all hands +seem to be pretty well out of breath and someone blows a whistle. Then a +couple of 'em drags Hartley up in front of Brother Beans and salutes. + +"Well, right worthy Buddies," says he, "what have you to report +concerning the candidate?" + +"Sorry, sir," says one, "but we caught him tryin' to run the guard." + +"Ah!" says Beans. "Did he get away with it?" + +"He did not," says the Buddie. "We suspect he's a dud, too." + +"Very serious," says Beans, shakin' his head. "Candidate, what have you +to say for yourself?" + +To judge by the hectic tint on Hartley's neck and ears he had a whole +heap he wanted to say, but for a minute or so all he can do is breathe +hard and glare. He's a good deal of a sight, too. The cutaway coat has +lost one of its tails; his hair is rumpled up like feathers, and his +collar has parted its front moorin's. As soon as he gets his wind +though, he tries to state what's on his mind. + +"You--you young rough-necks!" says he. "I--I'll make you sweat for this. +You'll see!" + +"Harken, fellow Gogs!" says Beans. "The candidate presumes to address +your Grand Worthy in terms unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. I +would suggest that we suspend the ritual until by some means he can be +brought to his better senses. Can anyone think of a way?" + +"Sure!" someone sings out. "Let's give him Days Gone By." + +The vote seems to be unanimous and the proceedin's open with Brother +Beans waggin' his finger under Hartley's nose. "Kindly recall November +22, 1917," says he. "It was Saturday, and my leave ticket read from 11 +a. m. of that date until 11 p. m. of the 23rd. You knew who was waiting +for me at the Matron's House, too. And just because I'd changed to +leather leggins inside the gate you called me back and put me to +scrubbing the barracks floor, making me miss my last chance at a matinée +and otherwise queering a perfectly good day. Next!" + +"My turn!" sings out half a dozen others, but out of the push that +surges toward Hartley steps a light-haired, neat dressed young gent, who +walks with a slight limp. "I trust you'll remember me, lieutenant," says +he. "I was Private Nelson, guilty of the awful crime of appearing at +inspection with two grease spots on my tunic because you'd kept me on +mess sergeant detail for two weeks and the issues of extra uniforms +hadn't been made. So you gave me double guard duty the day my folks came +all the way down from Buffalo to see me. Real clever of you, wasn't it?" + +One by one they reminded Hartley of little things like that, without +givin' him a chance to peep, until each one had had his say. But finally +Hartley gets an openin'. + +"You got just what you needed--discipline," says he. "That's what made +soldiers out of you." + +"Oh, did it!" says Brother Beans. "Then perhaps a little of it would +qualify you for the High Command. Shall we try it, Most Worthy +Buddies?" + +"Soak it on him, Beans!" is the verdict, shouted enthusiastic from all +sides. + +"So let it be," says Beans solemn. "And now, candidate, you are about to +be escorted forth where the elusive cigar-butt lurks in the gutter and +scraps of paper litter the pavement. As an exponent of this particular +brand of discipline you will see that no small item escapes you. Should +you be so remiss, or should you falter in doing your full duty, you will +be returned at once to this room, where retribution waits with heavy +hands. Ho, Worthy Buddies! Invest the candidate with the sacred insignia +of the empty gunny sack." + +And say, when them Gogs started out to put a thing through they did it +systematic and thorough. Inside of a minute Hartley is armed with an old +bag and is being hustled out to the elevator. As they didn't seem to be +taking much notice of me, I tags along, too. They leads Hartley right +out in front of the Plutoria and sets him to cleanin' up the block. + +Course, it's a little odd to see a young gent in torn cutaway coat and +tousled hair scramblin' around under taxi-cabs and dodgin' cars to pick +up cigar-butts and chewin' gum papers. So quite a crowd collects. Some +of 'em cheers and some haw-haws. But the overseas vets. don't allow +Hartley to let up for a second. + +"Hey! Don't miss that cigarette stub!" one would call out to him. And as +soon as he'd retrieved that another would point out a piece of banana +peelin' out in the middle of the avenue. He got cussed enthusiastic by +some of the taxi drivers who just grazed him, and the traffic cop +threatened to run him in until he saw the bunch of soldiers bossin' the +job and then he grins and turns the other way. + +I expect I should have been more or less wrathy at seein' a brother +officer get it as raw as that, but I'm afraid I did more or less +grinnin' at some of Hartley's antics. It struck me, though, that he +might be kind of embarrassed if I stayed around until they turned him +loose. So before he finished I edged out of the crowd and drifted off. + +I couldn't help puttin' one thing up to Brother Beans though. "Excuse me +for gettin' curious," says I, "but when I asks Hartley what G. O. G. +stands for he made kind of a punk guess. If it ain't any deep +secret----" + +"It is," says Brother Beans, "but I think I'll let you in on it. The +name of our noble organization is 'Grue's Overseas Grouches,' and our +humble object is to rebuke the only taint of Prussianism which we have +personally encountered in an otherwise perfectly good man's army. When +we've done that we intend to disband." + +"Huh!" says I, glancin' over to where Hartley is springin' sort of a +sheepish smile at a buck private who's pattin' him on the back, "I think +you can most call it a job now." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE CASE OF OLD JONESEY + + +And then again, you can't always tell. I forget whether it was Bill +Shakespeare first sprung that line, or Willie Collier; but whoever it +was he said a whole bookful at once. Wise stuff. That's it. And simple, +too. Yet it's one of the first things we forget. + +But to get the point over I expect I'll have to begin with this +bond-room bunch of ours at the Corrugated. They're the kind of young +sports who always think they can tell. More'n that they always will, +providin' they can get anybody to listen. About any subject you can +name, from whether the government should own the railroads to describin' +the correct hold in dancin' the shimmy. + +This particular day though it happens to be babidolls. Maybe it wasn't +just accident, either. I expect the sudden arrival of spring had +something to do with the choice of topic. For out in Madison Square park +the robins were hoppin' busy around in the flower beds, couples were +twosing confidential on the benches, lady typists were lunchin' off ice +cream cones, and the Greek tray peddlers were sellin' May flowers. + +Anyway, it seemed like this was a day when romance was in the air, if +you get me. I think Izzy Grunkheimer must have started it with that +thrillin' tale of his about how he got rung in on a midnight studio +supper down in Greenwich Village and the little movie star who mistook +him for Charley Zukor. Izzy would spin that if he got half an openin'. +It was his big night. I believe he claims he got hugged or something. +And he always ends up by rollin' his eyes, suckin' in his breath and +declarin' passionate: "Some queen, yes-s-s!" + +But the one who had the floor when I strolls into the bond room just +before the end of the noon hour is Skip Martin, who helped win the war +by servin' the last two months checkin' supplies for the front at St. +Nazaire. He was relatin' an A. W. O. L. adventure in which a little +French girl by the name of Mimi figured prominent, when Budge Haley, who +was a corporal in the Twenty-seventh and got all the way to Coblenz, +crashed in heartless. + +"Cheap stuff, them base port fluffs," says Budge. "Always beggin' you +for chocolate or nickin' you for francs some way. And as for looks, I +couldn't see it. But say, you should have seen what I tumbled into one +night up in Belgium. We'd plugged twenty-six kilometers through the mud +and rain that day and was billeted swell in the town hall. The mess +call had just sounded and I was gettin' in line when the Loot yanks me +out to tote his bag off to some lodgin's he'd been assigned five or six +blocks away. + +"Maybe I wasn't good and sore, too, with everything gettin' cold and me +as a refugee. I must have got mixed up in my directions, for I couldn't +find any house with a green iron balcony over the front door noway. +Finally I takes a chance on workin' some of my French and knocks at a +blue door. Took me some time to raise anybody, and when a girl does +answer all I gets out of her is a squeal and the door is slammed shut +again. I was backin' off disgusted when here comes this dame with the +big eyes and the grand duchess airs. + +"'Ah le bon Dieu!' says she gaspy. 'Le soldat d'Amerique! Entrez, +m'sieur.' And say, even if I couldn't have savvied a word, that smile +would have been enough. Did I get the glad hand? Listen; she hadn't seen +anything but Huns for nearly four years. Most of that time she'd spent +hidin' in the cellar or somewhere, and for her I was the dove of peace. +She tried to tell me all about it, and I expect she did, only I couldn't +comprenez more'n a quarter of her rapid fire French. But the idea seemed +to be that I was a he-angel of the first class who deserved the best +there was in the house. Maybe I didn't get it, too. The Huns hadn't +been gone but a few hours and the peace dinner she'd planned was only a +sketchy affair, as she wasn't dead sure they wouldn't come back. When +she sees me though, she puts a stop order on all that third-rate stuff +and tells the cook to go the limit. And say, they must have dug up food +reserves from the sub-cellar, for when me and the Countess finally sits +down----" + +"Ah, don't pull that on us!" protests Skip Martin. "We admit the vintage +champagne, and the pâté de foie gras, but that Countess stuff has been +overdone." + +"Oh, has it?" says Budge. "You mean you didn't see any hangin' 'round +the freight sheds. But this is in Bastogne, old son, and there was her +Countess mark plastered all over everything, from the napkins to the +mantelpiece. Maybe I don't know one when I get a close-up, same as I did +then. Huh! I'm telling you she was the real thing. Why, I'll bet she +could sail into Tiffany's tomorrow and open an account just on the way +she carries her chin." + +"Course she was a Countess," says Izzy. "I'll bet it was some dinner, +too. And what then?" + +"It didn't happen until just as I was leavin'," says Budge. "'Sis,' says +I, 'vous etes un-un peach. Merci very much.' And I was holdin' out my +hand for a getaway shake when she closes in with a clinch that makes +this Romeo and Juliet balcony scene look like an old maid's farewell. +M-m-m-m. Honest, I didn't wash it off for two days. And, countess or +not, she was some grand little lady. I'll tell the world that." + +"Look!" says one of our noble exempts. "You've even got old Jonesey +smackin' his lips." + +That gets a big laugh from the bunch. It always does, for he's one of +our permanent jokes, old Jones. And as he happens to be sittin' humped +over here in the corner brushin' traces of an egg sandwich from his +mouth corners, the josh comes in kind of pat. + +"Must have been some lady killer in his time, eh?" suggests Skip Martin. + +That gets across as a good line too, and Skip follows it up with +another. "Let's ask him, fellers." + +And the next thing old Jones knows he's surrounded by this grinnin' +circle of young hicks while Budge Haley is demandin': "Is it so, +Jonesey, that you used to be a reg'lar chicken hound?" + +I expect it's the funny way he's gone bald, with only a fringe of +grayish hair left, and the watery blue eyes behind the dark glasses, +that got us callin' him Old Jones. Maybe the bent shoulders and his +being deaf in one ear helps. But as a matter of fact, I don't think he's +quite sixty. To judge by the fringe, he once had a crop of sandy hair +that was more or less curly. Some of the color still holds in the +bristly mustache and the ear tufts. A short, chunky party with a stubby +nose and sort of a solid-lookin' chin, he is. + +But there never is much satisfaction kiddin' Jonesey. You can't get his +goat. He just holds his hand up to his ear and asks kind of bored: "Eh, +what's that?" + +"How about them swell dames that used to go wild over you?" comes back +Skip. + +Old Jones gazes up at Skip kind of mild and puzzled. Then he shakes his +head slow. "No," says he. "Not me. If--if they did I--I must have +forgot." + +Which sets the bunch to howlin' at Skip. "There! Maybe that'll hold you, +eh?" someone remarks. And as they drift off Jonesey tackles a slice of +lunch-room pie placid. + +It struck me as rather neat, comin' from the old boy. He must have +forgot! I had a chuckle over that all by myself. What could Jonesey have +to forget? They tell me he's been with the Corrugated twenty years or +more. Why, he must have been on the payroll before some of them young +sports was born. And for the last fifteen he's held the same old +job--assistant filin' clerk. Some life, eh? + +About all we know of Old Jones is that he lives in a little back room +down on lower Sixth Avenue with a mangy green parrot nearly as old as he +is. They say he baches it there, cookin' his meals on a one-burner oil +stove, never reportin' sick, never takin' a vacation, and never gettin' +above Thirty-third Street or below Fourteenth. + +Course, so far as the force is concerned, he's just so much dead wood. +Every shake-up we have somebody wants to fire him, or pension him off. +But Mr. Ellins won't have it. "No," says he. "Let him stay on." And you +bet Jonesey stays. He drills around, fussin' over the files, doing +things just the way he did twenty years ago, I suppose, but never +gettin' in anybody's way or pullin' any grouch. I've got so I don't +notice him any more than as if he was somebody's shadow passin' by. You +know, he's just a blank. And if it wasn't for them bond-room humorists +cuttin' loose at him once in a while I'd almost forget whether he was +still on the staff or not. + +It was this same afternoon, along about 2:30, that I gets a call from +Old Hickory's private office and finds this picturesque lookin' bird +with the three piece white lip whiskers and the premature Panama lid +glarin' indignant at the boss. + +"Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, glancin' at a card, "this is Señor Don Pedro +Cassaba y Tarragona." + +"Oh, yes!" says I, just as though I wasn't surprised a bit. + +"Señor Don Pedro and so on," adds Old Hickory, "is from Havana, and for +the last half hour he has been trying to tell me something very +important, I've no doubt, to him. As it happens I am rather busy on some +affairs of my own and I--er--Oh, for the love of soup, Torchy take him +away somewhere and find out what it's all about." + +"Sure!" says I. "This way, Seenor." + +"Perdone," says he. "Say-nohr." + +"Got you," says I, "only I may not follow you very far. About all the +Spanish I had I used up this noon orderin' an omelet, but maybe we can +get somewhere if we're both patient. Here we are, in my nice cozy corner +with all the rest of the day before us. Have a chair, Say-nohr." + +He's a perky, high-colored old boy, and to judge by the restless black +eyes, a real live wire. He looks me over sort of doubtful, stroking the +zippy little chin tuft as he does it, but he ends by shruggin' his +shoulders resigned. + +"I come," says he, "in quest of Señor Captain Yohness." + +"Yohness?" says I, tryin' to look thoughtful. "No such party around here +that I know of." + +"It must be," says he. "That I have ascertained." + +"Oh, well!" says I. "Suppose we admit that much as a starter. What about +him? What's he done?" + +"Ah!" says the Señor Don Pedro, spreadin' out his hands eloquent. "But +that is a long tale." + +It was, too. I expect that was what had got him in wrong with Old +Hickory. However, he tackles it once more, using the full-arm movement +and sprinklin' in Spanish liberal whenever he got stuck. Course, this +fallin' back on his native tongue must have been a relief to him, but it +didn't help me out much. Some I could guess at, and when I couldn't I'd +get him to repeat it until I worked up a hunch. Then we'd take a fresh +start. It's surprisin', too, how well we got along after we had the +system doped out. + +And accordin' to the Hon. Pete this Cap. Yohness party is an American +who hails from New York. Don't sound reasonable, I admit, with a +monicker like that, but I let the old boy spin along. Yohness had gone +to Cuba years ago, way back before the Spanish-American war. I take it +he was part of a filibusterin' outfit that was runnin' in guns and +ammunition for the Cubans to use against the Spaniards. In fact, he +mentions Dynamite Johnny O'Brien as the leader of the crowd. I think +that was the name. Listens like it might have been, anyway. + +Well, he says this Señor Yohness is some reckless cut-up himself, for he +not only runs the blockade of Spanish warships and lands his stuff, but +then has the nerve to stick around the island and even take a little +trip into Havana. Seems that was some stunt, too, for if he'd been +caught at it he'd have found a swift finish against the nearest wall. + +Course, he had to go in disguise, but he was handicapped by havin' red +hair. Not so vivid as mine, the Señor assures me, but red enough so he +wouldn't be mistaken easy for a Spaniard. He'd have gotten away with the +act, too, if he hadn't capped it by takin' the wildest chances anybody +could have thought up. + +While he's ramblin' around Havana, takin' in all the sights and rubbin' +elbows every minute with men who'd ask no better sport than giving him a +permanent chest puncture if they'd known who he was, what does he do but +get tangled up in a love affair. Even if his head hadn't been specially +priced for more pesos than you could put in a sugar barrel, this was a +hot time for any American to be lallygaggin' around the ladies in that +particular burg. For the Spanish knew all about where the reconcentrados +were getting their firearms from and they were good and sore on us. But +little details like that don't seem to bother El Capitan Yohness a bit. +When he gets in line with an oh boy! smile from behind a window grill he +smiles back and comes around for an encore. That's the careless kind of +a Yank he is. + +What makes it worse, though, is the fact that this special window +happens to be in the Governor's Palace. And the lady herself! The +Honorable Pedro shudders as he relates it. She is none other than la +Señorita Mario, a niece of the Governor General. + +She must have had misbehavin' eyes and a kittenish disposition, for she +seems to fall for this disguised New Yorker at first sight. Most likely +it was on account of his red hair. Anyway, after one or two long +distance exchanges she drops out a note arranging a twosome in the +palace gardens by moonlight. It's a way they have, I understand. And +this Yohness guy, he don't do a thing but keep the date. Course, he must +have known that as a war risk he'd have been quoted as payin' about a +thousand per cent. premium, but he takes the chance. + +It ain't a case of bein' able to stroll in any time, either. In order to +make it he has to conceal himself in the shrubbery before sundown, when +the general public is chased out of the grounds and a guard set at the +gates. Perhaps it was worth it, though, for Don Pedro says the Señorita +Donna Mario is a lovely lady; at least, she was then. + +Anyway, the two of 'em pulled it off successful, and they was snuggled +up on a marble bench gettin' real well acquainted--maybe callin' each +other by their first names and whisperin' mushy sentiments in the +moonshine--when the heavy villain enters with stealthy tread. + +It seems that Donna Mario had been missed from the Palace. Finally the +word gets to Uncle, and although he's a grizzly old pirate, he can +remember back when he was young himself. Maybe he had one of his sporty +secretaries in mind, or some gay young first lieutenant. However it +was, he connected with a first-class hunch that on a night like this, if +the lovely Donna Mario had strayed out anywhere she would sooner or +later camp down on a marble bench. + +Whether he picked the right garden seat first rattle out of the box, or +made two or three misses, I don't know. But when he does crash in he +finds the pair just going to a clinch. He ain't the kind of an uncle, +either, who would stand off and chuckle a minute before interruptin' +with a mild "Tut--tut, now, young folks!" No. He's a reg'lar movie drama +uncle. He gets purple in the gills. He snorts through his mustache. He +gurgles out the Spanish for "Ha, ha!". Then he unlimbers a sword like a +corn-knife, reaches out a rough hairy paw, and proceeds to yank our +young hero rudely from the fond embrace. Just like that. + +And here again I missed a detail or two. I couldn't make out if it was +the pink thatch of Yohness that gave him away, or whether Uncle could +tell an American just by the feel of his neck. But the old boy got wise +right away. + +"What," says he, like he was usin' the words as a throat gargle. "A +curs-ed Gr-r-ringo! For that you shall both die." + +Which was just where, like most movie uncles, he overdid the part. +Yohness might not have been particular whether he went on livin' or +not. He hadn't acted as though he cared much. But he wasn't going to +let a nice girl like the Donna Mario get herself carved up by an +impulsive relative who wore fuzzy face whiskers and a yellow sash +instead of a vest. + +"Ah, ditch the tragic stuff, Old Sport, while I sketch out how it was +all my fault," says he, or words to that effect. + +"G-r-r-r!" says Uncle, slashin' away enthusiastic with his sword. + +If our hero had been a second or so late in his moves there would be +little left to add. But heroes never are. And when this Cap. Yohness +party got into action he was a reg'lar bear-cat. The wicked steel merely +swished through the space he'd just left and before Uncle could get in +another swing something heavy landed on him and he was being gripped in +four places. Before the old boy knew what was happening, too, that +yellow sash had been unwound and he'd been tied up as neat as an express +package. All he lacked to go on the wagon was an address tag and a +"Prepaid" label gummed on his tummy. + +"Sorry," says Yohness, rollin' him into the shrubbery with his toe, "but +you mustn't act so mussy when the young lady has a caller." + +"Ah! Eso es espantoso!" says Donna Mario, meaning that now he had +spilled the beans for fair. "You must fly. I must--we must both flee." + +"Oh, very well," says Yohness. "That is, if the fleeing is good." + +"Here! Quick!" says she, grabbin' up the long cloak Uncle had been +wearing before he started something he couldn't finish. "And this also," +she adds, handin' Yohness a military cap with a lot of gold braid on it. +"We will go together. The guards know me. They will think you are my +uncle. Wait! I will call the carriage, as if for our evening drive." + +"Now that," says I, as Don Pedro gets to this part of the yarn, "was +what I call good work done. Made a clean getaway, did they?" + +He nods, and goes on to tell how, when they got to the city limits, El +Capitan chucked the driver and footman off the box, took the reins +himself and drove until near daybreak, when he dropped the fair Donna +Mario at the house of an old friend and then beat it down the pike until +he saw a chance to leave the outfit and make a break into the woods. + +"And I expect he was willin' to call it a night after that, eh?" says I. +"Reg'lar thrill hound, wasn't he? What became of him?" + +"Ah!" says Don Pedro. "It is for that I come to you." + +"Oh, yes, so you have," says I. "I'd most forgotten. Yes, yes! You still +have the idea I can trace out Yohness for you? Suppose I could, though, +how would you be sure it was the same one, after so many years? Got any +mark on him that----" + +"Listen," says Don Pedro. "El Capitan Yohness possesses a ring of +peculiar setting--pale gold--a large dark ruby in it. This was given him +that night by the Señorita Donna Mario. He swore to her never to part +with it until they should meet again. They never have, nor will. She is +no more. For years she lived hidden, in fear of her life. Then the war +came. Her uncle was driven back to Spain. Later her friend died, but she +left to Donna Mario her estate, many acres of valuable sugar plantation, +and the house, Casa Fuerta. It is this estate which Donna Mario in turn +has willed to her valiant lover. I am one of the executors. So I ask you +where is El Capitan Yohness?" + +"Yes, I know you do," says I. "But why ask me? How do you hook up the +Corrugated Trust with any such wild----" + +"See," says Don Pedro, producin' a yellow old letter. "This came to +Donna Mario just before the war. It is on the note paper of your firm." + +"Why, that's so!" says I. "Must have been when we were in the old +building, long before my time. But as far as--Say, the name ain't +Yohness. It's Jones, plain as day." + +"Yes, Yohness," says Don Pedro, spellin' it out loud, "Y-o-n-e-s. You +see, in Spanish we call it Yohness." + +He don't say it just like that, either, but that's as near as I can get +it. Anyway, you'd never recognize it as Jones. + +"Well," I goes on, "I don't know of anybody around the place now who +would fit your description. In fact, I don't believe there's anybody by +the name of--Yes, there is one Jones here, but he can't be the party. He +isn't that kind of a Jones." + +"But if he is Señor Jones--who knows?" insists Don Pedro. + +Then I has to stop and grin. Huh! Old Jonesey bein' suspected of ever +pullin' stuff like that. Say, why not have him in and tax him with it. +"Just a sec.," says I. "You can take a look yourself." + +I finds Jonesey with his head in a file drawer, as usual, and without +spillin' anything of the joke I leads him in and lines him up in front +of Don Pedro. + +"Listen, Jonesey," says I. "This gentleman comes from Havana. Were you +ever there?" + +"Why, ye-e-e-es. Once I was," says Jonesey, sort of draggy, as if tryin' +to remember. + +"You were?" says I. "How? When?" + +"It--it was a long time ago," says Jonesey. + +"Perdone," breaks in Don Pedro. "Were you not known as Señor El +Capitan?" + +"Me?" says Jonesey. "Why--I--some might have called me that." + +"Great guns!" I gasps. "See here, Jonesey; you don't mean to say you've +got the ring too?" + +"The ring?" says he, tryin' to look blank. But at the same time I notice +his hand go up to his shirt front sort of jerky. + +"The ring of the Señorita Donna Mario," cuts in Don Pedro eager. + +That don't get any hysterical motions out of him, though. He just stands +there, lookin' from one to the other of us slow and dazed, as if +something was tricklin' down into his brain. Once or twice he rubs a +dingy hand over his bald head. It seemed to help. + +"Donna Mario, Donna Mario," he repeats, half under his breath. + +"Yes," says I. "And isn't that something like the ring you're coverin' +up there under your shirt bosom? Let's see." + +Without a word he unbuttons his collar, slips a looped string over his +head, and holds out a ring. It's a big ruby set in pale gold. + +"That is the ring of Donna Mario," says Don Pedro. + +"Hal-lup," says I. "Jonesey, do you mean to say you're the same one who +sailed with Dynamite Johnny, risked your neck to go poking around +Havana, made love to the Governor General's niece, trussed him up like a +roasting turkey when he interfered, and escaped with her in the palace +coach through whole rafts of soldiers who'd have been made rich for +life if they'd shot you on sight? You!" + +"That--that was a long time ago," says Jonesey. + +And if you will believe me, that's about all he would say. Wasn't even +much excited over the fact that a hundred thousand dollar sugar +plantation was about to be wished on him. Oh, yes, he'd go down with Don +Pedro and take possession. Was the grave of Donna Mario there? Then he +would go, surely. + +"I--I would rather like to," says Old Jonesey. + +"Huh," says I. "You better stick around until tomorrow noon. I want you +to hear what I've got to feed to that bond-room bunch." + +Jonesey shakes his head. No, he'd rather not. And as he shuffles back to +his old files I hears him mumblin', sort of soft and easy: "Donna Mario. +Ah, yes! Donna Mario!" + +Which proves, don't it, that you can't always tell. Even when the party +has such a common name as Jones. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AS LUCY LEE PASSED BY + + +Someone put on that Tales of Hoffman record, please, with a soft needle. +Thanks. Now if you'll turn out all but one bulb in the old rose-shaded +electrolier and pass the chocolate marshmallows maybe I'll try to sketch +out for you this Lucy Lee-Peyton Pratt version of the sweetest story +ever told. + +We got Lucy Lee on the bounce, as it were. She really hadn't come all +the way up from Atlanta to visit Vee even if they were old +boardin'-school chums. No, she was on her way to a house party up in +Lenox and was fillin' in the time before that happened by making a duty +stay with an old maid aunt who lived on Madison Avenue. But when it +develops that Auntie is taking the buttermilk cure for dyspepsia, has +grown too deaf to enjoy the theater, and is bugs over manipulatin' the +Ouija board, Lucy Lee gets out her address book and begins callin' up +old friends. + +I don't know how far down Vee was on the list but she seems to be the +first one to fall easy. When she hears how bored Lucy Lee is on Madison +Avenue she insists on her coming right out with us. So I get my orders +to round up Lucy Lee when I'm through at the office and tow her out +home. Hence this openin' scene in the taxi where I finds myself being +sized up coy and curious. + +There's only one way of describin' Lucy Lee. She's a sweet young thing. +Nothing big or bouncy about her. No. One of these half-portions. But +cute and kittenish from the tip of her double A pumps to the floppy hat +brim which only half hides a dangerous pair of eyes. + +"So good of you, Mr. Ballard," says she, shootin' over a shy look, "to +take all this trouble for poor little me." + +"It's a gift," says I. "Comes natural. What about baggage?" + +"I've sent a few things by express," says she. "Thank you so much, +Mr.--er--Do you know, I've heard such a lot about you from dear Vee that +I simply must call you Torchy." + +"If it's a case of must," says I, "then go to it." + +I'll admit it was a bit sudden, but Lucy Lee is such a chummy young +party, and so easy to get acquainted with, that it don't seem odd after +the first few times. First off she wants to know all about the baby, and +when I've shown her the latest snapshot, and quoted a couple of his +bright remarks, translated free, she announces right off that he must be +wonderful. + +"Simp-ly wonderful!" is Lucy Lee's way of puttin' it, as she gazes +admirin' at me. + +Course, I don't deny it. Then she wants to know how long we've been +living out on Long Island, and what the house is like, and about my work +with the Corrugated Trust, and as I give her the details she listens +with them big eyes gettin' wider and wider. + +"Simp-ly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee. + +And somehow, just by workin' that system, she begins to register. First +off I was only kind of amused by it. But before we'd driven a dozen +blocks I was being rapidly convinced that here, at last, was somebody +who really understood. You know how it is. You feel that you're a great +strong noble man, so wise in the head that there's no use tryin' to +conceal it from eyes like that; and yet so kind and generous that you +don't mind talking to any simple young person who might be helped by it. + +Oh, yes. A half hour with Lucy Lee and you're apt to need an elastic hat +band. You never knew you could reel off such entertainin' chat. Why, +without half tryin' I could start that ripply laugh of hers going and +get the dimples playin' tag with her blushes. By the time we gets home I +feels like a reg'lar guy. + +"Cute little thing, ain't she?" I remarks to Vee durin' the forty minute +wait while Lucy Lee dresses for dinner. + +"Oh, yes," says Vee, with a knowin' smile. "That is her specialty, I +believe. She's a dear though, even if she doesn't mean quite all of it." + +"Ah, why wake me up!" says I, grinnin'. + +It was next mornin' though that I got my big jolt, when an express truck +backs up with about a ton of baggage. There was only two wardrobe +trunks, a hat trunk, and a steamer trunk, and the men unloads 'em all. + +"Hal-lup!" says I, when they staggers in with the last one. "Who's +movin' in?" + +Seems it's the few little things that Lucy Lee needs for the week-end. +"I've told her to send for her maid," says Vee. "It was stupid of me not +to think of that before, knowing Lucy Lee." + +And later, when I've been called in to help undo the straps, I gets a +glimpse of the exhibit. Morning and afternoon frocks in one, evening +gowns in another, the steamer trunk full of shoes, besides all the hats. + +"Huh!" says I, on the side to Vee. "Carries all her own scenery, don't +she? Say, there's enough to outfit a Ziegfeld song revue." + +What got the biggest gasp out of me though, was when Lucy Lee unpacks +her collection of framed photos and ranges 'em on the mantel and +dressin'-table. More'n a dozen, all men. + +"You don't mean, Lucy Lee," says Vee, "that these are all--er--on the +active list?" + +"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," says Lucy Lee, springin' the baby +stare. "They are simply some of my men friends. For instance, this is +dear old Major Knight, who's chairman of some board or other that Daddy +is a director on. He is so jolly and is always saying--Well, never mind +that. This one is Victor Norris, who tried so hard to get into aviation +and was just about to fly when the war had to go and end it. He's a +perfectly heavenly dancer. Then there's poor Arthur Kirby, only a +secretary to some senator, but such a nice boy. And the one in the naval +uniform is Dick--er--Well, I met him at a dinner in Washington just +before he got his discharge and he told me so many thrilling things +about chasing submarines in the North Sea or--or the Mediterranean or +somewhere. Hasn't he nice eyes, though? And this next one----" + +Well, I forget the rest for about then I got busy wonderin' how she +could keep the run of 'em all without the aid of a card index. But she +could. To Lucy Lee life must seem like a parade, she being the given +point. Which was where I begun to agree with Vee that there ought to be +a fourth plate put on the table, for over Sunday, at least. + +"But who'll I get?" I asks. + +"Silly!" says Vee. "A man, of course. Any man." + +"All right," says I. "I'll try to collect somebody, even if I have to +draft Piddie." + +Saturday afternoon is apt to be more or less of a busy time at the +Corrugated though, so it's near noon before I remembers my promise and +begins to look around panicky. No, Mr. Piddie couldn't oblige. He'd +planned to take the fam'ly to the Bronx. Sudders, our assistant auditor, +was booked for an all day golf orgie. I'd almost decided to kidnap +Vincent, our fair-haired office boy with the parlor manners, when I +happened to pass through the bond room and gets a glimpse of this Peyton +Pratt person lingerin' at his desk. He's diggin' a time-table out of a +suitcase. + +"Whither away, Peyton?" says I. + +"Oh!" says he, sighin' discontented. "I suppose I must run up and spend +the day with my married sister in New Haven." + +"Why act so tickled over it?" says I. + +"But I'm not, really," says Peyton. "It isn't that I am not fond of +Ethel, and all that sort of thing. Walter--that's her husband--is a good +sort, too, and the children are nice enough. But it's quite a trip to +take for such a short visit--and rather expensive, you know. I've just +been figuring up." + +So he had. There on an office pad he's jotted down every item, including +the cost of a ten-word day message and the price of a box of candy for +the youngsters. He hadn't sent the wire yet, or bought the candy. + +"Got your dinner coat in there?" I asks, noddin' to the suitcase. + +He says he has. + +"Then listen," says I. "Cross New Haven off the map for this time and +lemme put you next to a week-end that won't set you back a nickel. +Haven't seen my place out on Long Island yet, have you; or met the new +heir to the house of Torchy?" + +"Why--why, no, I haven't," hesitates Peyton. + +"High time, then," says I. "It'll all be on me, even to lettin' you +punch in on my trip ticket. Eh? What say?" + +Havin' known Peyton Pratt for some years I could pretty near call the +turn. That free round trip ought to be big casino for him. And it was. +Course, he protests polite how he couldn't allow me to put up for his +fare, and adds that he's heard so much about my charmin' little fam'ly +that he can't really afford to miss such a chance. + +"Sure you can't!" says I, smotherin' a grin. + +Not that Peyton is one of your common cheap skates. That ain't the idea +at all. He's a buddin' financier, Peyton is; one of these +little-red-notebook heroes, who wear John D. mottoes pasted in their +hats and can tell you just how Carnegie or Armour or Shonts or any of +them sainted souls laid up their first ten thousand. + +He's got all that thrift dope down fine, Peyton has. Why, he don't lick +a postage stamp of his own but it gets entered in the little old +expense account along with the extra doughnut he plunged on at the +dairy lunch. He knows that's the way to win out for he's read it in +magazine articles and I'll bet every time he passes the Sub-Treasury he +lifts his lid reverent. + +I expect it's something Peyton was born to, for his old man was a bank +cashier and his two older brothers already have their names up on window +grills, he tells me, while an uncle of his is vice-president of an +insurance company. So it's no wonder Peyton is a reg'lar coupon hound. +His idea of light readin' is to sit down with "Talks to Investors" on +one knee and the market report on the other. Give him a forenoon off and +he'd spend it down at the Clearing House watchin' 'em strike the daily +balance. Uh-huh. The only way he can write U. S. is in a monogram--like +this--$$ + +Not such a bad-lookin' chap though; tall, slim and dark, with a long +straight nose and a well-developed chin. Course he's got kind of a +bilious indoor complexion, and them thick glasses don't add to his +beauty. You can imagine too, that his temperament ain't exactly +frivolous. Hardly! Yet he thinks he's a great jollier when he wants to +be. Also he likes to have me kid him about bein' such a finicky dresser, +for while he never splurges on anything sporty, he's always neat and +well dressed. + +"Who's the little queen that all this is done for?" I asks him once. + +"When I have picked her out I'll let you know, Torchy," says he, +blinkin' foxy. + +Later on though he tells me all about it confidential. He admits likin' +well enough to run around with nice girls when it can be done without +danger of being worked for orchestra seats or taxi fares. But there was +no sense gettin' in deep with any particular one until a feller was sure +of a five figure income, at least. + +"Huh!" says I. "Then you got time enough to train one up from the +cradle." + +"Oh, I don't know," says he. "Anyway, I shall wait until I find one with +tastes as simple as my own." + +"You may," says I, "and then again--Well, I've seen wiser guys than you +rushed off their feet by fluffy young parties whose whole stock in trade +was a pair of misbehavin' eyes." + +"Pooh!" says Peyton. "I've been exposed to that sort of thing as often +as anyone. I think I'm immune." + +"Maybe you are," I has to admit. + +So as I tows Peyton out to the house that afternoon I kind of hands it +to myself that I've filled Vee's order. And there standing on the front +veranda admirin' the lilacs is Lucy Lee in one of her plain little +frocks--a pink and white check--lookin' as fresh and dainty and +inexpensive as a prize exhibit from an orphan asylum. + +I whispers to Vee on the side: "Well, you see I got him. Peyton's +someone she can practice on, too, and no harm done. He's case +hardened." + +"Really," says Vee, lookin' him over. + +"Admits it himself," says I. + +"Oh, well, then!" says Vee, with one of her quizzin' smiles. + +And at first it looked like Peyton was about to qualify as an all-'round +exempt. He barely seemed to see Lucy Lee. While she was unreelin' the +sprightly chatter he was inspectin' the baby, or talkin' with Vee, or +askin' fool questions about the garden. Hardly takes a second glance at +Lucy Lee. I expect he had her sized up as about sixteen. He could easy +make that mistake. + +Maybe that's what started her in on this brisk offensive at dinner. +Nothing high-school girly about Lucy Lee when she floats down the stairs +at 7:15. It's a grown-up evenin' gown she's wearin' this time. No doubt +then whether or not she'd had her comin' out. The only question was +where she was going to stop comin' out. Not that it wasn't simple +enough, but it sure was skimpy above the belt. + +After his first gasp you could see Peyton sittin' up and takin' notice. +Couldn't very well help it, either, for Lucy Lee sure had the net out. I +hadn't noticed them big innocent eyes of hers brought into full play +before but now she cuts loose regardless. And Peyton, he is right in +range. She's givin' him samples of them Oh-you-great-big-wonderful man +looks. You know. And inside of ten minutes Peyton don't know whether +he's bein' passed the peas or is being elected second vice-president of +something. + +And I'd always classed Peyton as a cold storage proposition! You should +see the way he thaws out, though. Why, he tells funny stories, throws +off repartee, and spreads himself generally. That long sallow face of +his got tinted up like he'd had a beauty parlor treatment, and his +serious eyes got to sparklin' behind the thick panes. + +As for Vee and me, we swapped an amused glance now and then and enjoyed +the performance. After the coffee, when Lucy Lee has led him out on the +east terrace to see the full moon come up, they just naturally camped +down in a swing seat and opened up the confidential chat. By the deep +rumble we could tell that Peyton was carryin' the big end of the +conversation. + +"I know," says I. "Lucy Lee is makin' him tell how he's goin' to have +Wall Street eatin' out of his hand some day, and every once in a while +she's remarkin': 'Why, Mr. Pratt! I think you're wonderful; simp-ly +wonderful!'" + +"But I thought you said," puts in Vee, "that he was--er--case hardened?" + +"Oh, he's just playin' the game," says I. "Maybe it's gone to his head a +little tonight, but when it comes time to duck--You'll see." + +One of my pet notions has always been that breakfast time is the true +acid test for this romance stuff. Specially for girls. But next morning +Lucy Lee shows up in another little gingham effect, lookin' as fresh and +smilin' as a bed of tulips. And the affair continues right on from +there. It lasts all day and all that evenin' except when Lucy Lee was +makin' another quick change, which she does about four times accordin' +to my count. And each costume is complete--dress, hat, shoes, stockings +all matchin'. The only restless motions Peyton makes, too, are durin' +these brief waits. + +"Entertainin' young party, eh?" I suggests to him as Lucy Lee does one +of her sudden flits. + +"A most interesting and charming girl," says Peyton. + +"Some class, too. What?" I adds. + +"If you mean that she dresses in excellent taste, I agree with you," +says he. "Such absolute simplicity, and yet----" Peyton spreads out his +hands eloquent. "Why can't all girls do that?" he asks. "It would +be--er--such a saving. I've no doubt she makes them all herself." + +"If she does," says I, "she must have put in a busy winter." + +"Oh, I don't know," says Peyton. "They're all such simple little things. +And then, you know--or possibly you don't--that Lucy--er--I mean Miss +Vaughn, is a surprisingly capable young woman. Really. There's so much +more to her than appears on the surface." + +"Tut, tut, Peyton!" says I. "Ain't you gettin' in kind of deep?" + +"Don't be absurd, Torchy," says he. "Just because I show a little +natural interest in a charming young woman it doesn't follow that----" + +"Look!" says I. "Someone's givin' you the come-on signal." + +Course, it's Lucy Lee. She's changed to an afternoon costume, sort of an +old blue effect with not a frill or a ruffle in sight but with +everything toned in, from the spider-webby hat to the suede slippers. +And all she has to do to bring Peyton alongside is to tilt her chin +invitin'. + +We only caught glimpses of 'em the whole afternoon. And that Sunday +evenin' the porch swing worked overtime again. I know both Vee and me +did a lot of yawnin' before they finally drifts in. I'd never seen +Peyton quite so chirky. He even goes so far as to smoke a cigarette. And +next mornin', as he leaves reluctant with me to catch the 8:03 express, +he stops me at the gate to give me the hearty grip. + +"I say, old man," says he husky, "I--I never can tell you how grateful I +am for--for what you've done." + +"Then let's forget it," says I. + +"Forget!" says he, smilin' mushy. "Never!" + +At lunch time he asks me which of the Fifth Avenue photographers I think +is the best. + +"Eh?" says I, grinnin'. "Thinkin' of havin' yourself mugged and sendin' +the result to somebody in a silver frame?" + +"Well," says he draggy, "I--I've been meaning to have some pictures +taken for several years, and now----" + +"Got you," says I. "But if you want something real swell let me tow you +to a place I know of on Fifty-fifth." + +Honest, I wasn't thinking about the Maison Noir at the time or that it +was just next door. In fact, it was Peyton himself who stops in front of +the show window and grabs me by the arm. + +"I say!" says he, pointin' in at the exhibit. "See--see there." + +He's pointin' to a display of checked gingham frocks, blue and white and +pink and white, with hats to match. + +"Yes," says I, "do look sort of familiar, don't they?" + +"Why," he goes on, "they're almost exactly like those of--of Lucy's; the +same simple lines, the same material and everything." + +"Classy stuff," says I. "Come along, though. The picture place is next +door, upstairs." + +Peyton still stands there gawpin'. "Such a coincidence," he's murmurin'. +"I wonder, Torchy, if one could find out about how much they ask for +such things in a place like this." + +"Easiest thing in the world," says I. "Just blow in and get 'em to give +you quotations." + +"Oh, but I wouldn't dare do that," says he. "It would seem so--so----" + +"Not at all," says I. "As it happens, this joint is one where Vee does +more or less shoppin', when she's feelin' flush, and I've often been +with her. If you're curious we'll breeze in and get their prices." + +Peyton was right there with the curiosity, too. And the lady vamp with +the long string of beads danglin' from her neck didn't seem to think it +odd for us to be interested in checked ginghams. + +"Ah, yes-s-s!" says she, throwin' open the back doors of the show +window. "Zey are great bargains, those. Marked down but las' week. Thees +wan--m-m-m-m--only $68; but wiz ze hat also, $93." + +And the gasp that gets out of Peyton sounds like openin' an airbrake. + +"Nine-ty three dollars!" says he. "For a simple little thing like that? +Why, that seems to be rather exorbitant!" + +"Mais non!" says the lady vamp, shruggin' her shoulders. "They are what +you call simple, yes. But they are chic, too. One considers that. Las' +week come a young lady from Atlanta who in one hour takes two dozen at +once, and more next day. You see!" + +Peyton was beginning to see. But he wanted to be dead sure. "From +Atlanta?" says he. "Not--not a--a Miss Vaughn?" + +"Mais oui!" says Madame, clappin' her hands enthusiastic. "The ver' one. +You know her? Yes?" + +"I--I thought I did," says Peyton, sort of weak, as he starts for the +door. + +He calls off the picture proposition. Says he ain't quite in the mood. +And all that day he seems to have something on his mind that he couldn't +unload. Three or four times he seems to be just on the point of statin' +it to me but never can quite get a start. And next day he's a good deal +the same. He was like that when I left the office about 4 p.m. to catch +an early train. I could about guess what was troublin' him. + +So I wasn't much surprised, just before dinner to see Peyton appearin' +at our front gate. + +"I--I'm sure I don't know what you'll think of me, Torchy," he begins +apologizing "but I--I just had to----" + +"Too bad!" says I. "You're only four hours late. Lucy Lee left for Lenox +on the 2:10." + +"Gone!" says he. "But I thought----" + +"Yes, she did plan to stay longer," says I, "but it was a bit slow for +her here, and when she got a wire that a certain Captain Wright was to +be at his sister's for a few days' furlough--Well, inside of an hour she +and her maid had packed and were on their way. Oh, yes, and there goes +the rest of Lucy Lee's baggage now." + +The express truck was just rollin' around from the side door. Peyton +stares at the load goggle-eyed. "But--but you don't mean that all of +those trunks are hers?" he demands. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "I helped strap 'em up. And one of them wardrobes, +Peyton, carries about twenty-five of those little checked dresses. The +hats go in the square affair, and the shoes in the steamer trunk. +Thirty-eight pairs, I believe. Just enough for a week-end. Then in that +bulgy-topped trunk----" + +But Peyton ain't listenin'. He's just standin' there, with a dazed, +stunned look in his eyes like he'd just been missed by an express train. +But his lips are movin'. I got the idea. He was doin' mental +arithmetic--twenty-five times ninety-three. And he was gettin' a picture +of a thousand dollar income lyin' flat on its back. + +When he comes to be asks me faint when he can get back to town. No, he +won't stay for dinner. "Thank you," says he, "but I couldn't. I'm too +much upset. I fear that I--I've made a dreadful mistake, Torchy." + +"About Lucy Lee?" says I. "Don't worry. All you've done is come near +contributin' another silver frame to her collection. You just happened +to find a free field, that's all. Otherwise it would have been a case +where you'd stood in line." + +Course Peyton don't believe a word of it. He still thinks he's had a +desperate affair. He don't know whether he's safe yet or not. All he can +see is rows and rows of figures assaultin' that poor little expense book +of his. I expect he thinks he's entitled to wear a wound stripe over his +heart. + +Yesterday we had a bread-and-butter note from Lucy Lee mostly telling +what a whale of a time she was havin' up at Lenox. + +"Anything about Peyton?" I asks. + +"Why, no," says Vee. "But she says the dear captain is----" + +"I know," says I. "Simp-ly wonderful." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +TORCHY MEETS ELLERY BEAN + + +Course, I was sayin' it mostly to kid Vee along. I expect I'm nearly as +strong for this suburban life stuff as she is, but whenever she gets a +bit gushy about it, which she's apt to such nights as we've been havin' +recent, with the moon full and the summer strikin' its first stride, I'm +apt to let on that I feel different. + +You see, she'd towed me out on the back terrace to smell how sweet the +honeysuckle was and watch the moon sail up over the tall locust trees +beyond the vegetable garden. + +"Isn't it a perfectly gorgeous night, Torchy?" says she. "And doesn't +everything look so calm and peaceful out here?" + +"May look that way," says I, "but you never can tell. I like the country +in the daytime all right, but at night, especially these moony +ones,--Well, I don't know as I'll ever get used to 'em." + +"How absurd, Torchy!" says Vee. + +"Makes things look so kind of spooky," I goes on. "All them shadows. How +do you know what's behind 'em? And so many queer noises. There! Listen +to that!" + +"Silly!" says she. "That's a tree-toad. I hope you aren't afraid of +that." + +"Not if he's a tame one," says I. "But how can you tell he ain't wild? +And there comes a whirry-buzzin' noise." + +"Yes," says she. "A motor coming down the macadam. There, it's turned +into our road! Perhaps someone coming to see us, Goosie." + +Sure enough, it was. A minute later Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins were +givin' us the hail out front. It seems they'd come to pick us up to make +a call with them on some new neighbors. + +"Who?" asks Vee. + +"You couldn't guess," says Mrs. Robert. "The Zoscos." + +"Really!" says Vee. "I thought they were----" + +"Yes," chimes in Mrs. Robert, "I suppose they are, too. Rather +impossible. But I simply must try that big pipe organ I hear they've put +in. Bob thinks it's an awful thing to do. See how shocked he looks. But +I've promised not to stay more than half an hour if the movie magnate is +in anything more startling than a placid after-dinner state, or if the +place is cluttered up with too many screen favorites. And I think Bob +wants Torchy to go along as bodyguard. So won't you both come? What do +you say?" + +Trust Vee for takin' a dare. She'll try anything once. I expect she'd +been some curious all along to see what this new Mrs. Zosco looked +like. "What was it you said she used to be called, Torchy?" she demands. + +"'Myrtle Mapes, the Girl With the Million Dollar Smile,' was the way she +was billed," says I. "But them press agents don't care what they say +half the time. And maybe she only smiles that way when the camera's set +for a close-up." + +"I don't care," says Vee. "I think it would be great fun to go." + +As for me, I didn't mind, one way or the other. I'd seen this Andres +Zosco party plenty of times, ridin' back and forth on the train. He'd +even offered to pick me up in his limousine and give me a lift once when +I was hikin' up from the station. And I must say he wasn't just my idea +of a plute movie producer. + +Nothin' imposin' about Mr. Zosco. Hardly. Kind of a dumpy, short-legged +party, with a round smooth face, sort of mild brown eyes, and his hair +worn in a skinned diamond effect. You'd never take him for a guy who'd +go out and buy a Hudson River steamer and blow it up just for the sake +of gettin' a thousand feet of film, or put on a mob scene with enough +people to fill Times Square like an election night. No. He was usually +readin' seed catalogues and munchin' salted peanuts out of a paper bag. + +It was early last spring that he'd bought this Villa Nova place, a mile +or so beyond the Ellinses, and moved out with the bride he'd picked out +of his list of screen stars. I don't know whether he expected the Piping +Rock crowd to fall for him or not. Anyway, they didn't. They just +shuddered when his name was mentioned and stayed away from Villa Nova +same as they had when that Duluth copper plute, who'd built the freak +near-Moorish affair, tried the same act. But it didn't look like the +Zoscos meant to be frozen out so easy. After being lonesome for a month +or so they begun fillin' their 20 odd bedrooms with guests of their own +choosin'. Course, some of 'em that I saw arrivin' looked a bit rummy, +but it was plain the Zoscos didn't intend to bank on the neighbors for +company. Maybe they didn't want us crashin' in either, as Mr. Robert +suggests. + +You couldn't worry Mrs. Robert with hints like that, though. She's a +good mixer. Besides, if she'd made up her mind to play that new pipe +organ you could pretty near bet she'd do it. So inside of three minutes +she had us loaded into the car and off we rolls to surprise the Zoscos. + +Villa Nova, you know, is perched on the top of quite a sizable hill, +with a private road windin' up from the Pike. As you swing in you pass +an odd-shaped vine-covered affair that I suppose was meant for a +gate-keeper's lodge, though it looks like a stucco tower that had been +dropped off some storage warehouse. + +Well, we'd just made the turn and Mr. Robert had gone into second to +take the grade when I gets a glimpse of somebody doin' a hasty duck into +the shrubbery; a slim, skinny party with a plaid cap pulled down over +his eyes so far that his ears stuck out on either side like young wings. +What struck me as kind of odd, though, was his jumpin' away from the +door of the lodge as the car swung in and the fact that he had a basket +covered with a white cloth. + +"Huh!" says I, more or less to myself. + +"What's the matter?" asks Vee. "Seeing things in the moonlight?" + +"Thought I did," says I. "Didn't you, there by the gate!" + +"Oh, yes," says she. "Some lilac bushes." + +And not being any too sure of just what I had seen I let it ride at +that. Besides, there wasn't time for any lengthy debate. Next thing I +knew we'd pulled up under the porte cochère and was pilin' out. We finds +the big double doors wide open and the pink marble entrance hall all lit +up brilliant. Grouped in the middle of it, in front of a fountain banked +with ferns, are about a dozen people who seem to be chatterin' away +earnest and excited. + +"Why, how odd!" says Mrs. Robert, hesitatin' with her thumb on the bell +button. + +"Looks like a fam'ly caucus," says I. "Maybe they heard we were coming +and are taking a vote to see whether they let us in or bar us out." + +I could make out Andres Zosco in the center of the bunch wearin' a +silk-faced dinner coat and chewin' nervous on a fat black cigar. Also I +could guess that the tall chemical blonde at his right must be the +celebrated Myrtle Mapes that used to smile on us from so many +billboards. To the left was a huge billowy female decorated generous +with pearl ropes and ear pendants. Then there was a funny little old guy +in a cutaway and a purple tie, a couple of squatty, full-chested women +dressed as fancy as a pair of plush sofas, a maid or so, and a pie-faced +scared-lookin' gink that it was easy to guess must be the butler. +Everybody had been so busy talkin' that they hadn't heard us swarm up +the steps. + +"I say," whispers Mr. Robert, "hadn't we better call it off?" + +"And never know what is going on?" protests Vee. "Certainly not. I'm +going to knock." Which she does. + +"There!" says I. "You've touched off the panic." + +For a minute it looked like she had, too, for most of 'em jumps +startled, or clutches each other by the arm. Then they sort of surges +towards the doorway, Zosco in the lead. + +I expect he must have recognized some of us for he indulges in a +cackly, throaty laugh and then waves us in cordial. "Excuse me," says +he. "I--thought it might be somebody else. Mr. Ellins, isn't it? Pleased +to meet you. Come right in, all of you." + +And after we've been introduced sketchy all round Mr. Robert remarks +that he's afraid we haven't picked just the right time to pay a call. +"We--we are interrupting a family council or something, aren't we?" he +asks. + +"Oh, glad to have you," says Zosco. "It's nothing secret, and perhaps +you can help us out. We're a little upset, for a fact. It's about my +brother Jake. He's been visiting us, him and his wife, for the past +week. Maybe you've seen him ridin' round in the limousine--short, +thick-set party, good deal like me, only a few years younger." + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. "Sorry," says he, "but I don't recall----" + +"Oh, likely you wouldn't notice him," goes on Zosco. "Nothing fancy +about Jake, plain dresser and all that. But what gets us is how he could +have lost himself for so long." + +"Lost!" echoes Mr. Robert. + +"Well, he's gone, anyway," says Zosco. "Disappeared. Since after dinner +last night and----" + +"Oh, Jake, Jake!" wails the billowy female with the pearl ropes. + +"There, there, Matilda!" put in Zosco. "Never mind the sob stuff now. +He's all right somewhere, of course. He'll turn up in time. Bound to. It +ain't as if he was some wild young sport. Steady as a church, Jake. No +bad habits to speak of. Not one of the kind to go slippin' into town on +a spree. Not him. And never carries around much ready money or jewelry. +No holdup men out here, anyway." + +"But--but he's gone!" moans Matilda. + +"Sure he is," admits Zosco. "Maybe back to Saginaw. Something might have +happened at the store. Or he might have got word that some cloak and +suit jobber was closing out his fall goods at a sacrifice and got so +busy in town making the deal that he forgot to let us know. That would +be Jake, all right, if he saw a chance of turnin' over a few thousands." + +"Would he go bareheaded, and without his indigestion tablets?" demands +Mrs. Jake. + +"If it was another bargain like that lot of army raincoats, he'd go in +his pajamas," says Zosco. + +But Matilda shakes her head. She's sure something awful has happened to +Jake. Now that she thinks it over she believes he must have had +something on his mind. Hadn't they noticed how restless he'd been for +the past few days? Yes, both the squatty women had. And the funny little +guy in the long-tailed cutaway brought up how Jake had quit playing +billiards with him, even after he'd offered to start him 20 up. + +"But that don't mean anything," says Zosco. "Jake never could play +billiards anyway. Hates it. He's no sport at all, except maybe when it +comes to pinochle. He's all for business. Don't know how to take a real +vacation like a gentleman. I'm always telling him that." + +Gradually we'd all drifted into the big drawin' room, but Jake continues +to be the general topic. We couldn't help but get kind of interested in +him, too. When a middle-aged storekeeper from Saginaw gets up from +dinner, wanders out into a quiet, respectable community like ours, and +disappears like he'd dropped from a manhole or been swished off on an +airplane it's enough to set you guessin'. By askin' a few questions we +got the whole life history of Jake, from the time he left Lithuania as a +boy until he was last seen gettin' a light for his cigar from the +butler. We got all his habits outlined; how he always slept with a +corner of the sheet over his right ear, couldn't eat strawberries +without breaking out in blotches, and could hardly be dragged out to see +a show or go to an evening party where there were ladies. Yet here on a +visit to Villa Nova he goes and strays off like he'd lost his mind, or +gets himself kidnapped, or worse. + +"Why," says Mr. Robert, "it sounds like a real mystery, almost a case +for a Sherlock Holmes." + +I don't know why, either, but just then he glances at me. "By Jove!" he +goes on. "Here you are, Torchy. What do you make out of this?" + +"Me?" says I. "Just about what you do, I expect." + +"Oh, come!" says he. "Put that rapid fire brain of yours to work. Try +him, Mr. Zosco. I've known him to unravel stranger things than this. I +would even venture to say that he has hit on a clue while we've been +talking." + +Course, a good deal of it is Mr. Robert's josh. He's always springin' +that line. But Zosco, after he's looked me over keen, shrugs his +shoulders doubtful. Mrs. Jake, though, is ready to grab at anything. + +"Can you find him?" she asks, starin' at me. "Will you, young man?" + +Also I gets an encouragin', admirin' glance from Vee. That settles it. I +was bound to make some sort of play after that. Besides, I did have kind +of a vague hunch. + +"I ain't promisin' anything," says I, "but I'll give it a whirl. First +off though, maybe you can tell me what youth around the place wears a +black-and-white checked cap?" + +That gets a quick rise out of the former Myrtle Mapes, now Mrs. Zosco. +"Why--why," says she, "my brother Ellery does." + +"That's so," put in Zosco. "Where is the youngster?" + +"Ellery?" says Myrtle, givin' him that innocent baby-doll look. "Oh, he +must be in his room. I--I will look." + +"Never mind," says I. "Probably he is. It doesn't matter. Visiting here, +too, eh? How long? About two weeks. And he comes from----" + +"From my old home, Shelby, North Carolina," says she. "But he isn't the +one who's missing, you know." + +"That's so," says I. "Gettin' off the track, wasn't I? Shows what a poor +sleuth I am. And now if I can have the missing man's hat I'll do a +little scoutin' round outside." + +"His hat!" grumbles Zosco. "What do you want with that?" + +"Why," says I, "if I find anyone it fits it's likely to be Jake, ain't +it?" + +"Of course," says Matilda. "Here it is," and she hands me a seven and +three-quarters hard boiled lid with his initials punched in the sweat +band. + +That move gave 'em something to chew over anyway, and kind of took their +minds off what I'd been askin' about Ellery. For after hearin' about him +I knew I hadn't been mistaken about seein' somebody down by the lodge. +That's right where I makes for. + +As I gets to the bottom of the hill I slips through the hedge and walks +on the grass so if there should be anyone at the gate they wouldn't hear +me. And say, that was a reg'lar hunch I'd collected. Standing there in +the moonlight is the youth in the checked cap. + +Near as I can make out he's a narrow-chested, loose-jawed young hick of +19 or 20 and costumed a good deal like a village sport. You know--slit +coat pockets, a high turn-up to his trousers, bunion-toed shoes, and a +necktie that must have been designed by a wall-paper artist who'd been +shell-shocked. On his left arm he has a basket partly covered by a +napkin. Also he's just handin' something in through a little window +about a foot above his head. + +Course, it don't take any super-brain to guess that there must be +another party inside the lodge. What would Ellery be passin' stuff +through the window for if there wasn't? And anybody inside couldn't very +well get out, for the only door is a heavy, iron-studded affair +padlocked on the outside and the little window is covered with an +ornamental iron grill. Besides, as I edges up closer, I hears talking +going on. It sounds like the inside party is grumblin' over something or +other. His voice sounds hoarse and indignant, but I can't get what it's +all about. When the youth in the checked cap gave him the come-back +though it was clear enough. + +"Aw, shut up, you big stiff!" says he. "You're lucky to get cold +chicken and bread and jam. Where do you think I'm goin' to get hot +coffee for you, anyway? Ain't I runnin' a chance as it is, swipin' this +out of the ice-box after the servants leave? It's more'n you deserve, +you crook." + +More grumbles from inside. + +"Yah, I got the cigars," says the other, "but you don't get 'em until +you pass out them dishes. Think I can stick around here all night? And +remember, one peep to your pals, or to anyone else, and my trusty guards +will start shootin' through the window. Hey? How long? Until we get 'em +all into the net. So you might as well quit your belly-achin' and +confess." + +It was a more or less entertainin' dialogue but I thought I'd enjoy it +more if I could hear both sides. So I was workin' my way through the +bushes with my ear stretched until I was within almost a yard of the +window when I steps on a dry branch that cracks like a cap pistol. In a +flash the youth has dropped the basket and whirled on me with a long +carvin' knife. Which was my cue for quick action. + +"'Sall right, Ellery," says I. "Friend." + +"What friend?" he demands, starin' at me suspicious. + +"You know," says I, whisperin' mysterious. + +"Oh!" says he. "From Headquarters?" + +"You've said it," says I. + +"But--but how can I tell," he goes on, "that you ain't----" + +"Look!" says I, throwin' back my coat and runnin' my thumb under the +armhole of my vest. + +Sure it worked. Why, if you flash a nickel-plated suspender buckle quick +enough you can pass it for a badge even by daylight. + +"I didn't think you'd get my letter so soon," says Ellery. "I'm glad you +came, though. See, I've got one of the gang already. He's the +ringleader, too." + +"Fine work!" says I. "But what's the plot of the piece? You didn't make +that so clear. Is it a case of----" + +"Hist!" says Ellery. "I ain't told him how much I know. Let's get off +where he can't hear. Back in the bushes there." + +And when we've circled the lodge and put some shrubbery between us and +the road Ellery consents to open up. + +"They're tryin' to do away with Sister Maggie," says he. "You know who +she is--Mrs. Andres Zosco?" + +"But I thought she was Myrtle Mapes," says I. + +"Ah, that's only her screen name," says Ellery. "It was Maggie Bean back +in Shelby, where we come from. And she was Maggie Bean when she went to +New York and got that job as a stenog. in old Zosco's office. It was +him that gave her a chance to act in the movies, you know. Guess she +made good, eh? And then Zosco got so stuck on her that he married her. +Well, that was all right, too. Course, he's an old pill, but he's got +all kinds of dough. Rollin' in it. Maggie's done a lot for the fam'ly, +too. Gave me a flivver all for myself last Christmas; took me out of the +commission house and started me in at high school again. She's right +there with the check book, Maggie. + +"That's what makes them other Zoscos so sore--that Brother Jake and his +wife. See? They'd planned all along comin' in for most of his pile +themselves. Most likely meant to put him out of the way. But when they +comes on and finds the new wife--Well, the game is blocked. It would go +to her. So they starts right in to get rid of Maggie. I hadn't been in +the house a day before I'd doped that out. I knew there was a plot on to +do Maggie." + +"You don't say!" says I. "How?" + +"Slow poison, I expect," says Ellery. "In her coffee, maybe. Anyway, it +had begun to work. Maggie was mopin' around. I found her cryin'. I +spotted Jake Zosco right off. You can tell just by lookin' at him that +he's that kind. Besides, he acts suspicious. Always prowlin' around +restless. Then there's the butler. He's in it, too. I caught him and +Jake whisperin' together. I don't know how many more. Some of the maids, +maybe, and most likely a few men on the outside. They might be plannin' +to stage a jewel robbery with a double murder and lay it all onto +unknown burglars. Get me?" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "But how much have you got on Brother Jake? And how +did you come to get him locked up here?" + +"Oh, I had the goods on Jake, all right," says Ellery. "After I saw him +confabbin' with that crook butler the other night I shadows him +constant. I was on his trail when he sneaks down here after dinner. I +saw him unlock the lodge house. I heard him fumblin' around inside. Then +I slips up and locks him in. Half an hour later down comes the butler +and two others of the gang, but when they sees me they beats it. I +expect they'd try to rescue him, if they thought he was there. And they +may find out any minute." + +"That's right," says I. "Lucky I came out just as I did. There's only +one thing to do." + +"What's that?" asks Ellery. + +"Lug Jake up to the house, confront him with the butler, tell 'em +they're both pinched, and give 'em the third degree," says I. "You'll +see. One or the other will break down and tell the whole plot." + +"Say!" gasps Ellery. "Wouldn't that be slick! Just the way they do in +the movie dramas, eh?" + +I had to smother a chuckle when that came out, for I'd already +recognized some of the symptoms of a motion picture mind while Ellery +was sketchin' out this wild tale. + +"Go to the movies much down in Shelby?" I asks. + +"Most every night," says Ellery. "I used to even before Maggie got into +the game. Begun goin' when I was 'leven. At first I was strong for this +Wild West stuff, but no more. Give me a good crook drama with a big +punch in every reel. They're showin' some corkers lately. I've seen 'em +about all. That's how I come to get wise to this plot of Jake Zosco's. +Come on! Got your wrist irons ready for him?" + +"Oh, I never use the bracelets unless I have to," says I. "I expect +he'll toddle along meek enough when he sees the two of us." + +I hadn't overstated the case much at that. Course, Jake Zosco has +developed more or less of a grouch durin' his 36 hours of solitary +confinement, but when Ellery orders him to march out with his hands up +he comes right along. + +"What foolishness now, you young rough necker?" he demands. + +"You'll soon find out how foolish it is," says Ellery. "You're in the +hands of the law." + +"Wha-a-at!" gasps Jake. "For such a little thing as that? It--it can't +be. Who says it of me?" + +"Isn't this your hat?" says I, handin' him the hail-proof kelly. "It +is, eh? Then you're the one. Come on, now. Right up to the house." + +"It's a foolishness," he protests. "In Saginaw it couldn't be done." + +All the way up the hill he mutters and grumbles but he keeps on going. +Not until he gets near enough to get a glimpse of all the people in the +drawin'-room does he balk. + +"Matilda and all!" says he. "Why couldn't we go in by the back?" + +"Nothing doin'," says Ellery, flourishing his knife. "You're goin' to +face the music, you are." + +"That's the way to talk to him, Ellery," says I. "But if you don't mind +I think I'd better take charge of him from now on." + +"Sure thing," says Ellery. "He's your prisoner." + +"Then in you go, Jake," says I. "And don't forget about keepin' the +hands up. Now!" + +Say, you should have seen that bunch when our high tragedy trio marches +in; Ellery with his butcher knife on one side; me on the other; and +leadin' in the center Mr. Jake Zosco, his arms above his head, his +dinner coat all dusty and wrinkled, and a two days' stubble of whiskers +decoratin' his face. + +It was Mrs. Jake who got her breath first and swooped down on her little +man with wild cries of "Oh, Jake! My own Jakey at last!" And in another +second his head is all tangled up with the pearl ropes. + +Next Andres Zosco comes to. "What is it, a holdup act?" he asks. +"Ellery, what you doing with that knife? What's it all about, somebody?" + +That seems to be my cue, so I steps to the front. "Sorry, Mr. Zosco," +says I, "but Ellery has discovered a deep laid plot." + +"Eh?" says Zosco, gawpin'. + +"To do away with you and your wife," I goes on. "He says your brother +Jake is in it, and Mrs. Jake, and the butler, and maybe a lot of others. +Isn't that right, Ellery?" + +"Yep," says Ellery. "They're all crooks." + +"What confounded tommyrot!" says Zosco. "Why--why, Jake wouldn't hurt a +fly." + +"Tell what you saw, Ellery," I prompts. + +"I heard 'em plottin'," says Ellery. "Anyway, I saw Jake and the butler +whisperin' on the sly. And they planned to meet down at the lodge with +the others. I think that dago chauffeur was one. But I foiled 'em. I +followed Jake when he sneaked into the lodge house and locked him in. +Then I wrote to the chief detective at Headquarters and they sent out +this sleuth to help me round 'em up." He finishes by wavin' at me +triumphant. + +And you might know that would get a chuckle out of Mr. Robert. "Oh, +yes!" says he. "Detective Sergeant Torchy!" + +Meanwhile Andres Zosco is starin' from one to the other of us and +scratchin' his head puzzled. "I can't get a word of sense out of it +all," says he. "Not a word. Jake, let's hear from you. Where have you +been since night before last after dinner?" + +Jake pries himself loose from the billowy embrace and advances sheepish. +"Why--why," says he, "I was locked in that fool lodge house." + +"You were, eh?" says Zosco. "But how did that happen? What did you go in +there for?" + +"Aw, if you must know, Andy, it--it was pinochle," he growls. "It ain't +a crime, is it, a little game?" + +"What about the butler, though, and the others?" insists Zosco. + +"Why," says Jake, "they was goin' to be in it, too. Can't play pinochle +alone, can you? And in a place like this where there's nothing goin' on +but silly billiards, or that bridge auction, a feller's gotta find some +amusement, ain't he? Saginaw they comes to the house 'most every +night--Hoffmeyer and Raditz and----" + +"Yes, I know," breaks in Zosco. "So that was the plot, was it, Ellery?" + +Ellery registers scorn. "Huh!" says he. "Don't let him put over any such +fish tale on you. Ask him about the slow poison in Maggie's coffee, and +stealin' the jewels, and--and all the rest." + +"Why, Ellery!" gasps Mrs. Zosco. + +"Didn't I catch you snifflin'?" demands Ellery. "And ain't you been +mopin' around?" + +"Oh!" says she. "But that was before Andy had promised to let me play +the lead in his new eight-reel feature, 'The Singed Moth.' I've been +chipper enough since, haven't I, Andy, dear?" + +"Slow poison!" echoes Zosco. "Jewel stealing! Murder plots! Boy, where +did you get such stuff in your head?" + +But Ellery can only drop his chin and scrape his toe. + +"I expect I can clear up that mystery," says I. "As a movie fan Ellery +is an ace." + +And then it was Zosco's turn to stare. I don't know whether it got clear +home to him then or not. He was just about to separate himself from some +remark on the subject when Mrs. Jake cut loose with another squeal. + +"Why, Jake Zosco!" says she. "Look at you! Like a tramp you are." + +"Well, why not?" says Jake. "Didn't I sleep last night in a +wheelbarrow?" + +And when the folks you're callin' on get to droppin' into intimate +personal remarks like that it's time to back out graceful. I guess even +Mrs. Robert decides this wasn't just the evenin' to play the pipe organ. +Before we'd got out they'd opened up the subject of what to do with +young Ellery Bean and the prospects were that he was due for a quick +return to Shelby, N. C. + +"I don't see what good that's going to do," says Vee. "I should say that +he needed some kind of mental treatment. Why, his poor foolish head +seems to be filled with nothing but crime and crooks. I don't understand +how he could get that way." + +"You would," says I, "if you'd take a full course of Zosco films." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +TORCHY STRAYS FROM BROADWAY + + +"I must say it listens kind of complicated," says I, after Vee has +explained how I am to arrive at this country house weddin' fest. + +"Why, Torchy, it's perfectly simple," says she. + +And once more she sketches out the plan, how I'm to take the express to +Springfield, catch a green line trolley that's bound northwest, get off +at Dorr's Crossing, and wait until this Barry Crane party picks me up in +his car. + +You see this friend of Vee's who's billed for the blushin' bride act has +decided to have the event pulled off at Birch Crest, the family's summer +home up in the hills of old N. H. Vee has promised to motor up the day +before with the bridesmaid, leavin' me to follow the next mornin'. But +when we come to look up train schedules it develops that the only way to +get to Birch Crest by train is via Boston. + +"How about runnin' up to Montreal and droppin' down?" I suggests +sarcastic. + +And then comes the word that this organist guy will be on his way up +across lots, after an over-night stop in New Haven, and will take me +aboard if I can make the proper connection. + +"Suppose I make a slip, though?" says I. "There I'll be stranded up in +the pie belt with nothing but my feet to ride fifty miles on. Sorry, +Vee, but I guess your old boardin' school chum will have to break into +matrimony without my help." + +Maybe you think that settled it. If you do you ain't tried being +married. Inside of half an hour we'd agreed on the usual compromise--I'm +to do as Vee says. + +So here at 11:15 on a bright summer mornin' I'm dumped off a trolley car +way out on the upper edge of Massachusetts. It's about as lonesome a +spot as you could find on the map. Nothing but fields and woods in +sight, and a dusty road windin' across the right of way. Not a house to +be seen, not even a barn. + +"You're sure this is Dorr's Crossin', eh?" I asks of the conductor as I +hesitates on the step. + +"Oh, yes," says he, cheerful. + +"Don't seem to be usin' it much, does he?" says I. + +"Ding, ding!" remarks the fare collector to the motorman, and it was a +case of hoppin' lively for me. + +There's nothing left to do but hoist myself conspicuous onto a +convenient wayside rock and hope that this Barry Crane person was +runnin' somewhere near on time. About then I begun to wish I knew more +about him, his general habits and so on. Was his memory good? Could he +be depended on to keep dates with strangers? Would he know Dorr's +Crossing when he saw it? + +Vee hadn't touched on any of these points when she was convincin' me how +simple it would be for him and me to get together. Course, she'd given +me a chatty little sketch of Mr. Crane, but mostly it had been about +what a swell organist he was. Played in a big church. Not only that, but +made up pieces, all out of his own head. Also she'd mentioned about his +hopeless romance with a certain Ann McLeod. + +Seems Barry had been strong for Miss McLeod for five or six years. She'd +kind of strung him along at first, too. Couldn't help likin' Barry some. +Everybody did. He was that kind--good natured, always sayin' clever +things. You know. But when it came to hitchin' up with him permanent, +Miss McLeod had balked. Nobody knew just why. Bright girl, Ann. Brainy, +too, and with lots of pep. She was secretary for some big efficiency +expert. Maybe that was why she couldn't stand for Barry's musical +temperament. She thought 9 a.m. was absolutely the last call for pushin' +back the roll-top and openin' the mornin' mail, while Barry's idea of +beginnin' a perfect day was for someone to bring in a breakfast tray +about eleven o'clock and hand him a cigarette before he tumbled out of +the straw. So while he'd qualified as a Dear Old Thing and she'd got to +the point where she'd let him call her Playmate Mine, that's where the +romance hung on the rocks. Also he'd been described as a chunky party +with a round face decorated with a cute little mustache and baby blue +eyes. + +All of which don't help me dope out how long I'm due to lend a human +note to an otherwise empty landscape. And there's more excitin' outdoor +sports than sittin' on a rock waitin' to be rescued by someone who +hasn't even seen a snapshot of you. I'll tell the world that. During the +first twenty minutes I answered two false alarms. One was a gasoline +truck going the wrong way and the other turns out to be an R. F. D. +flivver with a baby's go-cart tied on the side. It was good and hot on +the perch I'd picked out and I could feel the sun doing things to the +back of my neck and ears, but I didn't dare climb down for fear I'd be +missed. + +Where was this musical gent and his tourin' car? Or would it be a +limousine? Somehow from the way Vee had talked, sayin' he was bugs on +motorin', I sort of favored the limousine proposition. Uh-huh. Most +likely one lined with cretonne, and a French chauffeur at the wheel. But +nothing like that was rollin' past Dorr's Crossing. Not while I was +watchin'. + +The rock wasn't gettin' a bit softer, either. Once a bluejay balanced +himself on a nearby bush and after lookin' me over curious screeched +himself hoarse tryin' to say what he thought of a city guy who didn't +know enough to get in the shade. It got to be noon. Still no Barry +Crane. I was just wonderin' when that trolley car was due for a return +trip and was workin' up a few cuttin' remarks to hand Vee when I got her +on the long distance, when I hears something approachin' from down the +road. First off I thought it might be one of these hay mowers runnin' +wild, but pretty soon out of a cloud of dust jumps a little roadster. It +sure was humpin' itself and makin' as much noise about it as a Third +Avenue surface car with two flat wheels. Didn't look very promisin' but +I got up and stretched my neck until I saw there was two people in it. +Next thing I knew though one of 'em, a young lady, is motionin' to me, +and with a squeal of brake bands the little car pulls up opposite the +rock. And sure enough the young gent drivin' has a sketchy mustache and +baby blue eyes. + +"What ho!" he sings out cheerful. "Torchy, isn't it? Sorry if we've kept +you waiting, but Adelbaran wasn't performing quite as well as usual this +morning. Stow your bag on the fender and climb in." + +"In where?" says I, glancin' at the single seat. + +"Oh, really there's plenty of room for three," says the young lady. "And +for fear Barry will forget to mention it, I am Miss McLeod. He persuaded +me at the last minute to come with him in this crazy machine." + +"Oh, I say, Ann!" protests Barry. "Not so rough, please. You've no +notion how sensitive Adelbaran is to unkind criticism. Besides, he's +brought us safely so far, hasn't he?" + +Ann shrugs her shoulders and moves over to make room for me. "If you can +make another fifty miles in it I shall almost believe in miracles," says +she. + +"And in me too, I trust," says Barry. "Hearest thou, Adelbaran? Then on, +on, pride of the desert! The women are singing in the tents and--and all +that sort of thing. Ho, ho! for the roaring road!" + +He's some classy little driver, Barry. Inside of a hundred yards he has +her doin' better than twenty-six on an up grade over a dirt road +sprinkled free with rocks and waterbreaks. Slam bang, bumpety-bump, +ding-dong we go, with more jingles and squeaks and rattles than a junk +cart rollin' off a roof. + +"Don't mind a few little noises," says Miss McLeod. "Barry doesn't. A +loose fender or a worn roller bearing means nothing to him. Why, he +started with a cracked spark-plug that was spitting like a tom-cat, the +carburetor popping from too lean a mixture, and a half filled radiator +boiling away merrily. It was stopping to get those things fixed up, and +having some air pumped into the spare tire, that made us so late." + +"You see!" says Barry. "She admits it. Wonderful girl though, Ann. She +can tell at a glance just what's the matter with anything or anyone. +Take me, for instance; she----" + +"Sharp curve ahead, Barry," breaks in Ann. + +"Right-o!" says he, takin' it on two wheels and then stepping on the gas +button to rush a hill. + +"Lucky we're wedged in tight," says I, "or some of us might be spilled +out." + +"Yes," says Miss McLeod, "and Barry never would miss us." + +"Cruel words!" says Barry. "How often have I said, Ann, that I miss you +every hour?" + +"He's off again," says Ann. "But if you must be sentimental, Barry, I +shall insist on doing the driving myself." + +"Squelched!" says Barry. "I'll be good." + +Say, they made a great team, them two, when it came to exchangin' +persiflage. It was snappy stuff and it helped a lot towards taking my +mind off Barry's jazz-style drivin'. For he sure does bear down heavy +with his foot. If he plays the organ the way he runs a car I should +think he'd raise the roof. And the speed he gets out of that dinky +little roadster is amazin'. Might have been all right on smooth macadam, +but on this country road he had her jumpin' around on that short +wheel-base like a jackrabbit with the itch. We might have been so many +kernels of pop-corn being shaken over a hot fire. Barry seems to be +enjoyin' every minute of it, though. He makes funny cracks, whistles, +and now and then breaks into song. + +"Driving a car seems to go to his head," remarks Miss McLeod. "It +appears to make him wild." "It does," says Barry. "For---- + + I'm a wild prairie flower, + I grow wilder hour by hour. + Nobody cares to cultivate me, + I'm wild. Whe-e-e-e!" + +He warbles that for the next five minutes, until Miss McLeod suggests +that it's time for lunch. + +"Let's stop at the next shady place we come to," says she. + +"Oh, bother!" says Barry. "Just when Adelbaran is striking his best +pace. Why not take our nourishment on the fly?" + +So she gets out the sandwiches and the thermos bottle and we take it +that way. Rather than let Barry take either hand off the wheel she feeds +him herself, even if he does complain about gettin' his countenance +smeared up with mustard some. Anyway, we didn't lose any time if we did +spill more or less of the coffee. + +"Cheerie oh!" sings out Barry, readin' a sign board. "Only twenty miles +more!" + +"But such up-and-downy miles!" says Ann. + +She was dead right about that, for the further we got into New Hampshire +the more the road looked like it had been built by a roller coaster fan. +I always had a notion this was a small state, from the way it looks on +the map, but I'll bet if it could be rolled flat once it would spread +out near as big as Texas. All we did was to climb up and up and then +slide down and down. Generally at the bottom was one of these covered +wooden bridges, like a hay barn with both ends knocked out, and the way +we'd roar through those was enough to make you think you was goin' +forward with a barrage. Then just ahead would be another long hill +windin' up to the top of the world. + +"Only five miles to go!" sings out Barry at last, along about three +o'clock. "Now, Ann, it's nearly time for you to be saying a few kind +words to Adelbaran and me." + +"I'll be thinking them up," says Ann. + +Perhaps she did. I can't say. For it was somewhere in the middle of the +second or third hill after this that the little roadster began to +splutter and cough like it had swallowed a monkey wrench. + +"Come, come now, Adelbaran!" says Barry coaxin'. "Don't go misbehaving +at this late hour. Remember the women singing in the tents, the palm +waving over the----" + +"Barry," says Ann, "something has gone wrong with your engine." + +"Say not so," says Barry, steppin' on the accelerator careless. + +"But I'm sure!" says Ann. "There!" + +With a final cough the thing has quit cold. All Barry can seem to do +though is to jiggle the spark and look surprised. "Why--why, that's +odd!" says he. + +"Yes, but sitting here isn't going to help," says Miss McLeod. "Get out +and see what's happened. Come on." + +And while she's liftin' the hood and pawin' around among the wires and +things, with Barry lookin' on puzzled and helpless, I sort of wanders +about inspectin' Adelbaran curious. It's some relic, all right, and my +guess is that it was assembled by a cross-eyed mechanic from choice +pieces he rescued off'm a scrap heap. All of a sudden I notices +something peculiar. + +"Say, folks," I calls out, "where's the gas tank on this chariot?" + +"Why, it's on the back," says Barry. + +"Well, it ain't now," says I. "It's gone." + +"Gone!" echoes Ann. "The gas tank? Oh, that can't be possible." + +"Take a look," says I. + +And sure enough, when they comes around all they can find is the rusted +straps that held it in place and the feed pipe twisted off short. + +"Ha, ha!" says Barry. "How utterly absurd. I've rattled off a lot of +things before, but never the gas tank. And I suppose that's rather +important to have." + +"Quite," says Ann. "One doesn't go motoring nowadays without one." + +"But--but what's to be done?" says Barry. "I simply must get to Birch +Crest in time to play the wedding march. The ceremony is to be at 4:30, +you know, and here we are----" + +"I should say," breaks in Ann, "that we'd better find that tank and see +if we can't screw it on or something. It can't be far behind, of +course." + +That seemed sensible enough. So we spreads out across the road and goes +scoutin' down the hill. Didn't seem likely a thing as big as that could +hide itself completely, even if it had bounced off into the bushes. But +we got clear to the bottom without findin' so much as its track. On we +goes, pawin' through the bushes, scoutin' the ditches on both sides, and +peekin' behind trees. + +"Come, little tankey, come to your master," calls Barry persuasive. Then +he tries whistlin' for it. + +"Well, we're sure to find it somewhere down that next hill," says Ann. +"Probably near that water-break where you gave us such a hard jolt." + +But we didn't. In fact, we scouted back over the road for nearly a mile +with no signs of the bloomin' thing. + +"Then we've missed it," finally decides Ann. "Of course no car could run +this far without gas." + +"You don't know Adelbaran," says Barry. "He's quite used to running +without things. I've trained him to do it." + +"Barry, this is no time to be funny," says she. "Now you take the left +side going back. I'll bet you overlooked it." + +Well, we made a regular drag-net on the return trip, scourin' the bushes +for twenty feet on either side, but no tank turns up. + +"Looks like we were stranded," says I, as we fetches up at the roadster +once more. + +Miss Ann McLeod, though, ain't one to give up easy. Besides, she's had +all that efficiency trainin'. + +"I don't suppose you carry such a thing as an emergency can of gasoline +anywhere in the car?" she asks Barry. + +"I'm sure I don't know," says he. "The fellow in the garage insisted on +selling me a lot of stuff once. It's all stowed under the seat." + +"Let's see," says she, liftin' out the cushion. "Why yes, here it is--a +whole quart. And a little funnel, too. Now if we could pour enough into +the feed pipe to fill the carburetor----" + +It was a grand little scheme, only the funnel end was too big to fit +into the feed pipe. + +"Any tire tape?" demands Ann. + +Barry thought there was, but we couldn't find it. Then he remembered +he'd used it to wrap the handle of his tennis racquet once. + +"I got some gum," says I. + +"The very thing!" says Ann. "It must be chewed first though. Here, +Barry, take two or three pieces." + +"But I don't care for gum," says Barry. "Really!" + +"If you don't wish to spend the night here, chew--and chew fast," says +Ann. + +So he chewed. We all chewed. And with the three fresh gobs Ann did a +first aid plumbin' job that didn't look so worse. She got the funnel so +it would stick on the pipe. + +"But it must be held there," she announces. "I'll tell you, Barry; you +will have to hang out over the back and keep the funnel in place with +one hand and pour in the gas with the other, while I drive." + +"Oh, I say!" says Barry. "I'd look nice, wouldn't I?" + +"Torchy will hold you by the legs to keep you from falling off," she +goes on. "Come, unbutton the back curtain and roll it up. There! Now out +you go. And don't spill a drop, mind." + +It sure was an ingenious way of feedin' gas to an engine, and I had my +doubts about whether it would work or not. But it does. First thing I +knew we'd started off with a roar and were tearin' up the hill on +second. We made the top, too. + +"Now hold tight and save the gas," sings out Ann. "I'm going to coast +down this one full tilt." + +Which she does. Barry bounces around a lot on his elbows and stomach, +but I had a firm grip on his legs and we didn't lose him off. + +"More gas now!" calls Ann as we hits the bottom. + +"Ouch! My tummy!" groans Barry. + +"Never mind," says Ann. "Only three miles more." + +Say, it was the weirdest automobilin' I ever did, but Ann ran with +everything wide open and we sure were coverin' the distance. Once we +passed a big tourin' car full of young folks and as we went by they +caught sight of Barry, actin' as substitute gas tank, and they all +turned to give him the haw-haw. + +"Probably they--they think I--I'm doing this on a bub-bet," says Barry. +"I--I wish I were. I--I'd pay." + +"Store ahead!" announces Ann. "Perhaps we can get some more gas." + +It was a good guess. We fills the can and starts on again, with less +than two miles to go. I think Barry must have been a bit reckless with +that last quart for we hadn't gone more'n a mile before the engine +begins to choke and splutter. We were almost to the top of a hill, too. + +"Gas all gone," says Barry, tryin' to climb back in. + +"Go back!" says Ann. "Take the funnel off and blow in the feed pipe. +There! That's it. Keep on blowing." + +You couldn't beat Ann. The machine takes a fresh spurt, we makes the top +of the hill, and halfway down the other side we sees Birch Crest. Hanged +if we don't roll right up to the front door too, before the engine gives +its last gasp, and Barry, covered with dust and red in the face, is +hauled in. We're only half an hour late, at that. + +Course, the whole weddin' party is out there to see our swell finish. +They'd been watchin' for us this last hour, wonderin' what had happened, +and now they crowds around to ask Barry why he arrives hangin' over the +back that way. And you should have heard 'em roar when they gets the +explanation. + +"See!" says Barry on the side to Ann. "I told you folks would laugh at +me." + +"Poor boy!" says Miss McLeod, hookin' her arm into his. "Don't mind. I +think you were perfectly splendid about it." + +"By Jove, though! Do you?" says he. "Would--would you risk another ride +with me, Ann? I know Adelbaran didn't show up very well but----" + +"But your disposition did," cuts in Ann. "And if you're going to insist +on driving around the country in such a rattle-trap machine I--I think +I'd better be with you--always." + +And say, I don't think I ever heard so much pep thrown into the weddin' +march as when Barry Crane pumps it out that afternoon. He's wearin' a +broad grin, too. + +Soon as I has a chance I whispers the news to Vee. "Really?" says she. +"Isn't that fine! And I must say Barry is a lucky chap." + +"Well, he's some whizz himself," says I. "Bound to be or else he +couldn't run a car a mile and a half just on his breath." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +SUBBING FOR THE BOSS + + +How's that? Has something happened to me? Course there has. Something +generally does, and if I ever get to the point where it don't I hope I +shall have pep enough left to use the self-starter. Uh-huh. That's the +way I give the hail to a new day--grinnin' and curious. + +Now some folks I know of works it just opposite, and they may be right, +too. Mr. Piddie, our office manager, for instance. He's always afraid +something will happen to him. I've heard him talk about it enough. Not +just accidents that might leave him an ambulance case, or worse, but +anything that don't come in his reg'lar routine; little things, like +forgettin' his commutation ticket, or gettin' lost in Brooklyn, or +havin' his new straw lid blow under a truck and walkin' bareheaded a few +blocks. Say, I'll bet he won't like it in Heaven if he can't punch a +time card every mornin', or if they shift him around much to different +harp sections. + +While me, I ain't worryin' what tomorrow will be like if it's only some +different from yesterday. And generally it is. Take this last little +whirl of mine. I'll admit it leaves me a bit dizzy in the head, like +I'd been side-swiped by a passing event. Also my pride had had a bump +when I didn't know I had such a thing. Maybe that's why I look so dazed. + +What led up to it all was a little squint into the past that me and Old +Hickory indulged in here a week or so back. I'd been openin' the mornin' +mail, speedy and casual as a first-class private sec. ought to do, and +sortin' it into the baskets, when I runs across this note which should +have been marked "Personal." I'd only glanced at the "Dear old pal" +start and the "Yours to a finish, Bonnie," endin' when I lugs it into +the private office. + +"I expect this must have been meant for Mr. Robert; eh, Mr. Ellins?" +says I, handin' it over. + +It's written sort of scrawly and foreign on swell stationery and Old +Hickory don't get many of that kind, as you can guess. He reads it clear +through, though, without even a grunt. Then he waves me into a chair. + +"As it happens, Torchy," says he, "this was meant for no one but me." + +"My error," says I. "I didn't read it, though." + +He don't seem to take much notice of that statement, just sits there +gazin' vacant at the wall and fingerin' his cigar. After a minute or so +of this he remarks, sort of to himself: "Bonnie, eh? Well, well!" + +I might have smiled. Probably I did, for the last person in the world +you'd look for anything like mushy sentiments from would be Old Hickory +Ellins. Couldn't have been much more than a flicker of a smile at that. +But them keen old eyes of his don't miss much that's going on, even when +he seems to be in a trance. He turns quick and gives me one of them +quizzin' stares. + +"Funny, isn't it, son," says he, "that I should still be called Dear Old +Pal by the most fascinating woman in the world?" + +"Oh, I don't know," says I, tryin' to pull the diplomatic stuff. + +"You young rascal!" says he. "Think I'm no judge, eh? Here! Wait a +moment. Now let's see. Um-m-m-m!" + +He's pullin' out first one desk drawer and then another. Finally he digs +out a faded leather photograph case and opens it. + +"There!" he goes on. "That's Bonnie Sutton. What about her?" + +Course, her hair is done kind of odd and old-fashioned, piled up on top +of her head that way, with a curl or two behind one ear; and I expect if +much of her costume had showed it would have looked old-fashioned, too. +But there wasn't much to show, for it's only a bust view and cut off +about where the dress begins. Besides, she's leanin' forward on her +elbows. A fairly plump party, I should judge, with substantial, +well-rounded shoulders and kind of a big face. Something of a cut-up, +too, I should say, for she holds her head a little on one side, her chin +propped in the palm of the left hand, while between the fingers of the +right she's holdin' a cigarette. What struck me most, though, was the +folksy look in them wide-open eyes of hers. If it hadn't been for that I +might have sized her up for a lady vamp. + +"Good deal of a stunner, I should say, Mr. Ellins," says I; "and no half +portion, at that." + +"Of queenly stature, as the society reporters used to put it," says Old +Hickory. "She had her court, too, even if some of the sessions were +rather lively ones." + +At that he trails off into what passes with him as a chuckle and I waits +patient while he does a mental review of old stuff. I could guess near +enough how some of them scenes would show up: the bunch gatherin' in one +of the little banquet rooms upstairs at Del's., and Bonnie surrounded +three deep by admirin' males, perhaps kiddin' Ward McAllister over one +shoulder and Freddie Gebhard whisperin' over the other; or after +attendin' one of Patti's farewell concerts there would be a beefsteak +and champagne supper somewhere uptown--above Twenty-third Street--and +some wild sport would pull that act of drinking Bonnie's health out of +her slipper. You know? And I expect they printed her picture on the +front page of the "Clipper" when she broke into private theatricals. + +"And she's still on deck?" I suggests. + +Old Hickory nods. He goes on to say how the last he heard of her she'd +married some rich South American that she'd met in Washington and gone +off to live in Brazil, or the Argentine. That had been quite a spell +back, I take it. He didn't say just how long ago. Anyway, she'd dropped +out for good, he'd supposed. + +"And now," says he, "she has returned, a widow, to settle on the old +farm, up somewhere near Cooperstown. It appears, however, that she finds +it rather dull. I can't fancy Bonnie on a farm somehow. Anyway, she has +half a mind, she says, to try New York once more before she finally +decides. Wants to see some of the old places again. And by the great +cats, she shall! No matter what my fool doctors say, Torchy, I mean to +take a night or two off when she comes. If Bonnie can stand it I guess I +can, too." + +"Yes, sir," says I, grinnin' sympathetic. + +Well, that was 1:15 a.m. And at exactly 2:30 he limps out with his hand +to his right side and his face the color of cigar ashes. He's in for +another spell. I gets his heart specialist on the 'phone and loads Mr. +Ellins into a taxi. Just before closin' time he calls up from the house +to say that he's off to the sanitarium for another treatment and may be +gone a couple of weeks. I must tell Mr. Robert about those options, +have him sub. in at the next directors' meetin', and do a lot of odd +jobs that he'd left unfinished. + +"And by the way, Torchy," he winds up, "about Bonnie." + +"Oh, yes," says I. "The lady fascinator." + +"If she should show up while I am away," says Old Hickory, "don't--don't +bother to tell her I'm a sick old man. Just say I--I've been called out +of town, or something." + +"I get you," says I. "Business trip." + +"She'll be disappointed, I suppose," goes on Mr. Ellins. "No one to take +her around town. That is, unless--By George, Torchy!--You must take my +place." + +"Eh?" says I, gaspy. + +"Yes," says he. "You lucky young rascal! You shall be the one to welcome +Bonnie back to New York. And do it right, son. Draw on Mr. Piddie for +any amount you may need. Nothing but the best for Bonnie. You +understand. That is, if she comes before I get back." + +Say, I've had some odd assignments from Old Hickory, but never one just +like this before. Some contract that, to take an ex-home wrecker in tow +and give her the kind of a good time that was popular in the days of +Berry Wall. If I could only dig up some old sport with a good memory he +might coach me so that I might make a stab at it, but I didn't know +where to find one. And for three days there I made nervous motions +every time Vincent came in off the gate with a card. + +But a week went by and no Bonnie blew in from up state. Maybe she'd +renigged on the proposition, or had hunted up some other friend of the +old days. Anyway, I'd got my nerves soothed down considerable and was +almost countin' the incident as closed, when here the other day as I +drifts back from lunch Vincent holds me up. + +"Lady to see Mr. Ellins," says he. "She's in the private office." + +"Sad words, Vincent," says I. "Don't tell me it's Bonnie." + +"Nothing like that," says he. "Here's her name," and he hands me a +black-bordered card. + +"Huh!" says I, taking a glance. "Señora Concita Maria y Polanio. All of +that, eh? Must be some whale of a female?" + +"Whale is near it," says Vincent. "You ought to see her." + +"The worst of it is," says I, "I gotta see her." + +He's no exaggerator, Vincent. This female party that I finds bulgin' Old +Hickory's swing desk chair has got any Jonah fish I ever saw pictured +out lookin' like a pickerel. I don't mean she's any side-show freak. Not +as bad as that. But for her height, which is about medium, I should say, +she sure is bulky. The way she sits there with her skirts spreadin' +wide around her feet, she has all the graceful outlines of a human water +tower. Above the wide shoulders is a big, high-colored face, and +wabblin' kind of unsteady on top of her head is a black velvet hat with +jet decorations. You remember them pictures we used to see of the late +Queen Victoria? Well, the Señora is an enlarged edition. + +I was wonderin' how long since she came up from Cuba, and if I'd need a +Spanish interpreter to find out why she thinks she has to call on the +president of the Corrugated Trust, when she rolls them big dark eyes of +hers my way and remarks, in perfectly good United States: "Ah! A ray of +sunshine!" + +It comes out so unexpected that for a second or so I just gawps at her, +and then I asks: "Referrin' to my hair?" + +"Forgive me, young man," says she. "But it is such a cheerful shade." + +"Yes'm," says I. "So I've been told. Some call it fire-hydrant red, but +I claim it's only super-pink." + +"Anyway, I like it very much," says she. "I hope they don't call you +Reddy, though?" + +"No, ma'am," says I. "Torchy." + +"Why, how clever!" says she. "May I call you that, too? And I suppose +you are one of Mr. Ellins' assistants?" + +"His private secretary," says I. "So you can see what luck he's playin' +in. Did you want to talk to him 'special, or is it anything I can fix up +for you?" + +"It's rather personal, I'm afraid," says she. "The boy at the door +insisted that Mr. Ellins wasn't in, but I told him I didn't mind +waiting." + +"That's nice," says I. "He'll be back in a week or so." + +"Oh!" says she. "Then he went away before my note came?" + +Which was where I begun to work up a hunch. Course, it's only a wild +suspicion at first. She don't fit the description at all. Still, if she +should be the one--I could feel the panicky shivers chasin' up and down +my backbone just at the thought. I expect my voice wavered a little as I +put the question. + +"Say," says I, "you don't happen to be Bonnie Sutton, do you?" + +That got a laugh out of her. It's no throaty, old-hen cackle, either. +It's clear and trilly. + +"Thank you, Torchy," says she. "You've guessed it. But please tell me +how?" + +"Why," says I, draggy, "I--er--you see----" And then I'm struck with +this foolish idea. Honest, I couldn't help pullin' it. "Mr. Ellins," I +goes on, "happened to show me your picture." + +"What!" says she. "My picture? I--I can hardly believe it." + +"Wait," says I. "It's right here in the drawer. That is, it was. Yep! +This one. There!" + +And say, as I flashed that old photo on her I didn't have the nerve to +watch her face. You get me, don't you? If you'd changed as much as she +had how would you like to be stacked up sudden against a view of what +you was once? So I looked the other way. Must have been a minute or more +before I glanced around again. She was still starin' at the picture and +brushin' something off her eyelashes. + +"Torchy," says she, "I could almost hug you for that. What a really +talented young liar you are! And how thoroughly delightful of you to do +it!" + +"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Anyway, it's the picture he showed me when +he was tellin' about you." + +"Perhaps you wouldn't mind, Torchy," she goes on, "telling me just what +he said." + +"Why, for one thing," says I, "he let out that you was the most +fascinatin' woman in the world." + +Another ripply laugh from Bonnie. "The old dear!" says she. "But then, +he always was a little silly about me. Think of his never having gotten +over it in all these years, though! But he didn't stay to meet me. How +was that?" + +I hope I made it convincin' about his being called before a Senate +Committee and how he was hoping to get back before she showed up. I told +it as well as I could with them wise friendly eyes watchin' me. + +"Perhaps, after all," says she, "it's just as well. If I had known he +had this photo I never would have risked coming. Now that I'm here, +however, I wish there was someone who----" + +"Oh, he fixed that up," says I. "I'm the substitute." + +"You!" says she. Then she shakes her head. "You're a dear boy," she goes +on, "but I couldn't ask it of you. Really!" + +"Sure you can," says I. "You want to see what the old town looks like, +have a little dinner in one of the old joints, and maybe make a little +round of the bright spots afterwards. Well, I got it all planned out. +Course, I can't do it just the way Mr. Ellins would but----" + +"Listen, Torchy," she breaks in. "I regret to admit the fact, but I am a +fat, shapeless, freaky-looking old woman. Ordinarily that doesn't worry +me in the least. After fifteen years in the tropics one doesn't worry +about how one looks. It has been a long time since I've given it a +thought. But now--Well, it's different. Seeing that picture. No, I can't +ask it of you." + +"Mr. Ellins will ask me, though, when he gets back," says I. "Besides, I +don't mind. Maybe you are a little overweight, but I'm beginnin' to +suspect you're a reg'lar person, after all; and if I can qualify as a +guide----" + +Say, don't let on to Vee, but that's where I got hugged. It seems Bonnie +does want to have one glimpse of New York with the lights on; wants it +the worst way. For when she'd come up from Rio her one idea was to get +back to the old farm, fix it up regardless of expense, and camp down +there quiet for the rest of her days. She'd had a bully time doin' it, +too, for three or four months. She'd enjoyed havin' people around her +who could talk English, and watchin' the white clouds sail over the +green hills, and seein' her cattle and sheep browsin' about the fields. +It had rested her eyes and her soul. + +And then, all of a sudden, she had this hunch that maybe she was missin' +something. Not that she thought she could come back reg'lar, or break +into the old life where she left off. She says she wasn't so foolish in +the head as all that. Her notion was that she might be happier and more +contented if she just looked on from the side-lines. + +"I wanted to hear music," says she, "and see the lights, and watch gay +and beautiful young people doing the things I used to do. It +might--Well, it might shake off some of my years. Who knows?" + +"Sure! That's the dope," says I. "Course, a lot of their old-time joints +ain't runnin' now--Koster & Bial's, Harrigan's, the Café Martin but +maybe some you remember are still open." + +"Silly!" says she, shakin' a pudgy forefinger at me. "That isn't what I +want at all. Not the old, but the new; the very newest and most +fashionable. I'm not trying to go back, but trying to keep up." + +"Oh!" says I. "In that case it'll be easy. How about startin' in with +the tea dance at the Admiral, just opened? Begins at 4:15." + +"Tell me, Torchy," says she, "did you ever see anyone as--as huge as I +am at a tea dance? No, I think we'll not start with that." + +"Then suppose we hop off with dinner on the Plutoria roof?" I suggests. +"The Tortonis are doing a dancin' turn there and they have the swellest +jazz band in town." + +"It sounds exciting," says Bonnie. "I will try to be ready by 7:30. And +you surely are a nice boy. Now if you will help me out to the +elevator----" + +And it's while I'm tryin' to steady her on one side as she goes rollin' +waddly through the main office that I gets a little hint of what's +comin' to me. Maybe you've seen a tug-boat bobbin' alongside a big liner +in a heavy sea. I expect we must have looked something like that. Even +so, that flossy bunch of lady typists showed poor taste in cuttin' loose +with the smothered snickers as we wobbles past. + +And I could get a picture of myself towin' the Señora Concita Maria +What's-Her-Name, alias Bonnie Sutton, through the Plutoria corridors. +What if her feet should skid and after ten or a dozen bell hops had +boosted her up again they should find me underneath? Still I was in for +it. No scoutin' around for back-number restaurants, as I'd planned at +first. No, Bonnie had asked to be brought up-to-date. So she should, +too. But I did wish she'd come to town in something besides that late +Queen Victoria costume. + +Yet I maps out the evenin' as if I had a date with Peggy Hopkins or +Hazel Dawn. At 5:30 I'm slippin' a ten-spot into the unwillin' palm of a +Plutoria head waiter to cinch a table for two next to the dancin' +surface, and from there I drops into a cigar store where I pays two +prices for a couple of end seats at the Midnight Follies. Then I slicks +up a bit at a Turkish bath and at 7:25 I'm waitin' with the biggest taxi +I can find in front of Bonnie's hotel. + +I expect I must have let out a sigh of relief when she shows up and I +notice that she's shed the unsteady velvet lid. It's some creation she's +swapped it for, a pink satin affair with a wing spread of about three +feet, but I must admit it kind of sets off that big face of hers and the +grayish hair. + +That's nothing to the jolt I gets, though, after she's been loaded into +the cab and the fur-trimmed opera cape slips back a bit. Say, take it +from me, Bonnie has bloomed out. She must have speeded up some Fifth +Avenue modiste's establishment to the limit, but she's turned the trick, +I'll say. Uh-huh! Not only the latest model evening gown, but she's had +her hair done up spiffy, and she's got on a set of jewels that would +make a pawnbroker's bride turn green. + +"Z-z-zing!" says I, catchin' my breath. "Excuse me, but I didn't know +you were going to dress the part." + +"You didn't think I could, did you, Torchy?" says she. "Well, I haven't +quite forgotten, you see." + +So all them gloomy thoughts I'd indulged in was so much useless worry, +as is usually the case. I'll admit we was some conspicuous durin' the +evenin', with folks stretchin' their necks our way, but I didn't hear +any snickers. They gazed at Bonnie sort of awed and impressed, like +tourists starin' at the Woolworth Buildin' when it's lighted up. + +Some classy dinner that was we had, even if I did order it myself, with +only two waiters to coach me. I couldn't say exactly what it was we had +for nourishment, only I know it was all tasty and expensive. You +wouldn't expect me to pick out the cheap things for a lady plutess from +Brazil, would you? So we dallies with Canaps Barbizon, Portage de la +Reine, breasts of milk-fed pheasants, and such trifles as that. Bonnie +says it's all good. But she can't seem to get used to the band brayin' +out impetuous just as she's about to take another bite of something. + +"Tell me," says she, "is that supposed to be music?" + +"Not at all," says I. "That's jazz. We've got so we can't eat without +it, you know." + +Also I suspect the Tortonis' dancin' act jarred her a bit. You've seen +'em do the shimmy-plus? + +"Well!" says she, drawin' in a long breath and lookin' the other way. +"So that is an example of modern dancing, is it?" + +"It's the kind of stunt the tired business man has to have before he +gets bright in the eyes again," says I. "But wait until we get to the +Follies if you want to see him really begin to live." + +We had to kill a couple of hours between times so we took in the last +half of the latest bedroom farce and I think that got a rise or two out +of Bonnie. I gathered from her remarks that Lillian Russell or Edna +Wallace Hopper never went quite that far in her day. + +"It's pajamas or nothing now," says I. + +"And occasionally," she adds, "I suppose it is--Well, I trust not, at +least." + +After the Follies she hadn't a word to say. Only, as I landed her back +at her hotel, along about 2:30 a.m., she slumps into a big chair in the +Egyptian room and lets her chin sag. + +"It's no use, Torchy," says she. "I--I couldn't." + +"Eh?" says I. + +"End my days to jazz time," says she. "No. I shall go back to my quiet +hills and my calm-eyed Holsteins. And I shall go entirely contented. I +can't tell you either, how thankful I am that it was you who showed me +my mistake instead of my dear old friend. You've been so good about it, +too." + +"Me?" says I. "Why, I've had a big night. Honest." + +"Bless you!" says she, pattin' my hand. "And just one thing more, +Torchy. When you tell Mr. Ellins that I've been here, and gone, couldn't +you somehow forget to say just how I looked? You see, if he remembers me +as I was when that photo was taken--Well, where's the harm?" + +"Trust me," says I. "And I won't be strainin' my conscience any at +that." + +But I didn't need to juggle even a word. When Old Hickory hears how I've +subbed in for him with Bonnie he just pulls out the picture, gazes at it +fond for a minute or so, and then remarks: + +"Ah, you lucky young rascal!" Then he picks up a note from his desk. +"Oh, by the way," he goes on, "here's a little remembrance she sent you +in my care." + +Little! Say, what do you guess? Oh, only an order for a 1920 model +roadster with white wire wheels to be delivered to me when I calls for +it! She's merely tipped me an automobile, that's all. And after I'd read +it through for the third time, and was sure it was so, I manages to gasp +out: + +"Lucky is right, Mr. Ellins; that's the only word." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A LATE HUNCH FOR LESTER + + +You might not guess it, but every now and then I connect with some true +thought that makes me wiser above the ears. Honest, I do. Sometimes they +just come to me by accident, on the fly, as it were. And then again, +they don't come so easy. + +Take this latest hunch of mine. I know now that my being a high-grade +private sec. don't qualify me to hand out any fatherly advice to the +female sex. Absolutely it doesn't. And yet, here only a few weeks back, +that was just what I was doin'. Oh, I don't mean I was scatterin' it +around broadcast. It had to be a particular and 'special case to tempt +me to crash in with the Solomon stuff. It was the case of Lester +Biggs--and little Miss Joyce. + +Now you'd almost think I'd seen too many lady typists earnin' their +daily bread and their weekly marcelle waves for me to get stirred up +over anything they might do. And as a rule, I don't waste much thought +on 'em unless they develop the habit of parkin' their gum on the corner +of my desk, or some such trick as that. I sure would be busy if I did +more, for here in the Corrugated general offices we have fifteen or +twenty more or less expert key pounders most of the time. Besides, it's +Mr. Piddie's job to worry over 'em, and believe me he does it thorough. + +But somehow this little Miss Joyce party was different. I expect it was +the baby blue tam-o'-shanter that got me noticin' her first off. You +know that style of lid ain't worn a great deal by our Broadway stenogs. +Not the home crocheted kind. Hardly. I should judge that most of our +flossy bunch wouldn't be satisfied until they'd swapped two weeks' +salary for some Paris model up at Mme. Violette's. And how they did +snicker when Miss Joyce first reported for duty wearin' that tam and +costumed tacky in something a cross-roads dressmaker had done her worst +on. + +Miss Joyce didn't seem to mind. By rights she should have been a shy, +modest little thing who would have been so cut up that she'd have rushed +into the cloak room and spilled a quart of salt tears. But she never +even quivers one of her long eyelashes, so Piddie reports. She just +comes back at 'em with a sketchy, friendly little smile and proceeds to +tackle her work business-like. And inside of ten days she has the lot of +'em eatin' out of her hand. + +But while I might feel a little sympathetic toward this stray from the +kerosene circuit I didn't let it go so far but what I kicked like a +steer when I finds that Piddle has wished her on me for a big forenoon's +work. + +"What's the idea, Piddie?" says I. "Why do I get one of your awkward +squad who'll probably spell 'such' with a t in it and punctuate by the +hit-or-miss method?" + +"Miss Joyce?" says he, raisin' his eyebrows, pained. "I beg your pardon, +Torchy, but she is one of our most efficient stenographers. Really!" + +"She don't look the part," says I. "But if you say she is I'll take a +chance." + +Well, she was all he'd described. She could not only scribble down that +Pitman stuff as fast as I could feed the dictation to her, but she could +read it straight afterward and the letters she turns out are a joy to +look over. From then on I picks her to do all my work, being careful not +to let either Mr. Robert or Old Hickory know what an expert I've +discovered in disguise. + +For one thing she's such a quiet, inoffensive little party. She don't +come in all scented with Peau d'Espagne, nor she don't stare at you +bored, or pat her hair or polish her nails while you're waitin' to think +of the right word. She don't seem to demand the usual chat or fish for +an openin' to confide what a swell time she had last night. In fact, she +don't make any remarks at all outside of the job in hand, which is some +relief when you're scratchin' your head to think what to tell the +assistant Western manager about renewin' them dockage contracts. + +Yet she ain't one of the scared-mouse kind. She looks you square in the +eye when there's any call for it and she don't mumble her remarks when +she has something to say. Not Miss Joyce. Her words come out clear and +crisp, with a slight roll to the r's and all the final letters sounded, +like she'd been taking elocution or something. + +In the course of five or six weeks she has shed the blue tam for a neat +little hat and has ditched the puckered seam effect dress for a black +office costume with white collar and cuffs. She still sticks to partin' +her hair in the middle and drawin' it back smooth with no ear tabs or +waves to it. So she does look some old-fashioned. + +That was why I'm kind of surprised to notice this Lester Biggs begin +hoverin' around her at lunch time and toward the closin' hour. She ain't +the type Lester usually picks out to roll his eyes at. Not in the least. +For of all them young hicks in the bond room I expect Lester is about +the most ambitious would-be sport we've got. + +You see, I've known Lester Biggs more or less for quite some time. He +started favorin' the Corrugated with his services back in the days when +I was still on the gate and rated myself the highest paid and easiest +worked office boy between Greeley Square and Forty-second Street. And +all the good I ever discovered about him wouldn't take me long to tell. + +As for the other side of the case--Well, I ain't much on office scandal, +but I will say that it always struck me Lester had the kind of a mind +that needed chloride of lime on it. I never saw the time when he wasn't +stretchin' his neck after some flossy typist or other, and as sure as a +new one with the least hint of hair bleach showed up it would mean +another affair for Lester. Maybe you know the kind. + +And he sure dressed the part, on and off. The Tin-Horn Sport Cut clothes +that you see advertised so wide must be made and designed 'special for +Lester. I remember he sprung the first pinch-back coat that came into +the office. Same way with the slit pockets, the belted vest and other +cute little innovations that the Times Square chicken hounds drape +themselves in. + +I wouldn't quite say that he'd pass for the perfect male, either. Not +unless you count the bat ears, face pimples, turkey neck and the cast in +one eye as points of beauty. But that don't seem to bother Lester in the +least. He knows he has a way with him. His reg'lar openin' is "Hello, +Girlie, what you got on the event card for tonight?" and from that to +makin' a date at Zinsheimer's dance hall is just a step. Oh, yes, Lester +is some gay bird, if you want to call it that. + +And all on twenty a week. So of course that interferes some with his +great ambition. He used to tell me about it back in the old days when I +was on the gate and hadn't sized him up accurate. Chorus girls! If he +could only get to know some squab pippin from the Winter Garden or the +Follies that would be all he'd ask. He would pick out his favorite from +the new musical shows, lug around half-tone pictures of 'em cut from +newspapers, and try to throw the bluff that he expected to meet 'em +early next week; but as we all knew he never got nearer than the second +balcony he never got away with the stuff. + +"Suppose by some miracle you did, Lester?" I'd ask him. "What then? +Would you blow her to a bowl of chow mein at some chop suey joint, or +could you get by with a nut sundae at a cut-rate drug store? And suppose +some curb broker was waitin' to take her out to Heather Blossom Inn? +You'd put up a hot competition, you would, with nothing but the change +from a five left in your jeans." + +"Ah, just leave that to me, old son," he'd say, winkin' devilish. + +And the one time when he did pull it off I happened to hear about. A +friend of his who was usher at the old Hippodrome offered to tow him to +a little Sunday night supper at the flat of one of the chorus ladies. +Lester went, too, and found a giddy thing of about forty fryin' onions +for a fam'ly of five, includin' three half-grown kids and a +scene-shiftin' hubby. + +That blow seems to discourage Lester for a week or so, since which he +has run true to form. He'll run around with lady typists, or girls from +the cloak department, or most anything that wears skirts, until they +discover what a tight-wad he is and give him the shunt. But his great +aim in life is to acquire a lady-friend that he can point out in the +second row and hang around for at the stage door about midnight. + +So when I sees him flutterin' about Miss Joyce, and her making motions +like she was fallin' for him, I didn't quite know what to make of it. +Course, now that she's bucked up a bit on her costume she is more or +less easy to look at. For a little thing, almost a half portion, as you +might put it, she has quite a figure, slim and graceful. And them pansy +brown eyes can light up sort of fascinatin', I expect. And being so +fresh from the country I suppose she can't dope out what a cheap shimmy +lizard Lester is. It's a wonder some of the other typists hadn't put her +wise. They're usually good at that. But it looks like they'd missed a +trick in her case, for one noon I overhears Lester datin' her up for an +evenin' at Zinsheimer's. And when he drifts along I can't resist +throwin' out a hint, on my own account. + +"With Lester, eh?" says I, humpin' my eyebrows. + +"Oh, I know," says Miss Joyce. "But I do love to dance and I--I've been +rather lonely, you see." + +I saw. And of course after that there was nothing more to say. She +didn't tell me as much, but I understand that it got to be a regular +thing. You could tell that by the intimate way Lester tips her the wink +as he swaggers by. He didn't take any pains to hide it, or to lower his +voice when he remarks, "Well, kiddo, see you at eight thirt., eh?" + +As long as she kept her work up to the mark, which she does, it wasn't +any funeral of mine. I never have yearned to be a volunteer chaperon. +But I was kind of sorry for little Miss Joyce. I expect I said something +of the kind to Vee, and she was all for having Mr. Piddie give her a +good talking to. + +"No use," says I. "Piddie wouldn't know how. All he can do is hire 'em +and fire 'em, and even that's turnin' his hair gray. It'll all work out +one way or another, I expect." + +It does, too. But not exactly along the lines I was looking for it to +develop. First off, Lester quits the Corrugated. As he'd been on the +same job for more'n six years, and gettin' worse at it right along, the +blow didn't quite put us out of business. We're still staggerin' ahead. + +"What's the scheme, Lester?" says I. "Beatin' the office manager to +it?" + +"Huh!" says Lester. "I've been plannin' to make a shift for more'n a +year. Just waitin' for the right openin'. I got it now." + +"The Morgan people sent for you, did they?" says I. + +"They might have, at that," says Lester, "only I'm through bein' an +office slave for anybody. I'm goin' in with some live wires this time, +where I'll have a chance." + +But it turns out that he's been taken on as a sidewalk man by a pair of +ticket speculators--Izzy Goldman and his pal, who used to run the cigar +stand down in the arcade. They handled any kind of pasteboards, from +grandstand parade tickets to orchestra seats. + +"Yes," says I, "that'll be a great career. Almost in the theatrical +game, eh? You'll be knowin' all the pippins now, I expect." + +"Watch me," says Lester. + +Well, I didn't strain my eyes. I'd have been just as pleased to know +that Lester was going to slip out of my young life forever and to forget +him complete within the next two days. Only I couldn't. There was Miss +Joyce to remind me. Not that she says a word. She ain't the chatty, +confidential kind. But it was natural for me to wonder now and then if +they was still as chummy as at the start. + +He'd been away a month or more I expect, before either of us passed his +name, and then it came out accidental. I starts dictatin' a letter to a +firm in St. Louis, Lester & Riggs. The name sort of startles Miss Joyce. + +"I beg pardon?" says she, her pencil poised over the pad. + +"No, not Lester Biggs," says I. "By the way, how is he these days?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I--I haven't seen him for weeks." + +"Oh!" says I. "Kind of thought you'd be droppin' him down the coal shute +or something." + +She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head. "It was he who dropped +me," says she. "Flat." + +"Considerin' Lester," says I, "that's more or less of a compliment." + +"I am not so sure of that," says Miss Joyce. "You see, he was quite +frank about it. He--he said I had no style or zipp about me. Well, I'm +afraid it's true." + +"Even so," says I, "it was sweet of him to throw it at you, wasn't it?" + +She indulges in a sketchy, quizzin' smile. "I think some of the girls at +Zinsheimer's had been teasing him about me," she goes on. "They called +me 'the poor little working girl,' I believe. I've no doubt I looked it. +But I haven't been able to spend much for clothes--as yet." + +"Of course," says I, throwin' up a picture of an invalid mother and a +coon-huntin' father back in the alfalfa somewhere. "And so far you +ain't missed much by not havin' 'em. I should put Lester's loss down on +the credit side if I was makin' the entry." + +"He could dance, though," says Miss Joyce, as she gets busy with her +pencil again. + +Then a few weeks later I was handed my big jolt. We was gettin' out a +special report for the directors' meetin' one day after lunch when right +in the middle of a table of costs Miss Joyce glances anxious at the +clock and drops her note book. + +"I'm so sorry," says she, "but couldn't we finish this tomorrow +morning?" + +"Why, I suppose we might," says I, "if it's anything important." + +"It is," says she. "If I'm not there by 3 o'clock the stage manager will +not see me at all, and I do so want to land an engagement this time." + +"Eh?" says I gawpin'. "Stage manager! You?" + +"Why, yes," says she. "You see, I tried once before. I was almost taken +on, too. They liked my voice, they said, but I wasn't up on my dancing. +So I've been taking lessons of a ballet master. Frightfully expensive. +That's where all my money has gone. But I think they'll give me a chance +this time. It's for the chorus of that new 'Tut! Tut! Marie' thing, you +know, and they've advertised for fifty girls." + +I suppose I must have let loose a gasp. This meek, modest young thing, +who looked like she wouldn't know a lip-stick from a boiled carrot, +plannin' cold-blooded to throw up a nice respectable job and enter +herself in the squab market! Why, I wouldn't have been jarred more if +Piddie had announced that next season he was going to do bareback ridin' +for some circus. + +"Excuse me, Miss Joyce," says I, "but I wouldn't say you was just the +kind they'd take on." + +"Oh, they take all kinds," says she. + +"Better brace yourself for a turndown, though," says I, "I see it coming +to you. You ain't the type at all." + +"Perhaps you don't know," says she, trippin' off to get her hat. + +Ever see one of them mobs that turns out when there's a call for a new +chorus? I've had to push my way through 'em once or twice up in some of +them office buildings along the Rialto, and believe me, it's a weird +collection; all sorts, from wispy little flappers who should be in +grammar school still, to hard-faced old battle axes who used to travel +with Nat Goodwin. So I couldn't figure little Miss Joyce gettin' +anything more'n a passing glance in that aggregation. Yet when she shows +up in the mornin' she's lookin' sort of smilin' and chirky. + +"Well," said I, "did you back out after lookin' 'em over?" + +"Oh, no," says she. "I was tried out with the first lot and engaged +right away. They're rushing the production, you see, and I happened to +fit in. Why, inside of an hour they had twenty of us rehearsing. I'm to +be in the first big number, I think--one of the Moonbeam girls. Isn't +that splendid?" + +"If that's what you want," says I, "I expect it is. But how about the +folks back home? What'll they say to this wide jump of yours?" + +"I've decided not to tell them anything about it," says she. "Not for a +long time, anyway." + +"They might hear, though," I suggests. "Just where do you come from?" + +"Why, Saskatoun," says she, without battin' an eyelash. + +"Oh, all right, if you don't want to tell," says I. + +"But I have told you," says she. "Saskatoun." + +"Is it a new hair tonic, or what?" says I. + +"It's a city," says she. "One of the largest in British Columbia." + +"Think of that!" says I. "They don't care how they mess up the map these +days, do they? And your folks live there?" + +"Most of them," says she. "Two of my brothers are up at Glen Bow, +raising sheep; one of my sisters is at Alberta, giving piano lessons; +and another sister is doing church singing in Moose Jaw. If I had stayed +at home I would be doing something like that. We are a musical family, +you know. Daddy is a church organist and wanted me to keep on in the +choir and perhaps get to be a soloist, at $50 a month. But I couldn't +see it. If I am going to make a living out of my music I want to make a +good one. And New York is the place, isn't it!" + +"It depends," says I. "You don't think you'll get rich in the 'Tut! Tut! +Marie' chorus, do you?" + +"Perhaps they'll not keep me in the chorus," says she. "It's the back +door, I know, but it was the only way I could get in. And I'm going to +work for something better. You'll see." + +Yep, I saw. Miss Joyce resigned at the end of the week, and it wasn't +ten days before I gets a little note from her saying how she'd been +picked out to do a specialty dance and duet with Ronald Breen. Mr. Breen +had done the picking himself. And she did hope I would look in some +night when the company opened on Broadway. + +"I expect we'll have to go; eh, Vee?" says I when I gets home. + +"Surely," says Vee. + +Well, maybe you've noticed what a hit this "Tut! Tut!" thing has been +making. It's about the zippiest, peppiest girl show in town, and that's +saying a lot. It's the kind of stuff that makes the tired business man +get bright in the eyes and forget how near the sixteenth of January is. +I thought first off we'd have to put off seeing it until after +Christmas, for when I finally got to the box office there was nothing +doing in orchestra seats. Sold out five weeks in advance. But by luck I +happens to run across Lester Biggs in the lobby and for five a throw he +fixes me up with two places in G, middle row. + +"It's a big winner," says he. + +"Seen it yourself?" I asks. + +"Not yet," says he. "Think I can pull it off tonight, though." + +"Good!" says I. "I'll be looking for you out front after the first act." + +And, say, when this party who's listed on the program as Jean Jolly +comes boundin' in with Ronald Breen I'll admit she had me sittin' up +with my ears tinted pink. No use goin' into details about her costume. +It's hardly worth while--a little white satin here and there and a touch +of black tulle. + +"Well!" gasps Vee. "Is that your little Miss Joyce?" + +"I can hardly believe it," says I. + +"I should hope not," says Vee. "But she is cute, isn't she? And see that +kick! Oh-h-h-h!" + +I was still red in the face, I expect, when I trails out at the end of +the act and discovers Lester leanin' against the lobby wall. + +"Say, Torchy," says he husky, "did--did you see her?" + +"Miss Joyce?" says I. "Sure. Some pippin in the act, isn't she? Didn't +she send you word she was goin' to be in this with Ronald Breen?" + +"Me?" says he. "No." + +"That's funny," says I. "She told me weeks ago. I hear she's pulling +down an even hundred and fifty a week. By next season she'll be +starrin'." + +"And to think," moans out Lester, "that I passed her up only a few +months ago!" + +"Yes," says I, "considerin' your chronic ambition, that was once when +you were out of luck. And the worst of it is that maybe she was only +usin' you to practice on all along. Eh?" + +Perhaps it wasn't a consolin' thought to leave with Lester, but somehow +I couldn't help grinnin' as I tossed it over. And me, I'm doping out no +more advice to young ladies from Saskatoun or elsewhere. I'm off that +side-line permanent. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +TORCHY TACKLES A MYSTERY + + +I'll admit I didn't get all stirred up when Mr. Robert comes in from +luncheon and announces that this Penrhyn Deems person is missing. + +"On how many cylinders?" says I. + +I might have added, too, that even if he'd been mislaid permanent I +could struggle along. First off, anybody with a name like that could be +easy spared. Penrhyn! Always reminded me of a headache tablet. Where did +he get such a fancy tag? I never could believe that was sprinkled on +him. Listened to me like something he'd thought up himself when he saw +the chance of its being used so much on four sheets and billboards. And +if you'd ask me I'd said that the prospect of his not contributin' any +more of them musical things to the Broadway stage wasn't good cause for +decreein' a lodge of sorrow. Them last two efforts of his certainly was +punk enough to excuse him from tryin' again. What if he had done the +lines and lyrics to "The Buccaneer's Bride"? That didn't give him any +license to unload bush-league stuff for the rest of his career, did it? +Begun to look like his first big hit had been more or less of an +accident. That being the case maybe it was time for him to fade out. + +Course, I didn't favor Mr. Robert with all this. Him and Penrhyn Deems +was old college chums together, and while they ain't been real thick in +late years they have sort of kept in touch. I suspect that since Penrhyn +got to ratin' himself as kind of a combination of Reggie DeKoven and +George Cohan he ain't been so easy to get along with. Maybe I'm wrong, +but from the few times I've seen him blowin' in here at the Corrugated +that was my dope. You know. One of these parties who carries his chest +out and walks heavy on his heels. Yes, I should judge that the ego in +Penrhyn's make-up would run well over 2.75 per cent. + +But it takes more'n that to get him scratched from Mr. Robert's list. +He's strong for keepin' up old friendships, Mr. Robert is. He remembers +whatever good points they have and lets it ride at that. So he's always +right there with the friendly hail whenever Penrhyn swaggers in wearin' +them noisy costumes that he has such a weakness for, and with his +eyebrows touched up and his cutie-boy mustache effect decoratin' that +thick upper lip. How a fat party like him could work up so much personal +esteem I never could understand. But they do. You watch next time you're +on a subway platform, who it is that gazes most fond into the +gum-machine mirrors and if it ain't mostly these blimp-built boys with +a 40 belt measure then I'm wrong on my statistics. Anyway, Penrhyn is +that kind. + +"This is the third day that he has been missing, Torchy," says Mr. +Robert, solemn. + +"Yes?" says I. "Seems to me I saw an item about him in the theatrical +notes yesterday, something about his being a. w. o. l. Kind of joshing, +it read, like they didn't take it serious." + +"That's the disgusting part of it," says Mr. Robert. "Here is a man who +disappears suddenly, to whom almost anything may have happened, from +being run over by a truck to robbery and murder; yet, because he happens +to be connected with the theatrical business, it is referred to as if it +were some kind of a joke. Why, he may be lying unidentified in some +hospital, or at the bottom of the North River." + +"Anybody out looking for him?" I asks. + +"Not so far as I can discover," says Mr. Robert. "I have 'phoned up to +the Shuman offices--they're putting on his new piece, you know--but I +got no satisfaction at all. He hadn't been there for several days. That +was all they knew. Yes, there had been talk of giving the case to a +detective agency, but they weren't sure it had been done. And here is +his poor mother up in New Rochelle, almost on the verge of nervous +prostration. There is his fiancée, too; little Betty Parsons, who is +crying her eyes out. Nice girl, Betty. And it's a shame that something +isn't being done. Anyway, I shall do what I can." + +"Sure!" says I. "I hadn't thought about his having a mother--and a girl. +But say, Mr. Robert, maybe I can put you next to somebody at Shuman's +who can give you the dope. I got a friend up there--Whitey Weeks. Used +to do reportin'. Last time I met him though, he admitted modest that +Alf. Shuman had come beggin' him to take full charge of the publicity +end of all his attractions. So if anybody has had any late bulletins +about Mr. Deems it's bound to be Whitey." + +"Suppose you ring him up, then," says Mr. Robert. + +"When I'm trying to extract the truth from Whitey," says I, "I want to +be where I can watch his eyes. He's all right in his way, but he's as +shifty as a jumpin' bean. If you want the facts I'd better go myself. +Maybe you'd better come, too, Mr. Robert." + +He agrees to that and inside of half an hour we've pushed through a mob +of would-be and has-been chorus females and have squeezed into the +little coop where Whitey presides important behind a big double-breasted +roll-top. And when I explains how Mr. Robert is an old friend of +Penrhyn's, and is actin' for the heart-broken mother and the weepin' +fiancée as well, Whitey shakes his head solemn. + +"Sorry, gentlemen," says he, "but we haven't heard a word from him +since he disappeared. Haven't even a clue. It's an absolute mystery. He +seems to have vanished, that's all. And we don't know what to make of +it. Rather embarrassing for us, too. You know we've just started +rehearsals for his new piece, 'Oh, Say, Belinda!' Biggest thing he's +done yet. And Mr. Shuman has spent nearly $10,000 for the setting and +costumes of one number alone. Yet here Deems walks off with the lyrics +for that song--the only copy in existence, mind you--and drops out of +sight. I suppose he wanted to revise the verses. You see the hole it put +us in, though. We're rushing 'Belinda' through for an early production, +and he strays off with the words to what's bound to be the big song hit +of the season. Why, Miss Ladue, who does that solo, is about crazy, and +as for Mr. Shuman----" + +"Yes, I understand, Whitey," I breaks in. "That's good press agent +stuff, all right. But Mr. Ellins here ain't so much worried over what's +going to happen to the show as he is over what has happened to Penrhyn +Deems. Now how did he disappear? Who saw him last?" + +Whitey shrugs his shoulders. "All a mystery, I tell you," says he. "We +haven't a single clue." + +"And you're just sitting back wondering what has become of him," demands +Mr. Robert, "without making an effort to trace him?" + +"Well, what can we do?" asks Whitey. "If the fool newspapers would only +wake up to the fact that a prominent personage is missing, and give us +the proper space, that might help. They will in time, of course. Got to +come to it. But you know how it is. Anything from a press bureau they're +apt to sniff over suspicious. As if I'd pull one as raw as this on 'em! +Huh! But I'm working up the interest, and by next Sunday I'll bet +they'll be carrying front page headlines, 'Where is Penrhyn Deems?' +You'll see." + +"Suppose he should turn up tomorrow, though?" I asks. + +"Oh, but he couldn't," says Whitey quick. "That is, if he's really lost +or--or anything has happened to him. What makes you think he might show +up, Torchy?" + +"Just a hunch of mine," says I. "I was thinking maybe some of his +friends might find him somewhere." + +"I'd like to see 'em," says Whitey emphatic. "It--it would be worth a +good deal to us." + +"Yes," says I, "I know how you feel about it. Much obliged, Whitey. I +guess that's all we can do; eh, Mr. Robert?" + +But we're no sooner out of the office than I gives him the nudge. + +"Bunk!" says I. "I'd bet a million of somebody else's money that this is +just one of Whitey's smooth frame-ups." + +"I hardly think I follow you," says Mr. Robert. + +"Here's the idea," says I. "When 'The Buccaneer's Bride' was having that +two-year run Penrhyn Deems was a good deal in the spotlight. He had +write-ups reg'lar, full pages in the Sunday editions, new pictures of +himself printed every few weeks. He didn't hate it, did he? But these +last two pieces of his were frosts. All he's had recent have been +roasts, or no mention at all. And it was up to Whitey to bring him back +into the public eye, wasn't it? Trust Whitey for doing that." + +"But this method would be so thoroughly cold-blooded, heartless," +protests Mr. Robert. + +"Wouldn't stop Whitey, though," says I. + +"Then we must do our best to find Penrhyn," says he. + +"Sure!" says I. "Sleuth stuff. How about startin' at his rooms and +interviewin' his man?" + +"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "We will go there at once." + +We did. But what we got out of that pie-faced Nimms of Penrhyn's wasn't +worth taking notes of. He's got a map about as full of expression as the +south side of a squash, Nimms. A peanut-headed Cockney that Penrhyn +found somewhere in London. + +"Sure I cawn't say, sir," says he, "where the mawster went to, sir. It +was lawst Monday night 'e vanished, sir." + +"Whaddye mean, vanished?" says I. + +"'E just walked out, sir, and never came back," says Nimms. "See, sir, +I've 'ad 'is morning suit all laid out ever since, sir." + +"Then he went in evening clothes?" puts in Mr. Robert. + +"Not exactly, sir," says Nimms. "'E was attired as a court jester, sir; +in motley, you know, sir, and cap and bells." + +"Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert. "In a fool's costume? You say he went out +in that rig? Why the deuce should he----" + +"I didn't ask the mawster, sir," says Nimms, "but my private opinion of +the matter, sir, is that he was on 'is way to a masked banquet of some +sort. I 'appened to see a hinvitation, sir, that----" + +"Dig it up, Nimms," says I. "Might be a clue." + +Sure enough, Nimms had it stowed away; and the fathead hadn't said a +word about it before. It's an invite to the annual costume dinner of the +Bright Lights Club. + +"Huh!" says I. "I've heard of that bunch--mostly producers, stage stars +and dramatists. Branch of the Lambs Club. Whitey would have known about +that event, too. And Alf. Shuman. If Deems had been there they'd have +known. So he didn't get there. I expect he wore a rain coat or +something over his costume, and went in a taxi; eh, Nimms?" + +"Quite so, sir," says Nimms. "A long raincoat, sir." + +"But," breaks in Mr. Robert, "a man couldn't wander around New York +dressed in a fool's costume without being noticed. That is, not for +several days." + +"You bet he couldn't," says I. "So he didn't." + +That's a good line to pull, that "he couldn't, so he didn't," when +you're doin' this Sherlock-Watson stuff. Sounds professional. Mr. Robert +nods and then looks at me expectant as if he was waitin' to hear what +I'd deduce next. But as a matter of fact my deducer was runnin' down. +Yet when you've got a boss who always expects you to cerebrate in high +gear, as he's so fond of puttin' it, you've got to produce something +off-hand, or stall around. + +"Now, let's see," says I, registerin' deep thought, "if Penrhyn was to +go anywhere on his own hook, where would it be? You know his habits +pretty well, Mr. Robert. What's your guess?" + +"Why, I should say he would make for the nearest golf course," says he. + +"He's a golf shark, is he?" says I. + +"Not in the sense you mean," says Mr. Robert. "Hardly. Penrhyn is a +consistent but earnest duffer. The ambition of his life is to break 100 +on some decent course. He has talked enough about it to me. Yes, that is +probably where he is, if he's still alive, off playing golf somewhere." + +"Begging your pardon, sir," puts in Nimms, "but that could 'ardly be so, +sir, seeing as 'ow 'is sticks are still 'ere. That's the strange part of +'is disappearance, sir. 'E never travels without 'is bag of sticks. And +they're in that closet, sir." + +"Couldn't he rent an outfit, or borrow one?" I suggests. + +"He could," says Mr. Robert, "but he wouldn't. No more than you would +rent a toothbrush. That is one of the symptoms of the golf duffer. He +has his pet clubs and imagines he can play with no others. I think we +must agree with Nimms. If we do, the case looks serious again, for +Penrhyn would certainly not go away voluntarily unless it was to some +place where he could indulge in his mania." + +"That's it!" says I. "Then he's been steered somewhere against his will. +That's the line! Which brings us back to Whitey Weeks. Who else but +Whitey would want him shunted off out of sight for a week or so?" + +"But you don't think he would go so far as to kidnap Penrhyn, do you?" +asks Mr. Robert. + +"Who, Whitey?" says I. "He'd kidnap his grandmother if he saw a front +page story in it. Maybe he'd had this disappearance stunt all worked up +when Mr. Deems balked. So he gets him when he's rigged up in some crazy +costume, with all his regular clothes at home, and tolls him off to some +out of the way spot. See? In that rig Penrhyn would have to stay put, +wouldn't he? Couldn't show himself among folks without being mobbed. So +he'd have to lay low until someone brought him a suit of clothes." + +"That would be an ingenious way of doing it," admits Mr. Robert. + +"Believe me, Whitey has that kind of a mind," says I, "or else he +wouldn't be handling the Alf. Shuman publicity work." + +"But where could he have taken him?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"We're just gettin' to that," says I. "Where would he? Now if this was a +movie play we was dopin' out it would be simple. He'd be taken off on a +yacht. But Whitey couldn't get the use of a yacht. He don't travel in +that class, and Shuman wouldn't stand for the charter price in an +expense bill. A lonesome farm would be a good spot. But Penrhyn could +borrow a rube outfit and escape from a farm. A lighthouse would be a +swell place to stow away a leading librettist dressed up in a fool's +costume, wouldn't it? Or an island? Say, I'll bet I've got it!" + +"Eh?" says Mr. Robert. + +"He's on an island," says I. "High Bar Island. It's a place where +Whitey goes duck shootin' every fall. He belongs to a club that owns it. +Anyway, he did. Used to feed me an earful about what a great gunner he +was, and what thrillin' times he had at the old shack. Down somewhere in +Barnegat Bay, back of the lighthouse. Yep! He's there, if he's +anywhere." + +"Sounds rather unlikely," says Mr. Robert. "Still, you seem to have an +uncanny instinct for being right in such matters. Perhaps we ought to go +down and see. Come." + +"What, now?" says I. "Right away?" + +"There is his mother, almost in hysterics," says Mr. Robert, "and his +sweetheart. Think of the suspense, the mental strain they must be under. +If we can find Penrhyn we must do so as quickly as possible. Let's go +back to the office and look up train connections." + +Well, if we'd started half an hour earlier we'd been all right. As it +was we could hang up all night at some dinky junction or wait over until +next morning. Neither suited Mr. Robert. He 'phones for his tourin' car +and decides to motor down into Jersey. Also he has a kit bag packed for +two of us and collects from Nimms a full outfit of daylight clothes for +Penryhn. + +We got away about five o'clock and as Mr. Robert figures by the Blue +Book that we have only a hundred and some odd miles to run he thinks we +ought to make some place near Barnegat Light by nine o'clock. Maybe we +would have, too, if we'd caught the Staten Island ferries right at both +ends, and hadn't had two blow-outs and strayed off the road once. As it +is we finally lands at little joint that shows on the map as Forked +River about 1 a.m. There wasn't a light in the whole place and it took +us half an hour to pry the landlord of the hotel out of the feathers. +No, he couldn't tell us where we could get a boat to take us out to High +Bar at that time of night. It wasn't being done. Folks didn't go there +often anyway, and when they did they started after breakfast. + +"It'll be there in the morning, you know," says he. + +"That's so," says Mr. Robert. "Have a motor boat ready at nine o'clock. +Not much use getting there before 10:30. Penrhyn wouldn't be up." + +That sounded sensible to me. When I go huntin' for lost dramatists I +like to take it easy and be braced up for the day with a good shot of +ham and eggs. This part of the program was carried out smooth. And it's +a nice little sail across old Barnegat Bay with the oyster fleet busy +and the fishin' boats dotted around. But the native who piloted us out +was doubtful about anybody's being on High Bar. + +"I seen some parties shootin' around on Love Ladies yesterday," says he, +"an' a couple more was snipin' on Sea Dog, but I didn't hear nary gun +let off on th' Bar." + +"Oh, my friend doesn't shoot, anyway," says Mr. Robert. + +"Ain't nothin' else for him to do on High Bar," says the native, "less'n +he wants to collect skeeter bites." + +When we got close enough to see the island I begun to suspicion I'd +missed out on my hunch, for there ain't a soul in sight. We could see +the whole of it, too, for the highest part isn't much over two feet +above tide-water mark. Near the boat landing is the club house, set up +on piling, with a veranda across the front. The rest of High Bar is only +a few acres of sedge and marsh. + +"Yea-uh!" says the native. "Must be somebody thar. Door's open. Yea-uh! +Thar's old Lem Robbins, who allus does the cookin'. Hey, Lem!" + +Lem waves cordial and waddles down to meet us. He's a fat, grizzled old +pirate who looked bored and discontented. + +"Got anybody with you, Lem?" asks the native. + +"Not to speak of," says Lem. "Only a loony sort of gent that wears +skin-tight barber-pole pants and cusses fluent." + +"That's Penrhyn!" says Mr. Robert. "Dressed as a fool, isn't he?" + +"You've said it," says Lem. "Acts like one, too. Hope you gents have +come to take him back where he belongs. Needs to be shut up, he does." + +"But where is he?" demands Mr. Robert. + +"Out back of the house, swingin' an old boat-hook and carryin' on +simple," says Lem. "I'll show you." + +It was some sight, too. For there is the famous author of "The +Buccaneer's Bride," rigged out complete in a more or less soiled +jester's costume, includin' the turkey red headpiece with the bells on +it. He's standing on a heap of shells and waving this rusty boat-hook +around. Course, I expects when he sees Mr. Robert and realizes how he's +been rescued he'll come out of his spell and begin to act rational once +more. But it don't work out that way. When Mr. Robert calls out to him +and he sees who it is, he keeps right on swingin' the boat-hook. + +"Glory be, Bob!" he sings out. "I've got it at last." + +"Got what, Penny?" demands Mr. Robert. + +"My drive," says he. "Watch, Bob. How's that, eh? Notice that carry +through? Wouldn't that spank the pill 200 yards straight down the +fairway? Wouldn't it, now?" + +"Oh, I say, Penny!" says Mr. Robert. "Don't be more of an ass than you +can help. Quit that golf tommyrot and tell me what you're doing here in +this forsaken spot when all New York is thinking that maybe you've been +murdered or something." + +"Eh?" says Penrhyn. "Then--then the news is out, is it? Did you bring +any papers?" + +"Papers?" says Mr. Robert. "No." + +"Wish you had," says Penrhyn. "Got everyone stirred up, I suppose? Tell +me, though, how are people taking it?" + +"If you mean the public in general," says Mr. Robert, "I think they are +bearing up nobly. But your mother and Betty----" + +"By George!" breaks in Penrhyn. "That's so! They might be rather +disturbed. I--I never thought about them." + +"Didn't, eh?" says Mr. Robert. "No, you wouldn't. You were thinking +about Penrhyn Deems, as usual. And I must say, Penny, you're the limit. +I've a good notion to leave you here." + +"No, no, Bob! Don't do that," pleads Penrhyn. "Disgusting place. And I +dislike that cook person, very much. Besides, I must get back. Really." + +"Want to relieve your poor old mother and Betty, eh?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"Yes, of course," says Penrhyn. "Besides, I want to try this swing with +my driver. Bob, I'm sure I can put in that wrist snap at last. And if I +can I--I'll be playing in the 90's. Sure!" + +He's a wonder, Penrhyn. He has this hoof and mouth disease, otherwise +known as golf, worse than anybody I ever met before. Took Mr. Robert +another ten minutes to get him calmed down enough so he could tell how +he come to be marooned on this island in that rig. + +"Why, it was that new press agent of Shuman's, of course," says Penrhyn. +"That Weeks person. He did it." + +"You don't mean to say, Penny," says Mr. Robert, "that you were +kidnapped and brought here a prisoner?" + +"Not at all," says Penny. "We drove down here at night and came in a +boat just at daylight. Silly performance. Especially wearing this +costume. But he insisted that it would make the disappearance more +plausible, more dramatic. Wouldn't tell me where we were going, either. +Said it was a club house, so I thought of course there would be golf. +But look at this hole! And I've had four days of it. Mosquitoes? +Something frightful. That's why I've kept on the cap and bells. At first +I put in the time working over one of the songs in the new piece. Wrote +some ripping verses, too. They'll go strong. Best thing I've done. But +after I had finished that job I wanted to play golf; practice, anyway. +And I was nearly crazy until I found this old boat-hook and began +knocking oyster shells into the water. That's how it came to me--the +drive. If I can only hold it!" + +I suggests how Mr. Weeks is probably plannin' for him to stay lost until +over Sunday anyway, so he can work some big space in the newspapers. + +"Oh, bother Mr. Weeks!" says Penrhyn. "I've had enough of this. The new +piece is going to go big, anyway. Come along, Bob. Let's start. I'll +'phone to mother and Betty, and maybe I can get in eighteen holes this +afternoon. Brought some clothes for me, didn't you? I must change from +this rig first." + +"I wouldn't," says Mr. Robert. "It's quite appropriate, Penny." + +But Penrhyn wouldn't be joshed and makes a dive for his suitcase. We +lands him back on Broadway at 4:30 that same afternoon. My first move +after gettin' to the Corrugated general offices is to ring up Whitey +Weeks. + +"This is Torchy," says I. "And ain't it awful about Penrhyn Deems?" + +"Eh?" gasps Whitey. "What about him?" + +"He's been found," says I. "Uh-huh! Discovered on an island by some fool +friends that brought him back to town. I just saw him on Broadway." + +"The simp!" groans Whitey. + +"You're a great little describer, Whitey," says I. "Simp is right. But +next time you want to win front page space by losing a dramatist I'd +advise you to lock him in a vault. Islands are too easy located." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +WITH VINCENT AT THE TURN + + +It was Mr. Piddie who first begun workin' up suspicions about Vincent, +our fair haired super-office boy. But then, Piddie has that kind of a +mind. He must have been born on the dark of the moon when the wind was +east in the year of the big eclipse. Something like that. Anyway, he's +long on gloom and short on faith in human nature, and he goes +gum-shoein' through life lookin' as slit-eyed as a tourist tom-cat four +blocks from his own backyard. + +Course, he has his good points, lots of 'em, or else he never would have +held his job as office manager in the Corrugated Trust so long. And +there's at least two human beings he thinks was made perfect from the +start--Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. Robert. The rest of us he ain't sure +of. We'll bear watchin'. And Piddie's idea of earnin' his salary is to +be right there with the restless eye from 8:43 until 5:02, when he grabs +his trusty commutation ticket and starts for the wilds of Jersey, +leavin' the force to a whole night of idleness and wicked ways. + +Still, I am a little surprised when he picks out Vincent. + +"I regret to say it, Torchy," says he, "but someone ought to have an eye +on that boy." + +"Oh, come, Piddie!" says I. "Not Vincent! Why, he's a model youth. +You've always said so yourself--polite, respectful, washes behind the +ears, takes home his pay envelope uncracked to mother, all that sort of +thing. Why the mournful headshake over him now?" + +"I can't say what it is," says Piddie, "but there has been a change. +Recently. Twice this week he has overstayed his luncheon hour. Yesterday +he asked for his Liberty bond and war saving stamps from the safe. I +believe he is planning to do something desperate." + +"Huh!" says I. "Most likely he's plotting to pay off the mortgage on the +little bungalow as a birthday present for mother." + +Piddie won't have it that way, though. "I think there's a woman in the +case," says he, "and I'm sure it isn't his mother." + +"A woman; Vincent?" says I. "Ah, quit your kiddin', Piddie. I'd as soon +think it of you." + +That brings the pink to his ears and he stiffens indignant. But in a +minute or so he gets over it enough to explain that he's noticed Vincent +fussin' with his necktie and slickin' his hair back careful before +quittin' time. Also that Vincent has taken to gettin' shaved once a week +reg'lar now, instead of every month. + +"And he seemed very nervous when he took away his savings," adds +Piddie. "Of course, in my position I could ask for no confidences of a +personal nature; but if someone else could have a talk with him.--Well, +you, for example, Torchy." + +"What a cute little idea!" says I. "What would be the openin' lines for +that scene? Something like, 'Come, my erring lad, rest your fair, +sin-soaked head on my knee and tell your Uncle Torchy how you are +secretly scheming to kidnap the rich gum profiteer's lovely daughter and +carry her off to Muckhurst-on-the-Marsh.' Piddie, you're a wonder." + +I was still chucklin' over the notion as I breezed out to lunch, but as +I pushes out of the express elevator and starts across the arcade toward +the Broadway exit I lamps something over by the candy booth that leaves +me with my mouth open. There is Vincent hung up against the counter +gazin' mushy into the dark dangerous orbs of Mirabelle, the box-trade +queen. + +Course, we all know Mirabelle in the Corrugated buildin', for she's been +presidin' over the candy counter almost as long as the arcade shops have +been open. She's what you might call an institution; like Apollo Mike, +the elevator starter; or old Walrus Smith, the night watchman. And I +expect there ain't a young hick or a middle-aged bookkeeper on all them +twenty-odd floors but what has had his little thrill from gettin' in +line, some time or another, with a cut-up look from them high voltage +eyes. She's just one of the many perils, Mirabelle is, that line the +path of the poor working man in the great city. That is, she looks the +part. + +As a matter of fact, I've always had Mirabelle sized up as a near-vamp +who had worked up the act to boost sales and cinch her job. Anyway, I +never knew of her lurin' her victims into anything more desperate than a +red-ink table d'hôte dinner or a six-dollar orgie at a cabaret. And +somehow they all seem to wriggle out of the net within a week or so with +no worse casualties than a feverish yearnin' for next pay day and a wise +look in the eyes. I've watched some of them young sports from the bond +room have their little fling with Mirabelle and not one of 'em has come +out a human wreck. + +Maybe they discover that Mirabelle has turned thirty. I'll admit she +don't look it, 'specially under the pink-shaded counter light when she's +had a henna treatment lately and been careful to spread the make-up +artistic. The jet ear danglers helps some, too. Then there are them +misbehavin' eyes. Also when it comes to light and frivolous chat +Mirabelle is right there with the zippy patter. Oh my, yes! Try shootin' +anything fresh across when she's wrappin' a pound of mixed chocolates +and you'll get a quick one back from Mirabelle. Probably a quizzin', +twisty smile, too that sends you off kiddin' yourself that you're quite +a gay bird when you really cut loose, and where's the harm once in a +while? You know the kind. + +But to think that Vincent should be fallin' for Mirabelle. Why, he sits +there all day behind the gate in plain sight of a battery of twenty lady +typists, some of 'em as kittenish young things as ever blew a week's +salary into a permanent wave and I've never even seen him so much as +roll an eye at one. Besides, he's as perfect a specimen of a Mommer's +boy as you could find between here and the Battery. Not that he's a male +ingénue. He's just a nice boy, Vincent, always neat and polite and ready +to admit that he has the best little mother in the world. I don't blame +him for thinkin' so either, for I've seen her a couple of times and if +I'm any judge she fits the description. She's a widow, you know, and she +and Vincent are strugglin' along on the life insurance until they make +Vincent general manager or vice-president or something. + +So, as I was telling you, it gives me more or less of a jolt to see +Vincent flutterin' around Mirabelle. There's no mistakin' the motions, +either. He's draped himself careless over the end of the counter and +them big innocent blue eyes of his are fairly glued on Mirabelle, while +a simple smile comes and goes, dependin' on whether she's lookin' his +way or not. Just as I stops to gawp at the proceedin's he seems to be +askin' her something, real eager and earnest. For a second Mirabelle +arches her plucked eyebrows and puckers her lips coy as if she was +lettin' on to be shocked. Then she glances around cautious to see if the +coast is clear, reaches out and pats Vincent tender on the cheek and +whispers something in his ear. + +A minute later Mirabelle is smilin' mechanical at a fat man who's +stopped to buy a box of chocolate peppermints and Vincent is swingin' +past me with his chin up and his eyes bright. It don't take any seventh +son work to guess that Vincent has made a date. If it had been anybody +else that wouldn't have meant nothing at all to me, but as it is I can't +help feelin' that this was my cue. Just how or why I don't stop to +figure out, but I falls in behind and trails along. + +Vincent should have been headin' for the dairy lunch, but he starts in +the other direction and after followin' him for five blocks I sees him +dive into a jewelry store. Maybe that don't get a gasp out of me, too. +Looks like our little Vincent was some speedy performer, don't it? And +sure enough, by rubberin' in through the door, I can see a clerk haulin' +out a tray of rings. Think of that! Vincent. + +He must have been in there before and looked over the stock, for inside +of ten minutes out he comes again. And by makin' a quick maneuver I +manages to bump into him as he's leavin' the front door with the little +white box in his fist. + +"Well, well!" says I. "What's all this mean, old son? Been buyin' out +the spark shop? I expect somebody's going to get a weddin' present, eh?" + +"Not--not exactly," says Vincent, his cheeks pinkin' up and his right +hand slidin' toward his coat pocket. + +"Oh, ho!" says I, grabbin' the wrist and exposin' the little square +package. "A ring or I'm a poor guesser. And it's for the sweetest girl +in the world, ain't it?" + +"It is," says Vincent, just a bit defiant. + +"Congratulations, old man," says I, poundin' him friendly on the +shoulder. "I don't suppose I could guess who, could I?" + +"I--I don't think you could," says Vincent. + +"Then it's my blow to luncheon--reg'lar chop-house feed in honor of the +big event," says I. "Come along, Vincent, while I order a bottle of one +and a half per cent. to drink to your luck." + +Course, he can't very well get away from that, me being one of his +bosses, as you might say. But he acts a little uneasy. + +"You see, sir," says he, "it--it isn't quite settled." + +"I get you," says I. "Going to spring it on her tonight, eh?" + +He admits that is the plan. + +"Durin' the course of a little dinner, eh?" I goes on. + +Vincent nods. + +"That's taking the high dive, all right," says I. "Lets you in deep, you +know, when you go shovin' solitaires at 'em. But I expect you've thought +it over careful and picked out the right girl." + +"She is perfectly splendid," says Vincent. + +"Well, that helps some," says I. "One that Mother approves of, I'll +bet." + +"Why," says Vincent, his chin droppin', "I am sure she will like her +when--when she sees her." + +"Let's see, Vincent," says I, "you're all of nineteen, ain't you?" + +"Nearly twenty," says he. + +"How we do come along!" says I. "Why, when you took my old place on the +gate you was still wearin' knickers, wasn't you? And now--I suppose +it'll be a case of your bringin' home a new daughter to help Mother, +eh?" + +"Ye-e-es," says Vincent draggy. + +"Lucky she's the right kind, then," I suggests. + +"She's a wonderful girl, Torchy. Wonderful," says he. + +"Well, I expect you're a judge," says I. + +"I've never known anyone just like her," he goes on, "and if she'll have +me----" He wags his head determined. + +I was hardly lookin' for such a stubborn streak in Vincent. He's always +seemed so mild and modest. But you never can tell. There's no doubt +about his having his mind all made up about Mirabelle, and while her +name ain't mentioned once he consents to tell me what a perfectly sweet +and lovely person she is. If I hadn't had a hunch who he was talking +about I'm afraid I never would have guessed from the description. She'd +put the spell on him for fair. That being the way things stood what was +the use of my coming in with an argument? The most I could do was to +hint that Vincent's salary as head office boy might be a bit strained +when it came to providin' for two. + +He has the answer to that, though. He's got the promise of a filing +clerk's job the first of the year, with a raise every six months if he +makes good. + +"Besides," he adds, "I may pick up a little something extra very soon." + +"Eh?" says I. "You ain't been plungin' on a curb tip, have you?" + +He nods. "It came to me very straight, sir," says he. "Oil stocks." + +"Good-night!" I groans. "Say, Vincent, you're off in high gear, all +right. Matrimony and gushers, all at one clip! Lemme get my breath. Have +you put up for the margins?" + +"Oh, yes," says Vincent. + +"Then have another piece of pie and a second cup of coffee," says I. +"You're going to need bracin' up." + +Not that I proceeds to deal out the wise stuff about oil stocks along +the Talk to Investors line. It's too late for that. Besides, Vincent was +due to get a lesson in the folly of piker speculatin' that would last +him a long time. Maybe it was best for him to get it early in his young +career. + +But it was going to be rough on the little mother when she hears how her +darling boy has sneaked out the nest egg and tossed it reckless into the +middle of Broad Street. That would be some bump. And then on top of that +if Mirabelle is introduced as her future daughter-in-law--Well, you can +frame up the picture for yourself. And right there I organizes myself +into a relief expedition to rescue the Lost Battalion. + +I got to admit that my plan of campaign was a trifle vague. About as far +as I could get was decidin' that somebody ought to have speech with +Mirabelle on the subject. And when we hurries back through the arcade +again, ten minutes behind schedule, and I catches the little exchange of +fond looks between the two, I knows that whatever is done needs to be +started right away. So I mumbles something about having forgotten an +errand, makes a round trip in the elevator, and am back at the candy +counter almost as soon as Vincent has hung up his hat. + +"Yes-s-s, sir?" says Mirabelle inquirin', with her best +dollar-fifty-quality smile playin' around where the lip-stick has given +nature a boost. + +"Hard gum drops," says I, "or chocolate marshmallows, or most anything +in half-pound size. The main idea is a little chat with you." + +"Naughty, naughty!" says Mirabelle, shaking her head until the jet ear +danglers are doing a one-step. "But you men are all alike, aren't you?" + +"Is that why you've taken to cradle snatchin'?" says I. + +Mirabelle executes the wide shutter movement with her eyes and finishes +with what she thinks is a Mary Pickford pout. "Really, I don't think I +get you," says she. "In other words, meaning what?" + +"Referring to the boy, Vincent," says I. + +"Oh!" says she, eying me curious. "Dear little fellow, isn't he?" + +"Of course," I goes on, "if it's only a case of adoption----" + +"Say," she breaks in, her eyelids gettin' narrow, "some of you cerise +blondes ought to be confined to the comic strips. Who do you think +you're kidding, anyway?" + +"Sorry, Mirabelle," says I, "but you're all wrong. This is straight +heart-to-heart stuff. You know you've been stringin' Vincent along." + +"Suppose I have?" demands Mirabelle. "Where do you get a license to +crash in?" + +"Just what I was working up to," says I. "For one thing, he's the only +perfect office boy in captivity. The Corrugated can't spare him. Then +again, there's Mother. Honest, Mirabelle, you ought to see +Mother--reg'lar stage widow, with the sad sweet smile, the soft gray +hair, 'n'everything. If you could, you'd lay off this Theda Bara act the +next minute." + +It was a poor hunch, pullin' out that sympathy stop for Mirabelle. I +knew that when I saw them black eyes of hers begin to give off sparks. + +"Listen, son," says she, "if you feel as bad as all that run down in the +sub-cellar and sob in the coal bins. I'll be getting nervous, next thing +I know, listening to ravings like that." + +"My error," says I. "Course, you didn't know how a few kind words and a +little off-hand target practice with the eyes would affect Vincent. How +should you? But he's taking it all serious. Uh-huh! Been buying the +ring." + +"What!" says Mirabelle, startled. + +"A real blue-white, set in platinum," says I. "On the instalments, of +course. And he's plungin' with all his war savings on wild cat stocks to +make good. Oh, he's in a reg'lar trance, Vincent. So you see?" + +Mirabelle seems to see a good deal more than I was expectin' her to. +Just now she's glancin' approvin' into one of the display mirrors and is +pattin' down the hair puffs over her ears. + +"He _is_ a dear boy," she remarks, more to the mirror than to me. + +"But look here," says I, "you--you wouldn't let him go on with this, +would you?" + +"I beg pardon?" says Mirabelle. "Still chattering, are you? Well, +stretch your ear once, young feller. When I want your help in this I'll +send out a call. If you don't get one you'll know you ain't needed. +Here's your package, sir. Sixty cents, please." + +And I'm given the quick shunt, just like that. Whatever it was I thought +I was doing, I'd bugged it. The rescue expedition had gone on the rocks. +Absolutely. I might have known better, too; spillin' all that dope about +the solitaire. As if that would throw a scare into Mirabelle! Of all the +bush-league plays! Instead of untanglin' Vincent any from the net I'd +only got him twisted up tighter. With that ring on him he was just as +safe as an exposed pocket flask at an Elks' picnic. + +I was retreatin' draggy with my chin down when I happens to get a grin +from this wise guy Marcus, in charge of the cigar booth opposite. + +"You don't have no luck with Mirabelle, eh?" says he winkin'. "That's +too bad, ain't it? But there's lots of others. She keeps 'em all +guessin'. Hard in the heart, Mirabelle has been, ever since she got +thrown overboard herself." + +"Eh?" says I. "When was that? Who did it?" + +"Oh, near a year now," says Marcus. "You know the feller who was in with +me here--Chuck Dempsey?" + +"The big husk with the bushy black eyebrows?" says I. + +Marcus nods. "He had Mirabelle goin' all right," says he. "She was crazy +over him. And Chuck, he was pretty strong for her, too. They had it all +fixed up, the flat picked out and all, when something or other bust it +up. I dunno what. Chuck, he quits the next day. Lucky thing, too, for if +he'd stuck here he wouldn't have met up with them automobile sundries +people and landed his new job. I hear he's manager of their Harlem +branch now, seventy-five a week. Wouldn't Mirabelle be sore if she knew +about that, eh?" + +"She'd have cause for grindin' her teeth," says I. "Bully for Chuck, +though. I must call him up and give him the hail. What's his number?" + +I will admit too, that once I got started, I worked fast. It took me +less'n three minutes to pump out of Vincent the time and place of this +fatal little dinner party he was about to pull off, and shortly after +that I had Mr. Dempsey on the wire. Yes, he says he remembers me well +enough, on account of my hair. Most of 'em do. + +"It's a shame you've forgot someone else so quick, though," I adds. + +"Who's that?" says he. + +"Mirabelle," says I. + +"Oh, I don't know," says Chuck. "Maybe it's just as well." + +"She don't think so," says I. + +"Who was feedin' you that?" asks Dempsey. + +"A certain party," says I. "But you know how easy a queen like her can +pick up an understudy. Some have been mighty busy lately, too; one in +particular. And I don't mind sayin' I'd hate to see him win out." + +"Yes, she's some girl, all right," says Chuck, "even if I did get a +little sore on her one night. I might be droppin' around again some of +these days." + +"If I was you," says I, "I'd make it snappy. In fact, not later than +6:30 this evening. That is, unless you're content to figure as an also +ran." + +He's an enterprisin' young gent, Mr. Dempsey. And it seems he ain't +closed the book on Mirabelle for good. He's rather interested in hearin' +where she'll be waitin' at that hour and makes a note of it. + +"Much obliged for the tip, Torchy," says he. "I'll think it over." + +I hoped he would. It was the best I could do for Vincent, except hang +around and 'phone out to Vee that probably I'd be late home for dinner. +Seeing as how I was drillin' around at 6:30 in a doorway up opposite the +Café Caroni it looked like I would. But I'd seen Chuck Dempsey drift in +all dolled up sporty, and then Mirabelle. As for Vincent, he was right +on the dot, as usual. He wasn't tickled to death to find me waitin' for +him, either. + +"Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. + +"You wouldn't want to make it a threesome, eh?" I suggests. + +"I'd much rather not," says he. + +"Then we'll remember that," says I. "No harm in my edgin' in long enough +to drop a word to Joe, the head waiter, to give you a nice quiet corner +table and take care of you well, is there?" + +"I'm sorry," says Vincent. "I didn't know but what you----" + +"Not me," says I. "I'll stay long enough to get you started right. Come +along. Ah, there's Joe, down at the end, and when he--Eh? Did you choke +or anything? Well, of all things!" + +Course, he'd spotted 'em right away--Mirabelle and Chuck Dempsey. +They're at a little table over by the wall chattin' away cosy and +confidential. It hadn't taken 'em long to re-establish friendly +relations. In fact, Chuck was just reachin' playful for one of +Mirabelle's hands and he was gettin' away with the act. + +"Why," says I, "it looks like the S.R.O. sign was out already." + +Yes, it was a bit raw for Vincent. He shows his polite bringin' up +though. No rash moves or hasty words from him. He backs out graceful, +even if he is a bit pale about the gills. And not until we're well +outside does he let loose a husky remark. + +"Well, I--I've been made a fool of, I suppose," says he. + +"That depends on who's doing the judgin'," says I. "This Dempsey's no +newcomer, you know. Anyway, now you can go home to dinner with Mother." + +"But I can't," says Vincent. "You see, I left word that I was dining in +town and she--she would want to know why I didn't." + +"That's easy fixed," says I. "You're havin' dinner with me, out at my +Long Island shack. Haven't seen the large-sized family I'm startin', +have you? Well, here's your chance. And we can just make the 6:47." + +Not that I'd planned it all out, but it was the best antidote to +Mirabelle that I could have thought up. For Vee is--Well, she's quite +different from Mirabelle. And I suspect after Vincent had watched her +playin' her star part as the fond little wife, and been led up to the +nursery to have the baby exhibited to him, and heard us joshin' each +other friendly--Well maybe he wondered how Mirabelle would show up in a +strictly domestic sketch. + +"Torchy," says he, grippin' my hand as I'm about to load him on the +10:26, "I believe I'm not going to care so much about losing Mirabelle, +after all." + +"That's bucking up," says I. "And likely they'll let you draw back your +deposit on the ring. But you might as well bid them oil stock margins +good-by." + +Oh, yes, I'm a bear at friendly advice. At least, I was until Vincent +comes breezin' in from lunch yesterday wearin' a broad grin. He'd +connected with a bull flurry and unloaded ten points to the good. + +"Now for a king killing, eh?" says I. + +"No," says Vincent. "I'm through with--with everything." + +"Includin' near-vamps?" says I. + +He nods enthusiastic. + +"Then I don't see what's goin' to stop you from gettin' a Solomon Wise +ratin' before they include you in the votin' list," says I. "Go to it, +son." + +THE END + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +SEWELL FORD'S STORIES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + + A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, + sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way + +SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + + Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with + human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for + "side-stepping with Shorty." + +SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + + Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up + to the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience + fund," and gives joy to all concerned. + +SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + + These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for + physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at + swell yachting parties. + +TORCHY. Illus. by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. + + A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to + the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his + experiences. + +TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + + Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the + previous book. + +ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + + Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," + but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people + apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations. + +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + + Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for + the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious + American slang. + +WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. + + Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, + in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with + his friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to + place an engagement ring on Vee's finger. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. + + No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal + young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent + of the time when the reader was Seventeen. + +PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. + + This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, + tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a + finished, exquisite work. + +PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. + + Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable + phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile + prankishness that have ever been written. + +THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. + + Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his + father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a + fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. + +THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. + + A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country + editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love + interest. + +THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. + + The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, + drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another + to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising + suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy and Vee, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AND VEE *** + +***** This file should be named 20628-8.txt or 20628-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/2/20628/ + +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 and Vee + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Release Date: February 19, 2007 [EBook #20628] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AND VEE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table width="400" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" border="1"><tr><td> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 40px; font-size: 270%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">TORCHY</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 270%; margin-bottom: 40px; ">AND VEE</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">BY</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 140%; margin-bottom: 40px; ">SEWELL FORD</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 5px; ">AUTHOR OF</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">TORCHY, THE HOUSE OF TORCHY</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 70px; ">SHORTY McCABE, Etc.</p> +<p class="titleblock"><img src="images/illus-emb.png" width="80" height="73" alt="emblem" /></p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 60px; font-size: 120%; margin-bottom: 0px; letter-spacing:.3em">GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 40px; letter-spacing:.1em">PUBLISHERS NEW YORK</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table width="400" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" border="0"><tr><td> +<p class="titleblock smcap" style="margin-top: 20px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">Copyright, 1918, 1919, by</p> +<p class="titleblock smcap" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 5px; ">SEWELL FORD</p> +<p class="titleblock smcap" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">Copyright, 1919, BY</p> +<p class="titleblock smcap" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 5px; ">EDWARD J. CLODE</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 40px; font-style: italic">All rights reserved</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 20px;">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>FOREWORD</h2> + +<p class="center" style="font-size:larger; font-style: italic">In the Nature of an Alibi</p> + +<p>Some of these stories were written while the Great War was still on. So +the setting and local coloring and atmosphere and all that sort of +thing, such as it is, came from those strenuous days when we heroic +civilians read the war extras with stern, unflinching eye, bought as +many Liberty bonds as we were told we should, and subscribed to various +drives as cheerfully as we might. Have you forgotten your reactions of a +few short months ago? Perhaps then, these may revive your memory of some +of them.</p> + +<p style="margin-bottom: 0">You may note with disappointment that Torchy got no nearer to the +front-line trenches than Bridgeport, Conn. That is a sentiment the +writer shares with you. But the blame lies with an overcautious +government which hesitated, perhaps from super-humane reasons, from +turning loose on a tottering empire a middle-aged semi-literary person +who was known to handle a typewriter with such reckless abandon. And +where he could not go himself he refused to send another. So Torchy +remained on this side, and whether or not his stay was a total loss is +for you to decide.</p> +<p style="text-align: right; margin-top: 0">S. F.</p> + +<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"><span style="font-size: 80%">CHAPTER</span></td> + <td align="left"></td> + <td align="right"><span style="font-size: 80%">PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">I</td> + <td align="left">THE QUICK SHUNT FOR PUFFY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">II</td> + <td align="left">OLD HICKORY BATS UP ONE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">19</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">III</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY PULLS THE DEEP STUFF</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">37</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">IV</td> + <td align="left">A FRAME-UP FOR STUBBY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">56</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">V</td> + <td align="left">THE VAMP IN THE WINDOW</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">73</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VI</td> + <td align="left">TURKEYS ON THE SIDE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">91</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VII</td> + <td align="left">ERNIE AND HIS BIG NIGHT</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">108</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VIII</td> + <td align="left">HOW BABE MISSED HIS STEP</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">126</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">IX</td> + <td align="left">HARTLEY AND THE G. O. G.'S</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">145</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">X</td> + <td align="left">THE CASE OF OLD JONESEY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">164</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XI</td> + <td align="left">AS LUCY LEE PASSED BY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">182</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XII</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY MEETS ELLERY BEAN</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">200</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XIII</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY STRAYS FROM BROADWAY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">222</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XIV</td> + <td align="left">SUBBING FOR THE BOSS</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">238</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XV</td> + <td align="left">A LATE HUNCH FOR LESTER</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">256</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XVI</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY TACKLES A MYSTERY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">272</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XVII</td> + <td align="left">WITH VINCENT AT THE TURN</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">290</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> +<hr class='major' /> + +<h1>TORCHY AND VEE</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 QUICK SHUNT FOR PUFFY</h3> +</div> + +<p>I must say I didn't get much excited at first over this Marion Gray +tragedy. You see, I'd just blown in from Cleveland, where I'd been +shunted by the Ordnance Department to report on a new motor kitchen. And +after spendin' ten days soppin' up information about a machine that was +a cross between a road roller and an owl lunch wagon, and fillin' my +system with army stews cooked on the fly, I'm suddenly called off. +Someone at Washington had discovered that this flying cook-stove thing +was a problem for the Quartermaster's Department, and wires me to drop +it.</p> + +<p>So I was all for enjoyin' a little fam'ly reunion, havin' Vee tell me +how she's been gettin' along, and what cute little tricks young Master +Richard had developed while I'm gone. But right in the midst of our +intimate little domestic sketch Vee has to break loose with this outside +sigh stuff.</p> + +<p>"I can't help thinking about poor Marion," says she.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, lookin' up from the crib where young Snookums has just +settled himself comfortable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span> and decided to tear off a few more hours of +slumber. "Which Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Marion Gray," says she.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "The old maid with the patient eyes and the sad smile?"</p> + +<p>"She is barely thirty," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," says I; "but she's takin' it hard."</p> + +<p>"Who wouldn't?" says Vee.</p> + +<p>And havin' got that far, I saw I might as well let her get the whole +story off her chest. She's been seein' more and more of this Marion Gray +person ever since we moved out here to Harbor Hills. Kind of a plump, +fresh-colored party, and more or less bright and entertainin' in her +chat when she was in the right mood. I'd often come in and found Vee +chucklin' merry over some of the things Miss Gray had been tellin' her. +And while she was at our house she seemed full of life and pep. Just the +sort that Vee gets along with best. She was the same whenever we met her +up at the Ellinses. But outside of that you never saw her anywhere. She +wasn't in with the Country Club set, and most of the young married crowd +seemed to pass her up too.</p> + +<p>I didn't know why. Guess I hadn't thought much about it. I knew she'd +lost her father and mother within the last year or so, so I expect I put +it down to that as the reason she wasn't mixin' much.</p> + +<p>But Vee has all the inside dope. Seems old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> man Gray had been a chronic +invalid for years. Heart trouble. And durin' all the last of it he'd +been promisin' to check out constant, but had kept puttin' it off. +Meanwhile Mrs. Gray and Marion had been fillin' in as day and night +nurses. He'd been a peevish, grouchy old boy, too, and the more waitin' +on he got the more he demanded. Little things. He had to have his food +cooked just so, the chair cushions adjusted, the light just right. He +had to be read to so many hours a day, and played to, and sung to. He +couldn't stand it to be alone, not for half an hour. Didn't want to +think, he said. Didn't want to see the women folks knittin' or +crocheting: he wanted 'em to be attending to him all the while. He had a +little silver bell that he kept hung on his chair arm, and when he rang +it one or the other of 'em had to jump. Maybe you know the kind.</p> + +<p>Course, the Grays traveled a lot; South in the winter, North in +summer—always huntin' a place where he'd feel better, and never findin' +it. If he was at the seashore he'd complain that they ought to be in the +mountains, and when they got there it wouldn't be a week before he had +decided the air was bad for him. They should have known better than to +take him there. Most likely one more week would finish him. Another long +railroad trip would anyway. So he might as well stay. But wouldn't +Marion see the landlord and have those fiendish children<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> kept quiet on +that tennis court outside? And wouldn't Mother try to make an eggnog +that didn't taste like a liquid pancake!</p> + +<p>Havin' been humorin' his whims a good deal longer than Marion, and not +being very strong herself, Mrs. Gray finally wore out. And almost before +they knew anything serious was the matter she was gone. Then it all fell +on Marion. Course, if she'd been a paid nurse she never would have stood +for this continuous double-time act. Or if there was home inspectors, +same as there are for factories, the old man would have been jacked up +for violatin' the labor laws. But being only a daughter, there's nobody +to step in and remind him that slavery has gone out of style and that in +most states the female of the species was gettin' to be a reg'lar +person. In fact, there was few who thought Marion was doin' any more'n +she had a right to do. Wasn't he her father, and wasn't he payin' all +the bills?</p> + +<p>"To be sure," adds Vee, "he didn't realize what an old tyrant he was. +Nor did Marion. She considered it her duty, and never complained."</p> + +<p>"Then I don't see who could have crashed in," said I.</p> + +<p>"No one could," said Vee. "That was the pity."</p> + +<p>And it seems for the last couple of years the old boy insisted on +settlin' down in his home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> here, where he could shuffle off comfortable. +He'd been mighty slow about it, though, and when he finally headed West +it was discovered that, through poor managin' and war conditions, the +income they'd been livin' on had shrunk considerable. The fine old house +was left free and clear, but there was hardly enough to keep it up +unless Marion could rustle a job somewhere.</p> + +<p>"And all she knows how to do is nurse," says Vee. "She's not even a +trained nurse at that."</p> + +<p>"Ain't there anybody she could marry?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"That's the tragic part, Torchy," says Vee. "There is—Mr. Biggies."</p> + +<p>"What, 'Puffy' Biggles!" says I. "Not that old prune face with the shiny +dome and the baggy eyes?"</p> + +<p>Vee says he's the one. He's been hoverin' 'round, like an old buzzard, +for three or four years now, playin' chess with the old man while he +lasted, but always with his pop-eyes fixed on Marion. And since she's +been left alone he'd been callin' reg'lar once a week, urging her to be +his tootsy-wootsy No. 3. He was the main wheeze in some third-rate life +insurance concern, I believe, and fairly well off, and he owned a classy +place over near the Country Club. But he had a 44 belt, a chin like a +pelican, and he was so short of breath that everybody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span> called him +"Puffy" Biggles. Besides, he was fifty.</p> + +<p>"A hot old Romeo he'd make for a nice girl like that," says I. "Is he +her best bet? Ain't there any second choice?"</p> + +<p>"There was another," says Vee. "Rather a nice chap, too—that Mr. Ellery +Prescott, who played the organ so well and was some kind of a broker. +You remember?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "The one who pulled down a captain's commission at +Plattsburg. Did she have him on the string?"</p> + +<p>"They had been friends for a long time," says Vee. "Were as good as +engaged once; though how he managed to see much of Marion I can't +imagine, with Mr. Gray so crusty toward him. You see, he didn't play +chess. Anyway, he finally gave up. I suppose he's at the front now, and +even if he ever should come back—— Well, Marion seldom mentions him. +I'm sure, though, that they thought a good deal of each other. Poor +thing! She was crazy to go across as a canteen worker. And now she +doesn't know what to do. Of course, there's always Biggles. If we could +only save her from that!"</p> + +<p>At which remark I grows skittish. I didn't like the way she was gazin' +at me. "Ah, come, Vee!" says I. "Lay off that rescue stuff. Adoptin' +female orphans of over thirty, or matin' 'em up appropriate is way out +of my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> line. Suppose we pass resolutions of regret in Marion's case, and +let it ride at that?"</p> + +<p>"At least," goes on Vee, "we can do a little something to cheer her up. +Mrs. Robert Ellins has asked her for dinner tomorrow night. Us too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'll go that far," says I, "although the last I knew about the +Ellinses' kitchen squad, it's takin' a chance."</p> + +<p>I was some little prophet, too. I expect Mrs. Robert hadn't been havin' +much worse a time with her help than most folks, but three cooks inside +of ten days was goin' some. Lots of people had been longer'n that +without any, though. But when any pot wrestler can step into a munition +works or an airplane factory and pull down her three or four dollars a +day for an eight-hour shift, what can you expect?</p> + +<p>Answer: What we got that night at the Ellinses'. The soup had been +scorched once, but it had been cooled off nicely before it got to us. +The fish had been warmed through—barely. And the roast lamb tasted like +it had been put through an embalmin' process. But the cookin' was high +art compared to the service, for since their butler had quit to become a +crack riveter in a shipyard they've been havin' maids do their plate +jugglin'.</p> + +<p>And this wide-built fairy, with the eyes that didn't track, sure was +constructed for anything but glidin' graceful around a dinner table. +For<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> one thing, she had the broken-arch roll in her gait, and when she +pads in through the swing-door she's just as easy in her motion as a cow +walkin' the quarter-deck with a heavy sea runnin'. Every now and then +she'd scuff her toe in the rug, and how some of us escaped a soup or a +gravy bath I can't figure out. Maybe we were in luck.</p> + +<p>Also, she don't mind reachin' in front of you and sidewipin' your ear +with her elbow. Accidents like that were merry little jokes to her.</p> + +<p>"Ox-cuse me, Mister!" she'd pipe out shrill and childish, and then +indulged in a maniac giggle that would get Mrs. Robert grippin' the +chair arms.</p> + +<p>She liked to be chatty and folksy while she was servin', too. Her motto +seemed to be, "Eat hearty and give the house a good name." If you +didn't, she tried to coax you into it, or it into you.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do have some more of th' meat, Miss," she says to Vee. "And another +potato, now. Just one more, Miss."</p> + +<p>And all Mrs. Robert can do is pink up, and when she's out of hearin' +apologize for her. "As you see," says Mrs. Robert, "she is hardly a +trained waitress."</p> + +<p>"She'd make a swell auctioneer, though," I suggests.</p> + +<p>"No doubt," says Mrs. Robert. "And I suppose I am fortunate enough to +have anyone in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> the kitchen at all, even to do the cooking—such as it +is."</p> + +<p>"You ain't lonesome in feelin' that way," says I. "It seems to be a +general complaint."</p> + +<p>Which brings out harrowin' tales of war-wrecked homes, where no buttling +had been done for months, where chauffeurs and gardeners were only +represented by stars on the service flag, and from which even personal +maids had gone to be stenographers and nurses. But chiefly it was the +missin' cook who was mourned. Some had quit to follow their men to +trainin' camps, a lot had copped out better payin' jobs, and others had +been lured to town, where they could get the fake war extras hot off the +press and earn higher wages as well.</p> + +<p>Course, there were some substitute cooks—reformed laundresses, raw +amateurs and back numbers that should have reached the age limit long +before. And pretty awful cookin' they were gettin' away with. Vee had +heard of one who boiled the lettuce and sent in dog biscuit one mornin' +for breakfast cereal. Miss Gray told what happened at the Pemberton +Brookses when their kitchen queen had left for Bridgeport, where she had +a hubby makin' seventy-five dollars a week. The Brookses had lived for +three days on cream toast and sardines, which was all the upstairs girl +had in her culinary repertoire.</p> + +<p>"And look at me," added Marion, "with our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span> old family cook, who can make +the best things in the world, and I can hardly afford to keep her! But I +couldn't drive her away if I tried."</p> + +<p>Course, with our havin' Professor and Madame Battou, the old French +couple we'd annexed over a year ago in town, we had no kick comin'. Not +even the sugar and flour shortage seemed to trouble them, and our fancy +meals continued regular as clock work. But on the way home Vee and I got +to talkin' about what hard times the neighbors was havin'.</p> + +<p>"I guess what they need out here," says I, "is one of them army +kitchens, that would roll around two or three times a day deliverin' hot +nourishment from door to door."</p> + +<p>And I'd hardly finished what I'd meant for a playful little remark +before Vee stops sudden, right in the middle of the road, and lets out +an excited squeal.</p> + +<p>"Torchy!" says she. "Why on earth didn't you suggest that before!"</p> + +<p>"Because this foolish streak has just hit me," says I.</p> + +<p>"But it's the very thing," says she, clappin' her hands.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"For Marion," says she. "Don't you see?"</p> + +<p>"But she's no perambulatin' rotisserie, is she?" says I.</p> + +<p>"She might be," says Vee. "And she shall."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," says I. "If you've decided it that way, I expect she +will. But I don't quite get you."</p> + +<p>When Vee first connects with one of her bright ideas, though, she's apt +to be a little puzzlin' in her remarks about it. As a matter of fact, +her scheme is a bit hazy, but she's sure it's a winner.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Torchy," says she. "Here are all these Harbor Hills +people—perhaps a hundred families—many of them with poor cooks, some +with none at all. And there is Marion with that perfectly splendid old +Martha of hers, who could cook for all of them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see," says I. "Marion hangs out a table-board sign?"</p> + +<p>"Stupid!" says Vee. "She does nothing of the sort. People don't want to +go out for their meals; they want to eat at home. Well, Marion brings +them their meals, all deliciously cooked, all hot, and ready to serve."</p> + +<p>"With the kitchen range loaded on a truck and Martha passin' out soup +and roasts over the tailboard, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>But once more I've missed. No, the plan is to get a lot of them army +containers, such as they send hot chow up to the front trenches in; have +'em filled by Martha at home, and delivered by Marion to her customers.</p> + +<p>"It might work," says I. "It would need some capital, though. She'd have +to invest in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> a lot of containers, and she'd need a motor truck."</p> + +<p>"I will buy those," says Vee. "I'm going in with her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come!" says I. "You'd look nice, wouldn't you!"</p> + +<p>"You mean that people would talk?" comes back Vee. "What do I care? It's +quite as patriotic and quite as necessary as Red Cross work, or anything +else. It would be scientific food conservation, man-power saving, all +that sort of thing. And think what a wonderful thing it would be for the +neighborhood."</p> + +<p>"Maybe Marion wouldn't see it that way," I suggests. "Drivin' a dinner +truck around might not appeal to her. You got to remember she's more or +less of an old maid. She might have notions."</p> + +<p>"Trust her," says Vee. "But I mean to have my plan all worked out before +I tell her a word. When you go to town tomorrow, Torchy, I want you to +find out all about those containers—how much the various compartments +will hold, and how much they cost. Also about a light motor truck. There +will be other details, too, which I will be thinking about."</p> + +<p>Yes, there were other details. Nobody seemed to know much about such a +business. It had been tried in places. Vee heard of something of the +sort that was being tested up on the East Side. So it was three or four +days<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span> before she was ready to spring this new career on Marion. But one +night, after dinner, she announces that she's all set and drags me down +there with her. Outside of the old Gray house we finds a limousine, with +the driver dozin' inside.</p> + +<p>"It's the Biggles car!" whispers Vee. "Oh, what if he should be—— +Come, Torchy! Quick!"</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't break in on a fond clinch, would you?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"If it came to that, certainly," says Vee, pushin' the front-door button +determined.</p> + +<p>I expect she would have, too. But Biggles hadn't got that far—not +quite. He's on the mat all right, though, with his fat face sort of +flushed and his eyes popped more'n usual. And Marion Gray seems to be +sort of fussed, too. She is some tinted up under the eyes, and when she +sees who it is she glances at Vee sort of appealin'.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt," says Vee, marchin' right in and takin' +Marion by the arm. "You'll pardon me, I hope, Mr. Biggles, but I must +speak to Miss Gray at once about—about something very important."</p> + +<p>And almost before "Puffy" Biggles knows what's happened he's left +staring at an empty armchair.</p> + +<p>In the cozy little library Vee pushes Marion down on a window seat and +camps beside her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> Trust Vee for jabbin,' the probe right in, too.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she demands whispery, "was—was he at it again?"</p> + +<p>Marion pinks up more'n ever. And, say, with them shy brown eyes of hers, +and all the curves, she ain't so hard to look at. "Yes," admits Marion. +"You see, I had promised to give him a final answer tonight."</p> + +<p>"But surely, Marion," says Vee, "you'd never in the world tell him that +you——"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," breaks in Marion, her voice trembly. "There seems to be +nothing else."</p> + +<p>"Isn't there, though!" says Vee. "Just you wait until you hear."</p> + +<p>And with that she plunges into a rapid outline sketch of this dinner +dispensary stunt, quotin' facts and figures and givin' a profit estimate +that sounded more or less generous to me.</p> + +<p>"So you see," she goes on enthusiastic, "you could keep your home, and +you could keep Martha, and you would be doing something perfectly +splendid for the whole community. Besides, you would be entirely +independent of—of everyone."</p> + +<p>"But do you think I could do it?" asks Marion.</p> + +<p>"I know you could," says Vee. "Anyway, we could between us. I will +furnish the capital, and keep the accounts and help you plan the daily +menus. You will do the marketing and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> delivering. Martha will do the +cooking. And there you are! We may have to start with only a few family +orders at first, but others will come in fast. You'll see."</p> + +<p>By that time Marion was catching the fever. Her eyes brighten and her +chin comes up.</p> + +<p>"I believe we could do it," says she.</p> + +<p>"And you're willing to try?" asks Vee.</p> + +<p>Marion nods.</p> + +<p>"Then," says Vee, "Mr. Biggles ought to be told that he needn't wait +around any longer."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't see how I can," wails Marion. "He—he's such a——"</p> + +<p>"A sticker, eh? I know," says Vee. "And it's a shame that he should have +another chance to bother you. Torchy, don't you suppose you could do it +for her?"</p> + +<p>"What?" says I. "Break it to Biggles? Why, I could do it swell. Leave it +to me. I'll shunt him on the siding so quick he won't know he's ever +been on the main track."</p> + +<p>I don't waste any diplomatic language doin' it, either. On my way in +where he's waiting I passes through the hall and gathers up his new +derby and yellow gloves, holdin' 'em behind me as I breaks in on him.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Mr. Biggles," says I, "but it's all off."</p> + +<p>"I—I beg pardon?" says he, gazin' at me fish-eyed and stupid.</p> + +<p>"Ah, let's not run around in circles," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> "Miss Gray presents her +compliments, and all that sort of stuff, but she's goin' into another +line. If you must know, she's going to bust up the cook combine, and +from now on she'll be mighty busy. Get me?"</p> + +<p>Biggles stiffens and stares at me haughty. "I don't in the least +understand anything of all this," says he. "I had an appointment with +Marion for this evening; something quite important to—to us both. I may +as well tell you that I had asked Marion a momentous question. I am +waiting for her answer."</p> + +<p>"Well, here it is," says I, holdin' out the hat.</p> + +<p>Biggles, he gurgles something indignant and turns purple in the gills, +but he ends by snatchin' away the derby and marchin' stiff to the door.</p> + +<p>"Understand," says he, with his hand on the knob, "I do not accept your +impertinence as a reply. I—I shall see Marion again."</p> + +<p>"Sure you will," says I. "She'll be around to get your dinner order +early next week."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" says Biggles, bangin' the door behind him.</p> + +<p>But, say, inside of five minutes he'd been wiped off the slate, and them +two girls was plannin' their hot-food campaign as busy and excited as if +it was Marion's church weddin' they were doping out. It's after midnight +before they breaks away, too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span></p> + +<p>You know Vee, though. She ain't one to start things and then quit. She's +a stayer. And some grand little hustler, too. By Monday mornin' the +Harbor Hills Community Kitchen Co. was a going concern. And before the +week was out they had more'n forty families on the standin' order list, +with new squads of soup scorchers bein' fired every day.</p> + +<p>What got a gasp out of me was the first time I gets sight of Marion Gray +in her working rig. Nothing old-maidish about that costume. Not so you'd +notice. She's gone the limit—khaki riding pants, leather leggins and a +zippy cloth cap cut on the overseas pattern. None of them Women's Motor +Corps girls had anything on her. And maybe she ain't some picture, too, +as she jumps in behind the wheel of the truck and steps on the gas +pedal!</p> + +<p>Also, I was some jarred to learn that the enterprise was a payin' one +almost from the start. Folks was just tickled to death with havin' +perfectly good meals, well cooked, well seasoned and pipin' hot, set +down at their back doors prompt every day, with no fractious fryin'-pan +pirates growlin' around the kitchens, and no local food profiteers +soakin' 'em with big weekly bills.</p> + +<p>This has been goin' on a month, when one day as I comes home Vee greets +me with a flyin' tackle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, Torchy!" she squeals, "what do you think has happened?"</p> + +<p>"I know," says I. "Baby's cut a tooth."</p> + +<p>"No," says she. "It's—it's about Marion."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "She ain't bumped somebody with the truck, has she?"</p> + +<p>"How absurd!" says Vee. "But, listen, Captain Ellery Prescott has come +back."</p> + +<p>"What! The old favorite?" says I. "But I thought he was over with +Pershing?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet," says Vee. "He has been out at some Western camp training +recruits all this time. But now he has his orders. He is to sail very +soon. And he's seen Marion."</p> + +<p>"Has he?" said I. "Did it give him a jolt, or what?"</p> + +<p>Vee giggles and pulls my head down so she can whisper in my ear. "He +thought her perfectly stunning, as she is, of course. And they're to be +married day after tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "That puts a crimp in the ready-made dinner +business, I expect."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," says Vee. "Until he comes back, after the war, Marion is +going to carry on."</p> + +<p>"Anyway," says I, "it ends 'Puffy' Biggies as an impendin' tragedy, +don't it? And I expect that's worth while, too."</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>OLD HICKORY BATS UP ONE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Anybody would most think I'd been with the Corrugated Trust long enough +to know that Old Hickory Ellins generally gets what he wants, whether +it's quick action from an office boy or a two-thirds majority vote from +the board of directors. But once in a while I seem to forget, and +shortly after that I'm wonderin' if it was a tank I went up against so +solid, or if someone threw the bond safe at me.</p> + +<p>What let me in wrong this last time was a snappy little remark I got +shot my way right here in the general offices. I was just back from a +three-days' chase after a delayed shipment of bridge girders and steel +wheelbarrows that was billed for France in a rush, and I'd got myself +disliked by most of the traffic managers between here and Altoona, to +say nothing of freight conductors, yard bosses and so on. But I'd +untangled those nine cars and got 'em movin' toward the North River, and +now I was steamin' through a lot of office detail that had piled up +while I was gone. I'd lunched luxurious on an egg sandwich and a war +doughnut that Vincent had brought up to me from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> arcade automat, and +I'd 'phoned Vee that I might not be out home until the 11:13, when in +blows this potty party with the poison ivy leaves on his shoulder straps +and demands to see Mr. Ellins at once. Course, it's me with my heels +together doin' the zippy salute.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, major," says I, "but Mr. Ellins won't be in until 10:30."</p> + +<p>"Hah!" says he, like bitin' off a piece of glass. "And who are you, +lieutenant!"</p> + +<p>"Special detail from the Ordnance Department, sir," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are, eh?" he snorts. "Another bomb-proofer! Well, tell Mr. +Ellins I shall be back at 11:15—if this sector hasn't been captured in +the meantime," and as he double-quicks out he near runs down Mr. Piddie, +our rubber-stamp office manager, who has towed him in.</p> + +<p>As for me, I stands there swallowin' air bubbles until my red-haired +disposition got below the boiling point once more. Then I turns to +Piddie.</p> + +<p>"You heard, didn't you?" says I.</p> + +<p>Piddie nods. "But I don't quite understand," says he. "What did he mean +by—er—bomb-proofer?"</p> + +<p>"Just rank flattery, Piddie," says I. "The rankest kind. It's his way of +indicatin' that I'm a yellow dog hidin' under a roll-top desk for fear +someone'll kick me out where a parlor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> Pomeranian will look cross at me. +Excuse me if I don't seem to work up a blush. Fact is, though, I'm +gettin' kind of used to it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, though!" protests Piddie. "Why, everyone knows that you——"</p> + +<p>"That's where you're dead wrong, Piddie," I breaks in. "What everybody +really knows is that while most of the young hicks who've been +Plattsburged into uniforms are already across Periscope Pond helpin' +swat the Hun, I'm still floatin' around here with nothing worse than car +dust on my tailor-built khaki. Why, even them bold Liberty bond patriots +who commute on the 8:03 are tired of asking me when I'm going to be sent +over to tell Pershing how it ought to be done. But when it comes to an +old crab of a swivel chair major chuckin' 'bomb-proofer' in my +teeth—well, I guess that'll be about all. Here's where I get a revise +or quit. Right here."</p> + +<p>And it was sentiments like that, only maybe worded not quite so brash, +that I passed out to Old Hickory a little later on. He listens about as +sympathetic as a traffic cop hearin' why you tried to rush the stop +signal.</p> + +<p>"I think we have discussed all that before, young man," says he. "The +War Department has recognized that, as the head of an essential +industry, I am entitled to a private secretary; also that you might +prove more useful with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> commission than without one. And I rather +think you have. So there you are."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but I can't see it that way. I don't +know whether I'm private seccing or getting ready for a masquerade ball. +Any one-legged man could do what I'm doing. I'm ready to chuck the +commission and enlist."</p> + +<p>"Really!" says he. "Well, in the first place, my son, a war-time +commission is something one doesn't chuck back at the United States +government because of any personal whim. It isn't being done. And then +again, you tried enlisting once, didn't you, and were turned down?"</p> + +<p>"But that was early in the game," says I, "when the recruiting officers +weren't passing any but young Sandows. I could get by now. Have a heart, +Mr. Ellins. Lemme make a try."</p> + +<p>He chews his cigar a minute, drums thoughtful on the mahogany desk, and +then seems to have a bright little idea.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Torchy," says he, "we'll see what my friend, Major Wellby, +can do for you when he comes in."</p> + +<p>"Him!" says I. "Why, he'd do anything for me that the law didn't stop +him from."</p> + +<p>And sure enough, when the major drifts in again them two was shut in the +private office for more'n half an hour before I'm called in. I could +guess just by the way the major glares<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> fond at me that if he could work +it he'd get me a nice, easy job mowin' the grass in No Man's Land, or +some snap like that.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says he, givin' me the night court up and down. "Wants an active +command, does he? And his training has been what? Four years as office +boy, three as private secretary! It's no use, Ellins. We're not fighting +this war with waste baskets or typewriters, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, major!" puts in Old Hickory. "Why be unreasonable about this? +I will admit that you may be right, so far as it's being folly to send +this young man to the front. But I do insist that as a lieutenant he is +rather useful just where he is."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" snorts the major. "So is the farmer who's raising hogs and corn. +He's useful. But we don't put shoulder straps on him, or send him to +France in command of a company. For jobs like that we try to find +youngsters who've been trained to handle men; who know how to get things +done. What we don't want is—eh? Someone calling me on the 'phone? All +right. Yes, this is Major Wellby. What? Oh, it can't be done today! Yes, +yes! I understand all that. But see here, captain, that transport is due +to sail at—hey, central! I say, central! Oh, what's the use?"</p> + +<p>And as the major bangs up the receiver his face looks like a strawb'ry +shortcake just ready<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> to serve. Somehow Mr. Ellins seems to be enjoyin' +the major's rush of temperament to the ears. Anyhow, there's a familiar +flicker under them bushy eyebrows of his and I ain't at all surprised +when he remarks soothin': "I gather, major, that someone can't seem to +get something done."</p> + +<p>"Precisely," says the major, moppin' a few pearly beads off his shiny +dome. "And when a regular army captain makes up his mind that a thing +can't be done—well, it's hopeless, that's all. In this instance, +however, I fear he's right, worse luck!"</p> + +<p>"Anyway," suggests Mr. Ellins, "he has made you think that the thing is +impossible, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Think!" growls the major, glancin' suspicious at Old Hickory. "I say, +Ellins, what are you getting at? Still harping on that red tape notion, +are you? Perhaps you imagine this to be a case where, if you could only +turn loose your wonderful organization, you could work a miracle?"</p> + +<p>"No, major," says Old Hickory. "We don't claim to work in miracles; but +when we decide that a thing ought to be done at a certain time—well, +generally it gets done."</p> + +<p>"Just like that, eh?" grins the major sarcastic. "Really, Ellins, you +big business men are too good to be true. But see here; why not tap your +amazing efficiency for my benefit.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> This little job, for instance, which +one of our poor misguided captains reports as impossible within the time +limit. I suppose you would merely press a button and——"</p> + +<p>"Not even that," breaks in Mr. Ellins. "I would simply turn it over to +Torchy here—and he'd do it."</p> + +<p>The major glances at me careless and shrugs his shoulders. "My dear +Ellins," says he, "you probably don't realize it, but that's the sort of +stuff which adds to the horrors of war. Here you haven't the vaguest +idea as to what——"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," cuts in Old Hickory, "but I'll bet you a hundred to +twenty-five."</p> + +<p>"Taken," says the major. Then he turns to me. "When can you start, +lieutenant?"</p> + +<p>"As soon as I know where I'm starting for, sir," says I.</p> + +<p>"How convenient," says he. "Well, then, here is an order on the New York +Telephone Co. for five spools of wire which you'll find stored somewhere +on Central Park South. See if you can get 'em."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," says I. "And suppose I can?"</p> + +<p>"Report to me at the Plutoria before 5:30 this afternoon," says he. "I +shall be having tea there. Ellins, you'd better be on hand, too, so that +I can collect that hundred."</p> + +<p>And that's all there was to it. I'm handed a slip of paper carrying the +Quartermaster<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> General's O. K., and while these two old sports are still +chucklin' at each other I've grabbed my uniform cap off the roll-top and +have caught an express elevator.</p> + +<p>Course, I expected a frame-up. All them army officers are hard boiled +eggs when it comes to risking real money, and I knew the major must +think his twenty-five was as safe as if he'd invested it in thrift +stamps. As for Old Hickory Ellins, he'd toss away a hundred any time on +the chance of pulling a good bluff. So I indulges in a shadowy little +grin myself and beats it up town.</p> + +<p>Simple enough to locate them spools of wire. Oh, yes. They're right in +the middle of the block between Sixth and Broadway, tucked away +inconspicuous among as choice a collection of contractor's junk as you +can find anywhere in town, and that's sayin' a good deal. But maybe +you've noticed what's been happenin' along there where Fifty-ninth +street gets high-toned? Looks like an earthquake had wandered by, but +it's only that down below they're connectin' the new subway with another +East river tunnel. And if there's anything in the way of old derricks, +or scrap iron, or wooden beams, or construction sheds that ain't been +left lying around on top it's because they didn't have it on hand to +leave.</p> + +<p>Cute little things, them spools are, too; about six feet high, three +wide, and weighin' a ton<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> or so each, I should judge. And to make the +job of movin' 'em all the merrier an old cement mixer has been at work +right next to 'em and the surplus concrete has been thrown out until +they've been bedded in as solid as so many bridge piers. I climbs around +and takes a look.</p> + +<p>"How cunnin'!" says I. "Why, they'd make the Rock of Ages look like a +loose front tooth. And all I got to do is pull 'em up by the roots, one +at a time. Ha, ha! Likewise, tee-hee!"</p> + +<p>It sized up like a bad case of bee bite with me at the wrong end of the +stinger. Still, I was just mulish enough to stick around. I had nearly +three hours left before I'd have to listen to the major's mirthsome +cackle, and I might as well spend part of it thinkin' up fool schemes. +So I walks around that cluster of cement-set spools some more. I even +climbs on top of one and gazes up and down the block.</p> + +<p>They were still doing things to make it look less like a city street and +more like the ruins of Louvain. Down near the Fifth Avenue gates was the +fenced-in mouth of a shaft that led somewhere into the bowels of +Manhattan. And while I was lookin' out climbs a dago, unrolls a dirty +red flag, and holds up the traffic until a dull "boom" announces that +the offensive is all over for half an hour or so. Up towards Columbus +Circle more industry was goin' on. A steam roller was smoothin' out a +strip of pavement that had just been relaid,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> and nearer by a gang was +tearin' up more of the asphalt. I got kind of interested in the way they +was doin' it, too. You know, they used to do this street wreckin' with +picks and crowbars, but this crowd seemed to have more modern methods. +They was usin' three of these pneumatic drills and they sure were +ripping it up slick and speedy. About then I noticed that their +compressor was chugging away nearly opposite me and that the lines of +hose stretched out fifty feet or more.</p> + +<p>"Say!" says I jerky and breathless, but to nobody in particular. I was +just registerin' the fact that I'd had a sudden thought.</p> + +<p>A few minutes before, too, I'd seen a squad of rookies wander past and +into the park. I remembered noticin' what a husky, tanned lot they were, +and from their hat cords that they belonged to the artillery branch. +Well, that was enough. In a flash I'd shinned over the stone wall and +was headin' 'em off.</p> + +<p>You know how these cantonment delegations wander around town aimless +when they're dumped down here on leave waiting to be shunted off quiet +onto some transport? No friends, mighty little money, and nothing to do +but tramp the streets or hang around the Y. They actually looked kind of +grateful when I stops 'em and returns their salute. As luck would have +it there's a top sergeant in the bunch, so I don't have to make a +reg'lar speech.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's this way, sergeant," says I. "I'm looking for a few volunteers."</p> + +<p>"There's ten of us, sir," says he, "with not a thing on our hands but +time."</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps you'll help me put over something on a boss ditch digger," +says I. "It's nothing official, but it may help General Pershing a whole +lot."</p> + +<p>"We sure will," says the sergeant. "Now then, men. 'Shun! And forget +those dope sticks for a minute. How'll you have 'em, lieutenant—twos or +fours?"</p> + +<p>"Twos will look more impressive, I guess," says I. "And just follow me."</p> + +<p>"Fall in!" says the sergeant. "By twos! Right about! March!"</p> + +<p>So when I rounds into the street again and bears down on this gang +foreman I has him bug-eyed from the start. He don't seem to know whether +he's being pinched or not.</p> + +<p>"What's your name, my man?" says I, wavin' the Q. M.'s order +threatenin'.</p> + +<p>It's Mike something or other, as I could have guessed without him near +chokin' to get it out.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Mike," I goes on, as important as I knew how. "See those +spools over there that you people have done your best to bury? Well, +those have been requisitioned from the Telephone Company by the U. S. +army. Here's the order. Now I want you to get busy with your drill gang +and cut 'em loose."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span></p> + +<p>"But—but see here, boss," sputters Mike, "'tis a private contract +they're workin' on and I couldn't be after——"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't, eh?" says I. "Lemme tell you something. That wire has to go +on a transport that's due to sail the first thing in the morning. It's +for the Signal Corps and they need it to stretch a headquarters' line +into Berlin."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, boss," said Mike, "but I wouldn't dast to——"</p> + +<p>"Sergeant," says I, "do your duty."</p> + +<p>Uh-huh! That got Mike all right. And when we'd yanked him up off his +knees and convinced him that he wouldn't be shot for an hour or so yet +he's so thankful that he gets those drills to work in record time.</p> + +<p>It was a first-class hunch, if I do have to admit it myself. You should +have seen how neat them rapid fire machines begun unbuttonin' those big +wooden spools, specially after a couple of our doughboy squad, who'd +worked pneumatic riveters back home, took hold of the drills. Others +fished some hand sledges and crowbars out of a tool shed and helped the +work along, while Mike encourages his gang with a fluent line of foreman +repartee.</p> + +<p>Course, I didn't have the whole thing doped out at the start, but +gettin' away with this first stab only showed me how easy it was if you +wasn't bashful about callin' for help. From then on I didn't let much +assistance get away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> from me, either. Yankin' the spools out to the +street level by hookin' on the steam roller was my next play, but +commandeerin' a sand blast outfit that was at work halfway down the +block was all Mike's idea.</p> + +<p>"They need smoothin' up a bit, boss," says he.</p> + +<p>And inside of half an hour we had all five of them spools lookin' new +and bright, like they'd just come from the mill.</p> + +<p>"What next, sir?" asks the sergeant.</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "the fussy old major who's so hot for getting these +things is waiting at the Plutoria, about ten blocks down. Maybe he wants +'em there. I wonder if we could——"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says the sergeant. "This heavy gun bunch can move anything. +Here! I'll show 'em how."</p> + +<p>With that he runs a crowbar through the center of one of the spools, +puts a man on either side to push, and rolls it along as easy as +wheelin' a baby carriage.</p> + +<p>"Swell tactics, sergeant," says I. "And just for that I'm goin' to +provide your squad with a little music. Might as well do this in style, +eh? Wait a minute."</p> + +<p>And it wasn't long before I was back from another dash into the park +towin' half a drum corps that I'd borrowed from some Junior Naval +Reserves that was drillin' over on the ballfield.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span></p> + +<p>So it was some nifty little parade that I finally lines up to lead down +Fifth Avenue. First there's me, then the drum corps, then the sergeant +and his men rollin' them spools of wire. We strings out for more'n a +block.</p> + +<p>You'd think New Yorkers were so used to parades by this time that you +couldn't get 'em stretchin' their necks for anything less'n a regiment +of hand-picked heroes. They've seen the French Blue Devils at close +range, gawped at the Belgians, and chummed with the Anzacs. But, say, +this spool-pushin' stunt was a new one on 'em. Folks just lined the curb +and stared. Then some bird starts to cheer and it's taken up all down +the line, just on faith.</p> + +<p>"Hey, pipe the new rollin' tanks!" shouts someone.</p> + +<p>"Gwan!" sings out another wise guy. "Them's wooden bombs they're goin' +to drop on Willie."</p> + +<p>It's the first time I've been counted in on any of this hooray stuff, +and I can't say I hated it. At the same time I tried not to look too +chesty. But when I wheeled the procession into the side street and got +'em bunched two deep in front of the Plutoria's carriage entrance I +ain't sure but what I was wearin' kind of a satisfied grin.</p> + +<p>Not for long, though. The six-foot taxi starter in the rear admiral's +uniform jumps right in with the prompt protest. He wants<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> to know what +the blinkety-blink I think I'm doin', blockin' up his right of way in +that fashion.</p> + +<p>"You can't do it! Take 'em away!" says he.</p> + +<p>"Ah, keep the lid on, old Goulash," says I. "Sergeant, if he gets messy, +roll one of those spools on him. I'll be back shortly."</p> + +<p>With that I blows into the Plutoria and hunts up the tea room. The +major's there, all right, and Mr. Ellins, also a couple of ladies. +They're just bein' served with Oolong and caviar sandwiches.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says the major, as he spots me. "Our gallant young office +lieutenant, eh? Well, sir, anything to report?"</p> + +<p>"The spools are outside, sir," says I.</p> + +<p>"Wh—a—at!" he gasps.</p> + +<p>"Where'll you have 'em put, sir?" says I.</p> + +<p>About then, though, in trails the taxi starter, the manager and a brace +of house detectives.</p> + +<p>"That's him!" says the starter, pointin' me out. "He's the one that's +blockin' traffic."</p> + +<p>I will say this for the major, though, he's a good sport. He comes right +to the front and takes all the blame.</p> + +<p>"I'm responsible," he tells the manager. "It's perfectly all right, too. +Military necessity, sir. Well, perhaps you don't like it, but I'll have +you understand, sir, I could block off your whole street if I wished. So +clear out, all of you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, Horace!" puts in one of the ladies, grabbin' him by the arm.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, my dear," says the major. "I know. No scene. Certainly not. +Only these hotel persons must be put in their place. And if you will +excuse me for a moment I'll see what can be done. Come, lieutenant. I +want to get a look at those spools myself."</p> + +<p>Well, he did. "But—but I understood," says he, "that they were stuck in +concrete or something of the kind."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," says I. "We had to unstick 'em. Pneumatic drills and a steam +roller. Very simple."</p> + +<p>"Great Scott!" says he. "Why didn't that fool captain think of—— But, +see here, I don't want 'em here. Now, if we could only get them to Pier +14——"</p> + +<p>"That would be a long way to roll 'em, sir," says I, "but it could be +done. Loadin' 'em on a couple of army trucks would be easier, though. +There's a Quartermaster's depot at the foot of Fifty-seventh Street, you +know."</p> + +<p>"So there is," says he. "I'll call them up. Come in, will you, +lieutenant and—and join us at tea? You've earned it, I think."</p> + +<p>Three minutes more and the major announces that the trucks are on the +way.</p> + +<p>"Which means, Ellins," he adds, "that you win your twenty-five. Here you +are."</p> + +<p>"If you don't mind," says Old Hickory, "I'll<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> keep this and pass on my +hundred to Torchy here. He might like to entertain his volunteer squad +with it."</p> + +<p>Did I? Say, when I got through showin' that bunch of far West artillery +husks how to put in a real pleasant evening along Broadway there wasn't +enough change left to buy a sportin' extra. But they'd had chow in the +giddiest lobster palace under the white lights, they'd occupied two +boxes at the zippiest girl show in town and they was loaded down with +cigarettes and chocolate enough to last 'em clear to France.</p> + +<p>The next mornin', when Old Hickory comes paddin' into the general +offices, he stops to pat me friendly on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I think we have succeeded in revising the major's opinion," he remarks, +"as to the general utility of bomb-proofers in certain instances."</p> + +<p>I grins up at him. "Then," says I, "do I get a recommend for active duty +within jabbin' distance of the Huns?"</p> + +<p>"We did consider that," says Old Hickory, "but the decision was just as +I suspected from the first. The major says it would be a shame to waste +you on anything less than a divisional command, and there aren't enough +of those to go around. Chiefly, though, he thinks that anyone who is +able to get things done in New York in the wizard-like way that you can +should be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> kept within call of Governor's Island. So I fear, Torchy, +that you and I will have to go on serving our country right here."</p> + +<p>"All right, Mr. Ellins," says I. "I expect you win—as per usual."</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 PULLS THE DEEP STUFF</h3> +</div> + +<p>Course, I didn't know what Old Hickory was stackin' me up against when +he calls me into the private office and tells me to shake hands with +this Mr. McCrea. Kind of a short, stubby party he is, with a grayish +mustache and sort of sleepy gray eyes. He's one of these slow motioned, +quiet talking ginks, with restful ways, such as would fit easy into a +swivel chair and hold down a third vice-president's job for life. Or he +might be a champion chess player.</p> + +<p>So when the boss goes on to say how Mr. McCrea is connected with the +Washington sleuth bureau I expect I must have gawped at him a bit +curious. Some relic of the old office force, was my guess; a hold-over +from the times when the S. S. people called it a big day if they could +locate a lead nickel fact'ry in Mulberry Street, or drop on a few Chink +laundrymen bein' run in from Canada in crates. Maybe he was a +thumb-print expert.</p> + +<p>"Howdy," says I, glancin' up at the clock to see if the prospects was +good for makin' the 5:17 out to Harbor Hills.</p> + +<p>"I am told you know the town rather well,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> suggests McCrea, sort of +mild and apologetic.</p> + +<p>"Me!" says I. "Oh, I can usually find my way back to Broadway even in +foggy weather."</p> + +<p>He indulges in a flickery little smile. "I also understand," he goes on, +"that you have shown yourself to be somewhat quick witted in +emergencies."</p> + +<p>"I must have a good press agent, then," says I, glancin' accusin' at Mr. +Ellins.</p> + +<p>But Old Hickory shakes his head. "I suspect that was my friend, Major +Wellby," says he.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "The one I rescued the wire spools for? A lucky break, +that was."</p> + +<p>"Mr. McCrea is working on something rather more important," goes on Old +Hickory, "and if you can help him in any way I trust you will do it."</p> + +<p>"Sure," says I. "What's the grand little idea?"</p> + +<p>He don't seem enthusiastic about openin' up, McCrea, and I don't know as +I blame him much. After he's fished a note book out of his inside pocket +he stops and looks me over sort of doubtful. "Perhaps I had better say +at the start," says he, "that some of our best men have been on this job +for several weeks."</p> + +<p>"Nursin' it along, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>That brings a smothered chuckle from Old Hickory. But Mr. McCrea don't +seem so tickled over it. In fact, he develops a furrow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> between the eyes +and his next remark ain't quite so soothin'.</p> + +<p>"No doubt if they could have had the assistance of your rapid fire +mentality a little sooner," says he, "it would have been but a matter of +a few hours."</p> + +<p>"There's no telling," says I. "Are you one of the new squad?"</p> + +<p>Here Old Hickory chokes down another gurgle and breaks in hasty with: +"Mr. McCrea, Torchy, is assistant chief of the bureau, you know."</p> + +<p>"Gosh!" says I, under my breath. "My mistake, sir. And I expect I'd +better back out now, while the backin's good."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't that be rather hard on us?" asks McCrea, liftin' his eyebrows +sarcastic. "Besides, think how disappointed the major will be if we fail +to make use of such remarkable ability as he has assured us you +possess."</p> + +<p>It's a kid, all right, even if he does put it so smooth. And by the +twinkle in Old Hickory's eye I can see he's enjoyin' it just as much as +McCrea. Nothing partial about the boss. His sympathies are always with +the good performer. And rather than let this top-liner sleuth put it +over me so easy I takes a chance on shootin' a little more bull.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you're goin' to feel bad over it," says I, "course I got to help +you out. Now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> what part of Manhattan is it that's got your +super-Sherlocks guessin' so hard?"</p> + +<p>He smiles condescendin' and unfolds a neat little diagram showin' a +Broadway corner and part of the cross street. "It is a matter of three +policemen and a barber shop," says he. "Here, in the basement of this +hotel on the corner, is the barber shop."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember," says I. "Otto something or other runs it. And on the +side, I expect, he does plain and fancy spyin', eh?"</p> + +<p>"We should be much interested to have you furnish proof of that," says +McCrea. "What we suspect, however, is something slightly different. We +believe that the place is rather a clearing house for spy information. +News seems to reach there and to leave there. What we wish to know is, +how."</p> + +<p>"Had anyone on the inside?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that bright little idea occurred to us," says McCrea. "One of our +men has been operating a chair there for three weeks. He discovered +nothing of importance. Also we have had the place watched from the +outside, to no purpose. So you see how crude our methods must have +been."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I ain't knockin' 'em," says I. "Maybe they was out of luck. But +what about the three cops?"</p> + +<p>"Their beats terminate at this corner," says<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> McCrea, "one from uptown, +one from downtown, and the third from the east. And we have good reason +to suppose that one of the three is crooked. Now if you can tell us +which one, and how information can come and go——"</p> + +<p>"I get you," I breaks in. "All you want of me is the answer to a lot of +questions you've been all the fall workin' up. That's some he-sized +order, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>McCrea shrugs his shoulder. "As I mentioned, I think," says he, "it was +Major Wellby who suggested your assistance; and as the major happens to +enjoy the confidence of—well, someone who is a person of considerable +importance in Washington——"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "It's a case of my bein' wished on you and you +standin' by with the laugh when I fall down. Oh, very well! I'll be the +goat. But the major's a good scout, just the same, and I don't mean to +throw him without making a stab. How long do I get on this?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, as long as you like," says McCrea.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," says I. "Where do I find you when I want to turn in a report, +blank or otherwise?"</p> + +<p>He gives me the name of his hotel and after collectin' the diagram of +the mystery I does a slow exit to my desk in the next office. I was +sittin' there half an hour later with my hair rumpled, makin' a noise +like deep thinkin',<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> when in walks the hand of fate steppin' heavy on +his heels, as usual.</p> + +<p>Not that I suspected at the time this Barry Wales could be anything much +more than a good natured pest. He didn't used to be even that. No, the +change in Barry is only another little item in the score we got against +the Kaiser; for back in the days before we went into the war Barry was +just one of Mr. Robert's club friends who dropped around casual to date +up for an after-luncheon game of billiards, or tip him off to a new +cabaret act that was worth engagin' a table next to the gold ropes. +Besides, holdin' quite a block of Corrugated stock, I expect Barry +figured it as a day's work when he got me to show him the last +semi-annual report and figure out what his dividends would tot up to. +Outside of that he was a bar-hound and more or less of a window +ornament.</p> + +<p>But the war sure had made a mess of Barry. I don't mean that he went +over and got shell shocked or gassed. Too far past thirty for that, and +he had too many things the matter with him. Oh, I had all the details +direct; bad heart, plumbing out of whack, nerves frazzled from too many +all-night sessions. He was in that shape to begin with. But he didn't +start braggin' about it until so many of his bunch got to makin' +themselves useful in different ways. Mr. Robert, for instance, gettin' +sent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> out in command of a coast patrol boat; others breakin' into Red +Cross work, ship buildin' and so on. Barry claims he tried 'em all and +was turned down.</p> + +<p>But is he discouraged? Not Barry. If they won't put him in uniform, with +cute little dew-dads on his shoulder, or let him wear $28 puttees that +will take a mahogany finish, there's nothing to prevent him from turnin' +loose that mighty intellect of his and inventin' new ways to win the +war. So when he's sittin' there in his favorite window at the club, +starin' absent minded out on Fifth Avenue with a tall glass at his +elbow, he ain't half the slacker he looks to the people on top of the +green buses.</p> + +<p>Not accordin' to Barry. Ten to one he's just developin' a new idea. +Maybe it's only a design for a thrift stamp poster, but it might be a +scheme for inducin' the Swiss to send their navy down the Rhine. But +whatever it is, as soon as Barry gets it halfway thought out, he has to +trot around and tell about it.</p> + +<p>So when I glance up and see this tall, well tailored party standin' at +my elbow, and notice the eager, excited look in his pale blue eyes, I +know about what to expect.</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it this time, Barry?" says I. "Have you doped out an +explosive pretzel, or are you goin' to turn milliner and release some +woman for war work?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. "No<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> chaffing, now. I'm in dead +earnest, you know. Of course, being all shot to pieces physically, I +can't go to the front, where I'd give my neck to be. Why, with this +leaky heart valve of mine I couldn't even——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," I broke in. "We've been over all that. Not that I'd mind +hearing it again, but just now I'm more or less busy."</p> + +<p>"Are you, though?" says Barry. "Isn't that perfectly ripping! Something +important, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Might be if I could pull it off," says I, "but as it stands——"</p> + +<p>"That's it!" says Barry. "I was hoping I'd find you starting something +new. That's why I came."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"I'm volunteering—under you," says he. "I'll be anything you say; top +sergeant, corporal, or just plain private. Anything so I can help. See! +I am yours to command, Lieutenant Torchy," and he does a Boy Scout +salute.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," says I, "but I don't see how I could use you just now. The fact +is, I can't even say what I'm working on."</p> + +<p>"Oh, perfectly bully!" says Barry. "You needn't tell me a word, or drop +a hint. Just give me my orders, lieutenant, and let me carry on."</p> + +<p>Well, instead of shooin' him off I'd only got him stickin' tighter'n a +wad of gum to a typewriter's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> wrist watch, and after trying to do some +more heavy thinkin' with him watchin' admirin' from where I'd planted +him in a corner, I gives it up.</p> + +<p>"All right," says I. "Think you could stand another manicure today?"</p> + +<p>Barry glances at his polished nails doubtful but allows he could if it's +in the line of duty.</p> + +<p>"It is," says I. "I'm goin' to sacrifice some of my red hair on the +altar of human freedom. Come along."</p> + +<p>So, all unsuspectin' where he was goin', I leads him down into Otto's +barber shop. And I must say, as a raid in force, it was more or less of +a fizzle. The scissors artist who revises my pink-plus locks is a +gray-haired old gink who'd never been nearer Berlin than First Avenue. +Two of the other barbers looked like Greeks, and even Otto had clipped +the ends of his Prussian lip whisker. Nobody in the place made a noise +like a spy, and the only satisfaction I got was in lettin' Barry pay the +checks.</p> + +<p>"I got to go somewhere and think," says I.</p> + +<p>"How about a nice quiet dinner at the club?" says Barry.</p> + +<p>"That don't listen so bad," says I.</p> + +<p>And it wasn't, either. Barry insists on spreadin' himself with the +orderin', and don't even complain about havin' to chase out to the bar +to take his drinks, on account of my being in uniform.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span></p> + +<p>"Makes me feel as if I were doing my bit, you know," says he.</p> + +<p>"Talk about noble sacrifices!" says I. "Why, you'll be qualifyin' for a +D. S. O. if you keep on, Barry."</p> + +<p>And along about the <i>baba au rhum</i> period I did get my fingers on the +tall feathers of an idea. Nothing much, but so long as Barry was anxious +to be used, I thought I saw a way.</p> + +<p>"Suppose anybody around the club could dig up a screwdriver for you?" I +asks.</p> + +<p>Inside of two minutes Barry had everybody in sight on the jump, from the +bus boy to the steward, and in with the demi tasse came the screwdriver.</p> + +<p>"Now what, lieutenant?" demands Barry.</p> + +<p>"S-s-s-h!" says I, mysterious. "We got to drill around until midnight."</p> + +<p>"Why not at the Follies, then?" suggests Barry.</p> + +<p>"Swell thought!" says I.</p> + +<p>And for this brand of active service I couldn't have picked a better man +than Barry. From our box seats he points out the cute little squab with +the big eyes, third from the end, and even gets one of the soloists +singin' a patriotic chorus at us. On the strength of which Barry makes +two more trips down to the café. Not that he gets primed enough so you'd +notice it. Nothing like that. Only he grows more enthusiastic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> over the +idea of being useful in the great cause.</p> + +<p>"Remember, lieutenant," says he as we drifts out with the midnight push, +"I'm under orders. Eh?"</p> + +<p>"Sure thing," says I. "You're about to get 'em, too. Did you ever do +such a thing as steal a barber's pole?"</p> + +<p>Barry couldn't remember that he ever had.</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "that's what you're goin' to do now."</p> + +<p>"Which one?" asks Barry.</p> + +<p>"Otto's," says I. "From the joint where we were just before dinner."</p> + +<p>"Right, lieutenant," says Barry, givin' his salute.</p> + +<p>"And listen," says I. "You're dead set on havin' that particular pole. +Understand? You want it bad. And after you get it you ain't goin' to let +anybody get it away from you, no matter what happens, until I give the +word. That's your cue."</p> + +<p>"Trust me, lieutenant," says Barry, straightenin' up. "I shall stand by +the pole."</p> + +<p>Sounds simple, don't it? But that's the way all us great minds work, +along lines like that. And the foolisher we look at the start the deeper +we're apt to be divin' after the plot of the piece. Don't miss that. +What's a bent hairpin in the mud to you? While to us—boy, page old Doc +Watson.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span></p> + +<p>How many times, for instance, do you suppose you've walked past the +Hotel Northumberland? Yet did you ever notice that the barber shop +entrance was exactly twenty paces east on Umpteenth Street from the +corner of Broadway; that you go down three iron steps to a landin' +before you turn for the other 15; or that the barber pole has a gilt top +with blue stars in it, and is swung out on a single bracket with two +screws on each side? I points out all this to Barry as we strolls down +from the theater district.</p> + +<p>"By jove!" says Barry. "Wonderful!"</p> + +<p>"Ain't it?" says I. "And all done without a change of wig or a jab of +the needle. Now your part is easy. You simply drift down the side +street, step into the shadow where the cab stand juts out, and when +nobody's passin' you work the screws loose. Me, I got to drop into the +writin' room and dash something off. Here we are. Go to it."</p> + +<p>Course, he could have bugged things. Might have dropped the screwdriver +through a grating, or got himself caught in the act. But Barry has +surrounded the idea nicely. He couldn't have done better if he'd been +sent out to a listenin' post. And when I strolls out again five minutes +later there he stands with the pole tucked careful under one arm.</p> + +<p>"Fine work!" says I. "But we don't want to hide it altogether. Carry it +careless like,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> with your overcoat unbuttoned, so both ends will show. +That's the cheese!"</p> + +<p>It ain't one of these big, vulgar barber poles, you know; not over four +feet long and about as many inches thick. But it's a brilliant one, and +with Barry in evenin' dress he's bound to be some conspicuous luggin' +it. Yet I starts him straight up Broadway, me trailin' 25 or 30 feet +behind.</p> + +<p>If it had been further up town he might have collected quite a mob of +followers, but down here there's only a few passing at that time of +night. Most of 'em only turns to look after him and smile. One or two +gives him the merry hail and asks where the Class of 1910 is holdin' the +banquet.</p> + +<p>He'd done nearly five blocks before a flatfoot steps out of a doorway +and waves a nightstick at him.</p> + +<p>"Hey, whaddye mean, pullin' that hick stuff?" demands the cop.</p> + +<p>"Sir!" says Barry, wavin' him off dignified.</p> + +<p>Then I mixes in. "It's perfectly all right, officer," says I. "I know +him."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do you?" says the cop. "Well, some of you army guys know a lot; and +then again some of you don't. But you can't get away with any such +cut-up motions on my beat."</p> + +<p>"But listen," I begins, "I can explain how——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, feed it to the sergeant," says he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> "Come along, you," and he takes +Barry by the arm.</p> + +<p>Being a quiet night in the precinct the desk sergeant had plenty of time +to listen. He'd just decided against Barry, too, when I sprung my scrap +of paper on him. It's a receipt in full for one barber's pole, signed by +Otto Krumpheimer. I knew it was O. K. because I'd signed it myself.</p> + +<p>"How about that?" asks the sergeant of the cop.</p> + +<p>And all the flatty can do is gaze at it and scratch his head.</p> + +<p>"No case," says the sergeant. "Beat it, you."</p> + +<p>Then I nudges Barry. He speaks up prompt, too. "I want my little barber +pole," says he.</p> + +<p>"Ah, take it along," says the sergeant, disgusted.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, officer," says I, as we drifts out, and I slips him a five +casual.</p> + +<p>"Enjoy yourselves, boys," says he. "But pick out another beat."</p> + +<p>Which we done. This time we starts from the Northumberland and walks +east. Barry had got almost to Madison Avenue before another eagle-eyed +copper holds him up. He does it more or less rough, too.</p> + +<p>"Drop that, now!" says he.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," says Barry, lyin' enthusiastic. "It's my pole."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is it, then?" says the cop. "Maybe you can show the sergeant yet? And +maybe I don't know where you pinched it. Walk along, now."</p> + +<p>You should have seen the desk sergeant grow purple in the gills when we +shows up in front of the rail the second time. "Say, what do you sports +think you're doin', anyway?" he demands.</p> + +<p>"I'll make a charge of petty larceny and disorderly conduct," says the +cop, layin' the evidence on the desk.</p> + +<p>"Will you, Myers?" says the sergeant sarcastic. "Didn't ask him if he +had a receipt, I suppose? Show it to him, lieutenant."</p> + +<p>I grins and hands over the paper.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" grunts Myers. "But Otto Krumpheimer don't sign his name like +that. Never."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Why," says Myers, scrapin' his foot nervous, "I—I just know, that's +all. I've seen his writin', plenty times."</p> + +<p>"Hear that, sergeant," says I. "Just jot that down, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Night court," says the sergeant.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Barry," says I. "Line of duty. And I'll be on hand by the +time your case is called."</p> + +<p>"Right-o!" says Barry cheerful.</p> + +<p>Myers, he was ambitious to lug us both along, but the sergeant couldn't +see it that way. So while Barry's bein' walked off to police court,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> I +jumps into a taxi and heads for McCrea's hotel. If he'd been in bed I +meant to rout him out. But he wasn't. I finds him in his room havin' a +confab with two other plain clothes gents. He seems surprised to see me +so quick.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says he. "Giving up so soon?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" says I. "Hardly! I've got the crooked cop."</p> + +<p>McCrea gives a gasp. "You—you have?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Yep!" says I. "But he's got my assistant. Can you pull a badge or +anything on the judge at the night court?"</p> + +<p>Mr. McCrea thought he could. And he sure worked the charm, for after +whisperin' a few words across the bench it's all fixed up. Barry gets +the nod that he's free to go.</p> + +<p>"May I take my little barber pole?" demands Barry.</p> + +<p>"No, no!" speaks up Myers. "Don't let him have it, Judge."</p> + +<p>"Silence!" roars the Justice. Then, turnin' to a court officer he says: +"Take this policeman to Headquarters for investigation. Yes, Mr. Wales, +you may have your pole, but I should advise you to carry it home in a +cab."</p> + +<p>"Thank you kindly, sir," says Barry. But after he gets outside he asks +pleadin': "Don't I get arrested any more?"</p> + +<p>I shakes my head. "It's all over for tonight, Barry," says I. "Objective +attained,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> and if you don't mind I'll take charge of this war loot. Drop +you at your club, shall we?"</p> + +<p>So I still had the striped pole when we rolled up at McCrea's hotel. I +was shiftin' it around in the taxi, wonderin' where I'd better dump it, +when I made the big discovery.</p> + +<p>"Say," I whispers husky to McCrea, "there's something funny about this."</p> + +<p>"The pole?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "It's hollow. There's a little trap door in one side."</p> + +<p>"Hah!" says McCrea. "Bring it up."</p> + +<p>And you'd think by the way him and his friends proceeded to hog the +thing, that it was their find. After I'd shown 'em where to press the +secret spring they crowded around and blocked off my view. All I got was +a glimpse of some papers that they dug out of the inside somewhere. And +some excited they are as they paws 'em over.</p> + +<p>"In the same old code," says McCrea.</p> + +<p>But finally he leads me to one side. "Myers is the man, all right," says +he.</p> + +<p>"Course he is," says I. "If he wasn't why would he be so wise as to +whose pole it was, or about Otto's handwritin'?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says McCrea, noddin' enthusiastic. "So that was your system in +having your friend arrested? You tried out the officers. Very clever! +But how you came to suspect that the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> barber's pole was being used as a +mail box I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"No," says I, "you wouldn't. That's where the deep stuff comes in."</p> + +<p>McCrea takes that with a smile. "Lieutenant," says he, "I shall be +pleased to report to Major Wellby that his estimate of you was quite +correct. And allow me to say that I believe you have done for the +Government a great service tonight; though how you managed it so neatly +I'll be hanged if I see. And—er—I think that will be all." With which +he urges me polite towards the door.</p> + +<p>But it wasn't all. Not quite. I hear there's something on the way to me +from the chief himself, and Old Hickory has been chucklin' around for +three days. Also I've had a hunch that one boss barber and one New York +cop have done the vanishing act. Anyway, when I was down to the +Northumberland yesterday for a shave there was no Otto in sight, and the +barber pole was still missin'. That's about all the information that's +come my way.</p> + +<p>Barry Wales don't know even that much. But when he comes in to report +for further orders, as he does frequent now, he has his chest out and +his chin up.</p> + +<p>"I say, lieutenant," he remarks confidential this last trip, "we put +something over, didn't we?"</p> + +<p>"I expect we did," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span></p> + +<p>"But what was it all about, eh?" he whispers.</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "you got pinched twice without losin' your amateur +standin', and one of the stripes opened in the middle. When they tell me +the rest I'll pass it on to you."</p> + +<p>"By George! Will you, though?" says Barry, and after executin' another +Boy Scout salute he goes off perfectly satisfied.</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>A FRAME-UP FOR STUBBY</h3> +</div> + +<p>I expect I shouldn't have been so finicky. I ain't as a rule. My usual +play is to press the button and take whoever is sent in from the general +office. But the last young lady typist they'd wished on me must have +eased in on the job with a diploma from some hair-dressin' +establishment. She got real haughty when I pointed out that we was using +only one "l" in Albany now, but nothing I could say would keep her from +writing Bridgeport as two words.</p> + +<p>And such a careless way she had of parking her gum on the corner of my +desk and forgettin' to retrieve it. So with four or five more folios to +do on a report I was makin' to the Ordnance Department, I puts it up to +Mr. Piddie personally to pick the best he can spare.</p> + +<p>"Course," says I, "I don't expect to get Old Hickory's star performer, +but I thought you might have one of the old guard left; one that didn't +learn her spellin' by the touch method, at least."</p> + +<p>Piddie sighs. Since so many of his key-pounders has gone to polishin' +shell noses, or sailed to do canteen work, he's been having a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> poor time +keeping up his office force. "Do you know, Torchy," says he, "I haven't +one left that I can guarantee; but suppose you try Miss Casey, who has +just joined."</p> + +<p>She wouldn't have been my choice if I'd been doin' the pickin'. One of +these tall, limber young females, Miss Casey is, about as thick as a +drink of water, but strong on hair and eyes. She glides in willowy, +drapes herself on a chair, pats her home-grown ear-muffs into shape, and +unfolds her note book business-like. And inside of two minutes she's +doing the Pitman stuff in jazz time, with no call for repeats except +when I'd shoot a string of figures at her. I was handin' myself the +comfortin' thought, too, that I'd drawn a prize.</p> + +<p>We breezes along on the report until near lunch time with never a hitch +until I gets to this paragraph where I mentions Camp Mills, and the next +thing I know she has stopped short and is snifflin' through her nose.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Have I been feedin' it at you too +speedy?"</p> + +<p>"N—no," says she, "bub—but that's where Stub is—Camp Mills—and it +got to me sudden."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "And Stub is a brother or something?"</p> + +<p>"He—he—Well, there!" says she, holdin' out her left hand and +displayin' a turquoise set with chip diamonds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sorry," says I, "but I couldn't tell from the service pin, you +understand, when some wears 'em for second cousins. And anyway, the name +of the camp had to——"</p> + +<p>"'Sall right," snuffles Miss Casey. "I had no call spillin' the weeps +durin' business hours. I wouldn't of either, only I had another session +with his old lady this mornin' and she sort of got me stirred up."</p> + +<p>"Mother taking it hard, is she?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"You've said sumpin," admits Miss Casey, unbuttonin' a locket vanity +case and repairin' the damage done to her facial frescoin' with a few +graceful jabs. "Not but what I ain't strong for Stub Mears myself. He's +all right, Stub is, even if he never could qualify in a beauty +competition with Jack Pickford or Mr. Doug. Fairbanks. He's good comp'ny +and all that, and now he's in the army I expect he'll ditch that +ambition of his to be the champion heavy-weight pool player of the West +Side.</p> + +<p>"But to hear Mrs. Mears talk you'd think he was one of the props of the +universe, and that when the new draft got Stub it was a case where +Congress ought to stop and draw a long breath. Uh-huh! She's 100 per +cent. mother, Mrs. Mears is, and it looks like some of it was catchin' +for me to get leaky-eyed just at mention of the camp he's in. Oh, lady, +lady! Excuse it, please, sir."</p> + +<p>Which I does cheerful enough. And just to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> prove I ain't any slave +driver I sort of eggs Miss Casey on, from then until the noon hour, to +chat away about this war romance of hers. Seems Mr. Mears could have +been in Class B, on account of his widowed mother and him being a +plumber's helper when he had time to spare from his pool practicin'. +Livin' in the same block, they'd been acquainted for quite some time, +too.</p> + +<p>No, it hadn't been anything serious first off. She'd gone with him to +the annual ball of Union 26 for two years in succession and to such like +important social events. But there'd been other fellers. Two or three. +And one had a perfectly swell job as manager of a United Cigar branch. +Stub had been a great one for stickin' around, though, and when he +showed up in his uniform—well, that clinched things.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't so much the khaki stuff I fell for," confides Miss Casey, +gazin' sentimental at a ham sandwich she's just unwrapped, "as it was +the i-dear back of it. It's in the blood, you might say, for I had an +uncle in the Spanish-American and a grandfather in the Civil War. So +when Mr. Mears tells me how, when it comes time for him to go over the +top, the one he'll be thinkin' most of will be me—Say, that got to me +strong. 'You win, Stubby,' says I. 'Flash the ring.'</p> + +<p>"That's how it was staged, all in one scene. And later when that Jake +Horwitz from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> United shop comes around sportin' his instalment +Liberty bond button, but backin' his fallen arches to keep him exempt, I +gives him the cold eye. 'Nix on the coo business, Mister Horwitz,' says +I, 'for when I hold out my ear for that it's got to come from a reg'lar +man. Get me?' Which is a good deal the same I hands the others.</p> + +<p>"But say, between you and I, it's mighty lonesome work. You see, I'd +figured how Stub would be blowin' in from camp every now and then, and +we'd be doin' the Sunday afternoon parade up and down the block, with +all the girls stretchin' their necks after us. You know? Well, he's been +at the blessed camp near three months now and not once since that first +flyin' trip has he showed up here.</p> + +<p>"Which is why I've been droppin' in on his old lady so often, tryin' to +dope why he shouldn't be let off, same as the others. Mrs. Mears, she's +all primed with the notion that her Edgar has been makin' himself so +useful down there that the colonel would get all balled up in his work +if he didn't keep Stub right on the job. 'See,' says she, wavin' a +picture post card at me, 'he's been appointed on the K. P. squad again.' +Honest, she thinks he's something like a Knights of Pythias and goes +marchin' around important with a plume in his hat and a gold sword. +Mothers are easy, ain't they? You can bet though, that Stub don't try to +buffalo little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> old me with anything like that. What he writes me, which +ain't much, is mostly that his top sergeant's a grouch or that they've +been quarantined on account of influenza. So I sends him back the best +advice I've got in stock, askin' him why he don't buck up on his drill, +keep his equipment clean, and shift that potato peelin' work to some of +the new squads.</p> + +<p>"Course, I don't spill any of this to Mrs. Mears. Poor soul! She's got +troubles enough, right in her joints. Rheumatism. Uh-huh. Most of the +time she has to get around in a wheel chair. Ain't that fierce? And she +was mighty nervy about sendin' Stubby off. Wouldn't let him say a word +about exemption. No, sir! 'Never mind me, Edgar,' says she. 'You kill a +lot of Huns. I'll get along somehow.' That's talkin', ain't it? And her +livin' with a sister-in-law that has a disposition like a green parrot!</p> + +<p>"So I can't find much fault with her when she sort of overdoes the fond +mother act. Seems to me they might let him off now and then, even if he +does miss a few bugle calls, or forgets some of the rules and +regulations. And this bug of hers about wonderin' when and how what he's +doin' for his country is goin' to be reco'nized proper—Well, I don't +debate that with her at all. For one thing I don't get just exactly what +she wants; whether it's for the President to write her a special letter +of thanks, or for Mr. Baker to make Stubby a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> captain or something right +off. Anyway, she don't feel that Edgar's bein' treated right. He ain't +even had his name in the papers and only a few of the neighbors seem to +know he's a hero. Yep, it's foolish of her, I expect, but I let her +unload it all on me without dodgin'. I've even promised to see what can +be done about it. I—I'd been thinkin', sir, about askin' you."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, "Me? Oh, I couldn't think of a thing."</p> + +<p>"But if I could, sir," goes on Miss Casey, "would—would you help out a +little? She's an old lady, you know, and all crippled up, and Stubby +he's all she's got left and——"</p> + +<p>"Why, sure," I breaks in. "I'd do what I could."</p> + +<p>I throws it off casual as I'm grabbin' my hat on my way out to lunch. +And I supposed that would be all there'd be to it. But I hadn't got +more'n half a line on Miss Casey. She's no easy quitter, that young +lady. Having let me in on her little affair, she seems to think it's no +more'n right I should be kept posted. A day or so later she lugs in a +picture of Private Mears, one of the muddy printed post-card effects +such as these roadside tripod artists take of the buddy boys around the +camps.</p> + +<p>"That's him," says she. "Looks kind of swell in the uniform, don't he?"</p> + +<p>It was a fact. Stubby not only looks swell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span>but swelling. And it's lucky +them army buttons are sewed on tight or else a good snappy salute would +wreck him from the chin down. He's a sturdy, bulgy party, 'specially +about the leggins.</p> + +<p>"That's right, too," says Miss Casey. "Know what I tell him? If he can +fight like he can eat, good-night Kaiser Bill. But at that they've pared +fifteen pounds off him since he's been in the service."</p> + +<p>"It's a great life," says I.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," sighs Miss Casey, "but I wisht they'd let me have a close-up of +him before they risk loadin' him on a transport. That's all I got +against the Government. You ain't thought of any way it might be worked, +have you?"</p> + +<p>I had to admit that I hadn't, not addin' I didn't expect to. And I must +have been stallin' along that line for a week or more until the forenoon +when Vee blows in unexpected durin' a shoppin' trip and announces that I +may take her out to luncheon.</p> + +<p>"Fine!" says I. "Just as soon as I give two more letters to Miss Casey."</p> + +<p>In the middle of the second one though, there's a call for me to go into +the private office, and when I comes back from a ten-minute interview +with Old Hickory I finds Vee and Miss Casey chattin' away like old +friends. Vee is being told all about Stubby and the hard-boiled eggs he +has for company officers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span></p> + +<p>"Three months without a furlough!" says Vee. "Isn't that a shame, +Torchy? What is the number of his regiment?"</p> + +<p>Miss Casey reels it off, addin' the company and division.</p> + +<p>"Really!" says Vee. "Why, that's the company Captain Woodhouse commands. +You remember him, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! Woodie," says I. "I'd most forgotten him."</p> + +<p>"I am going to call him up on the long distance right now," says Vee.</p> + +<p>And in spite of all my lay-off signals she does it. Gets the captain, +too. Yes, Woodie knows the case and he regrets to report that Private +Mears's record isn't a good one; three times in the guardhouse and +another week of K. P. coming to him. Under these circumstances he don't +quite see how——</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, captain!" puts in Vee coaxin'. "Don't be disagreeable. He's +engaged, you know. Such a nice girl. And then there is his poor old +mother who has seen him only once since he was drafted. Please, Woodie!"</p> + +<p>I expect it was the "Woodie" that worked the trick. You see, this +Woodhouse party used to think he was in the runnin' with Vee himself, +way back when Auntie was doin' her best to discourage my little +campaign, and although he quit and picked another several years ago I +don't suppose he minds bein' called Woodie by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> Vee, even now. Anyway, +after consultin' one of his lieutenants he gives her the word that if +Private Mears don't pull any more cut-up stuff between now and a week +from Wednesday he'll probably have forty-eight hours comin' to him.</p> + +<p>And for a minute there I thought both Vee and I were let in for a fond +clinch act with Miss Casey. As it is she takes it out in pattin' Vee's +hand and callin' her Dearie.</p> + +<p>"A week Wednesday, eh?" says Miss Casey. "Say, ain't that grand! And +believe muh, I mean to work up some little party for Stubby. It's due +him, and the old lady."</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," agrees Vee. "And Torchy, you must do all you can to +help."</p> + +<p>"Very well, major," says I, salutin'.</p> + +<p>And from then on I reports to Vee. It's only the next night that I gives +her the first bulletin from the front. "What do you know?" says I. "Miss +Casey has a hunch that she might organize a block party for the big +night. I don't know whether she can swing it or not, but that's her +scheme."</p> + +<p>"But what on earth is a block party, Torchy?" Vee demands.</p> + +<p>"Why," I explains, "it's a small town stunt that's being used in the +city these days. Very popular, too. They get all the people in the block +to chip in for a celebration—decorations, music, ice cream, all +that—and generally they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> raise a block service flag. It takes some +organizin', though."</p> + +<p>"How perfectly splendid!" says Vee. "And that is just where you can be +useful."</p> + +<p>So that's how I come to spend that next evenin' trottin' up and down +this block in the sixties between Ninth and Amsterdam. I must say it +didn't look specially promisin' as a place to work up community spirit +and that sort of thing. Just a dingy row of old style dumb-bell flats, +most of 'em with "Room to Rent" signs hung out and little basement shops +tucked in here and there. Maybe you know the kind—the asphalt always +littered with paper, garbage cans left out, and swarms of kids playin' +tip-cat or dashin' about on roller skates. Cheap and messy. And to judge +by the names on the letter boxes you'd say the tenants had been shipped +in from every country on the map. Anyway, our noble allies was well +represented—with the French and Italians in the lead and the rest made +up of Irish, Jews, Poles and I don't know what else. Everything but +straight Americans.</p> + +<p>Yet when you come to count up the service flags in the front windows you +had to admit that Miss Casey's block must have a good many reg'lar +citizens in it at that. There was more blue stars in evidence than you'd +find on any three brownstone front blocks down on Madison or up in the +Seventies. One flag had four, and none of 'em stood for butlers or +chauffeurs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> Course, some was only faded cotton, a few nothing but +colored paper, but every star stood for a soldier, and I'll bet there +wasn't a bomb-proofer in the lot.</p> + +<p>Whether you could get these people together on any kind of a celebration +or not was another question. We begins with Mike's place, on the corner.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says Mike. "Let's have a party. I'll ante twenty-five. And, say, +I got a cousin in the Knights of Columbus who'll give you some tips on +how to manage the thing."</p> + +<p>The little old Frenchy in the Parisian hand laundry gave us a boost, +too. Even J. Streblitz, high-class tailoring for ladies and gents, +chipped in a ten and told us about his boy Herman, who'd been made a +corporal and was at Chateau Thierry. Inside of three hours we'd made a +sketchy canvas of the whole block, got half a dozen of the men to go on +the committee, had over $100 subscribed, and the thing was under way.</p> + +<p>"I just knew you could do it," says Vee, when I tells her about the +start that's been made.</p> + +<p>"Me!" says I. "Why it was mostly Miss Casey. About all I did was tag +along and watch her work up the enthusiasm. She's some breeze, she is. +When I left her she was plannin' on two bands and free ice cream for +everyone who came."</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, that's about all I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> to do with it, after the +first push. Miss Casey must have had a busy week, but she don't lay down +once on her reg'lar work nor beg for any time off. All she asks is if +Vee and me couldn't be persuaded to be on hand Wednesday night as guests +of honor.</p> + +<p>"We wouldn't miss it for anything," says I.</p> + +<p>Well, we didn't. I'd heard more or less about these block parties, but +I'd never been to one. Course, I wasn't sure just how Vee would take it +gettin' mixed up in a mob like that, but I was bankin' on her being a +good sport. Besides, she was wild to go and see how Miss Casey had made +out.</p> + +<p>And say, when we swings in off Ninth Avenue and I gets my first glimpse +of what had been done to that scrubby, messy lookin' block, it got a +gasp out of me. First off there was strings of Japanese lanterns with +electric lights in 'em stretched across the street from the front of +every flat buildin' to the one opposite. Also every doorway and window +was draped and decorated with bunting. Then there was all kinds of +flags, from little ten centers to big twenty footers swung across the +street. There was a whackin' big Irish flag loaned by the A. O. H.; two +Italian flags almost as big; I don't know how many French tri-colors and +some I couldn't place; Czecho-Slovaks maybe. And besides the lanterns +and extra arc-lights there was red fire burnin' liberal. Then at either +end<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> of the block was a truck backed up with a band in it and they was +tearin' away at all kinds of tunes from the "Marseillaise" to +"K-k-k-katie," while bumpin' and bobbin' about on the asphalt were +hundreds of couples doing jazz steps and gettin' pelted with confetti.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's almost like the Mardi Gras!" says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Looks festive, all right," says I. "And I should say Miss Casey has put +over the real thing. I wonder if we can find her in this mob."</p> + +<p>Seemed like a hopeless search, but finally, down in the middle of the +block, I spots an old lady in a wheel chair, and I has a hunch it might +be Mrs. Mears. Sure enough, it is. Not much to look at, she ain't; sort +of humped over, with a shawl 'round her shoulders. But say, when you got +a glimpse of the way her old eyes was lighted up, and saw the smile +flickerin' around her lips, you knew that nobody in that whole crowd was +any happier than she was just at that minute.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says she. "Minnie Casey is looking for you two young folks. +She's dancing with Edgar now, but they'll be back soon. Haven't seen my +son Edgar, have you? Well, you must. He—he's a soldier, you know."</p> + +<p>"We should be delighted," says Vee. And then she whispers to me: "Hasn't +she a nice face, though?"</p> + +<p>We hadn't waited long before I sees a tall,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> willowy young thing wearin' +one of them zippy French tams come bearin' down on us wavin' energetic +and towin' along a red-faced young doughboy who looks like he'd been +stuffed into his uniform by a sausage machine. It's Minnie and Stub.</p> + +<p>"Hello, folks!" she sings out. "Say, I was just wonderin' if you was +goin' to renig on me. Fine work! An' I want you to meet one of the most +prominent privates in the division, Mr. Mears. Come on, Stubby, pull +that overseas salute of yours. Ain't he a bear-cat, though? And how +about the show? Ain't it some party?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it's simply wonderful," says Vee. "I had no idea, Miss Casey, that +you were planning anything like this."</p> + +<p>"I didn't," says Minnie. "Only after we got started it kept gettin' +bigger and bigger until there wa'n't a soul on the block but what came +in on it. Know what one of the decorators told me? He says there ain't a +block on the West Side has had anything up to this, from Houston Street +up to the Harlem. That's goin' some, ain't it? You got here just in time +for the big doin's, too. It's comin' off right now. See who's standin' +up in the truck over there? That's one of the Paulist Fathers, who's +goin' to make the speech and bless the flag. There it comes, out of that +third-story window. Wow! Hear 'em cheer."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span></p> + +<p>And as the red-bordered banner with the white field is pulled out where +the searchlight strikes it we can make out the figures formed by blue +stars.</p> + +<p>"What!" says I. "Not 217 from this one block?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says Minnie. "And every one of 'em a Fritzie chaser. 'Most a +whole company. But ther'd been one less if it hadn't been for Stubby, +and everybody knows there's luck in odd numbers. That's why we're so +chesty about him. Eh, Mrs. Mears?"</p> + +<p>Yes, it was some lively affair. After the speech Mme. Toscarelli, draped +in red, white and blue, sang the Star-Spangled Banner in spite of strong +opposition from one of the bands that got the wrong cue and played +"Indianola" all through the piece. And a fat boy rolled out of a +second-story window in the Princess flats, but caromed off on an awnin' +and wasn't hurt. Also a few young hicks started some rough stuff when +the ice-cream freezers were opened, but a squad of Junior Naval League +boys soon put a crimp in that. And when we had to leave, along about +nine-thirty, it was as gay a scene as was ever staged on any West Side +block, bar none. I remarked something of the sort to Mrs. Mears.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says she, her eyes sort of dimmin' up. "And to think that all +this should be done for my Edgar!"</p> + +<p>At which Minnie Casey tips us the private<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> wink. "Why not, I'd like to +know?" says she. "Just look who he is."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course, dear," says Mrs. Mears, smilin' satisfied.</p> + +<p>"Can you beat that for the genuine mother stuff?" whispers Minnie, +givin' us a partin' grin.</p> + +<p>"I do hope," says Vee, as we settles ourselves in a Long Island train +for the ride home, "that Miss Casey gets her Edgar back safe and sound."</p> + +<p>"If she don't," says I, "she's liable to go over and tear what's left of +Germany off the map. Anyway, they'd better not get her started."</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_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2><h3>THE VAMP IN THE WINDOW</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was a case of Vee's being in town on a shoppin' orgie and my being +invited to hunt her up about lunch time.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," she 'phoned, "suppose you meet me about 12:30 at the Maison +Noir. You know, West Fifty-sixth. And if I'm having a dress fitted on +the second floor just wait downstairs for me, will you, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"In among all them young lady models?" says I. "Not a chance. You'll +find me hangin' up outside. And don't make it more'n half an hour behind +schedule, Vee, for this is one of my busy days."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," says she careless.</p> + +<p>So that's how I came to be backed up in the lee of the doorway at 12:45 +when this stranger with the mild blue eyes and the chin dimple eases in +with the friendly hail.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," says he, "but haven't we met somewhere before?"</p> + +<p>Which is where my fatal gift for rememberin' faces and forgettin' names +comes into play. After giving him the quick up and down I had him placed +but not tagged.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not quite," says I. "But we lived in the same apartment buildin' a +couple of years back. Third floor west, wasn't you?"</p> + +<p>"That's it," says he. "And I believe I heard you'd just been married."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we did have a chatty janitor," says I. "You were there with your +mother, from somewhere out on the Coast. We almost got to the noddin' +point when we met in the elevator, didn't we?"</p> + +<p>"If we did," says he, "that was the nearest I came to getting acquainted +with anyone in New York. It's the lonesomest hole I was ever in. +Say——"</p> + +<p>And inside of three minutes he's told me all about it; how he'd brought +Mother on from Seattle to have a heart specialist give her a three +months' treatment that hadn't been any use, and how he'd come East alone +this time to tie up a big spruce lumber contract with the airplane +department. Also he reminds me that he is Crosby Rhodes and writes the +name of the hotel where he's stopping on his card. It's almost like a +reunion with an old college chum.</p> + +<p>"But how do you happen to be sizin' up a show window like this?" says I, +indicatin' the Maison Noir's display of classy gowns. "Got somebody back +home that you might take a few samples to?"</p> + +<p>His big, square-cut face sort of pinks up and his mild blue eyes take on +kind of a guilty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> look as he glances over his shoulder at the window. +"Not a soul," says he. "The fact is, I'm not much of a ladies' man. Been +in the woods too much, I suppose. All the same, though, I've always +thought that if ever I ran across just the right girl——" Here he +scrapes his foot and works up that fussed expression again.</p> + +<p>"I see," says I, grinnin'. "You have the plans and specifications all +framed up and think you'd know her on sight, eh?"</p> + +<p>Crosby nods and smiles sheepish. "It's gone further than that," says he. +"I—I've seen her."</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "Where?"</p> + +<p>He looks around cautious and then whispers confidential. "In that show +window."</p> + +<p>"Eh" says I, gawpin'. "Oh! You mean you got the idea from one of the +dummies? Well, that's playin' it safe even if it is a little unique."</p> + +<p>Crosby seems to hesitate a minute, as if debatin' whether to let it ride +at that or not, and then he goes on:</p> + +<p>"Say," he asks, "do—do they ever put live ones in there?"</p> + +<p>"Never heard of it's being done," says I. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because," says he, "there's one in this window right now."</p> + +<p>"You don't say?" says I. "Are you sure?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span></p> + +<p>"Step around front and I'll point her out," says he. "Now, right over in +that far—Why—why, say! She's gone!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, come!" says I. "You've been seein' things, ain't you? Or maybe it +was only one of the salesladies in rearrangin' the display."</p> + +<p>"No, no," says Crosby emphatic. "I tell you I had been watching her for +several minutes before I saw you, and she never moved except for a +flutter of the eyelids. She was standing back to, facing that mirror, so +I could see her face quite plainly. More than that, she could see me. Of +course, I wasn't quite sure, with all those others around. That's why I +spoke to you. I wanted to see what you'd say about her. And now she's +disappeared."</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "Most likely, too, she was hauled head first through +that door in the back and if you stick around long enough maybe you'll +see her shoved in again, with a different dress on. Say, Mr. Rhodes, no +wonder you're skirt-shy if you never looked 'em over close enough not to +know the dummies from the live ones. Believe me, there's a lot of +difference."</p> + +<p>But the josh don't seem to get him at all. He's still gawpin' puzzled +through the plate glass. Finally he goes on: "If this was the first +time, I might think you were right. But it isn't. I—I've seen her +before; several times, in fact."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span></p> + +<p>"As bad as that, eh?" says I. "Then if I was you I'd look up a doctor."</p> + +<p>"Now listen," says he. "I don't want you to think I'm foolish in the +head. I'm giving you this straight. Only you haven't heard it all yet. +You see, I've been walking past here nearly every day since I've been in +town—almost three weeks—and at about this time, between twelve-thirty +and one, getting up a luncheon appetite. And about ten days ago I got a +glimpse of this face in the mirror. Somehow I was sure it was a face I'd +seen before, a face I'd been kind of day dreaming about for a year or +more. Yes, I know that may sound kind of batty, but it's a fact. Out in +the big woods you have time for such things. Anyway, when I saw that +reflection it seemed very familiar to me. So the next day I stopped and +took a good look. She was there. And I was certain she was no dummy. I +could see her breathe. She was watching me in the glass, too. It's been +the same every time I've been past."</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "what then?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says he, "whether it's someone I've known or not, I want to find +out who she is and how I can meet her for—for—Well, she's the girl."</p> + +<p>"Gee!" says I, "you're a reg'lar Mr. Zipp-Zipp when it comes to romantic +notions, ain't you?" And I looks him over curious. As I've always held, +though, that's what you can expect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> from these boys with chin dimples. +It's the Romeo trade-mark, all right, and Crosby had a deep one. "But +see here," I goes on, "suppose it should turn out that you're wrong; +that this shop window siren of yours was only one of the kind with a +composition head, a figure that they blow up with a bicycle pump, and +wooden feet? Where does that leave you?"</p> + +<p>He shrugs his shoulders. "I wish you could have seen her," says he.</p> + +<p>"What sort of a looker?" I asks. "Blonde or brunette?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," says he. "She has a wonderful complexion—like old +ivory. Her hair is wonderful, too, sort of a pale gold. But her eyebrows +are quite dark, and her eyes—Ah, they're the kind you couldn't +forget—sort of a deep violet, I think; maybe you'd call 'em plum +colored."</p> + +<p>"Listens too fancy to be true," says I. "But they do get 'em up that way +for the trade."</p> + +<p>There's no jarrin' Crosby loose from his idea, though, and he's just +proposin' that I meet him there at twelve-thirty next day when Vee +drifts out and I has to break away. "I'll let you know if I can," says I +as I walks off.</p> + +<p>Course, Vee wants to know who my friend is and all about it, and when +I've sketched out the plot of the piece she's quite thrilled. "How +interesting!" says she. "I do hope he finds out it's a real girl Some of +those models are simply<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> stunning, you know. And there is such a thing +as a face haunting you. Oh, by the way! Do you remember the Stribbles?"</p> + +<p>"Should I?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"The janitor's family in that apartment building where we used to live," +explains Vee.</p> + +<p>"Stribble?" says I. "Oh, yes, the poddy old party who did all the hard +sitting around while his wife did the work. What reminded you of them?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," says Vee. "But a month or so ago I saw the name +printed in an army list of returned casualty cases—there was a boy, you +know, and a girl—and I thought then that we ought to look them up and +find out. Then I forgot all about it until just a few moments ago. Let's +go there, Torchy, before we go out home tonight?"</p> + +<p>I must say I couldn't get very much excited over the Stribbles, but on +the chance that Vee would forget again I promised, and let her tow me +into one of those cute little tea rooms where we had a perfectly punk +lunch at a dollar ten per each. But even after a three hour session +among the white goods sales Vee still remembered the Stribbles, so about +five o'clock we finds ourselves divin' into a basement that's none too +clean and are being received by a tall, skinny female with a tously mop +of sandy hair bobbed up on her head.</p> + +<p>It seems Ma Stribble was still shovelin' most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> of the ashes and +scrubbin' the halls as well; while Pa Stribble, fatter than ever and in +the same greasy old togs, continues to camp in a rickety arm chair by +the front window, with a pail of suds at his right elbow. Yes, the one +mentioned in the casualty list was their Jimmy. Only he hadn't come back +a trench hero, exactly. He'd collected his blighty ticket without being +at the front at all—by gettin' mixed up with a steel girder in some +construction work. A mashed foot was the total damage, and he was having +a real good time at the base hospital; would be as good as new in a week +or so.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that fortunate?" says Vee. "And your daughter, where is she?"</p> + +<p>"Mame?" says Ma Stribble, scowlin' up quick. "Gawd knows where she is. I +don't."</p> + +<p>"Why, what do you mean?" asks Vee. "She—she hasn't left home, has she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she sleeps here," goes on Ma Stribble, "and comes home for some of +her meals, but the rest of the time——" Here she hunches her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" grunts Pa Stribble. "If you could see the way she togs herself +out—like some chorus girl. I don't know where she gets all them flossy +things and she won't tell. Paint on her face, too. It's bringin' shame +on us, I tell her."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Stribble sighs heavy. "And we was tryin' to bring her up decent," +says she. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> got her a job, waitin' in a lunch room up on' the Circle. +But she was too good for that. Oh, my, yes! Chucked it after the first +week. And then she began bloomin' out in fine feathers. Won't say where +she gets 'em, either. And her always throwin' up to her father about not +workin', when he's got the rheumatism so bad he can hardly walk at +times! Gettin' to be too much of a lady to live in a basement, she is. +Humph!"</p> + +<p>It looked like Vee had started something, for the Stribbles were +knockin' Mame something fierce, when all of a sudden they quits and we +hears the street door open. A minute later and in walks a tall, willowy +young party wearin' a near-leopard throw-scarf, one of these snappy +French tams, and a neat black suit that fits her like it had been run on +hot.</p> + +<p>If it hadn't been for the odd shade of hair and the eyes I wouldn't have +remembered her at all for the stringy, sloppy dressed flapper I used to +see going in and out with the growler or helping with the sweepin'. Mame +Stribble had bloomed out, for a fact. Also she'd learned how to use a +lip-stick and an eyebrow pencil. I couldn't say whether she'd touched up +her complexion or not. If she had it was an artistic job—just a faint +rose-leaf tint under the eyes. And I had to admit that the whole effect +was some stunnin'. Course, she's more or less surprised to see all the +comp'ny, but Vee soon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> explains how we've come to hear about Brother Jim +and she shakes hands real friendly.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you are working somewhere?" suggests Vee.</p> + +<p>Mame nods.</p> + +<p>"Where?" asks Vee, going to the point, as usual.</p> + +<p>Miss Stribble glances accusin' at paw and maw. "Oh, they've been +roastin' me, have they?" she demands. "Well, I can't help it. What they +want to know is how much I'm gettin' so I'll have to give up more. But +it don't work. See! I pay my board—good board, at that—and I'm not +goin' to have paw snoopin' around my place tryin' to queer me. Let him +get out and rustle for himself."</p> + +<p>With that Mame sheds the throw-scarf and tosses her velvet tam on the +table.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry," says Vee. "I didn't mean to interfere at all. And I've +no doubt you have a perfectly good situation."</p> + +<p>"It's good enough," says Mame, "until I strike something better."</p> + +<p>"What a cunning little hat!" says Vee, pickin' up the tam. "Such a lot +of style to it, too."</p> + +<p>"Think so?" says Mame. "Well, I built it myself."</p> + +<p>"Really!" says Vee. "Why, you must be very clever. I wish I could do +things like that."</p> + +<p>Trust Vee for smoothin' down rumpled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> feathers when she wants to. Inside +of two minutes she had Mame smilin' grateful and holdin' her hand as she +says good-by.</p> + +<p>"Poor girl!" says Vee, as we gets to the street. "I don't blame her for +being dissatisfied with such a father as that. And it's just awful the +way they talk about her. I'm going to see if I can't do something for +her at the shop."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "She didn't tell you where she was working."</p> + +<p>"She didn't need to," says Vee. "The name was in the hat lining—the +Maison Noir."</p> + +<p>"Say, you're some grand little sleuth yourself, ain't you?" says I.</p> + +<p>"And that explains," Vee goes on, "why I happened to remember the +Stribbles today. I must have seen her there. Yes, I'm sure I did—that +pale gold hair and the old ivory complexion are too rare to——"</p> + +<p>"Why!" I breaks in, "that's the description Crosby Rhodes gave me of +this show window charmer of his."</p> + +<p>"Was it?" says Vee. "Then perhaps——"</p> + +<p>"But what could she have been doing, posin' in the window?" I asks. +"That's what gets me."</p> + +<p>It got Vee, too. "Anyway," says she, "you must meet that Mr. Rhodes +tomorrow and tell him what you've discovered. He's rather a nice chap, +isn't he?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, he's all right, I guess," says I. "A bit soft above the ears, +maybe, but out in the tall timber I expect he passes for a solid +citizen. I don't just see how I'm going to help him out much, though."</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you," says Vee. "In the morning I will 'phone to Madame +Maurice that I want you to see the frock I've picked out, and you can +take Mr. Rhodes in with you."</p> + +<p>So that's the way we worked it. I calls up Crosby, makes the date, and +we meets on the corner at twelve-thirty. He's more or less excited.</p> + +<p>"Then you think you know who she is?" he asks.</p> + +<p>"If you're a good describer," says I, "there's a chance that I do. But +listen: suppose she's kind of out of your class—a girl who's been +brought up in a basement, say, with a janitor for a father?"</p> + +<p>"What do I care who her father is?" says Crosby. "I was brought up in a +lumber camp myself. All I ask is a chance to meet her."</p> + +<p>"You sure know what you want," says I. "Come on."</p> + +<p>"See!" he whispers as we get to the Maison Noir's show window. "She's +there!"</p> + +<p>And sure enough, standin' back to, over in the corner facin' the mirror, +is this classy figure in the zippy street dress, with Mame Stribble's +hair and eyes. She's doin' the dummy act well,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> too. I couldn't see +either breath or eye flutter.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "It's by me. Let's go in and interview Madame Maurice."</p> + +<p>We had to waste four or five minutes while I inspects the dress Vee has +bought, and I sure felt foolish standin' there watchin' this young lady +model glide back and forth.</p> + +<p>"I trust Monsieur approves?" asks Madame Maurice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure!" says I. "Quite spiffy. But say, I noticed one in the window +that sort of took my eye—that street dress, in the corner."</p> + +<p>"Street dress?" says the Madame, lookin' puzzled. "Is M'sieur certain?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe I'd better point it out."</p> + +<p>But by the time I'd towed her to the front door there was nothing of the +kind in sight.</p> + +<p>"As I thought," says Madame. "A slight mistake."</p> + +<p>"Looks so, don't it?" says I, as we trails back in. "But you have a Miss +Mamie Stribble working here, haven't you; a young lady with kind of +goldy hair, dark eyebrows and a sort of old ivory complexion?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says the Madame. "Perhaps you mean Marie St. Ribble?"</p> + +<p>"That's near enough," says I. "Could I have a few words with her?"</p> + +<p>"But yes," says Madame Maurice. "It is her hour for luncheon. I will +see." With that she calls up an assistant, shoos me into a back parlor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> +and asks me to wait a moment, leavin' Crosby out front with his mouth +open.</p> + +<p>And two minutes later in breezes the Madame leadin' Mame Stribble by the +arm. The lady boss seems somewhat peeved, too. "Tell me," she demands, +"is this the street dress which you observed in the window?"</p> + +<p>"That's the very one," says I.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" says she. "Then perhaps Marie will explain to me later. For the +present, M'sieur, I leave you."</p> + +<p>"Sorry if I've put you in bad, Miss Stribble," says I, as the Madame +sweeps out.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's all right," says Mame, tossin' her chin. "She'll get over +it. And, anyway, I was takin' a chance."</p> + +<p>"So I noticed," says I. "What was the big idea, though?"</p> + +<p>"Just sizin' up the people who pass by," says Mame. "It's grand sport +havin' 'em stretch their necks at you and thinkin' you're just a dummy. +I got onto it one day while I was changin' a model. Course, it cuts into +my lunch time, and I have to sneak a dress out of stock, but it's kind +of fun."</p> + +<p>"'Specially when you've got one particular young gent coming to watch +regular, eh?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>That seems to give her sort of a jolt and for a second she stares at me, +bitin' her upper lip. "Who do you mean, now?" she asks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span></p> + +<p>"He has a chin dimple and his name's Crosby Rhodes," says I. "You've put +the spell on him for fair, too. He's out front, waiting to meet you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, is he?" says Mame, lettin' on not to care. "And yet when he was +livin' in one of our apartments he passed me every day without seein' me +at all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho!" says I. "You took notice of him, though, did you?"</p> + +<p>Miss Stribble pinks up at that. "Yes, I did," says she. "He struck me as +a reg'lar feller, one of the kind you could tie to. And when he'd almost +step over me without noticin'—well, I'll admit that sort of hurt. I +expect that's why I made up my mind to shake the mop and pail outfit and +break in some place where I could pick up a few tricks. After a few +stabs I landed here at the Maison. I remember I had on a saggy skirt and +a shirtwaist that must have looked like it had been improvised out of a +coffee sack. It's a wonder they let me past the door. But they did. For +the first six weeks, though, they kept me in the work rooms. Then I got +one of the girls to help me evenings on a black taffeta; I saved up +enough for two pairs of silk stockin's, blew myself to some pumps with +four inch heels, and begun carryin' a vanity box. It worked. Next thing +I knew they had me down on the main floor carryin' stock to the models +and now and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> then displayin' misses' styles to customers. I had a hunch +I was gettin' easier to look at, but you never can tell by the way women +size you up. All they see is the dress. And in the window there I had a +chance to see whether I was registerin' with the men. That's the whole +tragic tale."</p> + +<p>"Leaving out Crosby Rhodes."</p> + +<p>"That's so," admits Mame. "And it was some satisfaction, bringin' him to +life."</p> + +<p>"You've done more'n that," says I. "He's one of these guys that wants +what he wants, and goes after it strong. Just now it seems to be you."</p> + +<p>"How inter-estin'!" says Mame. "Tell me, what's his line?"</p> + +<p>"Airplane timber," says I. "He's from out on the Coast."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says she. "From one of these little +straight-through-on-Main-street burgs, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Headquarters in Seattle, I understand," says I. "That's hardly on the +Tom show circuit."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I guess I've heard of the place," says Mame. "But what's his +proposition!"</p> + +<p>"First off," says I, "Crosby wants to get acquainted. If he has any +hymen stuff up his sleeve, I expect you'd better hear that from him +personally. The question now is, do you want to meet him?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I dunno," says Mame careless. "I guess I'll take a chance."</p> + +<p>"Then forget that vanishing act of yours," says I, "and I'll run him +in."</p> + +<p>And, honest, as I slips out of the Maison Noir and beats it for my +lunch, I felt like I'd done a day's work. What it would come to was by +me. They was off my hands, anyway.</p> + +<p>That couldn't have been over a week ago. And here only yesterday Crosby +comes crashin' into the Corrugated general offices, pounds me +enthusiastic on the back, and announces that I'm the best friend he's +got in the world.</p> + +<p>"Meanin', I expect," says I, "that Miss Stribble and you have been +gettin' on?"</p> + +<p>"Old man," says Crosby, his mild blue eyes sparklin', "she's a wonderful +girl—wonderful! And within a week she's going to be Mrs. Crosby Rhodes. +We start for home just as soon as the Maison Noir can turn out her +trousseau; which is going to be some outfit, take it from me."</p> + +<p>I hope I said something appropriate. If I didn't I expect Crosby was too +excited to notice. Also that night I carried home the bulletin to Vee.</p> + +<p>"There!" says Vee. "I just knew, the moment I saw her, that she wasn't +at all as that horrid old man tried to make us believe."</p> + +<p>"No," says I, "Mame's vamping was just practice stuff. A lot of it is +like that, I expect."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span></p> + +<p>"But wasn't it odd," goes on Vee, "about her meeting the very man she'd +liked from the first?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not so very," says I. "With that show window act she had the net +spread kind of wide. The only chance Crosby had of escape was by staying +out of New York, and nobody does that for very long at a time."</p> + +<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_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2><h3>TURKEYS ON THE SIDE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Say, I hope this Mr. Hoover of ours gets through trying to feed the +world before another fall. It's a cute little idea all right and ought +to get us in strong with a whole lot of people, but if he don't quit I +know of one party whose reputation as a gentleman farmer is going to be +wrecked beyond repair. And that's me.</p> + +<p>I don't know whether it was Vee's auntie that started me out reckless on +this food producin' career, or old Leon Battou, or Mr. G. Basil Pyne. +Maybe they all helped, in their own peculiar way. Auntie's method, of +course, is by throwin' out the scornful sniff. It was while she was +payin' us a month's visit one week way last summer, out at our four-acre +estate on Long Island, that she pulls this sarcastic stuff. Havin' +inspected the baby critical without findin' anything special to kick +about, she suggests that she'd like to look over the grounds.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Torchy," chimes in Vee, "do show Auntie your garden."</p> + +<p>Maybe you don't get that "your garden."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> It's only Vee's way of playin' +me as a useful and industrious citizen. Course, I did buy the seeds and +all the shiny hoes and rakes and things, and I studied up the catalogues +until I could tell the carrots from the cucumbers; but I must admit that +beyond givin' the different beds the once-over every now and then, and +pullin' up a few tomato plants that I thought was weeds, I didn't do +much more than underwrite the enterprise.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, it was mostly Leon Battou, the old Frenchy who does +our cookin', that really ran the garden. Say, that old boy would have +something green growin' if he lived in the subway and had to bring down +his real estate in paper bags. It was partly on his account, you know, +that we left our studio apartment and moved out in the forty-five +minutes commutin' zone. Then, too, there was Joe Cirollo, who comes in +by the day to cut the grass and keep the flower beds slicked up, and do +the heavy spadin'. And with Vee keepin' books on what was spent and what +we got you can guess I wasn't overworked. Also it's a cinch that garden +plot just had to hump itself and make good.</p> + +<p>Auntie ain't wise to all this, though. So she raises her eyebrows and +remarks: "A garden? Really! I should like to see it. A few radishes and +spindly lettuce, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Say, come have a look!" says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span></p> + +<p>And when I'd pointed out the half acre of potatoes, and the long rows of +corn and string beans and peas—and I hope I called 'em all by their +right names—I sure had the old girl hedgin' some. But trust her!</p> + +<p>"With so much land, though," she goes on, "it seems to me you ought to +be raising your eggs and chickens as well."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we've planned for all that," says I, "ducks and hens and geese and +turkeys; maybe pheasants and quail."</p> + +<p>"Quail!" says Auntie. "Why, I didn't know one could raise quail. I +thought they——"</p> + +<p>"When I get started raisin' things," says I, "I'm apt to go the limit."</p> + +<p>"I shall be interested to see what success you have," says she.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "Drop around again—next fall."</p> + +<p>You wouldn't have thought she'd been disagreeable enough to go and +rehearse all this innocent little bluff of mine to Vee, would you? But +she does, it seems. And of course Vee has to back me up.</p> + +<p>"But, Torchy!" she protests, after Auntie's gone. "How could you tell +her such whoppers?"</p> + +<p>"Easiest thing I do," says I. "But who knows what we'll do next in the +nourishment producin' line? Hasn't old Leon been beggin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span> to go into the +duck and chicken business for months? With eggs near a dollar a dozen +maybe it would be a good scheme. And if we go in for poultry, why not +have all kinds, turkeys as well?"</p> + +<p>So a few days later I put it up to him. Leon shakes his head. "The +chickens and the ducks, yes; but the turkey——" Here he shrugs his +shoulders desperate. "Je ne connais pas."</p> + +<p>"You jennie what?" says I. "Ah, come, Leon, don't be a quitter."</p> + +<p>He explains that the ways of our national bird are a complete mystery to +him. He'd as soon think of tryin' to hatch out ostriches or canaries. So +for the time being we pass up the turkeys and splurge heavy on cacklers +and quackers. Between him and Joe they fixed up part of the old carriage +shed as a poultry barracks and with a mile or so of nettin' they fenced +off a run down to the little pond. And by the middle of August we had +all sorts of music to wake us up for an early breakfast. I nearly +laughed a rib loose watchin' them baby ducks waddle around solemn, every +one with that cut-up look in his eye. Say, they're born comedians, ducks +are. I'll bet if you could translate that quack-quack patter of theirs +you'd get lines that would be a reg'lar scream on the big time circuit.</p> + +<p>And then along in the fall we begun gettin' acquainted with our new +neighbors that had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> taken that cute little stucco cottage halfway down +to the station from us. The Basil Pynes, a young English couple, we +found out they were. Course, Vee started it by callin' and followin' +that up by a donation of some of our garden truck. Pretty soon we were +swappin' visits reg'lar.</p> + +<p>I can't say I was crazy over 'em. She's a little mouse of a woman, big +eyed and quiet, but Vee seems to like her. Pyne, he's a tall, slim gink +with stooped shoulders and so short sighted that he has to wear extra +thick eyeglasses. He'd come over to work for some book publishin' house +but it seems he wrote things himself. He'd landed one book and was +pluggin' away on another; not a novel, I understands, but something +different.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I to Vee. "No wonder he had to go into the lit'ry game, with +that monicker hung on him. Basil Pyne! The worst of it is, he looks it, +too."</p> + +<p>"Now, Torchy!" protests Vee. "I'm sure you'll find him real interesting +when you know him better."</p> + +<p>As usual, she's right. Anyway, it turns out that Basil has his good +points. For one thing he's the most entertaining listener I ever talked +to. Maybe you know the kind. Never has anything to say about himself but +whatever you start, that's what he wants to know about. And from the +friendly look in the mild gray eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> behind the thick panes, and the +earnest way he has of stretchin' his ear you'd think that what you was +tellin' him was the very thing he'd been livin' all these years to hear. +Then he has that trick of throwin' in "My word!" and "Just fancy that!" +sort of admirin' and enthusiastic, until you almost believe that you're +a lot cleverer and smarter than you'd suspected.</p> + +<p>So when I gets on the subject of how we ducked payin' war prices for +vegetables to the local profiteers by raisin' our own he wants to know +all about it. With the help of Vee's set of books and a little promptin' +from her I gives him an earful. I even tows him down cellar and points +out the various bins and barrels full of stuff we've got stowed away for +winter. And next I has to drag him out and exhibit the poultry side +line.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!" exclaims Basil. "Isn't that perfectly rippin'! You have +fresh eggs right along?"</p> + +<p>"All we can use," says I. "And we're eatin' the he—hens whenever we +want 'em. Ducks, too."</p> + +<p>"How clever!" says Basil. "But you Americans are always so good at +whatever you take up. And you such a hard drivin' business man, too! I +don't see how you manage it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it comes easy enough once you get the hang of it," says I. "As a +matter of fact, I'm only just startin' in. Next thing I mean to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> have is +a lot of turkeys. Might as well live high."</p> + +<p>"Turkeys!" says Basil. "And I've heard they were so difficult to raise. +But I've no doubt you will make a huge success with them."</p> + +<p>"Guess I'll just have to show you," says I, waggin' my head.</p> + +<p>I was for gettin' some turkey eggs right away and rushin' along a flock +so they'd be ready by Christmas, but both Vee and Leon insists that it +can't be done. Seems it's too late in the season or something. They want +to wait until next spring.</p> + +<p>"Not me," says I. "I've promised your Auntie I'd raise turkeys and I +gotta deliver the goods. If we can't start 'em from the seed what's the +matter with gettin' some sprouts? Ain't anybody got any young turkeys +that need bringin' up scientific?"</p> + +<p>Well, I set Joe Cirollo to scoutin' around and inside of a week he has +connected with half a dozen. They comes in a crate as big as a piano box +and we turns 'em loose in the chicken yard. When I paid the bill I was +sure Joe had been stuck about two prices, but after I've discovered what +they're askin' for turkeys in the city markets I has to take it back.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," says I, "if we can fatten 'em up maybe we'll come out +winners, after all."</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says Joe. "We maka dem biga fat."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span></p> + +<p>After I'd bought a few bags of feed though, I quit figurin'. I knew that +no matter how they was cooked they'd taste of money. All I was doubtful +of now was whether they was the right breed of turkeys.</p> + +<p>"What's all that red flannel stuff on their necks?" I asks Joe. "Ain't +got sore throats, have they!"</p> + +<p>"Heem?" says Joe. "No, no. Dey gooda turk. All time data way."</p> + +<p>"All right," says I, "if it's the fashion. I don't eat the neck, +anyway."</p> + +<p>I couldn't get Leon at all excited over my gobblers, though. All he'll +do is shake his head dubious. "They walk with such pride and still they +behave so foolish," says he.</p> + +<p>"It ain't their manners I'm fond of," says I, "so much as it is their +white meat. Even at that, when it comes to foolish notions, they've got +nothing on your ducks."</p> + +<p>"Mais non," says Leon, meaning nothing sensible, "you do not understand +the duck perhaps. Me, I raised them as a boy in Perronne. But the +turkey! Pouff! He is what you call silly in the head. One cannot say +what they will do next. Anything may happen to such birds."</p> + +<p>He makes such a fuss over the way they hog the grain at feedin' time +that I have to have a separate run built for 'em. You'd almost think he +was jealous. But Joe, on the other hand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> treats 'em like pets. I don't +know how many times a day he feeds 'em, and he's always luggin' one up +to me to show how heavy they're gettin'. I was waitin' until they got +into top notch condition before springin' 'em on Basil Pyne. I meant to +get a gasp out of him when I did.</p> + +<p>Finally I set a day for the private view and asked the Pynes to come +over special. Basil, he's all prepared to be thrilled as I tows him out. +"But you don't mean to say this is your first venture at turkey +raising?" he demands.</p> + +<p>"Ab-so-lutely," says I.</p> + +<p>"Strordinary!" says Basil.</p> + +<p>At the end of the turkey run though I finds Joe starin' through the wire +with a panicky look on his face. "Well, Joe," says I, "anything wrong +with the flock?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno," says he. "Maybe da go bughouse, maybe da got jag on. See!"</p> + +<p>Blamed if it don't look like he'd made two close guesses. Honest, every +one of them gobblers was staggerin' 'round, bumpin' against each other +and runnin' into the fence, with their tails spread and their long necks +wavin' absurd. A 3 a.m. bunch of New Year's Eve booze punishers +couldn't have given a more scandalous exhibition.</p> + +<p>"My word!" says Basil.</p> + +<p>Course, it's up to me to produce an explanation. Which I does prompt. +"Oh, that's nothing!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> says I. "They're just tryin' the duck waddle, +imitatin' their neighbors in the next run. Turkeys always do that sooner +or later if you have ducks near 'em. They keep at it until they're +dizzy."</p> + +<p>"Really, now?" says Basil. "I never heard that before."</p> + +<p>"Not many people have," says I. "But they'll get over it in an hour or +so. Look in tomorrow and you'll see."</p> + +<p>Basil says he will. And after he's gone I opens the court martial.</p> + +<p>"Joe," I demands, "what you been feedin' them turks?"</p> + +<p>It took five minutes of cross examination before I got him to remember +that just before breakfast he'd sneaked out and swiped a pail of stuff +that he thought Leon was savin' for his ducks. And what do you guess? +Well, him and Leon had gone into the home-made wine business last fall, +utilizin' all them grapes we grew out in the back lot, and only the day +before they'd gone through the process of rackin' it from one barrel +into another. It was the stuff that was left in the bottom that Joe had +swiped for his pets.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "And now you've not only disgraced those turkeys for life +but you've made me hand Mr. Pyne some raw nature-fakin' stuff that +nobody but a fool author would swallow."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span></p> + +<p>"I mucha sorry," says Joe, hangin' his head.</p> + +<p>"All right," says I. "I expect you meant well. But it was a bum hunch. +Now see they have plenty of water to drink and by mornin' maybe they'll +sober up."</p> + +<p>I meant to keep an eye on 'em myself for the rest of the day, but right +after luncheon Auntie blows in again, to pay a farewell visit before +startin' South, and the turkeys slipped my mind. Not until she asks how +I'm gettin' on with my flock of quail did I remember.</p> + +<p>"Oh, quail!" says I. "No, I had to ditch that. Couldn't get the right +sort of eggs."</p> + +<p>Auntie smiles sarcastic. "What a pity!" says she. "But the various kinds +of poultry you were going in for? Did you——"</p> + +<p>"Did I?" says I. "Say, you just come out and—— Well, Leon, anything +you want special?"</p> + +<p>"Pardon, m'sieu," says old Leon, scrapin' his foot, "but—but the +turkeys."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," says I. "They're doing that new trot Joe's been teaching +'em."</p> + +<p>"But no, m'sieu," says Leon. "They have become deceased—utterly."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-a-at?" says I. "Oh, oh, I guess it ain't as bad as that."</p> + +<p>"Pardon," says Leon, "but I discover them steef, les pieds dans le ciel. +Thus!" And he illustrates by holdin' both hands above his head.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it would be best to investigate,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> suggests Auntie. "I have no +doubt Leon is right. Turkeys require expert care and handling, and when +you were so sure of raising them I quite expected something like this."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know you did," says I. "Anyway, let's take a look."</p> + +<p>And there they were, all six of 'em, with their feet in the air, and as +stiff as if they'd just come from cold storage.</p> + +<p>"Like somebody had thrown in a gas attack on 'em," says I. "Good night, +turks! You sure did make it unanimous, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>I expect my smile was kind of a sickly performance, for the last person +I'd have wanted to be in on the obsequies was Auntie. I will say, +though, that she don't try to rub it in. No, she tells of similar cases +she's known of when she was a girl, about whole flocks bein' poisoned by +something they'd found to eat.</p> + +<p>"The only thing to do now," says she, "is to save the feathers."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"The long tail and wing feathers can be used for making fans and +trimming hats," says Auntie, "while the smaller ones are excellent for +stuffing pillows. They must be picked at once."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm satisfied to call 'em a total loss," says I.</p> + +<p>Auntie wouldn't have it, though. She sends Leon for a big apron and a +couple of baskets<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> and has me round up Joe to help. When I left they +were all three busy and the turkey feathers were coming off fast. All +there was left for me to do was to go in and break the sad news to Vee.</p> + +<p>"As a turkey raiser, I'm a flivver," says I.</p> + +<p>"But I can't see that it's your fault at all," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Can't you?" says I. "Ask Auntie."</p> + +<p>If the next day hadn't been Sunday, I could have sneaked off to town and +dodged the little talk Auntie insists on givin' about the folly of +amateurs tacklin' jobs they know nothing about. As it is I has to stick +around and take the gaff. Then about ten o'clock Basil Pyne has to show +up and reopen the subject.</p> + +<p>"Oh, by the way," says he, "how are the turkeys this morning? Are they +still practicing that wonderful duck walk you were telling me about?"</p> + +<p>Auntie has just fixed an accusin' eye on me, and I was wonderin' if it +would be any sin to take Basil out back somewhere and choke him, when in +rushes old Leon with a wild look on his face. He's so excited that he's +almost speechless and all he can get out is a throaty gurgle.</p> + +<p>"For the love of soup, let's have it," says I. "What's gone wrong now?"</p> + +<p>"O-o-o la la!" says Leon. "O-o-o la la!"</p> + +<p>"That's right, sing it if you can't say it," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span></p> + +<p>"Parbleu! Nom de Dieu! Les dindons!" he gasps.</p> + +<p>"Ah, can the ding-dong stuff, Leon," says I, "and let's hear the English +of it."</p> + +<p>"The—the turkeys!" he pants out.</p> + +<p>And that did get a groan out of me. "Once more!" says I. "Say, have a +heart! Can't anybody think of a more cheerful line? Turkeys! Well, shoot +it. They're still dead, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"But no," says Leon. "They—they have return to life."</p> + +<p>"Oh come, Leon!" says I. "You must have been sampling some of them wine +dregs yourself. Do you mean to say——"</p> + +<p>"If M'sieu would but go and observe," puts in Leon. "Me, I have seen +them with my eye. Truly they are as in life."</p> + +<p>"Why, after we picked them last night I saw you throw them over the +fence," says I.</p> + +<p>"Even so," says Leon. "But come."</p> + +<p>Well, this time we had a full committee—Vee, Auntie, Basil, Madame +Battou, old Leon and myself—and we all trails out to the back lot. And +say, once again Leon is right. There they are, all huddled together on +the lowest branch of a bent-over apple tree and every last one of 'em as +shy of feathers as the back of your hand. It's the most indecent poultry +exhibit I ever saw.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span></p> + +<p>"My word!" says Basil, starin' through his thick glasses.</p> + +<p>"That don't half express it, Basil," says I.</p> + +<p>"But—but what happened to them?" he insists.</p> + +<p>"I hate to admit it," says I, "but they had a party yesterday. Uh-huh. +Wine dregs. And they got soused to the limit—paralyzed. Then, on the +advice of a turkey expert"—here I glances at Auntie—"we decided that +they were dead, and we picked 'em to conserve their feathers. Swell +idea, eh? Just a little mistake about their being utterly deceased, as +Leon put it. They were down, but not out. Look at the poor things now, +though."</p> + +<p>And then Vee has to snicker. "Aren't they just too absurd!" says she. +"See them shiver."</p> + +<p>"I should think they'd be blushin'," says I. "What's the next move?" I +asks Auntie. "Do I put in steam heat for 'em?"</p> + +<p>It takes Auntie a few minutes to recover, but when she does she's right +there with the bright little scheme. "We must make jackets for them," +says she.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," she goes on. "They'll freeze if we don't. And it's +perfectly practical. Of course, I've never seen it done, but I'm sure +they'll get along just as well if their feathers were replaced by +something that will keep them warm."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span></p> + +<p>"Couldn't get the Red Cross ladies to knit sweaters for 'em, could we?" +I suggests.</p> + +<p>Auntie pays no attention to this, but asks Vee if she hasn't some old +flannel shirts, or something of the kind.</p> + +<p>Well, while they're plannin' out the new winter styles of turkey +costumes, Joe and Leon rigs up a wood stove in their coop, shoos the +flock in, and proceeds to warm 'em up. They took turns that night +keeping the fire going, I understand.</p> + +<p>And when I comes home Monday afternoon from the office I ain't even +allowed to say howdy to the youngster until I've been dragged out and +introduced triumphant to the only flock of custom-tailored turkeys in +the country. Auntie and Vee and Madame Battou sure had done a neat job +of costumin', considerin' the fact that they'd had no paper patterns to +go by. But somehow they'd doped out a one-piece union suit cut high in +the neck with sort of a knickerbocker effect to the lower end. Mostly +they seemed to have used an old near-silk quilted bathrobe of mine, but +I also recognized a khaki army shirt that I had no notion of throwin' in +the discard yet awhile. And if you'll believe it them gobblers was +struttin' around as chesty as if they hadn't lost a feather.</p> + +<p>"Aren't they just too cute for anything?" demands Vee.</p> + +<p>"Worse than that," says I, "they look almost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> as human as so many +floor-walkers. I hope they ain't going to be hard on clothes, for my +wardrobe wouldn't stand many such raids."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't worry about that," says Vee. "We shall be eating one every +week or so."</p> + +<p>"Then don't let me know when the executions take place," says I. "As for +me, I shouldn't feel like tellin' Joe to kill one without an order from +the High Sheriff of the county."</p> + +<p>And say, if I'm ever buffaloed into buyin' any more live turkeys, I'm +going to demand a written guarantee that they're Prohibitionists.</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_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2><h3>ERNIE AND HIS BIG NIGHT</h3> +</div> + +<p>I'm kind of glad I was with Ernie when he had his big night. If I hadn't +been I never would have believed it of him. Not if he'd produced +affidavits. No! It would have been too much of a strain on the +imagination.</p> + +<p>For somehow it's hard to connect Ernie with anything like that, even +when I've seen what I have. You could almost tell that, just by his +name—Ernest Sudders. And when I add that he's assistant auditor in the +Corrugated offices you ought to have the picture complete. You know what +assistant auditors are like.</p> + +<p>Ernie ran true to type. And then some. I expect there was one or two +other things he might have been; such as manager of a gift shop, or +window dresser for the misses' department, or music teacher in a girls' +boarding school. But I doubt if he'd ever been such a success as he was +at the high desk. Seemed like he was born to be an assistant auditor. He +was holding the job when I first came to the Corrugated as sub office +boy; he still has it, and I can think of only one party that could pry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> +him loose from it—the old boy with the long scythe.</p> + +<p>For one thing, Ernie gives all his time to being assistant auditor. Not +just office hours. I'll bet he's one even in his sleep. He looks the +part, dresses the part, thinks the part. He don't work at it, he lives +it. Talk about this four dimension stuff. Ernie gets along with two—up +the column from the bottom, and both ways from the decimal point.</p> + +<p>Not such a bad-lookin' chap, Ernie, only a bit stiff from the waist up. +You know, like he had his spine in a cast. Then there's the neck-apple. +Ernie fits his into a high white wing collar and sets it off with a +black ascot tie and a pearl stickpin. Also he sports the only black +cutaway that's worn reg'lar into the General Offices. Oh, yes, Ernie +could go on at a minute's notice as best man or pall-bearer. I don't +mean he's often called on to be either. He only wears that costume +because that's his idea of how an assistant auditor should be arrayed.</p> + +<p>One of these super-system birds, Ernie is. He could turn out an annual +report every Saturday if the directors asked for it. Never has to hunt +for a bunch of stray figures. He has everything cross-indexed neat and +accurate. He's that way about everything, always a spare umbrella and an +extra pair of rubbers in his locker, and he carries a pearl-handle +penknife in a chamois case.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span></p> + +<p>But in spite of all that I'm sorry to state that around the Corrugated +Ernie is rated as a walking joke. We all josh him, even up to Old +Hickory Ellins. The only ones he ever seems to mind much though are the +lady typists. The hardest thing he does during the day is when he has to +walk past that battery of near-vamps, for they never fail to lay down a +rolling eye barrage that gets him pink in the ears.</p> + +<p>Course, having noticed that, I generally use it as my cue for passing +pleasant words to Ernie. "Honest now," I'll ask him, "which one of them +Lizzie Mauds are you playin' as favorite these days, Ernie?"</p> + +<p>And Ernie, he'll color up like a fire hydrant and protest: "Now, say, +Torchy! You know very well I've never spoken to one of them."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you tell it well," I'll say, "but I'm onto you, old sport."</p> + +<p>I don't know how long I've been shooting stuff like that at Ernie, and +it always gets him going. I have a hunch, though, that he kind of likes +it. These skirt-shy boys usually do. And as a matter of fact I expect +the only female he ever looked square in the eye is that old maid sister +of his that he lives with somewhere over in Jersey.</p> + +<p>So this night when we were doing overtime together at the office and it +was a case of going out for dinner I'd planned to slip a little +something on Ernie by towin' him to a joint where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> the lights were +bright and they were apt to have silver buckets on the floor. I was +hoping he might see some perfect lady light up a cigarette, or maybe +give him a cut-up glance over the top of her fizz goblet. It would be +cheerin' to watch Ernie tryin' to let on he didn't notice.</p> + +<p>He'd already called Sister on the long distance telephone and told her +not to wait up for him, explainin' just what it was we was workin' on +and how we might not be through until quite late. And Sister had advised +him to be sure to wear his silk muffler and not to sleep past his +station if he had to take the 11:48 out.</p> + +<p>"Gosh, Ernie!" says I. "If you 're that way now what'll you be when +you're married?"</p> + +<p>"But I hadn't thought of getting married," says he. "Really!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "and you silent, thoughtless boys are the very ones who +jump into matrimony unexpected. Some evenin' you'll meet just the right +babidoll and the next thing we know you'll be sendin' us at home cards. +You act innocent enough in public, but I'll bet you're a bear when it +comes to workin' up to a quick clinch behind the palms."</p> + +<p>Ernie almost gasps with horror at the thought.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wouldn't put it past you," says I. "I expect, though, you'd like +to have me class you among the great unkissed?"</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact," says Ernie solemn,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> "I have never—Well, not +since I was a mere boy, at least. It—it's just happened so."</p> + +<p>"And you past thirty!" says I. "What a long spell to be out of luck!"</p> + +<p>So I suggests that we work through until about 7:45 and then hit the +Regal roof for a $2 feed and a view of some of this fancy skatin' +they're pullin' off there. But that ain't Ernie's plan at all. He has +his mouth all set for an oyster stew and a plate of crullers down in the +Arcade beanerie.</p> + +<p>"Ah, forget your old automatic habits for once," says I. "This dinner is +on the house, you know, so why not make it a reg'lar one? Come along."</p> + +<p>And for a wonder I persuades him to do it. I expect this idea of +chargin' it on the expense account hadn't occurred to him.</p> + +<p>Anyway, that's how it come we were piking through West Forty-fifth +Street with the first of the theater crowds, Ernie still protestin' that +he really didn't care for this sort of thing—cabaret stunts and all +that—and me kiddin' him along as usual, sayin' I'll bet the head waiter +would call him by his first name, when the net is cast sudden over +Ernie's head.</p> + +<p>I don't know which one of us saw her first. All I'm sure of is that we +both sort of slowed up and did the gawp act. You could hardly blame us, +for here in a taxi by the curb is—Well, it would take Robert Chambers a +page<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> and a half at twenty cents a word to do her full justice, so I'll +just say she was a lovely lady.</p> + +<p>No, I ain't gettin' her mixed with any of Mr. Ziegfeld's stars, nor she +ain't any broker's bride plucked from the switch-board. She's the real +thing in the lady line, though how I knew it's hard to tell. Also she's +a home-grown siren that works without the aid of a lip-stick, permanent +wave, or an eyebrow pencil. Anyway, here she is leaning through the taxi +door and shootin' over the alluring smile.</p> + +<p>I couldn't quite believe it was meant for either of us until I'd scouted +around to see if there wasn't someone else in line. No, there wasn't. +And as Ernie is nearest, course I knows it's for him.</p> + +<p>"Ah, ha!" says I. "Who's your friend with the golden tresses?"</p> + +<p>That's what they were, all right. You don't see hair like that every +day, and it ain't the shade which can be produced at a beauty parlor. +It's the 18-karat kind, done up sort of loose and careless, but all the +more dangerous for that. And with that snowy white complexion, except +for the pink flush on the cheeks, and the big, starry blue eyes, she +sure is a stunner.</p> + +<p>"Do—do you think she means me?" whispers Ernie husky, as we stop in our +tracks.</p> + +<p>"Ah come!" says I. "This is no time to stall. If she hadn't spotted you +direct you might have let on you didn't see her, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> strolled back +after you'd given me the slip. As it is, Ernie, I've got the goods on +you for once and you might as well——"</p> + +<p>"But I—I don't know her at all," insists Ernie.</p> + +<p>Just then, though, she reaches out a pair of bare arms and remarks real +folksy: "At last you've come, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>"Seems to be fairly well acquainted with you, though, Ernie boy," says +I.</p> + +<p>As for Ernie, he just stands there starin' bug-eyed and gaspy, as if he +didn't know what to do. Course, I couldn't tell why. I knew he always +had acted like a poor prune when he was kidded by the flossy key +pounders in the office, but almost any nut could see this was an +entirely different case. Here was a regular person, all dolled up in a +classy evening gown, with a fur-trimmed opera cape slippin' off her +shoulders. And she was givin' him the straight call.</p> + +<p>"But—but there must be some mistake," protests Ernie.</p> + +<p>"If there is," says I, "it's up to you to put the lady wise. You can't +walk off and leave her with her hands in the air, can you? Ah, don't be +a fish! Step up."</p> + +<p>With that I gives him a push and Ernie staggers over to the curb.</p> + +<p>"It's been so long," I hears the lady murmur, "but I knew you would +remember. Come."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span></p> + +<p>What Ernie said then I didn't quite catch, but the next thing I knew +he'd been dragged in, the chauffeur had got the signal, and as the taxi +started off toward Fifth Avenue I had a glimpse of what looked very much +like a fond clinch, with Ernie as the clinchee.</p> + +<p>And there I am left with my mouth open. I expect I hung up there fully +ten minutes, tryin' to dope out what had happened. Had Ernie just been +stallin' me off tryin' to establish an alibi? Or was it a case of poor +memory? No, that didn't seem likely. She wasn't the kind of a female +party a man could forget easy, if he'd ever really known her. Specially +a gink like Ernie who'd had such a limited experience. Nor she wasn't +the type that would go out cruisin' in a cab after perfect strangers. +Not her. Besides, hadn't she recognized Ernie on sight? Then there was +the quick clinch. No discountin' that. Whoever it was it's somebody who +don't hesitate to hug Ernie right in public. And yet he sticks to it, +right up to the last, that he don't know her. Well, I gave it up.</p> + +<p>"Either he's a foxier sport than we've been givin' him credit for," +thinks I, "or else the lady has made the mistake of her life. If she has +she'll soon find it out and Ernie will be trailing back on the hunt for +me."</p> + +<p>But after walkin' up and down the block three times without seeing +anything that looked like Ernie I dodges into a chop-house and has a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> +bite all by my lonesome. Then I wanders back to the general offices and +tries to wind up what we'd been workin' on. But I couldn't help +wondering about Ernie. Had he just plain buffaloed me, or what? If he +had, who was his swell lady friend? And how did she come to be waitin' +there in the taxi? By the way she was costumed she might have been on +her way to some dinner dance on Fifth Avenue. That was a perfectly +spiffy evening dress she had on, what there was of it. And I could +remember jewels sparklin' here and there. Course, she was no chicken; +somewhere under thirty would have been my guess, but she sure was easy +to look at. Such eyes, too! Yes, a little starry maybe, but big and +sparkly. No wonder Ernie didn't care to look at any of our lady typists +if he had that in the background.</p> + +<p>So I wasn't gettin' ahead very fast untanglin' them dockage contracts, +and before 11 o'clock I was yawning. I'd just decided to quit and loaf +around the station until the theater train was ready when I hears an +unsteady step in the outer office and the next minute in blows Ernie.</p> + +<p>That is, it's somebody who looks a little as Ernie did three hours +before. But his derby is busted in on one side, one end of his wing +collar has been carried away and is ridin' up towards his left ear, his +coat is all dusty, and his face is flushed up like a new fire truck.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span></p> + +<p>"For the love of soup!" says I, gaspy. "Must have been some party?"</p> + +<p>Ernie, he braces himself by grippin' a chair-back and makes a stab at +recoverin' his usual stiff-neck pose. But it's a flat failure. So he +gives up, waves one hand around vague, and indulges in a foolish smile.</p> + +<p>"Wha'—wha' makes you think sho—party?" he demands.</p> + +<p>"I got second sight, Ernie," says I, "and it tells me you've been +spilled off the wagon."</p> + +<p>"You—you think I—I've been drinkin'?" asks Ernie indignant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says I. "I should say you'd been using a funnel."</p> + +<p>"Tha's—tha's because you have 'spischus nashur'," protests Ernie. +"Merely few glasshes. You know—bubblesh in stem."</p> + +<p>"Champagne, eh?" says I. "Then it was a reg'lar party? Ernie, I am +surprised at you."</p> + +<p>"You—you ain't half so shurprised as—as I am myshelf," says he, +chucklin'. "Tha's what I told Louishe."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you mentioned it to Louise, did you?" says I. "I expect that was +the lovely lady who carted you off in the taxi?"</p> + +<p>He nods and springs another one of them silly smiles. "Tha's ri'," says +he. "The lovely Louishe."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Ernie," says I, "how long has this been going on?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span></p> + +<p>And what do you suppose this fathead has the front to spring on me? That +this was the first time he'd ever seen her. Uh-huh! He sticks to that +tale. Even claims he don't know what the rest of her name is.</p> + +<p>"Louishe, tha's all," says he. "Th' lovely Louishe."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," says I. "We'll let it ride at that. And I expect she +picked you out all on account of your compelling beauty? Must have been +a sudden case, from the fond clinch I saw you gettin' as the cab +started."</p> + +<p>Ernie closed his eyes slow, like he was goin' over the scene again, and +then remarks: "Thash when I begun to be surprished. Louishe has most +affec-shanate nashur."</p> + +<p>"So it would seem," says I. "But where did the party take place?"</p> + +<p>That little detail appears to have escaped Ernie. He remembered that +there were pink candles on the table, and music playing, and a lot of +nice people around. Also that the waiter's head was shiny, like an egg. +He thought it must have been at some hotel on Fifth Avenue. Yes, they +went in through a sidewalk canopy. It was a very nice dinner, +too—'specially the pheasant and the parfait in the silver cup. And it +was so funny to watch the bubbles keep coming up through the glass stem.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "that's one of New York's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> favorite winter sports. But +who was all this on—Louise?"</p> + +<p>"She insists I'm her guesh," says Ernie.</p> + +<p>"That made it very nice, then, didn't it?" says I. "But none of this +accounts for the dent in your hat and the other rough-house signs. +Somebody must have got real messy with you at some stage in the game. +Remember anything about that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Ernie, stiffenin' up and tryin' to scowl. "Most—most +disagreeable persons. Actually rude."</p> + +<p>"Who and where?" I insists.</p> + +<p>"Louishe's family," says Ernie. "I—I don't care for her family. No. +Sorry, but——"</p> + +<p>"Mean to say Louise took you home after dinner?" says I.</p> + +<p>Ernie nods. "Wanted me to meet family," says he. "Dear old daddy, +darling mother, sho on. 'Charmed,' says I. I was willing to meet anyone +then. Right in the mood. 'Certainly,' says I. Feeling friendly. Patted +waiter on back, waved to orchestra leader, shook handsh with perfect +stranger going out. Went to lovely house, uptown somewhere. Fine ol' +butler, fine ol' rugsh in hall, tapeshtries on wall. And then—then——"</p> + +<p>Ernie slumps into a chair, pushes the loose collar end away from his +chin fretful, and indulges in a deep sigh. I expect he thinks he's told +the whole story.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span></p> + +<p>"I take it," says I, "that you did meet dear old daddy?"</p> + +<p>"Washn't so very old, at thash," says Ernie. "No. Nor such a dear. +Looksh like—like Teddy Roosh'velt. Behavesh like Teddy, too. +Im—impeshuous. Very firsh thing he says is, 'And who the devil are +you?' 'Guesh?' I tells him. 'Give you three guesshes.' He—he's no good +as guessher, daddy. Grabsh me by the collar. 'You, you loafer!' says he. +Then the lovely Louishe comes to rescue. 'Can't you see, daddy?' she +tells him. 'It's Ernie. Found him at lash.' 'Ernie who?' demandsh daddy. +'I—I forget,' says Louishe. 'Bah!' saysh daddy. 'Lash time it was +Harold, wasn't it?' 'Naughty, naughty!' saysh I. 'Mustn't tell talesh. +Bad form, daddy. Lessh all be calm now and—and we'll tell you about +dinner—bubblesh in the glass, 'n'everything. Louishe and I. Lovely +girl, Louishe. Affecshonate nashur.' And thash as far as I got. +Different nashur, daddy."</p> + +<p>"I gather that he didn't insist on your staying?" says I.</p> + +<p>No, he hadn't. As near as I could make out dear old daddy took a firm +grip on Ernie in two places, and while the fine old butler held the +front door open he got more impetuous than ever. As Ernie tells me about +it he rubs himself reminiscent and gazes sorrowful at his dented derby.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mosh annoying," says he. "Couldn't even shay good night to lovely +Louishe."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," says I. "You can make up for that when you pay your dinner +call. By the way, where was this home of the lovely Louise?"</p> + +<p>Ernie doesn't know. When he'd arrived he was too busy to notice the +street and number, and when he came out he was too much annoyed. Also he +didn't remember having heard Louise's last name.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Except for that everything is all clear, eh? It strikes +me, Ernie, as if you'd worked up a perfectly good mystery. You've been +kidnapped by a lovely lady, had a swell dinner, with plenty of fizz on +the side, been introduced to a strong-arm father, and finished on the +sidewalk with your lid caved in. And for an assistant auditor who +blushes as easy as you do that's what I call kind of a large evening."</p> + +<p>Ernie nods. Then he chuckles to himself, sort of satisfied, and remarks +mushy: "Lovely girl, Louishe."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we've admitted all that," says I. "But who the blazes is she?"</p> + +<p>Ernie rumples his hair thoughtful and then shakes his head.</p> + +<p>"But during all that time didn't she say anything about herself, or give +you any hint?" I goes on.</p> + +<p>Ernie can't remember that she did.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span></p> + +<p>"What was all the chat about?" I demands.</p> + +<p>"Oh, everything," says Ernie. "She—she said she'd been looking for me +long timesh. Knew me by—by my eyesh."</p> + +<p>"How touching!" says I. "That must have been during the clinch."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Ernie. "But nexsh time——"</p> + +<p>"Say," I breaks in, "if you don't know what her name is, or where she +lives, how do you figure on a next time?"</p> + +<p>"Thash so," says Ernie. "Too bad."</p> + +<p>"Still," says I, "the kiss stringency in your young career has been +lifted, hasn't it? And now it's about time I fixed you up and towed you +out to a hotel where you can hit the feathers for about ten hours. My +hunch is that a pitcher of ice water is going to look mighty good to you +in the morning. And maybe by tomorrow noon you can remember more details +about Louise than you can seem to dig up now."</p> + +<p>You can't always tell about these birds who surprise you that way. I was +only an hour late in getting to the office myself next day, but I finds +Ernie at his desk looking hardly any the worse for wear, and grinding +away as usual. He looks a little sheepish when I ask him if Louise has +'phoned him yet.</p> + +<p>"S-s-sh!" says he, glancin' around cautious. "Please!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure!" says I. "Trust me. I'm no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> sieve. But I'm wondering if +you'll ever run across her again."</p> + +<p>"I—I don't know," says Ernie. "It all seems so vague and queer. I can't +recall much of anything except that Louise—— Well, she did show rather +a fondness for me, you know; and perhaps, some time or other——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "lightnin' does occasionally strike twice in the same +place. But not often, Ernie."</p> + +<p>He's a wonder, Ernie is. Seems satisfied to let it go as it stands, +without trying to dope anything out. But me, I can't let anybody bat a +mystery like that up to me without going through a few Sherlock Holmes +motions. So that evening finds me wandering through Forty-fifth Street +again at about the same hour. Not that I expected to find the same +lovely lady ambushed in a cab. I don't know just what I was looking for.</p> + +<p>And then, all of a sudden, I gets my eye on this yellow taxi. It's an +odd shade of yellow, something like a pale squash pie; a big, lumbering +old bus that had been repainted by some amateur. And I was willing to +bet there wasn't another in town just like it. Also it's the one Ernie +had stepped into the night before, for there's the same driver wearing +the identical square-topped brown derby. Only there's no Louise waiting +inside.</p> + +<p>They're a shifty bunch, these independents.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> Some you can hire for a +bank robbing job or a little act with gun play in it, and some you +can't. This mutt looked like he'd be up to anything. But when I asks him +if he remembers the lady in the evening dress he had aboard last night +he just looks stupid and shakes his head.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it's all right," says I. "No come-back to it."</p> + +<p>"Mebby so," says he, "but my big line, son, is forgettin' things."</p> + +<p>"Would this help your memory any?" says I, slippin' him a couple of +dollars.</p> + +<p>He grins and stows it away the kale. "Aw, you mean the party with the +wild eyes, eh?" he asks.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "I was just curious to know where you picked her up."</p> + +<p>"That's easy," says he. "She came out of there, third door above. I get +most of my fares from there."</p> + +<p>"Oh," says I, steppin' out for a squint. "Looks like a private house."</p> + +<p>"It's private, all right," says he, "but it's a home for dippy ones. You +know," and he taps his head. "She's a sample. I've had her before. They +slip out now and then. Last night she made her getaway through the +basement door. I expect she's back by now."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "I expect she is."</p> + +<p>And I don't need to ask any more. The mystery<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> of the lovely Louise has +been cleared up complete.</p> + +<p>First off I was going to tell Ernie all about it, but when I saw him +sitting there at his high desk, gazin' sort of blank at nothing at all +and kind of smilin' reminiscent, I didn't have the heart. Instead, I +asks confidential, as usual:</p> + +<p>"Any word yet from Louise?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet," says Ernie, "but then——"</p> + +<p>"I get you," says I. "And I got to hand it to you, Ernie; you're a cagey +old sport, even if you don't look it."</p> + +<p>He don't deny. Hadn't I seen him start on his big night? And say, he's +gettin' so he can walk past that line of lady typists and give 'em the +once over without changin' color in the ears. He's almost skirt broken, +Ernie is.</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_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2><h3>HOW BABE MISSED HIS STEP</h3> +</div> + +<p>What Babe Cutler was plannin' certainly listened like a swell party—the +kind you read about. He was going to round up three other sports like +himself, charter a nice comfortable yacht, and spend the winter knockin' +about in the West Indies, with a bunch of bananas always hangin' under +the deck awning aft and a cabin steward forward mixing planter's punch +every time the sun got over the yard arm.</p> + +<p>"The lucky stiff!" thinks I, as I heard him runnin' over some of the +details to Mr. Robert, who he thinks can maybe be induced to join.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come along, Bob!" says he. "We'll stop off for a look at Palm Beach +on the way down, hang up a few days at Knight's Key for shark fishing, +then run over to Havana for a week of golf, drop around to Santiago and +cheer up Billy Pickens out on his blooming sugar plantation, cross over +to Jamaica and have some polo with the military bunch up at +Newcastle—little things like that. Besides, we can always have a game +of deuces wild going evenings and——"</p> + +<p>"No use, Babe," breaks in Mr. Robert. "It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> can't be done. That sort of +thing is all well enough for a foot-loose old bach such as you, but with +me it's quite different."</p> + +<p>"The little lady at home, eh?" says Babe. "I'll bet she'd be glad to get +rid of you for a couple of months."</p> + +<p>"Flatterer!" says Mr. Robert. "And I suppose you think I wouldn't be +missed from the Corrugated Trust, either?"</p> + +<p>"I'll bet a hundred you could hand your job over to Torchy here and the +concern would never know the difference," says Babe, winkin' friendly at +me. "Anyway, don't turn me down flat. Take a day or so to think it +over."</p> + +<p>And with that Mr. Cutler climbs into his mink-lined overcoat, slips me a +ten spot confidential as he passes my desk, and goes breezin' out +towards Broadway. The ten, I take it, is a retainer for me to boost the +yachtin' enterprise. I shows it to Mr. Robert and grins.</p> + +<p>"There's only one Babe," says he. "He'd offer a tip to St. Peter, or +suggest matching quarters to see whether he was let in or barred out."</p> + +<p>"He's what I'd call a perfect sample of the gay and careless sport," +says I. "How does it happen that he's escaped the hymeneal noose so +long?"</p> + +<p>"Because marriage has never been put up to him as a game, a sporting +proposition in which you can either win or lose out," says Mr. Robert.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> +"He thinks it's merely a life sentence that you get for not watching +your step. Just as well, perhaps, for Babe isn't what you would call +domestic in his tastes. Give him a 'Home, Sweet Home' motto and he'd +tack it inside his wardrobe trunk."</p> + +<p>I expect that's a more or less accurate description, for Mr. Robert has +known him a long time. And yet, you can't help liking Babe. He ain't one +of these noisy tin-horns. He dresses as quiet as he talks, and among +strangers he'd almost pass for a shy bank clerk having a day off. He's +the real thing though when it comes to pleasant ways of spending time +and money; from sailing a 90-footer in a cup race, to qualifying in the +second flight at Pinehurst. No shark at anything particular, I +understand, but good enough to kick in at most any old game you can +propose.</p> + +<p>Also he's an original I. W. W. Uh-huh. Income Without Work. That was +fixed almost before he was born, when his old man horned in on a big +mill combine and grabbed off enough preferred stock to fill a packing +case. Maybe you think you have no interest in financin' Babe Cutler's +career. But you have. Can't duck it. Every time you eat a piece of +bread, or a slice of toast or a bit of pie crust you're contributin' to +Babe's dividends. And he knows about as much how flour is made as he +does about gettin' up in the night to warm a bottle for little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> +Tootsums. Which isn't Babe's fault any more than it's yours. As he'd +tell you himself, if the case was put up to him, it's all in the +shuffle.</p> + +<p>He must have had some difficulty organizin' his expedition, for that +same afternoon, when I eases myself off the 4:03 at Piping Rock—having +quit early, as a private sec-de-luxe should now and then—who should +show up at the station but Mr. Cutler in his robin's-egg blue sport +phaeton with the white wire wheels.</p> + +<p>"I say," he says, "didn't Bob come out, too?"</p> + +<p>"No," says I. "I think he and Mrs. Ellins have a dinner party on in +town."</p> + +<p>"Bother!" says Babe. "I was counting on him for an hour or so of +billiards and another go at talking up the cruise. We'll land him yet, +eh, Torchy? Hop in and I'll run you out home."</p> + +<p>So I climbs aboard, Babe opens the cut-out, and we make a skyrocket +start.</p> + +<p>"How about swinging around the country club and back through the middle +road? No hurry, are you?" he asks.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," says I, glancin' at the speedometer, which was touchin' +fifty.</p> + +<p>"Nor I," says Babe. "I'm spending my annual week-end with Sister Mabel, +you know. Good old scout, Mabel, but I can't say I enjoy visiting there. +Runs her house too much for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> the children. Only three of 'em, but +they're all over the place—climbing on you, mauling you, tripping you +up. Nurses around, too. Regular kindergarten effect. And the youngsters +are always being bathed, or fed, or put to sleep. So I try to keep out +of the way until dinner."</p> + +<p>"I see," says I. "You ain't strong for kids?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mind 'em when they're kept in their place," says Babe. "But +when they insist on giving you oatmealy kisses, or paw you with sticky +fingers—no, thanks. Can't tell Mabel that, though. She seems to think +they are all little wonders. And Dick is just as bad—rushes home early +every afternoon so he can have half an hour with 'em. Huh!"</p> + +<p>"Maybe you'll feel different," says I, "if you ever collect a family of +your own."</p> + +<p>"Me?" says Babe. "Fat chance!"</p> + +<p>I couldn't help agreein' with him. I could see now why he'd shied +matrimony so consistent. With sentiments like that he'd looked on Sister +Mabel as a horrible example. Besides, followin' sports the way he did, a +wife and kids wouldn't fit in at all.</p> + +<p>We'd made half the circle and was tearing along the middle road on the +back stretch at a Vanderbilt cup gait when all of a sudden Babe jams on +the emergency and we skids along until we brings up a few yards beyond +where this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> young lady is flaggin' us frantic with a pink-lined +throw-scarf.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce!" asks Babe, starin' back.</p> + +<p>"Looks like a help wanted hail," says I. "She's got a bunch of +youngsters with her and—yep, one of 'em is all gory. See!"</p> + +<p>"O Lord!" groans Babe. "Well, I suppose I must."</p> + +<p>As he backs up the machine I stretches my neck around and takes a look +at this wayside group. Three little girls are huddled panicky around +this young party who wears a brown velvet tam at such a rakish angle on +top of her wavy brown hair. And cuddled up in her left arm she's holdin' +a chubby youngster whose face is smeared with blood something startlin'.</p> + +<p>"You don't happen to be a doctor, do you?" she demands of Babe.</p> + +<p>"Heavens, no!" says he.</p> + +<p>"But perhaps you know what to do to stop nose bleeding?" she goes on.</p> + +<p>"Why, let's see," says Babe. "Oh, yes! Put a cold door key on the back +of his neck."</p> + +<p>"Or a piece of brown paper on his tongue," I adds.</p> + +<p>The young lady shrugs her shoulders disappointed. "I've tried all that," +says she, "and an ice pack, too. But it's no use. I must get him to a +doctor right away. There's one about a mile down this road. Couldn't you +take us?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sure thing!" says Babe. "Torchy, you can hang on the back, can't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I can walk home," says I.</p> + +<p>"No, no," says Babe, hasty. "You—you'd best come along."</p> + +<p>So I helps load in the young lady and the claret drippin' youngster, +drapes myself on the spare tires, and we're off.</p> + +<p>"Is it little brother?" asks Babe, glancin' at the kid.</p> + +<p>"Mine?" says the young lady. "Of course not. I'm Lucy Snell—one of the +teachers at the public school back there at the cross-roads. Some of the +children always insist on walking part way home with me, especially +little Billy here. Usually he behaves very nicely, but today he seems to +be out of luck. His nose started leaking fully half an hour ago. He must +have leaked quarts and quarts, all over himself and me. You wouldn't +think he could have a drop left in him. I was just about crazy when I +saw you coming. There's Dr. Baker's house on the right around that next +curve. And say, there's some speed to this bus of yours, Mr.—er——"</p> + +<p>"Cutler," says Babe. "Here we are. Anything more I can do?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says Miss Snell, as I'm unbuttonin' the door for her, "you might +stick around a few minutes to see if he wants little Billy taken to the +hospital or anything. I'll let you know." And with that she trips in.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lively young party, eh?" I remarks to Babe. "Don't mind askin' for what +she wants."</p> + +<p>"Perfectly all right, too," says he, "in a case like this. She isn't one +of the helpless kind. Some pep to her, I'll bet. Lucy, eh? I always did +like that name."</p> + +<p>I had to chuckle. "What about the Snell part?" says I. "That one of your +favorite names, too?"</p> + +<p>"N—n—no," says Babe. "But she'll probably change that some of these +days. She's the sort that does, you know."</p> + +<p>"I expect you are right, at that," I agrees.</p> + +<p>Pretty soon out she comes again, calm and smilin'. It's some smile she +has, by the way. Wide and generous and real folksy. And now that the +scare has faded out of her eyes they have more or less snap to 'em. +They're the bright brown kind, that match her hair, and the freckles +across the bridge of her nose.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," says she. "Dr. Baker says the ice pack did the trick. +And he'll take Billy home as soon as he's cleaned him up a bit. Thanks, +Mr. Cutler."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I might as well drive you home, too, and finish the job," says +Babe.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm not missing anything like that, I can tell you," says Miss +Snell. "I'm simply soaked with that youngster's gore. But I live<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> way +back on the other road. My! Billy dripped some on your seat cushions, +didn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that will wash out," says Babe careless. "You're fond of +youngsters, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Well, in a way I am," says she. "I'm used to 'em anyway, being one of +six myself. That's why I'm out teaching—makes one less for Dad to have +to rustle for. He keeps the little plumber's shop down opposite the +station. You've seen the sign—T. Snell."</p> + +<p>"I've no doubt I have," says Babe. "And you—you like teaching, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I can't say I'm dead in love with it," says Miss Snell. "Not this +second grade stuff, anyway. It's all I could qualify for, though. This +is my second year at it. I don't suppose you ever taught second grade +yourself, did you?"</p> + +<p>Babe almost gasps, but admits that he never has.</p> + +<p>"Then take my advice and don't tackle it," says Miss Snell. "Not that +you would, of course, but that's what I tell all the girls who think I +have such a soft snap with my Saturdays off and a two months' summer +vacation. Believe me, you need it after you've drilled forty youngsters +all through a term. D-o-g, dog; c-a-t, cat. Why will the little imps +sing it through their noses? It's the same with the two-times table. And +they can be so stupid! I don't believe I was meant for a teacher, +anyway,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> for it all seems so useless to me, making them go through all +that, and keeping still for hours and hours, when they want so much to +be outdoors playing around. I'd like to be out myself."</p> + +<p>"But after school hours," suggests Babe, "you surely have time to go in +for sports of some kind."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, sports?" asks Miss Snell.</p> + +<p>"Oh, tennis, or horseback riding, or golf," says Babe.</p> + +<p>She turns around quick and stares at him. "Are you kidding?" she +demands. "Or do you want to get me biting my upper lip? Say, on five +hundred a year, with board to pay and clothes to buy, you can't go in +very heavy for sports. I did blow myself to a tennis racquet and +rubber-soled shoes last summer and my financial standing has been below +par ever since. As for spare time, there's no such thing. When I've +finished helping Ma do the supper dishes there's always a pile of lesson +papers to go over, and reports to make out. And Saturdays I can do my +washing and mending, maybe shampoo my hair or make over a hat or +something. Can you figure in any chance for golf or horseback riding? I +can't, even if club dues were free to schoolma'ams and the board should +send around a lot of spotted ponies for our use. Not that I wouldn't +like to give those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> things a whirl once. I'm just foolish enough to +think I could do the sport stuff with the best of 'em."</p> + +<p>"I'll bet you could, too," says Babe, enthusiastic. "You—you're just +the type."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Miss Snell, "and a fat lot of good that's going to do me. So +what's the use talking? In a year or so I suppose I'll be swinging a +broom around my own little flat, coaxing a kitchen range to hump itself +at 6:30 a.m., and hanging out a Monday wash for two."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Babe. "Then you've picked out the lucky chap?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know whether he's lucky or not," says she. "It isn't really +settled, anyway. Pete Snyder has been hanging around for some time, and +I expect I'll give in if he keeps it up. He's Dad's helper, you know, +and he isn't more'n half as dumb as he looks. Gosh! Here we are. I hope +none of the kids see you bringing me home and tell Pete about it. He'd +be green in the eye for a week. Good-by, Mr. Cutler, and much obliged."</p> + +<p>As she skips out and up the path toward the little ramshackle cottage +she turns and flashes one of them wide smiles on Babe and gives him a +friendly wave.</p> + +<p>"Well," says I. "Pete might do worse."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," says Babe, kind of solemn.</p> + +<p>Course, I didn't keep any close track of Mr. Cutler for the next few +days. There was no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> special reason why I should. I supposed he was busy +makin' up his quartette for that Southern cruise. So about a week later +I'm mildly surprised to hear that he's still stayin' on over at Sister +Mabel's. I didn't really suspicion anything until one afternoon, along +in the middle of January, when as I steps off the 5:10 I gets a glimpse +of Babe's blue racer waitin' at the crossing gates. And snuggled down +under the fur robe beside him, with her cheeks pinked up by the crisp +air and her brown eyes sparklin', is Miss Lucy Snell.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" thinks I. "Still goin' on, eh? Or has Billy's little beak had +another leaky spell?"</p> + +<p>Couldn't have been many days after that before I comes home to find Vee +all excited over some news she'd heard from Mrs. Robert Ellins.</p> + +<p>"What do you think, Torchy!" says she. "That bachelor friend of Mr. +Robert, a Mr. Cutler, was married last night."</p> + +<p>"Eh!" says I. "Babe?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Vee. "And to a village girl, daughter of T. Snell, the +plumber. And his married sister is perfectly wild about it. Isn't it +dreadful?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Might turn out all right."</p> + +<p>"But—but she's a poor little school-teacher," protests Vee, "and Mr. +Cutler is—is——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span></p> + +<p>"A rich sport," I puts in, "who's always had what he wanted. And I +expect he thought he wanted Miss Snell. Looks so, don't it?"</p> + +<p>I understand that Sister Mabel threw seven kinds of fits, and that the +country club set was all worked up over the affair, specially one of the +young ladies that had played in mixed foursomes with Babe and probably +had the net out for him. But he didn't come back to apologize or +anything like that. And the next we heard was that the happy pair had +started for Florida on their honeymoon.</p> + +<p>Well, that seemed to finish the incident. Mr. Robert hunches his +shoulders and allows that Babe is old enough to manage his own affairs. +Sister Mabel calmed down, and the disappointed young ladies crossed Babe +off the last-hope list. Besides, a perfectly good scandal broke out in +the bridge playing and dancing set, and Babe Cutler's rapid little +romance was forgotten. Five or six Sundays came and went, with Mondays +following regular.</p> + +<p>And then here the other afternoon, as I'm camped down next to the car +window on my way home, who should tap me on the shoulder but the same +old Babe. That is, unless you looked close. For there's a worried, +puzzled look in his wide set eyes and he don't spring the usual hail.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" says I. "Ain't lost your baggage checks, have you?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's worse than that," says he. "I—I've lost—Lucy."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-t!" says I, gaspy. "You don't mean she—she's——"</p> + +<p>"No," says Babe. "She's just quit me and gone home."</p> + +<p>"But—but why?" I blurted out.</p> + +<p>"Lord knows," groans Babe. "That's what I want to find out."</p> + +<p>Honest, it listens like a first-class mystery. According to him they'd +been staying at one of the swellest joints he could find in the whole +state of Florida. Also he'd bought Lucy all the kinds of clothes she +would let him buy, from sport suits to evening gowns. She'd taken up a +lot of different things, too—golf, riding, swimming, dancing. Seemed to +be having a bully time when—bang! She breaks out into a weepy spell and +announces that she is going home. Does it, too, all by her lonesome, +leaving Babe to trail along by the next train.</p> + +<p>"And for the life of me, Torchy," he declares, "I can't imagine why."</p> + +<p>"Well, let's try to piece it out," says I. "First off, how have you been +spending your honeymoon?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, golf mostly," says he. "I was runner up in the big tournament."</p> + +<p>"I see," says I. "Thirty-six holes a day, eh?"</p> + +<p>He nods.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span></p> + +<p>"And a jack-pot session with the old crowd every evening?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, only now and then," says he.</p> + +<p>"With a few late parties down in the grill?" I goes on.</p> + +<p>"Not a party," says Babe. "State's dry, you know. No, generally we went +into the ballroom evenings and I helped Lucy try out the new steps she +was learning."</p> + +<p>"You did!" says I. "Then I give it up."</p> + +<p>"Me too," says Babe. "But I'm not going to give up Lucy. Say, she's a +regular person, she is. She was making good, too, and having a whale of +a time when all of a sudden—Say, Torchy, if it was some break I made I +want to know it, so I can square myself. She wouldn't tell me; wouldn't +have a word to say. But listen, perhaps if you asked her——"</p> + +<p>"Hey, back up!" says I.</p> + +<p>"You know, if it hadn't been for you I might never have seen her," he +goes on. "You were there when it began, and if there's to be a finish +you might as well be in on that, too. I've got to know what it was I +did, though. Honest, I can't remember anything particularly raw. Been +chewing over it for two nights. If you could just——"</p> + +<p>Well, at the end of ten minutes I agrees to go up to the plumber's +house, and if the new Mrs. Cutler will see me I says I'll put it up to +her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span></p> + +<p>"But you got to come along and hang around outside while I'm doing it," +I insists.</p> + +<p>"I'll do anything that either you or Lucy asks," says he. "I'll go the +limit."</p> + +<p>"That listens fair enough," says I.</p> + +<p>So that's how it happens I'm waitin' in the plumber's parlor for Babe +Cutler's runaway bride. And say, when she shows up in that zippy sport +suit, just in from a long tramp across country, she looks some classy. +First off she's inclined to be nervous and jumpy and don't want to talk +about Babe at all.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's all right," says she. "I have nothing against him. He—he +meant well."</p> + +<p>"As bad as that, was he?" says I. "I shall hate to tell him."</p> + +<p>"But it wasn't Babe, at all," she insists. "Don't you dare say it was, +either. If you must know, it was that awful hotel life. I—I just +couldn't stand it."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, and I expect I must have been gawpin' some. "Why, I +understand you were at one of the swellest——"</p> + +<p>"We were," says she. "That was the trouble. And I suppose if I'd known +how, I might have had a swell time. But I didn't. I'd had no practice. +And say, if you think you can learn to be a regular winter resort person +in a few weeks just try it once. I did. I went at it wholesale. All of +the things I'd wanted to do and thought I could do, I tackled. It looks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span> +like a lot of fun to see those girls start off with their golf clubs. +Seems easy to swing a driver and crack out the little white ball. Take +it from me, though, it's nothing of the kind. Why, I spent hours and +hours out on the practice tee with a grouchy Scotch professional trying +my best to hit it right. And I couldn't. At the end of three weeks I was +still a duffer. All I'd accumulated were palm callouses and a backache. +Yet I knew just how it should be done. I can repeat it now. One—you +take your 'stance. Two—you start the head of the club back in a +straight line with the left wrist. Three—you come up on your left toe +and bend the right knee. And so on. Yet I'd dub the ball only a few +yards.</p> + +<p>"Then, when that was over, I'd go in and change for my dancing lessons. +More one—two—three stuff. And say, some of these new jazz steps are +queer, aren't they? I'd about got three or four all mixed up in my head +when I'd have to run and jump into my riding habit and go through a +different lot of one—two—three motions. And just as I'd lamed myself +in a lot of new places there would come the swimming lesson. I thought I +could swim some, too. I learned one summer down at Far Rockaway. But it +seems that was old stuff. They aren't doing that now. No, it's the +double side stroke, the Australian crawl, and a lot more. One, two, +three, four, five, six. Legs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> straight, chin down, and roll on the +three. And if you dream it's a pleasure to have a big husk of an +instructor pump your arms back and forth for an hour, and say sarcastic +things to you when you get mixed, with a whole gallery of fat old women +and grinning old sports looking on—Well, I'm tellin' you it's fierce. +Ab-so-lutely. It was the swimming lesson that finished me. Especially +the counting. 'Why, Lucy Snell, you poor prune,' says I to myself, +'you're not having a good time. You're back in school, second grade, and +the dunce of the class.' That's what I was, too. A flat failure. And +when I got to thinking of how Babe would take it when he found +out—Well, it got on my nerves so that I simply made a run for home. +There! You can tell him all about it, and I suppose he'll never want to +see or hear of me again."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," says I, "but I have my doubts. Anyway, it won't take long to +make a test."</p> + +<p>And when I'd left her and strolled out to the gate where Babe is pacin' +up and down anxious, he demands at once: "Well, did you find out?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I.</p> + +<p>"Was—was it something I did?" he asks trembly.</p> + +<p>"Sure it was," says I. "You let her in for an intensive training act +that would make the Paris Island marine school grind look like a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span> wand +drill. You should have had better sense, too. Why, what she was trying +to sop up in six weeks most young ladies give as many years to. Near as +I can judge she was making a game play of it, too. But of course she +couldn't last out. And it's a wonder she didn't wind up at a nerve +sanitarium."</p> + +<p>"Honest!" says Babe, beamin' on me and grabbin' my hand. "Is—is that +all?"</p> + +<p>"Ain't that enough?" says I.</p> + +<p>"But that's so easy fixed," says he. "Why, I am bored stiff at these +resort places myself. I thought, though, that Lucy was having the time +of her young life. What a chump I was not to see! Say, we'll take a +fresh start. And next time, believe me, she's going to have just what +she wants. That is, if I can persuade her to give me another trial."</p> + +<p>It seems he did, for later on he tells me he's bought that cute little +stucco cottage over near the country club and that him and Lucy are +going to settle down like regular people.</p> + +<p>"With a nursery and all?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"There's no telling," says Babe.</p> + +<p>And with that we swaps grins.</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_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2><h3>HARTLEY AND THE G. O. G.'S</h3> +</div> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Torchy," calls out Mr. Robert, as I'm reachin' for my hat +here the other noon, "you don't happen to be going up near the club on +your way to luncheon, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Not today," says I. "I'm lunchin' with the general staff."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says he, grinnin'. "In that case never mind."</p> + +<p>And for fear you shouldn't be wise to this little office joke of ours +maybe I'd better explain that who I meant was Hartley Grue, assistant +chief of our bond room force.</p> + +<p>Just goes to show how hard up we are for comic stuff in the Corrugated +Trust these days when we can squeeze a laugh out of such a +serious-minded party as Hartley. But you know how it is. I expect some +of them green-eyed clerks on the tall stools started callin' him that +when the War Department first turned him loose and he reports back to +tackle the old job wearin' the custom tailored uniform with the gold bar +on his shoulders. And I admit the rest of us might have found something +better to do than listen to them Class B-4 patriots<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> who would have +helped save the world for democracy if the war had lasted a couple years +more.</p> + +<p>Still, that general staff tag for Mr. Grue tickled us a bit. As a matter +of fact he did come back—from the Hoboken piers—about as military as +they made 'em. And to hear him talk about the Aisne drive and the St. +Mihiel campaign and so on you'd think he must have been right at +Pershing's elbow durin' the whole muss, instead of at Camp Mills and +later on at the docks on a transport detail. But he gets away with it, +even among us who have watched all the details of his martial career.</p> + +<p>For the big war gave Hartley his chance, and he grabbed it as eager as a +park squirrel nabbin' a peanut. He'd been hangin' on here in the bond +room for five or six years, edgin' up step by step until he got to be +assistant chief, but at that he wasn't much more'n an office drudge. +Everybody ordered him around, from Old Hickory down to Mr. Piddie. He +was one of the kind that you naturally would, being sort of meek and +spineless. He'd been brought up that way, I understand, for his old man +was a chronic grouch—thirty years at a railroad ticket office +window—and I expect he lugged his ticket sellin' disposition home with +him.</p> + +<p>Anyway, Hartley had that cheap, hang-dog look, like he was always +listenin' for somebody to hand him something rough and would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> +disappointed if they didn't. And yet he was quick enough to resent +anything if he thought it was safe. You'd see him scowlin' over his +books and he carried a constant flush under his eyes, as if he'd been +slapped recent across the face, or expected to be. Not what you'd call a +happy disposition, Hartley; nor was he just the type you'd pick out to +handle a bunch of men.</p> + +<p>All he had to start with was a couple of years' trainin' as a private in +one of the National Guard regiments. I suppose he knew "guide right" +from "left oblique" and how to ground arms without mashin' somebody's +pet corn. But I don't think anybody suspected he had any wild military +ambitions concealed under that 2x4 dome of his. Yet while most of us was +still pattin' Wilson on the back for keepin' us out of war Hartley had +already severed diplomatic relations and was wearin' a flag in his +buttonhole.</p> + +<p>When the first Plattsburg camp was organized Hartley was among the first +to get a month's leave of absence and report. He didn't make it, being a +little shy on the book stuff, besides lacking ten pounds or more for his +height. But that didn't discourage him. He begun taking correspondence +courses, eating corn meal mush twice a day, and cutting out the smokes. +And after a four weeks' whirl at the second officers' training camp he +squeezed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> through, coming out as a near lieutenant. Old Hickory Ellins +gasped some when Hartley showed up with the bar on his shoulders, but he +gave him the husky grip and notified him that his leave was extended for +the duration of the war with half pay.</p> + +<p>And the next we heard from Hartley he was located at Camp Mills drillin' +recruit companies. Two or three times he dropped in to say he expected +to be sent over, but each time something or other happened to keep him +within a trolley ride of Broadway. Once he was caught in a mumps +quarantine just as his division got sailing orders, and again he +developed some trouble with one of his knees. Finally Hartley threw out +that someone at headquarters was blockin' him from gettin' to the front, +and at last he got stuck with this dock detail, which he never got loose +from until he was turned out for good. Way up to the end, though, +Hartley still talked about getting over to help smash the Huns. I guess +he was in earnest about it, too.</p> + +<p>Maybe they thought when they had mustered Hartley out that they'd +returned another citizen to civilian life. But they hadn't more'n half +finished the job. Hartley wouldn't have it that way. He'd stored up a +lot of military enthusiasm that he hadn't been able to work off on +draftees and departin' heroes. In fact, he was just bustin' with it. You +could see that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> by the way he walked, even when he wasn't sportin' the +old O. D. once more on some excuse or other. He'd come swingin' into the +general offices snappy, like he had important messages for the colonel; +chin up, his narrow shoulders well back, and eyes front. He'd trained +Vincent, the office boy, to give him the zippy salute, and if any of the +rest of us had humored him he'd had us pullin' the same stuff. But those +of us that had been in the service was glad enough to give the right arm +motion a long vacation.</p> + +<p>"Nothing doing, Hartley," I'd say to him. "We've canned the Kaiser, +ain't we? Let's forget that shut-eye business."</p> + +<p>And how he did hate to part with that uniform. Simply couldn't seem to +do it all at once, but had to taper off gradual. First off he was only +going to sport it two days a week, but whenever he could invent a +special occasion, out it came. He even got him a Sam Browne belt, which +was contrary to orders, and once I caught him gazin' longin' in a show +window at some overseas service chevrons and wound stripes. Course, he +wore the allied colors ribbon, which passes with a lot of folks for +foreign decorations; but then, a whole heap of limited service guys have +put that over.</p> + +<p>When it came to provin' that it was us Yanks who really cleaned up the +Huns and finished the war, Hartley was right there. That was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> his strong +suit. He carried maps around, all marked up with the positions of our +different divisions, and if he could get you to listen to him long +enough he'd make you believe that after we got on the job the French and +English merely hung around the back areas with their mouths open and +watched us wind things up.</p> + +<p>"You see," he'd explain, "it was our superior discipline and our +wonderful morale that did it. Look at our marines. Just average material +to start with. But what training! Same way with a lot of our infantry +regiments. They'd been taught that orders were orders. It had been +hammered into 'em. They knew that when they were told to do a thing it +just had to be done, and that was all there was to it. We didn't wait +until we got over there to win the war. We won it here, on our +cantonment drill grounds. And I rather think, if you'll pardon my saying +so, that I did my share."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you admit it, Hartley," says I. "I was afraid you wouldn't."</p> + +<p>His latest bug though was this Veteran Reserve Army scheme of his. His +idea was that instead of scrappin' this big army organization that it +had cost so much to build up we ought to save it so it would be ready in +case another country—Japan maybe—started anything. He thought every +man should keep his uniform and equipment and be put on call. They ought +to keep up their training, too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> Might need some revisin' of regiments +and so on, but by having the privates report, say once a week, at the +nearest place where officers could meet them, it could be done. Course, +some of the officers might be too busy to bother with it. Well, they +could resign. That would give a chance for promotions. And the gaps in +the enlisted ranks could be kept filled from the new classes which +universal service would account for.</p> + +<p>See Hartley's little plan? He could go on wearin' his shoulder straps +and shiny leggins and maybe in time he'd have a gold or silver poison +ivy leaf instead of the bar.</p> + +<p>It was the details of this scheme that he'd been tryin' to work off on +me for weeks, but I'd kept duckin', until finally I'd agreed to let him +spill it across the luncheon table.</p> + +<p>"It's got to be a swell feed, though, Hartley," I insists as I joins him +out at the express elevator.</p> + +<p>"Will the Café l'Europe do?" he asks.</p> + +<p>"Gee!" says I. "So that's why you 're dolled up in the Sunday uniform, +eh? Got the belt on too. All right. But I mean to wade right through +from hors-d'œuvres to parfait. Hope you've cashed in your delayed pay +vouchers."</p> + +<p>I notice, too, that Hartley don't hunt out any secluded nook down in the +grill, but leads the way to a table right in the middle of the big room +on the main floor, where most of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> ladies are. And believe me, +paradin' through a mob like that is something he don't shrink from at +all. Did I mention that Hartley used to be kind of meek actin'? Well, +that was before I heard him talk severe to a Greek waiter.</p> + +<p>Also I got a new line on the way Hartley looks at the enlisted man. I'd +suggested that a lot of these returned buddies might have had about all +the drill stuff they cared for and that this idea of reportin' once a +week at some armory possibly wouldn't appeal to 'em.</p> + +<p>"They'll have to, that's all," says Hartley. "The new service act will +provide for that. Besides, it will do 'em good, keep 'em in line. +Anyway, that's what they're for."</p> + +<p>"Oh," says I. "Are they? Say, with sentiments like that you must have +been about as popular with your company, Hartley, as an ex-grand duke at +a Bolshevik picnic."</p> + +<p>"What I was after," says he, "was discipline, no popularity. It's what +the average young fellow needs most. As for me, I had it clubbed into me +from the start. If I didn't mind what I was told at home I got a bat on +the ear. Same way here in the Corrugated, you might say. I've always had +to take orders or get kicked. That's what I passed on to my men. At +least I tried to."</p> + +<p>And as Hartley stiffens up and glares across the table at an imaginary +line of doughboys I could guess that he succeeded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span></p> + +<p>It was while I was followin' his gaze that I noticed this bunch of five +young heroes at a corner table. Their overseas caps was stacked on a hat +tree nearby and one of 'em was wearin' some sort of medal. And from the +reckless way they were tacklin' big platters of expensive food, such as +broiled live lobster and planked steaks, I judged they'd been mustered +out more or less recent.</p> + +<p>Just now, though, they seemed a good deal interested in something over +our way. First off I didn't know but some of 'em might be old friends of +mine, but pretty soon I decides that it's Hartley they're lookin' at. I +saw 'em nudgin' each other and stretchin' their necks, and they seems to +indulge in a lively debate, which ends in a general haw-haw. I calls +Hartley's attention to the bunch.</p> + +<p>"There's a squad of buddies that I'll bet ain't yearnin' to hear someone +yell 'Shun!' at 'em again," I suggests. "Know any of 'em?"</p> + +<p>"It is quite possible," says Hartley, glancin' at 'em casual. "They all +look so much alike, you know."</p> + +<p>With that he gets back to his Reserve Army scheme and he sure does give +me an earful. We'd got as far as the cheese and demi tasse when I +noticed one of the soldiers—a big, two-fisted husk—wander past us slow +and then drift out. A minute or two later Hartley is being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> paged and +the boy says there's a 'phone call for him.</p> + +<p>"For me?" says Hartley, lookin' puzzled. "Oh, very well."</p> + +<p>He hadn't more'n left when the other four strolls over, and one of the +lot remarks: "I beg your pardon, but does your friend happen to be +Second Lieutenant Grue?"</p> + +<p>"That's his name," says I, "only it was no accident he got to be second +lieutenant. That just had to be."</p> + +<p>They grins friendly at that. "You've described it," says one.</p> + +<p>"He was some swell officer, too, I understand," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all of that," says another. "He—he's out of the service now, is +he?"</p> + +<p>"Accordin' to the War Department he is," says I, "but if a little plan +of his goes through he'll be back in the game soon." And I sketches out +hasty Hartley's idea of keepin' the returned vets on tap.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't that be perfectly lovely now!" says the buddy with the medal, +diggin' his elbow enthusiastic into the ribs of the one nearest him. +"Wonder if we couldn't persuade him to make it two drill nights a week +instead of one. Eh, old Cootie Tamer?"</p> + +<p>Course, it develops that these noble young gents, before being sent over +to buck the Hindenburg line, had all been in one of the companies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> +Hartley had trained so successful. I wouldn't care to state that they +was hep to the fact that if it hadn't been for him they wouldn't have +turned out to be such fine soldiers. But they sure did take a lot of +interest in discoverin' one of their old officers. That was natural and +did them credit.</p> + +<p>Yes, they wanted to know all about Hartley; where he worked; what he +did, and what were his off hours. It was almost touchin' to see how +eager they was for all the details. Havin' been abroad so long, and +among foreigners, and in strange places, I expect Hartley looked like +home to 'em.</p> + +<p>And then again, you know how they say all them boys who went over have +come back men, serious and full of solemn, lofty thoughts. You could see +it shinin' in their eyes, even if they did let on to be chucklin' at +times. So I gives 'em all the dope I could about their dear old second +lieutenant and asks 'em to stick around a few minutes so they could meet +him.</p> + +<p>"We'd love to," says the one the others calls Beans. "Yes, indeed, it +would be a great pleasure, but I think we should defer it until the +lieutenant can be induced to leave off his uniform. You understand, I'm +sure. We—we should feel more at ease."</p> + +<p>"Maybe that could be fixed up, too," says I.</p> + +<p>"If it only could!" says Beans, rollin' his eyes at the bunch. "But +perhaps it would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> better as sort of a surprise. Eh? So you needn't +mention us. We—we'll let him know in a day or so."</p> + +<p>Well, they kept their word. Couldn't have been more 'n a couple of days +later when Hartley calls me one side confidential and shows me this note +askin' him if he wouldn't be kind enough to meet with a few of his old +comrades in arms and help form a permanent organization that would +perpetuate the fond ties formed at Camp Mills.</p> + +<p>Hartley is beamin' all over his face. "There!" says he. "That's what I +call the true American spirit. And, speaking as a military man, I've +seen no better example of a morale that lasts through. It's the +discipline that does it, too. I suppose they want me to continue as +their commanding officer; to carry on, as it were."</p> + +<p>"Listens that way, doesn't it?" says I. "But what do the initials at the +end stand for—the G. O. G.'s.?"</p> + +<p>"Can't you guess?" says Hartley, almost blushin'. "Grue's Overseas +Graduates."</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "Say, that's handin' you something, eh? Looked +like a fine bunch of young chaps. Some of 'em college hicks, I expect?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says Hartley. "All kinds from plumbers to multi-millionaires. +Fact! I had young Ogden Twombley as company secretary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> at one time. Yes, +and I remember docking his leave twelve hours once for being late at +assembly. But see what it's done for those boys."</p> + +<p>"And think what they did to the Huns," says I. "But where's this joint +they want to meet you at? What's the number again? Why, that's the +Plutoria."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" says Hartley. "Oh, well, there were a lot of young swells among +'em. I must get them interested in my Veteran Reserve plan. I'll have to +make a little speech, I suppose, welcoming them back and all that sort +of thing. Perhaps you'd like to come along, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "That is, so long as they don't call on me for any +remarks. How about this at the bottom, though? 'Civilian dress, +please'?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they'd feel a little easier, I suppose," says Hartley, "if I wasn't +in uniform. Maybe it would be best, the first time."</p> + +<p>So that's how it happened that promptly at 4 p.m. next day we was shown +up to this private suite in the Plutoria. Must have been kind of hard +for Hartley to give up his nifty O. D.'s, for he ain't such an +impressive young gent in a sack coat. And the braid bound cutaway and +striped pants he's dug out for the occasion makes him look more like a +floor walker from the white goods department than ever. But he tries to +look the second lieutenant in spite of it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> bracin' his shoulders well +back and swellin' his chest out important.</p> + +<p>It seems the G. O. G.'s has been doin' some recruitin' meantime, for +there's a dozen or more grouped about the room, some in citizens' +clothes but more still in the soldier togs they wore when they came off +the transport. And to judge by the looks of a table I got a squint at +behind a screen, they'd been doin' a little preliminary celebratin'. +However, they all salutes respectful and Hartley had just started to +shoot off his speech, which begins, of course: "Speaking as a military +man——" when this Beans gent interrupts.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, lieutenant," says he, "but the members of our organization +are quite anxious to know, first of all, if you will accept the high +command of the Gogs, so called."</p> + +<p>"With pleasure," says Hartley. "And as I was about to say——"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment," breaks in Beans again. "Fellow Gogs, we have before us +a willing candidate for the High Command. What is your pleasure?"</p> + +<p>"Initiation!" they whoops in chorus.</p> + +<p>"Carried!" says Beans. "Let the right worthy Buddies proceed to +administer the Camp Mills degree."</p> + +<p>"Signal!" calls out another cheerful. "Four—seven—eleven! Run the +guard!"</p> + +<p>Say, I couldn't tell exactly what happened<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> next, for I was hustled into +a corner and those noble young heroes of the Marne and elsewhere, full +of lofty aims and high ambitions and—and other things—Well, they +certainly didn't need any promptin' to carry out the order of +ceremonies. Without a word or a whisper they proceeds to grab Hartley +wherever the grabbin' was good and then pass him along. By climbin' on a +chair I could get a glimpse of him now and then as he is sent whirlin' +and bumpin' about, like a bottle bobbin' around in rough water. Back and +forth he goes, sometimes touchin' the floor and then again being tossed +toward the ceilin'. Two or three of 'em would get him and start rushin' +him across the room when another bunch would tear him loose and begin +some maneuvers of their own.</p> + +<p>Anyway, runnin' the guard seems to be about as strenuous an act as +anybody could go through and come out whole. It lasts until all hands +seem to be pretty well out of breath and someone blows a whistle. Then a +couple of 'em drags Hartley up in front of Brother Beans and salutes.</p> + +<p>"Well, right worthy Buddies," says he, "what have you to report +concerning the candidate?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry, sir," says one, "but we caught him tryin' to run the guard."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says Beans. "Did he get away with it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span></p> + +<p>"He did not," says the Buddie. "We suspect he's a dud, too."</p> + +<p>"Very serious," says Beans, shakin' his head. "Candidate, what have you +to say for yourself?"</p> + +<p>To judge by the hectic tint on Hartley's neck and ears he had a whole +heap he wanted to say, but for a minute or so all he can do is breathe +hard and glare. He's a good deal of a sight, too. The cutaway coat has +lost one of its tails; his hair is rumpled up like feathers, and his +collar has parted its front moorin's. As soon as he gets his wind +though, he tries to state what's on his mind.</p> + +<p>"You—you young rough-necks!" says he. "I—I'll make you sweat for this. +You'll see!"</p> + +<p>"Harken, fellow Gogs!" says Beans. "The candidate presumes to address +your Grand Worthy in terms unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. I +would suggest that we suspend the ritual until by some means he can be +brought to his better senses. Can anyone think of a way?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" someone sings out. "Let's give him Days Gone By."</p> + +<p>The vote seems to be unanimous and the proceedin's open with Brother +Beans waggin' his finger under Hartley's nose. "Kindly recall November +22, 1917," says he. "It was Saturday, and my leave ticket read from 11 +a. m. of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> that date until 11 p. m. of the 23rd. You knew who was waiting +for me at the Matron's House, too. And just because I'd changed to +leather leggins inside the gate you called me back and put me to +scrubbing the barracks floor, making me miss my last chance at a matinée +and otherwise queering a perfectly good day. Next!"</p> + +<p>"My turn!" sings out half a dozen others, but out of the push that +surges toward Hartley steps a light-haired, neat dressed young gent, who +walks with a slight limp. "I trust you'll remember me, lieutenant," says +he. "I was Private Nelson, guilty of the awful crime of appearing at +inspection with two grease spots on my tunic because you'd kept me on +mess sergeant detail for two weeks and the issues of extra uniforms +hadn't been made. So you gave me double guard duty the day my folks came +all the way down from Buffalo to see me. Real clever of you, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>One by one they reminded Hartley of little things like that, without +givin' him a chance to peep, until each one had had his say. But finally +Hartley gets an openin'.</p> + +<p>"You got just what you needed—discipline," says he. "That's what made +soldiers out of you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, did it!" says Brother Beans. "Then perhaps a little of it would +qualify you for the High Command. Shall we try it, Most Worthy +Buddies?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span></p> + +<p>"Soak it on him, Beans!" is the verdict, shouted enthusiastic from all +sides.</p> + +<p>"So let it be," says Beans solemn. "And now, candidate, you are about to +be escorted forth where the elusive cigar-butt lurks in the gutter and +scraps of paper litter the pavement. As an exponent of this particular +brand of discipline you will see that no small item escapes you. Should +you be so remiss, or should you falter in doing your full duty, you will +be returned at once to this room, where retribution waits with heavy +hands. Ho, Worthy Buddies! Invest the candidate with the sacred insignia +of the empty gunny sack."</p> + +<p>And say, when them Gogs started out to put a thing through they did it +systematic and thorough. Inside of a minute Hartley is armed with an old +bag and is being hustled out to the elevator. As they didn't seem to be +taking much notice of me, I tags along, too. They leads Hartley right +out in front of the Plutoria and sets him to cleanin' up the block.</p> + +<p>Course, it's a little odd to see a young gent in torn cutaway coat and +tousled hair scramblin' around under taxi-cabs and dodgin' cars to pick +up cigar-butts and chewin' gum papers. So quite a crowd collects. Some +of 'em cheers and some haw-haws. But the overseas vets. don't allow +Hartley to let up for a second.</p> + +<p>"Hey! Don't miss that cigarette stub!" one would call out to him. And as +soon as he'd retrieved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> that another would point out a piece of banana +peelin' out in the middle of the avenue. He got cussed enthusiastic by +some of the taxi drivers who just grazed him, and the traffic cop +threatened to run him in until he saw the bunch of soldiers bossin' the +job and then he grins and turns the other way.</p> + +<p>I expect I should have been more or less wrathy at seein' a brother +officer get it as raw as that, but I'm afraid I did more or less +grinnin' at some of Hartley's antics. It struck me, though, that he +might be kind of embarrassed if I stayed around until they turned him +loose. So before he finished I edged out of the crowd and drifted off.</p> + +<p>I couldn't help puttin' one thing up to Brother Beans though. "Excuse me +for gettin' curious," says I, "but when I asks Hartley what G. O. G. +stands for he made kind of a punk guess. If it ain't any deep +secret——"</p> + +<p>"It is," says Brother Beans, "but I think I'll let you in on it. The +name of our noble organization is 'Grue's Overseas Grouches,' and our +humble object is to rebuke the only taint of Prussianism which we have +personally encountered in an otherwise perfectly good man's army. When +we've done that we intend to disband."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, glancin' over to where Hartley is springin' sort of a +sheepish smile at a buck private who's pattin' him on the back, "I think +you can most call it a job now."</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_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2><h3>THE CASE OF OLD JONESEY</h3> +</div> + +<p>And then again, you can't always tell. I forget whether it was Bill +Shakespeare first sprung that line, or Willie Collier; but whoever it +was he said a whole bookful at once. Wise stuff. That's it. And simple, +too. Yet it's one of the first things we forget.</p> + +<p>But to get the point over I expect I'll have to begin with this +bond-room bunch of ours at the Corrugated. They're the kind of young +sports who always think they can tell. More'n that they always will, +providin' they can get anybody to listen. About any subject you can +name, from whether the government should own the railroads to describin' +the correct hold in dancin' the shimmy.</p> + +<p>This particular day though it happens to be babidolls. Maybe it wasn't +just accident, either. I expect the sudden arrival of spring had +something to do with the choice of topic. For out in Madison Square park +the robins were hoppin' busy around in the flower beds, couples were +twosing confidential on the benches, lady typists were lunchin' off ice +cream cones, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> the Greek tray peddlers were sellin' May flowers.</p> + +<p>Anyway, it seemed like this was a day when romance was in the air, if +you get me. I think Izzy Grunkheimer must have started it with that +thrillin' tale of his about how he got rung in on a midnight studio +supper down in Greenwich Village and the little movie star who mistook +him for Charley Zukor. Izzy would spin that if he got half an openin'. +It was his big night. I believe he claims he got hugged or something. +And he always ends up by rollin' his eyes, suckin' in his breath and +declarin' passionate: "Some queen, yes-s-s!"</p> + +<p>But the one who had the floor when I strolls into the bond room just +before the end of the noon hour is Skip Martin, who helped win the war +by servin' the last two months checkin' supplies for the front at St. +Nazaire. He was relatin' an A. W. O. L. adventure in which a little +French girl by the name of Mimi figured prominent, when Budge Haley, who +was a corporal in the Twenty-seventh and got all the way to Coblenz, +crashed in heartless.</p> + +<p>"Cheap stuff, them base port fluffs," says Budge. "Always beggin' you +for chocolate or nickin' you for francs some way. And as for looks, I +couldn't see it. But say, you should have seen what I tumbled into one +night up in Belgium. We'd plugged twenty-six kilometers through the mud +and rain that day and was billeted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> swell in the town hall. The mess +call had just sounded and I was gettin' in line when the Loot yanks me +out to tote his bag off to some lodgin's he'd been assigned five or six +blocks away.</p> + +<p>"Maybe I wasn't good and sore, too, with everything gettin' cold and me +as a refugee. I must have got mixed up in my directions, for I couldn't +find any house with a green iron balcony over the front door noway. +Finally I takes a chance on workin' some of my French and knocks at a +blue door. Took me some time to raise anybody, and when a girl does +answer all I gets out of her is a squeal and the door is slammed shut +again. I was backin' off disgusted when here comes this dame with the +big eyes and the grand duchess airs.</p> + +<p>"'Ah le bon Dieu!' says she gaspy. 'Le soldat d'Amerique! Entrez, +m'sieur.' And say, even if I couldn't have savvied a word, that smile +would have been enough. Did I get the glad hand? Listen; she hadn't seen +anything but Huns for nearly four years. Most of that time she'd spent +hidin' in the cellar or somewhere, and for her I was the dove of peace. +She tried to tell me all about it, and I expect she did, only I couldn't +comprenez more'n a quarter of her rapid fire French. But the idea seemed +to be that I was a he-angel of the first class who deserved the best +there was in the house. Maybe I didn't get it, too. The Huns hadn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> +been gone but a few hours and the peace dinner she'd planned was only a +sketchy affair, as she wasn't dead sure they wouldn't come back. When +she sees me though, she puts a stop order on all that third-rate stuff +and tells the cook to go the limit. And say, they must have dug up food +reserves from the sub-cellar, for when me and the Countess finally sits +down——"</p> + +<p>"Ah, don't pull that on us!" protests Skip Martin. "We admit the vintage +champagne, and the pâté de foie gras, but that Countess stuff has been +overdone."</p> + +<p>"Oh, has it?" says Budge. "You mean you didn't see any hangin' 'round +the freight sheds. But this is in Bastogne, old son, and there was her +Countess mark plastered all over everything, from the napkins to the +mantelpiece. Maybe I don't know one when I get a close-up, same as I did +then. Huh! I'm telling you she was the real thing. Why, I'll bet she +could sail into Tiffany's tomorrow and open an account just on the way +she carries her chin."</p> + +<p>"Course she was a Countess," says Izzy. "I'll bet it was some dinner, +too. And what then?"</p> + +<p>"It didn't happen until just as I was leavin'," says Budge. "'Sis,' says +I, 'vous etes un-un peach. Merci very much.' And I was holdin' out my +hand for a getaway shake when she closes in with a clinch that makes +this Romeo and Juliet balcony scene look like an old maid's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> farewell. +M-m-m-m. Honest, I didn't wash it off for two days. And, countess or +not, she was some grand little lady. I'll tell the world that."</p> + +<p>"Look!" says one of our noble exempts. "You've even got old Jonesey +smackin' his lips."</p> + +<p>That gets a big laugh from the bunch. It always does, for he's one of +our permanent jokes, old Jones. And as he happens to be sittin' humped +over here in the corner brushin' traces of an egg sandwich from his +mouth corners, the josh comes in kind of pat.</p> + +<p>"Must have been some lady killer in his time, eh?" suggests Skip Martin.</p> + +<p>That gets across as a good line too, and Skip follows it up with +another. "Let's ask him, fellers."</p> + +<p>And the next thing old Jones knows he's surrounded by this grinnin' +circle of young hicks while Budge Haley is demandin': "Is it so, +Jonesey, that you used to be a reg'lar chicken hound?"</p> + +<p>I expect it's the funny way he's gone bald, with only a fringe of +grayish hair left, and the watery blue eyes behind the dark glasses, +that got us callin' him Old Jones. Maybe the bent shoulders and his +being deaf in one ear helps. But as a matter of fact, I don't think he's +quite sixty. To judge by the fringe, he once had a crop of sandy hair +that was more or less curly. Some of the color still holds in the +bristly mustache<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> and the ear tufts. A short, chunky party with a stubby +nose and sort of a solid-lookin' chin, he is.</p> + +<p>But there never is much satisfaction kiddin' Jonesey. You can't get his +goat. He just holds his hand up to his ear and asks kind of bored: "Eh, +what's that?"</p> + +<p>"How about them swell dames that used to go wild over you?" comes back +Skip.</p> + +<p>Old Jones gazes up at Skip kind of mild and puzzled. Then he shakes his +head slow. "No," says he. "Not me. If—if they did I—I must have +forgot."</p> + +<p>Which sets the bunch to howlin' at Skip. "There! Maybe that'll hold you, +eh?" someone remarks. And as they drift off Jonesey tackles a slice of +lunch-room pie placid.</p> + +<p>It struck me as rather neat, comin' from the old boy. He must have +forgot! I had a chuckle over that all by myself. What could Jonesey have +to forget? They tell me he's been with the Corrugated twenty years or +more. Why, he must have been on the payroll before some of them young +sports was born. And for the last fifteen he's held the same old +job—assistant filin' clerk. Some life, eh?</p> + +<p>About all we know of Old Jones is that he lives in a little back room +down on lower Sixth Avenue with a mangy green parrot nearly as old as he +is. They say he baches it there, cookin' his meals on a one-burner oil +stove, never reportin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> sick, never takin' a vacation, and never gettin' +above Thirty-third Street or below Fourteenth.</p> + +<p>Course, so far as the force is concerned, he's just so much dead wood. +Every shake-up we have somebody wants to fire him, or pension him off. +But Mr. Ellins won't have it. "No," says he. "Let him stay on." And you +bet Jonesey stays. He drills around, fussin' over the files, doing +things just the way he did twenty years ago, I suppose, but never +gettin' in anybody's way or pullin' any grouch. I've got so I don't +notice him any more than as if he was somebody's shadow passin' by. You +know, he's just a blank. And if it wasn't for them bond-room humorists +cuttin' loose at him once in a while I'd almost forget whether he was +still on the staff or not.</p> + +<p>It was this same afternoon, along about 2:30, that I gets a call from +Old Hickory's private office and finds this picturesque lookin' bird +with the three piece white lip whiskers and the premature Panama lid +glarin' indignant at the boss.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, glancin' at a card, "this is Señor Don Pedro +Cassaba y Tarragona."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" says I, just as though I wasn't surprised a bit.</p> + +<p>"Señor Don Pedro and so on," adds Old Hickory, "is from Havana, and for +the last half hour he has been trying to tell me something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> very +important, I've no doubt, to him. As it happens I am rather busy on some +affairs of my own and I—er—Oh, for the love of soup, Torchy take him +away somewhere and find out what it's all about."</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "This way, Seenor."</p> + +<p>"Perdone," says he. "Say-nohr."</p> + +<p>"Got you," says I, "only I may not follow you very far. About all the +Spanish I had I used up this noon orderin' an omelet, but maybe we can +get somewhere if we're both patient. Here we are, in my nice cozy corner +with all the rest of the day before us. Have a chair, Say-nohr."</p> + +<p>He's a perky, high-colored old boy, and to judge by the restless black +eyes, a real live wire. He looks me over sort of doubtful, stroking the +zippy little chin tuft as he does it, but he ends by shruggin' his +shoulders resigned.</p> + +<p>"I come," says he, "in quest of Señor Captain Yohness."</p> + +<p>"Yohness?" says I, tryin' to look thoughtful. "No such party around here +that I know of."</p> + +<p>"It must be," says he. "That I have ascertained."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well!" says I. "Suppose we admit that much as a starter. What about +him? What's he done?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says the Señor Don Pedro, spreadin' out his hands eloquent. "But +that is a long tale."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span></p> + +<p>It was, too. I expect that was what had got him in wrong with Old +Hickory. However, he tackles it once more, using the full-arm movement +and sprinklin' in Spanish liberal whenever he got stuck. Course, this +fallin' back on his native tongue must have been a relief to him, but it +didn't help me out much. Some I could guess at, and when I couldn't I'd +get him to repeat it until I worked up a hunch. Then we'd take a fresh +start. It's surprisin', too, how well we got along after we had the +system doped out.</p> + +<p>And accordin' to the Hon. Pete this Cap. Yohness party is an American +who hails from New York. Don't sound reasonable, I admit, with a +monicker like that, but I let the old boy spin along. Yohness had gone +to Cuba years ago, way back before the Spanish-American war. I take it +he was part of a filibusterin' outfit that was runnin' in guns and +ammunition for the Cubans to use against the Spaniards. In fact, he +mentions Dynamite Johnny O'Brien as the leader of the crowd. I think +that was the name. Listens like it might have been, anyway.</p> + +<p>Well, he says this Señor Yohness is some reckless cut-up himself, for he +not only runs the blockade of Spanish warships and lands his stuff, but +then has the nerve to stick around the island and even take a little +trip into Havana. Seems that was some stunt, too, for if he'd been +caught at it he'd have found a swift finish against the nearest wall.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span></p> + +<p>Course, he had to go in disguise, but he was handicapped by havin' red +hair. Not so vivid as mine, the Señor assures me, but red enough so he +wouldn't be mistaken easy for a Spaniard. He'd have gotten away with the +act, too, if he hadn't capped it by takin' the wildest chances anybody +could have thought up.</p> + +<p>While he's ramblin' around Havana, takin' in all the sights and rubbin' +elbows every minute with men who'd ask no better sport than giving him a +permanent chest puncture if they'd known who he was, what does he do but +get tangled up in a love affair. Even if his head hadn't been specially +priced for more pesos than you could put in a sugar barrel, this was a +hot time for any American to be lallygaggin' around the ladies in that +particular burg. For the Spanish knew all about where the reconcentrados +were getting their firearms from and they were good and sore on us. But +little details like that don't seem to bother El Capitan Yohness a bit. +When he gets in line with an oh boy! smile from behind a window grill he +smiles back and comes around for an encore. That's the careless kind of +a Yank he is.</p> + +<p>What makes it worse, though, is the fact that this special window +happens to be in the Governor's Palace. And the lady herself! The +Honorable Pedro shudders as he relates it. She is none other than la +Señorita Mario, a niece of the Governor General.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span></p> + +<p>She must have had misbehavin' eyes and a kittenish disposition, for she +seems to fall for this disguised New Yorker at first sight. Most likely +it was on account of his red hair. Anyway, after one or two long +distance exchanges she drops out a note arranging a twosome in the +palace gardens by moonlight. It's a way they have, I understand. And +this Yohness guy, he don't do a thing but keep the date. Course, he must +have known that as a war risk he'd have been quoted as payin' about a +thousand per cent. premium, but he takes the chance.</p> + +<p>It ain't a case of bein' able to stroll in any time, either. In order to +make it he has to conceal himself in the shrubbery before sundown, when +the general public is chased out of the grounds and a guard set at the +gates. Perhaps it was worth it, though, for Don Pedro says the Señorita +Donna Mario is a lovely lady; at least, she was then.</p> + +<p>Anyway, the two of 'em pulled it off successful, and they was snuggled +up on a marble bench gettin' real well acquainted—maybe callin' each +other by their first names and whisperin' mushy sentiments in the +moonshine—when the heavy villain enters with stealthy tread.</p> + +<p>It seems that Donna Mario had been missed from the Palace. Finally the +word gets to Uncle, and although he's a grizzly old pirate, he can +remember back when he was young himself. Maybe he had one of his sporty +secretaries in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> mind, or some gay young first lieutenant. However it +was, he connected with a first-class hunch that on a night like this, if +the lovely Donna Mario had strayed out anywhere she would sooner or +later camp down on a marble bench.</p> + +<p>Whether he picked the right garden seat first rattle out of the box, or +made two or three misses, I don't know. But when he does crash in he +finds the pair just going to a clinch. He ain't the kind of an uncle, +either, who would stand off and chuckle a minute before interruptin' +with a mild "Tut—tut, now, young folks!" No. He's a reg'lar movie drama +uncle. He gets purple in the gills. He snorts through his mustache. He +gurgles out the Spanish for "Ha, ha!". Then he unlimbers a sword like a +corn-knife, reaches out a rough hairy paw, and proceeds to yank our +young hero rudely from the fond embrace. Just like that.</p> + +<p>And here again I missed a detail or two. I couldn't make out if it was +the pink thatch of Yohness that gave him away, or whether Uncle could +tell an American just by the feel of his neck. But the old boy got wise +right away.</p> + +<p>"What," says he, like he was usin' the words as a throat gargle. "A +curs-ed Gr-r-ringo! For that you shall both die."</p> + +<p>Which was just where, like most movie uncles, he overdid the part. +Yohness might not have been particular whether he went on livin' or +not.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> He hadn't acted as though he cared much. But he wasn't going to +let a nice girl like the Donna Mario get herself carved up by an +impulsive relative who wore fuzzy face whiskers and a yellow sash +instead of a vest.</p> + +<p>"Ah, ditch the tragic stuff, Old Sport, while I sketch out how it was +all my fault," says he, or words to that effect.</p> + +<p>"G-r-r-r!" says Uncle, slashin' away enthusiastic with his sword.</p> + +<p>If our hero had been a second or so late in his moves there would be +little left to add. But heroes never are. And when this Cap. Yohness +party got into action he was a reg'lar bear-cat. The wicked steel merely +swished through the space he'd just left and before Uncle could get in +another swing something heavy landed on him and he was being gripped in +four places. Before the old boy knew what was happening, too, that +yellow sash had been unwound and he'd been tied up as neat as an express +package. All he lacked to go on the wagon was an address tag and a +"Prepaid" label gummed on his tummy.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," says Yohness, rollin' him into the shrubbery with his toe, "but +you mustn't act so mussy when the young lady has a caller."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Eso es espantoso!" says Donna Mario, meaning that now he had +spilled the beans for fair. "You must fly. I must—we must both flee."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," says Yohness. "That is, if the fleeing is good."</p> + +<p>"Here! Quick!" says she, grabbin' up the long cloak Uncle had been +wearing before he started something he couldn't finish. "And this also," +she adds, handin' Yohness a military cap with a lot of gold braid on it. +"We will go together. The guards know me. They will think you are my +uncle. Wait! I will call the carriage, as if for our evening drive."</p> + +<p>"Now that," says I, as Don Pedro gets to this part of the yarn, "was +what I call good work done. Made a clean getaway, did they?"</p> + +<p>He nods, and goes on to tell how, when they got to the city limits, El +Capitan chucked the driver and footman off the box, took the reins +himself and drove until near daybreak, when he dropped the fair Donna +Mario at the house of an old friend and then beat it down the pike until +he saw a chance to leave the outfit and make a break into the woods.</p> + +<p>"And I expect he was willin' to call it a night after that, eh?" says I. +"Reg'lar thrill hound, wasn't he? What became of him?"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says Don Pedro. "It is for that I come to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, so you have," says I. "I'd most forgotten. Yes, yes! You still +have the idea I can trace out Yohness for you? Suppose I could, though, +how would you be sure it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> the same one, after so many years? Got any +mark on him that——"</p> + +<p>"Listen," says Don Pedro. "El Capitan Yohness possesses a ring of +peculiar setting—pale gold—a large dark ruby in it. This was given him +that night by the Señorita Donna Mario. He swore to her never to part +with it until they should meet again. They never have, nor will. She is +no more. For years she lived hidden, in fear of her life. Then the war +came. Her uncle was driven back to Spain. Later her friend died, but she +left to Donna Mario her estate, many acres of valuable sugar plantation, +and the house, Casa Fuerta. It is this estate which Donna Mario in turn +has willed to her valiant lover. I am one of the executors. So I ask you +where is El Capitan Yohness?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know you do," says I. "But why ask me? How do you hook up the +Corrugated Trust with any such wild——"</p> + +<p>"See," says Don Pedro, producin' a yellow old letter. "This came to +Donna Mario just before the war. It is on the note paper of your firm."</p> + +<p>"Why, that's so!" says I. "Must have been when we were in the old +building, long before my time. But as far as—Say, the name ain't +Yohness. It's Jones, plain as day."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Yohness," says Don Pedro, spellin' it out loud, "Y-o-n-e-s. You +see, in Spanish we call it Yohness."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span></p> + +<p>He don't say it just like that, either, but that's as near as I can get +it. Anyway, you'd never recognize it as Jones.</p> + +<p>"Well," I goes on, "I don't know of anybody around the place now who +would fit your description. In fact, I don't believe there's anybody by +the name of—Yes, there is one Jones here, but he can't be the party. He +isn't that kind of a Jones."</p> + +<p>"But if he is Señor Jones—who knows?" insists Don Pedro.</p> + +<p>Then I has to stop and grin. Huh! Old Jonesey bein' suspected of ever +pullin' stuff like that. Say, why not have him in and tax him with it. +"Just a sec.," says I. "You can take a look yourself."</p> + +<p>I finds Jonesey with his head in a file drawer, as usual, and without +spillin' anything of the joke I leads him in and lines him up in front +of Don Pedro.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Jonesey," says I. "This gentleman comes from Havana. Were you +ever there?"</p> + +<p>"Why, ye-e-e-es. Once I was," says Jonesey, sort of draggy, as if tryin' +to remember.</p> + +<p>"You were?" says I. "How? When?"</p> + +<p>"It—it was a long time ago," says Jonesey.</p> + +<p>"Perdone," breaks in Don Pedro. "Were you not known as Señor El +Capitan?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" says Jonesey. "Why—I—some might have called me that."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span></p> + +<p>"Great guns!" I gasps. "See here, Jonesey; you don't mean to say you've +got the ring too?"</p> + +<p>"The ring?" says he, tryin' to look blank. But at the same time I notice +his hand go up to his shirt front sort of jerky.</p> + +<p>"The ring of the Señorita Donna Mario," cuts in Don Pedro eager.</p> + +<p>That don't get any hysterical motions out of him, though. He just stands +there, lookin' from one to the other of us slow and dazed, as if +something was tricklin' down into his brain. Once or twice he rubs a +dingy hand over his bald head. It seemed to help.</p> + +<p>"Donna Mario, Donna Mario," he repeats, half under his breath.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I. "And isn't that something like the ring you're coverin' +up there under your shirt bosom? Let's see."</p> + +<p>Without a word he unbuttons his collar, slips a looped string over his +head, and holds out a ring. It's a big ruby set in pale gold.</p> + +<p>"That is the ring of Donna Mario," says Don Pedro.</p> + +<p>"Hal-lup," says I. "Jonesey, do you mean to say you're the same one who +sailed with Dynamite Johnny, risked your neck to go poking around +Havana, made love to the Governor General's niece, trussed him up like a +roasting turkey when he interfered, and escaped with her in the palace +coach through whole rafts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> of soldiers who'd have been made rich for +life if they'd shot you on sight? You!"</p> + +<p>"That—that was a long time ago," says Jonesey.</p> + +<p>And if you will believe me, that's about all he would say. Wasn't even +much excited over the fact that a hundred thousand dollar sugar +plantation was about to be wished on him. Oh, yes, he'd go down with Don +Pedro and take possession. Was the grave of Donna Mario there? Then he +would go, surely.</p> + +<p>"I—I would rather like to," says Old Jonesey.</p> + +<p>"Huh," says I. "You better stick around until tomorrow noon. I want you +to hear what I've got to feed to that bond-room bunch."</p> + +<p>Jonesey shakes his head. No, he'd rather not. And as he shuffles back to +his old files I hears him mumblin', sort of soft and easy: "Donna Mario. +Ah, yes! Donna Mario!"</p> + +<p>Which proves, don't it, that you can't always tell. Even when the party +has such a common name as Jones.</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_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2><h3>AS LUCY LEE PASSED BY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Someone put on that Tales of Hoffman record, please, with a soft needle. +Thanks. Now if you'll turn out all but one bulb in the old rose-shaded +electrolier and pass the chocolate marshmallows maybe I'll try to sketch +out for you this Lucy Lee-Peyton Pratt version of the sweetest story +ever told.</p> + +<p>We got Lucy Lee on the bounce, as it were. She really hadn't come all +the way up from Atlanta to visit Vee even if they were old +boardin'-school chums. No, she was on her way to a house party up in +Lenox and was fillin' in the time before that happened by making a duty +stay with an old maid aunt who lived on Madison Avenue. But when it +develops that Auntie is taking the buttermilk cure for dyspepsia, has +grown too deaf to enjoy the theater, and is bugs over manipulatin' the +Ouija board, Lucy Lee gets out her address book and begins callin' up +old friends.</p> + +<p>I don't know how far down Vee was on the list but she seems to be the +first one to fall easy. When she hears how bored Lucy Lee is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> on Madison +Avenue she insists on her coming right out with us. So I get my orders +to round up Lucy Lee when I'm through at the office and tow her out +home. Hence this openin' scene in the taxi where I finds myself being +sized up coy and curious.</p> + +<p>There's only one way of describin' Lucy Lee. She's a sweet young thing. +Nothing big or bouncy about her. No. One of these half-portions. But +cute and kittenish from the tip of her double A pumps to the floppy hat +brim which only half hides a dangerous pair of eyes.</p> + +<p>"So good of you, Mr. Ballard," says she, shootin' over a shy look, "to +take all this trouble for poor little me."</p> + +<p>"It's a gift," says I. "Comes natural. What about baggage?"</p> + +<p>"I've sent a few things by express," says she. "Thank you so much, +Mr.—er—Do you know, I've heard such a lot about you from dear Vee that +I simply must call you Torchy."</p> + +<p>"If it's a case of must," says I, "then go to it."</p> + +<p>I'll admit it was a bit sudden, but Lucy Lee is such a chummy young +party, and so easy to get acquainted with, that it don't seem odd after +the first few times. First off she wants to know all about the baby, and +when I've shown her the latest snapshot, and quoted a couple of his +bright remarks, translated free, she announces right off that he must be +wonderful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span></p> + +<p>"Simp-ly wonderful!" is Lucy Lee's way of puttin' it, as she gazes +admirin' at me.</p> + +<p>Course, I don't deny it. Then she wants to know how long we've been +living out on Long Island, and what the house is like, and about my work +with the Corrugated Trust, and as I give her the details she listens +with them big eyes gettin' wider and wider.</p> + +<p>"Simp-ly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee.</p> + +<p>And somehow, just by workin' that system, she begins to register. First +off I was only kind of amused by it. But before we'd driven a dozen +blocks I was being rapidly convinced that here, at last, was somebody +who really understood. You know how it is. You feel that you're a great +strong noble man, so wise in the head that there's no use tryin' to +conceal it from eyes like that; and yet so kind and generous that you +don't mind talking to any simple young person who might be helped by it.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes. A half hour with Lucy Lee and you're apt to need an elastic hat +band. You never knew you could reel off such entertainin' chat. Why, +without half tryin' I could start that ripply laugh of hers going and +get the dimples playin' tag with her blushes. By the time we gets home I +feels like a reg'lar guy.</p> + +<p>"Cute little thing, ain't she?" I remarks to Vee durin' the forty minute +wait while Lucy Lee dresses for dinner.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says Vee, with a knowin' smile.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> "That is her specialty, I +believe. She's a dear though, even if she doesn't mean quite all of it."</p> + +<p>"Ah, why wake me up!" says I, grinnin'.</p> + +<p>It was next mornin' though that I got my big jolt, when an express truck +backs up with about a ton of baggage. There was only two wardrobe +trunks, a hat trunk, and a steamer trunk, and the men unloads 'em all.</p> + +<p>"Hal-lup!" says I, when they staggers in with the last one. "Who's +movin' in?"</p> + +<p>Seems it's the few little things that Lucy Lee needs for the week-end. +"I've told her to send for her maid," says Vee. "It was stupid of me not +to think of that before, knowing Lucy Lee."</p> + +<p>And later, when I've been called in to help undo the straps, I gets a +glimpse of the exhibit. Morning and afternoon frocks in one, evening +gowns in another, the steamer trunk full of shoes, besides all the hats.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, on the side to Vee. "Carries all her own scenery, don't +she? Say, there's enough to outfit a Ziegfeld song revue."</p> + +<p>What got the biggest gasp out of me though, was when Lucy Lee unpacks +her collection of framed photos and ranges 'em on the mantel and +dressin'-table. More'n a dozen, all men.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean, Lucy Lee," says Vee, "that these are all—er—on the +active list?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," says Lucy Lee, springin' the baby +stare. "They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> are simply some of my men friends. For instance, this is +dear old Major Knight, who's chairman of some board or other that Daddy +is a director on. He is so jolly and is always saying—Well, never mind +that. This one is Victor Norris, who tried so hard to get into aviation +and was just about to fly when the war had to go and end it. He's a +perfectly heavenly dancer. Then there's poor Arthur Kirby, only a +secretary to some senator, but such a nice boy. And the one in the naval +uniform is Dick—er—Well, I met him at a dinner in Washington just +before he got his discharge and he told me so many thrilling things +about chasing submarines in the North Sea or—or the Mediterranean or +somewhere. Hasn't he nice eyes, though? And this next one——"</p> + +<p>Well, I forget the rest for about then I got busy wonderin' how she +could keep the run of 'em all without the aid of a card index. But she +could. To Lucy Lee life must seem like a parade, she being the given +point. Which was where I begun to agree with Vee that there ought to be +a fourth plate put on the table, for over Sunday, at least.</p> + +<p>"But who'll I get?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Silly!" says Vee. "A man, of course. Any man."</p> + +<p>"All right," says I. "I'll try to collect somebody, even if I have to +draft Piddie."</p> + +<p>Saturday afternoon is apt to be more or less<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> of a busy time at the +Corrugated though, so it's near noon before I remembers my promise and +begins to look around panicky. No, Mr. Piddie couldn't oblige. He'd +planned to take the fam'ly to the Bronx. Sudders, our assistant auditor, +was booked for an all day golf orgie. I'd almost decided to kidnap +Vincent, our fair-haired office boy with the parlor manners, when I +happened to pass through the bond room and gets a glimpse of this Peyton +Pratt person lingerin' at his desk. He's diggin' a time-table out of a +suitcase.</p> + +<p>"Whither away, Peyton?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says he, sighin' discontented. "I suppose I must run up and spend +the day with my married sister in New Haven."</p> + +<p>"Why act so tickled over it?" says I.</p> + +<p>"But I'm not, really," says Peyton. "It isn't that I am not fond of +Ethel, and all that sort of thing. Walter—that's her husband—is a good +sort, too, and the children are nice enough. But it's quite a trip to +take for such a short visit—and rather expensive, you know. I've just +been figuring up."</p> + +<p>So he had. There on an office pad he's jotted down every item, including +the cost of a ten-word day message and the price of a box of candy for +the youngsters. He hadn't sent the wire yet, or bought the candy.</p> + +<p>"Got your dinner coat in there?" I asks, noddin' to the suitcase.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span></p> + +<p>He says he has.</p> + +<p>"Then listen," says I. "Cross New Haven off the map for this time and +lemme put you next to a week-end that won't set you back a nickel. +Haven't seen my place out on Long Island yet, have you; or met the new +heir to the house of Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Why—why, no, I haven't," hesitates Peyton.</p> + +<p>"High time, then," says I. "It'll all be on me, even to lettin' you +punch in on my trip ticket. Eh? What say?"</p> + +<p>Havin' known Peyton Pratt for some years I could pretty near call the +turn. That free round trip ought to be big casino for him. And it was. +Course, he protests polite how he couldn't allow me to put up for his +fare, and adds that he's heard so much about my charmin' little fam'ly +that he can't really afford to miss such a chance.</p> + +<p>"Sure you can't!" says I, smotherin' a grin.</p> + +<p>Not that Peyton is one of your common cheap skates. That ain't the idea +at all. He's a buddin' financier, Peyton is; one of these +little-red-notebook heroes, who wear John D. mottoes pasted in their +hats and can tell you just how Carnegie or Armour or Shonts or any of +them sainted souls laid up their first ten thousand.</p> + +<p>He's got all that thrift dope down fine, Peyton has. Why, he don't lick +a postage stamp of his own but it gets entered in the little old +expense<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> account along with the extra doughnut he plunged on at the +dairy lunch. He knows that's the way to win out for he's read it in +magazine articles and I'll bet every time he passes the Sub-Treasury he +lifts his lid reverent.</p> + +<p>I expect it's something Peyton was born to, for his old man was a bank +cashier and his two older brothers already have their names up on window +grills, he tells me, while an uncle of his is vice-president of an +insurance company. So it's no wonder Peyton is a reg'lar coupon hound. +His idea of light readin' is to sit down with "Talks to Investors" on +one knee and the market report on the other. Give him a forenoon off and +he'd spend it down at the Clearing House watchin' 'em strike the daily +balance. Uh-huh. The only way he can write U. S. is in a monogram—like +this—$$</p> + +<p>Not such a bad-lookin' chap though; tall, slim and dark, with a long +straight nose and a well-developed chin. Course he's got kind of a +bilious indoor complexion, and them thick glasses don't add to his +beauty. You can imagine too, that his temperament ain't exactly +frivolous. Hardly! Yet he thinks he's a great jollier when he wants to +be. Also he likes to have me kid him about bein' such a finicky dresser, +for while he never splurges on anything sporty, he's always neat and +well dressed.</p> + +<p>"Who's the little queen that all this is done for?" I asks him once.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span></p> + +<p>"When I have picked her out I'll let you know, Torchy," says he, +blinkin' foxy.</p> + +<p>Later on though he tells me all about it confidential. He admits likin' +well enough to run around with nice girls when it can be done without +danger of being worked for orchestra seats or taxi fares. But there was +no sense gettin' in deep with any particular one until a feller was sure +of a five figure income, at least.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Then you got time enough to train one up from the +cradle."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says he. "Anyway, I shall wait until I find one with +tastes as simple as my own."</p> + +<p>"You may," says I, "and then again—Well, I've seen wiser guys than you +rushed off their feet by fluffy young parties whose whole stock in trade +was a pair of misbehavin' eyes."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says Peyton. "I've been exposed to that sort of thing as often +as anyone. I think I'm immune."</p> + +<p>"Maybe you are," I has to admit.</p> + +<p>So as I tows Peyton out to the house that afternoon I kind of hands it +to myself that I've filled Vee's order. And there standing on the front +veranda admirin' the lilacs is Lucy Lee in one of her plain little +frocks—a pink and white check—lookin' as fresh and dainty and +inexpensive as a prize exhibit from an orphan asylum.</p> + +<p>I whispers to Vee on the side: "Well, you see I got him. Peyton's +someone she can practice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> on, too, and no harm done. He's case +hardened."</p> + +<p>"Really," says Vee, lookin' him over.</p> + +<p>"Admits it himself," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, then!" says Vee, with one of her quizzin' smiles.</p> + +<p>And at first it looked like Peyton was about to qualify as an all-'round +exempt. He barely seemed to see Lucy Lee. While she was unreelin' the +sprightly chatter he was inspectin' the baby, or talkin' with Vee, or +askin' fool questions about the garden. Hardly takes a second glance at +Lucy Lee. I expect he had her sized up as about sixteen. He could easy +make that mistake.</p> + +<p>Maybe that's what started her in on this brisk offensive at dinner. +Nothing high-school girly about Lucy Lee when she floats down the stairs +at 7:15. It's a grown-up evenin' gown she's wearin' this time. No doubt +then whether or not she'd had her comin' out. The only question was +where she was going to stop comin' out. Not that it wasn't simple +enough, but it sure was skimpy above the belt.</p> + +<p>After his first gasp you could see Peyton sittin' up and takin' notice. +Couldn't very well help it, either, for Lucy Lee sure had the net out. I +hadn't noticed them big innocent eyes of hers brought into full play +before but now she cuts loose regardless. And Peyton, he is right in +range. She's givin' him samples of them Oh-you-great-big-wonderful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> man +looks. You know. And inside of ten minutes Peyton don't know whether +he's bein' passed the peas or is being elected second vice-president of +something.</p> + +<p>And I'd always classed Peyton as a cold storage proposition! You should +see the way he thaws out, though. Why, he tells funny stories, throws +off repartee, and spreads himself generally. That long sallow face of +his got tinted up like he'd had a beauty parlor treatment, and his +serious eyes got to sparklin' behind the thick panes.</p> + +<p>As for Vee and me, we swapped an amused glance now and then and enjoyed +the performance. After the coffee, when Lucy Lee has led him out on the +east terrace to see the full moon come up, they just naturally camped +down in a swing seat and opened up the confidential chat. By the deep +rumble we could tell that Peyton was carryin' the big end of the +conversation.</p> + +<p>"I know," says I. "Lucy Lee is makin' him tell how he's goin' to have +Wall Street eatin' out of his hand some day, and every once in a while +she's remarkin': 'Why, Mr. Pratt! I think you're wonderful; simp-ly +wonderful!'"</p> + +<p>"But I thought you said," puts in Vee, "that he was—er—case hardened?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's just playin' the game," says I. "Maybe it's gone to his head a +little tonight, but when it comes time to duck—You'll see."</p> + +<p>One of my pet notions has always been that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> breakfast time is the true +acid test for this romance stuff. Specially for girls. But next morning +Lucy Lee shows up in another little gingham effect, lookin' as fresh and +smilin' as a bed of tulips. And the affair continues right on from +there. It lasts all day and all that evenin' except when Lucy Lee was +makin' another quick change, which she does about four times accordin' +to my count. And each costume is complete—dress, hat, shoes, stockings +all matchin'. The only restless motions Peyton makes, too, are durin' +these brief waits.</p> + +<p>"Entertainin' young party, eh?" I suggests to him as Lucy Lee does one +of her sudden flits.</p> + +<p>"A most interesting and charming girl," says Peyton.</p> + +<p>"Some class, too. What?" I adds.</p> + +<p>"If you mean that she dresses in excellent taste, I agree with you," +says he. "Such absolute simplicity, and yet——" Peyton spreads out his +hands eloquent. "Why can't all girls do that?" he asks. "It would +be—er—such a saving. I've no doubt she makes them all herself."</p> + +<p>"If she does," says I, "she must have put in a busy winter."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says Peyton. "They're all such simple little things. +And then, you know—or possibly you don't—that Lucy—er—I mean Miss +Vaughn, is a surprisingly capable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> young woman. Really. There's so much +more to her than appears on the surface."</p> + +<p>"Tut, tut, Peyton!" says I. "Ain't you gettin' in kind of deep?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be absurd, Torchy," says he. "Just because I show a little +natural interest in a charming young woman it doesn't follow that——"</p> + +<p>"Look!" says I. "Someone's givin' you the come-on signal."</p> + +<p>Course, it's Lucy Lee. She's changed to an afternoon costume, sort of an +old blue effect with not a frill or a ruffle in sight but with +everything toned in, from the spider-webby hat to the suede slippers. +And all she has to do to bring Peyton alongside is to tilt her chin +invitin'.</p> + +<p>We only caught glimpses of 'em the whole afternoon. And that Sunday +evenin' the porch swing worked overtime again. I know both Vee and me +did a lot of yawnin' before they finally drifts in. I'd never seen +Peyton quite so chirky. He even goes so far as to smoke a cigarette. And +next mornin', as he leaves reluctant with me to catch the 8:03 express, +he stops me at the gate to give me the hearty grip.</p> + +<p>"I say, old man," says he husky, "I—I never can tell you how grateful I +am for—for what you've done."</p> + +<p>"Then let's forget it," says I.</p> + +<p>"Forget!" says he, smilin' mushy. "Never!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span></p> + +<p>At lunch time he asks me which of the Fifth Avenue photographers I think +is the best.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, grinnin'. "Thinkin' of havin' yourself mugged and sendin' +the result to somebody in a silver frame?"</p> + +<p>"Well," says he draggy, "I—I've been meaning to have some pictures +taken for several years, and now——"</p> + +<p>"Got you," says I. "But if you want something real swell let me tow you +to a place I know of on Fifty-fifth."</p> + +<p>Honest, I wasn't thinking about the Maison Noir at the time or that it +was just next door. In fact, it was Peyton himself who stops in front of +the show window and grabs me by the arm.</p> + +<p>"I say!" says he, pointin' in at the exhibit. "See—see there."</p> + +<p>He's pointin' to a display of checked gingham frocks, blue and white and +pink and white, with hats to match.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "do look sort of familiar, don't they?"</p> + +<p>"Why," he goes on, "they're almost exactly like those of—of Lucy's; the +same simple lines, the same material and everything."</p> + +<p>"Classy stuff," says I. "Come along, though. The picture place is next +door, upstairs."</p> + +<p>Peyton still stands there gawpin'. "Such a coincidence," he's murmurin'. +"I wonder,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> Torchy, if one could find out about how much they ask for +such things in a place like this."</p> + +<p>"Easiest thing in the world," says I. "Just blow in and get 'em to give +you quotations."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but I wouldn't dare do that," says he. "It would seem so—so——"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," says I. "As it happens, this joint is one where Vee does +more or less shoppin', when she's feelin' flush, and I've often been +with her. If you're curious we'll breeze in and get their prices."</p> + +<p>Peyton was right there with the curiosity, too. And the lady vamp with +the long string of beads danglin' from her neck didn't seem to think it +odd for us to be interested in checked ginghams.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes-s-s!" says she, throwin' open the back doors of the show +window. "Zey are great bargains, those. Marked down but las' week. Thees +wan—m-m-m-m—only $68; but wiz ze hat also, $93."</p> + +<p>And the gasp that gets out of Peyton sounds like openin' an airbrake.</p> + +<p>"Nine-ty three dollars!" says he. "For a simple little thing like that? +Why, that seems to be rather exorbitant!"</p> + +<p>"Mais non!" says the lady vamp, shruggin' her shoulders. "They are what +you call simple, yes. But they are chic, too. One considers that. Las' +week come a young lady from Atlanta who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> in one hour takes two dozen at +once, and more next day. You see!"</p> + +<p>Peyton was beginning to see. But he wanted to be dead sure. "From +Atlanta?" says he. "Not—not a—a Miss Vaughn?"</p> + +<p>"Mais oui!" says Madame, clappin' her hands enthusiastic. "The ver' one. +You know her? Yes?"</p> + +<p>"I—I thought I did," says Peyton, sort of weak, as he starts for the +door.</p> + +<p>He calls off the picture proposition. Says he ain't quite in the mood. +And all that day he seems to have something on his mind that he couldn't +unload. Three or four times he seems to be just on the point of statin' +it to me but never can quite get a start. And next day he's a good deal +the same. He was like that when I left the office about 4 p.m. to catch +an early train. I could about guess what was troublin' him.</p> + +<p>So I wasn't much surprised, just before dinner to see Peyton appearin' +at our front gate.</p> + +<p>"I—I'm sure I don't know what you'll think of me, Torchy," he begins +apologizing "but I—I just had to——"</p> + +<p>"Too bad!" says I. "You're only four hours late. Lucy Lee left for Lenox +on the 2:10."</p> + +<p>"Gone!" says he. "But I thought——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, she did plan to stay longer," says I, "but it was a bit slow for +her here, and when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> she got a wire that a certain Captain Wright was to +be at his sister's for a few days' furlough—Well, inside of an hour she +and her maid had packed and were on their way. Oh, yes, and there goes +the rest of Lucy Lee's baggage now."</p> + +<p>The express truck was just rollin' around from the side door. Peyton +stares at the load goggle-eyed. "But—but you don't mean that all of +those trunks are hers?" he demands.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I. "I helped strap 'em up. And one of them wardrobes, +Peyton, carries about twenty-five of those little checked dresses. The +hats go in the square affair, and the shoes in the steamer trunk. +Thirty-eight pairs, I believe. Just enough for a week-end. Then in that +bulgy-topped trunk——"</p> + +<p>But Peyton ain't listenin'. He's just standin' there, with a dazed, +stunned look in his eyes like he'd just been missed by an express train. +But his lips are movin'. I got the idea. He was doin' mental +arithmetic—twenty-five times ninety-three. And he was gettin' a picture +of a thousand dollar income lyin' flat on its back.</p> + +<p>When he comes to be asks me faint when he can get back to town. No, he +won't stay for dinner. "Thank you," says he, "but I couldn't. I'm too +much upset. I fear that I—I've made a dreadful mistake, Torchy."</p> + +<p>"About Lucy Lee?" says I. "Don't worry. All you've done is come near +contributin' another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> silver frame to her collection. You just happened +to find a free field, that's all. Otherwise it would have been a case +where you'd stood in line."</p> + +<p>Course Peyton don't believe a word of it. He still thinks he's had a +desperate affair. He don't know whether he's safe yet or not. All he can +see is rows and rows of figures assaultin' that poor little expense book +of his. I expect he thinks he's entitled to wear a wound stripe over his +heart.</p> + +<p>Yesterday we had a bread-and-butter note from Lucy Lee mostly telling +what a whale of a time she was havin' up at Lenox.</p> + +<p>"Anything about Peyton?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Why, no," says Vee. "But she says the dear captain is——"</p> + +<p>"I know," says I. "Simp-ly wonderful."</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_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2><h3>TORCHY MEETS ELLERY BEAN</h3> +</div> + +<p>Course, I was sayin' it mostly to kid Vee along. I expect I'm nearly as +strong for this suburban life stuff as she is, but whenever she gets a +bit gushy about it, which she's apt to such nights as we've been havin' +recent, with the moon full and the summer strikin' its first stride, I'm +apt to let on that I feel different.</p> + +<p>You see, she'd towed me out on the back terrace to smell how sweet the +honeysuckle was and watch the moon sail up over the tall locust trees +beyond the vegetable garden.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it a perfectly gorgeous night, Torchy?" says she. "And doesn't +everything look so calm and peaceful out here?"</p> + +<p>"May look that way," says I, "but you never can tell. I like the country +in the daytime all right, but at night, especially these moony +ones,—Well, I don't know as I'll ever get used to 'em."</p> + +<p>"How absurd, Torchy!" says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Makes things look so kind of spooky," I goes on. "All them shadows. How +do you know what's behind 'em? And so many queer noises. There! Listen +to that!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span></p> + +<p>"Silly!" says she. "That's a tree-toad. I hope you aren't afraid of +that."</p> + +<p>"Not if he's a tame one," says I. "But how can you tell he ain't wild? +And there comes a whirry-buzzin' noise."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says she. "A motor coming down the macadam. There, it's turned +into our road! Perhaps someone coming to see us, Goosie."</p> + +<p>Sure enough, it was. A minute later Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins were +givin' us the hail out front. It seems they'd come to pick us up to make +a call with them on some new neighbors.</p> + +<p>"Who?" asks Vee.</p> + +<p>"You couldn't guess," says Mrs. Robert. "The Zoscos."</p> + +<p>"Really!" says Vee. "I thought they were——"</p> + +<p>"Yes," chimes in Mrs. Robert, "I suppose they are, too. Rather +impossible. But I simply must try that big pipe organ I hear they've put +in. Bob thinks it's an awful thing to do. See how shocked he looks. But +I've promised not to stay more than half an hour if the movie magnate is +in anything more startling than a placid after-dinner state, or if the +place is cluttered up with too many screen favorites. And I think Bob +wants Torchy to go along as bodyguard. So won't you both come? What do +you say?"</p> + +<p>Trust Vee for takin' a dare. She'll try anything once. I expect she'd +been some curious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> all along to see what this new Mrs. Zosco looked +like. "What was it you said she used to be called, Torchy?" she demands.</p> + +<p>"'Myrtle Mapes, the Girl With the Million Dollar Smile,' was the way she +was billed," says I. "But them press agents don't care what they say +half the time. And maybe she only smiles that way when the camera's set +for a close-up."</p> + +<p>"I don't care," says Vee. "I think it would be great fun to go."</p> + +<p>As for me, I didn't mind, one way or the other. I'd seen this Andres +Zosco party plenty of times, ridin' back and forth on the train. He'd +even offered to pick me up in his limousine and give me a lift once when +I was hikin' up from the station. And I must say he wasn't just my idea +of a plute movie producer.</p> + +<p>Nothin' imposin' about Mr. Zosco. Hardly. Kind of a dumpy, short-legged +party, with a round smooth face, sort of mild brown eyes, and his hair +worn in a skinned diamond effect. You'd never take him for a guy who'd +go out and buy a Hudson River steamer and blow it up just for the sake +of gettin' a thousand feet of film, or put on a mob scene with enough +people to fill Times Square like an election night. No. He was usually +readin' seed catalogues and munchin' salted peanuts out of a paper bag.</p> + +<p>It was early last spring that he'd bought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> this Villa Nova place, a mile +or so beyond the Ellinses, and moved out with the bride he'd picked out +of his list of screen stars. I don't know whether he expected the Piping +Rock crowd to fall for him or not. Anyway, they didn't. They just +shuddered when his name was mentioned and stayed away from Villa Nova +same as they had when that Duluth copper plute, who'd built the freak +near-Moorish affair, tried the same act. But it didn't look like the +Zoscos meant to be frozen out so easy. After being lonesome for a month +or so they begun fillin' their 20 odd bedrooms with guests of their own +choosin'. Course, some of 'em that I saw arrivin' looked a bit rummy, +but it was plain the Zoscos didn't intend to bank on the neighbors for +company. Maybe they didn't want us crashin' in either, as Mr. Robert +suggests.</p> + +<p>You couldn't worry Mrs. Robert with hints like that, though. She's a +good mixer. Besides, if she'd made up her mind to play that new pipe +organ you could pretty near bet she'd do it. So inside of three minutes +she had us loaded into the car and off we rolls to surprise the Zoscos.</p> + +<p>Villa Nova, you know, is perched on the top of quite a sizable hill, +with a private road windin' up from the Pike. As you swing in you pass +an odd-shaped vine-covered affair that I suppose was meant for a +gate-keeper's lodge,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> though it looks like a stucco tower that had been +dropped off some storage warehouse.</p> + +<p>Well, we'd just made the turn and Mr. Robert had gone into second to +take the grade when I gets a glimpse of somebody doin' a hasty duck into +the shrubbery; a slim, skinny party with a plaid cap pulled down over +his eyes so far that his ears stuck out on either side like young wings. +What struck me as kind of odd, though, was his jumpin' away from the +door of the lodge as the car swung in and the fact that he had a basket +covered with a white cloth.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, more or less to myself.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asks Vee. "Seeing things in the moonlight?"</p> + +<p>"Thought I did," says I. "Didn't you, there by the gate!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says she. "Some lilac bushes."</p> + +<p>And not being any too sure of just what I had seen I let it ride at +that. Besides, there wasn't time for any lengthy debate. Next thing I +knew we'd pulled up under the porte cochère and was pilin' out. We finds +the big double doors wide open and the pink marble entrance hall all lit +up brilliant. Grouped in the middle of it, in front of a fountain banked +with ferns, are about a dozen people who seem to be chatterin' away +earnest and excited.</p> + +<p>"Why, how odd!" says Mrs. Robert, hesitatin' with her thumb on the bell +button.</p> + +<p>"Looks like a fam'ly caucus," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> "Maybe they heard we were coming +and are taking a vote to see whether they let us in or bar us out."</p> + +<p>I could make out Andres Zosco in the center of the bunch wearin' a +silk-faced dinner coat and chewin' nervous on a fat black cigar. Also I +could guess that the tall chemical blonde at his right must be the +celebrated Myrtle Mapes that used to smile on us from so many +billboards. To the left was a huge billowy female decorated generous +with pearl ropes and ear pendants. Then there was a funny little old guy +in a cutaway and a purple tie, a couple of squatty, full-chested women +dressed as fancy as a pair of plush sofas, a maid or so, and a pie-faced +scared-lookin' gink that it was easy to guess must be the butler. +Everybody had been so busy talkin' that they hadn't heard us swarm up +the steps.</p> + +<p>"I say," whispers Mr. Robert, "hadn't we better call it off?"</p> + +<p>"And never know what is going on?" protests Vee. "Certainly not. I'm +going to knock." Which she does.</p> + +<p>"There!" says I. "You've touched off the panic."</p> + +<p>For a minute it looked like she had, too, for most of 'em jumps +startled, or clutches each other by the arm. Then they sort of surges +towards the doorway, Zosco in the lead.</p> + +<p>I expect he must have recognized some of us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> for he indulges in a +cackly, throaty laugh and then waves us in cordial. "Excuse me," says +he. "I—thought it might be somebody else. Mr. Ellins, isn't it? Pleased +to meet you. Come right in, all of you."</p> + +<p>And after we've been introduced sketchy all round Mr. Robert remarks +that he's afraid we haven't picked just the right time to pay a call. +"We—we are interrupting a family council or something, aren't we?" he +asks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, glad to have you," says Zosco. "It's nothing secret, and perhaps +you can help us out. We're a little upset, for a fact. It's about my +brother Jake. He's been visiting us, him and his wife, for the past +week. Maybe you've seen him ridin' round in the limousine—short, +thick-set party, good deal like me, only a few years younger."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert shakes his head. "Sorry," says he, "but I don't recall——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, likely you wouldn't notice him," goes on Zosco. "Nothing fancy +about Jake, plain dresser and all that. But what gets us is how he could +have lost himself for so long."</p> + +<p>"Lost!" echoes Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Well, he's gone, anyway," says Zosco. "Disappeared. Since after dinner +last night and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jake, Jake!" wails the billowy female with the pearl ropes.</p> + +<p>"There, there, Matilda!" put in Zosco.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> "Never mind the sob stuff now. +He's all right somewhere, of course. He'll turn up in time. Bound to. It +ain't as if he was some wild young sport. Steady as a church, Jake. No +bad habits to speak of. Not one of the kind to go slippin' into town on +a spree. Not him. And never carries around much ready money or jewelry. +No holdup men out here, anyway."</p> + +<p>"But—but he's gone!" moans Matilda.</p> + +<p>"Sure he is," admits Zosco. "Maybe back to Saginaw. Something might have +happened at the store. Or he might have got word that some cloak and +suit jobber was closing out his fall goods at a sacrifice and got so +busy in town making the deal that he forgot to let us know. That would +be Jake, all right, if he saw a chance of turnin' over a few thousands."</p> + +<p>"Would he go bareheaded, and without his indigestion tablets?" demands +Mrs. Jake.</p> + +<p>"If it was another bargain like that lot of army raincoats, he'd go in +his pajamas," says Zosco.</p> + +<p>But Matilda shakes her head. She's sure something awful has happened to +Jake. Now that she thinks it over she believes he must have had +something on his mind. Hadn't they noticed how restless he'd been for +the past few days? Yes, both the squatty women had. And the funny little +guy in the long-tailed cutaway brought up how Jake had quit playing +billiards<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span> with him, even after he'd offered to start him 20 up.</p> + +<p>"But that don't mean anything," says Zosco. "Jake never could play +billiards anyway. Hates it. He's no sport at all, except maybe when it +comes to pinochle. He's all for business. Don't know how to take a real +vacation like a gentleman. I'm always telling him that."</p> + +<p>Gradually we'd all drifted into the big drawin' room, but Jake continues +to be the general topic. We couldn't help but get kind of interested in +him, too. When a middle-aged storekeeper from Saginaw gets up from +dinner, wanders out into a quiet, respectable community like ours, and +disappears like he'd dropped from a manhole or been swished off on an +airplane it's enough to set you guessin'. By askin' a few questions we +got the whole life history of Jake, from the time he left Lithuania as a +boy until he was last seen gettin' a light for his cigar from the +butler. We got all his habits outlined; how he always slept with a +corner of the sheet over his right ear, couldn't eat strawberries +without breaking out in blotches, and could hardly be dragged out to see +a show or go to an evening party where there were ladies. Yet here on a +visit to Villa Nova he goes and strays off like he'd lost his mind, or +gets himself kidnapped, or worse.</p> + +<p>"Why," says Mr. Robert, "it sounds like a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> real mystery, almost a case +for a Sherlock Holmes."</p> + +<p>I don't know why, either, but just then he glances at me. "By Jove!" he +goes on. "Here you are, Torchy. What do you make out of this?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" says I. "Just about what you do, I expect."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come!" says he. "Put that rapid fire brain of yours to work. Try +him, Mr. Zosco. I've known him to unravel stranger things than this. I +would even venture to say that he has hit on a clue while we've been +talking."</p> + +<p>Course, a good deal of it is Mr. Robert's josh. He's always springin' +that line. But Zosco, after he's looked me over keen, shrugs his +shoulders doubtful. Mrs. Jake, though, is ready to grab at anything.</p> + +<p>"Can you find him?" she asks, starin' at me. "Will you, young man?"</p> + +<p>Also I gets an encouragin', admirin' glance from Vee. That settles it. I +was bound to make some sort of play after that. Besides, I did have kind +of a vague hunch.</p> + +<p>"I ain't promisin' anything," says I, "but I'll give it a whirl. First +off though, maybe you can tell me what youth around the place wears a +black-and-white checked cap?"</p> + +<p>That gets a quick rise out of the former Myrtle Mapes, now Mrs. Zosco. +"Why—why," says she, "my brother Ellery does."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's so," put in Zosco. "Where is the youngster?"</p> + +<p>"Ellery?" says Myrtle, givin' him that innocent baby-doll look. "Oh, he +must be in his room. I—I will look."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," says I. "Probably he is. It doesn't matter. Visiting here, +too, eh? How long? About two weeks. And he comes from——"</p> + +<p>"From my old home, Shelby, North Carolina," says she. "But he isn't the +one who's missing, you know."</p> + +<p>"That's so," says I. "Gettin' off the track, wasn't I? Shows what a poor +sleuth I am. And now if I can have the missing man's hat I'll do a +little scoutin' round outside."</p> + +<p>"His hat!" grumbles Zosco. "What do you want with that?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "if I find anyone it fits it's likely to be Jake, ain't +it?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," says Matilda. "Here it is," and she hands me a seven and +three-quarters hard boiled lid with his initials punched in the sweat +band.</p> + +<p>That move gave 'em something to chew over anyway, and kind of took their +minds off what I'd been askin' about Ellery. For after hearin' about him +I knew I hadn't been mistaken about seein' somebody down by the lodge. +That's right where I makes for.</p> + +<p>As I gets to the bottom of the hill I slips<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> through the hedge and walks +on the grass so if there should be anyone at the gate they wouldn't hear +me. And say, that was a reg'lar hunch I'd collected. Standing there in +the moonlight is the youth in the checked cap.</p> + +<p>Near as I can make out he's a narrow-chested, loose-jawed young hick of +19 or 20 and costumed a good deal like a village sport. You know—slit +coat pockets, a high turn-up to his trousers, bunion-toed shoes, and a +necktie that must have been designed by a wall-paper artist who'd been +shell-shocked. On his left arm he has a basket partly covered by a +napkin. Also he's just handin' something in through a little window +about a foot above his head.</p> + +<p>Course, it don't take any super-brain to guess that there must be +another party inside the lodge. What would Ellery be passin' stuff +through the window for if there wasn't? And anybody inside couldn't very +well get out, for the only door is a heavy, iron-studded affair +padlocked on the outside and the little window is covered with an +ornamental iron grill. Besides, as I edges up closer, I hears talking +going on. It sounds like the inside party is grumblin' over something or +other. His voice sounds hoarse and indignant, but I can't get what it's +all about. When the youth in the checked cap gave him the come-back +though it was clear enough.</p> + +<p>"Aw, shut up, you big stiff!" says he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> "You're lucky to get cold +chicken and bread and jam. Where do you think I'm goin' to get hot +coffee for you, anyway? Ain't I runnin' a chance as it is, swipin' this +out of the ice-box after the servants leave? It's more'n you deserve, +you crook."</p> + +<p>More grumbles from inside.</p> + +<p>"Yah, I got the cigars," says the other, "but you don't get 'em until +you pass out them dishes. Think I can stick around here all night? And +remember, one peep to your pals, or to anyone else, and my trusty guards +will start shootin' through the window. Hey? How long? Until we get 'em +all into the net. So you might as well quit your belly-achin' and +confess."</p> + +<p>It was a more or less entertainin' dialogue but I thought I'd enjoy it +more if I could hear both sides. So I was workin' my way through the +bushes with my ear stretched until I was within almost a yard of the +window when I steps on a dry branch that cracks like a cap pistol. In a +flash the youth has dropped the basket and whirled on me with a long +carvin' knife. Which was my cue for quick action.</p> + +<p>"'Sall right, Ellery," says I. "Friend."</p> + +<p>"What friend?" he demands, starin' at me suspicious.</p> + +<p>"You know," says I, whisperin' mysterious.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says he. "From Headquarters?"</p> + +<p>"You've said it," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span></p> + +<p>"But—but how can I tell," he goes on, "that you ain't——"</p> + +<p>"Look!" says I, throwin' back my coat and runnin' my thumb under the +armhole of my vest.</p> + +<p>Sure it worked. Why, if you flash a nickel-plated suspender buckle quick +enough you can pass it for a badge even by daylight.</p> + +<p>"I didn't think you'd get my letter so soon," says Ellery. "I'm glad you +came, though. See, I've got one of the gang already. He's the +ringleader, too."</p> + +<p>"Fine work!" says I. "But what's the plot of the piece? You didn't make +that so clear. Is it a case of——"</p> + +<p>"Hist!" says Ellery. "I ain't told him how much I know. Let's get off +where he can't hear. Back in the bushes there."</p> + +<p>And when we've circled the lodge and put some shrubbery between us and +the road Ellery consents to open up.</p> + +<p>"They're tryin' to do away with Sister Maggie," says he. "You know who +she is—Mrs. Andres Zosco?"</p> + +<p>"But I thought she was Myrtle Mapes," says I.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's only her screen name," says Ellery. "It was Maggie Bean back +in Shelby, where we come from. And she was Maggie Bean when she went to +New York and got that job as a stenog. in old Zosco's office. It was +him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> that gave her a chance to act in the movies, you know. Guess she +made good, eh? And then Zosco got so stuck on her that he married her. +Well, that was all right, too. Course, he's an old pill, but he's got +all kinds of dough. Rollin' in it. Maggie's done a lot for the fam'ly, +too. Gave me a flivver all for myself last Christmas; took me out of the +commission house and started me in at high school again. She's right +there with the check book, Maggie.</p> + +<p>"That's what makes them other Zoscos so sore—that Brother Jake and his +wife. See? They'd planned all along comin' in for most of his pile +themselves. Most likely meant to put him out of the way. But when they +comes on and finds the new wife—Well, the game is blocked. It would go +to her. So they starts right in to get rid of Maggie. I hadn't been in +the house a day before I'd doped that out. I knew there was a plot on to +do Maggie."</p> + +<p>"You don't say!" says I. "How?"</p> + +<p>"Slow poison, I expect," says Ellery. "In her coffee, maybe. Anyway, it +had begun to work. Maggie was mopin' around. I found her cryin'. I +spotted Jake Zosco right off. You can tell just by lookin' at him that +he's that kind. Besides, he acts suspicious. Always prowlin' around +restless. Then there's the butler. He's in it, too. I caught him and +Jake whisperin' together. I don't know how many more. Some of the maids, +maybe, and most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> likely a few men on the outside. They might be plannin' +to stage a jewel robbery with a double murder and lay it all onto +unknown burglars. Get me?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "But how much have you got on Brother Jake? And how +did you come to get him locked up here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I had the goods on Jake, all right," says Ellery. "After I saw him +confabbin' with that crook butler the other night I shadows him +constant. I was on his trail when he sneaks down here after dinner. I +saw him unlock the lodge house. I heard him fumblin' around inside. Then +I slips up and locks him in. Half an hour later down comes the butler +and two others of the gang, but when they sees me they beats it. I +expect they'd try to rescue him, if they thought he was there. And they +may find out any minute."</p> + +<p>"That's right," says I. "Lucky I came out just as I did. There's only +one thing to do."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asks Ellery.</p> + +<p>"Lug Jake up to the house, confront him with the butler, tell 'em +they're both pinched, and give 'em the third degree," says I. "You'll +see. One or the other will break down and tell the whole plot."</p> + +<p>"Say!" gasps Ellery. "Wouldn't that be slick! Just the way they do in +the movie dramas, eh?"</p> + +<p>I had to smother a chuckle when that came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span> out, for I'd already +recognized some of the symptoms of a motion picture mind while Ellery +was sketchin' out this wild tale.</p> + +<p>"Go to the movies much down in Shelby?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Most every night," says Ellery. "I used to even before Maggie got into +the game. Begun goin' when I was 'leven. At first I was strong for this +Wild West stuff, but no more. Give me a good crook drama with a big +punch in every reel. They're showin' some corkers lately. I've seen 'em +about all. That's how I come to get wise to this plot of Jake Zosco's. +Come on! Got your wrist irons ready for him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I never use the bracelets unless I have to," says I. "I expect +he'll toddle along meek enough when he sees the two of us."</p> + +<p>I hadn't overstated the case much at that. Course, Jake Zosco has +developed more or less of a grouch durin' his 36 hours of solitary +confinement, but when Ellery orders him to march out with his hands up +he comes right along.</p> + +<p>"What foolishness now, you young rough necker?" he demands.</p> + +<p>"You'll soon find out how foolish it is," says Ellery. "You're in the +hands of the law."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at!" gasps Jake. "For such a little thing as that? It—it can't +be. Who says it of me?"</p> + +<p>"Isn't this your hat?" says I, handin' him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> the hail-proof kelly. "It +is, eh? Then you're the one. Come on, now. Right up to the house."</p> + +<p>"It's a foolishness," he protests. "In Saginaw it couldn't be done."</p> + +<p>All the way up the hill he mutters and grumbles but he keeps on going. +Not until he gets near enough to get a glimpse of all the people in the +drawin'-room does he balk.</p> + +<p>"Matilda and all!" says he. "Why couldn't we go in by the back?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing doin'," says Ellery, flourishing his knife. "You're goin' to +face the music, you are."</p> + +<p>"That's the way to talk to him, Ellery," says I. "But if you don't mind +I think I'd better take charge of him from now on."</p> + +<p>"Sure thing," says Ellery. "He's your prisoner."</p> + +<p>"Then in you go, Jake," says I. "And don't forget about keepin' the +hands up. Now!"</p> + +<p>Say, you should have seen that bunch when our high tragedy trio marches +in; Ellery with his butcher knife on one side; me on the other; and +leadin' in the center Mr. Jake Zosco, his arms above his head, his +dinner coat all dusty and wrinkled, and a two days' stubble of whiskers +decoratin' his face.</p> + +<p>It was Mrs. Jake who got her breath first and swooped down on her little +man with wild cries of "Oh, Jake! My own Jakey at last!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> And in another +second his head is all tangled up with the pearl ropes.</p> + +<p>Next Andres Zosco comes to. "What is it, a holdup act?" he asks. +"Ellery, what you doing with that knife? What's it all about, somebody?"</p> + +<p>That seems to be my cue, so I steps to the front. "Sorry, Mr. Zosco," +says I, "but Ellery has discovered a deep laid plot."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Zosco, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"To do away with you and your wife," I goes on. "He says your brother +Jake is in it, and Mrs. Jake, and the butler, and maybe a lot of others. +Isn't that right, Ellery?"</p> + +<p>"Yep," says Ellery. "They're all crooks."</p> + +<p>"What confounded tommyrot!" says Zosco. "Why—why, Jake wouldn't hurt a +fly."</p> + +<p>"Tell what you saw, Ellery," I prompts.</p> + +<p>"I heard 'em plottin'," says Ellery. "Anyway, I saw Jake and the butler +whisperin' on the sly. And they planned to meet down at the lodge with +the others. I think that dago chauffeur was one. But I foiled 'em. I +followed Jake when he sneaked into the lodge house and locked him in. +Then I wrote to the chief detective at Headquarters and they sent out +this sleuth to help me round 'em up." He finishes by wavin' at me +triumphant.</p> + +<p>And you might know that would get a chuckle out of Mr. Robert. "Oh, +yes!" says he. "Detective Sergeant Torchy!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span></p> + +<p>Meanwhile Andres Zosco is starin' from one to the other of us and +scratchin' his head puzzled. "I can't get a word of sense out of it +all," says he. "Not a word. Jake, let's hear from you. Where have you +been since night before last after dinner?"</p> + +<p>Jake pries himself loose from the billowy embrace and advances sheepish. +"Why—why," says he, "I was locked in that fool lodge house."</p> + +<p>"You were, eh?" says Zosco. "But how did that happen? What did you go in +there for?"</p> + +<p>"Aw, if you must know, Andy, it—it was pinochle," he growls. "It ain't +a crime, is it, a little game?"</p> + +<p>"What about the butler, though, and the others?" insists Zosco.</p> + +<p>"Why," says Jake, "they was goin' to be in it, too. Can't play pinochle +alone, can you? And in a place like this where there's nothing goin' on +but silly billiards, or that bridge auction, a feller's gotta find some +amusement, ain't he? Saginaw they comes to the house 'most every +night—Hoffmeyer and Raditz and——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," breaks in Zosco. "So that was the plot, was it, Ellery?"</p> + +<p>Ellery registers scorn. "Huh!" says he. "Don't let him put over any such +fish tale on you. Ask him about the slow poison in Maggie's coffee, and +stealin' the jewels, and—and all the rest."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, Ellery!" gasps Mrs. Zosco.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I catch you snifflin'?" demands Ellery. "And ain't you been +mopin' around?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says she. "But that was before Andy had promised to let me play +the lead in his new eight-reel feature, 'The Singed Moth.' I've been +chipper enough since, haven't I, Andy, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Slow poison!" echoes Zosco. "Jewel stealing! Murder plots! Boy, where +did you get such stuff in your head?"</p> + +<p>But Ellery can only drop his chin and scrape his toe.</p> + +<p>"I expect I can clear up that mystery," says I. "As a movie fan Ellery +is an ace."</p> + +<p>And then it was Zosco's turn to stare. I don't know whether it got clear +home to him then or not. He was just about to separate himself from some +remark on the subject when Mrs. Jake cut loose with another squeal.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jake Zosco!" says she. "Look at you! Like a tramp you are."</p> + +<p>"Well, why not?" says Jake. "Didn't I sleep last night in a +wheelbarrow?"</p> + +<p>And when the folks you're callin' on get to droppin' into intimate +personal remarks like that it's time to back out graceful. I guess even +Mrs. Robert decides this wasn't just the evenin' to play the pipe organ. +Before we'd got out they'd opened up the subject of what to do with +young Ellery Bean and the prospects<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> were that he was due for a quick +return to Shelby, N. C.</p> + +<p>"I don't see what good that's going to do," says Vee. "I should say that +he needed some kind of mental treatment. Why, his poor foolish head +seems to be filled with nothing but crime and crooks. I don't understand +how he could get that way."</p> + +<p>"You would," says I, "if you'd take a full course of Zosco films."</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_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2><h3>TORCHY STRAYS FROM BROADWAY</h3> +</div> + +<p>"I must say it listens kind of complicated," says I, after Vee has +explained how I am to arrive at this country house weddin' fest.</p> + +<p>"Why, Torchy, it's perfectly simple," says she.</p> + +<p>And once more she sketches out the plan, how I'm to take the express to +Springfield, catch a green line trolley that's bound northwest, get off +at Dorr's Crossing, and wait until this Barry Crane party picks me up in +his car.</p> + +<p>You see this friend of Vee's who's billed for the blushin' bride act has +decided to have the event pulled off at Birch Crest, the family's summer +home up in the hills of old N. H. Vee has promised to motor up the day +before with the bridesmaid, leavin' me to follow the next mornin'. But +when we come to look up train schedules it develops that the only way to +get to Birch Crest by train is via Boston.</p> + +<p>"How about runnin' up to Montreal and droppin' down?" I suggests +sarcastic.</p> + +<p>And then comes the word that this organist guy will be on his way up +across lots, after an over-night stop in New Haven, and will take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> me +aboard if I can make the proper connection.</p> + +<p>"Suppose I make a slip, though?" says I. "There I'll be stranded up in +the pie belt with nothing but my feet to ride fifty miles on. Sorry, +Vee, but I guess your old boardin' school chum will have to break into +matrimony without my help."</p> + +<p>Maybe you think that settled it. If you do you ain't tried being +married. Inside of half an hour we'd agreed on the usual compromise—I'm +to do as Vee says.</p> + +<p>So here at 11:15 on a bright summer mornin' I'm dumped off a trolley car +way out on the upper edge of Massachusetts. It's about as lonesome a +spot as you could find on the map. Nothing but fields and woods in +sight, and a dusty road windin' across the right of way. Not a house to +be seen, not even a barn.</p> + +<p>"You're sure this is Dorr's Crossin', eh?" I asks of the conductor as I +hesitates on the step.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says he, cheerful.</p> + +<p>"Don't seem to be usin' it much, does he?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Ding, ding!" remarks the fare collector to the motorman, and it was a +case of hoppin' lively for me.</p> + +<p>There's nothing left to do but hoist myself conspicuous onto a +convenient wayside rock and hope that this Barry Crane person was +runnin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span> somewhere near on time. About then I begun to wish I knew more +about him, his general habits and so on. Was his memory good? Could he +be depended on to keep dates with strangers? Would he know Dorr's +Crossing when he saw it?</p> + +<p>Vee hadn't touched on any of these points when she was convincin' me how +simple it would be for him and me to get together. Course, she'd given +me a chatty little sketch of Mr. Crane, but mostly it had been about +what a swell organist he was. Played in a big church. Not only that, but +made up pieces, all out of his own head. Also she'd mentioned about his +hopeless romance with a certain Ann McLeod.</p> + +<p>Seems Barry had been strong for Miss McLeod for five or six years. She'd +kind of strung him along at first, too. Couldn't help likin' Barry some. +Everybody did. He was that kind—good natured, always sayin' clever +things. You know. But when it came to hitchin' up with him permanent, +Miss McLeod had balked. Nobody knew just why. Bright girl, Ann. Brainy, +too, and with lots of pep. She was secretary for some big efficiency +expert. Maybe that was why she couldn't stand for Barry's musical +temperament. She thought 9 a.m. was absolutely the last call for pushin' +back the roll-top and openin' the mornin' mail, while Barry's idea of +beginnin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> a perfect day was for someone to bring in a breakfast tray +about eleven o'clock and hand him a cigarette before he tumbled out of +the straw. So while he'd qualified as a Dear Old Thing and she'd got to +the point where she'd let him call her Playmate Mine, that's where the +romance hung on the rocks. Also he'd been described as a chunky party +with a round face decorated with a cute little mustache and baby blue +eyes.</p> + +<p>All of which don't help me dope out how long I'm due to lend a human +note to an otherwise empty landscape. And there's more excitin' outdoor +sports than sittin' on a rock waitin' to be rescued by someone who +hasn't even seen a snapshot of you. I'll tell the world that. During the +first twenty minutes I answered two false alarms. One was a gasoline +truck going the wrong way and the other turns out to be an R. F. D. +flivver with a baby's go-cart tied on the side. It was good and hot on +the perch I'd picked out and I could feel the sun doing things to the +back of my neck and ears, but I didn't dare climb down for fear I'd be +missed.</p> + +<p>Where was this musical gent and his tourin' car? Or would it be a +limousine? Somehow from the way Vee had talked, sayin' he was bugs on +motorin', I sort of favored the limousine proposition. Uh-huh. Most +likely one lined with cretonne, and a French chauffeur at the wheel. But +nothing like that was rollin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> past Dorr's Crossing. Not while I was +watchin'.</p> + +<p>The rock wasn't gettin' a bit softer, either. Once a bluejay balanced +himself on a nearby bush and after lookin' me over curious screeched +himself hoarse tryin' to say what he thought of a city guy who didn't +know enough to get in the shade. It got to be noon. Still no Barry +Crane. I was just wonderin' when that trolley car was due for a return +trip and was workin' up a few cuttin' remarks to hand Vee when I got her +on the long distance, when I hears something approachin' from down the +road. First off I thought it might be one of these hay mowers runnin' +wild, but pretty soon out of a cloud of dust jumps a little roadster. It +sure was humpin' itself and makin' as much noise about it as a Third +Avenue surface car with two flat wheels. Didn't look very promisin' but +I got up and stretched my neck until I saw there was two people in it. +Next thing I knew though one of 'em, a young lady, is motionin' to me, +and with a squeal of brake bands the little car pulls up opposite the +rock. And sure enough the young gent drivin' has a sketchy mustache and +baby blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"What ho!" he sings out cheerful. "Torchy, isn't it? Sorry if we've kept +you waiting, but Adelbaran wasn't performing quite as well as usual this +morning. Stow your bag on the fender and climb in."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span></p> + +<p>"In where?" says I, glancin' at the single seat.</p> + +<p>"Oh, really there's plenty of room for three," says the young lady. "And +for fear Barry will forget to mention it, I am Miss McLeod. He persuaded +me at the last minute to come with him in this crazy machine."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Ann!" protests Barry. "Not so rough, please. You've no +notion how sensitive Adelbaran is to unkind criticism. Besides, he's +brought us safely so far, hasn't he?"</p> + +<p>Ann shrugs her shoulders and moves over to make room for me. "If you can +make another fifty miles in it I shall almost believe in miracles," says +she.</p> + +<p>"And in me too, I trust," says Barry. "Hearest thou, Adelbaran? Then on, +on, pride of the desert! The women are singing in the tents and—and all +that sort of thing. Ho, ho! for the roaring road!"</p> + +<p>He's some classy little driver, Barry. Inside of a hundred yards he has +her doin' better than twenty-six on an up grade over a dirt road +sprinkled free with rocks and waterbreaks. Slam bang, bumpety-bump, +ding-dong we go, with more jingles and squeaks and rattles than a junk +cart rollin' off a roof.</p> + +<p>"Don't mind a few little noises," says Miss McLeod. "Barry doesn't. A +loose fender or a worn roller bearing means nothing to him. Why, he +started with a cracked spark-plug that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> was spitting like a tom-cat, the +carburetor popping from too lean a mixture, and a half filled radiator +boiling away merrily. It was stopping to get those things fixed up, and +having some air pumped into the spare tire, that made us so late."</p> + +<p>"You see!" says Barry. "She admits it. Wonderful girl though, Ann. She +can tell at a glance just what's the matter with anything or anyone. +Take me, for instance; she——"</p> + +<p>"Sharp curve ahead, Barry," breaks in Ann.</p> + +<p>"Right-o!" says he, takin' it on two wheels and then stepping on the gas +button to rush a hill.</p> + +<p>"Lucky we're wedged in tight," says I, "or some of us might be spilled +out."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Miss McLeod, "and Barry never would miss us."</p> + +<p>"Cruel words!" says Barry. "How often have I said, Ann, that I miss you +every hour?"</p> + +<p>"He's off again," says Ann. "But if you must be sentimental, Barry, I +shall insist on doing the driving myself."</p> + +<p>"Squelched!" says Barry. "I'll be good."</p> + +<p>Say, they made a great team, them two, when it came to exchangin' +persiflage. It was snappy stuff and it helped a lot towards taking my +mind off Barry's jazz-style drivin'. For he sure does bear down heavy +with his foot. If he plays the organ the way he runs a car I should +think he'd raise the roof. And the speed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span> he gets out of that dinky +little roadster is amazin'. Might have been all right on smooth macadam, +but on this country road he had her jumpin' around on that short +wheel-base like a jackrabbit with the itch. We might have been so many +kernels of pop-corn being shaken over a hot fire. Barry seems to be +enjoyin' every minute of it, though. He makes funny cracks, whistles, +and now and then breaks into song.</p> + +<p>"Driving a car seems to go to his head," remarks Miss McLeod. "It +appears to make him wild." "It does," says Barry. "For——</p> + +<p style="margin-left:2em"> +I'm a wild prairie flower,<br /> +I grow wilder hour by hour.<br /> +Nobody cares to cultivate me,<br /> +I'm wild. Whe-e-e-e!"<br /> +</p> + +<p>He warbles that for the next five minutes, until Miss McLeod suggests +that it's time for lunch.</p> + +<p>"Let's stop at the next shady place we come to," says she.</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother!" says Barry. "Just when Adelbaran is striking his best +pace. Why not take our nourishment on the fly?"</p> + +<p>So she gets out the sandwiches and the thermos bottle and we take it +that way. Rather than let Barry take either hand off the wheel she feeds +him herself, even if he does complain about gettin' his countenance +smeared up with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> mustard some. Anyway, we didn't lose any time if we did +spill more or less of the coffee.</p> + +<p>"Cheerie oh!" sings out Barry, readin' a sign board. "Only twenty miles +more!"</p> + +<p>"But such up-and-downy miles!" says Ann.</p> + +<p>She was dead right about that, for the further we got into New Hampshire +the more the road looked like it had been built by a roller coaster fan. +I always had a notion this was a small state, from the way it looks on +the map, but I'll bet if it could be rolled flat once it would spread +out near as big as Texas. All we did was to climb up and up and then +slide down and down. Generally at the bottom was one of these covered +wooden bridges, like a hay barn with both ends knocked out, and the way +we'd roar through those was enough to make you think you was goin' +forward with a barrage. Then just ahead would be another long hill +windin' up to the top of the world.</p> + +<p>"Only five miles to go!" sings out Barry at last, along about three +o'clock. "Now, Ann, it's nearly time for you to be saying a few kind +words to Adelbaran and me."</p> + +<p>"I'll be thinking them up," says Ann.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she did. I can't say. For it was somewhere in the middle of the +second or third hill after this that the little roadster began to +splutter and cough like it had swallowed a monkey wrench.</p> + +<p>"Come, come now, Adelbaran!" says Barry<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> coaxin'. "Don't go misbehaving +at this late hour. Remember the women singing in the tents, the palm +waving over the——"</p> + +<p>"Barry," says Ann, "something has gone wrong with your engine."</p> + +<p>"Say not so," says Barry, steppin' on the accelerator careless.</p> + +<p>"But I'm sure!" says Ann. "There!"</p> + +<p>With a final cough the thing has quit cold. All Barry can seem to do +though is to jiggle the spark and look surprised. "Why—why, that's +odd!" says he.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but sitting here isn't going to help," says Miss McLeod. "Get out +and see what's happened. Come on."</p> + +<p>And while she's liftin' the hood and pawin' around among the wires and +things, with Barry lookin' on puzzled and helpless, I sort of wanders +about inspectin' Adelbaran curious. It's some relic, all right, and my +guess is that it was assembled by a cross-eyed mechanic from choice +pieces he rescued off'm a scrap heap. All of a sudden I notices +something peculiar.</p> + +<p>"Say, folks," I calls out, "where's the gas tank on this chariot?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it's on the back," says Barry.</p> + +<p>"Well, it ain't now," says I. "It's gone."</p> + +<p>"Gone!" echoes Ann. "The gas tank? Oh, that can't be possible."</p> + +<p>"Take a look," says I.</p> + +<p>And sure enough, when they comes around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> all they can find is the rusted +straps that held it in place and the feed pipe twisted off short.</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha!" says Barry. "How utterly absurd. I've rattled off a lot of +things before, but never the gas tank. And I suppose that's rather +important to have."</p> + +<p>"Quite," says Ann. "One doesn't go motoring nowadays without one."</p> + +<p>"But—but what's to be done?" says Barry. "I simply must get to Birch +Crest in time to play the wedding march. The ceremony is to be at 4:30, +you know, and here we are——"</p> + +<p>"I should say," breaks in Ann, "that we'd better find that tank and see +if we can't screw it on or something. It can't be far behind, of +course."</p> + +<p>That seemed sensible enough. So we spreads out across the road and goes +scoutin' down the hill. Didn't seem likely a thing as big as that could +hide itself completely, even if it had bounced off into the bushes. But +we got clear to the bottom without findin' so much as its track. On we +goes, pawin' through the bushes, scoutin' the ditches on both sides, and +peekin' behind trees.</p> + +<p>"Come, little tankey, come to your master," calls Barry persuasive. Then +he tries whistlin' for it.</p> + +<p>"Well, we're sure to find it somewhere down that next hill," says Ann. +"Probably near that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> water-break where you gave us such a hard jolt."</p> + +<p>But we didn't. In fact, we scouted back over the road for nearly a mile +with no signs of the bloomin' thing.</p> + +<p>"Then we've missed it," finally decides Ann. "Of course no car could run +this far without gas."</p> + +<p>"You don't know Adelbaran," says Barry. "He's quite used to running +without things. I've trained him to do it."</p> + +<p>"Barry, this is no time to be funny," says she. "Now you take the left +side going back. I'll bet you overlooked it."</p> + +<p>Well, we made a regular drag-net on the return trip, scourin' the bushes +for twenty feet on either side, but no tank turns up.</p> + +<p>"Looks like we were stranded," says I, as we fetches up at the roadster +once more.</p> + +<p>Miss Ann McLeod, though, ain't one to give up easy. Besides, she's had +all that efficiency trainin'.</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose you carry such a thing as an emergency can of gasoline +anywhere in the car?" she asks Barry.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," says he. "The fellow in the garage insisted on +selling me a lot of stuff once. It's all stowed under the seat."</p> + +<p>"Let's see," says she, liftin' out the cushion. "Why yes, here it is—a +whole quart. And a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> little funnel, too. Now if we could pour enough into +the feed pipe to fill the carburetor——"</p> + +<p>It was a grand little scheme, only the funnel end was too big to fit +into the feed pipe.</p> + +<p>"Any tire tape?" demands Ann.</p> + +<p>Barry thought there was, but we couldn't find it. Then he remembered +he'd used it to wrap the handle of his tennis racquet once.</p> + +<p>"I got some gum," says I.</p> + +<p>"The very thing!" says Ann. "It must be chewed first though. Here, +Barry, take two or three pieces."</p> + +<p>"But I don't care for gum," says Barry. "Really!"</p> + +<p>"If you don't wish to spend the night here, chew—and chew fast," says +Ann.</p> + +<p>So he chewed. We all chewed. And with the three fresh gobs Ann did a +first aid plumbin' job that didn't look so worse. She got the funnel so +it would stick on the pipe.</p> + +<p>"But it must be held there," she announces. "I'll tell you, Barry; you +will have to hang out over the back and keep the funnel in place with +one hand and pour in the gas with the other, while I drive."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!" says Barry. "I'd look nice, wouldn't I?"</p> + +<p>"Torchy will hold you by the legs to keep you from falling off," she +goes on. "Come, unbutton the back curtain and roll it up. There! Now out +you go. And don't spill a drop, mind."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span></p> + +<p>It sure was an ingenious way of feedin' gas to an engine, and I had my +doubts about whether it would work or not. But it does. First thing I +knew we'd started off with a roar and were tearin' up the hill on +second. We made the top, too.</p> + +<p>"Now hold tight and save the gas," sings out Ann. "I'm going to coast +down this one full tilt."</p> + +<p>Which she does. Barry bounces around a lot on his elbows and stomach, +but I had a firm grip on his legs and we didn't lose him off.</p> + +<p>"More gas now!" calls Ann as we hits the bottom.</p> + +<p>"Ouch! My tummy!" groans Barry.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," says Ann. "Only three miles more."</p> + +<p>Say, it was the weirdest automobilin' I ever did, but Ann ran with +everything wide open and we sure were coverin' the distance. Once we +passed a big tourin' car full of young folks and as we went by they +caught sight of Barry, actin' as substitute gas tank, and they all +turned to give him the haw-haw.</p> + +<p>"Probably they—they think I—I'm doing this on a bub-bet," says Barry. +"I—I wish I were. I—I'd pay."</p> + +<p>"Store ahead!" announces Ann. "Perhaps we can get some more gas."</p> + +<p>It was a good guess. We fills the can and starts on again, with less +than two miles to go.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> I think Barry must have been a bit reckless with +that last quart for we hadn't gone more'n a mile before the engine +begins to choke and splutter. We were almost to the top of a hill, too.</p> + +<p>"Gas all gone," says Barry, tryin' to climb back in.</p> + +<p>"Go back!" says Ann. "Take the funnel off and blow in the feed pipe. +There! That's it. Keep on blowing."</p> + +<p>You couldn't beat Ann. The machine takes a fresh spurt, we makes the top +of the hill, and halfway down the other side we sees Birch Crest. Hanged +if we don't roll right up to the front door too, before the engine gives +its last gasp, and Barry, covered with dust and red in the face, is +hauled in. We're only half an hour late, at that.</p> + +<p>Course, the whole weddin' party is out there to see our swell finish. +They'd been watchin' for us this last hour, wonderin' what had happened, +and now they crowds around to ask Barry why he arrives hangin' over the +back that way. And you should have heard 'em roar when they gets the +explanation.</p> + +<p>"See!" says Barry on the side to Ann. "I told you folks would laugh at +me."</p> + +<p>"Poor boy!" says Miss McLeod, hookin' her arm into his. "Don't mind. I +think you were perfectly splendid about it."</p> + +<p>"By Jove, though! Do you?" says he.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> "Would—would you risk another ride +with me, Ann? I know Adelbaran didn't show up very well but——"</p> + +<p>"But your disposition did," cuts in Ann. "And if you're going to insist +on driving around the country in such a rattle-trap machine I—I think +I'd better be with you—always."</p> + +<p>And say, I don't think I ever heard so much pep thrown into the weddin' +march as when Barry Crane pumps it out that afternoon. He's wearin' a +broad grin, too.</p> + +<p>Soon as I has a chance I whispers the news to Vee. "Really?" says she. +"Isn't that fine! And I must say Barry is a lucky chap."</p> + +<p>"Well, he's some whizz himself," says I. "Bound to be or else he +couldn't run a car a mile and a half just on his breath."</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_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2><h3>SUBBING FOR THE BOSS</h3> +</div> + +<p>How's that? Has something happened to me? Course there has. Something +generally does, and if I ever get to the point where it don't I hope I +shall have pep enough left to use the self-starter. Uh-huh. That's the +way I give the hail to a new day—grinnin' and curious.</p> + +<p>Now some folks I know of works it just opposite, and they may be right, +too. Mr. Piddie, our office manager, for instance. He's always afraid +something will happen to him. I've heard him talk about it enough. Not +just accidents that might leave him an ambulance case, or worse, but +anything that don't come in his reg'lar routine; little things, like +forgettin' his commutation ticket, or gettin' lost in Brooklyn, or +havin' his new straw lid blow under a truck and walkin' bareheaded a few +blocks. Say, I'll bet he won't like it in Heaven if he can't punch a +time card every mornin', or if they shift him around much to different +harp sections.</p> + +<p>While me, I ain't worryin' what tomorrow will be like if it's only some +different from yesterday. And generally it is. Take this last little +whirl of mine. I'll admit it leaves me a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> bit dizzy in the head, like +I'd been side-swiped by a passing event. Also my pride had had a bump +when I didn't know I had such a thing. Maybe that's why I look so dazed.</p> + +<p>What led up to it all was a little squint into the past that me and Old +Hickory indulged in here a week or so back. I'd been openin' the mornin' +mail, speedy and casual as a first-class private sec. ought to do, and +sortin' it into the baskets, when I runs across this note which should +have been marked "Personal." I'd only glanced at the "Dear old pal" +start and the "Yours to a finish, Bonnie," endin' when I lugs it into +the private office.</p> + +<p>"I expect this must have been meant for Mr. Robert; eh, Mr. Ellins?" +says I, handin' it over.</p> + +<p>It's written sort of scrawly and foreign on swell stationery and Old +Hickory don't get many of that kind, as you can guess. He reads it clear +through, though, without even a grunt. Then he waves me into a chair.</p> + +<p>"As it happens, Torchy," says he, "this was meant for no one but me."</p> + +<p>"My error," says I. "I didn't read it, though."</p> + +<p>He don't seem to take much notice of that statement, just sits there +gazin' vacant at the wall and fingerin' his cigar. After a minute or so +of this he remarks, sort of to himself: "Bonnie, eh? Well, well!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span></p> + +<p>I might have smiled. Probably I did, for the last person in the world +you'd look for anything like mushy sentiments from would be Old Hickory +Ellins. Couldn't have been much more than a flicker of a smile at that. +But them keen old eyes of his don't miss much that's going on, even when +he seems to be in a trance. He turns quick and gives me one of them +quizzin' stares.</p> + +<p>"Funny, isn't it, son," says he, "that I should still be called Dear Old +Pal by the most fascinating woman in the world?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says I, tryin' to pull the diplomatic stuff.</p> + +<p>"You young rascal!" says he. "Think I'm no judge, eh? Here! Wait a +moment. Now let's see. Um-m-m-m!"</p> + +<p>He's pullin' out first one desk drawer and then another. Finally he digs +out a faded leather photograph case and opens it.</p> + +<p>"There!" he goes on. "That's Bonnie Sutton. What about her?"</p> + +<p>Course, her hair is done kind of odd and old-fashioned, piled up on top +of her head that way, with a curl or two behind one ear; and I expect if +much of her costume had showed it would have looked old-fashioned, too. +But there wasn't much to show, for it's only a bust view and cut off +about where the dress begins. Besides, she's leanin' forward on her +elbows. A fairly plump party, I should judge, with substantial, +well-rounded shoulders and kind of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> big face. Something of a cut-up, +too, I should say, for she holds her head a little on one side, her chin +propped in the palm of the left hand, while between the fingers of the +right she's holdin' a cigarette. What struck me most, though, was the +folksy look in them wide-open eyes of hers. If it hadn't been for that I +might have sized her up for a lady vamp.</p> + +<p>"Good deal of a stunner, I should say, Mr. Ellins," says I; "and no half +portion, at that."</p> + +<p>"Of queenly stature, as the society reporters used to put it," says Old +Hickory. "She had her court, too, even if some of the sessions were +rather lively ones."</p> + +<p>At that he trails off into what passes with him as a chuckle and I waits +patient while he does a mental review of old stuff. I could guess near +enough how some of them scenes would show up: the bunch gatherin' in one +of the little banquet rooms upstairs at Del's., and Bonnie surrounded +three deep by admirin' males, perhaps kiddin' Ward McAllister over one +shoulder and Freddie Gebhard whisperin' over the other; or after +attendin' one of Patti's farewell concerts there would be a beefsteak +and champagne supper somewhere uptown—above Twenty-third Street—and +some wild sport would pull that act of drinking Bonnie's health out of +her slipper. You know? And I expect they printed her picture on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> +front page of the "Clipper" when she broke into private theatricals.</p> + +<p>"And she's still on deck?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>Old Hickory nods. He goes on to say how the last he heard of her she'd +married some rich South American that she'd met in Washington and gone +off to live in Brazil, or the Argentine. That had been quite a spell +back, I take it. He didn't say just how long ago. Anyway, she'd dropped +out for good, he'd supposed.</p> + +<p>"And now," says he, "she has returned, a widow, to settle on the old +farm, up somewhere near Cooperstown. It appears, however, that she finds +it rather dull. I can't fancy Bonnie on a farm somehow. Anyway, she has +half a mind, she says, to try New York once more before she finally +decides. Wants to see some of the old places again. And by the great +cats, she shall! No matter what my fool doctors say, Torchy, I mean to +take a night or two off when she comes. If Bonnie can stand it I guess I +can, too."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," says I, grinnin' sympathetic.</p> + +<p>Well, that was 1:15 a.m. And at exactly 2:30 he limps out with his hand +to his right side and his face the color of cigar ashes. He's in for +another spell. I gets his heart specialist on the 'phone and loads Mr. +Ellins into a taxi. Just before closin' time he calls up from the house +to say that he's off to the sanitarium for another treatment and may be +gone a couple of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> weeks. I must tell Mr. Robert about those options, +have him sub. in at the next directors' meetin', and do a lot of odd +jobs that he'd left unfinished.</p> + +<p>"And by the way, Torchy," he winds up, "about Bonnie."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says I. "The lady fascinator."</p> + +<p>"If she should show up while I am away," says Old Hickory, "don't—don't +bother to tell her I'm a sick old man. Just say I—I've been called out +of town, or something."</p> + +<p>"I get you," says I. "Business trip."</p> + +<p>"She'll be disappointed, I suppose," goes on Mr. Ellins. "No one to take +her around town. That is, unless—By George, Torchy!—You must take my +place."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gaspy.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says he. "You lucky young rascal! You shall be the one to welcome +Bonnie back to New York. And do it right, son. Draw on Mr. Piddie for +any amount you may need. Nothing but the best for Bonnie. You +understand. That is, if she comes before I get back."</p> + +<p>Say, I've had some odd assignments from Old Hickory, but never one just +like this before. Some contract that, to take an ex-home wrecker in tow +and give her the kind of a good time that was popular in the days of +Berry Wall. If I could only dig up some old sport with a good memory he +might coach me so that I might make a stab at it, but I didn't know +where to find one.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> And for three days there I made nervous motions +every time Vincent came in off the gate with a card.</p> + +<p>But a week went by and no Bonnie blew in from up state. Maybe she'd +renigged on the proposition, or had hunted up some other friend of the +old days. Anyway, I'd got my nerves soothed down considerable and was +almost countin' the incident as closed, when here the other day as I +drifts back from lunch Vincent holds me up.</p> + +<p>"Lady to see Mr. Ellins," says he. "She's in the private office."</p> + +<p>"Sad words, Vincent," says I. "Don't tell me it's Bonnie."</p> + +<p>"Nothing like that," says he. "Here's her name," and he hands me a +black-bordered card.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I, taking a glance. "Señora Concita Maria y Polanio. All of +that, eh? Must be some whale of a female?"</p> + +<p>"Whale is near it," says Vincent. "You ought to see her."</p> + +<p>"The worst of it is," says I, "I gotta see her."</p> + +<p>He's no exaggerator, Vincent. This female party that I finds bulgin' Old +Hickory's swing desk chair has got any Jonah fish I ever saw pictured +out lookin' like a pickerel. I don't mean she's any side-show freak. Not +as bad as that. But for her height, which is about medium, I should say, +she sure is bulky. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> way she sits there with her skirts spreadin' +wide around her feet, she has all the graceful outlines of a human water +tower. Above the wide shoulders is a big, high-colored face, and +wabblin' kind of unsteady on top of her head is a black velvet hat with +jet decorations. You remember them pictures we used to see of the late +Queen Victoria? Well, the Señora is an enlarged edition.</p> + +<p>I was wonderin' how long since she came up from Cuba, and if I'd need a +Spanish interpreter to find out why she thinks she has to call on the +president of the Corrugated Trust, when she rolls them big dark eyes of +hers my way and remarks, in perfectly good United States: "Ah! A ray of +sunshine!"</p> + +<p>It comes out so unexpected that for a second or so I just gawps at her, +and then I asks: "Referrin' to my hair?"</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, young man," says she. "But it is such a cheerful shade."</p> + +<p>"Yes'm," says I. "So I've been told. Some call it fire-hydrant red, but +I claim it's only super-pink."</p> + +<p>"Anyway, I like it very much," says she. "I hope they don't call you +Reddy, though?"</p> + +<p>"No, ma'am," says I. "Torchy."</p> + +<p>"Why, how clever!" says she. "May I call you that, too? And I suppose +you are one of Mr. Ellins' assistants?"</p> + +<p>"His private secretary," says I. "So you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> can see what luck he's playin' +in. Did you want to talk to him 'special, or is it anything I can fix up +for you?"</p> + +<p>"It's rather personal, I'm afraid," says she. "The boy at the door +insisted that Mr. Ellins wasn't in, but I told him I didn't mind +waiting."</p> + +<p>"That's nice," says I. "He'll be back in a week or so."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says she. "Then he went away before my note came?"</p> + +<p>Which was where I begun to work up a hunch. Course, it's only a wild +suspicion at first. She don't fit the description at all. Still, if she +should be the one—I could feel the panicky shivers chasin' up and down +my backbone just at the thought. I expect my voice wavered a little as I +put the question.</p> + +<p>"Say," says I, "you don't happen to be Bonnie Sutton, do you?"</p> + +<p>That got a laugh out of her. It's no throaty, old-hen cackle, either. +It's clear and trilly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Torchy," says she. "You've guessed it. But please tell me +how?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, draggy, "I—er—you see——" And then I'm struck with +this foolish idea. Honest, I couldn't help pullin' it. "Mr. Ellins," I +goes on, "happened to show me your picture."</p> + +<p>"What!" says she. "My picture? I—I can hardly believe it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span></p> + +<p>"Wait," says I. "It's right here in the drawer. That is, it was. Yep! +This one. There!"</p> + +<p>And say, as I flashed that old photo on her I didn't have the nerve to +watch her face. You get me, don't you? If you'd changed as much as she +had how would you like to be stacked up sudden against a view of what +you was once? So I looked the other way. Must have been a minute or more +before I glanced around again. She was still starin' at the picture and +brushin' something off her eyelashes.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says she, "I could almost hug you for that. What a really +talented young liar you are! And how thoroughly delightful of you to do +it!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Anyway, it's the picture he showed me when +he was tellin' about you."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you wouldn't mind, Torchy," she goes on, "telling me just what +he said."</p> + +<p>"Why, for one thing," says I, "he let out that you was the most +fascinatin' woman in the world."</p> + +<p>Another ripply laugh from Bonnie. "The old dear!" says she. "But then, +he always was a little silly about me. Think of his never having gotten +over it in all these years, though! But he didn't stay to meet me. How +was that?"</p> + +<p>I hope I made it convincin' about his being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> called before a Senate +Committee and how he was hoping to get back before she showed up. I told +it as well as I could with them wise friendly eyes watchin' me.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, after all," says she, "it's just as well. If I had known he +had this photo I never would have risked coming. Now that I'm here, +however, I wish there was someone who——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he fixed that up," says I. "I'm the substitute."</p> + +<p>"You!" says she. Then she shakes her head. "You're a dear boy," she goes +on, "but I couldn't ask it of you. Really!"</p> + +<p>"Sure you can," says I. "You want to see what the old town looks like, +have a little dinner in one of the old joints, and maybe make a little +round of the bright spots afterwards. Well, I got it all planned out. +Course, I can't do it just the way Mr. Ellins would but——"</p> + +<p>"Listen, Torchy," she breaks in. "I regret to admit the fact, but I am a +fat, shapeless, freaky-looking old woman. Ordinarily that doesn't worry +me in the least. After fifteen years in the tropics one doesn't worry +about how one looks. It has been a long time since I've given it a +thought. But now—Well, it's different. Seeing that picture. No, I can't +ask it of you."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ellins will ask me, though, when he gets back," says I. "Besides, I +don't mind. Maybe you are a little overweight, but I'm beginnin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span> to +suspect you're a reg'lar person, after all; and if I can qualify as a +guide——"</p> + +<p>Say, don't let on to Vee, but that's where I got hugged. It seems Bonnie +does want to have one glimpse of New York with the lights on; wants it +the worst way. For when she'd come up from Rio her one idea was to get +back to the old farm, fix it up regardless of expense, and camp down +there quiet for the rest of her days. She'd had a bully time doin' it, +too, for three or four months. She'd enjoyed havin' people around her +who could talk English, and watchin' the white clouds sail over the +green hills, and seein' her cattle and sheep browsin' about the fields. +It had rested her eyes and her soul.</p> + +<p>And then, all of a sudden, she had this hunch that maybe she was missin' +something. Not that she thought she could come back reg'lar, or break +into the old life where she left off. She says she wasn't so foolish in +the head as all that. Her notion was that she might be happier and more +contented if she just looked on from the side-lines.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to hear music," says she, "and see the lights, and watch gay +and beautiful young people doing the things I used to do. It +might—Well, it might shake off some of my years. Who knows?"</p> + +<p>"Sure! That's the dope," says I. "Course, a lot of their old-time joints +ain't runnin' now—Koster & Bial's, Harrigan's, the Café Martin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span>but +maybe some you remember are still open."</p> + +<p>"Silly!" says she, shakin' a pudgy forefinger at me. "That isn't what I +want at all. Not the old, but the new; the very newest and most +fashionable. I'm not trying to go back, but trying to keep up."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "In that case it'll be easy. How about startin' in with +the tea dance at the Admiral, just opened? Begins at 4:15."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, Torchy," says she, "did you ever see anyone as—as huge as I +am at a tea dance? No, I think we'll not start with that."</p> + +<p>"Then suppose we hop off with dinner on the Plutoria roof?" I suggests. +"The Tortonis are doing a dancin' turn there and they have the swellest +jazz band in town."</p> + +<p>"It sounds exciting," says Bonnie. "I will try to be ready by 7:30. And +you surely are a nice boy. Now if you will help me out to the +elevator——"</p> + +<p>And it's while I'm tryin' to steady her on one side as she goes rollin' +waddly through the main office that I gets a little hint of what's +comin' to me. Maybe you've seen a tug-boat bobbin' alongside a big liner +in a heavy sea. I expect we must have looked something like that. Even +so, that flossy bunch of lady typists showed poor taste in cuttin' loose +with the smothered snickers as we wobbles past.</p> + +<p>And I could get a picture of myself towin' the Señora Concita Maria +What's-Her-Name,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> alias Bonnie Sutton, through the Plutoria corridors. +What if her feet should skid and after ten or a dozen bell hops had +boosted her up again they should find me underneath? Still I was in for +it. No scoutin' around for back-number restaurants, as I'd planned at +first. No, Bonnie had asked to be brought up-to-date. So she should, +too. But I did wish she'd come to town in something besides that late +Queen Victoria costume.</p> + +<p>Yet I maps out the evenin' as if I had a date with Peggy Hopkins or +Hazel Dawn. At 5:30 I'm slippin' a ten-spot into the unwillin' palm of a +Plutoria head waiter to cinch a table for two next to the dancin' +surface, and from there I drops into a cigar store where I pays two +prices for a couple of end seats at the Midnight Follies. Then I slicks +up a bit at a Turkish bath and at 7:25 I'm waitin' with the biggest taxi +I can find in front of Bonnie's hotel.</p> + +<p>I expect I must have let out a sigh of relief when she shows up and I +notice that she's shed the unsteady velvet lid. It's some creation she's +swapped it for, a pink satin affair with a wing spread of about three +feet, but I must admit it kind of sets off that big face of hers and the +grayish hair.</p> + +<p>That's nothing to the jolt I gets, though, after she's been loaded into +the cab and the fur-trimmed opera cape slips back a bit. Say, take it +from me, Bonnie has bloomed out. She must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> have speeded up some Fifth +Avenue modiste's establishment to the limit, but she's turned the trick, +I'll say. Uh-huh! Not only the latest model evening gown, but she's had +her hair done up spiffy, and she's got on a set of jewels that would +make a pawnbroker's bride turn green.</p> + +<p>"Z-z-zing!" says I, catchin' my breath. "Excuse me, but I didn't know +you were going to dress the part."</p> + +<p>"You didn't think I could, did you, Torchy?" says she. "Well, I haven't +quite forgotten, you see."</p> + +<p>So all them gloomy thoughts I'd indulged in was so much useless worry, +as is usually the case. I'll admit we was some conspicuous durin' the +evenin', with folks stretchin' their necks our way, but I didn't hear +any snickers. They gazed at Bonnie sort of awed and impressed, like +tourists starin' at the Woolworth Buildin' when it's lighted up.</p> + +<p>Some classy dinner that was we had, even if I did order it myself, with +only two waiters to coach me. I couldn't say exactly what it was we had +for nourishment, only I know it was all tasty and expensive. You +wouldn't expect me to pick out the cheap things for a lady plutess from +Brazil, would you? So we dallies with Canaps Barbizon, Portage de la +Reine, breasts of milk-fed pheasants, and such trifles as that. Bonnie +says it's all good. But she can't seem<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> to get used to the band brayin' +out impetuous just as she's about to take another bite of something.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," says she, "is that supposed to be music?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," says I. "That's jazz. We've got so we can't eat without +it, you know."</p> + +<p>Also I suspect the Tortonis' dancin' act jarred her a bit. You've seen +'em do the shimmy-plus?</p> + +<p>"Well!" says she, drawin' in a long breath and lookin' the other way. +"So that is an example of modern dancing, is it?"</p> + +<p>"It's the kind of stunt the tired business man has to have before he +gets bright in the eyes again," says I. "But wait until we get to the +Follies if you want to see him really begin to live."</p> + +<p>We had to kill a couple of hours between times so we took in the last +half of the latest bedroom farce and I think that got a rise or two out +of Bonnie. I gathered from her remarks that Lillian Russell or Edna +Wallace Hopper never went quite that far in her day.</p> + +<p>"It's pajamas or nothing now," says I.</p> + +<p>"And occasionally," she adds, "I suppose it is—Well, I trust not, at +least."</p> + +<p>After the Follies she hadn't a word to say. Only, as I landed her back +at her hotel, along about 2:30 a.m., she slumps into a big chair in the +Egyptian room and lets her chin sag.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's no use, Torchy," says she. "I—I couldn't."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"End my days to jazz time," says she. "No. I shall go back to my quiet +hills and my calm-eyed Holsteins. And I shall go entirely contented. I +can't tell you either, how thankful I am that it was you who showed me +my mistake instead of my dear old friend. You've been so good about it, +too."</p> + +<p>"Me?" says I. "Why, I've had a big night. Honest."</p> + +<p>"Bless you!" says she, pattin' my hand. "And just one thing more, +Torchy. When you tell Mr. Ellins that I've been here, and gone, couldn't +you somehow forget to say just how I looked? You see, if he remembers me +as I was when that photo was taken—Well, where's the harm?"</p> + +<p>"Trust me," says I. "And I won't be strainin' my conscience any at +that."</p> + +<p>But I didn't need to juggle even a word. When Old Hickory hears how I've +subbed in for him with Bonnie he just pulls out the picture, gazes at it +fond for a minute or so, and then remarks:</p> + +<p>"Ah, you lucky young rascal!" Then he picks up a note from his desk. +"Oh, by the way," he goes on, "here's a little remembrance she sent you +in my care."</p> + +<p>Little! Say, what do you guess? Oh, only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> an order for a 1920 model +roadster with white wire wheels to be delivered to me when I calls for +it! She's merely tipped me an automobile, that's all. And after I'd read +it through for the third time, and was sure it was so, I manages to gasp +out:</p> + +<p>"Lucky is right, Mr. Ellins; that's the only word."</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_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2><h3>A LATE HUNCH FOR LESTER</h3> +</div> + +<p>You might not guess it, but every now and then I connect with some true +thought that makes me wiser above the ears. Honest, I do. Sometimes they +just come to me by accident, on the fly, as it were. And then again, +they don't come so easy.</p> + +<p>Take this latest hunch of mine. I know now that my being a high-grade +private sec. don't qualify me to hand out any fatherly advice to the +female sex. Absolutely it doesn't. And yet, here only a few weeks back, +that was just what I was doin'. Oh, I don't mean I was scatterin' it +around broadcast. It had to be a particular and 'special case to tempt +me to crash in with the Solomon stuff. It was the case of Lester +Biggs—and little Miss Joyce.</p> + +<p>Now you'd almost think I'd seen too many lady typists earnin' their +daily bread and their weekly marcelle waves for me to get stirred up +over anything they might do. And as a rule, I don't waste much thought +on 'em unless they develop the habit of parkin' their gum on the corner +of my desk, or some such trick as that. I sure would be busy if I did +more, for here in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> the Corrugated general offices we have fifteen or +twenty more or less expert key pounders most of the time. Besides, it's +Mr. Piddie's job to worry over 'em, and believe me he does it thorough.</p> + +<p>But somehow this little Miss Joyce party was different. I expect it was +the baby blue tam-o'-shanter that got me noticin' her first off. You +know that style of lid ain't worn a great deal by our Broadway stenogs. +Not the home crocheted kind. Hardly. I should judge that most of our +flossy bunch wouldn't be satisfied until they'd swapped two weeks' +salary for some Paris model up at Mme. Violette's. And how they did +snicker when Miss Joyce first reported for duty wearin' that tam and +costumed tacky in something a cross-roads dressmaker had done her worst +on.</p> + +<p>Miss Joyce didn't seem to mind. By rights she should have been a shy, +modest little thing who would have been so cut up that she'd have rushed +into the cloak room and spilled a quart of salt tears. But she never +even quivers one of her long eyelashes, so Piddie reports. She just +comes back at 'em with a sketchy, friendly little smile and proceeds to +tackle her work business-like. And inside of ten days she has the lot of +'em eatin' out of her hand.</p> + +<p>But while I might feel a little sympathetic toward this stray from the +kerosene circuit I didn't let it go so far but what I kicked like a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span> +steer when I finds that Piddle has wished her on me for a big forenoon's +work.</p> + +<p>"What's the idea, Piddie?" says I. "Why do I get one of your awkward +squad who'll probably spell 'such' with a t in it and punctuate by the +hit-or-miss method?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Joyce?" says he, raisin' his eyebrows, pained. "I beg your pardon, +Torchy, but she is one of our most efficient stenographers. Really!"</p> + +<p>"She don't look the part," says I. "But if you say she is I'll take a +chance."</p> + +<p>Well, she was all he'd described. She could not only scribble down that +Pitman stuff as fast as I could feed the dictation to her, but she could +read it straight afterward and the letters she turns out are a joy to +look over. From then on I picks her to do all my work, being careful not +to let either Mr. Robert or Old Hickory know what an expert I've +discovered in disguise.</p> + +<p>For one thing she's such a quiet, inoffensive little party. She don't +come in all scented with Peau d'Espagne, nor she don't stare at you +bored, or pat her hair or polish her nails while you're waitin' to think +of the right word. She don't seem to demand the usual chat or fish for +an openin' to confide what a swell time she had last night. In fact, she +don't make any remarks at all outside of the job in hand, which is some +relief when you're scratchin' your head to think<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> what to tell the +assistant Western manager about renewin' them dockage contracts.</p> + +<p>Yet she ain't one of the scared-mouse kind. She looks you square in the +eye when there's any call for it and she don't mumble her remarks when +she has something to say. Not Miss Joyce. Her words come out clear and +crisp, with a slight roll to the r's and all the final letters sounded, +like she'd been taking elocution or something.</p> + +<p>In the course of five or six weeks she has shed the blue tam for a neat +little hat and has ditched the puckered seam effect dress for a black +office costume with white collar and cuffs. She still sticks to partin' +her hair in the middle and drawin' it back smooth with no ear tabs or +waves to it. So she does look some old-fashioned.</p> + +<p>That was why I'm kind of surprised to notice this Lester Biggs begin +hoverin' around her at lunch time and toward the closin' hour. She ain't +the type Lester usually picks out to roll his eyes at. Not in the least. +For of all them young hicks in the bond room I expect Lester is about +the most ambitious would-be sport we've got.</p> + +<p>You see, I've known Lester Biggs more or less for quite some time. He +started favorin' the Corrugated with his services back in the days when +I was still on the gate and rated myself the highest paid and easiest +worked office<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> boy between Greeley Square and Forty-second Street. And +all the good I ever discovered about him wouldn't take me long to tell.</p> + +<p>As for the other side of the case—Well, I ain't much on office scandal, +but I will say that it always struck me Lester had the kind of a mind +that needed chloride of lime on it. I never saw the time when he wasn't +stretchin' his neck after some flossy typist or other, and as sure as a +new one with the least hint of hair bleach showed up it would mean +another affair for Lester. Maybe you know the kind.</p> + +<p>And he sure dressed the part, on and off. The Tin-Horn Sport Cut clothes +that you see advertised so wide must be made and designed 'special for +Lester. I remember he sprung the first pinch-back coat that came into +the office. Same way with the slit pockets, the belted vest and other +cute little innovations that the Times Square chicken hounds drape +themselves in.</p> + +<p>I wouldn't quite say that he'd pass for the perfect male, either. Not +unless you count the bat ears, face pimples, turkey neck and the cast in +one eye as points of beauty. But that don't seem to bother Lester in the +least. He knows he has a way with him. His reg'lar openin' is "Hello, +Girlie, what you got on the event card for tonight?" and from that to +makin' a date at Zinsheimer's dance hall is just a step. Oh, yes, Lester +is some gay bird, if you want to call it that.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span></p> + +<p>And all on twenty a week. So of course that interferes some with his +great ambition. He used to tell me about it back in the old days when I +was on the gate and hadn't sized him up accurate. Chorus girls! If he +could only get to know some squab pippin from the Winter Garden or the +Follies that would be all he'd ask. He would pick out his favorite from +the new musical shows, lug around half-tone pictures of 'em cut from +newspapers, and try to throw the bluff that he expected to meet 'em +early next week; but as we all knew he never got nearer than the second +balcony he never got away with the stuff.</p> + +<p>"Suppose by some miracle you did, Lester?" I'd ask him. "What then? +Would you blow her to a bowl of chow mein at some chop suey joint, or +could you get by with a nut sundae at a cut-rate drug store? And suppose +some curb broker was waitin' to take her out to Heather Blossom Inn? +You'd put up a hot competition, you would, with nothing but the change +from a five left in your jeans."</p> + +<p>"Ah, just leave that to me, old son," he'd say, winkin' devilish.</p> + +<p>And the one time when he did pull it off I happened to hear about. A +friend of his who was usher at the old Hippodrome offered to tow him to +a little Sunday night supper at the flat of one of the chorus ladies. +Lester went, too, and found a giddy thing of about forty fryin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> onions +for a fam'ly of five, includin' three half-grown kids and a +scene-shiftin' hubby.</p> + +<p>That blow seems to discourage Lester for a week or so, since which he +has run true to form. He'll run around with lady typists, or girls from +the cloak department, or most anything that wears skirts, until they +discover what a tight-wad he is and give him the shunt. But his great +aim in life is to acquire a lady-friend that he can point out in the +second row and hang around for at the stage door about midnight.</p> + +<p>So when I sees him flutterin' about Miss Joyce, and her making motions +like she was fallin' for him, I didn't quite know what to make of it. +Course, now that she's bucked up a bit on her costume she is more or +less easy to look at. For a little thing, almost a half portion, as you +might put it, she has quite a figure, slim and graceful. And them pansy +brown eyes can light up sort of fascinatin', I expect. And being so +fresh from the country I suppose she can't dope out what a cheap shimmy +lizard Lester is. It's a wonder some of the other typists hadn't put her +wise. They're usually good at that. But it looks like they'd missed a +trick in her case, for one noon I overhears Lester datin' her up for an +evenin' at Zinsheimer's. And when he drifts along I can't resist +throwin' out a hint, on my own account.</p> + +<p>"With Lester, eh?" says I, humpin' my eyebrows.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I know," says Miss Joyce. "But I do love to dance and I—I've been +rather lonely, you see."</p> + +<p>I saw. And of course after that there was nothing more to say. She +didn't tell me as much, but I understand that it got to be a regular +thing. You could tell that by the intimate way Lester tips her the wink +as he swaggers by. He didn't take any pains to hide it, or to lower his +voice when he remarks, "Well, kiddo, see you at eight thirt., eh?"</p> + +<p>As long as she kept her work up to the mark, which she does, it wasn't +any funeral of mine. I never have yearned to be a volunteer chaperon. +But I was kind of sorry for little Miss Joyce. I expect I said something +of the kind to Vee, and she was all for having Mr. Piddie give her a +good talking to.</p> + +<p>"No use," says I. "Piddie wouldn't know how. All he can do is hire 'em +and fire 'em, and even that's turnin' his hair gray. It'll all work out +one way or another, I expect."</p> + +<p>It does, too. But not exactly along the lines I was looking for it to +develop. First off, Lester quits the Corrugated. As he'd been on the +same job for more'n six years, and gettin' worse at it right along, the +blow didn't quite put us out of business. We're still staggerin' ahead.</p> + +<p>"What's the scheme, Lester?" says I. "Beatin' the office manager to +it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span></p> + +<p>"Huh!" says Lester. "I've been plannin' to make a shift for more'n a +year. Just waitin' for the right openin'. I got it now."</p> + +<p>"The Morgan people sent for you, did they?" says I.</p> + +<p>"They might have, at that," says Lester, "only I'm through bein' an +office slave for anybody. I'm goin' in with some live wires this time, +where I'll have a chance."</p> + +<p>But it turns out that he's been taken on as a sidewalk man by a pair of +ticket speculators—Izzy Goldman and his pal, who used to run the cigar +stand down in the arcade. They handled any kind of pasteboards, from +grandstand parade tickets to orchestra seats.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "that'll be a great career. Almost in the theatrical +game, eh? You'll be knowin' all the pippins now, I expect."</p> + +<p>"Watch me," says Lester.</p> + +<p>Well, I didn't strain my eyes. I'd have been just as pleased to know +that Lester was going to slip out of my young life forever and to forget +him complete within the next two days. Only I couldn't. There was Miss +Joyce to remind me. Not that she says a word. She ain't the chatty, +confidential kind. But it was natural for me to wonder now and then if +they was still as chummy as at the start.</p> + +<p>He'd been away a month or more I expect, before either of us passed his +name, and then it came out accidental. I starts dictatin' a letter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> to a +firm in St. Louis, Lester & Riggs. The name sort of startles Miss Joyce.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon?" says she, her pencil poised over the pad.</p> + +<p>"No, not Lester Biggs," says I. "By the way, how is he these days?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I—I haven't seen him for weeks."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "Kind of thought you'd be droppin' him down the coal shute +or something."</p> + +<p>She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head. "It was he who dropped +me," says she. "Flat."</p> + +<p>"Considerin' Lester," says I, "that's more or less of a compliment."</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure of that," says Miss Joyce. "You see, he was quite +frank about it. He—he said I had no style or zipp about me. Well, I'm +afraid it's true."</p> + +<p>"Even so," says I, "it was sweet of him to throw it at you, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>She indulges in a sketchy, quizzin' smile. "I think some of the girls at +Zinsheimer's had been teasing him about me," she goes on. "They called +me 'the poor little working girl,' I believe. I've no doubt I looked it. +But I haven't been able to spend much for clothes—as yet."</p> + +<p>"Of course," says I, throwin' up a picture of an invalid mother and a +coon-huntin' father back in the alfalfa somewhere. "And so far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span> you +ain't missed much by not havin' 'em. I should put Lester's loss down on +the credit side if I was makin' the entry."</p> + +<p>"He could dance, though," says Miss Joyce, as she gets busy with her +pencil again.</p> + +<p>Then a few weeks later I was handed my big jolt. We was gettin' out a +special report for the directors' meetin' one day after lunch when right +in the middle of a table of costs Miss Joyce glances anxious at the +clock and drops her note book.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry," says she, "but couldn't we finish this tomorrow +morning?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I suppose we might," says I, "if it's anything important."</p> + +<p>"It is," says she. "If I'm not there by 3 o'clock the stage manager will +not see me at all, and I do so want to land an engagement this time."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I gawpin'. "Stage manager! You?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," says she. "You see, I tried once before. I was almost taken +on, too. They liked my voice, they said, but I wasn't up on my dancing. +So I've been taking lessons of a ballet master. Frightfully expensive. +That's where all my money has gone. But I think they'll give me a chance +this time. It's for the chorus of that new 'Tut! Tut! Marie' thing, you +know, and they've advertised for fifty girls."</p> + +<p>I suppose I must have let loose a gasp. This<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> meek, modest young thing, +who looked like she wouldn't know a lip-stick from a boiled carrot, +plannin' cold-blooded to throw up a nice respectable job and enter +herself in the squab market! Why, I wouldn't have been jarred more if +Piddie had announced that next season he was going to do bareback ridin' +for some circus.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Miss Joyce," says I, "but I wouldn't say you was just the +kind they'd take on."</p> + +<p>"Oh, they take all kinds," says she.</p> + +<p>"Better brace yourself for a turndown, though," says I, "I see it coming +to you. You ain't the type at all."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you don't know," says she, trippin' off to get her hat.</p> + +<p>Ever see one of them mobs that turns out when there's a call for a new +chorus? I've had to push my way through 'em once or twice up in some of +them office buildings along the Rialto, and believe me, it's a weird +collection; all sorts, from wispy little flappers who should be in +grammar school still, to hard-faced old battle axes who used to travel +with Nat Goodwin. So I couldn't figure little Miss Joyce gettin' +anything more'n a passing glance in that aggregation. Yet when she shows +up in the mornin' she's lookin' sort of smilin' and chirky.</p> + +<p>"Well," said I, "did you back out after lookin' 'em over?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says she. "I was tried out with the first lot and engaged +right away. They're rushing the production, you see, and I happened to +fit in. Why, inside of an hour they had twenty of us rehearsing. I'm to +be in the first big number, I think—one of the Moonbeam girls. Isn't +that splendid?"</p> + +<p>"If that's what you want," says I, "I expect it is. But how about the +folks back home? What'll they say to this wide jump of yours?"</p> + +<p>"I've decided not to tell them anything about it," says she. "Not for a +long time, anyway."</p> + +<p>"They might hear, though," I suggests. "Just where do you come from?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Saskatoun," says she, without battin' an eyelash.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right, if you don't want to tell," says I.</p> + +<p>"But I have told you," says she. "Saskatoun."</p> + +<p>"Is it a new hair tonic, or what?" says I.</p> + +<p>"It's a city," says she. "One of the largest in British Columbia."</p> + +<p>"Think of that!" says I. "They don't care how they mess up the map these +days, do they? And your folks live there?"</p> + +<p>"Most of them," says she. "Two of my brothers are up at Glen Bow, +raising sheep; one of my sisters is at Alberta, giving piano lessons; +and another sister is doing church singing in Moose Jaw. If I had stayed +at home I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> would be doing something like that. We are a musical family, +you know. Daddy is a church organist and wanted me to keep on in the +choir and perhaps get to be a soloist, at $50 a month. But I couldn't +see it. If I am going to make a living out of my music I want to make a +good one. And New York is the place, isn't it!"</p> + +<p>"It depends," says I. "You don't think you'll get rich in the 'Tut! Tut! +Marie' chorus, do you?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they'll not keep me in the chorus," says she. "It's the back +door, I know, but it was the only way I could get in. And I'm going to +work for something better. You'll see."</p> + +<p>Yep, I saw. Miss Joyce resigned at the end of the week, and it wasn't +ten days before I gets a little note from her saying how she'd been +picked out to do a specialty dance and duet with Ronald Breen. Mr. Breen +had done the picking himself. And she did hope I would look in some +night when the company opened on Broadway.</p> + +<p>"I expect we'll have to go; eh, Vee?" says I when I gets home.</p> + +<p>"Surely," says Vee.</p> + +<p>Well, maybe you've noticed what a hit this "Tut! Tut!" thing has been +making. It's about the zippiest, peppiest girl show in town, and that's +saying a lot. It's the kind of stuff that makes the tired business man +get bright in the eyes and forget how near the sixteenth of January is. +I thought first off we'd have to put<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> off seeing it until after +Christmas, for when I finally got to the box office there was nothing +doing in orchestra seats. Sold out five weeks in advance. But by luck I +happens to run across Lester Biggs in the lobby and for five a throw he +fixes me up with two places in G, middle row.</p> + +<p>"It's a big winner," says he.</p> + +<p>"Seen it yourself?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," says he. "Think I can pull it off tonight, though."</p> + +<p>"Good!" says I. "I'll be looking for you out front after the first act."</p> + +<p>And, say, when this party who's listed on the program as Jean Jolly +comes boundin' in with Ronald Breen I'll admit she had me sittin' up +with my ears tinted pink. No use goin' into details about her costume. +It's hardly worth while—a little white satin here and there and a touch +of black tulle.</p> + +<p>"Well!" gasps Vee. "Is that your little Miss Joyce?"</p> + +<p>"I can hardly believe it," says I.</p> + +<p>"I should hope not," says Vee. "But she is cute, isn't she? And see that +kick! Oh-h-h-h!"</p> + +<p>I was still red in the face, I expect, when I trails out at the end of +the act and discovers Lester leanin' against the lobby wall.</p> + +<p>"Say, Torchy," says he husky, "did—did you see her?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Joyce?" says I. "Sure. Some pippin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> in the act, isn't she? Didn't +she send you word she was goin' to be in this with Ronald Breen?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" says he. "No."</p> + +<p>"That's funny," says I. "She told me weeks ago. I hear she's pulling +down an even hundred and fifty a week. By next season she'll be +starrin'."</p> + +<p>"And to think," moans out Lester, "that I passed her up only a few +months ago!"</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "considerin' your chronic ambition, that was once when +you were out of luck. And the worst of it is that maybe she was only +usin' you to practice on all along. Eh?"</p> + +<p>Perhaps it wasn't a consolin' thought to leave with Lester, but somehow +I couldn't help grinnin' as I tossed it over. And me, I'm doping out no +more advice to young ladies from Saskatoun or elsewhere. I'm off that +side-line permanent.</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_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2><h3>TORCHY TACKLES A MYSTERY</h3> +</div> + +<p>I'll admit I didn't get all stirred up when Mr. Robert comes in from +luncheon and announces that this Penrhyn Deems person is missing.</p> + +<p>"On how many cylinders?" says I.</p> + +<p>I might have added, too, that even if he'd been mislaid permanent I +could struggle along. First off, anybody with a name like that could be +easy spared. Penrhyn! Always reminded me of a headache tablet. Where did +he get such a fancy tag? I never could believe that was sprinkled on +him. Listened to me like something he'd thought up himself when he saw +the chance of its being used so much on four sheets and billboards. And +if you'd ask me I'd said that the prospect of his not contributin' any +more of them musical things to the Broadway stage wasn't good cause for +decreein' a lodge of sorrow. Them last two efforts of his certainly was +punk enough to excuse him from tryin' again. What if he had done the +lines and lyrics to "The Buccaneer's Bride"? That didn't give him any +license to unload bush-league stuff for the rest of his career, did it?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span> +Begun to look like his first big hit had been more or less of an +accident. That being the case maybe it was time for him to fade out.</p> + +<p>Course, I didn't favor Mr. Robert with all this. Him and Penrhyn Deems +was old college chums together, and while they ain't been real thick in +late years they have sort of kept in touch. I suspect that since Penrhyn +got to ratin' himself as kind of a combination of Reggie DeKoven and +George Cohan he ain't been so easy to get along with. Maybe I'm wrong, +but from the few times I've seen him blowin' in here at the Corrugated +that was my dope. You know. One of these parties who carries his chest +out and walks heavy on his heels. Yes, I should judge that the ego in +Penrhyn's make-up would run well over 2.75 per cent.</p> + +<p>But it takes more'n that to get him scratched from Mr. Robert's list. +He's strong for keepin' up old friendships, Mr. Robert is. He remembers +whatever good points they have and lets it ride at that. So he's always +right there with the friendly hail whenever Penrhyn swaggers in wearin' +them noisy costumes that he has such a weakness for, and with his +eyebrows touched up and his cutie-boy mustache effect decoratin' that +thick upper lip. How a fat party like him could work up so much personal +esteem I never could understand. But they do. You watch next time you're +on a subway platform, who it is that gazes most fond into the +gum-machine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> mirrors and if it ain't mostly these blimp-built boys with +a 40 belt measure then I'm wrong on my statistics. Anyway, Penrhyn is +that kind.</p> + +<p>"This is the third day that he has been missing, Torchy," says Mr. +Robert, solemn.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" says I. "Seems to me I saw an item about him in the theatrical +notes yesterday, something about his being a. w. o. l. Kind of joshing, +it read, like they didn't take it serious."</p> + +<p>"That's the disgusting part of it," says Mr. Robert. "Here is a man who +disappears suddenly, to whom almost anything may have happened, from +being run over by a truck to robbery and murder; yet, because he happens +to be connected with the theatrical business, it is referred to as if it +were some kind of a joke. Why, he may be lying unidentified in some +hospital, or at the bottom of the North River."</p> + +<p>"Anybody out looking for him?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Not so far as I can discover," says Mr. Robert. "I have 'phoned up to +the Shuman offices—they're putting on his new piece, you know—but I +got no satisfaction at all. He hadn't been there for several days. That +was all they knew. Yes, there had been talk of giving the case to a +detective agency, but they weren't sure it had been done. And here is +his poor mother up in New Rochelle, almost on the verge of nervous +prostration. There is his fiancée, too; little Betty Parsons, who is +crying her eyes out. Nice girl, Betty. And it's a shame that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span> something +isn't being done. Anyway, I shall do what I can."</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "I hadn't thought about his having a mother—and a girl. +But say, Mr. Robert, maybe I can put you next to somebody at Shuman's +who can give you the dope. I got a friend up there—Whitey Weeks. Used +to do reportin'. Last time I met him though, he admitted modest that +Alf. Shuman had come beggin' him to take full charge of the publicity +end of all his attractions. So if anybody has had any late bulletins +about Mr. Deems it's bound to be Whitey."</p> + +<p>"Suppose you ring him up, then," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"When I'm trying to extract the truth from Whitey," says I, "I want to +be where I can watch his eyes. He's all right in his way, but he's as +shifty as a jumpin' bean. If you want the facts I'd better go myself. +Maybe you'd better come, too, Mr. Robert."</p> + +<p>He agrees to that and inside of half an hour we've pushed through a mob +of would-be and has-been chorus females and have squeezed into the +little coop where Whitey presides important behind a big double-breasted +roll-top. And when I explains how Mr. Robert is an old friend of +Penrhyn's, and is actin' for the heart-broken mother and the weepin' +fiancée as well, Whitey shakes his head solemn.</p> + +<p>"Sorry, gentlemen," says he, "but we haven't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span> heard a word from him +since he disappeared. Haven't even a clue. It's an absolute mystery. He +seems to have vanished, that's all. And we don't know what to make of +it. Rather embarrassing for us, too. You know we've just started +rehearsals for his new piece, 'Oh, Say, Belinda!' Biggest thing he's +done yet. And Mr. Shuman has spent nearly $10,000 for the setting and +costumes of one number alone. Yet here Deems walks off with the lyrics +for that song—the only copy in existence, mind you—and drops out of +sight. I suppose he wanted to revise the verses. You see the hole it put +us in, though. We're rushing 'Belinda' through for an early production, +and he strays off with the words to what's bound to be the big song hit +of the season. Why, Miss Ladue, who does that solo, is about crazy, and +as for Mr. Shuman——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand, Whitey," I breaks in. "That's good press agent +stuff, all right. But Mr. Ellins here ain't so much worried over what's +going to happen to the show as he is over what has happened to Penrhyn +Deems. Now how did he disappear? Who saw him last?"</p> + +<p>Whitey shrugs his shoulders. "All a mystery, I tell you," says he. "We +haven't a single clue."</p> + +<p>"And you're just sitting back wondering what has become of him," demands +Mr. Robert, "without making an effort to trace him?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, what can we do?" asks Whitey. "If the fool newspapers would only +wake up to the fact that a prominent personage is missing, and give us +the proper space, that might help. They will in time, of course. Got to +come to it. But you know how it is. Anything from a press bureau they're +apt to sniff over suspicious. As if I'd pull one as raw as this on 'em! +Huh! But I'm working up the interest, and by next Sunday I'll bet +they'll be carrying front page headlines, 'Where is Penrhyn Deems?' +You'll see."</p> + +<p>"Suppose he should turn up tomorrow, though?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but he couldn't," says Whitey quick. "That is, if he's really lost +or—or anything has happened to him. What makes you think he might show +up, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Just a hunch of mine," says I. "I was thinking maybe some of his +friends might find him somewhere."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to see 'em," says Whitey emphatic. "It—it would be worth a +good deal to us."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "I know how you feel about it. Much obliged, Whitey. I +guess that's all we can do; eh, Mr. Robert?"</p> + +<p>But we're no sooner out of the office than I gives him the nudge.</p> + +<p>"Bunk!" says I. "I'd bet a million of somebody else's money that this is +just one of Whitey's smooth frame-ups."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span></p> + +<p>"I hardly think I follow you," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Here's the idea," says I. "When 'The Buccaneer's Bride' was having that +two-year run Penrhyn Deems was a good deal in the spotlight. He had +write-ups reg'lar, full pages in the Sunday editions, new pictures of +himself printed every few weeks. He didn't hate it, did he? But these +last two pieces of his were frosts. All he's had recent have been +roasts, or no mention at all. And it was up to Whitey to bring him back +into the public eye, wasn't it? Trust Whitey for doing that."</p> + +<p>"But this method would be so thoroughly cold-blooded, heartless," +protests Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't stop Whitey, though," says I.</p> + +<p>"Then we must do our best to find Penrhyn," says he.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "Sleuth stuff. How about startin' at his rooms and +interviewin' his man?"</p> + +<p>"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "We will go there at once."</p> + +<p>We did. But what we got out of that pie-faced Nimms of Penrhyn's wasn't +worth taking notes of. He's got a map about as full of expression as the +south side of a squash, Nimms. A peanut-headed Cockney that Penrhyn +found somewhere in London.</p> + +<p>"Sure I cawn't say, sir," says he, "where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> the mawster went to, sir. It +was lawst Monday night 'e vanished, sir."</p> + +<p>"Whaddye mean, vanished?" says I.</p> + +<p>"'E just walked out, sir, and never came back," says Nimms. "See, sir, +I've 'ad 'is morning suit all laid out ever since, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then he went in evening clothes?" puts in Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly, sir," says Nimms. "'E was attired as a court jester, sir; +in motley, you know, sir, and cap and bells."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert. "In a fool's costume? You say he went out +in that rig? Why the deuce should he——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't ask the mawster, sir," says Nimms, "but my private opinion of +the matter, sir, is that he was on 'is way to a masked banquet of some +sort. I 'appened to see a hinvitation, sir, that——"</p> + +<p>"Dig it up, Nimms," says I. "Might be a clue."</p> + +<p>Sure enough, Nimms had it stowed away; and the fathead hadn't said a +word about it before. It's an invite to the annual costume dinner of the +Bright Lights Club.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "I've heard of that bunch—mostly producers, stage stars +and dramatists. Branch of the Lambs Club. Whitey would have known about +that event, too. And Alf. Shuman. If Deems had been there they'd have +known. So he didn't get there. I expect he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> wore a rain coat or +something over his costume, and went in a taxi; eh, Nimms?"</p> + +<p>"Quite so, sir," says Nimms. "A long raincoat, sir."</p> + +<p>"But," breaks in Mr. Robert, "a man couldn't wander around New York +dressed in a fool's costume without being noticed. That is, not for +several days."</p> + +<p>"You bet he couldn't," says I. "So he didn't."</p> + +<p>That's a good line to pull, that "he couldn't, so he didn't," when +you're doin' this Sherlock-Watson stuff. Sounds professional. Mr. Robert +nods and then looks at me expectant as if he was waitin' to hear what +I'd deduce next. But as a matter of fact my deducer was runnin' down. +Yet when you've got a boss who always expects you to cerebrate in high +gear, as he's so fond of puttin' it, you've got to produce something +off-hand, or stall around.</p> + +<p>"Now, let's see," says I, registerin' deep thought, "if Penrhyn was to +go anywhere on his own hook, where would it be? You know his habits +pretty well, Mr. Robert. What's your guess?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I should say he would make for the nearest golf course," says he.</p> + +<p>"He's a golf shark, is he?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Not in the sense you mean," says Mr. Robert. "Hardly. Penrhyn is a +consistent but earnest duffer. The ambition of his life is to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span> break 100 +on some decent course. He has talked enough about it to me. Yes, that is +probably where he is, if he's still alive, off playing golf somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Begging your pardon, sir," puts in Nimms, "but that could 'ardly be so, +sir, seeing as 'ow 'is sticks are still 'ere. That's the strange part of +'is disappearance, sir. 'E never travels without 'is bag of sticks. And +they're in that closet, sir."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't he rent an outfit, or borrow one?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"He could," says Mr. Robert, "but he wouldn't. No more than you would +rent a toothbrush. That is one of the symptoms of the golf duffer. He +has his pet clubs and imagines he can play with no others. I think we +must agree with Nimms. If we do, the case looks serious again, for +Penrhyn would certainly not go away voluntarily unless it was to some +place where he could indulge in his mania."</p> + +<p>"That's it!" says I. "Then he's been steered somewhere against his will. +That's the line! Which brings us back to Whitey Weeks. Who else but +Whitey would want him shunted off out of sight for a week or so?"</p> + +<p>"But you don't think he would go so far as to kidnap Penrhyn, do you?" +asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Who, Whitey?" says I. "He'd kidnap his grandmother if he saw a front +page story in it. Maybe he'd had this disappearance stunt all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> worked up +when Mr. Deems balked. So he gets him when he's rigged up in some crazy +costume, with all his regular clothes at home, and tolls him off to some +out of the way spot. See? In that rig Penrhyn would have to stay put, +wouldn't he? Couldn't show himself among folks without being mobbed. So +he'd have to lay low until someone brought him a suit of clothes."</p> + +<p>"That would be an ingenious way of doing it," admits Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, Whitey has that kind of a mind," says I, "or else he +wouldn't be handling the Alf. Shuman publicity work."</p> + +<p>"But where could he have taken him?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"We're just gettin' to that," says I. "Where would he? Now if this was a +movie play we was dopin' out it would be simple. He'd be taken off on a +yacht. But Whitey couldn't get the use of a yacht. He don't travel in +that class, and Shuman wouldn't stand for the charter price in an +expense bill. A lonesome farm would be a good spot. But Penrhyn could +borrow a rube outfit and escape from a farm. A lighthouse would be a +swell place to stow away a leading librettist dressed up in a fool's +costume, wouldn't it? Or an island? Say, I'll bet I've got it!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"He's on an island," says I. "High Bar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> Island. It's a place where +Whitey goes duck shootin' every fall. He belongs to a club that owns it. +Anyway, he did. Used to feed me an earful about what a great gunner he +was, and what thrillin' times he had at the old shack. Down somewhere in +Barnegat Bay, back of the lighthouse. Yep! He's there, if he's +anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Sounds rather unlikely," says Mr. Robert. "Still, you seem to have an +uncanny instinct for being right in such matters. Perhaps we ought to go +down and see. Come."</p> + +<p>"What, now?" says I. "Right away?"</p> + +<p>"There is his mother, almost in hysterics," says Mr. Robert, "and his +sweetheart. Think of the suspense, the mental strain they must be under. +If we can find Penrhyn we must do so as quickly as possible. Let's go +back to the office and look up train connections."</p> + +<p>Well, if we'd started half an hour earlier we'd been all right. As it +was we could hang up all night at some dinky junction or wait over until +next morning. Neither suited Mr. Robert. He 'phones for his tourin' car +and decides to motor down into Jersey. Also he has a kit bag packed for +two of us and collects from Nimms a full outfit of daylight clothes for +Penryhn.</p> + +<p>We got away about five o'clock and as Mr. Robert figures by the Blue +Book that we have only a hundred and some odd miles to run he thinks we +ought to make some place near Barnegat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> Light by nine o'clock. Maybe we +would have, too, if we'd caught the Staten Island ferries right at both +ends, and hadn't had two blow-outs and strayed off the road once. As it +is we finally lands at little joint that shows on the map as Forked +River about 1 a.m. There wasn't a light in the whole place and it took +us half an hour to pry the landlord of the hotel out of the feathers. +No, he couldn't tell us where we could get a boat to take us out to High +Bar at that time of night. It wasn't being done. Folks didn't go there +often anyway, and when they did they started after breakfast.</p> + +<p>"It'll be there in the morning, you know," says he.</p> + +<p>"That's so," says Mr. Robert. "Have a motor boat ready at nine o'clock. +Not much use getting there before 10:30. Penrhyn wouldn't be up."</p> + +<p>That sounded sensible to me. When I go huntin' for lost dramatists I +like to take it easy and be braced up for the day with a good shot of +ham and eggs. This part of the program was carried out smooth. And it's +a nice little sail across old Barnegat Bay with the oyster fleet busy +and the fishin' boats dotted around. But the native who piloted us out +was doubtful about anybody's being on High Bar.</p> + +<p>"I seen some parties shootin' around on Love Ladies yesterday," says he, +"an' a couple more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> was snipin' on Sea Dog, but I didn't hear nary gun +let off on th' Bar."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my friend doesn't shoot, anyway," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Ain't nothin' else for him to do on High Bar," says the native, "less'n +he wants to collect skeeter bites."</p> + +<p>When we got close enough to see the island I begun to suspicion I'd +missed out on my hunch, for there ain't a soul in sight. We could see +the whole of it, too, for the highest part isn't much over two feet +above tide-water mark. Near the boat landing is the club house, set up +on piling, with a veranda across the front. The rest of High Bar is only +a few acres of sedge and marsh.</p> + +<p>"Yea-uh!" says the native. "Must be somebody thar. Door's open. Yea-uh! +Thar's old Lem Robbins, who allus does the cookin'. Hey, Lem!"</p> + +<p>Lem waves cordial and waddles down to meet us. He's a fat, grizzled old +pirate who looked bored and discontented.</p> + +<p>"Got anybody with you, Lem?" asks the native.</p> + +<p>"Not to speak of," says Lem. "Only a loony sort of gent that wears +skin-tight barber-pole pants and cusses fluent."</p> + +<p>"That's Penrhyn!" says Mr. Robert. "Dressed as a fool, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"You've said it," says Lem. "Acts like one,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> too. Hope you gents have +come to take him back where he belongs. Needs to be shut up, he does."</p> + +<p>"But where is he?" demands Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Out back of the house, swingin' an old boat-hook and carryin' on +simple," says Lem. "I'll show you."</p> + +<p>It was some sight, too. For there is the famous author of "The +Buccaneer's Bride," rigged out complete in a more or less soiled +jester's costume, includin' the turkey red headpiece with the bells on +it. He's standing on a heap of shells and waving this rusty boat-hook +around. Course, I expects when he sees Mr. Robert and realizes how he's +been rescued he'll come out of his spell and begin to act rational once +more. But it don't work out that way. When Mr. Robert calls out to him +and he sees who it is, he keeps right on swingin' the boat-hook.</p> + +<p>"Glory be, Bob!" he sings out. "I've got it at last."</p> + +<p>"Got what, Penny?" demands Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"My drive," says he. "Watch, Bob. How's that, eh? Notice that carry +through? Wouldn't that spank the pill 200 yards straight down the +fairway? Wouldn't it, now?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Penny!" says Mr. Robert. "Don't be more of an ass than you +can help. Quit that golf tommyrot and tell me what you're doing here in +this forsaken spot when all New<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> York is thinking that maybe you've been +murdered or something."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Penrhyn. "Then—then the news is out, is it? Did you bring +any papers?"</p> + +<p>"Papers?" says Mr. Robert. "No."</p> + +<p>"Wish you had," says Penrhyn. "Got everyone stirred up, I suppose? Tell +me, though, how are people taking it?"</p> + +<p>"If you mean the public in general," says Mr. Robert, "I think they are +bearing up nobly. But your mother and Betty——"</p> + +<p>"By George!" breaks in Penrhyn. "That's so! They might be rather +disturbed. I—I never thought about them."</p> + +<p>"Didn't, eh?" says Mr. Robert. "No, you wouldn't. You were thinking +about Penrhyn Deems, as usual. And I must say, Penny, you're the limit. +I've a good notion to leave you here."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Bob! Don't do that," pleads Penrhyn. "Disgusting place. And I +dislike that cook person, very much. Besides, I must get back. Really."</p> + +<p>"Want to relieve your poor old mother and Betty, eh?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," says Penrhyn. "Besides, I want to try this swing with +my driver. Bob, I'm sure I can put in that wrist snap at last. And if I +can I—I'll be playing in the 90's. Sure!"</p> + +<p>He's a wonder, Penrhyn. He has this hoof<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> and mouth disease, otherwise +known as golf, worse than anybody I ever met before. Took Mr. Robert +another ten minutes to get him calmed down enough so he could tell how +he come to be marooned on this island in that rig.</p> + +<p>"Why, it was that new press agent of Shuman's, of course," says Penrhyn. +"That Weeks person. He did it."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say, Penny," says Mr. Robert, "that you were +kidnapped and brought here a prisoner?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," says Penny. "We drove down here at night and came in a +boat just at daylight. Silly performance. Especially wearing this +costume. But he insisted that it would make the disappearance more +plausible, more dramatic. Wouldn't tell me where we were going, either. +Said it was a club house, so I thought of course there would be golf. +But look at this hole! And I've had four days of it. Mosquitoes? +Something frightful. That's why I've kept on the cap and bells. At first +I put in the time working over one of the songs in the new piece. Wrote +some ripping verses, too. They'll go strong. Best thing I've done. But +after I had finished that job I wanted to play golf; practice, anyway. +And I was nearly crazy until I found this old boat-hook and began +knocking oyster shells into the water. That's how it came to me—the +drive. If I can only hold it!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span></p> + +<p>I suggests how Mr. Weeks is probably plannin' for him to stay lost until +over Sunday anyway, so he can work some big space in the newspapers.</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother Mr. Weeks!" says Penrhyn. "I've had enough of this. The new +piece is going to go big, anyway. Come along, Bob. Let's start. I'll +'phone to mother and Betty, and maybe I can get in eighteen holes this +afternoon. Brought some clothes for me, didn't you? I must change from +this rig first."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't," says Mr. Robert. "It's quite appropriate, Penny."</p> + +<p>But Penrhyn wouldn't be joshed and makes a dive for his suitcase. We +lands him back on Broadway at 4:30 that same afternoon. My first move +after gettin' to the Corrugated general offices is to ring up Whitey +Weeks.</p> + +<p>"This is Torchy," says I. "And ain't it awful about Penrhyn Deems?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" gasps Whitey. "What about him?"</p> + +<p>"He's been found," says I. "Uh-huh! Discovered on an island by some fool +friends that brought him back to town. I just saw him on Broadway."</p> + +<p>"The simp!" groans Whitey.</p> + +<p>"You're a great little describer, Whitey," says I. "Simp is right. But +next time you want to win front page space by losing a dramatist I'd +advise you to lock him in a vault. Islands are too easy located."</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>WITH VINCENT AT THE TURN</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was Mr. Piddie who first begun workin' up suspicions about Vincent, +our fair haired super-office boy. But then, Piddie has that kind of a +mind. He must have been born on the dark of the moon when the wind was +east in the year of the big eclipse. Something like that. Anyway, he's +long on gloom and short on faith in human nature, and he goes +gum-shoein' through life lookin' as slit-eyed as a tourist tom-cat four +blocks from his own backyard.</p> + +<p>Course, he has his good points, lots of 'em, or else he never would have +held his job as office manager in the Corrugated Trust so long. And +there's at least two human beings he thinks was made perfect from the +start—Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. Robert. The rest of us he ain't sure +of. We'll bear watchin'. And Piddie's idea of earnin' his salary is to +be right there with the restless eye from 8:43 until 5:02, when he grabs +his trusty commutation ticket and starts for the wilds of Jersey, +leavin' the force to a whole night of idleness and wicked ways.</p> + +<p>Still, I am a little surprised when he picks out Vincent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span></p> + +<p>"I regret to say it, Torchy," says he, "but someone ought to have an eye +on that boy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, Piddie!" says I. "Not Vincent! Why, he's a model youth. +You've always said so yourself—polite, respectful, washes behind the +ears, takes home his pay envelope uncracked to mother, all that sort of +thing. Why the mournful headshake over him now?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say what it is," says Piddie, "but there has been a change. +Recently. Twice this week he has overstayed his luncheon hour. Yesterday +he asked for his Liberty bond and war saving stamps from the safe. I +believe he is planning to do something desperate."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Most likely he's plotting to pay off the mortgage on the +little bungalow as a birthday present for mother."</p> + +<p>Piddie won't have it that way, though. "I think there's a woman in the +case," says he, "and I'm sure it isn't his mother."</p> + +<p>"A woman; Vincent?" says I. "Ah, quit your kiddin', Piddie. I'd as soon +think it of you."</p> + +<p>That brings the pink to his ears and he stiffens indignant. But in a +minute or so he gets over it enough to explain that he's noticed Vincent +fussin' with his necktie and slickin' his hair back careful before +quittin' time. Also that Vincent has taken to gettin' shaved once a week +reg'lar now, instead of every month.</p> + +<p>"And he seemed very nervous when he took<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> away his savings," adds +Piddie. "Of course, in my position I could ask for no confidences of a +personal nature; but if someone else could have a talk with him.—Well, +you, for example, Torchy."</p> + +<p>"What a cute little idea!" says I. "What would be the openin' lines for +that scene? Something like, 'Come, my erring lad, rest your fair, +sin-soaked head on my knee and tell your Uncle Torchy how you are +secretly scheming to kidnap the rich gum profiteer's lovely daughter and +carry her off to Muckhurst-on-the-Marsh.' Piddie, you're a wonder."</p> + +<p>I was still chucklin' over the notion as I breezed out to lunch, but as +I pushes out of the express elevator and starts across the arcade toward +the Broadway exit I lamps something over by the candy booth that leaves +me with my mouth open. There is Vincent hung up against the counter +gazin' mushy into the dark dangerous orbs of Mirabelle, the box-trade +queen.</p> + +<p>Course, we all know Mirabelle in the Corrugated buildin', for she's been +presidin' over the candy counter almost as long as the arcade shops have +been open. She's what you might call an institution; like Apollo Mike, +the elevator starter; or old Walrus Smith, the night watchman. And I +expect there ain't a young hick or a middle-aged bookkeeper on all them +twenty-odd floors but what has had his little thrill from gettin' in +line, some time or another,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> with a cut-up look from them high voltage +eyes. She's just one of the many perils, Mirabelle is, that line the +path of the poor working man in the great city. That is, she looks the +part.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, I've always had Mirabelle sized up as a near-vamp +who had worked up the act to boost sales and cinch her job. Anyway, I +never knew of her lurin' her victims into anything more desperate than a +red-ink table d'hôte dinner or a six-dollar orgie at a cabaret. And +somehow they all seem to wriggle out of the net within a week or so with +no worse casualties than a feverish yearnin' for next pay day and a wise +look in the eyes. I've watched some of them young sports from the bond +room have their little fling with Mirabelle and not one of 'em has come +out a human wreck.</p> + +<p>Maybe they discover that Mirabelle has turned thirty. I'll admit she +don't look it, 'specially under the pink-shaded counter light when she's +had a henna treatment lately and been careful to spread the make-up +artistic. The jet ear danglers helps some, too. Then there are them +misbehavin' eyes. Also when it comes to light and frivolous chat +Mirabelle is right there with the zippy patter. Oh my, yes! Try shootin' +anything fresh across when she's wrappin' a pound of mixed chocolates +and you'll get a quick one back from Mirabelle. Probably a quizzin', +twisty smile, too that sends you off kiddin' yourself that you're quite +a gay bird<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span> when you really cut loose, and where's the harm once in a +while? You know the kind.</p> + +<p>But to think that Vincent should be fallin' for Mirabelle. Why, he sits +there all day behind the gate in plain sight of a battery of twenty lady +typists, some of 'em as kittenish young things as ever blew a week's +salary into a permanent wave and I've never even seen him so much as +roll an eye at one. Besides, he's as perfect a specimen of a Mommer's +boy as you could find between here and the Battery. Not that he's a male +ingénue. He's just a nice boy, Vincent, always neat and polite and ready +to admit that he has the best little mother in the world. I don't blame +him for thinkin' so either, for I've seen her a couple of times and if +I'm any judge she fits the description. She's a widow, you know, and she +and Vincent are strugglin' along on the life insurance until they make +Vincent general manager or vice-president or something.</p> + +<p>So, as I was telling you, it gives me more or less of a jolt to see +Vincent flutterin' around Mirabelle. There's no mistakin' the motions, +either. He's draped himself careless over the end of the counter and +them big innocent blue eyes of his are fairly glued on Mirabelle, while +a simple smile comes and goes, dependin' on whether she's lookin' his +way or not. Just as I stops to gawp at the proceedin's he seems to be +askin' her something, real eager and earnest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> For a second Mirabelle +arches her plucked eyebrows and puckers her lips coy as if she was +lettin' on to be shocked. Then she glances around cautious to see if the +coast is clear, reaches out and pats Vincent tender on the cheek and +whispers something in his ear.</p> + +<p>A minute later Mirabelle is smilin' mechanical at a fat man who's +stopped to buy a box of chocolate peppermints and Vincent is swingin' +past me with his chin up and his eyes bright. It don't take any seventh +son work to guess that Vincent has made a date. If it had been anybody +else that wouldn't have meant nothing at all to me, but as it is I can't +help feelin' that this was my cue. Just how or why I don't stop to +figure out, but I falls in behind and trails along.</p> + +<p>Vincent should have been headin' for the dairy lunch, but he starts in +the other direction and after followin' him for five blocks I sees him +dive into a jewelry store. Maybe that don't get a gasp out of me, too. +Looks like our little Vincent was some speedy performer, don't it? And +sure enough, by rubberin' in through the door, I can see a clerk haulin' +out a tray of rings. Think of that! Vincent.</p> + +<p>He must have been in there before and looked over the stock, for inside +of ten minutes out he comes again. And by makin' a quick maneuver I +manages to bump into him as he's leavin' the front door with the little +white box in his fist.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "What's all this mean, old son? Been buyin' out +the spark shop? I expect somebody's going to get a weddin' present, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Not—not exactly," says Vincent, his cheeks pinkin' up and his right +hand slidin' toward his coat pocket.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho!" says I, grabbin' the wrist and exposin' the little square +package. "A ring or I'm a poor guesser. And it's for the sweetest girl +in the world, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"It is," says Vincent, just a bit defiant.</p> + +<p>"Congratulations, old man," says I, poundin' him friendly on the +shoulder. "I don't suppose I could guess who, could I?"</p> + +<p>"I—I don't think you could," says Vincent.</p> + +<p>"Then it's my blow to luncheon—reg'lar chop-house feed in honor of the +big event," says I. "Come along, Vincent, while I order a bottle of one +and a half per cent. to drink to your luck."</p> + +<p>Course, he can't very well get away from that, me being one of his +bosses, as you might say. But he acts a little uneasy.</p> + +<p>"You see, sir," says he, "it—it isn't quite settled."</p> + +<p>"I get you," says I. "Going to spring it on her tonight, eh?"</p> + +<p>He admits that is the plan.</p> + +<p>"Durin' the course of a little dinner, eh?" I goes on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span></p> + +<p>Vincent nods.</p> + +<p>"That's taking the high dive, all right," says I. "Lets you in deep, you +know, when you go shovin' solitaires at 'em. But I expect you've thought +it over careful and picked out the right girl."</p> + +<p>"She is perfectly splendid," says Vincent.</p> + +<p>"Well, that helps some," says I. "One that Mother approves of, I'll +bet."</p> + +<p>"Why," says Vincent, his chin droppin', "I am sure she will like her +when—when she sees her."</p> + +<p>"Let's see, Vincent," says I, "you're all of nineteen, ain't you?"</p> + +<p>"Nearly twenty," says he.</p> + +<p>"How we do come along!" says I. "Why, when you took my old place on the +gate you was still wearin' knickers, wasn't you? And now—I suppose +it'll be a case of your bringin' home a new daughter to help Mother, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es," says Vincent draggy.</p> + +<p>"Lucky she's the right kind, then," I suggests.</p> + +<p>"She's a wonderful girl, Torchy. Wonderful," says he.</p> + +<p>"Well, I expect you're a judge," says I.</p> + +<p>"I've never known anyone just like her," he goes on, "and if she'll have +me——" He wags his head determined.</p> + +<p>I was hardly lookin' for such a stubborn streak in Vincent. He's always +seemed so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span> mild and modest. But you never can tell. There's no doubt +about his having his mind all made up about Mirabelle, and while her +name ain't mentioned once he consents to tell me what a perfectly sweet +and lovely person she is. If I hadn't had a hunch who he was talking +about I'm afraid I never would have guessed from the description. She'd +put the spell on him for fair. That being the way things stood what was +the use of my coming in with an argument? The most I could do was to +hint that Vincent's salary as head office boy might be a bit strained +when it came to providin' for two.</p> + +<p>He has the answer to that, though. He's got the promise of a filing +clerk's job the first of the year, with a raise every six months if he +makes good.</p> + +<p>"Besides," he adds, "I may pick up a little something extra very soon."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "You ain't been plungin' on a curb tip, have you?"</p> + +<p>He nods. "It came to me very straight, sir," says he. "Oil stocks."</p> + +<p>"Good-night!" I groans. "Say, Vincent, you're off in high gear, all +right. Matrimony and gushers, all at one clip! Lemme get my breath. Have +you put up for the margins?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says Vincent.</p> + +<p>"Then have another piece of pie and a second cup of coffee," says I. +"You're going to need bracin' up."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span></p> + +<p>Not that I proceeds to deal out the wise stuff about oil stocks along +the Talk to Investors line. It's too late for that. Besides, Vincent was +due to get a lesson in the folly of piker speculatin' that would last +him a long time. Maybe it was best for him to get it early in his young +career.</p> + +<p>But it was going to be rough on the little mother when she hears how her +darling boy has sneaked out the nest egg and tossed it reckless into the +middle of Broad Street. That would be some bump. And then on top of that +if Mirabelle is introduced as her future daughter-in-law—Well, you can +frame up the picture for yourself. And right there I organizes myself +into a relief expedition to rescue the Lost Battalion.</p> + +<p>I got to admit that my plan of campaign was a trifle vague. About as far +as I could get was decidin' that somebody ought to have speech with +Mirabelle on the subject. And when we hurries back through the arcade +again, ten minutes behind schedule, and I catches the little exchange of +fond looks between the two, I knows that whatever is done needs to be +started right away. So I mumbles something about having forgotten an +errand, makes a round trip in the elevator, and am back at the candy +counter almost as soon as Vincent has hung up his hat.</p> + +<p>"Yes-s-s, sir?" says Mirabelle inquirin', with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span> her best +dollar-fifty-quality smile playin' around where the lip-stick has given +nature a boost.</p> + +<p>"Hard gum drops," says I, "or chocolate marshmallows, or most anything +in half-pound size. The main idea is a little chat with you."</p> + +<p>"Naughty, naughty!" says Mirabelle, shaking her head until the jet ear +danglers are doing a one-step. "But you men are all alike, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Is that why you've taken to cradle snatchin'?" says I.</p> + +<p>Mirabelle executes the wide shutter movement with her eyes and finishes +with what she thinks is a Mary Pickford pout. "Really, I don't think I +get you," says she. "In other words, meaning what?"</p> + +<p>"Referring to the boy, Vincent," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says she, eying me curious. "Dear little fellow, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Of course," I goes on, "if it's only a case of adoption——"</p> + +<p>"Say," she breaks in, her eyelids gettin' narrow, "some of you cerise +blondes ought to be confined to the comic strips. Who do you think +you're kidding, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Mirabelle," says I, "but you're all wrong. This is straight +heart-to-heart stuff. You know you've been stringin' Vincent along."</p> + +<p>"Suppose I have?" demands Mirabelle. "Where do you get a license to +crash in?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span></p> + +<p>"Just what I was working up to," says I. "For one thing, he's the only +perfect office boy in captivity. The Corrugated can't spare him. Then +again, there's Mother. Honest, Mirabelle, you ought to see +Mother—reg'lar stage widow, with the sad sweet smile, the soft gray +hair, 'n'everything. If you could, you'd lay off this Theda Bara act the +next minute."</p> + +<p>It was a poor hunch, pullin' out that sympathy stop for Mirabelle. I +knew that when I saw them black eyes of hers begin to give off sparks.</p> + +<p>"Listen, son," says she, "if you feel as bad as all that run down in the +sub-cellar and sob in the coal bins. I'll be getting nervous, next thing +I know, listening to ravings like that."</p> + +<p>"My error," says I. "Course, you didn't know how a few kind words and a +little off-hand target practice with the eyes would affect Vincent. How +should you? But he's taking it all serious. Uh-huh! Been buying the +ring."</p> + +<p>"What!" says Mirabelle, startled.</p> + +<p>"A real blue-white, set in platinum," says I. "On the instalments, of +course. And he's plungin' with all his war savings on wild cat stocks to +make good. Oh, he's in a reg'lar trance, Vincent. So you see?"</p> + +<p>Mirabelle seems to see a good deal more than I was expectin' her to. +Just now she's glancin' approvin' into one of the display mirrors and is +pattin' down the hair puffs over her ears.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span></p> + +<p>"He <i>is</i> a dear boy," she remarks, more to the mirror than to me.</p> + +<p>"But look here," says I, "you—you wouldn't let him go on with this, +would you?"</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon?" says Mirabelle. "Still chattering, are you? Well, +stretch your ear once, young feller. When I want your help in this I'll +send out a call. If you don't get one you'll know you ain't needed. +Here's your package, sir. Sixty cents, please."</p> + +<p>And I'm given the quick shunt, just like that. Whatever it was I thought +I was doing, I'd bugged it. The rescue expedition had gone on the rocks. +Absolutely. I might have known better, too; spillin' all that dope about +the solitaire. As if that would throw a scare into Mirabelle! Of all the +bush-league plays! Instead of untanglin' Vincent any from the net I'd +only got him twisted up tighter. With that ring on him he was just as +safe as an exposed pocket flask at an Elks' picnic.</p> + +<p>I was retreatin' draggy with my chin down when I happens to get a grin +from this wise guy Marcus, in charge of the cigar booth opposite.</p> + +<p>"You don't have no luck with Mirabelle, eh?" says he winkin'. "That's +too bad, ain't it? But there's lots of others. She keeps 'em all +guessin'. Hard in the heart, Mirabelle has been, ever since she got +thrown overboard herself."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "When was that? Who did it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, near a year now," says Marcus. "You know the feller who was in with +me here—Chuck Dempsey?"</p> + +<p>"The big husk with the bushy black eyebrows?" says I.</p> + +<p>Marcus nods. "He had Mirabelle goin' all right," says he. "She was crazy +over him. And Chuck, he was pretty strong for her, too. They had it all +fixed up, the flat picked out and all, when something or other bust it +up. I dunno what. Chuck, he quits the next day. Lucky thing, too, for if +he'd stuck here he wouldn't have met up with them automobile sundries +people and landed his new job. I hear he's manager of their Harlem +branch now, seventy-five a week. Wouldn't Mirabelle be sore if she knew +about that, eh?"</p> + +<p>"She'd have cause for grindin' her teeth," says I. "Bully for Chuck, +though. I must call him up and give him the hail. What's his number?"</p> + +<p>I will admit too, that once I got started, I worked fast. It took me +less'n three minutes to pump out of Vincent the time and place of this +fatal little dinner party he was about to pull off, and shortly after +that I had Mr. Dempsey on the wire. Yes, he says he remembers me well +enough, on account of my hair. Most of 'em do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's a shame you've forgot someone else so quick, though," I adds.</p> + +<p>"Who's that?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Mirabelle," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says Chuck. "Maybe it's just as well."</p> + +<p>"She don't think so," says I.</p> + +<p>"Who was feedin' you that?" asks Dempsey.</p> + +<p>"A certain party," says I. "But you know how easy a queen like her can +pick up an understudy. Some have been mighty busy lately, too; one in +particular. And I don't mind sayin' I'd hate to see him win out."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she's some girl, all right," says Chuck, "even if I did get a +little sore on her one night. I might be droppin' around again some of +these days."</p> + +<p>"If I was you," says I, "I'd make it snappy. In fact, not later than +6:30 this evening. That is, unless you're content to figure as an also +ran."</p> + +<p>He's an enterprisin' young gent, Mr. Dempsey. And it seems he ain't +closed the book on Mirabelle for good. He's rather interested in hearin' +where she'll be waitin' at that hour and makes a note of it.</p> + +<p>"Much obliged for the tip, Torchy," says he. "I'll think it over."</p> + +<p>I hoped he would. It was the best I could do for Vincent, except hang +around and 'phone out to Vee that probably I'd be late home for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span> dinner. +Seeing as how I was drillin' around at 6:30 in a doorway up opposite the +Café Caroni it looked like I would. But I'd seen Chuck Dempsey drift in +all dolled up sporty, and then Mirabelle. As for Vincent, he was right +on the dot, as usual. He wasn't tickled to death to find me waitin' for +him, either.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't want to make it a threesome, eh?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"I'd much rather not," says he.</p> + +<p>"Then we'll remember that," says I. "No harm in my edgin' in long enough +to drop a word to Joe, the head waiter, to give you a nice quiet corner +table and take care of you well, is there?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," says Vincent. "I didn't know but what you——"</p> + +<p>"Not me," says I. "I'll stay long enough to get you started right. Come +along. Ah, there's Joe, down at the end, and when he—Eh? Did you choke +or anything? Well, of all things!"</p> + +<p>Course, he'd spotted 'em right away—Mirabelle and Chuck Dempsey. +They're at a little table over by the wall chattin' away cosy and +confidential. It hadn't taken 'em long to re-establish friendly +relations. In fact, Chuck was just reachin' playful for one of +Mirabelle's hands and he was gettin' away with the act.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "it looks like the S.R.O. sign was out already."</p> + +<p>Yes, it was a bit raw for Vincent. He shows his polite bringin' up +though. No rash moves or hasty words from him. He backs out graceful, +even if he is a bit pale about the gills. And not until we're well +outside does he let loose a husky remark.</p> + +<p>"Well, I—I've been made a fool of, I suppose," says he.</p> + +<p>"That depends on who's doing the judgin'," says I. "This Dempsey's no +newcomer, you know. Anyway, now you can go home to dinner with Mother."</p> + +<p>"But I can't," says Vincent. "You see, I left word that I was dining in +town and she—she would want to know why I didn't."</p> + +<p>"That's easy fixed," says I. "You're havin' dinner with me, out at my +Long Island shack. Haven't seen the large-sized family I'm startin', +have you? Well, here's your chance. And we can just make the 6:47."</p> + +<p>Not that I'd planned it all out, but it was the best antidote to +Mirabelle that I could have thought up. For Vee is—Well, she's quite +different from Mirabelle. And I suspect after Vincent had watched her +playin' her star part as the fond little wife, and been led up to the +nursery to have the baby exhibited to him, and heard us joshin' each +other friendly—Well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span> maybe he wondered how Mirabelle would show up in a +strictly domestic sketch.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says he, grippin' my hand as I'm about to load him on the +10:26, "I believe I'm not going to care so much about losing Mirabelle, +after all."</p> + +<p>"That's bucking up," says I. "And likely they'll let you draw back your +deposit on the ring. But you might as well bid them oil stock margins +good-by."</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, I'm a bear at friendly advice. At least, I was until Vincent +comes breezin' in from lunch yesterday wearin' a broad grin. He'd +connected with a bull flurry and unloaded ten points to the good.</p> + +<p>"Now for a king killing, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"No," says Vincent. "I'm through with—with everything."</p> + +<p>"Includin' near-vamps?" says I.</p> + +<p>He nods enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>"Then I don't see what's goin' to stop you from gettin' a Solomon Wise +ratin' before they include you in the votin' list," says I. "Go to it, +son."</p> + +<p style='text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 3em;'>THE END</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>SEWELL FORD’S STORIES</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><span style="text-decoration: underline">SHORTY McCABE.</span> Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.</p> + +<p>A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, +sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY.</span> Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.</p> + +<p>Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with human +nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for +"side-stepping with Shorty."</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB.</span> Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.</p> + +<p>Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up to +the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund," +and gives joy to all concerned.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS.</span> Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.</p> + +<p>These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for +physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at +swell yachting parties.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">TORCHY.</span> Illus, by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg.</p> + +<p>A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to the +youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his +experiences.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">TRYING OUT TORCHY.</span> Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.</p> + +<p>Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the +previous book.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">ON WITH TORCHY.</span> Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.</p> + +<p>Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," but +that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people apart, +which brings about many hilariously funny situations.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC.</span> Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.</p> + +<p>Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for +the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious +American slang.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">WILT THOU TORCHY.</span> Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown.</p> + +<p>Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, +in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with his +friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to place +an engagement ring on Vee's finger.</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>BOOTH TARKINGTON’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><span style="text-decoration: underline">SEVENTEEN.</span> Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.</p> + +<p>No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young +people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the +time when the reader was Seventeen.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">PENROD.</span> Illustrated by Gordon Grant.</p> + +<p>This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, +tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a +finished, exquisite work.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">PENROD AND SAM.</span> Illustrated by Worth Brehm.</p> + +<p>Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phases +of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness +that have ever been written.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">THE TURMOIL.</span> Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.</p> + +<p>Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his +father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a +fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA.</span> Frontispiece.</p> + +<p>A story of love and politics,—more especially a picture of a country +editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love +interest.</p> + +<p><span style="text-decoration: underline">THE FLIRT.</span> Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.</p> + +<p>The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, +drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another +to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising +suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister.</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> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy and Vee, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AND VEE *** + +***** This file should be named 20628-h.htm or 20628-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/2/20628/ + +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. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/20628-h/images/illus-emb.png b/20628-h/images/illus-emb.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9728d82 --- /dev/null +++ b/20628-h/images/illus-emb.png diff --git a/20628.txt b/20628.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..67bcf6a --- /dev/null +++ b/20628.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8787 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy and Vee, 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 and Vee + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Release Date: February 19, 2007 [EBook #20628] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AND VEE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +TORCHY AND VEE + +BY +SEWELL FORD +AUTHOR OF TORCHY, THE HOUSE OF TORCHY, SHORTY McCABE, Etc. + +GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Copyright, 1918, 1919, by SEWELL FORD +Copyright, 1919, BY EDWARD J. CLODE +All rights reserved + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +FOREWORD + +In the Nature of an Alibi + + +Some of these stories were written while the Great War was still on. So +the setting and local coloring and atmosphere and all that sort of +thing, such as it is, came from those strenuous days when we heroic +civilians read the war extras with stern, unflinching eye, bought as +many Liberty bonds as we were told we should, and subscribed to various +drives as cheerfully as we might. Have you forgotten your reactions of a +few short months ago? Perhaps then, these may revive your memory of some +of them. + +You may note with disappointment that Torchy got no nearer to the +front-line trenches than Bridgeport, Conn. That is a sentiment the +writer shares with you. But the blame lies with an overcautious +government which hesitated, perhaps from super-humane reasons, from +turning loose on a tottering empire a middle-aged semi-literary person +who was known to handle a typewriter with such reckless abandon. And +where he could not go himself he refused to send another. So Torchy +remained on this side, and whether or not his stay was a total loss is +for you to decide. + S. F. + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. The Quick Shunt for Puffy 1 + II. Old Hickory Bats Up One 19 + III. Torchy Pulls the Deep Stuff 37 + IV. A Frame-up for Stubby 56 + V. The Vamp in the Window 73 + VI. Turkeys on the Side 91 + VII. Ernie and His Big Night 108 + VIII. How Babe Missed His Step 126 + IX. Hartley and the G. O. G.'s 145 + X. The Case of Old Jonesey 164 + XI. As Lucy Lee Passed By 182 + XII. Torchy Meets Ellery Bean 200 + XIII. Torchy Strays from Broadway 222 + XIV. Subbing for the Boss 238 + XV. A Late Hunch for Lester 256 + XVI. Torchy Tackles a Mystery 272 + XVII. With Vincent at the Turn 290 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +TORCHY AND VEE + +CHAPTER I + +THE QUICK SHUNT FOR PUFFY + + +I must say I didn't get much excited at first over this Marion Gray +tragedy. You see, I'd just blown in from Cleveland, where I'd been +shunted by the Ordnance Department to report on a new motor kitchen. And +after spendin' ten days soppin' up information about a machine that was +a cross between a road roller and an owl lunch wagon, and fillin' my +system with army stews cooked on the fly, I'm suddenly called off. +Someone at Washington had discovered that this flying cook-stove thing +was a problem for the Quartermaster's Department, and wires me to drop +it. + +So I was all for enjoyin' a little fam'ly reunion, havin' Vee tell me +how she's been gettin' along, and what cute little tricks young Master +Richard had developed while I'm gone. But right in the midst of our +intimate little domestic sketch Vee has to break loose with this outside +sigh stuff. + +"I can't help thinking about poor Marion," says she. + +"Eh?" says I, lookin' up from the crib where young Snookums has just +settled himself comfortable and decided to tear off a few more hours of +slumber. "Which Marion?" + +"Why, Marion Gray," says she. + +"Oh!" says I. "The old maid with the patient eyes and the sad smile?" + +"She is barely thirty," says Vee. + +"Maybe," says I; "but she's takin' it hard." + +"Who wouldn't?" says Vee. + +And havin' got that far, I saw I might as well let her get the whole +story off her chest. She's been seein' more and more of this Marion Gray +person ever since we moved out here to Harbor Hills. Kind of a plump, +fresh-colored party, and more or less bright and entertainin' in her +chat when she was in the right mood. I'd often come in and found Vee +chucklin' merry over some of the things Miss Gray had been tellin' her. +And while she was at our house she seemed full of life and pep. Just the +sort that Vee gets along with best. She was the same whenever we met her +up at the Ellinses. But outside of that you never saw her anywhere. She +wasn't in with the Country Club set, and most of the young married crowd +seemed to pass her up too. + +I didn't know why. Guess I hadn't thought much about it. I knew she'd +lost her father and mother within the last year or so, so I expect I put +it down to that as the reason she wasn't mixin' much. + +But Vee has all the inside dope. Seems old man Gray had been a chronic +invalid for years. Heart trouble. And durin' all the last of it he'd +been promisin' to check out constant, but had kept puttin' it off. +Meanwhile Mrs. Gray and Marion had been fillin' in as day and night +nurses. He'd been a peevish, grouchy old boy, too, and the more waitin' +on he got the more he demanded. Little things. He had to have his food +cooked just so, the chair cushions adjusted, the light just right. He +had to be read to so many hours a day, and played to, and sung to. He +couldn't stand it to be alone, not for half an hour. Didn't want to +think, he said. Didn't want to see the women folks knittin' or +crocheting: he wanted 'em to be attending to him all the while. He had a +little silver bell that he kept hung on his chair arm, and when he rang +it one or the other of 'em had to jump. Maybe you know the kind. + +Course, the Grays traveled a lot; South in the winter, North in +summer--always huntin' a place where he'd feel better, and never findin' +it. If he was at the seashore he'd complain that they ought to be in the +mountains, and when they got there it wouldn't be a week before he had +decided the air was bad for him. They should have known better than to +take him there. Most likely one more week would finish him. Another long +railroad trip would anyway. So he might as well stay. But wouldn't +Marion see the landlord and have those fiendish children kept quiet on +that tennis court outside? And wouldn't Mother try to make an eggnog +that didn't taste like a liquid pancake! + +Havin' been humorin' his whims a good deal longer than Marion, and not +being very strong herself, Mrs. Gray finally wore out. And almost before +they knew anything serious was the matter she was gone. Then it all fell +on Marion. Course, if she'd been a paid nurse she never would have stood +for this continuous double-time act. Or if there was home inspectors, +same as there are for factories, the old man would have been jacked up +for violatin' the labor laws. But being only a daughter, there's nobody +to step in and remind him that slavery has gone out of style and that in +most states the female of the species was gettin' to be a reg'lar +person. In fact, there was few who thought Marion was doin' any more'n +she had a right to do. Wasn't he her father, and wasn't he payin' all +the bills? + +"To be sure," adds Vee, "he didn't realize what an old tyrant he was. +Nor did Marion. She considered it her duty, and never complained." + +"Then I don't see who could have crashed in," said I. + +"No one could," said Vee. "That was the pity." + +And it seems for the last couple of years the old boy insisted on +settlin' down in his home here, where he could shuffle off comfortable. +He'd been mighty slow about it, though, and when he finally headed West +it was discovered that, through poor managin' and war conditions, the +income they'd been livin' on had shrunk considerable. The fine old house +was left free and clear, but there was hardly enough to keep it up +unless Marion could rustle a job somewhere. + +"And all she knows how to do is nurse," says Vee. "She's not even a +trained nurse at that." + +"Ain't there anybody she could marry?" I suggests. + +"That's the tragic part, Torchy," says Vee. "There is--Mr. Biggies." + +"What, 'Puffy' Biggles!" says I. "Not that old prune face with the shiny +dome and the baggy eyes?" + +Vee says he's the one. He's been hoverin' 'round, like an old buzzard, +for three or four years now, playin' chess with the old man while he +lasted, but always with his pop-eyes fixed on Marion. And since she's +been left alone he'd been callin' reg'lar once a week, urging her to be +his tootsy-wootsy No. 3. He was the main wheeze in some third-rate life +insurance concern, I believe, and fairly well off, and he owned a classy +place over near the Country Club. But he had a 44 belt, a chin like a +pelican, and he was so short of breath that everybody called him +"Puffy" Biggles. Besides, he was fifty. + +"A hot old Romeo he'd make for a nice girl like that," says I. "Is he +her best bet? Ain't there any second choice?" + +"There was another," says Vee. "Rather a nice chap, too--that Mr. Ellery +Prescott, who played the organ so well and was some kind of a broker. +You remember?" + +"Sure!" says I. "The one who pulled down a captain's commission at +Plattsburg. Did she have him on the string?" + +"They had been friends for a long time," says Vee. "Were as good as +engaged once; though how he managed to see much of Marion I can't +imagine, with Mr. Gray so crusty toward him. You see, he didn't play +chess. Anyway, he finally gave up. I suppose he's at the front now, and +even if he ever should come back---- Well, Marion seldom mentions him. +I'm sure, though, that they thought a good deal of each other. Poor +thing! She was crazy to go across as a canteen worker. And now she +doesn't know what to do. Of course, there's always Biggles. If we could +only save her from that!" + +At which remark I grows skittish. I didn't like the way she was gazin' +at me. "Ah, come, Vee!" says I. "Lay off that rescue stuff. Adoptin' +female orphans of over thirty, or matin' 'em up appropriate is way out +of my line. Suppose we pass resolutions of regret in Marion's case, and +let it ride at that?" + +"At least," goes on Vee, "we can do a little something to cheer her up. +Mrs. Robert Ellins has asked her for dinner tomorrow night. Us too." + +"Oh, I'll go that far," says I, "although the last I knew about the +Ellinses' kitchen squad, it's takin' a chance." + +I was some little prophet, too. I expect Mrs. Robert hadn't been havin' +much worse a time with her help than most folks, but three cooks inside +of ten days was goin' some. Lots of people had been longer'n that +without any, though. But when any pot wrestler can step into a munition +works or an airplane factory and pull down her three or four dollars a +day for an eight-hour shift, what can you expect? + +Answer: What we got that night at the Ellinses'. The soup had been +scorched once, but it had been cooled off nicely before it got to us. +The fish had been warmed through--barely. And the roast lamb tasted like +it had been put through an embalmin' process. But the cookin' was high +art compared to the service, for since their butler had quit to become a +crack riveter in a shipyard they've been havin' maids do their plate +jugglin'. + +And this wide-built fairy, with the eyes that didn't track, sure was +constructed for anything but glidin' graceful around a dinner table. +For one thing, she had the broken-arch roll in her gait, and when she +pads in through the swing-door she's just as easy in her motion as a cow +walkin' the quarter-deck with a heavy sea runnin'. Every now and then +she'd scuff her toe in the rug, and how some of us escaped a soup or a +gravy bath I can't figure out. Maybe we were in luck. + +Also, she don't mind reachin' in front of you and sidewipin' your ear +with her elbow. Accidents like that were merry little jokes to her. + +"Ox-cuse me, Mister!" she'd pipe out shrill and childish, and then +indulged in a maniac giggle that would get Mrs. Robert grippin' the +chair arms. + +She liked to be chatty and folksy while she was servin', too. Her motto +seemed to be, "Eat hearty and give the house a good name." If you +didn't, she tried to coax you into it, or it into you. + +"Oh, do have some more of th' meat, Miss," she says to Vee. "And another +potato, now. Just one more, Miss." + +And all Mrs. Robert can do is pink up, and when she's out of hearin' +apologize for her. "As you see," says Mrs. Robert, "she is hardly a +trained waitress." + +"She'd make a swell auctioneer, though," I suggests. + +"No doubt," says Mrs. Robert. "And I suppose I am fortunate enough to +have anyone in the kitchen at all, even to do the cooking--such as it +is." + +"You ain't lonesome in feelin' that way," says I. "It seems to be a +general complaint." + +Which brings out harrowin' tales of war-wrecked homes, where no buttling +had been done for months, where chauffeurs and gardeners were only +represented by stars on the service flag, and from which even personal +maids had gone to be stenographers and nurses. But chiefly it was the +missin' cook who was mourned. Some had quit to follow their men to +trainin' camps, a lot had copped out better payin' jobs, and others had +been lured to town, where they could get the fake war extras hot off the +press and earn higher wages as well. + +Course, there were some substitute cooks--reformed laundresses, raw +amateurs and back numbers that should have reached the age limit long +before. And pretty awful cookin' they were gettin' away with. Vee had +heard of one who boiled the lettuce and sent in dog biscuit one mornin' +for breakfast cereal. Miss Gray told what happened at the Pemberton +Brookses when their kitchen queen had left for Bridgeport, where she had +a hubby makin' seventy-five dollars a week. The Brookses had lived for +three days on cream toast and sardines, which was all the upstairs girl +had in her culinary repertoire. + +"And look at me," added Marion, "with our old family cook, who can make +the best things in the world, and I can hardly afford to keep her! But I +couldn't drive her away if I tried." + +Course, with our havin' Professor and Madame Battou, the old French +couple we'd annexed over a year ago in town, we had no kick comin'. Not +even the sugar and flour shortage seemed to trouble them, and our fancy +meals continued regular as clock work. But on the way home Vee and I got +to talkin' about what hard times the neighbors was havin'. + +"I guess what they need out here," says I, "is one of them army +kitchens, that would roll around two or three times a day deliverin' hot +nourishment from door to door." + +And I'd hardly finished what I'd meant for a playful little remark +before Vee stops sudden, right in the middle of the road, and lets out +an excited squeal. + +"Torchy!" says she. "Why on earth didn't you suggest that before!" + +"Because this foolish streak has just hit me," says I. + +"But it's the very thing," says she, clappin' her hands. + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"For Marion," says she. "Don't you see?" + +"But she's no perambulatin' rotisserie, is she?" says I. + +"She might be," says Vee. "And she shall." + +"Oh, very well," says I. "If you've decided it that way, I expect she +will. But I don't quite get you." + +When Vee first connects with one of her bright ideas, though, she's apt +to be a little puzzlin' in her remarks about it. As a matter of fact, +her scheme is a bit hazy, but she's sure it's a winner. + +"Listen, Torchy," says she. "Here are all these Harbor Hills +people--perhaps a hundred families--many of them with poor cooks, some +with none at all. And there is Marion with that perfectly splendid old +Martha of hers, who could cook for all of them." + +"Oh, I see," says I. "Marion hangs out a table-board sign?" + +"Stupid!" says Vee. "She does nothing of the sort. People don't want to +go out for their meals; they want to eat at home. Well, Marion brings +them their meals, all deliciously cooked, all hot, and ready to serve." + +"With the kitchen range loaded on a truck and Martha passin' out soup +and roasts over the tailboard, eh?" says I. + +But once more I've missed. No, the plan is to get a lot of them army +containers, such as they send hot chow up to the front trenches in; have +'em filled by Martha at home, and delivered by Marion to her customers. + +"It might work," says I. "It would need some capital, though. She'd have +to invest in a lot of containers, and she'd need a motor truck." + +"I will buy those," says Vee. "I'm going in with her." + +"Oh, come!" says I. "You'd look nice, wouldn't you!" + +"You mean that people would talk?" comes back Vee. "What do I care? It's +quite as patriotic and quite as necessary as Red Cross work, or anything +else. It would be scientific food conservation, man-power saving, all +that sort of thing. And think what a wonderful thing it would be for the +neighborhood." + +"Maybe Marion wouldn't see it that way," I suggests. "Drivin' a dinner +truck around might not appeal to her. You got to remember she's more or +less of an old maid. She might have notions." + +"Trust her," says Vee. "But I mean to have my plan all worked out before +I tell her a word. When you go to town tomorrow, Torchy, I want you to +find out all about those containers--how much the various compartments +will hold, and how much they cost. Also about a light motor truck. There +will be other details, too, which I will be thinking about." + +Yes, there were other details. Nobody seemed to know much about such a +business. It had been tried in places. Vee heard of something of the +sort that was being tested up on the East Side. So it was three or four +days before she was ready to spring this new career on Marion. But one +night, after dinner, she announces that she's all set and drags me down +there with her. Outside of the old Gray house we finds a limousine, with +the driver dozin' inside. + +"It's the Biggles car!" whispers Vee. "Oh, what if he should be---- +Come, Torchy! Quick!" + +"You wouldn't break in on a fond clinch, would you?" I asks. + +"If it came to that, certainly," says Vee, pushin' the front-door button +determined. + +I expect she would have, too. But Biggles hadn't got that far--not +quite. He's on the mat all right, though, with his fat face sort of +flushed and his eyes popped more'n usual. And Marion Gray seems to be +sort of fussed, too. She is some tinted up under the eyes, and when she +sees who it is she glances at Vee sort of appealin'. + +"Oh, I'm so sorry to interrupt," says Vee, marchin' right in and takin' +Marion by the arm. "You'll pardon me, I hope, Mr. Biggles, but I must +speak to Miss Gray at once about--about something very important." + +And almost before "Puffy" Biggles knows what's happened he's left +staring at an empty armchair. + +In the cozy little library Vee pushes Marion down on a window seat and +camps beside her. Trust Vee for jabbin,' the probe right in, too. + +"Tell me," she demands whispery, "was--was he at it again?" + +Marion pinks up more'n ever. And, say, with them shy brown eyes of hers, +and all the curves, she ain't so hard to look at. "Yes," admits Marion. +"You see, I had promised to give him a final answer tonight." + +"But surely, Marion," says Vee, "you'd never in the world tell him that +you----" + +"I don't know," breaks in Marion, her voice trembly. "There seems to be +nothing else." + +"Isn't there, though!" says Vee. "Just you wait until you hear." + +And with that she plunges into a rapid outline sketch of this dinner +dispensary stunt, quotin' facts and figures and givin' a profit estimate +that sounded more or less generous to me. + +"So you see," she goes on enthusiastic, "you could keep your home, and +you could keep Martha, and you would be doing something perfectly +splendid for the whole community. Besides, you would be entirely +independent of--of everyone." + +"But do you think I could do it?" asks Marion. + +"I know you could," says Vee. "Anyway, we could between us. I will +furnish the capital, and keep the accounts and help you plan the daily +menus. You will do the marketing and delivering. Martha will do the +cooking. And there you are! We may have to start with only a few family +orders at first, but others will come in fast. You'll see." + +By that time Marion was catching the fever. Her eyes brighten and her +chin comes up. + +"I believe we could do it," says she. + +"And you're willing to try?" asks Vee. + +Marion nods. + +"Then," says Vee, "Mr. Biggles ought to be told that he needn't wait +around any longer." + +"Oh, I don't see how I can," wails Marion. "He--he's such a----" + +"A sticker, eh? I know," says Vee. "And it's a shame that he should have +another chance to bother you. Torchy, don't you suppose you could do it +for her?" + +"What?" says I. "Break it to Biggles? Why, I could do it swell. Leave it +to me. I'll shunt him on the siding so quick he won't know he's ever +been on the main track." + +I don't waste any diplomatic language doin' it, either. On my way in +where he's waiting I passes through the hall and gathers up his new +derby and yellow gloves, holdin' 'em behind me as I breaks in on him. + +"Excuse me, Mr. Biggles," says I, "but it's all off." + +"I--I beg pardon?" says he, gazin' at me fish-eyed and stupid. + +"Ah, let's not run around in circles," says I. "Miss Gray presents her +compliments, and all that sort of stuff, but she's goin' into another +line. If you must know, she's going to bust up the cook combine, and +from now on she'll be mighty busy. Get me?" + +Biggles stiffens and stares at me haughty. "I don't in the least +understand anything of all this," says he. "I had an appointment with +Marion for this evening; something quite important to--to us both. I may +as well tell you that I had asked Marion a momentous question. I am +waiting for her answer." + +"Well, here it is," says I, holdin' out the hat. + +Biggles, he gurgles something indignant and turns purple in the gills, +but he ends by snatchin' away the derby and marchin' stiff to the door. + +"Understand," says he, with his hand on the knob, "I do not accept your +impertinence as a reply. I--I shall see Marion again." + +"Sure you will," says I. "She'll be around to get your dinner order +early next week." + +"Bah!" says Biggles, bangin' the door behind him. + +But, say, inside of five minutes he'd been wiped off the slate, and them +two girls was plannin' their hot-food campaign as busy and excited as if +it was Marion's church weddin' they were doping out. It's after midnight +before they breaks away, too. + +You know Vee, though. She ain't one to start things and then quit. She's +a stayer. And some grand little hustler, too. By Monday mornin' the +Harbor Hills Community Kitchen Co. was a going concern. And before the +week was out they had more'n forty families on the standin' order list, +with new squads of soup scorchers bein' fired every day. + +What got a gasp out of me was the first time I gets sight of Marion Gray +in her working rig. Nothing old-maidish about that costume. Not so you'd +notice. She's gone the limit--khaki riding pants, leather leggins and a +zippy cloth cap cut on the overseas pattern. None of them Women's Motor +Corps girls had anything on her. And maybe she ain't some picture, too, +as she jumps in behind the wheel of the truck and steps on the gas +pedal! + +Also, I was some jarred to learn that the enterprise was a payin' one +almost from the start. Folks was just tickled to death with havin' +perfectly good meals, well cooked, well seasoned and pipin' hot, set +down at their back doors prompt every day, with no fractious fryin'-pan +pirates growlin' around the kitchens, and no local food profiteers +soakin' 'em with big weekly bills. + +This has been goin' on a month, when one day as I comes home Vee greets +me with a flyin' tackle. + +"Oh, Torchy!" she squeals, "what do you think has happened?" + +"I know," says I. "Baby's cut a tooth." + +"No," says she. "It's--it's about Marion." + +"Oh!" says I. "She ain't bumped somebody with the truck, has she?" + +"How absurd!" says Vee. "But, listen, Captain Ellery Prescott has come +back." + +"What! The old favorite?" says I. "But I thought he was over with +Pershing?" + +"Not yet," says Vee. "He has been out at some Western camp training +recruits all this time. But now he has his orders. He is to sail very +soon. And he's seen Marion." + +"Has he?" said I. "Did it give him a jolt, or what?" + +Vee giggles and pulls my head down so she can whisper in my ear. "He +thought her perfectly stunning, as she is, of course. And they're to be +married day after tomorrow." + +"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "That puts a crimp in the ready-made dinner +business, I expect." + +"Not at all," says Vee. "Until he comes back, after the war, Marion is +going to carry on." + +"Anyway," says I, "it ends 'Puffy' Biggies as an impendin' tragedy, +don't it? And I expect that's worth while, too." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +OLD HICKORY BATS UP ONE + + +Anybody would most think I'd been with the Corrugated Trust long enough +to know that Old Hickory Ellins generally gets what he wants, whether +it's quick action from an office boy or a two-thirds majority vote from +the board of directors. But once in a while I seem to forget, and +shortly after that I'm wonderin' if it was a tank I went up against so +solid, or if someone threw the bond safe at me. + +What let me in wrong this last time was a snappy little remark I got +shot my way right here in the general offices. I was just back from a +three-days' chase after a delayed shipment of bridge girders and steel +wheelbarrows that was billed for France in a rush, and I'd got myself +disliked by most of the traffic managers between here and Altoona, to +say nothing of freight conductors, yard bosses and so on. But I'd +untangled those nine cars and got 'em movin' toward the North River, and +now I was steamin' through a lot of office detail that had piled up +while I was gone. I'd lunched luxurious on an egg sandwich and a war +doughnut that Vincent had brought up to me from the arcade automat, and +I'd 'phoned Vee that I might not be out home until the 11:13, when in +blows this potty party with the poison ivy leaves on his shoulder straps +and demands to see Mr. Ellins at once. Course, it's me with my heels +together doin' the zippy salute. + +"Sorry, major," says I, "but Mr. Ellins won't be in until 10:30." + +"Hah!" says he, like bitin' off a piece of glass. "And who are you, +lieutenant!" + +"Special detail from the Ordnance Department, sir," says I. + +"Oh, you are, eh?" he snorts. "Another bomb-proofer! Well, tell Mr. +Ellins I shall be back at 11:15--if this sector hasn't been captured in +the meantime," and as he double-quicks out he near runs down Mr. Piddie, +our rubber-stamp office manager, who has towed him in. + +As for me, I stands there swallowin' air bubbles until my red-haired +disposition got below the boiling point once more. Then I turns to +Piddie. + +"You heard, didn't you?" says I. + +Piddie nods. "But I don't quite understand," says he. "What did he mean +by--er--bomb-proofer?" + +"Just rank flattery, Piddie," says I. "The rankest kind. It's his way of +indicatin' that I'm a yellow dog hidin' under a roll-top desk for fear +someone'll kick me out where a parlor Pomeranian will look cross at me. +Excuse me if I don't seem to work up a blush. Fact is, though, I'm +gettin' kind of used to it." + +"Oh, I say, though!" protests Piddie. "Why, everyone knows that you----" + +"That's where you're dead wrong, Piddie," I breaks in. "What everybody +really knows is that while most of the young hicks who've been +Plattsburged into uniforms are already across Periscope Pond helpin' +swat the Hun, I'm still floatin' around here with nothing worse than car +dust on my tailor-built khaki. Why, even them bold Liberty bond patriots +who commute on the 8:03 are tired of asking me when I'm going to be sent +over to tell Pershing how it ought to be done. But when it comes to an +old crab of a swivel chair major chuckin' 'bomb-proofer' in my +teeth--well, I guess that'll be about all. Here's where I get a revise +or quit. Right here." + +And it was sentiments like that, only maybe worded not quite so brash, +that I passed out to Old Hickory a little later on. He listens about as +sympathetic as a traffic cop hearin' why you tried to rush the stop +signal. + +"I think we have discussed all that before, young man," says he. "The +War Department has recognized that, as the head of an essential +industry, I am entitled to a private secretary; also that you might +prove more useful with a commission than without one. And I rather +think you have. So there you are." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but I can't see it that way. I don't +know whether I'm private seccing or getting ready for a masquerade ball. +Any one-legged man could do what I'm doing. I'm ready to chuck the +commission and enlist." + +"Really!" says he. "Well, in the first place, my son, a war-time +commission is something one doesn't chuck back at the United States +government because of any personal whim. It isn't being done. And then +again, you tried enlisting once, didn't you, and were turned down?" + +"But that was early in the game," says I, "when the recruiting officers +weren't passing any but young Sandows. I could get by now. Have a heart, +Mr. Ellins. Lemme make a try." + +He chews his cigar a minute, drums thoughtful on the mahogany desk, and +then seems to have a bright little idea. + +"Very well, Torchy," says he, "we'll see what my friend, Major Wellby, +can do for you when he comes in." + +"Him!" says I. "Why, he'd do anything for me that the law didn't stop +him from." + +And sure enough, when the major drifts in again them two was shut in the +private office for more'n half an hour before I'm called in. I could +guess just by the way the major glares fond at me that if he could work +it he'd get me a nice, easy job mowin' the grass in No Man's Land, or +some snap like that. + +"Huh!" says he, givin' me the night court up and down. "Wants an active +command, does he? And his training has been what? Four years as office +boy, three as private secretary! It's no use, Ellins. We're not fighting +this war with waste baskets or typewriters, you know." + +"Oh, come, major!" puts in Old Hickory. "Why be unreasonable about this? +I will admit that you may be right, so far as it's being folly to send +this young man to the front. But I do insist that as a lieutenant he is +rather useful just where he is." + +"Bah!" snorts the major. "So is the farmer who's raising hogs and corn. +He's useful. But we don't put shoulder straps on him, or send him to +France in command of a company. For jobs like that we try to find +youngsters who've been trained to handle men; who know how to get things +done. What we don't want is--eh? Someone calling me on the 'phone? All +right. Yes, this is Major Wellby. What? Oh, it can't be done today! Yes, +yes! I understand all that. But see here, captain, that transport is due +to sail at--hey, central! I say, central! Oh, what's the use?" + +And as the major bangs up the receiver his face looks like a strawb'ry +shortcake just ready to serve. Somehow Mr. Ellins seems to be enjoyin' +the major's rush of temperament to the ears. Anyhow, there's a familiar +flicker under them bushy eyebrows of his and I ain't at all surprised +when he remarks soothin': "I gather, major, that someone can't seem to +get something done." + +"Precisely," says the major, moppin' a few pearly beads off his shiny +dome. "And when a regular army captain makes up his mind that a thing +can't be done--well, it's hopeless, that's all. In this instance, +however, I fear he's right, worse luck!" + +"Anyway," suggests Mr. Ellins, "he has made you think that the thing is +impossible, eh?" + +"Think!" growls the major, glancin' suspicious at Old Hickory. "I say, +Ellins, what are you getting at? Still harping on that red tape notion, +are you? Perhaps you imagine this to be a case where, if you could only +turn loose your wonderful organization, you could work a miracle?" + +"No, major," says Old Hickory. "We don't claim to work in miracles; but +when we decide that a thing ought to be done at a certain time--well, +generally it gets done." + +"Just like that, eh?" grins the major sarcastic. "Really, Ellins, you +big business men are too good to be true. But see here; why not tap your +amazing efficiency for my benefit. This little job, for instance, which +one of our poor misguided captains reports as impossible within the time +limit. I suppose you would merely press a button and----" + +"Not even that," breaks in Mr. Ellins. "I would simply turn it over to +Torchy here--and he'd do it." + +The major glances at me careless and shrugs his shoulders. "My dear +Ellins," says he, "you probably don't realize it, but that's the sort of +stuff which adds to the horrors of war. Here you haven't the vaguest +idea as to what----" + +"Perhaps," cuts in Old Hickory, "but I'll bet you a hundred to +twenty-five." + +"Taken," says the major. Then he turns to me. "When can you start, +lieutenant?" + +"As soon as I know where I'm starting for, sir," says I. + +"How convenient," says he. "Well, then, here is an order on the New York +Telephone Co. for five spools of wire which you'll find stored somewhere +on Central Park South. See if you can get 'em." + +"Yes, sir," says I. "And suppose I can?" + +"Report to me at the Plutoria before 5:30 this afternoon," says he. "I +shall be having tea there. Ellins, you'd better be on hand, too, so that +I can collect that hundred." + +And that's all there was to it. I'm handed a slip of paper carrying the +Quartermaster General's O. K., and while these two old sports are still +chucklin' at each other I've grabbed my uniform cap off the roll-top and +have caught an express elevator. + +Course, I expected a frame-up. All them army officers are hard boiled +eggs when it comes to risking real money, and I knew the major must +think his twenty-five was as safe as if he'd invested it in thrift +stamps. As for Old Hickory Ellins, he'd toss away a hundred any time on +the chance of pulling a good bluff. So I indulges in a shadowy little +grin myself and beats it up town. + +Simple enough to locate them spools of wire. Oh, yes. They're right in +the middle of the block between Sixth and Broadway, tucked away +inconspicuous among as choice a collection of contractor's junk as you +can find anywhere in town, and that's sayin' a good deal. But maybe +you've noticed what's been happenin' along there where Fifty-ninth +street gets high-toned? Looks like an earthquake had wandered by, but +it's only that down below they're connectin' the new subway with another +East river tunnel. And if there's anything in the way of old derricks, +or scrap iron, or wooden beams, or construction sheds that ain't been +left lying around on top it's because they didn't have it on hand to +leave. + +Cute little things, them spools are, too; about six feet high, three +wide, and weighin' a ton or so each, I should judge. And to make the +job of movin' 'em all the merrier an old cement mixer has been at work +right next to 'em and the surplus concrete has been thrown out until +they've been bedded in as solid as so many bridge piers. I climbs around +and takes a look. + +"How cunnin'!" says I. "Why, they'd make the Rock of Ages look like a +loose front tooth. And all I got to do is pull 'em up by the roots, one +at a time. Ha, ha! Likewise, tee-hee!" + +It sized up like a bad case of bee bite with me at the wrong end of the +stinger. Still, I was just mulish enough to stick around. I had nearly +three hours left before I'd have to listen to the major's mirthsome +cackle, and I might as well spend part of it thinkin' up fool schemes. +So I walks around that cluster of cement-set spools some more. I even +climbs on top of one and gazes up and down the block. + +They were still doing things to make it look less like a city street and +more like the ruins of Louvain. Down near the Fifth Avenue gates was the +fenced-in mouth of a shaft that led somewhere into the bowels of +Manhattan. And while I was lookin' out climbs a dago, unrolls a dirty +red flag, and holds up the traffic until a dull "boom" announces that +the offensive is all over for half an hour or so. Up towards Columbus +Circle more industry was goin' on. A steam roller was smoothin' out a +strip of pavement that had just been relaid, and nearer by a gang was +tearin' up more of the asphalt. I got kind of interested in the way they +was doin' it, too. You know, they used to do this street wreckin' with +picks and crowbars, but this crowd seemed to have more modern methods. +They was usin' three of these pneumatic drills and they sure were +ripping it up slick and speedy. About then I noticed that their +compressor was chugging away nearly opposite me and that the lines of +hose stretched out fifty feet or more. + +"Say!" says I jerky and breathless, but to nobody in particular. I was +just registerin' the fact that I'd had a sudden thought. + +A few minutes before, too, I'd seen a squad of rookies wander past and +into the park. I remembered noticin' what a husky, tanned lot they were, +and from their hat cords that they belonged to the artillery branch. +Well, that was enough. In a flash I'd shinned over the stone wall and +was headin' 'em off. + +You know how these cantonment delegations wander around town aimless +when they're dumped down here on leave waiting to be shunted off quiet +onto some transport? No friends, mighty little money, and nothing to do +but tramp the streets or hang around the Y. They actually looked kind of +grateful when I stops 'em and returns their salute. As luck would have +it there's a top sergeant in the bunch, so I don't have to make a +reg'lar speech. + +"It's this way, sergeant," says I. "I'm looking for a few volunteers." + +"There's ten of us, sir," says he, "with not a thing on our hands but +time." + +"Then perhaps you'll help me put over something on a boss ditch digger," +says I. "It's nothing official, but it may help General Pershing a whole +lot." + +"We sure will," says the sergeant. "Now then, men. 'Shun! And forget +those dope sticks for a minute. How'll you have 'em, lieutenant--twos or +fours?" + +"Twos will look more impressive, I guess," says I. "And just follow me." + +"Fall in!" says the sergeant. "By twos! Right about! March!" + +So when I rounds into the street again and bears down on this gang +foreman I has him bug-eyed from the start. He don't seem to know whether +he's being pinched or not. + +"What's your name, my man?" says I, wavin' the Q. M.'s order +threatenin'. + +It's Mike something or other, as I could have guessed without him near +chokin' to get it out. + +"Very well, Mike," I goes on, as important as I knew how. "See those +spools over there that you people have done your best to bury? Well, +those have been requisitioned from the Telephone Company by the U. S. +army. Here's the order. Now I want you to get busy with your drill gang +and cut 'em loose." + +"But--but see here, boss," sputters Mike, "'tis a private contract +they're workin' on and I couldn't be after----" + +"Couldn't, eh?" says I. "Lemme tell you something. That wire has to go +on a transport that's due to sail the first thing in the morning. It's +for the Signal Corps and they need it to stretch a headquarters' line +into Berlin." + +"Sorry, boss," said Mike, "but I wouldn't dast to----" + +"Sergeant," says I, "do your duty." + +Uh-huh! That got Mike all right. And when we'd yanked him up off his +knees and convinced him that he wouldn't be shot for an hour or so yet +he's so thankful that he gets those drills to work in record time. + +It was a first-class hunch, if I do have to admit it myself. You should +have seen how neat them rapid fire machines begun unbuttonin' those big +wooden spools, specially after a couple of our doughboy squad, who'd +worked pneumatic riveters back home, took hold of the drills. Others +fished some hand sledges and crowbars out of a tool shed and helped the +work along, while Mike encourages his gang with a fluent line of foreman +repartee. + +Course, I didn't have the whole thing doped out at the start, but +gettin' away with this first stab only showed me how easy it was if you +wasn't bashful about callin' for help. From then on I didn't let much +assistance get away from me, either. Yankin' the spools out to the +street level by hookin' on the steam roller was my next play, but +commandeerin' a sand blast outfit that was at work halfway down the +block was all Mike's idea. + +"They need smoothin' up a bit, boss," says he. + +And inside of half an hour we had all five of them spools lookin' new +and bright, like they'd just come from the mill. + +"What next, sir?" asks the sergeant. + +"Why," says I, "the fussy old major who's so hot for getting these +things is waiting at the Plutoria, about ten blocks down. Maybe he wants +'em there. I wonder if we could----" + +"Sure!" says the sergeant. "This heavy gun bunch can move anything. +Here! I'll show 'em how." + +With that he runs a crowbar through the center of one of the spools, +puts a man on either side to push, and rolls it along as easy as +wheelin' a baby carriage. + +"Swell tactics, sergeant," says I. "And just for that I'm goin' to +provide your squad with a little music. Might as well do this in style, +eh? Wait a minute." + +And it wasn't long before I was back from another dash into the park +towin' half a drum corps that I'd borrowed from some Junior Naval +Reserves that was drillin' over on the ballfield. + +So it was some nifty little parade that I finally lines up to lead down +Fifth Avenue. First there's me, then the drum corps, then the sergeant +and his men rollin' them spools of wire. We strings out for more'n a +block. + +You'd think New Yorkers were so used to parades by this time that you +couldn't get 'em stretchin' their necks for anything less'n a regiment +of hand-picked heroes. They've seen the French Blue Devils at close +range, gawped at the Belgians, and chummed with the Anzacs. But, say, +this spool-pushin' stunt was a new one on 'em. Folks just lined the curb +and stared. Then some bird starts to cheer and it's taken up all down +the line, just on faith. + +"Hey, pipe the new rollin' tanks!" shouts someone. + +"Gwan!" sings out another wise guy. "Them's wooden bombs they're goin' +to drop on Willie." + +It's the first time I've been counted in on any of this hooray stuff, +and I can't say I hated it. At the same time I tried not to look too +chesty. But when I wheeled the procession into the side street and got +'em bunched two deep in front of the Plutoria's carriage entrance I +ain't sure but what I was wearin' kind of a satisfied grin. + +Not for long, though. The six-foot taxi starter in the rear admiral's +uniform jumps right in with the prompt protest. He wants to know what +the blinkety-blink I think I'm doin', blockin' up his right of way in +that fashion. + +"You can't do it! Take 'em away!" says he. + +"Ah, keep the lid on, old Goulash," says I. "Sergeant, if he gets messy, +roll one of those spools on him. I'll be back shortly." + +With that I blows into the Plutoria and hunts up the tea room. The +major's there, all right, and Mr. Ellins, also a couple of ladies. +They're just bein' served with Oolong and caviar sandwiches. + +"Ah!" says the major, as he spots me. "Our gallant young office +lieutenant, eh? Well, sir, anything to report?" + +"The spools are outside, sir," says I. + +"Wh--a--at!" he gasps. + +"Where'll you have 'em put, sir?" says I. + +About then, though, in trails the taxi starter, the manager and a brace +of house detectives. + +"That's him!" says the starter, pointin' me out. "He's the one that's +blockin' traffic." + +I will say this for the major, though, he's a good sport. He comes right +to the front and takes all the blame. + +"I'm responsible," he tells the manager. "It's perfectly all right, too. +Military necessity, sir. Well, perhaps you don't like it, but I'll have +you understand, sir, I could block off your whole street if I wished. So +clear out, all of you." + +"Why, Horace!" puts in one of the ladies, grabbin' him by the arm. + +"Yes, yes, my dear," says the major. "I know. No scene. Certainly not. +Only these hotel persons must be put in their place. And if you will +excuse me for a moment I'll see what can be done. Come, lieutenant. I +want to get a look at those spools myself." + +Well, he did. "But--but I understood," says he, "that they were stuck in +concrete or something of the kind." + +"Yes, sir," says I. "We had to unstick 'em. Pneumatic drills and a steam +roller. Very simple." + +"Great Scott!" says he. "Why didn't that fool captain think of---- But, +see here, I don't want 'em here. Now, if we could only get them to Pier +14----" + +"That would be a long way to roll 'em, sir," says I, "but it could be +done. Loadin' 'em on a couple of army trucks would be easier, though. +There's a Quartermaster's depot at the foot of Fifty-seventh Street, you +know." + +"So there is," says he. "I'll call them up. Come in, will you, +lieutenant and--and join us at tea? You've earned it, I think." + +Three minutes more and the major announces that the trucks are on the +way. + +"Which means, Ellins," he adds, "that you win your twenty-five. Here you +are." + +"If you don't mind," says Old Hickory, "I'll keep this and pass on my +hundred to Torchy here. He might like to entertain his volunteer squad +with it." + +Did I? Say, when I got through showin' that bunch of far West artillery +husks how to put in a real pleasant evening along Broadway there wasn't +enough change left to buy a sportin' extra. But they'd had chow in the +giddiest lobster palace under the white lights, they'd occupied two +boxes at the zippiest girl show in town and they was loaded down with +cigarettes and chocolate enough to last 'em clear to France. + +The next mornin', when Old Hickory comes paddin' into the general +offices, he stops to pat me friendly on the shoulder. + +"I think we have succeeded in revising the major's opinion," he remarks, +"as to the general utility of bomb-proofers in certain instances." + +I grins up at him. "Then," says I, "do I get a recommend for active duty +within jabbin' distance of the Huns?" + +"We did consider that," says Old Hickory, "but the decision was just as +I suspected from the first. The major says it would be a shame to waste +you on anything less than a divisional command, and there aren't enough +of those to go around. Chiefly, though, he thinks that anyone who is +able to get things done in New York in the wizard-like way that you can +should be kept within call of Governor's Island. So I fear, Torchy, +that you and I will have to go on serving our country right here." + +"All right, Mr. Ellins," says I. "I expect you win--as per usual." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +TORCHY PULLS THE DEEP STUFF + + +Course, I didn't know what Old Hickory was stackin' me up against when +he calls me into the private office and tells me to shake hands with +this Mr. McCrea. Kind of a short, stubby party he is, with a grayish +mustache and sort of sleepy gray eyes. He's one of these slow motioned, +quiet talking ginks, with restful ways, such as would fit easy into a +swivel chair and hold down a third vice-president's job for life. Or he +might be a champion chess player. + +So when the boss goes on to say how Mr. McCrea is connected with the +Washington sleuth bureau I expect I must have gawped at him a bit +curious. Some relic of the old office force, was my guess; a hold-over +from the times when the S. S. people called it a big day if they could +locate a lead nickel fact'ry in Mulberry Street, or drop on a few Chink +laundrymen bein' run in from Canada in crates. Maybe he was a +thumb-print expert. + +"Howdy," says I, glancin' up at the clock to see if the prospects was +good for makin' the 5:17 out to Harbor Hills. + +"I am told you know the town rather well," suggests McCrea, sort of +mild and apologetic. + +"Me!" says I. "Oh, I can usually find my way back to Broadway even in +foggy weather." + +He indulges in a flickery little smile. "I also understand," he goes on, +"that you have shown yourself to be somewhat quick witted in +emergencies." + +"I must have a good press agent, then," says I, glancin' accusin' at Mr. +Ellins. + +But Old Hickory shakes his head. "I suspect that was my friend, Major +Wellby," says he. + +"Oh!" says I. "The one I rescued the wire spools for? A lucky break, +that was." + +"Mr. McCrea is working on something rather more important," goes on Old +Hickory, "and if you can help him in any way I trust you will do it." + +"Sure," says I. "What's the grand little idea?" + +He don't seem enthusiastic about openin' up, McCrea, and I don't know as +I blame him much. After he's fished a note book out of his inside pocket +he stops and looks me over sort of doubtful. "Perhaps I had better say +at the start," says he, "that some of our best men have been on this job +for several weeks." + +"Nursin' it along, eh?" says I. + +That brings a smothered chuckle from Old Hickory. But Mr. McCrea don't +seem so tickled over it. In fact, he develops a furrow between the eyes +and his next remark ain't quite so soothin'. + +"No doubt if they could have had the assistance of your rapid fire +mentality a little sooner," says he, "it would have been but a matter of +a few hours." + +"There's no telling," says I. "Are you one of the new squad?" + +Here Old Hickory chokes down another gurgle and breaks in hasty with: +"Mr. McCrea, Torchy, is assistant chief of the bureau, you know." + +"Gosh!" says I, under my breath. "My mistake, sir. And I expect I'd +better back out now, while the backin's good." + +"Wouldn't that be rather hard on us?" asks McCrea, liftin' his eyebrows +sarcastic. "Besides, think how disappointed the major will be if we fail +to make use of such remarkable ability as he has assured us you +possess." + +It's a kid, all right, even if he does put it so smooth. And by the +twinkle in Old Hickory's eye I can see he's enjoyin' it just as much as +McCrea. Nothing partial about the boss. His sympathies are always with +the good performer. And rather than let this top-liner sleuth put it +over me so easy I takes a chance on shootin' a little more bull. + +"Oh, if you're goin' to feel bad over it," says I, "course I got to help +you out. Now what part of Manhattan is it that's got your +super-Sherlocks guessin' so hard?" + +He smiles condescendin' and unfolds a neat little diagram showin' a +Broadway corner and part of the cross street. "It is a matter of three +policemen and a barber shop," says he. "Here, in the basement of this +hotel on the corner, is the barber shop." + +"Yes, I remember," says I. "Otto something or other runs it. And on the +side, I expect, he does plain and fancy spyin', eh?" + +"We should be much interested to have you furnish proof of that," says +McCrea. "What we suspect, however, is something slightly different. We +believe that the place is rather a clearing house for spy information. +News seems to reach there and to leave there. What we wish to know is, +how." + +"Had anyone on the inside?" I asks. + +"Yes, that bright little idea occurred to us," says McCrea. "One of our +men has been operating a chair there for three weeks. He discovered +nothing of importance. Also we have had the place watched from the +outside, to no purpose. So you see how crude our methods must have +been." + +"Oh, I ain't knockin' 'em," says I. "Maybe they was out of luck. But +what about the three cops?" + +"Their beats terminate at this corner," says McCrea, "one from uptown, +one from downtown, and the third from the east. And we have good reason +to suppose that one of the three is crooked. Now if you can tell us +which one, and how information can come and go----" + +"I get you," I breaks in. "All you want of me is the answer to a lot of +questions you've been all the fall workin' up. That's some he-sized +order, ain't it?" + +McCrea shrugs his shoulder. "As I mentioned, I think," says he, "it was +Major Wellby who suggested your assistance; and as the major happens to +enjoy the confidence of--well, someone who is a person of considerable +importance in Washington----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "It's a case of my bein' wished on you and you +standin' by with the laugh when I fall down. Oh, very well! I'll be the +goat. But the major's a good scout, just the same, and I don't mean to +throw him without making a stab. How long do I get on this?" + +"Oh, as long as you like," says McCrea. + +"Thanks," says I. "Where do I find you when I want to turn in a report, +blank or otherwise?" + +He gives me the name of his hotel and after collectin' the diagram of +the mystery I does a slow exit to my desk in the next office. I was +sittin' there half an hour later with my hair rumpled, makin' a noise +like deep thinkin', when in walks the hand of fate steppin' heavy on +his heels, as usual. + +Not that I suspected at the time this Barry Wales could be anything much +more than a good natured pest. He didn't used to be even that. No, the +change in Barry is only another little item in the score we got against +the Kaiser; for back in the days before we went into the war Barry was +just one of Mr. Robert's club friends who dropped around casual to date +up for an after-luncheon game of billiards, or tip him off to a new +cabaret act that was worth engagin' a table next to the gold ropes. +Besides, holdin' quite a block of Corrugated stock, I expect Barry +figured it as a day's work when he got me to show him the last +semi-annual report and figure out what his dividends would tot up to. +Outside of that he was a bar-hound and more or less of a window +ornament. + +But the war sure had made a mess of Barry. I don't mean that he went +over and got shell shocked or gassed. Too far past thirty for that, and +he had too many things the matter with him. Oh, I had all the details +direct; bad heart, plumbing out of whack, nerves frazzled from too many +all-night sessions. He was in that shape to begin with. But he didn't +start braggin' about it until so many of his bunch got to makin' +themselves useful in different ways. Mr. Robert, for instance, gettin' +sent out in command of a coast patrol boat; others breakin' into Red +Cross work, ship buildin' and so on. Barry claims he tried 'em all and +was turned down. + +But is he discouraged? Not Barry. If they won't put him in uniform, with +cute little dew-dads on his shoulder, or let him wear $28 puttees that +will take a mahogany finish, there's nothing to prevent him from turnin' +loose that mighty intellect of his and inventin' new ways to win the +war. So when he's sittin' there in his favorite window at the club, +starin' absent minded out on Fifth Avenue with a tall glass at his +elbow, he ain't half the slacker he looks to the people on top of the +green buses. + +Not accordin' to Barry. Ten to one he's just developin' a new idea. +Maybe it's only a design for a thrift stamp poster, but it might be a +scheme for inducin' the Swiss to send their navy down the Rhine. But +whatever it is, as soon as Barry gets it halfway thought out, he has to +trot around and tell about it. + +So when I glance up and see this tall, well tailored party standin' at +my elbow, and notice the eager, excited look in his pale blue eyes, I +know about what to expect. + +"Well, what is it this time, Barry?" says I. "Have you doped out an +explosive pretzel, or are you goin' to turn milliner and release some +woman for war work?" + +"Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. "No chaffing, now. I'm in dead +earnest, you know. Of course, being all shot to pieces physically, I +can't go to the front, where I'd give my neck to be. Why, with this +leaky heart valve of mine I couldn't even----" + +"Yes, yes," I broke in. "We've been over all that. Not that I'd mind +hearing it again, but just now I'm more or less busy." + +"Are you, though?" says Barry. "Isn't that perfectly ripping! Something +important, I suppose?" + +"Might be if I could pull it off," says I, "but as it stands----" + +"That's it!" says Barry. "I was hoping I'd find you starting something +new. That's why I came." + +"Eh?" says I. + +"I'm volunteering--under you," says he. "I'll be anything you say; top +sergeant, corporal, or just plain private. Anything so I can help. See! +I am yours to command, Lieutenant Torchy," and he does a Boy Scout +salute. + +"Sorry," says I, "but I don't see how I could use you just now. The fact +is, I can't even say what I'm working on." + +"Oh, perfectly bully!" says Barry. "You needn't tell me a word, or drop +a hint. Just give me my orders, lieutenant, and let me carry on." + +Well, instead of shooin' him off I'd only got him stickin' tighter'n a +wad of gum to a typewriter's wrist watch, and after trying to do some +more heavy thinkin' with him watchin' admirin' from where I'd planted +him in a corner, I gives it up. + +"All right," says I. "Think you could stand another manicure today?" + +Barry glances at his polished nails doubtful but allows he could if it's +in the line of duty. + +"It is," says I. "I'm goin' to sacrifice some of my red hair on the +altar of human freedom. Come along." + +So, all unsuspectin' where he was goin', I leads him down into Otto's +barber shop. And I must say, as a raid in force, it was more or less of +a fizzle. The scissors artist who revises my pink-plus locks is a +gray-haired old gink who'd never been nearer Berlin than First Avenue. +Two of the other barbers looked like Greeks, and even Otto had clipped +the ends of his Prussian lip whisker. Nobody in the place made a noise +like a spy, and the only satisfaction I got was in lettin' Barry pay the +checks. + +"I got to go somewhere and think," says I. + +"How about a nice quiet dinner at the club?" says Barry. + +"That don't listen so bad," says I. + +And it wasn't, either. Barry insists on spreadin' himself with the +orderin', and don't even complain about havin' to chase out to the bar +to take his drinks, on account of my being in uniform. + +"Makes me feel as if I were doing my bit, you know," says he. + +"Talk about noble sacrifices!" says I. "Why, you'll be qualifyin' for a +D. S. O. if you keep on, Barry." + +And along about the _baba au rhum_ period I did get my fingers on the +tall feathers of an idea. Nothing much, but so long as Barry was anxious +to be used, I thought I saw a way. + +"Suppose anybody around the club could dig up a screwdriver for you?" I +asks. + +Inside of two minutes Barry had everybody in sight on the jump, from the +bus boy to the steward, and in with the demi tasse came the screwdriver. + +"Now what, lieutenant?" demands Barry. + +"S-s-s-h!" says I, mysterious. "We got to drill around until midnight." + +"Why not at the Follies, then?" suggests Barry. + +"Swell thought!" says I. + +And for this brand of active service I couldn't have picked a better man +than Barry. From our box seats he points out the cute little squab with +the big eyes, third from the end, and even gets one of the soloists +singin' a patriotic chorus at us. On the strength of which Barry makes +two more trips down to the cafe. Not that he gets primed enough so you'd +notice it. Nothing like that. Only he grows more enthusiastic over the +idea of being useful in the great cause. + +"Remember, lieutenant," says he as we drifts out with the midnight push, +"I'm under orders. Eh?" + +"Sure thing," says I. "You're about to get 'em, too. Did you ever do +such a thing as steal a barber's pole?" + +Barry couldn't remember that he ever had. + +"Well," says I, "that's what you're goin' to do now." + +"Which one?" asks Barry. + +"Otto's," says I. "From the joint where we were just before dinner." + +"Right, lieutenant," says Barry, givin' his salute. + +"And listen," says I. "You're dead set on havin' that particular pole. +Understand? You want it bad. And after you get it you ain't goin' to let +anybody get it away from you, no matter what happens, until I give the +word. That's your cue." + +"Trust me, lieutenant," says Barry, straightenin' up. "I shall stand by +the pole." + +Sounds simple, don't it? But that's the way all us great minds work, +along lines like that. And the foolisher we look at the start the deeper +we're apt to be divin' after the plot of the piece. Don't miss that. +What's a bent hairpin in the mud to you? While to us--boy, page old Doc +Watson. + +How many times, for instance, do you suppose you've walked past the +Hotel Northumberland? Yet did you ever notice that the barber shop +entrance was exactly twenty paces east on Umpteenth Street from the +corner of Broadway; that you go down three iron steps to a landin' +before you turn for the other 15; or that the barber pole has a gilt top +with blue stars in it, and is swung out on a single bracket with two +screws on each side? I points out all this to Barry as we strolls down +from the theater district. + +"By jove!" says Barry. "Wonderful!" + +"Ain't it?" says I. "And all done without a change of wig or a jab of +the needle. Now your part is easy. You simply drift down the side +street, step into the shadow where the cab stand juts out, and when +nobody's passin' you work the screws loose. Me, I got to drop into the +writin' room and dash something off. Here we are. Go to it." + +Course, he could have bugged things. Might have dropped the screwdriver +through a grating, or got himself caught in the act. But Barry has +surrounded the idea nicely. He couldn't have done better if he'd been +sent out to a listenin' post. And when I strolls out again five minutes +later there he stands with the pole tucked careful under one arm. + +"Fine work!" says I. "But we don't want to hide it altogether. Carry it +careless like, with your overcoat unbuttoned, so both ends will show. +That's the cheese!" + +It ain't one of these big, vulgar barber poles, you know; not over four +feet long and about as many inches thick. But it's a brilliant one, and +with Barry in evenin' dress he's bound to be some conspicuous luggin' +it. Yet I starts him straight up Broadway, me trailin' 25 or 30 feet +behind. + +If it had been further up town he might have collected quite a mob of +followers, but down here there's only a few passing at that time of +night. Most of 'em only turns to look after him and smile. One or two +gives him the merry hail and asks where the Class of 1910 is holdin' the +banquet. + +He'd done nearly five blocks before a flatfoot steps out of a doorway +and waves a nightstick at him. + +"Hey, whaddye mean, pullin' that hick stuff?" demands the cop. + +"Sir!" says Barry, wavin' him off dignified. + +Then I mixes in. "It's perfectly all right, officer," says I. "I know +him." + +"Oh, do you?" says the cop. "Well, some of you army guys know a lot; and +then again some of you don't. But you can't get away with any such +cut-up motions on my beat." + +"But listen," I begins, "I can explain how----" + +"Ah, feed it to the sergeant," says he. "Come along, you," and he takes +Barry by the arm. + +Being a quiet night in the precinct the desk sergeant had plenty of time +to listen. He'd just decided against Barry, too, when I sprung my scrap +of paper on him. It's a receipt in full for one barber's pole, signed by +Otto Krumpheimer. I knew it was O. K. because I'd signed it myself. + +"How about that?" asks the sergeant of the cop. + +And all the flatty can do is gaze at it and scratch his head. + +"No case," says the sergeant. "Beat it, you." + +Then I nudges Barry. He speaks up prompt, too. "I want my little barber +pole," says he. + +"Ah, take it along," says the sergeant, disgusted. + +"Sorry, officer," says I, as we drifts out, and I slips him a five +casual. + +"Enjoy yourselves, boys," says he. "But pick out another beat." + +Which we done. This time we starts from the Northumberland and walks +east. Barry had got almost to Madison Avenue before another eagle-eyed +copper holds him up. He does it more or less rough, too. + +"Drop that, now!" says he. + +"Certainly not," says Barry, lyin' enthusiastic. "It's my pole." + +"Is it, then?" says the cop. "Maybe you can show the sergeant yet? And +maybe I don't know where you pinched it. Walk along, now." + +You should have seen the desk sergeant grow purple in the gills when we +shows up in front of the rail the second time. "Say, what do you sports +think you're doin', anyway?" he demands. + +"I'll make a charge of petty larceny and disorderly conduct," says the +cop, layin' the evidence on the desk. + +"Will you, Myers?" says the sergeant sarcastic. "Didn't ask him if he +had a receipt, I suppose? Show it to him, lieutenant." + +I grins and hands over the paper. + +"Hah!" grunts Myers. "But Otto Krumpheimer don't sign his name like +that. Never." + +"How do you know?" says I. + +"Why," says Myers, scrapin' his foot nervous, "I--I just know, that's +all. I've seen his writin', plenty times." + +"Hear that, sergeant," says I. "Just jot that down, will you?" + +"Night court," says the sergeant. + +"Never mind, Barry," says I. "Line of duty. And I'll be on hand by the +time your case is called." + +"Right-o!" says Barry cheerful. + +Myers, he was ambitious to lug us both along, but the sergeant couldn't +see it that way. So while Barry's bein' walked off to police court, I +jumps into a taxi and heads for McCrea's hotel. If he'd been in bed I +meant to rout him out. But he wasn't. I finds him in his room havin' a +confab with two other plain clothes gents. He seems surprised to see me +so quick. + +"Well?" says he. "Giving up so soon?" + +"Me?" says I. "Hardly! I've got the crooked cop." + +McCrea gives a gasp. "You--you have?" says he. + +"Yep!" says I. "But he's got my assistant. Can you pull a badge or +anything on the judge at the night court?" + +Mr. McCrea thought he could. And he sure worked the charm, for after +whisperin' a few words across the bench it's all fixed up. Barry gets +the nod that he's free to go. + +"May I take my little barber pole?" demands Barry. + +"No, no!" speaks up Myers. "Don't let him have it, Judge." + +"Silence!" roars the Justice. Then, turnin' to a court officer he says: +"Take this policeman to Headquarters for investigation. Yes, Mr. Wales, +you may have your pole, but I should advise you to carry it home in a +cab." + +"Thank you kindly, sir," says Barry. But after he gets outside he asks +pleadin': "Don't I get arrested any more?" + +I shakes my head. "It's all over for tonight, Barry," says I. "Objective +attained, and if you don't mind I'll take charge of this war loot. Drop +you at your club, shall we?" + +So I still had the striped pole when we rolled up at McCrea's hotel. I +was shiftin' it around in the taxi, wonderin' where I'd better dump it, +when I made the big discovery. + +"Say," I whispers husky to McCrea, "there's something funny about this." + +"The pole?" says he. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "It's hollow. There's a little trap door in one side." + +"Hah!" says McCrea. "Bring it up." + +And you'd think by the way him and his friends proceeded to hog the +thing, that it was their find. After I'd shown 'em where to press the +secret spring they crowded around and blocked off my view. All I got was +a glimpse of some papers that they dug out of the inside somewhere. And +some excited they are as they paws 'em over. + +"In the same old code," says McCrea. + +But finally he leads me to one side. "Myers is the man, all right," says +he. + +"Course he is," says I. "If he wasn't why would he be so wise as to +whose pole it was, or about Otto's handwritin'?" + +"Ah!" says McCrea, noddin' enthusiastic. "So that was your system in +having your friend arrested? You tried out the officers. Very clever! +But how you came to suspect that the barber's pole was being used as a +mail box I don't understand." + +"No," says I, "you wouldn't. That's where the deep stuff comes in." + +McCrea takes that with a smile. "Lieutenant," says he, "I shall be +pleased to report to Major Wellby that his estimate of you was quite +correct. And allow me to say that I believe you have done for the +Government a great service tonight; though how you managed it so neatly +I'll be hanged if I see. And--er--I think that will be all." With which +he urges me polite towards the door. + +But it wasn't all. Not quite. I hear there's something on the way to me +from the chief himself, and Old Hickory has been chucklin' around for +three days. Also I've had a hunch that one boss barber and one New York +cop have done the vanishing act. Anyway, when I was down to the +Northumberland yesterday for a shave there was no Otto in sight, and the +barber pole was still missin'. That's about all the information that's +come my way. + +Barry Wales don't know even that much. But when he comes in to report +for further orders, as he does frequent now, he has his chest out and +his chin up. + +"I say, lieutenant," he remarks confidential this last trip, "we put +something over, didn't we?" + +"I expect we did," says I. + +"But what was it all about, eh?" he whispers. + +"Why," says I, "you got pinched twice without losin' your amateur +standin', and one of the stripes opened in the middle. When they tell me +the rest I'll pass it on to you." + +"By George! Will you, though?" says Barry, and after executin' another +Boy Scout salute he goes off perfectly satisfied. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A FRAME-UP FOR STUBBY + + +I expect I shouldn't have been so finicky. I ain't as a rule. My usual +play is to press the button and take whoever is sent in from the general +office. But the last young lady typist they'd wished on me must have +eased in on the job with a diploma from some hair-dressin' +establishment. She got real haughty when I pointed out that we was using +only one "l" in Albany now, but nothing I could say would keep her from +writing Bridgeport as two words. + +And such a careless way she had of parking her gum on the corner of my +desk and forgettin' to retrieve it. So with four or five more folios to +do on a report I was makin' to the Ordnance Department, I puts it up to +Mr. Piddie personally to pick the best he can spare. + +"Course," says I, "I don't expect to get Old Hickory's star performer, +but I thought you might have one of the old guard left; one that didn't +learn her spellin' by the touch method, at least." + +Piddie sighs. Since so many of his key-pounders has gone to polishin' +shell noses, or sailed to do canteen work, he's been having a poor time +keeping up his office force. "Do you know, Torchy," says he, "I haven't +one left that I can guarantee; but suppose you try Miss Casey, who has +just joined." + +She wouldn't have been my choice if I'd been doin' the pickin'. One of +these tall, limber young females, Miss Casey is, about as thick as a +drink of water, but strong on hair and eyes. She glides in willowy, +drapes herself on a chair, pats her home-grown ear-muffs into shape, and +unfolds her note book business-like. And inside of two minutes she's +doing the Pitman stuff in jazz time, with no call for repeats except +when I'd shoot a string of figures at her. I was handin' myself the +comfortin' thought, too, that I'd drawn a prize. + +We breezes along on the report until near lunch time with never a hitch +until I gets to this paragraph where I mentions Camp Mills, and the next +thing I know she has stopped short and is snifflin' through her nose. + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Have I been feedin' it at you too +speedy?" + +"N--no," says she, "bub--but that's where Stub is--Camp Mills--and it +got to me sudden." + +"Oh!" says I. "And Stub is a brother or something?" + +"He--he--Well, there!" says she, holdin' out her left hand and +displayin' a turquoise set with chip diamonds. + +"Sorry," says I, "but I couldn't tell from the service pin, you +understand, when some wears 'em for second cousins. And anyway, the name +of the camp had to----" + +"'Sall right," snuffles Miss Casey. "I had no call spillin' the weeps +durin' business hours. I wouldn't of either, only I had another session +with his old lady this mornin' and she sort of got me stirred up." + +"Mother taking it hard, is she?" I asks. + +"You've said sumpin," admits Miss Casey, unbuttonin' a locket vanity +case and repairin' the damage done to her facial frescoin' with a few +graceful jabs. "Not but what I ain't strong for Stub Mears myself. He's +all right, Stub is, even if he never could qualify in a beauty +competition with Jack Pickford or Mr. Doug. Fairbanks. He's good comp'ny +and all that, and now he's in the army I expect he'll ditch that +ambition of his to be the champion heavy-weight pool player of the West +Side. + +"But to hear Mrs. Mears talk you'd think he was one of the props of the +universe, and that when the new draft got Stub it was a case where +Congress ought to stop and draw a long breath. Uh-huh! She's 100 per +cent. mother, Mrs. Mears is, and it looks like some of it was catchin' +for me to get leaky-eyed just at mention of the camp he's in. Oh, lady, +lady! Excuse it, please, sir." + +Which I does cheerful enough. And just to prove I ain't any slave +driver I sort of eggs Miss Casey on, from then until the noon hour, to +chat away about this war romance of hers. Seems Mr. Mears could have +been in Class B, on account of his widowed mother and him being a +plumber's helper when he had time to spare from his pool practicin'. +Livin' in the same block, they'd been acquainted for quite some time, +too. + +No, it hadn't been anything serious first off. She'd gone with him to +the annual ball of Union 26 for two years in succession and to such like +important social events. But there'd been other fellers. Two or three. +And one had a perfectly swell job as manager of a United Cigar branch. +Stub had been a great one for stickin' around, though, and when he +showed up in his uniform--well, that clinched things. + +"It wasn't so much the khaki stuff I fell for," confides Miss Casey, +gazin' sentimental at a ham sandwich she's just unwrapped, "as it was +the i-dear back of it. It's in the blood, you might say, for I had an +uncle in the Spanish-American and a grandfather in the Civil War. So +when Mr. Mears tells me how, when it comes time for him to go over the +top, the one he'll be thinkin' most of will be me--Say, that got to me +strong. 'You win, Stubby,' says I. 'Flash the ring.' + +"That's how it was staged, all in one scene. And later when that Jake +Horwitz from the United shop comes around sportin' his instalment +Liberty bond button, but backin' his fallen arches to keep him exempt, I +gives him the cold eye. 'Nix on the coo business, Mister Horwitz,' says +I, 'for when I hold out my ear for that it's got to come from a reg'lar +man. Get me?' Which is a good deal the same I hands the others. + +"But say, between you and I, it's mighty lonesome work. You see, I'd +figured how Stub would be blowin' in from camp every now and then, and +we'd be doin' the Sunday afternoon parade up and down the block, with +all the girls stretchin' their necks after us. You know? Well, he's been +at the blessed camp near three months now and not once since that first +flyin' trip has he showed up here. + +"Which is why I've been droppin' in on his old lady so often, tryin' to +dope why he shouldn't be let off, same as the others. Mrs. Mears, she's +all primed with the notion that her Edgar has been makin' himself so +useful down there that the colonel would get all balled up in his work +if he didn't keep Stub right on the job. 'See,' says she, wavin' a +picture post card at me, 'he's been appointed on the K. P. squad again.' +Honest, she thinks he's something like a Knights of Pythias and goes +marchin' around important with a plume in his hat and a gold sword. +Mothers are easy, ain't they? You can bet though, that Stub don't try to +buffalo little old me with anything like that. What he writes me, which +ain't much, is mostly that his top sergeant's a grouch or that they've +been quarantined on account of influenza. So I sends him back the best +advice I've got in stock, askin' him why he don't buck up on his drill, +keep his equipment clean, and shift that potato peelin' work to some of +the new squads. + +"Course, I don't spill any of this to Mrs. Mears. Poor soul! She's got +troubles enough, right in her joints. Rheumatism. Uh-huh. Most of the +time she has to get around in a wheel chair. Ain't that fierce? And she +was mighty nervy about sendin' Stubby off. Wouldn't let him say a word +about exemption. No, sir! 'Never mind me, Edgar,' says she. 'You kill a +lot of Huns. I'll get along somehow.' That's talkin', ain't it? And her +livin' with a sister-in-law that has a disposition like a green parrot! + +"So I can't find much fault with her when she sort of overdoes the fond +mother act. Seems to me they might let him off now and then, even if he +does miss a few bugle calls, or forgets some of the rules and +regulations. And this bug of hers about wonderin' when and how what he's +doin' for his country is goin' to be reco'nized proper--Well, I don't +debate that with her at all. For one thing I don't get just exactly what +she wants; whether it's for the President to write her a special letter +of thanks, or for Mr. Baker to make Stubby a captain or something right +off. Anyway, she don't feel that Edgar's bein' treated right. He ain't +even had his name in the papers and only a few of the neighbors seem to +know he's a hero. Yep, it's foolish of her, I expect, but I let her +unload it all on me without dodgin'. I've even promised to see what can +be done about it. I--I'd been thinkin', sir, about askin' you." + +"Eh?" says I, "Me? Oh, I couldn't think of a thing." + +"But if I could, sir," goes on Miss Casey, "would--would you help out a +little? She's an old lady, you know, and all crippled up, and Stubby +he's all she's got left and----" + +"Why, sure," I breaks in. "I'd do what I could." + +I throws it off casual as I'm grabbin' my hat on my way out to lunch. +And I supposed that would be all there'd be to it. But I hadn't got +more'n half a line on Miss Casey. She's no easy quitter, that young +lady. Having let me in on her little affair, she seems to think it's no +more'n right I should be kept posted. A day or so later she lugs in a +picture of Private Mears, one of the muddy printed post-card effects +such as these roadside tripod artists take of the buddy boys around the +camps. + +"That's him," says she. "Looks kind of swell in the uniform, don't he?" + +It was a fact. Stubby not only looks swell--but swelling. And it's lucky +them army buttons are sewed on tight or else a good snappy salute would +wreck him from the chin down. He's a sturdy, bulgy party, 'specially +about the leggins. + +"That's right, too," says Miss Casey. "Know what I tell him? If he can +fight like he can eat, good-night Kaiser Bill. But at that they've pared +fifteen pounds off him since he's been in the service." + +"It's a great life," says I. + +"Maybe," sighs Miss Casey, "but I wisht they'd let me have a close-up of +him before they risk loadin' him on a transport. That's all I got +against the Government. You ain't thought of any way it might be worked, +have you?" + +I had to admit that I hadn't, not addin' I didn't expect to. And I must +have been stallin' along that line for a week or more until the forenoon +when Vee blows in unexpected durin' a shoppin' trip and announces that I +may take her out to luncheon. + +"Fine!" says I. "Just as soon as I give two more letters to Miss Casey." + +In the middle of the second one though, there's a call for me to go into +the private office, and when I comes back from a ten-minute interview +with Old Hickory I finds Vee and Miss Casey chattin' away like old +friends. Vee is being told all about Stubby and the hard-boiled eggs he +has for company officers. + +"Three months without a furlough!" says Vee. "Isn't that a shame, +Torchy? What is the number of his regiment?" + +Miss Casey reels it off, addin' the company and division. + +"Really!" says Vee. "Why, that's the company Captain Woodhouse commands. +You remember him, Torchy?" + +"Oh, yes! Woodie," says I. "I'd most forgotten him." + +"I am going to call him up on the long distance right now," says Vee. + +And in spite of all my lay-off signals she does it. Gets the captain, +too. Yes, Woodie knows the case and he regrets to report that Private +Mears's record isn't a good one; three times in the guardhouse and +another week of K. P. coming to him. Under these circumstances he don't +quite see how---- + +"Oh, come, captain!" puts in Vee coaxin'. "Don't be disagreeable. He's +engaged, you know. Such a nice girl. And then there is his poor old +mother who has seen him only once since he was drafted. Please, Woodie!" + +I expect it was the "Woodie" that worked the trick. You see, this +Woodhouse party used to think he was in the runnin' with Vee himself, +way back when Auntie was doin' her best to discourage my little +campaign, and although he quit and picked another several years ago I +don't suppose he minds bein' called Woodie by Vee, even now. Anyway, +after consultin' one of his lieutenants he gives her the word that if +Private Mears don't pull any more cut-up stuff between now and a week +from Wednesday he'll probably have forty-eight hours comin' to him. + +And for a minute there I thought both Vee and I were let in for a fond +clinch act with Miss Casey. As it is she takes it out in pattin' Vee's +hand and callin' her Dearie. + +"A week Wednesday, eh?" says Miss Casey. "Say, ain't that grand! And +believe muh, I mean to work up some little party for Stubby. It's due +him, and the old lady." + +"Of course it is," agrees Vee. "And Torchy, you must do all you can to +help." + +"Very well, major," says I, salutin'. + +And from then on I reports to Vee. It's only the next night that I gives +her the first bulletin from the front. "What do you know?" says I. "Miss +Casey has a hunch that she might organize a block party for the big +night. I don't know whether she can swing it or not, but that's her +scheme." + +"But what on earth is a block party, Torchy?" Vee demands. + +"Why," I explains, "it's a small town stunt that's being used in the +city these days. Very popular, too. They get all the people in the block +to chip in for a celebration--decorations, music, ice cream, all +that--and generally they raise a block service flag. It takes some +organizin', though." + +"How perfectly splendid!" says Vee. "And that is just where you can be +useful." + +So that's how I come to spend that next evenin' trottin' up and down +this block in the sixties between Ninth and Amsterdam. I must say it +didn't look specially promisin' as a place to work up community spirit +and that sort of thing. Just a dingy row of old style dumb-bell flats, +most of 'em with "Room to Rent" signs hung out and little basement shops +tucked in here and there. Maybe you know the kind--the asphalt always +littered with paper, garbage cans left out, and swarms of kids playin' +tip-cat or dashin' about on roller skates. Cheap and messy. And to judge +by the names on the letter boxes you'd say the tenants had been shipped +in from every country on the map. Anyway, our noble allies was well +represented--with the French and Italians in the lead and the rest made +up of Irish, Jews, Poles and I don't know what else. Everything but +straight Americans. + +Yet when you come to count up the service flags in the front windows you +had to admit that Miss Casey's block must have a good many reg'lar +citizens in it at that. There was more blue stars in evidence than you'd +find on any three brownstone front blocks down on Madison or up in the +Seventies. One flag had four, and none of 'em stood for butlers or +chauffeurs. Course, some was only faded cotton, a few nothing but +colored paper, but every star stood for a soldier, and I'll bet there +wasn't a bomb-proofer in the lot. + +Whether you could get these people together on any kind of a celebration +or not was another question. We begins with Mike's place, on the corner. + +"Sure!" says Mike. "Let's have a party. I'll ante twenty-five. And, say, +I got a cousin in the Knights of Columbus who'll give you some tips on +how to manage the thing." + +The little old Frenchy in the Parisian hand laundry gave us a boost, +too. Even J. Streblitz, high-class tailoring for ladies and gents, +chipped in a ten and told us about his boy Herman, who'd been made a +corporal and was at Chateau Thierry. Inside of three hours we'd made a +sketchy canvas of the whole block, got half a dozen of the men to go on +the committee, had over $100 subscribed, and the thing was under way. + +"I just knew you could do it," says Vee, when I tells her about the +start that's been made. + +"Me!" says I. "Why it was mostly Miss Casey. About all I did was tag +along and watch her work up the enthusiasm. She's some breeze, she is. +When I left her she was plannin' on two bands and free ice cream for +everyone who came." + +As a matter of fact, that's about all I had to do with it, after the +first push. Miss Casey must have had a busy week, but she don't lay down +once on her reg'lar work nor beg for any time off. All she asks is if +Vee and me couldn't be persuaded to be on hand Wednesday night as guests +of honor. + +"We wouldn't miss it for anything," says I. + +Well, we didn't. I'd heard more or less about these block parties, but +I'd never been to one. Course, I wasn't sure just how Vee would take it +gettin' mixed up in a mob like that, but I was bankin' on her being a +good sport. Besides, she was wild to go and see how Miss Casey had made +out. + +And say, when we swings in off Ninth Avenue and I gets my first glimpse +of what had been done to that scrubby, messy lookin' block, it got a +gasp out of me. First off there was strings of Japanese lanterns with +electric lights in 'em stretched across the street from the front of +every flat buildin' to the one opposite. Also every doorway and window +was draped and decorated with bunting. Then there was all kinds of +flags, from little ten centers to big twenty footers swung across the +street. There was a whackin' big Irish flag loaned by the A. O. H.; two +Italian flags almost as big; I don't know how many French tri-colors and +some I couldn't place; Czecho-Slovaks maybe. And besides the lanterns +and extra arc-lights there was red fire burnin' liberal. Then at either +end of the block was a truck backed up with a band in it and they was +tearin' away at all kinds of tunes from the "Marseillaise" to +"K-k-k-katie," while bumpin' and bobbin' about on the asphalt were +hundreds of couples doing jazz steps and gettin' pelted with confetti. + +"Why, it's almost like the Mardi Gras!" says Vee. + +"Looks festive, all right," says I. "And I should say Miss Casey has put +over the real thing. I wonder if we can find her in this mob." + +Seemed like a hopeless search, but finally, down in the middle of the +block, I spots an old lady in a wheel chair, and I has a hunch it might +be Mrs. Mears. Sure enough, it is. Not much to look at, she ain't; sort +of humped over, with a shawl 'round her shoulders. But say, when you got +a glimpse of the way her old eyes was lighted up, and saw the smile +flickerin' around her lips, you knew that nobody in that whole crowd was +any happier than she was just at that minute. + +"Oh, yes," says she. "Minnie Casey is looking for you two young folks. +She's dancing with Edgar now, but they'll be back soon. Haven't seen my +son Edgar, have you? Well, you must. He--he's a soldier, you know." + +"We should be delighted," says Vee. And then she whispers to me: "Hasn't +she a nice face, though?" + +We hadn't waited long before I sees a tall, willowy young thing wearin' +one of them zippy French tams come bearin' down on us wavin' energetic +and towin' along a red-faced young doughboy who looks like he'd been +stuffed into his uniform by a sausage machine. It's Minnie and Stub. + +"Hello, folks!" she sings out. "Say, I was just wonderin' if you was +goin' to renig on me. Fine work! An' I want you to meet one of the most +prominent privates in the division, Mr. Mears. Come on, Stubby, pull +that overseas salute of yours. Ain't he a bear-cat, though? And how +about the show? Ain't it some party?" + +"Why, it's simply wonderful," says Vee. "I had no idea, Miss Casey, that +you were planning anything like this." + +"I didn't," says Minnie. "Only after we got started it kept gettin' +bigger and bigger until there wa'n't a soul on the block but what came +in on it. Know what one of the decorators told me? He says there ain't a +block on the West Side has had anything up to this, from Houston Street +up to the Harlem. That's goin' some, ain't it? You got here just in time +for the big doin's, too. It's comin' off right now. See who's standin' +up in the truck over there? That's one of the Paulist Fathers, who's +goin' to make the speech and bless the flag. There it comes, out of that +third-story window. Wow! Hear 'em cheer." + +And as the red-bordered banner with the white field is pulled out where +the searchlight strikes it we can make out the figures formed by blue +stars. + +"What!" says I. "Not 217 from this one block?" + +"Uh-huh!" says Minnie. "And every one of 'em a Fritzie chaser. 'Most a +whole company. But ther'd been one less if it hadn't been for Stubby, +and everybody knows there's luck in odd numbers. That's why we're so +chesty about him. Eh, Mrs. Mears?" + +Yes, it was some lively affair. After the speech Mme. Toscarelli, draped +in red, white and blue, sang the Star-Spangled Banner in spite of strong +opposition from one of the bands that got the wrong cue and played +"Indianola" all through the piece. And a fat boy rolled out of a +second-story window in the Princess flats, but caromed off on an awnin' +and wasn't hurt. Also a few young hicks started some rough stuff when +the ice-cream freezers were opened, but a squad of Junior Naval League +boys soon put a crimp in that. And when we had to leave, along about +nine-thirty, it was as gay a scene as was ever staged on any West Side +block, bar none. I remarked something of the sort to Mrs. Mears. + +"Yes," says she, her eyes sort of dimmin' up. "And to think that all +this should be done for my Edgar!" + +At which Minnie Casey tips us the private wink. "Why not, I'd like to +know?" says she. "Just look who he is." + +"Yes, of course, dear," says Mrs. Mears, smilin' satisfied. + +"Can you beat that for the genuine mother stuff?" whispers Minnie, +givin' us a partin' grin. + +"I do hope," says Vee, as we settles ourselves in a Long Island train +for the ride home, "that Miss Casey gets her Edgar back safe and sound." + +"If she don't," says I, "she's liable to go over and tear what's left of +Germany off the map. Anyway, they'd better not get her started." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE VAMP IN THE WINDOW + + +It was a case of Vee's being in town on a shoppin' orgie and my being +invited to hunt her up about lunch time. + +"Let's see," she 'phoned, "suppose you meet me about 12:30 at the Maison +Noir. You know, West Fifty-sixth. And if I'm having a dress fitted on +the second floor just wait downstairs for me, will you, Torchy?" + +"In among all them young lady models?" says I. "Not a chance. You'll +find me hangin' up outside. And don't make it more'n half an hour behind +schedule, Vee, for this is one of my busy days." + +"Oh, very well," says she careless. + +So that's how I came to be backed up in the lee of the doorway at 12:45 +when this stranger with the mild blue eyes and the chin dimple eases in +with the friendly hail. + +"Excuse me," says he, "but haven't we met somewhere before?" + +Which is where my fatal gift for rememberin' faces and forgettin' names +comes into play. After giving him the quick up and down I had him placed +but not tagged. + +"Not quite," says I. "But we lived in the same apartment buildin' a +couple of years back. Third floor west, wasn't you?" + +"That's it," says he. "And I believe I heard you'd just been married." + +"Yes, we did have a chatty janitor," says I. "You were there with your +mother, from somewhere out on the Coast. We almost got to the noddin' +point when we met in the elevator, didn't we?" + +"If we did," says he, "that was the nearest I came to getting acquainted +with anyone in New York. It's the lonesomest hole I was ever in. +Say----" + +And inside of three minutes he's told me all about it; how he'd brought +Mother on from Seattle to have a heart specialist give her a three +months' treatment that hadn't been any use, and how he'd come East alone +this time to tie up a big spruce lumber contract with the airplane +department. Also he reminds me that he is Crosby Rhodes and writes the +name of the hotel where he's stopping on his card. It's almost like a +reunion with an old college chum. + +"But how do you happen to be sizin' up a show window like this?" says I, +indicatin' the Maison Noir's display of classy gowns. "Got somebody back +home that you might take a few samples to?" + +His big, square-cut face sort of pinks up and his mild blue eyes take on +kind of a guilty look as he glances over his shoulder at the window. +"Not a soul," says he. "The fact is, I'm not much of a ladies' man. Been +in the woods too much, I suppose. All the same, though, I've always +thought that if ever I ran across just the right girl----" Here he +scrapes his foot and works up that fussed expression again. + +"I see," says I, grinnin'. "You have the plans and specifications all +framed up and think you'd know her on sight, eh?" + +Crosby nods and smiles sheepish. "It's gone further than that," says he. +"I--I've seen her." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Where?" + +He looks around cautious and then whispers confidential. "In that show +window." + +"Eh" says I, gawpin'. "Oh! You mean you got the idea from one of the +dummies? Well, that's playin' it safe even if it is a little unique." + +Crosby seems to hesitate a minute, as if debatin' whether to let it ride +at that or not, and then he goes on: + +"Say," he asks, "do--do they ever put live ones in there?" + +"Never heard of it's being done," says I. "Why?" + +"Because," says he, "there's one in this window right now." + +"You don't say?" says I. "Are you sure?" + +"Step around front and I'll point her out," says he. "Now, right over in +that far--Why--why, say! She's gone!" + +"Oh, come!" says I. "You've been seein' things, ain't you? Or maybe it +was only one of the salesladies in rearrangin' the display." + +"No, no," says Crosby emphatic. "I tell you I had been watching her for +several minutes before I saw you, and she never moved except for a +flutter of the eyelids. She was standing back to, facing that mirror, so +I could see her face quite plainly. More than that, she could see me. Of +course, I wasn't quite sure, with all those others around. That's why I +spoke to you. I wanted to see what you'd say about her. And now she's +disappeared." + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "Most likely, too, she was hauled head first through +that door in the back and if you stick around long enough maybe you'll +see her shoved in again, with a different dress on. Say, Mr. Rhodes, no +wonder you're skirt-shy if you never looked 'em over close enough not to +know the dummies from the live ones. Believe me, there's a lot of +difference." + +But the josh don't seem to get him at all. He's still gawpin' puzzled +through the plate glass. Finally he goes on: "If this was the first +time, I might think you were right. But it isn't. I--I've seen her +before; several times, in fact." + +"As bad as that, eh?" says I. "Then if I was you I'd look up a doctor." + +"Now listen," says he. "I don't want you to think I'm foolish in the +head. I'm giving you this straight. Only you haven't heard it all yet. +You see, I've been walking past here nearly every day since I've been in +town--almost three weeks--and at about this time, between twelve-thirty +and one, getting up a luncheon appetite. And about ten days ago I got a +glimpse of this face in the mirror. Somehow I was sure it was a face I'd +seen before, a face I'd been kind of day dreaming about for a year or +more. Yes, I know that may sound kind of batty, but it's a fact. Out in +the big woods you have time for such things. Anyway, when I saw that +reflection it seemed very familiar to me. So the next day I stopped and +took a good look. She was there. And I was certain she was no dummy. I +could see her breathe. She was watching me in the glass, too. It's been +the same every time I've been past." + +"Well," says I, "what then?" + +"Why," says he, "whether it's someone I've known or not, I want to find +out who she is and how I can meet her for--for--Well, she's the girl." + +"Gee!" says I, "you're a reg'lar Mr. Zipp-Zipp when it comes to romantic +notions, ain't you?" And I looks him over curious. As I've always held, +though, that's what you can expect from these boys with chin dimples. +It's the Romeo trade-mark, all right, and Crosby had a deep one. "But +see here," I goes on, "suppose it should turn out that you're wrong; +that this shop window siren of yours was only one of the kind with a +composition head, a figure that they blow up with a bicycle pump, and +wooden feet? Where does that leave you?" + +He shrugs his shoulders. "I wish you could have seen her," says he. + +"What sort of a looker?" I asks. "Blonde or brunette?" + +"I don't know," says he. "She has a wonderful complexion--like old +ivory. Her hair is wonderful, too, sort of a pale gold. But her eyebrows +are quite dark, and her eyes--Ah, they're the kind you couldn't +forget--sort of a deep violet, I think; maybe you'd call 'em plum +colored." + +"Listens too fancy to be true," says I. "But they do get 'em up that way +for the trade." + +There's no jarrin' Crosby loose from his idea, though, and he's just +proposin' that I meet him there at twelve-thirty next day when Vee +drifts out and I has to break away. "I'll let you know if I can," says I +as I walks off. + +Course, Vee wants to know who my friend is and all about it, and when +I've sketched out the plot of the piece she's quite thrilled. "How +interesting!" says she. "I do hope he finds out it's a real girl Some of +those models are simply stunning, you know. And there is such a thing +as a face haunting you. Oh, by the way! Do you remember the Stribbles?" + +"Should I?" I asks. + +"The janitor's family in that apartment building where we used to live," +explains Vee. + +"Stribble?" says I. "Oh, yes, the poddy old party who did all the hard +sitting around while his wife did the work. What reminded you of them?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," says Vee. "But a month or so ago I saw the name +printed in an army list of returned casualty cases--there was a boy, you +know, and a girl--and I thought then that we ought to look them up and +find out. Then I forgot all about it until just a few moments ago. Let's +go there, Torchy, before we go out home tonight?" + +I must say I couldn't get very much excited over the Stribbles, but on +the chance that Vee would forget again I promised, and let her tow me +into one of those cute little tea rooms where we had a perfectly punk +lunch at a dollar ten per each. But even after a three hour session +among the white goods sales Vee still remembered the Stribbles, so about +five o'clock we finds ourselves divin' into a basement that's none too +clean and are being received by a tall, skinny female with a tously mop +of sandy hair bobbed up on her head. + +It seems Ma Stribble was still shovelin' most of the ashes and +scrubbin' the halls as well; while Pa Stribble, fatter than ever and in +the same greasy old togs, continues to camp in a rickety arm chair by +the front window, with a pail of suds at his right elbow. Yes, the one +mentioned in the casualty list was their Jimmy. Only he hadn't come back +a trench hero, exactly. He'd collected his blighty ticket without being +at the front at all--by gettin' mixed up with a steel girder in some +construction work. A mashed foot was the total damage, and he was having +a real good time at the base hospital; would be as good as new in a week +or so. + +"Isn't that fortunate?" says Vee. "And your daughter, where is she?" + +"Mame?" says Ma Stribble, scowlin' up quick. "Gawd knows where she is. I +don't." + +"Why, what do you mean?" asks Vee. "She--she hasn't left home, has she?" + +"Oh, she sleeps here," goes on Ma Stribble, "and comes home for some of +her meals, but the rest of the time----" Here she hunches her shoulders. + +"Huh!" grunts Pa Stribble. "If you could see the way she togs herself +out--like some chorus girl. I don't know where she gets all them flossy +things and she won't tell. Paint on her face, too. It's bringin' shame +on us, I tell her." + +Mrs. Stribble sighs heavy. "And we was tryin' to bring her up decent," +says she. "I got her a job, waitin' in a lunch room up on' the Circle. +But she was too good for that. Oh, my, yes! Chucked it after the first +week. And then she began bloomin' out in fine feathers. Won't say where +she gets 'em, either. And her always throwin' up to her father about not +workin', when he's got the rheumatism so bad he can hardly walk at +times! Gettin' to be too much of a lady to live in a basement, she is. +Humph!" + +It looked like Vee had started something, for the Stribbles were +knockin' Mame something fierce, when all of a sudden they quits and we +hears the street door open. A minute later and in walks a tall, willowy +young party wearin' a near-leopard throw-scarf, one of these snappy +French tams, and a neat black suit that fits her like it had been run on +hot. + +If it hadn't been for the odd shade of hair and the eyes I wouldn't have +remembered her at all for the stringy, sloppy dressed flapper I used to +see going in and out with the growler or helping with the sweepin'. Mame +Stribble had bloomed out, for a fact. Also she'd learned how to use a +lip-stick and an eyebrow pencil. I couldn't say whether she'd touched up +her complexion or not. If she had it was an artistic job--just a faint +rose-leaf tint under the eyes. And I had to admit that the whole effect +was some stunnin'. Course, she's more or less surprised to see all the +comp'ny, but Vee soon explains how we've come to hear about Brother Jim +and she shakes hands real friendly. + +"I suppose you are working somewhere?" suggests Vee. + +Mame nods. + +"Where?" asks Vee, going to the point, as usual. + +Miss Stribble glances accusin' at paw and maw. "Oh, they've been +roastin' me, have they?" she demands. "Well, I can't help it. What they +want to know is how much I'm gettin' so I'll have to give up more. But +it don't work. See! I pay my board--good board, at that--and I'm not +goin' to have paw snoopin' around my place tryin' to queer me. Let him +get out and rustle for himself." + +With that Mame sheds the throw-scarf and tosses her velvet tam on the +table. + +"I'm so sorry," says Vee. "I didn't mean to interfere at all. And I've +no doubt you have a perfectly good situation." + +"It's good enough," says Mame, "until I strike something better." + +"What a cunning little hat!" says Vee, pickin' up the tam. "Such a lot +of style to it, too." + +"Think so?" says Mame. "Well, I built it myself." + +"Really!" says Vee. "Why, you must be very clever. I wish I could do +things like that." + +Trust Vee for smoothin' down rumpled feathers when she wants to. Inside +of two minutes she had Mame smilin' grateful and holdin' her hand as she +says good-by. + +"Poor girl!" says Vee, as we gets to the street. "I don't blame her for +being dissatisfied with such a father as that. And it's just awful the +way they talk about her. I'm going to see if I can't do something for +her at the shop." + +"Eh?" says I. "She didn't tell you where she was working." + +"She didn't need to," says Vee. "The name was in the hat lining--the +Maison Noir." + +"Say, you're some grand little sleuth yourself, ain't you?" says I. + +"And that explains," Vee goes on, "why I happened to remember the +Stribbles today. I must have seen her there. Yes, I'm sure I did--that +pale gold hair and the old ivory complexion are too rare to----" + +"Why!" I breaks in, "that's the description Crosby Rhodes gave me of +this show window charmer of his." + +"Was it?" says Vee. "Then perhaps----" + +"But what could she have been doing, posin' in the window?" I asks. +"That's what gets me." + +It got Vee, too. "Anyway," says she, "you must meet that Mr. Rhodes +tomorrow and tell him what you've discovered. He's rather a nice chap, +isn't he?" + +"Oh, he's all right, I guess," says I. "A bit soft above the ears, +maybe, but out in the tall timber I expect he passes for a solid +citizen. I don't just see how I'm going to help him out much, though." + +"I'll tell you," says Vee. "In the morning I will 'phone to Madame +Maurice that I want you to see the frock I've picked out, and you can +take Mr. Rhodes in with you." + +So that's the way we worked it. I calls up Crosby, makes the date, and +we meets on the corner at twelve-thirty. He's more or less excited. + +"Then you think you know who she is?" he asks. + +"If you're a good describer," says I, "there's a chance that I do. But +listen: suppose she's kind of out of your class--a girl who's been +brought up in a basement, say, with a janitor for a father?" + +"What do I care who her father is?" says Crosby. "I was brought up in a +lumber camp myself. All I ask is a chance to meet her." + +"You sure know what you want," says I. "Come on." + +"See!" he whispers as we get to the Maison Noir's show window. "She's +there!" + +And sure enough, standin' back to, over in the corner facin' the mirror, +is this classy figure in the zippy street dress, with Mame Stribble's +hair and eyes. She's doin' the dummy act well, too. I couldn't see +either breath or eye flutter. + +"Huh!" says I. "It's by me. Let's go in and interview Madame Maurice." + +We had to waste four or five minutes while I inspects the dress Vee has +bought, and I sure felt foolish standin' there watchin' this young lady +model glide back and forth. + +"I trust Monsieur approves?" asks Madame Maurice. + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Quite spiffy. But say, I noticed one in the window +that sort of took my eye--that street dress, in the corner." + +"Street dress?" says the Madame, lookin' puzzled. "Is M'sieur certain?" + +"Maybe I'd better point it out." + +But by the time I'd towed her to the front door there was nothing of the +kind in sight. + +"As I thought," says Madame. "A slight mistake." + +"Looks so, don't it?" says I, as we trails back in. "But you have a Miss +Mamie Stribble working here, haven't you; a young lady with kind of +goldy hair, dark eyebrows and a sort of old ivory complexion?" + +"Ah!" says the Madame. "Perhaps you mean Marie St. Ribble?" + +"That's near enough," says I. "Could I have a few words with her?" + +"But yes," says Madame Maurice. "It is her hour for luncheon. I will +see." With that she calls up an assistant, shoos me into a back parlor +and asks me to wait a moment, leavin' Crosby out front with his mouth +open. + +And two minutes later in breezes the Madame leadin' Mame Stribble by the +arm. The lady boss seems somewhat peeved, too. "Tell me," she demands, +"is this the street dress which you observed in the window?" + +"That's the very one," says I. + +"Hah!" says she. "Then perhaps Marie will explain to me later. For the +present, M'sieur, I leave you." + +"Sorry if I've put you in bad, Miss Stribble," says I, as the Madame +sweeps out. + +"Oh, that's all right," says Mame, tossin' her chin. "She'll get over +it. And, anyway, I was takin' a chance." + +"So I noticed," says I. "What was the big idea, though?" + +"Just sizin' up the people who pass by," says Mame. "It's grand sport +havin' 'em stretch their necks at you and thinkin' you're just a dummy. +I got onto it one day while I was changin' a model. Course, it cuts into +my lunch time, and I have to sneak a dress out of stock, but it's kind +of fun." + +"'Specially when you've got one particular young gent coming to watch +regular, eh?" I suggests. + +That seems to give her sort of a jolt and for a second she stares at me, +bitin' her upper lip. "Who do you mean, now?" she asks. + +"He has a chin dimple and his name's Crosby Rhodes," says I. "You've put +the spell on him for fair, too. He's out front, waiting to meet you." + +"Oh, is he?" says Mame, lettin' on not to care. "And yet when he was +livin' in one of our apartments he passed me every day without seein' me +at all." + +"Oh, ho!" says I. "You took notice of him, though, did you?" + +Miss Stribble pinks up at that. "Yes, I did," says she. "He struck me as +a reg'lar feller, one of the kind you could tie to. And when he'd almost +step over me without noticin'--well, I'll admit that sort of hurt. I +expect that's why I made up my mind to shake the mop and pail outfit and +break in some place where I could pick up a few tricks. After a few +stabs I landed here at the Maison. I remember I had on a saggy skirt and +a shirtwaist that must have looked like it had been improvised out of a +coffee sack. It's a wonder they let me past the door. But they did. For +the first six weeks, though, they kept me in the work rooms. Then I got +one of the girls to help me evenings on a black taffeta; I saved up +enough for two pairs of silk stockin's, blew myself to some pumps with +four inch heels, and begun carryin' a vanity box. It worked. Next thing +I knew they had me down on the main floor carryin' stock to the models +and now and then displayin' misses' styles to customers. I had a hunch +I was gettin' easier to look at, but you never can tell by the way women +size you up. All they see is the dress. And in the window there I had a +chance to see whether I was registerin' with the men. That's the whole +tragic tale." + +"Leaving out Crosby Rhodes." + +"That's so," admits Mame. "And it was some satisfaction, bringin' him to +life." + +"You've done more'n that," says I. "He's one of these guys that wants +what he wants, and goes after it strong. Just now it seems to be you." + +"How inter-estin'!" says Mame. "Tell me, what's his line?" + +"Airplane timber," says I. "He's from out on the Coast." + +"Oh!" says she. "From one of these little +straight-through-on-Main-street burgs, I suppose?" + +"Headquarters in Seattle, I understand," says I. "That's hardly on the +Tom show circuit." + +"Yes, I guess I've heard of the place," says Mame. "But what's his +proposition!" + +"First off," says I, "Crosby wants to get acquainted. If he has any +hymen stuff up his sleeve, I expect you'd better hear that from him +personally. The question now is, do you want to meet him?" + +"Oh, I dunno," says Mame careless. "I guess I'll take a chance." + +"Then forget that vanishing act of yours," says I, "and I'll run him +in." + +And, honest, as I slips out of the Maison Noir and beats it for my +lunch, I felt like I'd done a day's work. What it would come to was by +me. They was off my hands, anyway. + +That couldn't have been over a week ago. And here only yesterday Crosby +comes crashin' into the Corrugated general offices, pounds me +enthusiastic on the back, and announces that I'm the best friend he's +got in the world. + +"Meanin', I expect," says I, "that Miss Stribble and you have been +gettin' on?" + +"Old man," says Crosby, his mild blue eyes sparklin', "she's a wonderful +girl--wonderful! And within a week she's going to be Mrs. Crosby Rhodes. +We start for home just as soon as the Maison Noir can turn out her +trousseau; which is going to be some outfit, take it from me." + +I hope I said something appropriate. If I didn't I expect Crosby was too +excited to notice. Also that night I carried home the bulletin to Vee. + +"There!" says Vee. "I just knew, the moment I saw her, that she wasn't +at all as that horrid old man tried to make us believe." + +"No," says I, "Mame's vamping was just practice stuff. A lot of it is +like that, I expect." + +"But wasn't it odd," goes on Vee, "about her meeting the very man she'd +liked from the first?" + +"Well, not so very," says I. "With that show window act she had the net +spread kind of wide. The only chance Crosby had of escape was by staying +out of New York, and nobody does that for very long at a time." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +TURKEYS ON THE SIDE + + +Say, I hope this Mr. Hoover of ours gets through trying to feed the +world before another fall. It's a cute little idea all right and ought +to get us in strong with a whole lot of people, but if he don't quit I +know of one party whose reputation as a gentleman farmer is going to be +wrecked beyond repair. And that's me. + +I don't know whether it was Vee's auntie that started me out reckless on +this food producin' career, or old Leon Battou, or Mr. G. Basil Pyne. +Maybe they all helped, in their own peculiar way. Auntie's method, of +course, is by throwin' out the scornful sniff. It was while she was +payin' us a month's visit one week way last summer, out at our four-acre +estate on Long Island, that she pulls this sarcastic stuff. Havin' +inspected the baby critical without findin' anything special to kick +about, she suggests that she'd like to look over the grounds. + +"Oh, yes, Torchy," chimes in Vee, "do show Auntie your garden." + +Maybe you don't get that "your garden." It's only Vee's way of playin' +me as a useful and industrious citizen. Course, I did buy the seeds and +all the shiny hoes and rakes and things, and I studied up the catalogues +until I could tell the carrots from the cucumbers; but I must admit that +beyond givin' the different beds the once-over every now and then, and +pullin' up a few tomato plants that I thought was weeds, I didn't do +much more than underwrite the enterprise. + +As a matter of fact, it was mostly Leon Battou, the old Frenchy who does +our cookin', that really ran the garden. Say, that old boy would have +something green growin' if he lived in the subway and had to bring down +his real estate in paper bags. It was partly on his account, you know, +that we left our studio apartment and moved out in the forty-five +minutes commutin' zone. Then, too, there was Joe Cirollo, who comes in +by the day to cut the grass and keep the flower beds slicked up, and do +the heavy spadin'. And with Vee keepin' books on what was spent and what +we got you can guess I wasn't overworked. Also it's a cinch that garden +plot just had to hump itself and make good. + +Auntie ain't wise to all this, though. So she raises her eyebrows and +remarks: "A garden? Really! I should like to see it. A few radishes and +spindly lettuce, I suppose?" + +"Say, come have a look!" says I. + +And when I'd pointed out the half acre of potatoes, and the long rows of +corn and string beans and peas--and I hope I called 'em all by their +right names--I sure had the old girl hedgin' some. But trust her! + +"With so much land, though," she goes on, "it seems to me you ought to +be raising your eggs and chickens as well." + +"Oh, we've planned for all that," says I, "ducks and hens and geese and +turkeys; maybe pheasants and quail." + +"Quail!" says Auntie. "Why, I didn't know one could raise quail. I +thought they----" + +"When I get started raisin' things," says I, "I'm apt to go the limit." + +"I shall be interested to see what success you have," says she. + +"Sure!" says I. "Drop around again--next fall." + +You wouldn't have thought she'd been disagreeable enough to go and +rehearse all this innocent little bluff of mine to Vee, would you? But +she does, it seems. And of course Vee has to back me up. + +"But, Torchy!" she protests, after Auntie's gone. "How could you tell +her such whoppers?" + +"Easiest thing I do," says I. "But who knows what we'll do next in the +nourishment producin' line? Hasn't old Leon been beggin' to go into the +duck and chicken business for months? With eggs near a dollar a dozen +maybe it would be a good scheme. And if we go in for poultry, why not +have all kinds, turkeys as well?" + +So a few days later I put it up to him. Leon shakes his head. "The +chickens and the ducks, yes; but the turkey----" Here he shrugs his +shoulders desperate. "Je ne connais pas." + +"You jennie what?" says I. "Ah, come, Leon, don't be a quitter." + +He explains that the ways of our national bird are a complete mystery to +him. He'd as soon think of tryin' to hatch out ostriches or canaries. So +for the time being we pass up the turkeys and splurge heavy on cacklers +and quackers. Between him and Joe they fixed up part of the old carriage +shed as a poultry barracks and with a mile or so of nettin' they fenced +off a run down to the little pond. And by the middle of August we had +all sorts of music to wake us up for an early breakfast. I nearly +laughed a rib loose watchin' them baby ducks waddle around solemn, every +one with that cut-up look in his eye. Say, they're born comedians, ducks +are. I'll bet if you could translate that quack-quack patter of theirs +you'd get lines that would be a reg'lar scream on the big time circuit. + +And then along in the fall we begun gettin' acquainted with our new +neighbors that had taken that cute little stucco cottage halfway down +to the station from us. The Basil Pynes, a young English couple, we +found out they were. Course, Vee started it by callin' and followin' +that up by a donation of some of our garden truck. Pretty soon we were +swappin' visits reg'lar. + +I can't say I was crazy over 'em. She's a little mouse of a woman, big +eyed and quiet, but Vee seems to like her. Pyne, he's a tall, slim gink +with stooped shoulders and so short sighted that he has to wear extra +thick eyeglasses. He'd come over to work for some book publishin' house +but it seems he wrote things himself. He'd landed one book and was +pluggin' away on another; not a novel, I understands, but something +different. + +"Huh!" says I to Vee. "No wonder he had to go into the lit'ry game, with +that monicker hung on him. Basil Pyne! The worst of it is, he looks it, +too." + +"Now, Torchy!" protests Vee. "I'm sure you'll find him real interesting +when you know him better." + +As usual, she's right. Anyway, it turns out that Basil has his good +points. For one thing he's the most entertaining listener I ever talked +to. Maybe you know the kind. Never has anything to say about himself but +whatever you start, that's what he wants to know about. And from the +friendly look in the mild gray eyes behind the thick panes, and the +earnest way he has of stretchin' his ear you'd think that what you was +tellin' him was the very thing he'd been livin' all these years to hear. +Then he has that trick of throwin' in "My word!" and "Just fancy that!" +sort of admirin' and enthusiastic, until you almost believe that you're +a lot cleverer and smarter than you'd suspected. + +So when I gets on the subject of how we ducked payin' war prices for +vegetables to the local profiteers by raisin' our own he wants to know +all about it. With the help of Vee's set of books and a little promptin' +from her I gives him an earful. I even tows him down cellar and points +out the various bins and barrels full of stuff we've got stowed away for +winter. And next I has to drag him out and exhibit the poultry side +line. + +"Oh, I say!" exclaims Basil. "Isn't that perfectly rippin'! You have +fresh eggs right along?" + +"All we can use," says I. "And we're eatin' the he--hens whenever we +want 'em. Ducks, too." + +"How clever!" says Basil. "But you Americans are always so good at +whatever you take up. And you such a hard drivin' business man, too! I +don't see how you manage it." + +"Oh, it comes easy enough once you get the hang of it," says I. "As a +matter of fact, I'm only just startin' in. Next thing I mean to have is +a lot of turkeys. Might as well live high." + +"Turkeys!" says Basil. "And I've heard they were so difficult to raise. +But I've no doubt you will make a huge success with them." + +"Guess I'll just have to show you," says I, waggin' my head. + +I was for gettin' some turkey eggs right away and rushin' along a flock +so they'd be ready by Christmas, but both Vee and Leon insists that it +can't be done. Seems it's too late in the season or something. They want +to wait until next spring. + +"Not me," says I. "I've promised your Auntie I'd raise turkeys and I +gotta deliver the goods. If we can't start 'em from the seed what's the +matter with gettin' some sprouts? Ain't anybody got any young turkeys +that need bringin' up scientific?" + +Well, I set Joe Cirollo to scoutin' around and inside of a week he has +connected with half a dozen. They comes in a crate as big as a piano box +and we turns 'em loose in the chicken yard. When I paid the bill I was +sure Joe had been stuck about two prices, but after I've discovered what +they're askin' for turkeys in the city markets I has to take it back. + +"Oh, well," says I, "if we can fatten 'em up maybe we'll come out +winners, after all." + +"Sure!" says Joe. "We maka dem biga fat." + +After I'd bought a few bags of feed though, I quit figurin'. I knew that +no matter how they was cooked they'd taste of money. All I was doubtful +of now was whether they was the right breed of turkeys. + +"What's all that red flannel stuff on their necks?" I asks Joe. "Ain't +got sore throats, have they!" + +"Heem?" says Joe. "No, no. Dey gooda turk. All time data way." + +"All right," says I, "if it's the fashion. I don't eat the neck, +anyway." + +I couldn't get Leon at all excited over my gobblers, though. All he'll +do is shake his head dubious. "They walk with such pride and still they +behave so foolish," says he. + +"It ain't their manners I'm fond of," says I, "so much as it is their +white meat. Even at that, when it comes to foolish notions, they've got +nothing on your ducks." + +"Mais non," says Leon, meaning nothing sensible, "you do not understand +the duck perhaps. Me, I raised them as a boy in Perronne. But the +turkey! Pouff! He is what you call silly in the head. One cannot say +what they will do next. Anything may happen to such birds." + +He makes such a fuss over the way they hog the grain at feedin' time +that I have to have a separate run built for 'em. You'd almost think he +was jealous. But Joe, on the other hand, treats 'em like pets. I don't +know how many times a day he feeds 'em, and he's always luggin' one up +to me to show how heavy they're gettin'. I was waitin' until they got +into top notch condition before springin' 'em on Basil Pyne. I meant to +get a gasp out of him when I did. + +Finally I set a day for the private view and asked the Pynes to come +over special. Basil, he's all prepared to be thrilled as I tows him out. +"But you don't mean to say this is your first venture at turkey +raising?" he demands. + +"Ab-so-lutely," says I. + +"Strordinary!" says Basil. + +At the end of the turkey run though I finds Joe starin' through the wire +with a panicky look on his face. "Well, Joe," says I, "anything wrong +with the flock?" + +"I dunno," says he. "Maybe da go bughouse, maybe da got jag on. See!" + +Blamed if it don't look like he'd made two close guesses. Honest, every +one of them gobblers was staggerin' 'round, bumpin' against each other +and runnin' into the fence, with their tails spread and their long necks +wavin' absurd. A 3 a.m. bunch of New Year's Eve booze punishers +couldn't have given a more scandalous exhibition. + +"My word!" says Basil. + +Course, it's up to me to produce an explanation. Which I does prompt. +"Oh, that's nothing!" says I. "They're just tryin' the duck waddle, +imitatin' their neighbors in the next run. Turkeys always do that sooner +or later if you have ducks near 'em. They keep at it until they're +dizzy." + +"Really, now?" says Basil. "I never heard that before." + +"Not many people have," says I. "But they'll get over it in an hour or +so. Look in tomorrow and you'll see." + +Basil says he will. And after he's gone I opens the court martial. + +"Joe," I demands, "what you been feedin' them turks?" + +It took five minutes of cross examination before I got him to remember +that just before breakfast he'd sneaked out and swiped a pail of stuff +that he thought Leon was savin' for his ducks. And what do you guess? +Well, him and Leon had gone into the home-made wine business last fall, +utilizin' all them grapes we grew out in the back lot, and only the day +before they'd gone through the process of rackin' it from one barrel +into another. It was the stuff that was left in the bottom that Joe had +swiped for his pets. + +"Huh!" says I. "And now you've not only disgraced those turkeys for life +but you've made me hand Mr. Pyne some raw nature-fakin' stuff that +nobody but a fool author would swallow." + +"I mucha sorry," says Joe, hangin' his head. + +"All right," says I. "I expect you meant well. But it was a bum hunch. +Now see they have plenty of water to drink and by mornin' maybe they'll +sober up." + +I meant to keep an eye on 'em myself for the rest of the day, but right +after luncheon Auntie blows in again, to pay a farewell visit before +startin' South, and the turkeys slipped my mind. Not until she asks how +I'm gettin' on with my flock of quail did I remember. + +"Oh, quail!" says I. "No, I had to ditch that. Couldn't get the right +sort of eggs." + +Auntie smiles sarcastic. "What a pity!" says she. "But the various kinds +of poultry you were going in for? Did you----" + +"Did I?" says I. "Say, you just come out and---- Well, Leon, anything +you want special?" + +"Pardon, m'sieu," says old Leon, scrapin' his foot, "but--but the +turkeys." + +"Yes, I know," says I. "They're doing that new trot Joe's been teaching +'em." + +"But no, m'sieu," says Leon. "They have become deceased--utterly." + +"Wha-a-a-at?" says I. "Oh, oh, I guess it ain't as bad as that." + +"Pardon," says Leon, "but I discover them steef, les pieds dans le ciel. +Thus!" And he illustrates by holdin' both hands above his head. + +"Perhaps it would be best to investigate," suggests Auntie. "I have no +doubt Leon is right. Turkeys require expert care and handling, and when +you were so sure of raising them I quite expected something like this." + +"Yes, I know you did," says I. "Anyway, let's take a look." + +And there they were, all six of 'em, with their feet in the air, and as +stiff as if they'd just come from cold storage. + +"Like somebody had thrown in a gas attack on 'em," says I. "Good night, +turks! You sure did make it unanimous, didn't you?" + +I expect my smile was kind of a sickly performance, for the last person +I'd have wanted to be in on the obsequies was Auntie. I will say, +though, that she don't try to rub it in. No, she tells of similar cases +she's known of when she was a girl, about whole flocks bein' poisoned by +something they'd found to eat. + +"The only thing to do now," says she, "is to save the feathers." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"The long tail and wing feathers can be used for making fans and +trimming hats," says Auntie, "while the smaller ones are excellent for +stuffing pillows. They must be picked at once." + +"Oh, I'm satisfied to call 'em a total loss," says I. + +Auntie wouldn't have it, though. She sends Leon for a big apron and a +couple of baskets and has me round up Joe to help. When I left they +were all three busy and the turkey feathers were coming off fast. All +there was left for me to do was to go in and break the sad news to Vee. + +"As a turkey raiser, I'm a flivver," says I. + +"But I can't see that it's your fault at all," says Vee. + +"Can't you?" says I. "Ask Auntie." + +If the next day hadn't been Sunday, I could have sneaked off to town and +dodged the little talk Auntie insists on givin' about the folly of +amateurs tacklin' jobs they know nothing about. As it is I has to stick +around and take the gaff. Then about ten o'clock Basil Pyne has to show +up and reopen the subject. + +"Oh, by the way," says he, "how are the turkeys this morning? Are they +still practicing that wonderful duck walk you were telling me about?" + +Auntie has just fixed an accusin' eye on me, and I was wonderin' if it +would be any sin to take Basil out back somewhere and choke him, when in +rushes old Leon with a wild look on his face. He's so excited that he's +almost speechless and all he can get out is a throaty gurgle. + +"For the love of soup, let's have it," says I. "What's gone wrong now?" + +"O-o-o la la!" says Leon. "O-o-o la la!" + +"That's right, sing it if you can't say it," says I. + +"Parbleu! Nom de Dieu! Les dindons!" he gasps. + +"Ah, can the ding-dong stuff, Leon," says I, "and let's hear the English +of it." + +"The--the turkeys!" he pants out. + +And that did get a groan out of me. "Once more!" says I. "Say, have a +heart! Can't anybody think of a more cheerful line? Turkeys! Well, shoot +it. They're still dead, I suppose?" + +"But no," says Leon. "They--they have return to life." + +"Oh come, Leon!" says I. "You must have been sampling some of them wine +dregs yourself. Do you mean to say----" + +"If M'sieu would but go and observe," puts in Leon. "Me, I have seen +them with my eye. Truly they are as in life." + +"Why, after we picked them last night I saw you throw them over the +fence," says I. + +"Even so," says Leon. "But come." + +Well, this time we had a full committee--Vee, Auntie, Basil, Madame +Battou, old Leon and myself--and we all trails out to the back lot. And +say, once again Leon is right. There they are, all huddled together on +the lowest branch of a bent-over apple tree and every last one of 'em as +shy of feathers as the back of your hand. It's the most indecent poultry +exhibit I ever saw. + +"My word!" says Basil, starin' through his thick glasses. + +"That don't half express it, Basil," says I. + +"But--but what happened to them?" he insists. + +"I hate to admit it," says I, "but they had a party yesterday. Uh-huh. +Wine dregs. And they got soused to the limit--paralyzed. Then, on the +advice of a turkey expert"--here I glances at Auntie--"we decided that +they were dead, and we picked 'em to conserve their feathers. Swell +idea, eh? Just a little mistake about their being utterly deceased, as +Leon put it. They were down, but not out. Look at the poor things now, +though." + +And then Vee has to snicker. "Aren't they just too absurd!" says she. +"See them shiver." + +"I should think they'd be blushin'," says I. "What's the next move?" I +asks Auntie. "Do I put in steam heat for 'em?" + +It takes Auntie a few minutes to recover, but when she does she's right +there with the bright little scheme. "We must make jackets for them," +says she. + +"Eh?" says I. + +"Certainly," she goes on. "They'll freeze if we don't. And it's +perfectly practical. Of course, I've never seen it done, but I'm sure +they'll get along just as well if their feathers were replaced by +something that will keep them warm." + +"Couldn't get the Red Cross ladies to knit sweaters for 'em, could we?" +I suggests. + +Auntie pays no attention to this, but asks Vee if she hasn't some old +flannel shirts, or something of the kind. + +Well, while they're plannin' out the new winter styles of turkey +costumes, Joe and Leon rigs up a wood stove in their coop, shoos the +flock in, and proceeds to warm 'em up. They took turns that night +keeping the fire going, I understand. + +And when I comes home Monday afternoon from the office I ain't even +allowed to say howdy to the youngster until I've been dragged out and +introduced triumphant to the only flock of custom-tailored turkeys in +the country. Auntie and Vee and Madame Battou sure had done a neat job +of costumin', considerin' the fact that they'd had no paper patterns to +go by. But somehow they'd doped out a one-piece union suit cut high in +the neck with sort of a knickerbocker effect to the lower end. Mostly +they seemed to have used an old near-silk quilted bathrobe of mine, but +I also recognized a khaki army shirt that I had no notion of throwin' in +the discard yet awhile. And if you'll believe it them gobblers was +struttin' around as chesty as if they hadn't lost a feather. + +"Aren't they just too cute for anything?" demands Vee. + +"Worse than that," says I, "they look almost as human as so many +floor-walkers. I hope they ain't going to be hard on clothes, for my +wardrobe wouldn't stand many such raids." + +"Oh, don't worry about that," says Vee. "We shall be eating one every +week or so." + +"Then don't let me know when the executions take place," says I. "As for +me, I shouldn't feel like tellin' Joe to kill one without an order from +the High Sheriff of the county." + +And say, if I'm ever buffaloed into buyin' any more live turkeys, I'm +going to demand a written guarantee that they're Prohibitionists. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +ERNIE AND HIS BIG NIGHT + + +I'm kind of glad I was with Ernie when he had his big night. If I hadn't +been I never would have believed it of him. Not if he'd produced +affidavits. No! It would have been too much of a strain on the +imagination. + +For somehow it's hard to connect Ernie with anything like that, even +when I've seen what I have. You could almost tell that, just by his +name--Ernest Sudders. And when I add that he's assistant auditor in the +Corrugated offices you ought to have the picture complete. You know what +assistant auditors are like. + +Ernie ran true to type. And then some. I expect there was one or two +other things he might have been; such as manager of a gift shop, or +window dresser for the misses' department, or music teacher in a girls' +boarding school. But I doubt if he'd ever been such a success as he was +at the high desk. Seemed like he was born to be an assistant auditor. He +was holding the job when I first came to the Corrugated as sub office +boy; he still has it, and I can think of only one party that could pry +him loose from it--the old boy with the long scythe. + +For one thing, Ernie gives all his time to being assistant auditor. Not +just office hours. I'll bet he's one even in his sleep. He looks the +part, dresses the part, thinks the part. He don't work at it, he lives +it. Talk about this four dimension stuff. Ernie gets along with two--up +the column from the bottom, and both ways from the decimal point. + +Not such a bad-lookin' chap, Ernie, only a bit stiff from the waist up. +You know, like he had his spine in a cast. Then there's the neck-apple. +Ernie fits his into a high white wing collar and sets it off with a +black ascot tie and a pearl stickpin. Also he sports the only black +cutaway that's worn reg'lar into the General Offices. Oh, yes, Ernie +could go on at a minute's notice as best man or pall-bearer. I don't +mean he's often called on to be either. He only wears that costume +because that's his idea of how an assistant auditor should be arrayed. + +One of these super-system birds, Ernie is. He could turn out an annual +report every Saturday if the directors asked for it. Never has to hunt +for a bunch of stray figures. He has everything cross-indexed neat and +accurate. He's that way about everything, always a spare umbrella and an +extra pair of rubbers in his locker, and he carries a pearl-handle +penknife in a chamois case. + +But in spite of all that I'm sorry to state that around the Corrugated +Ernie is rated as a walking joke. We all josh him, even up to Old +Hickory Ellins. The only ones he ever seems to mind much though are the +lady typists. The hardest thing he does during the day is when he has to +walk past that battery of near-vamps, for they never fail to lay down a +rolling eye barrage that gets him pink in the ears. + +Course, having noticed that, I generally use it as my cue for passing +pleasant words to Ernie. "Honest now," I'll ask him, "which one of them +Lizzie Mauds are you playin' as favorite these days, Ernie?" + +And Ernie, he'll color up like a fire hydrant and protest: "Now, say, +Torchy! You know very well I've never spoken to one of them." + +"Yes, you tell it well," I'll say, "but I'm onto you, old sport." + +I don't know how long I've been shooting stuff like that at Ernie, and +it always gets him going. I have a hunch, though, that he kind of likes +it. These skirt-shy boys usually do. And as a matter of fact I expect +the only female he ever looked square in the eye is that old maid sister +of his that he lives with somewhere over in Jersey. + +So this night when we were doing overtime together at the office and it +was a case of going out for dinner I'd planned to slip a little +something on Ernie by towin' him to a joint where the lights were +bright and they were apt to have silver buckets on the floor. I was +hoping he might see some perfect lady light up a cigarette, or maybe +give him a cut-up glance over the top of her fizz goblet. It would be +cheerin' to watch Ernie tryin' to let on he didn't notice. + +He'd already called Sister on the long distance telephone and told her +not to wait up for him, explainin' just what it was we was workin' on +and how we might not be through until quite late. And Sister had advised +him to be sure to wear his silk muffler and not to sleep past his +station if he had to take the 11:48 out. + +"Gosh, Ernie!" says I. "If you 're that way now what'll you be when +you're married?" + +"But I hadn't thought of getting married," says he. "Really!" + +"Yes," says I, "and you silent, thoughtless boys are the very ones who +jump into matrimony unexpected. Some evenin' you'll meet just the right +babidoll and the next thing we know you'll be sendin' us at home cards. +You act innocent enough in public, but I'll bet you're a bear when it +comes to workin' up to a quick clinch behind the palms." + +Ernie almost gasps with horror at the thought. + +"Oh, I wouldn't put it past you," says I. "I expect, though, you'd like +to have me class you among the great unkissed?" + +"As a matter of fact," says Ernie solemn, "I have never--Well, not +since I was a mere boy, at least. It--it's just happened so." + +"And you past thirty!" says I. "What a long spell to be out of luck!" + +So I suggests that we work through until about 7:45 and then hit the +Regal roof for a $2 feed and a view of some of this fancy skatin' +they're pullin' off there. But that ain't Ernie's plan at all. He has +his mouth all set for an oyster stew and a plate of crullers down in the +Arcade beanerie. + +"Ah, forget your old automatic habits for once," says I. "This dinner is +on the house, you know, so why not make it a reg'lar one? Come along." + +And for a wonder I persuades him to do it. I expect this idea of +chargin' it on the expense account hadn't occurred to him. + +Anyway, that's how it come we were piking through West Forty-fifth +Street with the first of the theater crowds, Ernie still protestin' that +he really didn't care for this sort of thing--cabaret stunts and all +that--and me kiddin' him along as usual, sayin' I'll bet the head waiter +would call him by his first name, when the net is cast sudden over +Ernie's head. + +I don't know which one of us saw her first. All I'm sure of is that we +both sort of slowed up and did the gawp act. You could hardly blame us, +for here in a taxi by the curb is--Well, it would take Robert Chambers a +page and a half at twenty cents a word to do her full justice, so I'll +just say she was a lovely lady. + +No, I ain't gettin' her mixed with any of Mr. Ziegfeld's stars, nor she +ain't any broker's bride plucked from the switch-board. She's the real +thing in the lady line, though how I knew it's hard to tell. Also she's +a home-grown siren that works without the aid of a lip-stick, permanent +wave, or an eyebrow pencil. Anyway, here she is leaning through the taxi +door and shootin' over the alluring smile. + +I couldn't quite believe it was meant for either of us until I'd scouted +around to see if there wasn't someone else in line. No, there wasn't. +And as Ernie is nearest, course I knows it's for him. + +"Ah, ha!" says I. "Who's your friend with the golden tresses?" + +That's what they were, all right. You don't see hair like that every +day, and it ain't the shade which can be produced at a beauty parlor. +It's the 18-karat kind, done up sort of loose and careless, but all the +more dangerous for that. And with that snowy white complexion, except +for the pink flush on the cheeks, and the big, starry blue eyes, she +sure is a stunner. + +"Do--do you think she means me?" whispers Ernie husky, as we stop in our +tracks. + +"Ah come!" says I. "This is no time to stall. If she hadn't spotted you +direct you might have let on you didn't see her, and strolled back +after you'd given me the slip. As it is, Ernie, I've got the goods on +you for once and you might as well----" + +"But I--I don't know her at all," insists Ernie. + +Just then, though, she reaches out a pair of bare arms and remarks real +folksy: "At last you've come, haven't you?" + +"Seems to be fairly well acquainted with you, though, Ernie boy," says +I. + +As for Ernie, he just stands there starin' bug-eyed and gaspy, as if he +didn't know what to do. Course, I couldn't tell why. I knew he always +had acted like a poor prune when he was kidded by the flossy key +pounders in the office, but almost any nut could see this was an +entirely different case. Here was a regular person, all dolled up in a +classy evening gown, with a fur-trimmed opera cape slippin' off her +shoulders. And she was givin' him the straight call. + +"But--but there must be some mistake," protests Ernie. + +"If there is," says I, "it's up to you to put the lady wise. You can't +walk off and leave her with her hands in the air, can you? Ah, don't be +a fish! Step up." + +With that I gives him a push and Ernie staggers over to the curb. + +"It's been so long," I hears the lady murmur, "but I knew you would +remember. Come." + +What Ernie said then I didn't quite catch, but the next thing I knew +he'd been dragged in, the chauffeur had got the signal, and as the taxi +started off toward Fifth Avenue I had a glimpse of what looked very much +like a fond clinch, with Ernie as the clinchee. + +And there I am left with my mouth open. I expect I hung up there fully +ten minutes, tryin' to dope out what had happened. Had Ernie just been +stallin' me off tryin' to establish an alibi? Or was it a case of poor +memory? No, that didn't seem likely. She wasn't the kind of a female +party a man could forget easy, if he'd ever really known her. Specially +a gink like Ernie who'd had such a limited experience. Nor she wasn't +the type that would go out cruisin' in a cab after perfect strangers. +Not her. Besides, hadn't she recognized Ernie on sight? Then there was +the quick clinch. No discountin' that. Whoever it was it's somebody who +don't hesitate to hug Ernie right in public. And yet he sticks to it, +right up to the last, that he don't know her. Well, I gave it up. + +"Either he's a foxier sport than we've been givin' him credit for," +thinks I, "or else the lady has made the mistake of her life. If she has +she'll soon find it out and Ernie will be trailing back on the hunt for +me." + +But after walkin' up and down the block three times without seeing +anything that looked like Ernie I dodges into a chop-house and has a +bite all by my lonesome. Then I wanders back to the general offices and +tries to wind up what we'd been workin' on. But I couldn't help +wondering about Ernie. Had he just plain buffaloed me, or what? If he +had, who was his swell lady friend? And how did she come to be waitin' +there in the taxi? By the way she was costumed she might have been on +her way to some dinner dance on Fifth Avenue. That was a perfectly +spiffy evening dress she had on, what there was of it. And I could +remember jewels sparklin' here and there. Course, she was no chicken; +somewhere under thirty would have been my guess, but she sure was easy +to look at. Such eyes, too! Yes, a little starry maybe, but big and +sparkly. No wonder Ernie didn't care to look at any of our lady typists +if he had that in the background. + +So I wasn't gettin' ahead very fast untanglin' them dockage contracts, +and before 11 o'clock I was yawning. I'd just decided to quit and loaf +around the station until the theater train was ready when I hears an +unsteady step in the outer office and the next minute in blows Ernie. + +That is, it's somebody who looks a little as Ernie did three hours +before. But his derby is busted in on one side, one end of his wing +collar has been carried away and is ridin' up towards his left ear, his +coat is all dusty, and his face is flushed up like a new fire truck. + +"For the love of soup!" says I, gaspy. "Must have been some party?" + +Ernie, he braces himself by grippin' a chair-back and makes a stab at +recoverin' his usual stiff-neck pose. But it's a flat failure. So he +gives up, waves one hand around vague, and indulges in a foolish smile. + +"Wha'--wha' makes you think sho--party?" he demands. + +"I got second sight, Ernie," says I, "and it tells me you've been +spilled off the wagon." + +"You--you think I--I've been drinkin'?" asks Ernie indignant. + +"Oh, no," says I. "I should say you'd been using a funnel." + +"Tha's--tha's because you have 'spischus nashur'," protests Ernie. +"Merely few glasshes. You know--bubblesh in stem." + +"Champagne, eh?" says I. "Then it was a reg'lar party? Ernie, I am +surprised at you." + +"You--you ain't half so shurprised as--as I am myshelf," says he, +chucklin'. "Tha's what I told Louishe." + +"Oh, you mentioned it to Louise, did you?" says I. "I expect that was +the lovely lady who carted you off in the taxi?" + +He nods and springs another one of them silly smiles. "Tha's ri'," says +he. "The lovely Louishe." + +"Tell me, Ernie," says I, "how long has this been going on?" + +And what do you suppose this fathead has the front to spring on me? That +this was the first time he'd ever seen her. Uh-huh! He sticks to that +tale. Even claims he don't know what the rest of her name is. + +"Louishe, tha's all," says he. "Th' lovely Louishe." + +"Oh, very well," says I. "We'll let it ride at that. And I expect she +picked you out all on account of your compelling beauty? Must have been +a sudden case, from the fond clinch I saw you gettin' as the cab +started." + +Ernie closed his eyes slow, like he was goin' over the scene again, and +then remarks: "Thash when I begun to be surprished. Louishe has most +affec-shanate nashur." + +"So it would seem," says I. "But where did the party take place?" + +That little detail appears to have escaped Ernie. He remembered that +there were pink candles on the table, and music playing, and a lot of +nice people around. Also that the waiter's head was shiny, like an egg. +He thought it must have been at some hotel on Fifth Avenue. Yes, they +went in through a sidewalk canopy. It was a very nice dinner, +too--'specially the pheasant and the parfait in the silver cup. And it +was so funny to watch the bubbles keep coming up through the glass stem. + +"Yes," says I, "that's one of New York's favorite winter sports. But +who was all this on--Louise?" + +"She insists I'm her guesh," says Ernie. + +"That made it very nice, then, didn't it?" says I. "But none of this +accounts for the dent in your hat and the other rough-house signs. +Somebody must have got real messy with you at some stage in the game. +Remember anything about that?" + +"Oh!" says Ernie, stiffenin' up and tryin' to scowl. "Most--most +disagreeable persons. Actually rude." + +"Who and where?" I insists. + +"Louishe's family," says Ernie. "I--I don't care for her family. No. +Sorry, but----" + +"Mean to say Louise took you home after dinner?" says I. + +Ernie nods. "Wanted me to meet family," says he. "Dear old daddy, +darling mother, sho on. 'Charmed,' says I. I was willing to meet anyone +then. Right in the mood. 'Certainly,' says I. Feeling friendly. Patted +waiter on back, waved to orchestra leader, shook handsh with perfect +stranger going out. Went to lovely house, uptown somewhere. Fine ol' +butler, fine ol' rugsh in hall, tapeshtries on wall. And then--then----" + +Ernie slumps into a chair, pushes the loose collar end away from his +chin fretful, and indulges in a deep sigh. I expect he thinks he's told +the whole story. + +"I take it," says I, "that you did meet dear old daddy?" + +"Washn't so very old, at thash," says Ernie. "No. Nor such a dear. +Looksh like--like Teddy Roosh'velt. Behavesh like Teddy, too. +Im--impeshuous. Very firsh thing he says is, 'And who the devil are +you?' 'Guesh?' I tells him. 'Give you three guesshes.' He--he's no good +as guessher, daddy. Grabsh me by the collar. 'You, you loafer!' says he. +Then the lovely Louishe comes to rescue. 'Can't you see, daddy?' she +tells him. 'It's Ernie. Found him at lash.' 'Ernie who?' demandsh daddy. +'I--I forget,' says Louishe. 'Bah!' saysh daddy. 'Lash time it was +Harold, wasn't it?' 'Naughty, naughty!' saysh I. 'Mustn't tell talesh. +Bad form, daddy. Lessh all be calm now and--and we'll tell you about +dinner--bubblesh in the glass, 'n'everything. Louishe and I. Lovely +girl, Louishe. Affecshonate nashur.' And thash as far as I got. +Different nashur, daddy." + +"I gather that he didn't insist on your staying?" says I. + +No, he hadn't. As near as I could make out dear old daddy took a firm +grip on Ernie in two places, and while the fine old butler held the +front door open he got more impetuous than ever. As Ernie tells me about +it he rubs himself reminiscent and gazes sorrowful at his dented derby. + +"Mosh annoying," says he. "Couldn't even shay good night to lovely +Louishe." + +"Oh, well," says I. "You can make up for that when you pay your dinner +call. By the way, where was this home of the lovely Louise?" + +Ernie doesn't know. When he'd arrived he was too busy to notice the +street and number, and when he came out he was too much annoyed. Also he +didn't remember having heard Louise's last name. + +"Huh!" says I. "Except for that everything is all clear, eh? It strikes +me, Ernie, as if you'd worked up a perfectly good mystery. You've been +kidnapped by a lovely lady, had a swell dinner, with plenty of fizz on +the side, been introduced to a strong-arm father, and finished on the +sidewalk with your lid caved in. And for an assistant auditor who +blushes as easy as you do that's what I call kind of a large evening." + +Ernie nods. Then he chuckles to himself, sort of satisfied, and remarks +mushy: "Lovely girl, Louishe." + +"Yes, we've admitted all that," says I. "But who the blazes is she?" + +Ernie rumples his hair thoughtful and then shakes his head. + +"But during all that time didn't she say anything about herself, or give +you any hint?" I goes on. + +Ernie can't remember that she did. + +"What was all the chat about?" I demands. + +"Oh, everything," says Ernie. "She--she said she'd been looking for me +long timesh. Knew me by--by my eyesh." + +"How touching!" says I. "That must have been during the clinch." + +"Yes," says Ernie. "But nexsh time----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "if you don't know what her name is, or where she +lives, how do you figure on a next time?" + +"Thash so," says Ernie. "Too bad." + +"Still," says I, "the kiss stringency in your young career has been +lifted, hasn't it? And now it's about time I fixed you up and towed you +out to a hotel where you can hit the feathers for about ten hours. My +hunch is that a pitcher of ice water is going to look mighty good to you +in the morning. And maybe by tomorrow noon you can remember more details +about Louise than you can seem to dig up now." + +You can't always tell about these birds who surprise you that way. I was +only an hour late in getting to the office myself next day, but I finds +Ernie at his desk looking hardly any the worse for wear, and grinding +away as usual. He looks a little sheepish when I ask him if Louise has +'phoned him yet. + +"S-s-sh!" says he, glancin' around cautious. "Please!" + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Trust me. I'm no sieve. But I'm wondering if +you'll ever run across her again." + +"I--I don't know," says Ernie. "It all seems so vague and queer. I can't +recall much of anything except that Louise---- Well, she did show rather +a fondness for me, you know; and perhaps, some time or other----" + +"Yes," says I, "lightnin' does occasionally strike twice in the same +place. But not often, Ernie." + +He's a wonder, Ernie is. Seems satisfied to let it go as it stands, +without trying to dope anything out. But me, I can't let anybody bat a +mystery like that up to me without going through a few Sherlock Holmes +motions. So that evening finds me wandering through Forty-fifth Street +again at about the same hour. Not that I expected to find the same +lovely lady ambushed in a cab. I don't know just what I was looking for. + +And then, all of a sudden, I gets my eye on this yellow taxi. It's an +odd shade of yellow, something like a pale squash pie; a big, lumbering +old bus that had been repainted by some amateur. And I was willing to +bet there wasn't another in town just like it. Also it's the one Ernie +had stepped into the night before, for there's the same driver wearing +the identical square-topped brown derby. Only there's no Louise waiting +inside. + +They're a shifty bunch, these independents. Some you can hire for a +bank robbing job or a little act with gun play in it, and some you +can't. This mutt looked like he'd be up to anything. But when I asks him +if he remembers the lady in the evening dress he had aboard last night +he just looks stupid and shakes his head. + +"Oh, it's all right," says I. "No come-back to it." + +"Mebby so," says he, "but my big line, son, is forgettin' things." + +"Would this help your memory any?" says I, slippin' him a couple of +dollars. + +He grins and stows it away the kale. "Aw, you mean the party with the +wild eyes, eh?" he asks. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "I was just curious to know where you picked her up." + +"That's easy," says he. "She came out of there, third door above. I get +most of my fares from there." + +"Oh," says I, steppin' out for a squint. "Looks like a private house." + +"It's private, all right," says he, "but it's a home for dippy ones. You +know," and he taps his head. "She's a sample. I've had her before. They +slip out now and then. Last night she made her getaway through the +basement door. I expect she's back by now." + +"Yes," says I, "I expect she is." + +And I don't need to ask any more. The mystery of the lovely Louise has +been cleared up complete. + +First off I was going to tell Ernie all about it, but when I saw him +sitting there at his high desk, gazin' sort of blank at nothing at all +and kind of smilin' reminiscent, I didn't have the heart. Instead, I +asks confidential, as usual: + +"Any word yet from Louise?" + +"Not yet," says Ernie, "but then----" + +"I get you," says I. "And I got to hand it to you, Ernie; you're a cagey +old sport, even if you don't look it." + +He don't deny. Hadn't I seen him start on his big night? And say, he's +gettin' so he can walk past that line of lady typists and give 'em the +once over without changin' color in the ears. He's almost skirt broken, +Ernie is. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +HOW BABE MISSED HIS STEP + + +What Babe Cutler was plannin' certainly listened like a swell party--the +kind you read about. He was going to round up three other sports like +himself, charter a nice comfortable yacht, and spend the winter knockin' +about in the West Indies, with a bunch of bananas always hangin' under +the deck awning aft and a cabin steward forward mixing planter's punch +every time the sun got over the yard arm. + +"The lucky stiff!" thinks I, as I heard him runnin' over some of the +details to Mr. Robert, who he thinks can maybe be induced to join. + +"Oh, come along, Bob!" says he. "We'll stop off for a look at Palm Beach +on the way down, hang up a few days at Knight's Key for shark fishing, +then run over to Havana for a week of golf, drop around to Santiago and +cheer up Billy Pickens out on his blooming sugar plantation, cross over +to Jamaica and have some polo with the military bunch up at +Newcastle--little things like that. Besides, we can always have a game +of deuces wild going evenings and----" + +"No use, Babe," breaks in Mr. Robert. "It can't be done. That sort of +thing is all well enough for a foot-loose old bach such as you, but with +me it's quite different." + +"The little lady at home, eh?" says Babe. "I'll bet she'd be glad to get +rid of you for a couple of months." + +"Flatterer!" says Mr. Robert. "And I suppose you think I wouldn't be +missed from the Corrugated Trust, either?" + +"I'll bet a hundred you could hand your job over to Torchy here and the +concern would never know the difference," says Babe, winkin' friendly at +me. "Anyway, don't turn me down flat. Take a day or so to think it +over." + +And with that Mr. Cutler climbs into his mink-lined overcoat, slips me a +ten spot confidential as he passes my desk, and goes breezin' out +towards Broadway. The ten, I take it, is a retainer for me to boost the +yachtin' enterprise. I shows it to Mr. Robert and grins. + +"There's only one Babe," says he. "He'd offer a tip to St. Peter, or +suggest matching quarters to see whether he was let in or barred out." + +"He's what I'd call a perfect sample of the gay and careless sport," +says I. "How does it happen that he's escaped the hymeneal noose so +long?" + +"Because marriage has never been put up to him as a game, a sporting +proposition in which you can either win or lose out," says Mr. Robert. +"He thinks it's merely a life sentence that you get for not watching +your step. Just as well, perhaps, for Babe isn't what you would call +domestic in his tastes. Give him a 'Home, Sweet Home' motto and he'd +tack it inside his wardrobe trunk." + +I expect that's a more or less accurate description, for Mr. Robert has +known him a long time. And yet, you can't help liking Babe. He ain't one +of these noisy tin-horns. He dresses as quiet as he talks, and among +strangers he'd almost pass for a shy bank clerk having a day off. He's +the real thing though when it comes to pleasant ways of spending time +and money; from sailing a 90-footer in a cup race, to qualifying in the +second flight at Pinehurst. No shark at anything particular, I +understand, but good enough to kick in at most any old game you can +propose. + +Also he's an original I. W. W. Uh-huh. Income Without Work. That was +fixed almost before he was born, when his old man horned in on a big +mill combine and grabbed off enough preferred stock to fill a packing +case. Maybe you think you have no interest in financin' Babe Cutler's +career. But you have. Can't duck it. Every time you eat a piece of +bread, or a slice of toast or a bit of pie crust you're contributin' to +Babe's dividends. And he knows about as much how flour is made as he +does about gettin' up in the night to warm a bottle for little +Tootsums. Which isn't Babe's fault any more than it's yours. As he'd +tell you himself, if the case was put up to him, it's all in the +shuffle. + +He must have had some difficulty organizin' his expedition, for that +same afternoon, when I eases myself off the 4:03 at Piping Rock--having +quit early, as a private sec-de-luxe should now and then--who should +show up at the station but Mr. Cutler in his robin's-egg blue sport +phaeton with the white wire wheels. + +"I say," he says, "didn't Bob come out, too?" + +"No," says I. "I think he and Mrs. Ellins have a dinner party on in +town." + +"Bother!" says Babe. "I was counting on him for an hour or so of +billiards and another go at talking up the cruise. We'll land him yet, +eh, Torchy? Hop in and I'll run you out home." + +So I climbs aboard, Babe opens the cut-out, and we make a skyrocket +start. + +"How about swinging around the country club and back through the middle +road? No hurry, are you?" he asks. + +"Not a bit," says I, glancin' at the speedometer, which was touchin' +fifty. + +"Nor I," says Babe. "I'm spending my annual week-end with Sister Mabel, +you know. Good old scout, Mabel, but I can't say I enjoy visiting there. +Runs her house too much for the children. Only three of 'em, but +they're all over the place--climbing on you, mauling you, tripping you +up. Nurses around, too. Regular kindergarten effect. And the youngsters +are always being bathed, or fed, or put to sleep. So I try to keep out +of the way until dinner." + +"I see," says I. "You ain't strong for kids?" + +"Oh, I don't mind 'em when they're kept in their place," says Babe. "But +when they insist on giving you oatmealy kisses, or paw you with sticky +fingers--no, thanks. Can't tell Mabel that, though. She seems to think +they are all little wonders. And Dick is just as bad--rushes home early +every afternoon so he can have half an hour with 'em. Huh!" + +"Maybe you'll feel different," says I, "if you ever collect a family of +your own." + +"Me?" says Babe. "Fat chance!" + +I couldn't help agreein' with him. I could see now why he'd shied +matrimony so consistent. With sentiments like that he'd looked on Sister +Mabel as a horrible example. Besides, followin' sports the way he did, a +wife and kids wouldn't fit in at all. + +We'd made half the circle and was tearing along the middle road on the +back stretch at a Vanderbilt cup gait when all of a sudden Babe jams on +the emergency and we skids along until we brings up a few yards beyond +where this young lady is flaggin' us frantic with a pink-lined +throw-scarf. + +"What the deuce!" asks Babe, starin' back. + +"Looks like a help wanted hail," says I. "She's got a bunch of +youngsters with her and--yep, one of 'em is all gory. See!" + +"O Lord!" groans Babe. "Well, I suppose I must." + +As he backs up the machine I stretches my neck around and takes a look +at this wayside group. Three little girls are huddled panicky around +this young party who wears a brown velvet tam at such a rakish angle on +top of her wavy brown hair. And cuddled up in her left arm she's holdin' +a chubby youngster whose face is smeared with blood something startlin'. + +"You don't happen to be a doctor, do you?" she demands of Babe. + +"Heavens, no!" says he. + +"But perhaps you know what to do to stop nose bleeding?" she goes on. + +"Why, let's see," says Babe. "Oh, yes! Put a cold door key on the back +of his neck." + +"Or a piece of brown paper on his tongue," I adds. + +The young lady shrugs her shoulders disappointed. "I've tried all that," +says she, "and an ice pack, too. But it's no use. I must get him to a +doctor right away. There's one about a mile down this road. Couldn't you +take us?" + +"Sure thing!" says Babe. "Torchy, you can hang on the back, can't you?" + +"Oh, I can walk home," says I. + +"No, no," says Babe, hasty. "You--you'd best come along." + +So I helps load in the young lady and the claret drippin' youngster, +drapes myself on the spare tires, and we're off. + +"Is it little brother?" asks Babe, glancin' at the kid. + +"Mine?" says the young lady. "Of course not. I'm Lucy Snell--one of the +teachers at the public school back there at the cross-roads. Some of the +children always insist on walking part way home with me, especially +little Billy here. Usually he behaves very nicely, but today he seems to +be out of luck. His nose started leaking fully half an hour ago. He must +have leaked quarts and quarts, all over himself and me. You wouldn't +think he could have a drop left in him. I was just about crazy when I +saw you coming. There's Dr. Baker's house on the right around that next +curve. And say, there's some speed to this bus of yours, Mr.--er----" + +"Cutler," says Babe. "Here we are. Anything more I can do?" + +"Why," says Miss Snell, as I'm unbuttonin' the door for her, "you might +stick around a few minutes to see if he wants little Billy taken to the +hospital or anything. I'll let you know." And with that she trips in. + +"Lively young party, eh?" I remarks to Babe. "Don't mind askin' for what +she wants." + +"Perfectly all right, too," says he, "in a case like this. She isn't one +of the helpless kind. Some pep to her, I'll bet. Lucy, eh? I always did +like that name." + +I had to chuckle. "What about the Snell part?" says I. "That one of your +favorite names, too?" + +"N--n--no," says Babe. "But she'll probably change that some of these +days. She's the sort that does, you know." + +"I expect you are right, at that," I agrees. + +Pretty soon out she comes again, calm and smilin'. It's some smile she +has, by the way. Wide and generous and real folksy. And now that the +scare has faded out of her eyes they have more or less snap to 'em. +They're the bright brown kind, that match her hair, and the freckles +across the bridge of her nose. + +"It's all right," says she. "Dr. Baker says the ice pack did the trick. +And he'll take Billy home as soon as he's cleaned him up a bit. Thanks, +Mr. Cutler." + +"Oh, I might as well drive you home, too, and finish the job," says +Babe. + +"Well, I'm not missing anything like that, I can tell you," says Miss +Snell. "I'm simply soaked with that youngster's gore. But I live way +back on the other road. My! Billy dripped some on your seat cushions, +didn't he?" + +"Oh, that will wash out," says Babe careless. "You're fond of +youngsters, I suppose?" + +"Well, in a way I am," says she. "I'm used to 'em anyway, being one of +six myself. That's why I'm out teaching--makes one less for Dad to have +to rustle for. He keeps the little plumber's shop down opposite the +station. You've seen the sign--T. Snell." + +"I've no doubt I have," says Babe. "And you--you like teaching, do you?" + +"Why, I can't say I'm dead in love with it," says Miss Snell. "Not this +second grade stuff, anyway. It's all I could qualify for, though. This +is my second year at it. I don't suppose you ever taught second grade +yourself, did you?" + +Babe almost gasps, but admits that he never has. + +"Then take my advice and don't tackle it," says Miss Snell. "Not that +you would, of course, but that's what I tell all the girls who think I +have such a soft snap with my Saturdays off and a two months' summer +vacation. Believe me, you need it after you've drilled forty youngsters +all through a term. D-o-g, dog; c-a-t, cat. Why will the little imps +sing it through their noses? It's the same with the two-times table. And +they can be so stupid! I don't believe I was meant for a teacher, +anyway, for it all seems so useless to me, making them go through all +that, and keeping still for hours and hours, when they want so much to +be outdoors playing around. I'd like to be out myself." + +"But after school hours," suggests Babe, "you surely have time to go in +for sports of some kind." + +"What do you mean, sports?" asks Miss Snell. + +"Oh, tennis, or horseback riding, or golf," says Babe. + +She turns around quick and stares at him. "Are you kidding?" she +demands. "Or do you want to get me biting my upper lip? Say, on five +hundred a year, with board to pay and clothes to buy, you can't go in +very heavy for sports. I did blow myself to a tennis racquet and +rubber-soled shoes last summer and my financial standing has been below +par ever since. As for spare time, there's no such thing. When I've +finished helping Ma do the supper dishes there's always a pile of lesson +papers to go over, and reports to make out. And Saturdays I can do my +washing and mending, maybe shampoo my hair or make over a hat or +something. Can you figure in any chance for golf or horseback riding? I +can't, even if club dues were free to schoolma'ams and the board should +send around a lot of spotted ponies for our use. Not that I wouldn't +like to give those things a whirl once. I'm just foolish enough to +think I could do the sport stuff with the best of 'em." + +"I'll bet you could, too," says Babe, enthusiastic. "You--you're just +the type." + +"Yes," says Miss Snell, "and a fat lot of good that's going to do me. So +what's the use talking? In a year or so I suppose I'll be swinging a +broom around my own little flat, coaxing a kitchen range to hump itself +at 6:30 a.m., and hanging out a Monday wash for two." + +"Oh!" says Babe. "Then you've picked out the lucky chap?" + +"I don't know whether he's lucky or not," says she. "It isn't really +settled, anyway. Pete Snyder has been hanging around for some time, and +I expect I'll give in if he keeps it up. He's Dad's helper, you know, +and he isn't more'n half as dumb as he looks. Gosh! Here we are. I hope +none of the kids see you bringing me home and tell Pete about it. He'd +be green in the eye for a week. Good-by, Mr. Cutler, and much obliged." + +As she skips out and up the path toward the little ramshackle cottage +she turns and flashes one of them wide smiles on Babe and gives him a +friendly wave. + +"Well," says I. "Pete might do worse." + +"I believe you," says Babe, kind of solemn. + +Course, I didn't keep any close track of Mr. Cutler for the next few +days. There was no special reason why I should. I supposed he was busy +makin' up his quartette for that Southern cruise. So about a week later +I'm mildly surprised to hear that he's still stayin' on over at Sister +Mabel's. I didn't really suspicion anything until one afternoon, along +in the middle of January, when as I steps off the 5:10 I gets a glimpse +of Babe's blue racer waitin' at the crossing gates. And snuggled down +under the fur robe beside him, with her cheeks pinked up by the crisp +air and her brown eyes sparklin', is Miss Lucy Snell. + +"Huh!" thinks I. "Still goin' on, eh? Or has Billy's little beak had +another leaky spell?" + +Couldn't have been many days after that before I comes home to find Vee +all excited over some news she'd heard from Mrs. Robert Ellins. + +"What do you think, Torchy!" says she. "That bachelor friend of Mr. +Robert, a Mr. Cutler, was married last night." + +"Eh!" says I. "Babe?" + +"Yes," says Vee. "And to a village girl, daughter of T. Snell, the +plumber. And his married sister is perfectly wild about it. Isn't it +dreadful?" + +"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Might turn out all right." + +"But--but she's a poor little school-teacher," protests Vee, "and Mr. +Cutler is--is----" + +"A rich sport," I puts in, "who's always had what he wanted. And I +expect he thought he wanted Miss Snell. Looks so, don't it?" + +I understand that Sister Mabel threw seven kinds of fits, and that the +country club set was all worked up over the affair, specially one of the +young ladies that had played in mixed foursomes with Babe and probably +had the net out for him. But he didn't come back to apologize or +anything like that. And the next we heard was that the happy pair had +started for Florida on their honeymoon. + +Well, that seemed to finish the incident. Mr. Robert hunches his +shoulders and allows that Babe is old enough to manage his own affairs. +Sister Mabel calmed down, and the disappointed young ladies crossed Babe +off the last-hope list. Besides, a perfectly good scandal broke out in +the bridge playing and dancing set, and Babe Cutler's rapid little +romance was forgotten. Five or six Sundays came and went, with Mondays +following regular. + +And then here the other afternoon, as I'm camped down next to the car +window on my way home, who should tap me on the shoulder but the same +old Babe. That is, unless you looked close. For there's a worried, +puzzled look in his wide set eyes and he don't spring the usual hail. + +"Hello!" says I. "Ain't lost your baggage checks, have you?" + +"It's worse than that," says he. "I--I've lost--Lucy." + +"Wha-a-t!" says I, gaspy. "You don't mean she--she's----" + +"No," says Babe. "She's just quit me and gone home." + +"But--but why?" I blurted out. + +"Lord knows," groans Babe. "That's what I want to find out." + +Honest, it listens like a first-class mystery. According to him they'd +been staying at one of the swellest joints he could find in the whole +state of Florida. Also he'd bought Lucy all the kinds of clothes she +would let him buy, from sport suits to evening gowns. She'd taken up a +lot of different things, too--golf, riding, swimming, dancing. Seemed to +be having a bully time when--bang! She breaks out into a weepy spell and +announces that she is going home. Does it, too, all by her lonesome, +leaving Babe to trail along by the next train. + +"And for the life of me, Torchy," he declares, "I can't imagine why." + +"Well, let's try to piece it out," says I. "First off, how have you been +spending your honeymoon?" + +"Oh, golf mostly," says he. "I was runner up in the big tournament." + +"I see," says I. "Thirty-six holes a day, eh?" + +He nods. + +"And a jack-pot session with the old crowd every evening?" I asks. + +"Oh, only now and then," says he. + +"With a few late parties down in the grill?" I goes on. + +"Not a party," says Babe. "State's dry, you know. No, generally we went +into the ballroom evenings and I helped Lucy try out the new steps she +was learning." + +"You did!" says I. "Then I give it up." + +"Me too," says Babe. "But I'm not going to give up Lucy. Say, she's a +regular person, she is. She was making good, too, and having a whale of +a time when all of a sudden--Say, Torchy, if it was some break I made I +want to know it, so I can square myself. She wouldn't tell me; wouldn't +have a word to say. But listen, perhaps if you asked her----" + +"Hey, back up!" says I. + +"You know, if it hadn't been for you I might never have seen her," he +goes on. "You were there when it began, and if there's to be a finish +you might as well be in on that, too. I've got to know what it was I +did, though. Honest, I can't remember anything particularly raw. Been +chewing over it for two nights. If you could just----" + +Well, at the end of ten minutes I agrees to go up to the plumber's +house, and if the new Mrs. Cutler will see me I says I'll put it up to +her. + +"But you got to come along and hang around outside while I'm doing it," +I insists. + +"I'll do anything that either you or Lucy asks," says he. "I'll go the +limit." + +"That listens fair enough," says I. + +So that's how it happens I'm waitin' in the plumber's parlor for Babe +Cutler's runaway bride. And say, when she shows up in that zippy sport +suit, just in from a long tramp across country, she looks some classy. +First off she's inclined to be nervous and jumpy and don't want to talk +about Babe at all. + +"Oh, he's all right," says she. "I have nothing against him. He--he +meant well." + +"As bad as that, was he?" says I. "I shall hate to tell him." + +"But it wasn't Babe, at all," she insists. "Don't you dare say it was, +either. If you must know, it was that awful hotel life. I--I just +couldn't stand it." + +"Eh?" says I, and I expect I must have been gawpin' some. "Why, I +understand you were at one of the swellest----" + +"We were," says she. "That was the trouble. And I suppose if I'd known +how, I might have had a swell time. But I didn't. I'd had no practice. +And say, if you think you can learn to be a regular winter resort person +in a few weeks just try it once. I did. I went at it wholesale. All of +the things I'd wanted to do and thought I could do, I tackled. It looks +like a lot of fun to see those girls start off with their golf clubs. +Seems easy to swing a driver and crack out the little white ball. Take +it from me, though, it's nothing of the kind. Why, I spent hours and +hours out on the practice tee with a grouchy Scotch professional trying +my best to hit it right. And I couldn't. At the end of three weeks I was +still a duffer. All I'd accumulated were palm callouses and a backache. +Yet I knew just how it should be done. I can repeat it now. One--you +take your 'stance. Two--you start the head of the club back in a +straight line with the left wrist. Three--you come up on your left toe +and bend the right knee. And so on. Yet I'd dub the ball only a few +yards. + +"Then, when that was over, I'd go in and change for my dancing lessons. +More one--two--three stuff. And say, some of these new jazz steps are +queer, aren't they? I'd about got three or four all mixed up in my head +when I'd have to run and jump into my riding habit and go through a +different lot of one--two--three motions. And just as I'd lamed myself +in a lot of new places there would come the swimming lesson. I thought I +could swim some, too. I learned one summer down at Far Rockaway. But it +seems that was old stuff. They aren't doing that now. No, it's the +double side stroke, the Australian crawl, and a lot more. One, two, +three, four, five, six. Legs straight, chin down, and roll on the +three. And if you dream it's a pleasure to have a big husk of an +instructor pump your arms back and forth for an hour, and say sarcastic +things to you when you get mixed, with a whole gallery of fat old women +and grinning old sports looking on--Well, I'm tellin' you it's fierce. +Ab-so-lutely. It was the swimming lesson that finished me. Especially +the counting. 'Why, Lucy Snell, you poor prune,' says I to myself, +'you're not having a good time. You're back in school, second grade, and +the dunce of the class.' That's what I was, too. A flat failure. And +when I got to thinking of how Babe would take it when he found +out--Well, it got on my nerves so that I simply made a run for home. +There! You can tell him all about it, and I suppose he'll never want to +see or hear of me again." + +"Maybe," says I, "but I have my doubts. Anyway, it won't take long to +make a test." + +And when I'd left her and strolled out to the gate where Babe is pacin' +up and down anxious, he demands at once: "Well, did you find out?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. + +"Was--was it something I did?" he asks trembly. + +"Sure it was," says I. "You let her in for an intensive training act +that would make the Paris Island marine school grind look like a wand +drill. You should have had better sense, too. Why, what she was trying +to sop up in six weeks most young ladies give as many years to. Near as +I can judge she was making a game play of it, too. But of course she +couldn't last out. And it's a wonder she didn't wind up at a nerve +sanitarium." + +"Honest!" says Babe, beamin' on me and grabbin' my hand. "Is--is that +all?" + +"Ain't that enough?" says I. + +"But that's so easy fixed," says he. "Why, I am bored stiff at these +resort places myself. I thought, though, that Lucy was having the time +of her young life. What a chump I was not to see! Say, we'll take a +fresh start. And next time, believe me, she's going to have just what +she wants. That is, if I can persuade her to give me another trial." + +It seems he did, for later on he tells me he's bought that cute little +stucco cottage over near the country club and that him and Lucy are +going to settle down like regular people. + +"With a nursery and all?" I asks. + +"There's no telling," says Babe. + +And with that we swaps grins. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +HARTLEY AND THE G. O. G.'S + + +"Oh, I say, Torchy," calls out Mr. Robert, as I'm reachin' for my hat +here the other noon, "you don't happen to be going up near the club on +your way to luncheon, do you?" + +"Not today," says I. "I'm lunchin' with the general staff." + +"Oh!" says he, grinnin'. "In that case never mind." + +And for fear you shouldn't be wise to this little office joke of ours +maybe I'd better explain that who I meant was Hartley Grue, assistant +chief of our bond room force. + +Just goes to show how hard up we are for comic stuff in the Corrugated +Trust these days when we can squeeze a laugh out of such a +serious-minded party as Hartley. But you know how it is. I expect some +of them green-eyed clerks on the tall stools started callin' him that +when the War Department first turned him loose and he reports back to +tackle the old job wearin' the custom tailored uniform with the gold bar +on his shoulders. And I admit the rest of us might have found something +better to do than listen to them Class B-4 patriots who would have +helped save the world for democracy if the war had lasted a couple years +more. + +Still, that general staff tag for Mr. Grue tickled us a bit. As a matter +of fact he did come back--from the Hoboken piers--about as military as +they made 'em. And to hear him talk about the Aisne drive and the St. +Mihiel campaign and so on you'd think he must have been right at +Pershing's elbow durin' the whole muss, instead of at Camp Mills and +later on at the docks on a transport detail. But he gets away with it, +even among us who have watched all the details of his martial career. + +For the big war gave Hartley his chance, and he grabbed it as eager as a +park squirrel nabbin' a peanut. He'd been hangin' on here in the bond +room for five or six years, edgin' up step by step until he got to be +assistant chief, but at that he wasn't much more'n an office drudge. +Everybody ordered him around, from Old Hickory down to Mr. Piddie. He +was one of the kind that you naturally would, being sort of meek and +spineless. He'd been brought up that way, I understand, for his old man +was a chronic grouch--thirty years at a railroad ticket office +window--and I expect he lugged his ticket sellin' disposition home with +him. + +Anyway, Hartley had that cheap, hang-dog look, like he was always +listenin' for somebody to hand him something rough and would be +disappointed if they didn't. And yet he was quick enough to resent +anything if he thought it was safe. You'd see him scowlin' over his +books and he carried a constant flush under his eyes, as if he'd been +slapped recent across the face, or expected to be. Not what you'd call a +happy disposition, Hartley; nor was he just the type you'd pick out to +handle a bunch of men. + +All he had to start with was a couple of years' trainin' as a private in +one of the National Guard regiments. I suppose he knew "guide right" +from "left oblique" and how to ground arms without mashin' somebody's +pet corn. But I don't think anybody suspected he had any wild military +ambitions concealed under that 2x4 dome of his. Yet while most of us was +still pattin' Wilson on the back for keepin' us out of war Hartley had +already severed diplomatic relations and was wearin' a flag in his +buttonhole. + +When the first Plattsburg camp was organized Hartley was among the first +to get a month's leave of absence and report. He didn't make it, being a +little shy on the book stuff, besides lacking ten pounds or more for his +height. But that didn't discourage him. He begun taking correspondence +courses, eating corn meal mush twice a day, and cutting out the smokes. +And after a four weeks' whirl at the second officers' training camp he +squeezed through, coming out as a near lieutenant. Old Hickory Ellins +gasped some when Hartley showed up with the bar on his shoulders, but he +gave him the husky grip and notified him that his leave was extended for +the duration of the war with half pay. + +And the next we heard from Hartley he was located at Camp Mills drillin' +recruit companies. Two or three times he dropped in to say he expected +to be sent over, but each time something or other happened to keep him +within a trolley ride of Broadway. Once he was caught in a mumps +quarantine just as his division got sailing orders, and again he +developed some trouble with one of his knees. Finally Hartley threw out +that someone at headquarters was blockin' him from gettin' to the front, +and at last he got stuck with this dock detail, which he never got loose +from until he was turned out for good. Way up to the end, though, +Hartley still talked about getting over to help smash the Huns. I guess +he was in earnest about it, too. + +Maybe they thought when they had mustered Hartley out that they'd +returned another citizen to civilian life. But they hadn't more'n half +finished the job. Hartley wouldn't have it that way. He'd stored up a +lot of military enthusiasm that he hadn't been able to work off on +draftees and departin' heroes. In fact, he was just bustin' with it. You +could see that by the way he walked, even when he wasn't sportin' the +old O. D. once more on some excuse or other. He'd come swingin' into the +general offices snappy, like he had important messages for the colonel; +chin up, his narrow shoulders well back, and eyes front. He'd trained +Vincent, the office boy, to give him the zippy salute, and if any of the +rest of us had humored him he'd had us pullin' the same stuff. But those +of us that had been in the service was glad enough to give the right arm +motion a long vacation. + +"Nothing doing, Hartley," I'd say to him. "We've canned the Kaiser, +ain't we? Let's forget that shut-eye business." + +And how he did hate to part with that uniform. Simply couldn't seem to +do it all at once, but had to taper off gradual. First off he was only +going to sport it two days a week, but whenever he could invent a +special occasion, out it came. He even got him a Sam Browne belt, which +was contrary to orders, and once I caught him gazin' longin' in a show +window at some overseas service chevrons and wound stripes. Course, he +wore the allied colors ribbon, which passes with a lot of folks for +foreign decorations; but then, a whole heap of limited service guys have +put that over. + +When it came to provin' that it was us Yanks who really cleaned up the +Huns and finished the war, Hartley was right there. That was his strong +suit. He carried maps around, all marked up with the positions of our +different divisions, and if he could get you to listen to him long +enough he'd make you believe that after we got on the job the French and +English merely hung around the back areas with their mouths open and +watched us wind things up. + +"You see," he'd explain, "it was our superior discipline and our +wonderful morale that did it. Look at our marines. Just average material +to start with. But what training! Same way with a lot of our infantry +regiments. They'd been taught that orders were orders. It had been +hammered into 'em. They knew that when they were told to do a thing it +just had to be done, and that was all there was to it. We didn't wait +until we got over there to win the war. We won it here, on our +cantonment drill grounds. And I rather think, if you'll pardon my saying +so, that I did my share." + +"I'm glad you admit it, Hartley," says I. "I was afraid you wouldn't." + +His latest bug though was this Veteran Reserve Army scheme of his. His +idea was that instead of scrappin' this big army organization that it +had cost so much to build up we ought to save it so it would be ready in +case another country--Japan maybe--started anything. He thought every +man should keep his uniform and equipment and be put on call. They ought +to keep up their training, too. Might need some revisin' of regiments +and so on, but by having the privates report, say once a week, at the +nearest place where officers could meet them, it could be done. Course, +some of the officers might be too busy to bother with it. Well, they +could resign. That would give a chance for promotions. And the gaps in +the enlisted ranks could be kept filled from the new classes which +universal service would account for. + +See Hartley's little plan? He could go on wearin' his shoulder straps +and shiny leggins and maybe in time he'd have a gold or silver poison +ivy leaf instead of the bar. + +It was the details of this scheme that he'd been tryin' to work off on +me for weeks, but I'd kept duckin', until finally I'd agreed to let him +spill it across the luncheon table. + +"It's got to be a swell feed, though, Hartley," I insists as I joins him +out at the express elevator. + +"Will the Cafe l'Europe do?" he asks. + +"Gee!" says I. "So that's why you 're dolled up in the Sunday uniform, +eh? Got the belt on too. All right. But I mean to wade right through +from hors-d'oeuvres to parfait. Hope you've cashed in your delayed pay +vouchers." + +I notice, too, that Hartley don't hunt out any secluded nook down in the +grill, but leads the way to a table right in the middle of the big room +on the main floor, where most of the ladies are. And believe me, +paradin' through a mob like that is something he don't shrink from at +all. Did I mention that Hartley used to be kind of meek actin'? Well, +that was before I heard him talk severe to a Greek waiter. + +Also I got a new line on the way Hartley looks at the enlisted man. I'd +suggested that a lot of these returned buddies might have had about all +the drill stuff they cared for and that this idea of reportin' once a +week at some armory possibly wouldn't appeal to 'em. + +"They'll have to, that's all," says Hartley. "The new service act will +provide for that. Besides, it will do 'em good, keep 'em in line. +Anyway, that's what they're for." + +"Oh," says I. "Are they? Say, with sentiments like that you must have +been about as popular with your company, Hartley, as an ex-grand duke at +a Bolshevik picnic." + +"What I was after," says he, "was discipline, no popularity. It's what +the average young fellow needs most. As for me, I had it clubbed into me +from the start. If I didn't mind what I was told at home I got a bat on +the ear. Same way here in the Corrugated, you might say. I've always had +to take orders or get kicked. That's what I passed on to my men. At +least I tried to." + +And as Hartley stiffens up and glares across the table at an imaginary +line of doughboys I could guess that he succeeded. + +It was while I was followin' his gaze that I noticed this bunch of five +young heroes at a corner table. Their overseas caps was stacked on a hat +tree nearby and one of 'em was wearin' some sort of medal. And from the +reckless way they were tacklin' big platters of expensive food, such as +broiled live lobster and planked steaks, I judged they'd been mustered +out more or less recent. + +Just now, though, they seemed a good deal interested in something over +our way. First off I didn't know but some of 'em might be old friends of +mine, but pretty soon I decides that it's Hartley they're lookin' at. I +saw 'em nudgin' each other and stretchin' their necks, and they seems to +indulge in a lively debate, which ends in a general haw-haw. I calls +Hartley's attention to the bunch. + +"There's a squad of buddies that I'll bet ain't yearnin' to hear someone +yell 'Shun!' at 'em again," I suggests. "Know any of 'em?" + +"It is quite possible," says Hartley, glancin' at 'em casual. "They all +look so much alike, you know." + +With that he gets back to his Reserve Army scheme and he sure does give +me an earful. We'd got as far as the cheese and demi tasse when I +noticed one of the soldiers--a big, two-fisted husk--wander past us slow +and then drift out. A minute or two later Hartley is being paged and +the boy says there's a 'phone call for him. + +"For me?" says Hartley, lookin' puzzled. "Oh, very well." + +He hadn't more'n left when the other four strolls over, and one of the +lot remarks: "I beg your pardon, but does your friend happen to be +Second Lieutenant Grue?" + +"That's his name," says I, "only it was no accident he got to be second +lieutenant. That just had to be." + +They grins friendly at that. "You've described it," says one. + +"He was some swell officer, too, I understand," says I. + +"Oh, all of that," says another. "He--he's out of the service now, is +he?" + +"Accordin' to the War Department he is," says I, "but if a little plan +of his goes through he'll be back in the game soon." And I sketches out +hasty Hartley's idea of keepin' the returned vets on tap. + +"Wouldn't that be perfectly lovely now!" says the buddy with the medal, +diggin' his elbow enthusiastic into the ribs of the one nearest him. +"Wonder if we couldn't persuade him to make it two drill nights a week +instead of one. Eh, old Cootie Tamer?" + +Course, it develops that these noble young gents, before being sent over +to buck the Hindenburg line, had all been in one of the companies +Hartley had trained so successful. I wouldn't care to state that they +was hep to the fact that if it hadn't been for him they wouldn't have +turned out to be such fine soldiers. But they sure did take a lot of +interest in discoverin' one of their old officers. That was natural and +did them credit. + +Yes, they wanted to know all about Hartley; where he worked; what he +did, and what were his off hours. It was almost touchin' to see how +eager they was for all the details. Havin' been abroad so long, and +among foreigners, and in strange places, I expect Hartley looked like +home to 'em. + +And then again, you know how they say all them boys who went over have +come back men, serious and full of solemn, lofty thoughts. You could see +it shinin' in their eyes, even if they did let on to be chucklin' at +times. So I gives 'em all the dope I could about their dear old second +lieutenant and asks 'em to stick around a few minutes so they could meet +him. + +"We'd love to," says the one the others calls Beans. "Yes, indeed, it +would be a great pleasure, but I think we should defer it until the +lieutenant can be induced to leave off his uniform. You understand, I'm +sure. We--we should feel more at ease." + +"Maybe that could be fixed up, too," says I. + +"If it only could!" says Beans, rollin' his eyes at the bunch. "But +perhaps it would be better as sort of a surprise. Eh? So you needn't +mention us. We--we'll let him know in a day or so." + +Well, they kept their word. Couldn't have been more 'n a couple of days +later when Hartley calls me one side confidential and shows me this note +askin' him if he wouldn't be kind enough to meet with a few of his old +comrades in arms and help form a permanent organization that would +perpetuate the fond ties formed at Camp Mills. + +Hartley is beamin' all over his face. "There!" says he. "That's what I +call the true American spirit. And, speaking as a military man, I've +seen no better example of a morale that lasts through. It's the +discipline that does it, too. I suppose they want me to continue as +their commanding officer; to carry on, as it were." + +"Listens that way, doesn't it?" says I. "But what do the initials at the +end stand for--the G. O. G.'s.?" + +"Can't you guess?" says Hartley, almost blushin'. "Grue's Overseas +Graduates." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Say, that's handin' you something, eh? Looked +like a fine bunch of young chaps. Some of 'em college hicks, I expect?" + +"Oh, yes," says Hartley. "All kinds from plumbers to multi-millionaires. +Fact! I had young Ogden Twombley as company secretary at one time. Yes, +and I remember docking his leave twelve hours once for being late at +assembly. But see what it's done for those boys." + +"And think what they did to the Huns," says I. "But where's this joint +they want to meet you at? What's the number again? Why, that's the +Plutoria." + +"Is it?" says Hartley. "Oh, well, there were a lot of young swells among +'em. I must get them interested in my Veteran Reserve plan. I'll have to +make a little speech, I suppose, welcoming them back and all that sort +of thing. Perhaps you'd like to come along, Torchy?" + +"Sure!" says I. "That is, so long as they don't call on me for any +remarks. How about this at the bottom, though? 'Civilian dress, +please'?" + +"Oh, they'd feel a little easier, I suppose," says Hartley, "if I wasn't +in uniform. Maybe it would be best, the first time." + +So that's how it happened that promptly at 4 p.m. next day we was shown +up to this private suite in the Plutoria. Must have been kind of hard +for Hartley to give up his nifty O. D.'s, for he ain't such an +impressive young gent in a sack coat. And the braid bound cutaway and +striped pants he's dug out for the occasion makes him look more like a +floor walker from the white goods department than ever. But he tries to +look the second lieutenant in spite of it, bracin' his shoulders well +back and swellin' his chest out important. + +It seems the G. O. G.'s has been doin' some recruitin' meantime, for +there's a dozen or more grouped about the room, some in citizens' +clothes but more still in the soldier togs they wore when they came off +the transport. And to judge by the looks of a table I got a squint at +behind a screen, they'd been doin' a little preliminary celebratin'. +However, they all salutes respectful and Hartley had just started to +shoot off his speech, which begins, of course: "Speaking as a military +man----" when this Beans gent interrupts. + +"Pardon me, lieutenant," says he, "but the members of our organization +are quite anxious to know, first of all, if you will accept the high +command of the Gogs, so called." + +"With pleasure," says Hartley. "And as I was about to say----" + +"Just a moment," breaks in Beans again. "Fellow Gogs, we have before us +a willing candidate for the High Command. What is your pleasure?" + +"Initiation!" they whoops in chorus. + +"Carried!" says Beans. "Let the right worthy Buddies proceed to +administer the Camp Mills degree." + +"Signal!" calls out another cheerful. "Four--seven--eleven! Run the +guard!" + +Say, I couldn't tell exactly what happened next, for I was hustled into +a corner and those noble young heroes of the Marne and elsewhere, full +of lofty aims and high ambitions and--and other things--Well, they +certainly didn't need any promptin' to carry out the order of +ceremonies. Without a word or a whisper they proceeds to grab Hartley +wherever the grabbin' was good and then pass him along. By climbin' on a +chair I could get a glimpse of him now and then as he is sent whirlin' +and bumpin' about, like a bottle bobbin' around in rough water. Back and +forth he goes, sometimes touchin' the floor and then again being tossed +toward the ceilin'. Two or three of 'em would get him and start rushin' +him across the room when another bunch would tear him loose and begin +some maneuvers of their own. + +Anyway, runnin' the guard seems to be about as strenuous an act as +anybody could go through and come out whole. It lasts until all hands +seem to be pretty well out of breath and someone blows a whistle. Then a +couple of 'em drags Hartley up in front of Brother Beans and salutes. + +"Well, right worthy Buddies," says he, "what have you to report +concerning the candidate?" + +"Sorry, sir," says one, "but we caught him tryin' to run the guard." + +"Ah!" says Beans. "Did he get away with it?" + +"He did not," says the Buddie. "We suspect he's a dud, too." + +"Very serious," says Beans, shakin' his head. "Candidate, what have you +to say for yourself?" + +To judge by the hectic tint on Hartley's neck and ears he had a whole +heap he wanted to say, but for a minute or so all he can do is breathe +hard and glare. He's a good deal of a sight, too. The cutaway coat has +lost one of its tails; his hair is rumpled up like feathers, and his +collar has parted its front moorin's. As soon as he gets his wind +though, he tries to state what's on his mind. + +"You--you young rough-necks!" says he. "I--I'll make you sweat for this. +You'll see!" + +"Harken, fellow Gogs!" says Beans. "The candidate presumes to address +your Grand Worthy in terms unbecoming an officer and a gentleman. I +would suggest that we suspend the ritual until by some means he can be +brought to his better senses. Can anyone think of a way?" + +"Sure!" someone sings out. "Let's give him Days Gone By." + +The vote seems to be unanimous and the proceedin's open with Brother +Beans waggin' his finger under Hartley's nose. "Kindly recall November +22, 1917," says he. "It was Saturday, and my leave ticket read from 11 +a. m. of that date until 11 p. m. of the 23rd. You knew who was waiting +for me at the Matron's House, too. And just because I'd changed to +leather leggins inside the gate you called me back and put me to +scrubbing the barracks floor, making me miss my last chance at a matinee +and otherwise queering a perfectly good day. Next!" + +"My turn!" sings out half a dozen others, but out of the push that +surges toward Hartley steps a light-haired, neat dressed young gent, who +walks with a slight limp. "I trust you'll remember me, lieutenant," says +he. "I was Private Nelson, guilty of the awful crime of appearing at +inspection with two grease spots on my tunic because you'd kept me on +mess sergeant detail for two weeks and the issues of extra uniforms +hadn't been made. So you gave me double guard duty the day my folks came +all the way down from Buffalo to see me. Real clever of you, wasn't it?" + +One by one they reminded Hartley of little things like that, without +givin' him a chance to peep, until each one had had his say. But finally +Hartley gets an openin'. + +"You got just what you needed--discipline," says he. "That's what made +soldiers out of you." + +"Oh, did it!" says Brother Beans. "Then perhaps a little of it would +qualify you for the High Command. Shall we try it, Most Worthy +Buddies?" + +"Soak it on him, Beans!" is the verdict, shouted enthusiastic from all +sides. + +"So let it be," says Beans solemn. "And now, candidate, you are about to +be escorted forth where the elusive cigar-butt lurks in the gutter and +scraps of paper litter the pavement. As an exponent of this particular +brand of discipline you will see that no small item escapes you. Should +you be so remiss, or should you falter in doing your full duty, you will +be returned at once to this room, where retribution waits with heavy +hands. Ho, Worthy Buddies! Invest the candidate with the sacred insignia +of the empty gunny sack." + +And say, when them Gogs started out to put a thing through they did it +systematic and thorough. Inside of a minute Hartley is armed with an old +bag and is being hustled out to the elevator. As they didn't seem to be +taking much notice of me, I tags along, too. They leads Hartley right +out in front of the Plutoria and sets him to cleanin' up the block. + +Course, it's a little odd to see a young gent in torn cutaway coat and +tousled hair scramblin' around under taxi-cabs and dodgin' cars to pick +up cigar-butts and chewin' gum papers. So quite a crowd collects. Some +of 'em cheers and some haw-haws. But the overseas vets. don't allow +Hartley to let up for a second. + +"Hey! Don't miss that cigarette stub!" one would call out to him. And as +soon as he'd retrieved that another would point out a piece of banana +peelin' out in the middle of the avenue. He got cussed enthusiastic by +some of the taxi drivers who just grazed him, and the traffic cop +threatened to run him in until he saw the bunch of soldiers bossin' the +job and then he grins and turns the other way. + +I expect I should have been more or less wrathy at seein' a brother +officer get it as raw as that, but I'm afraid I did more or less +grinnin' at some of Hartley's antics. It struck me, though, that he +might be kind of embarrassed if I stayed around until they turned him +loose. So before he finished I edged out of the crowd and drifted off. + +I couldn't help puttin' one thing up to Brother Beans though. "Excuse me +for gettin' curious," says I, "but when I asks Hartley what G. O. G. +stands for he made kind of a punk guess. If it ain't any deep +secret----" + +"It is," says Brother Beans, "but I think I'll let you in on it. The +name of our noble organization is 'Grue's Overseas Grouches,' and our +humble object is to rebuke the only taint of Prussianism which we have +personally encountered in an otherwise perfectly good man's army. When +we've done that we intend to disband." + +"Huh!" says I, glancin' over to where Hartley is springin' sort of a +sheepish smile at a buck private who's pattin' him on the back, "I think +you can most call it a job now." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE CASE OF OLD JONESEY + + +And then again, you can't always tell. I forget whether it was Bill +Shakespeare first sprung that line, or Willie Collier; but whoever it +was he said a whole bookful at once. Wise stuff. That's it. And simple, +too. Yet it's one of the first things we forget. + +But to get the point over I expect I'll have to begin with this +bond-room bunch of ours at the Corrugated. They're the kind of young +sports who always think they can tell. More'n that they always will, +providin' they can get anybody to listen. About any subject you can +name, from whether the government should own the railroads to describin' +the correct hold in dancin' the shimmy. + +This particular day though it happens to be babidolls. Maybe it wasn't +just accident, either. I expect the sudden arrival of spring had +something to do with the choice of topic. For out in Madison Square park +the robins were hoppin' busy around in the flower beds, couples were +twosing confidential on the benches, lady typists were lunchin' off ice +cream cones, and the Greek tray peddlers were sellin' May flowers. + +Anyway, it seemed like this was a day when romance was in the air, if +you get me. I think Izzy Grunkheimer must have started it with that +thrillin' tale of his about how he got rung in on a midnight studio +supper down in Greenwich Village and the little movie star who mistook +him for Charley Zukor. Izzy would spin that if he got half an openin'. +It was his big night. I believe he claims he got hugged or something. +And he always ends up by rollin' his eyes, suckin' in his breath and +declarin' passionate: "Some queen, yes-s-s!" + +But the one who had the floor when I strolls into the bond room just +before the end of the noon hour is Skip Martin, who helped win the war +by servin' the last two months checkin' supplies for the front at St. +Nazaire. He was relatin' an A. W. O. L. adventure in which a little +French girl by the name of Mimi figured prominent, when Budge Haley, who +was a corporal in the Twenty-seventh and got all the way to Coblenz, +crashed in heartless. + +"Cheap stuff, them base port fluffs," says Budge. "Always beggin' you +for chocolate or nickin' you for francs some way. And as for looks, I +couldn't see it. But say, you should have seen what I tumbled into one +night up in Belgium. We'd plugged twenty-six kilometers through the mud +and rain that day and was billeted swell in the town hall. The mess +call had just sounded and I was gettin' in line when the Loot yanks me +out to tote his bag off to some lodgin's he'd been assigned five or six +blocks away. + +"Maybe I wasn't good and sore, too, with everything gettin' cold and me +as a refugee. I must have got mixed up in my directions, for I couldn't +find any house with a green iron balcony over the front door noway. +Finally I takes a chance on workin' some of my French and knocks at a +blue door. Took me some time to raise anybody, and when a girl does +answer all I gets out of her is a squeal and the door is slammed shut +again. I was backin' off disgusted when here comes this dame with the +big eyes and the grand duchess airs. + +"'Ah le bon Dieu!' says she gaspy. 'Le soldat d'Amerique! Entrez, +m'sieur.' And say, even if I couldn't have savvied a word, that smile +would have been enough. Did I get the glad hand? Listen; she hadn't seen +anything but Huns for nearly four years. Most of that time she'd spent +hidin' in the cellar or somewhere, and for her I was the dove of peace. +She tried to tell me all about it, and I expect she did, only I couldn't +comprenez more'n a quarter of her rapid fire French. But the idea seemed +to be that I was a he-angel of the first class who deserved the best +there was in the house. Maybe I didn't get it, too. The Huns hadn't +been gone but a few hours and the peace dinner she'd planned was only a +sketchy affair, as she wasn't dead sure they wouldn't come back. When +she sees me though, she puts a stop order on all that third-rate stuff +and tells the cook to go the limit. And say, they must have dug up food +reserves from the sub-cellar, for when me and the Countess finally sits +down----" + +"Ah, don't pull that on us!" protests Skip Martin. "We admit the vintage +champagne, and the pate de foie gras, but that Countess stuff has been +overdone." + +"Oh, has it?" says Budge. "You mean you didn't see any hangin' 'round +the freight sheds. But this is in Bastogne, old son, and there was her +Countess mark plastered all over everything, from the napkins to the +mantelpiece. Maybe I don't know one when I get a close-up, same as I did +then. Huh! I'm telling you she was the real thing. Why, I'll bet she +could sail into Tiffany's tomorrow and open an account just on the way +she carries her chin." + +"Course she was a Countess," says Izzy. "I'll bet it was some dinner, +too. And what then?" + +"It didn't happen until just as I was leavin'," says Budge. "'Sis,' says +I, 'vous etes un-un peach. Merci very much.' And I was holdin' out my +hand for a getaway shake when she closes in with a clinch that makes +this Romeo and Juliet balcony scene look like an old maid's farewell. +M-m-m-m. Honest, I didn't wash it off for two days. And, countess or +not, she was some grand little lady. I'll tell the world that." + +"Look!" says one of our noble exempts. "You've even got old Jonesey +smackin' his lips." + +That gets a big laugh from the bunch. It always does, for he's one of +our permanent jokes, old Jones. And as he happens to be sittin' humped +over here in the corner brushin' traces of an egg sandwich from his +mouth corners, the josh comes in kind of pat. + +"Must have been some lady killer in his time, eh?" suggests Skip Martin. + +That gets across as a good line too, and Skip follows it up with +another. "Let's ask him, fellers." + +And the next thing old Jones knows he's surrounded by this grinnin' +circle of young hicks while Budge Haley is demandin': "Is it so, +Jonesey, that you used to be a reg'lar chicken hound?" + +I expect it's the funny way he's gone bald, with only a fringe of +grayish hair left, and the watery blue eyes behind the dark glasses, +that got us callin' him Old Jones. Maybe the bent shoulders and his +being deaf in one ear helps. But as a matter of fact, I don't think he's +quite sixty. To judge by the fringe, he once had a crop of sandy hair +that was more or less curly. Some of the color still holds in the +bristly mustache and the ear tufts. A short, chunky party with a stubby +nose and sort of a solid-lookin' chin, he is. + +But there never is much satisfaction kiddin' Jonesey. You can't get his +goat. He just holds his hand up to his ear and asks kind of bored: "Eh, +what's that?" + +"How about them swell dames that used to go wild over you?" comes back +Skip. + +Old Jones gazes up at Skip kind of mild and puzzled. Then he shakes his +head slow. "No," says he. "Not me. If--if they did I--I must have +forgot." + +Which sets the bunch to howlin' at Skip. "There! Maybe that'll hold you, +eh?" someone remarks. And as they drift off Jonesey tackles a slice of +lunch-room pie placid. + +It struck me as rather neat, comin' from the old boy. He must have +forgot! I had a chuckle over that all by myself. What could Jonesey have +to forget? They tell me he's been with the Corrugated twenty years or +more. Why, he must have been on the payroll before some of them young +sports was born. And for the last fifteen he's held the same old +job--assistant filin' clerk. Some life, eh? + +About all we know of Old Jones is that he lives in a little back room +down on lower Sixth Avenue with a mangy green parrot nearly as old as he +is. They say he baches it there, cookin' his meals on a one-burner oil +stove, never reportin' sick, never takin' a vacation, and never gettin' +above Thirty-third Street or below Fourteenth. + +Course, so far as the force is concerned, he's just so much dead wood. +Every shake-up we have somebody wants to fire him, or pension him off. +But Mr. Ellins won't have it. "No," says he. "Let him stay on." And you +bet Jonesey stays. He drills around, fussin' over the files, doing +things just the way he did twenty years ago, I suppose, but never +gettin' in anybody's way or pullin' any grouch. I've got so I don't +notice him any more than as if he was somebody's shadow passin' by. You +know, he's just a blank. And if it wasn't for them bond-room humorists +cuttin' loose at him once in a while I'd almost forget whether he was +still on the staff or not. + +It was this same afternoon, along about 2:30, that I gets a call from +Old Hickory's private office and finds this picturesque lookin' bird +with the three piece white lip whiskers and the premature Panama lid +glarin' indignant at the boss. + +"Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, glancin' at a card, "this is Senor Don Pedro +Cassaba y Tarragona." + +"Oh, yes!" says I, just as though I wasn't surprised a bit. + +"Senor Don Pedro and so on," adds Old Hickory, "is from Havana, and for +the last half hour he has been trying to tell me something very +important, I've no doubt, to him. As it happens I am rather busy on some +affairs of my own and I--er--Oh, for the love of soup, Torchy take him +away somewhere and find out what it's all about." + +"Sure!" says I. "This way, Seenor." + +"Perdone," says he. "Say-nohr." + +"Got you," says I, "only I may not follow you very far. About all the +Spanish I had I used up this noon orderin' an omelet, but maybe we can +get somewhere if we're both patient. Here we are, in my nice cozy corner +with all the rest of the day before us. Have a chair, Say-nohr." + +He's a perky, high-colored old boy, and to judge by the restless black +eyes, a real live wire. He looks me over sort of doubtful, stroking the +zippy little chin tuft as he does it, but he ends by shruggin' his +shoulders resigned. + +"I come," says he, "in quest of Senor Captain Yohness." + +"Yohness?" says I, tryin' to look thoughtful. "No such party around here +that I know of." + +"It must be," says he. "That I have ascertained." + +"Oh, well!" says I. "Suppose we admit that much as a starter. What about +him? What's he done?" + +"Ah!" says the Senor Don Pedro, spreadin' out his hands eloquent. "But +that is a long tale." + +It was, too. I expect that was what had got him in wrong with Old +Hickory. However, he tackles it once more, using the full-arm movement +and sprinklin' in Spanish liberal whenever he got stuck. Course, this +fallin' back on his native tongue must have been a relief to him, but it +didn't help me out much. Some I could guess at, and when I couldn't I'd +get him to repeat it until I worked up a hunch. Then we'd take a fresh +start. It's surprisin', too, how well we got along after we had the +system doped out. + +And accordin' to the Hon. Pete this Cap. Yohness party is an American +who hails from New York. Don't sound reasonable, I admit, with a +monicker like that, but I let the old boy spin along. Yohness had gone +to Cuba years ago, way back before the Spanish-American war. I take it +he was part of a filibusterin' outfit that was runnin' in guns and +ammunition for the Cubans to use against the Spaniards. In fact, he +mentions Dynamite Johnny O'Brien as the leader of the crowd. I think +that was the name. Listens like it might have been, anyway. + +Well, he says this Senor Yohness is some reckless cut-up himself, for he +not only runs the blockade of Spanish warships and lands his stuff, but +then has the nerve to stick around the island and even take a little +trip into Havana. Seems that was some stunt, too, for if he'd been +caught at it he'd have found a swift finish against the nearest wall. + +Course, he had to go in disguise, but he was handicapped by havin' red +hair. Not so vivid as mine, the Senor assures me, but red enough so he +wouldn't be mistaken easy for a Spaniard. He'd have gotten away with the +act, too, if he hadn't capped it by takin' the wildest chances anybody +could have thought up. + +While he's ramblin' around Havana, takin' in all the sights and rubbin' +elbows every minute with men who'd ask no better sport than giving him a +permanent chest puncture if they'd known who he was, what does he do but +get tangled up in a love affair. Even if his head hadn't been specially +priced for more pesos than you could put in a sugar barrel, this was a +hot time for any American to be lallygaggin' around the ladies in that +particular burg. For the Spanish knew all about where the reconcentrados +were getting their firearms from and they were good and sore on us. But +little details like that don't seem to bother El Capitan Yohness a bit. +When he gets in line with an oh boy! smile from behind a window grill he +smiles back and comes around for an encore. That's the careless kind of +a Yank he is. + +What makes it worse, though, is the fact that this special window +happens to be in the Governor's Palace. And the lady herself! The +Honorable Pedro shudders as he relates it. She is none other than la +Senorita Mario, a niece of the Governor General. + +She must have had misbehavin' eyes and a kittenish disposition, for she +seems to fall for this disguised New Yorker at first sight. Most likely +it was on account of his red hair. Anyway, after one or two long +distance exchanges she drops out a note arranging a twosome in the +palace gardens by moonlight. It's a way they have, I understand. And +this Yohness guy, he don't do a thing but keep the date. Course, he must +have known that as a war risk he'd have been quoted as payin' about a +thousand per cent. premium, but he takes the chance. + +It ain't a case of bein' able to stroll in any time, either. In order to +make it he has to conceal himself in the shrubbery before sundown, when +the general public is chased out of the grounds and a guard set at the +gates. Perhaps it was worth it, though, for Don Pedro says the Senorita +Donna Mario is a lovely lady; at least, she was then. + +Anyway, the two of 'em pulled it off successful, and they was snuggled +up on a marble bench gettin' real well acquainted--maybe callin' each +other by their first names and whisperin' mushy sentiments in the +moonshine--when the heavy villain enters with stealthy tread. + +It seems that Donna Mario had been missed from the Palace. Finally the +word gets to Uncle, and although he's a grizzly old pirate, he can +remember back when he was young himself. Maybe he had one of his sporty +secretaries in mind, or some gay young first lieutenant. However it +was, he connected with a first-class hunch that on a night like this, if +the lovely Donna Mario had strayed out anywhere she would sooner or +later camp down on a marble bench. + +Whether he picked the right garden seat first rattle out of the box, or +made two or three misses, I don't know. But when he does crash in he +finds the pair just going to a clinch. He ain't the kind of an uncle, +either, who would stand off and chuckle a minute before interruptin' +with a mild "Tut--tut, now, young folks!" No. He's a reg'lar movie drama +uncle. He gets purple in the gills. He snorts through his mustache. He +gurgles out the Spanish for "Ha, ha!". Then he unlimbers a sword like a +corn-knife, reaches out a rough hairy paw, and proceeds to yank our +young hero rudely from the fond embrace. Just like that. + +And here again I missed a detail or two. I couldn't make out if it was +the pink thatch of Yohness that gave him away, or whether Uncle could +tell an American just by the feel of his neck. But the old boy got wise +right away. + +"What," says he, like he was usin' the words as a throat gargle. "A +curs-ed Gr-r-ringo! For that you shall both die." + +Which was just where, like most movie uncles, he overdid the part. +Yohness might not have been particular whether he went on livin' or +not. He hadn't acted as though he cared much. But he wasn't going to +let a nice girl like the Donna Mario get herself carved up by an +impulsive relative who wore fuzzy face whiskers and a yellow sash +instead of a vest. + +"Ah, ditch the tragic stuff, Old Sport, while I sketch out how it was +all my fault," says he, or words to that effect. + +"G-r-r-r!" says Uncle, slashin' away enthusiastic with his sword. + +If our hero had been a second or so late in his moves there would be +little left to add. But heroes never are. And when this Cap. Yohness +party got into action he was a reg'lar bear-cat. The wicked steel merely +swished through the space he'd just left and before Uncle could get in +another swing something heavy landed on him and he was being gripped in +four places. Before the old boy knew what was happening, too, that +yellow sash had been unwound and he'd been tied up as neat as an express +package. All he lacked to go on the wagon was an address tag and a +"Prepaid" label gummed on his tummy. + +"Sorry," says Yohness, rollin' him into the shrubbery with his toe, "but +you mustn't act so mussy when the young lady has a caller." + +"Ah! Eso es espantoso!" says Donna Mario, meaning that now he had +spilled the beans for fair. "You must fly. I must--we must both flee." + +"Oh, very well," says Yohness. "That is, if the fleeing is good." + +"Here! Quick!" says she, grabbin' up the long cloak Uncle had been +wearing before he started something he couldn't finish. "And this also," +she adds, handin' Yohness a military cap with a lot of gold braid on it. +"We will go together. The guards know me. They will think you are my +uncle. Wait! I will call the carriage, as if for our evening drive." + +"Now that," says I, as Don Pedro gets to this part of the yarn, "was +what I call good work done. Made a clean getaway, did they?" + +He nods, and goes on to tell how, when they got to the city limits, El +Capitan chucked the driver and footman off the box, took the reins +himself and drove until near daybreak, when he dropped the fair Donna +Mario at the house of an old friend and then beat it down the pike until +he saw a chance to leave the outfit and make a break into the woods. + +"And I expect he was willin' to call it a night after that, eh?" says I. +"Reg'lar thrill hound, wasn't he? What became of him?" + +"Ah!" says Don Pedro. "It is for that I come to you." + +"Oh, yes, so you have," says I. "I'd most forgotten. Yes, yes! You still +have the idea I can trace out Yohness for you? Suppose I could, though, +how would you be sure it was the same one, after so many years? Got any +mark on him that----" + +"Listen," says Don Pedro. "El Capitan Yohness possesses a ring of +peculiar setting--pale gold--a large dark ruby in it. This was given him +that night by the Senorita Donna Mario. He swore to her never to part +with it until they should meet again. They never have, nor will. She is +no more. For years she lived hidden, in fear of her life. Then the war +came. Her uncle was driven back to Spain. Later her friend died, but she +left to Donna Mario her estate, many acres of valuable sugar plantation, +and the house, Casa Fuerta. It is this estate which Donna Mario in turn +has willed to her valiant lover. I am one of the executors. So I ask you +where is El Capitan Yohness?" + +"Yes, I know you do," says I. "But why ask me? How do you hook up the +Corrugated Trust with any such wild----" + +"See," says Don Pedro, producin' a yellow old letter. "This came to +Donna Mario just before the war. It is on the note paper of your firm." + +"Why, that's so!" says I. "Must have been when we were in the old +building, long before my time. But as far as--Say, the name ain't +Yohness. It's Jones, plain as day." + +"Yes, Yohness," says Don Pedro, spellin' it out loud, "Y-o-n-e-s. You +see, in Spanish we call it Yohness." + +He don't say it just like that, either, but that's as near as I can get +it. Anyway, you'd never recognize it as Jones. + +"Well," I goes on, "I don't know of anybody around the place now who +would fit your description. In fact, I don't believe there's anybody by +the name of--Yes, there is one Jones here, but he can't be the party. He +isn't that kind of a Jones." + +"But if he is Senor Jones--who knows?" insists Don Pedro. + +Then I has to stop and grin. Huh! Old Jonesey bein' suspected of ever +pullin' stuff like that. Say, why not have him in and tax him with it. +"Just a sec.," says I. "You can take a look yourself." + +I finds Jonesey with his head in a file drawer, as usual, and without +spillin' anything of the joke I leads him in and lines him up in front +of Don Pedro. + +"Listen, Jonesey," says I. "This gentleman comes from Havana. Were you +ever there?" + +"Why, ye-e-e-es. Once I was," says Jonesey, sort of draggy, as if tryin' +to remember. + +"You were?" says I. "How? When?" + +"It--it was a long time ago," says Jonesey. + +"Perdone," breaks in Don Pedro. "Were you not known as Senor El +Capitan?" + +"Me?" says Jonesey. "Why--I--some might have called me that." + +"Great guns!" I gasps. "See here, Jonesey; you don't mean to say you've +got the ring too?" + +"The ring?" says he, tryin' to look blank. But at the same time I notice +his hand go up to his shirt front sort of jerky. + +"The ring of the Senorita Donna Mario," cuts in Don Pedro eager. + +That don't get any hysterical motions out of him, though. He just stands +there, lookin' from one to the other of us slow and dazed, as if +something was tricklin' down into his brain. Once or twice he rubs a +dingy hand over his bald head. It seemed to help. + +"Donna Mario, Donna Mario," he repeats, half under his breath. + +"Yes," says I. "And isn't that something like the ring you're coverin' +up there under your shirt bosom? Let's see." + +Without a word he unbuttons his collar, slips a looped string over his +head, and holds out a ring. It's a big ruby set in pale gold. + +"That is the ring of Donna Mario," says Don Pedro. + +"Hal-lup," says I. "Jonesey, do you mean to say you're the same one who +sailed with Dynamite Johnny, risked your neck to go poking around +Havana, made love to the Governor General's niece, trussed him up like a +roasting turkey when he interfered, and escaped with her in the palace +coach through whole rafts of soldiers who'd have been made rich for +life if they'd shot you on sight? You!" + +"That--that was a long time ago," says Jonesey. + +And if you will believe me, that's about all he would say. Wasn't even +much excited over the fact that a hundred thousand dollar sugar +plantation was about to be wished on him. Oh, yes, he'd go down with Don +Pedro and take possession. Was the grave of Donna Mario there? Then he +would go, surely. + +"I--I would rather like to," says Old Jonesey. + +"Huh," says I. "You better stick around until tomorrow noon. I want you +to hear what I've got to feed to that bond-room bunch." + +Jonesey shakes his head. No, he'd rather not. And as he shuffles back to +his old files I hears him mumblin', sort of soft and easy: "Donna Mario. +Ah, yes! Donna Mario!" + +Which proves, don't it, that you can't always tell. Even when the party +has such a common name as Jones. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AS LUCY LEE PASSED BY + + +Someone put on that Tales of Hoffman record, please, with a soft needle. +Thanks. Now if you'll turn out all but one bulb in the old rose-shaded +electrolier and pass the chocolate marshmallows maybe I'll try to sketch +out for you this Lucy Lee-Peyton Pratt version of the sweetest story +ever told. + +We got Lucy Lee on the bounce, as it were. She really hadn't come all +the way up from Atlanta to visit Vee even if they were old +boardin'-school chums. No, she was on her way to a house party up in +Lenox and was fillin' in the time before that happened by making a duty +stay with an old maid aunt who lived on Madison Avenue. But when it +develops that Auntie is taking the buttermilk cure for dyspepsia, has +grown too deaf to enjoy the theater, and is bugs over manipulatin' the +Ouija board, Lucy Lee gets out her address book and begins callin' up +old friends. + +I don't know how far down Vee was on the list but she seems to be the +first one to fall easy. When she hears how bored Lucy Lee is on Madison +Avenue she insists on her coming right out with us. So I get my orders +to round up Lucy Lee when I'm through at the office and tow her out +home. Hence this openin' scene in the taxi where I finds myself being +sized up coy and curious. + +There's only one way of describin' Lucy Lee. She's a sweet young thing. +Nothing big or bouncy about her. No. One of these half-portions. But +cute and kittenish from the tip of her double A pumps to the floppy hat +brim which only half hides a dangerous pair of eyes. + +"So good of you, Mr. Ballard," says she, shootin' over a shy look, "to +take all this trouble for poor little me." + +"It's a gift," says I. "Comes natural. What about baggage?" + +"I've sent a few things by express," says she. "Thank you so much, +Mr.--er--Do you know, I've heard such a lot about you from dear Vee that +I simply must call you Torchy." + +"If it's a case of must," says I, "then go to it." + +I'll admit it was a bit sudden, but Lucy Lee is such a chummy young +party, and so easy to get acquainted with, that it don't seem odd after +the first few times. First off she wants to know all about the baby, and +when I've shown her the latest snapshot, and quoted a couple of his +bright remarks, translated free, she announces right off that he must be +wonderful. + +"Simp-ly wonderful!" is Lucy Lee's way of puttin' it, as she gazes +admirin' at me. + +Course, I don't deny it. Then she wants to know how long we've been +living out on Long Island, and what the house is like, and about my work +with the Corrugated Trust, and as I give her the details she listens +with them big eyes gettin' wider and wider. + +"Simp-ly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee. + +And somehow, just by workin' that system, she begins to register. First +off I was only kind of amused by it. But before we'd driven a dozen +blocks I was being rapidly convinced that here, at last, was somebody +who really understood. You know how it is. You feel that you're a great +strong noble man, so wise in the head that there's no use tryin' to +conceal it from eyes like that; and yet so kind and generous that you +don't mind talking to any simple young person who might be helped by it. + +Oh, yes. A half hour with Lucy Lee and you're apt to need an elastic hat +band. You never knew you could reel off such entertainin' chat. Why, +without half tryin' I could start that ripply laugh of hers going and +get the dimples playin' tag with her blushes. By the time we gets home I +feels like a reg'lar guy. + +"Cute little thing, ain't she?" I remarks to Vee durin' the forty minute +wait while Lucy Lee dresses for dinner. + +"Oh, yes," says Vee, with a knowin' smile. "That is her specialty, I +believe. She's a dear though, even if she doesn't mean quite all of it." + +"Ah, why wake me up!" says I, grinnin'. + +It was next mornin' though that I got my big jolt, when an express truck +backs up with about a ton of baggage. There was only two wardrobe +trunks, a hat trunk, and a steamer trunk, and the men unloads 'em all. + +"Hal-lup!" says I, when they staggers in with the last one. "Who's +movin' in?" + +Seems it's the few little things that Lucy Lee needs for the week-end. +"I've told her to send for her maid," says Vee. "It was stupid of me not +to think of that before, knowing Lucy Lee." + +And later, when I've been called in to help undo the straps, I gets a +glimpse of the exhibit. Morning and afternoon frocks in one, evening +gowns in another, the steamer trunk full of shoes, besides all the hats. + +"Huh!" says I, on the side to Vee. "Carries all her own scenery, don't +she? Say, there's enough to outfit a Ziegfeld song revue." + +What got the biggest gasp out of me though, was when Lucy Lee unpacks +her collection of framed photos and ranges 'em on the mantel and +dressin'-table. More'n a dozen, all men. + +"You don't mean, Lucy Lee," says Vee, "that these are all--er--on the +active list?" + +"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," says Lucy Lee, springin' the baby +stare. "They are simply some of my men friends. For instance, this is +dear old Major Knight, who's chairman of some board or other that Daddy +is a director on. He is so jolly and is always saying--Well, never mind +that. This one is Victor Norris, who tried so hard to get into aviation +and was just about to fly when the war had to go and end it. He's a +perfectly heavenly dancer. Then there's poor Arthur Kirby, only a +secretary to some senator, but such a nice boy. And the one in the naval +uniform is Dick--er--Well, I met him at a dinner in Washington just +before he got his discharge and he told me so many thrilling things +about chasing submarines in the North Sea or--or the Mediterranean or +somewhere. Hasn't he nice eyes, though? And this next one----" + +Well, I forget the rest for about then I got busy wonderin' how she +could keep the run of 'em all without the aid of a card index. But she +could. To Lucy Lee life must seem like a parade, she being the given +point. Which was where I begun to agree with Vee that there ought to be +a fourth plate put on the table, for over Sunday, at least. + +"But who'll I get?" I asks. + +"Silly!" says Vee. "A man, of course. Any man." + +"All right," says I. "I'll try to collect somebody, even if I have to +draft Piddie." + +Saturday afternoon is apt to be more or less of a busy time at the +Corrugated though, so it's near noon before I remembers my promise and +begins to look around panicky. No, Mr. Piddie couldn't oblige. He'd +planned to take the fam'ly to the Bronx. Sudders, our assistant auditor, +was booked for an all day golf orgie. I'd almost decided to kidnap +Vincent, our fair-haired office boy with the parlor manners, when I +happened to pass through the bond room and gets a glimpse of this Peyton +Pratt person lingerin' at his desk. He's diggin' a time-table out of a +suitcase. + +"Whither away, Peyton?" says I. + +"Oh!" says he, sighin' discontented. "I suppose I must run up and spend +the day with my married sister in New Haven." + +"Why act so tickled over it?" says I. + +"But I'm not, really," says Peyton. "It isn't that I am not fond of +Ethel, and all that sort of thing. Walter--that's her husband--is a good +sort, too, and the children are nice enough. But it's quite a trip to +take for such a short visit--and rather expensive, you know. I've just +been figuring up." + +So he had. There on an office pad he's jotted down every item, including +the cost of a ten-word day message and the price of a box of candy for +the youngsters. He hadn't sent the wire yet, or bought the candy. + +"Got your dinner coat in there?" I asks, noddin' to the suitcase. + +He says he has. + +"Then listen," says I. "Cross New Haven off the map for this time and +lemme put you next to a week-end that won't set you back a nickel. +Haven't seen my place out on Long Island yet, have you; or met the new +heir to the house of Torchy?" + +"Why--why, no, I haven't," hesitates Peyton. + +"High time, then," says I. "It'll all be on me, even to lettin' you +punch in on my trip ticket. Eh? What say?" + +Havin' known Peyton Pratt for some years I could pretty near call the +turn. That free round trip ought to be big casino for him. And it was. +Course, he protests polite how he couldn't allow me to put up for his +fare, and adds that he's heard so much about my charmin' little fam'ly +that he can't really afford to miss such a chance. + +"Sure you can't!" says I, smotherin' a grin. + +Not that Peyton is one of your common cheap skates. That ain't the idea +at all. He's a buddin' financier, Peyton is; one of these +little-red-notebook heroes, who wear John D. mottoes pasted in their +hats and can tell you just how Carnegie or Armour or Shonts or any of +them sainted souls laid up their first ten thousand. + +He's got all that thrift dope down fine, Peyton has. Why, he don't lick +a postage stamp of his own but it gets entered in the little old +expense account along with the extra doughnut he plunged on at the +dairy lunch. He knows that's the way to win out for he's read it in +magazine articles and I'll bet every time he passes the Sub-Treasury he +lifts his lid reverent. + +I expect it's something Peyton was born to, for his old man was a bank +cashier and his two older brothers already have their names up on window +grills, he tells me, while an uncle of his is vice-president of an +insurance company. So it's no wonder Peyton is a reg'lar coupon hound. +His idea of light readin' is to sit down with "Talks to Investors" on +one knee and the market report on the other. Give him a forenoon off and +he'd spend it down at the Clearing House watchin' 'em strike the daily +balance. Uh-huh. The only way he can write U. S. is in a monogram--like +this--$$ + +Not such a bad-lookin' chap though; tall, slim and dark, with a long +straight nose and a well-developed chin. Course he's got kind of a +bilious indoor complexion, and them thick glasses don't add to his +beauty. You can imagine too, that his temperament ain't exactly +frivolous. Hardly! Yet he thinks he's a great jollier when he wants to +be. Also he likes to have me kid him about bein' such a finicky dresser, +for while he never splurges on anything sporty, he's always neat and +well dressed. + +"Who's the little queen that all this is done for?" I asks him once. + +"When I have picked her out I'll let you know, Torchy," says he, +blinkin' foxy. + +Later on though he tells me all about it confidential. He admits likin' +well enough to run around with nice girls when it can be done without +danger of being worked for orchestra seats or taxi fares. But there was +no sense gettin' in deep with any particular one until a feller was sure +of a five figure income, at least. + +"Huh!" says I. "Then you got time enough to train one up from the +cradle." + +"Oh, I don't know," says he. "Anyway, I shall wait until I find one with +tastes as simple as my own." + +"You may," says I, "and then again--Well, I've seen wiser guys than you +rushed off their feet by fluffy young parties whose whole stock in trade +was a pair of misbehavin' eyes." + +"Pooh!" says Peyton. "I've been exposed to that sort of thing as often +as anyone. I think I'm immune." + +"Maybe you are," I has to admit. + +So as I tows Peyton out to the house that afternoon I kind of hands it +to myself that I've filled Vee's order. And there standing on the front +veranda admirin' the lilacs is Lucy Lee in one of her plain little +frocks--a pink and white check--lookin' as fresh and dainty and +inexpensive as a prize exhibit from an orphan asylum. + +I whispers to Vee on the side: "Well, you see I got him. Peyton's +someone she can practice on, too, and no harm done. He's case +hardened." + +"Really," says Vee, lookin' him over. + +"Admits it himself," says I. + +"Oh, well, then!" says Vee, with one of her quizzin' smiles. + +And at first it looked like Peyton was about to qualify as an all-'round +exempt. He barely seemed to see Lucy Lee. While she was unreelin' the +sprightly chatter he was inspectin' the baby, or talkin' with Vee, or +askin' fool questions about the garden. Hardly takes a second glance at +Lucy Lee. I expect he had her sized up as about sixteen. He could easy +make that mistake. + +Maybe that's what started her in on this brisk offensive at dinner. +Nothing high-school girly about Lucy Lee when she floats down the stairs +at 7:15. It's a grown-up evenin' gown she's wearin' this time. No doubt +then whether or not she'd had her comin' out. The only question was +where she was going to stop comin' out. Not that it wasn't simple +enough, but it sure was skimpy above the belt. + +After his first gasp you could see Peyton sittin' up and takin' notice. +Couldn't very well help it, either, for Lucy Lee sure had the net out. I +hadn't noticed them big innocent eyes of hers brought into full play +before but now she cuts loose regardless. And Peyton, he is right in +range. She's givin' him samples of them Oh-you-great-big-wonderful man +looks. You know. And inside of ten minutes Peyton don't know whether +he's bein' passed the peas or is being elected second vice-president of +something. + +And I'd always classed Peyton as a cold storage proposition! You should +see the way he thaws out, though. Why, he tells funny stories, throws +off repartee, and spreads himself generally. That long sallow face of +his got tinted up like he'd had a beauty parlor treatment, and his +serious eyes got to sparklin' behind the thick panes. + +As for Vee and me, we swapped an amused glance now and then and enjoyed +the performance. After the coffee, when Lucy Lee has led him out on the +east terrace to see the full moon come up, they just naturally camped +down in a swing seat and opened up the confidential chat. By the deep +rumble we could tell that Peyton was carryin' the big end of the +conversation. + +"I know," says I. "Lucy Lee is makin' him tell how he's goin' to have +Wall Street eatin' out of his hand some day, and every once in a while +she's remarkin': 'Why, Mr. Pratt! I think you're wonderful; simp-ly +wonderful!'" + +"But I thought you said," puts in Vee, "that he was--er--case hardened?" + +"Oh, he's just playin' the game," says I. "Maybe it's gone to his head a +little tonight, but when it comes time to duck--You'll see." + +One of my pet notions has always been that breakfast time is the true +acid test for this romance stuff. Specially for girls. But next morning +Lucy Lee shows up in another little gingham effect, lookin' as fresh and +smilin' as a bed of tulips. And the affair continues right on from +there. It lasts all day and all that evenin' except when Lucy Lee was +makin' another quick change, which she does about four times accordin' +to my count. And each costume is complete--dress, hat, shoes, stockings +all matchin'. The only restless motions Peyton makes, too, are durin' +these brief waits. + +"Entertainin' young party, eh?" I suggests to him as Lucy Lee does one +of her sudden flits. + +"A most interesting and charming girl," says Peyton. + +"Some class, too. What?" I adds. + +"If you mean that she dresses in excellent taste, I agree with you," +says he. "Such absolute simplicity, and yet----" Peyton spreads out his +hands eloquent. "Why can't all girls do that?" he asks. "It would +be--er--such a saving. I've no doubt she makes them all herself." + +"If she does," says I, "she must have put in a busy winter." + +"Oh, I don't know," says Peyton. "They're all such simple little things. +And then, you know--or possibly you don't--that Lucy--er--I mean Miss +Vaughn, is a surprisingly capable young woman. Really. There's so much +more to her than appears on the surface." + +"Tut, tut, Peyton!" says I. "Ain't you gettin' in kind of deep?" + +"Don't be absurd, Torchy," says he. "Just because I show a little +natural interest in a charming young woman it doesn't follow that----" + +"Look!" says I. "Someone's givin' you the come-on signal." + +Course, it's Lucy Lee. She's changed to an afternoon costume, sort of an +old blue effect with not a frill or a ruffle in sight but with +everything toned in, from the spider-webby hat to the suede slippers. +And all she has to do to bring Peyton alongside is to tilt her chin +invitin'. + +We only caught glimpses of 'em the whole afternoon. And that Sunday +evenin' the porch swing worked overtime again. I know both Vee and me +did a lot of yawnin' before they finally drifts in. I'd never seen +Peyton quite so chirky. He even goes so far as to smoke a cigarette. And +next mornin', as he leaves reluctant with me to catch the 8:03 express, +he stops me at the gate to give me the hearty grip. + +"I say, old man," says he husky, "I--I never can tell you how grateful I +am for--for what you've done." + +"Then let's forget it," says I. + +"Forget!" says he, smilin' mushy. "Never!" + +At lunch time he asks me which of the Fifth Avenue photographers I think +is the best. + +"Eh?" says I, grinnin'. "Thinkin' of havin' yourself mugged and sendin' +the result to somebody in a silver frame?" + +"Well," says he draggy, "I--I've been meaning to have some pictures +taken for several years, and now----" + +"Got you," says I. "But if you want something real swell let me tow you +to a place I know of on Fifty-fifth." + +Honest, I wasn't thinking about the Maison Noir at the time or that it +was just next door. In fact, it was Peyton himself who stops in front of +the show window and grabs me by the arm. + +"I say!" says he, pointin' in at the exhibit. "See--see there." + +He's pointin' to a display of checked gingham frocks, blue and white and +pink and white, with hats to match. + +"Yes," says I, "do look sort of familiar, don't they?" + +"Why," he goes on, "they're almost exactly like those of--of Lucy's; the +same simple lines, the same material and everything." + +"Classy stuff," says I. "Come along, though. The picture place is next +door, upstairs." + +Peyton still stands there gawpin'. "Such a coincidence," he's murmurin'. +"I wonder, Torchy, if one could find out about how much they ask for +such things in a place like this." + +"Easiest thing in the world," says I. "Just blow in and get 'em to give +you quotations." + +"Oh, but I wouldn't dare do that," says he. "It would seem so--so----" + +"Not at all," says I. "As it happens, this joint is one where Vee does +more or less shoppin', when she's feelin' flush, and I've often been +with her. If you're curious we'll breeze in and get their prices." + +Peyton was right there with the curiosity, too. And the lady vamp with +the long string of beads danglin' from her neck didn't seem to think it +odd for us to be interested in checked ginghams. + +"Ah, yes-s-s!" says she, throwin' open the back doors of the show +window. "Zey are great bargains, those. Marked down but las' week. Thees +wan--m-m-m-m--only $68; but wiz ze hat also, $93." + +And the gasp that gets out of Peyton sounds like openin' an airbrake. + +"Nine-ty three dollars!" says he. "For a simple little thing like that? +Why, that seems to be rather exorbitant!" + +"Mais non!" says the lady vamp, shruggin' her shoulders. "They are what +you call simple, yes. But they are chic, too. One considers that. Las' +week come a young lady from Atlanta who in one hour takes two dozen at +once, and more next day. You see!" + +Peyton was beginning to see. But he wanted to be dead sure. "From +Atlanta?" says he. "Not--not a--a Miss Vaughn?" + +"Mais oui!" says Madame, clappin' her hands enthusiastic. "The ver' one. +You know her? Yes?" + +"I--I thought I did," says Peyton, sort of weak, as he starts for the +door. + +He calls off the picture proposition. Says he ain't quite in the mood. +And all that day he seems to have something on his mind that he couldn't +unload. Three or four times he seems to be just on the point of statin' +it to me but never can quite get a start. And next day he's a good deal +the same. He was like that when I left the office about 4 p.m. to catch +an early train. I could about guess what was troublin' him. + +So I wasn't much surprised, just before dinner to see Peyton appearin' +at our front gate. + +"I--I'm sure I don't know what you'll think of me, Torchy," he begins +apologizing "but I--I just had to----" + +"Too bad!" says I. "You're only four hours late. Lucy Lee left for Lenox +on the 2:10." + +"Gone!" says he. "But I thought----" + +"Yes, she did plan to stay longer," says I, "but it was a bit slow for +her here, and when she got a wire that a certain Captain Wright was to +be at his sister's for a few days' furlough--Well, inside of an hour she +and her maid had packed and were on their way. Oh, yes, and there goes +the rest of Lucy Lee's baggage now." + +The express truck was just rollin' around from the side door. Peyton +stares at the load goggle-eyed. "But--but you don't mean that all of +those trunks are hers?" he demands. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "I helped strap 'em up. And one of them wardrobes, +Peyton, carries about twenty-five of those little checked dresses. The +hats go in the square affair, and the shoes in the steamer trunk. +Thirty-eight pairs, I believe. Just enough for a week-end. Then in that +bulgy-topped trunk----" + +But Peyton ain't listenin'. He's just standin' there, with a dazed, +stunned look in his eyes like he'd just been missed by an express train. +But his lips are movin'. I got the idea. He was doin' mental +arithmetic--twenty-five times ninety-three. And he was gettin' a picture +of a thousand dollar income lyin' flat on its back. + +When he comes to be asks me faint when he can get back to town. No, he +won't stay for dinner. "Thank you," says he, "but I couldn't. I'm too +much upset. I fear that I--I've made a dreadful mistake, Torchy." + +"About Lucy Lee?" says I. "Don't worry. All you've done is come near +contributin' another silver frame to her collection. You just happened +to find a free field, that's all. Otherwise it would have been a case +where you'd stood in line." + +Course Peyton don't believe a word of it. He still thinks he's had a +desperate affair. He don't know whether he's safe yet or not. All he can +see is rows and rows of figures assaultin' that poor little expense book +of his. I expect he thinks he's entitled to wear a wound stripe over his +heart. + +Yesterday we had a bread-and-butter note from Lucy Lee mostly telling +what a whale of a time she was havin' up at Lenox. + +"Anything about Peyton?" I asks. + +"Why, no," says Vee. "But she says the dear captain is----" + +"I know," says I. "Simp-ly wonderful." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +TORCHY MEETS ELLERY BEAN + + +Course, I was sayin' it mostly to kid Vee along. I expect I'm nearly as +strong for this suburban life stuff as she is, but whenever she gets a +bit gushy about it, which she's apt to such nights as we've been havin' +recent, with the moon full and the summer strikin' its first stride, I'm +apt to let on that I feel different. + +You see, she'd towed me out on the back terrace to smell how sweet the +honeysuckle was and watch the moon sail up over the tall locust trees +beyond the vegetable garden. + +"Isn't it a perfectly gorgeous night, Torchy?" says she. "And doesn't +everything look so calm and peaceful out here?" + +"May look that way," says I, "but you never can tell. I like the country +in the daytime all right, but at night, especially these moony +ones,--Well, I don't know as I'll ever get used to 'em." + +"How absurd, Torchy!" says Vee. + +"Makes things look so kind of spooky," I goes on. "All them shadows. How +do you know what's behind 'em? And so many queer noises. There! Listen +to that!" + +"Silly!" says she. "That's a tree-toad. I hope you aren't afraid of +that." + +"Not if he's a tame one," says I. "But how can you tell he ain't wild? +And there comes a whirry-buzzin' noise." + +"Yes," says she. "A motor coming down the macadam. There, it's turned +into our road! Perhaps someone coming to see us, Goosie." + +Sure enough, it was. A minute later Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins were +givin' us the hail out front. It seems they'd come to pick us up to make +a call with them on some new neighbors. + +"Who?" asks Vee. + +"You couldn't guess," says Mrs. Robert. "The Zoscos." + +"Really!" says Vee. "I thought they were----" + +"Yes," chimes in Mrs. Robert, "I suppose they are, too. Rather +impossible. But I simply must try that big pipe organ I hear they've put +in. Bob thinks it's an awful thing to do. See how shocked he looks. But +I've promised not to stay more than half an hour if the movie magnate is +in anything more startling than a placid after-dinner state, or if the +place is cluttered up with too many screen favorites. And I think Bob +wants Torchy to go along as bodyguard. So won't you both come? What do +you say?" + +Trust Vee for takin' a dare. She'll try anything once. I expect she'd +been some curious all along to see what this new Mrs. Zosco looked +like. "What was it you said she used to be called, Torchy?" she demands. + +"'Myrtle Mapes, the Girl With the Million Dollar Smile,' was the way she +was billed," says I. "But them press agents don't care what they say +half the time. And maybe she only smiles that way when the camera's set +for a close-up." + +"I don't care," says Vee. "I think it would be great fun to go." + +As for me, I didn't mind, one way or the other. I'd seen this Andres +Zosco party plenty of times, ridin' back and forth on the train. He'd +even offered to pick me up in his limousine and give me a lift once when +I was hikin' up from the station. And I must say he wasn't just my idea +of a plute movie producer. + +Nothin' imposin' about Mr. Zosco. Hardly. Kind of a dumpy, short-legged +party, with a round smooth face, sort of mild brown eyes, and his hair +worn in a skinned diamond effect. You'd never take him for a guy who'd +go out and buy a Hudson River steamer and blow it up just for the sake +of gettin' a thousand feet of film, or put on a mob scene with enough +people to fill Times Square like an election night. No. He was usually +readin' seed catalogues and munchin' salted peanuts out of a paper bag. + +It was early last spring that he'd bought this Villa Nova place, a mile +or so beyond the Ellinses, and moved out with the bride he'd picked out +of his list of screen stars. I don't know whether he expected the Piping +Rock crowd to fall for him or not. Anyway, they didn't. They just +shuddered when his name was mentioned and stayed away from Villa Nova +same as they had when that Duluth copper plute, who'd built the freak +near-Moorish affair, tried the same act. But it didn't look like the +Zoscos meant to be frozen out so easy. After being lonesome for a month +or so they begun fillin' their 20 odd bedrooms with guests of their own +choosin'. Course, some of 'em that I saw arrivin' looked a bit rummy, +but it was plain the Zoscos didn't intend to bank on the neighbors for +company. Maybe they didn't want us crashin' in either, as Mr. Robert +suggests. + +You couldn't worry Mrs. Robert with hints like that, though. She's a +good mixer. Besides, if she'd made up her mind to play that new pipe +organ you could pretty near bet she'd do it. So inside of three minutes +she had us loaded into the car and off we rolls to surprise the Zoscos. + +Villa Nova, you know, is perched on the top of quite a sizable hill, +with a private road windin' up from the Pike. As you swing in you pass +an odd-shaped vine-covered affair that I suppose was meant for a +gate-keeper's lodge, though it looks like a stucco tower that had been +dropped off some storage warehouse. + +Well, we'd just made the turn and Mr. Robert had gone into second to +take the grade when I gets a glimpse of somebody doin' a hasty duck into +the shrubbery; a slim, skinny party with a plaid cap pulled down over +his eyes so far that his ears stuck out on either side like young wings. +What struck me as kind of odd, though, was his jumpin' away from the +door of the lodge as the car swung in and the fact that he had a basket +covered with a white cloth. + +"Huh!" says I, more or less to myself. + +"What's the matter?" asks Vee. "Seeing things in the moonlight?" + +"Thought I did," says I. "Didn't you, there by the gate!" + +"Oh, yes," says she. "Some lilac bushes." + +And not being any too sure of just what I had seen I let it ride at +that. Besides, there wasn't time for any lengthy debate. Next thing I +knew we'd pulled up under the porte cochere and was pilin' out. We finds +the big double doors wide open and the pink marble entrance hall all lit +up brilliant. Grouped in the middle of it, in front of a fountain banked +with ferns, are about a dozen people who seem to be chatterin' away +earnest and excited. + +"Why, how odd!" says Mrs. Robert, hesitatin' with her thumb on the bell +button. + +"Looks like a fam'ly caucus," says I. "Maybe they heard we were coming +and are taking a vote to see whether they let us in or bar us out." + +I could make out Andres Zosco in the center of the bunch wearin' a +silk-faced dinner coat and chewin' nervous on a fat black cigar. Also I +could guess that the tall chemical blonde at his right must be the +celebrated Myrtle Mapes that used to smile on us from so many +billboards. To the left was a huge billowy female decorated generous +with pearl ropes and ear pendants. Then there was a funny little old guy +in a cutaway and a purple tie, a couple of squatty, full-chested women +dressed as fancy as a pair of plush sofas, a maid or so, and a pie-faced +scared-lookin' gink that it was easy to guess must be the butler. +Everybody had been so busy talkin' that they hadn't heard us swarm up +the steps. + +"I say," whispers Mr. Robert, "hadn't we better call it off?" + +"And never know what is going on?" protests Vee. "Certainly not. I'm +going to knock." Which she does. + +"There!" says I. "You've touched off the panic." + +For a minute it looked like she had, too, for most of 'em jumps +startled, or clutches each other by the arm. Then they sort of surges +towards the doorway, Zosco in the lead. + +I expect he must have recognized some of us for he indulges in a +cackly, throaty laugh and then waves us in cordial. "Excuse me," says +he. "I--thought it might be somebody else. Mr. Ellins, isn't it? Pleased +to meet you. Come right in, all of you." + +And after we've been introduced sketchy all round Mr. Robert remarks +that he's afraid we haven't picked just the right time to pay a call. +"We--we are interrupting a family council or something, aren't we?" he +asks. + +"Oh, glad to have you," says Zosco. "It's nothing secret, and perhaps +you can help us out. We're a little upset, for a fact. It's about my +brother Jake. He's been visiting us, him and his wife, for the past +week. Maybe you've seen him ridin' round in the limousine--short, +thick-set party, good deal like me, only a few years younger." + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. "Sorry," says he, "but I don't recall----" + +"Oh, likely you wouldn't notice him," goes on Zosco. "Nothing fancy +about Jake, plain dresser and all that. But what gets us is how he could +have lost himself for so long." + +"Lost!" echoes Mr. Robert. + +"Well, he's gone, anyway," says Zosco. "Disappeared. Since after dinner +last night and----" + +"Oh, Jake, Jake!" wails the billowy female with the pearl ropes. + +"There, there, Matilda!" put in Zosco. "Never mind the sob stuff now. +He's all right somewhere, of course. He'll turn up in time. Bound to. It +ain't as if he was some wild young sport. Steady as a church, Jake. No +bad habits to speak of. Not one of the kind to go slippin' into town on +a spree. Not him. And never carries around much ready money or jewelry. +No holdup men out here, anyway." + +"But--but he's gone!" moans Matilda. + +"Sure he is," admits Zosco. "Maybe back to Saginaw. Something might have +happened at the store. Or he might have got word that some cloak and +suit jobber was closing out his fall goods at a sacrifice and got so +busy in town making the deal that he forgot to let us know. That would +be Jake, all right, if he saw a chance of turnin' over a few thousands." + +"Would he go bareheaded, and without his indigestion tablets?" demands +Mrs. Jake. + +"If it was another bargain like that lot of army raincoats, he'd go in +his pajamas," says Zosco. + +But Matilda shakes her head. She's sure something awful has happened to +Jake. Now that she thinks it over she believes he must have had +something on his mind. Hadn't they noticed how restless he'd been for +the past few days? Yes, both the squatty women had. And the funny little +guy in the long-tailed cutaway brought up how Jake had quit playing +billiards with him, even after he'd offered to start him 20 up. + +"But that don't mean anything," says Zosco. "Jake never could play +billiards anyway. Hates it. He's no sport at all, except maybe when it +comes to pinochle. He's all for business. Don't know how to take a real +vacation like a gentleman. I'm always telling him that." + +Gradually we'd all drifted into the big drawin' room, but Jake continues +to be the general topic. We couldn't help but get kind of interested in +him, too. When a middle-aged storekeeper from Saginaw gets up from +dinner, wanders out into a quiet, respectable community like ours, and +disappears like he'd dropped from a manhole or been swished off on an +airplane it's enough to set you guessin'. By askin' a few questions we +got the whole life history of Jake, from the time he left Lithuania as a +boy until he was last seen gettin' a light for his cigar from the +butler. We got all his habits outlined; how he always slept with a +corner of the sheet over his right ear, couldn't eat strawberries +without breaking out in blotches, and could hardly be dragged out to see +a show or go to an evening party where there were ladies. Yet here on a +visit to Villa Nova he goes and strays off like he'd lost his mind, or +gets himself kidnapped, or worse. + +"Why," says Mr. Robert, "it sounds like a real mystery, almost a case +for a Sherlock Holmes." + +I don't know why, either, but just then he glances at me. "By Jove!" he +goes on. "Here you are, Torchy. What do you make out of this?" + +"Me?" says I. "Just about what you do, I expect." + +"Oh, come!" says he. "Put that rapid fire brain of yours to work. Try +him, Mr. Zosco. I've known him to unravel stranger things than this. I +would even venture to say that he has hit on a clue while we've been +talking." + +Course, a good deal of it is Mr. Robert's josh. He's always springin' +that line. But Zosco, after he's looked me over keen, shrugs his +shoulders doubtful. Mrs. Jake, though, is ready to grab at anything. + +"Can you find him?" she asks, starin' at me. "Will you, young man?" + +Also I gets an encouragin', admirin' glance from Vee. That settles it. I +was bound to make some sort of play after that. Besides, I did have kind +of a vague hunch. + +"I ain't promisin' anything," says I, "but I'll give it a whirl. First +off though, maybe you can tell me what youth around the place wears a +black-and-white checked cap?" + +That gets a quick rise out of the former Myrtle Mapes, now Mrs. Zosco. +"Why--why," says she, "my brother Ellery does." + +"That's so," put in Zosco. "Where is the youngster?" + +"Ellery?" says Myrtle, givin' him that innocent baby-doll look. "Oh, he +must be in his room. I--I will look." + +"Never mind," says I. "Probably he is. It doesn't matter. Visiting here, +too, eh? How long? About two weeks. And he comes from----" + +"From my old home, Shelby, North Carolina," says she. "But he isn't the +one who's missing, you know." + +"That's so," says I. "Gettin' off the track, wasn't I? Shows what a poor +sleuth I am. And now if I can have the missing man's hat I'll do a +little scoutin' round outside." + +"His hat!" grumbles Zosco. "What do you want with that?" + +"Why," says I, "if I find anyone it fits it's likely to be Jake, ain't +it?" + +"Of course," says Matilda. "Here it is," and she hands me a seven and +three-quarters hard boiled lid with his initials punched in the sweat +band. + +That move gave 'em something to chew over anyway, and kind of took their +minds off what I'd been askin' about Ellery. For after hearin' about him +I knew I hadn't been mistaken about seein' somebody down by the lodge. +That's right where I makes for. + +As I gets to the bottom of the hill I slips through the hedge and walks +on the grass so if there should be anyone at the gate they wouldn't hear +me. And say, that was a reg'lar hunch I'd collected. Standing there in +the moonlight is the youth in the checked cap. + +Near as I can make out he's a narrow-chested, loose-jawed young hick of +19 or 20 and costumed a good deal like a village sport. You know--slit +coat pockets, a high turn-up to his trousers, bunion-toed shoes, and a +necktie that must have been designed by a wall-paper artist who'd been +shell-shocked. On his left arm he has a basket partly covered by a +napkin. Also he's just handin' something in through a little window +about a foot above his head. + +Course, it don't take any super-brain to guess that there must be +another party inside the lodge. What would Ellery be passin' stuff +through the window for if there wasn't? And anybody inside couldn't very +well get out, for the only door is a heavy, iron-studded affair +padlocked on the outside and the little window is covered with an +ornamental iron grill. Besides, as I edges up closer, I hears talking +going on. It sounds like the inside party is grumblin' over something or +other. His voice sounds hoarse and indignant, but I can't get what it's +all about. When the youth in the checked cap gave him the come-back +though it was clear enough. + +"Aw, shut up, you big stiff!" says he. "You're lucky to get cold +chicken and bread and jam. Where do you think I'm goin' to get hot +coffee for you, anyway? Ain't I runnin' a chance as it is, swipin' this +out of the ice-box after the servants leave? It's more'n you deserve, +you crook." + +More grumbles from inside. + +"Yah, I got the cigars," says the other, "but you don't get 'em until +you pass out them dishes. Think I can stick around here all night? And +remember, one peep to your pals, or to anyone else, and my trusty guards +will start shootin' through the window. Hey? How long? Until we get 'em +all into the net. So you might as well quit your belly-achin' and +confess." + +It was a more or less entertainin' dialogue but I thought I'd enjoy it +more if I could hear both sides. So I was workin' my way through the +bushes with my ear stretched until I was within almost a yard of the +window when I steps on a dry branch that cracks like a cap pistol. In a +flash the youth has dropped the basket and whirled on me with a long +carvin' knife. Which was my cue for quick action. + +"'Sall right, Ellery," says I. "Friend." + +"What friend?" he demands, starin' at me suspicious. + +"You know," says I, whisperin' mysterious. + +"Oh!" says he. "From Headquarters?" + +"You've said it," says I. + +"But--but how can I tell," he goes on, "that you ain't----" + +"Look!" says I, throwin' back my coat and runnin' my thumb under the +armhole of my vest. + +Sure it worked. Why, if you flash a nickel-plated suspender buckle quick +enough you can pass it for a badge even by daylight. + +"I didn't think you'd get my letter so soon," says Ellery. "I'm glad you +came, though. See, I've got one of the gang already. He's the +ringleader, too." + +"Fine work!" says I. "But what's the plot of the piece? You didn't make +that so clear. Is it a case of----" + +"Hist!" says Ellery. "I ain't told him how much I know. Let's get off +where he can't hear. Back in the bushes there." + +And when we've circled the lodge and put some shrubbery between us and +the road Ellery consents to open up. + +"They're tryin' to do away with Sister Maggie," says he. "You know who +she is--Mrs. Andres Zosco?" + +"But I thought she was Myrtle Mapes," says I. + +"Ah, that's only her screen name," says Ellery. "It was Maggie Bean back +in Shelby, where we come from. And she was Maggie Bean when she went to +New York and got that job as a stenog. in old Zosco's office. It was +him that gave her a chance to act in the movies, you know. Guess she +made good, eh? And then Zosco got so stuck on her that he married her. +Well, that was all right, too. Course, he's an old pill, but he's got +all kinds of dough. Rollin' in it. Maggie's done a lot for the fam'ly, +too. Gave me a flivver all for myself last Christmas; took me out of the +commission house and started me in at high school again. She's right +there with the check book, Maggie. + +"That's what makes them other Zoscos so sore--that Brother Jake and his +wife. See? They'd planned all along comin' in for most of his pile +themselves. Most likely meant to put him out of the way. But when they +comes on and finds the new wife--Well, the game is blocked. It would go +to her. So they starts right in to get rid of Maggie. I hadn't been in +the house a day before I'd doped that out. I knew there was a plot on to +do Maggie." + +"You don't say!" says I. "How?" + +"Slow poison, I expect," says Ellery. "In her coffee, maybe. Anyway, it +had begun to work. Maggie was mopin' around. I found her cryin'. I +spotted Jake Zosco right off. You can tell just by lookin' at him that +he's that kind. Besides, he acts suspicious. Always prowlin' around +restless. Then there's the butler. He's in it, too. I caught him and +Jake whisperin' together. I don't know how many more. Some of the maids, +maybe, and most likely a few men on the outside. They might be plannin' +to stage a jewel robbery with a double murder and lay it all onto +unknown burglars. Get me?" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "But how much have you got on Brother Jake? And how +did you come to get him locked up here?" + +"Oh, I had the goods on Jake, all right," says Ellery. "After I saw him +confabbin' with that crook butler the other night I shadows him +constant. I was on his trail when he sneaks down here after dinner. I +saw him unlock the lodge house. I heard him fumblin' around inside. Then +I slips up and locks him in. Half an hour later down comes the butler +and two others of the gang, but when they sees me they beats it. I +expect they'd try to rescue him, if they thought he was there. And they +may find out any minute." + +"That's right," says I. "Lucky I came out just as I did. There's only +one thing to do." + +"What's that?" asks Ellery. + +"Lug Jake up to the house, confront him with the butler, tell 'em +they're both pinched, and give 'em the third degree," says I. "You'll +see. One or the other will break down and tell the whole plot." + +"Say!" gasps Ellery. "Wouldn't that be slick! Just the way they do in +the movie dramas, eh?" + +I had to smother a chuckle when that came out, for I'd already +recognized some of the symptoms of a motion picture mind while Ellery +was sketchin' out this wild tale. + +"Go to the movies much down in Shelby?" I asks. + +"Most every night," says Ellery. "I used to even before Maggie got into +the game. Begun goin' when I was 'leven. At first I was strong for this +Wild West stuff, but no more. Give me a good crook drama with a big +punch in every reel. They're showin' some corkers lately. I've seen 'em +about all. That's how I come to get wise to this plot of Jake Zosco's. +Come on! Got your wrist irons ready for him?" + +"Oh, I never use the bracelets unless I have to," says I. "I expect +he'll toddle along meek enough when he sees the two of us." + +I hadn't overstated the case much at that. Course, Jake Zosco has +developed more or less of a grouch durin' his 36 hours of solitary +confinement, but when Ellery orders him to march out with his hands up +he comes right along. + +"What foolishness now, you young rough necker?" he demands. + +"You'll soon find out how foolish it is," says Ellery. "You're in the +hands of the law." + +"Wha-a-at!" gasps Jake. "For such a little thing as that? It--it can't +be. Who says it of me?" + +"Isn't this your hat?" says I, handin' him the hail-proof kelly. "It +is, eh? Then you're the one. Come on, now. Right up to the house." + +"It's a foolishness," he protests. "In Saginaw it couldn't be done." + +All the way up the hill he mutters and grumbles but he keeps on going. +Not until he gets near enough to get a glimpse of all the people in the +drawin'-room does he balk. + +"Matilda and all!" says he. "Why couldn't we go in by the back?" + +"Nothing doin'," says Ellery, flourishing his knife. "You're goin' to +face the music, you are." + +"That's the way to talk to him, Ellery," says I. "But if you don't mind +I think I'd better take charge of him from now on." + +"Sure thing," says Ellery. "He's your prisoner." + +"Then in you go, Jake," says I. "And don't forget about keepin' the +hands up. Now!" + +Say, you should have seen that bunch when our high tragedy trio marches +in; Ellery with his butcher knife on one side; me on the other; and +leadin' in the center Mr. Jake Zosco, his arms above his head, his +dinner coat all dusty and wrinkled, and a two days' stubble of whiskers +decoratin' his face. + +It was Mrs. Jake who got her breath first and swooped down on her little +man with wild cries of "Oh, Jake! My own Jakey at last!" And in another +second his head is all tangled up with the pearl ropes. + +Next Andres Zosco comes to. "What is it, a holdup act?" he asks. +"Ellery, what you doing with that knife? What's it all about, somebody?" + +That seems to be my cue, so I steps to the front. "Sorry, Mr. Zosco," +says I, "but Ellery has discovered a deep laid plot." + +"Eh?" says Zosco, gawpin'. + +"To do away with you and your wife," I goes on. "He says your brother +Jake is in it, and Mrs. Jake, and the butler, and maybe a lot of others. +Isn't that right, Ellery?" + +"Yep," says Ellery. "They're all crooks." + +"What confounded tommyrot!" says Zosco. "Why--why, Jake wouldn't hurt a +fly." + +"Tell what you saw, Ellery," I prompts. + +"I heard 'em plottin'," says Ellery. "Anyway, I saw Jake and the butler +whisperin' on the sly. And they planned to meet down at the lodge with +the others. I think that dago chauffeur was one. But I foiled 'em. I +followed Jake when he sneaked into the lodge house and locked him in. +Then I wrote to the chief detective at Headquarters and they sent out +this sleuth to help me round 'em up." He finishes by wavin' at me +triumphant. + +And you might know that would get a chuckle out of Mr. Robert. "Oh, +yes!" says he. "Detective Sergeant Torchy!" + +Meanwhile Andres Zosco is starin' from one to the other of us and +scratchin' his head puzzled. "I can't get a word of sense out of it +all," says he. "Not a word. Jake, let's hear from you. Where have you +been since night before last after dinner?" + +Jake pries himself loose from the billowy embrace and advances sheepish. +"Why--why," says he, "I was locked in that fool lodge house." + +"You were, eh?" says Zosco. "But how did that happen? What did you go in +there for?" + +"Aw, if you must know, Andy, it--it was pinochle," he growls. "It ain't +a crime, is it, a little game?" + +"What about the butler, though, and the others?" insists Zosco. + +"Why," says Jake, "they was goin' to be in it, too. Can't play pinochle +alone, can you? And in a place like this where there's nothing goin' on +but silly billiards, or that bridge auction, a feller's gotta find some +amusement, ain't he? Saginaw they comes to the house 'most every +night--Hoffmeyer and Raditz and----" + +"Yes, I know," breaks in Zosco. "So that was the plot, was it, Ellery?" + +Ellery registers scorn. "Huh!" says he. "Don't let him put over any such +fish tale on you. Ask him about the slow poison in Maggie's coffee, and +stealin' the jewels, and--and all the rest." + +"Why, Ellery!" gasps Mrs. Zosco. + +"Didn't I catch you snifflin'?" demands Ellery. "And ain't you been +mopin' around?" + +"Oh!" says she. "But that was before Andy had promised to let me play +the lead in his new eight-reel feature, 'The Singed Moth.' I've been +chipper enough since, haven't I, Andy, dear?" + +"Slow poison!" echoes Zosco. "Jewel stealing! Murder plots! Boy, where +did you get such stuff in your head?" + +But Ellery can only drop his chin and scrape his toe. + +"I expect I can clear up that mystery," says I. "As a movie fan Ellery +is an ace." + +And then it was Zosco's turn to stare. I don't know whether it got clear +home to him then or not. He was just about to separate himself from some +remark on the subject when Mrs. Jake cut loose with another squeal. + +"Why, Jake Zosco!" says she. "Look at you! Like a tramp you are." + +"Well, why not?" says Jake. "Didn't I sleep last night in a +wheelbarrow?" + +And when the folks you're callin' on get to droppin' into intimate +personal remarks like that it's time to back out graceful. I guess even +Mrs. Robert decides this wasn't just the evenin' to play the pipe organ. +Before we'd got out they'd opened up the subject of what to do with +young Ellery Bean and the prospects were that he was due for a quick +return to Shelby, N. C. + +"I don't see what good that's going to do," says Vee. "I should say that +he needed some kind of mental treatment. Why, his poor foolish head +seems to be filled with nothing but crime and crooks. I don't understand +how he could get that way." + +"You would," says I, "if you'd take a full course of Zosco films." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +TORCHY STRAYS FROM BROADWAY + + +"I must say it listens kind of complicated," says I, after Vee has +explained how I am to arrive at this country house weddin' fest. + +"Why, Torchy, it's perfectly simple," says she. + +And once more she sketches out the plan, how I'm to take the express to +Springfield, catch a green line trolley that's bound northwest, get off +at Dorr's Crossing, and wait until this Barry Crane party picks me up in +his car. + +You see this friend of Vee's who's billed for the blushin' bride act has +decided to have the event pulled off at Birch Crest, the family's summer +home up in the hills of old N. H. Vee has promised to motor up the day +before with the bridesmaid, leavin' me to follow the next mornin'. But +when we come to look up train schedules it develops that the only way to +get to Birch Crest by train is via Boston. + +"How about runnin' up to Montreal and droppin' down?" I suggests +sarcastic. + +And then comes the word that this organist guy will be on his way up +across lots, after an over-night stop in New Haven, and will take me +aboard if I can make the proper connection. + +"Suppose I make a slip, though?" says I. "There I'll be stranded up in +the pie belt with nothing but my feet to ride fifty miles on. Sorry, +Vee, but I guess your old boardin' school chum will have to break into +matrimony without my help." + +Maybe you think that settled it. If you do you ain't tried being +married. Inside of half an hour we'd agreed on the usual compromise--I'm +to do as Vee says. + +So here at 11:15 on a bright summer mornin' I'm dumped off a trolley car +way out on the upper edge of Massachusetts. It's about as lonesome a +spot as you could find on the map. Nothing but fields and woods in +sight, and a dusty road windin' across the right of way. Not a house to +be seen, not even a barn. + +"You're sure this is Dorr's Crossin', eh?" I asks of the conductor as I +hesitates on the step. + +"Oh, yes," says he, cheerful. + +"Don't seem to be usin' it much, does he?" says I. + +"Ding, ding!" remarks the fare collector to the motorman, and it was a +case of hoppin' lively for me. + +There's nothing left to do but hoist myself conspicuous onto a +convenient wayside rock and hope that this Barry Crane person was +runnin' somewhere near on time. About then I begun to wish I knew more +about him, his general habits and so on. Was his memory good? Could he +be depended on to keep dates with strangers? Would he know Dorr's +Crossing when he saw it? + +Vee hadn't touched on any of these points when she was convincin' me how +simple it would be for him and me to get together. Course, she'd given +me a chatty little sketch of Mr. Crane, but mostly it had been about +what a swell organist he was. Played in a big church. Not only that, but +made up pieces, all out of his own head. Also she'd mentioned about his +hopeless romance with a certain Ann McLeod. + +Seems Barry had been strong for Miss McLeod for five or six years. She'd +kind of strung him along at first, too. Couldn't help likin' Barry some. +Everybody did. He was that kind--good natured, always sayin' clever +things. You know. But when it came to hitchin' up with him permanent, +Miss McLeod had balked. Nobody knew just why. Bright girl, Ann. Brainy, +too, and with lots of pep. She was secretary for some big efficiency +expert. Maybe that was why she couldn't stand for Barry's musical +temperament. She thought 9 a.m. was absolutely the last call for pushin' +back the roll-top and openin' the mornin' mail, while Barry's idea of +beginnin' a perfect day was for someone to bring in a breakfast tray +about eleven o'clock and hand him a cigarette before he tumbled out of +the straw. So while he'd qualified as a Dear Old Thing and she'd got to +the point where she'd let him call her Playmate Mine, that's where the +romance hung on the rocks. Also he'd been described as a chunky party +with a round face decorated with a cute little mustache and baby blue +eyes. + +All of which don't help me dope out how long I'm due to lend a human +note to an otherwise empty landscape. And there's more excitin' outdoor +sports than sittin' on a rock waitin' to be rescued by someone who +hasn't even seen a snapshot of you. I'll tell the world that. During the +first twenty minutes I answered two false alarms. One was a gasoline +truck going the wrong way and the other turns out to be an R. F. D. +flivver with a baby's go-cart tied on the side. It was good and hot on +the perch I'd picked out and I could feel the sun doing things to the +back of my neck and ears, but I didn't dare climb down for fear I'd be +missed. + +Where was this musical gent and his tourin' car? Or would it be a +limousine? Somehow from the way Vee had talked, sayin' he was bugs on +motorin', I sort of favored the limousine proposition. Uh-huh. Most +likely one lined with cretonne, and a French chauffeur at the wheel. But +nothing like that was rollin' past Dorr's Crossing. Not while I was +watchin'. + +The rock wasn't gettin' a bit softer, either. Once a bluejay balanced +himself on a nearby bush and after lookin' me over curious screeched +himself hoarse tryin' to say what he thought of a city guy who didn't +know enough to get in the shade. It got to be noon. Still no Barry +Crane. I was just wonderin' when that trolley car was due for a return +trip and was workin' up a few cuttin' remarks to hand Vee when I got her +on the long distance, when I hears something approachin' from down the +road. First off I thought it might be one of these hay mowers runnin' +wild, but pretty soon out of a cloud of dust jumps a little roadster. It +sure was humpin' itself and makin' as much noise about it as a Third +Avenue surface car with two flat wheels. Didn't look very promisin' but +I got up and stretched my neck until I saw there was two people in it. +Next thing I knew though one of 'em, a young lady, is motionin' to me, +and with a squeal of brake bands the little car pulls up opposite the +rock. And sure enough the young gent drivin' has a sketchy mustache and +baby blue eyes. + +"What ho!" he sings out cheerful. "Torchy, isn't it? Sorry if we've kept +you waiting, but Adelbaran wasn't performing quite as well as usual this +morning. Stow your bag on the fender and climb in." + +"In where?" says I, glancin' at the single seat. + +"Oh, really there's plenty of room for three," says the young lady. "And +for fear Barry will forget to mention it, I am Miss McLeod. He persuaded +me at the last minute to come with him in this crazy machine." + +"Oh, I say, Ann!" protests Barry. "Not so rough, please. You've no +notion how sensitive Adelbaran is to unkind criticism. Besides, he's +brought us safely so far, hasn't he?" + +Ann shrugs her shoulders and moves over to make room for me. "If you can +make another fifty miles in it I shall almost believe in miracles," says +she. + +"And in me too, I trust," says Barry. "Hearest thou, Adelbaran? Then on, +on, pride of the desert! The women are singing in the tents and--and all +that sort of thing. Ho, ho! for the roaring road!" + +He's some classy little driver, Barry. Inside of a hundred yards he has +her doin' better than twenty-six on an up grade over a dirt road +sprinkled free with rocks and waterbreaks. Slam bang, bumpety-bump, +ding-dong we go, with more jingles and squeaks and rattles than a junk +cart rollin' off a roof. + +"Don't mind a few little noises," says Miss McLeod. "Barry doesn't. A +loose fender or a worn roller bearing means nothing to him. Why, he +started with a cracked spark-plug that was spitting like a tom-cat, the +carburetor popping from too lean a mixture, and a half filled radiator +boiling away merrily. It was stopping to get those things fixed up, and +having some air pumped into the spare tire, that made us so late." + +"You see!" says Barry. "She admits it. Wonderful girl though, Ann. She +can tell at a glance just what's the matter with anything or anyone. +Take me, for instance; she----" + +"Sharp curve ahead, Barry," breaks in Ann. + +"Right-o!" says he, takin' it on two wheels and then stepping on the gas +button to rush a hill. + +"Lucky we're wedged in tight," says I, "or some of us might be spilled +out." + +"Yes," says Miss McLeod, "and Barry never would miss us." + +"Cruel words!" says Barry. "How often have I said, Ann, that I miss you +every hour?" + +"He's off again," says Ann. "But if you must be sentimental, Barry, I +shall insist on doing the driving myself." + +"Squelched!" says Barry. "I'll be good." + +Say, they made a great team, them two, when it came to exchangin' +persiflage. It was snappy stuff and it helped a lot towards taking my +mind off Barry's jazz-style drivin'. For he sure does bear down heavy +with his foot. If he plays the organ the way he runs a car I should +think he'd raise the roof. And the speed he gets out of that dinky +little roadster is amazin'. Might have been all right on smooth macadam, +but on this country road he had her jumpin' around on that short +wheel-base like a jackrabbit with the itch. We might have been so many +kernels of pop-corn being shaken over a hot fire. Barry seems to be +enjoyin' every minute of it, though. He makes funny cracks, whistles, +and now and then breaks into song. + +"Driving a car seems to go to his head," remarks Miss McLeod. "It +appears to make him wild." "It does," says Barry. "For---- + + I'm a wild prairie flower, + I grow wilder hour by hour. + Nobody cares to cultivate me, + I'm wild. Whe-e-e-e!" + +He warbles that for the next five minutes, until Miss McLeod suggests +that it's time for lunch. + +"Let's stop at the next shady place we come to," says she. + +"Oh, bother!" says Barry. "Just when Adelbaran is striking his best +pace. Why not take our nourishment on the fly?" + +So she gets out the sandwiches and the thermos bottle and we take it +that way. Rather than let Barry take either hand off the wheel she feeds +him herself, even if he does complain about gettin' his countenance +smeared up with mustard some. Anyway, we didn't lose any time if we did +spill more or less of the coffee. + +"Cheerie oh!" sings out Barry, readin' a sign board. "Only twenty miles +more!" + +"But such up-and-downy miles!" says Ann. + +She was dead right about that, for the further we got into New Hampshire +the more the road looked like it had been built by a roller coaster fan. +I always had a notion this was a small state, from the way it looks on +the map, but I'll bet if it could be rolled flat once it would spread +out near as big as Texas. All we did was to climb up and up and then +slide down and down. Generally at the bottom was one of these covered +wooden bridges, like a hay barn with both ends knocked out, and the way +we'd roar through those was enough to make you think you was goin' +forward with a barrage. Then just ahead would be another long hill +windin' up to the top of the world. + +"Only five miles to go!" sings out Barry at last, along about three +o'clock. "Now, Ann, it's nearly time for you to be saying a few kind +words to Adelbaran and me." + +"I'll be thinking them up," says Ann. + +Perhaps she did. I can't say. For it was somewhere in the middle of the +second or third hill after this that the little roadster began to +splutter and cough like it had swallowed a monkey wrench. + +"Come, come now, Adelbaran!" says Barry coaxin'. "Don't go misbehaving +at this late hour. Remember the women singing in the tents, the palm +waving over the----" + +"Barry," says Ann, "something has gone wrong with your engine." + +"Say not so," says Barry, steppin' on the accelerator careless. + +"But I'm sure!" says Ann. "There!" + +With a final cough the thing has quit cold. All Barry can seem to do +though is to jiggle the spark and look surprised. "Why--why, that's +odd!" says he. + +"Yes, but sitting here isn't going to help," says Miss McLeod. "Get out +and see what's happened. Come on." + +And while she's liftin' the hood and pawin' around among the wires and +things, with Barry lookin' on puzzled and helpless, I sort of wanders +about inspectin' Adelbaran curious. It's some relic, all right, and my +guess is that it was assembled by a cross-eyed mechanic from choice +pieces he rescued off'm a scrap heap. All of a sudden I notices +something peculiar. + +"Say, folks," I calls out, "where's the gas tank on this chariot?" + +"Why, it's on the back," says Barry. + +"Well, it ain't now," says I. "It's gone." + +"Gone!" echoes Ann. "The gas tank? Oh, that can't be possible." + +"Take a look," says I. + +And sure enough, when they comes around all they can find is the rusted +straps that held it in place and the feed pipe twisted off short. + +"Ha, ha!" says Barry. "How utterly absurd. I've rattled off a lot of +things before, but never the gas tank. And I suppose that's rather +important to have." + +"Quite," says Ann. "One doesn't go motoring nowadays without one." + +"But--but what's to be done?" says Barry. "I simply must get to Birch +Crest in time to play the wedding march. The ceremony is to be at 4:30, +you know, and here we are----" + +"I should say," breaks in Ann, "that we'd better find that tank and see +if we can't screw it on or something. It can't be far behind, of +course." + +That seemed sensible enough. So we spreads out across the road and goes +scoutin' down the hill. Didn't seem likely a thing as big as that could +hide itself completely, even if it had bounced off into the bushes. But +we got clear to the bottom without findin' so much as its track. On we +goes, pawin' through the bushes, scoutin' the ditches on both sides, and +peekin' behind trees. + +"Come, little tankey, come to your master," calls Barry persuasive. Then +he tries whistlin' for it. + +"Well, we're sure to find it somewhere down that next hill," says Ann. +"Probably near that water-break where you gave us such a hard jolt." + +But we didn't. In fact, we scouted back over the road for nearly a mile +with no signs of the bloomin' thing. + +"Then we've missed it," finally decides Ann. "Of course no car could run +this far without gas." + +"You don't know Adelbaran," says Barry. "He's quite used to running +without things. I've trained him to do it." + +"Barry, this is no time to be funny," says she. "Now you take the left +side going back. I'll bet you overlooked it." + +Well, we made a regular drag-net on the return trip, scourin' the bushes +for twenty feet on either side, but no tank turns up. + +"Looks like we were stranded," says I, as we fetches up at the roadster +once more. + +Miss Ann McLeod, though, ain't one to give up easy. Besides, she's had +all that efficiency trainin'. + +"I don't suppose you carry such a thing as an emergency can of gasoline +anywhere in the car?" she asks Barry. + +"I'm sure I don't know," says he. "The fellow in the garage insisted on +selling me a lot of stuff once. It's all stowed under the seat." + +"Let's see," says she, liftin' out the cushion. "Why yes, here it is--a +whole quart. And a little funnel, too. Now if we could pour enough into +the feed pipe to fill the carburetor----" + +It was a grand little scheme, only the funnel end was too big to fit +into the feed pipe. + +"Any tire tape?" demands Ann. + +Barry thought there was, but we couldn't find it. Then he remembered +he'd used it to wrap the handle of his tennis racquet once. + +"I got some gum," says I. + +"The very thing!" says Ann. "It must be chewed first though. Here, +Barry, take two or three pieces." + +"But I don't care for gum," says Barry. "Really!" + +"If you don't wish to spend the night here, chew--and chew fast," says +Ann. + +So he chewed. We all chewed. And with the three fresh gobs Ann did a +first aid plumbin' job that didn't look so worse. She got the funnel so +it would stick on the pipe. + +"But it must be held there," she announces. "I'll tell you, Barry; you +will have to hang out over the back and keep the funnel in place with +one hand and pour in the gas with the other, while I drive." + +"Oh, I say!" says Barry. "I'd look nice, wouldn't I?" + +"Torchy will hold you by the legs to keep you from falling off," she +goes on. "Come, unbutton the back curtain and roll it up. There! Now out +you go. And don't spill a drop, mind." + +It sure was an ingenious way of feedin' gas to an engine, and I had my +doubts about whether it would work or not. But it does. First thing I +knew we'd started off with a roar and were tearin' up the hill on +second. We made the top, too. + +"Now hold tight and save the gas," sings out Ann. "I'm going to coast +down this one full tilt." + +Which she does. Barry bounces around a lot on his elbows and stomach, +but I had a firm grip on his legs and we didn't lose him off. + +"More gas now!" calls Ann as we hits the bottom. + +"Ouch! My tummy!" groans Barry. + +"Never mind," says Ann. "Only three miles more." + +Say, it was the weirdest automobilin' I ever did, but Ann ran with +everything wide open and we sure were coverin' the distance. Once we +passed a big tourin' car full of young folks and as we went by they +caught sight of Barry, actin' as substitute gas tank, and they all +turned to give him the haw-haw. + +"Probably they--they think I--I'm doing this on a bub-bet," says Barry. +"I--I wish I were. I--I'd pay." + +"Store ahead!" announces Ann. "Perhaps we can get some more gas." + +It was a good guess. We fills the can and starts on again, with less +than two miles to go. I think Barry must have been a bit reckless with +that last quart for we hadn't gone more'n a mile before the engine +begins to choke and splutter. We were almost to the top of a hill, too. + +"Gas all gone," says Barry, tryin' to climb back in. + +"Go back!" says Ann. "Take the funnel off and blow in the feed pipe. +There! That's it. Keep on blowing." + +You couldn't beat Ann. The machine takes a fresh spurt, we makes the top +of the hill, and halfway down the other side we sees Birch Crest. Hanged +if we don't roll right up to the front door too, before the engine gives +its last gasp, and Barry, covered with dust and red in the face, is +hauled in. We're only half an hour late, at that. + +Course, the whole weddin' party is out there to see our swell finish. +They'd been watchin' for us this last hour, wonderin' what had happened, +and now they crowds around to ask Barry why he arrives hangin' over the +back that way. And you should have heard 'em roar when they gets the +explanation. + +"See!" says Barry on the side to Ann. "I told you folks would laugh at +me." + +"Poor boy!" says Miss McLeod, hookin' her arm into his. "Don't mind. I +think you were perfectly splendid about it." + +"By Jove, though! Do you?" says he. "Would--would you risk another ride +with me, Ann? I know Adelbaran didn't show up very well but----" + +"But your disposition did," cuts in Ann. "And if you're going to insist +on driving around the country in such a rattle-trap machine I--I think +I'd better be with you--always." + +And say, I don't think I ever heard so much pep thrown into the weddin' +march as when Barry Crane pumps it out that afternoon. He's wearin' a +broad grin, too. + +Soon as I has a chance I whispers the news to Vee. "Really?" says she. +"Isn't that fine! And I must say Barry is a lucky chap." + +"Well, he's some whizz himself," says I. "Bound to be or else he +couldn't run a car a mile and a half just on his breath." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +SUBBING FOR THE BOSS + + +How's that? Has something happened to me? Course there has. Something +generally does, and if I ever get to the point where it don't I hope I +shall have pep enough left to use the self-starter. Uh-huh. That's the +way I give the hail to a new day--grinnin' and curious. + +Now some folks I know of works it just opposite, and they may be right, +too. Mr. Piddie, our office manager, for instance. He's always afraid +something will happen to him. I've heard him talk about it enough. Not +just accidents that might leave him an ambulance case, or worse, but +anything that don't come in his reg'lar routine; little things, like +forgettin' his commutation ticket, or gettin' lost in Brooklyn, or +havin' his new straw lid blow under a truck and walkin' bareheaded a few +blocks. Say, I'll bet he won't like it in Heaven if he can't punch a +time card every mornin', or if they shift him around much to different +harp sections. + +While me, I ain't worryin' what tomorrow will be like if it's only some +different from yesterday. And generally it is. Take this last little +whirl of mine. I'll admit it leaves me a bit dizzy in the head, like +I'd been side-swiped by a passing event. Also my pride had had a bump +when I didn't know I had such a thing. Maybe that's why I look so dazed. + +What led up to it all was a little squint into the past that me and Old +Hickory indulged in here a week or so back. I'd been openin' the mornin' +mail, speedy and casual as a first-class private sec. ought to do, and +sortin' it into the baskets, when I runs across this note which should +have been marked "Personal." I'd only glanced at the "Dear old pal" +start and the "Yours to a finish, Bonnie," endin' when I lugs it into +the private office. + +"I expect this must have been meant for Mr. Robert; eh, Mr. Ellins?" +says I, handin' it over. + +It's written sort of scrawly and foreign on swell stationery and Old +Hickory don't get many of that kind, as you can guess. He reads it clear +through, though, without even a grunt. Then he waves me into a chair. + +"As it happens, Torchy," says he, "this was meant for no one but me." + +"My error," says I. "I didn't read it, though." + +He don't seem to take much notice of that statement, just sits there +gazin' vacant at the wall and fingerin' his cigar. After a minute or so +of this he remarks, sort of to himself: "Bonnie, eh? Well, well!" + +I might have smiled. Probably I did, for the last person in the world +you'd look for anything like mushy sentiments from would be Old Hickory +Ellins. Couldn't have been much more than a flicker of a smile at that. +But them keen old eyes of his don't miss much that's going on, even when +he seems to be in a trance. He turns quick and gives me one of them +quizzin' stares. + +"Funny, isn't it, son," says he, "that I should still be called Dear Old +Pal by the most fascinating woman in the world?" + +"Oh, I don't know," says I, tryin' to pull the diplomatic stuff. + +"You young rascal!" says he. "Think I'm no judge, eh? Here! Wait a +moment. Now let's see. Um-m-m-m!" + +He's pullin' out first one desk drawer and then another. Finally he digs +out a faded leather photograph case and opens it. + +"There!" he goes on. "That's Bonnie Sutton. What about her?" + +Course, her hair is done kind of odd and old-fashioned, piled up on top +of her head that way, with a curl or two behind one ear; and I expect if +much of her costume had showed it would have looked old-fashioned, too. +But there wasn't much to show, for it's only a bust view and cut off +about where the dress begins. Besides, she's leanin' forward on her +elbows. A fairly plump party, I should judge, with substantial, +well-rounded shoulders and kind of a big face. Something of a cut-up, +too, I should say, for she holds her head a little on one side, her chin +propped in the palm of the left hand, while between the fingers of the +right she's holdin' a cigarette. What struck me most, though, was the +folksy look in them wide-open eyes of hers. If it hadn't been for that I +might have sized her up for a lady vamp. + +"Good deal of a stunner, I should say, Mr. Ellins," says I; "and no half +portion, at that." + +"Of queenly stature, as the society reporters used to put it," says Old +Hickory. "She had her court, too, even if some of the sessions were +rather lively ones." + +At that he trails off into what passes with him as a chuckle and I waits +patient while he does a mental review of old stuff. I could guess near +enough how some of them scenes would show up: the bunch gatherin' in one +of the little banquet rooms upstairs at Del's., and Bonnie surrounded +three deep by admirin' males, perhaps kiddin' Ward McAllister over one +shoulder and Freddie Gebhard whisperin' over the other; or after +attendin' one of Patti's farewell concerts there would be a beefsteak +and champagne supper somewhere uptown--above Twenty-third Street--and +some wild sport would pull that act of drinking Bonnie's health out of +her slipper. You know? And I expect they printed her picture on the +front page of the "Clipper" when she broke into private theatricals. + +"And she's still on deck?" I suggests. + +Old Hickory nods. He goes on to say how the last he heard of her she'd +married some rich South American that she'd met in Washington and gone +off to live in Brazil, or the Argentine. That had been quite a spell +back, I take it. He didn't say just how long ago. Anyway, she'd dropped +out for good, he'd supposed. + +"And now," says he, "she has returned, a widow, to settle on the old +farm, up somewhere near Cooperstown. It appears, however, that she finds +it rather dull. I can't fancy Bonnie on a farm somehow. Anyway, she has +half a mind, she says, to try New York once more before she finally +decides. Wants to see some of the old places again. And by the great +cats, she shall! No matter what my fool doctors say, Torchy, I mean to +take a night or two off when she comes. If Bonnie can stand it I guess I +can, too." + +"Yes, sir," says I, grinnin' sympathetic. + +Well, that was 1:15 a.m. And at exactly 2:30 he limps out with his hand +to his right side and his face the color of cigar ashes. He's in for +another spell. I gets his heart specialist on the 'phone and loads Mr. +Ellins into a taxi. Just before closin' time he calls up from the house +to say that he's off to the sanitarium for another treatment and may be +gone a couple of weeks. I must tell Mr. Robert about those options, +have him sub. in at the next directors' meetin', and do a lot of odd +jobs that he'd left unfinished. + +"And by the way, Torchy," he winds up, "about Bonnie." + +"Oh, yes," says I. "The lady fascinator." + +"If she should show up while I am away," says Old Hickory, "don't--don't +bother to tell her I'm a sick old man. Just say I--I've been called out +of town, or something." + +"I get you," says I. "Business trip." + +"She'll be disappointed, I suppose," goes on Mr. Ellins. "No one to take +her around town. That is, unless--By George, Torchy!--You must take my +place." + +"Eh?" says I, gaspy. + +"Yes," says he. "You lucky young rascal! You shall be the one to welcome +Bonnie back to New York. And do it right, son. Draw on Mr. Piddie for +any amount you may need. Nothing but the best for Bonnie. You +understand. That is, if she comes before I get back." + +Say, I've had some odd assignments from Old Hickory, but never one just +like this before. Some contract that, to take an ex-home wrecker in tow +and give her the kind of a good time that was popular in the days of +Berry Wall. If I could only dig up some old sport with a good memory he +might coach me so that I might make a stab at it, but I didn't know +where to find one. And for three days there I made nervous motions +every time Vincent came in off the gate with a card. + +But a week went by and no Bonnie blew in from up state. Maybe she'd +renigged on the proposition, or had hunted up some other friend of the +old days. Anyway, I'd got my nerves soothed down considerable and was +almost countin' the incident as closed, when here the other day as I +drifts back from lunch Vincent holds me up. + +"Lady to see Mr. Ellins," says he. "She's in the private office." + +"Sad words, Vincent," says I. "Don't tell me it's Bonnie." + +"Nothing like that," says he. "Here's her name," and he hands me a +black-bordered card. + +"Huh!" says I, taking a glance. "Senora Concita Maria y Polanio. All of +that, eh? Must be some whale of a female?" + +"Whale is near it," says Vincent. "You ought to see her." + +"The worst of it is," says I, "I gotta see her." + +He's no exaggerator, Vincent. This female party that I finds bulgin' Old +Hickory's swing desk chair has got any Jonah fish I ever saw pictured +out lookin' like a pickerel. I don't mean she's any side-show freak. Not +as bad as that. But for her height, which is about medium, I should say, +she sure is bulky. The way she sits there with her skirts spreadin' +wide around her feet, she has all the graceful outlines of a human water +tower. Above the wide shoulders is a big, high-colored face, and +wabblin' kind of unsteady on top of her head is a black velvet hat with +jet decorations. You remember them pictures we used to see of the late +Queen Victoria? Well, the Senora is an enlarged edition. + +I was wonderin' how long since she came up from Cuba, and if I'd need a +Spanish interpreter to find out why she thinks she has to call on the +president of the Corrugated Trust, when she rolls them big dark eyes of +hers my way and remarks, in perfectly good United States: "Ah! A ray of +sunshine!" + +It comes out so unexpected that for a second or so I just gawps at her, +and then I asks: "Referrin' to my hair?" + +"Forgive me, young man," says she. "But it is such a cheerful shade." + +"Yes'm," says I. "So I've been told. Some call it fire-hydrant red, but +I claim it's only super-pink." + +"Anyway, I like it very much," says she. "I hope they don't call you +Reddy, though?" + +"No, ma'am," says I. "Torchy." + +"Why, how clever!" says she. "May I call you that, too? And I suppose +you are one of Mr. Ellins' assistants?" + +"His private secretary," says I. "So you can see what luck he's playin' +in. Did you want to talk to him 'special, or is it anything I can fix up +for you?" + +"It's rather personal, I'm afraid," says she. "The boy at the door +insisted that Mr. Ellins wasn't in, but I told him I didn't mind +waiting." + +"That's nice," says I. "He'll be back in a week or so." + +"Oh!" says she. "Then he went away before my note came?" + +Which was where I begun to work up a hunch. Course, it's only a wild +suspicion at first. She don't fit the description at all. Still, if she +should be the one--I could feel the panicky shivers chasin' up and down +my backbone just at the thought. I expect my voice wavered a little as I +put the question. + +"Say," says I, "you don't happen to be Bonnie Sutton, do you?" + +That got a laugh out of her. It's no throaty, old-hen cackle, either. +It's clear and trilly. + +"Thank you, Torchy," says she. "You've guessed it. But please tell me +how?" + +"Why," says I, draggy, "I--er--you see----" And then I'm struck with +this foolish idea. Honest, I couldn't help pullin' it. "Mr. Ellins," I +goes on, "happened to show me your picture." + +"What!" says she. "My picture? I--I can hardly believe it." + +"Wait," says I. "It's right here in the drawer. That is, it was. Yep! +This one. There!" + +And say, as I flashed that old photo on her I didn't have the nerve to +watch her face. You get me, don't you? If you'd changed as much as she +had how would you like to be stacked up sudden against a view of what +you was once? So I looked the other way. Must have been a minute or more +before I glanced around again. She was still starin' at the picture and +brushin' something off her eyelashes. + +"Torchy," says she, "I could almost hug you for that. What a really +talented young liar you are! And how thoroughly delightful of you to do +it!" + +"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Anyway, it's the picture he showed me when +he was tellin' about you." + +"Perhaps you wouldn't mind, Torchy," she goes on, "telling me just what +he said." + +"Why, for one thing," says I, "he let out that you was the most +fascinatin' woman in the world." + +Another ripply laugh from Bonnie. "The old dear!" says she. "But then, +he always was a little silly about me. Think of his never having gotten +over it in all these years, though! But he didn't stay to meet me. How +was that?" + +I hope I made it convincin' about his being called before a Senate +Committee and how he was hoping to get back before she showed up. I told +it as well as I could with them wise friendly eyes watchin' me. + +"Perhaps, after all," says she, "it's just as well. If I had known he +had this photo I never would have risked coming. Now that I'm here, +however, I wish there was someone who----" + +"Oh, he fixed that up," says I. "I'm the substitute." + +"You!" says she. Then she shakes her head. "You're a dear boy," she goes +on, "but I couldn't ask it of you. Really!" + +"Sure you can," says I. "You want to see what the old town looks like, +have a little dinner in one of the old joints, and maybe make a little +round of the bright spots afterwards. Well, I got it all planned out. +Course, I can't do it just the way Mr. Ellins would but----" + +"Listen, Torchy," she breaks in. "I regret to admit the fact, but I am a +fat, shapeless, freaky-looking old woman. Ordinarily that doesn't worry +me in the least. After fifteen years in the tropics one doesn't worry +about how one looks. It has been a long time since I've given it a +thought. But now--Well, it's different. Seeing that picture. No, I can't +ask it of you." + +"Mr. Ellins will ask me, though, when he gets back," says I. "Besides, I +don't mind. Maybe you are a little overweight, but I'm beginnin' to +suspect you're a reg'lar person, after all; and if I can qualify as a +guide----" + +Say, don't let on to Vee, but that's where I got hugged. It seems Bonnie +does want to have one glimpse of New York with the lights on; wants it +the worst way. For when she'd come up from Rio her one idea was to get +back to the old farm, fix it up regardless of expense, and camp down +there quiet for the rest of her days. She'd had a bully time doin' it, +too, for three or four months. She'd enjoyed havin' people around her +who could talk English, and watchin' the white clouds sail over the +green hills, and seein' her cattle and sheep browsin' about the fields. +It had rested her eyes and her soul. + +And then, all of a sudden, she had this hunch that maybe she was missin' +something. Not that she thought she could come back reg'lar, or break +into the old life where she left off. She says she wasn't so foolish in +the head as all that. Her notion was that she might be happier and more +contented if she just looked on from the side-lines. + +"I wanted to hear music," says she, "and see the lights, and watch gay +and beautiful young people doing the things I used to do. It +might--Well, it might shake off some of my years. Who knows?" + +"Sure! That's the dope," says I. "Course, a lot of their old-time joints +ain't runnin' now--Koster & Bial's, Harrigan's, the Cafe Martin but +maybe some you remember are still open." + +"Silly!" says she, shakin' a pudgy forefinger at me. "That isn't what I +want at all. Not the old, but the new; the very newest and most +fashionable. I'm not trying to go back, but trying to keep up." + +"Oh!" says I. "In that case it'll be easy. How about startin' in with +the tea dance at the Admiral, just opened? Begins at 4:15." + +"Tell me, Torchy," says she, "did you ever see anyone as--as huge as I +am at a tea dance? No, I think we'll not start with that." + +"Then suppose we hop off with dinner on the Plutoria roof?" I suggests. +"The Tortonis are doing a dancin' turn there and they have the swellest +jazz band in town." + +"It sounds exciting," says Bonnie. "I will try to be ready by 7:30. And +you surely are a nice boy. Now if you will help me out to the +elevator----" + +And it's while I'm tryin' to steady her on one side as she goes rollin' +waddly through the main office that I gets a little hint of what's +comin' to me. Maybe you've seen a tug-boat bobbin' alongside a big liner +in a heavy sea. I expect we must have looked something like that. Even +so, that flossy bunch of lady typists showed poor taste in cuttin' loose +with the smothered snickers as we wobbles past. + +And I could get a picture of myself towin' the Senora Concita Maria +What's-Her-Name, alias Bonnie Sutton, through the Plutoria corridors. +What if her feet should skid and after ten or a dozen bell hops had +boosted her up again they should find me underneath? Still I was in for +it. No scoutin' around for back-number restaurants, as I'd planned at +first. No, Bonnie had asked to be brought up-to-date. So she should, +too. But I did wish she'd come to town in something besides that late +Queen Victoria costume. + +Yet I maps out the evenin' as if I had a date with Peggy Hopkins or +Hazel Dawn. At 5:30 I'm slippin' a ten-spot into the unwillin' palm of a +Plutoria head waiter to cinch a table for two next to the dancin' +surface, and from there I drops into a cigar store where I pays two +prices for a couple of end seats at the Midnight Follies. Then I slicks +up a bit at a Turkish bath and at 7:25 I'm waitin' with the biggest taxi +I can find in front of Bonnie's hotel. + +I expect I must have let out a sigh of relief when she shows up and I +notice that she's shed the unsteady velvet lid. It's some creation she's +swapped it for, a pink satin affair with a wing spread of about three +feet, but I must admit it kind of sets off that big face of hers and the +grayish hair. + +That's nothing to the jolt I gets, though, after she's been loaded into +the cab and the fur-trimmed opera cape slips back a bit. Say, take it +from me, Bonnie has bloomed out. She must have speeded up some Fifth +Avenue modiste's establishment to the limit, but she's turned the trick, +I'll say. Uh-huh! Not only the latest model evening gown, but she's had +her hair done up spiffy, and she's got on a set of jewels that would +make a pawnbroker's bride turn green. + +"Z-z-zing!" says I, catchin' my breath. "Excuse me, but I didn't know +you were going to dress the part." + +"You didn't think I could, did you, Torchy?" says she. "Well, I haven't +quite forgotten, you see." + +So all them gloomy thoughts I'd indulged in was so much useless worry, +as is usually the case. I'll admit we was some conspicuous durin' the +evenin', with folks stretchin' their necks our way, but I didn't hear +any snickers. They gazed at Bonnie sort of awed and impressed, like +tourists starin' at the Woolworth Buildin' when it's lighted up. + +Some classy dinner that was we had, even if I did order it myself, with +only two waiters to coach me. I couldn't say exactly what it was we had +for nourishment, only I know it was all tasty and expensive. You +wouldn't expect me to pick out the cheap things for a lady plutess from +Brazil, would you? So we dallies with Canaps Barbizon, Portage de la +Reine, breasts of milk-fed pheasants, and such trifles as that. Bonnie +says it's all good. But she can't seem to get used to the band brayin' +out impetuous just as she's about to take another bite of something. + +"Tell me," says she, "is that supposed to be music?" + +"Not at all," says I. "That's jazz. We've got so we can't eat without +it, you know." + +Also I suspect the Tortonis' dancin' act jarred her a bit. You've seen +'em do the shimmy-plus? + +"Well!" says she, drawin' in a long breath and lookin' the other way. +"So that is an example of modern dancing, is it?" + +"It's the kind of stunt the tired business man has to have before he +gets bright in the eyes again," says I. "But wait until we get to the +Follies if you want to see him really begin to live." + +We had to kill a couple of hours between times so we took in the last +half of the latest bedroom farce and I think that got a rise or two out +of Bonnie. I gathered from her remarks that Lillian Russell or Edna +Wallace Hopper never went quite that far in her day. + +"It's pajamas or nothing now," says I. + +"And occasionally," she adds, "I suppose it is--Well, I trust not, at +least." + +After the Follies she hadn't a word to say. Only, as I landed her back +at her hotel, along about 2:30 a.m., she slumps into a big chair in the +Egyptian room and lets her chin sag. + +"It's no use, Torchy," says she. "I--I couldn't." + +"Eh?" says I. + +"End my days to jazz time," says she. "No. I shall go back to my quiet +hills and my calm-eyed Holsteins. And I shall go entirely contented. I +can't tell you either, how thankful I am that it was you who showed me +my mistake instead of my dear old friend. You've been so good about it, +too." + +"Me?" says I. "Why, I've had a big night. Honest." + +"Bless you!" says she, pattin' my hand. "And just one thing more, +Torchy. When you tell Mr. Ellins that I've been here, and gone, couldn't +you somehow forget to say just how I looked? You see, if he remembers me +as I was when that photo was taken--Well, where's the harm?" + +"Trust me," says I. "And I won't be strainin' my conscience any at +that." + +But I didn't need to juggle even a word. When Old Hickory hears how I've +subbed in for him with Bonnie he just pulls out the picture, gazes at it +fond for a minute or so, and then remarks: + +"Ah, you lucky young rascal!" Then he picks up a note from his desk. +"Oh, by the way," he goes on, "here's a little remembrance she sent you +in my care." + +Little! Say, what do you guess? Oh, only an order for a 1920 model +roadster with white wire wheels to be delivered to me when I calls for +it! She's merely tipped me an automobile, that's all. And after I'd read +it through for the third time, and was sure it was so, I manages to gasp +out: + +"Lucky is right, Mr. Ellins; that's the only word." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A LATE HUNCH FOR LESTER + + +You might not guess it, but every now and then I connect with some true +thought that makes me wiser above the ears. Honest, I do. Sometimes they +just come to me by accident, on the fly, as it were. And then again, +they don't come so easy. + +Take this latest hunch of mine. I know now that my being a high-grade +private sec. don't qualify me to hand out any fatherly advice to the +female sex. Absolutely it doesn't. And yet, here only a few weeks back, +that was just what I was doin'. Oh, I don't mean I was scatterin' it +around broadcast. It had to be a particular and 'special case to tempt +me to crash in with the Solomon stuff. It was the case of Lester +Biggs--and little Miss Joyce. + +Now you'd almost think I'd seen too many lady typists earnin' their +daily bread and their weekly marcelle waves for me to get stirred up +over anything they might do. And as a rule, I don't waste much thought +on 'em unless they develop the habit of parkin' their gum on the corner +of my desk, or some such trick as that. I sure would be busy if I did +more, for here in the Corrugated general offices we have fifteen or +twenty more or less expert key pounders most of the time. Besides, it's +Mr. Piddie's job to worry over 'em, and believe me he does it thorough. + +But somehow this little Miss Joyce party was different. I expect it was +the baby blue tam-o'-shanter that got me noticin' her first off. You +know that style of lid ain't worn a great deal by our Broadway stenogs. +Not the home crocheted kind. Hardly. I should judge that most of our +flossy bunch wouldn't be satisfied until they'd swapped two weeks' +salary for some Paris model up at Mme. Violette's. And how they did +snicker when Miss Joyce first reported for duty wearin' that tam and +costumed tacky in something a cross-roads dressmaker had done her worst +on. + +Miss Joyce didn't seem to mind. By rights she should have been a shy, +modest little thing who would have been so cut up that she'd have rushed +into the cloak room and spilled a quart of salt tears. But she never +even quivers one of her long eyelashes, so Piddie reports. She just +comes back at 'em with a sketchy, friendly little smile and proceeds to +tackle her work business-like. And inside of ten days she has the lot of +'em eatin' out of her hand. + +But while I might feel a little sympathetic toward this stray from the +kerosene circuit I didn't let it go so far but what I kicked like a +steer when I finds that Piddle has wished her on me for a big forenoon's +work. + +"What's the idea, Piddie?" says I. "Why do I get one of your awkward +squad who'll probably spell 'such' with a t in it and punctuate by the +hit-or-miss method?" + +"Miss Joyce?" says he, raisin' his eyebrows, pained. "I beg your pardon, +Torchy, but she is one of our most efficient stenographers. Really!" + +"She don't look the part," says I. "But if you say she is I'll take a +chance." + +Well, she was all he'd described. She could not only scribble down that +Pitman stuff as fast as I could feed the dictation to her, but she could +read it straight afterward and the letters she turns out are a joy to +look over. From then on I picks her to do all my work, being careful not +to let either Mr. Robert or Old Hickory know what an expert I've +discovered in disguise. + +For one thing she's such a quiet, inoffensive little party. She don't +come in all scented with Peau d'Espagne, nor she don't stare at you +bored, or pat her hair or polish her nails while you're waitin' to think +of the right word. She don't seem to demand the usual chat or fish for +an openin' to confide what a swell time she had last night. In fact, she +don't make any remarks at all outside of the job in hand, which is some +relief when you're scratchin' your head to think what to tell the +assistant Western manager about renewin' them dockage contracts. + +Yet she ain't one of the scared-mouse kind. She looks you square in the +eye when there's any call for it and she don't mumble her remarks when +she has something to say. Not Miss Joyce. Her words come out clear and +crisp, with a slight roll to the r's and all the final letters sounded, +like she'd been taking elocution or something. + +In the course of five or six weeks she has shed the blue tam for a neat +little hat and has ditched the puckered seam effect dress for a black +office costume with white collar and cuffs. She still sticks to partin' +her hair in the middle and drawin' it back smooth with no ear tabs or +waves to it. So she does look some old-fashioned. + +That was why I'm kind of surprised to notice this Lester Biggs begin +hoverin' around her at lunch time and toward the closin' hour. She ain't +the type Lester usually picks out to roll his eyes at. Not in the least. +For of all them young hicks in the bond room I expect Lester is about +the most ambitious would-be sport we've got. + +You see, I've known Lester Biggs more or less for quite some time. He +started favorin' the Corrugated with his services back in the days when +I was still on the gate and rated myself the highest paid and easiest +worked office boy between Greeley Square and Forty-second Street. And +all the good I ever discovered about him wouldn't take me long to tell. + +As for the other side of the case--Well, I ain't much on office scandal, +but I will say that it always struck me Lester had the kind of a mind +that needed chloride of lime on it. I never saw the time when he wasn't +stretchin' his neck after some flossy typist or other, and as sure as a +new one with the least hint of hair bleach showed up it would mean +another affair for Lester. Maybe you know the kind. + +And he sure dressed the part, on and off. The Tin-Horn Sport Cut clothes +that you see advertised so wide must be made and designed 'special for +Lester. I remember he sprung the first pinch-back coat that came into +the office. Same way with the slit pockets, the belted vest and other +cute little innovations that the Times Square chicken hounds drape +themselves in. + +I wouldn't quite say that he'd pass for the perfect male, either. Not +unless you count the bat ears, face pimples, turkey neck and the cast in +one eye as points of beauty. But that don't seem to bother Lester in the +least. He knows he has a way with him. His reg'lar openin' is "Hello, +Girlie, what you got on the event card for tonight?" and from that to +makin' a date at Zinsheimer's dance hall is just a step. Oh, yes, Lester +is some gay bird, if you want to call it that. + +And all on twenty a week. So of course that interferes some with his +great ambition. He used to tell me about it back in the old days when I +was on the gate and hadn't sized him up accurate. Chorus girls! If he +could only get to know some squab pippin from the Winter Garden or the +Follies that would be all he'd ask. He would pick out his favorite from +the new musical shows, lug around half-tone pictures of 'em cut from +newspapers, and try to throw the bluff that he expected to meet 'em +early next week; but as we all knew he never got nearer than the second +balcony he never got away with the stuff. + +"Suppose by some miracle you did, Lester?" I'd ask him. "What then? +Would you blow her to a bowl of chow mein at some chop suey joint, or +could you get by with a nut sundae at a cut-rate drug store? And suppose +some curb broker was waitin' to take her out to Heather Blossom Inn? +You'd put up a hot competition, you would, with nothing but the change +from a five left in your jeans." + +"Ah, just leave that to me, old son," he'd say, winkin' devilish. + +And the one time when he did pull it off I happened to hear about. A +friend of his who was usher at the old Hippodrome offered to tow him to +a little Sunday night supper at the flat of one of the chorus ladies. +Lester went, too, and found a giddy thing of about forty fryin' onions +for a fam'ly of five, includin' three half-grown kids and a +scene-shiftin' hubby. + +That blow seems to discourage Lester for a week or so, since which he +has run true to form. He'll run around with lady typists, or girls from +the cloak department, or most anything that wears skirts, until they +discover what a tight-wad he is and give him the shunt. But his great +aim in life is to acquire a lady-friend that he can point out in the +second row and hang around for at the stage door about midnight. + +So when I sees him flutterin' about Miss Joyce, and her making motions +like she was fallin' for him, I didn't quite know what to make of it. +Course, now that she's bucked up a bit on her costume she is more or +less easy to look at. For a little thing, almost a half portion, as you +might put it, she has quite a figure, slim and graceful. And them pansy +brown eyes can light up sort of fascinatin', I expect. And being so +fresh from the country I suppose she can't dope out what a cheap shimmy +lizard Lester is. It's a wonder some of the other typists hadn't put her +wise. They're usually good at that. But it looks like they'd missed a +trick in her case, for one noon I overhears Lester datin' her up for an +evenin' at Zinsheimer's. And when he drifts along I can't resist +throwin' out a hint, on my own account. + +"With Lester, eh?" says I, humpin' my eyebrows. + +"Oh, I know," says Miss Joyce. "But I do love to dance and I--I've been +rather lonely, you see." + +I saw. And of course after that there was nothing more to say. She +didn't tell me as much, but I understand that it got to be a regular +thing. You could tell that by the intimate way Lester tips her the wink +as he swaggers by. He didn't take any pains to hide it, or to lower his +voice when he remarks, "Well, kiddo, see you at eight thirt., eh?" + +As long as she kept her work up to the mark, which she does, it wasn't +any funeral of mine. I never have yearned to be a volunteer chaperon. +But I was kind of sorry for little Miss Joyce. I expect I said something +of the kind to Vee, and she was all for having Mr. Piddie give her a +good talking to. + +"No use," says I. "Piddie wouldn't know how. All he can do is hire 'em +and fire 'em, and even that's turnin' his hair gray. It'll all work out +one way or another, I expect." + +It does, too. But not exactly along the lines I was looking for it to +develop. First off, Lester quits the Corrugated. As he'd been on the +same job for more'n six years, and gettin' worse at it right along, the +blow didn't quite put us out of business. We're still staggerin' ahead. + +"What's the scheme, Lester?" says I. "Beatin' the office manager to +it?" + +"Huh!" says Lester. "I've been plannin' to make a shift for more'n a +year. Just waitin' for the right openin'. I got it now." + +"The Morgan people sent for you, did they?" says I. + +"They might have, at that," says Lester, "only I'm through bein' an +office slave for anybody. I'm goin' in with some live wires this time, +where I'll have a chance." + +But it turns out that he's been taken on as a sidewalk man by a pair of +ticket speculators--Izzy Goldman and his pal, who used to run the cigar +stand down in the arcade. They handled any kind of pasteboards, from +grandstand parade tickets to orchestra seats. + +"Yes," says I, "that'll be a great career. Almost in the theatrical +game, eh? You'll be knowin' all the pippins now, I expect." + +"Watch me," says Lester. + +Well, I didn't strain my eyes. I'd have been just as pleased to know +that Lester was going to slip out of my young life forever and to forget +him complete within the next two days. Only I couldn't. There was Miss +Joyce to remind me. Not that she says a word. She ain't the chatty, +confidential kind. But it was natural for me to wonder now and then if +they was still as chummy as at the start. + +He'd been away a month or more I expect, before either of us passed his +name, and then it came out accidental. I starts dictatin' a letter to a +firm in St. Louis, Lester & Riggs. The name sort of startles Miss Joyce. + +"I beg pardon?" says she, her pencil poised over the pad. + +"No, not Lester Biggs," says I. "By the way, how is he these days?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I--I haven't seen him for weeks." + +"Oh!" says I. "Kind of thought you'd be droppin' him down the coal shute +or something." + +She shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head. "It was he who dropped +me," says she. "Flat." + +"Considerin' Lester," says I, "that's more or less of a compliment." + +"I am not so sure of that," says Miss Joyce. "You see, he was quite +frank about it. He--he said I had no style or zipp about me. Well, I'm +afraid it's true." + +"Even so," says I, "it was sweet of him to throw it at you, wasn't it?" + +She indulges in a sketchy, quizzin' smile. "I think some of the girls at +Zinsheimer's had been teasing him about me," she goes on. "They called +me 'the poor little working girl,' I believe. I've no doubt I looked it. +But I haven't been able to spend much for clothes--as yet." + +"Of course," says I, throwin' up a picture of an invalid mother and a +coon-huntin' father back in the alfalfa somewhere. "And so far you +ain't missed much by not havin' 'em. I should put Lester's loss down on +the credit side if I was makin' the entry." + +"He could dance, though," says Miss Joyce, as she gets busy with her +pencil again. + +Then a few weeks later I was handed my big jolt. We was gettin' out a +special report for the directors' meetin' one day after lunch when right +in the middle of a table of costs Miss Joyce glances anxious at the +clock and drops her note book. + +"I'm so sorry," says she, "but couldn't we finish this tomorrow +morning?" + +"Why, I suppose we might," says I, "if it's anything important." + +"It is," says she. "If I'm not there by 3 o'clock the stage manager will +not see me at all, and I do so want to land an engagement this time." + +"Eh?" says I gawpin'. "Stage manager! You?" + +"Why, yes," says she. "You see, I tried once before. I was almost taken +on, too. They liked my voice, they said, but I wasn't up on my dancing. +So I've been taking lessons of a ballet master. Frightfully expensive. +That's where all my money has gone. But I think they'll give me a chance +this time. It's for the chorus of that new 'Tut! Tut! Marie' thing, you +know, and they've advertised for fifty girls." + +I suppose I must have let loose a gasp. This meek, modest young thing, +who looked like she wouldn't know a lip-stick from a boiled carrot, +plannin' cold-blooded to throw up a nice respectable job and enter +herself in the squab market! Why, I wouldn't have been jarred more if +Piddie had announced that next season he was going to do bareback ridin' +for some circus. + +"Excuse me, Miss Joyce," says I, "but I wouldn't say you was just the +kind they'd take on." + +"Oh, they take all kinds," says she. + +"Better brace yourself for a turndown, though," says I, "I see it coming +to you. You ain't the type at all." + +"Perhaps you don't know," says she, trippin' off to get her hat. + +Ever see one of them mobs that turns out when there's a call for a new +chorus? I've had to push my way through 'em once or twice up in some of +them office buildings along the Rialto, and believe me, it's a weird +collection; all sorts, from wispy little flappers who should be in +grammar school still, to hard-faced old battle axes who used to travel +with Nat Goodwin. So I couldn't figure little Miss Joyce gettin' +anything more'n a passing glance in that aggregation. Yet when she shows +up in the mornin' she's lookin' sort of smilin' and chirky. + +"Well," said I, "did you back out after lookin' 'em over?" + +"Oh, no," says she. "I was tried out with the first lot and engaged +right away. They're rushing the production, you see, and I happened to +fit in. Why, inside of an hour they had twenty of us rehearsing. I'm to +be in the first big number, I think--one of the Moonbeam girls. Isn't +that splendid?" + +"If that's what you want," says I, "I expect it is. But how about the +folks back home? What'll they say to this wide jump of yours?" + +"I've decided not to tell them anything about it," says she. "Not for a +long time, anyway." + +"They might hear, though," I suggests. "Just where do you come from?" + +"Why, Saskatoun," says she, without battin' an eyelash. + +"Oh, all right, if you don't want to tell," says I. + +"But I have told you," says she. "Saskatoun." + +"Is it a new hair tonic, or what?" says I. + +"It's a city," says she. "One of the largest in British Columbia." + +"Think of that!" says I. "They don't care how they mess up the map these +days, do they? And your folks live there?" + +"Most of them," says she. "Two of my brothers are up at Glen Bow, +raising sheep; one of my sisters is at Alberta, giving piano lessons; +and another sister is doing church singing in Moose Jaw. If I had stayed +at home I would be doing something like that. We are a musical family, +you know. Daddy is a church organist and wanted me to keep on in the +choir and perhaps get to be a soloist, at $50 a month. But I couldn't +see it. If I am going to make a living out of my music I want to make a +good one. And New York is the place, isn't it!" + +"It depends," says I. "You don't think you'll get rich in the 'Tut! Tut! +Marie' chorus, do you?" + +"Perhaps they'll not keep me in the chorus," says she. "It's the back +door, I know, but it was the only way I could get in. And I'm going to +work for something better. You'll see." + +Yep, I saw. Miss Joyce resigned at the end of the week, and it wasn't +ten days before I gets a little note from her saying how she'd been +picked out to do a specialty dance and duet with Ronald Breen. Mr. Breen +had done the picking himself. And she did hope I would look in some +night when the company opened on Broadway. + +"I expect we'll have to go; eh, Vee?" says I when I gets home. + +"Surely," says Vee. + +Well, maybe you've noticed what a hit this "Tut! Tut!" thing has been +making. It's about the zippiest, peppiest girl show in town, and that's +saying a lot. It's the kind of stuff that makes the tired business man +get bright in the eyes and forget how near the sixteenth of January is. +I thought first off we'd have to put off seeing it until after +Christmas, for when I finally got to the box office there was nothing +doing in orchestra seats. Sold out five weeks in advance. But by luck I +happens to run across Lester Biggs in the lobby and for five a throw he +fixes me up with two places in G, middle row. + +"It's a big winner," says he. + +"Seen it yourself?" I asks. + +"Not yet," says he. "Think I can pull it off tonight, though." + +"Good!" says I. "I'll be looking for you out front after the first act." + +And, say, when this party who's listed on the program as Jean Jolly +comes boundin' in with Ronald Breen I'll admit she had me sittin' up +with my ears tinted pink. No use goin' into details about her costume. +It's hardly worth while--a little white satin here and there and a touch +of black tulle. + +"Well!" gasps Vee. "Is that your little Miss Joyce?" + +"I can hardly believe it," says I. + +"I should hope not," says Vee. "But she is cute, isn't she? And see that +kick! Oh-h-h-h!" + +I was still red in the face, I expect, when I trails out at the end of +the act and discovers Lester leanin' against the lobby wall. + +"Say, Torchy," says he husky, "did--did you see her?" + +"Miss Joyce?" says I. "Sure. Some pippin in the act, isn't she? Didn't +she send you word she was goin' to be in this with Ronald Breen?" + +"Me?" says he. "No." + +"That's funny," says I. "She told me weeks ago. I hear she's pulling +down an even hundred and fifty a week. By next season she'll be +starrin'." + +"And to think," moans out Lester, "that I passed her up only a few +months ago!" + +"Yes," says I, "considerin' your chronic ambition, that was once when +you were out of luck. And the worst of it is that maybe she was only +usin' you to practice on all along. Eh?" + +Perhaps it wasn't a consolin' thought to leave with Lester, but somehow +I couldn't help grinnin' as I tossed it over. And me, I'm doping out no +more advice to young ladies from Saskatoun or elsewhere. I'm off that +side-line permanent. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +TORCHY TACKLES A MYSTERY + + +I'll admit I didn't get all stirred up when Mr. Robert comes in from +luncheon and announces that this Penrhyn Deems person is missing. + +"On how many cylinders?" says I. + +I might have added, too, that even if he'd been mislaid permanent I +could struggle along. First off, anybody with a name like that could be +easy spared. Penrhyn! Always reminded me of a headache tablet. Where did +he get such a fancy tag? I never could believe that was sprinkled on +him. Listened to me like something he'd thought up himself when he saw +the chance of its being used so much on four sheets and billboards. And +if you'd ask me I'd said that the prospect of his not contributin' any +more of them musical things to the Broadway stage wasn't good cause for +decreein' a lodge of sorrow. Them last two efforts of his certainly was +punk enough to excuse him from tryin' again. What if he had done the +lines and lyrics to "The Buccaneer's Bride"? That didn't give him any +license to unload bush-league stuff for the rest of his career, did it? +Begun to look like his first big hit had been more or less of an +accident. That being the case maybe it was time for him to fade out. + +Course, I didn't favor Mr. Robert with all this. Him and Penrhyn Deems +was old college chums together, and while they ain't been real thick in +late years they have sort of kept in touch. I suspect that since Penrhyn +got to ratin' himself as kind of a combination of Reggie DeKoven and +George Cohan he ain't been so easy to get along with. Maybe I'm wrong, +but from the few times I've seen him blowin' in here at the Corrugated +that was my dope. You know. One of these parties who carries his chest +out and walks heavy on his heels. Yes, I should judge that the ego in +Penrhyn's make-up would run well over 2.75 per cent. + +But it takes more'n that to get him scratched from Mr. Robert's list. +He's strong for keepin' up old friendships, Mr. Robert is. He remembers +whatever good points they have and lets it ride at that. So he's always +right there with the friendly hail whenever Penrhyn swaggers in wearin' +them noisy costumes that he has such a weakness for, and with his +eyebrows touched up and his cutie-boy mustache effect decoratin' that +thick upper lip. How a fat party like him could work up so much personal +esteem I never could understand. But they do. You watch next time you're +on a subway platform, who it is that gazes most fond into the +gum-machine mirrors and if it ain't mostly these blimp-built boys with +a 40 belt measure then I'm wrong on my statistics. Anyway, Penrhyn is +that kind. + +"This is the third day that he has been missing, Torchy," says Mr. +Robert, solemn. + +"Yes?" says I. "Seems to me I saw an item about him in the theatrical +notes yesterday, something about his being a. w. o. l. Kind of joshing, +it read, like they didn't take it serious." + +"That's the disgusting part of it," says Mr. Robert. "Here is a man who +disappears suddenly, to whom almost anything may have happened, from +being run over by a truck to robbery and murder; yet, because he happens +to be connected with the theatrical business, it is referred to as if it +were some kind of a joke. Why, he may be lying unidentified in some +hospital, or at the bottom of the North River." + +"Anybody out looking for him?" I asks. + +"Not so far as I can discover," says Mr. Robert. "I have 'phoned up to +the Shuman offices--they're putting on his new piece, you know--but I +got no satisfaction at all. He hadn't been there for several days. That +was all they knew. Yes, there had been talk of giving the case to a +detective agency, but they weren't sure it had been done. And here is +his poor mother up in New Rochelle, almost on the verge of nervous +prostration. There is his fiancee, too; little Betty Parsons, who is +crying her eyes out. Nice girl, Betty. And it's a shame that something +isn't being done. Anyway, I shall do what I can." + +"Sure!" says I. "I hadn't thought about his having a mother--and a girl. +But say, Mr. Robert, maybe I can put you next to somebody at Shuman's +who can give you the dope. I got a friend up there--Whitey Weeks. Used +to do reportin'. Last time I met him though, he admitted modest that +Alf. Shuman had come beggin' him to take full charge of the publicity +end of all his attractions. So if anybody has had any late bulletins +about Mr. Deems it's bound to be Whitey." + +"Suppose you ring him up, then," says Mr. Robert. + +"When I'm trying to extract the truth from Whitey," says I, "I want to +be where I can watch his eyes. He's all right in his way, but he's as +shifty as a jumpin' bean. If you want the facts I'd better go myself. +Maybe you'd better come, too, Mr. Robert." + +He agrees to that and inside of half an hour we've pushed through a mob +of would-be and has-been chorus females and have squeezed into the +little coop where Whitey presides important behind a big double-breasted +roll-top. And when I explains how Mr. Robert is an old friend of +Penrhyn's, and is actin' for the heart-broken mother and the weepin' +fiancee as well, Whitey shakes his head solemn. + +"Sorry, gentlemen," says he, "but we haven't heard a word from him +since he disappeared. Haven't even a clue. It's an absolute mystery. He +seems to have vanished, that's all. And we don't know what to make of +it. Rather embarrassing for us, too. You know we've just started +rehearsals for his new piece, 'Oh, Say, Belinda!' Biggest thing he's +done yet. And Mr. Shuman has spent nearly $10,000 for the setting and +costumes of one number alone. Yet here Deems walks off with the lyrics +for that song--the only copy in existence, mind you--and drops out of +sight. I suppose he wanted to revise the verses. You see the hole it put +us in, though. We're rushing 'Belinda' through for an early production, +and he strays off with the words to what's bound to be the big song hit +of the season. Why, Miss Ladue, who does that solo, is about crazy, and +as for Mr. Shuman----" + +"Yes, I understand, Whitey," I breaks in. "That's good press agent +stuff, all right. But Mr. Ellins here ain't so much worried over what's +going to happen to the show as he is over what has happened to Penrhyn +Deems. Now how did he disappear? Who saw him last?" + +Whitey shrugs his shoulders. "All a mystery, I tell you," says he. "We +haven't a single clue." + +"And you're just sitting back wondering what has become of him," demands +Mr. Robert, "without making an effort to trace him?" + +"Well, what can we do?" asks Whitey. "If the fool newspapers would only +wake up to the fact that a prominent personage is missing, and give us +the proper space, that might help. They will in time, of course. Got to +come to it. But you know how it is. Anything from a press bureau they're +apt to sniff over suspicious. As if I'd pull one as raw as this on 'em! +Huh! But I'm working up the interest, and by next Sunday I'll bet +they'll be carrying front page headlines, 'Where is Penrhyn Deems?' +You'll see." + +"Suppose he should turn up tomorrow, though?" I asks. + +"Oh, but he couldn't," says Whitey quick. "That is, if he's really lost +or--or anything has happened to him. What makes you think he might show +up, Torchy?" + +"Just a hunch of mine," says I. "I was thinking maybe some of his +friends might find him somewhere." + +"I'd like to see 'em," says Whitey emphatic. "It--it would be worth a +good deal to us." + +"Yes," says I, "I know how you feel about it. Much obliged, Whitey. I +guess that's all we can do; eh, Mr. Robert?" + +But we're no sooner out of the office than I gives him the nudge. + +"Bunk!" says I. "I'd bet a million of somebody else's money that this is +just one of Whitey's smooth frame-ups." + +"I hardly think I follow you," says Mr. Robert. + +"Here's the idea," says I. "When 'The Buccaneer's Bride' was having that +two-year run Penrhyn Deems was a good deal in the spotlight. He had +write-ups reg'lar, full pages in the Sunday editions, new pictures of +himself printed every few weeks. He didn't hate it, did he? But these +last two pieces of his were frosts. All he's had recent have been +roasts, or no mention at all. And it was up to Whitey to bring him back +into the public eye, wasn't it? Trust Whitey for doing that." + +"But this method would be so thoroughly cold-blooded, heartless," +protests Mr. Robert. + +"Wouldn't stop Whitey, though," says I. + +"Then we must do our best to find Penrhyn," says he. + +"Sure!" says I. "Sleuth stuff. How about startin' at his rooms and +interviewin' his man?" + +"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "We will go there at once." + +We did. But what we got out of that pie-faced Nimms of Penrhyn's wasn't +worth taking notes of. He's got a map about as full of expression as the +south side of a squash, Nimms. A peanut-headed Cockney that Penrhyn +found somewhere in London. + +"Sure I cawn't say, sir," says he, "where the mawster went to, sir. It +was lawst Monday night 'e vanished, sir." + +"Whaddye mean, vanished?" says I. + +"'E just walked out, sir, and never came back," says Nimms. "See, sir, +I've 'ad 'is morning suit all laid out ever since, sir." + +"Then he went in evening clothes?" puts in Mr. Robert. + +"Not exactly, sir," says Nimms. "'E was attired as a court jester, sir; +in motley, you know, sir, and cap and bells." + +"Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert. "In a fool's costume? You say he went out +in that rig? Why the deuce should he----" + +"I didn't ask the mawster, sir," says Nimms, "but my private opinion of +the matter, sir, is that he was on 'is way to a masked banquet of some +sort. I 'appened to see a hinvitation, sir, that----" + +"Dig it up, Nimms," says I. "Might be a clue." + +Sure enough, Nimms had it stowed away; and the fathead hadn't said a +word about it before. It's an invite to the annual costume dinner of the +Bright Lights Club. + +"Huh!" says I. "I've heard of that bunch--mostly producers, stage stars +and dramatists. Branch of the Lambs Club. Whitey would have known about +that event, too. And Alf. Shuman. If Deems had been there they'd have +known. So he didn't get there. I expect he wore a rain coat or +something over his costume, and went in a taxi; eh, Nimms?" + +"Quite so, sir," says Nimms. "A long raincoat, sir." + +"But," breaks in Mr. Robert, "a man couldn't wander around New York +dressed in a fool's costume without being noticed. That is, not for +several days." + +"You bet he couldn't," says I. "So he didn't." + +That's a good line to pull, that "he couldn't, so he didn't," when +you're doin' this Sherlock-Watson stuff. Sounds professional. Mr. Robert +nods and then looks at me expectant as if he was waitin' to hear what +I'd deduce next. But as a matter of fact my deducer was runnin' down. +Yet when you've got a boss who always expects you to cerebrate in high +gear, as he's so fond of puttin' it, you've got to produce something +off-hand, or stall around. + +"Now, let's see," says I, registerin' deep thought, "if Penrhyn was to +go anywhere on his own hook, where would it be? You know his habits +pretty well, Mr. Robert. What's your guess?" + +"Why, I should say he would make for the nearest golf course," says he. + +"He's a golf shark, is he?" says I. + +"Not in the sense you mean," says Mr. Robert. "Hardly. Penrhyn is a +consistent but earnest duffer. The ambition of his life is to break 100 +on some decent course. He has talked enough about it to me. Yes, that is +probably where he is, if he's still alive, off playing golf somewhere." + +"Begging your pardon, sir," puts in Nimms, "but that could 'ardly be so, +sir, seeing as 'ow 'is sticks are still 'ere. That's the strange part of +'is disappearance, sir. 'E never travels without 'is bag of sticks. And +they're in that closet, sir." + +"Couldn't he rent an outfit, or borrow one?" I suggests. + +"He could," says Mr. Robert, "but he wouldn't. No more than you would +rent a toothbrush. That is one of the symptoms of the golf duffer. He +has his pet clubs and imagines he can play with no others. I think we +must agree with Nimms. If we do, the case looks serious again, for +Penrhyn would certainly not go away voluntarily unless it was to some +place where he could indulge in his mania." + +"That's it!" says I. "Then he's been steered somewhere against his will. +That's the line! Which brings us back to Whitey Weeks. Who else but +Whitey would want him shunted off out of sight for a week or so?" + +"But you don't think he would go so far as to kidnap Penrhyn, do you?" +asks Mr. Robert. + +"Who, Whitey?" says I. "He'd kidnap his grandmother if he saw a front +page story in it. Maybe he'd had this disappearance stunt all worked up +when Mr. Deems balked. So he gets him when he's rigged up in some crazy +costume, with all his regular clothes at home, and tolls him off to some +out of the way spot. See? In that rig Penrhyn would have to stay put, +wouldn't he? Couldn't show himself among folks without being mobbed. So +he'd have to lay low until someone brought him a suit of clothes." + +"That would be an ingenious way of doing it," admits Mr. Robert. + +"Believe me, Whitey has that kind of a mind," says I, "or else he +wouldn't be handling the Alf. Shuman publicity work." + +"But where could he have taken him?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"We're just gettin' to that," says I. "Where would he? Now if this was a +movie play we was dopin' out it would be simple. He'd be taken off on a +yacht. But Whitey couldn't get the use of a yacht. He don't travel in +that class, and Shuman wouldn't stand for the charter price in an +expense bill. A lonesome farm would be a good spot. But Penrhyn could +borrow a rube outfit and escape from a farm. A lighthouse would be a +swell place to stow away a leading librettist dressed up in a fool's +costume, wouldn't it? Or an island? Say, I'll bet I've got it!" + +"Eh?" says Mr. Robert. + +"He's on an island," says I. "High Bar Island. It's a place where +Whitey goes duck shootin' every fall. He belongs to a club that owns it. +Anyway, he did. Used to feed me an earful about what a great gunner he +was, and what thrillin' times he had at the old shack. Down somewhere in +Barnegat Bay, back of the lighthouse. Yep! He's there, if he's +anywhere." + +"Sounds rather unlikely," says Mr. Robert. "Still, you seem to have an +uncanny instinct for being right in such matters. Perhaps we ought to go +down and see. Come." + +"What, now?" says I. "Right away?" + +"There is his mother, almost in hysterics," says Mr. Robert, "and his +sweetheart. Think of the suspense, the mental strain they must be under. +If we can find Penrhyn we must do so as quickly as possible. Let's go +back to the office and look up train connections." + +Well, if we'd started half an hour earlier we'd been all right. As it +was we could hang up all night at some dinky junction or wait over until +next morning. Neither suited Mr. Robert. He 'phones for his tourin' car +and decides to motor down into Jersey. Also he has a kit bag packed for +two of us and collects from Nimms a full outfit of daylight clothes for +Penryhn. + +We got away about five o'clock and as Mr. Robert figures by the Blue +Book that we have only a hundred and some odd miles to run he thinks we +ought to make some place near Barnegat Light by nine o'clock. Maybe we +would have, too, if we'd caught the Staten Island ferries right at both +ends, and hadn't had two blow-outs and strayed off the road once. As it +is we finally lands at little joint that shows on the map as Forked +River about 1 a.m. There wasn't a light in the whole place and it took +us half an hour to pry the landlord of the hotel out of the feathers. +No, he couldn't tell us where we could get a boat to take us out to High +Bar at that time of night. It wasn't being done. Folks didn't go there +often anyway, and when they did they started after breakfast. + +"It'll be there in the morning, you know," says he. + +"That's so," says Mr. Robert. "Have a motor boat ready at nine o'clock. +Not much use getting there before 10:30. Penrhyn wouldn't be up." + +That sounded sensible to me. When I go huntin' for lost dramatists I +like to take it easy and be braced up for the day with a good shot of +ham and eggs. This part of the program was carried out smooth. And it's +a nice little sail across old Barnegat Bay with the oyster fleet busy +and the fishin' boats dotted around. But the native who piloted us out +was doubtful about anybody's being on High Bar. + +"I seen some parties shootin' around on Love Ladies yesterday," says he, +"an' a couple more was snipin' on Sea Dog, but I didn't hear nary gun +let off on th' Bar." + +"Oh, my friend doesn't shoot, anyway," says Mr. Robert. + +"Ain't nothin' else for him to do on High Bar," says the native, "less'n +he wants to collect skeeter bites." + +When we got close enough to see the island I begun to suspicion I'd +missed out on my hunch, for there ain't a soul in sight. We could see +the whole of it, too, for the highest part isn't much over two feet +above tide-water mark. Near the boat landing is the club house, set up +on piling, with a veranda across the front. The rest of High Bar is only +a few acres of sedge and marsh. + +"Yea-uh!" says the native. "Must be somebody thar. Door's open. Yea-uh! +Thar's old Lem Robbins, who allus does the cookin'. Hey, Lem!" + +Lem waves cordial and waddles down to meet us. He's a fat, grizzled old +pirate who looked bored and discontented. + +"Got anybody with you, Lem?" asks the native. + +"Not to speak of," says Lem. "Only a loony sort of gent that wears +skin-tight barber-pole pants and cusses fluent." + +"That's Penrhyn!" says Mr. Robert. "Dressed as a fool, isn't he?" + +"You've said it," says Lem. "Acts like one, too. Hope you gents have +come to take him back where he belongs. Needs to be shut up, he does." + +"But where is he?" demands Mr. Robert. + +"Out back of the house, swingin' an old boat-hook and carryin' on +simple," says Lem. "I'll show you." + +It was some sight, too. For there is the famous author of "The +Buccaneer's Bride," rigged out complete in a more or less soiled +jester's costume, includin' the turkey red headpiece with the bells on +it. He's standing on a heap of shells and waving this rusty boat-hook +around. Course, I expects when he sees Mr. Robert and realizes how he's +been rescued he'll come out of his spell and begin to act rational once +more. But it don't work out that way. When Mr. Robert calls out to him +and he sees who it is, he keeps right on swingin' the boat-hook. + +"Glory be, Bob!" he sings out. "I've got it at last." + +"Got what, Penny?" demands Mr. Robert. + +"My drive," says he. "Watch, Bob. How's that, eh? Notice that carry +through? Wouldn't that spank the pill 200 yards straight down the +fairway? Wouldn't it, now?" + +"Oh, I say, Penny!" says Mr. Robert. "Don't be more of an ass than you +can help. Quit that golf tommyrot and tell me what you're doing here in +this forsaken spot when all New York is thinking that maybe you've been +murdered or something." + +"Eh?" says Penrhyn. "Then--then the news is out, is it? Did you bring +any papers?" + +"Papers?" says Mr. Robert. "No." + +"Wish you had," says Penrhyn. "Got everyone stirred up, I suppose? Tell +me, though, how are people taking it?" + +"If you mean the public in general," says Mr. Robert, "I think they are +bearing up nobly. But your mother and Betty----" + +"By George!" breaks in Penrhyn. "That's so! They might be rather +disturbed. I--I never thought about them." + +"Didn't, eh?" says Mr. Robert. "No, you wouldn't. You were thinking +about Penrhyn Deems, as usual. And I must say, Penny, you're the limit. +I've a good notion to leave you here." + +"No, no, Bob! Don't do that," pleads Penrhyn. "Disgusting place. And I +dislike that cook person, very much. Besides, I must get back. Really." + +"Want to relieve your poor old mother and Betty, eh?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"Yes, of course," says Penrhyn. "Besides, I want to try this swing with +my driver. Bob, I'm sure I can put in that wrist snap at last. And if I +can I--I'll be playing in the 90's. Sure!" + +He's a wonder, Penrhyn. He has this hoof and mouth disease, otherwise +known as golf, worse than anybody I ever met before. Took Mr. Robert +another ten minutes to get him calmed down enough so he could tell how +he come to be marooned on this island in that rig. + +"Why, it was that new press agent of Shuman's, of course," says Penrhyn. +"That Weeks person. He did it." + +"You don't mean to say, Penny," says Mr. Robert, "that you were +kidnapped and brought here a prisoner?" + +"Not at all," says Penny. "We drove down here at night and came in a +boat just at daylight. Silly performance. Especially wearing this +costume. But he insisted that it would make the disappearance more +plausible, more dramatic. Wouldn't tell me where we were going, either. +Said it was a club house, so I thought of course there would be golf. +But look at this hole! And I've had four days of it. Mosquitoes? +Something frightful. That's why I've kept on the cap and bells. At first +I put in the time working over one of the songs in the new piece. Wrote +some ripping verses, too. They'll go strong. Best thing I've done. But +after I had finished that job I wanted to play golf; practice, anyway. +And I was nearly crazy until I found this old boat-hook and began +knocking oyster shells into the water. That's how it came to me--the +drive. If I can only hold it!" + +I suggests how Mr. Weeks is probably plannin' for him to stay lost until +over Sunday anyway, so he can work some big space in the newspapers. + +"Oh, bother Mr. Weeks!" says Penrhyn. "I've had enough of this. The new +piece is going to go big, anyway. Come along, Bob. Let's start. I'll +'phone to mother and Betty, and maybe I can get in eighteen holes this +afternoon. Brought some clothes for me, didn't you? I must change from +this rig first." + +"I wouldn't," says Mr. Robert. "It's quite appropriate, Penny." + +But Penrhyn wouldn't be joshed and makes a dive for his suitcase. We +lands him back on Broadway at 4:30 that same afternoon. My first move +after gettin' to the Corrugated general offices is to ring up Whitey +Weeks. + +"This is Torchy," says I. "And ain't it awful about Penrhyn Deems?" + +"Eh?" gasps Whitey. "What about him?" + +"He's been found," says I. "Uh-huh! Discovered on an island by some fool +friends that brought him back to town. I just saw him on Broadway." + +"The simp!" groans Whitey. + +"You're a great little describer, Whitey," says I. "Simp is right. But +next time you want to win front page space by losing a dramatist I'd +advise you to lock him in a vault. Islands are too easy located." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +WITH VINCENT AT THE TURN + + +It was Mr. Piddie who first begun workin' up suspicions about Vincent, +our fair haired super-office boy. But then, Piddie has that kind of a +mind. He must have been born on the dark of the moon when the wind was +east in the year of the big eclipse. Something like that. Anyway, he's +long on gloom and short on faith in human nature, and he goes +gum-shoein' through life lookin' as slit-eyed as a tourist tom-cat four +blocks from his own backyard. + +Course, he has his good points, lots of 'em, or else he never would have +held his job as office manager in the Corrugated Trust so long. And +there's at least two human beings he thinks was made perfect from the +start--Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. Robert. The rest of us he ain't sure +of. We'll bear watchin'. And Piddie's idea of earnin' his salary is to +be right there with the restless eye from 8:43 until 5:02, when he grabs +his trusty commutation ticket and starts for the wilds of Jersey, +leavin' the force to a whole night of idleness and wicked ways. + +Still, I am a little surprised when he picks out Vincent. + +"I regret to say it, Torchy," says he, "but someone ought to have an eye +on that boy." + +"Oh, come, Piddie!" says I. "Not Vincent! Why, he's a model youth. +You've always said so yourself--polite, respectful, washes behind the +ears, takes home his pay envelope uncracked to mother, all that sort of +thing. Why the mournful headshake over him now?" + +"I can't say what it is," says Piddie, "but there has been a change. +Recently. Twice this week he has overstayed his luncheon hour. Yesterday +he asked for his Liberty bond and war saving stamps from the safe. I +believe he is planning to do something desperate." + +"Huh!" says I. "Most likely he's plotting to pay off the mortgage on the +little bungalow as a birthday present for mother." + +Piddie won't have it that way, though. "I think there's a woman in the +case," says he, "and I'm sure it isn't his mother." + +"A woman; Vincent?" says I. "Ah, quit your kiddin', Piddie. I'd as soon +think it of you." + +That brings the pink to his ears and he stiffens indignant. But in a +minute or so he gets over it enough to explain that he's noticed Vincent +fussin' with his necktie and slickin' his hair back careful before +quittin' time. Also that Vincent has taken to gettin' shaved once a week +reg'lar now, instead of every month. + +"And he seemed very nervous when he took away his savings," adds +Piddie. "Of course, in my position I could ask for no confidences of a +personal nature; but if someone else could have a talk with him.--Well, +you, for example, Torchy." + +"What a cute little idea!" says I. "What would be the openin' lines for +that scene? Something like, 'Come, my erring lad, rest your fair, +sin-soaked head on my knee and tell your Uncle Torchy how you are +secretly scheming to kidnap the rich gum profiteer's lovely daughter and +carry her off to Muckhurst-on-the-Marsh.' Piddie, you're a wonder." + +I was still chucklin' over the notion as I breezed out to lunch, but as +I pushes out of the express elevator and starts across the arcade toward +the Broadway exit I lamps something over by the candy booth that leaves +me with my mouth open. There is Vincent hung up against the counter +gazin' mushy into the dark dangerous orbs of Mirabelle, the box-trade +queen. + +Course, we all know Mirabelle in the Corrugated buildin', for she's been +presidin' over the candy counter almost as long as the arcade shops have +been open. She's what you might call an institution; like Apollo Mike, +the elevator starter; or old Walrus Smith, the night watchman. And I +expect there ain't a young hick or a middle-aged bookkeeper on all them +twenty-odd floors but what has had his little thrill from gettin' in +line, some time or another, with a cut-up look from them high voltage +eyes. She's just one of the many perils, Mirabelle is, that line the +path of the poor working man in the great city. That is, she looks the +part. + +As a matter of fact, I've always had Mirabelle sized up as a near-vamp +who had worked up the act to boost sales and cinch her job. Anyway, I +never knew of her lurin' her victims into anything more desperate than a +red-ink table d'hote dinner or a six-dollar orgie at a cabaret. And +somehow they all seem to wriggle out of the net within a week or so with +no worse casualties than a feverish yearnin' for next pay day and a wise +look in the eyes. I've watched some of them young sports from the bond +room have their little fling with Mirabelle and not one of 'em has come +out a human wreck. + +Maybe they discover that Mirabelle has turned thirty. I'll admit she +don't look it, 'specially under the pink-shaded counter light when she's +had a henna treatment lately and been careful to spread the make-up +artistic. The jet ear danglers helps some, too. Then there are them +misbehavin' eyes. Also when it comes to light and frivolous chat +Mirabelle is right there with the zippy patter. Oh my, yes! Try shootin' +anything fresh across when she's wrappin' a pound of mixed chocolates +and you'll get a quick one back from Mirabelle. Probably a quizzin', +twisty smile, too that sends you off kiddin' yourself that you're quite +a gay bird when you really cut loose, and where's the harm once in a +while? You know the kind. + +But to think that Vincent should be fallin' for Mirabelle. Why, he sits +there all day behind the gate in plain sight of a battery of twenty lady +typists, some of 'em as kittenish young things as ever blew a week's +salary into a permanent wave and I've never even seen him so much as +roll an eye at one. Besides, he's as perfect a specimen of a Mommer's +boy as you could find between here and the Battery. Not that he's a male +ingenue. He's just a nice boy, Vincent, always neat and polite and ready +to admit that he has the best little mother in the world. I don't blame +him for thinkin' so either, for I've seen her a couple of times and if +I'm any judge she fits the description. She's a widow, you know, and she +and Vincent are strugglin' along on the life insurance until they make +Vincent general manager or vice-president or something. + +So, as I was telling you, it gives me more or less of a jolt to see +Vincent flutterin' around Mirabelle. There's no mistakin' the motions, +either. He's draped himself careless over the end of the counter and +them big innocent blue eyes of his are fairly glued on Mirabelle, while +a simple smile comes and goes, dependin' on whether she's lookin' his +way or not. Just as I stops to gawp at the proceedin's he seems to be +askin' her something, real eager and earnest. For a second Mirabelle +arches her plucked eyebrows and puckers her lips coy as if she was +lettin' on to be shocked. Then she glances around cautious to see if the +coast is clear, reaches out and pats Vincent tender on the cheek and +whispers something in his ear. + +A minute later Mirabelle is smilin' mechanical at a fat man who's +stopped to buy a box of chocolate peppermints and Vincent is swingin' +past me with his chin up and his eyes bright. It don't take any seventh +son work to guess that Vincent has made a date. If it had been anybody +else that wouldn't have meant nothing at all to me, but as it is I can't +help feelin' that this was my cue. Just how or why I don't stop to +figure out, but I falls in behind and trails along. + +Vincent should have been headin' for the dairy lunch, but he starts in +the other direction and after followin' him for five blocks I sees him +dive into a jewelry store. Maybe that don't get a gasp out of me, too. +Looks like our little Vincent was some speedy performer, don't it? And +sure enough, by rubberin' in through the door, I can see a clerk haulin' +out a tray of rings. Think of that! Vincent. + +He must have been in there before and looked over the stock, for inside +of ten minutes out he comes again. And by makin' a quick maneuver I +manages to bump into him as he's leavin' the front door with the little +white box in his fist. + +"Well, well!" says I. "What's all this mean, old son? Been buyin' out +the spark shop? I expect somebody's going to get a weddin' present, eh?" + +"Not--not exactly," says Vincent, his cheeks pinkin' up and his right +hand slidin' toward his coat pocket. + +"Oh, ho!" says I, grabbin' the wrist and exposin' the little square +package. "A ring or I'm a poor guesser. And it's for the sweetest girl +in the world, ain't it?" + +"It is," says Vincent, just a bit defiant. + +"Congratulations, old man," says I, poundin' him friendly on the +shoulder. "I don't suppose I could guess who, could I?" + +"I--I don't think you could," says Vincent. + +"Then it's my blow to luncheon--reg'lar chop-house feed in honor of the +big event," says I. "Come along, Vincent, while I order a bottle of one +and a half per cent. to drink to your luck." + +Course, he can't very well get away from that, me being one of his +bosses, as you might say. But he acts a little uneasy. + +"You see, sir," says he, "it--it isn't quite settled." + +"I get you," says I. "Going to spring it on her tonight, eh?" + +He admits that is the plan. + +"Durin' the course of a little dinner, eh?" I goes on. + +Vincent nods. + +"That's taking the high dive, all right," says I. "Lets you in deep, you +know, when you go shovin' solitaires at 'em. But I expect you've thought +it over careful and picked out the right girl." + +"She is perfectly splendid," says Vincent. + +"Well, that helps some," says I. "One that Mother approves of, I'll +bet." + +"Why," says Vincent, his chin droppin', "I am sure she will like her +when--when she sees her." + +"Let's see, Vincent," says I, "you're all of nineteen, ain't you?" + +"Nearly twenty," says he. + +"How we do come along!" says I. "Why, when you took my old place on the +gate you was still wearin' knickers, wasn't you? And now--I suppose +it'll be a case of your bringin' home a new daughter to help Mother, +eh?" + +"Ye-e-es," says Vincent draggy. + +"Lucky she's the right kind, then," I suggests. + +"She's a wonderful girl, Torchy. Wonderful," says he. + +"Well, I expect you're a judge," says I. + +"I've never known anyone just like her," he goes on, "and if she'll have +me----" He wags his head determined. + +I was hardly lookin' for such a stubborn streak in Vincent. He's always +seemed so mild and modest. But you never can tell. There's no doubt +about his having his mind all made up about Mirabelle, and while her +name ain't mentioned once he consents to tell me what a perfectly sweet +and lovely person she is. If I hadn't had a hunch who he was talking +about I'm afraid I never would have guessed from the description. She'd +put the spell on him for fair. That being the way things stood what was +the use of my coming in with an argument? The most I could do was to +hint that Vincent's salary as head office boy might be a bit strained +when it came to providin' for two. + +He has the answer to that, though. He's got the promise of a filing +clerk's job the first of the year, with a raise every six months if he +makes good. + +"Besides," he adds, "I may pick up a little something extra very soon." + +"Eh?" says I. "You ain't been plungin' on a curb tip, have you?" + +He nods. "It came to me very straight, sir," says he. "Oil stocks." + +"Good-night!" I groans. "Say, Vincent, you're off in high gear, all +right. Matrimony and gushers, all at one clip! Lemme get my breath. Have +you put up for the margins?" + +"Oh, yes," says Vincent. + +"Then have another piece of pie and a second cup of coffee," says I. +"You're going to need bracin' up." + +Not that I proceeds to deal out the wise stuff about oil stocks along +the Talk to Investors line. It's too late for that. Besides, Vincent was +due to get a lesson in the folly of piker speculatin' that would last +him a long time. Maybe it was best for him to get it early in his young +career. + +But it was going to be rough on the little mother when she hears how her +darling boy has sneaked out the nest egg and tossed it reckless into the +middle of Broad Street. That would be some bump. And then on top of that +if Mirabelle is introduced as her future daughter-in-law--Well, you can +frame up the picture for yourself. And right there I organizes myself +into a relief expedition to rescue the Lost Battalion. + +I got to admit that my plan of campaign was a trifle vague. About as far +as I could get was decidin' that somebody ought to have speech with +Mirabelle on the subject. And when we hurries back through the arcade +again, ten minutes behind schedule, and I catches the little exchange of +fond looks between the two, I knows that whatever is done needs to be +started right away. So I mumbles something about having forgotten an +errand, makes a round trip in the elevator, and am back at the candy +counter almost as soon as Vincent has hung up his hat. + +"Yes-s-s, sir?" says Mirabelle inquirin', with her best +dollar-fifty-quality smile playin' around where the lip-stick has given +nature a boost. + +"Hard gum drops," says I, "or chocolate marshmallows, or most anything +in half-pound size. The main idea is a little chat with you." + +"Naughty, naughty!" says Mirabelle, shaking her head until the jet ear +danglers are doing a one-step. "But you men are all alike, aren't you?" + +"Is that why you've taken to cradle snatchin'?" says I. + +Mirabelle executes the wide shutter movement with her eyes and finishes +with what she thinks is a Mary Pickford pout. "Really, I don't think I +get you," says she. "In other words, meaning what?" + +"Referring to the boy, Vincent," says I. + +"Oh!" says she, eying me curious. "Dear little fellow, isn't he?" + +"Of course," I goes on, "if it's only a case of adoption----" + +"Say," she breaks in, her eyelids gettin' narrow, "some of you cerise +blondes ought to be confined to the comic strips. Who do you think +you're kidding, anyway?" + +"Sorry, Mirabelle," says I, "but you're all wrong. This is straight +heart-to-heart stuff. You know you've been stringin' Vincent along." + +"Suppose I have?" demands Mirabelle. "Where do you get a license to +crash in?" + +"Just what I was working up to," says I. "For one thing, he's the only +perfect office boy in captivity. The Corrugated can't spare him. Then +again, there's Mother. Honest, Mirabelle, you ought to see +Mother--reg'lar stage widow, with the sad sweet smile, the soft gray +hair, 'n'everything. If you could, you'd lay off this Theda Bara act the +next minute." + +It was a poor hunch, pullin' out that sympathy stop for Mirabelle. I +knew that when I saw them black eyes of hers begin to give off sparks. + +"Listen, son," says she, "if you feel as bad as all that run down in the +sub-cellar and sob in the coal bins. I'll be getting nervous, next thing +I know, listening to ravings like that." + +"My error," says I. "Course, you didn't know how a few kind words and a +little off-hand target practice with the eyes would affect Vincent. How +should you? But he's taking it all serious. Uh-huh! Been buying the +ring." + +"What!" says Mirabelle, startled. + +"A real blue-white, set in platinum," says I. "On the instalments, of +course. And he's plungin' with all his war savings on wild cat stocks to +make good. Oh, he's in a reg'lar trance, Vincent. So you see?" + +Mirabelle seems to see a good deal more than I was expectin' her to. +Just now she's glancin' approvin' into one of the display mirrors and is +pattin' down the hair puffs over her ears. + +"He _is_ a dear boy," she remarks, more to the mirror than to me. + +"But look here," says I, "you--you wouldn't let him go on with this, +would you?" + +"I beg pardon?" says Mirabelle. "Still chattering, are you? Well, +stretch your ear once, young feller. When I want your help in this I'll +send out a call. If you don't get one you'll know you ain't needed. +Here's your package, sir. Sixty cents, please." + +And I'm given the quick shunt, just like that. Whatever it was I thought +I was doing, I'd bugged it. The rescue expedition had gone on the rocks. +Absolutely. I might have known better, too; spillin' all that dope about +the solitaire. As if that would throw a scare into Mirabelle! Of all the +bush-league plays! Instead of untanglin' Vincent any from the net I'd +only got him twisted up tighter. With that ring on him he was just as +safe as an exposed pocket flask at an Elks' picnic. + +I was retreatin' draggy with my chin down when I happens to get a grin +from this wise guy Marcus, in charge of the cigar booth opposite. + +"You don't have no luck with Mirabelle, eh?" says he winkin'. "That's +too bad, ain't it? But there's lots of others. She keeps 'em all +guessin'. Hard in the heart, Mirabelle has been, ever since she got +thrown overboard herself." + +"Eh?" says I. "When was that? Who did it?" + +"Oh, near a year now," says Marcus. "You know the feller who was in with +me here--Chuck Dempsey?" + +"The big husk with the bushy black eyebrows?" says I. + +Marcus nods. "He had Mirabelle goin' all right," says he. "She was crazy +over him. And Chuck, he was pretty strong for her, too. They had it all +fixed up, the flat picked out and all, when something or other bust it +up. I dunno what. Chuck, he quits the next day. Lucky thing, too, for if +he'd stuck here he wouldn't have met up with them automobile sundries +people and landed his new job. I hear he's manager of their Harlem +branch now, seventy-five a week. Wouldn't Mirabelle be sore if she knew +about that, eh?" + +"She'd have cause for grindin' her teeth," says I. "Bully for Chuck, +though. I must call him up and give him the hail. What's his number?" + +I will admit too, that once I got started, I worked fast. It took me +less'n three minutes to pump out of Vincent the time and place of this +fatal little dinner party he was about to pull off, and shortly after +that I had Mr. Dempsey on the wire. Yes, he says he remembers me well +enough, on account of my hair. Most of 'em do. + +"It's a shame you've forgot someone else so quick, though," I adds. + +"Who's that?" says he. + +"Mirabelle," says I. + +"Oh, I don't know," says Chuck. "Maybe it's just as well." + +"She don't think so," says I. + +"Who was feedin' you that?" asks Dempsey. + +"A certain party," says I. "But you know how easy a queen like her can +pick up an understudy. Some have been mighty busy lately, too; one in +particular. And I don't mind sayin' I'd hate to see him win out." + +"Yes, she's some girl, all right," says Chuck, "even if I did get a +little sore on her one night. I might be droppin' around again some of +these days." + +"If I was you," says I, "I'd make it snappy. In fact, not later than +6:30 this evening. That is, unless you're content to figure as an also +ran." + +He's an enterprisin' young gent, Mr. Dempsey. And it seems he ain't +closed the book on Mirabelle for good. He's rather interested in hearin' +where she'll be waitin' at that hour and makes a note of it. + +"Much obliged for the tip, Torchy," says he. "I'll think it over." + +I hoped he would. It was the best I could do for Vincent, except hang +around and 'phone out to Vee that probably I'd be late home for dinner. +Seeing as how I was drillin' around at 6:30 in a doorway up opposite the +Cafe Caroni it looked like I would. But I'd seen Chuck Dempsey drift in +all dolled up sporty, and then Mirabelle. As for Vincent, he was right +on the dot, as usual. He wasn't tickled to death to find me waitin' for +him, either. + +"Oh, I say, Torchy!" he protests. + +"You wouldn't want to make it a threesome, eh?" I suggests. + +"I'd much rather not," says he. + +"Then we'll remember that," says I. "No harm in my edgin' in long enough +to drop a word to Joe, the head waiter, to give you a nice quiet corner +table and take care of you well, is there?" + +"I'm sorry," says Vincent. "I didn't know but what you----" + +"Not me," says I. "I'll stay long enough to get you started right. Come +along. Ah, there's Joe, down at the end, and when he--Eh? Did you choke +or anything? Well, of all things!" + +Course, he'd spotted 'em right away--Mirabelle and Chuck Dempsey. +They're at a little table over by the wall chattin' away cosy and +confidential. It hadn't taken 'em long to re-establish friendly +relations. In fact, Chuck was just reachin' playful for one of +Mirabelle's hands and he was gettin' away with the act. + +"Why," says I, "it looks like the S.R.O. sign was out already." + +Yes, it was a bit raw for Vincent. He shows his polite bringin' up +though. No rash moves or hasty words from him. He backs out graceful, +even if he is a bit pale about the gills. And not until we're well +outside does he let loose a husky remark. + +"Well, I--I've been made a fool of, I suppose," says he. + +"That depends on who's doing the judgin'," says I. "This Dempsey's no +newcomer, you know. Anyway, now you can go home to dinner with Mother." + +"But I can't," says Vincent. "You see, I left word that I was dining in +town and she--she would want to know why I didn't." + +"That's easy fixed," says I. "You're havin' dinner with me, out at my +Long Island shack. Haven't seen the large-sized family I'm startin', +have you? Well, here's your chance. And we can just make the 6:47." + +Not that I'd planned it all out, but it was the best antidote to +Mirabelle that I could have thought up. For Vee is--Well, she's quite +different from Mirabelle. And I suspect after Vincent had watched her +playin' her star part as the fond little wife, and been led up to the +nursery to have the baby exhibited to him, and heard us joshin' each +other friendly--Well maybe he wondered how Mirabelle would show up in a +strictly domestic sketch. + +"Torchy," says he, grippin' my hand as I'm about to load him on the +10:26, "I believe I'm not going to care so much about losing Mirabelle, +after all." + +"That's bucking up," says I. "And likely they'll let you draw back your +deposit on the ring. But you might as well bid them oil stock margins +good-by." + +Oh, yes, I'm a bear at friendly advice. At least, I was until Vincent +comes breezin' in from lunch yesterday wearin' a broad grin. He'd +connected with a bull flurry and unloaded ten points to the good. + +"Now for a king killing, eh?" says I. + +"No," says Vincent. "I'm through with--with everything." + +"Includin' near-vamps?" says I. + +He nods enthusiastic. + +"Then I don't see what's goin' to stop you from gettin' a Solomon Wise +ratin' before they include you in the votin' list," says I. "Go to it, +son." + +THE END + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +SEWELL FORD'S STORIES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + + A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, + sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way + +SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + + Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with + human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for + "side-stepping with Shorty." + +SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + + Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up + to the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience + fund," and gives joy to all concerned. + +SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + + These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for + physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at + swell yachting parties. + +TORCHY. Illus. by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. + + A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to + the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his + experiences. + +TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + + Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the + previous book. + +ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + + Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," + but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people + apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations. + +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + + Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for + the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious + American slang. + +WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. + + Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, + in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with + his friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to + place an engagement ring on Vee's finger. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. + + No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal + young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent + of the time when the reader was Seventeen. + +PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. + + This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, + tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a + finished, exquisite work. + +PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. + + Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable + phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile + prankishness that have ever been written. + +THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. + + Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his + father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a + fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. + +THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. + + A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country + editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love + interest. + +THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. + + The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, + drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another + to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising + suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy and Vee, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AND VEE *** + +***** This file should be named 20628.txt or 20628.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/2/20628/ + +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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