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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/20629-h.zip b/20629-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f71642b --- /dev/null +++ b/20629-h.zip diff --git a/20629-h/20629-h.htm b/20629-h/20629-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..79730d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/20629-h/20629-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9363 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Torchy As A Pa, by Sewell Ford. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + <!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + .pagenum {right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: gray; + text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute; + border: 1px solid silver; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; + font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;} + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + /* horizontal rules present in text */ + hr.full {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.major {width: 75%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.minor {width: 30%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + /* title block present in text */ + td.pr {padding-right: 10px; vertical-align: top;} + p.titleblock {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-indent: 0; text-align: center;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Torchy As A Pa, 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 As A Pa + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Release Date: February 19, 2007 [EBook #20629] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AS A PA *** + + + + +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: 220%; margin-bottom: 60px; ">TORCHY AS A PA</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">BY</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 140%; margin-bottom: 40px; ">SEWELL FORD</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">AUTHOR OF</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 0px; ">THE TORCHY AND THE SHORTY</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 60px; ">McCABE STORIES</p> +<p class="titleblock"><img src="images/illus-emb.png" width="80" height="66" 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="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 100%; margin-bottom: 40px; letter-spacing:.1em">PUBLISHERS NEW YORK</p> +</td></tr></table> +<p class="center" style="font-size: 80%">Made in the United States of America</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table width="400" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" border="0"><tr><td> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 20px; font-size: 90%; margin-bottom: 0px; font-variant: small-caps">Copyright, 1919, 1920, by</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 90%; margin-bottom: 5px; ">SEWELL FORD</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 90%; margin-bottom: 0px; font-variant: small-caps">Copyright, 1920, BY</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 90%; margin-bottom: 5px; ">EDWARD J. CLODE</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 90%; margin-bottom: 40px; font-style: italic">All rights reserved</p> +<p class="titleblock" style="margin-top: 0px; font-size: 90%; margin-bottom: 20px; ">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> +<div class="smcap"> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<col style="width:20%;" /> +<col style="width:70%;" /> +<col style="width:10%;" /> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right"><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">VEE TIES SOMETHING LOOSE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">II</td> + <td align="left">WHEN HALLAM WAS RUNG UP</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">16</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">III</td> + <td align="left">THE GUMMIDGES GET A BREAK</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">34</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">IV</td> + <td align="left">FINDING OUT ABOUT BUDDY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">50</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">V</td> + <td align="left">IN DEEP FOR WADDY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">69</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VI</td> + <td align="left">HOW TORCHY ANCHORED A COOK</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">89</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VII</td> + <td align="left">HOW THE GARVEYS BROKE IN</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">105</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">VIII</td> + <td align="left">NICKY AND THE SETTING HEN</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">122</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">IX</td> + <td align="left">BRINK DOES A SIDESLIP</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">136</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">X</td> + <td align="left">'IKKY-BOY COMES ALONG</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">150</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XI</td> + <td align="left">LOUISE REVERSES THE CLOCK</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">162</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XII</td> + <td align="left">WHEN THE CURB GOT GYPPED</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">177</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XIII</td> + <td align="left">THE MANTLE OF SANDY THE GREAT</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">191</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XIV</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY SHUNTS A WIZARD</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">205</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XV</td> + <td align="left">STANLEY TAKES THE JAZZ CURE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">220</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XVI</td> + <td align="left">THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRTY-ONE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">234</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XVII</td> + <td align="left">NO LUCK WITH AUNTIE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">248</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XVIII</td> + <td align="left">HARTLEY PULLS A NEW ONE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">263</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XIX</td> + <td align="left">TORCHY GETS A HUNCH</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">279</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="pr" align="right">XX</td> + <td align="left">GIVING 'CHITA A LOOK</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">293</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h1>TORCHY AS A PA</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>VEE TIES SOMETHING LOOSE</h3> +</div> + +<p>I forget just what it was Vee was rummagin' for in the drawer of her +writin' desk. Might have been last month's milk bill, or a stray hair +net, or the plans and specifications for buildin' a spiced layer cake +with only two eggs. Anyway, right in the middle of the hunt she cuts +loose with the staccato stuff, indicatin' surprise, remorse, sudden +grief and other emotions.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "Is it a woman-eatin' mouse, or did you grab a hatpin by +the business end?"</p> + +<p>"Silly!" says she. "Look what I ran across, Torchy." And she flips an +engraved card at me.</p> + +<p>I picks it on the fly, reads the neat script on it, and then hunches my +shoulders. "Well, well!" says I. "At home after September 15, 309 West +Hundred and Umpty Umpt street. How interestin'! But who is this Mr. and +Mrs. Hamilton Porter Blake, anyway?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">2</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, don't you remember?" says Vee. "We sent them that darling +urn-shaped candy jar. That is Lucy Lee and her dear Captain."</p> + +<p>"Oh, then she got him, did she?" says I. "I knew he was a goner when she +went after him so strong. And now I expect they're livin' happy ever +after?"</p> + +<p>Maybe you don't remember my tellin' you about Lucy Lee, the Virginia +butterfly we took in over the week-end once and how I had to scratch +around one Saturday to find some male dinner mate for her, and picked +this hard-boiled egg from the bond room, one of these buddin' John D.'s +who keeps an expense account and shudders every time he passes a +millinery store or thinks what two orchestra seats and a double taxi +fare would set him back. And, the female being the more expensive of the +species, he has trained himself to be girl proof. That's what he lets on +to me beforehand, but inside of forty-eight minutes by the watch, or +between his first spoonful of tomato soup and his last sip of cafe noir, +this Lucy Lee party had him so dizzy in the head he didn't know whether +he was gazin' into her lovely eyes or being run down by a truck. Honest, +some of these babidolls with high voltage lamps like that ought to be +made to use dimmers. For look! Just as she's got him all wound up in the +net, what does Lucy Lee do but flit sudden off to the Berkshires, where +a noble young S. O. S. captain has just come back from the war and the +next we know they're engaged,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">3</a></span> while in the bond room of the Corrugated +Trust is one more broken heart, or what passes for the same among them +young hicks.</p> + +<p>And now here is Lucy Lee, flaggin' as young Mrs. Blake, livin' right in +the same town with him.</p> + +<p>"How stupid of me to forget!" says Vee. "We must run in and call on them +right away, Torchy."</p> + +<p>"We?" says I. "Ah, come!"</p> + +<p>"We'll have dinner first at that cute little Cafe Bretone you've been +telling me about," says Vee, "and go up to see the Blakes afterwards."</p> + +<p>Yes, that was the program we followed. And without the aid of a guide we +located this Umpty Umpt street. The number is about half way down the +block that runs from upper Broadway to Riverside Drive. It's one of the +narrow streets, you know, and the scenery is just as cheerful as a +section of the Hudson River tube on a foggy night. Nothing but +seven-story apartment buildings on either side; human hives, where the +only thing that can be raised is the rent, which the landlord attends to +every quarter.</p> + +<p>Having lived out in the near-country for a couple of years, I'd most +forgotten what ugly, gloomy barracks these big apartment buildings were. +Say, if they built state prisons like that, with no more sun or air in +the cells, there'd be an awful howl. But the Rosenheimers and the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> Max +Blums and the Gilottis can run up jerry built blocks with 8x10 bedrooms +openin' on narrow airshafts, and livin' rooms where you need a couple of +lights burnin' on sunny days, and nobody says a word except to beg the +agent to let 'em pay $150 a month or so for four rooms and bath. I can +feel Vee give a shudder as we dives into the tunnel.</p> + +<p>"But really," says she, "I suppose it must be very nice, only half a +block from the Drive, and with such an imposing entrance."</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "Just as cosy as being tucked away in a safety deposit +vault every night. That's what makes some of these New Yorkers so +patronizin' and haughty when they happen to stray out to way stations +and crossroads joints where the poor Rubes live exposed continual to +sunshine and fresh air and don't seem to know any better."</p> + +<p>"Just think!" says Vee. "Lucy Lee's home down in Virginia was one of +those delightful old Colonial houses set on a hill, with more than a +hundred acres of farm land around it. And Captain Blake must have been +used to an outdoor life. He's a civil engineer, I believe. But then, +with the honeymoon barely over, I suppose they don't mind."</p> + +<p>"We might ask 'em," I suggests.</p> + +<p>"Don't you dare, Torchy!" says she.</p> + +<p>By that time, though, we're ready to interview the fuzzy-haired West +Indian brunette in charge of the 'phone desk in one corner of the +marble<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span> wainscoted lobby. And when he gets through givin' the hot +comeback to some tenant who has dared to protest that he's had the wrong +number, he takes his time findin' out for us whether or not the Blakes +are in. Finally he grunts something through the gum and waves us toward +the elevator. "Fourth," says he. And a slouchy young female in a dirty +khaki uniform takes us up, jerky, to turn us loose in a hallway with a +dozen doors openin' off.</p> + +<p>There's such a dim light we could hardly read the cards in the door +plates, and we was pawin' around, dazed, when a husky bleached blonde +comes sailin' out of an apartment.</p> + +<p>"Will you please tell me which is the Blakes' bell?" asks Vee.</p> + +<p>"Blakes?" says the blonde. "Don't know 'em."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we're on the wrong floor," I suggests.</p> + +<p>But about then a door opens and out peers Lucy Lee herself. "Why, there +you are!" says she. "We were just picking up a little. You know how +things get in an apartment. So good of you to hunt us up. Come right +in."</p> + +<p>So we squeezes in between a fancy hall seat and the kitchen door, edges +down a three-foot hallway, and discovers Captain Blake just strugglin' +into his coat, at the same time kickin' some evenin' papers, dexterous, +under a davenport.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, how comfy you are here, aren't you?" says Vee, gazin' around.</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es, aren't we?" says Lucy Lee, a bit draggy.</p> + +<p>If you've ever made one of these flathouse first calls you can fill in +the rest for yourself. We are shown how, by leanin' out one of the front +windows, you can almost see the North River; what a cute little dinin' +room there is, with a built-in china closet and all; and how convenient +the bathroom is wedged between the two sleeping rooms.</p> + +<p>"But really," says Lucy Lee, "the kitchen is the nicest. Do you know, +the sun actually comes in for nearly an hour every afternoon. And isn't +everything so handy?"</p> + +<p>Yes, it was. You could stand in the middle and reach the gas stove with +one hand and the sink with the other, and if you didn't want to use the +washtub you could rest a loaf of bread on it. Then there was the +dumbwaiter door just beside the ice-box, and overhead a shelf where you +could store a whole dollar's worth of groceries, if you happened to have +that much on hand at once. It was all as handy as an upper berth.</p> + +<p>"You see," explains Lucy Lee, "we have no room for a maid, and couldn't +possibly get one if we did have room, so I am doing my own work; that +is, we are. Hamilton is really quite a wonderful cook; aren't you, +Hammy, dear? Of course, I knew how to make fudge, and I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> learning to +scramble eggs. We go out for dinner a lot, too."</p> + +<p>"Isn't that nice?" says Vee, encouragin'.</p> + +<p>Gradually we got the whole story. It seems Blake wasn't a captain any +more, but had an engineerin' job on one of the new tubes, so they had to +stick in New York. They had thought at first it would be thrilling, but +I gathered that most of the thrills had worn off. And along towards the +end Lucy Lee admits that she's awfully lonesome. You see, she'd been +used to spendin' about six months of the year with Daddy in Washington, +three more in flittin' around from one house party to the other, and +what was left of the year restin' up down on the big plantation, where +they knew all the neighbors for miles around.</p> + +<p>"But here," says she, "we seem to know hardly anyone. Oh, yes, there are +a few people in town we've met, but somehow we never see them. They live +either in grand houses on Fifth Avenue, or in big hotels, or in +Brooklyn."</p> + +<p>"Then you haven't gotten acquainted with anyone in the building here?" +asks Vee.</p> + +<p>"Why," says Lucy Lee, "the janitor's wife is a Mrs. Biggs, I believe. +I've spoken to her several times—about the milk."</p> + +<p>"You poor dear!" says Vee.</p> + +<p>"It's so tiresome," goes on Lucy Lee, "wandering out at night to some +strange restaurant and eating dinner among total strangers. We go often +to one perfectly dreadful little place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> because there's a funny old +waiter that we call by his first name. He tells us about his married +daughter, whose husband is a steamfitter and has been out on strike for +nearly two months. But Hamilton always tips him more than he should, so +it makes our dinners quite expensive. We have to make up, next night, by +having fried eggs and bacon at home."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Well, it's a tale of woe, all right. Lucy Lee don't mean to complain, +but when she gets started on the subject she lets the whole thing out. +Life in the great city, if you have to spend twenty hours out of the +twenty-four in a four-and-bath apartment, ain't so allurin', the way she +sketches it out. Course, she ain't used to it, for one thing. She thinks +if she had some friends nearby it might not be so bad. As for Hamilton, +he listens to her with a puzzled, hopeless expression, like he didn't +understand.</p> + +<p>Vee seems to be studyin' over something, but she don't appear to be +gettin' anywhere. So we sits around and talks for an hour or so. There +ain't room to do much else in a flat. And about 9:30 Mr. Blake has a +brilliant thought.</p> + +<p>"I say, Lucy," says he, "suppose we make a rinktum-diddy for the folks, +eh?"</p> + +<p>"Sounds exciting'," says I. "Do you start by joinin' hands around the +table?"</p> + +<p>No, you don't. You get out the electric chafing dish and begin by fryin' +some onions. Then you melt up some cheese, add some canned tomatoes,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span> +and the result is kind of a Spanish Welsh rabbit that's almost as tasty +as it is smelly.</p> + +<p>It was while we was messin' around the vest pocket kitchen, everybody +tryin' to help, that we spots this face at the window opposite. It's +sort of a calm, good natured face. You wouldn't call the young lady a +heart-breaker exactly, for her mouth is cut kind of generous and her big +eyes are wide set and serious; but you might guess that she was a decent +sort and more or less sociable. In fact she's starin' across the ten +feet or so of air space watchin' our maneuvers kind of interested and +wistful.</p> + +<p>"Who's your neighbor?" asks Vee.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I haven't an idea," says Lucy Lee. "I see her a lot, of +course. She spends as much time in her kitchen as I do, even more. +Usually she seems to be alone."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you speak to her some time?" suggests Vee.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I wouldn't dare," says Lucy Lee. "It—it isn't done, you know. I +tried that twice when I first came, with women I met in the elevator, +and I was promptly snubbed. New Yorkers don't do that sort of thing, I +understand."</p> + +<p>"But she's rather a nice looking girl," insists Vee. "And see, she's +half smiling. I'm going to speak to her." Which she does, right off the +bat. "I hope you don't mind the onion perfume?" says Vee.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span></p> + +<p>The strange young lady doesn't slam down the window and go off tossin' +her head, indignant, so she can't be a real New Yorker. Instead she +smiles and shows a couple of cheek dimples. "It smells mighty good," +says she. "I was just wondering what it could be."</p> + +<p>"Won't you come over and find out?" says Vee, smilin' back.</p> + +<p>"Yes, do come and join us," puts in Lucy Lee. "I'll open the hall door +for you."</p> + +<p>"Why, I—I'd love to if—if I may," says the young lady.</p> + +<p>And that's how, half an hour or so later, when all that was left of this +rinktum-diddy trick was some brown smears on five empty plates, we begun +hearin' the story of the face at the window. She's young Mrs. William +Fairfield, and she's been that exactly three months. Before that she had +been Miss Esther Hartley, of Turkey Run, Md., and Kaio Chow, China. Papa +Hartley had been a medical missionary and Esther, after she got through +at Wellesley, had joined him as a nurse and kindergarten teacher. She'd +been living in Kaio Chow for three years and the mission outfit was +getting along fine when some kind of a Boxer mess broke out and they all +had to leave. Coming back on an Italian steamer from Genoa she met Bill, +who'd been in aviation, and there'd been some lovely moonlight nights +and—well, Bill had persuaded her that teaching young Chinks to learn +c-a-t, cat, wouldn't be half as nice as being Mrs. William<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span> Hartley. +Besides, he had a good position waiting for him in a big wholesale +leather house right in New York, and it would be such fun living among +regular people.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it is fun, too," says Esther, "but somehow I can't seem to +get used to it. Everyone here gives you such, cold, suspicious looks; +even the folks you meet in the hallways and elevator, as though they +meant to say, 'Don't you dare speak to me. I don't know who or what you +are, so don't come near.' They're like that, yon know. Why, the street +gamins of Kaio Chow were not much worse when I first went there. Yes, +they did throw stones at me a few times, but in less than a month they +were calling me the Doctor Lady and letting me tell them how wrong it +was to spend so much time gambling around the food carts. Of course, +they kept right on gambling for fried fish and rice cakes, but they +would grin friendly when they saw me. Up to tonight no one in New York +has even smiled at me.</p> + +<p>"It's such a wonderful place, too; and so big, you would almost think +there was enough to share with, strangers. But they seem to resent my +being here at all, so I go out very little now when I am alone. And as +Bill is away all day, and sometimes has to work evenings as well, I am +alone a great deal. About the only place I can see the sky from and +other people is this little kitchen window. So I stay there a lot, and I +am sorry to say that often I'm foolish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span> enough to wish myself back at +the mission among all those familiar yellow faces, where I could stand +on the bamboo shaded galleries and hear the hubbub in the compound, and +watch the coolies wading about in the distant rice fields. Isn't that +silly? There must be something queer about me."</p> + +<p>"Not so awfully queer," says Vee. "You're lonesome, that's all."</p> + +<p>"No more than I am, I'm sure," says Lucy Lee. "I wonder if there are +many others?"</p> + +<p>"Only two or three million more," says I. "That's why the cabarets and +movie shows are so popular."</p> + +<p>That starts us talking over what there was for folks to do in New York +evenings, and while we can dope out quite a lot of different ways of +passin' the time between 8 p. m. and midnight, nearly every one is so +expensive that the average young couple can't afford to tackle 'em +more'n once a week or so. The other evenings they sit at home in the +flat.</p> + +<p>"And yet," says young Mrs. Fairfield, "hardly any of them but could find +a congenial group of people if—if they only knew where to look and how +to get acquainted with each other. Why, right in this block I've noticed +ever so many who I'm sure are rather nice. But there seems to be no way +of getting together."</p> + +<p>"That's it, precisely!" says Vee. "So why should you wish yourself back +in China?"</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon?" says Mrs. Bill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span></p> + +<p>"I mean," says Vee, "that here is a missionary field, right at your +door. If you can go off among foreigners and get them to give up some of +their silly ways and organize them into groups and classes, why can't +you do something of the kind for these silly New York flat dwellers? +Can't they be organized, too?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says Mrs. Bill, her eyes openin' wider, "I never thought of that. +But—but there are so many of them."</p> + +<p>"What about starting with your own block?" suggests Vee. "Perhaps with +only one side of the street at first. Couldn't you find out how many +were interested in one particular thing—music, or dancing, or +bridge—and get them together?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see!" says Mrs. Bill, clappin' her hands, enthusiastic. "Make a +social survey. Why, of course. One could get up a sort of questionnaire +card and drop it in the letter boxes for each family to fill out, if +they cared to do so, and then you could call meetings of the various +groups."</p> + +<p>"If I could find a few home folks from Virginia, that's all I would +ask," says Lucy Lee.</p> + +<p>"Then we would start the card with 'Where born?'" says Mrs. Bill. "That +would show us how many were Southerners, how many from the West, from +New England, and so on. Next we would want to know something about their +ages."</p> + +<p>"Not too much," suggests Hamilton Blake.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> "Better ask 'em if they're +over or under thirty."</p> + +<p>"Of course," says Mrs. Bill. "Let's see how such a card would look. Next +we would ask them what amusements they liked best: music, dancing, +theatre going, bowling, bridge, private theatricals, chess and so on. +Please check with a cross. And are you a high-brow; if so, why? Is it +art, books, languages, or the snare drum?"</p> + +<p>"Don't forget the poker fiends and the movie fans," I puts in.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bill writes that down. "We will have to begin by electing ourselves +an organizing committee," says she, "and we will need a small printing +fund."</p> + +<p>"I'll chip in ten," says Mr. Blake.</p> + +<p>"So will we," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"And I am sure Bill will, too," says Mrs. Fairfield, "which will be +quite enough to print all the cards we need. And tomorrow evening we +will get together in our apartment and make out the questionnaire +complete. Shall we?"</p> + +<p>So when we left to catch a late train for Long Island it looked like +West Hundred and Umpty Umpt street was going to have something new +sprung on it. Course, we didn't know how far these two young couples +would get towards reformin' New York, but they sure was in earnest, +'specially young Mrs. Bill, who seems to have more or less common sense +tucked away between her ears.</p> + +<p>That must have been a week or ten days ago,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> and as we hadn't heard from +any of them, or seen anything in the papers, we was kind of curious. So +here yesterday I has to call up Lucy Lee on the 'phone.</p> + +<p>"Say," says I, "how's that block sociable progressin'?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, perfectly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee. "Why, at our first meeting, in +a big dance hall, we had nearly 300 persons and were almost swamped. But +Esther is a perfect wizard at organizing. She got them into groups in +less than half an hour, and before we adjourned they had formed all +kinds of clubs and associations, from subscription dance clubs to a Lord +Dunsany private theatrical club. Everyone in the block who didn't turn +out at first has been clamoring to get in since and it has been keeping +us busy sorting them out. You've no idea what a difference it makes up +here. Why, I know almost everybody in the building now, and some of them +are really charming people. They're beginning to seem like real +neighbors and I don't think we shall ever pass another dull evening +while we live here. Even folks across the street have heard about it and +want Esther to come over and organize them."</p> + +<p>So I had quite a bulletin to take home to Vee.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that splendid!" says she.</p> + +<p>"Anyway," says I, "I guess you started something. If it spreads enough, +maybe New York'll be almost fit to live in. But I have my doubts."</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_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2><h3>WHEN HALLAM WAS RUNG UP</h3> +</div> + +<p>It ain't often Mr. Robert starts something he can't finish. When he +does, though, he's shifty at passin' it on. Yes, I'll say he is. For in +such cases I'm apt to be the one that's handiest, and you know what that +means. It's a matter of Torchy being joshed into tacklin' any old +proposition that may be batted up, with Mr. Robert standin' by ready to +spring the grin.</p> + +<p>Take this little go of his with the Hallam Beans—excuse me, the F. +Hallam Beans. Doesn't that sound arty? Well, that's what they were, this +pair. Nothing but. I forget where it was they drifted in from, but of +course they couldn't have found each other anywhere but in Greenwich +Village. And in course of time they mated up there. It was the logical, +almost the brilliant thing to do. Instead of owing rent for two skylight +studios they pyramided on one; besides, after that each one could borrow +the makin's off the other when the cigarettes ran out, and if there came +pea-green moments when they doubted whether they were real geniuses or +not one could always buck up the other.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span></p> + +<p>If they had stuck to the Village I expect we'd never heard anything +about them, but it seems along early last spring F. Hallam had a stroke +of luck. He ran across an old maid art student from Mobile who was up +for the summer and was dyin' to get right into the arty atmosphere. Also +she had $300 that her grip wasn't any too tight on, and before she knew +it F. Hallam had sub-let the loft to her until Sept. 15, payable in +advance. Two days later the Beans, with more'n half of the loot left, +were out on Long Island prospectin' around in our locality and talking +vague about taking a furnished bungalow. They were shown some neat ones, +too, runnin' from eight to fifteen hundred for three months, but none of +'em seemed to be just right. But when they discovered this partly +tumbled down shack out on a back lane beyond Mr. Robert Ellinses' big +place they went wild over it. Years ago some guy who thought he was +goin' to get rich runnin' a squab farm had put it up, but he'd quit the +game and the property had been bought up by Muller, our profiteerin' +provision dealer. And Muller didn't do a thing but soak 'em $30 a month +rent for the shack, that has all the conveniences of a cow shed in it.</p> + +<p>But the Beans rented some second-hand furniture, bought some oil lamps +and a two-burner kerosene stove, and settled down as happy and contented +as if they'd leased a marble villa at Newport. From then on you'd be +liable to run across 'em most anywhere, squattin' in a field<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> or along +the back roads with their easels and paint brushes, daubin' away +industrious.</p> + +<p>You might know it would be either Mrs. Robert or Vee who would pick 'em +up and find out the whole story. As a matter of fact it was both, for +they were drivin' out after ferns or something when they saw the Beans +perched on a stone wall tryin' to unbutton a can of sardines with a +palette knife and not having much success. You know the kind of people +who either lose the key to a sardine can or break off the tab and then +gaze at it helpless! That was them to the life.</p> + +<p>And when Mrs. Robert finds how they're livin' chiefly on dry groceries +and condensed milk, so's to have more to blow in on dinky little tubes +of Chinese white and Prussian blue and canvas, of course she has to get +busy slippin' 'em little trifles like a dozen fresh eggs, a mess of +green peas and a pint of cream now and them. She follows that up by +havin' 'em come over for dinner frequent. Vee has to do her share too, +chippin' in a roast chicken or a cherry pie or a pan of doughnuts, so +between the two the Hallam Beans were doin' fairly well. Hallam, he +comes back generous by wishin' on each of 'em one of his masterpieces. +The thing he gives us Vee hangs up over the livin' room mantelpiece, +right while he's there.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that perfectly stunning, Torchy?" she demands.</p> + +<p>"I expect it is," says I, squintin' at it professional,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> "but—but just +what is it supposed lo be?" And I turns inquirin' to F. Hallam.</p> + +<p>"Why," says he, "it is a study of afternoon light on a group of willows. +We are not Futurists, you see; Revertists, rather. Our methods—at least +mine—are frankly after the Barbizon school."</p> + +<p>"Yeauh!" says I, noddin' wise. "I knew one once who could do swell +designs on mirrors with a piece of soap."</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon," says Hallam. "One what?"</p> + +<p>"A barber's son," says I. "I got him a job as window decorator, too."</p> + +<p>But somehow after that Hallam sort of shies talkin' art with me. A +touchy party, F. Hallam. The least little thing would give him the +sulks. And even when he was feelin' chipper his face was long enough. As +a floorwalker in a mournin' goods shop he'd be a perfect fit. But you +couldn't suggest anything that sounded like real work to Hallam. He +claims that he was livin' for his art. Maybe so, but I'll be hanged if +he was livin' on it. I got to admit, though, that he dressed the part +fairly well; for in that gray flannel shirt and the old velvet coat and +the flowin' black tie, and with all that stringy, mud-colored hair +fallin' around his ears, he couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Even +a movie audience would have spotted him as an artist without a leader to +that effect.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hallam Bean was a good runnin' mate for him, for she has her hair +boxed and wears<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> paint-smeared smocks. Only she's a shy actin', quiet +little thing, and real modest. There's no doubt whatever but that she +has decided that F. Hallam is going to be a great painter some day. When +she ain't sayin' as much she's lookin' it; and Hallam, I suspect, is +always ready to make the vote unanimous.</p> + +<p>I judged from a few remarks of Mr. Robert's that he wasn't quite as +strong for the Hallams as Mrs. Robert was, but seein' 'em around so much +he couldn't help gettin' more or less interested in the business end of +their career.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says he, "they seem to be doing fairly well this summer; but how +about next winter, when they go back to town? You know they can't +possibly sell any of those things. How are they going to keep from +starving?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Robert didn't know. She said she'd mention the matter to F. Hallam. +And she found he wasn't worrying a bit. His plans were vague enough. He +was doing a head of Myrtle—that being Mrs. Bean—which he thought he +might let some magazine have as a cover picture. And then, other things +were bound to turn up. They always had, you know.</p> + +<p>But toward the end of the season the Beans got shabbier than ever. +Myrtle's smocks were torn and stained, with a few cigarette burns here +and there, and her one pair of walking boots were run over at the heel +and leaky in the sole. As for Hallam, that velvet coat had so many +grease spots on it that it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> hardly fit to wear outside of a stable, +and his rubber-soled shoes gave his toes plenty of air. The Beans +admitted that their finances were down to the zero point and they had to +be asked in for dinner at least three times a week to keep 'em from +bein' blue in the gills.</p> + +<p>"Hang it all!" says Mr. Robert, "the fellow ought to have a regular job +of some kind. I suppose he can draw after a fashion. I'll see what I can +do."</p> + +<p>And by rustlin' around among his friends he finds one who runs a big +advertisin' agency and can place another man in the art department. +You'd 'most thought F. Hallam would have been tickled four ways at the +prospect of draggin' down a pay envelope reg'lar and being able to look +the rent agent in the face. But say, what does he do but scrape his foot +and wriggle around like he'd been asked to swallow a non-skid headache +tablet. At last he gets out this bleat about how he'd always held his +art to be too sacred a thing for him to commercialize and he really +didn't know whether he could bring himself to drawin' ad. pictures or +not. He'd have to have time to think it over.</p> + +<p>"Very well," says Mr. Robert, restrainin' himself from blowin' a fuse as +well as he could. "Let me know tomorrow night. If you decide to take the +place, come over about 6:30; if you find that your views as to the +sacredness of your art are too strong, you needn't bother to arrive +until 8:30—after dinner."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span></p> + +<p>I expect it was some struggle, but Art must have gone down for the full +count. Anyway the Beans were on hand when the tomato bisque was served +next evenin', and in less'n a week F. Hallam was turnin' out a perfectly +good freehand study of a lovely lady standin' graceful beside a +Never-smoke oil stove—no-wicks, automatic feed, send for our +catalogue—and other lively compositions along that line. More'n that, +he made good and the boss promised him that maybe in a month or so he'd +turn him loose with his oil paints on something big, a full page in +color, maybe, for a leadin' breakfast food concern. Then the Beans moved +back to town and we heard hardly anything more about 'em.</p> + +<p>I understand, though, that they sort of lost caste with their old crowd +in Greenwich Village. Hallam tried to keep up the bluff for a while that +he wasn't workin' reg'lar, but his friends began to suspect. They +noticed little things, like the half pint of cream that was left every +morning for the Beans, the fact that Hallam was puttin' on weight and +gettin' reckless with clean collars. And finally, after being caught +coming from the butcher's with two whole pounds of lamb chops, Myrtle +broke down and confessed. They say after that F. Hallam was a changed +man. He had his hair trimmed, took to wearin' short bow ties, and when +he dined at the Purple Pup, sneaked in and sat at a side table like any +tourist from the upper West Side.</p> + +<p>Course, on Sundays and holidays he put on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> the old velvet coat, and set +up his easel and splashed away with his paints. But mostly he did heads +of Myrtle, and figure stuff. It was even hinted that he hired models.</p> + +<p>It must have been on one of his days home that this Countess Zecchi +person discovered him in his old rig. She'd been towed down there on a +slummin' party by a club friend of Mr. Robert's who'd heard of Hallam +and had the address. You remember hearin' about the Countess, maybe? She +was Miss Mae Collins, of Kansas City, originally, and Zecchi was either +the second or third of her hubbies, or hobbies, whichever you'd care to +call 'em. A lively, flighty female, Countess Zecchi, who lives in a +specially decorated suite at the Plutoria, sports a tiger cub as a pet, +and indulges in other whims that get her more or less into the +spotlight.</p> + +<p>Her particular hunch on this occasion was that she must have her +portrait done by a real Bohemian artist, and offhand she gives F. Hallam +the job.</p> + +<p>"You must paint me as Psyche," says she. "I've always wanted to be done +as Psyche. Can't we have a sitting tomorrow?"</p> + +<p>Hallam was almost too thrilled for words, but he managed to gasp out +that she could. So he reports sick to his boss, blows in all his spare +cash buyin' a big mirror and draperies to fix up a Psyche pool in the +studio, and decides that at last luck has turned. For three days the +Countess Zecchi shows up reg'lar, drapes herself in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> pink tulle, and +Hallam paints away enthusiastic.</p> + +<p>Then she don't come any more. For a week she stalls him off and finally +tells him flat that posing as Psyche bores her. Besides, she's just +starting south on a yachting party. The portrait? Oh, she doesn't care +about that. She hadn't really given him a commission, just told him he +might paint her. And he mustn't bother her by calling up again. +Positively.</p> + +<p>So Hallam hits the earth with a dull thud. He reports back on the +advertisin' job and groans every time he thinks how much he spent on the +mirror and big canvas. He'd been let in, that's all. But he finishes up +the Psyche picture durin' odd times. He even succeeded in unloadin' it +on some dealer who supplies the department stores, so he quits about +square.</p> + +<p>Then an odd thing happens. At the advertisin' agency there's a call from +a big customer for a picture to go with a Morning Glory soap ad. It's a +rush order, to be done in six colors. Hallam has a bright little +thought. Why wouldn't his Psyche picture fit in? The boss thinks it's +worth lookin' up, and an hour later he comes back from the dealer's with +the trade all made. And inside of three weeks no less than two dozen +magazines was bindin' in a full page in colors showin' the fair form of +the Countess Zecchi bendin' over a limpid pool tryin' to fish out a cake +of Morning Glory soap. It was a big winner, that ad. The soap firm +ordered a hundred thousand copies struck off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> on heavy plate paper, and +if you sent in five wrappers with a two-cent stamp you'd be mailed a +copy to tack up in the parlor.</p> + +<p>Whether or not the general public would have recognized the Countess +Zecchi as the girl in the soap ad. if she'd kept still about it is a +question. Most likely it wouldn't. But the Countess didn't keep still. +That wasn't her way. She proceeds to put up a holler. The very day she +discovers the picture, through kind friends who almost swamped her with +cut-out copies and telegrams, she rushes back to New York and calls up +the reporters. All one afternoon she throws cat fits for their benefit +up at her Plutoria apartment. She tells 'em what a wicked outrage has +been sprung on her by a wretched shrimp of humanity who flags under the +name of Bean and pretends to be a portrait painter. She goes into +details about the mental anguish that has almost prostrated her since +she discovered the fiendish assault on her privacy, and she announces +how she has begun action for criminal libel and started suit for damages +to the tune of half a million dollars.</p> + +<p>Well, you've seen what the papers did to that bit of news. They sure did +play it up, eh? The Psyche picture, with all its sketchy draperies, was +printed side by side with half tones of the Countess Zecchi. And of +course they didn't neglect F. Hallam Bean. He has to be photographed and +interviewed, too. Also, Hallam wasn't dodgin' either a note-book or a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> +camera. As a result he is mentioned as "the well-known portrait painter +of Greenwich Village," and so on. One headline I remember was like this: +"Founder of American Revertist School Sued for Half Million."</p> + +<p>I expect I kidded Mr. Robert more or less about his artist friend. He +don't know quite how to take it, Mr. Robert. In one way he feels kind of +responsible for Hallam, but of course he ain't worried much about the +damage suit. The Countess might get a judgment, but she'd have a swell +time collectin' anything over a dollar forty-nine, all of which she must +have known as well as anybody. But she was gettin' front page space. So +was F. Hallam. And the soap firm was runnin' double shifts fillin' new +orders.</p> + +<p>Then here one afternoon, as Mr. Robert and me are puttin' the finishin' +touches to a quarterly report, who should drift into the Corrugated +general offices but F. Hallam Bean, all dolled up in an outfit that he +must have collected at some costumers. Anyway, I ain't seen one of them +black cape coats for years, and the wide-brimmed black felt hat is a +curio. Also he's gone back to the flowin' necktie and is lettin' his +hair grow wild again.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "Right off the boulevard, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Why the masquerade?" demands Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>He don't seem a bit disturbed at our josh, but just smiles sort of +satisfied and superior.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> "I suppose it is different," says he, "but +then, so am I. I've just been having some new photos taken. They're to +be used with an article I'm contributing to a Sunday paper. It is to be +entitled, 'What is a Revertist?' They are paying me $100 for it. Not +bad, eh!"</p> + +<p>"Pretty soft, I'll say," says I. "Soak 'em while the soakin's good."</p> + +<p>"Still getting on well with your job?" asked Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've chucked that," says Hallam airy. "No more of that degrading +grind for me. I've arrived, you know."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" gasps Mr. Robert. "Where?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says F. Hallam, "don't you understand what has happened during +these last two weeks? Fame has found me out. I am known as the founder +of a new school of art—the original Revertist. My name has become a +household word. And before this absurd libel suit is finished I shall be +painting the portraits of all the leading society people. They are +already asking about me, and as soon as I find a suitable studio—I'm +considering one on West 59th Street, facing Central Park—I shall be +overwhelmed with orders. It's bound to come."</p> + +<p>"You're quite sure this is fame, are you?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>F. Hallam smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "Quite," says he.</p> + +<p>And Mr. Robert can't tell him it's anything else. Hasn't he got his +pockets full of newspaper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> clippings to prove it? Don't people turn and +stare after him in the street and nudge each other in the subway cars? +Aren't his artist friends giving him a banquet at the Purple Pup? So why +should he work for wages any more, or save up any of the easy money +that's coming his way? And he sails out indignant, with his cape +overcoat swayin' grand from his narrow shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I give him up, Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "That is, unless you can +suggest some way of making him see what an ass he is. Come, now!"</p> + +<p>"All right," says I, gettin a sudden hunch. "I don't know as it will +work in his case, for he's got it bad, but suppose we tow him out for a +look at Private Ben Riggs?"</p> + +<p>"By George!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "The very thing. +Sunday, eh?"</p> + +<p>It was easy enough stagin' the affair. All he had to do was to ask the +Beans out for the week-end, and then after Sunday dinner load 'em into +the tourin' car, collect me, and drive off about 20 miles or so to the +south shore of Long Island.</p> + +<p>Maybe, though, you don't remember about Private Ben Riggs? Oh, of course +the name still sticks. It's that kind of a name. But just what was it he +did? Uh-huh! Scratchin' your head, ain't you? And yet it was less than +two years ago that he was figurin' more prominent in the headlines than +anybody else you could name, not barrin' Wilson or Von Hindenburg.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span></p> + +<p>One of our first war heroes, Ben Riggs was, and for nearly two weeks +there he had the great American people shoutin' themselves hoarse in his +honor, as you might say. There was editorials, comparin' his stunt to +what Dewey did at Manila Bay, or Hobson at Santiago, and showin' how +Private Ben had a shade the best of it, after all. The Sunday +illustrated sections had enlarged snapshots of him, of his boyhood home +in Whositville; of his dear old mother who made that classic remark, +"Now, wasn't that just like Ben"; and of his girlish sweetheart, who was +cashier at the Acme Lunch and who admitted that "she always had known +Ben was going to be a great man some day."</p> + +<p>Then when the governor of Ben's state worked his pull and got Ben sent +home right in the midst of it all there was another grand +hooray—parades, banquets and so on. And they raised that testimonial +fund for him to buy a home with, and presented him with a gold medal. +Next, some rapid firin' publishin' firm rushed out a book: "Private Ben +Rigg's Own Story," which he was supposed to have written. And then, too, +he went on in a vaudeville sketch and found time to sign a movie +contract with a firm that was preparin' to screen his big act, "True To +Life."</p> + +<p>It was along about that stage that Private Ben, with more money in the +bank than he'd ever dreamed came from all the mints, got this great +scheme in his nut that a noble plute like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> him ought to have a big +estate somewhere and build a castle on it. So he comes out here on the +south shore, lets a real estate shark get hold of him, and the next +thing he knows he owns about a hundred acres of maybe the most worthless +land on the whole island. His next move is to call in an architect, and +inside of a month a young army of laborers was layin' the foundations +for what looked like a city hall, but was really meant to be Riggsmere +Manor, with 78 rooms, 23 baths, four towers, and a dinin' room 65 feet +long and a ceiling 16 feet in the clear.</p> + +<p>Then the slump came. I forget whether it was a new hero, or another +submarine raid. Anyway, the doings of Private Ben Riggs ceased to be +reported in the daily press. He dropped out of sight, like a nickel that +rolls down a sewer openin'. They didn't want him any more in vaudeville. +The movie producer welched on his proposition. The book sales fell off +sudden. The people that wanted to name cigars or safety razors after +him, or write songs about him, seemed to forget.</p> + +<p>For a few days Private Ben couldn't seem to understand what had +happened. He went around in a kind of a daze. But he had sense enough +left to stop work on the Manor, countermand orders for materials, and +pull out with what he could. It wasn't such a great pile. There was a +construction shed on the property, fairly well built, and by running up +a chimney and having a well sunk, he had what passed for a home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> There +in the builder's shack Private Ben has been living ever since. He has +stuck up a real estate sign and spends most of his time layin' out his +acres of sand and marsh into impossible buildin' lots. As he's way off +on a back road, few people ever come by, but he never misses a chance of +tacklin' those that do and tryin' to wish a buildin' plot on 'em. That's +how we happen to know him so well, and to have kept up with his career.</p> + +<p>On the way out we sort of revived F. Hallam Bean's memories of Private +Ben Riggs. First off he thought Ben had something to do with the Barbara +Freitchie stunt, or was he the one who jumped off Brooklyn Bridge? But +at last he got it straight. Yes, he remembered having had a picture of +Private Ben tacked up in his studio, only last year. Then we tried him +on Jack Binns, and Sergeant York and Lieutenant Blue and Dr. Cook. He +knew they'd all done something or other to make the first page, but his +guesses were kind of wide.</p> + +<p>"I would like to see Private Ben, though," says F. Hallam. "Must be an +interesting chap."</p> + +<p>"He is," says Mr. Robert. "His scrap books are interesting, too. He has +ten of them."</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" says Hallam. "Good idea. I must tell Myrtle about that."</p> + +<p>But after we'd been hailed by this lonesome lookin' party in baggy pants +and the faded blue yachtin' cap, and we'd let him lead us past the stone +foundations where a fine crop of weeds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span> was coming up, and he'd herded +us into his shack and was tryin' to spring a blueprint prospectus on us, +F. Hallam sort of put his foot in his mouth by remarkin':</p> + +<p>"So you are Private Ben Riggs, are you?"</p> + +<p>"I was—once," says he. "Now I'm just Sand-Lot Riggs. Who are you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, pardon me," puts in Mr. Robert. "I thought you would know. This is +Mr. Hallam Bean, the celebrated founder of the Revertist school of art."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!" said Riggs. "The one who painted the corset picture ad."</p> + +<p>"Soap picture," I corrects hasty, "featurin' the Countess Zecchi."</p> + +<p>"That's so, it was soap," admits Riggs. "And I was noticin' in the +mornin' paper how the Countess had decided to drop them suits."</p> + +<p>"What?" says Hallam, starin' at him. "Where was that? On the front +page?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Riggs. "It was a little item on the inside mixed up with the +obituary notes. That's always the way. They start you on the front page, +and then——" Private Ben shrugs his shoulders. But he proceeds to add +hasty, with a shrewd squint at Hallam: "Course, it's different with you. +Say, how about buyin' the estate here? I'd be willin' to let it go +cheap."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," says F. Hallam, crisp.</p> + +<p>"Part of it then," insists Riggs. "I'd been meanin' to write you about +it. I generally do write 'em while—while they're on the front."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span></p> + +<p>"No," says Hallam, and edges toward the door.</p> + +<p>He seemed to get the idea. Before he starts back for town that night he +asks Mr. Robert if he could say a word for him at the advertisin' +agency, as he thought it might be just as well if he hung onto the job. +It wasn't such a poor thought, for Hallam fades out of public view a +good deal quicker than he came in.</p> + +<p>"Maybe it wasn't Fame that rung him up, after all," I suggests to Mr. +Robert.</p> + +<p>He nods. "It might have been her step-sister, Notoriety," says he.</p> + +<p>"Just what's the difference?" says I.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert rubs his chin. "Some old boy whose name I've forgotten, put +it very well once," says he. "Let's see, he said that Fame was the +perfume distilled from the perfect flowering of a wise and good life; +while Notoriety was—er——"</p> + +<p>"Check!" says I. "It's what you get when you fry onions, eh?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert grins. "Some day, Torchy," says he, "I think I shall ask you +to translate Emerson's Essays for me."</p> + +<p>It's all josh, all right. But that's what you get when you're a private +sec. de luxe.</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_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2><h3>THE GUMMIDGES GET A BREAK</h3> +</div> + +<p>This news about how the Gummidges had come back is 'phoned in by Vee +here the other afternoon. She's some excited over it, as she always is +when she sees another chance of extendin' the helpin' hand. I'll admit I +wasn't quite so thrilled. You see, I'd been through all that with the +Gummidges two or three times before and the novelty had sort of worn +off. Besides, that last rescue act we'd pulled had been no common +charity hand-out. It had been big stuff, nothing less than passing the +hat among our friends and raising enough to send the whole lot of 'em so +far West that the prospects of their ever gettin' back to New York was +mighty slim. Maybe that was one reason I'd been so enthusiastic over +puttin' the job through. Not more'n eighteen months ago that had been, +and here they all were back in our midst once more.</p> + +<p>"At the same old address," adds Vee, "so you can guess what that means, +Torchy."</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "The Patricia apartments has a perfectly punk janitor +again and we're due to listen to another long tale of woe."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," says Vee, "it will be interesting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> to see if Mrs. Gummidge +is still bearing up cheerful and singing that 'When the Clouds Are +Darkest' song of hers. Of course, I am coming right in as soon as I can +pack a basket. They're sure to be hungry, so I'm going to put in a whole +roasted chicken, and some jars of that strawberry jam Rowena likes so +much, and heaps of bread and butter sandwiches. Probably they'll need a +few warm clothes, too, so I hope you don't mind, Torchy, if I tuck in a +couple of those khaki shirts of yours, and a few pairs of socks, +and——"</p> + +<p>"Say," I breaks in, "don't get too reckless with my wardrobe. I ain't +got enough to fit out the whole Gummidge family, you know. Save me a +dress tie and a change of pajamas if you can."</p> + +<p>"Silly!" says she. "And listen: I will call for you about 5 o'clock and +we'll go up to see them together."</p> + +<p>"Very well," says I. "I'll try to hold myself back until then."</p> + +<p>At that, I expect I was some curious to find out just how the Gummidges +had managed it. Must have been Ma Gummidge who found a way. Hen. +Gummidge never would, all by himself. About as helpless an old +Stick-in-the-Mud, he was, as I'd, ever helped pry out of the muck. And a +chronic crape hanger. If things were bad, he was sure they were going to +be worse.</p> + +<p>"I never have no luck," was his constant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> whine. It was his motto, as +you might say, his Fourteen Points of Fate.</p> + +<p>I never could make out whether he got that way on account of his face, +or if his face had lengthened out as his disposition grew gloomy. It was +a long face, almost as long and sad as a cow's. Much too long for his +body and legs as he was only medium height up as far as the chin. Kind +of a stoop shouldered, hollow chested, thin shanked party, too. +Somewhere in the fifties, I should judge, but he might have been sixty +by his looks and the weary way he dragged around.</p> + +<p>When I first knew him he was assistant engineer in the Corrugated +buildin' and I used to see him risin' solemn out of the sidewalk on the +ash elevator, comin' up from the basement like some sad, flour-sprinkled +ghost. And then before he'd roll off the ash cans he'd lean his elbows +on the safety bar and stare mournful up and down Broadway for a spell, +just stallin' around. Course, I got to kiddin' him, askin' what he found +so comic in the boiler-room and why he didn't let me in on the joke.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" he'd grunt. "If there's any joke down there, young feller, I'm +it. I wonder how much grinnin' you'd do if you had to slave ten hours a +day in a hole like that. I ought to be up sittin' on the right side of +an engine cab, fast freight, and drawin' my three hundred a month with +time and a half overtime. That's what I set out to be when I started as +wiper.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> Got to be fireman once, but on the second run we hit a weak rail +and went into the ditch. Three busted ribs and my hospital expenses was +all I pulled out of that with; and when I tried to get damages they put +my name on the blacklist, which finished my railroadin' career for good. +Maybe it was just as well. Likely I'd got mashed fair in the next wreck. +That's me. Why say, if it was rainin' soup I'd be caught out with a +fork."</p> + +<p>Yes, he was some consistent gloom hound, Henry Gummidge. Let him tell it +and what Job went through was a mere head-cold compared to his trials +and tribulations. And the worst was yet to come. He knew it because he +often dreamed of seeing a bright yellow dog walkin' on his hind legs +proud and wearin' a shiny collar. And then the dog would change into a +bow-legged policeman swingin' a night-stick threatenin'. All of which a +barber friend of Henry's told him meant trouble in the pot and that he +must beware of a false friend who came across the water. The barber got +it straight from a dream book, and there must be something in it, for +hadn't Henry been done out of $3 by a smooth talkin' guy from Staten +Island?</p> + +<p>Well, sure enough, things did happen to Gummidge. He had a case of +shingles. Then he dropped the silver watch he'd carried for fifteen +years and before he knew it had stepped square on it with the iron +plated heel of his work boots, squashin' the crystal into the works. +And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> six weeks later he'd carelessly rested a red hot clinker rake on +his right foot and had seared off a couple of toes. But the climax came +when he managed to bug the safety catch on the foolproof ash elevator +and took a 20-foot drop with about a ton of loaded ash cans. He only had +a leg broken, at that, but it was three or four months before he came +limpin' out of the hospital to find that the buildin' agent didn't care +to have him on the payroll any more.</p> + +<p>Somehow Henry got his case before Mr. Robert, and that's how I was sent +scoutin' out to see if all this about a sufferin' fam'ly was a fairy +tale or not. Well, it was and it wasn't. There was a Mrs. Gummidge, and +Rowena, and Horatio, just as he'd described. And they was livin' in a +back flat on a punk block over near the North river. Their four dark +rooms was about as bare of furniture as they could be. I expect you +might have loaded the lot on a push cart. And the rations must have been +more or less skimpy for some time.</p> + +<p>But you couldn't exactly say that Ma Gummidge was sufferin'. No. She'd +collected a couple of fam'ly washes from over Seventh avenue way and was +wadin' into 'em cheerful. Also she was singin' "When the Clouds Are +Darkest," rubbin' out an accompaniment on the wash board and splashin' +the suds around reckless, her big red face shinin' through the steam +like the sun breakin' through a mornin' fog.</p> + +<p>Some sizable old girl, Ma Gummidge; one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> these bulgy, billowy females +with two chins and a lot of brownish hair. And when she wipes her hands +and arms and camps down in a chair she seems to fill all one side of the +room. Even her eyes are big and bulgy. But they're good-natured eyes. Oh +my, yes. Just beamin' with friendliness and fun.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Henry's had kind of a hard time," she admits, "but I tell him he +got off lucky. Might have been hurt a lot worse. And he does feel +downhearted about losin' his job. But likely he'll get another one +better'n that. And we're gettin' along, after a fashion. Course, we're +behind on the rent, and we miss a meal now and then; but most folks eat +too much anyway, and things are bound to come out all right in the end. +There's Rowena, she's been promised a chance to be taken on as extra +cash girl in a store. And Horatio's gettin' big enough to be of some +help. We're all strong and healthy, too, so what's the use worryin', as +I say to Henry."</p> + +<p>Say, she had Mrs. Wiggs lookin' like a consistent grouch, Ma Grummidge +did. Rowena, too, is more or less of an optimist. She's about 16, built +a good deal on her mother's lines, and big enough to tackle almost any +kind of work, but I take it that thus far she ain't done much except +help around the flat. Horatio, he's more like his father. He's only 15 +and ought to be in school, but it seems he spends most of his time +loafin' at home. They're a folksy fam'ly, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> judge; the kind that can +sit around and chat about nothing at all for hours at a time. Why, even +the short while I was there, discoverin' how near they was to bein' put +out on the street, they seemed to be havin' a whale of a time. Rowena, +dressed in a saggy skirt and a shirt waist with one sleeve partly split +out, sits in the corner gigglin' at some of her Ma's funny cracks. And +then Ma Gummidge springs that rollin' chuckly laugh of hers when Rowena +adds some humorous details about a stew they tried to make out of a +piece of salt pork and a couple of carrots.</p> + +<p>But the report I makes to Mr. Robert is mostly about facts and finances, +so he slips a ten spot or so into an envelope for 'em, and next day he +finds a club friend who owns a row of apartment houses, among them the +Patricia, where there's a janitor needed. And within a week we had the +Gummidges all settled cozy in basement quarters, with enough to live on +and more or less chance to graft off the tenants.</p> + +<p>Then Vee has to get interested in the Gummidges, too, from hearin' me +tell of 'em, and the next I knew she'd added 'em to her reg'lar list. +No, I don't mean she pensions Pa Gummidge, or anything like that. She +just keeps track of the fam'ly, remembers all their birthdays, keeps 'em +chirked up in various ways, shows Rowena how to do her hair so it won't +look so sloppy, fits Horatio out so he can go back to school, and +smooths over a row Pa Gummidge has managed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span> to get into with the tenant +on the second floor west. It ain't so much that she likes to boss other +peoples' affairs as it is that she gets to have a real likin' for 'em +and can't help tryin' to give 'em a boost. And she's 'specially strong +for Ma Gummidge.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Torchy," she tells me, "her disposition is really quite +remarkable. She can be cheerful and good natured under the most trying +circumstances."</p> + +<p>"Lucky for her she can," says I. "I expect she was born that way."</p> + +<p>"But she wasn't born to live in a basement and do janitor's work," says +Vee. "For you know Gummidge puts most of it on her. No, her people were +fairly well-to-do. Her father ran a shoe store up in Troy. They lived +over the store, of course, but very comfortably. She had finished high +school and was starting in at the state normal, intending to be a +teacher, when she met Henry Gummidge and ran off and married him. He was +nearly ten years older and was engineer in a large factory. But he lost +that position soon after, and they began drifting around. Her father +died and in the two years that her mother tried to manage the shoe store +she lost all that they had saved. Then her mother died. And the +Gummidges kept getting poorer and poorer. But she doesn't complain. She +keeps saying that everything will turn out all right some time. I hope +it does."</p> + +<p>"But I wouldn't bank heavy on it," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> "I never studied Hen. +Gummidge's palm, or felt his bumps, but my guess is that he'll never +shake the jinx. He ain't the kind that does. He's headed down the chute, +Henry is, and Ma Gummidge is goin' to need all her reserve stock of +cheerfulness before she gets through. You watch."</p> + +<p>Well, it begun to look like I was some grand little prophet. Even as a +janitor Hen. Gummidge was in about the fourth class, and the Patricia +apartments were kind of high grade. The tenants did a lot of grouchin' +over Henry. He wouldn't get steam up in the morning until about 8:30. He +didn't keep the marble vestibule scrubbed the way he should, and so on. +He had a lot of alibis, but mostly he complained that he was gettin' +rheumatism from livin' in such damp quarters. If it hadn't been for Vee +talkin' smooth to the agent Gummidge would have been fired. As it is he +hangs on, limpin' around gloomy with his hand on his hip. I expect his +joints did pain him more or less. And at last he gives up altogether and +camps down in an easy chair next to the kitchen stove.</p> + +<p>It was about then he heard from this brother of his out in Nebo, Texas. +Seems brother was an old bach who was runnin' a sheep ranch out there. +Him and Henry hadn't kept close track of each other for a good many +years, but now brother Jim has a sudden rush of fraternal affection. He +wants Henry and his family to come out and join him. He's lonesome, and +he's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> tired of doin' his own cookin'. He admits the ranch ain't much +account, but there's a livin' on it, and if Henry will come along he'll +make him an equal partner.</p> + +<p>"Ain't that just my luck?" says Henry. "Where could I scrape up enough +money to move to Texas, I'd like to know?"</p> + +<p>"Think you'd like to go, do you?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Course I would," says Gummidge. "It would do my rheumatism good. And, +then, I'd like to see old Jim again. But Gosh! It would take more 'n a +hundred dollars to get us all out there, and I ain't had that much at +once since I don't know when."</p> + +<p>"Still," says I, "the thing might be financed. I'll see what can be +done." Meaning that I'd put it up to Mr. Robert and Vee.</p> + +<p>"Why, surely!" says Vee. "And wouldn't that be splendid for them all?"</p> + +<p>"You may put me down for fifty," says Mr. Robert. "If he'll move to +China I'll double it."</p> + +<p>But Nebo seemed to be far enough off to be safe. And it was surprisin' +how easy we stood it when the tickets was all bought and the time came +to say good-bye to the Gummidges. As I remember, we was almost merry +over it. Even Mr. Robert has to shoot off something he thinks is +humorous.</p> + +<p>"When you all get to Nebo," says he, "perhaps the old mountain will be a +little less lonely."</p> + +<p>"And if anybody offers to give you a steer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> down there," says I, "don't +refuse. It might be just tin-horn advice, but then again he might mean a +long-horn beef."</p> + +<p>As usual Henry is the only gloom in the party. He shakes his head. +"Brother Jim only keeps sheep," says he, "and I never did like mutton +much, nohow. Maybe I won't live to git there, though. Seems like an +awful long ways to go."</p> + +<p>But they did land there safe enough, for about a week or ten days later +Vee gets a postcard from Ma Gummidge sayin' that it was lucky they got +there just as they did for they found Brother Jim pretty sick. She was +sure she'd have him prancin' around again soon, and she couldn't say how +much she thanked us all for what we'd done.</p> + +<p>And with that the Gummidges sort of fades out. Not another word comes +from 'em. Must have been a year and a half ago they went. More, I +expect. We had one or two other things to think of meanwhile. You know +how easy it is to forget people like that, specially when you make up +your mind that they're sort of crossed off for good. And after a spell +if somebody mentioned Texas maybe I'd recall vague that I knew someone +who was down there, and wonder who it was.</p> + +<p>Then here the other afternoon comes Vee with this announcement that the +Gummidges were back. Do you wonder I didn't give way to any wild, +uncontrolled joy? I could see us goin' through the same old program with +'em;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> listenin' to Pa Gummidge whine about how bad he felt, tryin' to +keep his job for him, plannin' out a career for Horatio, and watchin' +Rowena split out more shirtwaists.</p> + +<p>Vee shows up prompt a little before closin' time. She's in a taxi and +has a big suit case and a basket full of contributions. "What puzzles +me," says she, "is how he could get back his old place so readily."</p> + +<p>"Needn't worry you long," says I. "Let's go on up and have it over with +and then go somewhere for dinner."</p> + +<p>So, of course, when we rolls up to the Patricia apartment we dives down +into janitor's quarters as usual. But we're halted by a putty-faced +Swede person in blue denims, who can converse and smoke a pipe at the +same time.</p> + +<p>"Yah, I bane yanitor here long time," says he.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "What about Gummidge then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Meester Gummidge," says he. "He bane new tenant on second floor, +yes? Sublet, furnished, two days ago yet. Nice peoples."</p> + +<p>Well, at that I stares at Vee and she stares back.</p> + +<p>"Whaddye mean, nice?" I demands.</p> + +<p>"Swell peoples," says the Swede, soundin' the "v" in swell. "Second +floor."</p> + +<p>"There must be some mistake," says Vee, "but I suppose we might as well +go up and see."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span></p> + +<p>So up we trails to the elevator, me with the suitcase in one hand and +the basket in the other, like a Santa Claus who has lost his way.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Henry Grummidge?" says the neat elevator girl. "Yes'm. Second."</p> + +<p>And in another minute Vee was being greeted in the dark hallway and +folded in impetuous by Ma Grummidge herself. But as we are towed into +the white and gold living room, where half a dozen pink-shaded electric +bulbs are blazin', we could see that it wasn't exactly the same Mrs. +Gummidge we'd known. She's about the same build, and she has the same +number of chins. Also there's the old familiar chuckly laugh. But that's +as far as it goes. This Mrs. Gummidge is attired—that's the proper +word, I expect—in a black satin' evenin' dress that fits her like she'd +been cast into it. Also her mop of brownish hair has been done up neat +and artistic, and with the turquoise necklace danglin' down to her +waist, and the marquise dinner ring flashin' on her right hand, she's +more or less impressive to behold.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mrs. Gummidge!" gasps Vee.</p> + +<p>"I just thought that's what you'd say," says she. "But wait 'till you've +seen Rowena. Come, dearie; here's comp'ny."</p> + +<p>She was dead right. It was a case of waitin' to see Rowena, and we held +our breaths while she rustled in. Say, who'd have thought that a few +clothes could make such a difference? For instead of the big sloppy +young female who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> used to slouch, gigglin' around the basement who +should breeze in but a zippy young lady, a bit heavy about the shoulders +maybe for that flimsy style of costume, but more or less stunning, for +all that. Rowena had bloomed out. In fact, she had the lilies of the +field lookin' like crepe paper imitations.</p> + +<p>And we'd no sooner caught our breath after inspectin' her than Horatio +makes an entrance, and we behold the youngster whose usual costume was +an old gray sweater and a pair of baggy pants now sportin' a suit of +young hick raiment that any shimmy hound on Times Square would have been +glad to own. Slit pockets? Oh my, yes; and a soft collar that matched +his lilac striped shirt, and cuff links and socks that toned in with +both, and a Chow dog on a leather leash.</p> + +<p>Then Pa Gummidge, shaved and slicked up as to face and hair, his bowlegs +in a pair of striped weddin' trousers and the rest of him draped in a +frock coat and a fancy vest, with gold eyeglasses hung on him by a black +ribbon. He's puffin' away at a Cassadora cigar that must have measured +seven inches over-all when it left the box. In fact, the Gummidges are +displayin' all the usual marks of wealth and refinement.</p> + +<p>"But tell me," gasps Vee, "what on earth has happened? How did—did you +get it?"</p> + +<p>"Oil," says Pa Gummidge.</p> + +<p>Vee looks blank. "I—I don't understand," says she.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lemme guess," says I. "You mean you struck a gusher on the sheep +ranch?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't," says Gummidge. "Them experts I leased the land to did, +though. Six hundred barrels per, and still spoutin' strong. They pay me +a royalty on every barrel, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "Then you and Brother Jim—"</p> + +<p>"Poor Jim!" says Henry. "Too bad he couldn't have hung on long enough to +enjoy some of it. Enough for both. Lord, yes! Just my luck to lose him. +Only brother I ever had. But he's missin' a lot of trouble, at that. +Having to eat with your coat on, for one thing. And this grapefruit for +breakfast nonsense. I'm always squirtin' myself in the eye."</p> + +<p>"Isn't that just like Henry?" chuckles Ma Gummidge. "Why, he grumbles +because the oil people send him checks so often and he has to mail 'em +to his bank. But his rheumatism's lots better and we're all havin' the +best time. My, it—it's 'most like being in Heaven."</p> + +<p>She meant it, too, every word. There wasn't an ounce of joy that Ma +Gummidge was missin'.</p> + +<p>"And it's so nice for you to be here in a comfortable apartment, instead +of in some big hotel," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Henry's notion," says Mrs. Gummidge. "You remember the Whitleys that +complained about him? He had an idea Whitley's business was petering +out. Well, it was, and he was glad enough to sub-let to Henry. Never +knew, either,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> until after the lease was signed, who we were. Furnished +kind of nice, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"Why, Ma!" protests Rowena. Then she turns to Vee. "Of course, it'll do +for a while, until we find something decent up on Riverside Drive; one +with a motor entrance, you know. You're staying for dinner, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why," begins Vee, glancin' doubtful at me, "I think we——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do stay!" chimes in Ma Gummidge. "I did the marketing myself today; +and say, there's a rib roast of beef big enough for a hotel, mushrooms +raised under glass, an alligator pear salad, and hothouse strawberries +for dessert. Besides, you're about the only folks we know that we could +ask to dinner. Please, now!"</p> + +<p>So we stayed and was waited on by two haughty near-French maids who +tried to keep the Gummidges in their places, but didn't more than half +succeed.</p> + +<p>As we left, Rowena discovers for the first time all the hand luggage. +"Oh!" says she, eyeing the suitcase. "You are in town for the week-end, +are you?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," says' I. "Just a few things for a fam'ly that Vee thought +might need 'em."</p> + +<p>And Vee gets out just in time to take the lid off a suppressed snicker. +"Only think!" says she. "The Gummidges living like this!"</p> + +<p>"I'm willing," says I. "I get back my shirts."</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_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2><h3>FINDING OUT ABOUT BUDDY</h3> +</div> + +<p>The best alibi I can think up is that I did it offhand and casual. +Somehow, at the time it didn't seem like what people would call an +important step in my career. No. Didn't strike me that way at all. +Looked like a side issue, a trifle. There was no long debate over +whether I would or wouldn't, no fam'ly council, no advice from friends. +Maybe I took a second look, might have rubbed my chin thoughtful once, +and then I said I would.</p> + +<p>But most of the big stuff, come to think of it, gets put over like that; +from gettin' engaged to havin' the news handed you that you're a +grand-daddy. Course, you might be workin' up to it for a long time, but +you're so busy on other lines that you hardly notice. Then all of a +sudden—Bing! Lots of young hicks' start in on a foxtrot all free and +clear, and before the orchestra has swung into the next one-step they've +said the fatal words that gets 'em pushing a baby carriage within a +year. Same with a lot of other moves that count big.</p> + +<p>Gettin' Buddy wished on us, for instance. I remember, I wasn't payin' +much attention to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> what the barber was sayin'. You don't have to, you +know; 'specially when they're like Joe Sarello, who generally has a lot +to say. He'd been discoursin' on several subjects—how his cousin Carmel +was gettin' on with his coal and wood business up in New Rochelle, what +the League of Nations really ought to do to the Zecho-Slovacks, how much +the landlord has jumped his rent, and so on.</p> + +<p>Then he begun talkin' about pups. I was wonderin' if Joe wasn't taking +too much hair off the sides, just above the ears. He's apt to when he +gets runnin' on. Still, I'd rather take a chance with him than get my +trimmin' done in the big shop at the arcade of the Corrugated Buildin', +where they shift their shear and razor artists so often you hardly get +to know one by sight before he's missin'. But Joe Sarello, out here at +Harbor Hills, with his little two-chair joint opposite the station, he's +a fixture, a citizen. If he gets careless and nicks you on the ear you +can drop in every mornin' and roast him about it. Besides, when he opens +a chat he don't have to fish around and guess whether you're a reg'lar +person with business in town, or if you're a week-end tourist just blown +in from Oconomowoc or Houston. He knows all about you, and the family, +and your kitchen help, and about Dominick, who does your outside work +and tends the furnace.</p> + +<p>He was tellin' me that his litter of pups was comin' on fine. I expect I +says "Uh-huh," or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> something like that. The news didn't mean much to me. +I was about as thrilled as if he'd been quotin' the f. o. b. price of +new crop Brazil nuts. In fact, he'd mentioned this side line of his +before. Barberin' for commuters left him more or less time for such +enterprises. But it might have been Angora goats he was raisin', or +water buffalo, or white mice.</p> + +<p>"You no lika da dogs, hey?" asks Joe, kind of hurt.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, starin' critical into the mirror to see if he hadn't +amputated more from the left side than the right. "Oh sure! I like dogs +well enough. That is, real doggy dogs; not these little imitation parlor +insects, like Poms and Pekes and such. Ain't raisin' that kind, are you, +Joe?"</p> + +<p>Joe chuckles, unbuttons me from the apron, brushes a lot of short hair +down my neck, and holds a hand mirror so I can get a rear elevation view +of my noble dome. "Hah!" says he. "You must see. I show you dogs what is +dogs. Come."</p> + +<p>And after I've retrieved my collar and tie I follows him out back where +in a lean-to shed he has a chicken wire pen with a half dozen or so of +as cute, roly-poly little puppies as you'd want to see. They're sort of +rusty brown and black, with comical long heads and awkward big paws, and +stubby tails. And the way they was tumbling over each other, tryin' to +chew with their tiny teeth, and scrimmagin' around like so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> many boys +playin' football in a back lot—well, I couldn't help snickerin' just +watchin' 'em for a minute.</p> + +<p>"All spoke for but dees wan," says Joe, fishing out one of the lot. +"Meester Parks he pick heem first wan, but now he hafta go by Chicago +and no can take. Fine chance for you. With beeg place like you got you +need good watch dog. Hey? What you say?"</p> + +<p>"What's the breed, Joe?" I asks.</p> + +<p>Joe gawps at me disgusted. I expect such ignorance was painful. "Wot +kind?" says he. "Wot you t'ink? Airedale."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! Of course, Airedales," says I, like it was something I'd +forgotten.</p> + +<p>And then I scratches my head. Hadn't I heard Vee sayin' how she liked +some particular kind of a dog? And wasn't it this kind? Why, sure, it +was. Well, why not? Joe says they're all ready to be delivered, just +weaned and everything.</p> + +<p>"I'll go you," says I. "How much?"</p> + +<p>Say, I had to gasp when Joe names his bargain price. You see, I'd never +been shoppin' for dogs before, and I hadn't kept track of the puppy +market quotations. Course, I knew that some of these fancy, full-grown +specimens of classy breeds brought big money at times. But little pups +like this, that you could hold in your hand, or tuck into your overcoat +pocket—why, my idea was the people who had 'em sort of distributed 'em +around where they would have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> good homes; or else in the case of a party +like Joe you might slip him a five or a ten.</p> + +<p>No, I ain't tellin' what I paid. Not to anybody. But after sayin' what I +had I couldn't back out without feelin' like a piker. And when Joe says +confidential how he's knockin' off ten at that I writes out the check +more or less cheerful.</p> + +<p>"Ought to be good blood in him, at that figure," I suggests.</p> + +<p>"Heem!" says Joe. "He got pedigree long lak your arm. Hees mothair ees +from Lady Glen Ellen III., hees father ees blue ribbon winner two tam, +Laird Ben Nevis, what was sell for——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I expect the fam'ly hist'ry's all right," I breaks in. "I'll take +your word for it. But what do we feed him—dog biscuit?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" says Joe. "Not yet. Some bread wit' milk warm up in pan. +T'ree, four tam a day. Bymeby put in leetle scrap cook meat an' let him +have soup bone for chew. Mus' talk to heem all tam. He get wise quick. +You see."</p> + +<p>"You flatter me, Joe," says I. "Nobody ever got wise from my talkin' to +'em. Might be interestin' to try it on a pup, though. So long."</p> + +<p>And as I strolls along home with this warm, wriggly bunch of fur in the +crook of my arm I get more and more pleased with myself. As I dopes it +out I ought to make quite a hit, presenting Vee with something she's +been wantin' a long time. Almost as though I'd had it raised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> special +for her, and had been keepin' it secret for months. Looked like I was +due to acquire merit in the domestic circle, great gobs of it.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Vee!" I sings out, as soon as I've opened the livin' room door. +"Come see what I've brought you."</p> + +<p>She wasn't long coming, and I got to admit that when I displays Mr. Pup +the expected ovation don't come off. I don't get mixed up in any fond +and impetuous embrace. No. If I must tell the truth she stands there +with her mouth open starin' at me and it.</p> + +<p>"Why—why, Torchy!" she gasps. "A puppy?"</p> + +<p>"Right, first guess," says I. "By the way you're gawpin' at it, though, +it might be a young zebra or a baby hippopotamus. But it's just a mere +puppy. Airedale."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Vee, gaspier than ever. "An—an Airedale?"</p> + +<p>"Well?" says I. "Wasn't that the kind I've heard you boostin' all +along?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es," says she, draggy, "I—I suppose it was. And I do admire them +very much, but—well, I hadn't really thought of owning one. They—they +are such strenuous dogs, you know; and with the baby and all——"</p> + +<p>"Say, take a look!" I breaks in. "Does this one size up like he was a +child eater? Here, heft him once." And I hands him over.</p> + +<p>Course, it ain't five minutes before she's cuddlin' him up and cooin' to +him, and he's gnawing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> away at her thumb with his little puppy teeth.</p> + +<p>"Such a dear!" says Vee. "And we could keep him out in the garage, and +have Dominick look after him, couldn't we? For they get to be such big +dogs, you know."</p> + +<p>"Do they?" says I.</p> + +<p>I didn't see quite how they could. Why, this one was about big enough to +go in a hat, that's all, and he was nearly two months old. But say, what +I didn't know about Airedale pups was a heap. Grow! Honest, you could +almost watch him lengthen out and fill in. Yet for a couple of weeks +there he was no more'n a kitten, and just as cute and playful. Every +night after dinner I'd spend about an hour rollin' him over on his back +and lettin' him bite away at my bare hand. He liked to get hold of my +trouser leg, or Vee's dress, or the couch cover, or anything else that +was handy, and tug away and growl. Reg'lar circus to see him.</p> + +<p>And then I begun to find scratches on my hands. The little rascal was +gettin' a full set of puppy teeth. Sharp as needles, too. I noticed a +few threads pulled out of my sleeve. And once when he got a good grip on +Vee's skirt he made a rip three inches long. But he was so cunnin' about +it we only laughed.</p> + +<p>"You young rough houser!" I'd say, and push him over. He'd come right +back for more, though, until he was tuckered and then he'd stretch out +on something soft and sleep with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> one paw over his nose while we watched +admirin'.</p> + +<p>We had quite a time findin' a name for him. I got Joe to give his +pedigree all written out and we was tryin' to dope out from that +something that would sound real Scotch. Vee got some kennel catalogues, +too, and read over some of those old Ian MacLaren stories for names, but +we couldn't hit on one that just suited. Meanwhile I begins callin' him +Buddy, as the boys did everybody in the army, and finally Vee insists +that it's exactly the name for him.</p> + +<p>"He's so rough and ready," says she.</p> + +<p>"He's rough, all right," says I, examinin' a new tooth mark on the back +of my hand.</p> + +<p>And he kept on gettin' rougher. What he really needed, I expect, was a +couple of cub bears to exercise his teeth and paws on; good, husky, +tough-skinned ones, at that. Not havin' 'em he took it out on us. Oh, +yes. Not that he was to blame, exactly. We'd started him that way, and +he seemed to like the taste of me 'specially.</p> + +<p>"They're one-man dogs, you know," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Meanin'," says I, "that they like to chew one man at a time. See my +right wrist. Looks like I'd shoved it through a pane of glass. Hey, you +tarrier! Lay off me for a minute, will you? For the love of soup eat +something else. Here's a slipper. Now go to it."</p> + +<p>And you should see him shake and worry that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> around the room. Almost as +good as a vaudeville act—until I discovers that he's gnawed a hole +clear through the toe. "Gosh!" says I. "My favorite slipper, too."</p> + +<p>At four months he was no longer a handful. He was a lapful, and then +some. Somewhere near twenty-five pounds, as near as we could judge by +holding him on the bathroom scales for the fraction of a second. And +much too lively for any lap. Being cuddled wasn't his strong point. +Hardly. He'd be all over you in a minute, clawin' you in the face with +his big paws and nippin' your ear or grabbin' a mouthful of hair; all +playful enough, but just as gentle as being tackled by a quarterback on +an end run.</p> + +<p>And he was gettin' wise, all right. He knew to the minute when mealtime +came around, and if he wasn't let out on the kitchen porch where his +chow was served he thought nothing of scratchin' the paint off a door or +tryin' to chew the knob. Took only two tries to teach him to stand up on +his hind legs and walk for his meals, as straight as a drum major. Also +he'd shake hands for a bit of candy, and retrieve a rubber ball. But +chiefly he delighted to get a stick of soft wood and go prancin' through +the house with it, rappin' the furniture or your shins as he went, and +end up by chewin' it to bits on the fireplace hearth rug. Or it might be +a smelly old bone that he'd smuggled in from outside.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> You could guess +that would get Vee registerin' a protest and I'd have to talk to Buddy.</p> + +<p>"Hey!" I'd remark, grabbin' him by the collar. "Whaddye think this is, a +soap fact'ry? Leggo that shin-bone."</p> + +<p>"Gr-r-r-r!" he'd remark back, real hostile, and roll his eyes menacin'.</p> + +<p>At which Vee would snicker and observe: "Now isn't he the dearest thing +to do that, Torchy? Do let him have his booful bone there. I'll spread a +newspaper under it."</p> + +<p>Her theory was good, only Buddy didn't care to gnaw his bone on an +evening edition. He liked eatin' it on the Turkish rug better. And +that's where he did eat it. That was about the way his trainin' worked +out in other things. We had some perfectly good ideas about what he +should do; he'd have others, quite different; and we'd compromise. That +is, we'd agree that Buddy was right. Seemed to me about the only thing +to do, unless you had all day or all night to argue with him and show +him where he was wrong. I could keep it up for an hour or two. Then I +either got hoarse or lost my disposition.</p> + +<p>You remember there was some talk of keepin' him in the garage at first. +Anyway, it was mentioned. And he was kept there the first night, until +somewhere around 2 A. M. Then I trailed out in a bathrobe and slippers +and lugged him in. He'd howled for three hours on a stretch and seemed +to be out for the long-distance championship. Not havin' looked up the +past performances<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> in non-stop howlin' I couldn't say whether he'd hung +up a new record or not. I was willin' to concede the point. Besides, I +wanted a little sleep, even if he didn't. I expect we was lucky that he +picks out a berth behind the kitchen stove as the proper place for him +to snooze. He might have fancied the middle of our bed. If he had, we'd +camped on the floor, I suppose.</p> + +<p>Another good break for us was the fact that he was willin' to be +tethered out daytimes on a wire traveler that Dominick fixed up for him. +Course, he did dig up a lot of Vee's favorite dahlia bulbs, and he +almost undermined a corner of the kitchen wing when he set out to put a +choice bone in cold storage, but he was so comical when he tamped the +bone down with his nose that Vee didn't complain.</p> + +<p>"We can have the hole filled in and sodded over next spring," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" I says. "By next spring he'll be big enough to tunnel clear under +the house."</p> + +<p>Looked like he would. At five months Buddy weighed 34 pounds and to +judge by his actions most of him was watchspring steel geared in high +speed. He was as hard as nails all over and as quick-motioned as a cat. +I'd got into the habit of turnin' him loose when I came home and +indulgin' in a half hour's rough house play with him. Buddy liked that. +He seemed to need it in his business of growin' up. If I happened to +forget, he wasn't backward in remindin' me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> of the oversight. He'd +developed a bark that was sort of a cross between an automobile shrieker +and throwin' a brick through a plate glass window, and when he put his +whole soul into expressin' his feelin's that way everybody within a mile +needed cotton in their ears. So I'd drape myself in an old raincoat, put +on a pair of heavy drivin' gauntlets, and frisk around with him.</p> + +<p>No doubt about Buddy's being glad to see me on them occasions. His +affection was deep and violent. He'd let out a few joy yelps, take a +turn around the yard, and then come leapin' at me with his mouth open +and his eyes rollin' wild. My part of the game was to grab him by the +back of the neck and throw him before he could sink his teeth into any +part of me. Sometimes I missed. That was a point for Buddy. Then I'd pry +his jaws loose and he'd dash off for another circle. I couldn't say how +the score averaged. I was too busy to keep count. About fifty-fifty +would be my guess. Anyway, it did Buddy a lot of good and must have been +fine practice. If he ever has to stop an offensive on the part of an +invadin' bull-dog he'll be in good trim. He'd tackle one, all right. The +book we bought says that an Airedale will go up a tree after a mountain +lion. I can believe it. I've never seen Buddy tuck his tail down for +anything on four legs. Yet he ain't the messy kind. He don't seem +anxious to start anything. But I'll bet he'd be a hard finisher.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span></p> + +<p>And he sure is a folksy dog with the people he knows around the house. +Most of 'em he treats gentler than he does me, which shows that he's got +some sense. And when it comes to the baby; why, say, he'll gaze as +admirin' at young Master Richard toddlin' around as if he was some blood +relation; followin' him everywhere, with that black nose nuzzled under +one of the youngster's arms, or with a sleeve held tender in his teeth. +Any kid at all Buddy is strong for. He'll leave a bone or his play any +time he catches sight of one, and go prancin' around 'em, waggin' his +stubby tail friendly and inviting 'em to come have a romp.</p> + +<p>Maybe you wouldn't accuse Buddy of being handsome. I used to think +Airedales was about the homeliest dogs on the list. Mostly, you know, +they're long on nose. It starts between their ears and extends straight +out for about a foot. Gives 'em kind of a simple expression. But you get +a good look into them brown eyes of Buddy's, 'specially when he's +listenin' to you with his head cocked on one side and an ear turned +wrong side out, and you'll decide he must have some gray matter +concealed somewhere. Then there's that black astrakan coat-effect on his +back, and the clean-cut lines of his deep chest and slim brown legs, +which are more or less decorative. Anyway he got so he looked kind of +good to me.</p> + +<p>Like people, though, Buddy had his bad days. Every once in a while his +fondness for chewin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> things would get him in wrong. Then he'd have to +be scolded. And you can't tell me he don't know the meanin' of the words +when you call him a "bad, bad dog." No, sir. Why, he'd drop his head and +tail and sneak into a corner as if he'd been struck with a whip. And +half an hour later he'd be up to the same sort of mischief. I asked Joe +Sarello about it.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says Joe, shruggin' his shoulders. "Hees puppy yet. Wanna do w'at +he lak, all tam. He know better, but he strong in the head. You gotta +beat him up good. No can hurt. Tough lak iron. Beat him up."</p> + +<p>But Vee won't have it. I didn't insist. I didn't care much for the job. +So Buddy gets off by being informed stern that he'd a bad, bad dog.</p> + +<p>And then here the other day I comes home to find Buddy locked in the +garage and howlin' indignant. Vee says he mustn't be let out, either.</p> + +<p>"What's the idea?" I asks.</p> + +<p>Then I gets the whole bill of complaint. It seems Buddy has started the +day by breakin' loose from his wire and chasin' the chickens all over +the place. He'd cornered our pet Rhode Island Red rooster and nipped out +a mouthful of tail feathers. It took the whole household and some of the +neighbors to get him to quit that little game.</p> + +<p>This affair had almost been forgiven and he was havin' his lunch on the +back porch when Vee's Auntie blows in unexpected for a little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> visit. +Before anybody has time to stop him Buddy is greetin' her in his usual +impetuous manner. He does it by plantin' his muddy forepaws in three +places on the front of her dress and then grabbin' her gold lorgnette +playful, breakin' the chain, and runnin' off with the loot.</p> + +<p>I expect that was only Buddy's idea of letting her know that he welcomed +her as a member of the fam'ly in good standin'. But Auntie takes it +different. She asks Vee why we allow a "horrible beast like that to run +at large." She's a vivid describer, Auntie. She don't mind droppin' a +word of good advice now and then either. While she's being sponged off +and brushed down she recommends that we get rid of such a dangerous +animal as that at once.</p> + +<p>So Buddy is tied up again outside. But it appears to be his day for +doing the wrong thing. Someone has hung Vee's best evenin' wrap out on a +line to air after having a spot cleaned. It's the one with the silver +fox fur on the collar. And it's hung where Buddy can just reach it. +Well, you can guess the rest. Any kind of a fox, deceased or otherwise, +is fair game for Buddy. It's right in his line. And when they discovered +what he was up to there wasn't a piece of that fur collar big enough to +make an ear muff. Parts of the wrap might still be used for polishin' +the silver. Buddy seemed kind of proud of the thorough job he'd made.</p> + +<p>Well, Vee had been 'specially fond of that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> wrap. She'd sort of blown +herself when she got it, and you know how high furs have gone to these +days. I expect she didn't actually weep, but she must have been near it. +And there was Auntie with more stern advice. She points out how a brute +dog with such destructive instincts would go on and on, chewin' up first +one valuable thing and then another, until we'd have nothing left but +what we had on.</p> + +<p>Buddy had been tried and found guilty in the first degree. Sentence had +been passed. He must go.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps your barber friend will take him back," says Vee. "Or the +Ellinses might want him. Anyway, he's impossible. You must get rid of +him tonight. Only I don't wish to know how, or what becomes of him."</p> + +<p>"Very well," says I, "if that's the verdict."</p> + +<p>I loads Buddy ostentatious into the little roadster and starts off, with +him wantin' to sit all over me as usual, or else drapin' himself on the +door half-way out of the car. Maybe I stopped at Joe Sarello's, maybe I +only called at the butcher's and collected a big, juicy shin-bone. +Anyway, it was' after dark when I got back and when I came in to dinner +I was alone.</p> + +<p>The table chat that evenin' wasn't quite as lively as it generally is. +And after we'd been sitting around in the livin' room an hour or so with +everything quiet, Vee suddenly lets loose with a sigh, which is a new +stunt for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> her. She ain't the sighin' kind. But there's no mistake about +this one.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, lookin' up.</p> + +<p>"I—I hope you found him a good home," says she.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "The impossible beast? Probably as good as he deserves."</p> + +<p>Then we sat a while longer.</p> + +<p>"Little Richard was getting very fond of him," Vee breaks out again.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I.</p> + +<p>We went upstairs earlier than usual. There wasn't so much to do about +gettin' ready—no givin' Buddy a last run outside, or makin' him shake a +good night with his paw, or seein' that he had water in his dish. +Nothing but turnin' out the lights. Once, long after Vee should have +been asleep. I thought I heard her snifflin', but I dozed off again +without makin' any remark.</p> + +<p>I must have been sawin' wood good and hard, too, when I wakes up to find +her shakin' me by the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Torchy," she's sayin'. "Isn't that Buddy's bark?"</p> + +<p>"Eh? Buddy?" says I. "How could it be?"</p> + +<p>"But it is!" she insists. "It's coming from the garage, too."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's odd," says I. "Maybe I'd better go out and see."</p> + +<p>I was puzzled all right, in spite of the fact that I'd left him there +with his bone and had made Dominick promise to stick around and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> quiet +him if he began yelpin'. But this wasn't the way Buddy generally barked +when he was indignant. He was lettin' 'em out short and crisp. They +sounded different somehow, more like business. And the light was turned +on in the garage!</p> + +<p>First off I thought Dominick must be there. Maybe I wouldn't have dashed +out so bold if I'd doped it out any other way. I hadn't thought of car +thieves. Course, there had been some cases around, mostly young hicks +from the village stealin' joy-rides. But I hadn't worried about their +wantin' to take my little bus. So I arrives on the jump.</p> + +<p>And there in a corner of the garage are two young toughs, jumpin' and +dodgin' at a lively rate, with Buddy sailin' into 'em for all he's worth +and givin' out them quick short battle cries. One of the two has just +managed to get hold of a three-foot length of galvanized water pipe and +is swingin' vicious at Buddy when I crashes in.</p> + +<p>Well, we had it hectic for a minute or so there, but it turns out a draw +with no blood shed, although I think Buddy and I could have made 'em +sorry they came if they hadn't made a break and got past us. And when we +gets back to where Vee is waitin' with the fire-poker in her hand Buddy +still waves in his teeth a five-inch strip of brown mixture trousering.</p> + +<p>"You blessed, blessed Buddy!!" says Vee, after she's heard the tale.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span></p> + +<p>Oh, yes, Buddy finished the night behind the stove in the kitchen. I +guess he's kind of earned his right to that bunk. Course, he ain't +sprouted any wings yet, but he's gettin' so the sight of a switch waved +at him works wonders. Some day, perhaps, he'll learn to be less careless +what he exercises them sharp teeth of his on. Last night it was the +leather covering on the library couch—chewed a hole half as big as your +hand.</p> + +<p>"Never mind," says Vee. "We can keep a cushion over it."</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_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2><h3>IN DEEP FOR WADDY</h3> +</div> + +<p>And all the time I had Wadley Fiske slated as a dead one! Course, he was +one of Mr. Robert's clubby friends. But that don't always count. He may +be choosey enough picking live wires for his office staff, Mr. Robert, +as you might guess by my bein' his private sec; but when it came to +gettin' a job lot of friends wished on him early in his career, I must +say he couldn't have been very finicky.</p> + +<p>Not that Waddy's a reg'lar washout, or carries a perfect vacuum between +the ears, or practices any of the seven deadly sins. He's a cheerful, +good-natured party, even if he is built like a 2x4 and about as broad in +the shoulders as a cough drop is thick. I understand he qualifies in the +scheme of things by playin' a fair game of billiards, is always willing +to sit in at bridge, and can make himself useful at any function where +the ladies are present. Besides, he always wears the right kind of +clothes, can say bright little things at a dinner party, and can +generally be located by calling up any one of his three clubs.</p> + +<p>Chiefly, though, Waddy is a ladies' man. With<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> him being in and out of +the Corrugated General Offices so much I couldn't help gettin' more or +less of a line on him that way, for he's always consultin' Mr. Robert +about sendin' flowers to this one, or maneuverin' to get introduced to +the other, or gushin' away about some sweet young thing that he's met +the night before.</p> + +<p>"How does he get away with all that Romeo stuff," I asks Mr. Robert +once, "without being tagged permanent? Is it just his good luck?"</p> + +<p>"Waddy calls it his hard luck," says Mr. Robert. "It seems as if they +just use him to practice on. He will find a new queen of his heart, +appear to be getting on swimmingly up to a certain point—and then she +will marry someone else. Invariably. I've known of at least a half dozen +of his affairs to turn out like that."</p> + +<p>"Kind of a matrimonial runner-up, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, I expect we got off a lot of comic lines about Waddy. Anyway we +passed 'em as such. But of course there come days when we have other +things to do here at the Corrugated besides shoot the gay and frivolous +chatter back and forth. Now and then. Such as here last Wednesday when +Mr. Robert had two committee meetin's on for the afternoon and was goin' +over with me some tabulated stuff I'd doped out for the annual report. +Right in the midst of that Wadley Fiske blows in and proceeds to hammer +Mr. Robert on the back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span></p> + +<p>"I say, Bob," says he, "you remember my telling you about the lovely +Marcelle Jedain? I'm sure I told you."</p> + +<p>"If you didn't it must have been an oversight," says Mr. Robert. +"Suppose we admit that you did."</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you think?" goes on Waddy, "She is here!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Mr. Robert, glancin' around nervous. "Why the deuce do you +bring her here?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, my dear chap!" protests Waddy. "In this country, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" and Mr. Robert sighs relieved. "Well, give the young lady my best +regards and—er—I wish you luck. Thanks for dropping in to tell me."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," says Waddy, drapin' himself easy on a chair. "But that's +just the beginning."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Waddy," says Mr. Robert, "but I fear I am too busy just now +to——"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" snorts Waddy. "You can attend to business any time—tomorrow, +next week, next month. But the lovely Marcelle may be sailing within +forty-eight hours."</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you expect me to do?" demands Mr. Robert. "Want me to +scuttle the steamer?"</p> + +<p>"I want you to help me find Joe Bruzinski," says Waddy.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert throws up both hands and groans. "Here, Torchy," says, he, +"take him away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> Listen to his ravings, and if you can discover any +sense——"</p> + +<p>"But I tell you," insists Waddy, "that I must find Bruzinski at once."</p> + +<p>"Very well," says Mr. Robert, pushin' him towards the door. "Torchy will +help you find him. Understand, Torchy? Bruzinski. Stay with him until he +does."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," says I, grinnin' as I locks an arm through one of Waddy's +and tows him into the outer office. "Bruzinski or bust."</p> + +<p>And by degrees I got the tale. First off, this lovely Marcelle person +was somebody he'd met while he was helpin' wind up the great war. No, +not on the Potomac sector. Waddy actually got across. You might not +think it to look at him, but he did. Second lieutenant, too. Infantry, +at that. But they handed out eommissions to odder specimens than him at +Plattsburg, you know. And while Waddy got over kind of late he had the +luck to be in a replacement unit that made the whoop-la advance into +Belgium after the Hun line had cracked.</p> + +<p>Seems it was up in some dinky Belgian town where the Fritzies had been +runnin' things for four years that Waddy meets this fair lady with the +impulsive manners. His regiment had wandered in only a few hours after +the Germans left and to say that the survivin' natives was glad to see +'em is drawin' it mild. This Miss Jedain was the gladdest of the glad, +and when Waddy shows up at her front door with a billet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> ticket callin' +for the best front room she just naturally falls on his neck. I take it +he got kissed about four times in quick concussion. Also that the flavor +lasted.</p> + +<p>"To be received in that manner by a high born, charming young woman," +says Waddy. "It—it was delightful. Perhaps you can imagine."</p> + +<p>"No," says I. "I ain't got that kind of a mind. But go on. What's the +rest?"</p> + +<p>Well, him and the lovely Marcelle had three days of it. Not going to a +fond clinch every time he came down to breakfast or drifted in for +luncheon. She simmered down a bit, I under stand, after her first wild +splurge. But she was very folksy all through his stay, insisted that +Waddy was her heroic deliverer, and all that sort of thing.</p> + +<p>"Of course," says Waddy, "I tried to tell her that I'd had very little +to do personally with smashing the Hindenburg line. But she wouldn't +listen to a word. Besides, my French was rather lame. So we—we—Well, +we became very dear to each other. She was charming, utterly. And so +full of gratitude to all America. She could not do enough for our boys. +All day she was going among them, distributing little dainties she had +cooked, giving them little keepsakes, smiling at them, singing to them. +And every night she had half a dozen officers in to dinner. But to +me—ah, I can't tell you how sweet she was."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't try," says I. "I think I get a glimmer. All this lasted three +days, eh! Then you moved on."</p> + +<p>Waddy sighs deep. "I didn't know until then how dreadful war could be," +says he. "I promised to come back to her just as soon as the awful mess +was over. She declared that she would come to America if I didn't. She +gave me one of her rings. 'It shall be as a token,' she told me, 'that I +am yours.'"</p> + +<p>"Sort of a trunk check, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that ring!" says Waddy. "You see, it was too large for my little +finger too small for any of the others. And I was afraid of losing it if +I kept it in my pocket. I was always losing things—shaving mirrors, +socks, wrist watch. Going about like that one does. At least, I did. All +over France I scattered my belongings. That's what you get by having had +a valet for so long.</p> + +<p>"So I called up Joe Bruzinski, my top sergeant. Best top in the army, +Joe; systematic, methodical. I depended upon him for nearly everything; +couldn't have gotten along without him, in fact. Not an educated fellow, +you know. Rather crude. An Americanized Pole, I believe. But efficient, +careful about little things. I gave him the ring to keep for me. Less +than a week after that I was laid up with a beastly siege of influenza +which came near finishing me. I was shipped back to a base hospital and +it was more than a month before I was on my feet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> again. Meanwhile I'd +gotten out of touch with my division, applied for a transfer to another +branch, got stuck with an S. O. S. job, and landed home at the tail-end +of everything after all the shouting was over."</p> + +<p>"I see," says I. "Bruzinski lost in the shuffle."</p> + +<p>"Precisely," says Waddy. "Mustered out months before I was. When I did +get loose they wouldn't let me go back to Belgium. And then——"</p> + +<p>"I remember," says I. "You side-tracked the lovely Marcelle for that +little blonde from. Richmond, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"A mere passing fancy," says Waddy, flushin' up. "Nothing serious. She +was really engaged all the time to Bent Hawley. They're to be married +next month, I hear. But Marcelle! She has come. Just think, she has been +in this country for weeks, came over with the King and Queen of Belgium +and stayed on. Looking for me. I suppose. And I knew nothing at all +about it until yesterday. She's in Washington. Jimmy Carson saw her +driving down Pennsylvania avenue. He was captain of my company, you +know. Rattle-brained chap, Jimmy. Hadn't kept track of Bruzinski at all. +Knew he came back, but no more. So you see? In order to get that ring I +must find Joe."</p> + +<p>"I don't quite get you," says I. "Why not find the lovely Marcelle first +and explain about the ring afterwards?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span></p> + +<p>Waddy shakes his head. "I was in uniform when she knew me," says he. +"I—I looked rather well in it, I'm told. Anyway, different. But in +civies, even a frock coat, I've an idea she wouldn't recognize me as a +noble hero. Eh?"</p> + +<p>"Might be something in that," I admits.</p> + +<p>"But if I had the ring that she gave me—her token—well, you see?" goes +on Waddy. "I must have it. So I must find Bruzinski."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's your play," I agrees. "Where did he hail from?"</p> + +<p>"Why, from somewhere in Pennsylvania," says Waddy; "some weird little +place that I never could remember the name of."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Quite a sizable state, you know. You couldn't ramble +through it in an afternoon pagin' Joe Bruzinski."</p> + +<p>"I suppose one couldn't," says Waddy. "But there must be some way of +locating him. Couldn't I telegraph to the War Department?"</p> + +<p>"You could," says I, "and about a year from next Yom Kippur you might +get a notice that your wire had been received and placed on file. Why, +they're still revisin' casualty lists from the summer of 1918. If you're +in any hurry about gettin' in touch with Mr. Bruzinski——"</p> + +<p>"Hurry!" gasps Waddy. "Why, I must find him by tonight."</p> + +<p>"That's goin' to call for speed," says I. "I don't see how you +could—Say, now! I just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> thought of something. We might tickle Uncle Sam +in the W. R. I. B."</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon!" says Waddy, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"War Risk Insurance Bureau," I explains. "That is, if Miss Callahan's +still there. Used to be one of our stenogs until she went into war work. +Last I knew she was still at it, had charge of one of the filing cases. +They handle soldier's insurance there, you know, and if Bruzinski's kept +his up——"</p> + +<p>"By George!" breaks in Waddy. "Of course. Do you know, I never thought +of that."</p> + +<p>"No, you wouldn't," says I "May not work, at that. But we can try. She's +a reg'lar person, Miss Callahan."</p> + +<p>Anyway, she knew right where to put her fingers on Joe Bruzinski's card +and shoots us back his mailin' address by lunch time. It's Coffee Creek, +Pa.</p> + +<p>"What an absurd place to live in!" says Waddy. "And how on earth can we +ever find it."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "We?"</p> + +<p>"But I couldn't possibly get there by myself," says Waddy. "I've never +been west of Philadelphia. Oh, yes, I've traveled a lot abroad, but +that's different. One hires a courier. Really, I should be lost out of +New York. Besides, you know Mr. Robert said you were to—oh, there he is +now. I say, Bob, isn't Torchy to stay with me until I find Bruzinski?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span></p> + +<p>"Absolutely," says Mr. Robert, throwin' a grin over his shoulder at me +as he slips by.</p> + +<p>"Maybe he thinks that's a life sentence," says I. "Chuck me that +Pathfinder from the case behind you, will you? Now let's see. Here we +are, page 937—Coffee Creek, Pa. Inhabitants 1,500. Flag station on the +Lackawanna below Wilkes-Barre. That's in the Susquehanna valley. Must be +a coal town. Chicago limited wouldn't stop there. But we can probably +catch a jitney or something from Wilkes-Barre. Just got time to make the +1:15, too. Come on. Lunch on train."</p> + +<p>I expect Waddy ain't been jumped around so rapid before in his whole +career. I allows him only time enough to lay in a fresh supply of +cigarettes on the way to the ferry and before he's caught his breath we +are sittin' in the dinin' car zoomin' through the north end of New +Jersey. I tried to get him interested in the scenery as we pounded +through the Poconos and galloped past the Water Gap, but it couldn't be +done. When he gets real set on anything it seems Waddy has a single +track mind.</p> + +<p>"I trust he still has that ring," he remarks.</p> + +<p>"That'll ride until we've found your ex-top sergeant," says I. "What was +his line before he went in the army—plumber, truck driver, or what?"</p> + +<p>Waddy hadn't the least idea. Not having been mixed up in industry +himself, he hadn't been curious. Now that I mentioned it he supposed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> +Joe had done something for a living. Yes, he was almost sure. He had +noticed that Joe's hands were rather rough and calloused.</p> + +<p>"What would that indicate?" asks Waddy.</p> + +<p>"Most anything," says I, "from the high cost of gloves to a strike of +lady manicures. Don't strain your intellect over it, though. If he's +still in Coffee Creek there shouldn't be much trouble findin' him."</p> + +<p>Which was where I took a lot for granted. When we piled off the express +at Wilkes-Barre I charters a flivver taxi, and after a half hour's drive +with a speed maniac who must have thought he was pilotin' a DeHaviland +through the clouds we're landed in the middle of this forsaken, one +horse dump, consistin' of a double row of punk tenement blocks and a +sprinklin' of near-beer joints that was givin' their last gasp. I tried +out three prominent citizens before I found one who savvied English.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says he. "Joe Bruzinski? He must be the mine boss by Judson's +yet. First right hand turn you take and keep on the hill up."</p> + +<p>"Until what?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Why, Judson's operation—the mine," says he. "Can't miss. Road ends at +Judson's."</p> + +<p>Uh-huh. It did. High time, too. A road like that never should be allowed +to start anywhere. But the flivver negotiated it and by luck we found +the mine superintendent in the office—a grizzled, chunky little +Welshman with a pair of shrewd eyes. Yes, he says Bruzinski is around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> +somewhere. He thinks he's down on C level plotting out some new +contracts for the night shift.</p> + +<p>"What luck!" says Waddy. "I say, will you call him right up?"</p> + +<p>"That I will, sir," says the superintendent, "if you'll tell me how."</p> + +<p>"Why," says Waddy, "couldn't you—er—telephone to him, or send a +messenger?"</p> + +<p>It seems that can't be done. "You might try shouting down, the shaft +though," says the Welshman, with a twinkle in his eyes.</p> + +<p>Waddy would have gone hoarse doin' it, too, if I hadn't given him the +nudge. "Wake up," says I. "You're being kidded."</p> + +<p>"But see here, my man——" Waddy begins.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Llanders is the name," says the superintendent a bit crisp.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes. Thanks," says Waddy. "It is quite important, Mr. Llanders, +that I find Bruzinski at once."</p> + +<p>"Mayhap he'll be up by midnight for a bite to eat," says Llanders.</p> + +<p>"Then we'll just have to go down where he is," announces Waddy.</p> + +<p>Llanders stares at him curious. "You'd have an interesting time doing +that, young man," says he; "very interesting."</p> + +<p>"But I say," starts in Waddy again, which was where I shut him off.</p> + +<p>"Back up, Waddy," says I, "before you bug<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> the case entirely. Let me ask +Mr. Llanders where I can call up your good friend Judson."</p> + +<p>"That I couldn't rightly say, sir," says Llanders. "It might be one +place, and it might be another. Maybe they'd know better at the office +of his estate in Scranton, but as he's been dead these eight years——"</p> + +<p>"Check!" says I. "It would have been a swell bluff if it had worked +though, wouldn't it?"</p> + +<p>Llanders indulges in a grim smile. "But it didn't," says he.</p> + +<p>"That's the sad part," says I, "for Mr. Fiske here is in a great stew to +see this Bruzinski party right away. There's a lady in the case, as you +might know; one they met while they were soldierin' abroad. So if +there's any way you could fix it for them to get together——"</p> + +<p>"Going down's the only way," says Llanders, "and that's strictly against +orders."</p> + +<p>"Except on a pass, eh?" says I. "Lucky we brought that along. Waddy, +slip it to Mr. Llanders. No, don't look stupid. Feel in your right hand +vest pocket. That's it, one of those yellow-backed ones with a double X +in the corners. Ah, here! Don't you know how to present a government +pass?" And I has to take it away from him and tuck it careless into the +superintendent's coat pocket.</p> + +<p>"Of course," says Llanders, "if you young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> gentlemen are on official +business, it makes a difference."</p> + +<p>"Then let's hurry along," says Waddy, startin' impatient.</p> + +<p>"Dressed like that?" says Llanders, starin' at Waddy's Fifth Avenue +costume. "I take it you've not been underground before, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Only in the subway," says Waddy.</p> + +<p>"You'll find a coal mine quite unlike the subway," says Llanders. "I +think we can fix you up for it, though."</p> + +<p>They did. And when Waddy had swapped his frock coat for overalls and +jumper, and added a pair of rubber boots and a greasy cap with an +acetylene lamp stuck in the front of it he sure wouldn't have been +recognized even by his favorite waiter at the club. I expect I looked +about as tough, too. And I'll admit that all this preparation seemed +kind of foolish there in the office. Ten minutes later I knew it wasn't. +Not a bit.</p> + +<p>"Do we go down in a car or something?" asks Waddy.</p> + +<p>"Not if you go with me," says Llanders. "We'll walk down Slope 8. Before +we start, however, it will be best for me to tell you that this was a +drowned mine."</p> + +<p>"Listens excitin'," says I. "Meanin' what?"</p> + +<p>"Four years ago the creek came in on us," says Llanders, "flooded us to +within ten feet of the shaft mouth. We lost only a dozen men, but it was +two years before we had the lower<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> levels clear. We manage to keep it +down now with the pumps, Bruzinski is most likely at the further end of +the lowest level."</p> + +<p>"Is he?" says Waddy. "I must see him, you know."</p> + +<p>Whether he took in all this about the creek's playful little habits or +not I don't know. Anyway, he didn't hang back, and while I've started on +evenin' walks that sounded a lot pleasanter I wasn't going to duck then. +If Waddy could stand it I guessed I could.</p> + +<p>So down we goes into a black hole that yawns in the middle of a muddy +field. I hadn't gone far, either, before I discovers that being your own +street light wasn't such an easy trick. I expect a miner has to wear his +lamp on his head so's to have his hands free to swing a pick. But I'll +be hanged if it's comfortable or easy. I unhooked mine and carried it in +my hand, ready to throw the light where I needed it most.</p> + +<p>And there was spots where I sure needed it bad, for this Slope 8 +proposition was no garden pathway, I'll say. First off, it was mucky and +slippery under foot, and in some places it dips down sharp, almost as +steep as a church roof. Then again there was parts where they'd skimped +on the ceilin', and you had to do a crouch or else bump your bean on +unpadded rocks. On and down, down and on we went, slippin' and slidin', +bracin' ourselves against the wet walls, duckin' where it was low and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> +restin' our necks where they'd been more generous with the excavatin'.</p> + +<p>There was one 'specially sharp pitch of a hundred feet or so and right +in the worst of it we had to dodge a young waterfall that comes +filterin' down through the rocks. It was doin' some roarin' and +splashin', too. I was afraid Llanders might not have noticed it.</p> + +<p>"How about it!" says I. "This ain't another visit from the creek, is +it?"</p> + +<p>"Only part of it," says he careless. "The pumps are going, you know."</p> + +<p>"I hope they're workin' well," says I.</p> + +<p>As for Waddy, not a yip out of him. He sticks close behind Llanders and +plugs along just as if he was used to scramblin' through a muddy hole +three hundred feet or so below the grass roots. That's what it is to be +100 per cent in love. All he could think of was gettin' that ring back +and renewin' cordial relations with the lovely Marcelle. But I was +noticin' enough for two. I knew that we'd made so many twists and turns +that we must be lost for keeps. I saw the saggy, rotten timbers that +kept the State of Pennsylvania from cavin' in on us. And now and then I +wondered how long it would be before they dug us out.</p> + +<p>"Where's all the coal?" I asks Llanders, just by way of makin' talk.</p> + +<p>"Why, here," says he, touchin' the side-wall.</p> + +<p>Sure enough, there it was, the real black diamond stuff such as you +shovel into the furnace—when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> you're lucky. I scaled off a piece and +tested it with the lamp. And gradually I begun to revise my ideas of a +coal mine. I'd always thought of it as a big cave sort of a place, with +a lot of miners grouped around the sides pickin' away sociable. But here +is nothing but a maze of little tunnels, criss-crossin' every which way, +with nobody in sight except now and then, off in a dead-end, we'd get a +glimpse of two or three kind of ghosty figures movin' about solemn. It's +all so still, too. Except in places where we could hear the water +roarin' there wasn't a sound. Only in one spot, off in what Llanders +calls a chamber, we finds two men workin' a compressed air jack-hammer, +drillin' holes.</p> + +<p>"They'll be shooting a blast soon," says Llanders. "Want to wait?"</p> + +<p>"No thanks," says I prompt. "Mr. Fiske is in a rush."</p> + +<p>Maybe I missed something interestin', but with all that rock over my +head I wasn't crazy to watch somebody monkey with dynamite. The +jack-hammer crew gave us a line on where we might find Bruzinski, and I +expect for a while there I led the way. After another ten-minute stroll, +durin' which we dodged a string of coal cars being shunted down a grade, +we comes across three miners chattin' quiet in a corner. One of 'em +turns out to be the mine-boss.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Joe!" says Llanders. "Somebody wants to see you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span></p> + +<p>At which Waddy pushes to the front. "Oh, I say, Bruzinski! Remember me, +don't you?" he asks.</p> + +<p>Joe looks him over casual and shakes his head.</p> + +<p>"I'm Lieutenant Fiske, you know," says Waddy. "That is, I was."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be damned!" says Joe earnest. "The Loot! What's up?"</p> + +<p>"That ring I gave you in Belgium," goes on Waddy. "I—I hope you still +have it?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es," says Joe draggy. "Fact is, I was goin' to use it tomorrow. +I'm gettin' engaged. Nice girl, too. I was meanin' to——"</p> + +<p>"But you can't, Joe," breaks in Waddy. "Not with that ring. Miss Jedain +gave me that. Here, I'll give you another. How will this do?" And Waddy +takes a low set spark off his finger.</p> + +<p>"All right. Fine!" says Joe, and proceeds to unhook the other ring from +his leather watch, guard. "But what's all the hurry about?"</p> + +<p>"Because she's here," says Waddy. "In Washington, I mean. The lovely +Marcelle. Came over looking for me, Joe, just as she promised. Perhaps +you didn't know she did promise, though?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," says Joe. "That's what she told all of us."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" gasps Waddy.</p> + +<p>"Some hugger, that one," says Joe. "Swell lady, too. A bear-cat for +makin' love, I'll tell the world. Me, and the Cap., and the First<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> Loot, +and you, all the same day. She was goin' to marry us all. And the Cap., +with a wife and two kids back in Binghamton, N. Y., he got almost +nervous over it."</p> + +<p>"I—I can't believe it," says Waddy gaspy. "Did—did she give you a—a +token, as she did to me?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Joe. "None of us fell quite so hard for her as you did. I +guess we kinda suspected what was wrong with her."</p> + +<p>"Wrong?" echoes Waddy.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asks Joe. "Four years of the Huns, and then we came blowin' +in to lift the lid and let 'em come up out of the cellars. Just +naturally went simple in the head, she did. Lots like her, only they +took it out in different ways. Her line was marryin' us, singly and in +squads; overlookin' complete that she had one perfectly good hubby who +was an aide or something to King Albert, as well as three nice +youngsters. We heard about that later, after she'd come to a little."</p> + +<p>For a minute or so Waddy stands there starin' at Joe with his mouth open +and his shoulders sagged. Then he slumps on a log and lets his chin +drop.</p> + +<p>"Goin' to hunt her up and give back the ring?" asks Joe. "That the +idea?"</p> + +<p>"Not—not precisely," says Waddy. "I—I shall send it by mail, I think."</p> + +<p>And all the way out he walked like he was in a daze. He generally takes +it hard for a day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> or so, I understand. So we had that underground +excursion all for nothing. That is, unless you count my being able to +give Mr. Robert the swift comeback next mornin' when he greets me with +a chuckle.</p> + +<p>"Well, Torchy," says he, "how did you leave Bruzinski?"</p> + +<p>"Just where I found him," says I, "about three hundred feet +underground."</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_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2><h3>HOW TORCHY ANCHORED A COOK</h3> +</div> + +<p>It began with Stella Flynn, but it ended with the Hon. Sour Milk and +Madam Zenobia. Which is one reason why my job as private sec. to Mr. +Robert Ellins is one I wouldn't swap for Tumulty's—unless they came +insistin' that I had to go to the White House to save the country. And +up to date I ain't had any such call. There's no tellin' though. Mr. +Robert's liable to sic 'em onto me any day.</p> + +<p>You see, just because I've happened to pull a few winnin' acts where I +had the breaks with me he's fond of playin' me up as a wizard performer +in almost any line. Course, a good deal of it is just his josh, but +somehow it ain't a habit I'm anxious to cure him of. Yet when he bats +this domestic crisis up to me—this case of Stella Flynn—I did think it +was pushin' the comedy a bit strong.</p> + +<p>"No," says I, "I'm no miracle worker."</p> + +<p>"Pooh, Torchy!" says Vee. "Who's saying you are? But at least you might +try to suggest something. You think you're so clever at so many things, +you know."</p> + +<p>Trust the folks at home for gettin' in these little jabs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," says I. "What are the facts about Stella?"</p> + +<p>While the bill of particulars is more or less lengthy all it amounts to +is the usual kitchen tragedy. Stella has given notice. After havin' been +a good and faithful cook for 'steen years; first for Mrs. Ellins's +mother, and then being handed on to Mrs. Ellins herself after she and +Mr. Robert hooked up; now Stella announces that she's about to resign +the portfolio.</p> + +<p>No, it ain't a higher wage scale she's strikin' for. She's been boosted +three times durin' the last six months, until she's probably the best +paid lady cook on Long Island. And she ain't demandin' an eight-hour +day, or recognition as chairman of the downstairs soviet. Stella is a +middle-aged, full-chested, kind of old-fashioned female who probably +thinks a Bolshevik is a limb of the Old Boy himself and ought to be met +with holy water in one hand and a red-hot poker in the other. She's +satisfied with her quarters, havin' a room and bath to herself; she's +got no active grouch against any of the other help; and being sent to +mass every Sunday mornin' in the limousine suits her well enough.</p> + +<p>But she's quittin', all the same. Why? Well, maybe Mr. Robert remembers +that brother Dan of hers he helped set up as a steam fitter out in +Altoona some six or seven years ago? Sure it was a kind act. And Danny +has done well. He has fitted steam into some big plants and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> some +elegant houses. And now Danny has a fine home of his own. Yes, with a +piano that plays itself, and gilt chairs in the parlor, and a sedan top +on the flivver, and beveled glass in the front door. Also he has a +stylish wife who has "an evenin' wrap trimmed with vermin and is +learnin' to play that auctioneer's bridge game." So why should his +sister Stella be cookin' for other folks when she might be livin' swell +and independent with them? Ain't there the four nieces and three nephews +that hardly knows their aunt by sight? It's Danny's wife herself that +wrote the letter urgin' her to come.</p> + +<p>"And do all the cooking for that big family, I suppose?" suggests Mrs. +Ellins.</p> + +<p>"She wasn't after sayin' as much, ma'am," says Stella, "but would I be +sittin' in the parlor with my hands folded, and her so stylish? And +Danny always did like my cookin'."</p> + +<p>"Why should he not?" asks Mrs. Ellins. "But who would go on adding to +your savings account? Don't be foolish, Stella."</p> + +<p>All of which hadn't gotten 'em anywhere. Stella was bent flittin' to +Altoona. Ten days more and she would be gone. And as Mr. Robert finishes +a piece of Stella's blue ribbon mince pies and drops a lump of sugar +into a cup of Stella's unsurpassed after-dinner coffee he lets out a +sigh.</p> + +<p>"That means, I presume," says he, "hunting up a suite in some apartment +hotel, moving into town, and facing a near-French menu three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> times a +day. All because our domestic affairs are not managed on a business +basis."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you would find some way of inducing Stella to stay—if you +were not too busy?" asks Mrs. Robert sarcastic.</p> + +<p>"I would," says he.</p> + +<p>"What a pity," says she, "that such diplomatic genius must be confined +to mere business. If we could only have the benefit of some of it here; +even the help of one of your bright young men assistants. They would +know exactly how to go about persuading Stella to stay, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"They would find a way," says Mr. Robert. "They would bring a trained +and acute mentality to the problem."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" says Mrs. Robert, tossing her head. "We saw that worked out in +a play the other night, you remember. Mr. Wise Business Man solves the +domestic problem by hiring two private detectives, one to act as cook, +the other as butler, and a nice mess he made of it. No, thank you."</p> + +<p>"See here, Geraldine," says Mr. Robert. "I'll bet you a hundred Torchy +could go on that case and have it all straightened out inside of a +week."</p> + +<p>"Done!" says Mrs. Robert.</p> + +<p>And in spite of my protests, that's the way I was let in. But I might +not have started so prompt if it hadn't been for Vee eggin' me on.</p> + +<p>"If they do move into town, you know," she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> suggests, "it will be rather +lonesome out here for the rest of the winter. We'll miss going there for +an occasional Sunday dinner, too. Besides, Stella ought to be saved from +that foolishness. She—she's too good a cook to be wasted on such a +place as Altoona."</p> + +<p>"I'll say she is," I agrees. "I wish I knew where to begin blockin' her +off."</p> + +<p>I expect some people would call it just some of my luck that I picks up +a clue less'n ten minutes later. Maybe so. But I had to have my ear +stretched to get it and even then I might have missed the connection if +I'd been doin' a sleep walkin' act. As it is I'm pikin' past the +servants' wing out toward the garage to bring around the little car for +a start home, and Stella happens to be telephonin' from the butler's +pantry with the window part open. And when Stella 'phones she does it +like she was callin' home the cows.</p> + +<p>About all I caught was "Sure Maggie, dear—Madame Zenobia—two flights +up over the agency—Thursday afternoon." But for me and Sherlock that's +as good as a two-page description. And when I'd had my rapid-fire +deducer workin' for a few minutes I'd doped out my big idea.</p> + +<p>"Vee," says I, when we gets back to our own fireside, "what friend has +Stella got that she calls Maggie, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Why, that must be the Farlows' upstairs maid," says she. "Why, +Torchy?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, for instance," says I "And didn't you have a snapshot of Stella you +took once last summer?"</p> + +<p>Vee says she's sure she has one somewhere.</p> + +<p>"Dig it out, will you?" says I.</p> + +<p>It's a fairly good likeness, too, and I pockets it mysterious. And next +day I spends most of my lunch hour prowlin' around on the Sixth Ave. +hiring line rubberin' at the signs over the employment agencies. Must +have been about the tenth hallway I'd scouted into before I ran across +the right one. Sure enough, there's the blue lettered card announcin' +that Madame Zenobia can be found in Room 19, third floor, ring bell. I +rang.</p> + +<p>I don't know when I've seen a more battered old battle-axe face, or a +colder, more suspicious pair of lamps than belongs to this old dame with +the henna-kissed hair and the gold hoops in her ears.</p> + +<p>"Well, young feller," says she, "if you've come pussyfootin' up here +from the District Attorney's office you can just sneak back and report +nothing doing. Madame Zenobia has gone out of business. Besides, I ain't +done any fortune tellin' in a month; only high grade trance work, and +mighty little of that. So good day."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come, lady," says I, slippin' her the confidential smile, "do I +look like I did fourth-rate gumshoein' for a livin'? Honest, now? +Besides, the trance stuff is just what I'm lookin' for. And I'm not +expectin' any complimentary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> session, either. Here! There's a ten-spot +on account. Now can we do business?"</p> + +<p>You bet we could.</p> + +<p>"If it's in the realm of Eros, young man," she begins, "I think——"</p> + +<p>"But it ain't," says I. "No heart complications at all. This ain't even +a matter of a missin' relative, a lost wrist watch, or gettin' advice on +buyin' oil stocks. It's a case of a cook with a wilful disposition. Get +me? I want her to hear the right kind of dope from the spirit world."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says she, her eyes brightenin'. "I think I follow you, child of +the sun. Rather a clever idea, too. Your cook, is she?"</p> + +<p>"No such luck," says I. "The boss's, or I wouldn't be so free with the +expense money. And listen, Madame; there's another ten in it if the +spirits do their job well."</p> + +<p>"Grateful words, my son," says she. "But these high-class servants are +hard to handle these days. They are no longer content to see the cards +laid out and hear their past and future read. Even a simple trance +sitting doesn't satisfy. They must hear bells rung, see ghostly hands +waved, and some of them demand a materialized control. But they are so +few! And my faithful Al Nekkir has left me."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"One of the best side-kicks I ever worked with, Al Nekkir," says Madame +Zenobia, sighin'. "He always slid out from behind the draperies<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> at just +the right time, and he had the patter down fine. But how could I keep a +real artist like that with a movie firm offering him five times the +money? I hear those whiskers of his screen lovely. Ah, such whiskers! +Any cook, no matter how high born, would fall for a prophet's beard like +that. And where can I find another?"</p> + +<p>Well, I couldn't say. Whiskers are scarce in New York. And it seems +Madame Zenobia wouldn't feel sure of tacklin' an A1 cook unless she had +an assistant with luxurious face lamberquins. She might try to put it +over alone, but she couldn't guarantee anything. Yes, she'd keep the +snapshot of Stella, and remember what I said about the brother in +Altoona. Also it might be that she could find a substitute for Al Nekkir +between now and Thursday afternoon. But there wasn't much chance. I had +to let it ride at that.</p> + +<p>So Monday was crossed off, Tuesday slipped past into eternity with +nothing much done, and half of Wednesday had gone the same way. Mr. +Robert was gettin' anxious. He reports that Stella has set Saturday as +her last day with them and that she's begun packin' her trunk. What was +I doing about it?</p> + +<p>"If you need more time off," says he, "take it."</p> + +<p>"I always need some time off," says I, grabbin my hat.</p> + +<p>Anyway, it was too fine an afternoon to miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> a walk up Fifth Avenue. +Besides, I can often think clearer when my rubber heels are busy. Did +you ever try walkin' down an idea? It's a good hunch. The one I was +tryin' to surround was how I could sub in for this Al Nekkir party +myself without gettin' Stella suspicious. If I had to say the lines +would she spot me by my voice? If she did it would be all up with the +game.</p> + +<p>Honest, I wasn't thinkin' of whiskers at all. In fact, I hadn't +considered the proposition, but was workin' on an entirely different +line, when all of a sudden, just as I'm passin' the stone lions in front +of the public library, this freak looms up out of the crowd. Course you +can see 'most anything on Fifth Avenue, if you trail up and down often +enough—about anything or anybody you can see anywhere in the world, +they say. And this sure was an odd specimen.</p> + +<p>He was all of six feet high and most of him was draped in a brown +raincoat effect that buttoned from his ankles to his chin. Besides that, +he wore a green leather cap such as I've never seen the mate to, and he +had a long, solemn face that was mostly obscured by the richest and +rankest growth of bright chestnut whiskers ever in captivity.</p> + +<p>I expect I must have grinned. I'm apt to. Probably it was a friendly +grin. With hair as red as mine I can't be too critical. Besides, he was +gazin' sort of folksy at people as he passed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> Still, I didn't think he +noticed me among so many and I hadn't thought of stoppin' him. I'd gone +on, wonderin' where he had blown in from, and chucklin' over that fancy +tinted beard, when the first thing I knew here he was at my elbow +lookin' down on me.</p> + +<p>"Forgive, sahib, but you have the face of a kindly one," says he.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm no consistent grouch, if that's what you mean," says I. +"What'll it be?"</p> + +<p>"Could you tell to a stranger in a strange land what one does who has +great hunger and no rupees left in his purse?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Just what you've done," says I. "He picks out an easy mark. I don't +pass out the coin reckless, though. Generally I tow 'em to a hash house +and watch 'em eat. Are you hungry enough for that?"</p> + +<p>"Truly, I have great hunger," says he.</p> + +<p>So, five minutes later I've led him into a side street and parked him +opposite me at a chop house table. "How about a slice of roast beef +rare, with mashed potatoes and turnips and a cup of coffee?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Pardon," says he, "but it is forbidden me to eat the flesh of animals."</p> + +<p>So we compromised on a double order of boiled rice and milk with a hunk +of pumpkin pie on the side. And in spite of the beard he went to it +business-like and graceful.</p> + +<p>"Excuse my askin'," says I, "but are you going or coming?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span></p> + +<p>He looks a bit blank at that. "I am Burmese gentleman," says he. "I am +named Sarrou Mollik kuhn Balla Ben."</p> + +<p>"That's enough, such as it is," says I. "Suppose I use only the last of +it, the Balla Ben part?"</p> + +<p>"No," says he, "that is only my title, as you say Honorable Sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," says I, "Sour Milk it is. And maybe you're willin' to +tell how you get this way—great hunger and no rupees?"</p> + +<p>He was willin'. It seems he'd first gone wanderin' from home a year or +so back with a sporty young Englishman who'd hired him as guide and +interpreter on a trip into the middle of Burmah. Then they'd gone on +into India and the Hon. Sour Milk had qualified so well as all round +valet that the young Englishman signed him up for a two-year jaunt +around the world. His boss was some hot sport, though, I take it, and +after a big spree coming over on a Pacific steamer from Japan he'd been +taken sick with some kind of fever, typhoid probably, and was makin' a +mad dash for home when he had to quit in New York and be carted to some +hospital. Just what hospital Sour Milk didn't know, and as the Hon. +Sahib was too sick to think about payin' his board in advance his valet +had been turned loose by an unsympathizing hotel manager. And here he +was.</p> + +<p>"That sure is a hard luck tale," says I. "But it ought to be easy for a +man of your size to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> land some kind of a job these days. What did you +work at back in Burmah?"</p> + +<p>"I was one of the attendants at the Temple," says he.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "That does make it complicated. I'm afraid there ain't +much call for temple hands in this burg. Now if you could run a +button-holin' machine, or was a paper hanger, or could handle a delivery +truck, or could make good as a floor walker in the men's furnishin' +department, or had ever done any barberin'—Say! I've got it!" and I +gazes fascinated at that crop of facial herbage.</p> + +<p>"I ask pardon?" says he, starin' puzzled.</p> + +<p>"They're genuine, ain't they?" I goes on. "Don't hook over the ears with +a wire? The whiskers, I mean."</p> + +<p>He assures me they grow on him.</p> + +<p>"And you're game to tackle any light work with good pay?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"I must not cause the death of dumb animals," says he, "or touch their +dead bodies. And I may not serve at the altars of your people. But +beyond that——"</p> + +<p>"You're on, then," says I. "Come along while I stack you up against +Madame Zenobia, the Mystic Queen."</p> + +<p>We finds the old girl sittin' at a little table, her chin propped up in +one hand and a cigarette danglin' despondent from her rouged lips. She's +a picture of gloomy days.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span></p> + +<p>"Look what I picked up on Fifth Ave.," says I.</p> + +<p>And the minute she spots him and takes in the chestnut whiskers, them +weary old eyes of hers lights up. "By the kind stars and the jack of +spades!" says she. "A wise one from the East! Who is he?"</p> + +<p>"Allow me, Madame Zenobia, to present the Hon. Sour Milk," says I.</p> + +<p>"Pardon, Memsahib," he corrects. "I am Sarrou Mellik kuhn Balla Ben, +from the Temple of Aj Wadda, in Burmah. I am far from home and without +rupees."</p> + +<p>"Allah be praised!" says Madame Zenobia.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" echoes Sour Milk, in a deep boomin' voice that sounds like it came +from the sub-cellar. "Allah il Allah!"</p> + +<p>"Enough!" says Madame Zenobia. "The Sage of India is my favorite control +and this one has the speech and bearing of him to the life. You may +leave us, child of the sun, knowing that your wish shall come true. That +is, provided the cook person appears."</p> + +<p>"Oh, she'll be here, all right," says I. "They never miss a date like +that. There'll be two of 'em, understand. The thin one will be Maggie, +that I ain't got any dope on. You can stall her off with anything. The +fat, waddly one with the two gold front teeth will be Stella. She's the +party with the wilful disposition and the late case of wanderlust. +You'll know her by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> the snapshot, and be sure and throw it into her +strong if you want to collect that other ten."</p> + +<p>"Trust Zenobia," says she, wavin' me away.</p> + +<p>Say, I'd like to have been behind the curtains that Thursday afternoon +when Stella Flynn squandered four dollars to get a message from the +spirit world direct. I'd like to know just how it was done. Oh, she got +it, all right. And it must have been mighty convincin', for when Vee and +I drives up to the Ellinses that night after dinner to see if they'd +noticed any difference in the cook, or if she'd dropped any encouragin' +hints, I nearly got hugged by Mrs. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you wonderful young person!" says she. "You did manage it, didn't +you?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Stella is going to stay with us," says Mrs. Robert. "She is unpacking +her trunk! However did you do it? What is this marvelous recipe of +yours?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "I took Madame Zenobia and added Sour Milk."</p> + +<p>Yes, I had more or less fun kiddin' 'em along all the evenin'. But I +couldn't tell 'em the whole story because I didn't have the details +myself. As for Mr. Robert, he's just as pleased as anybody, only he lets +on how he was dead sure all along that I'd put it over. And before I +left he tows me one side and tucks a check into my pocket.</p> + +<p>"Geraldine paid up," says he, "and I rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> think the stakes belong to +you. But sometime, Torchy, I'd like to have you outline your process to +me. It should be worth copyrighting."</p> + +<p>That bright little idea seemed to have hit Madame Zenobia, too, for when +I drops around there next day to hand her the final instalment, she and +the Hon. Sour Milk are just finishing a he-sized meal that had been sent +in on a tray from a nearby restaurant. She's actin' gay and mirthful.</p> + +<p>"Ah, I've always known there was luck in red hair," says she. "And when +it comes don't think Zenobia doesn't know it by sight. Look!" and she +hands me a mornin' paper unfolded to the "Help Wanted" page. The marked +ad reads:</p> + +<p>The domestic problem solved. If you would keep your servants consult +Madame Zenobia, the Mystic Queen. Try her and your cook will never +leave.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "That ought to bring in business these times. I expect +that inside of a week you'll have the street lined with limousines and +customers waitin' in line all up and down the stairs here."</p> + +<p>"True words," says Madame Zenobia. "Already I have made four +appointments for this afternoon and I've raised my fee to $50."</p> + +<p>"If you can cinch 'em all the way you did Stella," says I, "it'll be as +good as ownin' a Texas gusher. But, by the way, just how did you feed it +to her?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span></p> + +<p>"She wasn't a bit interested," says Madame Zenobia, "until I +materialized Sarrou Mellik as the wise man of India. Give us that patter +I worked up for you, Sarrou."</p> + +<p>And in that boomin' voice of his the Hon. Sour Milk remarks: "Beware of +change. Remain, woman, where thou art, for there and there only will +some great good fortune come to you. The spirit of Ahmed the Wise hath +spoken."</p> + +<p>"Great stuff!" says I. "I don't blame Stella for changin' her mind. +That's enough to make anybody a fixture anywhere. She may be the only +one in the country, but I'll say she's a permanent cook."</p> + +<p>And I sure did get a chuckle out of Mr. Robert when I sketches out how +we anchored Stella to his happy home.</p> + +<p>"Then that's why she looks at me in that peculiarly expectant way every +time I see her," says he. "Some great good fortune, eh? Evidently she +has decided that it will come through me."</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "unless she enters a prize beauty contest or something +like that, you should worry. Even if she does get the idea that you're +holdin' out on her, she won't dare quit. And you couldn't do better than +that with an Act of Congress. Could you, now?"</p> + +<p>At which Mr. Robert folds his hands over his vest and indulges in a +cat-and-canary grin. I expect he was thinkin' of them mince pies.</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_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2><h3>HOW THE GARVEYS BROKE IN</h3> +</div> + +<p>Course, Vee gives me all the credit. Perfectly right, too. That's the +way we have 'em trained. But, as a matter of fact, stated confidential +and on the side, it was the little lady herself who pushed the starter +button in this affair with the Garveys. If she hadn't I don't see where +it would ever have got going.</p> + +<p>Let's see, it must have been early in November. Anyway, it was some +messy afternoon, with a young snow flurry that had finally concluded to +turn to rain, and as I drops off the 5:18 I was glad enough to see the +little roadster backed up with the other cars and Vee waitin' inside +behind the side curtains.</p> + +<p>"Good work!" says I, dashin' out and preparin' to climb in. "I might +have got good and damp paddlin' home through this. Bright little thought +of yours."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says Vee. "Besides, there was an express package the driver +forgot to deliver. It must be that new floor lamp. Bring it out, will +you, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>And by the time I'd retrieved this bulky package<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> from the express agent +and stowed it inside, all the other commuters had boarded their various +limousines and flivver taxis and cleared out.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" says I, glancin' down the platform where a large and elegant +lady is pacin' up and down lonesome. "Looks like somebody has got left."</p> + +<p>At which Vee takes a peek. "I believe it's that Mrs. Garvey," says she.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I, slidin' behind the wheel and thrown' in the gear.</p> + +<p>I was just shiftin' to second when Vee grabs my arm. "How utterly +snobbish of us!" says she. "Let's ask if we can't take her home?"</p> + +<p>"On the runnin' board?" says I.</p> + +<p>"We can leave the lamp until tomorrow," says Vee. "Come on."</p> + +<p>So I cuts a short circle and pulls up opposite this imposin' party in +the big hat and the ruffled mink coat. She lets on not to notice until +Vee leans out and asks:</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Garvey, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>All the reply she gives is a stiff nod and I notice her face is pinked +up like she was peeved at something.</p> + +<p>"If your car isn't here can't we take you home?" asks Vee.</p> + +<p>She acts sort of stunned for a second, and then, after another look up +the road through the sheets of rain, she steps up hesitatin'. "I suppose +my stupid chauffeur forgot I'd gone to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> town," says she. "And as all the +taxis have been taken I—I—— But you haven't room."</p> + +<p>"Oh, lots!" says Vee. "We will leave this ridiculous package in the +express office and squeeze up a bit. You simply can't walk, you know."</p> + +<p>"Well——" says she.</p> + +<p>So I lugs the lamp back and the three of us wedges ourselves into the +roadster seat. Believe me, with a party the size of Mrs. Garvey as the +party of the third part, it was a tight fit. From the way Vee chatters +on, though, you'd think it was some merry lark we was indulgin' in.</p> + +<p>"This is what I call our piggy car," says she, "for we can never ask but +one other person at a time. But it's heaps better than having no car at +all. And it's so fortunate we happened to see you, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>Being more or less busy tryin' to shift gears without barkin' Mrs. +Garvey's knees, and turn corners without skiddin' into the gutter, I +didn't notice for a while that Vee was conductin' a perfectly good +monologue. That's what it was, though. Hardly a word out of our stately +passenger. She sits there as stiff as if she was crated, starin' cold +and stony straight ahead, and that peevish flush still showin' on her +cheekbones. Why, you'd most think we had her under arrest instead of +doin' her a favor. And when I finally swings into the Garvey driveway +and pulls up under the porte cochere she untangles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> herself from the +brake lever and crawls out.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," says she crisp, adjustin' her picture hat. "It isn't often +that I am obliged to depend on—on strangers." And while Vee still has +her mouth open, sort of gaspin' from the slam, the lady has marched up +the steps and disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Now I guess you know where you get off, eh, Vee?" says I chuckly. "You +<i>will</i> pass up your new neighbors."</p> + +<p>"How absurd of her!" says Vee. "Why, I never dreamed that I had offended +her by not calling."</p> + +<p>"Well, you've got the straight dope at last," says I. "She's as fond of +us as a cat is of swimmin' with the ducks. Say, my right arm is numb +from being so close to that cold shoulder she was givin' me. Catch me +doin' the rescue act for her again."</p> + +<p>"Still," says Vee, "they have been livin out here nearly a year, haven't +they? But then——"</p> + +<p>At which she proceeds to state an alibi which sounds reasonable enough. +She'd rather understood that the Garveys didn't expect to be called on. +Maybe you know how it is in one of these near-swell suburbs! Not that +there's any reg'lar committee to pass on newcomers. Some are taken in +right off, some after a while, and some are just left out. Anyway, +that's how it seems to work out here in Harbor Hills.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span></p> + +<p>I don't know who it was first passed around the word, or where we got it +from, but we'd been tipped off somehow that the Garveys didn't belong. I +don't expect either of us asked for details. Whether or not they did +wasn't up to us. But everybody seems to take it that they don't, and act +accordin'. Plenty of others had met the same deal. Some quit after the +first six months, others stuck it out.</p> + +<p>As for the Garveys, they'd appeared from nowhere in particular, bought +this big square stucco house on the Shore road, rolled around in their +showy limousine, subscribed liberal to all the local drives and charity +funds, and made several stabs at bein' folksy. But there's no response. +None of the bridge-playing set drop in of an afternoon to ask Mrs. +Garvey if she won't fill in on Tuesday next, she ain't invited to join +the Ladies' Improvement Society, or even the Garden Club; and when +Garvey's application for membership gets to the Country Club committee +he's notified that his name has been put on the waitin' list. I expect +it's still there.</p> + +<p>But it's kind of a jolt to find that Mrs. Garvey is sore on us for all +this. "Where does she get that stuff?" I asks Vee, after we get home. +"Who's been telling her we handle the social blacklist for the Roaring +Rock district of Long Island?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose she thinks we have done our share, or failed to do it," says +Vee. "And perhaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> we have. I'm rather sorry for the Garveys. I'm sure I +don't know what's the matter with them."</p> + +<p>I didn't, either. Hadn't given it a thought, in fact. But I sort of got +to chewin' it over. Maybe it was the flashy way Mrs. Garvey dressed, and +the noisy laugh I'd occasionally heard her spring on the station +platform when she was talking to Garvey. Not that all the lady members +of the Country Club set are shrinkin' violets who go around costumed in +Quaker gray and whisper their remarks modest. Some are about as spiffy +dressers as you'll see anywhere and a few are what I'd call speedy +performers. But somehow you know who they are and where they came from, +and make allowances. They're in the swim, anyway.</p> + +<p>The trouble might be with Garvey. He's about the same type as the other +half of the sketch—a big, two-fisted ruddy-faced husk, attired sporty +in black and white checks, with gray gaiters and a soft hat to match the +suit. Wore a diamond-set Shriners' watch fob, and an Elks' emblem in his +buttonhole. Course, you wouldn't expect him to have any gentle, ladylike +voice, and he don't. I heard he'd been sent on as an eastern agent of +some big Kansas City packin' house. Must have been a good payin' line, +for he certainly looks like ready money. But somehow he don't seem to be +popular with our bunch of commuters, although<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> at first I understand he +tried to mix in free and easy.</p> + +<p>Anyway, the verdict appears to be against lettin' the Garveys in, and we +had about as much to do with it as we did about fixin' the price of +coal, or endin' the sugar shortage. Yet here when we try to do one of +'em a good turn we get the cold eye.</p> + +<p>"Next time," says I, "we'll remember we are strangers, and not give her +an openin' to throw it at us."</p> + +<p>So I'm a little surprised the followin' Sunday afternoon to see the +Garvey limousine stoppin' out front. As I happens to be wanderin' around +outside I steps up to the gate just as Garvey is gettin' out.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Ballard!" he says, cordial. "I want to thank you and Mrs. Ballard +for picking Mrs. Garvey up the other day when our fool chauffeur went to +sleep at the switch. It—it was mighty decent of you."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," says I "Couldn't do much less for a neighbor, could we?"</p> + +<p>"Some could," says he. "A whole lot less. And if you don't mind my +saying so, it's about the first sign we've had that we were counted as +neighbors."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," says I, "maybe nobody's had a chance to show it before. Will +you come in a minute and thaw out in front of the wood fire?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—I suppose it ain't reg'lar," says he, "but blamed if I +don't."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span></p> + +<p>And after I've towed him into the livin' room, planted him in a wing +chair, and poked up the hickory logs, he springs this conundrum on me:</p> + +<p>"Ballard," says he, "I'd like to ask you something and have you give me +an answer straight from the shoulder."</p> + +<p>"That's my specialty," says I. "Shoot."</p> + +<p>"Just what's the matter with us—Mrs. Garvey and me?" he demands.</p> + +<p>"Why—why—Who says there's anything the matter with either of you?" I +asks, draggy.</p> + +<p>"They don't have to say it," says he. "They act it. Everybody in this +blessed town; that is, all except the storekeepers, the plumbers, the +milkman, and so on. My money seems to be good enough for them. But as +for the others—well, you know how we've been frozen out. As though we +had something catching, or would blight the landscape. Now what's the +big idea? What are some of the charges in the indictment?"</p> + +<p>And I'll leave it to you if that wasn't enough to get me scrapin' my +front hoof. How you goin' to break it to a gent sittin' by your own +fireside that maybe he's a bit rough in the neck, or too much of a yawp +to fit into the refined and exclusive circle that patronizes the 8:03 +bankers' express? As I see it, the thing can't be done.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Mr. Garvey," says I, "but if there's been any true bill +handed in by a pink tea grand jury it's been done without consultin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> +me. I ain't much on this codfish stuff myself."</p> + +<p>"Shake, young man," says he grateful. "I thought you looked like the +right sort. But without gettin' right down to brass tacks, or namin' any +names, couldn't you slip me a few useful hints? There's no use denyin' +we're in wrong here. I don't suppose it matters much just how; not now, +anyway. But Tim Garvey is no quitter; at least, I've never had that +name. And I've made up my mind to stay with this proposition until I'm +dead sure I'm licked."</p> + +<p>"That's the sportin' spirit," says I.</p> + +<p>"What I want is a line on how to get in right," says he.</p> + +<p>At which I scratches my head and stalls around.</p> + +<p>"For instance," he goes on, "what is it these fine Harbor Hills folks do +that I can't learn? Is it parlor etiquette? Then me for that. I'll take +lessons. I'm willin' to be as refined and genteel as anybody if that's +what I lack."</p> + +<p>"That's fair enough," says I, still stallin'.</p> + +<p>"You see," says Garvey, "this kind of a deal is a new one on us. I don't +want to throw any bull, but out in Kansas City we thought we had just as +good a bunch as you could find anywhere; and we were the ringleaders, as +you might say. Mixed with the best people. All live wires, too. We had a +new country club that would make this one of yours look like a freight +shed. I helped organize it, was one of the directors. And the Madam took +her part,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> too; first vice-president of the Woman's Club, charter member +of the Holy Twelve bridge crowd, as some called it, and always a +patroness at the big social affairs. A new doormat wouldn't, last us a +lifetime out there. But here—say, how do you break into this bunch, +anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Why ask me, who was smuggled in the back door?" says I, grinnin'.</p> + +<p>"But you know a lot of these high-brows and aristocrats," he insists. "I +don't. I don't get 'em at all. What brainy stunts or polite acts are +they strongest for? How do they behave when they're among themselves?"</p> + +<p>"Why, sort of natural, I guess," says I.</p> + +<p>"Whaddye mean, natural?" demands Garvey. "For instance?"</p> + +<p>"Well, let's see," says I. "There's Major Brooks Keating, the imposin' +old boy with the gray goatee, who was minister to Greece or Turkey once. +Married some plute's widow abroad and retired from the diplomatic game. +Lives in that near-chateau affair just this side of the Country Club. +His fad is paintin'."</p> + +<p>"Pictures?" asks Garvey.</p> + +<p>"No. Cow barns, fences, chicken houses," says I. "Anything around the +place that will stand another coat."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean he does it himself?" says Garvey.</p> + +<p>"Sure he does," says I. "Gets on an old pair of overalls and jumper and +goes to it like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> he belonged to the union. Last time I was up there he +had all the blinds off one side of the house and was touchin' 'em up. +Mrs. Keating was givin' a tea that afternoon and he crashes right in +amongst 'em askin' his wife what she did with that can of turpentine. +Nobody seems to mind, and they say he has a whale of a time doin' it. So +that's his high-brow stunt."</p> + +<p>Garvey shakes his head puzzled. "House painting, eh?" says he. "Some +fad, I'll say."</p> + +<p>"He ain't got anything on J. Kearney Rockwell, the potty-built old sport +with the pink complexion and the grand duchess wife," I goes on. "You +know?"</p> + +<p>Garvey nods. "Of Rockwell, Griggs & Bland, the big brokerage house," +says he. "What's his pet side line?"</p> + +<p>"Cucumbers," says I. "Has a whole hothouse full of 'em. Don't allow the +gardener to step inside the door, but does it all himself. Even lugs 'em +down to the store in a suitcase and sells as high as $20 worth a week, +they say. I hear he did start peddlin' 'em around the neighborhood once, +but the grand duchess raised such a howl he had to quit. You're liable +to see him wheelin' in a barrowful of manure any time, though."</p> + +<p>"Ought to be some sight," says Garvey. "Cucumbers! Any more like him?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, each one seems to have his own specialty," says I. "Take Austin +Gordon, one of the Standard Oil crowd, who only shows up at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> 26 Broadway +for the annual meetings now. You'd never guess what his hobby is. Puppet +shows."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Garvey, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"Sort of Punch and Judy stuff," says I. "Whittles little dummies out of +wood, paints their faces, dresses 'em up, and makes 'em act by pullin' a +lot of strings. Writes reg'lar plays for 'em. He's got a complete little +theatre fitted up over his garage; stage, scenery, footlights, folding +chairs and everything. Gives a show every now and then. Swell affairs. +Everybody turns out. Course they snicker some in private, but he gets +away with it."</p> + +<p>Garvey stares at me sort of dazed. "And here I've been afraid to do +anything but walk around my place wearing gloves and carrying a cane;" +says he. "Afraid of doing something that wasn't genteel, or that would +get the neighbors talking. While these aristocrats do what they please. +They do, don't they!"</p> + +<p>"That about states it," says I.</p> + +<p>"Do—do you suppose I could do that, too?" he asks.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" says I. "You don't stand to lose anything, do you, even if +they do chatter? If I was you I'd act natural and tell 'em to go hang."</p> + +<p>"You would?" says he, still starin'.</p> + +<p>"To the limit," says I. "What's the fun of livin' if you can't?"</p> + +<p>"Say, young man," says Garvey, slappin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> his knee. "That listens +sensible to me. Blamed if I don't. And I—I'm much obliged."</p> + +<p>And after he's gone Vee comes down from upstairs and wants to know what +on earth I've been talking so long to that Mr. Garvey about.</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "I've been givin' him some wise dope on how to live among +plutes and be happy."</p> + +<p>"Silly!" says Vee, rumplin' my red hair. "Do you know what I've made up +my mind to do some day this week? Have you take me for an evening call +on the Garveys."</p> + +<p>"Gosh!" says I. "You're some little Polar explorer, ain't you?"</p> + +<p>It was no idle threat of Vee's. A few nights later we got under way +right after dinner and drove over there. I expect we were about the +first outsiders to push the bell button since they moved in. But we'd no +sooner rung than Vee begins to hedge.</p> + +<p>"Why, they must be giving a party!" says she. "Listen! There's an +orchestra playing."</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "Sounds like a jazz band."</p> + +<p>A minute later, though, when the butler opens the door, there's no sound +of music, and as we goes in we catches Garvey just strugglin' into his +dinner coat. He seems glad to see us, mighty glad. Says so. Tows us +right into the big drawin' room. But Mrs. Garvey ain't so enthusiastic. +She warms up about as much as a cold storage turkey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span></p> + +<p>You can't feaze Vee, though, when she starts in to be folksy. "I'm just +so sorry we've been so long getting over," says she. "And we came near +not coming in this time. Didn't we hear music a moment ago. You're not +having a dance or—or anything, are you?"</p> + +<p>The Garveys look at each other sort of foolish for a second.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says Mrs. Garvey. "Nothing of the sort. Perhaps some of the +servants——"</p> + +<p>"Now, Ducky," breaks in Garvey, "let's not lay it on the servants."</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Garvey turns the color of a fire hydrant clear up into her +permanent wave. "Very well, Tim," says she. "If you <i>will</i> let everybody +know. I suppose it's bound to get out sooner or later, anyhow." And with +that she turns to me. "Anyway, you're the young man who put him up to +this nonsense. I hope you're satisfied."</p> + +<p>"Me?" says I, doin' the gawp act.</p> + +<p>"How delightfully mysterious!" says Vee. "What's it all about?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Garvey," says I. "What you been up to?"</p> + +<p>"I'm being natural, that's all," says he.</p> + +<p>"Natural!" snorts Mrs. Garvey. "Is that what you call it?"</p> + +<p>"How does it break out?" says I.</p> + +<p>"If you must know," says Mrs. Garvey, "he's making a fool of himself by +playing a snare drum."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span></p> + +<p>"Honest?" says I, grinnin' at Garvey.</p> + +<p>"Here it is," says he, draggin' out from under a davenport a perfectly +good drum.</p> + +<p>"And you might as well exhibit the rest of the ridiculous things," says +Mrs. Garvey.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says Garvey, swingin' back a Japanese screen and disclosin' a +full trap outfit—base drum with cymbals, worked by a foot pedal, +xylophone blocks, triangle, and sand boards—all rigged up next to a +cabinet music machine.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "All you lack is a leader and Sophie Tucker to +screech and you could go on at Reisenwebers."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it all perfectly fascinating?" says Vee, testin' the drum pedal.</p> + +<p>"But it's such a common, ordinary thing to do," protests Mrs. Garvey. +"Drumming! Why, out in Kansas City I remember that the man who played +the traps in our Country Club orchestra worked daytimes as a plumber. He +was a poor plumber, at that."</p> + +<p>"But he was a swell drummer," says Garvey. "I took lessons of him, on +the sly. You see, as a boy, the one big ambition in my life was to play +the snare drum. But I never had money enough to buy one. I couldn't have +found time to play it anyway. And in Kansas City I was too busy trying +to be a good sport. Here I've got more time than I know what to do with. +More money, too. So I've got the drum, and the rest. I'm here to say, +too, that knocking out an accompaniment to some of these new jazz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> +records is more fun than I've ever had all the rest of my life."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it must be," says Vee. "Do play once for us, Mr. Garvey. +Couldn't I come in on the piano? Let's try that 'Dardanella' thing?"</p> + +<p>And say, inside of ten minutes they were at it so hard that you'd most +thought Arthur Pryor and his whole aggregation had cut loose. Then they +did some one-step pieces with lots of pep in 'em, and the way Garvey +could roll the sticks, and tinkle the triangle, and keep the cymbals and +base drum goin' with his foot was as good to watch as a jugglin' act, +even if he does leak a lot on the face when he gets through.</p> + +<p>"You're some jazz artist, I'll say," says I.</p> + +<p>"So will the neighbors, I'm afraid," says Mrs. Garvey. "That will sound +nice, won't it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, blow the neighbors!" says Garvey. "I'm going to do as I please from +now on; and it pleases me to do this."</p> + +<p>"Then we might as well nail up the front door and eat in the kitchen, +like we used to," says she, sighin'.</p> + +<p>But it don't work out that way for them. It was like this: Austin Gordon +was pullin' off one of his puppet shows and comes around to ask Vee +wouldn't she do some piano playin' for him between the acts and durin' +parts of the performance. He'd hoped to have a violinist, too, but the +party had backed out. So Vee tells<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> him about Garvey's trap outfit, and +how clever he is at it, and suggests askin' him in.</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly!" says Gordon.</p> + +<p>So Garvey pulls his act before the flower and chivalry of Harbor Hills. +They went wild over it, too. And at the reception afterwards he was +introduced all round, patted on the back by the men, and taffied up by +the ladies. Even Mrs. Timothy Garvey, who'd been sittin' stiff and +purple-faced all the evenin' in a back seat was rung in for a little of +the glory.</p> + +<p>"Say, Garvey," says Major Brooks Keating, "we must have you and Mrs. +Ballard play for us at our next Country Club dinner dance after the fool +musicians quit. Will you, eh? Not a member? Well, you ought to be. I'll +see that you're made one, right away."</p> + +<p>I don't know of anyone who was more pleased at the way things had turned +out than Vee. "There, Torchy!" says she. "I've always said you were a +wonder at managing things."</p> + +<p>"Why shouldn't I be?" says I, givin' her the side clinch. "Look at the +swell assistant I've got."</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_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2><h3>NICKY AND THE SETTING HEN</h3> +</div> + +<p>Honest, the first line I got on this party with the steady gray eyes and +the poker face was that he must be dead from the neck up. Or else he'd +gone into a trance and couldn't get out.</p> + +<p>Nice lookin' young chap, too. Oh, say thirty or better. I don't know as +he'd qualify as a perfect male, but he has good lines and the kind of +profile that had most of the lady typists stretchin' their necks. But +there's no more expression on that map of his than there would be to a +bar of soap. Just a blank. And yet after a second glance you wondered.</p> + +<p>You see, I'd happened to drift out into the general offices in time to +hear him ask Vincent, the fair-haired guardian of the brass gate, if Mr. +Robert is in. And when Vincent tells him he ain't he makes no move to +go, but stands there starin' straight through the wall out into +Broadway. Looks like he might be one of Mr. Robert's club friends, so I +steps up and asks if there's anything a perfectly good private sec. can +do for him. He wakes up enough to shake his head.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span></p> + +<p>"Any message?" says I.</p> + +<p>Another shake. "Then maybe you'll leave your card?" says I.</p> + +<p>Yes, he's willin' to do that, and hands it over.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "Why didn't you say so? Mr. Nickerson Wells, eh? Why, +you're the one who's going to handle that ore transportation deal for +the Corrugated, ain't you?"</p> + +<p>"I was, but I'm not," says the chatterbox.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"Can't take it on," says he. "Tell Ellins, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Not much!" says I. "Guess you'll have to hand that to him yourself, Mr. +Wells. He'll be here any minute. Right this way."</p> + +<p>And a swell time I had keepin' him entertained in the private office for +half an hour. Not that he's restless or fidgety, but when you get a +party who only stares bored at a spot about ten feet behind the back of +your head and answers most of your questions by blinkin' his eyes, it +kind of gets on your nerves. Still, I couldn't let him get away. Why, +Mr. Robert had been prospectin' for months to find the right man for +that transportation muddle and when he finally got hold of this Nicky +Wells he goes around grinnin' for three days.</p> + +<p>Seems Nicky had built up quite a rep. by some work he did over in France +on an engineerin' job. Ran some supply tracks where nobody thought they +could be laid, bridged a river in a night under fire, and pulled a lot +of stuff like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> that. I don't know just what. Anyway, they pinned all +sorts of medals on him for it, made him a colonel, and when it was all +over turned him loose as casual as any buck private. That's the army for +you. And the railroad people he'd been with before had been shifted +around so much that they'd forgotten all about him. He wasn't the kind +to tell 'em what a whale of a guy he was, and nobody else did it for +him. So there he was, floatin' around, when Mr. Robert happened to hear +of him.</p> + +<p>"Must have got you in some lively spots, runnin' a right of way smack up +to the German lines?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"M-m-m-m!" says he, through his teeth.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it you laid the tracks that got up them big naval guns?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"I may have helped," says he.</p> + +<p>So I knew all about it, you see. Quite thrillin' if you had a high speed +imagination. And you can bet I was some relieved when Mr. Robert blew in +and took him off my hands. Must have been an hour later before he comes +out and I goes into the private office to find Mr. Robert with his chin +on his wishbone and his brow furrowed up.</p> + +<p>"Well, I take it the one-syllable champion broke the sad news to you!" +says I.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he wants to quit," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Means to devote all his time to breakin' the long distance no-speech +record, does he?" I asks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know what he means to do," says Mr. Robert, sighin'. +"Anyway, he seems determined not to go to work for the Corrugated. I did +discover one thing, though, Torchy; there's a girl mixed up in the +affair. She's thrown him over."</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder," says I. "Probably he tried to get through a whole +evenin' with her on that yes-and-no stuff."</p> + +<p>No, Mr. Robert says, it wasn't that. Not altogether. Nicky has done +something that he's ashamed of, something she'd heard about. He'd +renigged on takin' her to a dinner dance up in Boston a month or so +back. He'd been on hand all right, was right on the spot while she was +waitin' for him; but instead of callin' around with the taxi and the +orchids he'd slipped off to another town without sayin' a word. The +worst of it was that in this other place was the other woman, someone +he'd had an affair with before. A Reno widow, too.</p> + +<p>"Think of that!" says I, "Nicky the Silent! Say, you can't always tell, +can you? What's his alibi?"</p> + +<p>"That's the puzzling part of it," says Mr. Robert. "He hasn't the ghost +of an excuse, although he claims he didn't see the other woman, had +almost forgotten she lived there. But why he deserted his dinner partner +and went to this place he doesn't explain, except to say that he doesn't +know why he did it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span></p> + +<p>"Too fishy," says I. "Unless he can prove he was walkin' in his sleep."</p> + +<p>"Just what I tell him," says Mr. Robert. "Anyway, he's taking it hard. +Says if he's no more responsible than that he couldn't undertake an +important piece of work. Besides, I believe he is very fond of the girl. +She's Betty Burke, by the way."</p> + +<p>"Z-z-zing!" says I. "Some combination, Miss Betty Burke and Nickerson +Wells."</p> + +<p>I'd seen her a few times at the Ellinses, and take it from me she's some +wild gazelle; you know, lots of curves and speed, but no control. No +matter where you put her she's the life of the party, Betty is. Chatter! +Say, she could make an afternoon tea at the Old Ladies' Home sound like +a Rotary Club luncheon, all by herself. Shoots over the clever stuff, +too. Oh, a reg'lar girl. About as much on Nicky Wells' type as a hummin' +bird is like a pelican.</p> + +<p>"Only another instance," says Mr. Robert, "to show that the law of +opposites is still in good working condition. I've never known Betty to +be as much cut up over anything as she's been since she found out about +Nicky. Only we couldn't imagine what was the matter. She's not used to +being forgotten and I suppose she lost no time in telling Nicky where he +got off. She must have cared a lot for him. Perhaps she still does. The +silly things! If they could only make it up perhaps Nicky would sign +that contract and go to work."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span></p> + +<p>"Looks like a case of Cupid throwin' a monkey wrench into the gears of +commerce, eh?" says I. "How do you size up Nicky's plea of not guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if he says he didn't see the other woman, he didn't, that's all," +says Mr. Robert. "But until he explains why he went where she was +when——"</p> + +<p>"Maybe he would if he had a show," says I. "If you could plot out a +get-together session for 'em somehow——"</p> + +<p>"Exactly!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "Thank you, Torchy. It +shall be done. Get Mrs. Ellins on the long distance, will you?"</p> + +<p>He's a quick performer, Mr. Robert, when he's got his program mapped +out. He don't hesitate to step on the pedal. Before quittin' time that +afternoon he's got it all fixed up.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow night," says he, "Nicky understands that we're having a dinner +party out at the house. Betty'll be there. You and Vee are to be the +party."</p> + +<p>"A lot of help I'll be," says I. "But I expect I can fill a chair."</p> + +<p>When you get a private sec. that can double in open face clothes, +though, you've picked a winner. That's why I figure so heavy on the +Corrugated pay roll. But say, when I finds myself planted next to +Bubbling Betty at the table I begins to suspect that I've been miscast +for the part.</p> + +<p>She's some smart dresser, on and off, Betty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> is. Her idea of a perfectly +good dinner gown is to make it as simple as possible. All she needs is a +quart or so of glass beads and a little pink tulle and there she is. +There's more or less of her, too. And me thinkin' that Theda Bara stood +for the last word in bare. I hadn't seen Betty costumed for the dinin' +room then. And I expect the blush roses in the flower bowl had nothing +on my ears when it came to a vivid color scheme.</p> + +<p>By that time, of course, she and Nicky had recovered from the shock of +findin' themselves with their feet under the same table and they've +settled down to bein' insultin'ly polite to each other. It's "Mr. Wells" +and "Miss Burke" with them, Nicky with his eyes in his plate and Betty +throwin' him frigid glances that should have chilled his soup. And the +next thing I know she's turned to me and is cuttin' loose with her whole +bag of tricks. Talk about bein' vamped! Say, inside of three minutes +there she had me dizzy in the head. With them sparklin', roly-boly eyes +of hers so near I didn't know whether I was butterin' a roll or +spreadin' it on my thumb.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," says she, "I simply adore red hair—your kind."</p> + +<p>"Maybe that's why I picked out this particular shade," says I.</p> + +<p>"Tchk!" says she, tappin' me on the arm. "Tell me, how do you get it to +wave so cunningly in front?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't give it away," says I, "but I do demonstratin' at a male beauty +parlor."</p> + +<p>This seems to tickle Betty so much that she has to lean over and chuckle +on my shoulder. "Bob calls you Torchy, doesn't he?" she goes on. "I'm +going to, too."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't see how I can stop you," says I.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of this new near-beer?" she demands.</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "it strikes me the bird who named it was a poor judge of +distance." Which, almost causes Betty to swallow an olive pit.</p> + +<p>"You're simply delightful!" says she. "Why haven't we met before?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe they didn't think it was safe," says I. "They might be right, at +that."</p> + +<p>"Naughty, naughty!" says she. "But go on. Tell me a funny story while +the fish is being served."</p> + +<p>"I'd do better servin' the fish," says I.</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says she. "I don't believe it. Come!"</p> + +<p>"How do you know I'm primed?" says I.</p> + +<p>"I can tell by your eyes," says she. "There's a twinkle in them."</p> + +<p>"S-s-s-sh!" says I. "Belladonna. Besides, I always forget the good ones +I read in the comic section."</p> + +<p>"Please!" insists Betty. "Every one else is being so stupid. And you're +supposed to entertain me, you know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "I did hear kind of a rich one while I was waitin' at +the club for Mr. Robert today only I don't know as——"</p> + +<p>"Listen, everybody," announces Betty vivacious. "Torchy is going to tell +a story."</p> + +<p>Course, that gets me pinked up like the candle shades and I shakes my +head vigorous.</p> + +<p>"Hear, hear!" says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do!" adds Mrs. Ellins.</p> + +<p>As for Vee, she looks across at me doubtful. "I hope it isn't that one +about a Mr. Cohen who played poker all night," says she.</p> + +<p>"Wrong guess," says I. "It's one I overheard at Mr. Robert's club while +a bunch of young sports was comparin' notes on settin' hens."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean, setting hens?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"It's the favorite indoor sport up in New England now, I understand," +says I. "It's the pie-belt way of taking the sting out of the +prohibition amendment. You know, building something with a kick to it. I +didn't get the details, but they use corn-meal, sugar, water, raisins +and the good old yeast cake, and let it set in a cask! for twenty-one +days. Nearly everybody up there has a hen on, I judge, or one just +coming off."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see!" says Mr. Robert. "And had any of the young men succeeded; +that is, in producing something with—er—a kick to it?"</p> + +<p>"Accordin' to their tale, they had," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> "Seems they tried it out +in Boston after the Harvard-Yale game. A bunch got together in some +hotel room and opened a jug one of 'em had brought along in case Harvard +should win, and after that 10-3 score—well, I expect they'd have +celebrated on something, even if it was no more than lemon extract or +Jamaica ginger."</p> + +<p>"How about that, Nicky?" asks Mr. Robert, who's a Yale man.</p> + +<p>"Quite possible," says Nicky, who for the first time seems to have his +ears pricked up. "What then?"</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "there was one Harvard guy who wasn't much used to +hitting anything of the sort, but he was so much cheered up over seeing +his team win that he let 'em lead him to it. They say he shut his eyes +and let four fingers in a water glass trickle down without stopping to +taste it. From then on he was a different man. He forgot all about being +a Delta Kappa, whatever that is; forgot that he had an aunt who still +lived on Beacon Street; forgot most everything except that the birds +were singin' 'Johnny Harvard' and that Casey was a great man. He climbed +on a table and insisted on makin' a speech about it. You know how that +home brew stuff works sometimes?"</p> + +<p>"I've been told that it has a certain potency," says Mr. Robert, winkin' +at Nicky.</p> + +<p>"Anyway," I goes on, seein' that Nicky was still interested, "it seems +to tie his tongue loose. He gets eloquent about the poor old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> Elis who +had to stand around and watch the snake dance without lettin' out a yip. +Then he has a bright idea, which he proceeds to state. Maybe they don't +know anything about the glorious product of the settin' hen down in New +Haven. And who needs it more at such a time as this? Ought to have some +of 'em up there and lighten their load of gloom. Act of charity. Gotta +be done. If nobody else'll do it, he will. Go out into highways and +byways.</p> + +<p>"And he does. Half an hour later he shows up at the home brew +headquarters with an Eli that he's captured on the way to the South +station. He's a solemn-faced, dignified party who don't seem to catch +what it's all about and rather balks when he sees the bunch. But he's +dragged in and introduced as Chester Beal, the Hittite."</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon?" asks Nicky.</p> + +<p>"I'm only giving you what I heard," says I. "Chester Beal might have +been his right name, or it might not, and the Hittite part was some of +his josh, I take it. Anyway, Chester was dealt a generous shot from the +jug, followin' which he was one of 'em. Him and the Harvard guy got real +chummy, and the oftener they sampled the home brew the more they thought +of each other. They discovered they'd both served in the same division +on the other side and had spent last Thanksgiving only a few miles from +each other. It was real touchin'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span> When last seen they was driftin' up +Tremont Street arm in arm singin' 'Madelon,' 'Boola-Boola,' +'Harvardiana' and other appropriate melodies."</p> + +<p>"Just like the good old days, eh, Nicky?" suggests Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>But Nicky only shakes his head. "You say they were not seen again?" he +demands.</p> + +<p>"Not until about 1:30 a. m.," says I, "when they shows up in front of +the Harvard Club on Commonwealth Avenue. One of the original bunch spots +the pair and listens in. The Harvard man is as eloquent as ever. He's +still going strong. But Chester, the Hittite, looks bored and weary. +'Oh, shut up!' says he. But the other one can't be choked off that way. +He just starts in again. So Chester leads him out to the curb and hails +a taxi driver. 'Take him away,' says Chester. 'He's been talking to me +for hours and hours. Take him away.' 'Yes, sir,'says the driver. 'Where +to, sir,' 'Oh, anywhere,' says Chester. 'Take him to—to Worcester.' +'Right,' says the driver, loadin' in his fare."</p> + +<p>"But—but of course he didn't really take him all that distance?" puts +in Betty.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "That's what I thought was so rich. And about 10:30 +next mornin' a certain party wakes up in a strange room in a strange +town. He's got a head on him like an observation balloon and a tongue +that feels like a pussycat's back. And when he finally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> gets down to the +desk he asks the clerk where he is. 'Bancroft House, Worcester, sir,' +says the clerk. 'How odd!' says he. 'But—er—? what is this charge of +$16.85 on my bill?' 'Taxi fare from Boston,' says the clerk. And they +say he paid up like a good sport."</p> + +<p>"In such a case," says Mr. Robert "one does."</p> + +<p>"Worcester!" says Betty. "That's queer."</p> + +<p>"The rough part of it was," I goes on, "that he was due to attend a big +affair in Boston the night before, sort of a reunion of officers who'd +been in the army of occupation—banquet and dance afterward—I think +they call it the Society of the Rhine."</p> + +<p>"What!" exclaims Betty.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say!" gasps Nicky. Then they look at each other queer.</p> + +<p>I could see that I'd made some kind of a break but I couldn't figure out +just what it was. "Anyway," says I, "he didn't get there. He got to +Worcester instead. Course, though, you don't have to believe all you +hear at a club."</p> + +<p>"If only one could," says Betty.</p> + +<p>And it wasn't until after dinner that I got a slant on this remark of +hers.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says she, "where is Mr. Wells?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "I saw him drift out on the terrace a minute ago."</p> + +<p>"Alone?" says she.</p> + +<p>I nods.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then take me out to him, will you?" she asks.</p> + +<p>"Sure thing," says I.</p> + +<p>And she puts it up to him straight when we get him cornered. "Was that +the real reason why you were in Worcester?" she demands.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," says he, hangin' his head, "but it must have been."</p> + +<p>"Then, why didn't you say so, you silly boy!" she asks.</p> + +<p>"How could I, Betty?" says he. "You see, I hadn't heard the rest of the +story until just now."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Nicky!" says she.</p> + +<p>And the next thing I knew they'd gone to a clinch, which I takes as my +cue to slide back into the house. Half an hour later they shows up +smilin' and tells us all about it.</p> + +<p>As we're leavin' for home Mr. Robert gets me one side and pats me on the +back. "I say, Torchy," says he, "as a raconteur you're a great success. +It worked. Nicky will sign up tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Good!" says I. "Only send him where they ain't got the settin' hen +habit and the taxi drivers ain't so willin' to take a chance."</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_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2><h3>BRINK DOES A SIDESLIP</h3> +</div> + +<p>Mostly it was a case of Old Hickory runnin' wild on the main track and +Brink Hollis being in the way. What we really ought to have in the +Corrugated general offices is one of these 'quake detectors, same as +they have in Washington to register distant volcano antics, so all hands +could tell by a glance at the dial what was coming and prepare to stand +by for rough weather.</p> + +<p>For you never can tell just when old Hickory Ellins is going to cut +loose. Course, being on the inside, with my desk right next to the door +of the private office, I can generally forecast an eruption an hour or +so before it takes place. But it's apt to catch the rest of the force +with their hands down and their mouths open.</p> + +<p>Why, just by the way the old boy pads in at 9:15, plantin' his hoofs +heavy and glarin' straight ahead from under them bushy eye dormers of +his, I could guess that someone was goin' to get a call on the carpet +before very long. And sure enough he'd hardly got settled in his big +leather swing chair before he starts barkin' for Mr. Piddie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span></p> + +<p>I expect when it comes to keepin' track of the overhead, and gettin' a +full day's work out of a bunch of lady typists, and knowin' where to buy +his supplies at cut-rates, Piddie is as good an office manager as you'll +find anywhere along Broadway from the Woolworth tower to the Circle; but +when it comes to soothin' down a 65-year-old boss who's been awake most +of the night with sciatica, he's a flivver. He goes in with his brow +wrinkled up and his knees shakin', and a few minutes later he comes out +pale in the gills and with a wild look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"What's the scandal, Piddie?" says I. "Been sent to summon the firin' +squad, or what?"</p> + +<p>He don't stop to explain then, but pikes right on into the bond room and +holds a half-hour session with that collection of giddy young +near-sports who hold down the high stools. Finally, though, he tip-toes +back to me, wipes the worry drops from his forehead, and gives me some +of the awful details.</p> + +<p>"Such incompetency!" says he husky. "You remember that yesterday Mr. +Ellins called for a special report on outside holdings? And when it is +submitted it is merely a jumble of figures. Why, the young man who +prepared it couldn't have known the difference between a debenture 5 and +a refunding 6!"</p> + +<p>"Don't make me shudder, Piddie," says I. "Who was the brainless wretch?"</p> + +<p>"Young Hollis, of course," whispers Piddie.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> "And it's not the first +occasion, Torchy, on which he has been found failing. I am sending some +of his books in for inspection."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," says I, "better Brink than some of the others. He won't take +it serious. He's like a duck in a shower—sheds it easy."</p> + +<p>At which Piddie goes off shakin' his head ominous. But then, Piddie has +been waitin' for the word to fire Brink Hollis ever since this cheerful +eyed young hick was wished on the Corrugated through a director's pull +nearly a year ago, when he was fresh from college. You see, Piddie can't +understand how anybody can draw down the princely salary of twenty-five +a week without puttin' his whole soul into his work, or be able to look +his boss in the face if there's any part of the business that he's vague +about.</p> + +<p>As for Brink, his idea of the game is to get through an eight-hour day +somehow or other so he can have the other sixteen to enjoy himself in, +and I expect he takes about as much interest in what he has to do as if +he was countin' pennies in a mint. Besides that he's sort of a +happy-go-lucky, rattle-brained youth who has been chucked into this high +finance thing because his fam'ly thought he ought to be doing something +that looks respectable; you know the type?</p> + +<p>Nice, pleasant young chap. Keeps the bond room force chirked up on rainy +days and always has a smile for everybody. It was him organized<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> the +Corrugated Baseball Nine that cleaned up with every other team in the +building last summer. They say he was a star first baseman at Yale or +Princeton or wherever it was he was turned loose from. Also he's some +pool shark, I understand, and is runnin' off a progressive tournament +that he got Mr. Robert to put up some cups for.</p> + +<p>So I'm kind of sorry, when I answers the private office buzzer a little +later, and finds Old Hickory purple in the face and starin' at something +he's discovered between the pages of Brink's bond book.</p> + +<p>"Young man," says he as he hands it over, "perhaps you can fell me +something about this?"</p> + +<p>"Looks lite a program," says I, glancin' it over casual. "Oh, yes. For +the first annual dinner of the Corrugated Crabs. That was last Saturday +night."</p> + +<p>"And who, may I ask," goes on Old Hickory, "are the Corrugated Crabs?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "I expect they're some of the young sports on the general +office staff."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" he grunts. "Why Crabs?"</p> + +<p>I hunches my shoulders and lets it go at that.</p> + +<p>"I notice," says Old Hickory, taking back the sheet, "that one feature +of the entertainment was an impersonation by Mr. Brinkerhoff Hollis, of +'the Old He-Crab Himself unloading a morning grouch'. Now, just what +does that mean?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span></p> + +<p>"Couldn't say exactly," says I. "I wasn't there."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you were not, eh?" says he. "Didn't suppose you were. But you +understand, Torchy, I am asking this information of you as my private +secretary. I—er—it will be treated as confidential."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but you know about as much of it as I do."</p> + +<p>"Which is quite enough," says he, "for me to decide that the Corrugated +can dispense with the services of this Hollis person at once. You will +notify Mr. Piddie to that effect."</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es, sir," says I, sort of draggy.</p> + +<p>He glances up at me quick. "You're not enthusiastic about it, eh?" says +he.</p> + +<p>"No," says I.</p> + +<p>"Then for your satisfaction, and somewhat for my own," he goes on, "we +will review the case against this young man. He was one of three who won +a D minus rating in the report made by that efficiency expert called in +by Mr. Piddie last fall."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," says I. "That squint-eyed bird who sprung his brain tests +on the force and let on he could card index the way your gray matter +worked by askin' a lot of nutty questions. I remember. Brink Hollis was +guyin' him all the while and he never caught on. Had the whole bunch +chucklin'over it. One of Piddie's fads, he was."</p> + +<p>Old Hickory waves one hand impatient. "Perhaps,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> says he. "I don't mean +to say I value that book psychology rigamarole very highly myself. Cost +us five hundred, too. But I've had an eye on that young man's work ever +since, and it hasn't been brilliant. This bond summary is a sample. It's +a mess."</p> + +<p>"I don't doubt it!" says I. "But if I'd been Piddie I think I'd have +hung the assignment for that on some other hook than Hollis's. He didn't +know what a bond looked like until a year ago and that piece of work +called for an old hand."</p> + +<p>"Possibly, possibly," agrees Old Hickory. "It seems he is clever enough +at this sort of thing, however," and he waves the program.</p> + +<p>I couldn't help smotherin' a chuckle.</p> + +<p>"Am I to infer," says Mr. Ellins, "that this He-Crab act of his was +humorous?"</p> + +<p>"That's what they tell me," says I. "You see, right after dinner Brink +was missin' and everybody was wonderin' what had become of him, when all +of a sudden he bobs up through a tin-foil lake in the middle of the +table and proceeds to do this crab impersonation in costume. They say it +was a scream."</p> + +<p>"It was, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "And the Old He-Crab referred to—who +was that?"</p> + +<p>"Who do you guess, Mr. Ellins?" says I, grinnin'.</p> + +<p>"H-m-m-m," says he, rubbin' his chin. "I can't say I'm flattered. Thinks +I'm an old crab, does he?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span></p> + +<p>"I expect he does," I admits.</p> + +<p>"Do you?" demands Old Hickory, whirlin' on me sudden.</p> + +<p>"I used to," says I, "until I got to know you better."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" says he. "Well, I suppose the young man has a right to his own +opinion. And my estimate of him makes us even. But perhaps you don't +know with what utter contempt I regard such a worthless——"</p> + +<p>"I got a general idea," says I. "And maybe that's because you don't know +him very well."</p> + +<p>For a second the old boy stares at me like he was goin' to blow a +gasket. But he don't. "I will admit," says he, "that I may have failed +to cultivate a close acquaintance with all the harum-scarum cut-ups in +my employ. One doesn't always find the time. May I ask what course you +would recommend?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "If it was me I wouldn't give him the chuck without a +hearin'."</p> + +<p>That sets him chewin' his cigar. "Very well," says he. "Bring him in."</p> + +<p>I hadn't figured on gettin' so close to the affair as this, but as I had +I couldn't do anything else but see it through. I finds Brink drummin' a +jazz tune on his desk with his fingers and otherwise makin' the best of +it.</p> + +<p>"Well," says he, as I taps him on the shoulder, "is it all over?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet," says I. "But the big boss is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> about to give you the third +degree. So buck up."</p> + +<p>"Wants to see me squirm, does he?" says Brink. "All right. But I don't +see the use. What'll I feed him, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Straight talk, nothing else," says I. "Come along."</p> + +<p>And I expect when Brink Hollis found himself lined up in front of them +chilled steel eyes he decided that this was a cold and cruel world.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," opens Old Hickory, "you've been with us about a year, +haven't you?"</p> + +<p>Hollis nods.</p> + +<p>"And how do you think you are getting on as a business man?" asks Mr. +Ellins.</p> + +<p>"Fairly rotten, thank you," says he.</p> + +<p>"I must say that I agree with you," says Old Hickory. "How did you +happen to honor us by making your start here?"</p> + +<p>"Because the governor didn't want me in his office," says Hollis, "and +could get me into the Corrugated."</p> + +<p>"Hah!" snorts Old Hickory. "Think we're running a retreat for younger +sons, do you!"</p> + +<p>"If I started in with that idea," says Brink, "I'm rapidly getting over +it. And if you want to know, Mr. Ellins, I'm just as sick of working in +the bond room as you are of having me there."</p> + +<p>"Then why in the name of the seven sins do you stick?" demands Old +Hickory.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span></p> + +<p>Brink shrugs his shoulders. "Dad thinks it's best for me," says he. "He +imagines I'm making good. I suppose I've rather helped along the notion, +and he's due to get some jolt when he finds I've nose-dived to a crash."</p> + +<p>"Unfortunately," says Old Hickory, "we cannot provide shock absorbers +for fond fathers. Any other reasons why you wished to remain on our pay +roll?"</p> + +<p>"One," says Brink, "but it will interest you less than the first. If I +got a raise next month I was planning to be married."</p> + +<p>Old Hickory sniffs. "That's optimism for you!" says he. "You expect us +to put a premium on the sort of work you've been doing? Bah!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, why drag out the agony?" says Brink. "I knew I'd put a crimp in my +career when I remembered leaving that crab banquet program in the book. +Let's get to that."</p> + +<p>"As you like," says Old Hickory. "Not that I attach any great importance +to such monkey shines, but we might as well take it up. So you think I'm +an old crab, do you?"</p> + +<p>"I had gathered that impression," says Brink. "Seemed to be rather +general around the shop."</p> + +<p>Old Hickory indulges in one of them grins that are just as humorous as a +crack in the pavement. "I've no doubt," says he. "And you conceived the +happy idea of dramatizing me as the leading comic feature for this +dinner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> party of my employees? It was a success, I trust."</p> + +<p>"Appeared to take fairly well," says Brink.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me if I seem curious," goes on Old Hickory, "but just how did +you—er—create the illusion?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I padded myself out in front," says Brink, "and stuck on a lot of +cotton for eyebrows, and used the make-up box liberal, and gave them +some red-hot patter on the line that—well, you know how you work off a +grouch, sir. I may have caught some of your pet phrases. Anyway, they +seemed to know who I meant."</p> + +<p>"You're rather clever at that sort of thing, are you?" asks Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's no test," says Brink. "You can always get a hand with local +gags. And then, I did quite a lot of that stuff at college; put on a +couple of frat plays and managed the Mask Club two seasons."</p> + +<p>"Too bad the Corrugated Trust offers such a limited field for your +talents," says Old Hickory. "Only one annual dinner of the Crab Society. +You organized that, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Guilty," says Brink.</p> + +<p>"And I understand you were responsible for the Corrugated baseball team, +and are now conducting a pool tournament?" goes on Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says Brink, sort of weary. "I'm not denying a thing. I was +even planning a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> little noonday dancing club for the stenographers. You +may put that in the indictment if you like."</p> + +<p>"H-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory, scratchin' his ear. "I think that will be +all, young man."</p> + +<p>Brink starts for the door but comes back. "Not that I mind being fired, +Mr. Ellins," says he. "I don't blame you a bit for that, for I suppose +I'm about the worst bond clerk in the business. I did try at first to +get into the work, but it was no good. Guess I wasn't cut out for that +particular line. So we'll both be better off. But about that He-Crab act +of mine. Sounds a bit raw, doesn't it? I expect it was, too. I'd like to +say, though, that all I meant by it was to make a little fun for the +boys. No personal animosity behind it, sir, even if——"</p> + +<p>Old Hickory waves his hand careless. "I'm beginning to get your point of +view, Hollis," says he. "The boss is always fair game, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Something like that," says Brink. "Still, I hate to leave with you +thinking——"</p> + +<p>"You haven't been asked to leave—as yet," says Old Hickory. "I did have +you slated for dismissal a half hour ago, and I may stick to it. Only my +private secretary seemed to think I didn't know what I was doing. +Perhaps he was right. I'm going to let your case simmer for a day or so. +Now clear out, both of you."</p> + +<p>We slid through the door. "Much obliged for making the try, Torchy," +says Brink. "You had your nerve with you, I'll say."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span></p> + +<p>"Easiest thing I do, old son," says I. "Besides, his ain't a case of +ingrowin' grouch, you know."</p> + +<p>"I was just getting that hunch myself," says Brink. "Shouldn't wonder +but he was quite a decent old boy when you got under the crust. If I was +only of some use around the place I'll bet we'd get along fine. As it +is——" He spreads out his hands.</p> + +<p>"Trust Old Hickory Ellins to find out whether you're any use or not," +says I. "He don't miss many tricks. If you do get canned, though, you +can make up your mind that finance is your short suit."</p> + +<p>Nearly a week goes by without another word from Mr. Ellins. And every +night as Brink streamed out with the advance guard at 5 o'clock he'd +stop long enough at my desk to swap a grin with me and whisper: "Well, I +won't have to break the news to Dad tonight, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Nor to the young lady, either," says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I had to spill it to Marjorie, first crack," says he. "She's +helping me hold my breath."</p> + +<p>And then here yesterday mornin', as I'm helping Old Hickory sort the +mail, he picks out a letter from our Western manager and slits it open.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" says he, through his cigar. "I think this solves our problem, +Torchy."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir?" says I, gawpin'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span></p> + +<p>"Call in that young humorist of yours from the bond room," says he.</p> + +<p>And I yanks Brink Hollis off the high stool impetuous.</p> + +<p>"Know anything about industrial welfare work, young man?" demands Old +Hickory of him.</p> + +<p>"I've seen it mentioned in magazine articles," says Brink, "but that's +about all. Don't think I ever read one."</p> + +<p>"So much the better," says Mr. Ellins. "You'll have a chance to start in +fresh, with your own ideas."</p> + +<p>"I—I beg pardon?" says Brink, starin' puzzled.</p> + +<p>"You're good at play organizing, aren't you," goes on Old Hickory. +"Well, here's an opportunity to spread yourself. One of the +manufacturing units we control out in Ohio. Three thousand men, in a +little one-horse town where there's nothing better to do in their spare +time than go to cheap movies and listen to cheaper walking delegates. I +guess they need you more than we do in the bond room. Organize 'em as +much as you like. Show 'em how to play. Give that He-Crab act if you +wish. We'll start you in at a dollar a man. That satisfactory?"</p> + +<p>I believe Brink tried to say it was, only what he got out was so choky +you could hardly tell. But he goes out beamin'.</p> + +<p>"Well!" says Old Hickory, turnin' to me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> "I suppose he'll call that +coming safely out of a nose dive, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Or side-slippin' into success," says I. "I think you've picked another +winner, Mr. Ellins."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" he grunts. "You mean you think you helped me do it. But I want +you to understand, young man, that I learned to be tolerant of other +people's failings long before you were born. Toleration. It's the +keystone of every big career. I've practiced it, too, except—well, +except after a bad night."</p> + +<p>And then, seein' that rare flicker in Old Hickory's eyes, I gives him +the grin. Oh, sure you can. It's all in knowin' when.</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_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2><h3>'IKKY-BOY COMES ALONG</h3> +</div> + +<p>Being a parent grows on you, don't it? Course, at first, when it's +sprung on you so kind of sudden, you hardly know how to act. That is, if +you're makin' your debut in the part. And I expect for a few months +there, after young Richard Hemmingway Ballard came and settled down with +Vee and me, I put up kind of a ragged amateur performance as a fond +father. All I can say about it now is I hope I didn't look as foolish as +I felt.</p> + +<p>As for Vee, she seemed to get her lines and business perfect from the +start. Somehow young mothers do. She knew how to handle the youngster +right off; how to hold him and what to say to him when he screwed up his +face and made remarks to her that meant nothing at all to me. And she +wasn't fussed or anything when company came in and caught her at it. +Also young Master Richard seemed to be right at home from the very +first. Didn't seem surprised or strange or nervous in the presence of of +a pair of parents that he found wished on him without much warnin'. Just +gazed at us as calm and matter-of-fact as if he'd known us a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> long time. +While me, well it must have been weeks before I got over feelin' kind of +panicky whenever I was left alone with him.</p> + +<p>But are we acquainted now? I'll say we are. In fact, as Harry Lander +used to put it, vurra well acquainted. Chummy, I might say. Why not, +after we've stood two years of each other without any serious dispute? +Not that I'm claimin' any long-distance record as a model parent. No. I +expect I do most of the things I shouldn't and only a few of them that I +should. But 'Ikky-boy ain't a critical youngster. That's his own way of +sayin' his name and mostly we call him that. Course, he answers to +others, too; such as Old Scout, and Snoodlekins, and young Rough-houser. +I mean, he does when he ain't too busy with important enterprises; such +as haulin' Buddy, the Airedale pup, around by the ears; or spoonin' in +milk and cereal, with Buddy watchin' hopeful for sideslips; or pullin' +out the spool drawer of Vee's work table.</p> + +<p>It's been hinted to us by thoughtful friends who have all the scientific +dope on bringin' up children, although most of 'em never had any of +their own, that this is all wrong. Accordin' to them we ought to start +right in makin' him drop whatever he's doin' and come to us the minute +we call. Maybe we should, too. But that ain't the way it works out, for +generally, we don't want anything special, and he seems so wrapped up in +his private little affairs that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> it don't seem worth while breakin' in +on his program. Course, maulin' Buddy around may seem to us like a +frivolous pastime, but how can you tell if it ain't the serious business +in life to 'Ikky-boy just then? Besides, Buddy seems to like it. So as a +rule we let 'em finish the game.</p> + +<p>But there is one time each day when he's always ready to quit any kind +of fun and come toddlin' with his hands stretched out and a wide grin on +his chubby little face. That's along about 6:15 when I blow in from +town. Then he's right there with the merry greetin' and the friendly +motions. Also his way of addressin' his male parent would give another +jolt to a lot of people, I suppose.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Torchy!" That's his favorite hail.</p> + +<p>"Reddy yourself, you young freshy," I'm apt to come back at him.</p> + +<p>Followin' which I scooch to meet his flyin' tackle and we roll on the +rug in a clinch, with Buddy yappin' delighted and mixin' in +promiscuously. Finally we end up on the big davenport in front of the +fireplace and indulge in a few minutes of lively chat.</p> + +<p>"Well, 'Ikky-boy, how you and Buddy been behavin' yourselves, eh?" I'll +ask. "Which has been the worst cut-up today, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Buddy bad dog," he'll say, battin' him over the head with a pink fist. +"See?" And he'll exhibit a tear in his rompers or a chewed sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Huh! I'll bet it's been fifty-fifty, you young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> rough-houser," I'll +say. "Who do you like best around this joint, anyway?"</p> + +<p>"Buddy," is always the answer.</p> + +<p>"And next?" I'll demand.</p> + +<p>"Mamma," he'll say.</p> + +<p>"Hey, where do I come in?" I'll ask, shakin' him.</p> + +<p>Then he'll screw up his mouth mischievous and say: "Torchy come in door. +Torchy, Torchy!"</p> + +<p>I'll admit Vee ain't so strong for all this. His callin' me Torchy, I +mean. She does her best, too, to get him to change it to Daddy. But that +word don't seem to be on 'Ikky-boy's list at all. He picked up the +Torchy all by himself and he seems to want to stick to it. I don't mind. +Maybe it ain't just the thing for a son and heir to spring on a +perfectly good father, chucklin' over it besides, but it sounds quite +all right to me. Don't hurt my sense of dignity a bit.</p> + +<p>And it looks like he'll soon come to be called young Torchy himself. +Uh-huh. For a while there Vee was sure his first crop of hair, which was +wheat colored like hers, was goin' to be the color scheme of his +permanent thatch. But when the second growth begun to show up red she +had to revise her forecast. Now there's no doubt of his achievin' a +pink-plus set of wavy locks that'll make a fresh-painted fire hydrant +look faded. They're gettin' brighter and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> brighter and I expect in time +they'll show the same new copper kettle tints that mine do.</p> + +<p>"I don't care," says Vee "I rather like it."</p> + +<p>"That's the brave talk, Vee!" says I. "It may be all he'll inherit from +me, but it ain't so worse at that. With that hair in evidence there +won't be much danger of his being lost in a crowd. Folks will remember +him after one good look. Besides, it's always sort of cheerin' on a +rainy day. He'll be able to brighten up the corner where he is without +any dope from Billy Sunday. Course, he'll be joshed a lot about it, but +that'll mean he'll either have to be a good scrapper or develop an +easy-grin disposition, so he wins both ways."</p> + +<p>The only really disappointed member of the fam'ly is Vee's Auntie. Last +time she was out here she notices the change in 'Ikky-boy's curls and +sighs over it.</p> + +<p>"I had hoped," says she, "that the little fellow's hair would be—well, +of a different shade."</p> + +<p>"Sort of a limousine body-black, eh?" says I. "Funny it ain't, too."</p> + +<p>"But he will be so—so conspicuous," she goes on.</p> + +<p>"There are advantages," says I, "in carryin' your own spotlight with +you. Now take me."</p> + +<p>But Auntie only sniffs and changes the subject.</p> + +<p>She's a grand old girl, though. A little hard to please, I'll admit. +I've been at it quite some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> time, but it's only now and then I can do +anything that seems to strike her just right. Mostly she disapproves of +me, and she's the kind that ain't a bit backward about lettin' you know. +Her remarks here the other day when she arrives to help celebrate Master +Richard's second birthday will give you an idea.</p> + +<p>You see, she happens to be in the living room when me and 'Ikky-boy has +our reg'lar afternoon reunion. Might be we went at it a little stronger +and rougher than usual, on account of the youngster's havin' been held +quiet in her lap for a half hour or so.</p> + +<p>"Hi, hi, ol' Torchy, Torchy!" he shouts, grippin' both hands into my +hair gleeful.</p> + +<p>"Burny burn!" says I makin' a hissin' noise.</p> + +<p>"Yah, yah! 'Ikky-boy wanna ride hossy," says he.</p> + +<p>"And me with my trousers just pressed!" says I. "Say, where do you get +that stuff?"</p> + +<p>"I must say," comes in Auntie, "that I don't consider that the proper +way to talk to a child."</p> + +<p>"Oh, he don't mind," says I.</p> + +<p>"But he is so apt to learn such expressions and use them himself," says +she.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he picks up a lot," says I. "He's clever that way. Aren't you, you +young tarrier?"</p> + +<p>"Whe-e-e!" says 'Ikky-boy, slidin' off my knee to make a dive at Buddy +and roll him on the floor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span></p> + +<p>"One should speak gently to a child," says Auntie, "and use only the +best English."</p> + +<p>"I might be polite to him," says I, "if he'd be polite to me, but that +don't seem to be his line."</p> + +<p>Auntie shrugs her shoulders and gives us up as hopeless. We're in bad +with her, both of us, and I expect if there'd been a lawyer handy she'd +revised her will on the spot. Honest, it's lucky the times she's decided +to cross me off as one of her heirs don't show on me anywhere or I'd be +notched up like a yardstick, and if I'd done any worryin' over these +spells of hers I'd be an albino from the ears up. But when she starts +castin' the cold eye at Richard Hemmingway I almost works up that guilty +feelin' and wonders if maybe I ain't some to blame.</p> + +<p>"You ain't overlookin, the fact, are you, Auntie," I suggests, "that +he's about 100 per cent. boy? He's full of pep and jump and go, same as +Buddy, and he's just naturally got to let it out."</p> + +<p>"I fail to see," says Auntie, "how teaching him to use slang is at all +necessary. As you know, that is something of which I distinctly +disapprove."</p> + +<p>"Now that you remind me," says I, "seems I have heard you say something +of the kind before. And take it from me I'm going to make a stab at +trainin' him different. Right now. Richard, approach your father."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span></p> + +<p>'Ikky-boy lets loose of Buddy's collar and stares at me impish.</p> + +<p>"Young man," says I severe, "I want you to lay off that slang stuff. +Ditch it. It ain't lady like or refined. And in future when you converse +with your parents see that you do it respectful and proper. Get me?"</p> + +<p>At which 'Ikky-boy looks bored. "Whee!" he remarks boisterous, makin' a +grab for Buddy's stubby tail and missin' it.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly absurd!" snorts Auntie, retirin' haughty to the bay window.</p> + +<p>"Disqualified!" says I, under my breath. "Might as well go the limit, +Snoodlekins. We'll have to grow up in our own crude way."</p> + +<p>That was the state of affairs when this Mrs. Proctor Butt comes crashin' +in on the scene of our strained domestic relations. Trust her to appear +at just the wrong time. Mrs. Buttinski I call her, and she lives up to +the name.</p> + +<p>She's a dumpy built blond party, Mrs. Proctor Butt, with projectin' +front teeth, bulgy blue eyes and a hurried, trottin' walk like a duck +makin' for a pond. Her chief aim in life seems to be to be better posted +on your affairs than you are yourself, and, of course, that keeps her +reasonably busy. Also she's a lady gusher from Gushville. Now, I don't +object to havin' a conversational gum drop tossed at me once in a while, +sort of offhand and casual. But that ain't Mrs. Buttinski's method. She +feeds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> you raw molasses with a mixin' spoon. Just smears you with it.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it perfectly wonderful," says she, waddlin' in fussy, "that your +dear darling little son should be two years old? Do you know, Mrs. +Robert Ellins just told me of what an important day it was in the lives +of you two charming young people, so I came right over to congratulate +you. And here I discover you all together in your beautiful little home, +proud father and all. How fortunate!"</p> + +<p>As she's beamin' straight at me I has to give her some comeback. "Yes, +you're lucky, all right," says I. "Another minute and you wouldn't found +me here, for I was just——"</p> + +<p>Which is where I gets a frown and a back-up signal from Vee. She don't +like Mrs. Proctor Butt a bit more'n I do but she ain't so frank about +lettin' her know it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, please don't run away," begs Mrs. Butt. "You make such an ideal +young couple. As I tell Mr. Butt, I just can't keep my eyes off you two +whenever I see you out together."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure that's nice of you to say so," says Vee, blushin'.</p> + +<p>"Oh, every one thinks the same of you, my dear," says the lady. "Only I +simply can't keep such things to myself. I have such an impulsive +nature. And I adore young people and children, positively adore them. +And now where is the darling little baby that I haven't seen for months +and months? You'll forgive my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> running in at this unseasonable hour, I +know, but I just couldn't wait another day to—oh, there he is, the +darling cherub! And isn't that a picture for an artist?"</p> + +<p>He'd have to be some rapid-fire paint slinger if he was to use 'Ikky-boy +as a model just then for him and Buddy was havin' a free-for-all mix-up +behind the davenport that nothing short of a movie camera would have +done justice to.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you darling little fellow!" she gurgles on. "I must hold you in my +arms just a moment. Please, mother mayn't I?"</p> + +<p>"I—I'm afraid you would find him rather a lively armful just now," +warns Vee. "You see, when he gets to playing with Buddy he's apt to——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I sha'n't mind a bit," says Mrs. Butt. "Besides, the little dears +always seem to take to me. Do let me have him for a moment?"</p> + +<p>"You get him, Torchy," says Vee.</p> + +<p>So after more or less maneuverin' I untangles the two, shuts Buddy in +another room, and deposits 'Ikky-boy, still kickin' and strugglin' +indignant, in whatever lap Mrs. Butt has to offer.</p> + +<p>Then she proceeds to rave over him. It's enough to make you seasick. +Positively. "Oh, what exquisite silky curls of spun gold!" she gushes. +"And such heavenly big blue eyes with the long lashes, and his 'ittle +rosebud mousie. O-o-o-o-o!"</p> + +<p>From that on all she spouts is baby talk,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> while she mauls and paws him +around like he was a sack of meal. I couldn't help glancin' at Auntie, +for that's one thing she and Vee have agreed on, that strangers wasn't +to be allowed to take any such liberties with baby. Besides, Auntie +never did have any use for this Mrs. Butt anyway and hardly speaks to +her civil when she meets her. Now Auntie is squirmin' in her chair and I +can guess how her fingers are itchin' to rescue the youngster.</p> + +<p>"Um precious 'ittle sweetums, ain't oo?" gurgles Mrs. Butt, rootin' him +in the stomach with her nose. "Won't um let me tiss um's tweet 'ittle +pinky winky toes?"</p> + +<p>She's just tryin' to haul off one of his shoes when 'Ikky-boy cuts loose +with the rough motions, fists and feet both in action, until she has to +straighten up to save her hat and her hair.</p> + +<p>"Dess one 'ittle toe-tiss?" she begs.</p> + +<p>"Say," demands 'Ikky-boy, pushin' her face away fretful, "where oo get +'at stuff?"</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mrs. Butt.</p> + +<p>"Lay off 'at, tant you?" says he "Oo—oo give 'Ikky-boy a big pain, Oo +does. G'way!"</p> + +<p>"Why, how rude!" says Mrs. Butt, gazin' around bewildered; and then, as +she spots that approvin' smile on Auntie's face, she turns red in the +ears.</p> + +<p>Say, I don't know when I've seen the old girl look so tickled over +anything. What she's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> worked up is almost a grin. And there's no doubt +that Mrs. Butt knows why it's there.</p> + +<p>"Of course," says she, "if you approve of such language——" and handin' +the youngster over to Vee she straightens her lid and makes a quick +exit.</p> + +<p>"Bing!" says I. "I guess we got a slap on the wrist that time."</p> + +<p>"I don't care a bit," says Vee, holdin' her chin well up. "She had no +business mauling baby in that fashion."</p> + +<p>"I ain't worryin' if she never comes back," says I, "only I'd just +promised Auntie to train 'Ikky-boy to talk different and——"</p> + +<p>"Under similar provocation," says Auntie, "I might use the same +expressions—if I knew how."</p> + +<p>"Hip, hip, for Auntie!" I sings out. "And as for your not knowin' how, +that's easy fixed. 'Ikky-boy and I will give you lessons."</p> + +<p>And say, after he'd finished his play and was about ready to be tucked +into his crib, what does the young jollier do but climb up in Auntie's +lap and cuddle down folksy, all on his own motion.</p> + +<p>"Do you like your old Auntie, Richard?" she asks, smoothin' his red +curls gentle.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says 'Ikky-boy, blinkin' up at her mushy. "Oo's a swell +Auntie."</p> + +<p>Are we back in the will again? I'll guess we are.</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_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2><h3>LOUISE REVERSES THE CLOCK</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was one of Mr. Robert's cute little ideas, you might know. He's an +easy boss in a good many ways and I have still to run across a job that +I'd swap mine for, the pay envelopes being fifty-fifty. But say, when it +comes to usin' a private sec. free and careless he sure is an ace of +aces.</p> + +<p>Maybe you don't remember, but I almost picked out his wife for him, and +when she'd set the date he turns over all the rest of the details to me, +even to providin' a minister and arrangin' his bridal tour. Honest I +expect when the time comes for him to step up and be measured for a set +of wings and a halo he'll look around for me to hold his place in the +line until his turn comes. And he won't be quite satisfied with the +arrangements unless I'm on hand.</p> + +<p>So I ought to be prepared for 'most any old assignment to be hung on the +hook. I must say, though, that in the case of this domestic mix-up of +Mrs. Bruce Mackey's I was caught gawpin' on and unsuspectin'. In fact, I +was smotherin' a mild snicker at the situation, not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> dreamin' that I'd +ever get any nearer to it than you would to some fool movie plot you +might be watchin' worked out on the screen.</p> + +<p>We happens to crash right into the middle of it, Vee and me, when we +drops in for our usual Sunday afternoon call on the Ellinses and finds +these week-end guests of theirs puttin' it up to Mr. and Mrs. Robert to +tell 'em what they ought to do. Course, this Mrs. Mackey is an old +friend of Mrs. Robert's and we'd seen 'em both out there before; in +fact, we'd met 'em when she was Mrs. Richard Harrington and Bruce was +just a sympathetic bachelor sort of danglin' around and makin' himself +useful. So it wasn't quite as if they'd sprung the thing on total +strangers.</p> + +<p>And, anyway, it don't rate very rank as a scandal. Not as scandals run. +This No. 1 hubby, Harrington, had simply got what was coming to him, +only a little late. Never was cut out to play the lead in a quiet +domestic sketch. Not with his temperament and habits. Hardly. Besides, +he was well along in his sporty career when he discovered this +19-year-old pippin with the trustin' blue eyes and the fascinatin' cheek +dimples. But you can't tell a bad egg just by glancin' at the shell, and +she didn't stop to hold him in front of a candle. Lucky for the +suspender wearin' sex there ain't any such pre-nuptial test as that, eh? +She simply tucked her head down just above the top pearl stud, I +suppose, and said she would be his'n<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> without inquirin' if that cocktail +breath of his was a regular thing or just an accident.</p> + +<p>But she wasn't long in findin' out that it was chronic. Oh yes. He +wasn't known along Broadway as Dick Harry for nothing. He might be more +or less of a success as a corporation lawyer between 10:30 and 5 p. m. +in the daytime, but after the shades of night was well tied down and the +cabarets begun takin' the lid off he was apt to be missin' from the +fam'ly fireside. Wine, women and the deuces wild was his specialties, +and when little wifie tried to read the riot act to him at 3 a. m. he +just naturally told her where she got off. And on occasions, when the +deuces hadn't been runnin' his way, or the night had been wilder than +usual, he was quite rough about it.</p> + +<p>Yet she'd stood for that sort of thing nine long years before applyin' +for a decree. She got it, of course, with the custody of the little girl +and a moderate alimony allowance. He didn't even file an answer, so it +was all done quiet with no stories in the newspapers. And then for eight +or ten years she'd lived by herself, just devotin' all her time to +little Polly, sendin' her to school, chummin' with her durin' vacations, +and tryin' to make her forget that she had a daddy in the discards.</p> + +<p>Must have been several tender-hearted male parties who was sorry for a +lonely grass widow who was a perfect 36 and showed dimples when she +laughed, but none of 'em seemed to have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> the stayin' qualities of Bruce +Mackey. He had a little the edge on the others, too, because he was an +old fam'ly friend, havin' known Dick Harry both before and after he got +the domestic dump. At that, though, he didn't win out until he'd almost +broken the long distance record as a patient waiter, and I understand it +was only when little Miss Polly got old enough to hint to Mommer that +Uncle Bruce would suit her first rate as a stepdaddy that the match was +finally pulled off.</p> + +<p>And now Polly, who's barely finished at boardin' school, has announced +that she intends to get married herself. Mommer has begged her weepy not +to take the high dive so young, and pointed out where she made her own +big mistake in that line. But Polly comes back at her by declarin' that +her Billy is a nice boy. There's no denyin' that. Young Mr. Curtis seems +to be as good as they come. He'd missed out on his last year at college, +but he'd spent it in an aviation camp and he was just workin' up quite a +rep. as pilot of a bombin' plane when the closed season on Hun towns was +declared one eleventh of November. Then he'd come back modest to help +his father run the zinc and tinplate trust, or something like that, and +was payin' strict attention to business until he met Polly at a football +game. After that he had only one aim in life, which was leadin' Polly up +the middle aisle with the organ playin' that breath of Eden piece.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, what was a fond mommer to do in a case like that? Polly admits +being a young person, but she insists that she knows what she wants. And +one really couldn't find any fault with Billy. She had had Bruce look up +his record and, barrin' a few little 9 a. m. police court dates made for +him by grouchy traffic cops, it was as clean as a new shirt front. True, +he had been born in Brooklyn, but his family had moved to Madison Avenue +before he was old enough to feel the effects.</p> + +<p>So at last Mrs. Mackey had given in. Things had gone so far as settlin' +the date for the weddin'. It was to be some whale of an affair, too, for +both the young folks had a lot of friends and on the Curtis side +especially there was a big callin' list to get invitations. Nothing but +a good-sized church would hold 'em all.</p> + +<p>Which was where Bruce Mackey, usually a mild sort of party and kind of +retirin', had come forward with the balky behavior.</p> + +<p>"What do you think?" says Mrs. Bruce. "He says he won't go near the +church."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" demands Mr. Robert, turnin' to him. "What do you mean by that, +Bruce?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Mackey shakes his head stubborn. "Think I can stand up there before +a thousand or more people and give Polly away?" says he. "No. I—I +simply can't do it."</p> + +<p>"But why not?" insists Mrs. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Well, she isn't my daughter," says he, "and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> it isn't my place to be +there. Dick should do it."</p> + +<p>"But don't you see, Bruce," protests Mrs. Mackey, "that if he did I—I +should have to—to meet him again?"</p> + +<p>"What of it?" says Bruce. "It isn't likely he'd beat you in church. And +as he is Polly's father he ought to be the one to give her away. That's +only right and proper, as I see it."</p> + +<p>And there was no arguin' him out of that notion. He came from an old +Scotch Presbyterian family. Bruce Mackey did, and while he was easy +goin' about most things now and then he'd bob up with some hard-shell +ideas like this. Principles, he called 'em. Couldn't get away from 'em.</p> + +<p>"But just think, Bruce," goes on Mrs. Mackey, "we haven't seen each +other for ever so many years. I—I wouldn't like it at all."</p> + +<p>"Hope you wouldn't," says Bruce. "But I see no other way. You ought to +go to the church with him, and he ought to bring you home afterwards. He +needn't stay for the reception unless he wants to. But as Polly's +father——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't go over all that again," she breaks in. "I suppose I must do +it. That is, if he's willing. I'll write him and ask if he is."</p> + +<p>"No," says Bruce. "I don't think you ought to write. This is such a +personal matter and a letter might seem—well, too formal."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span></p> + +<p>"What shall I do, then?" demands Mrs. Mackey. "Telephone?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly think one should telephone a message of that sort," says +Bruce. "Someone ought to see him, explain the situation, and get his +reply directly."</p> + +<p>"Then you go, Bruce, dear," suggests Mrs. Mackey.</p> + +<p>No, he shies at that. "Dick would resent my coming on such an errand," +says Bruce. "Besides, I should feel obliged to urge him that it was his +duty to go, and if he feels inclined to refuse—— Well, of course, we +have done our part."</p> + +<p>"Then you rather hope he'll refuse to come?" she asks.</p> + +<p>"I don't allow myself to think any such thing," says Bruce. "It wouldn't +be right. But if he should decide not to it would be rather a relief, +wouldn't it? In that ease I suppose I should be obliged to act in his +stead. He ought to be asked, though."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert chuckles. "I wish I had an acrobatic conscience such as +yours, Bruce," says he. "I could amuse myself for hours watching it turn +flip-flops."</p> + +<p>"Too bad yours died so young," Bruce raps back at him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says Mr. Robert. "There are compensations. I don't +grow dizzy trying to follow it when it gets frisky. To get back to the +main argument, however; just how do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> you think the news should be broken +to Dick Harrington?"</p> + +<p>"Someone ought to go to see him," says Bruce; "a—a person who could +state the circumstances fairly and sound him out to see how he felt +about it. You know? Someone who would—er——"</p> + +<p>"Do the job like a Turkish diplomat inviting an Armenian revolutionist +to come and dine with him in some secluded mosque at daybreak, eh?" asks +Mr. Robert. "Polite, but not insistent, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, something like that," says Bruce.</p> + +<p>"He's right here," says Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon?" says Bruce, starin'.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "He'll do it with finesse and finish, and if +there's any way of getting Dick to hang back by pretending to push him +ahead our young friend who cerebrates in high speed will discover the +same."</p> + +<p>"Ah, come, Mr. Robert!" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, we shall demand no miracles," says he. "But you understand the +situation. Mr. Mackey's conscience is on the rampage and he's making +this sacrifice as a peace offering. If the altar fires consume it, +that's his look out. You get me, I presume?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure!" says I. "Sayin' a piece, wasn't you?"</p> + +<p>Just the same, I'm started out at 2:30 Monday afternoon to interview Mr. +Dick Harrington on something intimate and personal. Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> Robert has been +'phonin' his law offices and found that Mr. Harrington can probably be +located best up in the Empire Theatre building, where they're havin' a +rehearsal of a new musical show that he's interested in financially.</p> + +<p>"With a sentimental interest, no doubt, in some sweet young thing who +dances or sings, or thinks she does," comments Mr. Robert. "Anyway, look +him up."</p> + +<p>And by pushin' through a lot of doors that had "Keep Out" signs on 'em, +and givin' the quick back up to a few fresh office boys, I trails Mr. +Dick Harrington into the dark front of a theatre where he's sittin' with +the producer and four of the seven authors of the piece watchin' a stage +full of more or less young ladies in street clothes who are listenin' +sort of bored while a bald-headed party in his shirt sleeves asks 'em +for the love of Mike can't they move a little less like they was all +spavined.</p> + +<p>Don't strike me as just the place to ask a man will he stand up in +church and help his daughter get married, but I had my orders. I slips +into a seat back of him, taps him on the shoulder, and whispers how I +have a message for him from his wife as was.</p> + +<p>"From Louise?" says he. "The devil you say!"</p> + +<p>"I could put it better," I suggests, "if we could find a place where +there wasn't quite so much competition."</p> + +<p>"Very well," says he. "Let's go back to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> the office. And by the way, +Marston, when you get to that song of Mabel's hold it until I'm through +with this young man."</p> + +<p>And when he's towed me to the manager's sanctum he demands: "Well, +what's gone wrong with Louise?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing much," says I, "except that Miss Polly is plannin' to be +married soon."</p> + +<p>"Married!" he gasps. "Polly? Why, she's only a child!"</p> + +<p>"Not at half past nineteen," says I. "I should call her considerable +young lady."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be blanked!" says he. "Little Polly grown up and wanting to +be married! She ought to be spanked instead. What are they after; my +consent, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says I. "It's all settled. Twenty-fifth of next month at St. +Luke's. You're cast for the giving away act."</p> + +<p>"Wh-a-at?" says he, his heavy under jaw saggin' astonished. "Me?"</p> + +<p>"Fathers usually do," says I, "when they're handy."</p> + +<p>"And in good standing," he adds. "You—er—know the circumstances, I +presume?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I. "Don't seem to make any difference to them, though. +They've got you down for the part. Church weddin', you know; big mob, +swell affair. I expect that's why they think everything ought to be +accordin' to Hoyle."</p> + +<p>"Just a moment, young man," says he,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> breathin' a bit heavy. "I—I +confess this is all rather disturbing."</p> + +<p>It was easy to see that. He's fumblin' nervous with a gold cigarette +case and his hand trembles so he can hardly hold a match. Maybe some of +that was due to his long record as a whiteway rounder. The puffy bags +under the eyes and the deep face lines couldn't have been worked up +sudden, though.</p> + +<p>"Can you guess how long it has been since I have appeared in a church?" +he goes on. "Not since Louise and I were married. And I imagine I wasn't +a particularly appropriate figure to be there even then. I fear I've +changed some, too. Frankly now, young man, how do you think I would look +before the altar?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm no judge," says I. "And I expect that with a clean shave and in +a frock coat——"</p> + +<p>"No," he breaks in, "I can't see myself doing it. Not before all that +mob. How many guests did you say?"</p> + +<p>"Only a thousand or so," says I.</p> + +<p>He shudders. "How nice!" says he. "I can hear 'em whispering to each +other: 'Yes that's her father—Dick Harry, you know. She divorced him, +and they say——' No, no, I—I couldn't do it. You tell Louise that—— +Oh, by the way! What about her? She must have changed, too. Rather stout +by this time, I suppose?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span></p> + +<p>"I shouldn't say so," says I. "Course I don't know what she used to be, +but I'd call her more or less classy."</p> + +<p>"But she is—let me see—almost forty," he insists.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it?" says I, openin' my mouth to register surprise. This +looked like a good line to me and I thought I'd push it. "Course," I +goes on, "with a daughter old enough to wear orange blossoms, I might +have figured that for myself. But I'll be hanged if she looks it. Why, +lots of folks take her and Polly for sisters."</p> + +<p>He's eatin' that up, you can see. "Hm-m-m!" says he, rubbin' his chin. +"I suppose I would be expected to—er—meet her there?"</p> + +<p>"I believe the program is for you to take her to the church and bring +her back for the reception," says I. "Yes, you'd have a chance for quite +a reunion."</p> + +<p>"I wonder how it would seem, talking to Louise again," says he.</p> + +<p>"Might be a little awkward at first," says I, "but——"</p> + +<p>"Do you know," he breaks in, "I believe I should like it. If you think +she's good looking now, young man, you should have seen her at 19, at +22, or at 25. What an ass I was! And now I suppose she's like a full +blown rose, perfect, exquisite?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't mean she's any ravin' beauty," says I, hedgin'.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span></p> + +<p>"You don't, eh?" says he. "Well, I'd just like to see. You may tell her +that I will——No, I'll 'phone her myself. Where is she?"</p> + +<p>And all the stallin' around I could do didn't jar him away from that +idea. He seems to have forgotten all about this Mabel person who was +going to sing. He wanted to call up Louise right away. And he did.</p> + +<p>So I don't have any chesty bulletin to hand Mr. Robert when I gets back.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says he. "Did you induce him to give the right answer?"</p> + +<p>"Almost," says I. "Had him panicky inside of three minutes."</p> + +<p>"And then?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"I overdid the act," says I. "Talked too much. He's coming."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. "Serves Bruce right," says he. "I +wonder, though, how Louise will take it."</p> + +<p>For a couple of days she took it hard. Just talking over the 'phone with +Dick Harrington left her weak and nervous. Said she couldn't sleep all +that night for thinking what it would be like to meet an ex-hubby that +she hadn't seen for so long. She tried to picture how he would look, and +how she would look to him. Then she braced up.</p> + +<p>"If I must go through it," she confides to Mrs. Robert, "I mean to look +my best."</p> + +<p>Isn't that the female instinct for you?</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact I'd kind of thrown it into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> him a bit strong about +what a stunner she was. Oh, kind of nice lookin', fair figure, and +traces of a peaches and cream complexion. There was still quite a high +voltage sparkle in the trustin' blue eyes and the cheek dimples was +still doin' business. But she was carryin' more or less excess weight +for her height and there was the beginnings of a double chin. Besides, +she always dressed quiet and sort of matronly.</p> + +<p>From the remarks I heard Vee make, though, just before the weddin', I +judge that Louise intended to go the limit. While she was outfittin' +Polly with the snappiest stuff to be found in the Fifth Avenue shops she +picked some for herself. I understand, too, that she was makin' reg'lar +trips to a beauty parlor, and all that.</p> + +<p>"How foolish!" I says to Vee. "I hope when you get to be forty you won't +try to buy your way back to 25. It simply can't be done."</p> + +<p>"Really?" says Vee, givin' me one of them quizzin' looks.</p> + +<p>And, say, that's my last stab at givin' off the wise stuff about the +nose powderin' sex. Pos-itively. For I've seen Louise turn the clock +back. Uh-huh! I can't tell how it was done, or go into details of the +results, but when she sails into that front pew on the big day, with +Dick Harrington trailin' behind, I takes one glance at her and goes +bug-eyed. Was she a stunner? I'll gurgle so. What had become of that +extra 20 pounds I wouldn't even try to guess. But she's right there with +the svelte figure,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> the school girly flush, and the sparklin' eyes. +Maybe it was the way the gown was built. Fits like the peel on a banana. +Or the pert way she holds her head, or the general excitement of the +occasion. Anyway, mighty few 20-year-old screen favorites would have had +anything on her.</p> + +<p>As for Dick Harry—Well, he's spruced up quite a bit himself, but you'd +never mistake him for anything but an old rounder who's had a clean +shave and a face massage. And he just can't seem to see anything but +Louise. Even when he has to leave and join the bridal procession his +eyes wander back to that front pew where she was waitin'. And after it's +all over I sees him watchin' her fascinated while she chatters along +lively.</p> + +<p>I wasn't lookin' to get his verdict at all, but later on, as I'm makin' +myself useful at the reception, I runs across him just as he's slippin' +away.</p> + +<p>"I say, young man," says he, grabbin' me by the elbow. "Wasn't I right +about Louise?"</p> + +<p>"You had the dope," says I. "Some queen, even if she is near the forty +mark."</p> + +<p>"And only imagine," he adds, "within a year or so she may be a +grandmother!"</p> + +<p>"That don't count these days," says I. "It's gettin' so you can hardly +tell the grandmothers from the vamps."</p> + +<p>And when I said that I expect I unloaded my whole stock of wisdom about +women.</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_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2><h3>WHEN THE CURB GOT GYPPED</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was what you might call a session of the big four. Anyway, that's the +way I'd put it; for besides Old Hickory, planted solid in his mahogany +swing chair with his face lookin' more'n ever like a two-tone cut of the +Rock of Gibraltar, there was Mr. Robert, and Piddie and me. Some +aggregation, I'll say. And it didn't need any jiggly message from the +ouija board to tell that something important in the affairs of the +Corrugated Trust might happen within the next few minutes. You could +almost feel it in the air. Piddie did. You could see that by the nervous +way he was twitchin' his lips.</p> + +<p>Course it was natural the big boss should turn first to me. "Torchy," he +growls, "shut that door."</p> + +<p>And as I steps around to close the only exit from the private office I +could watch Piddie's face turn the color of a piece of cheese. Mr. +Robert looks kind of serious, too.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen," goes on Old Hickory, tossin' the last three inches of a +double Corona reckless into a copper bowl, "there's a leak somewhere in +this office."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span></p> + +<p>That gets a muffled gasp out of Piddie which puts him under the +spotlight at once, and when he finds we're all lookin' at him he goes +through all the motions of a cabaret patron tryin' to sneak past one of +Mr. Palmer's agents with something on the hip. If he'd been caught in +the act of borin' into the bond safe he couldn't have looked any +guiltier.</p> + +<p>"I—er—I assure you, Mr. Ellins," he begins spluttery, "that +I—ah—I——"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" snorts Old Hickory impatient. "Who is implying that you do? If +you were under suspicion in the least you wouldn't have been called in +here, Mr. Piddie. So your panic is quite unnecessary."</p> + +<p>"Of course," puts in Mr. Robert. "Don't be absurd, Piddie. Anything new +this morning, Governor?"</p> + +<p>"Rather," says Old Hickory, pointin' to a Wall Street daily that has +broke loose on its front page with a three-column headline. "See what +the Curb crowd did to G. L. T. common yesterday? Traded nearly one +hundred thousand shares and hammered the opening quotations for a +twenty-point loss. All on a rumor of a passed dividend. Well, you know +that at three o'clock the day before we tabled a motion to pass that +dividend and that an hour later, with a full board present, we decided +to pay the regular four per cent semi-annual. But the announcement was +not to be made until next Monday. Yet during that hour someone from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> +this office must have carried out news of that first motion. True, it +was a false tip; but I propose, gentlemen, to find out where that leak +came from."</p> + +<p>There's only one bet I'd be willin' to make on a proposition of that +kind. If Old Hickory had set himself to trail down anything he'd do it. +And we'd have to help.</p> + +<p>Course, this Great Lakes Transportation is only one of our side lines +that we carry on a separate set of books just to please the Attorney +General. And compared to other submerged subsidiaries, as Mr. Robert +calls 'em, it don't amount to much. But why its outstanding stock should +be booted around Broad Street was an interestin' question. Also who the +party was that was handin' out advance dope on such confidential details +as board meetin' motions—Well, that was more so. Next time it might be +a tip on something important. Mr. Robert suggests this.</p> + +<p>"There is to be no next time," says Old Hickory, settin' his jaw.</p> + +<p>So we starts the drag-net. First we went over the directors who had been +present. Only five, includin' Old Hickory and Mr. Robert. And of the +other three there was two that it would have been foolish to ask. +Close-mouthed as sea clams after being shipped to Kansas City. The third +was Oggie Kendall, a club friend of Mr. Robert's, who'd been dragged +down from luncheon to make up a quorum.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oggie might have chattered something through sheer carelessness," says +Mr. Robert. "I'll see if I can get him on the 'phone."</p> + +<p>He could. But it takes Mr. Robert nearly five minutes to explain to +Oggie what he's being queried about. Finally he gives it up.</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind," says he, hangin' up. Then, turnin' to us, he shrugs +his shoulders. "It wasn't Oggie. Why, he doesn't even know which board +he was acting on, and says he doesn't remember what we were talking +about. Thought it was some sort of committee meeting."</p> + +<p>"Then that eliminates all but some member of the office staff," says Old +Hickory. "Torchy, you acted as secretary. Do you remember that anyone +came into the directors' room during our session?"</p> + +<p>"Not a soul," says I.</p> + +<p>"Except the boy Vincent," suggests Piddie.</p> + +<p>"Ah, he wasn't in," says I. "Only came to the door with some telegrams; +I took 'em myself."</p> + +<p>"But was not a letter sent to our Western manager," Piddie goes on, +"hinting that the G. L. T. dividend might be passed, and doesn't the boy +have access to the private letter book?"</p> + +<p>"Carried it from my desk to the safe, that's all," says I.</p> + +<p>"Still," insists Piddie, "that would give him time enough to look."</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure!" says I. "And since he's been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> here he's had a chance to +snitch, off a barrel full of securities, or drop bombs down the elevator +well; but somehow he hasn't."</p> + +<p>"Well, we might as well have him in," says Old Hickory, pushin' the +buzzer.</p> + +<p>Seemed kind of silly to me, givin' fair-haired Vincent the third degree +on sketchy hunch like that. Vincent! Why, he's been with the Corrugated +four or five years, ever since they took me off the gate. And when he +went on the job he was about the most innocent-eyed office boy, I +expect, that you could find along Broadway. Reg'lar mommer's boy. Was +just that, in fact. Used to tell me how worried his mother was for fear +he'd get to smokin' cigarettes, or shootin' craps, or indulgin' in other +big-town vices. Havin' seen mother, I could well believe it. Nice, +refined old girl, still wearin' a widow's bonnet. Shows up occasionally +on a half-holiday and lets Vincent take her to the Metropolitan Museum, +or to a concert.</p> + +<p>Course, Vincent hadn't stayed as green as when he first came. Couldn't. +For it's more or less of a liberal education, being on the gate in the +Corrugated General Offices, as I used to tell him. You simply gotta get +wise to things or you don't last. And Vincent has wised up. Oh, yes.</p> + +<p>Why, here only this last week, for instance, he makes a few plays that I +couldn't have done any better myself. One was when I turns over to him +the job of gettin' Pullman reservations<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> on the Florida Limited for +Freddie, the chump brother-in-law of Mr. Robert. Marjorie—that's the +sister—had complained how all she could get was uppers, although they'd +had an application in for six weeks. And as she and Freddie was taking +both youngsters and two maids along they were on the point of givin' up +the trip.</p> + +<p>"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "Freddie doesn't know how to do it, that's all. +We'll get your reservations for you."</p> + +<p>So he passes it on to me, and as I'm too busy just then to monkey with +Pullman agents I shoots it on to Vincent. And inside of an hour he's +back with a drawin' room and a section.</p> + +<p>"Have to buy somebody; eh, Vincent?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir," says he cheerful.</p> + +<p>"Just how did you work it?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Well," says Vincent, "there was the usual line, of course. And the +agent told three people ahead of me the same thing. 'Only uppers on the +Limited.' So when it came my turn I simply shoved a five through the +grill work and remarked casual: 'I believe you are holding a +drawing-room and a section for me, aren't you?' 'Why, yes,' says he. +'You're just in time, too.' And a couple of years ago he would have done +it for a dollar. Not now, though. It takes a five to pull a drawing-room +these days."</p> + +<p>"A swell bunch of grafters Uncle Sam turned<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> back when he let go of the +roads, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"It's the same in the freight department," says Vincent. "You know that +carload of mill machinery that had been missing for so long? Well, last +week Mr. Robert sent me to the terminal offices for a report on their +tracer. I told him to let me try a ten on some assistant general freight +agent. It worked. He went right out with a switch engine and cut that +car out of the middle of a half-mile long train on a siding, and before +midnight it was being loaded on the steamer."</p> + +<p>Also it was Vincent who did the rescue act when we was entertainin' that +bunch of government inspectors who come around once a year to see that +we ain't carryin' any wildcat stocks on our securities list, or haven't +scuttled our sinking fund, or anything like that. Course, our books are +always in such shape that they're welcome to paw 'em over all they like. +That's easy enough. But, still, there's no sense in lettin' 'em nose +around too free. Might dig up something they could ask awkward questions +about. So Old Hickory sees to it that them inspectors has a good time, +which means a suite of rooms at the Plutoria for a week, with dinners +and theatre parties every night. And now with this Volstead act being +pushed so hard it's kind of inconvenient gettin' a crowd of men into the +right frame of mind. Has to be done though, no matter what may have +happened to the constitution.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span></p> + +<p>But this time it seems someone tip at the Ellins home had forgot to +transfer part of the private cellar stock down to the hotel and when Old +Hickory calls up here we has to chase Vincent out there and have him +load two heavy suitcases into a taxi and see that the same are delivered +without being touched by any bellhops or porters. Knew what he was +carryin', Vincent did, and the chance he was taking; but he put over the +act off hand, as if he was cartin' in a case of malted milk to a +foundling hospital. They do say it was some party Old Hickory gave 'em.</p> + +<p>I expect if a lot of folks out in the church sociable belt knew of that +they'd put up a big howl. But what do they think? As I was tellin' +Vincent: "You can't run big business on grape juice." That is, not our +end of it. Oh, it's all right to keep the men in the plants down to one +and a half per cent stuff. Good for 'em. We got the statistics to prove +it. But when it comes to workin' up friendly relations with federal +agents you gotta uncork something with a kick to it. Uh-huh. What would +them Rubes have us do—say it with flowers? Or pass around silk socks, +or scented toilet soap?</p> + +<p>And Vincent, for all his innocent big eyes and parlor manners, has come +to know the Corrugated way of doing things. Like a book. Yet when he +walks in there on the carpet in front of Old Hickory and the +cross-questionin' starts he answers up as straight and free as if he +was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> being asked to name the subway stations between Wall Street and the +Grand Central. You wouldn't think he'd ever gypped anybody in all his +young career.</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, he'd known about the G. L. T. board meetin'. Surely. He'd been +sent up to Mr. Robert's club with the message for Oggie Kendall to come +down and do his director stunt. The private letter book? Yes, he +remembered putting that away in the safe. Had he taken a look at it? Why +should he? Vincent seems kind of hurt that anyone should suggest such a +thing. He stares at Old Hickory surprised and pained. Well, then, did he +happen to have any outside friends connected with the Curb; anybody that +he'd be apt to let slip little things about Corrugated affairs to?</p> + +<p>"I should hope, sir, that if I did have such friends I would know enough +to keep business secrets to myself," says Vincent, his lips quiverin' +indignant.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, to be sure," says Old Hickory, "but——"</p> + +<p>Honest, he was almost on the point of apologizin' to Vincent when there +comes this knock on the private office door and I'm signalled to see who +it is. I finds one of the youths from the filin' room who's subbin' in +on the gate for Vincent. He grins and whispers the message and I +tells-him to stay there a minute.</p> + +<p>"It's a lady to see you, Mr. Ellins," says I. "Mrs. Jerome St Claire."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span></p> + +<p>"Eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "Mrs. St. Claire? Who the syncopated Sissyphus +is she?"</p> + +<p>"Vincent's mother, sir," says I.</p> + +<p>This time he lets out a snort like a freight startin' up a grade. "Well, +what does she want with——?" Here he breaks off and fixes them chilled +steel eyes of his on Vincent.</p> + +<p>No wonder. The pink flush has faded out of Vincent's fair young cheeks, +his big blue eyes are rolled anxious at the door, and he seems to be +tryin' to swallow something like a hard-boiled egg.</p> + +<p>"Your mother, eh?" says Old Hickory. "Perhaps we'd better have her in."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, sir! Please. I—I'd rather see her first," says Vincent choky.</p> + +<p>"Would you?" says Old Hickory. "Sorry, son, but as I understand it she +has called to see me. Torchy, show the lady in."</p> + +<p>I hated to do it, but there was no duckin'. Such a nice, modest little +old girl, too. She has the same innocent blue eyes as Vincent, traces of +the same pink flush in her cheeks, and her hair is frosted up genteel +and artistic.</p> + +<p>She don't make any false motions, either. After one glance around the +group she picks out Old Hickory, makes straight for him, and grabs one +of his big paws in both hands.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ellins, is it not?" says she. "Please forgive my coming in like +this, but I did want to tell you how grateful I am for all that you +have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> done for dear Vincent and me. It was so generous and kind of you?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es?" says Old Hickory, sort of draggy and encouragin'.</p> + +<p>"You see," she goes on, "I had been so worried over that dreadful +mortgage on our little home, and when Vincent came home last night with +that wonderful check and told me how you had helped him invest his +savings so wisely it seemed perfectly miraculous. Just think! Twelve +hundred dollars! Exactly what we needed to free our home from debt. I +know Vincent has told you how happy you have made us both, but I simply +could not resist adding my own poor words of gratitude."</p> + +<p>She sure was a weak describer. Poor words! If she hadn't said a whole +mouthful then my ears are no good. Less'n a minute and a half by the +clock she'd been in there, but she certainly had decanted the beans. She +had me tinted up like a display of Soviet neckwear, Piddie gawpin' at +her with his face ajar, and Vincent diggin' his toes into the rug. Lucky +she had her eyes fixed on Old Hickory, whose hand-hewn face reveals just +as much emotion as if he was bettin' the limit on a four-card flush.</p> + +<p>"It is always a great pleasure, madam, to be able to do things so +opportunely," says he; "and, I may add, unconsciously."</p> + +<p>"But you cannot know," she rushes on, "how proud you have made me of my +dear boy."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span> With that she turns to Vincent and kisses him impetuous. "He +does give promise of being a brilliant business man, doesn't he?" she +demands.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam," says Old Hickory, indulgin' in one of them grim smiles of +his, "I rather think he does."</p> + +<p>"Ah-h-h!" says she. Another quick hug for Vincent, a happy smile tossed +at Old Hickory, and she has tripped out.</p> + +<p>For a minute or so all you could hear in the private office was Piddie's +heart beatin' on his ribs, or maybe it was his knees knockin' together. +He hasn't the temperament to sit in on deep emotional scenes, Piddie. As +for Old Hickory, he clips the end off a six-inch brunette cigar, lights +up careful, and then turns slow to Vincent.</p> + +<p>"Well, young man," says he, "so you did know about that motion to pass +the dividend, after all, eh!"</p> + +<p>Vincent nods, his head still down.</p> + +<p>"Took a look at the letter book, did you!" asks Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>Another weak nod.</p> + +<p>"And 'phoned a code message to someone in Broad Street, I suppose?" +suggests Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," says Vincent. "He—he was waiting in the Arcade. I slipped +out and handed him a copy of the motion—as carried. But not until after +the full board had reversed it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" says Old Hickory. "Gave your friend the double cross, as I believe +you would state it?"</p> + +<p>"He wasn't a friend," protests Vincent. "It was Izzy Goldheimer, who +used to work in the bond room before I came. He's with a Curb firm now +and has been trying for months to work me for tips on Corrugated +holdings. Promised me a percentage. But he was a welcher, and I knew it. +So when I did give him a tip it—it was that kind."</p> + +<p>"Hm-m-m!" says Old Hickory, wrinklin' his bushy eyebrows. "Still, I fail +to see just where you would have time to take advantage of such +conditions."</p> + +<p>"I had put up my margins on G. L. T. the day before," explains Vincent. +"Taking the short end, sir. If the dividend had gone through at first I +would have 'phoned in to change my trade to a buying order before Izzy +could get down with the news. As it didn't, I let it stand. Of course, I +knew the market would break next morning and I closed out the deal for a +15-point gain."</p> + +<p>"Fairly clever manipulation," comments Old Hickory. "Then you cleared +about——"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen hundred," says Vincent. "I could have made more by pyramiding, +but I thought it best to pull out while I was sure."</p> + +<p>"What every plunger knows—but forgets," says Old Hickory. "And you +still have a capital of three hundred for future operations, eh?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm through, sir," says Vincent. '"I—I don't like lying to mother. +Besides after next Monday I don't think Izzy will bother me for any more +tips. I—I suppose I'm fired, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Old Hickory, scowlin' at him fierce. "Fired? No. Boys who +have a dislike for lying to mother are too scarce. Besides, anyone who +can beat a curb broker at his own game ought to be valuable to the +Corrugated some day. Mr. Piddie, see that this young man is promoted as +soon as there's an opening. And—er—I believe that is all, gentlemen."</p> + +<p>As me and Piddie trickle out into the general offices Piddie whispers +awed: "Wonderful man, Mr. Ellins! Wonderful!"</p> + +<p>"How clever of you to find it out, Piddie," says I. "Did you get the +hunch from Vincent's mother?"</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_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2><h3>THE MANTLE OF SANDY THE GREAT</h3> +</div> + +<p>"Vincent," says I, as I blows in through the brass gate from lunch, +"who's the poddy old party you got parked on the bench out in the +anteroom?"</p> + +<p>"He's waiting to see Mr. Ellins," says Vincent. "This is his third try. +Looks to me like some up-state stockholder who wants to know when +Corrugated common will strike 110."</p> + +<p>"Well, that wouldn't be my guess exactly," says I. "What's the name?"</p> + +<p>"Dowd," says Vincent, reachin' for a card. "Matthew K"</p> + +<p>"Eh," says I. "Mesaba Matt. Dowd? Say, son, your guesser is way out of +gear. You ought to get better posted on the Order of Who-Who's."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," says Vincent, pinkin' up in the ears. "Is—is he somebody +in particular?"</p> + +<p>"Only one of the biggest iron ore men in the game," says I. "That is, he +was until he unloaded that Pittsburgh syndicate a few years ago. Also he +must be a special crony of Old Hickory's. Anyway, he was playin' around +with him down South last month. And here we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> let him warm a seat out in +the book-agent pen! Social error, Vincent."</p> + +<p>"Stupid of me," admits Vincent. "I will—"</p> + +<p>"Better let me soothe him down now," says I. "Then I'll get Old Hickory +on the 'phone and tell him who's here."</p> + +<p>I will say that I did it in my best private sec. style, too, urgin' him +into the private office while I explains how the boy on the gate +couldn't have read the name right and assurin' him I'd get word to Mr. +Ellins at once.</p> + +<p>"He's only having a conference with his attorneys," says I. "I think +he'll be up very, soon. Just a moment while I get him on the wire, Mr. +Dowd."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, young man," says Matthew K. "I—I rather would like to see +Ellins today, if I could."</p> + +<p>"Why, sure!" says I, easin' him into Old Hickory's swing chair.</p> + +<p>But somehow when I'd slipped out to the 'phone booth and got in touch +with the boss he don't seem so anxious to rush up and meet his old side +kick. No. He's more or less calm about it.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he. "Dowd? Oh, yes! Well, you just tell him, Torchy, that I'm +tied up here and can't say when I'll be through. He'd better not wait."</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but he's been here twice before. Seems +to have something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> on his mind that—well, might be important, you +know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it might be," says Old Hickory, and I couldn't tell whether he +threw in a snort or a chuckle right there. "And since you think it is, +Torchy, perhaps you'd better get him to sketch it out to you."</p> + +<p>"All right," says I. "That is, if he'll loosen up."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I rather think he will," says Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>It was a good guess. For when I tells Dowd how sorry Mr. Ellins is that +he can't come just then, and suggests that I've got power of attorney to +take care of anything confidential he might spill into my nigh ear, he +opens right up.</p> + +<p>Course, what I'm lookin' for is some big business stuff; maybe a +straight tip on how this new shift in Europe is going to affect foreign +exchange, or a hunch as to what the administration means to put over in +regard to the railroad muddle. He's a solemn-faced, owl-eyed old party, +this Mesaba Matt. Looks like he was thinkin' wise and deep about weighty +matters. Yon know. One of these slow-movin', heavy-lidded, +double-chinned old pelicans who never mention any sum less than seven +figures. So I'm putting up a serious secretarial front myself when he +starts clearin' his throat.</p> + +<p>"Young man," says he, "I suppose you know something about golf!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "Golf? Oh, yes. That is.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> I've seen it played some. I was +on a trip with Mr. Ellins down at Pinehurst, five or six years back, +when he broke into the game, and I read Grant Rice's dope on it more or +less reg'lar."</p> + +<p>"But you haven't played golf yourself, have you?" he goes on.</p> + +<p>"No," says I, "I've never indulged in the Scottish rite to any extent. +Just a few swipes with a club."</p> + +<p>"Then I'm afraid," he begins, "that you will hardly——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm a great little understander," says I, "unless you mean to go +into the fine points, or ask me to settle which is the best course. I've +heard some of them golf addicts talk about Shawnee or Apawamis or +Ekwanok like—well, like Billy Sunday would talk about heaven. But I've +stretched a willing ear for Mr. Ellins often enough so I can——"</p> + +<p>"I see," breaks in Dowd. "Possibly you will do. At any rate, I must tell +this to someone."</p> + +<p>"I know," says I. "I've seen 'em like that. Shoot."</p> + +<p>"As you are probably aware," says he, "Ellins was in Florida with me +last month. In fact, we played the same course together, day in and day +out, for four weeks. He was my partner in our foursome. Rather a helpful +partner at times, I must admit, although he hasn't been at the game long +enough to be a really experienced golfer. Fairly long off the tee, but +erratic with the brassie, and not all dependable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> when it came to short +iron work. However, as a rule we held them. Our opponents, I mean."</p> + +<p>I nods like I'd taken it all in.</p> + +<p>"A quartette of bogey hounds, I expect," says I.</p> + +<p>Dowd shakes his head modest. No, he confesses that wasn't an exact +description of their ratin'. "We usually qualified, when we got in at +all," says he, "in the fourth flight for the Seniors' tournament. But as +a rule we did not attempt the general competitions. We stuck to our +daily foursome. Staples and Rutter were the other two. Rutter's in +steel, you know; Staples in copper. Seasoned golfers, both of them. +Especially Rutter. Claims to have turned in a card of 89 once at Short +Hills. That was years ago, of course, but he has never forgotten it. +Rather an irritating opponent, Rutter. Patronizing. Fond of telling you +what you did when you've dubbed a shot. And if he happens to win—" Dowd +shrugs his shoulders expressive.</p> + +<p>"Chesty, eh?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Extremely so," says Dowd. "Even though his own medal score wasn't +better than 115. Mine was a little worse, particularly when I chanced to +be off my drive. Yes, might as well be honest. I was the lame duck of +the foursome. They usually gave my ball about four strokes. Thought they +could do it, anyway. And I accepted."</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I, grinnin' intelligent—I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> hope. I sure was gettin' an +earful of this golf stuff, but I was still awake.</p> + +<p>Dowd goes on to tell how reg'lar the old foursome got under way every +afternoon at 2:30. That is, every day but Sunday.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says I. "Church?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Dowd. "Sandy the Great."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"Meaning," says Dowd, "Alexander McQuade, to my mind the best all around +golf professional who ever came out of Scotland. He was at our +Agapoosett course in summer, you know, and down there in the winter. And +Sunday afternoons he always played an exhibition match with visiting +pro's, or some of the crack amateurs. I never missed joining the gallery +for those matches. I was following the day he broke the course record +with a 69. Just one perfect shot after another. It was an inspiration. +Always was to watch Sandy the Great play. Such a genial, democratic +fellow, too. Why, he has actually talked to me on the tee just before +taking his stand for one of those 275-yard drives of his. 'Watch this +one, me laddie buck,' he'd say, or 'Weel, mon, stand a bit back while I +gie th' gutty a fair cr-r-rack.' He was always like that with me. Do you +wonder that I bought all my clubs of him, had a collection of his best +scores, and kept a large 'photo of him in my room? I've never been much +of a hero worshiper, but when it came to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> Sandy the Great—well, that +was different. You've heard of him, of course?"</p> + +<p>"I expect I have," says I, "but just how does he fit into this—"</p> + +<p>"I am coming to that," says Dowd. "It was a remarkable experience. +Weird, you might say. You see, it was the last day of our stay in +Florida; our last foursome of the season. We had been losing steadily +for several days, Ellins and I. Not that the stakes were high. Trivial. +Dollar Nassau, with side bets. I'd been off my drive again and Ellins +had been putting atrociously. Anyway, we had settled regularly.</p> + +<p>"And Rutter had been particularly obnoxious in his manner. Offered to +increase my handicap to five bisque, advised me to get my wrists into +the stroke and keep my body out. That sort of thing. And from a man who +lunges at every shot and makes a 75-yard approach with a brassie—Well, +it was nothing short of maddening. I kept my temper, though. Can't say +that my friend Ellins did. He had sliced into a trap on his drive, while +I had topped mine short. We started the first hole with our heads down. +Rutter and Staples were a trifle ostentatious with their cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>"I will admit that I played the first four holes very badly. A ten on +the long third. Wretched golf, even for a duffer. Ellins managed to hold +low ball on the short fourth, but we were seven points down. I could +have bitten a piece out of my niblick. Perhaps you don't know, young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> +man, but there is no deeper humiliation than that which comes to a dub +golfer who is playing his worst. I was in the depths.</p> + +<p>"At the fifth tee I was last up. I'd begun waggling as usual, body +swaying, shoulders rigid, muscles tense, dreading to swing and wondering +whether the result would be a schlaff or a top, when—well, I simply +cannot describe the sensation. Something came over me; I don't know +what. As if someone had waved a magic wand above my head. I stopped +swaying, relaxed, felt the weight of the club head in my fingers, knew +the rhythm of the swing, heard the sharp crack as the ivory facing met +the ball. If you'll believe it, I put out such a drive as I'd never +before made in all my 12 years of golf. Straight and clean and true past +the direction flag and on and on.</p> + +<p>"The others didn't seem to notice. Rutter had hooked into the scrub +palmettos, Staples had sliced into a pit, Ellins had topped short +somewhere in the rough. I waited until they were all out on the fairway. +Some had played three, some four shots. 'How many do you lie?' asked +Rutter. I told him that was my drive. He just stared skeptical. I could +scarcely blame him. As a rule I need a fair drive and two screaming +brassies on this long fifth before I am in position to approach across +the ravine. But this time, with a carry of some 160 yards ahead of me, I +picked my mid-iron from the bag, took a three-quarter swing, bit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> a +small divot from the turf as I went through, and landed the ball fairly +on the green with a back-spin that held it as though I'd had a string +tied to it. And when the others had climbed out of the ravine or +otherwise reached the green I putted in my four. A par four, mind you, +on a 420-yard hole that I'd never had better than a lucky 5 on, and +usually a 7 or an 8!</p> + +<p>"Rutter asked me to count my strokes for him and then had the insolence +to ask how I got that way. I couldn't tell him. I did feel queer. As if +I was in some sort of trance. But my next drive was even better. A +screamer with a slight hook on the end that gave the ball an added roll. +For my second I played a jigger to the green. Another par four. Rutter +hadn't a word to say.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's the way it went. Never had any one in our foursome played +such golf as I did for nine consecutive holes. Nothing over 5 and one +birdie 3. I think that Staples and Rutter were too stunned to make any +comment. As for Ellins, he failed to appreciate what I was doing. +Somewhat self-centered, Ellins. He's always counting his own score and +seldom notices what others are making.</p> + +<p>"Not until we had finished the 12th, which I won with an easy 3, did +Staples, who was keeping score, seem to realize what had happened. +'Hello!' he calls to Rutter. 'They've got us beaten.' 'No,' says Rutter. +'Can't be possible!' 'But we are,'insists Staples. 'Thirteen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> points +down and twelve to go. It's all over. Dowd, here, is playing like a +crazy man.'</p> + +<p>"And then the spell, or whatever it was, broke. I flubbed my drive, +smothered my brassie shot, and heeled my third into the woods. I +finished the round in my usual style, mostly sevens and eights. But +there was the score to prove that for nine straight holes I had played +par golf; professional golf, if you please. Do you think either Rutter +or Staples gave me credit for that? No. They paid up and walked off to +the shower baths.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't account for my performance. It was little short of a +miracle. Actually it was so unusual that I hardly felt like talking +about it. I know that may sound improbable to a golfer, but it is a +fact. Except that I did want to tell Alexander McQuade. But I couldn't +find him. They said at the shop he was laid up with a cold and hadn't +been around for several days. So I took the train north that night +without having said a word to a soul about those wonderful nine holes. +But I've thought a lot about 'em since. I've tried to figure out just +what happened to me that I could make such a record. No use. It was all +beginning to be as unreal as if it was something I had dreamed of doing.</p> + +<p>"And then yesterday, while reading a recent golf magazine, I ran across +this item of news which gave me such a shock. It told of the sudden +death from pneumonia of Alexander McQuade.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> At first I was simply +grieved over this loss to myself and to the golfing profession in +general. Then I noticed the date. McQuade died the very morning of the +day of our last match. Do you see?"</p> + +<p>I shook my head. All I could see was a moonfaced, owl-eyed old party who +was starin' at me with an eager, batty look. "No," says I. "I don't get +the connection. McQuade had checked out and you won your foursome."</p> + +<p>"Precisely," says Dowd. "The mantle of Elijah."</p> + +<p>"Who?" says I.</p> + +<p>"To make it plainer," says Dowd, "the mantle of Sandy the Great. It fell +on my shoulders."</p> + +<p>"That may be clear enough to you, Mr. Dowd," says I, "but I'll have to +pass it up."</p> + +<p>He sighs disappointed. "I wish Ellins would have the patience to let me +tell him about it myself," says he. "He'll not, though, so I must make +you understand in order that you may give him the facts. I want him to +know. Of course, I can't pretend to explain the thing. It was psychic, +that's all; supernatural, if you please. Must have been. For there I +was, a confirmed duffer, playing that course exactly as Alexander +McQuade would have played it had he been in my shoes. And he was, for +the time being. At least, I claim that I was being controlled, or +whatever you want to call it, by the recently departed spirit of Sandy +the Great."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span></p> + +<p>I expect I was gawpin' at him with a full open-face expression. Say, I +thought I'd heard these golf nuts ravin' before, but I'd never been up +against anything quite like this. Honest, it gave me a creepy feelin' +along the spine. And yet, come to look him over close, he's just a +wide-beamed old party with bags under his eyes and heavy common-place +features.</p> + +<p>"You grasp the idea now, don't you?" he asks.</p> + +<p>"I think so," says I. "Ghost stuff, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I'm merely suggesting that as the only explanation which occurs to me," +says he. "I would like to have it put before Ellins and get his opinion. +That is, if you think you can make it clear."</p> + +<p>"I'll make a stab at it, Mr. Dowd," says I.</p> + +<p>And of course I did, though Old Hickory aint such an easy listener. He +comes in with snorts and grunts all through the tale, and when I +finishes he simply shrugs his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"There's a warning for you, young man," says he. "Keep away from the +fool game. Anyway, if you ever do play, don't let it get to be a disease +with you. Look at Dowd. Five years ago he was a sane, normal person; the +best iron ore expert in the country. He could sniff a handful of red +earth and tell you how much it would run to a ton within a dime's worth. +Knew the game from A to Izzard—deep mining, open pit, low grade +washing, transportation, smelting. He lived with it. Never happier than +when he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span> was in his mining rig following a chief engineer through new +cross-cuts on the twenty-sixth level trying to locate a fault in the +deposit or testing some modern method of hoisting. Those were things he +understood. Then he retired. Said he'd made money enough. And now look +at him. Getting cracked over a sport that must have been invented by +some Scotchman who had a grudge against the whole human race. As though +any game could be a substitute for business. Bah!"</p> + +<p>"Then you don't think, Mr. Ellins," says I, "that we ought to have the +boy page Sir Oliver Lodge?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he.</p> + +<p>"I mean," says I, "that you don't take any stock in that mantle of Sandy +the Great yarn?"</p> + +<p>"Tommyrot!" says he. "For once in his life the old fool played his head +off, that's all. Nine holes in par. Huh! I'm liable to do that myself +one of these days, and without the aid of any departed spirits. Yes, +sir. The fact is, Torchy, I am practicing a new swing that ought to have +me playing in the low 90's before the middle of the next season. You +see, it all depends on taking an open stance and keeping a stiff right +knee. Here' pass me that umbrella and I'll show you."</p> + +<p>And for the next ten minutes he kept a bank president, two directors and +a general manager waiting while he swats a ball of paper around the +private office with me for an audience.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> Uh-huh. And being a high ace +private sec. I aint even supposed to grin. Say, why don't some genius +get up an anti-golf serum so that when one of these old plutes found +himself slippin' he could rush to a clinic and get a shot in the arm?</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_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2><h3>TORCHY SHUNTS A WIZARD</h3> +</div> + +<p>I'd hardly noticed when Mr. Robert blew in late from lunch until I hears +him chuckle. Then I glances over my shoulder and sees that he's lookin' +my way. Course, that gets me curious, for Mr. Robert ain't the kind of +boss that goes around chucklin' casual, 'specially at a busy private +sec.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir?" says I, shoving back a tray full of correspondence I'm +sortin'.</p> + +<p>"I heard something rather good, at luncheon, Torchy," says he.</p> + +<p>"On red hair, I expect," says I.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't quite so personal as that," says he. "Still, I think you'll +be interested."</p> + +<p>"It's part of my job to look so, anyway," says I, givin' him the grin.</p> + +<p>"And another item on which you specialize, I believe," he goes on, "is +the detection of book agents. At least, you used to do so when you were +head office boy. Held a record, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says I tryin' to register modesty. "One got past the +gate; one in five years. That was durin' my first month."</p> + +<p>"Almost an unblemished career," says Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span> Robert. "What about your +successor, Vincent?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's doing fairly well," says I. "Gets stung now and then. Like +last week when that flossy blonde with the Southern accent had him +buffaloed with a tale about having met dear Mr. Ellins at French Lick +and wantin' to show him something she knew he'd be just crazy about. She +did, too. 'Lordly Homes of England,' four volumes, full morocco, at +fifty a volume. And I must say she was nearly right. He wasn't far from +being crazy for the next hour or so. Vincent got it, and then I got it, +although I was downtown at the time it happened. But I'm coachin' +Vincent, and I don't think another one of 'em will get by very soon."</p> + +<p>"You don't eh?" says Mr. Robert, indulgin' in another chuckle.</p> + +<p>Then he spills what he overheard at lunch. Seems he was out with a +friend who took him to the Papyrus Club, which is where a lot of these +young hicks from the different book publishin' houses get together +noon-times; not Mr. Harper, or Mr. Scribner, or Mr. Dutton, but the +heads of departments, assistant editors, floor salesmen and so on.</p> + +<p>And at the next table to Mr. Robert the guest of honor was a loud +talkin' young gent who'd just come in from a tour of the Middle West +with a bunch of orders big enough, if you let him tell it, to keep his +firm's presses on night shifts for a year. He was some hero, I take it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> +and for the benefit of the rest of the bunch he was sketchin' out his +methods.</p> + +<p>"As I understood the young man," says Mr. Robert, "his plan was to go +after the big ones; the difficult proposition, men of wealth and +prominence whom other agents had either failed to reach or had not dared +to approach. 'The bigger the better,' was his motto, and he referred to +himself, I think, as 'the wizard of the dotted line.'"</p> + +<p>"Not what you'd exactly call a shrinkin' violet, eh?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"Rather a shrieking sunflower," says Mr. Robert. "And he concluded by +announcing that nothing would suit him better than to be told the name +of the most difficult subject in the metropolitan district—'the hardest +nut' was his phrase, I believe. He guaranteed to land the said person +within a week. In fact, he was willing to bet $100 that he could."</p> + +<p>"Huh," says I.</p> + +<p>"Precisely the remark of one of his hearers," says Mr. Robert. "The +wager was promptly made. And who do you suppose, Torchy, was named as +the most aloof and difficult man in New York for a book agent to—"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ellins," says I.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert nods. "My respected governor, none other," says he. "I fancy +he would be rather amused to know that he had achieved such a +reputation, although he would undoubtedly give you most of the credit."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span></p> + +<p>"Or the blame," says I.</p> + +<p>"Yes," admits Mr. Robert, "if he happened to be in the blaming mood. +Anyway, young man, there you have a direct challenge. Within the next +week the inner sanctum of the Corrugated Trust is to be assailed by one +who claims that he can penetrate the impenetrable, know the unknowable, +and unscrew the inscrutable."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's cute of him," says I. "I'm bettin', though, he never gets +to his man."</p> + +<p>"That's the spirit!" says Mr. Robert. "As the French said at Verdun, +'Ils ne passeront pas.' Eh?"</p> + +<p>"Meaning 'No Gangway', I expect!" says I.</p> + +<p>"That's the idea," says he.</p> + +<p>"But say, Mr. Robert, what's he look like, this king of the dotted +line!" says I.</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert shakes his head. "I was sitting back to him," says he. +"Besides, to give you his description would be taking rather an unfair +advantage. That would tend to spoil what now stands as quite a neat +sporting proposition. Of course, if you insist—"</p> + +<p>"No," says I. "He don't know me and I don't know him. It's fifty-fifty. +Let him come."</p> + +<p>I never have asked any odds of book agents, so why begin now? But, you +can bet I didn't lose any time havin' a heart to heart talk with +Vincent.</p> + +<p>"Listen, son," says I, "from this on you want to watch this gate like +you was a terrier<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> standin' over a rat hole. It's up to you to see that +no stranger gets through, no matter who he says he is; and that goes for +anybody, from first cousins of the boss to the Angel Gabriel himself. +Also, it includes stray window cleaners, buildin' inspectors and parties +who come to test the burglar alarm system. They might be in disguise. If +their faces ain't as familiar to you as the back of your hand give 'em +the sudden snub and tell 'em 'Boom boom, outside!' In case of doubt keep +'em there until you can send for me. Do you get it?"</p> + +<p>Vincent says he does. "I shouldn't care to let in another book agent," +says he.</p> + +<p>"You might just as well resign your portfolio if you do," says I. +"Remember the callin' down, you got from Old Hickory last week."</p> + +<p>Vincent shudders. "I'll do my best, sir," says he.</p> + +<p>And he's a thorough goin', conscientious youth. Within the next few +hours I had to rescue one of our directors, our first assistant Western +manager, and a personal friend of Mr. Robert's, all of whom Vincent had +parked on the bench in the anteroom and was eyein' cold, and suspicious. +He even holds up the Greek who came luggin' in the fresh towels, and +Tony the spring water boy.</p> + +<p>"I feel like old Horatius," says Vincent.</p> + +<p>"Never met him," says I, "but whoever he was I'll bet you got him +lookin' like one of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> seven sleepers. That's the stuff, though. Keep +it up."</p> + +<p>I expect I was some wakeful myself, too. I worked with my eyes ready to +roll over my shoulder and my right ear stretched. I was playin' the part +of right worthy inside guard, and nobody came within ten feet of the +private office door but what I'd sized 'em up before they could reach +the knob. Still, two whole days passed without any attack on the first +line trenches. The third day Vincent and I had a little skirmish with a +mild-eyed young gent who claimed he wanted to see Mr. Ellins urgent, but +he turns out to be only a law clerk from the office of our general +solicitors bringin' up some private papers to be signed.</p> + +<p>Then here Friday—and it was Friday the 13th, too—Vincent comes +sleuthin' in to my desk and shows me a card.</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "who does this H. Munson Schott party say he is?"</p> + +<p>"That's just it," says Vincent. "He doesn't say. But he has a letter of +introduction to Mr. Ellins from the Belgian Consul General. Rather an +important looking person, too."</p> + +<p>"H-m-m-m!" says I, runnin' my fingers through my red hair thoughtful.</p> + +<p>You see, we'd been figurin' on some big reconstruction contracts with +the Belgian government, and while I hadn't heard how far the deal had +gone, there was a chance that this might be an agent from the royal +commission.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span></p> + +<p>"If it is," says I, "we can't afford to treat him rough. Let's see, the +Hon. Matt. Dowd, the golf addict, is still in the private office givin' +Old Hickory another earful about the Scotch plague, ain't he?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," says Vincent. "Mr. Ellins asked him to wait half an hour or +so. He's in the director's room."</p> + +<p>"Maybe I'd better take a look at your Mr. Schott first then," says I.</p> + +<p>But after I'd gone out and given him the north and south careful I was +right where I started. I didn't quite agree with Vincent that he looked +important, but he acted it. He's pacin' up and down outside the brass +rail kind of impatient, and as I appears he's just consultin' his watch. +A nifty tailored young gent with slick putty-colored hair and +Maeterlinck blue eyes. Nothing suspicious in the way of packages about +him. Not even a pigskin document case or an overcoat with bulgy pockets. +He's grippin' a French line steamship pamphlet in one hand, a letter in +the other, and from the crook of his right elbow hangs a heavy +silver-mounted walkin' stick. Also he's wearin' gray spats. Nothing book +agenty about any of them signs.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Schott?" says I, springin' my official smile. "To see Mr. Ellins, I +understand. I'm his private secretary. Could I—"</p> + +<p>"I wish to see Mr. Ellins personally,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> breaks in Mr. Schott, wavin' me +off with a yellow-gloved hand.</p> + +<p>"Of course," says I. "One moment, please. I'll find out if he's in. And +if you have any letters, or anything like that—"</p> + +<p>"I prefer to present my credentials in person," says he.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," says I. "Rules of the office. Saves time, you know. If you +don't mind—" and I holds out my hand for the letter.</p> + +<p>He gives it up reluctant and I backs out. Another minute and I've shoved +in where Old Hickory is chewin' a cigar butt savage while he pencils a +joker clause into a million-dollar contract.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, sir," says I, "but you were expectin' a party from the +Belgian Commission, were you?"</p> + +<p>"No," snaps Old Hickory. "Nor from the Persian Shah, or the Sultan of +Sulu, or the Ahkoond of Swat. All I'm expecting, young man, is a half +hour of comparative peace, and I don't get it. There's Matt. Dowd in the +next room waiting like the Ancient Mariner to grip me by the sleeve and +pour out a long tale about what he calls his discovery of psychic golf. +Say, son, couldn't you——"</p> + +<p>"I've heard it, you know, sir," says I.</p> + +<p>Old Hickory groans. "That's so," says he. "Well then, why don't you find +me a substitute? Suffering Cicero, has that inventive brain of yours +gone into a coma!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not quite, sir," says I. "You don't happen to know a Mr. Schott, do +you?"</p> + +<p>"Gr-r-r!" says Old Hickory, as gentle as a grizzly with a sore ear. "Get +out!"</p> + +<p>I took the hint and trickled through the door. I was just framin' up +something polite to feed Mr. Schott when it strikes me I might take a +peek at this little note from the Belgian consul. It wasn't much, merely +suggests that he hopes Mr. Ellins will be interested in what Mr. Schott +has to say. There's the consul general's signature at the bottom, too. +Yes. And I was foldin' it up to tuck it back into the envelope +when—well, that's what comes of my early trainin' on the Sunday edition +when the proof readers used to work me in now and then to hold copy. +It's a funny thing, but I notice that the Consul General doesn't spell +his name when he writes it the way he has it printed at the top of his +letterhead.</p> + +<p>"Might be a slip by the fool engraver," thinks I. "I'll look it up in +the directory."</p> + +<p>And the directory agreed with the letterhead.</p> + +<p>"Oh, ho!" says I. "Pullin' the old stuff, eh? Easy enough to drop into +the Consul's office and dash off a note to anybody. Say, lemme at this +Schott person."</p> + +<p>No, I didn't call in Pat, the porter, and have him give Mr. Schott a +flyin' start down the stairs. No finesse about that. Besides, I needed a +party about his size just then. I steps back into the directors' room +and rouses Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> Dowd from his trance by tappin' him on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you'd be willin', Mr. Dowd," says I, "to sketch out some of that +psychic golf experience of yours to a young gent who claims to be +something of a wizard himself."</p> + +<p>Would he? Say, I had to push him back in the chair to keep him from +followin' me right out.</p> + +<p>"Just a minute," says I, "and I'll bring him in. There's only one thing. +He's quite a talker himself. Might want to unload a line of his own +first, but after that—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," says Dowd. "I shall be delighted to meet him."</p> + +<p>"It's goin' to be mutual," says I.</p> + +<p>Why, I kind of enjoyed my little part, which consists in hurryin' out to +the gate with my right forefinger up and a confidential smirk wreathin' +my more or less classic features.</p> + +<p>"Right this way, Mr. Schott," says I.</p> + +<p>He shrugs his shoulders, shoots over a glance of scornful contempt, like +a room clerk in a tourist hotel would give to a guest who's payin' only +$20 or $30 a day, and shoves past Vincent with his chin up. Judgin' by +the name and complexion and all there must have been a lot of noble +Prussian blood in this Schott person, for the Clown Prince himself +couldn't have done the triumphal entry any better. And I expect I put +considerable flourish into the business when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> I announces him to Dowd, +omittin' careful to call the Hon. Matt, by name.</p> + +<p>Schott aint wastin' any precious minutes. Before Dowd can say a word +he's started in on his spiel. As I'm makin' a slow exit I manages to get +the openin' lines. They was good, too.</p> + +<p>"As you may know," begins Schott, "I represent the International +Historical Committee. Owing to the recent death of prominent members we +have decided to fill those vacancies by appointment and your name has +been mentioned as——"</p> + +<p>Well, you know how it goes. Only this was smooth stuff. It was a shame +to have it all spilled for the benefit of Matthew Dowd, who can only +think of one thing these days—250-yard tee shots and marvelous mid-iron +pokes that always sail toward the pin. Besides, I kind of wanted to see +how a super-book agent would work.</p> + +<p>Openin' the private office door easy I finds Old Hickory has settled +back in his swing chair and is lightin' a fresh Fumadora satisfied. So I +slips in, salutes respectful and jerks my thumb toward the directors' +room.</p> + +<p>"I've put a sub. on the job, sir," says I.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he. "Oh, yes. Who did you find?"</p> + +<p>"A suspicious young stranger," says I. "I sicced him and Mr. Dowd on +each other. They're at it now. It's likely to be entertainin'."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span></p> + +<p>Old Hickory nods approvin' and a humorous flicker flashes under them +bushy eyebrows of his. "Let's hear how they're getting along," says he.</p> + +<p>So I steps over sleuthy and swings the connectin' door half way open, +which not only gives us a good view but brings within hearin' range this +throaty conversation which Mr. Schott is unreelin' at high speed.</p> + +<p>"You see, sir," he's sayin', "this monumental work covers all the great +crises of history, from the tragedy on Calvary to the signing of the +peace treaty at Versailles. Each epoch is handled by an acknowledged +master of that period, as you may see by this table of contents."</p> + +<p>Here Mr. Schott produces from somewhere inside his coat a half pound or +so of printed pages and shoves them on Dowd.</p> + +<p>"The illustrations," he goes on, "are all reproduced in colors by our +new process, and are copies of famous paintings by the world's greatest +artists. There are to be more than three hundred, but I have here a few +prints of these priceless works of art which will give you an idea."</p> + +<p>At that he reaches into the port side of his coat, unbuttons the lining, +and hauls out another sheaf of leaves.</p> + +<p>"Then we are able to offer you," says Schott, "a choice of bindings +which includes samples of work from the most skilful artisans in that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> +line. At tremendous expense we have reproduced twelve celebrated +bindings. I have them here."</p> + +<p>And blamed if he don't unscrew the thick walkin' stick and pull out a +dozen imitation leather bindings which he piles on Mr. Dowd's knee.</p> + +<p>"Here we have," says he, "the famous Broissard binding, made for the +library of Louis XIV. Note the fleur de lis and the bee, and the +exquisite hand-tooling on the doublures. Here is one that was done by +the Rivieres of London for the collection of the late Czar Nicholas, and +so on. There are to be thirty-six volumes in all and to new members of +the Historical Committee we are offering these at practically the cost +of production, which is $28 the volume. In return for this sacrifice all +we ask of you, my dear sir, is that we may use your indorsement in our +advertising matter, which will soon appear in all the leading daily +papers of this country. We ask you to pay no money down. All you need to +do, sir, to become a member of the International Historical Committee +and receive this magnificent addition to your library, is to sign your +name here and——"</p> + +<p>"Is—is that all?" breaks in Dowd, openin' his mouth for the first time.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely," says Schott, unlimberin' his ready fountain pen.</p> + +<p>"Then perhaps you would be interested to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> hear of a little experience of +mine," says Dowd, "on the golf course."</p> + +<p>"Charmed," says Schott.</p> + +<p>He didn't know what was comin'. As a book agent he had quite a flow of +language, but I doubt if he ever ran up against a real golf nut before. +Inside of half a minute Dowd was off in high gear, tellin' him about +that wonderful game he played with Old Hickory when he was under the +control of the spirit of the great Sandy McQuade. At first Schott looks +kind of dazed, like a kid who's been foolin' with a fire hydrant wrench +and suddenly finds he's turned on the high pressure and can't turn it +off. Three or four times he makes a stab at breakin' in and urgin' the +fountain pen on Dowd, but he don't have any success. Dowd is in full +swing, describin' his new theory of how all the great golfers who have +passed on come back and reincarnate themselves once more; sometimes +pickin' out a promisin' caddie, as in the case of Ouimet, or now and +again a hopeless duffer, same as he was himself. Schott can't get a word +in edgewise, and is squirmin' in his chair while Old Hickory leans back +and chuckles.</p> + +<p>Finally, after about half an hour of this, Schott gets desperate. "Yes, +sir," says he, shoutin' above Dowd's monologue, "but what about this +magnificent set of——"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" says Dowd. "Books! Never buy 'em."</p> + +<p>"But—but are you sure, sir," Schott goes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span> on, "that you understand what +an opportunity you are offered for——"</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't have the junk about the house," says Dowd. "But later on, +young man, if you are interested in the development of my psychic golf, +I shall be glad to tell you——"</p> + +<p>"Not if I see you first," growls Schott, gatherin' up his pile of +samples and backin out hasty.</p> + +<p>He's in such a hurry to get away that he bumps into Mr. Robert, who's +just strollin' toward the private office, and the famous bindings, art +masterpieces, contents pages and so on are scattered all over the floor.</p> + +<p>"Who was our young friend with all the literature?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"That's Mr. Schott," says I, "your wizard of the dotted line, who was +due to break in on Mr. Ellins and get him to sign up."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Old Hickory, starin'. "And you played him off against Matt. +Dowd? You impertinent young rascal! But I say, Robert, you should have +seen and heard 'em. It was rich. They nearly talked each other to a +standstill."</p> + +<p>"Then I gather, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, grinnin', "that the king of +book agents now sits on a tottering throne. In other words, the wizard +met a master mind, eh?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno," says I. "Guess I gave him the shunt, all right. Just by luck, +though. He had a clever act, I'll say, even if he didn't get it +across."</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_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2><h3>STANLEY TAKES THE JAZZ CURE</h3> +</div> + +<p>I remember how thrilled Vee gets when she first discovers that these new +people in Honeysuckle Lodge are old friends of hers. I expect some +poetical real estater wished that name on it. Anyway, it's the proper +thing out here in Harbor Hills to call your place after some sort of +shrubbery or tree. And maybe this little stone cottage effect with the +green tiled roof and the fieldstone gate posts did have some honeysuckle +growin' around somewhere. It's a nice enough shack, what there is of it, +though if I'd been layin' out the floor plan I'd have had less cut-under +front porch and more elbow room inside. However, as there are only two +of the Rawsons it looked like it would do. That is, it did at first.</p> + +<p>"Just think, Torchy," says Vee. "I haven't seen Marge since we were at +boarding school together. Why, I didn't even know she was married, +although I suppose she must be by this time."</p> + +<p>"Well, she seems to have found a male of the species without your help," +says I. "Looks like a perfectly good man, too."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm sure he must be," says Vee, "or Marge wouldn't have had him. In +fact, I know he is, for I used to hear more or less about Stanley +Rawson, even when we were juniors. I believe they were half engaged +then. Such a jolly, lively fellow, and so full of fun. Won't it be nice +having them so near?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I.</p> + +<p>Not that we've been lonesome since we moved out on our four-acre Long +Island estate, but I will say that young married couples of about our +own age haven't been so plenty. Not the real folksy kind. Course, there +are the Cecil Rands, but they don't do much but run a day and night +nursery for those twins of theirs. They're reg'lar Class A twins, too, +and I expect some day they'll be more or less interestin'; but after +they've been officially exhibited to you four or five times, and you've +heard all about the system they're being brought up on, and how many +ounces of Pasteurized cow extract they sop up a day, and at what +temperature they get it, and how often they take their naps and so +on—— Well, sometimes I'm thankful the Rands didn't have triplets. When +I've worked up enthusiasm for twins about four times, and remarked how +cunnin' of them to look so much alike, and confessed that I couldn't +tell which was Cecillia and which Cecil, Jr., I feel that I've sort of +exhausted the subject.</p> + +<p>So whenever Vee suggests that we really ought to go over and see the +Rands again I can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> generally think up an alibi. Honest, I aint jealous +of their twins. I'm glad they've got 'em. Considerin' Cecil, Sr., and +all I'll say it was real noble of 'em. But until I can think up +something new to shoot about twins I'm strong for keepin' away.</p> + +<p>Then there are Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Kipp, but they're ouija board addicts +and count it a dull evening when they can't gather a few serious +thinkers around the dinin' room table under a dim light and spell out a +message from Little Bright Wings, who checked out from croup at the age +of six and still wants her Uncle Jerry to know that she thinks of him +out there in the great beyond. I wouldn't mind hearin' from the spirit +land now and then if the folks there had anything worth sayin', but when +they confine their chat to fam'ly gossip it seems to me like a waste of +time. Besides, I always come home from the Kipps feelin' creepy down the +back.</p> + +<p>So you could hardly blame Vee for welcomin' some new arrivals in the +neighborhood, or for bein' so chummy right from the start. She asks the +Rawsons over for dinner, tips Mrs. Rawson off where she can get a +wash-lady who'll come in by the day and otherwise extends the glad hand.</p> + +<p>Seems to be a nice enough party, young Mrs. Rawson. Kind of easy to look +at and with an eye twinkle that suggests a disposition to cut up +occasionally. Stanley is a good runnin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> mate, so far as looks go. He +could almost pose for a collar ad, with that straight nose and clean cut +chin of his. But he's a bit stiff and stand-offish, at first.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he'll get over that," says Vee. "You see, he comes from some little +place down in Georgia where the social set is limited to three families +and he isn't quite sure whether we know who our grandfathers were."</p> + +<p>"It'll be all off then if he asks about mine," says I.</p> + +<p>But he don't. He wants to know what I think of the recent slump in July +cotton deliveries and if I believe the foreign credits situation looks +any better.</p> + +<p>"Why, I hadn't thought much about either," says I, "but I've had a good +hunch handed me that the Yanks are goin' to show strong for the pennant +this season."</p> + +<p>Stanley just stares at me and after that confines his remarks to statin' +that he don't care for mint sauce on roast lamb and that he never takes +coffee at night.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I to Vee afterward. "When does he spring that jolly stuff? +Or was that conundrum about July cotton a vaudeville gag that got past +me?"</p> + +<p>No, I hadn't missed any cues. Vee explains that young Mr. Rawson has +been sent up to New York as assistant manager of a Savannah firm of +cotton brokers and is taking his job serious.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span></p> + +<p>"That's good," says I, "but he don't need to lug it to the dinner table, +does he?"</p> + +<p>We gave the Rawsons a week to get settled before droppin' in on 'em for +an evenin' call, and I'd prepared for it by readin' up on the cotton +market. Lucky I did, too, for we discovers Stanley at his desk with a +green eye-shade draped over his classic brow and a lot of crop reports +spread out before him. Durin' the next hour, while the girls were +chattin' merry in the other corner of the livin' room, Stanley gave me +the straight dope on boll weevils, the labor conditions in Manchester, +and the poor prospects for long staple. I finished, as you might say, +with both ears full of cotton.</p> + +<p>"Stanley's going to be a great help—I don't think," says I to Vee. +"Why, he's got cotton on the brain."</p> + +<p>"Now let's not be critical, Torchy," says Vee. "Marge told me all about +it, how Stanley is a good deal worried over his business and so on. He's +really doing very well, you know, but he can't seem to leave his office +troubles behind, the way you do. He wants to make a big success, but +he's so afraid something will go wrong——"</p> + +<p>"There's no surer way of pullin' down trouble," says I. "Next thing he +knows he'll be tryin' to sell cotton in his sleep, and from that stage +to a nerve sanitarium is only a hop."</p> + +<p>Not that I tries to reform Stanley. Nay, nay, Natalia. I may go through +some foolish motions<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> now and then, but regulatin' the neighbors ain't +one of my secret vices. We allows the Rawsons to map out their own +program, which seems to consist in stickin' close to their own fireside, +with Marge on one side readin' letters about the gay doin's of her old +friends at home, and Stanley on the other workin' up furrows in his brow +over what might not happen to spot cotton day after tomorrow. They'd +passed up a chance to join the Country Club, had declined with thanks +when Vee asked 'em to go in on a series of dinner dances with some of +the young married set, and had even shied at taking an evening off for +one of Mrs. Robert Ellins' musical affairs.</p> + +<p>"Thanks awfully," says Stanley, "but I have no time for social +frivolities."</p> + +<p>"Gosh!" says I. "I hope you don't call two hours of Greig frivolous."</p> + +<p>That seems to be his idea, though. Anything that ain't connected with +quotations on carload lots or domestic demands for middlings he looks at +scornful. He tells me he's on the trail of a big foreign contract, but +is afraid its going to get away from him.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you'd linger on for a year or so if it did," I suggests.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," says he, "but I intend to let nothing distract me from my +work."</p> + +<p>And then here a few days later I runs across him making for the 5:03 +with two giggly young sub-debs in tow. After he's planted 'em in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> seat +and stowed their hand luggage and wraps on the rack I slips into the +vacant space with him behind the pair.</p> + +<p>"Where'd you collect the sweet young things, Stanley?" says I.</p> + +<p>He shakes his head and groans. "Think of it!" says he. "Marge's folks +had to chase off to Bermuda for the Easter holidays and so they wish +Polly, the kid sister, onto us for two whole weeks. Not only that, but +Polly has the nerve to bring along this Dot person, her roommate at +boarding school. What on earth we're ever going to do with them I'm sure +I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Is Polly the one with the pointed chin and the I-dare-you pout?" I +asks.</p> + +<p>"No, that's Dot," says he. "Polly's the one with the cheek dimples and +the disturbing eyes. She's a case, too."</p> + +<p>"They both look like they might be live wires," says I. "I see they've +brought their mandolins, also. And what's so precious in the bundle you +have on your knees?"</p> + +<p>"Jazz records," says Stanley. "I've a mind to shove them under the seat +and forget they're there."</p> + +<p>He don't though, for that's the only bundle Polly asks about when we +unload at our home station. I left Stanley negotiatin' with the +expressman to deliver two wardrobe trunks and went along chucklin' to +myself.</p> + +<p>"My guess is that Dot and Polly are in for kind of a pokey vacation," I +tells Vee. "Unless<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span> they can get as excited over the cotton market as +Stanley does."</p> + +<p>"The poor youngsters!" says Vee. "They might as well be visiting on a +desert island, for Marge knows hardly anyone in the place but us."</p> + +<p>She's a great one for spillin' sympathy, and for followin' it up when +she can with the helpin' hand. So a couple of nights later I'm dragged +out on a little missionary expedition over to Honeysuckle Lodge, the +object being to bring a little cheer into the dull gray lives of the +Rawsons' young visitors. Vee makes me doll up in an open face vest and +dinner coat, too.</p> + +<p>"The girls will like it, I'm sure," says she.</p> + +<p>"Very well," says I. "If the sight of me in a back number Tuck will lift +the gloom from any young hearts, here goes. I hope the excitement don't +prove too much for 'em, though."</p> + +<p>I'd kind of doped it out that we'd find the girls sittin' around awed +and hushed; while Stanley indulged in his usual silent struggle with +some great business problem; or maybe they'd be over in a far corner +yawnin' through a game of Lotto. But you never can tell. From two blocks +away we could see that the house was all lit up, from cellar to sleepin' +porch.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Stanley must be huntin' a burglar, or something."</p> + +<p>"No," says Vee. "Hear the music. If I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> didn't know I should think they +were giving a party."</p> + +<p>"Who would they give it to?" I asks.</p> + +<p>And yet when the maid lets us in hanged if the place ain't full of +people, mostly young hicks in evenin' clothes, but with a fair sprinklin' +of girls in flossy party dresses. All the livin' room furniture had been +shoved into the dinin' room, the rugs rolled into the corners, and the +music machine is grindin' out the Blitzen Blues, accompanied by the two +mandolins.</p> + +<p>In the midst of all this merry scene I finds Stanley wanderin' about +sort of dazed and unhappy.</p> + +<p>"Excuse us for crashin' in on a party," says I. "We came over with the +idea that maybe Polly and Dot would be kind of lonesome."</p> + +<p>"Lonesome!" says Stanley. "Say, I ask you, do they look it?"</p> + +<p>"Not at the present writing," says I.</p> + +<p>That was statin' the case mild, too. Over by the music machine Dot and a +youth who's sportin' his first aviation mustache—one of them clipped +eyebrow affairs—are tinklin' away on the mandolins with their heads +close together, while in the middle of the floor Polly and a blond young +gent who seems to be fairly well contented with himslf are practicin' +some new foxtrot steps, with two other youngsters waitin' to cut in.</p> + +<p>"Where did you round up all the perfectly good men?" I asks.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span></p> + +<p>"I didn't," says Stanley. "That's what amazes me. Where did they all +come from? Why, I supposed the girls didn't know a soul in the place. +Said they didn't on the way out. Yet before we'd left the station two +youths appeared who claimed they'd met Polly somewhere and asked if they +couldn't come up that evening. The next morning they brought around two +others, and some girls, for a motor trip. By afternoon the crowd had +increased to a dozen, and they were all calling each other by their +first names and speaking of the aggregation as 'the bunch.' I came home +tonight to find a dinner party of six and this dance scheduled. Now tell +me, how do they do it?"</p> + +<p>"It's by me," says I. "But maybe this kid sister-in-law of yours and her +chum are the kind who don't have to send out S. O. S. signals. And if +this keeps up I judge you're let in for a merry two weeks."</p> + +<p>"Merry!" says Stanley. "I should hardly call it that. How am I going to +think in a bedlam like this?"</p> + +<p>"Must you think?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Of course," says he. "But if this keeps up we shall go crazy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may, but I judge that Mrs. Rawson will +survive. She seems to be endurin' it all right," and I glances over +where Marge is allowin' a youngster of 19 or so to lead her out for the +next dance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Marge!" says Stanley. "She's always<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span> game for anything. But she +hasn't the business worries and responsibilities that I have. Do you +know, Torchy, the cotton situation is about to reach a crisis and if I +cannot put through a——"</p> + +<p>"Come on, Torchy," breaks in Vee. "Let's try this one."</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "Although I'm missin' some mighty thrillin' information +about what's going to happen to cotton."</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother cotton!" says Vee. "It would do Stanley good to forget about +his silly old business for a little while. Look at him! Why, you would +thing he was a funeral."</p> + +<p>"Or that he was just reportin' as chairman of the grand jury," says I.</p> + +<p>"And little Polly is having such a good time, isn't she?" goes on Vee.</p> + +<p>"I expect she is," says I. "She's goin' through the motions, anyway."</p> + +<p>Couldn't have been more than 16 or so, Polly. But she has a face like a +flower, the disposition of a butterfly, and a pair of eyes that +shouldn't be used away from home without dimmers on. I expect she don't +know how high voltage they are or she wouldn't roll 'em around so +reckless. It's entertainin' just to sit on the side lines and watch her +pull this baby-vamp act of hers and then see the victims squirm. Say, at +the end of a dance some of them youths didn't know whether they was +leadin' Polly to a corner or walkin' over a pink cloud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span> with snowshoes +on. And friend Dot ain't such a poor performer herself. Her strong line +seems to be to listen to 'em patient while they tells her all they know, +and remark enthusiastic at intervals: "Oh, I think that's simp-ly +won-n-n-nderful!" After they'd hear her say it about five times most of +'em seemed to agree with her that they were wonderful, and I heard one +young hick confide to another: "She's a good pal, Dot. Understands a +fellow, y'know."</p> + +<p>Honest, I was havin' so much fun minglin' with the younger set that way, +and gettin' my dancin' toes limbered up once more, that it's quite a +shock to glance at the livin' room clock and find it pointin' to 1:30. +As we were leavin', though, friend Dot has just persuaded Stanley to try +a one-step with her and I had to snicker when he goes whirlin' off. I +expect either she or Polly had figured out that the only way to keep him +from turnin' off the lights was to get him into the game.</p> + +<p>From all the reports we had Polly and Dot got through their vacation +without being very lonesome. Somehow or other Honeysuckle Lodge seems to +have been established as the permanent headquarters of "the bunch," and +most any time of day or night you could hear jazz tunes comin' from +there, or see two or three cars parked outside. And, although the cotton +market was doing flip-flops about that time I don't see any signs of +nervous breakdown<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> about Stanley. In fact, he seems to have bucked up a +lot.</p> + +<p>"Well, how about that foreign contract?" I asks reckless one mornin' as +we meets on the train.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have that all sewed up," says Stanley. "One of those young chaps +who came to see Polly so much gave me a straight tip on who to +see—someone who had visited at his home. Odd way to get it, eh? But I +got a lot out of those boys. Rather miss them, you know."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him.</p> + +<p>"Been brushing up on my dancing, too," goes on Stanley. "And say, if +there's still a vacancy in that dinner dance club I think Marge and I +would like to go in."</p> + +<p>"But I thought you said you didn't dance any more?" says I.</p> + +<p>"I didn't think I could," says Stanley, "until Dot got me at it again +the other night. Why, do you know, she quite encouraged me. She +said——"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "I know. She said, 'Oh, I think you're a wonderful +dancer, simp-ly won-n-n-n-derful!' Didn't she now?"</p> + +<p>First off Stanley stiffens up like he was goin' to be peeved. But then +he remembers and lets out chuckle. "Yes," says he, "I believe those were +her exact words. Perhaps she was right, too. And if I have such an +unsuspected talent as that shouldn't I exercise it occasionally? I leave +it to you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span></p> + +<p>"You've said it, Stanley," says I. "And after all, I guess you're goin' +to be a help. You had a narrow call, though."</p> + +<p>"From what?" asks Stanley.</p> + +<p>"Premature old age," says I, givin' him the friendly grin.</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_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2><h3>THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRTY-ONE</h3> +</div> + +<p>If I knew how, you ought to be worked up to the proper pitch for this +scene. You know—lights dimmed, throbby music from the bull fiddle and +kettle drums, and the ushers seatin' nobody durin' the act. Belasco +stuff. The stage showin' the private office of the Corrugated Trust. +It's a case of the big four in solemn conclave.</p> + +<p>Maybe you can guess the other three. Uh-huh! Old Hickory Ellins, Mr. +Robert, and Piddie. I forget just what important problem we was +settlin'. But it must have been something weighty and serious. Millions +at stake, most likely. Thousands anyway. Or it might have been when we +should start the Saturday half-holidays.</p> + +<p>All I remember is that we was grouped around the big mahogany desk; Old +Hickory in the middle chewin' away at the last three inches of a +Cassadora; Mr. Robert at right center, studyin' the documents in the +case; Piddie standin' respectful at his side weavin' his fingers in and +out nervous; and me balanced on the edge of the desk at the left, one +shoe toe on the floor, the other foot wavin' easy and graceful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> Cool +and calm, that's me. But not sayin' a word. Nobody was. We'd had our +turn. It was up to Old Hickory to give the final decision. We was +waitin', almost breathless. He'd let out a grunt or two, cleared his +throat, and was about to open in his usual style when—</p> + +<p>Cr-r-rash! Bumpety-bump!</p> + +<p>Not that this describes it adequate. If I had a mouth that could imitate +the smashin' of a 4x6 foot plate glass window I'd be on my way out to +stampede the national convention for some favorite son. For that's +exactly what happens. One of them big panes through which Old Hickory +can view the whole southern half of Manhattan Island, not to mention +part of New Jersey, has been shattered as neat as if someone had thrown +a hammer through it. And havin' that occur not more'n ten feet from your +right ear is some test of nerves, I'll say. I didn't even fall off the +desk. All Old Hickory does is set his teeth into the cigar a little +firmer and roll his eyes over one shoulder. Piddie's the only one who +shows signs of shell shock. When he finally lets out a breath it's like +openin' a bottle of home brew to see if the yeast cake is gettin' in its +work.</p> + +<p>The bumpety-bump noise comes from something white that follows the crash +and rolls along the floor toward the desk. Naturally I makes a grab for +it.</p> + +<p>"Don't!" gasps Piddie. "It—it might be a bomb."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "it might. But it looks to me more like a golf ball."</p> + +<p>"What?" says Old Hickory. "Golf ball! How could it be?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir," says I, modest as usual.</p> + +<p>"Let's see," says he. I hands it over. He takes a glance at it and +snorts out: "Impossible, but quite true. It is a golf ball. A Spalldop +31."</p> + +<p>"You're right, Governor," says Mr. Robert. "That's just what it is."</p> + +<p>Piddie takes a cautious squint and nods his head. So we made it +unanimous.</p> + +<p>"But I don't quite see, sir," goes on Piddie, "how a——"</p> + +<p>"Don't you?" breaks in Old Hickory. "Well, that's strange. Neither do +I."</p> + +<p>"Might it not, sir," adds Piddie, "have been dropped from an airplane?"</p> + +<p>"Dropped how?" demands Old Hickory. "Sideways? The law of gravity +doesn't work that way. At least, it didn't when I met it last."</p> + +<p>"Certainly!" says Piddie. "I had not thought of that. It couldn't have +been dropped. Then it must have been driven by some careless golfer."</p> + +<p>He's some grand little suggester, Piddie is. Old Hickory glares at him +and snorts. "An amazingly careless golfer," he adds, "considering that +the nearest course is in Englewood, N. J., fully six miles away. No, Mr. +Piddie,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span> I fear that even Jim Barnes at his best, relayed by Gil Nichols +and Walter Hagen, couldn't have made that drive."</p> + +<p>"They—they never use a—a rifle for such purposes, do they?" asks +Piddie.</p> + +<p>"Not in the best sporting circles," says Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>"I suppose," puts in Mr. Robert, "that some golf enthusiast might have +taken it into his head to practice a shot from somewhere in the +neighborhood."</p> + +<p>"That's logical," admits Old Hickory, "but from where did he shoot? We +are nineteen stories above the sidewalk, remember. I never saw a player +who could loft a ball to that height."</p> + +<p>Which gives me an idea. "What if it was some golf nut who'd gone out on +a roof?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Torchy," says Old Hickory. "From a roof, of course. I should +have made that deduction myself within the next half hour. The fellow +must be swinging away on the top of some nearby building. Let's see if +we can locate him."</p> + +<p>Nobody could, though. Plenty of roofs in sight, from five to ten stories +lower than the Corrugated buildin', but no mashie maniac in evidence. +And while they're scoutin' around I takes another squint at the ball.</p> + +<p>"Say, Mr. Ellins," I calls out, "if it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span> shot from a roof how do you +dope out this grass stain on it?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Old Hickory. "Grass stain! Must be an old one. No, by the +green turban of Hafiz, it's perfectly fresh! Even a bit of moist earth +where the fellow took a divot. Young man, that knocks out your roof +practice theory. Now how in the name of the Secret Seven could this +happen? The nearest turf is in the park, across Broadway. But no golfer +would be reckless enough to try out a shot from there. Besides, this +came from a southerly direction. Well, son, what have you to offer?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" says I, stallin' around a bit and lookin' surprised. "Oh, I +didn't know I'd been assigned to the case of the mysterious golf ball."</p> + +<p>"You have," says Old Hickory. "You seem to be so clever in deducing +things and the rest of us so stupid. Here take another look at the ball. +I presume that if you had a magnifying glass you could tell where it +came from and what the man looked like who hit it. Eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, sure!" says I, grinnin'. "That is, in an hour or so."</p> + +<p>That's the only way to get along with Old Hickory; when he starts +kiddin' you shoot the josh right back at him. I lets on to be examinin' +the ball careful.</p> + +<p>"I expect you didn't notice the marks on it?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Where?" says he, gettin' out his glasses.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> "Oh, yes! The fellow has +used an indelible pencil to put his initials on it. I often do that +myself, so the caddies can't sell me my own balls. He's made 'em rather +faint, but I can make out the letters. H. A. And to be sure, he's put +'em on twice."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, "they might be initials, and then again they might be +meant to spell out something. My guess would be 'Ha, ha!'"</p> + +<p>"What!" says Old Hickory. "By the Sizzling Sisters, you're right! A +message! But from whom?"</p> + +<p>"Why not from Minnie?" I asks winkin' at Mr. Robert.</p> + +<p>"Minnie who?" demands Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>"Why, from Minnehaha?" says I, and I can hear Piddie gasp at my pullin' +anything like that on the president of the Corrugated Trust.</p> + +<p>Old Hickory must have heard him, too, for he shrugs his shoulders and +remarks to Piddie solemn: "Even brilliant intellects have their dull +spots, you see. But wait. Presently this spasm of third rate comedy will +pass and he will evolve some apt conclusion. He will tell us who sent me +a Ha, ha! message on a golf ball, and why. Eh, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Guess I'll have to sir," says I. "How much time off do I get, a couple +of hours?"</p> + +<p>"The whole afternoon, if you'll solve the mystery," says he. "I am going +out to luncheon now. When I come back——"</p> + +<p>"That ought to be time enough," says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span></p> + +<p>Course nine-tenths of that was pure bluff. All I had mapped out then was +just a hunch for startin' to work. When they'd all left the private +office I wanders over for another look from the punctured window. The +lower sash had been pushed half-way up when the golf ball hit it, and the +shade had been pulled about two-thirds down. It was while I was runnin' +the shade clear to the top that I discovers this square of red cardboard +hung in the middle of the top sash.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" says I. "Had the window marked, did he?"</p> + +<p>Simple enough to see that a trick of that kind called for an inside +confederate. Who? Next minute I'm dashin' out to catch Tony, who runs +express elevator No. 3.</p> + +<p>"Were the window washers at work on our floor this mornin'?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says Tony, "What you miss?"</p> + +<p>"It was a case of direct hit," says I. "Where are they now?"</p> + +<p>"On twenty-two," says Tony.</p> + +<p>"I'll ride up with you," says I.</p> + +<p>And three minutes later I've corralled a Greek glass polisher who's +eatin' his bread and sausage at the end of one of the corridors.</p> + +<p>"You lobster!" says I. "Why didn't you hang that blue card in the right +window?"</p> + +<p>"Red card!" he protests, sputterin' crumbs. "I hang him right, me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well," says I, displayin' half a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span> dollar temptin'. "Then you +got some more comin' to you, haven't you?"</p> + +<p>He nods eager and holds out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Just a minute," says I, "until I'm sure you're the right one. What was +the party's name who gave you the job?"</p> + +<p>"No can say him name," says the Greek. "He just tell me hang card and +give me dollar."</p> + +<p>"I see," says I. "A tall, thin man with red whiskers, eh?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!" says he. "Short thick ol' guy, fat in middle, no whiskers."</p> + +<p>"Correct so far," says I. "And if you can tell where he hangs out——"</p> + +<p>"That's all," says the Greek. "Gimme half dollar."</p> + +<p>"You win," says I, tossin' it to him.</p> + +<p>But that's makin' fair progress for the first five minutes, eh? So far I +knew that a smooth faced, poddy party had shot a golf ball with "Ha, +ha!" written on it into Old Hickory's private office. Must have been +done deliberate, too, for he'd taken pains to have the window marked +plain for him with the red card. And at that it was some shot, I'll say. +Couldn't have come from the street, on account of the distance. Then +there was the grass stain. Grass? Now where——</p> + +<p>By this time I'm leanin' out over the sill down at the roofs of the +adjoinin' buildings. And after I'd stretched my neck for a while I +happens to look directly underneath. There<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> it was. Uh-huh. A little +green square of lawn alongside the janitor's roof quarters. You know +you'll find 'em here and there on office building roofs, even down in +Wall Street. And this being right next door and six or seven stories +below had been so close that we'd overlooked it at first.</p> + +<p>So now I knew what he looked like, and where he stood. But who was he, +and what was the grand idea? It don't take me long to chase down to the +ground floor and into the next building. And, of course, I tackles the +elevator starter. They're the wise boys. Always. I don't know why it is, +but you'll generally find that the most important lookin' and actin' +bird around a big buildin' is the starter. And what he don't know about +the tenants and their business ain't worth findin' out.</p> + +<p>On my way through the arcade I'd stopped at the cigar counter and +invested in a couple of Fumadoras with fancy bands on 'em. Tuckin' the +smokes casual into the starter's outside coat pocket I establishes +friendly relations almost from the start.</p> + +<p>"Well, son," says he, "is it the natural blond on the seventh, or the +brunette vamp who pounds keys on the third that you want to meet?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, come, Captain!" says I. "Do I look like a Gladys-hound? Nay, nay! +I'm simply takin' a sport census."</p> + +<p>"Eh!" says he. "That's a new one on me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span></p> + +<p>"Got any golf bugs in your buildin', Cap?" I goes on.</p> + +<p>"Any?" says he. "Nothing but. Say, you'll see more shiny hardware lugged +out of here on a Saturday than——"</p> + +<p>"But did you notice any being lugged in today?" I breaks in.</p> + +<p>"No," says he. "It's a little early for 'em to start the season, and too +near the first of the week. Don't remember a single bag goin' in today."</p> + +<p>"Nor a club, either?" I asks.</p> + +<p>He takes off his cap and rubs his right ear. Seems to help, too. "Oh, +yes," says he. "I remember now. There was an old boy carried one in +along about 10 o'clock. A new one that he'd just bought, I expect."</p> + +<p>"Sort of a poddy, heavy set old party with a smooth face?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"That was him," says the starter. "He's a reg'lar fiend at it. But, +then, he can afford to be. Owns a half interest in the buildin', I +understand."</p> + +<p>"Must be on good terms with the janitor, then," says I. "He could +practice swings on the roof if he felt like it, I expect."</p> + +<p>"You've said it," says the starter. "He could do about what he likes +around this buildin', Mr. Dowd could."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "The Hon. Matt?"</p> + +<p>"Good guess!" says the starter. "You must know him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span></p> + +<p>"Rather," says I. "Him and my boss are old chums. Golf cronies, too. +Thanks. I guess that'll be all."</p> + +<p>"But how about that sport census?" asks the starter.</p> + +<p>"It's finished," says I, makin' a quick exit.</p> + +<p>And by the time I'm back in the private office once more I've untangled +all the essential points. Why, it was only two or three days ago that +the Hon. Matt broke in on Old Hickory and gave him an earful about his +latest discovery in the golf line. I'd heard part of it, too, while I +was stickin' around waitin' to edge in with some papers for Mr. Ellins +to sign.</p> + +<p>Now what was the big argument? Say, I'll be driven to take up this +Hoot-Mon pastime myself some of these days. Got to if I want to keep in +the swim. It was about some particular club Dowd claimed he had just +learned how to play. A mashie-niblick, that was it. Said it was revealed +to him in a dream—something about gripping with the left hand so the +knuckles showed on top, and taking the turf after he'd hit the ball. +That gave him a wonderful loft and a back-spin.</p> + +<p>And I remember how Old Hickory, who was more or less busy at the time, +had tried to shunt him off. "Go on, you old fossil," he told him. "You +never could play a mashie-niblick, and I'll bet twenty-five you can't +now. You always top 'em. Couldn't loft over a bow-legged turtle, much +less a six foot bunker.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span> Yes, it's a bet. Twenty-five even. But you'll +have to prove it, Matt."</p> + +<p>And Mr. Dowd, chucklin' easy to himself, had allowed how he would. "To +your complete satisfaction, Ellins," says he, "or no money passes. And +within the week."</p> + +<p>As I takes another look down at the little grass plot on the roof I has +to admit that the Hon. Matt knew what he was talkin' about. He sure had +turned the trick. Kind of clever of him, too, havin' the window marked +and all that. And puttin' the "Ha, ha!" message on the ball.</p> + +<p>I was still over by the window, sort of smilin' to myself, when Old +Hickory walks in, havin' concluded to absorb only a sandwich and a glass +of milk at the arcade cafeteria instead of goin' to his club.</p> + +<p>"Well, young man," says he. "Have you any more wise deductions to +submit?"</p> + +<p>"I've got all the dope, if that's what you mean, sir," says I.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he. "Not who and what and why?"</p> + +<p>I nods easy.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it, son," says he. "It's uncanny. To begin with, who +was the man?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you remember havin' a debate not long ago with someone who +claimed he could pull some wonderful stunt with a mashie-niblick?" says +I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why," says Old Hickory, "with no one but Dowd."</p> + +<p>"You bet him he couldn't, didn't you?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Certainly," says he.</p> + +<p>"Well, he can," says I. "And he has."</p> + +<p>"Wha-a-at!" gasps Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "It was him that shot in the ball with the Ha, ha! +message on it."</p> + +<p>"But—but from where?" he demands.</p> + +<p>"Look!" says I, leadin' him to the window.</p> + +<p>"The old sinner!" says Mr. Ellins. "Why, that must be nearly one hundred +feet, and almost straight up! Some shot! I didn't think it was in him. +Hagen could do no better. And think of putting it through a window. +That's accuracy for you. Say, if he can do that in a game I shall be +proud to know him. Anyway, I shall not regret handing over that +twenty-five."</p> + +<p>"It'll cost him nearly that to set another pane of plate glass," I +suggests.</p> + +<p>"No, Torchy, no," says Old Hickory, wavin' his hand. "Any person who can +show such marksmanship with a golf ball is quite welcome to—— Ah, just +answer that 'phone call, will you, son?"</p> + +<p>So I steps over and takes down the receiver. "It's the buildin' +superintendent," says I "He wants to speak to you, sir."</p> + +<p>"See what he wants," says Old Hickory</p> + +<p>And I expect I was grinnin' some when I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> turns around after gettin' the +message. "He says somebody has been shootin' golf balls at the south +side of the buildin' all the forenoon," says I, "and that seventeen +panes of glass have, been smashed. He wants to know what he shall do."</p> + +<p>"Do?" says Old Hickory. "Tell him to send for a glazier."</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_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2><h3>NO LUCK WITH AUNTIE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Well, I expect I've gone and done it again. Queered myself with Auntie. +Vee's, of course. You'd most think I'd know how to handle the old girl +by this time, for we've been rubbin' elbows, as you might say, for quite +a few years now. But somehow we seldom hit it off just right.</p> + +<p>Not that I don't try. Say, one of the big ambitions of my young life has +been to do something that would please Auntie so much that no matter +what breaks I made later on she'd be bound to remember it. Up to date, +though, I haven't pulled anything of the kind. No. In fact, just the +reverse.</p> + +<p>I've often wished there was some bureau I could go to and get the +correct dope on managin' an in-law aunt with a hair-trigger disposition. +Like the Department of Agriculture. You know if it was boll-weevils, or +cattle tick, or black rust, all I'd have to do would be to drop a +postcard to Washington and in a month or so I'd have all kinds of +pamphlets, with colored plates and diagrams, tellin' me just what to do. +But balky aunts on your wife's side seem to have been overlooked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span></p> + +<p>Somebody ought to write a book on the subject. You can get 'em that will +tell you how to play bridge, or golf, or read palms, or raise chickens, +or bring up babies. But nothin' on aunts who give you the cold eye and +work up suspicions. And it's more or less important, 'specially if +they're will-makin' aunts, with something to make wills about.</p> + +<p>Not that I'm any legacy hound. She can do what she wants with her money, +for all of me. Course, there's Vee to be considered. I wouldn't want to +think, when the time comes, if it ever does, that her Auntie is with us +no more, that it was on account of something I'd said or done that the +Society for the Suppression of Jazz Orchestras was handed an unexpected +bale of securities instead of the same being put where Vee could cash in +on the coupons. Also there's Master Richard Hemmingway. I want to be +able to look sonny in the face, years from now, without having to +explain that if I'd been a little more diplomatic towards his mother's +female relations he might he startin' for college on an income of his +own instead of havin' to depend on my financin' his football career.</p> + +<p>Besides, our family is so small that it seems to me the least I can do +to be on good terms with all of 'em. 'Specially I'd like to please +Auntie now and then just for the sake of—well, I don't go so far as to +say I could be fond of Auntie for herself alone, but you know what I +mean. It's the proper thing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span></p> + +<p>At the same time, I wouldn't want to seem to be overdoin' the act. No. +So when it's a question of whether Auntie should be allowed to settle +down for the spring in an apartment hotel in town, or be urged to stop +with us until Bar Harbor opened for the season, I was all for the +modest, retirin' stuff.</p> + +<p>"She might think she had to come if she was asked," I suggests to Vee. +"And if she turned us down we'd have to look disappointed and that might +make her feel bad."</p> + +<p>"I hadn't considered that, Torchy," says Vee. "How thoughtful of you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, not at all," says I, wavin' my hand careless. "I simply want to do +what is best for Auntie. Besides, you know how sort of uneasy she is in +the country, with so little going on. And later, if we can persuade her +to make us a little visit, for over night maybe, why——" I shrugs my +shoulders enthusiastic. Anyway, that's what I tried to register.</p> + +<p>It went with Vee, all right. One of the last things she does is to get +suspicious of my moves. And that's a great help. So we agrees to let +Auntie enjoy her four rooms and bath on East Sixty-umpt Street without +tryin' to drag her out on Long Island where she might be annoyed by the +robins singin' too early in the mornin' or havin' the scent of lilacs +driftin' too heavy into the windows.</p> + +<p>"Besides," I adds, just to clinch the case, "if she stays in town she +won't be bothered by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> Buddy barkin' around, and she won't have to worry +about how we're bringin' up 'Ikky boy. Yep. It's the best thing for +her."</p> + +<p>If Auntie had been in on the argument I expect she'd differed with me. +She generally does. It's almost a habit with her. But not being present +maybe she had a hunch herself that she'd like the city better. Anyway, +that's where she camps down, only runnin' out once or twice for +luncheon, while I'm at the office, and havin' nice little chatty visits +with Vee over the long distance.</p> + +<p>Honest, I can enjoy an Auntie who does her droppin' in by 'phone. I +almost got so fond of her that I was on the point of suggestin' to Vee +that she tell Auntie to reverse the charges. No, I didn't quite go that +far. I'd hate to have her think I was gettin' slushy or sentimental. But +it sure was comfortin', when I came home after a busy day at the +Corrugated Trust, to reflect that Auntie was settled nice and cozy on +the ninth floor about twenty-five miles due west from us.</p> + +<p>I should have knocked on wood, though. Uh-huh. Or kept my fingers +crossed, or something. For here the other night, as I strolls up from +the station I spots an express truck movin' on ahead in the general +direction of our house. I felt kind of a sinkin' sensation the minute I +saw that truck. I can't say why. Psychic, I expect. You know. Ouija +stuff.</p> + +<p>And sure enough, the blamed truck turns into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> our driveway. By the time +I arrives the man has just unloaded two wardrobe trunks and a hat box. +And in the livin' room I finds Auntie.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Why, I—I thought you was——"</p> + +<p>"How cordial!" says Auntie.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says I, catchin' my breath quick. "Isn't it perfectly bully that +you could come? We was afraid you'd be havin' such a good time in town +that we couldn't——"</p> + +<p>"And so I was, until last night," says Auntie. "Verona, will tell you +all about it, I've no doubt."</p> + +<p>Oh yes, Vee does. She unloads it durin' a little stroll we took out +towards the garden. New York hadn't been behavin' well towards Auntie. +Not at all well. Just got on one of its cantankerous streaks. First off +there was a waiters' strike on the roof-garden restaurant where most of +the tenants took their dinners. It happened between soup and fish. In +fact, the fish never got there at all. Nor the roast, nor the rest of +the meal. And the head waiter and the house manager had a +rough-and-tumble scrap right in plain sight of everybody and some +perfectly awful language was used. Also the striking waiters marched out +in a body and shouted things at the manager as they went. So Auntie had +to put on her things and call a taxi and drive eight blocks before she +could finish her dinner.</p> + +<p>Then about 9 o'clock, as she was settling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> down for a quiet evening in +her rooms, New York pulled another playful little stunt on her. Nothing +unusual. A leaky gas main and a poorly insulated electric light cable +made connection with the well-known results. For half a mile up and down +the avenue that Auntie's apartment faced on the manhole covers were +blown off. They go off with a roar and a bang, you know. One of 'em +sailed neatly up within ten feet of Auntie's back hair, crashed through +the window of the apartment just above her and landed on the floor so +impetuous that about a yard of plaster came rattlin' down on Auntie's +head. Some fell in her lap and some went down the back of her neck.</p> + +<p>All of which was more or less disturbin' to an old girl who was tryin' +to read Amy Lowell's poems and had had her nerves jarred only a couple +of hours before. However, she came out of it noble, with the aid of her +smellin' salts and the assurance of the manager that it wouldn't happen +again. Not that same evenin', anyway. He was almost positive it +wouldn't. At least, it seldom did.</p> + +<p>But being in on a strike, and a free-for-all fight, and a conduit +explosion hadn't prepared Auntie to hit the feathers early. So at 1:30 +A. M. she was still wide awake and wanderin' around in her nightie with +the shades up and the lights out. That's how she happened to be +stretchin' her neck out of the window when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> this offensive broke loose +on the roof of the buildin' across the way.</p> + +<p>Auntie was just wondering why those two men were skylarking around on +the roof so late at night when two more popped out of skylights and +began to bang away at them with revolvers. Then the first two started to +shoot back, and the first thing Auntie knew there was a crash right over +her head where a stray bullet had wandered through the upper pane. Upon +which Auntie screamed and fainted. Of course, she had read about loft +robbers, but she hadn't seen 'em in action. And she didn't want to see +'em at such close range any more. Not her. She'd had enough, thank you. +So when she came to from her faintin' spell she begun packin' her +trunks. After breakfast she'd called Vee on the 'phone, sketched out +some of her troubles, and been invited to come straight to Harbor Hills.</p> + +<p>"It was the only thing to be done," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Well, maybe," says I. "Course, she might have tried another apartment +hotel. They don't all have strikes and explosions and burglar hunts +goin' on. Not every night. She might have taken a chance or one or two +more."</p> + +<p>"But with her nerves all upset like that," protests Vee, "I don't see +why she should, when here we are with——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I expect there was no dodgin' it," I agrees.</p> + +<p>At dinner Auntie is still sort of jumpy but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> she says it's a great +satisfaction to know that she is out here in the calm, peaceful country. +"It's dull, of course," she goes on, "but at the same time it is all so +restful and soothing. One knows that nothing whatever is going to +happen."</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es," says I, draggy. "And yet, you can't always tell."</p> + +<p>"Can't always tell what?" demands Auntie.</p> + +<p>"About things not happenin' out here," says I.</p> + +<p>"But, Torchy," says Vee, "what could possibly happen here; that is, like +those things in town?"</p> + +<p>I shrugs my shoulders and shakes my head.</p> + +<p>"How absurd!" says Vee.</p> + +<p>Auntie gives me one of them cold storage looks of hers. "I have usually +noticed," says she, "that things do not happen of themselves. Usually +some one is responsible for their happening."</p> + +<p>What she meant by that I couldn't quite make out. Oh yes, takin' a +little rap at me, no doubt. But just how or what for I passed up. I +might have forgotten it altogether if she hadn't reminded me now and +then by favorin' me with a suspicious glare, the kind one of Mr. +Palmer's agents might give to a party in a checked suit steppin' off the +train from Montreal with something bulgin' on the hip.</p> + +<p>So it was kind of unfortunate that when Vee suddenly remembers the +Airedale pup and asks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span> where he is that I should say just what I did. +"Buddy?" says I. "Oh, he's all right. I shut him up myself."</p> + +<p>It was a fact. I had. And I'd meant well by it. For that's one of the +things we have to look out for when Auntie's visitin' us, to keep Buddy +away from her. Not that there's anything vicious about Buddy. Not at +all. But being only a year old and full of pep and affection, and not at +all discriminatin', he's apt to be a bit boisterous in welcomin' +visitors; and while some folks don't mind havin' fifty pounds of dog +bounce at 'em sudden, or bein' clawed, or havin' their faces licked by a +moist pink tongue, Auntie ain't one of that kind. She gets petrified and +squeals for help and insists that the brute is trying to eat her up.</p> + +<p>So as soon as I'd come home and had my usual rough-house session with +Buddy, I leads him upstairs and carefully parks him in the south bedroom +over the kitchen wing. Being thoughtful and considerate, I call that. +Not to Buddy maybe, who's used to spendin' the dinner hour with his nose +just inside the dinin' room door; but to Auntie, anyway.</p> + +<p>Which is why I'm so surprised, along about 9 o'clock when Auntie has +made an early start for a good night's rest, to hear these loud hostile +woofs comin' from him and then these blood curdlin' screams.</p> + +<p>"For the love of Mike!" I gasps. "Where did you put Auntie?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, in the south bedroom this time," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Hal-lup!" says I. "That's where I put Buddy."</p> + +<p>It was a race then up the stairs, with me tryin' to protest on the jump +that I didn't know Vee had decided to shift Auntie from the reg'lar +guest room to this one.</p> + +<p>"Surely you didn't," admits Vee. "But I thought the south room would be +so much sunnier and more cheerful. I—I'll explain to Auntie."</p> + +<p>"It can't be done," says I. "Stop it, Buddy! All right, boy. It's +perfectly all right."</p> + +<p>Buddy don't believe it, though, until I've opened the door and switched +on the light. Young as he is he's right up on the watch-dog act and when +strangers come prowlin' around in the dark that's his cue for goin' into +action. He has cornered Auntie scientific and while turnin' in a general +alarm he has improved the time by tearin' mouthfuls out of her dress. At +that, too, it's lucky he hadn't begun to take mouthfuls out of Auntie.</p> + +<p>As for the old girl, she's so scared she can't talk and so mad she can +hardly see. She stands there limp in a tattered skirt with some of her +gray store hair that has slipped its moorin's restin' jaunty over one +ear and her eyes blazin' hostile.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Auntie!" begins Vee. "It was all my——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not a word, Verona," snaps Auntie. "I know perfectly well who is +responsible for this—this outrage." With that she glares at me.</p> + +<p>Course, we both tells her just how the mistake was made, over and over, +but it don't register.</p> + +<p>"Humph!" says she at last. "If I didn't remember a warning I had at +dinner perhaps I might think as you do, Verona. But I trust that nothing +else has been—er—arranged for my benefit."</p> + +<p>"That's generous, anyway," says I, indulgin' in a sarcastic smile.</p> + +<p>It's an hour before Auntie's nerves are soothed down enough for her to +make another stab at enjoyin' a peaceful night. Even then she demands to +know what that throbbin' noise is that she hears.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that?" says I. "Only the cistern pump fillin' up the rain water +tank in the attic. That'll quit soon. Automatic shut-off, you know."</p> + +<p>"Verona," she goes on, ignorin' me, "you are certain it is quite all +right, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says Vee. "It's one we had put in only last week. Runs by +electricity, or some thing. Anyway, the plumber explained to Torchy just +how it works. He knows all about it, don't you, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Uh-huh," says I, careless.</p> + +<p>I did, too. The plumber had sketched out the workin's of the thing +elaborate to me, but I didn't see the need of spendin' the rest of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> +night passin' an examination in the subject. Besides, a few of the +details I was a little vague about.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then," says Auntie. And she consents to make one more stab +at retirin'.</p> + +<p>I couldn't help sighin' relieved when we heard her door shut. "Now if +the roosters don't start crowin'," says I, "or a tornado don't hit us, +or an earthquake break loose, all will be well. But if any of them +things do happen, I'll be blamed."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," says Vee. "Auntie is going to have a nice, quiet, restful +night and in the morning she will be herself again."</p> + +<p>"Here's hoping," says I.</p> + +<p>And if it's good evidence I'd like to submit the fact that within' five +minutes after I'd rolled into my humble little white iron cot out on the +sleepin' porch I was dead to the world. Could I have done that if I'd +had on my mind a fiendish plot against the peace and safety of the only +real aunt we have in the fam'ly? I ask you.</p> + +<p>Seemed like I'd been asleep for hours and hours, and I believe I was +dreamin' that I was being serenaded by a drum corps and that the bass +drummer was mistakin' me for the drum and thumpin' me on the ribs, when +I woke up and found Vee proddin' me from the next cot.</p> + +<p>"Torchy!" she's sayin'. "Is that rain?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "No, that's the drum corps."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span></p> + +<p>"What?" says she. "Don't be silly. It sounds like rain."</p> + +<p>"Rain nothing," says I, rubbin' my eyes open. "Why, the moon's shining +and—but, it does sound like water drippin'."</p> + +<p>"Drippin!" says Vee. "It's just pouring down somewhere. But where, +Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Give it up," says I. "That is, unless it could be that blessed +tank——"</p> + +<p>"That's it!" says Vee. "The tank! But—but just where is it?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "it's in the attic over—over—Oh, goodnight!" I groans.</p> + +<p>"Well?" demands Vee. "Over what?"</p> + +<p>"Over the south bedroom," says I. "Quick! Rescue expedition No. 2. +Auntie again!"</p> + +<p>It was Auntie. Although she was clear at the other end of the house from +us we heard her moanin' and takin' on even before we got the hall door +open. And, of course, we made another mad dash. Once more I pushes the +switch button and reveals Auntie in a new plight. Some situation, I'll +say, too. Uh-huh!</p> + +<p>You see, there's an unfinished space over the kitchen well and the +plumber had located this hundred-gallon tank in the middle of it. As it +so happens the tank is right over the bed. Well, naturally when the fool +automatic shut-off fails to work and the overflow pipe is taxed beyond +its capacity, the surplus water has to go somewhere. It leaks through +the floorin', trickles down between the laths and through the plaster,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span> +and some of it finds its way along the beams and under the eaves until +it splashes down on the roof of the pantry extension. That's what we'd +heard. But the rest had poured straight down on Auntie.</p> + +<p>Being in a strange room and so confused to wake up and find herself +treated to a shower bath that she hadn't ordered, Auntie couldn't locate +the light button. All she could remember was that in unpackin' she'd +stood an umbrella near the head of the bed. So with great presence of +mind she's reached out and grabbed that, unfurled it, and is sittin' +there damp and wailin' in a nice little pool of water that's risin' +every minute. She's just as cosy as a settin' hen caught in a flood and +is wearin' about the same contented expression, I judge.</p> + +<p>"Why, Auntie, how absurd!" says Vee.</p> + +<p>It wasn't just the right thing to say. Natural enough, I'll admit, but +hardly the remark to spill at that precise moment. I could see the +explosion coming, so after one more look I smothers a chuckle on my own +account and beats it towards the cellar where that blamed pump is still +chuggin' away merry and industrious. By turnin' off all the switches and +handles in sight I manages to induce the fool thing to quit. Then I +sneaks back upstairs, puts on a bathrobe and knocks timid on the door of +the reg'lar guest room from which I hears sounds of earnest voices.</p> + +<p>"Can I help any?" says I.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, no!" calls out Vee. "You—you'd best go away, Torchy."</p> + +<p>She's generally right, Vee is. I went. I took a casual look at the +flooded kitchen with an inch or more of water on the linoleum, and +concluded to leave that problem to the help when they showed up in the +mornin'. And I don't know how long Vee spent in tryin' to convince +Auntie that I hadn't personally climbed into the attic, bugged the pump, +and bored holes through the ceilin'. As I couldn't go on the stand in my +own defense I did the next best thing. I finished out my sleep.</p> + +<p>In the mornin' I got the verdict. "Auntie's going back to town," says +Vee. "She thinks, after all, that it will be more restful there."</p> + +<p>"It will be for me, anyway," says I.</p> + +<p>I don't know how Vee and Master Richard still stand with Auntie. They +may be in the will yet, or they may not. As for Buddy and me, I'll bet +we're out. Absolutely. But we can grin, even at that.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2><h3>HARTLEY PULLS A NEW ONE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Looked like kind of a simple guy, this Hartley Tyler. I expect it was +the wide-set, sort of starey eyes, or maybe the stiff way he had of +holdin' his neck. If you'd asked me I'd said he might have qualified as +a rubber-stamp secretary in some insurance office, or as a tea-taster, +or as a subway ticket-chopper.</p> + +<p>Anyway, he wasn't one you'd look for any direct action from. Too mild +spoken and slow moving. And yet when he did cut loose with an original +motion he shoots the whole works on one roll of the bones. He'd come out +of the bond room one Saturday about closin' time and tip-toed hesitatin' +up to where Piddie and I was havin' a little confab on some important +business matter—such as whether the Corrugated ought to stand for the +new demands of the window cleaners, or cut the contract to twice a month +instead of once a week. Mr. Piddie would like to take things like that +straight to Old Hickory himself, but he don't quite dare, so he holds me +up and asks what I think Mr. Ellins would rule in such a case. I was +just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> giving him some josh or other when he notices Hartley standin' +there patient.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says Piddie, in his snappiest office-manager style.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, sir," says Hartley, "but several weeks ago I put in a +request for an increase in salary, to take effect this month."</p> + +<p>"Oh, did you?" says Piddie, springin' that sarcastic smile of his. "Do I +understand that it was an ultimatum?"</p> + +<p>"Why—er—I hadn't thought of putting it in that form, sir," says +Hartley, blinkin' something like an owl that's been poked off his nest.</p> + +<p>"Then I may as well tell you, young man," says Piddie, "that it seems +inadvisable for us to grant your request at this time."</p> + +<p>Hartley indulges in a couple more blinks and then adds: "I trust that I +made it clear, Mr. Piddie, how important such an increase was to me?"</p> + +<p>"No doubt you did," says Piddie, "but you don't get it."</p> + +<p>"That is—er—final, is it?" asks Hartley.</p> + +<p>"Quite," says Piddie. "For the present you will continue at the same +salary."</p> + +<p>"I'll see you eternally cursed if I do," observes Hartley, without +changin' his tone a note.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" gasps Piddie.</p> + +<p>"Oh, go to thunder, you pin-head!" says Hartley, startin' back for the +bond room to collect his eye-shade, cuff protectors and other tools of +his trade.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span></p> + +<p>"You—you're discharged, young man!" Piddie gurgles out throaty.</p> + +<p>"Very well," Hartley throws over his shoulder. "Have it that way if you +like."</p> + +<p>Which is where I gets Piddie's goat still further on the rampage by +lettin' out a chuckle.</p> + +<p>"The young whipper-snapper!" growls Piddie.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all of that!" says I. "What you going to do besides fire him? +Couldn't have him indicted under the Lever act, could you?"</p> + +<p>Piddie just glares and stalks off. Having been called a pin-head by a +bond room cub he's in no mood to be kidded. So I follows in for a few +words with Hartley. You see, I could appreciate the situation even +better than Piddie, for I knew more of the facts in the case than he +did. For instance, I had happened to be in Old Hickory's private office +when old man Tyler, who's one of our directors, you know, had wished his +only son onto our bond room staff.</p> + +<p>He's kind of a rough old boy, Z. K. Tyler, one of the bottom-rungers who +likes to tell how he made his start as fry cook on an owl lunch wagon. +Course, now he has his Broad Street offices and is one of the big noises +on the Curb market. Operatin' in motor stocks is his specialty, and when +you hear of two or three concerns being merged and the minority holders +howlin' about being gypped, or any little deal like that, you can make a +safe bet that somewhere<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span> in the background is old Z. K. jugglin' the +wires and rakin' in the loose shekels. How he gets away with that stuff +without makin' the rock pile is by me, but he seems to do it reg'lar.</p> + +<p>And wouldn't you guess he'd be just the one to have finicky ideas as to +how his son and heir should conduct himself. Sure thing! I heard him +sketchin' some of 'em out to Old Hickory.</p> + +<p>"The trouble with most young fellows," says he, "is that they're brought +up too soft. Kick 'em out and let 'em rustle for themselves. That's what +I had to do. Made a man of me. Now take Hartley. He's twenty-five and +has had it easy all his life—city and country home, college, cars to +drive, servants to wait on him, and all that. What's it done for him? +Why, he has no more idea of how to make a dollar for himself than a +chicken has of stirring up an omelette.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I could take him in with me and show him the ropes, but he +couldn't learn anything worth while that way. He'd simply be a copy-cat. +He'd develop no originality. Besides, I'd rather see him in some other +line. You understand, Ellins? Something a little more substantial. Got +to find it for himself, though. He's got to make good on his own hook +before I'll help him any more. So out he goes.</p> + +<p>"Ought to have a year or so to pick up the elements of business, though. +So let's find a place for him here in the Corrugated. No snap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> job. I +want him to earn every dollar he gets, and to live off what he earns. Do +him good. Maybe it'll knock some of the fool notions out of his head. +Oh, he's got 'em. Say, you couldn't guess what fool idea he came back +from college with. Thought he wanted to be a painter. Uh-huh! An artist! +Asked me to set him up in a studio. All because him and a room mate had +been daubin' some brushes with oil paints at a summer school they went +to during a couple of vacations. Seems a long-haired instructor had been +telling Hartley what great talent he had. Huh! I soon cured him of that. +'Go right to it, son,' says I. 'Paint something you can sell for five +hundred and I'll cover it with a thousand. Until then, not a red cent.' +And inside of twenty-four hours he concluded he wasn't any budding +Whistler or Sargent, and came asking what I thought he should tackle +first. Eh? Think you could place him somewhere?"</p> + +<p>So Old Hickory merely shrugs his shoulders and presses the button for +Piddie. I expect he hears a similar tale about once a month and as a +rule he comes across with a job for sonny boy. 'Specially when it's a +director that does the askin'. Now and then, too, one of 'em turns out +to be quite a help, and if they're utterly useless he can always depend +on Piddie to find it out and give 'em the quick chuck.</p> + +<p>As a rule this swift release don't mean much to the Harolds and Perceys +except a welcome vacation while the old man pries open another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> side +entrance in the house of Opportunity, Ltd., which fact Piddie is wise +to. But in this ease it's a different proposition.</p> + +<p>"Did you mean it, Tyler, handin' yourself the fresh air that way!" I +asks him.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely," says he, snappin' some rubber bands around, a neat little +bundle.</p> + +<p>"Who'd have thought you was a self starter!" says I. "What you going to +do now?"</p> + +<p>He hunches his shoulders. "Don't know," says he. "I must find something +mighty quick, though."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it can't be as desperate a case as that, can if?" I asks. "You know +you'll get two weeks' pay and with that any single-footed young hick +like you ought to——"</p> + +<p>"But it happens I'm not single-footed," breaks in Hartley.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean you've gone and——"</p> + +<p>"Nearly a month ago," says Hartley. "Nicest little girl in the world, +too. You must have noticed her. She was on the candy counter in the +arcade for a month or so."</p> + +<p>"What!" says I. "The one with the honey-colored hair and the bashful +behavin' eyes?"</p> + +<p>Hartley nods and blushes.</p> + +<p>"Say, you are a fast worker when you get going, ain't you?" says I. +"Picked a Cutie-Sweet right away from all that opposition. But I judge +she's no heiress."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span></p> + +<p>"Edith is just as poor as I am," admits Hartley.</p> + +<p>"How about your old man?" I goes on. "What did Z. K. have to say when he +heard!"</p> + +<p>"Suppose'we don't go into that," says Hartley. "As a matter of fact, I +hung up the 'phone just as he was getting his second wind."</p> + +<p>"Then he didn't pull the 'bless you, my children,' stuff, eh?" I +suggests.</p> + +<p>"No," says Hartley, grinnin'. "Quite the contrary. Anyway, I knew what +to expect from him. But say, Torchy, I did have a pretty vague notion of +what it costs to run a family these days."</p> + +<p>"Don't you read the newspapers?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose I had glanced at the headlines," says Hartley. "And of +course I knew that restaurant prices had gone up, and laundry charges, +and cigarettes and so. But I hadn't shopped for ladies' silk hose, or +for shoes, or—er—robes de nuit, or that sort of thing. And I hadn't +tried to hire a three-room furnished apartment. Honest, it's something +awful."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've heard something like that for quite a spell now," says I. +"Found that your little hundred and fifty a month wouldn't go very far, +did you?"</p> + +<p>"Far!" says Hartley. "Why, it was like taking a one-gallon freezer of +ice cream to a Sunday school picnic. Really, it seemed as if there were +a thousand hands reaching out for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span> my pay envelope the moment I got it. +I don't understand how young married couples get along at all."</p> + +<p>"If you did," says I, "you'd have a steady job explainin' the miracle to +about 'steen different Congressional committees. How about Edith? Is she +a help—or otherwise?"</p> + +<p>"She's a good sport, Edith is," says Hartley. "She keeps me bucked up a +lot. It was her decision that I just passed on to Mr. Piddie. We talked +it all out last night; how impossible it was to live on my present +salary, and what I should say if it wasn't raised. That is, all but the +crude way I put it, and the pin-head part. We agreed, though, that I had +to make a break, and that it might as well be now as later on."</p> + +<p>"Well, you've made it," says I. "What now?"</p> + +<p>"We've got to think that out," says Hartley.</p> + +<p>"The best of luck to you," says I, as he starts toward the elevator.</p> + +<p>And with that Hartley drops out. You know how it is here in New York. If +you don't come in on the same train with people you know, or they work +in different buildin's, or patronize some other lunch room, the chances +of your seein' 'em more 'n once in six months are about as good as +though they'd moved to St. Louis or Santa Fe.</p> + +<p>I expect I was curious about what was goin' to happen to Hartley and his +candy counter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> bride, maybe for two or three days. But it must have been +as many weeks before I even heard his name mentioned. That was when old +Z. K. blew into the private office one day and, after a half hour of +business chat, remarks to Old Hickory; "By the way, Ellins, how is that +son of mine getting on?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Old Hickory, starin' at him blank. "Son of yours with us? I'd +forgotten. Let's see. Torchy, in what department is young Tyler now?"</p> + +<p>"Hartley?" says I. "Oh, he quit weeks ago."</p> + +<p>"Quit?" says Z. K. "Do you mean he was fired?"</p> + +<p>"A little of both," says I. "Him and Mr. Piddie split about fifty-fifty +on that. They had a debate about him gettin' a raise. No, he didn't +leave any forwardin' address and he hasn't been back since."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says Z. K., scratchin' his left ear. "He'd had the impudence to +go and get himself married, too. Think of that Ellins! A youngster who +never did a stroke of real work in his life loads himself up with a +family in these times. Well, I suppose he's finding out what a fool he +is, and when they both get good and hungry he'll come crawling back. Oh +yes, I'll give him a job this time, a real one. You know I've been +rebuilding my country home down near Great Neck. Been having a deuce of +a time doing it, too—materials held up,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> workmen going out on strikes +every few days. I'll set Hartley to running a concrete mixer, or +wheeling bricks when he shows up."</p> + +<p>But somehow Hartley don't do the homeward crawl quite on schedule. At +any rate, old Z. K. was in the office three or four times after that +without mentionin' it, and you bet he would have cackled some if Hartley +had come back. All he reports is that the house rebuildin' is draggin' +along to a finish and he hopes to be able to move in shortly.</p> + +<p>"Want you to drive over and see what you think of it," he remarks to Mr. +Robert, once when Old Hickory happens to be out. "Only a few plasterers +and plumbers and painters still hanging on. How about next Saturday? +I've got to be there about 2 o'clock. What say?"</p> + +<p>"I shall be very glad to," says Mr. Robert, who's always plannin' out +ways of revisin' his own place.</p> + +<p>If it hadn't been for some Western correspondence that needed code +replies by wire I expect I should have missed out on this tour of +inspection to the double-breasted new Tyler mansion. As it was Mr. +Robert tells me to take the code book and my hat and come along with him +in the limousine. So by the time we struck Jamaica I was ready to file +the messages and enjoy the rest of the drive.</p> + +<p>We finds old Z. K. already on the ground, unloadin' a morning grouch on +a landscape architect.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span></p> + +<p>"Be with you in a minute, Robert," says he. "Just wander in and look +around."</p> + +<p>That wasn't so easy as it sounded, for all through the big rooms was +scaffolds and ladders and a dozen or more original members of the +Overalls Club splashin' mortar and paint around. I was glancin' at these +horny-handed sons of toil sort of casual when all of a sudden I spots +one guy in a well-daubed suit of near-white ducks who looks strangely +familiar. Walkin' up to the step-ladder for a closer view I has to stop +and let out a chuckle. It's Hartley.</p> + +<p>"Well, well!" says I. "So you did have to crawl back, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he, almost droppin' a pail of white paint. "Why, hello, +Torchy!"</p> + +<p>"I see you're workin' for a real boss now," says I.</p> + +<p>"Who do you mean?" says he.</p> + +<p>"The old man," says I, grinnin'.</p> + +<p>"Not much!" says Hartley. "He's only the owner, and precious little +bossing he can do on this job. I'm working for McNibbs, the contractor."</p> + +<p>"You—you mean you're a reg'lar painter?" says I, gawpin'.</p> + +<p>"Got to be, or I couldn't handle a brush here," says Hartley. "This is a +union job."</p> + +<p>"But—but how long has this been goin' on, Hartley?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"I've held my card for nearly three months<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span> now," says he. "No, I +haven't been painting here all that time. In fact, I came here only this +morning. The president of our local shifted me down here for—for +reasons. I'm a real painter, though."</p> + +<p>"You look it, I must say," says I. "Like it better than being in the +bond room?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not crazy about it," says he. "Rather smelly work. But it pays +well. Dollar an hour, you know, and time and a half for overtime. I +manage to knock out sixty or so a week. Then I get something for being +secretary of the Union."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Secretary, are you? How'd you work up to that so quick?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they found I could write fairly good English and was quick at +figures," says he. "Besides, I'm always foreman of the gang. Do all the +color mixing, you know. That's where my art school experience comes in +handy."</p> + +<p>"That ought to tickle the old man," says I. "Seen him yet?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Hartley, "but I want to. Is he here?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," says I. "He's just outside. He'll be in soon."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" says Hartley. "Say, Torchy, stick around if you want to be +entertained. I have a message for him."</p> + +<p>"I'll be on hand," says I. "Here he comes now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span></p> + +<p>As old Z. K. stalks in, still red in the ears from his debate outside, +Hartley climbs down off the step ladder. For a minute or so the old man +don't seem to see him any more'n he does any of the other workmen that +he's had to dodge around. Not until Hartley steps right up to him and +remarks: "Mr. Tyler, I believe?" does Z. K. stop and let out a gasp.</p> + +<p>"Hah!" he snorts. "Hartley, eh? Well, what does this mean—a +masquerade?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," says Hartley. "This is my regular work."</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is, eh?" says he. "Well, keep at it then. Why do you knock off +to talk to me?"</p> + +<p>"Because I have something to say to you, sir," says Hartley. "You sent a +couple of non-union plumbers down here the other day, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"What if I did?" demands Z. K. "Got to get the work finished somehow, +haven't I?"</p> + +<p>"You'll never get it finished with scab labor, Mr. Tyler," says Hartley. +"You have tried that before, haven't you? Well, this is final. Send +those plumbers off at once or I will call out every other man on the +job."</p> + +<p>"Wh-a-a-at!" gasps Z. K. "You will! What in thunder have you got to do +with it?"</p> + +<p>"I've been authorized by the president of our local to strike the job, +that's all," says Hartley. "I am the secretary. Here are my credentials +and my union card."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" snorts Z. K. "You impudent young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span> shrimp. I don't believe a word +of it. And let me tell you, young man, that I'll send whoever I please +to do the work here, unions or no unions."</p> + +<p>"Very well," says Hartley. With that he turns and calls out: "Lay off, +men. Pass the word on."</p> + +<p>And say, inside of two minutes there isn't a lick of work being done +anywhere about the place. Plasterers drop their trowels and smoothing +boards, painters come down off the ladders, and all hands begin sheddin' +their work clothes. And while Z. K. is still sputterin' and fumin' the +men begin to file out with their tools under their arms. Meanwhile +Hartley has stepped over into a corner and is leisurely peelin' off his +paint-spattered ducks.</p> + +<p>"See here, you young hound!" shouts Z. K. "You know I want to get into +this house early next month. I—I've simply got to."</p> + +<p>"The prospects aren't good," says Hartley.</p> + +<p>Well, they had it back and forth like that for maybe five minutes before +Z. K. starts to calm down a bit. He's a foxy old pirate, and he hates to +quit, but he's wise enough to know when he's beaten.</p> + +<p>"Rather smooth of you, son, getting back at me this way," he observes +smilin' sort of grim. "Learned a few things, haven't you, since you've +been knocking around?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I was bound to," says Hartley.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span></p> + +<p>"Got to be quite a man, too—among painters, eh?" adds Z. K.</p> + +<p>Hartley shrugs his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Could you call all those fellows back as easily as you sent them off?" +demands Tyler.</p> + +<p>"Quite," says Hartley. "I wouldn't, though, until you had fired those +scab plumbers."</p> + +<p>"I see," says Z. K. "And if I did fire 'em, do you think you have +influence enough to get a full crew of union men to finish this job by +next Saturday?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says Hartley. "I could put fifty men at work here Monday +morning—if I wanted to."</p> + +<p>"H-m-m-m!" says Z. K., caressin' his left ear. "It's rather a big house +for just your mother and me to live in. Plenty of room for another +family. And I suppose a good studio could be fixed up on the third +floor. Well, son, want to call it a trade?"</p> + +<p>"I'll have to talk to Edith first," says Hartley. "I think she'll like +it, and I'll bet you'll like her, too."</p> + +<p>Uh-huh! From late reports I hear that Hartley was right both ways. A few +days later Mr. Robert tells me that the Tylers are all preparin' to move +out together. He had seen the whole four of 'em havin' a reunion dinner +at the Plutoria, and says they all seemed very chummy.</p> + +<p>"Just like they was members of One Big<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> Union, eh?" says I. "But say, +Hartley's right up to date in his methods of handlin' a wrathy parent, +ain't he? Call a strike on 'em. That's the modern style. I wonder if +he's got it patented?"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2><h3>TORCHY GETS A HUNCH</h3> +</div> + +<p>Course, I only got my suspicions, and I ain't in position to call for +the real facts in the case, but I'll bet if it came to a show down I +could name the master mind that wished this backache and the palm +blisters on me. Uh-huh! Auntie. I wouldn't put it past her, for when it +comes to evenin' up a score she's generally right there with the goods. +Deep stuff, as a rule, too.</p> + +<p>I ain't denyin' either, but what Auntie had grounds for complaint. Maybe +you remember how she came out to spend a quiet week-end with us after a +nerve shatterin' night in town and near got chewed up by Buddy, the +super-watch dog, and then was almost flooded out of bed because the +attic storage tank ran over? Not that I didn't have a perfect alibi on +both counts. I did. But neither registered with Auntie.</p> + +<p>Still, this before-breakfast sod-turnin' idea comes straight from Vee. +Ever try that for an appetizer? Go on, give it a whirl. Ought to be +willin' to try anything once, you know. Some wise old guy said that, I +understand. I'd like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span> to find the spot where he's laid away. I think I'd +go plant a cabbage on his grave. Anyway, he's got some little tribute +like that comin' from me.</p> + +<p>Just turnin' up sod with a spade in the dewy morn. Listens kind of +romantic, don't it! And you might like it first rate. Might agree with +you. As for me, I've discovered that my system don't demand anything +like that. Posi-tive-ly. I gave it a good try-out and the reactions +wasn't satisfactory.</p> + +<p>You see, it was this way: there's a narrow strip down by the road where +our four-acre estate sort of pinches out, and Vee had planned to do some +fancy landscape gardenin' on it—a bed of cannas down the middle, I +believe, and then rows of salvia, and geraniums and other things. She +had it all mapped out on paper. Also the bulbs and potted plants had +arrived and were ready to be put in.</p> + +<p>But it happens that Dominick, our official gardener, had all he could +jump to just then, plantin' beans and peas and corn, and the helper he +depended on to break up this roadside strip had gone back on him.</p> + +<p>"How provoking!" says Vee. "I am so anxious to get those things in. If +the ground was ready I would do the planting myself. I just wish"—and +then she stops.</p> + +<p>"Well, let's have it," says I. "What's your wish?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing much Torchy," says she. "But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span> if I were strong enough to +dig up that sod I wouldn't have to wait for any pokey Italian."</p> + +<p>"Why couldn't I do it?" I suggests reckless.</p> + +<p>"You!" says Vee, and then snickers.</p> + +<p>Say, if she'd come poutin' around, or said right out that she didn't see +why I couldn't make myself useful now and then, I'd have announced flat +that gardenin' was way out of my line. But when she snickers—well, you +know how it is.</p> + +<p>"Yessum! Me," says I. "It ain't any art, is it, just stirrin' up the +ground with a spade? And how do you know, Vee, but what I'm the grandest +little digger ever was? Maybe it's a talent I've been concealin' from +you all along."</p> + +<p>"But it's rather hard work, turning old sod, and getting out all the +grass roots and rocks," says she. "It takes a lot of strength."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "Feel of that right arm."</p> + +<p>"Yes," says she, "I believe you are strong, Torchy. But when could you +find the time?"</p> + +<p>"I'd make it," says I. "All I got to do is to roll out of the cot an +hour or so earlier in the morning. Wouldn't six hours do the job? Well, +two hours a day for three days, and there you are. Efficiency stuff. +That's me. Lead me to it."</p> + +<p>Vee gazes at me admirin'. "Aren't you splendid, Torchy!" says she. "And +I'm sure the exercise will do you a lot of good."</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I. "Most likely I'll get the habit and by the end of the +summer I'll be a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> reg'lar Sandow. Now where's that kitchen alarm clock? +Let's see. M-m-m-m! About 5:30 will do for a starter, eh?"</p> + +<p>Oh, I'm a determined cuss when I get going. Next mornin' the sun and me +punched in at exactly the same time, and I don't know which was most +surprised. But there I was, associatin' with the twitterin' little birds +and the early worms, and to show I was just as happy as they were I hums +a merry song as I swings out through the dewy grass with the spade over +my shoulder.</p> + +<p>Say, there's no fake about the grass being dewy at that hour, either. I +hadn't gone more 'n a dozen steps through it before my feet were as +soggy as if I'd been wadin' in a brook. I don't do any stallin' around, +same as these low brow labor gangs. I pitches right in earnest and +impetuous, makin' the dirt fly. Why, I had the busy little bee lookin' +like he was loafin' on a government contract.</p> + +<p>I was just about gettin' my second wind and was puttin' in some heavy +licks when I hears somebody tootin' a motor horn out in the road. I +looks up to find that it's that sporty neighbor of mine, Nick Barrett, +who now and then indulges a fad for an early spin in his stripped +roadster. He has collected his particular chum, Norris Bagby, and I +expect they're out to burn up the macadam before the traffic cops go on +duty.</p> + +<p>"What's the big idea, Torchy?" sings out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span> Nick. "Going to bury a cat, or +something?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing tragic like that," says I. "Just subbin' in for the gardener. +Pulling a little honest toil, such as maybe you've read about but +haven't met."</p> + +<p>"Doing it on a bet, I suppose?" suggests Norris.</p> + +<p>"Ah, run along and don't get comic," says I.</p> + +<p>And with that I tears into the sod again, puttin' both shoulders and my +back into the swing. I don't let up, either, until I think it must be +after 7 o'clock, and then I stops long enough to look at my watch. It's +just 6:20. Well, I expect I slowed up some from then on. No use tryin' +to dig all over that ground in one morning. And at 6:35 I discovers that +I'd raised a water blister on both palms. Ten minutes later I noticed +this ache in my back and arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well!" says I, "gotta take time to change and wash up."</p> + +<p>At that I didn't feel so bad. After a shower and a fresh outfit from the +socks up I was ready to tackle three fried eggs and two cups of coffee. +On the way to the station I glanced proud at what I'd accomplished. But +somehow it didn't look so much. Just a little place in one corner.</p> + +<p>Course, goin' in on the 8:03 I had to stand for a lot of kiddin'. +They're a great bunch of humorists, them commuters. Nick and Norrie has +spread the news around industrious about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> my sunrise spadin' stunt, and +everybody has to pull his little wheeze.</p> + +<p>"How's the old back feel about now; eh, Torchy?" asks one.</p> + +<p>"Great stuff!" says another. "Everybody does it—once."</p> + +<p>"The boy's clever with the spade, I'll say," adds Nick. "Let's all turn +out tomorrow morning and watch him. He does it regular, they tell me."</p> + +<p>I grinned back at 'em as convincin' as I could. For somehow I wasn't +just in the mood for grinnin'. My head was achin' more or less, and my +back hurt, and my palms were sore. By noon I was a wreck. Absolutely. +And when I thought of puttin' in two or three more sessions like that I +had to groan. Could I do it? On the other hand, could I renig on the job +after all that brash line of talk I'd given Vee?</p> + +<p>Say, it was all I could do to limp out to luncheon. I didn't want much, +but I thought maybe some tea and toast would make me feel better. And it +was in a restaurant that I ran across this grouchy Scotchman, MacGregor +Shinn, who sold me the place here a while back.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you don't know it, Mac," says I, "but you're a wise guy."</p> + +<p>"Am I, though?" says he. "I hadn't noticed it myself. Just how, now?"</p> + +<p>"Unloadin' that country property on me," says I. "I used to wonder why +you let go of it. I don't any more. I've got the right hunch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> at last. +You got up bright and early one morning and tried digging around with a +spade. Eh?"</p> + +<p>Mac stares at me sort of puzzled. "Not me," says he. "Whatever put that +in your mind, me lad?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, come!" says I. "With all that land lyin' around you was bound to +get reckless with a spade some time or other. Might not have been flower +beds you was excavatin' for, same as me. Maybe you was specializin' on +spuds, or cabbages. But I'll bet you had your foolish spell."</p> + +<p>Mr. Shinn shakes his head. "All the digging I ever did out there," says +he, "was with a niblick in the bunkers of the Roaring Rock golf course. +No, I'm wrong."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha!" says I. "I thought so."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he goes on, rubbin' his chin reminiscent, "I mind me of one +little job of digging I did. I had a cook once who had a fondness for +gin that was scandalous. Locking it up was no good, except in my bureau +drawers, so one time when I had an extra case of Gordon come in I +sneaked out at night and buried it. That was just before I sold the +place to you and—By George, me lad!"</p> + +<p>Here he has stopped and is gazin' at me with his mouth open.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says I.</p> + +<p>"I canna mind digging it up again," says he.</p> + +<p>"That doesn't sound much like a Scotchman,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> says I, "being so careless +with good liquor. But you were in such a rush to get back to town maybe +you did forget. Where did you plant it?"</p> + +<p>Mac scratches his head. "I canna seem to think," says he.</p> + +<p>And about then I begins to get a glimmer of this brilliant thought of +mine. "Would it have been in that three-cornered strip that runs along +by the road?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"It might," says he.</p> + +<p>I didn't press him for any more details. I'd heard enough. I finished my +invalid's lunch and slid out. But say, when I caught the 5:13 out to +Harbor Hills that afternoon I had something all doped out to slip to +that bunch of comic commuters. I laid for 'em in the smokin' car, and +when Nick Barrett discovers me inspectin' my palm blisters he starts in +with his kidding again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you'll be able to get out and dig again in a week or so," says he.</p> + +<p>"I hope so," says I.</p> + +<p>"Still strong for it, eh?" says he.</p> + +<p>"Maybe if you knew what I was diggin' for," says I, "you'd—well, +there's no tellin'."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says he. "Whaddye mean?"</p> + +<p>I shakes my head and looks mysterious.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it green corn, or string beans that you're aimin' at, Torchy?" he +asks.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," says I. "Vegetable raisin'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> ain't in my line. I leave +that to Dominick. But this—oh, well!"</p> + +<p>"You don't mean," insists Nick, eyein' me close, "buried treasure!"</p> + +<p>"I expect some would call it that—in these days," says I.</p> + +<p>Uh-huh! I had him sittin' up by then, with his ear stretched. And I must +say that from then on Nick does some scientific pumpin'. Not that I let +out anything in so many words, but I'm afraid he got the idea that what +I was after was something money couldn't buy. That is, not unless +somebody violated a sacred amendment to the grand old constitution. In +fact, I may have mentioned casually that a whole case of Gordon was +worth riskin' a blister here and there.</p> + +<p>As for Nick, he simply listens and gasps. You know how desperate some of +them sporty ginks are, who started out so gay only a year or so ago with +a private stock in the cellar that they figured would last 'em until the +country rose in wrath and undid Mr. Volstead's famous act? Most of 'em +are discoverin' what poor guessers they were. About 90 per cent are +bluffin' along on home brew hooch that has all the delicate bouquet of +embalmin' fluid and produced about the same effect as a slug of liquid +T. N. T., or else they're samplin' various kinds of patent medicines and +perfumes. Why, I know of one thirsty soul who tries to work up a dinner +appetite by rattlin' a handful of shingle nails in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> the old shaker. And +if Nick Barrett has more 'n half a bottle of Martini mixture left in the +house he sleeps with it under his pillow. So you can judge how far his +tongue hangs out when he gets me to hint that maybe a whole case of +Gordon is buried somewhere on my premises.</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says he, shakin' me solemn by the hand, "I wish you the best +of luck. If you'll take my advice, though, you won't mention this to +anyone else."</p> + +<p>Oh, no, I didn't. That is, only to Norrie Bagby and one or two others +that I managed to get a word with on the ride home.</p> + +<p>Vee was mighty sympathetic about the blisters and the way my back felt. +I was dosed and plastered and put to bed at 8:30 to make up for all the +sleep I'd lost at the other end of the day.</p> + +<p>"And we'll not bother any more about the silly old flowers," says she. +"If Dominick can't find time to do the spading we'll just let it go."</p> + +<p>"No," says I, firm and heroic. "I'm no quitter, Vee. I said I'd get it +done within three days and I stick to it."</p> + +<p>"Torchy," says she, "don't you dare try getting up again at daylight and +working with your poor blistered hands. I—I shall feel dreadfully about +it, if you do."</p> + +<p>"Well, maybe I will skip tomorrow mornin'," says I, "but somehow or +other that diggin' has got to be done."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span></p> + +<p>"I only wish Auntie could hear you say that," says Vee, pattin' me +gently on the cheek.</p> + +<p>"Why Auntie?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, just because," says Vee.</p> + +<p>With that she fixes me up all comfy on the sleepin' porch and tells me +to call her if I want anything.</p> + +<p>"I won't," says I. "I'm all set for slumber. It's goin' to be a fine +large night, ain't it!"</p> + +<p>"Perfect," says Vee.</p> + +<p>"Moon shinin' and everything?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says she.</p> + +<p>"Then here's hoping," says I.</p> + +<p>"There, there!" says Vee. "I'm afraid you're a little feverish."</p> + +<p>Maybe I was, but I didn't hear another thing until more 'n ten hours +later when I woke up to find the sun winkin' in at me through the +shutters.</p> + +<p>"Did you have a good night's rest?" asks Vee.</p> + +<p>"As good as they come," says I. "How about you!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I slept fairly well," says she. "I was awake once or twice. I +suppose I was worrying a little about you. And then I thought I hear +strange noises."</p> + +<p>"What sort of noises?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"Oh, like a lot of men walking by," says she. "That must have been +nearly midnight. They were talking low as they passed, and it almost +sounded as if they were carrying tools<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span> of some sort. Then along towards +morning I thought I heard them pass again. I'm sure some of them were +swearing."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says I. "I wonder what they could have been peeved about on such +a fine night?"</p> + +<p>"Or I might have been simply dreaming," she adds.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and then again," says I, smotherin' a chuckle.</p> + +<p>I could hardly wait to dress and shave before rushin' out to inspect the +spot where I'd almost ruined myself only the mornin' before. And it was +something worth inspectin'. I'll say. Must be nearly half an acre in +that strip and I expect that sod has been growin' for years untouched by +the hand of man. At 6 P. M. last night it was just a mass of thick grass +and dandelions, but now—say, a tractor plough and a gang of prairie +tamers couldn't have done a more thorough job. If there was a square +foot that hadn't been torn up I couldn't see it with the naked eye.</p> + +<p>Course, it aint all smooth and even. There was holes here and there, +some of 'em three feet deep, but about all the land needed now was a +little rakin' and fillin' in, such as Dominick could do in his spare +time. The cheerin' fact remains that the hard part of the work has been +done, silent and miraculous, and without price.</p> + +<p>I shouts for Vee to come out and see. It ain't often, either, that I can +spring anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span> on her that leaves her stunned and bug-eyed.</p> + +<p>"Why, Torchy!" says she, gaspy. "How in the world did you ever manage +it? I—I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very simple!" says I. "It's all in havin' the right kind of +neighbors."</p> + +<p>"But you don't mean," says she, "that you persuaded some of our—oh, I'm +sure you never could. Besides, you're grinning. Torchy, I want you to +tell me all about it. Come, now! Exactly what happened last night?"</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "not being present myself I could hardly tell that. But +I've got a good hunch."</p> + +<p>"What is it!" she insists.</p> + +<p>"From your report of what you heard," says I, "and from the looks of the +ground 'n everything, I should judge that the Harbor Hills Exploring and +Excavating Co. had been making a night raid on our property."</p> + +<p>"Pooh!" says Vee. "I never heard of such a company. But if there is one, +why should they come here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just prospectin', I expect," says I.</p> + +<p>"For what?" demands Vee.</p> + +<p>"For stuff that the 18th amendment says they can't have," says I. +"Gettin' down to brass tacks, for a case of dry gin."</p> + +<p>Even that don't satisfy Vee. She demands why they should dig for any +such thing on our land.</p> + +<p>"They might have heard some rumor," says<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span> I, "that MacGregor Shinn went +off and left it buried there. As though a Scotchman could ever get as +careless as that. I don't believe he did. Anyway, some of them smart +Alec commuters who were kiddin' me so free yesterday must have worked up +blisters of their own. My guess is that they lost some sleep, too."</p> + +<p>You don't have to furnish Vee with a diagram of a joke, you know, before +she sees it. At that she squints her eyes and lets out a snicker.</p> + +<p>"I wonder, Torchy," says she, "who could have started such a rumor?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the main mystery, ain't it?" says I. "But your flower bed +is about ready, ain't it?"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2><h3>GIVING 'CHITA A LOOK</h3> +</div> + +<p>I got to admit that there's some drawbacks to being a 100 per cent +perfect private see. Not that I mind making myself useful around the +general offices. I'm always willin' to roll up my sleeves any time and +save the grand old Corrugated Trust from going on the rocks. I'll take a +stab at anything, from meetin' a strike committee of the Amalgamated +Window Washers' Union to subbin' in as president for Old Hickory at the +annual meetin'. And between times I don't object to makin' myself as +handy as a socket wrench. That is, so long as it's something that has to +do with finance, high or low.</p> + +<p>But say, when they get to usin' me in strictly fam'ly affairs, I almost +work up a grouch. Notice the almost. Course, with this fair-and-warmer +disposition of mine I can't quite register. Not with Mr. Robert, anyway. +He has such a matey, I-say-old-chap way with him. Like here the other +day when he comes strollin' out from the private office rubbin' his chin +puzzled, stares around for a minute, and then makes straight for my +desk.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," says he, "I presume you noted the arrival of the prodigal son; +eh, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Meaning Ambrose the Ambler?" says I.</p> + +<p>"The same," says he.</p> + +<p>"They will come back even from South America," says I. "And you was +figurin', I expect, how that would be a long, wet walk. But then, +nothing was ever too wet for Amby, and the only fear he had of water was +that he might get careless some time and swallow a little."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," says Mr. Robert, grinnin'.</p> + +<p>You see, this Ambrose Wood party is only an in-law once removed. Maybe +you remember Ferdy, who had the nerve to marry Marjorie Ellins, the +heavyweight sister of Mr. Robert's, here a few years back? Well, that +was when the Ellinses acquired a brunette member of the flock. Ambrose +is a full brother of Ferdy's. In every sense. That is, he was in the +good old days when Mr. Volstead was only a name towards the end of roll +call.</p> + +<p>I ought to know more or less about Amby for we had him here in the +general offices for quite some time, tryin' to discover if there wasn't +some sphere of usefulness that would excuse us handin' him a pay +envelope once a week. There wasn't. Course, we didn't try him as a paper +weight or a door stop. But he had a whirl at almost everything else. And +the result was a total loss.</p> + +<p>For one thing, time clocks meant no more to Amby than an excursion ad. +would to a Sing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> Sing lifer. Amby wasn't interested in 'em. He'd drift +in among the file room or bond clerks, or whatever bunch he happened to +be inflicted on that particular month, at any old hour, from 10 A. M. up +to 2:30 P. M. Always chirky and chipper about it, too. And his little +tales about the parties he'd been to on the night before was usually +interestin'. Which was bad for the general morale, as you can guess. +Also his light and frivolous way of chuckin' zippy lady stenogs under +the chin and callin' 'em "Dearie" didn't help his standin' any. Yeauh! +He was some boy, Amby, while he lasted. Three different times Brother +Ferdie was called from his happy home at night to rush down with enough +cash bail to rescue Ambrose from a cold-hearted desk sergeant, and once +he figured quite prominent on the front page of the morning papers when +he insisted on confidin' to the judge that him and the young lady in the +taxi was really the king and queen of Staten Island come over to visit +upper Broadway. I don't doubt that Amby thought he was something of the +kind at the time, too, but you know how the reporters are apt to play up +an item of that kind. And of course they had to lug in the fact that +Ambrose was a near-son-in-law of the president of the Corrugated Trust.</p> + +<p>That was where Old Hickory pushed the button for me. "Young man," says +he, chewin' his cigar savage, "what should you say was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span> the longest +steamer trip that one could buy a ticket for direct from New York?"</p> + +<p>"Why," says I, "my guess would be Buenos Ayres."</p> + +<p>"Very well," says he, "engage a one way passage on the next boat and see +that Mr. Ambrose Wood stays aboard until the steamer sails."</p> + +<p>Which I did. Ambrose didn't show any hard feelin's over it. In fact, as +I remember, he was quite cheerful. "Tell the old hard boiled egg not to +worry about me," says he. "He may be able to lose me this way for a +while, but I'm not clear off the map yet. I'll be back some day."</p> + +<p>Must have been more 'n three years ago, and as I hadn't heard Amby's +name mentioned in all that time I joined in the general surprise when I +saw him trailin' in dressed so neat and lookin' so fit.</p> + +<p>"On his way to hand Ferdy the glad jolt, eh?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"No," says Mr. Robert. "Ambrose seems quite willing to postpone meeting +his brother for a day or so. He has just landed, you see, and doesn't +care to dash madly out into the suburbs. What he wishes most, as I +understand, is to take a long, long look at New York."</p> + +<p>"Well, after three years' exile," says I, "you can hardly blame him for +that."</p> + +<p>Mr. Robert hunches his shoulders. "I suppose one can't," says he. "Only +it leaves him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span> on my hands, as it were. Someone must do the family +honors—dinner, theatre, all that sort of thing. And if I were not tied +up by an important committee meeting out at the country club I should be +very glad to—er—"</p> + +<p>"Ye-e-es?" says I, glancin' at him suspicious.</p> + +<p>"You've guessed it, Torchy," says he. "I must leave them to you."</p> + +<p>"Whaddye mean, them?" says I. "I thought we was talking about Ambrose."</p> + +<p>"Oh, certainly," says Mr. Robert. "But Mrs. Wood is with him, he says. +In fact they came up together. Same boat. They would, you know. Charming +young woman. At least, so I inferred from what Ambrose said. One of +those dark Spanish beauties such as—"</p> + +<p>"Check!" says I. "That lets me out. All the Spanish I know is 'Multum in +parvo' and I forget just what that means now. I couldn't talk to the +lady a-tall."</p> + +<p>But Mr. Robert insists I don't have to be conversational with her, or +with Ambrose, either. All he wants me to do is steer 'em to some nice, +refined place regardless of expense, give 'em a welcome-home feed that +will make 'em forget that the Ellins family is only represented by +proxy, tow 'em to some high-class entertainment, like "The Boudoir +Girls," and sort of see that Ambrose lands back at his hotel without +having got mixed up with any of his old set.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "Kind of a he-chaperone act, eh?"</p> + +<p>That seems to be the general idea, and as he promises to stop in at the +house and fix things up for me at home, and pushes a roll of twenties at +me to spray around with as I see fit, of course, I has to take the job. +I trails in with Mr. Robert while he apologizes elaborate to Ambrose and +explains how he's had to ask me to fill in.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly all right, old man," says Ambrose. "In fact—well, you get +the idea, eh? The little wife hasn't quite got her bearings yet. Might +feel better about meeting her new relatives after she's been around a +bit. And Torchy will do fine."</p> + +<p>He tips me the wink as Mr. Robert hurries off.</p> + +<p>"Same old cut-up, eh, Amby?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Who me?" says he. "No, no! Nothing like that. Old married man, steady +as a church. Uh-huh! Two years and a half in the harness. You ought to +see the happy hacienda we call home down there. Say, it's forty-eight +long miles out of Buenos Ayres. Can you picture that! El Placida's the +name of the cute little burg. It looks it. They don't make 'em any more +placid anywhere."</p> + +<p>"I wonder you picked it then," says I.</p> + +<p>"I didn't exactly," says Ambrose. "El Placida rather picked me. Funny +how things work out sometimes. Got chummy with an old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span> boy going down on +the boat, Senor Alvarado. Showed him how to play Canfield and Russian +bank and gave him the prescription for mixing a Hartford stinger. Before +we crossed the line he thought I was an ace. Wanted to know what I was +going to do down in his great country. 'Oh, anything that will keep me +in cigarettes,' says I. 'You come with me and learn the wool business,' +says he. 'It's a bet,' says I. So instead of being stranded in a strange +land and nibbling the shrubbery for lunch, as my dear brother and the +Ellinses had doped out, I lands easy on my feet with a salary that +starts when I walks down the gank plank. Only I have to be in El Placida +to draw my pay."</p> + +<p>"But you made good, did you?" I asks.</p> + +<p>"I did as long as Senor Alvarado was around to back me up," says Amby, +"but when he slides down to the city for a week's business trip and +turns me over to that Scotch superintendent of his the going got kind of +rough. Mr. McNutt sends me out with a flivver to buy wool around the +country. Looked easy. Buying things used to be my long suit. I bought a +lot of wool. But I expect some of them low-browed rancheros must have +gypped me good and plenty. Anyway, McNutt threw a fit when he looked +over my bargains. He didn't do a thing but fire me, right off the reel. +Honest, I'd never been fired so impetuous or so enthusiastic. He invites +me to get off the place, which means hiking back to Buenos Ayres.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, what can you do with a Scotchman who's mad clear to the marrow? +Especially a rough actor like McNutt. I'd already done a mile from the +village when along comes 'Chita in her roadster. You know, old man +Alvarado's only daughter. Some senorita, 'Chita is. You should have seen +those black eyes of her's flash when she heard how abrupt I'd been +turned loose. 'We shall go straight to papa,' says she. 'He will tell +Senor McNutt where he gets off.' She meant well, 'Chita. But I had my +doubts. I knew that Alvarado was pretty strong for McNutt. I'd heard him +say there wasn't another man in the Argentine who knew more about wool +than McNutt, and if it came to a showdown as to which of us stayed on I +wouldn't have played myself for a look in.</p> + +<p>"So while 'Chita is stepping on the gas button and handing out a swell +line of sympathy I begins to hint that there's one particular reason why +I hated to leave El Placida. Oh, we'd played around some before that. +Strictly off stage stuff, though; a little mandolin practice in the +moonlight, a few fox trot lessons, and so on. But before the old man I'd +let on to be skirt shy. It went big with him, I noticed. But there in +the car I decides that the only way to keep in touch with the family +check book is to make a quick bid for 'Chita. So I cut loose with the +best Romeo lines I had in stock. Twice 'Chita nearly ditched us, but +finally she pulls up alongside the road and gives her whole attention +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span> what I had to say. Oh, they know how to take it, those sonoritas. +She'd had a whole string of young rancheros and caballeros dangling +around her for the past two years. But somehow I must have had a lucky +break, for the next thing I knew we'd gone to a fond clinch and it was +all over except the visit to the church."</p> + +<p>"And you married the job, eh?" says I. "Fast work, I'll say. But how did +papa take it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, for the first ten minutes," says Ambrose, "I thought I'd been +caught out in a thunderstorm while an earthquake and a sham battle were +being staged. But pretty soon he got himself soothed down, patted me on +the shoulder and remarked that maybe I'd do as well as some others that +he hadn't much use for. And while he didn't make McNutt eat his words or +anything like that, he gave him to understand that a perfectly good +son-in-law wasn't expected to be such a shark at shopping for wool. +Anyway, we've been getting along fairly well ever since. You have to, in +a place like El Placida."</p> + +<p>"And this is a little postponed honeymoon tour, eh?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"Hardly," says Ambrose. "I hope it's a clean break away from the +continent of South America in general and El Placida in particular."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh!" says I. "Will Senor Alvarado stake you to that?"</p> + +<p>"He isn't staking anybody now," says Ambrose. "Uh-huh! Checked out last +winter. Good old scout. Left everything to 'Chita, the whole works. And +I've been ever since then trying to convince her that the one spot worth +living in anywhere on the map is this little old burg with Broadway +running through the middle."</p> + +<p>"That ought to be easy," says I.</p> + +<p>"Not with a girl who's been brought up to think that Buenos Ayres is the +last word in cities," says Ambrose. "Why, she's already begun to feel +sorry for the bellhops and taxi drivers and salesladies because she's +discovered that not one of 'em knows a word of Spanish. Asks me how all +these people manage to amuse themselves evenings with no opera to go to, +no band playing on the plaza, and so on. See what I'm up against, +Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"I get a glimmer," says I.</p> + +<p>"That's why I'm glad you are going to tow us around," he goes on, +"instead of Bob Ellins. He's a back number, Bob. Me, too, from having +been out of it all so long. Why, I've only been scouting about a little, +but I can't find any of the old joints."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a lot of 'em have been put out of business," says I.</p> + +<p>"Must be new ones just as good though," he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">303</a></span> insists. "The live wires +have to rally around somewhere."</p> + +<p>"I don't know about that," says I. "This prohibition has put a crimp +in—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you can't tell me!" breaks in Ambrose. "Maybe it's dimmed the +lights some in Worcester and Toledo and Waukegan, but not in good old +Manhattan. Not much! I know the town too well. Our folks just wouldn't +stand for any of that Sahara bunk. Not for a minute. Might have covered +up a bit—high sign necessary, side entrances only, and all that. But +you can't run New York without joy water. It's here. And so are the gay +lads and lassies who uncork it. We want to mingle with 'em, 'Chita and +yours truly. I want her to see the lights where they're brightest, the +girls where they're gayest. Want to show her how the wheels go 'round. +You get me; eh, Torchy?"</p> + +<p>"Sure!" says I.</p> + +<p>What was the use wastin' any more breath? Besides, I'd been hearin' a +lot of these young hicks talk big about spots where the lid could be +pried off. Maybe it was so. Ambrose and 'Chita should have a look, +anyway. And I spent the rest of the afternoon interviewin' sporty +acquaintances over the 'phone, gettin' dope on where to hunt for active +capers and poppin' corks. I must say, too, that most of the steers were +a little vague. But, then, you can't tell who's who these days, with so +many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span> ministers givin' slummin' parties and Federal agents so thick.</p> + +<p>When I sails around to the Plutoria to collect Amby and wife about 6:30 +I finds 'Chita all gussied up like she was expectin' big doings. Quite a +stunner she is, with them high voltage black eyes, and the gold ear +hoops, and in that vivid colored evening gown. And by the sparkle in her +eyes I can guess she's all primed for a reg'lar party.</p> + +<p>"How about the old Bonaparte for the eats?" I says to Ambrose.</p> + +<p>"Swell!" says he. "I remember giving a little dinner for four there once +when we opened—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," says I. "Here's the taxi."</p> + +<p>Did look like kind of a jolly bunch, too, down there in the old +dining-room—orchestra jabbin' away, couple of real Jap girls floatin' +around with cigars and cigarettes, and all kinds of glasses on the +tables. But you should have seen Amby's jaw drop when he grabs the wine +list and starts to give an order.</p> + +<p>"What the blazes is a grenadine cocktail or—or a pineapple punch?" he +demands.</p> + +<p>"By me," says I. "Why not sample some of it?"</p> + +<p>Which he does eager. "Bah!" says he. "Call that a cocktail, do they? +Nothing but sweetened water colored up. Here, waiter! Call the chief."</p> + +<p>All Ambrose could get out of the head waiter,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span> though, was shoulder +shrugs and regrets. Nothing doing in the real red liquor line. "The +champagne cider iss ver' fine, sir," he adds.</p> + +<p>"Huh!" says Ambrose. "Ought to be at four fifty a quart. Well, we'll +take a chance."</p> + +<p>Served it in a silver bucket, too. It had the familiar pop, and the +bubbles showed plain in the hollow stemmed glasses, but you could drink +a gallon of it without feelin' inspired to do anything wilder than call +for a life preserver.</p> + +<p>The roof garden girl-show that we went to afterwards was a zippy +performance, after it's kind. Also there was a bar in the lobby. Amby +shoved up to that prompt—and came back with two pink lemonades, at 75 +cents a throw.</p> + +<p>"Well," says I, "ain't there mint on top and a cherry in the bottom?"</p> + +<p>"And weak lemonade in between," grumbles Ambrose. "What do they take me +for, a gold fish?"</p> + +<p>"We'll try a cabaret next," says I.</p> + +<p>We did. They had the place fixed up fancy, too, blue and green toy +balloons floatin' around the ceilin', a peacock in a big gold cage, +tables ranged around the dancin' space, and the trombone artist puttin' +his whole soul into a pumpin' out "The Alcoholic Blues." And you could +order most anything off the menu, from a poulet casserole to a cheese +sandwich. Amby and 'Chita splurged on a cafe parfait and a grape juice +rickey. Other dissipated couples at nearby tables were indulgin' in +canapes of caviar and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span> frosted sarsaparillas. But shortly after midnight +the giddy revellers begun to thin out and the girl waiters got yawny.</p> + +<p>"How about a round of strawb'ry ice cream sodas; eh, Amby?" I suggests.</p> + +<p>"No," says he, "I'm no high school girl. I've put away so much of that +sweet slush now that I'll be bilious for a week. But say, Torchy, honest +to goodness, is Broadway like this all the time now?"</p> + +<p>"No," says I. "They're goin' to have a Y.W.C.A. convention here next +week and I expect that'll stir things up quite a bit."</p> + +<p>"Sorry," says Amby, "but I shan't be here."</p> + +<p>"No?" says I.</p> + +<p>"Pos-i-tively," says Ambrose. "'Chita and I will be on our way back by +that time; back to good old Buenos Ayres, where there's more doing in a +minute than happens the whole length of Broadway in a month. And listen, +old son; when we open a bottle something besides the pop will come out +of it." "Better hurry," says I. "Maybe Pussyfoot Johnson's down there +now monkeying with the constitution."</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 tor +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>JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD’S<br />STORIES OF ADVENTURE</h2> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-family:sans-serif; font-size:75%">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE RIVER'S END</p> + +<p>A story of the Royal Mounted Police.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE GOLDEN SNARE</p> + +<p>Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">NOMADS OF THE NORTH</p> + +<p>The story of a bear-cub and a dog.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">KAZAN</p> + +<p>The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn +between the call of the human and his wild mate.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">BAREE, SON OF KAZAN</p> + +<p>The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he +played in the lives of a man and a woman.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM</p> + +<p>The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his battle +with Captain Plum.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE DANGER TRAIL</p> + +<p>A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE HUNTED WOMAN</p> + +<p>A tale of a great fight in the "valley of gold" for a woman.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH</p> + +<p>The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is +blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE GRIZZLY KING</p> + +<p>The story of Thor, the big grizzly.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">ISOBEL</p> + +<p>A love story of the Far North.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE WOLF HUNTERS</p> + +<p>A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE GOLD HUNTERS</p> + +<p>The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE</p> + +<p>Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY</p> + +<p>A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made from +this book.</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>RALPH CONNOR’S STORIES<br />OF THE NORTHWEST</h2> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-family:sans-serif; font-size:75%">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND</p> + +<p>The clean-hearted, strong-limbed man of the West leaves his hills and +forests to fight the battle for freedom in the old world.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">BLACK ROCK</p> + +<p>A story of strong men in the mountains of the West.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE SKY PILOT</p> + +<p>A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freshest humor, the truest +tenderness and the finest courage.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE PROSPECTOR</p> + +<p>A tale of the foothills and of the man who came to them to lend a hand +to the lonely men and women who needed a protector.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY</p> + +<p>This narrative brings us into contact with elemental and volcanic human +nature and with a hero whose power breathes from every word.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS</p> + +<p>In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph Connor has found human nature +in the rough.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE DOCTOR</p> + +<p>The story of a "preacher-doctor" whom big men and reckless men loved for +his unselfish life among them.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE FOREIGNER</p> + +<p>A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a "foreigner" who made a brave and +winning fight for manhood and love.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">CORPORAL CAMERON</p> + +<p>This splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man about which Ralph +Connor builds all his stories, appears again in this book.</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>THE NOVELS OF<br />GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ</h2> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-family:sans-serif; font-size:75%">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE BEST MAN</p> + +<p>Through a strange series of adventures a young man finds himself +propelled up the aisle of a church and married to a strange girl.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS</p> + +<p>On her way West the heroine steps off by mistake at a lonely watertank +into a maze of thrilling events.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE ENCHANTED BARN</p> + +<p>Every member of the family will enjoy this spirited chronicle of a young +girl's resourcefulness and pluck, and the secret of the "enchanted" +barn.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE WITNESS</p> + +<p>The fascinating story of the enormous change an incident wrought in a +man's life.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">MARCIA SCHUYLER</p> + +<p>A picture of ideal girlhood set in the time of full skirts and poke +bonnets.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">LO, MICHAEL!</p> + +<p>A story of unfailing appeal to all who love and understand boys.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE MAN OF THE DESERT</p> + +<p>An intensely moving love story of a man of the desert and a girl of the +East pictured against the background of the Far West.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">PHOEBE DEANE</p> + +<p>A tense and charming love story, told with a grace and a fervor with +which only Mrs. Lutz could tell it.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">DAWN OF THE MORNING</p> + +<p>A romance of the last century with all of its old-fashioned charm. A +companion volume to "Marcia Schuyler" and "Phoebe Deane."</p> + +<p class="center" style="font-size: smaller; font-style: italic">Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>ELEANOR H. PORTER’S NOVELS</h2> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-family:sans-serif; font-size:75%">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">JUST DAVID</p> + +<p>The tale of a loveable boy and the place he comes to fill in the hearts +of the gruff farmer folk to whose care he is left.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING</p> + +<p>A compelling romance of love and marriage.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">OH, MONEY! MONEY!</p> + +<p>Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the dispositions of his +relatives, sends them each a check for $100,000, and then as plain John +Smith comes among them to watch the result of his experiment.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">SIX STAR RANCH</p> + +<p>A wholesome story of a club of six girls and their summer on Six Star +Ranch.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">DAWN</p> + +<p>The story of a blind boy whose courage leads him through the gulf of +despair into a final victory gained by dedicating his life to the +service of blind soldiers.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">ACROSS THE YEARS</p> + +<p>Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. Contains some of +the best writing Mrs. Porter has done.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE TANGLED THREADS</p> + +<p>In these stories we find the concentrated charm and tenderness of all +her other books.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE TIE THAT BINDS</p> + +<p>Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter's wonderful talent for +warm and vivid character drawing.</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>ETHEL M. DELL’S NOVELS</h2> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-family:sans-serif; font-size:75%">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE LAMP IN THE DESERT</p> + +<p>The scene of this splendid story is laid in India and tells of the lamp +of love that continues to shine through all sorts of tribulations to +final happiness.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">GREATHEART</p> + +<p>The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE</p> + +<p>A hero who worked to win even when there was only "a hundredth chance."</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE SWINDLER</p> + +<p>The story of a "bad man's" soul revealed by a woman's faith.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE TIDAL WAVE</p> + +<p>Tales of love and of women who learned to know the true from the false.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE SAFETY CURTAIN</p> + +<p>A very vivid love story of India. The volume also contains four other +long stories of equal interest.</p> + +<p class="center smcap">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2>EDGAR RICE BURROUGH’S NOVELS</h2> + +<p style="text-align: center; font-family:sans-serif; font-size:75%">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">TARZAN THE UNTAMED</p> + +<p>Tells of Tarzan's return to the life of the ape-man in his search for +vengeance on those who took from him his wife and home.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN</p> + +<p>Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right to +ape kingship.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">A PRINCESS OF MARS</p> + +<p>Forty-three million miles from the earth—a succession of the weirdest +and most astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter, American, finds +himself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful woman, with the +Green Men of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on +horses like dragons.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE GODS OF MARS</p> + +<p>Continuing John Carter's adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he does +battle against the ferocious "plant men," creatures whose mighty tails +swished their victims to instant death, and defies Issus, the terrible +Goddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and reveres.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THE WARLORD OF MARS</p> + +<p>Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars Tarkas, +Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the storv in the +union of the Warlord, the title conferred upon John Carter, with Drjah +Thoris.</p> + +<p style="text-decoration: underline">THUVIA, MAID OF MARS</p> + +<p>The fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the adventures +of Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian +Emperor.</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 As A Pa, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AS A PA *** + +***** This file should be named 20629-h.htm or 20629-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/6/2/20629/ + +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 As A Pa + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Release Date: February 19, 2007 [EBook #20629] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TORCHY AS A PA *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +TORCHY AS A PA + +BY +SEWELL FORD + +AUTHOR OF +THE TORCHY AND THE SHORTY McCABE STORIES + +GROSSET & DUNLAP +PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + +Made in the United States of America + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Copyright, 1919, 1920, by +SEWELL FORD + +Copyright, 1920, by +EDWARD J. CLODE + +All Rights Reserved + +Printed In the United States of America + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. Vee Ties Something Loose 1 + II. When Hallam Was Rung Up 16 + III. The Gummidges Get a Break 34 + IV. Finding Out About Buddy 50 + V. In Deep for Waddy 69 + VI. How Torchy Anchored a Cook 89 + VII. How the Garveys Broke in 105 + VIII. Nicky and the Setting Hen 122 + IX. Brink Does a Sideslip 136 + X. 'Ikky-Boy Comes Along 150 + XI. Louise Reverses the Clock 162 + XII. When the Curb Got Gypped 177 + XIII. The Mantle of Sandy the Great 191 + XIV. Torchy Shunts a Wizard 205 + XV. Stanley Takes the Jazz Cure 220 + XVI. The Mystery of the Thirty-One 234 + XVII. No Luck with Auntie 248 + XVIII. Hartley Pulls a New One 263 + XIX. Torchy Gets a Hunch 279 + XX. Giving 'Chita a Look 293 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +TORCHY AS A PA + +CHAPTER I + +VEE TIES SOMETHING LOOSE + + +I forget just what it was Vee was rummagin' for in the drawer of her +writin' desk. Might have been last month's milk bill, or a stray hair +net, or the plans and specifications for buildin' a spiced layer cake +with only two eggs. Anyway, right in the middle of the hunt she cuts +loose with the staccato stuff, indicatin' surprise, remorse, sudden +grief and other emotions. + +"Eh?" says I. "Is it a woman-eatin' mouse, or did you grab a hatpin by +the business end?" + +"Silly!" says she. "Look what I ran across, Torchy." And she flips an +engraved card at me. + +I picks it on the fly, reads the neat script on it, and then hunches my +shoulders. "Well, well!" says I. "At home after September 15, 309 West +Hundred and Umpty Umpt street. How interestin'! But who is this Mr. and +Mrs. Hamilton Porter Blake, anyway?" + +"Why, don't you remember?" says Vee. "We sent them that darling +urn-shaped candy jar. That is Lucy Lee and her dear Captain." + +"Oh, then she got him, did she?" says I. "I knew he was a goner when she +went after him so strong. And now I expect they're livin' happy ever +after?" + +Maybe you don't remember my tellin' you about Lucy Lee, the Virginia +butterfly we took in over the week-end once and how I had to scratch +around one Saturday to find some male dinner mate for her, and picked +this hard-boiled egg from the bond room, one of these buddin' John D.'s +who keeps an expense account and shudders every time he passes a +millinery store or thinks what two orchestra seats and a double taxi +fare would set him back. And, the female being the more expensive of the +species, he has trained himself to be girl proof. That's what he lets on +to me beforehand, but inside of forty-eight minutes by the watch, or +between his first spoonful of tomato soup and his last sip of cafe noir, +this Lucy Lee party had him so dizzy in the head he didn't know whether +he was gazin' into her lovely eyes or being run down by a truck. Honest, +some of these babidolls with high voltage lamps like that ought to be +made to use dimmers. For look! Just as she's got him all wound up in the +net, what does Lucy Lee do but flit sudden off to the Berkshires, where +a noble young S. O. S. captain has just come back from the war and the +next we know they're engaged, while in the bond room of the Corrugated +Trust is one more broken heart, or what passes for the same among them +young hicks. + +And now here is Lucy Lee, flaggin' as young Mrs. Blake, livin' right in +the same town with him. + +"How stupid of me to forget!" says Vee. "We must run in and call on them +right away, Torchy." + +"We?" says I. "Ah, come!" + +"We'll have dinner first at that cute little Cafe Bretone you've been +telling me about," says Vee, "and go up to see the Blakes afterwards." + +Yes, that was the program we followed. And without the aid of a guide we +located this Umpty Umpt street. The number is about half way down the +block that runs from upper Broadway to Riverside Drive. It's one of the +narrow streets, you know, and the scenery is just as cheerful as a +section of the Hudson River tube on a foggy night. Nothing but +seven-story apartment buildings on either side; human hives, where the +only thing that can be raised is the rent, which the landlord attends to +every quarter. + +Having lived out in the near-country for a couple of years, I'd most +forgotten what ugly, gloomy barracks these big apartment buildings were. +Say, if they built state prisons like that, with no more sun or air in +the cells, there'd be an awful howl. But the Rosenheimers and the Max +Blums and the Gilottis can run up jerry built blocks with 8x10 bedrooms +openin' on narrow airshafts, and livin' rooms where you need a couple of +lights burnin' on sunny days, and nobody says a word except to beg the +agent to let 'em pay $150 a month or so for four rooms and bath. I can +feel Vee give a shudder as we dives into the tunnel. + +"But really," says she, "I suppose it must be very nice, only half a +block from the Drive, and with such an imposing entrance." + +"Sure!" says I. "Just as cosy as being tucked away in a safety deposit +vault every night. That's what makes some of these New Yorkers so +patronizin' and haughty when they happen to stray out to way stations +and crossroads joints where the poor Rubes live exposed continual to +sunshine and fresh air and don't seem to know any better." + +"Just think!" says Vee. "Lucy Lee's home down in Virginia was one of +those delightful old Colonial houses set on a hill, with more than a +hundred acres of farm land around it. And Captain Blake must have been +used to an outdoor life. He's a civil engineer, I believe. But then, +with the honeymoon barely over, I suppose they don't mind." + +"We might ask 'em," I suggests. + +"Don't you dare, Torchy!" says she. + +By that time, though, we're ready to interview the fuzzy-haired West +Indian brunette in charge of the 'phone desk in one corner of the +marble wainscoted lobby. And when he gets through givin' the hot +comeback to some tenant who has dared to protest that he's had the wrong +number, he takes his time findin' out for us whether or not the Blakes +are in. Finally he grunts something through the gum and waves us toward +the elevator. "Fourth," says he. And a slouchy young female in a dirty +khaki uniform takes us up, jerky, to turn us loose in a hallway with a +dozen doors openin' off. + +There's such a dim light we could hardly read the cards in the door +plates, and we was pawin' around, dazed, when a husky bleached blonde +comes sailin' out of an apartment. + +"Will you please tell me which is the Blakes' bell?" asks Vee. + +"Blakes?" says the blonde. "Don't know 'em." + +"Perhaps we're on the wrong floor," I suggests. + +But about then a door opens and out peers Lucy Lee herself. "Why, there +you are!" says she. "We were just picking up a little. You know how +things get in an apartment. So good of you to hunt us up. Come right +in." + +So we squeezes in between a fancy hall seat and the kitchen door, edges +down a three-foot hallway, and discovers Captain Blake just strugglin' +into his coat, at the same time kickin' some evenin' papers, dexterous, +under a davenport. + +"Why, how comfy you are here, aren't you?" says Vee, gazin' around. + +"Ye-e-es, aren't we?" says Lucy Lee, a bit draggy. + +If you've ever made one of these flathouse first calls you can fill in +the rest for yourself. We are shown how, by leanin' out one of the front +windows, you can almost see the North River; what a cute little dinin' +room there is, with a built-in china closet and all; and how convenient +the bathroom is wedged between the two sleeping rooms. + +"But really," says Lucy Lee, "the kitchen is the nicest. Do you know, +the sun actually comes in for nearly an hour every afternoon. And isn't +everything so handy?" + +Yes, it was. You could stand in the middle and reach the gas stove with +one hand and the sink with the other, and if you didn't want to use the +washtub you could rest a loaf of bread on it. Then there was the +dumbwaiter door just beside the ice-box, and overhead a shelf where you +could store a whole dollar's worth of groceries, if you happened to have +that much on hand at once. It was all as handy as an upper berth. + +"You see," explains Lucy Lee, "we have no room for a maid, and couldn't +possibly get one if we did have room, so I am doing my own work; that +is, we are. Hamilton is really quite a wonderful cook; aren't you, +Hammy, dear? Of course, I knew how to make fudge, and I am learning to +scramble eggs. We go out for dinner a lot, too." + +"Isn't that nice?" says Vee, encouragin'. + +Gradually we got the whole story. It seems Blake wasn't a captain any +more, but had an engineerin' job on one of the new tubes, so they had to +stick in New York. They had thought at first it would be thrilling, but +I gathered that most of the thrills had worn off. And along towards the +end Lucy Lee admits that she's awfully lonesome. You see, she'd been +used to spendin' about six months of the year with Daddy in Washington, +three more in flittin' around from one house party to the other, and +what was left of the year restin' up down on the big plantation, where +they knew all the neighbors for miles around. + +"But here," says she, "we seem to know hardly anyone. Oh, yes, there are +a few people in town we've met, but somehow we never see them. They live +either in grand houses on Fifth Avenue, or in big hotels, or in +Brooklyn." + +"Then you haven't gotten acquainted with anyone in the building here?" +asks Vee. + +"Why," says Lucy Lee, "the janitor's wife is a Mrs. Biggs, I believe. +I've spoken to her several times--about the milk." + +"You poor dear!" says Vee. + +"It's so tiresome," goes on Lucy Lee, "wandering out at night to some +strange restaurant and eating dinner among total strangers. We go often +to one perfectly dreadful little place because there's a funny old +waiter that we call by his first name. He tells us about his married +daughter, whose husband is a steamfitter and has been out on strike for +nearly two months. But Hamilton always tips him more than he should, so +it makes our dinners quite expensive. We have to make up, next night, by +having fried eggs and bacon at home." + + * * * * * + +Well, it's a tale of woe, all right. Lucy Lee don't mean to complain, +but when she gets started on the subject she lets the whole thing out. +Life in the great city, if you have to spend twenty hours out of the +twenty-four in a four-and-bath apartment, ain't so allurin', the way she +sketches it out. Course, she ain't used to it, for one thing. She thinks +if she had some friends nearby it might not be so bad. As for Hamilton, +he listens to her with a puzzled, hopeless expression, like he didn't +understand. + +Vee seems to be studyin' over something, but she don't appear to be +gettin' anywhere. So we sits around and talks for an hour or so. There +ain't room to do much else in a flat. And about 9:30 Mr. Blake has a +brilliant thought. + +"I say, Lucy," says he, "suppose we make a rinktum-diddy for the folks, +eh?" + +"Sounds exciting'," says I. "Do you start by joinin' hands around the +table?" + +No, you don't. You get out the electric chafing dish and begin by fryin' +some onions. Then you melt up some cheese, add some canned tomatoes, +and the result is kind of a Spanish Welsh rabbit that's almost as tasty +as it is smelly. + +It was while we was messin' around the vest pocket kitchen, everybody +tryin' to help, that we spots this face at the window opposite. It's +sort of a calm, good natured face. You wouldn't call the young lady a +heart-breaker exactly, for her mouth is cut kind of generous and her big +eyes are wide set and serious; but you might guess that she was a decent +sort and more or less sociable. In fact she's starin' across the ten +feet or so of air space watchin' our maneuvers kind of interested and +wistful. + +"Who's your neighbor?" asks Vee. + +"I'm sure I haven't an idea," says Lucy Lee. "I see her a lot, of +course. She spends as much time in her kitchen as I do, even more. +Usually she seems to be alone." + +"Why don't you speak to her some time?" suggests Vee. + +"Oh, I wouldn't dare," says Lucy Lee. "It--it isn't done, you know. I +tried that twice when I first came, with women I met in the elevator, +and I was promptly snubbed. New Yorkers don't do that sort of thing, I +understand." + +"But she's rather a nice looking girl," insists Vee. "And see, she's +half smiling. I'm going to speak to her." Which she does, right off the +bat. "I hope you don't mind the onion perfume?" says Vee. + +The strange young lady doesn't slam down the window and go off tossin' +her head, indignant, so she can't be a real New Yorker. Instead she +smiles and shows a couple of cheek dimples. "It smells mighty good," +says she. "I was just wondering what it could be." + +"Won't you come over and find out?" says Vee, smilin' back. + +"Yes, do come and join us," puts in Lucy Lee. "I'll open the hall door +for you." + +"Why, I--I'd love to if--if I may," says the young lady. + +And that's how, half an hour or so later, when all that was left of this +rinktum-diddy trick was some brown smears on five empty plates, we begun +hearin' the story of the face at the window. She's young Mrs. William +Fairfield, and she's been that exactly three months. Before that she had +been Miss Esther Hartley, of Turkey Run, Md., and Kaio Chow, China. Papa +Hartley had been a medical missionary and Esther, after she got through +at Wellesley, had joined him as a nurse and kindergarten teacher. She'd +been living in Kaio Chow for three years and the mission outfit was +getting along fine when some kind of a Boxer mess broke out and they all +had to leave. Coming back on an Italian steamer from Genoa she met Bill, +who'd been in aviation, and there'd been some lovely moonlight nights +and--well, Bill had persuaded her that teaching young Chinks to learn +c-a-t, cat, wouldn't be half as nice as being Mrs. William Hartley. +Besides, he had a good position waiting for him in a big wholesale +leather house right in New York, and it would be such fun living among +regular people. + +"I suppose it is fun, too," says Esther, "but somehow I can't seem to +get used to it. Everyone here gives you such, cold, suspicious looks; +even the folks you meet in the hallways and elevator, as though they +meant to say, 'Don't you dare speak to me. I don't know who or what you +are, so don't come near.' They're like that, you know. Why, the street +gamins of Kaio Chow were not much worse when I first went there. Yes, +they did throw stones at me a few times, but in less than a month they +were calling me the Doctor Lady and letting me tell them how wrong it +was to spend so much time gambling around the food carts. Of course, +they kept right on gambling for fried fish and rice cakes, but they +would grin friendly when they saw me. Up to tonight no one in New York +has even smiled at me. + +"It's such a wonderful place, too; and so big, you would almost think +there was enough to share with, strangers. But they seem to resent my +being here at all, so I go out very little now when I am alone. And as +Bill is away all day, and sometimes has to work evenings as well, I am +alone a great deal. About the only place I can see the sky from and +other people is this little kitchen window. So I stay there a lot, and I +am sorry to say that often I'm foolish enough to wish myself back at +the mission among all those familiar yellow faces, where I could stand +on the bamboo shaded galleries and hear the hubbub in the compound, and +watch the coolies wading about in the distant rice fields. Isn't that +silly? There must be something queer about me." + +"Not so awfully queer," says Vee. "You're lonesome, that's all." + +"No more than I am, I'm sure," says Lucy Lee. "I wonder if there are +many others?" + +"Only two or three million more," says I. "That's why the cabarets and +movie shows are so popular." + +That starts us talking over what there was for folks to do in New York +evenings, and while we can dope out quite a lot of different ways of +passin' the time between 8 p. m. and midnight, nearly every one is so +expensive that the average young couple can't afford to tackle 'em +more'n once a week or so. The other evenings they sit at home in the +flat. + +"And yet," says young Mrs. Fairfield, "hardly any of them but could find +a congenial group of people if--if they only knew where to look and how +to get acquainted with each other. Why, right in this block I've noticed +ever so many who I'm sure are rather nice. But there seems to be no way +of getting together." + +"That's it, precisely!" says Vee. "So why should you wish yourself back +in China?" + +"I beg pardon?" says Mrs. Bill. + +"I mean," says Vee, "that here is a missionary field, right at your +door. If you can go off among foreigners and get them to give up some of +their silly ways and organize them into groups and classes, why can't +you do something of the kind for these silly New York flat dwellers? +Can't they be organized, too?" + +"Why," says Mrs. Bill, her eyes openin' wider, "I never thought of that. +But--but there are so many of them." + +"What about starting with your own block?" suggests Vee. "Perhaps with +only one side of the street at first. Couldn't you find out how many +were interested in one particular thing--music, or dancing, or +bridge--and get them together?" + +"Oh, I see!" says Mrs. Bill, clappin' her hands, enthusiastic. "Make a +social survey. Why, of course. One could get up a sort of questionnaire +card and drop it in the letter boxes for each family to fill out, if +they cared to do so, and then you could call meetings of the various +groups." + +"If I could find a few home folks from Virginia, that's all I would +ask," says Lucy Lee. + +"Then we would start the card with 'Where born?'" says Mrs. Bill. "That +would show us how many were Southerners, how many from the West, from +New England, and so on. Next we would want to know something about their +ages." + +"Not too much," suggests Hamilton Blake. "Better ask 'em if they're +over or under thirty." + +"Of course," says Mrs. Bill. "Let's see how such a card would look. Next +we would ask them what amusements they liked best: music, dancing, +theatre going, bowling, bridge, private theatricals, chess and so on. +Please check with a cross. And are you a high-brow; if so, why? Is it +art, books, languages, or the snare drum?" + +"Don't forget the poker fiends and the movie fans," I puts in. + +Mrs. Bill writes that down. "We will have to begin by electing ourselves +an organizing committee," says she, "and we will need a small printing +fund." + +"I'll chip in ten," says Mr. Blake. + +"So will we," says Vee. + +"And I am sure Bill will, too," says Mrs. Fairfield, "which will be +quite enough to print all the cards we need. And tomorrow evening we +will get together in our apartment and make out the questionnaire +complete. Shall we?" + +So when we left to catch a late train for Long Island it looked like +West Hundred and Umpty Umpt street was going to have something new +sprung on it. Course, we didn't know how far these two young couples +would get towards reformin' New York, but they sure was in earnest, +'specially young Mrs. Bill, who seems to have more or less common sense +tucked away between her ears. + +That must have been a week or ten days ago, and as we hadn't heard from +any of them, or seen anything in the papers, we was kind of curious. So +here yesterday I has to call up Lucy Lee on the 'phone. + +"Say," says I, "how's that block sociable progressin'?" + +"Oh, perfectly wonderful!" says Lucy Lee. "Why, at our first meeting, in +a big dance hall, we had nearly 300 persons and were almost swamped. But +Esther is a perfect wizard at organizing. She got them into groups in +less than half an hour, and before we adjourned they had formed all +kinds of clubs and associations, from subscription dance clubs to a Lord +Dunsany private theatrical club. Everyone in the block who didn't turn +out at first has been clamoring to get in since and it has been keeping +us busy sorting them out. You've no idea what a difference it makes up +here. Why, I know almost everybody in the building now, and some of them +are really charming people. They're beginning to seem like real +neighbors and I don't think we shall ever pass another dull evening +while we live here. Even folks across the street have heard about it and +want Esther to come over and organize them." + +So I had quite a bulletin to take home to Vee. + +"Isn't that splendid!" says she. + +"Anyway," says I, "I guess you started something. If it spreads enough, +maybe New York'll be almost fit to live in. But I have my doubts." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +WHEN HALLAM WAS RUNG UP + + +It ain't often Mr. Robert starts something he can't finish. When he +does, though, he's shifty at passin' it on. Yes, I'll say he is. For in +such cases I'm apt to be the one that's handiest, and you know what that +means. It's a matter of Torchy being joshed into tacklin' any old +proposition that may be batted up, with Mr. Robert standin' by ready to +spring the grin. + +Take this little go of his with the Hallam Beans--excuse me, the F. +Hallam Beans. Doesn't that sound arty? Well, that's what they were, this +pair. Nothing but. I forget where it was they drifted in from, but of +course they couldn't have found each other anywhere but in Greenwich +Village. And in course of time they mated up there. It was the logical, +almost the brilliant thing to do. Instead of owing rent for two skylight +studios they pyramided on one; besides, after that each one could borrow +the makin's off the other when the cigarettes ran out, and if there came +pea-green moments when they doubted whether they were real geniuses or +not one could always buck up the other. + +If they had stuck to the Village I expect we'd never heard anything +about them, but it seems along early last spring F. Hallam had a stroke +of luck. He ran across an old maid art student from Mobile who was up +for the summer and was dyin' to get right into the arty atmosphere. Also +she had $300 that her grip wasn't any too tight on, and before she knew +it F. Hallam had sub-let the loft to her until Sept. 15, payable in +advance. Two days later the Beans, with more'n half of the loot left, +were out on Long Island prospectin' around in our locality and talking +vague about taking a furnished bungalow. They were shown some neat ones, +too, runnin' from eight to fifteen hundred for three months, but none of +'em seemed to be just right. But when they discovered this partly +tumbled down shack out on a back lane beyond Mr. Robert Ellinses' big +place they went wild over it. Years ago some guy who thought he was +goin' to get rich runnin' a squab farm had put it up, but he'd quit the +game and the property had been bought up by Muller, our profiteerin' +provision dealer. And Muller didn't do a thing but soak 'em $30 a month +rent for the shack, that has all the conveniences of a cow shed in it. + +But the Beans rented some second-hand furniture, bought some oil lamps +and a two-burner kerosene stove, and settled down as happy and contented +as if they'd leased a marble villa at Newport. From then on you'd be +liable to run across 'em most anywhere, squattin' in a field or along +the back roads with their easels and paint brushes, daubin' away +industrious. + +You might know it would be either Mrs. Robert or Vee who would pick 'em +up and find out the whole story. As a matter of fact it was both, for +they were drivin' out after ferns or something when they saw the Beans +perched on a stone wall tryin' to unbutton a can of sardines with a +palette knife and not having much success. You know the kind of people +who either lose the key to a sardine can or break off the tab and then +gaze at it helpless! That was them to the life. + +And when Mrs. Robert finds how they're livin' chiefly on dry groceries +and condensed milk, so's to have more to blow in on dinky little tubes +of Chinese white and Prussian blue and canvas, of course she has to get +busy slippin' 'em little trifles like a dozen fresh eggs, a mess of +green peas and a pint of cream now and them. She follows that up by +havin' 'em come over for dinner frequent. Vee has to do her share too, +chippin' in a roast chicken or a cherry pie or a pan of doughnuts, so +between the two the Hallam Beans were doin' fairly well. Hallam, he +comes back generous by wishin' on each of 'em one of his masterpieces. +The thing he gives us Vee hangs up over the livin' room mantelpiece, +right while he's there. + +"Isn't that perfectly stunning, Torchy?" she demands. + +"I expect it is," says I, squintin' at it professional, "but--but just +what is it supposed lo be?" And I turns inquirin' to F. Hallam. + +"Why," says he, "it is a study of afternoon light on a group of willows. +We are not Futurists, you see; Revertists, rather. Our methods--at least +mine--are frankly after the Barbizon school." + +"Yeauh!" says I, noddin' wise. "I knew one once who could do swell +designs on mirrors with a piece of soap." + +"I beg pardon," says Hallam. "One what?" + +"A barber's son," says I. "I got him a job as window decorator, too." + +But somehow after that Hallam sort of shies talkin' art with me. A +touchy party, F. Hallam. The least little thing would give him the +sulks. And even when he was feelin' chipper his face was long enough. As +a floorwalker in a mournin' goods shop he'd be a perfect fit. But you +couldn't suggest anything that sounded like real work to Hallam. He +claims that he was livin' for his art. Maybe so, but I'll be hanged if +he was livin' on it. I got to admit, though, that he dressed the part +fairly well; for in that gray flannel shirt and the old velvet coat and +the flowin' black tie, and with all that stringy, mud-colored hair +fallin' around his ears, he couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Even +a movie audience would have spotted him as an artist without a leader to +that effect. + +Mrs. Hallam Bean was a good runnin' mate for him, for she has her hair +boxed and wears paint-smeared smocks. Only she's a shy actin', quiet +little thing, and real modest. There's no doubt whatever but that she +has decided that F. Hallam is going to be a great painter some day. When +she ain't sayin' as much she's lookin' it; and Hallam, I suspect, is +always ready to make the vote unanimous. + +I judged from a few remarks of Mr. Robert's that he wasn't quite as +strong for the Hallams as Mrs. Robert was, but seein' 'em around so much +he couldn't help gettin' more or less interested in the business end of +their career. + +"Yes," says he, "they seem to be doing fairly well this summer; but how +about next winter, when they go back to town? You know they can't +possibly sell any of those things. How are they going to keep from +starving?" + +Mrs. Robert didn't know. She said she'd mention the matter to F. Hallam. +And she found he wasn't worrying a bit. His plans were vague enough. He +was doing a head of Myrtle--that being Mrs. Bean--which he thought he +might let some magazine have as a cover picture. And then, other things +were bound to turn up. They always had, you know. + +But toward the end of the season the Beans got shabbier than ever. +Myrtle's smocks were torn and stained, with a few cigarette burns here +and there, and her one pair of walking boots were run over at the heel +and leaky in the sole. As for Hallam, that velvet coat had so many +grease spots on it that it was hardly fit to wear outside of a stable, +and his rubber-soled shoes gave his toes plenty of air. The Beans +admitted that their finances were down to the zero point and they had to +be asked in for dinner at least three times a week to keep 'em from +bein' blue in the gills. + +"Hang it all!" says Mr. Robert, "the fellow ought to have a regular job +of some kind. I suppose he can draw after a fashion. I'll see what I can +do." + +And by rustlin' around among his friends he finds one who runs a big +advertisin' agency and can place another man in the art department. +You'd 'most thought F. Hallam would have been tickled four ways at the +prospect of draggin' down a pay envelope reg'lar and being able to look +the rent agent in the face. But say, what does he do but scrape his foot +and wriggle around like he'd been asked to swallow a non-skid headache +tablet. At last he gets out this bleat about how he'd always held his +art to be too sacred a thing for him to commercialize and he really +didn't know whether he could bring himself to drawin' ad. pictures or +not. He'd have to have time to think it over. + +"Very well," says Mr. Robert, restrainin' himself from blowin' a fuse as +well as he could. "Let me know tomorrow night. If you decide to take the +place, come over about 6:30; if you find that your views as to the +sacredness of your art are too strong, you needn't bother to arrive +until 8:30--after dinner." + +I expect it was some struggle, but Art must have gone down for the full +count. Anyway the Beans were on hand when the tomato bisque was served +next evenin', and in less'n a week F. Hallam was turnin' out a perfectly +good freehand study of a lovely lady standin' graceful beside a +Never-smoke oil stove--no-wicks, automatic feed, send for our +catalogue--and other lively compositions along that line. More'n that, +he made good and the boss promised him that maybe in a month or so he'd +turn him loose with his oil paints on something big, a full page in +color, maybe, for a leadin' breakfast food concern. Then the Beans moved +back to town and we heard hardly anything more about 'em. + +I understand, though, that they sort of lost caste with their old crowd +in Greenwich Village. Hallam tried to keep up the bluff for a while that +he wasn't workin' reg'lar, but his friends began to suspect. They +noticed little things, like the half pint of cream that was left every +morning for the Beans, the fact that Hallam was puttin' on weight and +gettin' reckless with clean collars. And finally, after being caught +coming from the butcher's with two whole pounds of lamb chops, Myrtle +broke down and confessed. They say after that F. Hallam was a changed +man. He had his hair trimmed, took to wearin' short bow ties, and when +he dined at the Purple Pup, sneaked in and sat at a side table like any +tourist from the upper West Side. + +Course, on Sundays and holidays he put on the old velvet coat, and set +up his easel and splashed away with his paints. But mostly he did heads +of Myrtle, and figure stuff. It was even hinted that he hired models. + +It must have been on one of his days home that this Countess Zecchi +person discovered him in his old rig. She'd been towed down there on a +slummin' party by a club friend of Mr. Robert's who'd heard of Hallam +and had the address. You remember hearin' about the Countess, maybe? She +was Miss Mae Collins, of Kansas City, originally, and Zecchi was either +the second or third of her hubbies, or hobbies, whichever you'd care to +call 'em. A lively, flighty female, Countess Zecchi, who lives in a +specially decorated suite at the Plutoria, sports a tiger cub as a pet, +and indulges in other whims that get her more or less into the +spotlight. + +Her particular hunch on this occasion was that she must have her +portrait done by a real Bohemian artist, and offhand she gives F. Hallam +the job. + +"You must paint me as Psyche," says she. "I've always wanted to be done +as Psyche. Can't we have a sitting tomorrow?" + +Hallam was almost too thrilled for words, but he managed to gasp out +that she could. So he reports sick to his boss, blows in all his spare +cash buyin' a big mirror and draperies to fix up a Psyche pool in the +studio, and decides that at last luck has turned. For three days the +Countess Zecchi shows up reg'lar, drapes herself in pink tulle, and +Hallam paints away enthusiastic. + +Then she don't come any more. For a week she stalls him off and finally +tells him flat that posing as Psyche bores her. Besides, she's just +starting south on a yachting party. The portrait? Oh, she doesn't care +about that. She hadn't really given him a commission, just told him he +might paint her. And he mustn't bother her by calling up again. +Positively. + +So Hallam hits the earth with a dull thud. He reports back on the +advertisin' job and groans every time he thinks how much he spent on the +mirror and big canvas. He'd been let in, that's all. But he finishes up +the Psyche picture durin' odd times. He even succeeded in unloadin' it +on some dealer who supplies the department stores, so he quits about +square. + +Then an odd thing happens. At the advertisin' agency there's a call from +a big customer for a picture to go with a Morning Glory soap ad. It's a +rush order, to be done in six colors. Hallam has a bright little +thought. Why wouldn't his Psyche picture fit in? The boss thinks it's +worth lookin' up, and an hour later he comes back from the dealer's with +the trade all made. And inside of three weeks no less than two dozen +magazines was bindin' in a full page in colors showin' the fair form of +the Countess Zecchi bendin' over a limpid pool tryin' to fish out a cake +of Morning Glory soap. It was a big winner, that ad. The soap firm +ordered a hundred thousand copies struck off on heavy plate paper, and +if you sent in five wrappers with a two-cent stamp you'd be mailed a +copy to tack up in the parlor. + +Whether or not the general public would have recognized the Countess +Zecchi as the girl in the soap ad. if she'd kept still about it is a +question. Most likely it wouldn't. But the Countess didn't keep still. +That wasn't her way. She proceeds to put up a holler. The very day she +discovers the picture, through kind friends who almost swamped her with +cut-out copies and telegrams, she rushes back to New York and calls up +the reporters. All one afternoon she throws cat fits for their benefit +up at her Plutoria apartment. She tells 'em what a wicked outrage has +been sprung on her by a wretched shrimp of humanity who flags under the +name of Bean and pretends to be a portrait painter. She goes into +details about the mental anguish that has almost prostrated her since +she discovered the fiendish assault on her privacy, and she announces +how she has begun action for criminal libel and started suit for damages +to the tune of half a million dollars. + +Well, you've seen what the papers did to that bit of news. They sure did +play it up, eh? The Psyche picture, with all its sketchy draperies, was +printed side by side with half tones of the Countess Zecchi. And of +course they didn't neglect F. Hallam Bean. He has to be photographed and +interviewed, too. Also, Hallam wasn't dodgin' either a note-book or a +camera. As a result he is mentioned as "the well-known portrait painter +of Greenwich Village," and so on. One headline I remember was like this: +"Founder of American Revertist School Sued for Half Million." + +I expect I kidded Mr. Robert more or less about his artist friend. He +don't know quite how to take it, Mr. Robert. In one way he feels kind of +responsible for Hallam, but of course he ain't worried much about the +damage suit. The Countess might get a judgment, but she'd have a swell +time collectin' anything over a dollar forty-nine, all of which she must +have known as well as anybody. But she was gettin' front page space. So +was F. Hallam. And the soap firm was runnin' double shifts fillin' new +orders. + +Then here one afternoon, as Mr. Robert and me are puttin' the finishin' +touches to a quarterly report, who should drift into the Corrugated +general offices but F. Hallam Bean, all dolled up in an outfit that he +must have collected at some costumers. Anyway, I ain't seen one of them +black cape coats for years, and the wide-brimmed black felt hat is a +curio. Also he's gone back to the flowin' necktie and is lettin' his +hair grow wild again. + +"Well, well!" says I. "Right off the boulevard, eh?" + +"Why the masquerade?" demands Mr. Robert. + +He don't seem a bit disturbed at our josh, but just smiles sort of +satisfied and superior. "I suppose it is different," says he, "but +then, so am I. I've just been having some new photos taken. They're to +be used with an article I'm contributing to a Sunday paper. It is to be +entitled, 'What is a Revertist?' They are paying me $100 for it. Not +bad, eh!" + +"Pretty soft, I'll say," says I. "Soak 'em while the soakin's good." + +"Still getting on well with your job?" asked Mr. Robert. + +"Oh, I've chucked that," says Hallam airy. "No more of that degrading +grind for me. I've arrived, you know." + +"Eh?" gasps Mr. Robert. "Where?" + +"Why," says F. Hallam, "don't you understand what has happened during +these last two weeks? Fame has found me out. I am known as the founder +of a new school of art--the original Revertist. My name has become a +household word. And before this absurd libel suit is finished I shall be +painting the portraits of all the leading society people. They are +already asking about me, and as soon as I find a suitable studio--I'm +considering one on West 59th Street, facing Central Park--I shall be +overwhelmed with orders. It's bound to come." + +"You're quite sure this is fame, are you?" asks Mr. Robert. + +F. Hallam smiles and shrugs his shoulders. "Quite," says he. + +And Mr. Robert can't tell him it's anything else. Hasn't he got his +pockets full of newspaper clippings to prove it? Don't people turn and +stare after him in the street and nudge each other in the subway cars? +Aren't his artist friends giving him a banquet at the Purple Pup? So why +should he work for wages any more, or save up any of the easy money +that's coming his way? And he sails out indignant, with his cape +overcoat swayin' grand from his narrow shoulders. + +"I give him up, Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "That is, unless you can +suggest some way of making him see what an ass he is. Come, now!" + +"All right," says I, gettin a sudden hunch. "I don't know as it will +work in his case, for he's got it bad, but suppose we tow him out for a +look at Private Ben Riggs?" + +"By George!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "The very thing. +Sunday, eh?" + +It was easy enough stagin' the affair. All he had to do was to ask the +Beans out for the week-end, and then after Sunday dinner load 'em into +the tourin' car, collect me, and drive off about 20 miles or so to the +south shore of Long Island. + +Maybe, though, you don't remember about Private Ben Riggs? Oh, of course +the name still sticks. It's that kind of a name. But just what was it he +did? Uh-huh! Scratchin' your head, ain't you? And yet it was less than +two years ago that he was figurin' more prominent in the headlines than +anybody else you could name, not barrin' Wilson or Von Hindenburg. + +One of our first war heroes, Ben Riggs was, and for nearly two weeks +there he had the great American people shoutin' themselves hoarse in his +honor, as you might say. There was editorials, comparin' his stunt to +what Dewey did at Manila Bay, or Hobson at Santiago, and showin' how +Private Ben had a shade the best of it, after all. The Sunday +illustrated sections had enlarged snapshots of him, of his boyhood home +in Whositville; of his dear old mother who made that classic remark, +"Now, wasn't that just like Ben"; and of his girlish sweetheart, who was +cashier at the Acme Lunch and who admitted that "she always had known +Ben was going to be a great man some day." + +Then when the governor of Ben's state worked his pull and got Ben sent +home right in the midst of it all there was another grand +hooray--parades, banquets and so on. And they raised that testimonial +fund for him to buy a home with, and presented him with a gold medal. +Next, some rapid firin' publishin' firm rushed out a book: "Private Ben +Rigg's Own Story," which he was supposed to have written. And then, too, +he went on in a vaudeville sketch and found time to sign a movie +contract with a firm that was preparin' to screen his big act, "True To +Life." + +It was along about that stage that Private Ben, with more money in the +bank than he'd ever dreamed came from all the mints, got this great +scheme in his nut that a noble plute like him ought to have a big +estate somewhere and build a castle on it. So he comes out here on the +south shore, lets a real estate shark get hold of him, and the next +thing he knows he owns about a hundred acres of maybe the most worthless +land on the whole island. His next move is to call in an architect, and +inside of a month a young army of laborers was layin' the foundations +for what looked like a city hall, but was really meant to be Riggsmere +Manor, with 78 rooms, 23 baths, four towers, and a dinin' room 65 feet +long and a ceiling 16 feet in the clear. + +Then the slump came. I forget whether it was a new hero, or another +submarine raid. Anyway, the doings of Private Ben Riggs ceased to be +reported in the daily press. He dropped out of sight, like a nickel that +rolls down a sewer openin'. They didn't want him any more in vaudeville. +The movie producer welched on his proposition. The book sales fell off +sudden. The people that wanted to name cigars or safety razors after +him, or write songs about him, seemed to forget. + +For a few days Private Ben couldn't seem to understand what had +happened. He went around in a kind of a daze. But he had sense enough +left to stop work on the Manor, countermand orders for materials, and +pull out with what he could. It wasn't such a great pile. There was a +construction shed on the property, fairly well built, and by running up +a chimney and having a well sunk, he had what passed for a home. There +in the builder's shack Private Ben has been living ever since. He has +stuck up a real estate sign and spends most of his time layin' out his +acres of sand and marsh into impossible buildin' lots. As he's way off +on a back road, few people ever come by, but he never misses a chance of +tacklin' those that do and tryin' to wish a buildin' plot on 'em. That's +how we happen to know him so well, and to have kept up with his career. + +On the way out we sort of revived F. Hallam Bean's memories of Private +Ben Riggs. First off he thought Ben had something to do with the Barbara +Freitchie stunt, or was he the one who jumped off Brooklyn Bridge? But +at last he got it straight. Yes, he remembered having had a picture of +Private Ben tacked up in his studio, only last year. Then we tried him +on Jack Binns, and Sergeant York and Lieutenant Blue and Dr. Cook. He +knew they'd all done something or other to make the first page, but his +guesses were kind of wide. + +"I would like to see Private Ben, though," says F. Hallam. "Must be an +interesting chap." + +"He is," says Mr. Robert. "His scrap books are interesting, too. He has +ten of them." + +"By Jove!" says Hallam. "Good idea. I must tell Myrtle about that." + +But after we'd been hailed by this lonesome lookin' party in baggy pants +and the faded blue yachtin' cap, and we'd let him lead us past the stone +foundations where a fine crop of weeds was coming up, and he'd herded +us into his shack and was tryin' to spring a blueprint prospectus on us, +F. Hallam sort of put his foot in his mouth by remarkin': + +"So you are Private Ben Riggs, are you?" + +"I was--once," says he. "Now I'm just Sand-Lot Riggs. Who are you?" + +"Oh, pardon me," puts in Mr. Robert. "I thought you would know. This is +Mr. Hallam Bean, the celebrated founder of the Revertist school of art." + +"Oh, yes!" said Riggs. "The one who painted the corset picture ad." + +"Soap picture," I corrects hasty, "featurin' the Countess Zecchi." + +"That's so, it was soap," admits Riggs. "And I was noticin' in the +mornin' paper how the Countess had decided to drop them suits." + +"What?" says Hallam, starin' at him. "Where was that? On the front +page?" + +"No," says Riggs. "It was a little item on the inside mixed up with the +obituary notes. That's always the way. They start you on the front page, +and then----" Private Ben shrugs his shoulders. But he proceeds to add +hasty, with a shrewd squint at Hallam: "Course, it's different with you. +Say, how about buyin' the estate here? I'd be willin' to let it go +cheap." + +"No, thank you," says F. Hallam, crisp. + +"Part of it then," insists Riggs. "I'd been meanin' to write you about +it. I generally do write 'em while--while they're on the front." + +"No," says Hallam, and edges toward the door. + +He seemed to get the idea. Before he starts back for town that night he +asks Mr. Robert if he could say a word for him at the advertisin' +agency, as he thought it might be just as well if he hung onto the job. +It wasn't such a poor thought, for Hallam fades out of public view a +good deal quicker than he came in. + +"Maybe it wasn't Fame that rung him up, after all," I suggests to Mr. +Robert. + +He nods. "It might have been her step-sister, Notoriety," says he. + +"Just what's the difference?" says I. + +Mr. Robert rubs his chin. "Some old boy whose name I've forgotten, put +it very well once," says he. "Let's see, he said that Fame was the +perfume distilled from the perfect flowering of a wise and good life; +while Notoriety was--er----" + +"Check!" says I. "It's what you get when you fry onions, eh?" + +Mr. Robert grins. "Some day, Torchy," says he, "I think I shall ask you +to translate Emerson's Essays for me." + +It's all josh, all right. But that's what you get when you're a private +sec. de luxe. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE GUMMIDGES GET A BREAK + + +This news about how the Gummidges had come back is 'phoned in by Vee +here the other afternoon. She's some excited over it, as she always is +when she sees another chance of extendin' the helpin' hand. I'll admit I +wasn't quite so thrilled. You see, I'd been through all that with the +Gummidges two or three times before and the novelty had sort of worn +off. Besides, that last rescue act we'd pulled had been no common +charity hand-out. It had been big stuff, nothing less than passing the +hat among our friends and raising enough to send the whole lot of 'em so +far West that the prospects of their ever gettin' back to New York was +mighty slim. Maybe that was one reason I'd been so enthusiastic over +puttin' the job through. Not more'n eighteen months ago that had been, +and here they all were back in our midst once more. + +"At the same old address," adds Vee, "so you can guess what that means, +Torchy." + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "The Patricia apartments has a perfectly punk janitor +again and we're due to listen to another long tale of woe." + +"Oh, well," says Vee, "it will be interesting to see if Mrs. Gummidge +is still bearing up cheerful and singing that 'When the Clouds Are +Darkest' song of hers. Of course, I am coming right in as soon as I can +pack a basket. They're sure to be hungry, so I'm going to put in a whole +roasted chicken, and some jars of that strawberry jam Rowena likes so +much, and heaps of bread and butter sandwiches. Probably they'll need a +few warm clothes, too, so I hope you don't mind, Torchy, if I tuck in a +couple of those khaki shirts of yours, and a few pairs of socks, +and----" + +"Say," I breaks in, "don't get too reckless with my wardrobe. I ain't +got enough to fit out the whole Gummidge family, you know. Save me a +dress tie and a change of pajamas if you can." + +"Silly!" says she. "And listen: I will call for you about 5 o'clock and +we'll go up to see them together." + +"Very well," says I. "I'll try to hold myself back until then." + +At that, I expect I was some curious to find out just how the Gummidges +had managed it. Must have been Ma Gummidge who found a way. Hen. +Gummidge never would, all by himself. About as helpless an old +Stick-in-the-Mud, he was, as I'd, ever helped pry out of the muck. And a +chronic crape hanger. If things were bad, he was sure they were going to +be worse. + +"I never have no luck," was his constant whine. It was his motto, as +you might say, his Fourteen Points of Fate. + +I never could make out whether he got that way on account of his face, +or if his face had lengthened out as his disposition grew gloomy. It was +a long face, almost as long and sad as a cow's. Much too long for his +body and legs as he was only medium height up as far as the chin. Kind +of a stoop shouldered, hollow chested, thin shanked party, too. +Somewhere in the fifties, I should judge, but he might have been sixty +by his looks and the weary way he dragged around. + +When I first knew him he was assistant engineer in the Corrugated +buildin' and I used to see him risin' solemn out of the sidewalk on the +ash elevator, comin' up from the basement like some sad, flour-sprinkled +ghost. And then before he'd roll off the ash cans he'd lean his elbows +on the safety bar and stare mournful up and down Broadway for a spell, +just stallin' around. Course, I got to kiddin' him, askin' what he found +so comic in the boiler-room and why he didn't let me in on the joke. + +"Huh!" he'd grunt. "If there's any joke down there, young feller, I'm +it. I wonder how much grinnin' you'd do if you had to slave ten hours a +day in a hole like that. I ought to be up sittin' on the right side of +an engine cab, fast freight, and drawin' my three hundred a month with +time and a half overtime. That's what I set out to be when I started as +wiper. Got to be fireman once, but on the second run we hit a weak rail +and went into the ditch. Three busted ribs and my hospital expenses was +all I pulled out of that with; and when I tried to get damages they put +my name on the blacklist, which finished my railroadin' career for good. +Maybe it was just as well. Likely I'd got mashed fair in the next wreck. +That's me. Why say, if it was rainin' soup I'd be caught out with a +fork." + +Yes, he was some consistent gloom hound, Henry Gummidge. Let him tell it +and what Job went through was a mere head-cold compared to his trials +and tribulations. And the worst was yet to come. He knew it because he +often dreamed of seeing a bright yellow dog walkin' on his hind legs +proud and wearin' a shiny collar. And then the dog would change into a +bow-legged policeman swingin' a night-stick threatenin'. All of which a +barber friend of Henry's told him meant trouble in the pot and that he +must beware of a false friend who came across the water. The barber got +it straight from a dream book, and there must be something in it, for +hadn't Henry been done out of $3 by a smooth talkin' guy from Staten +Island? + +Well, sure enough, things did happen to Gummidge. He had a case of +shingles. Then he dropped the silver watch he'd carried for fifteen +years and before he knew it had stepped square on it with the iron +plated heel of his work boots, squashin' the crystal into the works. +And six weeks later he'd carelessly rested a red hot clinker rake on +his right foot and had seared off a couple of toes. But the climax came +when he managed to bug the safety catch on the foolproof ash elevator +and took a 20-foot drop with about a ton of loaded ash cans. He only had +a leg broken, at that, but it was three or four months before he came +limpin' out of the hospital to find that the buildin' agent didn't care +to have him on the payroll any more. + +Somehow Henry got his case before Mr. Robert, and that's how I was sent +scoutin' out to see if all this about a sufferin' fam'ly was a fairy +tale or not. Well, it was and it wasn't. There was a Mrs. Gummidge, and +Rowena, and Horatio, just as he'd described. And they was livin' in a +back flat on a punk block over near the North river. Their four dark +rooms was about as bare of furniture as they could be. I expect you +might have loaded the lot on a push cart. And the rations must have been +more or less skimpy for some time. + +But you couldn't exactly say that Ma Gummidge was sufferin'. No. She'd +collected a couple of fam'ly washes from over Seventh avenue way and was +wadin' into 'em cheerful. Also she was singin' "When the Clouds Are +Darkest," rubbin' out an accompaniment on the wash board and splashin' +the suds around reckless, her big red face shinin' through the steam +like the sun breakin' through a mornin' fog. + +Some sizable old girl, Ma Gummidge; one of these bulgy, billowy females +with two chins and a lot of brownish hair. And when she wipes her hands +and arms and camps down in a chair she seems to fill all one side of the +room. Even her eyes are big and bulgy. But they're good-natured eyes. Oh +my, yes. Just beamin' with friendliness and fun. + +"Yes, Henry's had kind of a hard time," she admits, "but I tell him he +got off lucky. Might have been hurt a lot worse. And he does feel +downhearted about losin' his job. But likely he'll get another one +better'n that. And we're gettin' along, after a fashion. Course, we're +behind on the rent, and we miss a meal now and then; but most folks eat +too much anyway, and things are bound to come out all right in the end. +There's Rowena, she's been promised a chance to be taken on as extra +cash girl in a store. And Horatio's gettin' big enough to be of some +help. We're all strong and healthy, too, so what's the use worryin', as +I say to Henry." + +Say, she had Mrs. Wiggs lookin' like a consistent grouch, Ma Grummidge +did. Rowena, too, is more or less of an optimist. She's about 16, built +a good deal on her mother's lines, and big enough to tackle almost any +kind of work, but I take it that thus far she ain't done much except +help around the flat. Horatio, he's more like his father. He's only 15 +and ought to be in school, but it seems he spends most of his time +loafin' at home. They're a folksy fam'ly, I judge; the kind that can +sit around and chat about nothing at all for hours at a time. Why, even +the short while I was there, discoverin' how near they was to bein' put +out on the street, they seemed to be havin' a whale of a time. Rowena, +dressed in a saggy skirt and a shirt waist with one sleeve partly split +out, sits in the corner gigglin' at some of her Ma's funny cracks. And +then Ma Gummidge springs that rollin' chuckly laugh of hers when Rowena +adds some humorous details about a stew they tried to make out of a +piece of salt pork and a couple of carrots. + +But the report I makes to Mr. Robert is mostly about facts and finances, +so he slips a ten spot or so into an envelope for 'em, and next day he +finds a club friend who owns a row of apartment houses, among them the +Patricia, where there's a janitor needed. And within a week we had the +Gummidges all settled cozy in basement quarters, with enough to live on +and more or less chance to graft off the tenants. + +Then Vee has to get interested in the Gummidges, too, from hearin' me +tell of 'em, and the next I knew she'd added 'em to her reg'lar list. +No, I don't mean she pensions Pa Gummidge, or anything like that. She +just keeps track of the fam'ly, remembers all their birthdays, keeps 'em +chirked up in various ways, shows Rowena how to do her hair so it won't +look so sloppy, fits Horatio out so he can go back to school, and +smooths over a row Pa Gummidge has managed to get into with the tenant +on the second floor west. It ain't so much that she likes to boss other +peoples' affairs as it is that she gets to have a real likin' for 'em +and can't help tryin' to give 'em a boost. And she's 'specially strong +for Ma Gummidge. + +"Do you know, Torchy," she tells me, "her disposition is really quite +remarkable. She can be cheerful and good natured under the most trying +circumstances." + +"Lucky for her she can," says I. "I expect she was born that way." + +"But she wasn't born to live in a basement and do janitor's work," says +Vee. "For you know Gummidge puts most of it on her. No, her people were +fairly well-to-do. Her father ran a shoe store up in Troy. They lived +over the store, of course, but very comfortably. She had finished high +school and was starting in at the state normal, intending to be a +teacher, when she met Henry Gummidge and ran off and married him. He was +nearly ten years older and was engineer in a large factory. But he lost +that position soon after, and they began drifting around. Her father +died and in the two years that her mother tried to manage the shoe store +she lost all that they had saved. Then her mother died. And the +Gummidges kept getting poorer and poorer. But she doesn't complain. She +keeps saying that everything will turn out all right some time. I hope +it does." + +"But I wouldn't bank heavy on it," says I. "I never studied Hen. +Gummidge's palm, or felt his bumps, but my guess is that he'll never +shake the jinx. He ain't the kind that does. He's headed down the chute, +Henry is, and Ma Gummidge is goin' to need all her reserve stock of +cheerfulness before she gets through. You watch." + +Well, it begun to look like I was some grand little prophet. Even as a +janitor Hen. Gummidge was in about the fourth class, and the Patricia +apartments were kind of high grade. The tenants did a lot of grouchin' +over Henry. He wouldn't get steam up in the morning until about 8:30. He +didn't keep the marble vestibule scrubbed the way he should, and so on. +He had a lot of alibis, but mostly he complained that he was gettin' +rheumatism from livin' in such damp quarters. If it hadn't been for Vee +talkin' smooth to the agent Gummidge would have been fired. As it is he +hangs on, limpin' around gloomy with his hand on his hip. I expect his +joints did pain him more or less. And at last he gives up altogether and +camps down in an easy chair next to the kitchen stove. + +It was about then he heard from this brother of his out in Nebo, Texas. +Seems brother was an old bach who was runnin' a sheep ranch out there. +Him and Henry hadn't kept close track of each other for a good many +years, but now brother Jim has a sudden rush of fraternal affection. He +wants Henry and his family to come out and join him. He's lonesome, and +he's tired of doin' his own cookin'. He admits the ranch ain't much +account, but there's a livin' on it, and if Henry will come along he'll +make him an equal partner. + +"Ain't that just my luck?" says Henry. "Where could I scrape up enough +money to move to Texas, I'd like to know?" + +"Think you'd like to go, do you?" I asks. + +"Course I would," says Gummidge. "It would do my rheumatism good. And, +then, I'd like to see old Jim again. But Gosh! It would take more 'n a +hundred dollars to get us all out there, and I ain't had that much at +once since I don't know when." + +"Still," says I, "the thing might be financed. I'll see what can be +done." Meaning that I'd put it up to Mr. Robert and Vee. + +"Why, surely!" says Vee. "And wouldn't that be splendid for them all?" + +"You may put me down for fifty," says Mr. Robert. "If he'll move to +China I'll double it." + +But Nebo seemed to be far enough off to be safe. And it was surprisin' +how easy we stood it when the tickets was all bought and the time came +to say good-bye to the Gummidges. As I remember, we was almost merry +over it. Even Mr. Robert has to shoot off something he thinks is +humorous. + +"When you all get to Nebo," says he, "perhaps the old mountain will be a +little less lonely." + +"And if anybody offers to give you a steer down there," says I, "don't +refuse. It might be just tin-horn advice, but then again he might mean a +long-horn beef." + +As usual Henry is the only gloom in the party. He shakes his head. +"Brother Jim only keeps sheep," says he, "and I never did like mutton +much, nohow. Maybe I won't live to git there, though. Seems like an +awful long ways to go." + +But they did land there safe enough, for about a week or ten days later +Vee gets a postcard from Ma Gummidge sayin' that it was lucky they got +there just as they did for they found Brother Jim pretty sick. She was +sure she'd have him prancin' around again soon, and she couldn't say how +much she thanked us all for what we'd done. + +And with that the Gummidges sort of fades out. Not another word comes +from 'em. Must have been a year and a half ago they went. More, I +expect. We had one or two other things to think of meanwhile. You know +how easy it is to forget people like that, specially when you make up +your mind that they're sort of crossed off for good. And after a spell +if somebody mentioned Texas maybe I'd recall vague that I knew someone +who was down there, and wonder who it was. + +Then here the other afternoon comes Vee with this announcement that the +Gummidges were back. Do you wonder I didn't give way to any wild, +uncontrolled joy? I could see us goin' through the same old program with +'em; listenin' to Pa Gummidge whine about how bad he felt, tryin' to +keep his job for him, plannin' out a career for Horatio, and watchin' +Rowena split out more shirtwaists. + +Vee shows up prompt a little before closin' time. She's in a taxi and +has a big suit case and a basket full of contributions. "What puzzles +me," says she, "is how he could get back his old place so readily." + +"Needn't worry you long," says I. "Let's go on up and have it over with +and then go somewhere for dinner." + +So, of course, when we rolls up to the Patricia apartment we dives down +into janitor's quarters as usual. But we're halted by a putty-faced +Swede person in blue denims, who can converse and smoke a pipe at the +same time. + +"Yah, I bane yanitor here long time," says he. + +"Eh?" says I. "What about Gummidge then?" + +"Oh, Meester Gummidge," says he. "He bane new tenant on second floor, +yes? Sublet, furnished, two days ago yet. Nice peoples." + +Well, at that I stares at Vee and she stares back. + +"Whaddye mean, nice?" I demands. + +"Swell peoples," says the Swede, soundin' the "v" in swell. "Second +floor." + +"There must be some mistake," says Vee, "but I suppose we might as well +go up and see." + +So up we trails to the elevator, me with the suitcase in one hand and +the basket in the other, like a Santa Claus who has lost his way. + +"Mr. Henry Grummidge?" says the neat elevator girl. "Yes'm. Second." + +And in another minute Vee was being greeted in the dark hallway and +folded in impetuous by Ma Grummidge herself. But as we are towed into +the white and gold living room, where half a dozen pink-shaded electric +bulbs are blazin', we could see that it wasn't exactly the same Mrs. +Gummidge we'd known. She's about the same build, and she has the same +number of chins. Also there's the old familiar chuckly laugh. But that's +as far as it goes. This Mrs. Gummidge is attired--that's the proper +word, I expect--in a black satin' evenin' dress that fits her like she'd +been cast into it. Also her mop of brownish hair has been done up neat +and artistic, and with the turquoise necklace danglin' down to her +waist, and the marquise dinner ring flashin' on her right hand, she's +more or less impressive to behold. + +"Why, Mrs. Gummidge!" gasps Vee. + +"I just thought that's what you'd say," says she. "But wait 'till you've +seen Rowena. Come, dearie; here's comp'ny." + +She was dead right. It was a case of waitin' to see Rowena, and we held +our breaths while she rustled in. Say, who'd have thought that a few +clothes could make such a difference? For instead of the big sloppy +young female who used to slouch, gigglin' around the basement who +should breeze in but a zippy young lady, a bit heavy about the shoulders +maybe for that flimsy style of costume, but more or less stunning, for +all that. Rowena had bloomed out. In fact, she had the lilies of the +field lookin' like crepe paper imitations. + +And we'd no sooner caught our breath after inspectin' her than Horatio +makes an entrance, and we behold the youngster whose usual costume was +an old gray sweater and a pair of baggy pants now sportin' a suit of +young hick raiment that any shimmy hound on Times Square would have been +glad to own. Slit pockets? Oh my, yes; and a soft collar that matched +his lilac striped shirt, and cuff links and socks that toned in with +both, and a Chow dog on a leather leash. + +Then Pa Gummidge, shaved and slicked up as to face and hair, his bowlegs +in a pair of striped weddin' trousers and the rest of him draped in a +frock coat and a fancy vest, with gold eyeglasses hung on him by a black +ribbon. He's puffin' away at a Cassadora cigar that must have measured +seven inches over-all when it left the box. In fact, the Gummidges are +displayin' all the usual marks of wealth and refinement. + +"But tell me," gasps Vee, "what on earth has happened? How did--did you +get it?" + +"Oil," says Pa Gummidge. + +Vee looks blank. "I--I don't understand," says she. + +"Lemme guess," says I. "You mean you struck a gusher on the sheep +ranch?" + +"I didn't," says Gummidge. "Them experts I leased the land to did, +though. Six hundred barrels per, and still spoutin' strong. They pay me +a royalty on every barrel, too." + +"Oh!" says I. "Then you and Brother Jim--" + +"Poor Jim!" says Henry. "Too bad he couldn't have hung on long enough to +enjoy some of it. Enough for both. Lord, yes! Just my luck to lose him. +Only brother I ever had. But he's missin' a lot of trouble, at that. +Having to eat with your coat on, for one thing. And this grapefruit for +breakfast nonsense. I'm always squirtin' myself in the eye." + +"Isn't that just like Henry?" chuckles Ma Gummidge. "Why, he grumbles +because the oil people send him checks so often and he has to mail 'em +to his bank. But his rheumatism's lots better and we're all havin' the +best time. My, it--it's 'most like being in Heaven." + +She meant it, too, every word. There wasn't an ounce of joy that Ma +Gummidge was missin'. + +"And it's so nice for you to be here in a comfortable apartment, instead +of in some big hotel," says Vee. + +"Henry's notion," says Mrs. Gummidge. "You remember the Whitleys that +complained about him? He had an idea Whitley's business was petering +out. Well, it was, and he was glad enough to sub-let to Henry. Never +knew, either, until after the lease was signed, who we were. Furnished +kind of nice, don't you think?" + +"Why, Ma!" protests Rowena. Then she turns to Vee. "Of course, it'll do +for a while, until we find something decent up on Riverside Drive; one +with a motor entrance, you know. You're staying for dinner, aren't you?" + +"Why," begins Vee, glancin' doubtful at me, "I think we----" + +"Oh, do stay!" chimes in Ma Gummidge. "I did the marketing myself today; +and say, there's a rib roast of beef big enough for a hotel, mushrooms +raised under glass, an alligator pear salad, and hothouse strawberries +for dessert. Besides, you're about the only folks we know that we could +ask to dinner. Please, now!" + +So we stayed and was waited on by two haughty near-French maids who +tried to keep the Gummidges in their places, but didn't more than half +succeed. + +As we left, Rowena discovers for the first time all the hand luggage. +"Oh!" says she, eyeing the suitcase. "You are in town for the week-end, +are you?" + +"Not exactly," says' I. "Just a few things for a fam'ly that Vee thought +might need 'em." + +And Vee gets out just in time to take the lid off a suppressed snicker. +"Only think!" says she. "The Gummidges living like this!" + +"I'm willing," says I. "I get back my shirts." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +FINDING OUT ABOUT BUDDY + + +The best alibi I can think up is that I did it offhand and casual. +Somehow, at the time it didn't seem like what people would call an +important step in my career. No. Didn't strike me that way at all. +Looked like a side issue, a trifle. There was no long debate over +whether I would or wouldn't, no fam'ly council, no advice from friends. +Maybe I took a second look, might have rubbed my chin thoughtful once, +and then I said I would. + +But most of the big stuff, come to think of it, gets put over like that; +from gettin' engaged to havin' the news handed you that you're a +grand-daddy. Course, you might be workin' up to it for a long time, but +you're so busy on other lines that you hardly notice. Then all of a +sudden--Bing! Lots of young hicks' start in on a foxtrot all free and +clear, and before the orchestra has swung into the next one-step they've +said the fatal words that gets 'em pushing a baby carriage within a +year. Same with a lot of other moves that count big. + +Gettin' Buddy wished on us, for instance. I remember, I wasn't payin' +much attention to what the barber was sayin'. You don't have to, you +know; 'specially when they're like Joe Sarello, who generally has a lot +to say. He'd been discoursin' on several subjects--how his cousin Carmel +was gettin' on with his coal and wood business up in New Rochelle, what +the League of Nations really ought to do to the Zecho-Slovacks, how much +the landlord has jumped his rent, and so on. + +Then he begun talkin' about pups. I was wonderin' if Joe wasn't taking +too much hair off the sides, just above the ears. He's apt to when he +gets runnin' on. Still, I'd rather take a chance with him than get my +trimmin' done in the big shop at the arcade of the Corrugated Buildin', +where they shift their shear and razor artists so often you hardly get +to know one by sight before he's missin'. But Joe Sarello, out here at +Harbor Hills, with his little two-chair joint opposite the station, he's +a fixture, a citizen. If he gets careless and nicks you on the ear you +can drop in every mornin' and roast him about it. Besides, when he opens +a chat he don't have to fish around and guess whether you're a reg'lar +person with business in town, or if you're a week-end tourist just blown +in from Oconomowoc or Houston. He knows all about you, and the family, +and your kitchen help, and about Dominick, who does your outside work +and tends the furnace. + +He was tellin' me that his litter of pups was comin' on fine. I expect I +says "Uh-huh," or something like that. The news didn't mean much to me. +I was about as thrilled as if he'd been quotin' the f. o. b. price of +new crop Brazil nuts. In fact, he'd mentioned this side line of his +before. Barberin' for commuters left him more or less time for such +enterprises. But it might have been Angora goats he was raisin', or +water buffalo, or white mice. + +"You no lika da dogs, hey?" asks Joe, kind of hurt. + +"Eh?" says I, starin' critical into the mirror to see if he hadn't +amputated more from the left side than the right. "Oh sure! I like dogs +well enough. That is, real doggy dogs; not these little imitation parlor +insects, like Poms and Pekes and such. Ain't raisin' that kind, are you, +Joe?" + +Joe chuckles, unbuttons me from the apron, brushes a lot of short hair +down my neck, and holds a hand mirror so I can get a rear elevation view +of my noble dome. "Hah!" says he. "You must see. I show you dogs what is +dogs. Come." + +And after I've retrieved my collar and tie I follows him out back where +in a lean-to shed he has a chicken wire pen with a half dozen or so of +as cute, roly-poly little puppies as you'd want to see. They're sort of +rusty brown and black, with comical long heads and awkward big paws, and +stubby tails. And the way they was tumbling over each other, tryin' to +chew with their tiny teeth, and scrimmagin' around like so many boys +playin' football in a back lot--well, I couldn't help snickerin' just +watchin' 'em for a minute. + +"All spoke for but dees wan," says Joe, fishing out one of the lot. +"Meester Parks he pick heem first wan, but now he hafta go by Chicago +and no can take. Fine chance for you. With beeg place like you got you +need good watch dog. Hey? What you say?" + +"What's the breed, Joe?" I asks. + +Joe gawps at me disgusted. I expect such ignorance was painful. "Wot +kind?" says he. "Wot you t'ink? Airedale." + +"Oh, yes! Of course, Airedales," says I, like it was something I'd +forgotten. + +And then I scratches my head. Hadn't I heard Vee sayin' how she liked +some particular kind of a dog? And wasn't it this kind? Why, sure, it +was. Well, why not? Joe says they're all ready to be delivered, just +weaned and everything. + +"I'll go you," says I. "How much?" + +Say, I had to gasp when Joe names his bargain price. You see, I'd never +been shoppin' for dogs before, and I hadn't kept track of the puppy +market quotations. Course, I knew that some of these fancy, full-grown +specimens of classy breeds brought big money at times. But little pups +like this, that you could hold in your hand, or tuck into your overcoat +pocket--why, my idea was the people who had 'em sort of distributed 'em +around where they would have good homes; or else in the case of a party +like Joe you might slip him a five or a ten. + +No, I ain't tellin' what I paid. Not to anybody. But after sayin' what I +had I couldn't back out without feelin' like a piker. And when Joe says +confidential how he's knockin' off ten at that I writes out the check +more or less cheerful. + +"Ought to be good blood in him, at that figure," I suggests. + +"Heem!" says Joe. "He got pedigree long lak your arm. Hees mothair ees +from Lady Glen Ellen III., hees father ees blue ribbon winner two tam, +Laird Ben Nevis, what was sell for----" + +"Yes, I expect the fam'ly hist'ry's all right," I breaks in. "I'll take +your word for it. But what do we feed him--dog biscuit?" + +"No, no!" says Joe. "Not yet. Some bread wit' milk warm up in pan. +T'ree, four tam a day. Bymeby put in leetle scrap cook meat an' let him +have soup bone for chew. Mus' talk to heem all tam. He get wise quick. +You see." + +"You flatter me, Joe," says I. "Nobody ever got wise from my talkin' to +'em. Might be interestin' to try it on a pup, though. So long." + +And as I strolls along home with this warm, wriggly bunch of fur in the +crook of my arm I get more and more pleased with myself. As I dopes it +out I ought to make quite a hit, presenting Vee with something she's +been wantin' a long time. Almost as though I'd had it raised special +for her, and had been keepin' it secret for months. Looked like I was +due to acquire merit in the domestic circle, great gobs of it. + +"Hey, Vee!" I sings out, as soon as I've opened the livin' room door. +"Come see what I've brought you." + +She wasn't long coming, and I got to admit that when I displays Mr. Pup +the expected ovation don't come off. I don't get mixed up in any fond +and impetuous embrace. No. If I must tell the truth she stands there +with her mouth open starin' at me and it. + +"Why--why, Torchy!" she gasps. "A puppy?" + +"Right, first guess," says I. "By the way you're gawpin' at it, though, +it might be a young zebra or a baby hippopotamus. But it's just a mere +puppy. Airedale." + +"Oh!" says Vee, gaspier than ever. "An--an Airedale?" + +"Well?" says I. "Wasn't that the kind I've heard you boostin' all +along?" + +"Ye-e-es," says she, draggy, "I--I suppose it was. And I do admire them +very much, but--well, I hadn't really thought of owning one. They--they +are such strenuous dogs, you know; and with the baby and all----" + +"Say, take a look!" I breaks in. "Does this one size up like he was a +child eater? Here, heft him once." And I hands him over. + +Course, it ain't five minutes before she's cuddlin' him up and cooin' to +him, and he's gnawing away at her thumb with his little puppy teeth. + +"Such a dear!" says Vee. "And we could keep him out in the garage, and +have Dominick look after him, couldn't we? For they get to be such big +dogs, you know." + +"Do they?" says I. + +I didn't see quite how they could. Why, this one was about big enough to +go in a hat, that's all, and he was nearly two months old. But say, what +I didn't know about Airedale pups was a heap. Grow! Honest, you could +almost watch him lengthen out and fill in. Yet for a couple of weeks +there he was no more'n a kitten, and just as cute and playful. Every +night after dinner I'd spend about an hour rollin' him over on his back +and lettin' him bite away at my bare hand. He liked to get hold of my +trouser leg, or Vee's dress, or the couch cover, or anything else that +was handy, and tug away and growl. Reg'lar circus to see him. + +And then I begun to find scratches on my hands. The little rascal was +gettin' a full set of puppy teeth. Sharp as needles, too. I noticed a +few threads pulled out of my sleeve. And once when he got a good grip on +Vee's skirt he made a rip three inches long. But he was so cunnin' about +it we only laughed. + +"You young rough houser!" I'd say, and push him over. He'd come right +back for more, though, until he was tuckered and then he'd stretch out +on something soft and sleep with one paw over his nose while we watched +admirin'. + +We had quite a time findin' a name for him. I got Joe to give his +pedigree all written out and we was tryin' to dope out from that +something that would sound real Scotch. Vee got some kennel catalogues, +too, and read over some of those old Ian MacLaren stories for names, but +we couldn't hit on one that just suited. Meanwhile I begins callin' him +Buddy, as the boys did everybody in the army, and finally Vee insists +that it's exactly the name for him. + +"He's so rough and ready," says she. + +"He's rough, all right," says I, examinin' a new tooth mark on the back +of my hand. + +And he kept on gettin' rougher. What he really needed, I expect, was a +couple of cub bears to exercise his teeth and paws on; good, husky, +tough-skinned ones, at that. Not havin' 'em he took it out on us. Oh, +yes. Not that he was to blame, exactly. We'd started him that way, and +he seemed to like the taste of me 'specially. + +"They're one-man dogs, you know," says Vee. + +"Meanin'," says I, "that they like to chew one man at a time. See my +right wrist. Looks like I'd shoved it through a pane of glass. Hey, you +tarrier! Lay off me for a minute, will you? For the love of soup eat +something else. Here's a slipper. Now go to it." + +And you should see him shake and worry that around the room. Almost as +good as a vaudeville act--until I discovers that he's gnawed a hole +clear through the toe. "Gosh!" says I. "My favorite slipper, too." + +At four months he was no longer a handful. He was a lapful, and then +some. Somewhere near twenty-five pounds, as near as we could judge by +holding him on the bathroom scales for the fraction of a second. And +much too lively for any lap. Being cuddled wasn't his strong point. +Hardly. He'd be all over you in a minute, clawin' you in the face with +his big paws and nippin' your ear or grabbin' a mouthful of hair; all +playful enough, but just as gentle as being tackled by a quarterback on +an end run. + +And he was gettin' wise, all right. He knew to the minute when mealtime +came around, and if he wasn't let out on the kitchen porch where his +chow was served he thought nothing of scratchin' the paint off a door or +tryin' to chew the knob. Took only two tries to teach him to stand up on +his hind legs and walk for his meals, as straight as a drum major. Also +he'd shake hands for a bit of candy, and retrieve a rubber ball. But +chiefly he delighted to get a stick of soft wood and go prancin' through +the house with it, rappin' the furniture or your shins as he went, and +end up by chewin' it to bits on the fireplace hearth rug. Or it might be +a smelly old bone that he'd smuggled in from outside. You could guess +that would get Vee registerin' a protest and I'd have to talk to Buddy. + +"Hey!" I'd remark, grabbin' him by the collar. "Whaddye think this is, a +soap fact'ry? Leggo that shin-bone." + +"Gr-r-r-r!" he'd remark back, real hostile, and roll his eyes menacin'. + +At which Vee would snicker and observe: "Now isn't he the dearest thing +to do that, Torchy? Do let him have his booful bone there. I'll spread a +newspaper under it." + +Her theory was good, only Buddy didn't care to gnaw his bone on an +evening edition. He liked eatin' it on the Turkish rug better. And +that's where he did eat it. That was about the way his trainin' worked +out in other things. We had some perfectly good ideas about what he +should do; he'd have others, quite different; and we'd compromise. That +is, we'd agree that Buddy was right. Seemed to me about the only thing +to do, unless you had all day or all night to argue with him and show +him where he was wrong. I could keep it up for an hour or two. Then I +either got hoarse or lost my disposition. + +You remember there was some talk of keepin' him in the garage at first. +Anyway, it was mentioned. And he was kept there the first night, until +somewhere around 2 A. M. Then I trailed out in a bathrobe and slippers +and lugged him in. He'd howled for three hours on a stretch and seemed +to be out for the long-distance championship. Not havin' looked up the +past performances in non-stop howlin' I couldn't say whether he'd hung +up a new record or not. I was willin' to concede the point. Besides, I +wanted a little sleep, even if he didn't. I expect we was lucky that he +picks out a berth behind the kitchen stove as the proper place for him +to snooze. He might have fancied the middle of our bed. If he had, we'd +camped on the floor, I suppose. + +Another good break for us was the fact that he was willin' to be +tethered out daytimes on a wire traveler that Dominick fixed up for him. +Course, he did dig up a lot of Vee's favorite dahlia bulbs, and he +almost undermined a corner of the kitchen wing when he set out to put a +choice bone in cold storage, but he was so comical when he tamped the +bone down with his nose that Vee didn't complain. + +"We can have the hole filled in and sodded over next spring," says Vee. + +"Huh!" I says. "By next spring he'll be big enough to tunnel clear under +the house." + +Looked like he would. At five months Buddy weighed 34 pounds and to +judge by his actions most of him was watchspring steel geared in high +speed. He was as hard as nails all over and as quick-motioned as a cat. +I'd got into the habit of turnin' him loose when I came home and +indulgin' in a half hour's rough house play with him. Buddy liked that. +He seemed to need it in his business of growin' up. If I happened to +forget, he wasn't backward in remindin' me of the oversight. He'd +developed a bark that was sort of a cross between an automobile shrieker +and throwin' a brick through a plate glass window, and when he put his +whole soul into expressin' his feelin's that way everybody within a mile +needed cotton in their ears. So I'd drape myself in an old raincoat, put +on a pair of heavy drivin' gauntlets, and frisk around with him. + +No doubt about Buddy's being glad to see me on them occasions. His +affection was deep and violent. He'd let out a few joy yelps, take a +turn around the yard, and then come leapin' at me with his mouth open +and his eyes rollin' wild. My part of the game was to grab him by the +back of the neck and throw him before he could sink his teeth into any +part of me. Sometimes I missed. That was a point for Buddy. Then I'd pry +his jaws loose and he'd dash off for another circle. I couldn't say how +the score averaged. I was too busy to keep count. About fifty-fifty +would be my guess. Anyway, it did Buddy a lot of good and must have been +fine practice. If he ever has to stop an offensive on the part of an +invadin' bull-dog he'll be in good trim. He'd tackle one, all right. The +book we bought says that an Airedale will go up a tree after a mountain +lion. I can believe it. I've never seen Buddy tuck his tail down for +anything on four legs. Yet he ain't the messy kind. He don't seem +anxious to start anything. But I'll bet he'd be a hard finisher. + +And he sure is a folksy dog with the people he knows around the house. +Most of 'em he treats gentler than he does me, which shows that he's got +some sense. And when it comes to the baby; why, say, he'll gaze as +admirin' at young Master Richard toddlin' around as if he was some blood +relation; followin' him everywhere, with that black nose nuzzled under +one of the youngster's arms, or with a sleeve held tender in his teeth. +Any kid at all Buddy is strong for. He'll leave a bone or his play any +time he catches sight of one, and go prancin' around 'em, waggin' his +stubby tail friendly and inviting 'em to come have a romp. + +Maybe you wouldn't accuse Buddy of being handsome. I used to think +Airedales was about the homeliest dogs on the list. Mostly, you know, +they're long on nose. It starts between their ears and extends straight +out for about a foot. Gives 'em kind of a simple expression. But you get +a good look into them brown eyes of Buddy's, 'specially when he's +listenin' to you with his head cocked on one side and an ear turned +wrong side out, and you'll decide he must have some gray matter +concealed somewhere. Then there's that black astrakan coat-effect on his +back, and the clean-cut lines of his deep chest and slim brown legs, +which are more or less decorative. Anyway he got so he looked kind of +good to me. + +Like people, though, Buddy had his bad days. Every once in a while his +fondness for chewin' things would get him in wrong. Then he'd have to +be scolded. And you can't tell me he don't know the meanin' of the words +when you call him a "bad, bad dog." No, sir. Why, he'd drop his head and +tail and sneak into a corner as if he'd been struck with a whip. And +half an hour later he'd be up to the same sort of mischief. I asked Joe +Sarello about it. + +"Ah!" says Joe, shruggin' his shoulders. "Hees puppy yet. Wanna do w'at +he lak, all tam. He know better, but he strong in the head. You gotta +beat him up good. No can hurt. Tough lak iron. Beat him up." + +But Vee won't have it. I didn't insist. I didn't care much for the job. +So Buddy gets off by being informed stern that he'd a bad, bad dog. + +And then here the other day I comes home to find Buddy locked in the +garage and howlin' indignant. Vee says he mustn't be let out, either. + +"What's the idea?" I asks. + +Then I gets the whole bill of complaint. It seems Buddy has started the +day by breakin' loose from his wire and chasin' the chickens all over +the place. He'd cornered our pet Rhode Island Red rooster and nipped out +a mouthful of tail feathers. It took the whole household and some of the +neighbors to get him to quit that little game. + +This affair had almost been forgiven and he was havin' his lunch on the +back porch when Vee's Auntie blows in unexpected for a little visit. +Before anybody has time to stop him Buddy is greetin' her in his usual +impetuous manner. He does it by plantin' his muddy forepaws in three +places on the front of her dress and then grabbin' her gold lorgnette +playful, breakin' the chain, and runnin' off with the loot. + +I expect that was only Buddy's idea of letting her know that he welcomed +her as a member of the fam'ly in good standin'. But Auntie takes it +different. She asks Vee why we allow a "horrible beast like that to run +at large." She's a vivid describer, Auntie. She don't mind droppin' a +word of good advice now and then either. While she's being sponged off +and brushed down she recommends that we get rid of such a dangerous +animal as that at once. + +So Buddy is tied up again outside. But it appears to be his day for +doing the wrong thing. Someone has hung Vee's best evenin' wrap out on a +line to air after having a spot cleaned. It's the one with the silver +fox fur on the collar. And it's hung where Buddy can just reach it. +Well, you can guess the rest. Any kind of a fox, deceased or otherwise, +is fair game for Buddy. It's right in his line. And when they discovered +what he was up to there wasn't a piece of that fur collar big enough to +make an ear muff. Parts of the wrap might still be used for polishin' +the silver. Buddy seemed kind of proud of the thorough job he'd made. + +Well, Vee had been 'specially fond of that wrap. She'd sort of blown +herself when she got it, and you know how high furs have gone to these +days. I expect she didn't actually weep, but she must have been near it. +And there was Auntie with more stern advice. She points out how a brute +dog with such destructive instincts would go on and on, chewin' up first +one valuable thing and then another, until we'd have nothing left but +what we had on. + +Buddy had been tried and found guilty in the first degree. Sentence had +been passed. He must go. + +"Perhaps your barber friend will take him back," says Vee. "Or the +Ellinses might want him. Anyway, he's impossible. You must get rid of +him tonight. Only I don't wish to know how, or what becomes of him." + +"Very well," says I, "if that's the verdict." + +I loads Buddy ostentatious into the little roadster and starts off, with +him wantin' to sit all over me as usual, or else drapin' himself on the +door half-way out of the car. Maybe I stopped at Joe Sarello's, maybe I +only called at the butcher's and collected a big, juicy shin-bone. +Anyway, it was' after dark when I got back and when I came in to dinner +I was alone. + +The table chat that evenin' wasn't quite as lively as it generally is. +And after we'd been sitting around in the livin' room an hour or so with +everything quiet, Vee suddenly lets loose with a sigh, which is a new +stunt for her. She ain't the sighin' kind. But there's no mistake about +this one. + +"Eh?" says I, lookin' up. + +"I--I hope you found him a good home," says she. + +"Oh!" says I. "The impossible beast? Probably as good as he deserves." + +Then we sat a while longer. + +"Little Richard was getting very fond of him," Vee breaks out again. + +"Uh-huh," says I. + +We went upstairs earlier than usual. There wasn't so much to do about +gettin' ready--no givin' Buddy a last run outside, or makin' him shake a +good night with his paw, or seein' that he had water in his dish. +Nothing but turnin' out the lights. Once, long after Vee should have +been asleep. I thought I heard her snifflin', but I dozed off again +without makin' any remark. + +I must have been sawin' wood good and hard, too, when I wakes up to find +her shakin' me by the shoulder. + +"Listen, Torchy," she's sayin'. "Isn't that Buddy's bark?" + +"Eh? Buddy?" says I. "How could it be?" + +"But it is!" she insists. "It's coming from the garage, too." + +"Well, that's odd," says I. "Maybe I'd better go out and see." + +I was puzzled all right, in spite of the fact that I'd left him there +with his bone and had made Dominick promise to stick around and quiet +him if he began yelpin'. But this wasn't the way Buddy generally barked +when he was indignant. He was lettin' 'em out short and crisp. They +sounded different somehow, more like business. And the light was turned +on in the garage! + +First off I thought Dominick must be there. Maybe I wouldn't have dashed +out so bold if I'd doped it out any other way. I hadn't thought of car +thieves. Course, there had been some cases around, mostly young hicks +from the village stealin' joy-rides. But I hadn't worried about their +wantin' to take my little bus. So I arrives on the jump. + +And there in a corner of the garage are two young toughs, jumpin' and +dodgin' at a lively rate, with Buddy sailin' into 'em for all he's worth +and givin' out them quick short battle cries. One of the two has just +managed to get hold of a three-foot length of galvanized water pipe and +is swingin' vicious at Buddy when I crashes in. + +Well, we had it hectic for a minute or so there, but it turns out a draw +with no blood shed, although I think Buddy and I could have made 'em +sorry they came if they hadn't made a break and got past us. And when we +gets back to where Vee is waitin' with the fire-poker in her hand Buddy +still waves in his teeth a five-inch strip of brown mixture trousering. + +"You blessed, blessed Buddy!!" says Vee, after she's heard the tale. + +Oh, yes, Buddy finished the night behind the stove in the kitchen. I +guess he's kind of earned his right to that bunk. Course, he ain't +sprouted any wings yet, but he's gettin' so the sight of a switch waved +at him works wonders. Some day, perhaps, he'll learn to be less careless +what he exercises them sharp teeth of his on. Last night it was the +leather covering on the library couch--chewed a hole half as big as your +hand. + +"Never mind," says Vee. "We can keep a cushion over it." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +IN DEEP FOR WADDY + + +And all the time I had Wadley Fiske slated as a dead one! Course, he was +one of Mr. Robert's clubby friends. But that don't always count. He may +be choosey enough picking live wires for his office staff, Mr. Robert, +as you might guess by my bein' his private sec; but when it came to +gettin' a job lot of friends wished on him early in his career, I must +say he couldn't have been very finicky. + +Not that Waddy's a reg'lar washout, or carries a perfect vacuum between +the ears, or practices any of the seven deadly sins. He's a cheerful, +good-natured party, even if he is built like a 2x4 and about as broad in +the shoulders as a cough drop is thick. I understand he qualifies in the +scheme of things by playin' a fair game of billiards, is always willing +to sit in at bridge, and can make himself useful at any function where +the ladies are present. Besides, he always wears the right kind of +clothes, can say bright little things at a dinner party, and can +generally be located by calling up any one of his three clubs. + +Chiefly, though, Waddy is a ladies' man. With him being in and out of +the Corrugated General Offices so much I couldn't help gettin' more or +less of a line on him that way, for he's always consultin' Mr. Robert +about sendin' flowers to this one, or maneuverin' to get introduced to +the other, or gushin' away about some sweet young thing that he's met +the night before. + +"How does he get away with all that Romeo stuff," I asks Mr. Robert +once, "without being tagged permanent? Is it just his good luck?" + +"Waddy calls it his hard luck," says Mr. Robert. "It seems as if they +just use him to practice on. He will find a new queen of his heart, +appear to be getting on swimmingly up to a certain point--and then she +will marry someone else. Invariably. I've known of at least a half dozen +of his affairs to turn out like that." + +"Kind of a matrimonial runner-up, eh?" says I. + +Oh, yes, I expect we got off a lot of comic lines about Waddy. Anyway we +passed 'em as such. But of course there come days when we have other +things to do here at the Corrugated besides shoot the gay and frivolous +chatter back and forth. Now and then. Such as here last Wednesday when +Mr. Robert had two committee meetin's on for the afternoon and was goin' +over with me some tabulated stuff I'd doped out for the annual report. +Right in the midst of that Wadley Fiske blows in and proceeds to hammer +Mr. Robert on the back. + +"I say, Bob," says he, "you remember my telling you about the lovely +Marcelle Jedain? I'm sure I told you." + +"If you didn't it must have been an oversight," says Mr. Robert. +"Suppose we admit that you did." + +"Well, what do you think?" goes on Waddy, "She is here!" + +"Eh?" says Mr. Robert, glancin' around nervous. "Why the deuce do you +bring her here?" + +"No, no, my dear chap!" protests Waddy. "In this country, I mean." + +"Oh!" and Mr. Robert sighs relieved. "Well, give the young lady my best +regards and--er--I wish you luck. Thanks for dropping in to tell me." + +"Not at all," says Waddy, drapin' himself easy on a chair. "But that's +just the beginning." + +"Sorry, Waddy," says Mr. Robert, "but I fear I am too busy just now +to----" + +"Bah!" snorts Waddy. "You can attend to business any time--tomorrow, +next week, next month. But the lovely Marcelle may be sailing within +forty-eight hours." + +"Well, what do you expect me to do?" demands Mr. Robert. "Want me to +scuttle the steamer?" + +"I want you to help me find Joe Bruzinski," says Waddy. + +Mr. Robert throws up both hands and groans. "Here, Torchy," says, he, +"take him away. Listen to his ravings, and if you can discover any +sense----" + +"But I tell you," insists Waddy, "that I must find Bruzinski at once." + +"Very well," says Mr. Robert, pushin' him towards the door. "Torchy will +help you find him. Understand, Torchy? Bruzinski. Stay with him until he +does." + +"Yes, sir," says I, grinnin' as I locks an arm through one of Waddy's +and tows him into the outer office. "Bruzinski or bust." + +And by degrees I got the tale. First off, this lovely Marcelle person +was somebody he'd met while he was helpin' wind up the great war. No, +not on the Potomac sector. Waddy actually got across. You might not +think it to look at him, but he did. Second lieutenant, too. Infantry, +at that. But they handed out eommissions to odder specimens than him at +Plattsburg, you know. And while Waddy got over kind of late he had the +luck to be in a replacement unit that made the whoop-la advance into +Belgium after the Hun line had cracked. + +Seems it was up in some dinky Belgian town where the Fritzies had been +runnin' things for four years that Waddy meets this fair lady with the +impulsive manners. His regiment had wandered in only a few hours after +the Germans left and to say that the survivin' natives was glad to see +'em is drawin' it mild. This Miss Jedain was the gladdest of the glad, +and when Waddy shows up at her front door with a billet ticket callin' +for the best front room she just naturally falls on his neck. I take it +he got kissed about four times in quick concussion. Also that the flavor +lasted. + +"To be received in that manner by a high born, charming young woman," +says Waddy. "It--it was delightful. Perhaps you can imagine." + +"No," says I. "I ain't got that kind of a mind. But go on. What's the +rest?" + +Well, him and the lovely Marcelle had three days of it. Not going to a +fond clinch every time he came down to breakfast or drifted in for +luncheon. She simmered down a bit, I under stand, after her first wild +splurge. But she was very folksy all through his stay, insisted that +Waddy was her heroic deliverer, and all that sort of thing. + +"Of course," says Waddy, "I tried to tell her that I'd had very little +to do personally with smashing the Hindenburg line. But she wouldn't +listen to a word. Besides, my French was rather lame. So we--we--Well, +we became very dear to each other. She was charming, utterly. And so +full of gratitude to all America. She could not do enough for our boys. +All day she was going among them, distributing little dainties she had +cooked, giving them little keepsakes, smiling at them, singing to them. +And every night she had half a dozen officers in to dinner. But to +me--ah, I can't tell you how sweet she was." + +"Don't try," says I. "I think I get a glimmer. All this lasted three +days, eh! Then you moved on." + +Waddy sighs deep. "I didn't know until then how dreadful war could be," +says he. "I promised to come back to her just as soon as the awful mess +was over. She declared that she would come to America if I didn't. She +gave me one of her rings. 'It shall be as a token,' she told me, 'that I +am yours.'" + +"Sort of a trunk check, eh?" says I. + +"Ah, that ring!" says Waddy. "You see, it was too large for my little +finger too small for any of the others. And I was afraid of losing it if +I kept it in my pocket. I was always losing things--shaving mirrors, +socks, wrist watch. Going about like that one does. At least, I did. All +over France I scattered my belongings. That's what you get by having had +a valet for so long. + +"So I called up Joe Bruzinski, my top sergeant. Best top in the army, +Joe; systematic, methodical. I depended upon him for nearly everything; +couldn't have gotten along without him, in fact. Not an educated fellow, +you know. Rather crude. An Americanized Pole, I believe. But efficient, +careful about little things. I gave him the ring to keep for me. Less +than a week after that I was laid up with a beastly siege of influenza +which came near finishing me. I was shipped back to a base hospital and +it was more than a month before I was on my feet again. Meanwhile I'd +gotten out of touch with my division, applied for a transfer to another +branch, got stuck with an S. O. S. job, and landed home at the tail-end +of everything after all the shouting was over." + +"I see," says I. "Bruzinski lost in the shuffle." + +"Precisely," says Waddy. "Mustered out months before I was. When I did +get loose they wouldn't let me go back to Belgium. And then----" + +"I remember," says I. "You side-tracked the lovely Marcelle for that +little blonde from. Richmond, didn't you?" + +"A mere passing fancy," says Waddy, flushin' up. "Nothing serious. She +was really engaged all the time to Bent Hawley. They're to be married +next month, I hear. But Marcelle! She has come. Just think, she has been +in this country for weeks, came over with the King and Queen of Belgium +and stayed on. Looking for me. I suppose. And I knew nothing at all +about it until yesterday. She's in Washington. Jimmy Carson saw her +driving down Pennsylvania avenue. He was captain of my company, you +know. Rattle-brained chap, Jimmy. Hadn't kept track of Bruzinski at all. +Knew he came back, but no more. So you see? In order to get that ring I +must find Joe." + +"I don't quite get you," says I. "Why not find the lovely Marcelle first +and explain about the ring afterwards?" + +Waddy shakes his head. "I was in uniform when she knew me," says he. +"I--I looked rather well in it, I'm told. Anyway, different. But in +civies, even a frock coat, I've an idea she wouldn't recognize me as a +noble hero. Eh?" + +"Might be something in that," I admits. + +"But if I had the ring that she gave me--her token--well, you see?" goes +on Waddy. "I must have it. So I must find Bruzinski." + +"Yes, that's your play," I agrees. "Where did he hail from?" + +"Why, from somewhere in Pennsylvania," says Waddy; "some weird little +place that I never could remember the name of." + +"Huh!" says I. "Quite a sizable state, you know. You couldn't ramble +through it in an afternoon pagin' Joe Bruzinski." + +"I suppose one couldn't," says Waddy. "But there must be some way of +locating him. Couldn't I telegraph to the War Department?" + +"You could," says I, "and about a year from next Yom Kippur you might +get a notice that your wire had been received and placed on file. Why, +they're still revisin' casualty lists from the summer of 1918. If you're +in any hurry about gettin' in touch with Mr. Bruzinski----" + +"Hurry!" gasps Waddy. "Why, I must find him by tonight." + +"That's goin' to call for speed," says I. "I don't see how you +could--Say, now! I just thought of something. We might tickle Uncle Sam +in the W. R. I. B." + +"Beg pardon!" says Waddy, gawpin'. + +"War Risk Insurance Bureau," I explains. "That is, if Miss Callahan's +still there. Used to be one of our stenogs until she went into war work. +Last I knew she was still at it, had charge of one of the filing cases. +They handle soldier's insurance there, you know, and if Bruzinski's kept +his up----" + +"By George!" breaks in Waddy. "Of course. Do you know, I never thought +of that." + +"No, you wouldn't," says I "May not work, at that. But we can try. She's +a reg'lar person, Miss Callahan." + +Anyway, she knew right where to put her fingers on Joe Bruzinski's card +and shoots us back his mailin' address by lunch time. It's Coffee Creek, +Pa. + +"What an absurd place to live in!" says Waddy. "And how on earth can we +ever find it." + +"Eh?" says I. "We?" + +"But I couldn't possibly get there by myself," says Waddy. "I've never +been west of Philadelphia. Oh, yes, I've traveled a lot abroad, but +that's different. One hires a courier. Really, I should be lost out of +New York. Besides, you know Mr. Robert said you were to--oh, there he is +now. I say, Bob, isn't Torchy to stay with me until I find Bruzinski?" + +"Absolutely," says Mr. Robert, throwin' a grin over his shoulder at me +as he slips by. + +"Maybe he thinks that's a life sentence," says I. "Chuck me that +Pathfinder from the case behind you, will you? Now let's see. Here we +are, page 937--Coffee Creek, Pa. Inhabitants 1,500. Flag station on the +Lackawanna below Wilkes-Barre. That's in the Susquehanna valley. Must be +a coal town. Chicago limited wouldn't stop there. But we can probably +catch a jitney or something from Wilkes-Barre. Just got time to make the +1:15, too. Come on. Lunch on train." + +I expect Waddy ain't been jumped around so rapid before in his whole +career. I allows him only time enough to lay in a fresh supply of +cigarettes on the way to the ferry and before he's caught his breath we +are sittin' in the dinin' car zoomin' through the north end of New +Jersey. I tried to get him interested in the scenery as we pounded +through the Poconos and galloped past the Water Gap, but it couldn't be +done. When he gets real set on anything it seems Waddy has a single +track mind. + +"I trust he still has that ring," he remarks. + +"That'll ride until we've found your ex-top sergeant," says I. "What was +his line before he went in the army--plumber, truck driver, or what?" + +Waddy hadn't the least idea. Not having been mixed up in industry +himself, he hadn't been curious. Now that I mentioned it he supposed +Joe had done something for a living. Yes, he was almost sure. He had +noticed that Joe's hands were rather rough and calloused. + +"What would that indicate?" asks Waddy. + +"Most anything," says I, "from the high cost of gloves to a strike of +lady manicures. Don't strain your intellect over it, though. If he's +still in Coffee Creek there shouldn't be much trouble findin' him." + +Which was where I took a lot for granted. When we piled off the express +at Wilkes-Barre I charters a flivver taxi, and after a half hour's drive +with a speed maniac who must have thought he was pilotin' a DeHaviland +through the clouds we're landed in the middle of this forsaken, one +horse dump, consistin' of a double row of punk tenement blocks and a +sprinklin' of near-beer joints that was givin' their last gasp. I tried +out three prominent citizens before I found one who savvied English. + +"Sure!" says he. "Joe Bruzinski? He must be the mine boss by Judson's +yet. First right hand turn you take and keep on the hill up." + +"Until what?" says I. + +"Why, Judson's operation--the mine," says he. "Can't miss. Road ends at +Judson's." + +Uh-huh. It did. High time, too. A road like that never should be allowed +to start anywhere. But the flivver negotiated it and by luck we found +the mine superintendent in the office--a grizzled, chunky little +Welshman with a pair of shrewd eyes. Yes, he says Bruzinski is around +somewhere. He thinks he's down on C level plotting out some new +contracts for the night shift. + +"What luck!" says Waddy. "I say, will you call him right up?" + +"That I will, sir," says the superintendent, "if you'll tell me how." + +"Why," says Waddy, "couldn't you--er--telephone to him, or send a +messenger?" + +It seems that can't be done. "You might try shouting down, the shaft +though," says the Welshman, with a twinkle in his eyes. + +Waddy would have gone hoarse doin' it, too, if I hadn't given him the +nudge. "Wake up," says I. "You're being kidded." + +"But see here, my man----" Waddy begins. + +"Mr. Llanders is the name," says the superintendent a bit crisp. + +"Ah, yes. Thanks," says Waddy. "It is quite important, Mr. Llanders, +that I find Bruzinski at once." + +"Mayhap he'll be up by midnight for a bite to eat," says Llanders. + +"Then we'll just have to go down where he is," announces Waddy. + +Llanders stares at him curious. "You'd have an interesting time doing +that, young man," says he; "very interesting." + +"But I say," starts in Waddy again, which was where I shut him off. + +"Back up, Waddy," says I, "before you bug the case entirely. Let me ask +Mr. Llanders where I can call up your good friend Judson." + +"That I couldn't rightly say, sir," says Llanders. "It might be one +place, and it might be another. Maybe they'd know better at the office +of his estate in Scranton, but as he's been dead these eight years----" + +"Check!" says I. "It would have been a swell bluff if it had worked +though, wouldn't it?" + +Llanders indulges in a grim smile. "But it didn't," says he. + +"That's the sad part," says I, "for Mr. Fiske here is in a great stew to +see this Bruzinski party right away. There's a lady in the case, as you +might know; one they met while they were soldierin' abroad. So if +there's any way you could fix it for them to get together----" + +"Going down's the only way," says Llanders, "and that's strictly against +orders." + +"Except on a pass, eh?" says I. "Lucky we brought that along. Waddy, +slip it to Mr. Llanders. No, don't look stupid. Feel in your right hand +vest pocket. That's it, one of those yellow-backed ones with a double X +in the corners. Ah, here! Don't you know how to present a government +pass?" And I has to take it away from him and tuck it careless into the +superintendent's coat pocket. + +"Of course," says Llanders, "if you young gentlemen are on official +business, it makes a difference." + +"Then let's hurry along," says Waddy, startin' impatient. + +"Dressed like that?" says Llanders, starin' at Waddy's Fifth Avenue +costume. "I take it you've not been underground before, sir?" + +"Only in the subway," says Waddy. + +"You'll find a coal mine quite unlike the subway," says Llanders. "I +think we can fix you up for it, though." + +They did. And when Waddy had swapped his frock coat for overalls and +jumper, and added a pair of rubber boots and a greasy cap with an +acetylene lamp stuck in the front of it he sure wouldn't have been +recognized even by his favorite waiter at the club. I expect I looked +about as tough, too. And I'll admit that all this preparation seemed +kind of foolish there in the office. Ten minutes later I knew it wasn't. +Not a bit. + +"Do we go down in a car or something?" asks Waddy. + +"Not if you go with me," says Llanders. "We'll walk down Slope 8. Before +we start, however, it will be best for me to tell you that this was a +drowned mine." + +"Listens excitin'," says I. "Meanin' what?" + +"Four years ago the creek came in on us," says Llanders, "flooded us to +within ten feet of the shaft mouth. We lost only a dozen men, but it was +two years before we had the lower levels clear. We manage to keep it +down now with the pumps, Bruzinski is most likely at the further end of +the lowest level." + +"Is he?" says Waddy. "I must see him, you know." + +Whether he took in all this about the creek's playful little habits or +not I don't know. Anyway, he didn't hang back, and while I've started on +evenin' walks that sounded a lot pleasanter I wasn't going to duck then. +If Waddy could stand it I guessed I could. + +So down we goes into a black hole that yawns in the middle of a muddy +field. I hadn't gone far, either, before I discovers that being your own +street light wasn't such an easy trick. I expect a miner has to wear his +lamp on his head so's to have his hands free to swing a pick. But I'll +be hanged if it's comfortable or easy. I unhooked mine and carried it in +my hand, ready to throw the light where I needed it most. + +And there was spots where I sure needed it bad, for this Slope 8 +proposition was no garden pathway, I'll say. First off, it was mucky and +slippery under foot, and in some places it dips down sharp, almost as +steep as a church roof. Then again there was parts where they'd skimped +on the ceilin', and you had to do a crouch or else bump your bean on +unpadded rocks. On and down, down and on we went, slippin' and slidin', +bracin' ourselves against the wet walls, duckin' where it was low and +restin' our necks where they'd been more generous with the excavatin'. + +There was one 'specially sharp pitch of a hundred feet or so and right +in the worst of it we had to dodge a young waterfall that comes +filterin' down through the rocks. It was doin' some roarin' and +splashin', too. I was afraid Llanders might not have noticed it. + +"How about it!" says I. "This ain't another visit from the creek, is +it?" + +"Only part of it," says he careless. "The pumps are going, you know." + +"I hope they're workin' well," says I. + +As for Waddy, not a yip out of him. He sticks close behind Llanders and +plugs along just as if he was used to scramblin' through a muddy hole +three hundred feet or so below the grass roots. That's what it is to be +100 per cent in love. All he could think of was gettin' that ring back +and renewin' cordial relations with the lovely Marcelle. But I was +noticin' enough for two. I knew that we'd made so many twists and turns +that we must be lost for keeps. I saw the saggy, rotten timbers that +kept the State of Pennsylvania from cavin' in on us. And now and then I +wondered how long it would be before they dug us out. + +"Where's all the coal?" I asks Llanders, just by way of makin' talk. + +"Why, here," says he, touchin' the side-wall. + +Sure enough, there it was, the real black diamond stuff such as you +shovel into the furnace--when you're lucky. I scaled off a piece and +tested it with the lamp. And gradually I begun to revise my ideas of a +coal mine. I'd always thought of it as a big cave sort of a place, with +a lot of miners grouped around the sides pickin' away sociable. But here +is nothing but a maze of little tunnels, criss-crossin' every which way, +with nobody in sight except now and then, off in a dead-end, we'd get a +glimpse of two or three kind of ghosty figures movin' about solemn. It's +all so still, too. Except in places where we could hear the water +roarin' there wasn't a sound. Only in one spot, off in what Llanders +calls a chamber, we finds two men workin' a compressed air jack-hammer, +drillin' holes. + +"They'll be shooting a blast soon," says Llanders. "Want to wait?" + +"No thanks," says I prompt. "Mr. Fiske is in a rush." + +Maybe I missed something interestin', but with all that rock over my +head I wasn't crazy to watch somebody monkey with dynamite. The +jack-hammer crew gave us a line on where we might find Bruzinski, and I +expect for a while there I led the way. After another ten-minute stroll, +durin' which we dodged a string of coal cars being shunted down a grade, +we comes across three miners chattin' quiet in a corner. One of 'em +turns out to be the mine-boss. + +"Hey, Joe!" says Llanders. "Somebody wants to see you." + +At which Waddy pushes to the front. "Oh, I say, Bruzinski! Remember me, +don't you?" he asks. + +Joe looks him over casual and shakes his head. + +"I'm Lieutenant Fiske, you know," says Waddy. "That is, I was." + +"Well, I'll be damned!" says Joe earnest. "The Loot! What's up?" + +"That ring I gave you in Belgium," goes on Waddy. "I--I hope you still +have it?" + +"Ye-e-es," says Joe draggy. "Fact is, I was goin' to use it tomorrow. +I'm gettin' engaged. Nice girl, too. I was meanin' to----" + +"But you can't, Joe," breaks in Waddy. "Not with that ring. Miss Jedain +gave me that. Here, I'll give you another. How will this do?" And Waddy +takes a low set spark off his finger. + +"All right. Fine!" says Joe, and proceeds to unhook the other ring from +his leather watch, guard. "But what's all the hurry about?" + +"Because she's here," says Waddy. "In Washington, I mean. The lovely +Marcelle. Came over looking for me, Joe, just as she promised. Perhaps +you didn't know she did promise, though?" + +"Sure," says Joe. "That's what she told all of us." + +"Eh?" gasps Waddy. + +"Some hugger, that one," says Joe. "Swell lady, too. A bear-cat for +makin' love, I'll tell the world. Me, and the Cap., and the First Loot, +and you, all the same day. She was goin' to marry us all. And the Cap., +with a wife and two kids back in Binghamton, N. Y., he got almost +nervous over it." + +"I--I can't believe it," says Waddy gaspy. "Did--did she give you a--a +token, as she did to me?" + +"No," says Joe. "None of us fell quite so hard for her as you did. I +guess we kinda suspected what was wrong with her." + +"Wrong?" echoes Waddy. + +"Why not?" asks Joe. "Four years of the Huns, and then we came blowin' +in to lift the lid and let 'em come up out of the cellars. Just +naturally went simple in the head, she did. Lots like her, only they +took it out in different ways. Her line was marryin' us, singly and in +squads; overlookin' complete that she had one perfectly good hubby who +was an aide or something to King Albert, as well as three nice +youngsters. We heard about that later, after she'd come to a little." + +For a minute or so Waddy stands there starin' at Joe with his mouth open +and his shoulders sagged. Then he slumps on a log and lets his chin +drop. + +"Goin' to hunt her up and give back the ring?" asks Joe. "That the +idea?" + +"Not--not precisely," says Waddy. "I--I shall send it by mail, I think." + +And all the way out he walked like he was in a daze. He generally takes +it hard for a day or so, I understand. So we had that underground +excursion all for nothing. That is, unless you count my being able to +give Mr. Robert the swift comeback next mornin' when he greets me with +a chuckle. + +"Well, Torchy," says he, "how did you leave Bruzinski?" + +"Just where I found him," says I, "about three hundred feet +underground." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +HOW TORCHY ANCHORED A COOK + + +It began with Stella Flynn, but it ended with the Hon. Sour Milk and +Madam Zenobia. Which is one reason why my job as private sec. to Mr. +Robert Ellins is one I wouldn't swap for Tumulty's--unless they came +insistin' that I had to go to the White House to save the country. And +up to date I ain't had any such call. There's no tellin' though. Mr. +Robert's liable to sic 'em onto me any day. + +You see, just because I've happened to pull a few winnin' acts where I +had the breaks with me he's fond of playin' me up as a wizard performer +in almost any line. Course, a good deal of it is just his josh, but +somehow it ain't a habit I'm anxious to cure him of. Yet when he bats +this domestic crisis up to me--this case of Stella Flynn--I did think it +was pushin' the comedy a bit strong. + +"No," says I, "I'm no miracle worker." + +"Pooh, Torchy!" says Vee. "Who's saying you are? But at least you might +try to suggest something. You think you're so clever at so many things, +you know." + +Trust the folks at home for gettin' in these little jabs. + +"Oh, very well," says I. "What are the facts about Stella?" + +While the bill of particulars is more or less lengthy all it amounts to +is the usual kitchen tragedy. Stella has given notice. After havin' been +a good and faithful cook for 'steen years; first for Mrs. Ellins's +mother, and then being handed on to Mrs. Ellins herself after she and +Mr. Robert hooked up; now Stella announces that she's about to resign +the portfolio. + +No, it ain't a higher wage scale she's strikin' for. She's been boosted +three times durin' the last six months, until she's probably the best +paid lady cook on Long Island. And she ain't demandin' an eight-hour +day, or recognition as chairman of the downstairs soviet. Stella is a +middle-aged, full-chested, kind of old-fashioned female who probably +thinks a Bolshevik is a limb of the Old Boy himself and ought to be met +with holy water in one hand and a red-hot poker in the other. She's +satisfied with her quarters, havin' a room and bath to herself; she's +got no active grouch against any of the other help; and being sent to +mass every Sunday mornin' in the limousine suits her well enough. + +But she's quittin', all the same. Why? Well, maybe Mr. Robert remembers +that brother Dan of hers he helped set up as a steam fitter out in +Altoona some six or seven years ago? Sure it was a kind act. And Danny +has done well. He has fitted steam into some big plants and some +elegant houses. And now Danny has a fine home of his own. Yes, with a +piano that plays itself, and gilt chairs in the parlor, and a sedan top +on the flivver, and beveled glass in the front door. Also he has a +stylish wife who has "an evenin' wrap trimmed with vermin and is +learnin' to play that auctioneer's bridge game." So why should his +sister Stella be cookin' for other folks when she might be livin' swell +and independent with them? Ain't there the four nieces and three nephews +that hardly knows their aunt by sight? It's Danny's wife herself that +wrote the letter urgin' her to come. + +"And do all the cooking for that big family, I suppose?" suggests Mrs. +Ellins. + +"She wasn't after sayin' as much, ma'am," says Stella, "but would I be +sittin' in the parlor with my hands folded, and her so stylish? And +Danny always did like my cookin'." + +"Why should he not?" asks Mrs. Ellins. "But who would go on adding to +your savings account? Don't be foolish, Stella." + +All of which hadn't gotten 'em anywhere. Stella was bent flittin' to +Altoona. Ten days more and she would be gone. And as Mr. Robert finishes +a piece of Stella's blue ribbon mince pies and drops a lump of sugar +into a cup of Stella's unsurpassed after-dinner coffee he lets out a +sigh. + +"That means, I presume," says he, "hunting up a suite in some apartment +hotel, moving into town, and facing a near-French menu three times a +day. All because our domestic affairs are not managed on a business +basis." + +"I suppose you would find some way of inducing Stella to stay--if you +were not too busy?" asks Mrs. Robert sarcastic. + +"I would," says he. + +"What a pity," says she, "that such diplomatic genius must be confined +to mere business. If we could only have the benefit of some of it here; +even the help of one of your bright young men assistants. They would +know exactly how to go about persuading Stella to stay, I suppose?" + +"They would find a way," says Mr. Robert. "They would bring a trained +and acute mentality to the problem." + +"Humph!" says Mrs. Robert, tossing her head. "We saw that worked out in +a play the other night, you remember. Mr. Wise Business Man solves the +domestic problem by hiring two private detectives, one to act as cook, +the other as butler, and a nice mess he made of it. No, thank you." + +"See here, Geraldine," says Mr. Robert. "I'll bet you a hundred Torchy +could go on that case and have it all straightened out inside of a +week." + +"Done!" says Mrs. Robert. + +And in spite of my protests, that's the way I was let in. But I might +not have started so prompt if it hadn't been for Vee eggin' me on. + +"If they do move into town, you know," she suggests, "it will be rather +lonesome out here for the rest of the winter. We'll miss going there for +an occasional Sunday dinner, too. Besides, Stella ought to be saved from +that foolishness. She--she's too good a cook to be wasted on such a +place as Altoona." + +"I'll say she is," I agrees. "I wish I knew where to begin blockin' her +off." + +I expect some people would call it just some of my luck that I picks up +a clue less'n ten minutes later. Maybe so. But I had to have my ear +stretched to get it and even then I might have missed the connection if +I'd been doin' a sleep walkin' act. As it is I'm pikin' past the +servants' wing out toward the garage to bring around the little car for +a start home, and Stella happens to be telephonin' from the butler's +pantry with the window part open. And when Stella 'phones she does it +like she was callin' home the cows. + +About all I caught was "Sure Maggie, dear--Madame Zenobia--two flights +up over the agency--Thursday afternoon." But for me and Sherlock that's +as good as a two-page description. And when I'd had my rapid-fire +deducer workin' for a few minutes I'd doped out my big idea. + +"Vee," says I, when we gets back to our own fireside, "what friend has +Stella got that she calls Maggie, dear?" + +"Why, that must be the Farlows' upstairs maid," says she. "Why, +Torchy?" + +"Oh, for instance," says I "And didn't you have a snapshot of Stella you +took once last summer?" + +Vee says she's sure she has one somewhere. + +"Dig it out, will you?" says I. + +It's a fairly good likeness, too, and I pockets it mysterious. And next +day I spends most of my lunch hour prowlin' around on the Sixth Ave. +hiring line rubberin' at the signs over the employment agencies. Must +have been about the tenth hallway I'd scouted into before I ran across +the right one. Sure enough, there's the blue lettered card announcin' +that Madame Zenobia can be found in Room 19, third floor, ring bell. I +rang. + +I don't know when I've seen a more battered old battle-axe face, or a +colder, more suspicious pair of lamps than belongs to this old dame with +the henna-kissed hair and the gold hoops in her ears. + +"Well, young feller," says she, "if you've come pussyfootin' up here +from the District Attorney's office you can just sneak back and report +nothing doing. Madame Zenobia has gone out of business. Besides, I ain't +done any fortune tellin' in a month; only high grade trance work, and +mighty little of that. So good day." + +"Oh, come, lady," says I, slippin' her the confidential smile, "do I +look like I did fourth-rate gumshoein' for a livin'? Honest, now? +Besides, the trance stuff is just what I'm lookin' for. And I'm not +expectin' any complimentary session, either. Here! There's a ten-spot +on account. Now can we do business?" + +You bet we could. + +"If it's in the realm of Eros, young man," she begins, "I think----" + +"But it ain't," says I. "No heart complications at all. This ain't even +a matter of a missin' relative, a lost wrist watch, or gettin' advice on +buyin' oil stocks. It's a case of a cook with a wilful disposition. Get +me? I want her to hear the right kind of dope from the spirit world." + +"Ah!" says she, her eyes brightenin'. "I think I follow you, child of +the sun. Rather a clever idea, too. Your cook, is she?" + +"No such luck," says I. "The boss's, or I wouldn't be so free with the +expense money. And listen, Madame; there's another ten in it if the +spirits do their job well." + +"Grateful words, my son," says she. "But these high-class servants are +hard to handle these days. They are no longer content to see the cards +laid out and hear their past and future read. Even a simple trance +sitting doesn't satisfy. They must hear bells rung, see ghostly hands +waved, and some of them demand a materialized control. But they are so +few! And my faithful Al Nekkir has left me." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"One of the best side-kicks I ever worked with, Al Nekkir," says Madame +Zenobia, sighin'. "He always slid out from behind the draperies at just +the right time, and he had the patter down fine. But how could I keep a +real artist like that with a movie firm offering him five times the +money? I hear those whiskers of his screen lovely. Ah, such whiskers! +Any cook, no matter how high born, would fall for a prophet's beard like +that. And where can I find another?" + +Well, I couldn't say. Whiskers are scarce in New York. And it seems +Madame Zenobia wouldn't feel sure of tacklin' an A1 cook unless she had +an assistant with luxurious face lamberquins. She might try to put it +over alone, but she couldn't guarantee anything. Yes, she'd keep the +snapshot of Stella, and remember what I said about the brother in +Altoona. Also it might be that she could find a substitute for Al Nekkir +between now and Thursday afternoon. But there wasn't much chance. I had +to let it ride at that. + +So Monday was crossed off, Tuesday slipped past into eternity with +nothing much done, and half of Wednesday had gone the same way. Mr. +Robert was gettin' anxious. He reports that Stella has set Saturday as +her last day with them and that she's begun packin' her trunk. What was +I doing about it? + +"If you need more time off," says he, "take it." + +"I always need some time off," says I, grabbin my hat. + +Anyway, it was too fine an afternoon to miss a walk up Fifth Avenue. +Besides, I can often think clearer when my rubber heels are busy. Did +you ever try walkin' down an idea? It's a good hunch. The one I was +tryin' to surround was how I could sub in for this Al Nekkir party +myself without gettin' Stella suspicious. If I had to say the lines +would she spot me by my voice? If she did it would be all up with the +game. + +Honest, I wasn't thinkin' of whiskers at all. In fact, I hadn't +considered the proposition, but was workin' on an entirely different +line, when all of a sudden, just as I'm passin' the stone lions in front +of the public library, this freak looms up out of the crowd. Course you +can see 'most anything on Fifth Avenue, if you trail up and down often +enough--about anything or anybody you can see anywhere in the world, +they say. And this sure was an odd specimen. + +He was all of six feet high and most of him was draped in a brown +raincoat effect that buttoned from his ankles to his chin. Besides that, +he wore a green leather cap such as I've never seen the mate to, and he +had a long, solemn face that was mostly obscured by the richest and +rankest growth of bright chestnut whiskers ever in captivity. + +I expect I must have grinned. I'm apt to. Probably it was a friendly +grin. With hair as red as mine I can't be too critical. Besides, he was +gazin' sort of folksy at people as he passed. Still, I didn't think he +noticed me among so many and I hadn't thought of stoppin' him. I'd gone +on, wonderin' where he had blown in from, and chucklin' over that fancy +tinted beard, when the first thing I knew here he was at my elbow +lookin' down on me. + +"Forgive, sahib, but you have the face of a kindly one," says he. + +"Well, I'm no consistent grouch, if that's what you mean," says I. +"What'll it be?" + +"Could you tell to a stranger in a strange land what one does who has +great hunger and no rupees left in his purse?" says he. + +"Just what you've done," says I. "He picks out an easy mark. I don't +pass out the coin reckless, though. Generally I tow 'em to a hash house +and watch 'em eat. Are you hungry enough for that?" + +"Truly, I have great hunger," says he. + +So, five minutes later I've led him into a side street and parked him +opposite me at a chop house table. "How about a slice of roast beef +rare, with mashed potatoes and turnips and a cup of coffee?" says I. + +"Pardon," says he, "but it is forbidden me to eat the flesh of animals." + +So we compromised on a double order of boiled rice and milk with a hunk +of pumpkin pie on the side. And in spite of the beard he went to it +business-like and graceful. + +"Excuse my askin'," says I, "but are you going or coming?" + +He looks a bit blank at that. "I am Burmese gentleman," says he. "I am +named Sarrou Mollik kuhn Balla Ben." + +"That's enough, such as it is," says I. "Suppose I use only the last of +it, the Balla Ben part?" + +"No," says he, "that is only my title, as you say Honorable Sir." + +"Oh, very well," says I, "Sour Milk it is. And maybe you're willin' to +tell how you get this way--great hunger and no rupees?" + +He was willin'. It seems he'd first gone wanderin' from home a year or +so back with a sporty young Englishman who'd hired him as guide and +interpreter on a trip into the middle of Burmah. Then they'd gone on +into India and the Hon. Sour Milk had qualified so well as all round +valet that the young Englishman signed him up for a two-year jaunt +around the world. His boss was some hot sport, though, I take it, and +after a big spree coming over on a Pacific steamer from Japan he'd been +taken sick with some kind of fever, typhoid probably, and was makin' a +mad dash for home when he had to quit in New York and be carted to some +hospital. Just what hospital Sour Milk didn't know, and as the Hon. +Sahib was too sick to think about payin' his board in advance his valet +had been turned loose by an unsympathizing hotel manager. And here he +was. + +"That sure is a hard luck tale," says I. "But it ought to be easy for a +man of your size to land some kind of a job these days. What did you +work at back in Burmah?" + +"I was one of the attendants at the Temple," says he. + +"Huh!" says I. "That does make it complicated. I'm afraid there ain't +much call for temple hands in this burg. Now if you could run a +button-holin' machine, or was a paper hanger, or could handle a delivery +truck, or could make good as a floor walker in the men's furnishin' +department, or had ever done any barberin'--Say! I've got it!" and I +gazes fascinated at that crop of facial herbage. + +"I ask pardon?" says he, starin' puzzled. + +"They're genuine, ain't they?" I goes on. "Don't hook over the ears with +a wire? The whiskers, I mean." + +He assures me they grow on him. + +"And you're game to tackle any light work with good pay?" I asks. + +"I must not cause the death of dumb animals," says he, "or touch their +dead bodies. And I may not serve at the altars of your people. But +beyond that----" + +"You're on, then," says I. "Come along while I stack you up against +Madame Zenobia, the Mystic Queen." + +We finds the old girl sittin' at a little table, her chin propped up in +one hand and a cigarette danglin' despondent from her rouged lips. She's +a picture of gloomy days. + +"Look what I picked up on Fifth Ave.," says I. + +And the minute she spots him and takes in the chestnut whiskers, them +weary old eyes of hers lights up. "By the kind stars and the jack of +spades!" says she. "A wise one from the East! Who is he?" + +"Allow me, Madame Zenobia, to present the Hon. Sour Milk," says I. + +"Pardon, Memsahib," he corrects. "I am Sarrou Mellik kuhn Balla Ben, +from the Temple of Aj Wadda, in Burmah. I am far from home and without +rupees." + +"Allah be praised!" says Madame Zenobia. + +"Ah!" echoes Sour Milk, in a deep boomin' voice that sounds like it came +from the sub-cellar. "Allah il Allah!" + +"Enough!" says Madame Zenobia. "The Sage of India is my favorite control +and this one has the speech and bearing of him to the life. You may +leave us, child of the sun, knowing that your wish shall come true. That +is, provided the cook person appears." + +"Oh, she'll be here, all right," says I. "They never miss a date like +that. There'll be two of 'em, understand. The thin one will be Maggie, +that I ain't got any dope on. You can stall her off with anything. The +fat, waddly one with the two gold front teeth will be Stella. She's the +party with the wilful disposition and the late case of wanderlust. +You'll know her by the snapshot, and be sure and throw it into her +strong if you want to collect that other ten." + +"Trust Zenobia," says she, wavin' me away. + +Say, I'd like to have been behind the curtains that Thursday afternoon +when Stella Flynn squandered four dollars to get a message from the +spirit world direct. I'd like to know just how it was done. Oh, she got +it, all right. And it must have been mighty convincin', for when Vee and +I drives up to the Ellinses that night after dinner to see if they'd +noticed any difference in the cook, or if she'd dropped any encouragin' +hints, I nearly got hugged by Mrs. Robert. + +"Oh, you wonderful young person!" says she. "You did manage it, didn't +you?" + +"Eh?" says I. + +"Stella is going to stay with us," says Mrs. Robert. "She is unpacking +her trunk! However did you do it? What is this marvelous recipe of +yours?" + +"Why," says I, "I took Madame Zenobia and added Sour Milk." + +Yes, I had more or less fun kiddin' 'em along all the evenin'. But I +couldn't tell 'em the whole story because I didn't have the details +myself. As for Mr. Robert, he's just as pleased as anybody, only he lets +on how he was dead sure all along that I'd put it over. And before I +left he tows me one side and tucks a check into my pocket. + +"Geraldine paid up," says he, "and I rather think the stakes belong to +you. But sometime, Torchy, I'd like to have you outline your process to +me. It should be worth copyrighting." + +That bright little idea seemed to have hit Madame Zenobia, too, for when +I drops around there next day to hand her the final instalment, she and +the Hon. Sour Milk are just finishing a he-sized meal that had been sent +in on a tray from a nearby restaurant. She's actin' gay and mirthful. + +"Ah, I've always known there was luck in red hair," says she. "And when +it comes don't think Zenobia doesn't know it by sight. Look!" and she +hands me a mornin' paper unfolded to the "Help Wanted" page. The marked +ad reads: + +The domestic problem solved. If you would keep your servants consult +Madame Zenobia, the Mystic Queen. Try her and your cook will never +leave. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "That ought to bring in business these times. I expect +that inside of a week you'll have the street lined with limousines and +customers waitin' in line all up and down the stairs here." + +"True words," says Madame Zenobia. "Already I have made four +appointments for this afternoon and I've raised my fee to $50." + +"If you can cinch 'em all the way you did Stella," says I, "it'll be as +good as ownin' a Texas gusher. But, by the way, just how did you feed it +to her?" + +"She wasn't a bit interested," says Madame Zenobia, "until I +materialized Sarrou Mellik as the wise man of India. Give us that patter +I worked up for you, Sarrou." + +And in that boomin' voice of his the Hon. Sour Milk remarks: "Beware of +change. Remain, woman, where thou art, for there and there only will +some great good fortune come to you. The spirit of Ahmed the Wise hath +spoken." + +"Great stuff!" says I. "I don't blame Stella for changin' her mind. +That's enough to make anybody a fixture anywhere. She may be the only +one in the country, but I'll say she's a permanent cook." + +And I sure did get a chuckle out of Mr. Robert when I sketches out how +we anchored Stella to his happy home. + +"Then that's why she looks at me in that peculiarly expectant way every +time I see her," says he. "Some great good fortune, eh? Evidently she +has decided that it will come through me." + +"Well," says I, "unless she enters a prize beauty contest or something +like that, you should worry. Even if she does get the idea that you're +holdin' out on her, she won't dare quit. And you couldn't do better than +that with an Act of Congress. Could you, now?" + +At which Mr. Robert folds his hands over his vest and indulges in a +cat-and-canary grin. I expect he was thinkin' of them mince pies. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +HOW THE GARVEYS BROKE IN + + +Course, Vee gives me all the credit. Perfectly right, too. That's the +way we have 'em trained. But, as a matter of fact, stated confidential +and on the side, it was the little lady herself who pushed the starter +button in this affair with the Garveys. If she hadn't I don't see where +it would ever have got going. + +Let's see, it must have been early in November. Anyway, it was some +messy afternoon, with a young snow flurry that had finally concluded to +turn to rain, and as I drops off the 5:18 I was glad enough to see the +little roadster backed up with the other cars and Vee waitin' inside +behind the side curtains. + +"Good work!" says I, dashin' out and preparin' to climb in. "I might +have got good and damp paddlin' home through this. Bright little thought +of yours." + +"Pooh!" says Vee. "Besides, there was an express package the driver +forgot to deliver. It must be that new floor lamp. Bring it out, will +you, Torchy?" + +And by the time I'd retrieved this bulky package from the express agent +and stowed it inside, all the other commuters had boarded their various +limousines and flivver taxis and cleared out. + +"Hello!" says I, glancin' down the platform where a large and elegant +lady is pacin' up and down lonesome. "Looks like somebody has got left." + +At which Vee takes a peek. "I believe it's that Mrs. Garvey," says she. + +"Oh!" says I, slidin' behind the wheel and thrown' in the gear. + +I was just shiftin' to second when Vee grabs my arm. "How utterly +snobbish of us!" says she. "Let's ask if we can't take her home?" + +"On the runnin' board?" says I. + +"We can leave the lamp until tomorrow," says Vee. "Come on." + +So I cuts a short circle and pulls up opposite this imposin' party in +the big hat and the ruffled mink coat. She lets on not to notice until +Vee leans out and asks: + +"Mrs. Garvey, isn't it?" + +All the reply she gives is a stiff nod and I notice her face is pinked +up like she was peeved at something. + +"If your car isn't here can't we take you home?" asks Vee. + +She acts sort of stunned for a second, and then, after another look up +the road through the sheets of rain, she steps up hesitatin'. "I suppose +my stupid chauffeur forgot I'd gone to town," says she. "And as all the +taxis have been taken I--I---- But you haven't room." + +"Oh, lots!" says Vee. "We will leave this ridiculous package in the +express office and squeeze up a bit. You simply can't walk, you know." + +"Well----" says she. + +So I lugs the lamp back and the three of us wedges ourselves into the +roadster seat. Believe me, with a party the size of Mrs. Garvey as the +party of the third part, it was a tight fit. From the way Vee chatters +on, though, you'd think it was some merry lark we was indulgin' in. + +"This is what I call our piggy car," says she, "for we can never ask but +one other person at a time. But it's heaps better than having no car at +all. And it's so fortunate we happened to see you, wasn't it?" + +Being more or less busy tryin' to shift gears without barkin' Mrs. +Garvey's knees, and turn corners without skiddin' into the gutter, I +didn't notice for a while that Vee was conductin' a perfectly good +monologue. That's what it was, though. Hardly a word out of our stately +passenger. She sits there as stiff as if she was crated, starin' cold +and stony straight ahead, and that peevish flush still showin' on her +cheekbones. Why, you'd most think we had her under arrest instead of +doin' her a favor. And when I finally swings into the Garvey driveway +and pulls up under the porte cochere she untangles herself from the +brake lever and crawls out. + +"Thank you," says she crisp, adjustin' her picture hat. "It isn't often +that I am obliged to depend on--on strangers." And while Vee still has +her mouth open, sort of gaspin' from the slam, the lady has marched up +the steps and disappeared. + +"Now I guess you know where you get off, eh, Vee?" says I chuckly. "You +_will_ pass up your new neighbors." + +"How absurd of her!" says Vee. "Why, I never dreamed that I had offended +her by not calling." + +"Well, you've got the straight dope at last," says I. "She's as fond of +us as a cat is of swimmin' with the ducks. Say, my right arm is numb +from being so close to that cold shoulder she was givin' me. Catch me +doin' the rescue act for her again." + +"Still," says Vee, "they have been livin out here nearly a year, haven't +they? But then----" + +At which she proceeds to state an alibi which sounds reasonable enough. +She'd rather understood that the Garveys didn't expect to be called on. +Maybe you know how it is in one of these near-swell suburbs! Not that +there's any reg'lar committee to pass on newcomers. Some are taken in +right off, some after a while, and some are just left out. Anyway, +that's how it seems to work out here in Harbor Hills. + +I don't know who it was first passed around the word, or where we got it +from, but we'd been tipped off somehow that the Garveys didn't belong. I +don't expect either of us asked for details. Whether or not they did +wasn't up to us. But everybody seems to take it that they don't, and act +accordin'. Plenty of others had met the same deal. Some quit after the +first six months, others stuck it out. + +As for the Garveys, they'd appeared from nowhere in particular, bought +this big square stucco house on the Shore road, rolled around in their +showy limousine, subscribed liberal to all the local drives and charity +funds, and made several stabs at bein' folksy. But there's no response. +None of the bridge-playing set drop in of an afternoon to ask Mrs. +Garvey if she won't fill in on Tuesday next, she ain't invited to join +the Ladies' Improvement Society, or even the Garden Club; and when +Garvey's application for membership gets to the Country Club committee +he's notified that his name has been put on the waitin' list. I expect +it's still there. + +But it's kind of a jolt to find that Mrs. Garvey is sore on us for all +this. "Where does she get that stuff?" I asks Vee, after we get home. +"Who's been telling her we handle the social blacklist for the Roaring +Rock district of Long Island?" + +"I suppose she thinks we have done our share, or failed to do it," says +Vee. "And perhaps we have. I'm rather sorry for the Garveys. I'm sure I +don't know what's the matter with them." + +I didn't, either. Hadn't given it a thought, in fact. But I sort of got +to chewin' it over. Maybe it was the flashy way Mrs. Garvey dressed, and +the noisy laugh I'd occasionally heard her spring on the station +platform when she was talking to Garvey. Not that all the lady members +of the Country Club set are shrinkin' violets who go around costumed in +Quaker gray and whisper their remarks modest. Some are about as spiffy +dressers as you'll see anywhere and a few are what I'd call speedy +performers. But somehow you know who they are and where they came from, +and make allowances. They're in the swim, anyway. + +The trouble might be with Garvey. He's about the same type as the other +half of the sketch--a big, two-fisted ruddy-faced husk, attired sporty +in black and white checks, with gray gaiters and a soft hat to match the +suit. Wore a diamond-set Shriners' watch fob, and an Elks' emblem in his +buttonhole. Course, you wouldn't expect him to have any gentle, ladylike +voice, and he don't. I heard he'd been sent on as an eastern agent of +some big Kansas City packin' house. Must have been a good payin' line, +for he certainly looks like ready money. But somehow he don't seem to be +popular with our bunch of commuters, although at first I understand he +tried to mix in free and easy. + +Anyway, the verdict appears to be against lettin' the Garveys in, and we +had about as much to do with it as we did about fixin' the price of +coal, or endin' the sugar shortage. Yet here when we try to do one of +'em a good turn we get the cold eye. + +"Next time," says I, "we'll remember we are strangers, and not give her +an openin' to throw it at us." + +So I'm a little surprised the followin' Sunday afternoon to see the +Garvey limousine stoppin' out front. As I happens to be wanderin' around +outside I steps up to the gate just as Garvey is gettin' out. + +"Ah, Ballard!" he says, cordial. "I want to thank you and Mrs. Ballard +for picking Mrs. Garvey up the other day when our fool chauffeur went to +sleep at the switch. It--it was mighty decent of you." + +"Not at all," says I "Couldn't do much less for a neighbor, could we?" + +"Some could," says he. "A whole lot less. And if you don't mind my +saying so, it's about the first sign we've had that we were counted as +neighbors." + +"Oh, well," says I, "maybe nobody's had a chance to show it before. Will +you come in a minute and thaw out in front of the wood fire?" + +"Why--er--I suppose it ain't reg'lar," says he, "but blamed if I +don't." + +And after I've towed him into the livin' room, planted him in a wing +chair, and poked up the hickory logs, he springs this conundrum on me: + +"Ballard," says he, "I'd like to ask you something and have you give me +an answer straight from the shoulder." + +"That's my specialty," says I. "Shoot." + +"Just what's the matter with us--Mrs. Garvey and me?" he demands. + +"Why--why--Who says there's anything the matter with either of you?" I +asks, draggy. + +"They don't have to say it," says he. "They act it. Everybody in this +blessed town; that is, all except the storekeepers, the plumbers, the +milkman, and so on. My money seems to be good enough for them. But as +for the others--well, you know how we've been frozen out. As though we +had something catching, or would blight the landscape. Now what's the +big idea? What are some of the charges in the indictment?" + +And I'll leave it to you if that wasn't enough to get me scrapin' my +front hoof. How you goin' to break it to a gent sittin' by your own +fireside that maybe he's a bit rough in the neck, or too much of a yawp +to fit into the refined and exclusive circle that patronizes the 8:03 +bankers' express? As I see it, the thing can't be done. + +"Excuse me, Mr. Garvey," says I, "but if there's been any true bill +handed in by a pink tea grand jury it's been done without consultin' +me. I ain't much on this codfish stuff myself." + +"Shake, young man," says he grateful. "I thought you looked like the +right sort. But without gettin' right down to brass tacks, or namin' any +names, couldn't you slip me a few useful hints? There's no use denyin' +we're in wrong here. I don't suppose it matters much just how; not now, +anyway. But Tim Garvey is no quitter; at least, I've never had that +name. And I've made up my mind to stay with this proposition until I'm +dead sure I'm licked." + +"That's the sportin' spirit," says I. + +"What I want is a line on how to get in right," says he. + +At which I scratches my head and stalls around. + +"For instance," he goes on, "what is it these fine Harbor Hills folks do +that I can't learn? Is it parlor etiquette? Then me for that. I'll take +lessons. I'm willin' to be as refined and genteel as anybody if that's +what I lack." + +"That's fair enough," says I, still stallin'. + +"You see," says Garvey, "this kind of a deal is a new one on us. I don't +want to throw any bull, but out in Kansas City we thought we had just as +good a bunch as you could find anywhere; and we were the ringleaders, as +you might say. Mixed with the best people. All live wires, too. We had a +new country club that would make this one of yours look like a freight +shed. I helped organize it, was one of the directors. And the Madam took +her part, too; first vice-president of the Woman's Club, charter member +of the Holy Twelve bridge crowd, as some called it, and always a +patroness at the big social affairs. A new doormat wouldn't, last us a +lifetime out there. But here--say, how do you break into this bunch, +anyway?" + +"Why ask me, who was smuggled in the back door?" says I, grinnin'. + +"But you know a lot of these high-brows and aristocrats," he insists. "I +don't. I don't get 'em at all. What brainy stunts or polite acts are +they strongest for? How do they behave when they're among themselves?" + +"Why, sort of natural, I guess," says I. + +"Whaddye mean, natural?" demands Garvey. "For instance?" + +"Well, let's see," says I. "There's Major Brooks Keating, the imposin' +old boy with the gray goatee, who was minister to Greece or Turkey once. +Married some plute's widow abroad and retired from the diplomatic game. +Lives in that near-chateau affair just this side of the Country Club. +His fad is paintin'." + +"Pictures?" asks Garvey. + +"No. Cow barns, fences, chicken houses," says I. "Anything around the +place that will stand another coat." + +"You don't mean he does it himself?" says Garvey. + +"Sure he does," says I. "Gets on an old pair of overalls and jumper and +goes to it like he belonged to the union. Last time I was up there he +had all the blinds off one side of the house and was touchin' 'em up. +Mrs. Keating was givin' a tea that afternoon and he crashes right in +amongst 'em askin' his wife what she did with that can of turpentine. +Nobody seems to mind, and they say he has a whale of a time doin' it. So +that's his high-brow stunt." + +Garvey shakes his head puzzled. "House painting, eh?" says he. "Some +fad, I'll say." + +"He ain't got anything on J. Kearney Rockwell, the potty-built old sport +with the pink complexion and the grand duchess wife," I goes on. "You +know?" + +Garvey nods. "Of Rockwell, Griggs & Bland, the big brokerage house," +says he. "What's his pet side line?" + +"Cucumbers," says I. "Has a whole hothouse full of 'em. Don't allow the +gardener to step inside the door, but does it all himself. Even lugs 'em +down to the store in a suitcase and sells as high as $20 worth a week, +they say. I hear he did start peddlin' 'em around the neighborhood once, +but the grand duchess raised such a howl he had to quit. You're liable +to see him wheelin' in a barrowful of manure any time, though." + +"Ought to be some sight," says Garvey. "Cucumbers! Any more like him?" + +"Oh, each one seems to have his own specialty," says I. "Take Austin +Gordon, one of the Standard Oil crowd, who only shows up at 26 Broadway +for the annual meetings now. You'd never guess what his hobby is. Puppet +shows." + +"Eh?" says Garvey, gawpin'. + +"Sort of Punch and Judy stuff," says I. "Whittles little dummies out of +wood, paints their faces, dresses 'em up, and makes 'em act by pullin' a +lot of strings. Writes reg'lar plays for 'em. He's got a complete little +theatre fitted up over his garage; stage, scenery, footlights, folding +chairs and everything. Gives a show every now and then. Swell affairs. +Everybody turns out. Course they snicker some in private, but he gets +away with it." + +Garvey stares at me sort of dazed. "And here I've been afraid to do +anything but walk around my place wearing gloves and carrying a cane;" +says he. "Afraid of doing something that wasn't genteel, or that would +get the neighbors talking. While these aristocrats do what they please. +They do, don't they!" + +"That about states it," says I. + +"Do--do you suppose I could do that, too?" he asks. + +"Why not?" says I. "You don't stand to lose anything, do you, even if +they do chatter? If I was you I'd act natural and tell 'em to go hang." + +"You would?" says he, still starin'. + +"To the limit," says I. "What's the fun of livin' if you can't?" + +"Say, young man," says Garvey, slappin' his knee. "That listens +sensible to me. Blamed if I don't. And I--I'm much obliged." + +And after he's gone Vee comes down from upstairs and wants to know what +on earth I've been talking so long to that Mr. Garvey about. + +"Why," says I, "I've been givin' him some wise dope on how to live among +plutes and be happy." + +"Silly!" says Vee, rumplin' my red hair. "Do you know what I've made up +my mind to do some day this week? Have you take me for an evening call +on the Garveys." + +"Gosh!" says I. "You're some little Polar explorer, ain't you?" + +It was no idle threat of Vee's. A few nights later we got under way +right after dinner and drove over there. I expect we were about the +first outsiders to push the bell button since they moved in. But we'd no +sooner rung than Vee begins to hedge. + +"Why, they must be giving a party!" says she. "Listen! There's an +orchestra playing." + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "Sounds like a jazz band." + +A minute later, though, when the butler opens the door, there's no sound +of music, and as we goes in we catches Garvey just strugglin' into his +dinner coat. He seems glad to see us, mighty glad. Says so. Tows us +right into the big drawin' room. But Mrs. Garvey ain't so enthusiastic. +She warms up about as much as a cold storage turkey. + +You can't feaze Vee, though, when she starts in to be folksy. "I'm just +so sorry we've been so long getting over," says she. "And we came near +not coming in this time. Didn't we hear music a moment ago. You're not +having a dance or--or anything, are you?" + +The Garveys look at each other sort of foolish for a second. + +"Oh, no," says Mrs. Garvey. "Nothing of the sort. Perhaps some of the +servants----" + +"Now, Ducky," breaks in Garvey, "let's not lay it on the servants." + +And Mrs. Garvey turns the color of a fire hydrant clear up into her +permanent wave. "Very well, Tim," says she. "If you _will_ let everybody +know. I suppose it's bound to get out sooner or later, anyhow." And with +that she turns to me. "Anyway, you're the young man who put him up to +this nonsense. I hope you're satisfied." + +"Me?" says I, doin' the gawp act. + +"How delightfully mysterious!" says Vee. "What's it all about?" + +"Yes, Garvey," says I. "What you been up to?" + +"I'm being natural, that's all," says he. + +"Natural!" snorts Mrs. Garvey. "Is that what you call it?" + +"How does it break out?" says I. + +"If you must know," says Mrs. Garvey, "he's making a fool of himself by +playing a snare drum." + +"Honest?" says I, grinnin' at Garvey. + +"Here it is," says he, draggin' out from under a davenport a perfectly +good drum. + +"And you might as well exhibit the rest of the ridiculous things," says +Mrs. Garvey. + +"Sure!" says Garvey, swingin' back a Japanese screen and disclosin' a +full trap outfit--base drum with cymbals, worked by a foot pedal, +xylophone blocks, triangle, and sand boards--all rigged up next to a +cabinet music machine. + +"Well, well!" says I. "All you lack is a leader and Sophie Tucker to +screech and you could go on at Reisenwebers." + +"Isn't it all perfectly fascinating?" says Vee, testin' the drum pedal. + +"But it's such a common, ordinary thing to do," protests Mrs. Garvey. +"Drumming! Why, out in Kansas City I remember that the man who played +the traps in our Country Club orchestra worked daytimes as a plumber. He +was a poor plumber, at that." + +"But he was a swell drummer," says Garvey. "I took lessons of him, on +the sly. You see, as a boy, the one big ambition in my life was to play +the snare drum. But I never had money enough to buy one. I couldn't have +found time to play it anyway. And in Kansas City I was too busy trying +to be a good sport. Here I've got more time than I know what to do with. +More money, too. So I've got the drum, and the rest. I'm here to say, +too, that knocking out an accompaniment to some of these new jazz +records is more fun than I've ever had all the rest of my life." + +"I'm sure it must be," says Vee. "Do play once for us, Mr. Garvey. +Couldn't I come in on the piano? Let's try that 'Dardanella' thing?" + +And say, inside of ten minutes they were at it so hard that you'd most +thought Arthur Pryor and his whole aggregation had cut loose. Then they +did some one-step pieces with lots of pep in 'em, and the way Garvey +could roll the sticks, and tinkle the triangle, and keep the cymbals and +base drum goin' with his foot was as good to watch as a jugglin' act, +even if he does leak a lot on the face when he gets through. + +"You're some jazz artist, I'll say," says I. + +"So will the neighbors, I'm afraid," says Mrs. Garvey. "That will sound +nice, won't it?" + +"Oh, blow the neighbors!" says Garvey. "I'm going to do as I please from +now on; and it pleases me to do this." + +"Then we might as well nail up the front door and eat in the kitchen, +like we used to," says she, sighin'. + +But it don't work out that way for them. It was like this: Austin Gordon +was pullin' off one of his puppet shows and comes around to ask Vee +wouldn't she do some piano playin' for him between the acts and durin' +parts of the performance. He'd hoped to have a violinist, too, but the +party had backed out. So Vee tells him about Garvey's trap outfit, and +how clever he is at it, and suggests askin' him in. + +"Why, certainly!" says Gordon. + +So Garvey pulls his act before the flower and chivalry of Harbor Hills. +They went wild over it, too. And at the reception afterwards he was +introduced all round, patted on the back by the men, and taffied up by +the ladies. Even Mrs. Timothy Garvey, who'd been sittin' stiff and +purple-faced all the evenin' in a back seat was rung in for a little of +the glory. + +"Say, Garvey," says Major Brooks Keating, "we must have you and Mrs. +Ballard play for us at our next Country Club dinner dance after the fool +musicians quit. Will you, eh? Not a member? Well, you ought to be. I'll +see that you're made one, right away." + +I don't know of anyone who was more pleased at the way things had turned +out than Vee. "There, Torchy!" says she. "I've always said you were a +wonder at managing things." + +"Why shouldn't I be?" says I, givin' her the side clinch. "Look at the +swell assistant I've got." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +NICKY AND THE SETTING HEN + + +Honest, the first line I got on this party with the steady gray eyes and +the poker face was that he must be dead from the neck up. Or else he'd +gone into a trance and couldn't get out. + +Nice lookin' young chap, too. Oh, say thirty or better. I don't know as +he'd qualify as a perfect male, but he has good lines and the kind of +profile that had most of the lady typists stretchin' their necks. But +there's no more expression on that map of his than there would be to a +bar of soap. Just a blank. And yet after a second glance you wondered. + +You see, I'd happened to drift out into the general offices in time to +hear him ask Vincent, the fair-haired guardian of the brass gate, if Mr. +Robert is in. And when Vincent tells him he ain't he makes no move to +go, but stands there starin' straight through the wall out into +Broadway. Looks like he might be one of Mr. Robert's club friends, so I +steps up and asks if there's anything a perfectly good private sec. can +do for him. He wakes up enough to shake his head. + +"Any message?" says I. + +Another shake. "Then maybe you'll leave your card?" says I. + +Yes, he's willin' to do that, and hands it over. + +"Oh!" says I. "Why didn't you say so? Mr. Nickerson Wells, eh? Why, +you're the one who's going to handle that ore transportation deal for +the Corrugated, ain't you?" + +"I was, but I'm not," says the chatterbox. + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"Can't take it on," says he. "Tell Ellins, will you?" + +"Not much!" says I. "Guess you'll have to hand that to him yourself, Mr. +Wells. He'll be here any minute. Right this way." + +And a swell time I had keepin' him entertained in the private office for +half an hour. Not that he's restless or fidgety, but when you get a +party who only stares bored at a spot about ten feet behind the back of +your head and answers most of your questions by blinkin' his eyes, it +kind of gets on your nerves. Still, I couldn't let him get away. Why, +Mr. Robert had been prospectin' for months to find the right man for +that transportation muddle and when he finally got hold of this Nicky +Wells he goes around grinnin' for three days. + +Seems Nicky had built up quite a rep. by some work he did over in France +on an engineerin' job. Ran some supply tracks where nobody thought they +could be laid, bridged a river in a night under fire, and pulled a lot +of stuff like that. I don't know just what. Anyway, they pinned all +sorts of medals on him for it, made him a colonel, and when it was all +over turned him loose as casual as any buck private. That's the army for +you. And the railroad people he'd been with before had been shifted +around so much that they'd forgotten all about him. He wasn't the kind +to tell 'em what a whale of a guy he was, and nobody else did it for +him. So there he was, floatin' around, when Mr. Robert happened to hear +of him. + +"Must have got you in some lively spots, runnin' a right of way smack up +to the German lines?" I suggests. + +"M-m-m-m!" says he, through his teeth. + +"Wasn't it you laid the tracks that got up them big naval guns?" I asks. + +"I may have helped," says he. + +So I knew all about it, you see. Quite thrillin' if you had a high speed +imagination. And you can bet I was some relieved when Mr. Robert blew in +and took him off my hands. Must have been an hour later before he comes +out and I goes into the private office to find Mr. Robert with his chin +on his wishbone and his brow furrowed up. + +"Well, I take it the one-syllable champion broke the sad news to you!" +says I. + +"Yes, he wants to quit," says Mr. Robert. + +"Means to devote all his time to breakin' the long distance no-speech +record, does he?" I asks. + +"I'm sure I don't know what he means to do," says Mr. Robert, sighin'. +"Anyway, he seems determined not to go to work for the Corrugated. I did +discover one thing, though, Torchy; there's a girl mixed up in the +affair. She's thrown him over." + +"I don't wonder," says I. "Probably he tried to get through a whole +evenin' with her on that yes-and-no stuff." + +No, Mr. Robert says, it wasn't that. Not altogether. Nicky has done +something that he's ashamed of, something she'd heard about. He'd +renigged on takin' her to a dinner dance up in Boston a month or so +back. He'd been on hand all right, was right on the spot while she was +waitin' for him; but instead of callin' around with the taxi and the +orchids he'd slipped off to another town without sayin' a word. The +worst of it was that in this other place was the other woman, someone +he'd had an affair with before. A Reno widow, too. + +"Think of that!" says I, "Nicky the Silent! Say, you can't always tell, +can you? What's his alibi?" + +"That's the puzzling part of it," says Mr. Robert. "He hasn't the ghost +of an excuse, although he claims he didn't see the other woman, had +almost forgotten she lived there. But why he deserted his dinner partner +and went to this place he doesn't explain, except to say that he doesn't +know why he did it." + +"Too fishy," says I. "Unless he can prove he was walkin' in his sleep." + +"Just what I tell him," says Mr. Robert. "Anyway, he's taking it hard. +Says if he's no more responsible than that he couldn't undertake an +important piece of work. Besides, I believe he is very fond of the girl. +She's Betty Burke, by the way." + +"Z-z-zing!" says I. "Some combination, Miss Betty Burke and Nickerson +Wells." + +I'd seen her a few times at the Ellinses, and take it from me she's some +wild gazelle; you know, lots of curves and speed, but no control. No +matter where you put her she's the life of the party, Betty is. Chatter! +Say, she could make an afternoon tea at the Old Ladies' Home sound like +a Rotary Club luncheon, all by herself. Shoots over the clever stuff, +too. Oh, a reg'lar girl. About as much on Nicky Wells' type as a hummin' +bird is like a pelican. + +"Only another instance," says Mr. Robert, "to show that the law of +opposites is still in good working condition. I've never known Betty to +be as much cut up over anything as she's been since she found out about +Nicky. Only we couldn't imagine what was the matter. She's not used to +being forgotten and I suppose she lost no time in telling Nicky where he +got off. She must have cared a lot for him. Perhaps she still does. The +silly things! If they could only make it up perhaps Nicky would sign +that contract and go to work." + +"Looks like a case of Cupid throwin' a monkey wrench into the gears of +commerce, eh?" says I. "How do you size up Nicky's plea of not guilty?" + +"Oh, if he says he didn't see the other woman, he didn't, that's all," +says Mr. Robert. "But until he explains why he went where she was +when----" + +"Maybe he would if he had a show," says I. "If you could plot out a +get-together session for 'em somehow----" + +"Exactly!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "Thank you, Torchy. It +shall be done. Get Mrs. Ellins on the long distance, will you?" + +He's a quick performer, Mr. Robert, when he's got his program mapped +out. He don't hesitate to step on the pedal. Before quittin' time that +afternoon he's got it all fixed up. + +"Tomorrow night," says he, "Nicky understands that we're having a dinner +party out at the house. Betty'll be there. You and Vee are to be the +party." + +"A lot of help I'll be," says I. "But I expect I can fill a chair." + +When you get a private sec. that can double in open face clothes, +though, you've picked a winner. That's why I figure so heavy on the +Corrugated pay roll. But say, when I finds myself planted next to +Bubbling Betty at the table I begins to suspect that I've been miscast +for the part. + +She's some smart dresser, on and off, Betty is. Her idea of a perfectly +good dinner gown is to make it as simple as possible. All she needs is a +quart or so of glass beads and a little pink tulle and there she is. +There's more or less of her, too. And me thinkin' that Theda Bara stood +for the last word in bare. I hadn't seen Betty costumed for the dinin' +room then. And I expect the blush roses in the flower bowl had nothing +on my ears when it came to a vivid color scheme. + +By that time, of course, she and Nicky had recovered from the shock of +findin' themselves with their feet under the same table and they've +settled down to bein' insultin'ly polite to each other. It's "Mr. Wells" +and "Miss Burke" with them, Nicky with his eyes in his plate and Betty +throwin' him frigid glances that should have chilled his soup. And the +next thing I know she's turned to me and is cuttin' loose with her whole +bag of tricks. Talk about bein' vamped! Say, inside of three minutes +there she had me dizzy in the head. With them sparklin', roly-boly eyes +of hers so near I didn't know whether I was butterin' a roll or +spreadin' it on my thumb. + +"Do you know," says she, "I simply adore red hair--your kind." + +"Maybe that's why I picked out this particular shade," says I. + +"Tchk!" says she, tappin' me on the arm. "Tell me, how do you get it to +wave so cunningly in front?" + +"Don't give it away," says I, "but I do demonstratin' at a male beauty +parlor." + +This seems to tickle Betty so much that she has to lean over and chuckle +on my shoulder. "Bob calls you Torchy, doesn't he?" she goes on. "I'm +going to, too." + +"Well, I don't see how I can stop you," says I. + +"What do you think of this new near-beer?" she demands. + +"Why," says I, "it strikes me the bird who named it was a poor judge of +distance." Which, almost causes Betty to swallow an olive pit. + +"You're simply delightful!" says she. "Why haven't we met before?" + +"Maybe they didn't think it was safe," says I. "They might be right, at +that." + +"Naughty, naughty!" says she. "But go on. Tell me a funny story while +the fish is being served." + +"I'd do better servin' the fish," says I. + +"Pooh!" says she. "I don't believe it. Come!" + +"How do you know I'm primed?" says I. + +"I can tell by your eyes," says she. "There's a twinkle in them." + +"S-s-s-sh!" says I. "Belladonna. Besides, I always forget the good ones +I read in the comic section." + +"Please!" insists Betty. "Every one else is being so stupid. And you're +supposed to entertain me, you know." + +"Well," says I, "I did hear kind of a rich one while I was waitin' at +the club for Mr. Robert today only I don't know as----" + +"Listen, everybody," announces Betty vivacious. "Torchy is going to tell +a story." + +Course, that gets me pinked up like the candle shades and I shakes my +head vigorous. + +"Hear, hear!" says Mr. Robert. + +"Oh, do!" adds Mrs. Ellins. + +As for Vee, she looks across at me doubtful. "I hope it isn't that one +about a Mr. Cohen who played poker all night," says she. + +"Wrong guess," says I. "It's one I overheard at Mr. Robert's club while +a bunch of young sports was comparin' notes on settin' hens." + +"How do you mean, setting hens?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"It's the favorite indoor sport up in New England now, I understand," +says I. "It's the pie-belt way of taking the sting out of the +prohibition amendment. You know, building something with a kick to it. I +didn't get the details, but they use corn-meal, sugar, water, raisins +and the good old yeast cake, and let it set in a cask! for twenty-one +days. Nearly everybody up there has a hen on, I judge, or one just +coming off." + +"Oh, I see!" says Mr. Robert. "And had any of the young men succeeded; +that is, in producing something with--er--a kick to it?" + +"Accordin' to their tale, they had," says I. "Seems they tried it out +in Boston after the Harvard-Yale game. A bunch got together in some +hotel room and opened a jug one of 'em had brought along in case Harvard +should win, and after that 10-3 score--well, I expect they'd have +celebrated on something, even if it was no more than lemon extract or +Jamaica ginger." + +"How about that, Nicky?" asks Mr. Robert, who's a Yale man. + +"Quite possible," says Nicky, who for the first time seems to have his +ears pricked up. "What then?" + +"Well," says I, "there was one Harvard guy who wasn't much used to +hitting anything of the sort, but he was so much cheered up over seeing +his team win that he let 'em lead him to it. They say he shut his eyes +and let four fingers in a water glass trickle down without stopping to +taste it. From then on he was a different man. He forgot all about being +a Delta Kappa, whatever that is; forgot that he had an aunt who still +lived on Beacon Street; forgot most everything except that the birds +were singin' 'Johnny Harvard' and that Casey was a great man. He climbed +on a table and insisted on makin' a speech about it. You know how that +home brew stuff works sometimes?" + +"I've been told that it has a certain potency," says Mr. Robert, winkin' +at Nicky. + +"Anyway," I goes on, seein' that Nicky was still interested, "it seems +to tie his tongue loose. He gets eloquent about the poor old Elis who +had to stand around and watch the snake dance without lettin' out a yip. +Then he has a bright idea, which he proceeds to state. Maybe they don't +know anything about the glorious product of the settin' hen down in New +Haven. And who needs it more at such a time as this? Ought to have some +of 'em up there and lighten their load of gloom. Act of charity. Gotta +be done. If nobody else'll do it, he will. Go out into highways and +byways. + +"And he does. Half an hour later he shows up at the home brew +headquarters with an Eli that he's captured on the way to the South +station. He's a solemn-faced, dignified party who don't seem to catch +what it's all about and rather balks when he sees the bunch. But he's +dragged in and introduced as Chester Beal, the Hittite." + +"I beg pardon?" asks Nicky. + +"I'm only giving you what I heard," says I. "Chester Beal might have +been his right name, or it might not, and the Hittite part was some of +his josh, I take it. Anyway, Chester was dealt a generous shot from the +jug, followin' which he was one of 'em. Him and the Harvard guy got real +chummy, and the oftener they sampled the home brew the more they thought +of each other. They discovered they'd both served in the same division +on the other side and had spent last Thanksgiving only a few miles from +each other. It was real touchin'. When last seen they was driftin' up +Tremont Street arm in arm singin' 'Madelon,' 'Boola-Boola,' +'Harvardiana' and other appropriate melodies." + +"Just like the good old days, eh, Nicky?" suggests Mr. Robert. + +But Nicky only shakes his head. "You say they were not seen again?" he +demands. + +"Not until about 1:30 a. m.," says I, "when they shows up in front of +the Harvard Club on Commonwealth Avenue. One of the original bunch spots +the pair and listens in. The Harvard man is as eloquent as ever. He's +still going strong. But Chester, the Hittite, looks bored and weary. +'Oh, shut up!' says he. But the other one can't be choked off that way. +He just starts in again. So Chester leads him out to the curb and hails +a taxi driver. 'Take him away,' says Chester. 'He's been talking to me +for hours and hours. Take him away.' 'Yes, sir,'says the driver. 'Where +to, sir,' 'Oh, anywhere,' says Chester. 'Take him to--to Worcester.' +'Right,' says the driver, loadin' in his fare." + +"But--but of course he didn't really take him all that distance?" puts +in Betty. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "That's what I thought was so rich. And about 10:30 +next mornin' a certain party wakes up in a strange room in a strange +town. He's got a head on him like an observation balloon and a tongue +that feels like a pussycat's back. And when he finally gets down to the +desk he asks the clerk where he is. 'Bancroft House, Worcester, sir,' +says the clerk. 'How odd!' says he. 'But--er--? what is this charge of +$16.85 on my bill?' 'Taxi fare from Boston,' says the clerk. And they +say he paid up like a good sport." + +"In such a case," says Mr. Robert "one does." + +"Worcester!" says Betty. "That's queer." + +"The rough part of it was," I goes on, "that he was due to attend a big +affair in Boston the night before, sort of a reunion of officers who'd +been in the army of occupation--banquet and dance afterward--I think +they call it the Society of the Rhine." + +"What!" exclaims Betty. + +"Oh, I say!" gasps Nicky. Then they look at each other queer. + +I could see that I'd made some kind of a break but I couldn't figure out +just what it was. "Anyway," says I, "he didn't get there. He got to +Worcester instead. Course, though, you don't have to believe all you +hear at a club." + +"If only one could," says Betty. + +And it wasn't until after dinner that I got a slant on this remark of +hers. + +"Torchy," says she, "where is Mr. Wells?" + +"Why," says I, "I saw him drift out on the terrace a minute ago." + +"Alone?" says she. + +I nods. + +"Then take me out to him, will you?" she asks. + +"Sure thing," says I. + +And she puts it up to him straight when we get him cornered. "Was that +the real reason why you were in Worcester?" she demands. + +"I'm sorry," says he, hangin' his head, "but it must have been." + +"Then, why didn't you say so, you silly boy!" she asks. + +"How could I, Betty?" says he. "You see, I hadn't heard the rest of the +story until just now." + +"Oh, Nicky!" says she. + +And the next thing I knew they'd gone to a clinch, which I takes as my +cue to slide back into the house. Half an hour later they shows up +smilin' and tells us all about it. + +As we're leavin' for home Mr. Robert gets me one side and pats me on the +back. "I say, Torchy," says he, "as a raconteur you're a great success. +It worked. Nicky will sign up tomorrow." + +"Good!" says I. "Only send him where they ain't got the settin' hen +habit and the taxi drivers ain't so willin' to take a chance." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +BRINK DOES A SIDESLIP + + +Mostly it was a case of Old Hickory runnin' wild on the main track and +Brink Hollis being in the way. What we really ought to have in the +Corrugated general offices is one of these 'quake detectors, same as +they have in Washington to register distant volcano antics, so all hands +could tell by a glance at the dial what was coming and prepare to stand +by for rough weather. + +For you never can tell just when old Hickory Ellins is going to cut +loose. Course, being on the inside, with my desk right next to the door +of the private office, I can generally forecast an eruption an hour or +so before it takes place. But it's apt to catch the rest of the force +with their hands down and their mouths open. + +Why, just by the way the old boy pads in at 9:15, plantin' his hoofs +heavy and glarin' straight ahead from under them bushy eye dormers of +his, I could guess that someone was goin' to get a call on the carpet +before very long. And sure enough he'd hardly got settled in his big +leather swing chair before he starts barkin' for Mr. Piddie. + +I expect when it comes to keepin' track of the overhead, and gettin' a +full day's work out of a bunch of lady typists, and knowin' where to buy +his supplies at cut-rates, Piddie is as good an office manager as you'll +find anywhere along Broadway from the Woolworth tower to the Circle; but +when it comes to soothin' down a 65-year-old boss who's been awake most +of the night with sciatica, he's a flivver. He goes in with his brow +wrinkled up and his knees shakin', and a few minutes later he comes out +pale in the gills and with a wild look in his eyes. + +"What's the scandal, Piddie?" says I. "Been sent to summon the firin' +squad, or what?" + +He don't stop to explain then, but pikes right on into the bond room and +holds a half-hour session with that collection of giddy young +near-sports who hold down the high stools. Finally, though, he tip-toes +back to me, wipes the worry drops from his forehead, and gives me some +of the awful details. + +"Such incompetency!" says he husky. "You remember that yesterday Mr. +Ellins called for a special report on outside holdings? And when it is +submitted it is merely a jumble of figures. Why, the young man who +prepared it couldn't have known the difference between a debenture 5 and +a refunding 6!" + +"Don't make me shudder, Piddie," says I. "Who was the brainless wretch?" + +"Young Hollis, of course," whispers Piddie. "And it's not the first +occasion, Torchy, on which he has been found failing. I am sending some +of his books in for inspection." + +"Oh, well," says I, "better Brink than some of the others. He won't take +it serious. He's like a duck in a shower--sheds it easy." + +At which Piddie goes off shakin' his head ominous. But then, Piddie has +been waitin' for the word to fire Brink Hollis ever since this cheerful +eyed young hick was wished on the Corrugated through a director's pull +nearly a year ago, when he was fresh from college. You see, Piddie can't +understand how anybody can draw down the princely salary of twenty-five +a week without puttin' his whole soul into his work, or be able to look +his boss in the face if there's any part of the business that he's vague +about. + +As for Brink, his idea of the game is to get through an eight-hour day +somehow or other so he can have the other sixteen to enjoy himself in, +and I expect he takes about as much interest in what he has to do as if +he was countin' pennies in a mint. Besides that he's sort of a +happy-go-lucky, rattle-brained youth who has been chucked into this high +finance thing because his fam'ly thought he ought to be doing something +that looks respectable; you know the type? + +Nice, pleasant young chap. Keeps the bond room force chirked up on rainy +days and always has a smile for everybody. It was him organized the +Corrugated Baseball Nine that cleaned up with every other team in the +building last summer. They say he was a star first baseman at Yale or +Princeton or wherever it was he was turned loose from. Also he's some +pool shark, I understand, and is runnin' off a progressive tournament +that he got Mr. Robert to put up some cups for. + +So I'm kind of sorry, when I answers the private office buzzer a little +later, and finds Old Hickory purple in the face and starin' at something +he's discovered between the pages of Brink's bond book. + +"Young man," says he as he hands it over, "perhaps you can fell me +something about this?" + +"Looks lite a program," says I, glancin' it over casual. "Oh, yes. For +the first annual dinner of the Corrugated Crabs. That was last Saturday +night." + +"And who, may I ask," goes on Old Hickory, "are the Corrugated Crabs?" + +"Why," says I, "I expect they're some of the young sports on the general +office staff." + +"Huh!" he grunts. "Why Crabs?" + +I hunches my shoulders and lets it go at that. + +"I notice," says Old Hickory, taking back the sheet, "that one feature +of the entertainment was an impersonation by Mr. Brinkerhoff Hollis, of +'the Old He-Crab Himself unloading a morning grouch'. Now, just what +does that mean?" + +"Couldn't say exactly," says I. "I wasn't there." + +"Oh, you were not, eh?" says he. "Didn't suppose you were. But you +understand, Torchy, I am asking this information of you as my private +secretary. I--er--it will be treated as confidential." + +"Sorry, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but you know about as much of it as I do." + +"Which is quite enough," says he, "for me to decide that the Corrugated +can dispense with the services of this Hollis person at once. You will +notify Mr. Piddie to that effect." + +"Ye-e-es, sir," says I, sort of draggy. + +He glances up at me quick. "You're not enthusiastic about it, eh?" says +he. + +"No," says I. + +"Then for your satisfaction, and somewhat for my own," he goes on, "we +will review the case against this young man. He was one of three who won +a D minus rating in the report made by that efficiency expert called in +by Mr. Piddie last fall." + +"Yes, I know," says I. "That squint-eyed bird who sprung his brain tests +on the force and let on he could card index the way your gray matter +worked by askin' a lot of nutty questions. I remember. Brink Hollis was +guyin' him all the while and he never caught on. Had the whole bunch +chucklin'over it. One of Piddie's fads, he was." + +Old Hickory waves one hand impatient. "Perhaps," says he. "I don't mean +to say I value that book psychology rigamarole very highly myself. Cost +us five hundred, too. But I've had an eye on that young man's work ever +since, and it hasn't been brilliant. This bond summary is a sample. It's +a mess." + +"I don't doubt it!" says I. "But if I'd been Piddie I think I'd have +hung the assignment for that on some other hook than Hollis's. He didn't +know what a bond looked like until a year ago and that piece of work +called for an old hand." + +"Possibly, possibly," agrees Old Hickory. "It seems he is clever enough +at this sort of thing, however," and he waves the program. + +I couldn't help smotherin' a chuckle. + +"Am I to infer," says Mr. Ellins, "that this He-Crab act of his was +humorous?" + +"That's what they tell me," says I. "You see, right after dinner Brink +was missin' and everybody was wonderin' what had become of him, when all +of a sudden he bobs up through a tin-foil lake in the middle of the +table and proceeds to do this crab impersonation in costume. They say it +was a scream." + +"It was, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "And the Old He-Crab referred to--who +was that?" + +"Who do you guess, Mr. Ellins?" says I, grinnin'. + +"H-m-m-m," says he, rubbin' his chin. "I can't say I'm flattered. Thinks +I'm an old crab, does he?" + +"I expect he does," I admits. + +"Do you?" demands Old Hickory, whirlin' on me sudden. + +"I used to," says I, "until I got to know you better." + +"Oh!" says he. "Well, I suppose the young man has a right to his own +opinion. And my estimate of him makes us even. But perhaps you don't +know with what utter contempt I regard such a worthless----" + +"I got a general idea," says I. "And maybe that's because you don't know +him very well." + +For a second the old boy stares at me like he was goin' to blow a +gasket. But he don't. "I will admit," says he, "that I may have failed +to cultivate a close acquaintance with all the harum-scarum cut-ups in +my employ. One doesn't always find the time. May I ask what course you +would recommend?" + +"Sure!" says I. "If it was me I wouldn't give him the chuck without a +hearin'." + +That sets him chewin' his cigar. "Very well," says he. "Bring him in." + +I hadn't figured on gettin' so close to the affair as this, but as I had +I couldn't do anything else but see it through. I finds Brink drummin' a +jazz tune on his desk with his fingers and otherwise makin' the best of +it. + +"Well," says he, as I taps him on the shoulder, "is it all over?" + +"Not yet," says I. "But the big boss is about to give you the third +degree. So buck up." + +"Wants to see me squirm, does he?" says Brink. "All right. But I don't +see the use. What'll I feed him, Torchy?" + +"Straight talk, nothing else," says I. "Come along." + +And I expect when Brink Hollis found himself lined up in front of them +chilled steel eyes he decided that this was a cold and cruel world. + +"Let's see," opens Old Hickory, "you've been with us about a year, +haven't you?" + +Hollis nods. + +"And how do you think you are getting on as a business man?" asks Mr. +Ellins. + +"Fairly rotten, thank you," says he. + +"I must say that I agree with you," says Old Hickory. "How did you +happen to honor us by making your start here?" + +"Because the governor didn't want me in his office," says Hollis, "and +could get me into the Corrugated." + +"Hah!" snorts Old Hickory. "Think we're running a retreat for younger +sons, do you!" + +"If I started in with that idea," says Brink, "I'm rapidly getting over +it. And if you want to know, Mr. Ellins, I'm just as sick of working in +the bond room as you are of having me there." + +"Then why in the name of the seven sins do you stick?" demands Old +Hickory. + +Brink shrugs his shoulders. "Dad thinks it's best for me," says he. "He +imagines I'm making good. I suppose I've rather helped along the notion, +and he's due to get some jolt when he finds I've nose-dived to a crash." + +"Unfortunately," says Old Hickory, "we cannot provide shock absorbers +for fond fathers. Any other reasons why you wished to remain on our pay +roll?" + +"One," says Brink, "but it will interest you less than the first. If I +got a raise next month I was planning to be married." + +Old Hickory sniffs. "That's optimism for you!" says he. "You expect us +to put a premium on the sort of work you've been doing? Bah!" + +"Oh, why drag out the agony?" says Brink. "I knew I'd put a crimp in my +career when I remembered leaving that crab banquet program in the book. +Let's get to that." + +"As you like," says Old Hickory. "Not that I attach any great importance +to such monkey shines, but we might as well take it up. So you think I'm +an old crab, do you?" + +"I had gathered that impression," says Brink. "Seemed to be rather +general around the shop." + +Old Hickory indulges in one of them grins that are just as humorous as a +crack in the pavement. "I've no doubt," says he. "And you conceived the +happy idea of dramatizing me as the leading comic feature for this +dinner party of my employees? It was a success, I trust." + +"Appeared to take fairly well," says Brink. + +"Pardon me if I seem curious," goes on Old Hickory, "but just how did +you--er--create the illusion?" + +"Oh, I padded myself out in front," says Brink, "and stuck on a lot of +cotton for eyebrows, and used the make-up box liberal, and gave them +some red-hot patter on the line that--well, you know how you work off a +grouch, sir. I may have caught some of your pet phrases. Anyway, they +seemed to know who I meant." + +"You're rather clever at that sort of thing, are you?" asks Old Hickory. + +"Oh, that's no test," says Brink. "You can always get a hand with local +gags. And then, I did quite a lot of that stuff at college; put on a +couple of frat plays and managed the Mask Club two seasons." + +"Too bad the Corrugated Trust offers such a limited field for your +talents," says Old Hickory. "Only one annual dinner of the Crab Society. +You organized that, I suppose?" + +"Guilty," says Brink. + +"And I understand you were responsible for the Corrugated baseball team, +and are now conducting a pool tournament?" goes on Old Hickory. + +"Oh, yes," says Brink, sort of weary. "I'm not denying a thing. I was +even planning a little noonday dancing club for the stenographers. You +may put that in the indictment if you like." + +"H-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory, scratchin' his ear. "I think that will be +all, young man." + +Brink starts for the door but comes back. "Not that I mind being fired, +Mr. Ellins," says he. "I don't blame you a bit for that, for I suppose +I'm about the worst bond clerk in the business. I did try at first to +get into the work, but it was no good. Guess I wasn't cut out for that +particular line. So we'll both be better off. But about that He-Crab act +of mine. Sounds a bit raw, doesn't it? I expect it was, too. I'd like to +say, though, that all I meant by it was to make a little fun for the +boys. No personal animosity behind it, sir, even if----" + +Old Hickory waves his hand careless. "I'm beginning to get your point of +view, Hollis," says he. "The boss is always fair game, eh?" + +"Something like that," says Brink. "Still, I hate to leave with you +thinking----" + +"You haven't been asked to leave--as yet," says Old Hickory. "I did have +you slated for dismissal a half hour ago, and I may stick to it. Only my +private secretary seemed to think I didn't know what I was doing. +Perhaps he was right. I'm going to let your case simmer for a day or so. +Now clear out, both of you." + +We slid through the door. "Much obliged for making the try, Torchy," +says Brink. "You had your nerve with you, I'll say." + +"Easiest thing I do, old son," says I. "Besides, his ain't a case of +ingrowin' grouch, you know." + +"I was just getting that hunch myself," says Brink. "Shouldn't wonder +but he was quite a decent old boy when you got under the crust. If I was +only of some use around the place I'll bet we'd get along fine. As it +is----" He spreads out his hands. + +"Trust Old Hickory Ellins to find out whether you're any use or not," +says I. "He don't miss many tricks. If you do get canned, though, you +can make up your mind that finance is your short suit." + +Nearly a week goes by without another word from Mr. Ellins. And every +night as Brink streamed out with the advance guard at 5 o'clock he'd +stop long enough at my desk to swap a grin with me and whisper: "Well, I +won't have to break the news to Dad tonight, anyway." + +"Nor to the young lady, either," says I. + +"Oh, I had to spill it to Marjorie, first crack," says he. "She's +helping me hold my breath." + +And then here yesterday mornin', as I'm helping Old Hickory sort the +mail, he picks out a letter from our Western manager and slits it open. + +"Hah!" says he, through his cigar. "I think this solves our problem, +Torchy." + +"Yes, sir?" says I, gawpin'. + +"Call in that young humorist of yours from the bond room," says he. + +And I yanks Brink Hollis off the high stool impetuous. + +"Know anything about industrial welfare work, young man?" demands Old +Hickory of him. + +"I've seen it mentioned in magazine articles," says Brink, "but that's +about all. Don't think I ever read one." + +"So much the better," says Mr. Ellins. "You'll have a chance to start in +fresh, with your own ideas." + +"I--I beg pardon?" says Brink, starin' puzzled. + +"You're good at play organizing, aren't you," goes on Old Hickory. +"Well, here's an opportunity to spread yourself. One of the +manufacturing units we control out in Ohio. Three thousand men, in a +little one-horse town where there's nothing better to do in their spare +time than go to cheap movies and listen to cheaper walking delegates. I +guess they need you more than we do in the bond room. Organize 'em as +much as you like. Show 'em how to play. Give that He-Crab act if you +wish. We'll start you in at a dollar a man. That satisfactory?" + +I believe Brink tried to say it was, only what he got out was so choky +you could hardly tell. But he goes out beamin'. + +"Well!" says Old Hickory, turnin' to me. "I suppose he'll call that +coming safely out of a nose dive, eh?" + +"Or side-slippin' into success," says I. "I think you've picked another +winner, Mr. Ellins." + +"Huh!" he grunts. "You mean you think you helped me do it. But I want +you to understand, young man, that I learned to be tolerant of other +people's failings long before you were born. Toleration. It's the +keystone of every big career. I've practiced it, too, except--well, +except after a bad night." + +And then, seein' that rare flicker in Old Hickory's eyes, I gives him +the grin. Oh, sure you can. It's all in knowin' when. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +'IKKY-BOY COMES ALONG + + +Being a parent grows on you, don't it? Course, at first, when it's +sprung on you so kind of sudden, you hardly know how to act. That is, if +you're makin' your debut in the part. And I expect for a few months +there, after young Richard Hemmingway Ballard came and settled down with +Vee and me, I put up kind of a ragged amateur performance as a fond +father. All I can say about it now is I hope I didn't look as foolish as +I felt. + +As for Vee, she seemed to get her lines and business perfect from the +start. Somehow young mothers do. She knew how to handle the youngster +right off; how to hold him and what to say to him when he screwed up his +face and made remarks to her that meant nothing at all to me. And she +wasn't fussed or anything when company came in and caught her at it. +Also young Master Richard seemed to be right at home from the very +first. Didn't seem surprised or strange or nervous in the presence of +a pair of parents that he found wished on him without much warnin'. Just +gazed at us as calm and matter-of-fact as if he'd known us a long time. +While me, well it must have been weeks before I got over feelin' kind of +panicky whenever I was left alone with him. + +But are we acquainted now? I'll say we are. In fact, as Harry Lander +used to put it, vurra well acquainted. Chummy, I might say. Why not, +after we've stood two years of each other without any serious dispute? +Not that I'm claimin' any long-distance record as a model parent. No. I +expect I do most of the things I shouldn't and only a few of them that I +should. But 'Ikky-boy ain't a critical youngster. That's his own way of +sayin' his name and mostly we call him that. Course, he answers to +others, too; such as Old Scout, and Snoodlekins, and young Rough-houser. +I mean, he does when he ain't too busy with important enterprises; such +as haulin' Buddy, the Airedale pup, around by the ears; or spoonin' in +milk and cereal, with Buddy watchin' hopeful for sideslips; or pullin' +out the spool drawer of Vee's work table. + +It's been hinted to us by thoughtful friends who have all the scientific +dope on bringin' up children, although most of 'em never had any of +their own, that this is all wrong. Accordin' to them we ought to start +right in makin' him drop whatever he's doin' and come to us the minute +we call. Maybe we should, too. But that ain't the way it works out, for +generally, we don't want anything special, and he seems so wrapped up in +his private little affairs that it don't seem worth while breakin' in +on his program. Course, maulin' Buddy around may seem to us like a +frivolous pastime, but how can you tell if it ain't the serious business +in life to 'Ikky-boy just then? Besides, Buddy seems to like it. So as a +rule we let 'em finish the game. + +But there is one time each day when he's always ready to quit any kind +of fun and come toddlin' with his hands stretched out and a wide grin on +his chubby little face. That's along about 6:15 when I blow in from +town. Then he's right there with the merry greetin' and the friendly +motions. Also his way of addressin' his male parent would give another +jolt to a lot of people, I suppose. + +"Hi, Torchy!" That's his favorite hail. + +"Reddy yourself, you young freshy," I'm apt to come back at him. + +Followin' which I scooch to meet his flyin' tackle and we roll on the +rug in a clinch, with Buddy yappin' delighted and mixin' in +promiscuously. Finally we end up on the big davenport in front of the +fireplace and indulge in a few minutes of lively chat. + +"Well, 'Ikky-boy, how you and Buddy been behavin' yourselves, eh?" I'll +ask. "Which has been the worst cut-up today, eh?" + +"Buddy bad dog," he'll say, battin' him over the head with a pink fist. +"See?" And he'll exhibit a tear in his rompers or a chewed sleeve. + +"Huh! I'll bet it's been fifty-fifty, you young rough-houser," I'll +say. "Who do you like best around this joint, anyway?" + +"Buddy," is always the answer. + +"And next?" I'll demand. + +"Mamma," he'll say. + +"Hey, where do I come in?" I'll ask, shakin' him. + +Then he'll screw up his mouth mischievous and say: "Torchy come in door. +Torchy, Torchy!" + +I'll admit Vee ain't so strong for all this. His callin' me Torchy, I +mean. She does her best, too, to get him to change it to Daddy. But that +word don't seem to be on 'Ikky-boy's list at all. He picked up the +Torchy all by himself and he seems to want to stick to it. I don't mind. +Maybe it ain't just the thing for a son and heir to spring on a +perfectly good father, chucklin' over it besides, but it sounds quite +all right to me. Don't hurt my sense of dignity a bit. + +And it looks like he'll soon come to be called young Torchy himself. +Uh-huh. For a while there Vee was sure his first crop of hair, which was +wheat colored like hers, was goin' to be the color scheme of his +permanent thatch. But when the second growth begun to show up red she +had to revise her forecast. Now there's no doubt of his achievin' a +pink-plus set of wavy locks that'll make a fresh-painted fire hydrant +look faded. They're gettin' brighter and brighter and I expect in time +they'll show the same new copper kettle tints that mine do. + +"I don't care," says Vee "I rather like it." + +"That's the brave talk, Vee!" says I. "It may be all he'll inherit from +me, but it ain't so worse at that. With that hair in evidence there +won't be much danger of his being lost in a crowd. Folks will remember +him after one good look. Besides, it's always sort of cheerin' on a +rainy day. He'll be able to brighten up the corner where he is without +any dope from Billy Sunday. Course, he'll be joshed a lot about it, but +that'll mean he'll either have to be a good scrapper or develop an +easy-grin disposition, so he wins both ways." + +The only really disappointed member of the fam'ly is Vee's Auntie. Last +time she was out here she notices the change in 'Ikky-boy's curls and +sighs over it. + +"I had hoped," says she, "that the little fellow's hair would be--well, +of a different shade." + +"Sort of a limousine body-black, eh?" says I. "Funny it ain't, too." + +"But he will be so--so conspicuous," she goes on. + +"There are advantages," says I, "in carryin' your own spotlight with +you. Now take me." + +But Auntie only sniffs and changes the subject. + +She's a grand old girl, though. A little hard to please, I'll admit. +I've been at it quite some time, but it's only now and then I can do +anything that seems to strike her just right. Mostly she disapproves of +me, and she's the kind that ain't a bit backward about lettin' you know. +Her remarks here the other day when she arrives to help celebrate Master +Richard's second birthday will give you an idea. + +You see, she happens to be in the living room when me and 'Ikky-boy has +our reg'lar afternoon reunion. Might be we went at it a little stronger +and rougher than usual, on account of the youngster's havin' been held +quiet in her lap for a half hour or so. + +"Hi, hi, ol' Torchy, Torchy!" he shouts, grippin' both hands into my +hair gleeful. + +"Burny burn!" says I makin' a hissin' noise. + +"Yah, yah! 'Ikky-boy wanna ride hossy," says he. + +"And me with my trousers just pressed!" says I. "Say, where do you get +that stuff?" + +"I must say," comes in Auntie, "that I don't consider that the proper +way to talk to a child." + +"Oh, he don't mind," says I. + +"But he is so apt to learn such expressions and use them himself," says +she. + +"Yes, he picks up a lot," says I. "He's clever that way. Aren't you, you +young tarrier?" + +"Whe-e-e!" says 'Ikky-boy, slidin' off my knee to make a dive at Buddy +and roll him on the floor. + +"One should speak gently to a child," says Auntie, "and use only the +best English." + +"I might be polite to him," says I, "if he'd be polite to me, but that +don't seem to be his line." + +Auntie shrugs her shoulders and gives us up as hopeless. We're in bad +with her, both of us, and I expect if there'd been a lawyer handy she'd +revised her will on the spot. Honest, it's lucky the times she's decided +to cross me off as one of her heirs don't show on me anywhere or I'd be +notched up like a yardstick, and if I'd done any worryin' over these +spells of hers I'd be an albino from the ears up. But when she starts +castin' the cold eye at Richard Hemmingway I almost works up that guilty +feelin' and wonders if maybe I ain't some to blame. + +"You ain't overlookin, the fact, are you, Auntie," I suggests, "that +he's about 100 per cent. boy? He's full of pep and jump and go, same as +Buddy, and he's just naturally got to let it out." + +"I fail to see," says Auntie, "how teaching him to use slang is at all +necessary. As you know, that is something of which I distinctly +disapprove." + +"Now that you remind me," says I, "seems I have heard you say something +of the kind before. And take it from me I'm going to make a stab at +trainin' him different. Right now. Richard, approach your father." + +'Ikky-boy lets loose of Buddy's collar and stares at me impish. + +"Young man," says I severe, "I want you to lay off that slang stuff. +Ditch it. It ain't lady like or refined. And in future when you converse +with your parents see that you do it respectful and proper. Get me?" + +At which 'Ikky-boy looks bored. "Whee!" he remarks boisterous, makin' a +grab for Buddy's stubby tail and missin' it. + +"Perfectly absurd!" snorts Auntie, retirin' haughty to the bay window. + +"Disqualified!" says I, under my breath. "Might as well go the limit, +Snoodlekins. We'll have to grow up in our own crude way." + +That was the state of affairs when this Mrs. Proctor Butt comes crashin' +in on the scene of our strained domestic relations. Trust her to appear +at just the wrong time. Mrs. Buttinski I call her, and she lives up to +the name. + +She's a dumpy built blond party, Mrs. Proctor Butt, with projectin' +front teeth, bulgy blue eyes and a hurried, trottin' walk like a duck +makin' for a pond. Her chief aim in life seems to be to be better posted +on your affairs than you are yourself, and, of course, that keeps her +reasonably busy. Also she's a lady gusher from Gushville. Now, I don't +object to havin' a conversational gum drop tossed at me once in a while, +sort of offhand and casual. But that ain't Mrs. Buttinski's method. She +feeds you raw molasses with a mixin' spoon. Just smears you with it. + +"Isn't it perfectly wonderful," says she, waddlin' in fussy, "that your +dear darling little son should be two years old? Do you know, Mrs. +Robert Ellins just told me of what an important day it was in the lives +of you two charming young people, so I came right over to congratulate +you. And here I discover you all together in your beautiful little home, +proud father and all. How fortunate!" + +As she's beamin' straight at me I has to give her some comeback. "Yes, +you're lucky, all right," says I. "Another minute and you wouldn't found +me here, for I was just----" + +Which is where I gets a frown and a back-up signal from Vee. She don't +like Mrs. Proctor Butt a bit more'n I do but she ain't so frank about +lettin' her know it. + +"Oh, please don't run away," begs Mrs. Butt. "You make such an ideal +young couple. As I tell Mr. Butt, I just can't keep my eyes off you two +whenever I see you out together." + +"I'm sure that's nice of you to say so," says Vee, blushin'. + +"Oh, every one thinks the same of you, my dear," says the lady. "Only I +simply can't keep such things to myself. I have such an impulsive +nature. And I adore young people and children, positively adore them. +And now where is the darling little baby that I haven't seen for months +and months? You'll forgive my running in at this unseasonable hour, I +know, but I just couldn't wait another day to--oh, there he is, the +darling cherub! And isn't that a picture for an artist?" + +He'd have to be some rapid-fire paint slinger if he was to use 'Ikky-boy +as a model just then for him and Buddy was havin' a free-for-all mix-up +behind the davenport that nothing short of a movie camera would have +done justice to. + +"Oh, you darling little fellow!" she gurgles on. "I must hold you in my +arms just a moment. Please, mother mayn't I?" + +"I--I'm afraid you would find him rather a lively armful just now," +warns Vee. "You see, when he gets to playing with Buddy he's apt to----" + +"Oh, I sha'n't mind a bit," says Mrs. Butt. "Besides, the little dears +always seem to take to me. Do let me have him for a moment?" + +"You get him, Torchy," says Vee. + +So after more or less maneuverin' I untangles the two, shuts Buddy in +another room, and deposits 'Ikky-boy, still kickin' and strugglin' +indignant, in whatever lap Mrs. Butt has to offer. + +Then she proceeds to rave over him. It's enough to make you seasick. +Positively. "Oh, what exquisite silky curls of spun gold!" she gushes. +"And such heavenly big blue eyes with the long lashes, and his 'ittle +rosebud mousie. O-o-o-o-o!" + +From that on all she spouts is baby talk, while she mauls and paws him +around like he was a sack of meal. I couldn't help glancin' at Auntie, +for that's one thing she and Vee have agreed on, that strangers wasn't +to be allowed to take any such liberties with baby. Besides, Auntie +never did have any use for this Mrs. Butt anyway and hardly speaks to +her civil when she meets her. Now Auntie is squirmin' in her chair and I +can guess how her fingers are itchin' to rescue the youngster. + +"Um precious 'ittle sweetums, ain't oo?" gurgles Mrs. Butt, rootin' him +in the stomach with her nose. "Won't um let me tiss um's tweet 'ittle +pinky winky toes?" + +She's just tryin' to haul off one of his shoes when 'Ikky-boy cuts loose +with the rough motions, fists and feet both in action, until she has to +straighten up to save her hat and her hair. + +"Dess one 'ittle toe-tiss?" she begs. + +"Say," demands 'Ikky-boy, pushin' her face away fretful, "where oo get +'at stuff?" + +"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mrs. Butt. + +"Lay off 'at, tant you?" says he "Oo--oo give 'Ikky-boy a big pain, Oo +does. G'way!" + +"Why, how rude!" says Mrs. Butt, gazin' around bewildered; and then, as +she spots that approvin' smile on Auntie's face, she turns red in the +ears. + +Say, I don't know when I've seen the old girl look so tickled over +anything. What she's worked up is almost a grin. And there's no doubt +that Mrs. Butt knows why it's there. + +"Of course," says she, "if you approve of such language----" and handin' +the youngster over to Vee she straightens her lid and makes a quick +exit. + +"Bing!" says I. "I guess we got a slap on the wrist that time." + +"I don't care a bit," says Vee, holdin' her chin well up. "She had no +business mauling baby in that fashion." + +"I ain't worryin' if she never comes back," says I, "only I'd just +promised Auntie to train 'Ikky-boy to talk different and----" + +"Under similar provocation," says Auntie, "I might use the same +expressions--if I knew how." + +"Hip, hip, for Auntie!" I sings out. "And as for your not knowin' how, +that's easy fixed. 'Ikky-boy and I will give you lessons." + +And say, after he'd finished his play and was about ready to be tucked +into his crib, what does the young jollier do but climb up in Auntie's +lap and cuddle down folksy, all on his own motion. + +"Do you like your old Auntie, Richard?" she asks, smoothin' his red +curls gentle. + +"Uh-huh," says 'Ikky-boy, blinkin' up at her mushy. "Oo's a swell +Auntie." + +Are we back in the will again? I'll guess we are. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +LOUISE REVERSES THE CLOCK + + +It was one of Mr. Robert's cute little ideas, you might know. He's an +easy boss in a good many ways and I have still to run across a job that +I'd swap mine for, the pay envelopes being fifty-fifty. But say, when it +comes to usin' a private sec. free and careless he sure is an ace of +aces. + +Maybe you don't remember, but I almost picked out his wife for him, and +when she'd set the date he turns over all the rest of the details to me, +even to providin' a minister and arrangin' his bridal tour. Honest I +expect when the time comes for him to step up and be measured for a set +of wings and a halo he'll look around for me to hold his place in the +line until his turn comes. And he won't be quite satisfied with the +arrangements unless I'm on hand. + +So I ought to be prepared for 'most any old assignment to be hung on the +hook. I must say, though, that in the case of this domestic mix-up of +Mrs. Bruce Mackey's I was caught gawpin' on and unsuspectin'. In fact, I +was smotherin' a mild snicker at the situation, not dreamin' that I'd +ever get any nearer to it than you would to some fool movie plot you +might be watchin' worked out on the screen. + +We happens to crash right into the middle of it, Vee and me, when we +drops in for our usual Sunday afternoon call on the Ellinses and finds +these week-end guests of theirs puttin' it up to Mr. and Mrs. Robert to +tell 'em what they ought to do. Course, this Mrs. Mackey is an old +friend of Mrs. Robert's and we'd seen 'em both out there before; in +fact, we'd met 'em when she was Mrs. Richard Harrington and Bruce was +just a sympathetic bachelor sort of danglin' around and makin' himself +useful. So it wasn't quite as if they'd sprung the thing on total +strangers. + +And, anyway, it don't rate very rank as a scandal. Not as scandals run. +This No. 1 hubby, Harrington, had simply got what was coming to him, +only a little late. Never was cut out to play the lead in a quiet +domestic sketch. Not with his temperament and habits. Hardly. Besides, +he was well along in his sporty career when he discovered this +19-year-old pippin with the trustin' blue eyes and the fascinatin' cheek +dimples. But you can't tell a bad egg just by glancin' at the shell, and +she didn't stop to hold him in front of a candle. Lucky for the +suspender wearin' sex there ain't any such pre-nuptial test as that, eh? +She simply tucked her head down just above the top pearl stud, I +suppose, and said she would be his'n without inquirin' if that cocktail +breath of his was a regular thing or just an accident. + +But she wasn't long in findin' out that it was chronic. Oh yes. He +wasn't known along Broadway as Dick Harry for nothing. He might be more +or less of a success as a corporation lawyer between 10:30 and 5 p. m. +in the daytime, but after the shades of night was well tied down and the +cabarets begun takin' the lid off he was apt to be missin' from the +fam'ly fireside. Wine, women and the deuces wild was his specialties, +and when little wifie tried to read the riot act to him at 3 a. m. he +just naturally told her where she got off. And on occasions, when the +deuces hadn't been runnin' his way, or the night had been wilder than +usual, he was quite rough about it. + +Yet she'd stood for that sort of thing nine long years before applyin' +for a decree. She got it, of course, with the custody of the little girl +and a moderate alimony allowance. He didn't even file an answer, so it +was all done quiet with no stories in the newspapers. And then for eight +or ten years she'd lived by herself, just devotin' all her time to +little Polly, sendin' her to school, chummin' with her durin' vacations, +and tryin' to make her forget that she had a daddy in the discards. + +Must have been several tender-hearted male parties who was sorry for a +lonely grass widow who was a perfect 36 and showed dimples when she +laughed, but none of 'em seemed to have the stayin' qualities of Bruce +Mackey. He had a little the edge on the others, too, because he was an +old fam'ly friend, havin' known Dick Harry both before and after he got +the domestic dump. At that, though, he didn't win out until he'd almost +broken the long distance record as a patient waiter, and I understand it +was only when little Miss Polly got old enough to hint to Mommer that +Uncle Bruce would suit her first rate as a stepdaddy that the match was +finally pulled off. + +And now Polly, who's barely finished at boardin' school, has announced +that she intends to get married herself. Mommer has begged her weepy not +to take the high dive so young, and pointed out where she made her own +big mistake in that line. But Polly comes back at her by declarin' that +her Billy is a nice boy. There's no denyin' that. Young Mr. Curtis seems +to be as good as they come. He'd missed out on his last year at college, +but he'd spent it in an aviation camp and he was just workin' up quite a +rep. as pilot of a bombin' plane when the closed season on Hun towns was +declared one eleventh of November. Then he'd come back modest to help +his father run the zinc and tinplate trust, or something like that, and +was payin' strict attention to business until he met Polly at a football +game. After that he had only one aim in life, which was leadin' Polly up +the middle aisle with the organ playin' that breath of Eden piece. + +Well, what was a fond mommer to do in a case like that? Polly admits +being a young person, but she insists that she knows what she wants. And +one really couldn't find any fault with Billy. She had had Bruce look up +his record and, barrin' a few little 9 a. m. police court dates made for +him by grouchy traffic cops, it was as clean as a new shirt front. True, +he had been born in Brooklyn, but his family had moved to Madison Avenue +before he was old enough to feel the effects. + +So at last Mrs. Mackey had given in. Things had gone so far as settlin' +the date for the weddin'. It was to be some whale of an affair, too, for +both the young folks had a lot of friends and on the Curtis side +especially there was a big callin' list to get invitations. Nothing but +a good-sized church would hold 'em all. + +Which was where Bruce Mackey, usually a mild sort of party and kind of +retirin', had come forward with the balky behavior. + +"What do you think?" says Mrs. Bruce. "He says he won't go near the +church." + +"Eh?" demands Mr. Robert, turnin' to him. "What do you mean by that, +Bruce?" + +Mr. Mackey shakes his head stubborn. "Think I can stand up there before +a thousand or more people and give Polly away?" says he. "No. I--I +simply can't do it." + +"But why not?" insists Mrs. Robert. + +"Well, she isn't my daughter," says he, "and it isn't my place to be +there. Dick should do it." + +"But don't you see, Bruce," protests Mrs. Mackey, "that if he did I--I +should have to--to meet him again?" + +"What of it?" says Bruce. "It isn't likely he'd beat you in church. And +as he is Polly's father he ought to be the one to give her away. That's +only right and proper, as I see it." + +And there was no arguin' him out of that notion. He came from an old +Scotch Presbyterian family. Bruce Mackey did, and while he was easy +goin' about most things now and then he'd bob up with some hard-shell +ideas like this. Principles, he called 'em. Couldn't get away from 'em. + +"But just think, Bruce," goes on Mrs. Mackey, "we haven't seen each +other for ever so many years. I--I wouldn't like it at all." + +"Hope you wouldn't," says Bruce. "But I see no other way. You ought to +go to the church with him, and he ought to bring you home afterwards. He +needn't stay for the reception unless he wants to. But as Polly's +father----" + +"Oh, don't go over all that again," she breaks in. "I suppose I must do +it. That is, if he's willing. I'll write him and ask if he is." + +"No," says Bruce. "I don't think you ought to write. This is such a +personal matter and a letter might seem--well, too formal." + +"What shall I do, then?" demands Mrs. Mackey. "Telephone?" + +"I hardly think one should telephone a message of that sort," says +Bruce. "Someone ought to see him, explain the situation, and get his +reply directly." + +"Then you go, Bruce, dear," suggests Mrs. Mackey. + +No, he shies at that. "Dick would resent my coming on such an errand," +says Bruce. "Besides, I should feel obliged to urge him that it was his +duty to go, and if he feels inclined to refuse---- Well, of course, we +have done our part." + +"Then you rather hope he'll refuse to come?" she asks. + +"I don't allow myself to think any such thing," says Bruce. "It wouldn't +be right. But if he should decide not to it would be rather a relief, +wouldn't it? In that ease I suppose I should be obliged to act in his +stead. He ought to be asked, though." + +Mr. Robert chuckles. "I wish I had an acrobatic conscience such as +yours, Bruce," says he. "I could amuse myself for hours watching it turn +flip-flops." + +"Too bad yours died so young," Bruce raps back at him. + +"Oh, I don't know," says Mr. Robert. "There are compensations. I don't +grow dizzy trying to follow it when it gets frisky. To get back to the +main argument, however; just how do you think the news should be broken +to Dick Harrington?" + +"Someone ought to go to see him," says Bruce; "a--a person who could +state the circumstances fairly and sound him out to see how he felt +about it. You know? Someone who would--er----" + +"Do the job like a Turkish diplomat inviting an Armenian revolutionist +to come and dine with him in some secluded mosque at daybreak, eh?" asks +Mr. Robert. "Polite, but not insistent, I suppose?" + +"Oh, something like that," says Bruce. + +"He's right here," says Mr. Robert. + +"I beg pardon?" says Bruce, starin'. + +"Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "He'll do it with finesse and finish, and if +there's any way of getting Dick to hang back by pretending to push him +ahead our young friend who cerebrates in high speed will discover the +same." + +"Ah, come, Mr. Robert!" says I. + +"Oh, we shall demand no miracles," says he. "But you understand the +situation. Mr. Mackey's conscience is on the rampage and he's making +this sacrifice as a peace offering. If the altar fires consume it, +that's his look out. You get me, I presume?" + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Sayin' a piece, wasn't you?" + +Just the same, I'm started out at 2:30 Monday afternoon to interview Mr. +Dick Harrington on something intimate and personal. Mr. Robert has been +'phonin' his law offices and found that Mr. Harrington can probably be +located best up in the Empire Theatre building, where they're havin' a +rehearsal of a new musical show that he's interested in financially. + +"With a sentimental interest, no doubt, in some sweet young thing who +dances or sings, or thinks she does," comments Mr. Robert. "Anyway, look +him up." + +And by pushin' through a lot of doors that had "Keep Out" signs on 'em, +and givin' the quick back up to a few fresh office boys, I trails Mr. +Dick Harrington into the dark front of a theatre where he's sittin' with +the producer and four of the seven authors of the piece watchin' a stage +full of more or less young ladies in street clothes who are listenin' +sort of bored while a bald-headed party in his shirt sleeves asks 'em +for the love of Mike can't they move a little less like they was all +spavined. + +Don't strike me as just the place to ask a man will he stand up in +church and help his daughter get married, but I had my orders. I slips +into a seat back of him, taps him on the shoulder, and whispers how I +have a message for him from his wife as was. + +"From Louise?" says he. "The devil you say!" + +"I could put it better," I suggests, "if we could find a place where +there wasn't quite so much competition." + +"Very well," says he. "Let's go back to the office. And by the way, +Marston, when you get to that song of Mabel's hold it until I'm through +with this young man." + +And when he's towed me to the manager's sanctum he demands: "Well, +what's gone wrong with Louise?" + +"Nothing much," says I, "except that Miss Polly is plannin' to be +married soon." + +"Married!" he gasps. "Polly? Why, she's only a child!" + +"Not at half past nineteen," says I. "I should call her considerable +young lady." + +"Well, I'll be blanked!" says he. "Little Polly grown up and wanting to +be married! She ought to be spanked instead. What are they after; my +consent, eh?" + +"Oh, no," says I. "It's all settled. Twenty-fifth of next month at St. +Luke's. You're cast for the giving away act." + +"Wh-a-at?" says he, his heavy under jaw saggin' astonished. "Me?" + +"Fathers usually do," says I, "when they're handy." + +"And in good standing," he adds. "You--er--know the circumstances, I +presume?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Don't seem to make any difference to them, though. +They've got you down for the part. Church weddin', you know; big mob, +swell affair. I expect that's why they think everything ought to be +accordin' to Hoyle." + +"Just a moment, young man," says he, breathin' a bit heavy. "I--I +confess this is all rather disturbing." + +It was easy to see that. He's fumblin' nervous with a gold cigarette +case and his hand trembles so he can hardly hold a match. Maybe some of +that was due to his long record as a whiteway rounder. The puffy bags +under the eyes and the deep face lines couldn't have been worked up +sudden, though. + +"Can you guess how long it has been since I have appeared in a church?" +he goes on. "Not since Louise and I were married. And I imagine I wasn't +a particularly appropriate figure to be there even then. I fear I've +changed some, too. Frankly now, young man, how do you think I would look +before the altar?" + +"Oh, I'm no judge," says I. "And I expect that with a clean shave and in +a frock coat----" + +"No," he breaks in, "I can't see myself doing it. Not before all that +mob. How many guests did you say?" + +"Only a thousand or so," says I. + +He shudders. "How nice!" says he. "I can hear 'em whispering to each +other: 'Yes that's her father--Dick Harry, you know. She divorced him, +and they say----' No, no, I--I couldn't do it. You tell Louise that---- +Oh, by the way! What about her? She must have changed, too. Rather stout +by this time, I suppose?" + +"I shouldn't say so," says I. "Course I don't know what she used to be, +but I'd call her more or less classy." + +"But she is--let me see--almost forty," he insists. + +"You don't mean it?" says I, openin' my mouth to register surprise. This +looked like a good line to me and I thought I'd push it. "Course," I +goes on, "with a daughter old enough to wear orange blossoms, I might +have figured that for myself. But I'll be hanged if she looks it. Why, +lots of folks take her and Polly for sisters." + +He's eatin' that up, you can see. "Hm-m-m!" says he, rubbin' his chin. +"I suppose I would be expected to--er--meet her there?" + +"I believe the program is for you to take her to the church and bring +her back for the reception," says I. "Yes, you'd have a chance for quite +a reunion." + +"I wonder how it would seem, talking to Louise again," says he. + +"Might be a little awkward at first," says I, "but----" + +"Do you know," he breaks in, "I believe I should like it. If you think +she's good looking now, young man, you should have seen her at 19, at +22, or at 25. What an ass I was! And now I suppose she's like a full +blown rose, perfect, exquisite?" + +"Oh, I don't mean she's any ravin' beauty," says I, hedgin'. + +"You don't, eh?" says he. "Well, I'd just like to see. You may tell her +that I will----No, I'll 'phone her myself. Where is she?" + +And all the stallin' around I could do didn't jar him away from that +idea. He seems to have forgotten all about this Mabel person who was +going to sing. He wanted to call up Louise right away. And he did. + +So I don't have any chesty bulletin to hand Mr. Robert when I gets back. + +"Well?" says he. "Did you induce him to give the right answer?" + +"Almost," says I. "Had him panicky inside of three minutes." + +"And then?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"I overdid the act," says I. "Talked too much. He's coming." + +Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. "Serves Bruce right," says he. "I +wonder, though, how Louise will take it." + +For a couple of days she took it hard. Just talking over the 'phone with +Dick Harrington left her weak and nervous. Said she couldn't sleep all +that night for thinking what it would be like to meet an ex-hubby that +she hadn't seen for so long. She tried to picture how he would look, and +how she would look to him. Then she braced up. + +"If I must go through it," she confides to Mrs. Robert, "I mean to look +my best." + +Isn't that the female instinct for you? + +As a matter of fact I'd kind of thrown it into him a bit strong about +what a stunner she was. Oh, kind of nice lookin', fair figure, and +traces of a peaches and cream complexion. There was still quite a high +voltage sparkle in the trustin' blue eyes and the cheek dimples was +still doin' business. But she was carryin' more or less excess weight +for her height and there was the beginnings of a double chin. Besides, +she always dressed quiet and sort of matronly. + +From the remarks I heard Vee make, though, just before the weddin', I +judge that Louise intended to go the limit. While she was outfittin' +Polly with the snappiest stuff to be found in the Fifth Avenue shops she +picked some for herself. I understand, too, that she was makin' reg'lar +trips to a beauty parlor, and all that. + +"How foolish!" I says to Vee. "I hope when you get to be forty you won't +try to buy your way back to 25. It simply can't be done." + +"Really?" says Vee, givin' me one of them quizzin' looks. + +And, say, that's my last stab at givin' off the wise stuff about the +nose powderin' sex. Pos-itively. For I've seen Louise turn the clock +back. Uh-huh! I can't tell how it was done, or go into details of the +results, but when she sails into that front pew on the big day, with +Dick Harrington trailin' behind, I takes one glance at her and goes +bug-eyed. Was she a stunner? I'll gurgle so. What had become of that +extra 20 pounds I wouldn't even try to guess. But she's right there with +the svelte figure, the school girly flush, and the sparklin' eyes. +Maybe it was the way the gown was built. Fits like the peel on a banana. +Or the pert way she holds her head, or the general excitement of the +occasion. Anyway, mighty few 20-year-old screen favorites would have had +anything on her. + +As for Dick Harry--Well, he's spruced up quite a bit himself, but you'd +never mistake him for anything but an old rounder who's had a clean +shave and a face massage. And he just can't seem to see anything but +Louise. Even when he has to leave and join the bridal procession his +eyes wander back to that front pew where she was waitin'. And after it's +all over I sees him watchin' her fascinated while she chatters along +lively. + +I wasn't lookin' to get his verdict at all, but later on, as I'm makin' +myself useful at the reception, I runs across him just as he's slippin' +away. + +"I say, young man," says he, grabbin' me by the elbow. "Wasn't I right +about Louise?" + +"You had the dope," says I. "Some queen, even if she is near the forty +mark." + +"And only imagine," he adds, "within a year or so she may be a +grandmother!" + +"That don't count these days," says I. "It's gettin' so you can hardly +tell the grandmothers from the vamps." + +And when I said that I expect I unloaded my whole stock of wisdom about +women. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +WHEN THE CURB GOT GYPPED + + +It was what you might call a session of the big four. Anyway, that's the +way I'd put it; for besides Old Hickory, planted solid in his mahogany +swing chair with his face lookin' more'n ever like a two-tone cut of the +Rock of Gibraltar, there was Mr. Robert, and Piddie and me. Some +aggregation, I'll say. And it didn't need any jiggly message from the +ouija board to tell that something important in the affairs of the +Corrugated Trust might happen within the next few minutes. You could +almost feel it in the air. Piddie did. You could see that by the nervous +way he was twitchin' his lips. + +Course it was natural the big boss should turn first to me. "Torchy," he +growls, "shut that door." + +And as I steps around to close the only exit from the private office I +could watch Piddie's face turn the color of a piece of cheese. Mr. +Robert looks kind of serious, too. + +"Gentlemen," goes on Old Hickory, tossin' the last three inches of a +double Corona reckless into a copper bowl, "there's a leak somewhere in +this office." + +That gets a muffled gasp out of Piddie which puts him under the +spotlight at once, and when he finds we're all lookin' at him he goes +through all the motions of a cabaret patron tryin' to sneak past one of +Mr. Palmer's agents with something on the hip. If he'd been caught in +the act of borin' into the bond safe he couldn't have looked any +guiltier. + +"I--er--I assure you, Mr. Ellins," he begins spluttery, "that +I--ah--I----" + +"Bah!" snorts Old Hickory impatient. "Who is implying that you do? If +you were under suspicion in the least you wouldn't have been called in +here, Mr. Piddie. So your panic is quite unnecessary." + +"Of course," puts in Mr. Robert. "Don't be absurd, Piddie. Anything new +this morning, Governor?" + +"Rather," says Old Hickory, pointin' to a Wall Street daily that has +broke loose on its front page with a three-column headline. "See what +the Curb crowd did to G. L. T. common yesterday? Traded nearly one +hundred thousand shares and hammered the opening quotations for a +twenty-point loss. All on a rumor of a passed dividend. Well, you know +that at three o'clock the day before we tabled a motion to pass that +dividend and that an hour later, with a full board present, we decided +to pay the regular four per cent semi-annual. But the announcement was +not to be made until next Monday. Yet during that hour someone from +this office must have carried out news of that first motion. True, it +was a false tip; but I propose, gentlemen, to find out where that leak +came from." + +There's only one bet I'd be willin' to make on a proposition of that +kind. If Old Hickory had set himself to trail down anything he'd do it. +And we'd have to help. + +Course, this Great Lakes Transportation is only one of our side lines +that we carry on a separate set of books just to please the Attorney +General. And compared to other submerged subsidiaries, as Mr. Robert +calls 'em, it don't amount to much. But why its outstanding stock should +be booted around Broad Street was an interestin' question. Also who the +party was that was handin' out advance dope on such confidential details +as board meetin' motions--Well, that was more so. Next time it might be +a tip on something important. Mr. Robert suggests this. + +"There is to be no next time," says Old Hickory, settin' his jaw. + +So we starts the drag-net. First we went over the directors who had been +present. Only five, includin' Old Hickory and Mr. Robert. And of the +other three there was two that it would have been foolish to ask. +Close-mouthed as sea clams after being shipped to Kansas City. The third +was Oggie Kendall, a club friend of Mr. Robert's, who'd been dragged +down from luncheon to make up a quorum. + +"Oggie might have chattered something through sheer carelessness," says +Mr. Robert. "I'll see if I can get him on the 'phone." + +He could. But it takes Mr. Robert nearly five minutes to explain to +Oggie what he's being queried about. Finally he gives it up. + +"Oh, never mind," says he, hangin' up. Then, turnin' to us, he shrugs +his shoulders. "It wasn't Oggie. Why, he doesn't even know which board +he was acting on, and says he doesn't remember what we were talking +about. Thought it was some sort of committee meeting." + +"Then that eliminates all but some member of the office staff," says Old +Hickory. "Torchy, you acted as secretary. Do you remember that anyone +came into the directors' room during our session?" + +"Not a soul," says I. + +"Except the boy Vincent," suggests Piddie. + +"Ah, he wasn't in," says I. "Only came to the door with some telegrams; +I took 'em myself." + +"But was not a letter sent to our Western manager," Piddie goes on, +"hinting that the G. L. T. dividend might be passed, and doesn't the boy +have access to the private letter book?" + +"Carried it from my desk to the safe, that's all," says I. + +"Still," insists Piddie, "that would give him time enough to look." + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "And since he's been here he's had a chance to +snitch, off a barrel full of securities, or drop bombs down the elevator +well; but somehow he hasn't." + +"Well, we might as well have him in," says Old Hickory, pushin' the +buzzer. + +Seemed kind of silly to me, givin' fair-haired Vincent the third degree +on sketchy hunch like that. Vincent! Why, he's been with the Corrugated +four or five years, ever since they took me off the gate. And when he +went on the job he was about the most innocent-eyed office boy, I +expect, that you could find along Broadway. Reg'lar mommer's boy. Was +just that, in fact. Used to tell me how worried his mother was for fear +he'd get to smokin' cigarettes, or shootin' craps, or indulgin' in other +big-town vices. Havin' seen mother, I could well believe it. Nice, +refined old girl, still wearin' a widow's bonnet. Shows up occasionally +on a half-holiday and lets Vincent take her to the Metropolitan Museum, +or to a concert. + +Course, Vincent hadn't stayed as green as when he first came. Couldn't. +For it's more or less of a liberal education, being on the gate in the +Corrugated General Offices, as I used to tell him. You simply gotta get +wise to things or you don't last. And Vincent has wised up. Oh, yes. + +Why, here only this last week, for instance, he makes a few plays that I +couldn't have done any better myself. One was when I turns over to him +the job of gettin' Pullman reservations on the Florida Limited for +Freddie, the chump brother-in-law of Mr. Robert. Marjorie--that's the +sister--had complained how all she could get was uppers, although they'd +had an application in for six weeks. And as she and Freddie was taking +both youngsters and two maids along they were on the point of givin' up +the trip. + +"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "Freddie doesn't know how to do it, that's all. +We'll get your reservations for you." + +So he passes it on to me, and as I'm too busy just then to monkey with +Pullman agents I shoots it on to Vincent. And inside of an hour he's +back with a drawin' room and a section. + +"Have to buy somebody; eh, Vincent?" I asks. + +"Oh, yes, sir," says he cheerful. + +"Just how did you work it?" says I. + +"Well," says Vincent, "there was the usual line, of course. And the +agent told three people ahead of me the same thing. 'Only uppers on the +Limited.' So when it came my turn I simply shoved a five through the +grill work and remarked casual: 'I believe you are holding a +drawing-room and a section for me, aren't you?' 'Why, yes,' says he. +'You're just in time, too.' And a couple of years ago he would have done +it for a dollar. Not now, though. It takes a five to pull a drawing-room +these days." + +"A swell bunch of grafters Uncle Sam turned back when he let go of the +roads, eh?" says I. + +"It's the same in the freight department," says Vincent. "You know that +carload of mill machinery that had been missing for so long? Well, last +week Mr. Robert sent me to the terminal offices for a report on their +tracer. I told him to let me try a ten on some assistant general freight +agent. It worked. He went right out with a switch engine and cut that +car out of the middle of a half-mile long train on a siding, and before +midnight it was being loaded on the steamer." + +Also it was Vincent who did the rescue act when we was entertainin' that +bunch of government inspectors who come around once a year to see that +we ain't carryin' any wildcat stocks on our securities list, or haven't +scuttled our sinking fund, or anything like that. Course, our books are +always in such shape that they're welcome to paw 'em over all they like. +That's easy enough. But, still, there's no sense in lettin' 'em nose +around too free. Might dig up something they could ask awkward questions +about. So Old Hickory sees to it that them inspectors has a good time, +which means a suite of rooms at the Plutoria for a week, with dinners +and theatre parties every night. And now with this Volstead act being +pushed so hard it's kind of inconvenient gettin' a crowd of men into the +right frame of mind. Has to be done though, no matter what may have +happened to the constitution. + +But this time it seems someone tip at the Ellins home had forgot to +transfer part of the private cellar stock down to the hotel and when Old +Hickory calls up here we has to chase Vincent out there and have him +load two heavy suitcases into a taxi and see that the same are delivered +without being touched by any bellhops or porters. Knew what he was +carryin', Vincent did, and the chance he was taking; but he put over the +act off hand, as if he was cartin' in a case of malted milk to a +foundling hospital. They do say it was some party Old Hickory gave 'em. + +I expect if a lot of folks out in the church sociable belt knew of that +they'd put up a big howl. But what do they think? As I was tellin' +Vincent: "You can't run big business on grape juice." That is, not our +end of it. Oh, it's all right to keep the men in the plants down to one +and a half per cent stuff. Good for 'em. We got the statistics to prove +it. But when it comes to workin' up friendly relations with federal +agents you gotta uncork something with a kick to it. Uh-huh. What would +them Rubes have us do--say it with flowers? Or pass around silk socks, +or scented toilet soap? + +And Vincent, for all his innocent big eyes and parlor manners, has come +to know the Corrugated way of doing things. Like a book. Yet when he +walks in there on the carpet in front of Old Hickory and the +cross-questionin' starts he answers up as straight and free as if he +was being asked to name the subway stations between Wall Street and the +Grand Central. You wouldn't think he'd ever gypped anybody in all his +young career. + +Oh, yes, he'd known about the G. L. T. board meetin'. Surely. He'd been +sent up to Mr. Robert's club with the message for Oggie Kendall to come +down and do his director stunt. The private letter book? Yes, he +remembered putting that away in the safe. Had he taken a look at it? Why +should he? Vincent seems kind of hurt that anyone should suggest such a +thing. He stares at Old Hickory surprised and pained. Well, then, did he +happen to have any outside friends connected with the Curb; anybody that +he'd be apt to let slip little things about Corrugated affairs to? + +"I should hope, sir, that if I did have such friends I would know enough +to keep business secrets to myself," says Vincent, his lips quiverin' +indignant. + +"Yes, yes, to be sure," says Old Hickory, "but----" + +Honest, he was almost on the point of apologizin' to Vincent when there +comes this knock on the private office door and I'm signalled to see who +it is. I finds one of the youths from the filin' room who's subbin' in +on the gate for Vincent. He grins and whispers the message and I +tells-him to stay there a minute. + +"It's a lady to see you, Mr. Ellins," says I. "Mrs. Jerome St Claire." + +"Eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "Mrs. St. Claire? Who the syncopated Sissyphus +is she?" + +"Vincent's mother, sir," says I. + +This time he lets out a snort like a freight startin' up a grade. "Well, +what does she want with----?" Here he breaks off and fixes them chilled +steel eyes of his on Vincent. + +No wonder. The pink flush has faded out of Vincent's fair young cheeks, +his big blue eyes are rolled anxious at the door, and he seems to be +tryin' to swallow something like a hard-boiled egg. + +"Your mother, eh?" says Old Hickory. "Perhaps we'd better have her in." + +"Oh, no, sir! Please. I--I'd rather see her first," says Vincent choky. + +"Would you?" says Old Hickory. "Sorry, son, but as I understand it she +has called to see me. Torchy, show the lady in." + +I hated to do it, but there was no duckin'. Such a nice, modest little +old girl, too. She has the same innocent blue eyes as Vincent, traces of +the same pink flush in her cheeks, and her hair is frosted up genteel +and artistic. + +She don't make any false motions, either. After one glance around the +group she picks out Old Hickory, makes straight for him, and grabs one +of his big paws in both hands. + +"Mr. Ellins, is it not?" says she. "Please forgive my coming in like +this, but I did want to tell you how grateful I am for all that you +have done for dear Vincent and me. It was so generous and kind of you?" + +"Ye-e-es?" says Old Hickory, sort of draggy and encouragin'. + +"You see," she goes on, "I had been so worried over that dreadful +mortgage on our little home, and when Vincent came home last night with +that wonderful check and told me how you had helped him invest his +savings so wisely it seemed perfectly miraculous. Just think! Twelve +hundred dollars! Exactly what we needed to free our home from debt. I +know Vincent has told you how happy you have made us both, but I simply +could not resist adding my own poor words of gratitude." + +She sure was a weak describer. Poor words! If she hadn't said a whole +mouthful then my ears are no good. Less'n a minute and a half by the +clock she'd been in there, but she certainly had decanted the beans. She +had me tinted up like a display of Soviet neckwear, Piddie gawpin' at +her with his face ajar, and Vincent diggin' his toes into the rug. Lucky +she had her eyes fixed on Old Hickory, whose hand-hewn face reveals just +as much emotion as if he was bettin' the limit on a four-card flush. + +"It is always a great pleasure, madam, to be able to do things so +opportunely," says he; "and, I may add, unconsciously." + +"But you cannot know," she rushes on, "how proud you have made me of my +dear boy." With that she turns to Vincent and kisses him impetuous. "He +does give promise of being a brilliant business man, doesn't he?" she +demands. + +"Yes, madam," says Old Hickory, indulgin' in one of them grim smiles of +his, "I rather think he does." + +"Ah-h-h!" says she. Another quick hug for Vincent, a happy smile tossed +at Old Hickory, and she has tripped out. + +For a minute or so all you could hear in the private office was Piddie's +heart beatin' on his ribs, or maybe it was his knees knockin' together. +He hasn't the temperament to sit in on deep emotional scenes, Piddie. As +for Old Hickory, he clips the end off a six-inch brunette cigar, lights +up careful, and then turns slow to Vincent. + +"Well, young man," says he, "so you did know about that motion to pass +the dividend, after all, eh!" + +Vincent nods, his head still down. + +"Took a look at the letter book, did you!" asks Old Hickory. + +Another weak nod. + +"And 'phoned a code message to someone in Broad Street, I suppose?" +suggests Old Hickory. + +"No, sir," says Vincent. "He--he was waiting in the Arcade. I slipped +out and handed him a copy of the motion--as carried. But not until after +the full board had reversed it." + +"Oh!" says Old Hickory. "Gave your friend the double cross, as I believe +you would state it?" + +"He wasn't a friend," protests Vincent. "It was Izzy Goldheimer, who +used to work in the bond room before I came. He's with a Curb firm now +and has been trying for months to work me for tips on Corrugated +holdings. Promised me a percentage. But he was a welcher, and I knew it. +So when I did give him a tip it--it was that kind." + +"Hm-m-m!" says Old Hickory, wrinklin' his bushy eyebrows. "Still, I fail +to see just where you would have time to take advantage of such +conditions." + +"I had put up my margins on G. L. T. the day before," explains Vincent. +"Taking the short end, sir. If the dividend had gone through at first I +would have 'phoned in to change my trade to a buying order before Izzy +could get down with the news. As it didn't, I let it stand. Of course, I +knew the market would break next morning and I closed out the deal for a +15-point gain." + +"Fairly clever manipulation," comments Old Hickory. "Then you cleared +about----" + +"Fifteen hundred," says Vincent. "I could have made more by pyramiding, +but I thought it best to pull out while I was sure." + +"What every plunger knows--but forgets," says Old Hickory. "And you +still have a capital of three hundred for future operations, eh?" + +"I'm through, sir," says Vincent. '"I--I don't like lying to mother. +Besides after next Monday I don't think Izzy will bother me for any more +tips. I--I suppose I'm fired, sir?" + +"Eh?" says Old Hickory, scowlin' at him fierce. "Fired? No. Boys who +have a dislike for lying to mother are too scarce. Besides, anyone who +can beat a curb broker at his own game ought to be valuable to the +Corrugated some day. Mr. Piddie, see that this young man is promoted as +soon as there's an opening. And--er--I believe that is all, gentlemen." + +As me and Piddie trickle out into the general offices Piddie whispers +awed: "Wonderful man, Mr. Ellins! Wonderful!" + +"How clever of you to find it out, Piddie," says I. "Did you get the +hunch from Vincent's mother?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE MANTLE OF SANDY THE GREAT + + +"Vincent," says I, as I blows in through the brass gate from lunch, +"who's the poddy old party you got parked on the bench out in the +anteroom?" + +"He's waiting to see Mr. Ellins," says Vincent. "This is his third try. +Looks to me like some up-state stockholder who wants to know when +Corrugated common will strike 110." + +"Well, that wouldn't be my guess exactly," says I. "What's the name?" + +"Dowd," says Vincent, reachin' for a card. "Matthew K" + +"Eh," says I. "Mesaba Matt. Dowd? Say, son, your guesser is way out of +gear. You ought to get better posted on the Order of Who-Who's." + +"I'm sorry," says Vincent, pinkin' up in the ears. "Is--is he somebody +in particular?" + +"Only one of the biggest iron ore men in the game," says I. "That is, he +was until he unloaded that Pittsburgh syndicate a few years ago. Also he +must be a special crony of Old Hickory's. Anyway, he was playin' around +with him down South last month. And here we let him warm a seat out in +the book-agent pen! Social error, Vincent." + +"Stupid of me," admits Vincent. "I will--" + +"Better let me soothe him down now," says I. "Then I'll get Old Hickory +on the 'phone and tell him who's here." + +I will say that I did it in my best private sec. style, too, urgin' him +into the private office while I explains how the boy on the gate +couldn't have read the name right and assurin' him I'd get word to Mr. +Ellins at once. + +"He's only having a conference with his attorneys," says I. "I think +he'll be up very, soon. Just a moment while I get him on the wire, Mr. +Dowd." + +"Thank you, young man," says Matthew K. "I--I rather would like to see +Ellins today, if I could." + +"Why, sure!" says I, easin' him into Old Hickory's swing chair. + +But somehow when I'd slipped out to the 'phone booth and got in touch +with the boss he don't seem so anxious to rush up and meet his old side +kick. No. He's more or less calm about it. + +"Eh?" says he. "Dowd? Oh, yes! Well, you just tell him, Torchy, that I'm +tied up here and can't say when I'll be through. He'd better not wait." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Ellins," says I, "but he's been here twice before. Seems +to have something on his mind that--well, might be important, you +know." + +"Yes, it might be," says Old Hickory, and I couldn't tell whether he +threw in a snort or a chuckle right there. "And since you think it is, +Torchy, perhaps you'd better get him to sketch it out to you." + +"All right," says I. "That is, if he'll loosen up." + +"Oh, I rather think he will," says Old Hickory. + +It was a good guess. For when I tells Dowd how sorry Mr. Ellins is that +he can't come just then, and suggests that I've got power of attorney to +take care of anything confidential he might spill into my nigh ear, he +opens right up. + +Course, what I'm lookin' for is some big business stuff; maybe a +straight tip on how this new shift in Europe is going to affect foreign +exchange, or a hunch as to what the administration means to put over in +regard to the railroad muddle. He's a solemn-faced, owl-eyed old party, +this Mesaba Matt. Looks like he was thinkin' wise and deep about weighty +matters. You know. One of these slow-movin', heavy-lidded, +double-chinned old pelicans who never mention any sum less than seven +figures. So I'm putting up a serious secretarial front myself when he +starts clearin' his throat. + +"Young man," says he, "I suppose you know something about golf!" + +"Eh?" says I. "Golf? Oh, yes. That is. I've seen it played some. I was +on a trip with Mr. Ellins down at Pinehurst, five or six years back, +when he broke into the game, and I read Grant Rice's dope on it more or +less reg'lar." + +"But you haven't played golf yourself, have you?" he goes on. + +"No," says I, "I've never indulged in the Scottish rite to any extent. +Just a few swipes with a club." + +"Then I'm afraid," he begins, "that you will hardly----" + +"Oh, I'm a great little understander," says I, "unless you mean to go +into the fine points, or ask me to settle which is the best course. I've +heard some of them golf addicts talk about Shawnee or Apawamis or +Ekwanok like--well, like Billy Sunday would talk about heaven. But I've +stretched a willing ear for Mr. Ellins often enough so I can----" + +"I see," breaks in Dowd. "Possibly you will do. At any rate, I must tell +this to someone." + +"I know," says I. "I've seen 'em like that. Shoot." + +"As you are probably aware," says he, "Ellins was in Florida with me +last month. In fact, we played the same course together, day in and day +out, for four weeks. He was my partner in our foursome. Rather a helpful +partner at times, I must admit, although he hasn't been at the game long +enough to be a really experienced golfer. Fairly long off the tee, but +erratic with the brassie, and not all dependable when it came to short +iron work. However, as a rule we held them. Our opponents, I mean." + +I nods like I'd taken it all in. + +"A quartette of bogey hounds, I expect," says I. + +Dowd shakes his head modest. No, he confesses that wasn't an exact +description of their ratin'. "We usually qualified, when we got in at +all," says he, "in the fourth flight for the Seniors' tournament. But as +a rule we did not attempt the general competitions. We stuck to our +daily foursome. Staples and Rutter were the other two. Rutter's in +steel, you know; Staples in copper. Seasoned golfers, both of them. +Especially Rutter. Claims to have turned in a card of 89 once at Short +Hills. That was years ago, of course, but he has never forgotten it. +Rather an irritating opponent, Rutter. Patronizing. Fond of telling you +what you did when you've dubbed a shot. And if he happens to win--" Dowd +shrugs his shoulders expressive. + +"Chesty, eh?" says I. + +"Extremely so," says Dowd. "Even though his own medal score wasn't +better than 115. Mine was a little worse, particularly when I chanced to +be off my drive. Yes, might as well be honest. I was the lame duck of +the foursome. They usually gave my ball about four strokes. Thought they +could do it, anyway. And I accepted." + +"Uh-huh," says I, grinnin' intelligent--I hope. I sure was gettin' an +earful of this golf stuff, but I was still awake. + +Dowd goes on to tell how reg'lar the old foursome got under way every +afternoon at 2:30. That is, every day but Sunday. + +"Oh, yes," says I. "Church?" + +"No," says Dowd. "Sandy the Great." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. + +"Meaning," says Dowd, "Alexander McQuade, to my mind the best all around +golf professional who ever came out of Scotland. He was at our +Agapoosett course in summer, you know, and down there in the winter. And +Sunday afternoons he always played an exhibition match with visiting +pro's, or some of the crack amateurs. I never missed joining the gallery +for those matches. I was following the day he broke the course record +with a 69. Just one perfect shot after another. It was an inspiration. +Always was to watch Sandy the Great play. Such a genial, democratic +fellow, too. Why, he has actually talked to me on the tee just before +taking his stand for one of those 275-yard drives of his. 'Watch this +one, me laddie buck,' he'd say, or 'Weel, mon, stand a bit back while I +gie th' gutty a fair cr-r-rack.' He was always like that with me. Do you +wonder that I bought all my clubs of him, had a collection of his best +scores, and kept a large 'photo of him in my room? I've never been much +of a hero worshiper, but when it came to Sandy the Great--well, that +was different. You've heard of him, of course?" + +"I expect I have," says I, "but just how does he fit into this--" + +"I am coming to that," says Dowd. "It was a remarkable experience. +Weird, you might say. You see, it was the last day of our stay in +Florida; our last foursome of the season. We had been losing steadily +for several days, Ellins and I. Not that the stakes were high. Trivial. +Dollar Nassau, with side bets. I'd been off my drive again and Ellins +had been putting atrociously. Anyway, we had settled regularly. + +"And Rutter had been particularly obnoxious in his manner. Offered to +increase my handicap to five bisque, advised me to get my wrists into +the stroke and keep my body out. That sort of thing. And from a man who +lunges at every shot and makes a 75-yard approach with a brassie--Well, +it was nothing short of maddening. I kept my temper, though. Can't say +that my friend Ellins did. He had sliced into a trap on his drive, while +I had topped mine short. We started the first hole with our heads down. +Rutter and Staples were a trifle ostentatious with their cheerfulness. + +"I will admit that I played the first four holes very badly. A ten on +the long third. Wretched golf, even for a duffer. Ellins managed to hold +low ball on the short fourth, but we were seven points down. I could +have bitten a piece out of my niblick. Perhaps you don't know, young +man, but there is no deeper humiliation than that which comes to a dub +golfer who is playing his worst. I was in the depths. + +"At the fifth tee I was last up. I'd begun waggling as usual, body +swaying, shoulders rigid, muscles tense, dreading to swing and wondering +whether the result would be a schlaff or a top, when--well, I simply +cannot describe the sensation. Something came over me; I don't know +what. As if someone had waved a magic wand above my head. I stopped +swaying, relaxed, felt the weight of the club head in my fingers, knew +the rhythm of the swing, heard the sharp crack as the ivory facing met +the ball. If you'll believe it, I put out such a drive as I'd never +before made in all my 12 years of golf. Straight and clean and true past +the direction flag and on and on. + +"The others didn't seem to notice. Rutter had hooked into the scrub +palmettos, Staples had sliced into a pit, Ellins had topped short +somewhere in the rough. I waited until they were all out on the fairway. +Some had played three, some four shots. 'How many do you lie?' asked +Rutter. I told him that was my drive. He just stared skeptical. I could +scarcely blame him. As a rule I need a fair drive and two screaming +brassies on this long fifth before I am in position to approach across +the ravine. But this time, with a carry of some 160 yards ahead of me, I +picked my mid-iron from the bag, took a three-quarter swing, bit a +small divot from the turf as I went through, and landed the ball fairly +on the green with a back-spin that held it as though I'd had a string +tied to it. And when the others had climbed out of the ravine or +otherwise reached the green I putted in my four. A par four, mind you, +on a 420-yard hole that I'd never had better than a lucky 5 on, and +usually a 7 or an 8! + +"Rutter asked me to count my strokes for him and then had the insolence +to ask how I got that way. I couldn't tell him. I did feel queer. As if +I was in some sort of trance. But my next drive was even better. A +screamer with a slight hook on the end that gave the ball an added roll. +For my second I played a jigger to the green. Another par four. Rutter +hadn't a word to say. + +"Well, that's the way it went. Never had any one in our foursome played +such golf as I did for nine consecutive holes. Nothing over 5 and one +birdie 3. I think that Staples and Rutter were too stunned to make any +comment. As for Ellins, he failed to appreciate what I was doing. +Somewhat self-centered, Ellins. He's always counting his own score and +seldom notices what others are making. + +"Not until we had finished the 12th, which I won with an easy 3, did +Staples, who was keeping score, seem to realize what had happened. +'Hello!' he calls to Rutter. 'They've got us beaten.' 'No,' says Rutter. +'Can't be possible!' 'But we are,'insists Staples. 'Thirteen points +down and twelve to go. It's all over. Dowd, here, is playing like a +crazy man.' + +"And then the spell, or whatever it was, broke. I flubbed my drive, +smothered my brassie shot, and heeled my third into the woods. I +finished the round in my usual style, mostly sevens and eights. But +there was the score to prove that for nine straight holes I had played +par golf; professional golf, if you please. Do you think either Rutter +or Staples gave me credit for that? No. They paid up and walked off to +the shower baths. + +"I couldn't account for my performance. It was little short of a +miracle. Actually it was so unusual that I hardly felt like talking +about it. I know that may sound improbable to a golfer, but it is a +fact. Except that I did want to tell Alexander McQuade. But I couldn't +find him. They said at the shop he was laid up with a cold and hadn't +been around for several days. So I took the train north that night +without having said a word to a soul about those wonderful nine holes. +But I've thought a lot about 'em since. I've tried to figure out just +what happened to me that I could make such a record. No use. It was all +beginning to be as unreal as if it was something I had dreamed of doing. + +"And then yesterday, while reading a recent golf magazine, I ran across +this item of news which gave me such a shock. It told of the sudden +death from pneumonia of Alexander McQuade. At first I was simply +grieved over this loss to myself and to the golfing profession in +general. Then I noticed the date. McQuade died the very morning of the +day of our last match. Do you see?" + +I shook my head. All I could see was a moonfaced, owl-eyed old party who +was starin' at me with an eager, batty look. "No," says I. "I don't get +the connection. McQuade had checked out and you won your foursome." + +"Precisely," says Dowd. "The mantle of Elijah." + +"Who?" says I. + +"To make it plainer," says Dowd, "the mantle of Sandy the Great. It fell +on my shoulders." + +"That may be clear enough to you, Mr. Dowd," says I, "but I'll have to +pass it up." + +He sighs disappointed. "I wish Ellins would have the patience to let me +tell him about it myself," says he. "He'll not, though, so I must make +you understand in order that you may give him the facts. I want him to +know. Of course, I can't pretend to explain the thing. It was psychic, +that's all; supernatural, if you please. Must have been. For there I +was, a confirmed duffer, playing that course exactly as Alexander +McQuade would have played it had he been in my shoes. And he was, for +the time being. At least, I claim that I was being controlled, or +whatever you want to call it, by the recently departed spirit of Sandy +the Great." + +I expect I was gawpin' at him with a full open-face expression. Say, I +thought I'd heard these golf nuts ravin' before, but I'd never been up +against anything quite like this. Honest, it gave me a creepy feelin' +along the spine. And yet, come to look him over close, he's just a +wide-beamed old party with bags under his eyes and heavy common-place +features. + +"You grasp the idea now, don't you?" he asks. + +"I think so," says I. "Ghost stuff, eh?" + +"I'm merely suggesting that as the only explanation which occurs to me," +says he. "I would like to have it put before Ellins and get his opinion. +That is, if you think you can make it clear." + +"I'll make a stab at it, Mr. Dowd," says I. + +And of course I did, though Old Hickory aint such an easy listener. He +comes in with snorts and grunts all through the tale, and when I +finishes he simply shrugs his shoulders. + +"There's a warning for you, young man," says he. "Keep away from the +fool game. Anyway, if you ever do play, don't let it get to be a disease +with you. Look at Dowd. Five years ago he was a sane, normal person; the +best iron ore expert in the country. He could sniff a handful of red +earth and tell you how much it would run to a ton within a dime's worth. +Knew the game from A to Izzard--deep mining, open pit, low grade +washing, transportation, smelting. He lived with it. Never happier than +when he was in his mining rig following a chief engineer through new +cross-cuts on the twenty-sixth level trying to locate a fault in the +deposit or testing some modern method of hoisting. Those were things he +understood. Then he retired. Said he'd made money enough. And now look +at him. Getting cracked over a sport that must have been invented by +some Scotchman who had a grudge against the whole human race. As though +any game could be a substitute for business. Bah!" + +"Then you don't think, Mr. Ellins," says I, "that we ought to have the +boy page Sir Oliver Lodge?" + +"Eh?" says he. + +"I mean," says I, "that you don't take any stock in that mantle of Sandy +the Great yarn?" + +"Tommyrot!" says he. "For once in his life the old fool played his head +off, that's all. Nine holes in par. Huh! I'm liable to do that myself +one of these days, and without the aid of any departed spirits. Yes, +sir. The fact is, Torchy, I am practicing a new swing that ought to have +me playing in the low 90's before the middle of the next season. You +see, it all depends on taking an open stance and keeping a stiff right +knee. Here' pass me that umbrella and I'll show you." + +And for the next ten minutes he kept a bank president, two directors and +a general manager waiting while he swats a ball of paper around the +private office with me for an audience. Uh-huh. And being a high ace +private sec. I aint even supposed to grin. Say, why don't some genius +get up an anti-golf serum so that when one of these old plutes found +himself slippin' he could rush to a clinic and get a shot in the arm? + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +TORCHY SHUNTS A WIZARD + + +I'd hardly noticed when Mr. Robert blew in late from lunch until I hears +him chuckle. Then I glances over my shoulder and sees that he's lookin' +my way. Course, that gets me curious, for Mr. Robert ain't the kind of +boss that goes around chucklin' casual, 'specially at a busy private +sec. + +"Yes, sir?" says I, shoving back a tray full of correspondence I'm +sortin'. + +"I heard something rather good, at luncheon, Torchy," says he. + +"On red hair, I expect," says I. + +"It wasn't quite so personal as that," says he. "Still, I think you'll +be interested." + +"It's part of my job to look so, anyway," says I, givin' him the grin. + +"And another item on which you specialize, I believe," he goes on, "is +the detection of book agents. At least, you used to do so when you were +head office boy. Held a record, didn't you?" + +"Oh, I don't know," says I tryin' to register modesty. "One got past the +gate; one in five years. That was durin' my first month." + +"Almost an unblemished career," says Mr. Robert. "What about your +successor, Vincent?" + +"Oh, he's doing fairly well," says I. "Gets stung now and then. Like +last week when that flossy blonde with the Southern accent had him +buffaloed with a tale about having met dear Mr. Ellins at French Lick +and wantin' to show him something she knew he'd be just crazy about. She +did, too. 'Lordly Homes of England,' four volumes, full morocco, at +fifty a volume. And I must say she was nearly right. He wasn't far from +being crazy for the next hour or so. Vincent got it, and then I got it, +although I was downtown at the time it happened. But I'm coachin' +Vincent, and I don't think another one of 'em will get by very soon." + +"You don't eh?" says Mr. Robert, indulgin' in another chuckle. + +Then he spills what he overheard at lunch. Seems he was out with a +friend who took him to the Papyrus Club, which is where a lot of these +young hicks from the different book publishin' houses get together +noon-times; not Mr. Harper, or Mr. Scribner, or Mr. Dutton, but the +heads of departments, assistant editors, floor salesmen and so on. + +And at the next table to Mr. Robert the guest of honor was a loud +talkin' young gent who'd just come in from a tour of the Middle West +with a bunch of orders big enough, if you let him tell it, to keep his +firm's presses on night shifts for a year. He was some hero, I take it, +and for the benefit of the rest of the bunch he was sketchin' out his +methods. + +"As I understood the young man," says Mr. Robert, "his plan was to go +after the big ones; the difficult proposition, men of wealth and +prominence whom other agents had either failed to reach or had not dared +to approach. 'The bigger the better,' was his motto, and he referred to +himself, I think, as 'the wizard of the dotted line.'" + +"Not what you'd exactly call a shrinkin' violet, eh?" I suggests. + +"Rather a shrieking sunflower," says Mr. Robert. "And he concluded by +announcing that nothing would suit him better than to be told the name +of the most difficult subject in the metropolitan district--'the hardest +nut' was his phrase, I believe. He guaranteed to land the said person +within a week. In fact, he was willing to bet $100 that he could." + +"Huh," says I. + +"Precisely the remark of one of his hearers," says Mr. Robert. "The +wager was promptly made. And who do you suppose, Torchy, was named as +the most aloof and difficult man in New York for a book agent to--" + +"Mr. Ellins," says I. + +Mr. Robert nods. "My respected governor, none other," says he. "I fancy +he would be rather amused to know that he had achieved such a +reputation, although he would undoubtedly give you most of the credit." + +"Or the blame," says I. + +"Yes," admits Mr. Robert, "if he happened to be in the blaming mood. +Anyway, young man, there you have a direct challenge. Within the next +week the inner sanctum of the Corrugated Trust is to be assailed by one +who claims that he can penetrate the impenetrable, know the unknowable, +and unscrew the inscrutable." + +"Well, that's cute of him," says I. "I'm bettin', though, he never gets +to his man." + +"That's the spirit!" says Mr. Robert. "As the French said at Verdun, +'Ils ne passeront pas.' Eh?" + +"Meaning 'No Gangway', I expect!" says I. + +"That's the idea," says he. + +"But say, Mr. Robert, what's he look like, this king of the dotted +line!" says I. + +Mr. Robert shakes his head. "I was sitting back to him," says he. +"Besides, to give you his description would be taking rather an unfair +advantage. That would tend to spoil what now stands as quite a neat +sporting proposition. Of course, if you insist--" + +"No," says I. "He don't know me and I don't know him. It's fifty-fifty. +Let him come." + +I never have asked any odds of book agents, so why begin now? But, you +can bet I didn't lose any time havin' a heart to heart talk with +Vincent. + +"Listen, son," says I, "from this on you want to watch this gate like +you was a terrier standin' over a rat hole. It's up to you to see that +no stranger gets through, no matter who he says he is; and that goes for +anybody, from first cousins of the boss to the Angel Gabriel himself. +Also, it includes stray window cleaners, buildin' inspectors and parties +who come to test the burglar alarm system. They might be in disguise. If +their faces ain't as familiar to you as the back of your hand give 'em +the sudden snub and tell 'em 'Boom boom, outside!' In case of doubt keep +'em there until you can send for me. Do you get it?" + +Vincent says he does. "I shouldn't care to let in another book agent," +says he. + +"You might just as well resign your portfolio if you do," says I. +"Remember the callin' down, you got from Old Hickory last week." + +Vincent shudders. "I'll do my best, sir," says he. + +And he's a thorough goin', conscientious youth. Within the next few +hours I had to rescue one of our directors, our first assistant Western +manager, and a personal friend of Mr. Robert's, all of whom Vincent had +parked on the bench in the anteroom and was eyein' cold, and suspicious. +He even holds up the Greek who came luggin' in the fresh towels, and +Tony the spring water boy. + +"I feel like old Horatius," says Vincent. + +"Never met him," says I, "but whoever he was I'll bet you got him +lookin' like one of the seven sleepers. That's the stuff, though. Keep +it up." + +I expect I was some wakeful myself, too. I worked with my eyes ready to +roll over my shoulder and my right ear stretched. I was playin' the part +of right worthy inside guard, and nobody came within ten feet of the +private office door but what I'd sized 'em up before they could reach +the knob. Still, two whole days passed without any attack on the first +line trenches. The third day Vincent and I had a little skirmish with a +mild-eyed young gent who claimed he wanted to see Mr. Ellins urgent, but +he turns out to be only a law clerk from the office of our general +solicitors bringin' up some private papers to be signed. + +Then here Friday--and it was Friday the 13th, too--Vincent comes +sleuthin' in to my desk and shows me a card. + +"Well," says I, "who does this H. Munson Schott party say he is?" + +"That's just it," says Vincent. "He doesn't say. But he has a letter of +introduction to Mr. Ellins from the Belgian Consul General. Rather an +important looking person, too." + +"H-m-m-m!" says I, runnin' my fingers through my red hair thoughtful. + +You see, we'd been figurin' on some big reconstruction contracts with +the Belgian government, and while I hadn't heard how far the deal had +gone, there was a chance that this might be an agent from the royal +commission. + +"If it is," says I, "we can't afford to treat him rough. Let's see, the +Hon. Matt. Dowd, the golf addict, is still in the private office givin' +Old Hickory another earful about the Scotch plague, ain't he?" + +"No, sir," says Vincent. "Mr. Ellins asked him to wait half an hour or +so. He's in the director's room." + +"Maybe I'd better take a look at your Mr. Schott first then," says I. + +But after I'd gone out and given him the north and south careful I was +right where I started. I didn't quite agree with Vincent that he looked +important, but he acted it. He's pacin' up and down outside the brass +rail kind of impatient, and as I appears he's just consultin' his watch. +A nifty tailored young gent with slick putty-colored hair and +Maeterlinck blue eyes. Nothing suspicious in the way of packages about +him. Not even a pigskin document case or an overcoat with bulgy pockets. +He's grippin' a French line steamship pamphlet in one hand, a letter in +the other, and from the crook of his right elbow hangs a heavy +silver-mounted walkin' stick. Also he's wearin' gray spats. Nothing book +agenty about any of them signs. + +"Mr. Schott?" says I, springin' my official smile. "To see Mr. Ellins, I +understand. I'm his private secretary. Could I--" + +"I wish to see Mr. Ellins personally," breaks in Mr. Schott, wavin' me +off with a yellow-gloved hand. + +"Of course," says I. "One moment, please. I'll find out if he's in. And +if you have any letters, or anything like that--" + +"I prefer to present my credentials in person," says he. + +"Sorry," says I. "Rules of the office. Saves time, you know. If you +don't mind--" and I holds out my hand for the letter. + +He gives it up reluctant and I backs out. Another minute and I've shoved +in where Old Hickory is chewin' a cigar butt savage while he pencils a +joker clause into a million-dollar contract. + +"Excuse me, sir," says I, "but you were expectin' a party from the +Belgian Commission, were you?" + +"No," snaps Old Hickory. "Nor from the Persian Shah, or the Sultan of +Sulu, or the Ahkoond of Swat. All I'm expecting, young man, is a half +hour of comparative peace, and I don't get it. There's Matt. Dowd in the +next room waiting like the Ancient Mariner to grip me by the sleeve and +pour out a long tale about what he calls his discovery of psychic golf. +Say, son, couldn't you----" + +"I've heard it, you know, sir," says I. + +Old Hickory groans. "That's so," says he. "Well then, why don't you find +me a substitute? Suffering Cicero, has that inventive brain of yours +gone into a coma!" + +"Not quite, sir," says I. "You don't happen to know a Mr. Schott, do +you?" + +"Gr-r-r!" says Old Hickory, as gentle as a grizzly with a sore ear. "Get +out!" + +I took the hint and trickled through the door. I was just framin' up +something polite to feed Mr. Schott when it strikes me I might take a +peek at this little note from the Belgian consul. It wasn't much, merely +suggests that he hopes Mr. Ellins will be interested in what Mr. Schott +has to say. There's the consul general's signature at the bottom, too. +Yes. And I was foldin' it up to tuck it back into the envelope +when--well, that's what comes of my early trainin' on the Sunday edition +when the proof readers used to work me in now and then to hold copy. +It's a funny thing, but I notice that the Consul General doesn't spell +his name when he writes it the way he has it printed at the top of his +letterhead. + +"Might be a slip by the fool engraver," thinks I. "I'll look it up in +the directory." + +And the directory agreed with the letterhead. + +"Oh, ho!" says I. "Pullin' the old stuff, eh? Easy enough to drop into +the Consul's office and dash off a note to anybody. Say, lemme at this +Schott person." + +No, I didn't call in Pat, the porter, and have him give Mr. Schott a +flyin' start down the stairs. No finesse about that. Besides, I needed a +party about his size just then. I steps back into the directors' room +and rouses Mr. Dowd from his trance by tappin' him on the shoulder. + +"Maybe you'd be willin', Mr. Dowd," says I, "to sketch out some of that +psychic golf experience of yours to a young gent who claims to be +something of a wizard himself." + +Would he? Say, I had to push him back in the chair to keep him from +followin' me right out. + +"Just a minute," says I, "and I'll bring him in. There's only one thing. +He's quite a talker himself. Might want to unload a line of his own +first, but after that--" + +"Yes, yes," says Dowd. "I shall be delighted to meet him." + +"It's goin' to be mutual," says I. + +Why, I kind of enjoyed my little part, which consists in hurryin' out to +the gate with my right forefinger up and a confidential smirk wreathin' +my more or less classic features. + +"Right this way, Mr. Schott," says I. + +He shrugs his shoulders, shoots over a glance of scornful contempt, like +a room clerk in a tourist hotel would give to a guest who's payin' only +$20 or $30 a day, and shoves past Vincent with his chin up. Judgin' by +the name and complexion and all there must have been a lot of noble +Prussian blood in this Schott person, for the Clown Prince himself +couldn't have done the triumphal entry any better. And I expect I put +considerable flourish into the business when I announces him to Dowd, +omittin' careful to call the Hon. Matt, by name. + +Schott aint wastin' any precious minutes. Before Dowd can say a word +he's started in on his spiel. As I'm makin' a slow exit I manages to get +the openin' lines. They was good, too. + +"As you may know," begins Schott, "I represent the International +Historical Committee. Owing to the recent death of prominent members we +have decided to fill those vacancies by appointment and your name has +been mentioned as----" + +Well, you know how it goes. Only this was smooth stuff. It was a shame +to have it all spilled for the benefit of Matthew Dowd, who can only +think of one thing these days--250-yard tee shots and marvelous mid-iron +pokes that always sail toward the pin. Besides, I kind of wanted to see +how a super-book agent would work. + +Openin' the private office door easy I finds Old Hickory has settled +back in his swing chair and is lightin' a fresh Fumadora satisfied. So I +slips in, salutes respectful and jerks my thumb toward the directors' +room. + +"I've put a sub. on the job, sir," says I. + +"Eh?" says he. "Oh, yes. Who did you find?" + +"A suspicious young stranger," says I. "I sicced him and Mr. Dowd on +each other. They're at it now. It's likely to be entertainin'." + +Old Hickory nods approvin' and a humorous flicker flashes under them +bushy eyebrows of his. "Let's hear how they're getting along," says he. + +So I steps over sleuthy and swings the connectin' door half way open, +which not only gives us a good view but brings within hearin' range this +throaty conversation which Mr. Schott is unreelin' at high speed. + +"You see, sir," he's sayin', "this monumental work covers all the great +crises of history, from the tragedy on Calvary to the signing of the +peace treaty at Versailles. Each epoch is handled by an acknowledged +master of that period, as you may see by this table of contents." + +Here Mr. Schott produces from somewhere inside his coat a half pound or +so of printed pages and shoves them on Dowd. + +"The illustrations," he goes on, "are all reproduced in colors by our +new process, and are copies of famous paintings by the world's greatest +artists. There are to be more than three hundred, but I have here a few +prints of these priceless works of art which will give you an idea." + +At that he reaches into the port side of his coat, unbuttons the lining, +and hauls out another sheaf of leaves. + +"Then we are able to offer you," says Schott, "a choice of bindings +which includes samples of work from the most skilful artisans in that +line. At tremendous expense we have reproduced twelve celebrated +bindings. I have them here." + +And blamed if he don't unscrew the thick walkin' stick and pull out a +dozen imitation leather bindings which he piles on Mr. Dowd's knee. + +"Here we have," says he, "the famous Broissard binding, made for the +library of Louis XIV. Note the fleur de lis and the bee, and the +exquisite hand-tooling on the doublures. Here is one that was done by +the Rivieres of London for the collection of the late Czar Nicholas, and +so on. There are to be thirty-six volumes in all and to new members of +the Historical Committee we are offering these at practically the cost +of production, which is $28 the volume. In return for this sacrifice all +we ask of you, my dear sir, is that we may use your indorsement in our +advertising matter, which will soon appear in all the leading daily +papers of this country. We ask you to pay no money down. All you need to +do, sir, to become a member of the International Historical Committee +and receive this magnificent addition to your library, is to sign your +name here and----" + +"Is--is that all?" breaks in Dowd, openin' his mouth for the first time. + +"Absolutely," says Schott, unlimberin' his ready fountain pen. + +"Then perhaps you would be interested to hear of a little experience of +mine," says Dowd, "on the golf course." + +"Charmed," says Schott. + +He didn't know what was comin'. As a book agent he had quite a flow of +language, but I doubt if he ever ran up against a real golf nut before. +Inside of half a minute Dowd was off in high gear, tellin' him about +that wonderful game he played with Old Hickory when he was under the +control of the spirit of the great Sandy McQuade. At first Schott looks +kind of dazed, like a kid who's been foolin' with a fire hydrant wrench +and suddenly finds he's turned on the high pressure and can't turn it +off. Three or four times he makes a stab at breakin' in and urgin' the +fountain pen on Dowd, but he don't have any success. Dowd is in full +swing, describin' his new theory of how all the great golfers who have +passed on come back and reincarnate themselves once more; sometimes +pickin' out a promisin' caddie, as in the case of Ouimet, or now and +again a hopeless duffer, same as he was himself. Schott can't get a word +in edgewise, and is squirmin' in his chair while Old Hickory leans back +and chuckles. + +Finally, after about half an hour of this, Schott gets desperate. "Yes, +sir," says he, shoutin' above Dowd's monologue, "but what about this +magnificent set of----" + +"Bah!" says Dowd. "Books! Never buy 'em." + +"But--but are you sure, sir," Schott goes on, "that you understand what +an opportunity you are offered for----" + +"Wouldn't have the junk about the house," says Dowd. "But later on, +young man, if you are interested in the development of my psychic golf, +I shall be glad to tell you----" + +"Not if I see you first," growls Schott, gatherin' up his pile of +samples and backin out hasty. + +He's in such a hurry to get away that he bumps into Mr. Robert, who's +just strollin' toward the private office, and the famous bindings, art +masterpieces, contents pages and so on are scattered all over the floor. + +"Who was our young friend with all the literature?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"That's Mr. Schott," says I, "your wizard of the dotted line, who was +due to break in on Mr. Ellins and get him to sign up." + +"Eh?" says Old Hickory, starin'. "And you played him off against Matt. +Dowd? You impertinent young rascal! But I say, Robert, you should have +seen and heard 'em. It was rich. They nearly talked each other to a +standstill." + +"Then I gather, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, grinnin', "that the king of +book agents now sits on a tottering throne. In other words, the wizard +met a master mind, eh?" + +"I dunno," says I. "Guess I gave him the shunt, all right. Just by luck, +though. He had a clever act, I'll say, even if he didn't get it +across." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +STANLEY TAKES THE JAZZ CURE + + +I remember how thrilled Vee gets when she first discovers that these new +people in Honeysuckle Lodge are old friends of hers. I expect some +poetical real estater wished that name on it. Anyway, it's the proper +thing out here in Harbor Hills to call your place after some sort of +shrubbery or tree. And maybe this little stone cottage effect with the +green tiled roof and the fieldstone gate posts did have some honeysuckle +growin' around somewhere. It's a nice enough shack, what there is of it, +though if I'd been layin' out the floor plan I'd have had less cut-under +front porch and more elbow room inside. However, as there are only two +of the Rawsons it looked like it would do. That is, it did at first. + +"Just think, Torchy," says Vee. "I haven't seen Marge since we were at +boarding school together. Why, I didn't even know she was married, +although I suppose she must be by this time." + +"Well, she seems to have found a male of the species without your help," +says I. "Looks like a perfectly good man, too." + +"Oh, I'm sure he must be," says Vee, "or Marge wouldn't have had him. In +fact, I know he is, for I used to hear more or less about Stanley +Rawson, even when we were juniors. I believe they were half engaged +then. Such a jolly, lively fellow, and so full of fun. Won't it be nice +having them so near?" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. + +Not that we've been lonesome since we moved out on our four-acre Long +Island estate, but I will say that young married couples of about our +own age haven't been so plenty. Not the real folksy kind. Course, there +are the Cecil Rands, but they don't do much but run a day and night +nursery for those twins of theirs. They're reg'lar Class A twins, too, +and I expect some day they'll be more or less interestin'; but after +they've been officially exhibited to you four or five times, and you've +heard all about the system they're being brought up on, and how many +ounces of Pasteurized cow extract they sop up a day, and at what +temperature they get it, and how often they take their naps and so +on---- Well, sometimes I'm thankful the Rands didn't have triplets. When +I've worked up enthusiasm for twins about four times, and remarked how +cunnin' of them to look so much alike, and confessed that I couldn't +tell which was Cecillia and which Cecil, Jr., I feel that I've sort of +exhausted the subject. + +So whenever Vee suggests that we really ought to go over and see the +Rands again I can generally think up an alibi. Honest, I aint jealous +of their twins. I'm glad they've got 'em. Considerin' Cecil, Sr., and +all I'll say it was real noble of 'em. But until I can think up +something new to shoot about twins I'm strong for keepin' away. + +Then there are Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Kipp, but they're ouija board addicts +and count it a dull evening when they can't gather a few serious +thinkers around the dinin' room table under a dim light and spell out a +message from Little Bright Wings, who checked out from croup at the age +of six and still wants her Uncle Jerry to know that she thinks of him +out there in the great beyond. I wouldn't mind hearin' from the spirit +land now and then if the folks there had anything worth sayin', but when +they confine their chat to fam'ly gossip it seems to me like a waste of +time. Besides, I always come home from the Kipps feelin' creepy down the +back. + +So you could hardly blame Vee for welcomin' some new arrivals in the +neighborhood, or for bein' so chummy right from the start. She asks the +Rawsons over for dinner, tips Mrs. Rawson off where she can get a +wash-lady who'll come in by the day and otherwise extends the glad hand. + +Seems to be a nice enough party, young Mrs. Rawson. Kind of easy to look +at and with an eye twinkle that suggests a disposition to cut up +occasionally. Stanley is a good runnin' mate, so far as looks go. He +could almost pose for a collar ad, with that straight nose and clean cut +chin of his. But he's a bit stiff and stand-offish, at first. + +"Oh, he'll get over that," says Vee. "You see, he comes from some little +place down in Georgia where the social set is limited to three families +and he isn't quite sure whether we know who our grandfathers were." + +"It'll be all off then if he asks about mine," says I. + +But he don't. He wants to know what I think of the recent slump in July +cotton deliveries and if I believe the foreign credits situation looks +any better. + +"Why, I hadn't thought much about either," says I, "but I've had a good +hunch handed me that the Yanks are goin' to show strong for the pennant +this season." + +Stanley just stares at me and after that confines his remarks to statin' +that he don't care for mint sauce on roast lamb and that he never takes +coffee at night. + +"Huh!" says I to Vee afterward. "When does he spring that jolly stuff? +Or was that conundrum about July cotton a vaudeville gag that got past +me?" + +No, I hadn't missed any cues. Vee explains that young Mr. Rawson has +been sent up to New York as assistant manager of a Savannah firm of +cotton brokers and is taking his job serious. + +"That's good," says I, "but he don't need to lug it to the dinner table, +does he?" + +We gave the Rawsons a week to get settled before droppin' in on 'em for +an evenin' call, and I'd prepared for it by readin' up on the cotton +market. Lucky I did, too, for we discovers Stanley at his desk with a +green eye-shade draped over his classic brow and a lot of crop reports +spread out before him. Durin' the next hour, while the girls were +chattin' merry in the other corner of the livin' room, Stanley gave me +the straight dope on boll weevils, the labor conditions in Manchester, +and the poor prospects for long staple. I finished, as you might say, +with both ears full of cotton. + +"Stanley's going to be a great help--I don't think," says I to Vee. +"Why, he's got cotton on the brain." + +"Now let's not be critical, Torchy," says Vee. "Marge told me all about +it, how Stanley is a good deal worried over his business and so on. He's +really doing very well, you know, but he can't seem to leave his office +troubles behind, the way you do. He wants to make a big success, but +he's so afraid something will go wrong----" + +"There's no surer way of pullin' down trouble," says I. "Next thing he +knows he'll be tryin' to sell cotton in his sleep, and from that stage +to a nerve sanitarium is only a hop." + +Not that I tries to reform Stanley. Nay, nay, Natalia. I may go through +some foolish motions now and then, but regulatin' the neighbors ain't +one of my secret vices. We allows the Rawsons to map out their own +program, which seems to consist in stickin' close to their own fireside, +with Marge on one side readin' letters about the gay doin's of her old +friends at home, and Stanley on the other workin' up furrows in his brow +over what might not happen to spot cotton day after tomorrow. They'd +passed up a chance to join the Country Club, had declined with thanks +when Vee asked 'em to go in on a series of dinner dances with some of +the young married set, and had even shied at taking an evening off for +one of Mrs. Robert Ellins' musical affairs. + +"Thanks awfully," says Stanley, "but I have no time for social +frivolities." + +"Gosh!" says I. "I hope you don't call two hours of Greig frivolous." + +That seems to be his idea, though. Anything that ain't connected with +quotations on carload lots or domestic demands for middlings he looks at +scornful. He tells me he's on the trail of a big foreign contract, but +is afraid its going to get away from him. + +"Maybe you'd linger on for a year or so if it did," I suggests. + +"Perhaps," says he, "but I intend to let nothing distract me from my +work." + +And then here a few days later I runs across him making for the 5:03 +with two giggly young sub-debs in tow. After he's planted 'em in a seat +and stowed their hand luggage and wraps on the rack I slips into the +vacant space with him behind the pair. + +"Where'd you collect the sweet young things, Stanley?" says I. + +He shakes his head and groans. "Think of it!" says he. "Marge's folks +had to chase off to Bermuda for the Easter holidays and so they wish +Polly, the kid sister, onto us for two whole weeks. Not only that, but +Polly has the nerve to bring along this Dot person, her roommate at +boarding school. What on earth we're ever going to do with them I'm sure +I don't know." + +"Is Polly the one with the pointed chin and the I-dare-you pout?" I +asks. + +"No, that's Dot," says he. "Polly's the one with the cheek dimples and +the disturbing eyes. She's a case, too." + +"They both look like they might be live wires," says I. "I see they've +brought their mandolins, also. And what's so precious in the bundle you +have on your knees?" + +"Jazz records," says Stanley. "I've a mind to shove them under the seat +and forget they're there." + +He don't though, for that's the only bundle Polly asks about when we +unload at our home station. I left Stanley negotiatin' with the +expressman to deliver two wardrobe trunks and went along chucklin' to +myself. + +"My guess is that Dot and Polly are in for kind of a pokey vacation," I +tells Vee. "Unless they can get as excited over the cotton market as +Stanley does." + +"The poor youngsters!" says Vee. "They might as well be visiting on a +desert island, for Marge knows hardly anyone in the place but us." + +She's a great one for spillin' sympathy, and for followin' it up when +she can with the helpin' hand. So a couple of nights later I'm dragged +out on a little missionary expedition over to Honeysuckle Lodge, the +object being to bring a little cheer into the dull gray lives of the +Rawsons' young visitors. Vee makes me doll up in an open face vest and +dinner coat, too. + +"The girls will like it, I'm sure," says she. + +"Very well," says I. "If the sight of me in a back number Tuck will lift +the gloom from any young hearts, here goes. I hope the excitement don't +prove too much for 'em, though." + +I'd kind of doped it out that we'd find the girls sittin' around awed +and hushed; while Stanley indulged in his usual silent struggle with +some great business problem; or maybe they'd be over in a far corner +yawnin' through a game of Lotto. But you never can tell. From two blocks +away we could see that the house was all lit up, from cellar to sleepin' +porch. + +"Huh!" says I. "Stanley must be huntin' a burglar, or something." + +"No," says Vee. "Hear the music. If I didn't know I should think they +were giving a party." + +"Who would they give it to?" I asks. + +And yet when the maid lets us in hanged if the place ain't full of +people, mostly young hicks in evenin' clothes, but with a fair sprinklin' +of girls in flossy party dresses. All the livin' room furniture had been +shoved into the dinin' room, the rugs rolled into the corners, and the +music machine is grindin' out the Blitzen Blues, accompanied by the two +mandolins. + +In the midst of all this merry scene I finds Stanley wanderin' about +sort of dazed and unhappy. + +"Excuse us for crashin' in on a party," says I. "We came over with the +idea that maybe Polly and Dot would be kind of lonesome." + +"Lonesome!" says Stanley. "Say, I ask you, do they look it?" + +"Not at the present writing," says I. + +That was statin' the case mild, too. Over by the music machine Dot and a +youth who's sportin' his first aviation mustache--one of them clipped +eyebrow affairs--are tinklin' away on the mandolins with their heads +close together, while in the middle of the floor Polly and a blond young +gent who seems to be fairly well contented with himslf are practicin' +some new foxtrot steps, with two other youngsters waitin' to cut in. + +"Where did you round up all the perfectly good men?" I asks. + +"I didn't," says Stanley. "That's what amazes me. Where did they all +come from? Why, I supposed the girls didn't know a soul in the place. +Said they didn't on the way out. Yet before we'd left the station two +youths appeared who claimed they'd met Polly somewhere and asked if they +couldn't come up that evening. The next morning they brought around two +others, and some girls, for a motor trip. By afternoon the crowd had +increased to a dozen, and they were all calling each other by their +first names and speaking of the aggregation as 'the bunch.' I came home +tonight to find a dinner party of six and this dance scheduled. Now tell +me, how do they do it?" + +"It's by me," says I. "But maybe this kid sister-in-law of yours and her +chum are the kind who don't have to send out S. O. S. signals. And if +this keeps up I judge you're let in for a merry two weeks." + +"Merry!" says Stanley. "I should hardly call it that. How am I going to +think in a bedlam like this?" + +"Must you think?" says I. + +"Of course," says he. "But if this keeps up we shall go crazy." + +"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may, but I judge that Mrs. Rawson will +survive. She seems to be endurin' it all right," and I glances over +where Marge is allowin' a youngster of 19 or so to lead her out for the +next dance. + +"Oh, Marge!" says Stanley. "She's always game for anything. But she +hasn't the business worries and responsibilities that I have. Do you +know, Torchy, the cotton situation is about to reach a crisis and if I +cannot put through a----" + +"Come on, Torchy," breaks in Vee. "Let's try this one." + +"Sure!" says I. "Although I'm missin' some mighty thrillin' information +about what's going to happen to cotton." + +"Oh, bother cotton!" says Vee. "It would do Stanley good to forget about +his silly old business for a little while. Look at him! Why, you would +thing he was a funeral." + +"Or that he was just reportin' as chairman of the grand jury," says I. + +"And little Polly is having such a good time, isn't she?" goes on Vee. + +"I expect she is," says I. "She's goin' through the motions, anyway." + +Couldn't have been more than 16 or so, Polly. But she has a face like a +flower, the disposition of a butterfly, and a pair of eyes that +shouldn't be used away from home without dimmers on. I expect she don't +know how high voltage they are or she wouldn't roll 'em around so +reckless. It's entertainin' just to sit on the side lines and watch her +pull this baby-vamp act of hers and then see the victims squirm. Say, at +the end of a dance some of them youths didn't know whether they was +leadin' Polly to a corner or walkin' over a pink cloud with snowshoes +on. And friend Dot ain't such a poor performer herself. Her strong line +seems to be to listen to 'em patient while they tells her all they know, +and remark enthusiastic at intervals: "Oh, I think that's simp-ly +won-n-n-nderful!" After they'd hear her say it about five times most of +'em seemed to agree with her that they were wonderful, and I heard one +young hick confide to another: "She's a good pal, Dot. Understands a +fellow, y'know." + +Honest, I was havin' so much fun minglin' with the younger set that way, +and gettin' my dancin' toes limbered up once more, that it's quite a +shock to glance at the livin' room clock and find it pointin' to 1:30. +As we were leavin', though, friend Dot has just persuaded Stanley to try +a one-step with her and I had to snicker when he goes whirlin' off. I +expect either she or Polly had figured out that the only way to keep him +from turnin' off the lights was to get him into the game. + +From all the reports we had Polly and Dot got through their vacation +without being very lonesome. Somehow or other Honeysuckle Lodge seems to +have been established as the permanent headquarters of "the bunch," and +most any time of day or night you could hear jazz tunes comin' from +there, or see two or three cars parked outside. And, although the cotton +market was doing flip-flops about that time I don't see any signs of +nervous breakdown about Stanley. In fact, he seems to have bucked up a +lot. + +"Well, how about that foreign contract?" I asks reckless one mornin' as +we meets on the train. + +"Oh, I have that all sewed up," says Stanley. "One of those young chaps +who came to see Polly so much gave me a straight tip on who to +see--someone who had visited at his home. Odd way to get it, eh? But I +got a lot out of those boys. Rather miss them, you know." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at him. + +"Been brushing up on my dancing, too," goes on Stanley. "And say, if +there's still a vacancy in that dinner dance club I think Marge and I +would like to go in." + +"But I thought you said you didn't dance any more?" says I. + +"I didn't think I could," says Stanley, "until Dot got me at it again +the other night. Why, do you know, she quite encouraged me. She +said----" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "I know. She said, 'Oh, I think you're a wonderful +dancer, simp-ly won-n-n-n-derful!' Didn't she now?" + +First off Stanley stiffens up like he was goin' to be peeved. But then +he remembers and lets out chuckle. "Yes," says he, "I believe those were +her exact words. Perhaps she was right, too. And if I have such an +unsuspected talent as that shouldn't I exercise it occasionally? I leave +it to you." + +"You've said it, Stanley," says I. "And after all, I guess you're goin' +to be a help. You had a narrow call, though." + +"From what?" asks Stanley. + +"Premature old age," says I, givin' him the friendly grin. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRTY-ONE + + +If I knew how, you ought to be worked up to the proper pitch for this +scene. You know--lights dimmed, throbby music from the bull fiddle and +kettle drums, and the ushers seatin' nobody durin' the act. Belasco +stuff. The stage showin' the private office of the Corrugated Trust. +It's a case of the big four in solemn conclave. + +Maybe you can guess the other three. Uh-huh! Old Hickory Ellins, Mr. +Robert, and Piddie. I forget just what important problem we was +settlin'. But it must have been something weighty and serious. Millions +at stake, most likely. Thousands anyway. Or it might have been when we +should start the Saturday half-holidays. + +All I remember is that we was grouped around the big mahogany desk; Old +Hickory in the middle chewin' away at the last three inches of a +Cassadora; Mr. Robert at right center, studyin' the documents in the +case; Piddie standin' respectful at his side weavin' his fingers in and +out nervous; and me balanced on the edge of the desk at the left, one +shoe toe on the floor, the other foot wavin' easy and graceful. Cool +and calm, that's me. But not sayin' a word. Nobody was. We'd had our +turn. It was up to Old Hickory to give the final decision. We was +waitin', almost breathless. He'd let out a grunt or two, cleared his +throat, and was about to open in his usual style when-- + +Cr-r-rash! Bumpety-bump! + +Not that this describes it adequate. If I had a mouth that could imitate +the smashin' of a 4x6 foot plate glass window I'd be on my way out to +stampede the national convention for some favorite son. For that's +exactly what happens. One of them big panes through which Old Hickory +can view the whole southern half of Manhattan Island, not to mention +part of New Jersey, has been shattered as neat as if someone had thrown +a hammer through it. And havin' that occur not more'n ten feet from your +right ear is some test of nerves, I'll say. I didn't even fall off the +desk. All Old Hickory does is set his teeth into the cigar a little +firmer and roll his eyes over one shoulder. Piddie's the only one who +shows signs of shell shock. When he finally lets out a breath it's like +openin' a bottle of home brew to see if the yeast cake is gettin' in its +work. + +The bumpety-bump noise comes from something white that follows the crash +and rolls along the floor toward the desk. Naturally I makes a grab for +it. + +"Don't!" gasps Piddie. "It--it might be a bomb." + +"Yes," says I, "it might. But it looks to me more like a golf ball." + +"What?" says Old Hickory. "Golf ball! How could it be?" + +"I don't know, sir," says I, modest as usual. + +"Let's see," says he. I hands it over. He takes a glance at it and +snorts out: "Impossible, but quite true. It is a golf ball. A Spalldop +31." + +"You're right, Governor," says Mr. Robert. "That's just what it is." + +Piddie takes a cautious squint and nods his head. So we made it +unanimous. + +"But I don't quite see, sir," goes on Piddie, "how a----" + +"Don't you?" breaks in Old Hickory. "Well, that's strange. Neither do +I." + +"Might it not, sir," adds Piddie, "have been dropped from an airplane?" + +"Dropped how?" demands Old Hickory. "Sideways? The law of gravity +doesn't work that way. At least, it didn't when I met it last." + +"Certainly!" says Piddie. "I had not thought of that. It couldn't have +been dropped. Then it must have been driven by some careless golfer." + +He's some grand little suggester, Piddie is. Old Hickory glares at him +and snorts. "An amazingly careless golfer," he adds, "considering that +the nearest course is in Englewood, N. J., fully six miles away. No, Mr. +Piddie, I fear that even Jim Barnes at his best, relayed by Gil Nichols +and Walter Hagen, couldn't have made that drive." + +"They--they never use a--a rifle for such purposes, do they?" asks +Piddie. + +"Not in the best sporting circles," says Old Hickory. + +"I suppose," puts in Mr. Robert, "that some golf enthusiast might have +taken it into his head to practice a shot from somewhere in the +neighborhood." + +"That's logical," admits Old Hickory, "but from where did he shoot? We +are nineteen stories above the sidewalk, remember. I never saw a player +who could loft a ball to that height." + +Which gives me an idea. "What if it was some golf nut who'd gone out on +a roof?" I asks. + +"Thank you, Torchy," says Old Hickory. "From a roof, of course. I should +have made that deduction myself within the next half hour. The fellow +must be swinging away on the top of some nearby building. Let's see if +we can locate him." + +Nobody could, though. Plenty of roofs in sight, from five to ten stories +lower than the Corrugated buildin', but no mashie maniac in evidence. +And while they're scoutin' around I takes another squint at the ball. + +"Say, Mr. Ellins," I calls out, "if it was shot from a roof how do you +dope out this grass stain on it?" + +"Eh?" says Old Hickory. "Grass stain! Must be an old one. No, by the +green turban of Hafiz, it's perfectly fresh! Even a bit of moist earth +where the fellow took a divot. Young man, that knocks out your roof +practice theory. Now how in the name of the Secret Seven could this +happen? The nearest turf is in the park, across Broadway. But no golfer +would be reckless enough to try out a shot from there. Besides, this +came from a southerly direction. Well, son, what have you to offer?" + +"Me?" says I, stallin' around a bit and lookin' surprised. "Oh, I +didn't know I'd been assigned to the case of the mysterious golf ball." + +"You have," says Old Hickory. "You seem to be so clever in deducing +things and the rest of us so stupid. Here take another look at the ball. +I presume that if you had a magnifying glass you could tell where it +came from and what the man looked like who hit it. Eh?" + +"Oh, sure!" says I, grinnin'. "That is, in an hour or so." + +That's the only way to get along with Old Hickory; when he starts +kiddin' you shoot the josh right back at him. I lets on to be examinin' +the ball careful. + +"I expect you didn't notice the marks on it?" says I. + +"Where?" says he, gettin' out his glasses. "Oh, yes! The fellow has +used an indelible pencil to put his initials on it. I often do that +myself, so the caddies can't sell me my own balls. He's made 'em rather +faint, but I can make out the letters. H. A. And to be sure, he's put +'em on twice." + +"Yes," says I, "they might be initials, and then again they might be +meant to spell out something. My guess would be 'Ha, ha!'" + +"What!" says Old Hickory. "By the Sizzling Sisters, you're right! A +message! But from whom?" + +"Why not from Minnie?" I asks winkin' at Mr. Robert. + +"Minnie who?" demands Old Hickory. + +"Why, from Minnehaha?" says I, and I can hear Piddie gasp at my pullin' +anything like that on the president of the Corrugated Trust. + +Old Hickory must have heard him, too, for he shrugs his shoulders and +remarks to Piddie solemn: "Even brilliant intellects have their dull +spots, you see. But wait. Presently this spasm of third rate comedy will +pass and he will evolve some apt conclusion. He will tell us who sent me +a Ha, ha! message on a golf ball, and why. Eh, Torchy?" + +"Guess I'll have to sir," says I. "How much time off do I get, a couple +of hours?" + +"The whole afternoon, if you'll solve the mystery," says he. "I am going +out to luncheon now. When I come back----" + +"That ought to be time enough," says I. + +Course nine-tenths of that was pure bluff. All I had mapped out then was +just a hunch for startin' to work. When they'd all left the private +office I wanders over for another look from the punctured window. The +lower sash had been pushed half-way up when the golf ball hit it, and the +shade had been pulled about two-thirds down. It was while I was runnin' +the shade clear to the top that I discovers this square of red cardboard +hung in the middle of the top sash. + +"Hah!" says I. "Had the window marked, did he?" + +Simple enough to see that a trick of that kind called for an inside +confederate. Who? Next minute I'm dashin' out to catch Tony, who runs +express elevator No. 3. + +"Were the window washers at work on our floor this mornin'?" says I. + +"Sure!" says Tony, "What you miss?" + +"It was a case of direct hit," says I. "Where are they now?" + +"On twenty-two," says Tony. + +"I'll ride up with you," says I. + +And three minutes later I've corralled a Greek glass polisher who's +eatin' his bread and sausage at the end of one of the corridors. + +"You lobster!" says I. "Why didn't you hang that blue card in the right +window?" + +"Red card!" he protests, sputterin' crumbs. "I hang him right, me." + +"Oh, very well," says I, displayin' half a dollar temptin'. "Then you +got some more comin' to you, haven't you?" + +He nods eager and holds out his hand. + +"Just a minute," says I, "until I'm sure you're the right one. What was +the party's name who gave you the job?" + +"No can say him name," says the Greek. "He just tell me hang card and +give me dollar." + +"I see," says I. "A tall, thin man with red whiskers, eh?" + +"No, no!" says he. "Short thick ol' guy, fat in middle, no whiskers." + +"Correct so far," says I. "And if you can tell where he hangs out----" + +"That's all," says the Greek. "Gimme half dollar." + +"You win," says I, tossin' it to him. + +But that's makin' fair progress for the first five minutes, eh? So far I +knew that a smooth faced, poddy party had shot a golf ball with "Ha, +ha!" written on it into Old Hickory's private office. Must have been +done deliberate, too, for he'd taken pains to have the window marked +plain for him with the red card. And at that it was some shot, I'll say. +Couldn't have come from the street, on account of the distance. Then +there was the grass stain. Grass? Now where---- + +By this time I'm leanin' out over the sill down at the roofs of the +adjoinin' buildings. And after I'd stretched my neck for a while I +happens to look directly underneath. There it was. Uh-huh. A little +green square of lawn alongside the janitor's roof quarters. You know +you'll find 'em here and there on office building roofs, even down in +Wall Street. And this being right next door and six or seven stories +below had been so close that we'd overlooked it at first. + +So now I knew what he looked like, and where he stood. But who was he, +and what was the grand idea? It don't take me long to chase down to the +ground floor and into the next building. And, of course, I tackles the +elevator starter. They're the wise boys. Always. I don't know why it is, +but you'll generally find that the most important lookin' and actin' +bird around a big buildin' is the starter. And what he don't know about +the tenants and their business ain't worth findin' out. + +On my way through the arcade I'd stopped at the cigar counter and +invested in a couple of Fumadoras with fancy bands on 'em. Tuckin' the +smokes casual into the starter's outside coat pocket I establishes +friendly relations almost from the start. + +"Well, son," says he, "is it the natural blond on the seventh, or the +brunette vamp who pounds keys on the third that you want to meet?" + +"Ah, come, Captain!" says I. "Do I look like a Gladys-hound? Nay, nay! +I'm simply takin' a sport census." + +"Eh!" says he. "That's a new one on me." + +"Got any golf bugs in your buildin', Cap?" I goes on. + +"Any?" says he. "Nothing but. Say, you'll see more shiny hardware lugged +out of here on a Saturday than----" + +"But did you notice any being lugged in today?" I breaks in. + +"No," says he. "It's a little early for 'em to start the season, and too +near the first of the week. Don't remember a single bag goin' in today." + +"Nor a club, either?" I asks. + +He takes off his cap and rubs his right ear. Seems to help, too. "Oh, +yes," says he. "I remember now. There was an old boy carried one in +along about 10 o'clock. A new one that he'd just bought, I expect." + +"Sort of a poddy, heavy set old party with a smooth face?" I suggests. + +"That was him," says the starter. "He's a reg'lar fiend at it. But, +then, he can afford to be. Owns a half interest in the buildin', I +understand." + +"Must be on good terms with the janitor, then," says I. "He could +practice swings on the roof if he felt like it, I expect." + +"You've said it," says the starter. "He could do about what he likes +around this buildin', Mr. Dowd could." + +"Eh?" says I. "The Hon. Matt?" + +"Good guess!" says the starter. "You must know him." + +"Rather," says I. "Him and my boss are old chums. Golf cronies, too. +Thanks. I guess that'll be all." + +"But how about that sport census?" asks the starter. + +"It's finished," says I, makin' a quick exit. + +And by the time I'm back in the private office once more I've untangled +all the essential points. Why, it was only two or three days ago that +the Hon. Matt broke in on Old Hickory and gave him an earful about his +latest discovery in the golf line. I'd heard part of it, too, while I +was stickin' around waitin' to edge in with some papers for Mr. Ellins +to sign. + +Now what was the big argument? Say, I'll be driven to take up this +Hoot-Mon pastime myself some of these days. Got to if I want to keep in +the swim. It was about some particular club Dowd claimed he had just +learned how to play. A mashie-niblick, that was it. Said it was revealed +to him in a dream--something about gripping with the left hand so the +knuckles showed on top, and taking the turf after he'd hit the ball. +That gave him a wonderful loft and a back-spin. + +And I remember how Old Hickory, who was more or less busy at the time, +had tried to shunt him off. "Go on, you old fossil," he told him. "You +never could play a mashie-niblick, and I'll bet twenty-five you can't +now. You always top 'em. Couldn't loft over a bow-legged turtle, much +less a six foot bunker. Yes, it's a bet. Twenty-five even. But you'll +have to prove it, Matt." + +And Mr. Dowd, chucklin' easy to himself, had allowed how he would. "To +your complete satisfaction, Ellins," says he, "or no money passes. And +within the week." + +As I takes another look down at the little grass plot on the roof I has +to admit that the Hon. Matt knew what he was talkin' about. He sure had +turned the trick. Kind of clever of him, too, havin' the window marked +and all that. And puttin' the "Ha, ha!" message on the ball. + +I was still over by the window, sort of smilin' to myself, when Old +Hickory walks in, havin' concluded to absorb only a sandwich and a glass +of milk at the arcade cafeteria instead of goin' to his club. + +"Well, young man," says he. "Have you any more wise deductions to +submit?" + +"I've got all the dope, if that's what you mean, sir," says I. + +"Eh?" says he. "Not who and what and why?" + +I nods easy. + +"I don't believe it, son," says he. "It's uncanny. To begin with, who +was the man?" + +"Don't you remember havin' a debate not long ago with someone who +claimed he could pull some wonderful stunt with a mashie-niblick?" says +I. + +"Why," says Old Hickory, "with no one but Dowd." + +"You bet him he couldn't, didn't you?" I asks. + +"Certainly," says he. + +"Well, he can," says I. "And he has." + +"Wha-a-at!" gasps Old Hickory. + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "It was him that shot in the ball with the Ha, ha! +message on it." + +"But--but from where?" he demands. + +"Look!" says I, leadin' him to the window. + +"The old sinner!" says Mr. Ellins. "Why, that must be nearly one hundred +feet, and almost straight up! Some shot! I didn't think it was in him. +Hagen could do no better. And think of putting it through a window. +That's accuracy for you. Say, if he can do that in a game I shall be +proud to know him. Anyway, I shall not regret handing over that +twenty-five." + +"It'll cost him nearly that to set another pane of plate glass," I +suggests. + +"No, Torchy, no," says Old Hickory, wavin' his hand. "Any person who can +show such marksmanship with a golf ball is quite welcome to---- Ah, just +answer that 'phone call, will you, son?" + +So I steps over and takes down the receiver. "It's the buildin' +superintendent," says I "He wants to speak to you, sir." + +"See what he wants," says Old Hickory + +And I expect I was grinnin' some when I turns around after gettin' the +message. "He says somebody has been shootin' golf balls at the south +side of the buildin' all the forenoon," says I, "and that seventeen +panes of glass have, been smashed. He wants to know what he shall do." + +"Do?" says Old Hickory. "Tell him to send for a glazier." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +NO LUCK WITH AUNTIE + + +Well, I expect I've gone and done it again. Queered myself with Auntie. +Vee's, of course. You'd most think I'd know how to handle the old girl +by this time, for we've been rubbin' elbows, as you might say, for quite +a few years now. But somehow we seldom hit it off just right. + +Not that I don't try. Say, one of the big ambitions of my young life has +been to do something that would please Auntie so much that no matter +what breaks I made later on she'd be bound to remember it. Up to date, +though, I haven't pulled anything of the kind. No. In fact, just the +reverse. + +I've often wished there was some bureau I could go to and get the +correct dope on managin' an in-law aunt with a hair-trigger disposition. +Like the Department of Agriculture. You know if it was boll-weevils, or +cattle tick, or black rust, all I'd have to do would be to drop a +postcard to Washington and in a month or so I'd have all kinds of +pamphlets, with colored plates and diagrams, tellin' me just what to do. +But balky aunts on your wife's side seem to have been overlooked. + +Somebody ought to write a book on the subject. You can get 'em that will +tell you how to play bridge, or golf, or read palms, or raise chickens, +or bring up babies. But nothin' on aunts who give you the cold eye and +work up suspicions. And it's more or less important, 'specially if +they're will-makin' aunts, with something to make wills about. + +Not that I'm any legacy hound. She can do what she wants with her money, +for all of me. Course, there's Vee to be considered. I wouldn't want to +think, when the time comes, if it ever does, that her Auntie is with us +no more, that it was on account of something I'd said or done that the +Society for the Suppression of Jazz Orchestras was handed an unexpected +bale of securities instead of the same being put where Vee could cash in +on the coupons. Also there's Master Richard Hemmingway. I want to be +able to look sonny in the face, years from now, without having to +explain that if I'd been a little more diplomatic towards his mother's +female relations he might he startin' for college on an income of his +own instead of havin' to depend on my financin' his football career. + +Besides, our family is so small that it seems to me the least I can do +to be on good terms with all of 'em. 'Specially I'd like to please +Auntie now and then just for the sake of--well, I don't go so far as to +say I could be fond of Auntie for herself alone, but you know what I +mean. It's the proper thing. + +At the same time, I wouldn't want to seem to be overdoin' the act. No. +So when it's a question of whether Auntie should be allowed to settle +down for the spring in an apartment hotel in town, or be urged to stop +with us until Bar Harbor opened for the season, I was all for the +modest, retirin' stuff. + +"She might think she had to come if she was asked," I suggests to Vee. +"And if she turned us down we'd have to look disappointed and that might +make her feel bad." + +"I hadn't considered that, Torchy," says Vee. "How thoughtful of you!" + +"Oh, not at all," says I, wavin' my hand careless. "I simply want to do +what is best for Auntie. Besides, you know how sort of uneasy she is in +the country, with so little going on. And later, if we can persuade her +to make us a little visit, for over night maybe, why----" I shrugs my +shoulders enthusiastic. Anyway, that's what I tried to register. + +It went with Vee, all right. One of the last things she does is to get +suspicious of my moves. And that's a great help. So we agrees to let +Auntie enjoy her four rooms and bath on East Sixty-umpt Street without +tryin' to drag her out on Long Island where she might be annoyed by the +robins singin' too early in the mornin' or havin' the scent of lilacs +driftin' too heavy into the windows. + +"Besides," I adds, just to clinch the case, "if she stays in town she +won't be bothered by Buddy barkin' around, and she won't have to worry +about how we're bringin' up 'Ikky boy. Yep. It's the best thing for +her." + +If Auntie had been in on the argument I expect she'd differed with me. +She generally does. It's almost a habit with her. But not being present +maybe she had a hunch herself that she'd like the city better. Anyway, +that's where she camps down, only runnin' out once or twice for +luncheon, while I'm at the office, and havin' nice little chatty visits +with Vee over the long distance. + +Honest, I can enjoy an Auntie who does her droppin' in by 'phone. I +almost got so fond of her that I was on the point of suggestin' to Vee +that she tell Auntie to reverse the charges. No, I didn't quite go that +far. I'd hate to have her think I was gettin' slushy or sentimental. But +it sure was comfortin', when I came home after a busy day at the +Corrugated Trust, to reflect that Auntie was settled nice and cozy on +the ninth floor about twenty-five miles due west from us. + +I should have knocked on wood, though. Uh-huh. Or kept my fingers +crossed, or something. For here the other night, as I strolls up from +the station I spots an express truck movin' on ahead in the general +direction of our house. I felt kind of a sinkin' sensation the minute I +saw that truck. I can't say why. Psychic, I expect. You know. Ouija +stuff. + +And sure enough, the blamed truck turns into our driveway. By the time +I arrives the man has just unloaded two wardrobe trunks and a hat box. +And in the livin' room I finds Auntie. + +"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Why, I--I thought you was----" + +"How cordial!" says Auntie. + +"Yes," says I, catchin' my breath quick. "Isn't it perfectly bully that +you could come? We was afraid you'd be havin' such a good time in town +that we couldn't----" + +"And so I was, until last night," says Auntie. "Verona, will tell you +all about it, I've no doubt." + +Oh yes, Vee does. She unloads it durin' a little stroll we took out +towards the garden. New York hadn't been behavin' well towards Auntie. +Not at all well. Just got on one of its cantankerous streaks. First off +there was a waiters' strike on the roof-garden restaurant where most of +the tenants took their dinners. It happened between soup and fish. In +fact, the fish never got there at all. Nor the roast, nor the rest of +the meal. And the head waiter and the house manager had a +rough-and-tumble scrap right in plain sight of everybody and some +perfectly awful language was used. Also the striking waiters marched out +in a body and shouted things at the manager as they went. So Auntie had +to put on her things and call a taxi and drive eight blocks before she +could finish her dinner. + +Then about 9 o'clock, as she was settling down for a quiet evening in +her rooms, New York pulled another playful little stunt on her. Nothing +unusual. A leaky gas main and a poorly insulated electric light cable +made connection with the well-known results. For half a mile up and down +the avenue that Auntie's apartment faced on the manhole covers were +blown off. They go off with a roar and a bang, you know. One of 'em +sailed neatly up within ten feet of Auntie's back hair, crashed through +the window of the apartment just above her and landed on the floor so +impetuous that about a yard of plaster came rattlin' down on Auntie's +head. Some fell in her lap and some went down the back of her neck. + +All of which was more or less disturbin' to an old girl who was tryin' +to read Amy Lowell's poems and had had her nerves jarred only a couple +of hours before. However, she came out of it noble, with the aid of her +smellin' salts and the assurance of the manager that it wouldn't happen +again. Not that same evenin', anyway. He was almost positive it +wouldn't. At least, it seldom did. + +But being in on a strike, and a free-for-all fight, and a conduit +explosion hadn't prepared Auntie to hit the feathers early. So at 1:30 +A. M. she was still wide awake and wanderin' around in her nightie with +the shades up and the lights out. That's how she happened to be +stretchin' her neck out of the window when this offensive broke loose +on the roof of the buildin' across the way. + +Auntie was just wondering why those two men were skylarking around on +the roof so late at night when two more popped out of skylights and +began to bang away at them with revolvers. Then the first two started to +shoot back, and the first thing Auntie knew there was a crash right over +her head where a stray bullet had wandered through the upper pane. Upon +which Auntie screamed and fainted. Of course, she had read about loft +robbers, but she hadn't seen 'em in action. And she didn't want to see +'em at such close range any more. Not her. She'd had enough, thank you. +So when she came to from her faintin' spell she begun packin' her +trunks. After breakfast she'd called Vee on the 'phone, sketched out +some of her troubles, and been invited to come straight to Harbor Hills. + +"It was the only thing to be done," says Vee. + +"Well, maybe," says I. "Course, she might have tried another apartment +hotel. They don't all have strikes and explosions and burglar hunts +goin' on. Not every night. She might have taken a chance or one or two +more." + +"But with her nerves all upset like that," protests Vee, "I don't see +why she should, when here we are with----" + +"Yes, I expect there was no dodgin' it," I agrees. + +At dinner Auntie is still sort of jumpy but she says it's a great +satisfaction to know that she is out here in the calm, peaceful country. +"It's dull, of course," she goes on, "but at the same time it is all so +restful and soothing. One knows that nothing whatever is going to +happen." + +"Ye-e-es," says I, draggy. "And yet, you can't always tell." + +"Can't always tell what?" demands Auntie. + +"About things not happenin' out here," says I. + +"But, Torchy," says Vee, "what could possibly happen here; that is, like +those things in town?" + +I shrugs my shoulders and shakes my head. + +"How absurd!" says Vee. + +Auntie gives me one of them cold storage looks of hers. "I have usually +noticed," says she, "that things do not happen of themselves. Usually +some one is responsible for their happening." + +What she meant by that I couldn't quite make out. Oh yes, takin' a +little rap at me, no doubt. But just how or what for I passed up. I +might have forgotten it altogether if she hadn't reminded me now and +then by favorin' me with a suspicious glare, the kind one of Mr. +Palmer's agents might give to a party in a checked suit steppin' off the +train from Montreal with something bulgin' on the hip. + +So it was kind of unfortunate that when Vee suddenly remembers the +Airedale pup and asks where he is that I should say just what I did. +"Buddy?" says I. "Oh, he's all right. I shut him up myself." + +It was a fact. I had. And I'd meant well by it. For that's one of the +things we have to look out for when Auntie's visitin' us, to keep Buddy +away from her. Not that there's anything vicious about Buddy. Not at +all. But being only a year old and full of pep and affection, and not at +all discriminatin', he's apt to be a bit boisterous in welcomin' +visitors; and while some folks don't mind havin' fifty pounds of dog +bounce at 'em sudden, or bein' clawed, or havin' their faces licked by a +moist pink tongue, Auntie ain't one of that kind. She gets petrified and +squeals for help and insists that the brute is trying to eat her up. + +So as soon as I'd come home and had my usual rough-house session with +Buddy, I leads him upstairs and carefully parks him in the south bedroom +over the kitchen wing. Being thoughtful and considerate, I call that. +Not to Buddy maybe, who's used to spendin' the dinner hour with his nose +just inside the dinin' room door; but to Auntie, anyway. + +Which is why I'm so surprised, along about 9 o'clock when Auntie has +made an early start for a good night's rest, to hear these loud hostile +woofs comin' from him and then these blood curdlin' screams. + +"For the love of Mike!" I gasps. "Where did you put Auntie?" + +"Why, in the south bedroom this time," says Vee. + +"Hal-lup!" says I. "That's where I put Buddy." + +It was a race then up the stairs, with me tryin' to protest on the jump +that I didn't know Vee had decided to shift Auntie from the reg'lar +guest room to this one. + +"Surely you didn't," admits Vee. "But I thought the south room would be +so much sunnier and more cheerful. I--I'll explain to Auntie." + +"It can't be done," says I. "Stop it, Buddy! All right, boy. It's +perfectly all right." + +Buddy don't believe it, though, until I've opened the door and switched +on the light. Young as he is he's right up on the watch-dog act and when +strangers come prowlin' around in the dark that's his cue for goin' into +action. He has cornered Auntie scientific and while turnin' in a general +alarm he has improved the time by tearin' mouthfuls out of her dress. At +that, too, it's lucky he hadn't begun to take mouthfuls out of Auntie. + +As for the old girl, she's so scared she can't talk and so mad she can +hardly see. She stands there limp in a tattered skirt with some of her +gray store hair that has slipped its moorin's restin' jaunty over one +ear and her eyes blazin' hostile. + +"Oh, Auntie!" begins Vee. "It was all my----" + +"Not a word, Verona," snaps Auntie. "I know perfectly well who is +responsible for this--this outrage." With that she glares at me. + +Course, we both tells her just how the mistake was made, over and over, +but it don't register. + +"Humph!" says she at last. "If I didn't remember a warning I had at +dinner perhaps I might think as you do, Verona. But I trust that nothing +else has been--er--arranged for my benefit." + +"That's generous, anyway," says I, indulgin' in a sarcastic smile. + +It's an hour before Auntie's nerves are soothed down enough for her to +make another stab at enjoyin' a peaceful night. Even then she demands to +know what that throbbin' noise is that she hears. + +"Oh, that?" says I. "Only the cistern pump fillin' up the rain water +tank in the attic. That'll quit soon. Automatic shut-off, you know." + +"Verona," she goes on, ignorin' me, "you are certain it is quite all +right, are you?" + +"Oh, yes," says Vee. "It's one we had put in only last week. Runs by +electricity, or some thing. Anyway, the plumber explained to Torchy just +how it works. He knows all about it, don't you, Torchy?" + +"Uh-huh," says I, careless. + +I did, too. The plumber had sketched out the workin's of the thing +elaborate to me, but I didn't see the need of spendin' the rest of the +night passin' an examination in the subject. Besides, a few of the +details I was a little vague about. + +"Very well, then," says Auntie. And she consents to make one more stab +at retirin'. + +I couldn't help sighin' relieved when we heard her door shut. "Now if +the roosters don't start crowin'," says I, "or a tornado don't hit us, +or an earthquake break loose, all will be well. But if any of them +things do happen, I'll be blamed." + +"Nonsense," says Vee. "Auntie is going to have a nice, quiet, restful +night and in the morning she will be herself again." + +"Here's hoping," says I. + +And if it's good evidence I'd like to submit the fact that within' five +minutes after I'd rolled into my humble little white iron cot out on the +sleepin' porch I was dead to the world. Could I have done that if I'd +had on my mind a fiendish plot against the peace and safety of the only +real aunt we have in the fam'ly? I ask you. + +Seemed like I'd been asleep for hours and hours, and I believe I was +dreamin' that I was being serenaded by a drum corps and that the bass +drummer was mistakin' me for the drum and thumpin' me on the ribs, when +I woke up and found Vee proddin' me from the next cot. + +"Torchy!" she's sayin'. "Is that rain?" + +"Eh?" says I. "No, that's the drum corps." + +"What?" says she. "Don't be silly. It sounds like rain." + +"Rain nothing," says I, rubbin' my eyes open. "Why, the moon's shining +and--but, it does sound like water drippin'." + +"Drippin!" says Vee. "It's just pouring down somewhere. But where, +Torchy?" + +"Give it up," says I. "That is, unless it could be that blessed +tank----" + +"That's it!" says Vee. "The tank! But--but just where is it?" + +"Why," says I, "it's in the attic over--over--Oh, goodnight!" I groans. + +"Well?" demands Vee. "Over what?" + +"Over the south bedroom," says I. "Quick! Rescue expedition No. 2. +Auntie again!" + +It was Auntie. Although she was clear at the other end of the house from +us we heard her moanin' and takin' on even before we got the hall door +open. And, of course, we made another mad dash. Once more I pushes the +switch button and reveals Auntie in a new plight. Some situation, I'll +say, too. Uh-huh! + +You see, there's an unfinished space over the kitchen well and the +plumber had located this hundred-gallon tank in the middle of it. As it +so happens the tank is right over the bed. Well, naturally when the fool +automatic shut-off fails to work and the overflow pipe is taxed beyond +its capacity, the surplus water has to go somewhere. It leaks through +the floorin', trickles down between the laths and through the plaster, +and some of it finds its way along the beams and under the eaves until +it splashes down on the roof of the pantry extension. That's what we'd +heard. But the rest had poured straight down on Auntie. + +Being in a strange room and so confused to wake up and find herself +treated to a shower bath that she hadn't ordered, Auntie couldn't locate +the light button. All she could remember was that in unpackin' she'd +stood an umbrella near the head of the bed. So with great presence of +mind she's reached out and grabbed that, unfurled it, and is sittin' +there damp and wailin' in a nice little pool of water that's risin' +every minute. She's just as cosy as a settin' hen caught in a flood and +is wearin' about the same contented expression, I judge. + +"Why, Auntie, how absurd!" says Vee. + +It wasn't just the right thing to say. Natural enough, I'll admit, but +hardly the remark to spill at that precise moment. I could see the +explosion coming, so after one more look I smothers a chuckle on my own +account and beats it towards the cellar where that blamed pump is still +chuggin' away merry and industrious. By turnin' off all the switches and +handles in sight I manages to induce the fool thing to quit. Then I +sneaks back upstairs, puts on a bathrobe and knocks timid on the door of +the reg'lar guest room from which I hears sounds of earnest voices. + +"Can I help any?" says I. + +"No, no!" calls out Vee. "You--you'd best go away, Torchy." + +She's generally right, Vee is. I went. I took a casual look at the +flooded kitchen with an inch or more of water on the linoleum, and +concluded to leave that problem to the help when they showed up in the +mornin'. And I don't know how long Vee spent in tryin' to convince +Auntie that I hadn't personally climbed into the attic, bugged the pump, +and bored holes through the ceilin'. As I couldn't go on the stand in my +own defense I did the next best thing. I finished out my sleep. + +In the mornin' I got the verdict. "Auntie's going back to town," says +Vee. "She thinks, after all, that it will be more restful there." + +"It will be for me, anyway," says I. + +I don't know how Vee and Master Richard still stand with Auntie. They +may be in the will yet, or they may not. As for Buddy and me, I'll bet +we're out. Absolutely. But we can grin, even at that. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +HARTLEY PULLS A NEW ONE + + +Looked like kind of a simple guy, this Hartley Tyler. I expect it was +the wide-set, sort of starey eyes, or maybe the stiff way he had of +holdin' his neck. If you'd asked me I'd said he might have qualified as +a rubber-stamp secretary in some insurance office, or as a tea-taster, +or as a subway ticket-chopper. + +Anyway, he wasn't one you'd look for any direct action from. Too mild +spoken and slow moving. And yet when he did cut loose with an original +motion he shoots the whole works on one roll of the bones. He'd come out +of the bond room one Saturday about closin' time and tip-toed hesitatin' +up to where Piddie and I was havin' a little confab on some important +business matter--such as whether the Corrugated ought to stand for the +new demands of the window cleaners, or cut the contract to twice a month +instead of once a week. Mr. Piddie would like to take things like that +straight to Old Hickory himself, but he don't quite dare, so he holds me +up and asks what I think Mr. Ellins would rule in such a case. I was +just giving him some josh or other when he notices Hartley standin' +there patient. + +"Well?" says Piddie, in his snappiest office-manager style. + +"Pardon me, sir," says Hartley, "but several weeks ago I put in a +request for an increase in salary, to take effect this month." + +"Oh, did you?" says Piddie, springin' that sarcastic smile of his. "Do I +understand that it was an ultimatum?" + +"Why--er--I hadn't thought of putting it in that form, sir," says +Hartley, blinkin' something like an owl that's been poked off his nest. + +"Then I may as well tell you, young man," says Piddie, "that it seems +inadvisable for us to grant your request at this time." + +Hartley indulges in a couple more blinks and then adds: "I trust that I +made it clear, Mr. Piddie, how important such an increase was to me?" + +"No doubt you did," says Piddie, "but you don't get it." + +"That is--er--final, is it?" asks Hartley. + +"Quite," says Piddie. "For the present you will continue at the same +salary." + +"I'll see you eternally cursed if I do," observes Hartley, without +changin' his tone a note. + +"Eh?" gasps Piddie. + +"Oh, go to thunder, you pin-head!" says Hartley, startin' back for the +bond room to collect his eye-shade, cuff protectors and other tools of +his trade. + +"You--you're discharged, young man!" Piddie gurgles out throaty. + +"Very well," Hartley throws over his shoulder. "Have it that way if you +like." + +Which is where I gets Piddie's goat still further on the rampage by +lettin' out a chuckle. + +"The young whipper-snapper!" growls Piddie. + +"Oh, all of that!" says I. "What you going to do besides fire him? +Couldn't have him indicted under the Lever act, could you?" + +Piddie just glares and stalks off. Having been called a pin-head by a +bond room cub he's in no mood to be kidded. So I follows in for a few +words with Hartley. You see, I could appreciate the situation even +better than Piddie, for I knew more of the facts in the case than he +did. For instance, I had happened to be in Old Hickory's private office +when old man Tyler, who's one of our directors, you know, had wished his +only son onto our bond room staff. + +He's kind of a rough old boy, Z. K. Tyler, one of the bottom-rungers who +likes to tell how he made his start as fry cook on an owl lunch wagon. +Course, now he has his Broad Street offices and is one of the big noises +on the Curb market. Operatin' in motor stocks is his specialty, and when +you hear of two or three concerns being merged and the minority holders +howlin' about being gypped, or any little deal like that, you can make a +safe bet that somewhere in the background is old Z. K. jugglin' the +wires and rakin' in the loose shekels. How he gets away with that stuff +without makin' the rock pile is by me, but he seems to do it reg'lar. + +And wouldn't you guess he'd be just the one to have finicky ideas as to +how his son and heir should conduct himself. Sure thing! I heard him +sketchin' some of 'em out to Old Hickory. + +"The trouble with most young fellows," says he, "is that they're brought +up too soft. Kick 'em out and let 'em rustle for themselves. That's what +I had to do. Made a man of me. Now take Hartley. He's twenty-five and +has had it easy all his life--city and country home, college, cars to +drive, servants to wait on him, and all that. What's it done for him? +Why, he has no more idea of how to make a dollar for himself than a +chicken has of stirring up an omelette. + +"Of course, I could take him in with me and show him the ropes, but he +couldn't learn anything worth while that way. He'd simply be a copy-cat. +He'd develop no originality. Besides, I'd rather see him in some other +line. You understand, Ellins? Something a little more substantial. Got +to find it for himself, though. He's got to make good on his own hook +before I'll help him any more. So out he goes. + +"Ought to have a year or so to pick up the elements of business, though. +So let's find a place for him here in the Corrugated. No snap job. I +want him to earn every dollar he gets, and to live off what he earns. Do +him good. Maybe it'll knock some of the fool notions out of his head. +Oh, he's got 'em. Say, you couldn't guess what fool idea he came back +from college with. Thought he wanted to be a painter. Uh-huh! An artist! +Asked me to set him up in a studio. All because him and a room mate had +been daubin' some brushes with oil paints at a summer school they went +to during a couple of vacations. Seems a long-haired instructor had been +telling Hartley what great talent he had. Huh! I soon cured him of that. +'Go right to it, son,' says I. 'Paint something you can sell for five +hundred and I'll cover it with a thousand. Until then, not a red cent.' +And inside of twenty-four hours he concluded he wasn't any budding +Whistler or Sargent, and came asking what I thought he should tackle +first. Eh? Think you could place him somewhere?" + +So Old Hickory merely shrugs his shoulders and presses the button for +Piddie. I expect he hears a similar tale about once a month and as a +rule he comes across with a job for sonny boy. 'Specially when it's a +director that does the askin'. Now and then, too, one of 'em turns out +to be quite a help, and if they're utterly useless he can always depend +on Piddie to find it out and give 'em the quick chuck. + +As a rule this swift release don't mean much to the Harolds and Perceys +except a welcome vacation while the old man pries open another side +entrance in the house of Opportunity, Ltd., which fact Piddie is wise +to. But in this ease it's a different proposition. + +"Did you mean it, Tyler, handin' yourself the fresh air that way!" I +asks him. + +"Absolutely," says he, snappin' some rubber bands around, a neat little +bundle. + +"Who'd have thought you was a self starter!" says I. "What you going to +do now?" + +He hunches his shoulders. "Don't know," says he. "I must find something +mighty quick, though." + +"Oh, it can't be as desperate a case as that, can if?" I asks. "You know +you'll get two weeks' pay and with that any single-footed young hick +like you ought to----" + +"But it happens I'm not single-footed," breaks in Hartley. + +"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean you've gone and----" + +"Nearly a month ago," says Hartley. "Nicest little girl in the world, +too. You must have noticed her. She was on the candy counter in the +arcade for a month or so." + +"What!" says I. "The one with the honey-colored hair and the bashful +behavin' eyes?" + +Hartley nods and blushes. + +"Say, you are a fast worker when you get going, ain't you?" says I. +"Picked a Cutie-Sweet right away from all that opposition. But I judge +she's no heiress." + +"Edith is just as poor as I am," admits Hartley. + +"How about your old man?" I goes on. "What did Z. K. have to say when he +heard!" + +"Suppose'we don't go into that," says Hartley. "As a matter of fact, I +hung up the 'phone just as he was getting his second wind." + +"Then he didn't pull the 'bless you, my children,' stuff, eh?" I +suggests. + +"No," says Hartley, grinnin'. "Quite the contrary. Anyway, I knew what +to expect from him. But say, Torchy, I did have a pretty vague notion of +what it costs to run a family these days." + +"Don't you read the newspapers?" says I. + +"Oh, I suppose I had glanced at the headlines," says Hartley. "And of +course I knew that restaurant prices had gone up, and laundry charges, +and cigarettes and so. But I hadn't shopped for ladies' silk hose, or +for shoes, or--er--robes de nuit, or that sort of thing. And I hadn't +tried to hire a three-room furnished apartment. Honest, it's something +awful." + +"Yes, I've heard something like that for quite a spell now," says I. +"Found that your little hundred and fifty a month wouldn't go very far, +did you?" + +"Far!" says Hartley. "Why, it was like taking a one-gallon freezer of +ice cream to a Sunday school picnic. Really, it seemed as if there were +a thousand hands reaching out for my pay envelope the moment I got it. +I don't understand how young married couples get along at all." + +"If you did," says I, "you'd have a steady job explainin' the miracle to +about 'steen different Congressional committees. How about Edith? Is she +a help--or otherwise?" + +"She's a good sport, Edith is," says Hartley. "She keeps me bucked up a +lot. It was her decision that I just passed on to Mr. Piddie. We talked +it all out last night; how impossible it was to live on my present +salary, and what I should say if it wasn't raised. That is, all but the +crude way I put it, and the pin-head part. We agreed, though, that I had +to make a break, and that it might as well be now as later on." + +"Well, you've made it," says I. "What now?" + +"We've got to think that out," says Hartley. + +"The best of luck to you," says I, as he starts toward the elevator. + +And with that Hartley drops out. You know how it is here in New York. If +you don't come in on the same train with people you know, or they work +in different buildin's, or patronize some other lunch room, the chances +of your seein' 'em more 'n once in six months are about as good as +though they'd moved to St. Louis or Santa Fe. + +I expect I was curious about what was goin' to happen to Hartley and his +candy counter bride, maybe for two or three days. But it must have been +as many weeks before I even heard his name mentioned. That was when old +Z. K. blew into the private office one day and, after a half hour of +business chat, remarks to Old Hickory; "By the way, Ellins, how is that +son of mine getting on?" + +"Eh?" says Old Hickory, starin' at him blank. "Son of yours with us? I'd +forgotten. Let's see. Torchy, in what department is young Tyler now?" + +"Hartley?" says I. "Oh, he quit weeks ago." + +"Quit?" says Z. K. "Do you mean he was fired?" + +"A little of both," says I. "Him and Mr. Piddie split about fifty-fifty +on that. They had a debate about him gettin' a raise. No, he didn't +leave any forwardin' address and he hasn't been back since." + +"Huh!" says Z. K., scratchin' his left ear. "He'd had the impudence to +go and get himself married, too. Think of that Ellins! A youngster who +never did a stroke of real work in his life loads himself up with a +family in these times. Well, I suppose he's finding out what a fool he +is, and when they both get good and hungry he'll come crawling back. Oh +yes, I'll give him a job this time, a real one. You know I've been +rebuilding my country home down near Great Neck. Been having a deuce of +a time doing it, too--materials held up, workmen going out on strikes +every few days. I'll set Hartley to running a concrete mixer, or +wheeling bricks when he shows up." + +But somehow Hartley don't do the homeward crawl quite on schedule. At +any rate, old Z. K. was in the office three or four times after that +without mentionin' it, and you bet he would have cackled some if Hartley +had come back. All he reports is that the house rebuildin' is draggin' +along to a finish and he hopes to be able to move in shortly. + +"Want you to drive over and see what you think of it," he remarks to Mr. +Robert, once when Old Hickory happens to be out. "Only a few plasterers +and plumbers and painters still hanging on. How about next Saturday? +I've got to be there about 2 o'clock. What say?" + +"I shall be very glad to," says Mr. Robert, who's always plannin' out +ways of revisin' his own place. + +If it hadn't been for some Western correspondence that needed code +replies by wire I expect I should have missed out on this tour of +inspection to the double-breasted new Tyler mansion. As it was Mr. +Robert tells me to take the code book and my hat and come along with him +in the limousine. So by the time we struck Jamaica I was ready to file +the messages and enjoy the rest of the drive. + +We finds old Z. K. already on the ground, unloadin' a morning grouch on +a landscape architect. + +"Be with you in a minute, Robert," says he. "Just wander in and look +around." + +That wasn't so easy as it sounded, for all through the big rooms was +scaffolds and ladders and a dozen or more original members of the +Overalls Club splashin' mortar and paint around. I was glancin' at these +horny-handed sons of toil sort of casual when all of a sudden I spots +one guy in a well-daubed suit of near-white ducks who looks strangely +familiar. Walkin' up to the step-ladder for a closer view I has to stop +and let out a chuckle. It's Hartley. + +"Well, well!" says I. "So you did have to crawl back, eh?" + +"Eh?" says he, almost droppin' a pail of white paint. "Why, hello, +Torchy!" + +"I see you're workin' for a real boss now," says I. + +"Who do you mean?" says he. + +"The old man," says I, grinnin'. + +"Not much!" says Hartley. "He's only the owner, and precious little +bossing he can do on this job. I'm working for McNibbs, the contractor." + +"You--you mean you're a reg'lar painter?" says I, gawpin'. + +"Got to be, or I couldn't handle a brush here," says Hartley. "This is a +union job." + +"But--but how long has this been goin' on, Hartley?" I asks. + +"I've held my card for nearly three months now," says he. "No, I +haven't been painting here all that time. In fact, I came here only this +morning. The president of our local shifted me down here for--for +reasons. I'm a real painter, though." + +"You look it, I must say," says I. "Like it better than being in the +bond room?" + +"Oh, I'm not crazy about it," says he. "Rather smelly work. But it pays +well. Dollar an hour, you know, and time and a half for overtime. I +manage to knock out sixty or so a week. Then I get something for being +secretary of the Union." + +"Huh!" says I. "Secretary, are you? How'd you work up to that so quick?" + +"Oh, they found I could write fairly good English and was quick at +figures," says he. "Besides, I'm always foreman of the gang. Do all the +color mixing, you know. That's where my art school experience comes in +handy." + +"That ought to tickle the old man," says I. "Seen him yet?" + +"No," says Hartley, "but I want to. Is he here?" + +"Sure," says I. "He's just outside. He'll be in soon." + +"Fine!" says Hartley. "Say, Torchy, stick around if you want to be +entertained. I have a message for him." + +"I'll be on hand," says I. "Here he comes now." + +As old Z. K. stalks in, still red in the ears from his debate outside, +Hartley climbs down off the step ladder. For a minute or so the old man +don't seem to see him any more'n he does any of the other workmen that +he's had to dodge around. Not until Hartley steps right up to him and +remarks: "Mr. Tyler, I believe?" does Z. K. stop and let out a gasp. + +"Hah!" he snorts. "Hartley, eh? Well, what does this mean--a +masquerade?" + +"Not at all," says Hartley. "This is my regular work." + +"Oh, it is, eh?" says he. "Well, keep at it then. Why do you knock off +to talk to me?" + +"Because I have something to say to you, sir," says Hartley. "You sent a +couple of non-union plumbers down here the other day, didn't you?" + +"What if I did?" demands Z. K. "Got to get the work finished somehow, +haven't I?" + +"You'll never get it finished with scab labor, Mr. Tyler," says Hartley. +"You have tried that before, haven't you? Well, this is final. Send +those plumbers off at once or I will call out every other man on the +job." + +"Wh-a-a-at!" gasps Z. K. "You will! What in thunder have you got to do +with it?" + +"I've been authorized by the president of our local to strike the job, +that's all," says Hartley. "I am the secretary. Here are my credentials +and my union card." + +"Bah!" snorts Z. K. "You impudent young shrimp. I don't believe a word +of it. And let me tell you, young man, that I'll send whoever I please +to do the work here, unions or no unions." + +"Very well," says Hartley. With that he turns and calls out: "Lay off, +men. Pass the word on." + +And say, inside of two minutes there isn't a lick of work being done +anywhere about the place. Plasterers drop their trowels and smoothing +boards, painters come down off the ladders, and all hands begin sheddin' +their work clothes. And while Z. K. is still sputterin' and fumin' the +men begin to file out with their tools under their arms. Meanwhile +Hartley has stepped over into a corner and is leisurely peelin' off his +paint-spattered ducks. + +"See here, you young hound!" shouts Z. K. "You know I want to get into +this house early next month. I--I've simply got to." + +"The prospects aren't good," says Hartley. + +Well, they had it back and forth like that for maybe five minutes before +Z. K. starts to calm down a bit. He's a foxy old pirate, and he hates to +quit, but he's wise enough to know when he's beaten. + +"Rather smooth of you, son, getting back at me this way," he observes +smilin' sort of grim. "Learned a few things, haven't you, since you've +been knocking around?" + +"Oh, I was bound to," says Hartley. + +"Got to be quite a man, too--among painters, eh?" adds Z. K. + +Hartley shrugs his shoulders. + +"Could you call all those fellows back as easily as you sent them off?" +demands Tyler. + +"Quite," says Hartley. "I wouldn't, though, until you had fired those +scab plumbers." + +"I see," says Z. K. "And if I did fire 'em, do you think you have +influence enough to get a full crew of union men to finish this job by +next Saturday?" + +"Oh, yes," says Hartley. "I could put fifty men at work here Monday +morning--if I wanted to." + +"H-m-m-m!" says Z. K., caressin' his left ear. "It's rather a big house +for just your mother and me to live in. Plenty of room for another +family. And I suppose a good studio could be fixed up on the third +floor. Well, son, want to call it a trade?" + +"I'll have to talk to Edith first," says Hartley. "I think she'll like +it, and I'll bet you'll like her, too." + +Uh-huh! From late reports I hear that Hartley was right both ways. A few +days later Mr. Robert tells me that the Tylers are all preparin' to move +out together. He had seen the whole four of 'em havin' a reunion dinner +at the Plutoria, and says they all seemed very chummy. + +"Just like they was members of One Big Union, eh?" says I. "But say, +Hartley's right up to date in his methods of handlin' a wrathy parent, +ain't he? Call a strike on 'em. That's the modern style. I wonder if +he's got it patented?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +TORCHY GETS A HUNCH + + +Course, I only got my suspicions, and I ain't in position to call for +the real facts in the case, but I'll bet if it came to a show down I +could name the master mind that wished this backache and the palm +blisters on me. Uh-huh! Auntie. I wouldn't put it past her, for when it +comes to evenin' up a score she's generally right there with the goods. +Deep stuff, as a rule, too. + +I ain't denyin' either, but what Auntie had grounds for complaint. Maybe +you remember how she came out to spend a quiet week-end with us after a +nerve shatterin' night in town and near got chewed up by Buddy, the +super-watch dog, and then was almost flooded out of bed because the +attic storage tank ran over? Not that I didn't have a perfect alibi on +both counts. I did. But neither registered with Auntie. + +Still, this before-breakfast sod-turnin' idea comes straight from Vee. +Ever try that for an appetizer? Go on, give it a whirl. Ought to be +willin' to try anything once, you know. Some wise old guy said that, I +understand. I'd like to find the spot where he's laid away. I think I'd +go plant a cabbage on his grave. Anyway, he's got some little tribute +like that comin' from me. + +Just turnin' up sod with a spade in the dewy morn. Listens kind of +romantic, don't it! And you might like it first rate. Might agree with +you. As for me, I've discovered that my system don't demand anything +like that. Posi-tive-ly. I gave it a good try-out and the reactions +wasn't satisfactory. + +You see, it was this way: there's a narrow strip down by the road where +our four-acre estate sort of pinches out, and Vee had planned to do some +fancy landscape gardenin' on it--a bed of cannas down the middle, I +believe, and then rows of salvia, and geraniums and other things. She +had it all mapped out on paper. Also the bulbs and potted plants had +arrived and were ready to be put in. + +But it happens that Dominick, our official gardener, had all he could +jump to just then, plantin' beans and peas and corn, and the helper he +depended on to break up this roadside strip had gone back on him. + +"How provoking!" says Vee. "I am so anxious to get those things in. If +the ground was ready I would do the planting myself. I just wish"--and +then she stops. + +"Well, let's have it," says I. "What's your wish?" + +"Oh, nothing much Torchy," says she. "But if I were strong enough to +dig up that sod I wouldn't have to wait for any pokey Italian." + +"Why couldn't I do it?" I suggests reckless. + +"You!" says Vee, and then snickers. + +Say, if she'd come poutin' around, or said right out that she didn't see +why I couldn't make myself useful now and then, I'd have announced flat +that gardenin' was way out of my line. But when she snickers--well, you +know how it is. + +"Yessum! Me," says I. "It ain't any art, is it, just stirrin' up the +ground with a spade? And how do you know, Vee, but what I'm the grandest +little digger ever was? Maybe it's a talent I've been concealin' from +you all along." + +"But it's rather hard work, turning old sod, and getting out all the +grass roots and rocks," says she. "It takes a lot of strength." + +"Huh!" says I. "Feel of that right arm." + +"Yes," says she, "I believe you are strong, Torchy. But when could you +find the time?" + +"I'd make it," says I. "All I got to do is to roll out of the cot an +hour or so earlier in the morning. Wouldn't six hours do the job? Well, +two hours a day for three days, and there you are. Efficiency stuff. +That's me. Lead me to it." + +Vee gazes at me admirin'. "Aren't you splendid, Torchy!" says she. "And +I'm sure the exercise will do you a lot of good." + +"Sure!" says I. "Most likely I'll get the habit and by the end of the +summer I'll be a reg'lar Sandow. Now where's that kitchen alarm clock? +Let's see. M-m-m-m! About 5:30 will do for a starter, eh?" + +Oh, I'm a determined cuss when I get going. Next mornin' the sun and me +punched in at exactly the same time, and I don't know which was most +surprised. But there I was, associatin' with the twitterin' little birds +and the early worms, and to show I was just as happy as they were I hums +a merry song as I swings out through the dewy grass with the spade over +my shoulder. + +Say, there's no fake about the grass being dewy at that hour, either. I +hadn't gone more 'n a dozen steps through it before my feet were as +soggy as if I'd been wadin' in a brook. I don't do any stallin' around, +same as these low brow labor gangs. I pitches right in earnest and +impetuous, makin' the dirt fly. Why, I had the busy little bee lookin' +like he was loafin' on a government contract. + +I was just about gettin' my second wind and was puttin' in some heavy +licks when I hears somebody tootin' a motor horn out in the road. I +looks up to find that it's that sporty neighbor of mine, Nick Barrett, +who now and then indulges a fad for an early spin in his stripped +roadster. He has collected his particular chum, Norris Bagby, and I +expect they're out to burn up the macadam before the traffic cops go on +duty. + +"What's the big idea, Torchy?" sings out Nick. "Going to bury a cat, or +something?" + +"Nothing tragic like that," says I. "Just subbin' in for the gardener. +Pulling a little honest toil, such as maybe you've read about but +haven't met." + +"Doing it on a bet, I suppose?" suggests Norris. + +"Ah, run along and don't get comic," says I. + +And with that I tears into the sod again, puttin' both shoulders and my +back into the swing. I don't let up, either, until I think it must be +after 7 o'clock, and then I stops long enough to look at my watch. It's +just 6:20. Well, I expect I slowed up some from then on. No use tryin' +to dig all over that ground in one morning. And at 6:35 I discovers that +I'd raised a water blister on both palms. Ten minutes later I noticed +this ache in my back and arms. + +"Oh, well!" says I, "gotta take time to change and wash up." + +At that I didn't feel so bad. After a shower and a fresh outfit from the +socks up I was ready to tackle three fried eggs and two cups of coffee. +On the way to the station I glanced proud at what I'd accomplished. But +somehow it didn't look so much. Just a little place in one corner. + +Course, goin' in on the 8:03 I had to stand for a lot of kiddin'. +They're a great bunch of humorists, them commuters. Nick and Norrie has +spread the news around industrious about my sunrise spadin' stunt, and +everybody has to pull his little wheeze. + +"How's the old back feel about now; eh, Torchy?" asks one. + +"Great stuff!" says another. "Everybody does it--once." + +"The boy's clever with the spade, I'll say," adds Nick. "Let's all turn +out tomorrow morning and watch him. He does it regular, they tell me." + +I grinned back at 'em as convincin' as I could. For somehow I wasn't +just in the mood for grinnin'. My head was achin' more or less, and my +back hurt, and my palms were sore. By noon I was a wreck. Absolutely. +And when I thought of puttin' in two or three more sessions like that I +had to groan. Could I do it? On the other hand, could I renig on the job +after all that brash line of talk I'd given Vee? + +Say, it was all I could do to limp out to luncheon. I didn't want much, +but I thought maybe some tea and toast would make me feel better. And it +was in a restaurant that I ran across this grouchy Scotchman, MacGregor +Shinn, who sold me the place here a while back. + +"Maybe you don't know it, Mac," says I, "but you're a wise guy." + +"Am I, though?" says he. "I hadn't noticed it myself. Just how, now?" + +"Unloadin' that country property on me," says I. "I used to wonder why +you let go of it. I don't any more. I've got the right hunch at last. +You got up bright and early one morning and tried digging around with a +spade. Eh?" + +Mac stares at me sort of puzzled. "Not me," says he. "Whatever put that +in your mind, me lad?" + +"Ah, come!" says I. "With all that land lyin' around you was bound to +get reckless with a spade some time or other. Might not have been flower +beds you was excavatin' for, same as me. Maybe you was specializin' on +spuds, or cabbages. But I'll bet you had your foolish spell." + +Mr. Shinn shakes his head. "All the digging I ever did out there," says +he, "was with a niblick in the bunkers of the Roaring Rock golf course. +No, I'm wrong." + +"Ha, ha!" says I. "I thought so." + +"Yes," he goes on, rubbin' his chin reminiscent, "I mind me of one +little job of digging I did. I had a cook once who had a fondness for +gin that was scandalous. Locking it up was no good, except in my bureau +drawers, so one time when I had an extra case of Gordon come in I +sneaked out at night and buried it. That was just before I sold the +place to you and--By George, me lad!" + +Here he has stopped and is gazin' at me with his mouth open. + +"Well?" says I. + +"I canna mind digging it up again," says he. + +"That doesn't sound much like a Scotchman," says I, "being so careless +with good liquor. But you were in such a rush to get back to town maybe +you did forget. Where did you plant it?" + +Mac scratches his head. "I canna seem to think," says he. + +And about then I begins to get a glimmer of this brilliant thought of +mine. "Would it have been in that three-cornered strip that runs along +by the road?" I asks. + +"It might," says he. + +I didn't press him for any more details. I'd heard enough. I finished my +invalid's lunch and slid out. But say, when I caught the 5:13 out to +Harbor Hills that afternoon I had something all doped out to slip to +that bunch of comic commuters. I laid for 'em in the smokin' car, and +when Nick Barrett discovers me inspectin' my palm blisters he starts in +with his kidding again. + +"Oh, you'll be able to get out and dig again in a week or so," says he. + +"I hope so," says I. + +"Still strong for it, eh?" says he. + +"Maybe if you knew what I was diggin' for," says I, "you'd--well, +there's no tellin'." + +"Eh?" says he. "Whaddye mean?" + +I shakes my head and looks mysterious. + +"Isn't it green corn, or string beans that you're aimin' at, Torchy?" he +asks. + +"Not exactly," says I. "Vegetable raisin' ain't in my line. I leave +that to Dominick. But this--oh, well!" + +"You don't mean," insists Nick, eyein' me close, "buried treasure!" + +"I expect some would call it that--in these days," says I. + +Uh-huh! I had him sittin' up by then, with his ear stretched. And I must +say that from then on Nick does some scientific pumpin'. Not that I let +out anything in so many words, but I'm afraid he got the idea that what +I was after was something money couldn't buy. That is, not unless +somebody violated a sacred amendment to the grand old constitution. In +fact, I may have mentioned casually that a whole case of Gordon was +worth riskin' a blister here and there. + +As for Nick, he simply listens and gasps. You know how desperate some of +them sporty ginks are, who started out so gay only a year or so ago with +a private stock in the cellar that they figured would last 'em until the +country rose in wrath and undid Mr. Volstead's famous act? Most of 'em +are discoverin' what poor guessers they were. About 90 per cent are +bluffin' along on home brew hooch that has all the delicate bouquet of +embalmin' fluid and produced about the same effect as a slug of liquid +T. N. T., or else they're samplin' various kinds of patent medicines and +perfumes. Why, I know of one thirsty soul who tries to work up a dinner +appetite by rattlin' a handful of shingle nails in the old shaker. And +if Nick Barrett has more 'n half a bottle of Martini mixture left in the +house he sleeps with it under his pillow. So you can judge how far his +tongue hangs out when he gets me to hint that maybe a whole case of +Gordon is buried somewhere on my premises. + +"Torchy," says he, shakin' me solemn by the hand, "I wish you the best +of luck. If you'll take my advice, though, you won't mention this to +anyone else." + +Oh, no, I didn't. That is, only to Norrie Bagby and one or two others +that I managed to get a word with on the ride home. + +Vee was mighty sympathetic about the blisters and the way my back felt. +I was dosed and plastered and put to bed at 8:30 to make up for all the +sleep I'd lost at the other end of the day. + +"And we'll not bother any more about the silly old flowers," says she. +"If Dominick can't find time to do the spading we'll just let it go." + +"No," says I, firm and heroic. "I'm no quitter, Vee. I said I'd get it +done within three days and I stick to it." + +"Torchy," says she, "don't you dare try getting up again at daylight and +working with your poor blistered hands. I--I shall feel dreadfully about +it, if you do." + +"Well, maybe I will skip tomorrow mornin'," says I, "but somehow or +other that diggin' has got to be done." + +"I only wish Auntie could hear you say that," says Vee, pattin' me +gently on the cheek. + +"Why Auntie?" I asks. + +"Oh, just because," says Vee. + +With that she fixes me up all comfy on the sleepin' porch and tells me +to call her if I want anything. + +"I won't," says I. "I'm all set for slumber. It's goin' to be a fine +large night, ain't it!" + +"Perfect," says Vee. + +"Moon shinin' and everything?" says I. + +"Yes," says she. + +"Then here's hoping," says I. + +"There, there!" says Vee. "I'm afraid you're a little feverish." + +Maybe I was, but I didn't hear another thing until more 'n ten hours +later when I woke up to find the sun winkin' in at me through the +shutters. + +"Did you have a good night's rest?" asks Vee. + +"As good as they come," says I. "How about you!" + +"Oh, I slept fairly well," says she. "I was awake once or twice. I +suppose I was worrying a little about you. And then I thought I hear +strange noises." + +"What sort of noises?" I asks. + +"Oh, like a lot of men walking by," says she. "That must have been +nearly midnight. They were talking low as they passed, and it almost +sounded as if they were carrying tools of some sort. Then along towards +morning I thought I heard them pass again. I'm sure some of them were +swearing." + +"Huh!" says I. "I wonder what they could have been peeved about on such +a fine night?" + +"Or I might have been simply dreaming," she adds. + +"Yes, and then again," says I, smotherin' a chuckle. + +I could hardly wait to dress and shave before rushin' out to inspect the +spot where I'd almost ruined myself only the mornin' before. And it was +something worth inspectin'. I'll say. Must be nearly half an acre in +that strip and I expect that sod has been growin' for years untouched by +the hand of man. At 6 P. M. last night it was just a mass of thick grass +and dandelions, but now--say, a tractor plough and a gang of prairie +tamers couldn't have done a more thorough job. If there was a square +foot that hadn't been torn up I couldn't see it with the naked eye. + +Course, it aint all smooth and even. There was holes here and there, +some of 'em three feet deep, but about all the land needed now was a +little rakin' and fillin' in, such as Dominick could do in his spare +time. The cheerin' fact remains that the hard part of the work has been +done, silent and miraculous, and without price. + +I shouts for Vee to come out and see. It ain't often, either, that I can +spring anything on her that leaves her stunned and bug-eyed. + +"Why, Torchy!" says she, gaspy. "How in the world did you ever manage +it? I--I don't understand." + +"Oh, very simple!" says I. "It's all in havin' the right kind of +neighbors." + +"But you don't mean," says she, "that you persuaded some of our--oh, I'm +sure you never could. Besides, you're grinning. Torchy, I want you to +tell me all about it. Come, now! Exactly what happened last night?" + +"Well," says I, "not being present myself I could hardly tell that. But +I've got a good hunch." + +"What is it!" she insists. + +"From your report of what you heard," says I, "and from the looks of the +ground 'n everything, I should judge that the Harbor Hills Exploring and +Excavating Co. had been making a night raid on our property." + +"Pooh!" says Vee. "I never heard of such a company. But if there is one, +why should they come here?" + +"Oh, just prospectin', I expect," says I. + +"For what?" demands Vee. + +"For stuff that the 18th amendment says they can't have," says I. +"Gettin' down to brass tacks, for a case of dry gin." + +Even that don't satisfy Vee. She demands why they should dig for any +such thing on our land. + +"They might have heard some rumor," says I, "that MacGregor Shinn went +off and left it buried there. As though a Scotchman could ever get as +careless as that. I don't believe he did. Anyway, some of them smart +Alec commuters who were kiddin' me so free yesterday must have worked up +blisters of their own. My guess is that they lost some sleep, too." + +You don't have to furnish Vee with a diagram of a joke, you know, before +she sees it. At that she squints her eyes and lets out a snicker. + +"I wonder, Torchy," says she, "who could have started such a rumor?" + +"Yes, that's the main mystery, ain't it?" says I. "But your flower bed +is about ready, ain't it?" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +GIVING 'CHITA A LOOK + + +I got to admit that there's some drawbacks to being a 100 per cent +perfect private see. Not that I mind making myself useful around the +general offices. I'm always willin' to roll up my sleeves any time and +save the grand old Corrugated Trust from going on the rocks. I'll take a +stab at anything, from meetin' a strike committee of the Amalgamated +Window Washers' Union to subbin' in as president for Old Hickory at the +annual meetin'. And between times I don't object to makin' myself as +handy as a socket wrench. That is, so long as it's something that has to +do with finance, high or low. + +But say, when they get to usin' me in strictly fam'ly affairs, I almost +work up a grouch. Notice the almost. Course, with this fair-and-warmer +disposition of mine I can't quite register. Not with Mr. Robert, anyway. +He has such a matey, I-say-old-chap way with him. Like here the other +day when he comes strollin' out from the private office rubbin' his chin +puzzled, stares around for a minute, and then makes straight for my +desk. + +"Well," says he, "I presume you noted the arrival of the prodigal son; +eh, Torchy?" + +"Meaning Ambrose the Ambler?" says I. + +"The same," says he. + +"They will come back even from South America," says I. "And you was +figurin', I expect, how that would be a long, wet walk. But then, +nothing was ever too wet for Amby, and the only fear he had of water was +that he might get careless some time and swallow a little." + +"Quite so," says Mr. Robert, grinnin'. + +You see, this Ambrose Wood party is only an in-law once removed. Maybe +you remember Ferdy, who had the nerve to marry Marjorie Ellins, the +heavyweight sister of Mr. Robert's, here a few years back? Well, that +was when the Ellinses acquired a brunette member of the flock. Ambrose +is a full brother of Ferdy's. In every sense. That is, he was in the +good old days when Mr. Volstead was only a name towards the end of roll +call. + +I ought to know more or less about Amby for we had him here in the +general offices for quite some time, tryin' to discover if there wasn't +some sphere of usefulness that would excuse us handin' him a pay +envelope once a week. There wasn't. Course, we didn't try him as a paper +weight or a door stop. But he had a whirl at almost everything else. And +the result was a total loss. + +For one thing, time clocks meant no more to Amby than an excursion ad. +would to a Sing Sing lifer. Amby wasn't interested in 'em. He'd drift +in among the file room or bond clerks, or whatever bunch he happened to +be inflicted on that particular month, at any old hour, from 10 A. M. up +to 2:30 P. M. Always chirky and chipper about it, too. And his little +tales about the parties he'd been to on the night before was usually +interestin'. Which was bad for the general morale, as you can guess. +Also his light and frivolous way of chuckin' zippy lady stenogs under +the chin and callin' 'em "Dearie" didn't help his standin' any. Yeauh! +He was some boy, Amby, while he lasted. Three different times Brother +Ferdie was called from his happy home at night to rush down with enough +cash bail to rescue Ambrose from a cold-hearted desk sergeant, and once +he figured quite prominent on the front page of the morning papers when +he insisted on confidin' to the judge that him and the young lady in the +taxi was really the king and queen of Staten Island come over to visit +upper Broadway. I don't doubt that Amby thought he was something of the +kind at the time, too, but you know how the reporters are apt to play up +an item of that kind. And of course they had to lug in the fact that +Ambrose was a near-son-in-law of the president of the Corrugated Trust. + +That was where Old Hickory pushed the button for me. "Young man," says +he, chewin' his cigar savage, "what should you say was the longest +steamer trip that one could buy a ticket for direct from New York?" + +"Why," says I, "my guess would be Buenos Ayres." + +"Very well," says he, "engage a one way passage on the next boat and see +that Mr. Ambrose Wood stays aboard until the steamer sails." + +Which I did. Ambrose didn't show any hard feelin's over it. In fact, as +I remember, he was quite cheerful. "Tell the old hard boiled egg not to +worry about me," says he. "He may be able to lose me this way for a +while, but I'm not clear off the map yet. I'll be back some day." + +Must have been more 'n three years ago, and as I hadn't heard Amby's +name mentioned in all that time I joined in the general surprise when I +saw him trailin' in dressed so neat and lookin' so fit. + +"On his way to hand Ferdy the glad jolt, eh?" I asks. + +"No," says Mr. Robert. "Ambrose seems quite willing to postpone meeting +his brother for a day or so. He has just landed, you see, and doesn't +care to dash madly out into the suburbs. What he wishes most, as I +understand, is to take a long, long look at New York." + +"Well, after three years' exile," says I, "you can hardly blame him for +that." + +Mr. Robert hunches his shoulders. "I suppose one can't," says he. "Only +it leaves him on my hands, as it were. Someone must do the family +honors--dinner, theatre, all that sort of thing. And if I were not tied +up by an important committee meeting out at the country club I should be +very glad to--er--" + +"Ye-e-es?" says I, glancin' at him suspicious. + +"You've guessed it, Torchy," says he. "I must leave them to you." + +"Whaddye mean, them?" says I. "I thought we was talking about Ambrose." + +"Oh, certainly," says Mr. Robert. "But Mrs. Wood is with him, he says. +In fact they came up together. Same boat. They would, you know. Charming +young woman. At least, so I inferred from what Ambrose said. One of +those dark Spanish beauties such as--" + +"Check!" says I. "That lets me out. All the Spanish I know is 'Multum in +parvo' and I forget just what that means now. I couldn't talk to the +lady a-tall." + +But Mr. Robert insists I don't have to be conversational with her, or +with Ambrose, either. All he wants me to do is steer 'em to some nice, +refined place regardless of expense, give 'em a welcome-home feed that +will make 'em forget that the Ellins family is only represented by +proxy, tow 'em to some high-class entertainment, like "The Boudoir +Girls," and sort of see that Ambrose lands back at his hotel without +having got mixed up with any of his old set. + +"Oh!" says I. "Kind of a he-chaperone act, eh?" + +That seems to be the general idea, and as he promises to stop in at the +house and fix things up for me at home, and pushes a roll of twenties at +me to spray around with as I see fit, of course, I has to take the job. +I trails in with Mr. Robert while he apologizes elaborate to Ambrose and +explains how he's had to ask me to fill in. + +"Perfectly all right, old man," says Ambrose. "In fact--well, you get +the idea, eh? The little wife hasn't quite got her bearings yet. Might +feel better about meeting her new relatives after she's been around a +bit. And Torchy will do fine." + +He tips me the wink as Mr. Robert hurries off. + +"Same old cut-up, eh, Amby?" says I. + +"Who me?" says he. "No, no! Nothing like that. Old married man, steady +as a church. Uh-huh! Two years and a half in the harness. You ought to +see the happy hacienda we call home down there. Say, it's forty-eight +long miles out of Buenos Ayres. Can you picture that! El Placida's the +name of the cute little burg. It looks it. They don't make 'em any more +placid anywhere." + +"I wonder you picked it then," says I. + +"I didn't exactly," says Ambrose. "El Placida rather picked me. Funny +how things work out sometimes. Got chummy with an old boy going down on +the boat, Senor Alvarado. Showed him how to play Canfield and Russian +bank and gave him the prescription for mixing a Hartford stinger. Before +we crossed the line he thought I was an ace. Wanted to know what I was +going to do down in his great country. 'Oh, anything that will keep me +in cigarettes,' says I. 'You come with me and learn the wool business,' +says he. 'It's a bet,' says I. So instead of being stranded in a strange +land and nibbling the shrubbery for lunch, as my dear brother and the +Ellinses had doped out, I lands easy on my feet with a salary that +starts when I walks down the gank plank. Only I have to be in El Placida +to draw my pay." + +"But you made good, did you?" I asks. + +"I did as long as Senor Alvarado was around to back me up," says Amby, +"but when he slides down to the city for a week's business trip and +turns me over to that Scotch superintendent of his the going got kind of +rough. Mr. McNutt sends me out with a flivver to buy wool around the +country. Looked easy. Buying things used to be my long suit. I bought a +lot of wool. But I expect some of them low-browed rancheros must have +gypped me good and plenty. Anyway, McNutt threw a fit when he looked +over my bargains. He didn't do a thing but fire me, right off the reel. +Honest, I'd never been fired so impetuous or so enthusiastic. He invites +me to get off the place, which means hiking back to Buenos Ayres. + +"Well, what can you do with a Scotchman who's mad clear to the marrow? +Especially a rough actor like McNutt. I'd already done a mile from the +village when along comes 'Chita in her roadster. You know, old man +Alvarado's only daughter. Some senorita, 'Chita is. You should have seen +those black eyes of her's flash when she heard how abrupt I'd been +turned loose. 'We shall go straight to papa,' says she. 'He will tell +Senor McNutt where he gets off.' She meant well, 'Chita. But I had my +doubts. I knew that Alvarado was pretty strong for McNutt. I'd heard him +say there wasn't another man in the Argentine who knew more about wool +than McNutt, and if it came to a showdown as to which of us stayed on I +wouldn't have played myself for a look in. + +"So while 'Chita is stepping on the gas button and handing out a swell +line of sympathy I begins to hint that there's one particular reason why +I hated to leave El Placida. Oh, we'd played around some before that. +Strictly off stage stuff, though; a little mandolin practice in the +moonlight, a few fox trot lessons, and so on. But before the old man I'd +let on to be skirt shy. It went big with him, I noticed. But there in +the car I decides that the only way to keep in touch with the family +check book is to make a quick bid for 'Chita. So I cut loose with the +best Romeo lines I had in stock. Twice 'Chita nearly ditched us, but +finally she pulls up alongside the road and gives her whole attention +to what I had to say. Oh, they know how to take it, those sonoritas. +She'd had a whole string of young rancheros and caballeros dangling +around her for the past two years. But somehow I must have had a lucky +break, for the next thing I knew we'd gone to a fond clinch and it was +all over except the visit to the church." + +"And you married the job, eh?" says I. "Fast work, I'll say. But how did +papa take it?" + +"Well, for the first ten minutes," says Ambrose, "I thought I'd been +caught out in a thunderstorm while an earthquake and a sham battle were +being staged. But pretty soon he got himself soothed down, patted me on +the shoulder and remarked that maybe I'd do as well as some others that +he hadn't much use for. And while he didn't make McNutt eat his words or +anything like that, he gave him to understand that a perfectly good +son-in-law wasn't expected to be such a shark at shopping for wool. +Anyway, we've been getting along fairly well ever since. You have to, in +a place like El Placida." + +"And this is a little postponed honeymoon tour, eh?" I suggests. + +"Hardly," says Ambrose. "I hope it's a clean break away from the +continent of South America in general and El Placida in particular." + +"Oh!" says I. "Will Senor Alvarado stake you to that?" + +"He isn't staking anybody now," says Ambrose. "Uh-huh! Checked out last +winter. Good old scout. Left everything to 'Chita, the whole works. And +I've been ever since then trying to convince her that the one spot worth +living in anywhere on the map is this little old burg with Broadway +running through the middle." + +"That ought to be easy," says I. + +"Not with a girl who's been brought up to think that Buenos Ayres is the +last word in cities," says Ambrose. "Why, she's already begun to feel +sorry for the bellhops and taxi drivers and salesladies because she's +discovered that not one of 'em knows a word of Spanish. Asks me how all +these people manage to amuse themselves evenings with no opera to go to, +no band playing on the plaza, and so on. See what I'm up against, +Torchy?" + +"I get a glimmer," says I. + +"That's why I'm glad you are going to tow us around," he goes on, +"instead of Bob Ellins. He's a back number, Bob. Me, too, from having +been out of it all so long. Why, I've only been scouting about a little, +but I can't find any of the old joints." + +"Yes, a lot of 'em have been put out of business," says I. + +"Must be new ones just as good though," he insists. "The live wires +have to rally around somewhere." + +"I don't know about that," says I. "This prohibition has put a crimp +in--" + +"Oh, you can't tell me!" breaks in Ambrose. "Maybe it's dimmed the +lights some in Worcester and Toledo and Waukegan, but not in good old +Manhattan. Not much! I know the town too well. Our folks just wouldn't +stand for any of that Sahara bunk. Not for a minute. Might have covered +up a bit--high sign necessary, side entrances only, and all that. But +you can't run New York without joy water. It's here. And so are the gay +lads and lassies who uncork it. We want to mingle with 'em, 'Chita and +yours truly. I want her to see the lights where they're brightest, the +girls where they're gayest. Want to show her how the wheels go 'round. +You get me; eh, Torchy?" + +"Sure!" says I. + +What was the use wastin' any more breath? Besides, I'd been hearin' a +lot of these young hicks talk big about spots where the lid could be +pried off. Maybe it was so. Ambrose and 'Chita should have a look, +anyway. And I spent the rest of the afternoon interviewin' sporty +acquaintances over the 'phone, gettin' dope on where to hunt for active +capers and poppin' corks. I must say, too, that most of the steers were +a little vague. But, then, you can't tell who's who these days, with so +many ministers givin' slummin' parties and Federal agents so thick. + +When I sails around to the Plutoria to collect Amby and wife about 6:30 +I finds 'Chita all gussied up like she was expectin' big doings. Quite a +stunner she is, with them high voltage black eyes, and the gold ear +hoops, and in that vivid colored evening gown. And by the sparkle in her +eyes I can guess she's all primed for a reg'lar party. + +"How about the old Bonaparte for the eats?" I says to Ambrose. + +"Swell!" says he. "I remember giving a little dinner for four there once +when we opened--" + +"Yes, I know," says I. "Here's the taxi." + +Did look like kind of a jolly bunch, too, down there in the old +dining-room--orchestra jabbin' away, couple of real Jap girls floatin' +around with cigars and cigarettes, and all kinds of glasses on the +tables. But you should have seen Amby's jaw drop when he grabs the wine +list and starts to give an order. + +"What the blazes is a grenadine cocktail or--or a pineapple punch?" he +demands. + +"By me," says I. "Why not sample some of it?" + +Which he does eager. "Bah!" says he. "Call that a cocktail, do they? +Nothing but sweetened water colored up. Here, waiter! Call the chief." + +All Ambrose could get out of the head waiter, though, was shoulder +shrugs and regrets. Nothing doing in the real red liquor line. "The +champagne cider iss ver' fine, sir," he adds. + +"Huh!" says Ambrose. "Ought to be at four fifty a quart. Well, we'll +take a chance." + +Served it in a silver bucket, too. It had the familiar pop, and the +bubbles showed plain in the hollow stemmed glasses, but you could drink +a gallon of it without feelin' inspired to do anything wilder than call +for a life preserver. + +The roof garden girl-show that we went to afterwards was a zippy +performance, after it's kind. Also there was a bar in the lobby. Amby +shoved up to that prompt--and came back with two pink lemonades, at 75 +cents a throw. + +"Well," says I, "ain't there mint on top and a cherry in the bottom?" + +"And weak lemonade in between," grumbles Ambrose. "What do they take me +for, a gold fish?" + +"We'll try a cabaret next," says I. + +We did. They had the place fixed up fancy, too, blue and green toy +balloons floatin' around the ceilin', a peacock in a big gold cage, +tables ranged around the dancin' space, and the trombone artist puttin' +his whole soul into a pumpin' out "The Alcoholic Blues." And you could +order most anything off the menu, from a poulet casserole to a cheese +sandwich. Amby and 'Chita splurged on a cafe parfait and a grape juice +rickey. Other dissipated couples at nearby tables were indulgin' in +canapes of caviar and frosted sarsaparillas. But shortly after midnight +the giddy revellers begun to thin out and the girl waiters got yawny. + +"How about a round of strawb'ry ice cream sodas; eh, Amby?" I suggests. + +"No," says he, "I'm no high school girl. I've put away so much of that +sweet slush now that I'll be bilious for a week. But say, Torchy, honest +to goodness, is Broadway like this all the time now?" + +"No," says I. "They're goin' to have a Y.W.C.A. convention here next +week and I expect that'll stir things up quite a bit." + +"Sorry," says Amby, "but I shan't be here." + +"No?" says I. + +"Pos-i-tively," says Ambrose. "'Chita and I will be on our way back by +that time; back to good old Buenos Ayres, where there's more doing in a +minute than happens the whole length of Broadway in a month. And listen, +old son; when we open a bottle something besides the pop will come out +of it." "Better hurry," says I. "Maybe Pussyfoot Johnson's down there +now monkeying with the constitution." + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +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 tor + 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 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S STORIES OF ADVENTURE + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE RIVER'S END + A story of the Royal Mounted Police. + +THE GOLDEN SNARE + Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland. + +NOMADS OF THE NORTH + The story of a bear-cub and a dog. + +KAZAN + The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn + between the call of the human and his wild mate. + +BAREE, SON OF KAZAN + The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he + played in the lives of a man and a woman. + +THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM + The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his + battle with Captain Plum. + +THE DANGER TRAIL + A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North. + +THE HUNTED WOMAN + A tale of a great fight in the "valley of gold" for a woman. + +THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH + The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is + blended with the courtly atmosphere of France. + +THE GRIZZLY KING + The story of Thor, the big grizzly. + +ISOBEL + A love story of the Far North. + +THE WOLF HUNTERS + A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness. + +THE GOLD HUNTERS + The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds. + +THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE + Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women. + +BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY + A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made from + this book. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +RALPH CONNOR'S STORIES OF THE NORTHWEST + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE SKY PILOT IN NO MAN'S LAND + The clean-hearted, strong-limbed man of the West leaves his hills and + forests to fight the battle for freedom in the old world. + +BLACK ROCK + A story of strong men in the mountains of the West. + +THE SKY PILOT + A story of cowboy life, abounding in the freshest humor, the truest + tenderness and the finest courage. + +THE PROSPECTOR + A tale of the foothills and of the man who came to them to lend a hand + to the lonely men and women who needed a protector. + +THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY + This narrative brings us into contact with elemental and volcanic + human nature and with a hero whose power breathes from every word. + +GLENGARRY SCHOOL DAYS + In this rough country of Glengarry, Ralph Connor has found human + nature in the rough. + +THE DOCTOR + The story of a "preacher-doctor" whom big men and reckless men loved + for his unselfish life among them. + +THE FOREIGNER + A tale of the Saskatchewan and of a "foreigner" who made a brave and + winning fight for manhood and love. + +CORPORAL CAMERON + This splendid type of the upright, out-of-door man about which Ralph + Connor builds all his stories, appears again in this book. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +THE NOVELS OF GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL LUTZ + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE BEST MAN + Through a strange series of adventures a young man finds himself + propelled up the aisle of a church and married to a strange girl. + +A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS + On her way West the heroine steps off by mistake at a lonely watertank + into a maze of thrilling events. + +THE ENCHANTED BARN + Every member of the family will enjoy this spirited chronicle of a + young girl's resourcefulness and pluck, and the secret of the + "enchanted" barn. + +THE WITNESS + The fascinating story of the enormous change an incident wrought in a + man's life. + +MARCIA SCHUYLER + A picture of ideal girlhood set in the time of full skirts and poke + bonnets. + +LO, MICHAEL! + A story of unfailing appeal to all who love and understand boys. + +THE MAN OF THE DESERT + An intensely moving love story of a man of the desert and a girl of + the East pictured against the background of the Far West. + +PHOEBE DEANE + A tense and charming love story, told with a grace and a fervor with + which only Mrs. Lutz could tell it. + +DAWN OF THE MORNING + A romance of the last century with all of its old-fashioned charm. A + companion volume to "Marcia Schuyler" and "Phoebe Deane." + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +ELEANOR H. PORTER'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +JUST DAVID + The tale of a loveable boy and the place he comes to fill in the + hearts of the gruff farmer folk to whose care he is left. + +THE ROAD TO UNDERSTANDING + A compelling romance of love and marriage. + +OH, MONEY! MONEY! + Stanley Fulton, a wealthy bachelor, to test the dispositions of his + relatives, sends them each a check for $100,000, and then as plain + John Smith comes among them to watch the result of his experiment. + +SIX STAR RANCH + A wholesome story of a club of six girls and their summer on Six Star + Ranch. + +DAWN + The story of a blind boy whose courage leads him through the gulf of + despair into a final victory gained by dedicating his life to the + service of blind soldiers. + +ACROSS THE YEARS + Short stories of our own kind and of our own people. Contains some of + the best writing Mrs. Porter has done. + +THE TANGLED THREADS + In these stories we find the concentrated charm and tenderness of all + her other books. + +THE TIE THAT BINDS + Intensely human stories told with Mrs. Porter's wonderful talent for + warm and vivid character drawing. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +ETHEL M. DELL'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE LAMP IN THE DESERT + The scene of this splendid story is laid in India and tells of the + lamp of love that continues to shine through all sorts of tribulations + to final happiness. + +GREATHEART + The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul. + +THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE + A hero who worked to win even when there was only "a hundredth + chance." + +THE SWINDLER + The story of a "bad man's" soul revealed by a woman's faith. + +THE TIDAL WAVE + Tales of love and of women who learned to know the true from the + false. + +THE SAFETY CURTAIN + A very vivid love story of India. The volume also contains four other + long stories of equal interest. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +TARZAN THE UNTAMED + Tells of Tarzan's return to the life of the ape-man in his search for + vengeance on those who took from him his wife and home. + +JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN + Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right + to ape kingship. + +A PRINCESS OF MARS + Forty-three million miles from the earth--a succession of the weirdest + and most astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter, American, + finds himself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful woman, with + the Green Men of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted + on horses like dragons. + +THE GODS OF MARS + Continuing John Carter's adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he + does battle against the ferocious "plant men," creatures whose mighty + tails swished their victims to instant death, and defies Issus, the + terrible Goddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and reveres. + +THE WARLORD OF MARS + Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars + Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the storv + in the union of the Warlord, the title conferred upon John Carter, + with Drjah Thoris. + +THUVIA, MAID OF MARS + The fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the + adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter + of a Martian Emperor. + +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. 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