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diff --git a/21882-h/21882-h.htm b/21882-h/21882-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..85dd48d --- /dev/null +++ b/21882-h/21882-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7399 @@ +<!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 The House of Torchy, by Sewell Ford.</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} +body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} +a {text-decoration: none;} +p.titlepage {text-align: center; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0;} +h1 {text-align: center; clear: both;} +h2 {text-align: center; clear: both;} +h2.toc {margin-top: 1em;} +hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} +.caption {font-size: 80%;} +.figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} +.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: x-small; + font-weight: normal; font-variant:normal; + font-style: normal; text-indent: 0; color: silver; background-color: inherit;} +a.pagenum:after {border: 1px solid silver; padding: 1px 3px; content: attr(title);} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> +</head> + +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The House of Torchy, 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: The House of Torchy + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Illustrator: Arthur William Brown + +Release Date: June 21, 2007 [EBook #21882] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF TORCHY *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <a name="illus-000" id="illus-000"></a> <img src="images/illus-fpc.jpg" alt= + ""'Don't!' says Vee. 'You'll spill the coffee.'"" title="" /> + <br /> + <span class="caption">"'Don't!' says Vee. 'You'll spill the coffee.'"</span> + </div> + <hr class='major' /> + + <table style="margin: auto; border: black 1px solid; width: 400px;" summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 230%; margin-top: 30px;">THE HOUSE</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 230%; margin-bottom:30px;">OF TORCHY</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom:5px;">BY</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 150%; margin-bottom:30px;">SEWELL FORD</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom:5px;">AUTHOR OF</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom:0px;">TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY,</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom:30px;">SHORTY MCCABE, Etc.</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom:5px;">ILLUSTRATIONS BY</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 120%; margin-bottom:30px;">ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN</p> + <div style='text-align: center'> + <img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' /> + </div> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-top: 30px; margin-bottom:10px;">GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom:30px;">PUBLISHERS NEW YORK</p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <hr class='major' /> + + <table style="margin: auto; width: 400px;" summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%;">Copyright, 1917, 1918, by</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom:10px;">SEWELL FORD</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%;">Copyright 1918, by</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom:10px;">EDWARD J. CLODE</p> + <p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%;">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <hr class='major' /> + + <h2 class="toc"><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> + + <table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + <col style="width:15%;" /> + <col style="width:5%;" /> + <col style="width:70%;" /> + <col style="width:10%;" /> + + <tr> + <td align="right"><span style='font-size: x-small'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td></td> + <td align="right"><span style='font-size: x-small'>PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">I</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">TORCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#TORCHY_AND_VEE_ON_THE_WAY_59">1</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">II</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">VEE WITH VARIATIONS</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#VEE_WITH_VARIATIONS_332">12</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">III</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">A QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#A_QUALIFYING_TURN_FOR_TORCHY_682">25</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">IV</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#SWITCHING_ARTS_ON_LEON_1156">44</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">V</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">A RECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#A_RECRUIT_FOR_THE_EIGHT-THREE_1571">60</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">VI</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#TORCHY_IN_THE_GAZINKUS_CLASS_2062">79</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">VII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">BACK WITH CLARA BELLE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#BACK_WITH_CLARA_BELLE_2471">96</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">VIII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#WHEN_TORCHY_GOT_THE_CALL_2929">114</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">IX</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#A_CARRY-ON_FOR_CLARA_3415">134</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">X</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#ALL_THE_WAY_WITH_ANNA_3856">152</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">XI</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#AT_THE_TURN_WITH_WILFRED_4346">172</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">XII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">VEE GOES OVER THE TOP</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#VEE_GOES_OVER_THE_TOP_4882">193</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">XIII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#LATE_RETURNS_ON_RUPERT_5389">214</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">XIV</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#FORSYTHE_AT_THE_FINISH_5832">232</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">XV</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE HOUSE OF TORCHY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_HOUSE_OF_TORCHY_6269">250</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">XVI</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#TORCHY_GETS_THE_THUMB_GRIP_6816">272</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">XVII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#A_LOW_TACKLE_BY_TORCHY_7216">288</a></td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td align="right">XVIII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#TAG_DAY_AT_TORCHYS_7701">307</a></td> + </tr> + </table> + <hr class='major' /> + + <h1>THE HOUSE OF TORCHY</h1> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_1" title="1" id="page_1"></a> + <a name="TORCHY_AND_VEE_ON_THE_WAY_59" id="TORCHY_AND_VEE_ON_THE_WAY_59"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + <h3>TORCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY</h3> + </div> + + <p>Say, I thought I'd taken a sportin' chance now and then before; but I was only kiddin' myself. Believe me, this + gettin' married act is the big plunge. Uh-huh! Specially when it's done offhand and casual, the way we went at + it.</p> + + <p>My first jolt is handed me early in the mornin' as we piles off the mountain express at this little flag stop up + in Vermont, and a roly-poly gent in a horse-blanket ulster and a coonskin cap with a badge on it steps up and greets + me cheerful.</p> + + <p>"Ottasumpsit Inn?" says he.</p> + + <p>"Why, I expect so," says I, "if that's the way you call it. Otto—Otta—Yep, that listens something like + it."</p> + + <p>You see, Mr. Robert had said it only once,<a class="pagenum" name="page_2" title="2" id="page_2"></a> when he + handed me the tickets, and I hadn't paid much attention.</p> + + <p>"Aye gorry!" says the chirky gent, gatherin' up our hand luggage. "Guess you're the ones we're lookin' for. Got + yer trunk-checks handy?"</p> + + <p>With that I starts fishin' through my pockets panicky. I finds a railroad folder, our marriage certificate, the + keys to the studio apartment I'd hired, the box the ring came in, and——</p> + + <p>"Gosh!" says I, sighin' relieved. "Sure I got it."</p> + + <p>The driver grins good-natured and stows us into a two-seated sleigh, and off we're whirled, bells jinglin', for + half a mile or so through the stinging mornin' air. Next thing I know, I'm bein' towed up to a desk and a hotel + register is shoved at me. Just like an old-timer, I dashes off my name—Richard T. Ballard.</p> + + <p>The mild-eyed gent with the close-cropped Vandyke and the gold-rimmed glasses glances over at Vee.</p> + + <p>"Ah—er—I thought Mrs. Ballard was with you!" says he.</p> + + <p>"That's so; she is," says I, grabbin' the pen again and tackin' "Mr. and Mrs." in front of my autograph.</p> + + <p>That's why, while we're fixin' up a bit before<a class="pagenum" name="page_3" title="3" id="page_3"></a> goin' + down to breakfast, I has this little confidential confab with Vee.</p> + + <p>"It's no use, Vee," says I. "I'm a rank amateur. We might just as well have rice and confetti all over us. I've + made two breaks already, and I'm liable to make more. We can't bluff 'em."</p> + + <p>"Who wants to?" says Vee. "I'm not ashamed of being on my honeymoon; are you?"</p> + + <p>"Good girl!" says I. "You bet I ain't. I thought the usual line, though, was to pretend you'd——"</p> + + <p>"I know," says Vee. "And I always thought that was perfectly silly. Besides, I don't believe we could fool anyone + if we tried. It's much simpler not to bother. Let them guess."</p> + + <p>"And grin too, eh?" says I. "We'll grin back."</p> + + <p>Say, that's the happy hunch. Leaves you with nothing to worry about. All you got to do is go ahead and enjoy + yourself, free and frolicsome. So when this imposin' head waitress with the forty-eight bust and the grand duchess + air bears down on us majestic, and inquires dignified, "Two, sir?" I don't let it stagger me.</p> + + <p>"Two'll be enough," says I. "But whisper. Seein' as we're only startin' in on the twosome<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_4" title="4" id="page_4"></a> breakfast game, maybe you could find something nice and cheerful by a window. + Eh?"</p> + + <p>It's some breakfast. M-m-m-m! Cute little country sausages, buckwheat cakes that would melt in your mouth, with + strained honey to go on 'em.</p> + + <p>"Have a fourth buckwheat," says I.</p> + + <p>"No fair, keeping count!" says Vee. "I looked the other way when you took your fifth."</p> + + <p>Honest, I can't see where we acted much different than we did before. Somehow, we always could find things to + giggle over. We sure had a good time takin' our first after-breakfast stroll together down Main Street, Vee in her + silver-fox furs and me in my new mink-lined overcoat that Mr. Robert had wished on me casual just before we left.</p> + + <p>"Cunnin' little town, eh?" says I. "Looks like a birthday cake."</p> + + <p>"Or a Christmas card," says Vee. "Look at this old door with the brass knocker and the green fan-light above. + Isn't that Colonial, though?"</p> + + <p>"It's an old-timer, all right," says I. "Hello! Here's a place worth rememberin'—the Woman's Exchange. Now + I'll know where to go in case I should want to swap you off."<a class="pagenum" name="page_5" title="5" id= + "page_5"></a></p> + + <p>For which crack I gets shoved into a snowdrift.</p> + + <p>It ain't until afternoon that I'm struck with the fact that neither of us knows a soul up here. Course, the + landlord nods pleasant to me, and I'd talked to the young room clerk a bit, and the bell-hops had all smiled + friendly, specially them I'd fed quarters to. But by then I was feelin' sort of folksy, so I begun takin' notice of + the other guests and plannin' who I should get chummy with first.</p> + + <p>I drifts over by the fireplace, where two substantial old boys are toastin' their toes and smokin' their + cigars.</p> + + <p>"Snappy brand of weather they pass out up here, eh?" I throws off, pullin' up a rocker.</p> + + <p>They turn, sort of surprised, and give me the once-over deliberate, after which one of them, a gent with juttin' + eyebrows, clears his throat and remarks, "Quite bracing, indeed."</p> + + <p>Then he hitches around until I'm well out of view, and says to the other:</p> + + <p>"As I was observing, an immediate readjustment of international trade balances is inevitable. European bankers are + preparing for it. We are not. Only last month one of the Barings cabled——"</p> + + <p>I'll admit my next stab at bein' sociable was<a class="pagenum" name="page_6" title="6" id="page_6"></a> kind of + feeble. In front of the desk is a group of three gents, one of 'em not over fifty or so; but when I edges up close + enough to hear what the debate is about, I finds it has something to do with a scheme for revivin' Italian opera in + Boston, and I backs off so sudden I almost bumps into a hook-beaked old dame who is waddlin' up to the + letter-box.</p> + + <p>"Sorry," says I. "I should have honked."</p> + + <p>She just glares at me, and if I hadn't side-stepped prompt she might have sunk that parrot bill into my + shoulder.</p> + + <p>After that I sidles into a corner where I couldn't be hit from behind, and tries to dope out the cause of all this + hostility. Did they take me for a German spy or what? Or was this really an old folks' home masqueradin' as a hotel, + with Vee and me breakin' in under false pretenses?</p> + + <p>So far as I could see, the inmates was friendly enough with each other. The old girls sat around in the office and + parlors, chattin' over their knittin' and crochet. The old boys paired off mostly, though some of them only read or + played solitaire. A few people went out wrapped up in expensive furs and was loaded into sleighs. The others waved + good-by to 'em. But I might have been built out of window-glass.<a class="pagenum" name="page_7" title="7" id= + "page_7"></a> They didn't act as though I was visible.</p> + + <p>"Huh!" thinks I. "I'll bet they take notice of Vee when she comes down."</p> + + <p>If I'd put anything up on that proposition I'd owed myself money. They couldn't see her any more'n they could me. + When we went out for another walk nobody even looked after us. I didn't say anything then, but I kept thinkin'. And + all that evenin' we sat around amongst 'em without bein' disturbed.</p> + + <p>About eight o'clock an orchestra shows up and cuts loose with music in the ball-room, mostly classic stuff like + the "Spring Song" and handfuls plucked from "Aïda. " We slips in and listens. Then the leader gets his eye on us and + turns on a fox-trot.</p> + + <p>"Looks like they was waitin' for us to start something," says I. "Let's."</p> + + <p>We'd gone around three or four times when Vee balks. About twenty-five old ladies, with a sprinklin' of + white-whiskered old codgers, had filed in and was watchin' us solemn and critical from the side-lines. Some was + squintin' disapprovin' through their lorgnettes, and I noticed a few whisperin' to each other. Vee quits right in the + middle of a reverse.</p> + + <p>"Do they think we are giving an exhibition?" she pouts.<a class="pagenum" name="page_8" title="8" id= + "page_8"></a></p> + + <p>"Maybe we're breakin' some of the rules and by-laws," says I. "Anyway, I think we ought to beat it before they + call in the high sheriff."</p> + + <p>Next day it was just the same. We was out part of the time, indulgin' in walks and sleigh rides; but nobody seemed + to see us, goin' or comin'. And I begun to get good and sore.</p> + + <p>"Nice place, this," says I to Vee, as we trails in to dinner that evenin'. "Almost as sociable as the Grand + Central station."</p> + + <p>Vee tries to explain that it's always like this in these exclusive little all-the-year-round joints where about + the same crowd of people come every season.</p> + + <p>"Then you have to be born in the house to be a reg'lar person, I suppose?" says I.</p> + + <p>Well, it's about then I notices this classy young couple who are makin' their way across the dinin'-room, bein' + hailed right and left. And next thing I know, the young lady gets her eye on Vee, stops to take another look, then + rushes over and gives her the fond clinch from behind.</p> + + <p>"Why you dear old Verona!" says she.</p> + + <p>"Judith!" gasps Vee, kind of smothery.</p> + + <p>"Whatever are you doing up——" And then Judith gets wise to me sittin' opposite. "Oh!" says + she.<a class="pagenum" name="page_9" title="9" id="page_9"></a></p> + + <p>Vee blushes and exhibits her left hand.</p> + + <p>"It only happened the other night," says she. "This is Mr. Ballard, Judith. And you?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, ages ago—last spring," says Judith. "Bert, come here."</p> + + <p>It's a case of old boardin'-school friends who'd lost track of each other. Quite a stunner, young Mrs. Nixon is, + too, and Bert is a good match for her. The two girls hold quite a reunion, with us men standin' around lookin' + foolish.</p> + + <p>"We're living in Springfield, you know," goes on Judith, "where Bert is helping to build another munition plant. + Just ran up to spend the week-end with Auntie. You've met her, of course?"</p> + + <p>"We—we haven't met anyone," says Vee.</p> + + <p>"Why, how funny!" exclaims Mrs. Nixon. "Please come over right now."</p> + + <p>"My dear," says Auntie, pattin' Vee chummy on the hand, "we have all been wondering who you two young people were. + I knew you must be nice, but—er—— Come, won't you join us at this table? We'll make just a splendid + little family party. Now do!"</p> + + <p>Oh, yes, we did. And after dinner I'll be hanged if we ain't introduced to almost everybody in the hotel. It's a + reg'lar reception, with folks standin' in line to shake hands with us.<a class="pagenum" name="page_10" title="10" + id="page_10"></a> The old boy with the eye awnin's turns out to be an ex-Secretary of the Treasury; an antique with a + patent ear-'phone has been justice of some State Supreme Court; and so on. Oh, lots of class to 'em. But after I'd + been vouched for by someone they knew they all gives me the hearty grip, offers me cigars, and hopes I'm enjoyin' my + stay.</p> + + <p>"And so you are a niece of dear Mrs. Hemmingway?" says old Parrot-Face, when her turn comes. "Think of that! And + this is your husband!" And then she says how nice it is that some other young people will be up in the mornin'.</p> + + <p>That evenin' Judith gets busy plannin' things to do next day.</p> + + <p>"You haven't tried the toboggan chute?" says she. "Why, how absurd!"</p> + + <p>Yep, it was a big day, Saturday was. Half a dozen more young folks drifted in, includin' a couple of Harvard men + that Vee knew, a girl she'd met abroad, and another she'd seen at a house-party. They was all live wires, too, ready + for any sort of fun. And we had all kinds. Maybe we didn't keep that toboggan slide warm. Say, it's some sport, ain't + it?</p> + + <p>Anyway, our honeymoon was turnin' out a great success. The Nixons concluded to stay<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_11" title="11" id="page_11"></a> over a few days, and three or four of the others found they could too, so we + just went on whooping things up.</p> + + <p>Next I knew we'd been there a week, and was due to make a jump to Washington for a few days of sight-seein'.</p> + + <p>"I'm afraid that will not be half as nice as this has been," says Vee.</p> + + <p>"It couldn't," says I. "It's the reg'lar thing to do, though."</p> + + <p>"I hate doing the regular thing," says Vee. "Besides, I'm dying to see our little studio apartment and get settled + in it. Why not—well, just go home? "</p> + + <p>"Vee," says I, "you got more good sense than I have red hair. Let's!"</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_12" title="12" id="page_12"></a> + <a name="VEE_WITH_VARIATIONS_332" id="VEE_WITH_VARIATIONS_332"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + <h3>VEE WITH VARIATIONS</h3> + </div> + + <p>"But—but look here, Vee," says I, after I'd got my breath back, "you can't do a thing like that, you + know."</p> + + <p>"But I have, Torchy," says she; "and, what is more, I mean to keep on doing it."</p> + + <p>She don't say it messy, understand—just states it quiet and pleasant.</p> + + <p>And there we are, hardly at the end of our first month, with the rocks loomin' ahead.</p> + + <p>Say, where did I collect all this bunk about gettin' married, anyway? I had an idea that after the honeymoon was + over, you just settled down and lived happy, or otherwise, ever after. But, believe me, there's nothing to it. It + ain't all over, not by a long shot. As a matter of fact, you've just begun to live, and you got to learn how.</p> + + <p>Here I am, discoverin' a new Vee every day or so, and almost dizzy tryin' to get acquainted with all of 'em. Do I + show up that way to her?<a class="pagenum" name="page_13" title="13" id="page_13"></a> I doubt it. Now and then, + though, I catch her watchin' me sort of puzzled.</p> + + <p>So there's nothing steady goin' or settled about us yet, thanks be. Home ain't a place to yawn in. Not ours. We + don't get all our excitement out of changin' the furniture round, either. Oh, sure, we do that, too. You know, we're + startin' in with a ready-made home—a studio apartment that Mr. Robert picked up for me at a bargain, all + furnished.</p> + + <p>He was a near-artist, if you remember, this Waddy Crane party, who'd had a bale of coupon-bearin' certificates + willed to him, and what was a van-load of furniture more or less to him? Course, I'm no judge of such junk, but Vee + seems to think we've got something swell.</p> + + <p>"Just look at this noble old davenport, will you!" says she. "Isn't it a beauty? And that highboy! Real old San + Domingo mahogany that is, with perfectly lovely crotch veneer in the panels. See?"</p> + + <p>"Uh-huh," says I.</p> + + <p>"And this four-poster with the pineapple tops and the canopy," she goes on. "Pure Colonial, a hundred years + old."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I, gazin' at it doubtful. "Course, I was lookin' for second-hand stuff, but I don't<a class="pagenum" + name="page_14" title="14" id="page_14"></a> think he ought to work off anything that ancient on me, do you?"</p> + + <p>"Silly!" says Vee. "It's a gem, and the older the better."</p> + + <p>"We'll need some new rugs, won't we," says I, "in place of some of these faded things?"</p> + + <p>"Faded!" says Vee. "Why, those are Bokharas. I will say for Mr. Crane that he has good taste. This is furnished so + much better than most studios—nothing useless, no mixing of periods."</p> + + <p>"Oh, when I go out after a home," says I, "I'm some grand little shopper."</p> + + <p>"Pooh!" says Vee. "Who couldn't do it the way you did? Why, the place looks as if he'd just taken his hat and + walked out. There are even cigars in the humidor. And his easel and paints and brushes! Do you know what I'm going to + do, Torchy?"</p> + + <p>"Put pink and green stripes around the cigars, I expect," says I.</p> + + <p>"Smarty!" says she. "I'm going to paint pictures."</p> + + <p>"Why not?" says I. "There's no law against it, and here you got all the tools."</p> + + <p>"You know I used to try it a little," says she. "I took quite a lot of lessons."</p> + + <p>"Then go to it," says I. "I'll get a yearly<a class="pagenum" name="page_15" title="15" id="page_15"></a> rate + from a pressing club to keep the spots off me. I'll bet you could do swell pictures."</p> + + <p>"I know!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I'll begin with a portrait of you. Let me try sketching in your head + now."</p> + + <p>That's the way Vee generally goes at things—with a rush. Say, she had me sittin' with my chin up and my arms + draped in one position until I had a neck-ache that ran clear to my heels.</p> + + <p>"Hal-lup!" says I, when both feet was sound asleep and my spine felt ossified. "Couldn't I put on a sub while I + drew a long breath?"</p> + + <p>At that she lets me off, and after a fifth-innin' stretch I'm called round to pass on the result.</p> + + <p>"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at what she's done to a perfectly good piece of stretched canvas.</p> + + <p>"Well, what does it look like?" demands Vee.</p> + + <p>"Why," says I, "I should call it sort of a cross between the Kaiser and Billy Sunday."</p> + + <p>"Torchy!" says Vee. "I—I think you're just horrid!"</p> + + <p>For a whole week she sticks to it industrious, jottin' down studies of various parts of my map while I'm eatin' + breakfast, and workin' over 'em until I come back from the office in the afternoon. Did I throw out any more + comic<a class="pagenum" name="page_16" title="16" id="page_16"></a> cracks? Never a one—not even when the + picture showed that my eyes toed in. All I did was pat her on the back and say she was a wonder. But say, I got so I + dreaded to look at the thing.</p> + + <p>"You know your hair isn't really red," says Vee; "it—it's such an odd shade."</p> + + <p>"Sort of triple pink, eh?" says I.</p> + + <p>She squeezes out some more paints, stirs 'em vigorous, and makes another stab. This time she gets a bilious + lavender with streaks of fire-box red in it.</p> + + <p>"Bother!" says she, chuckin' away the brushes. "What's the use pretending I'm an artist when I'm not? Look at that + hideous mess! It's too awful for words. Take away that fire-screen, will you, Torchy?"</p> + + <p>And, with the help of a few matches and a sportin' extra, we made quite a cheerful little blaze in the coal + grate.</p> + + <p>"There!" says Vee, as we watches the bonfire. "So that's over. And it's rather a relief to find out that I haven't + got to be a lady artist, after all. What is more, I am positive I couldn't write a book. I'm afraid, Torchy, that I + am a most every-day sort of person."</p> + + <p>"Maybe," says I, "you're one of the scarce ones that believes in home and hubby. "</p> + + <p>"We-e-e-ell," says Vee, lockin' her fingers<a class="pagenum" name="page_17" title="17" id="page_17"></a> and + restin' her chin on 'em thoughtful, "not precisely that type, either. My mind may not be particularly advanced, but + the modified harem existence for women doesn't appeal to me. And I must confess that, with kitchenette breakfasts, + dinners out, and one maid, I can't get wildly excited over a wholly domestic career. Torchy, I simply must have + something to do."</p> + + <p>Me, I just sits there gawpin' at her.</p> + + <p>"Why," says I, "I thought that when a girl got married she—she—— "</p> + + <p>"I know," says she. "You think you thought. So did I. But you really didn't think about it at all, and I'm only + beginning to. Of course, you have your work. I suppose it's interesting, too. Isn't it?"</p> + + <p>"It's a great game," says I. "Specially these days, when doin' any kind of business is about as substantial as + jugglin' six china plates while you're balanced on top of two chairs and a kitchen table. Honest, we got deals enough + in the air to make you dizzy followin' 'em. If they all go through we'll stand to cut a melon that would pay off the + national debt. If they should all go wrong—well, it would be some smash, believe me."</p> + + <p>Vee's gray eyes light up sudden.</p> + + <p>"Why couldn't you tell me all about some of<a class="pagenum" name="page_18" title="18" id="page_18"></a> these + deals," she says, "so that I could be in it too? Why couldn't I help?"</p> + + <p>"Maybe you could," says I, "if you understood all the fine points."</p> + + <p>"Couldn't I learn?" demands Vee.</p> + + <p>"Well," says I, "I've been right in the thick of it for quite some years. If you could pick up in a week or so + what it's taken me years to——"</p> + + <p>"I see," cuts in Vee. "I suppose you're right, too. But I'm sure that I should like to be in business. It must be + fascinating, all that planning and scheming. It must make life so interesting."</p> + + <p>I nods. "It does," says I.</p> + + <p>"Then why shouldn't I try something of the kind, all my very own?" she asks. "Oh, in a small way, at first?"</p> + + <p>More gasps from me. This was gettin' serious.</p> + + <p>"You don't mean margin dabblin' at one of them parlor bucket-shops, do you?" I demands.</p> + + <p>"No fear," says Vee. "I think gambling is just plain stupid. I mean some sort of legitimate business—buying + and selling things."</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says I. "Like real estate, or imported hats, or somebody's home-made candy? Or maybe you mean startin' one + of them Blue<a class="pagenum" name="page_19" title="19" id="page_19"></a> Goose novelty shops down in Greenwich + Village. I'll tell you. Why not manufacture left-handed collar buttons for the south-paw trade? There's a field. + "</p> + + <p>Vee don't say any more. In fact, three or four days goes by without her mentionin' anything about havin' nothing + to do, and I'd 'most forgot this batty talk of ours.</p> + + <p>And then, one afternoon when I comes home after a busy day at doin' nothing much and tryin' to look important over + it, she greets me with a flyin' tackle and drags me over to a big wingchair by the window.</p> + + <p>"What do you think, Torchy?" says she. "I've found something!"</p> + + <p>"That trunk key you've been lookin' for?" says I.</p> + + <p>"No," says she. "A business opening."</p> + + <p>"A slot-machine to sell fudge?" says I.</p> + + <p>"You'd never guess," says she.</p> + + <p>"Then shoot it," says I.</p> + + <p>"I'm going to open a shoe-shinery," she announces.</p> + + <p>"Wha-a-a-at!" says I.</p> + + <p>"Only I'm not going to call it that," she goes on. "It isn't to be a 'parlor,' either, nor a 'shine shop.' It's to + be just a 'Boots.' Right here in the building. I've leased part of the<a class="pagenum" name="page_20" title="20" + id="page_20"></a> basement. See?" And she waves a paper at me.</p> + + <p>"Quit your kiddin'," says I.</p> + + <p>But she insists that it's so. Sure enough, that's the way the lease reads.</p> + + <p>And that's when, as I was tellin' you, I rises up majestic and announces flat that she simply can't do a thing + like that. Also she comes back at me just as prompt by sayin' that she can and will. It's the first time we've met + head-on goin' different ways, and I had just sense enough to throw in my emergency before the crash came.</p> + + <p>"Now let's get this straight," says I. "I don't suppose you're plannin' to do shoe-shinin' yourself?"</p> + + <p>Vee smiles and shakes her head.</p> + + <p>"Or 'tend the cash register and sell shoelaces and gum to gentlemen customers?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, it's not to be that sort of place," says she. "It's to be an English 'boots,' on a large scale. You know what + I mean."</p> + + <p>"No," says I.</p> + + <p>So she sketches out the enterprise for me. Instead of a reg'lar Tony joint with a row of chairs and a squad of + blue-shirted Greeks jabberin' about the war, this is to be a chairless, spittoonless shine factory, where the + customer only steps in to sign a monthly contract or register<a class="pagenum" name="page_21" title="21" id= + "page_21"></a> a kick. All the work is to be collected and delivered, same as laundry.</p> + + <p>"I would never have thought of it," explains Vee, "if it hadn't been for Tarkins. He's that pasty-faced, + sharp-nosed young fellow who's been helping the janitor recently. A cousin, I believe. He's a war wreck, too. Just + think, Torchy: he was in the trenches for more than a year, and has only been out of a base hospital two months. They + wouldn't let him enlist again; so he came over here to his relatives.</p> + + <p>"It was while he was up trying to stop that radiator leak the other day that I asked him if he would take out a + pair of my boots and find some place where they could be cleaned. He brought them back inside of half an hour, + beautifully done. And when I insisted on being told where he'd taken them, so that I might send them to the same + place again, he admitted that he had done the work himself. 'My old job, ma'am,' says he. 'I was boots at the Argyle + Club, ma'am, before I went out to strafe the 'Uns. Seven years, ma'am. But they got a girl doin' it now, a flapper. + Wouldn't take me back.' Just fancy! And Tarkins a trench hero! So I got to thinking."</p> + + <p>"I see," says I. "You're going to set Tarkins up, eh?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_22" title="22" id= + "page_22"></a></p> + + <p>"I'm going to make him my manager," says Vee. "He will have charge of the shop and solicit orders. We are going to + start with only two polishers; one for day work, the other for the night shift. And Tarkins will always be on the + job. They're installing a 'phone now, and he will sleep on a cot in the back office. We will work this block first, + something like four hundred apartments. Later on—well, we'll see."</p> + + <p>"I don't want to croak," says I, "but do you think folks will send out their footwear that way? You know, New + Yorkers ain't used to gettin' their shines except on the hoof."</p> + + <p>"I mean to educate them to my 'boots' system," says Vee. "I'm getting up a circular now. I shall show them how + much time they can save, how many tips they can avoid. You see, each customer will have a delivery box, with his name + and address on it. No chance for mistakes. The boxes can be set outside the apartment doors. We will have four + collections, perhaps; two in the daytime, two at night. And when they see the kind of work we do—— Well, + you wait. "</p> + + <p>"I'll admit it don't listen so worse," says I. "The scheme has its good points. But when you come to teachin' New + York people new<a class="pagenum" name="page_23" title="23" id="page_23"></a> tricks, like sendin' out their shoes, + you're goin' to be up against it."</p> + + <p>"Then you think I can't make 'boots' pay a profit?" asks Vee.</p> + + <p>"That would be my guess," says I. "If it was a question of underwritin' a stock issue for the scheme I'd have to + turn it down."</p> + + <p>"Good!" says Vee. "Now I shall work all the harder. Tarkins will be around early in the morning to get you as our + first customer."</p> + + <p>Say, for the next few days she certainly was a busy party—plannin' out her block campaign, lookin' over + supply bills, and checkin' up Tarkins's reports.</p> + + <p>I don't know when I'd ever seen her so interested in anything, or so chirky. Her cheeks were pink all the time and + her eyes dancin'. And somehow we had such a lot to talk about.</p> + + <p>Course, though, I didn't expect it to last. You wouldn't look for a girl like Vee, who'd never had any trainin' + for that sort of thing, to start a new line and make a go of it right off the bat. But, so long as she wasn't + investin' very heavy, it didn't matter.</p> + + <p>And then, here last night, after she'd been workin' over her account-books for an hour or so, she comes at me with + a whoop, and waves a sheet of paper under my nose excited.<a class="pagenum" name="page_24" title="24" id= + "page_24"></a></p> + + <p>"Now, Mister Business Man," says she, "what do you think of that?"</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I, starin' at the figures.</p> + + <p>"One hundred and seventeen regular customers the first week," says she, "and a net profit of $23.45. Now how about + underwriting that stock issue?"</p> + + <p>Well, it was a case of backin' up. She had it all figured out plain. She'd made good from the start. And, just to + prove that it's real money that she's made all by herself, she insists on invitin' me out to a celebration dinner. + It's a swell one, too, take it from me.</p> + + <p>And afterwards we sits up until long past midnight while Vee plans a chain of "boots " all over the city.</p> + + <p>"Gee!" says I. "Maybe you'll be gettin' yourself written up as 'The Shine Queen of New York' or something like + that. Lucky Auntie's in Jamaica. Think what a jolt it would give her."</p> + + <p>"I don't care," says Vee. "I've found a job."</p> + + <p>"Guess you have," says I. "And, as I've remarked once or twice before, you're some girl."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_25" title="25" id="page_25"></a> + <a name="A_QUALIFYING_TURN_FOR_TORCHY_682" id="A_QUALIFYING_TURN_FOR_TORCHY_682"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + <h3>A QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY</h3> + </div> + + <p>And here all along I'd been kiddin' myself that I was a perfectly good private sec. Also I had an idea the + Corrugated Trust was one of the main piers that kept New York from slumpin' into the North River, and that the boss, + Old Hickory Ellins, was sort of a human skyscraper who loomed up as imposin' in the financial foreground as the + Metropolitan Tower does on the picture post-cards that ten-day trippers mail to the folks back home.</p> + + <p>Not that I'd been workin' up any extra chest measure since I've had an inside desk and had connected with a few + shares of our preferred stock; I always did feel more or less that way about our concern. And the closer I got to + things, seein' how wide our investments was scattered and how many big deals we stood behind, the surer I was that we + was important people.</p> + + <p>And then, in trickles this smooth-haired young gent with the broad <i>a</i>'s and the full set of <i>thé + dansant</i> manners, to show me where I'm<a class="pagenum" name="page_26" title="26" id="page_26"></a> wrong on all + counts. He'd succeeded in convincin' Vincent-on-the-gate that nobody around the shop would do but Mr. Ellins himself, + so here was Old Hickory standin' in the door of his private office with the card in his hand and starin' puzzled at + this immaculate symphony in browns.</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says he. "You're from Runyon, are you? Well, I wired him to stop off on his way through and have luncheon + with me at the Union League. Know anything about that, do you?"</p> + + <p>"Mr. Runyon regrets very much," says the young gent, "that he will be unable to accept your kind invitation. He is + on his way to Newport, you know, and—— "</p> + + <p>"Yes, I understand all that," breaks in Old Hickory. "Daughter's wedding. But that isn't until next week, and + while he was in town I thought we might have a little chat and settle a few things."</p> + + <p>"Quite so," says the symphony. "Precisely why he sent me up, sir—to talk over anything you might care to + discuss."</p> + + <p>"With you!" snorts Old Hickory. "Who the brocaded buckboards are you?"</p> + + <p>"Mr. Runyon's secretary, sir," says the young gent. "Bixby's the name, sir, as you will see by the card, + and——"<a class="pagenum" name="page_27" title="27" id="page_27"></a></p> + + <p>"Ha!" growls old Hickory. "So that's Marc Runyon's answer to me, is it? Sends his secretary! Very well; you may + talk with <i>my</i> secretary. Torchy!"</p> + + <p>"Right here!" says I, slidin' to the front.</p> + + <p>"Take this person somewhere," says Mr. Ellins, jerkin' his thumb at Bixby; "instruct him what to tell his master + about how we regard that terminal hold-up; then dust him off carefully and lead him to the elevator."</p> + + <p>"Got you!" says I, salutin'.</p> + + <p>You might think that would have jolted Mr. Bixby. But no. He gets the door shut in his face without even blinkin' + or gettin' pink under the eyes. Don't even indulge in any shoulder shrugs or other signs of muffled emotion. He just + turns to me calm and remarks businesslike:</p> + + <p>"At your service, sir."</p> + + <p>Now, say, this lubricated diplomacy act ain't my long suit as a general thing, but I couldn't figure a percentage + in puttin' over any more rough stuff on Bixby. It rolled off him too easy. Course, it might be all right for Mr. + Ellins to get messy or blow a gasket if he wanted to; but I couldn't see that it was gettin' us anywhere. He hadn't + planned this luncheon affair just for the sake of being sociable—I knew that much.<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_28" title="28" id="page_28"></a> The big idea was to get next to Marcus T. Runyon and thresh out a certain + proposition on a face-to-face basis. And if he chucked that overboard because of a whim, we stood to lose.</p> + + <p>It was up to me now, though. Maybe I couldn't be as smooth as this Bixby party, but I could make a stab along that + line. It would be good practice, anyhow. So I tows him over to my corner, and arranges him easy in an armchair.</p> + + <p>"As between private secs, now," says I, "what's puttin' up the bars on this get-together motion, eh?"</p> + + <p>Well, considerin' that Bixby is English and don't understand the American language very well, we got along fine. + Once or twice, there, I thought I should have to call in an interpreter; but by bein' careful to state things simple, + and by goin' over some of the points two or three times slow, we managed to make out what each other meant.</p> + + <p>It seems that Marcus T. is more or less of a frail and tender party. Dashin' out for a Union League luncheon, + fillin' himself up on <i>poulet en casserole</i> and such truck, not to mention Martinis and demi-tasses and brunette + perfectos, was clean out of the question.</p> + + <p>"My word!" says Bixby, rollin' his eyes.<a class="pagenum" name="page_29" title="29" id="page_29"></a> "His + physician would never allow it, you know."</p> + + <p>"Suppose he took a chance and didn't tell the doc?" I suggests.</p> + + <p>"Impossible," says Bixby. "He is with him constantly—travels with him, you understand."</p> + + <p>I didn't get it all at first, but I sopped it up gradual. Marcus T. wasn't takin' any casual flit from his Palm + Beach winter home to his Newport summer place. No jumpin' into a common Pullman for him, joinin' the smokin'-room + bunch, and scrabblin' for his meals in the diner. Hardly.</p> + + <p>He was travelin' in his private car, with his private secretary, his private physician, his trained nurse, his + private chef, and most likely, his private bootblack. And he was strictly under his doctor's orders. He wasn't even + goin' to have a peek at Broadway or Fifth Avenue; for, although a suite had been engaged for him at the Plutoria, the + Doc had ruled against it only that mornin'. No; he had to stay in the private car, that had been run on a special + sidin' over in the Pennsylvania yards.</p> + + <p>"So you see," says Bixby, spreadin' out his varnished finger-nails helpless. "And yet, I am sure he would very + much like to have a chat with his old friend Mr. Ellins."<a class="pagenum" name="page_30" title="30" id= + "page_30"></a></p> + + <p>I had all I could do to choke back a haw-haw. His old friend, eh? Oh, I expect they might be called friends, in a + way. They hadn't actually stuck any knives into each other. And 'way back, when they was both operatin' in Chicago, I + understand they was together a good deal. But since—— Well, maybe at a circus you've seen a couple of old + tigers pacin' back and forth in nearby cages and catchin' sight of one another now and then? Something like that.</p> + + <p>"Friend" wasn't the way Marcus T. was indexed on our books. If we spotted any suspicious moves in the market, or + found one of our subsidiary companies being led astray by unseen hands, or a big contract slippin' away mysterious, + the word was always passed to "watch the Runyon interests." And I'll admit that when the Corrugated saw an openin' to + put a crimp in a Runyon deal, or overbid 'em on a franchise, or crack a ripe egg on one of their bond issues, we only + waited long enough for it to get dark before gettin' busy. Oh, yes, we was real chummy that way.</p> + + <p>And then again, with the Runyon system touchin' ours in so many spots, we had a lot of open daylight dealin's. We + interlocked here and there; we had joint leases, trackage agreements, and so on, where we was just as<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_31" title="31" id="page_31"></a> trustin' of each other as a couple of gentlemen crooks dividin' + the souvenirs after an early mornin' call at a country-house.</p> + + <p>This terminal business Old Hickory had mentioned was a sample. Course, I only knew about it in a vague sort of + way: something about ore docks up on the Lakes. Anyway, it was a case where the Runyon people had hogged the + waterfront and was friskin' us for tonnage charges on every steamer we loaded.</p> + + <p>I know it was something that had to be renewed annual, for I'd heard Mr. Ellins beefin' about it more'n once. Last + year, I remember, he was worse than usual, which was accounted for later by the fact that the ton rate had been + jumped a couple of cents. And now it had been almost doubled. No wonder he wanted a confab with Marcus T. on the + subject. And, from where I stood, it looked like he ought to have it, grouch or no grouch.</p> + + <p>"Bixby," says I, "Mr. Ellins would just grieve himself sick if this reunion he's planned don't come off. Now, + what's the best you can do?"</p> + + <p>"If Mr. Ellins could come to the private car——" begins Bixby.</p> + + <p>"Say," I breaks in, "you wouldn't ask him to climb over freight-cars and dodge switch-engines just for old times' + sake, would you?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_32" title="32" id="page_32"></a></p> + + <p>Bixby holds up both hands and registers painful protest.</p> + + <p>"By no means," says he. "We would send the limousine for Mr. Ellins, have it wait his convenience, and drive him + directly to the car steps. I think I can arrange the interview for any time between two-thirty and four o'clock this + afternoon."</p> + + <p>"Now, that's talkin'!" says I. "I'll see what I can do with the boss. Wait, will you?"</p> + + <p>Oh, boy, though! That was about as tough a job as I ever tackled. Old Hickory still has his neck feathers ruffled, + and he's chewin' savage on a black cigar when I go in to slip him the soothin' syrup. First off I explains elaborate + what a sick man Mr. Runyon is, and all about the trained nurse and the private physician.</p> + + <p>"Bah!" says Old Hickory. "I'll bet he's no more an invalid than I am. Just coddling himself, that's all. Got the + private car habit, too! Why, I knew Marc Runyon when he thought an upper berth was the very lap of luxury; knew him + when he'd grind his teeth over payin' a ten-dollar fee to a doctor. And now he's trying to buy back his digestion by + hiring a private physician, is he? The simple-minded old sinner!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_33" title="33" id= + "page_33"></a></p> + + <p>"I expect you ain't seen much of him lately, Mr. Ellins?" I suggests.</p> + + <p>Old Hickory hunches his shoulders careless.</p> + + <p>"No," says he.</p> + + <p>Then he gazes reminiscent at the ceilin'. I could tell by watchin' his lower jaw sort of loosen up that he was + thinkin' of the old days, or something like that. It struck me as a good time to let things simmer. I drops back a + step and waits. All of a sudden he turns to me and demands:</p> + + <p>"Well, son?"</p> + + <p>"If you could get away about three," says I, "Mr. Runyon's limousine will be waiting."</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says he. "Well, I'll see. Perhaps."</p> + + <p>"Yes, sir," says I. "Then you'll be wanting the dope on that terminal lease. Shall I dig it up?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, you might as well," says Old Hickory. "There isn't much, but bring along anything you may find. You will have + to serve as my entire retinue, Torchy. I expect you to behave like a regular high-toned secretary."</p> + + <p>"Gee!" says I. "That's some order. Mr. Bixby'll have me lookin' like an outside porter. But I'll go wind myself + up."</p> + + <p>All I could think of, though, was to post myself on that terminal stuff. And, believe me, I<a class="pagenum" + name="page_34" title="34" id="page_34"></a> waded into that strong. Inside of ten minutes after I'd sent Bixby on his + way I had Piddie clawin' through the record safe, two stenographers searchin' the letter-files, and Vincent out + buyin' maps of Lake Superior. I had about four hours to use in gettin' wise to the fine points of a deal that had + been runnin' on for ten years; but I can absorb a lot of information in a short time when I really get my mind pores + open.</p> + + <p>At that, though, I expect my head would have been just a junk-heap of back-number facts if I hadn't run across the + name of this guy McClave in some of the correspondence. Seems he'd been assistant traffic agent for one of the Runyon + lines, but had been dropped durin' a consolidation shake-up. And now he happens to be holdin' down a desk out in our + general offices. Just on a chance, I pushes the button for him.</p> + + <p>Well, say, talk about tappin' the main feedpipe! Why, that quiet little Scotchman in the shiny black cutaway coat + and the baggy plaid trousers, he knew more about how iron ore gets from the mines to the smelters than I do about + puttin' on my own clothes. And as for the inside hist'ry of how we got that tonnage charge wished onto us, why, + McClave had been called in when the merry little scheme was first plotted out.<a class="pagenum" name="page_35" + title="35" id="page_35"></a></p> + + <p>I made him start at the beginning and explain every item, while we munched fried-egg sandwiches as we went over + reports, sorted out old letters, and marked up a perfectly good map of Minnesota. But by three <span class= + "smcap">p.m</span> . I had a leather document case stuffed with papers and a cross-index of 'em in my so-called + brain.</p> + + <p>"When you're ready, Mr. Ellins," says I, standin' by with my hat in my hand.</p> + + <p>"Oh, yes," says he, heavin' himself up reluctant from his desk chair.</p> + + <p>And, sure enough, there's a silk-lined limousine and a French chauffeur waitin' in front of the arcade. In no time + at all, too, we're rolled across Seventh Avenue, down through a tunnel, and out alongside a shiny private car with a + brass-bound bay-window on one end and flower-boxes hung on the side. They even had a carpet laid on the steps. It's a + happy little home on wheels.</p> + + <p>Also there is Bixby the Busy, with his ear out for us.</p> + + <p>Talk about private seccing as a fine art! Why, say, I fairly held my breath watchin' him operate. Every move is as + smooth and silent as a steel lathe runnin' in an oil bath. He don't exactly whisper, or give us the hush-up sign, but + somehow he gets me steppin' soft and talkin'<a class="pagenum" name="page_36" title="36" id="page_36"></a> under my + breath from the minute I hits the front vestibule.</p> + + <p>"So good of you, Mr. Ellins," he coos soothin'. "Will you come right in? Mr. Runyon will be with you in a moment. + Just finishing a treatment, you know. This way, gentlemen."</p> + + <p>Say, it was like bein' ushered into church durin' the prayer. Once inside, you'd never guess it was just a car. + More like the corner of a perfectly good drawin'-room—easy chairs, Turkish rugs, silver vases full of roses, + double hangin's at the windows.</p> + + <p>"Will you sit here, Mr. Ellins?" murmurs Bixby. "And you here, sir. Pardon me a moment."</p> + + <p>Then he glides about, pullin' down a shade, movin' a vase, studyin' how the light is goin' to strike in, pattin' a + cushion, shovin' out a foot-rest—like he was settin' the stage for the big scene. And right in the midst of it + I near spilled the beans by pullin' an afternoon edition out of my pocket. Bixby swoops down on me panicky.</p> + + <p>"Oh, I'm so sorry!" says he, pluckin' the paper out of my fingers. "But may I put this outside? Mr. Runyon cannot + stand the rustling of newspapers. Please don't mind. There! Now I think we are ready."<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_37" title="37" id="page_37"></a></p> + + <p>I wanted to warn him that I hadn't quite stopped breathin' yet, but he's off to the other end of the room, where a + nurse in a white cap is peekin' through the draperies.</p> + + <p>Bixby nods to her and stands one side. Then we waits a minute—two minutes. And finally the procession + appears.</p> + + <p>First, a nurse carryin' a steamer rug; next, another nurse with a tray; and after them a valet and the private + physician with the great Marcus T. walkin' slow between.</p> + + <p>He ain't so imposin' when you get that close, though. Kind of a short, poddy party, who looks like he'd been + upholstered generous once but had shrunk a lot. There are heavy bags under his eyes, dewlaps at his mouth-corners, + and deep seams across his clean-shaved face. He has sort of a cigar-ash complexion. And yet, under them shaggy brows + is a keen pair of eyes that seem to take in everything.</p> + + <p>Old Hickory gets up right off, with his hand out. But it's a social error. Bixby blocks him off graceful. He's in + full command, Bixby is. With a one-finger gesture he signals the nurse to drape her rug over the chair. Then he nods + to the doctor and the valet to go ahead. They ease Runyon into his seat. Bixby motions 'em to wrap up his knees. By + an eyelid flutter<a class="pagenum" name="page_38" title="38" id="page_38"></a> he shows the other nurse where to set + her tray.</p> + + <p>It's almost as complicated a process as dockin' an ocean liner. When it's finished, Bixby waves one hand gentle, + and they all fade back through the draperies.</p> + + <p>"Hello, Ellins," says Runyon. "Mighty good of you to hunt up a wreck like me."</p> + + <p>I almost gasped out loud. Somehow, after seem' him handled like a mummy that way, you didn't expect to hear him + speak. It's a shock. Even Old Hickory must have felt something as I did.</p> + + <p>"I—I didn't know," says he. "When did it happen, Runyon?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, it's nothing," says Marcus T. "I am merely paying up for fifty-odd years of hard living by—by this. + Ever try to exist on artificial sour milk and medicated hay, Ellins? Hope you never come to it. Don't look as though + you would. But you were always tougher than I, even back in the State Street days, eh?"</p> + + <p>First thing I knew, they were chattin' away free and easy. Course, there was Bixby all the time, standin' behind + watchful. And right in the middle of a sentence he didn't hesitate to butt in and hand Mr. Runyon a glass of + what<a class="pagenum" name="page_39" title="39" id="page_39"></a> looked like thin whitewash. Marcus T. would take a + sip obedient and then go on with his talk. At last he asks if there's anything special he can do for Mr. Ellins.</p> + + <p>"Why, yes," says Old Hickory, settin' his jaw. "You might call off your highwaymen on that Manitou terminal lease, + Runyon. That is, unless you mean to take all of our mining profits."</p> + + <p>Marcus T.'s eyes brighten up. They almost twinkle.</p> + + <p>"Bixby," says he, "what about that? Has there been an increase in the tonnage rate to the Corrugated?"</p> + + <p>"I think so, sir," says Bixby. "I can look it up, sir."</p> + + <p>"Ah!" says Runyon. "Bixby will look it up."</p> + + <p>"He needn't," says Old Hickory. "It's been doubled, that's all. We had the notice last week. Torchy, did + you——"</p> + + <p>"Yep!" says I, shootin' the letter at him.</p> + + <p>"Well, well!" says Runyon, after he's gazed at it. "There must have been some well founded cause for such an + advance. Bixby, you must——"</p> + + <p>"It's because you think you've got us in a hole," breaks in Old Hickory. "We've got<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_40" title="40" id="page_40"></a> to load our boats and you control the docks."</p> + + <p>"Oh, yes!" chuckles Marcus T. "An unfortunate situation—for you. But I presume there are other dockage + facilities available."</p> + + <p>"If there were," says Mr. Ellins sarcastic, "do you think we would be paying you from three to five millions a + year?"</p> + + <p>"Bixby, I fear you must explain our position more fully," goes on Mr. Runyon.</p> + + <p>"Oh, certainly," says Bixby. "I will have a full report prepared and—— "</p> + + <p>"Suppose you tell it to my secretary now," insists Old Hickory, glarin' menacin' at him.</p> + + <p>"Do so, Bixby," says Marcus T.</p> + + <p>"Why—er—you see," says Bixby, turnin' to me, "as I understand the case, the only outlet you have to + deep water is over our tracks to—— "</p> + + <p>"What about them docks at Three Harbors?" I cuts in.</p> + + <p>"Three Harbors?" repeats Bixby, starin' vague.</p> + + <p>"Precisely," says Marcus T. "As the young man suggests, there is plenty of unemployed dockage at that point. But + your ore tracks do not connect with that port."<a class="pagenum" name="page_41" title="41" id="page_41"></a></p> + + <p>"They would if we laid forty miles of rails, branchin' off at Tamarack Junction, " says I. "That spur has all been + surveyed and the right of way cleared."</p> + + <p>"Ah!" exclaims Bixby, comin' to life again. "I remember now. Tamarack Junction. We hold a charter for a railroad + from there to Three Harbors."</p> + + <p>"You mean you did hold it," says I.</p> + + <p>"I beg pardon?" says Bixby, gawpin'.</p> + + <p>"It lapsed," says I, "eighteen months ago. Here's a copy, O. K.'d by a Minnesota notary public. See the date?"</p> + + <p>"Allow me," says Mr. Runyon, reachin' for it.</p> + + <p>Old Hickory gets up and rubbers over his shoulder. "By George!" says he. "It has lapsed, Runyon. Torchy, where's a + map of——"</p> + + <p>"Here you are," says I. "You'll see the branch line sketched in there. That would cut our haul about fifteen + miles."</p> + + <p>"And leave you with a lot of vacant ore docks on your hands, eh, Runyon?" puts in Old Hickory. "We could have + those rails laid by the time the ice was out of the Soo. Well, well! Throws rather a new light on the situation, + doesn't it?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_42" title="42" id="page_42"></a></p> + + <p>Marcus T. turns slow and fixes them keen eyes of his on Bixby the Busy.</p> + + <p>"Hm-m-m!" says he. "It seems that we have overlooked a point, Bixby. Perhaps, though, you can + offer——"</p> + + <p>He can. Some shifty private sec, Bixby is.</p> + + <p>"Your milk, sir," says he, grabbin' the tray and shovin' it in front of Runyon.</p> + + <p>For a second or so the great Marcus T. eyes it indignant. Then his shoulders sag, the fire dies out of his eyes, + and he takes the glass.</p> + + <p>He's about the best trained plute I ever saw in captivity.</p> + + <p>"And I think the doctor should take your temperature now," adds Bixby. "I will call him."</p> + + <p>As he slips off toward the back end of the car Mr. Runyon lets out a sigh.</p> + + <p>"It's no use, Ellins," says he. "One can't pamper a ruined digestion and still enjoy these friendly little + business bouts. One simply can't. Name your own terms for continuing that terminal lease."</p> + + <p>Old Hickory does prompt, for we don't want to buy rails at the price they're bringin' now.</p> + + <p>"And by the way, Runyon," says he, "may I ask what you pay your young man? I'm just curious."<a class="pagenum" + name="page_43" title="43" id="page_43"></a></p> + + <p>"Bixby?" says Runyon. "Oh, twenty-five hundred."</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says Mr. Ellins. "My secretary forgets my milk now and then, but he remembers such trifles as lapsed + charters. He is drawing three thousand."</p> + + <p>I hope Marcus T. didn't hear the gasp I lets out—I tried to smother it. And the first thing I does when we + gets back into the limousine is to grin at the boss.</p> + + <p>"Whaddye mean, three thousand?" says I.</p> + + <p>"Dollars," says he. "Beginning to-day."</p> + + <p>"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "Going up, up! And there I was plannin' to take a special course in trained nursin', so I + could hold my job."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_44" title="44" id="page_44"></a> + <a name="SWITCHING_ARTS_ON_LEON_1156" id="SWITCHING_ARTS_ON_LEON_1156"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + <h3>SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON</h3> + </div> + + <p>Oh, sure! We're coming along grand. Did you think we'd be heavin' the blue willow-ware at each other by this time? + No. We've hardly displayed any before-breakfast dispositions yet.</p> + + <p>Not that we confine ourselves to the coo vocabulary, or advertise any continuous turtle-dove act. Gettin' married + ain't jellied our brains, I hope. Besides, we're busy. I've got a new gilt-edged job to fill, you know; and Vee, she + has one of her own, too.</p> + + <p>Well, I can't say that her scheme of runnin' a Boots, Limited, has mesmerized all New York into havin' its + shoe-shinin' done out. There's something about this cloth top and white gaiter craze that's puttin' a crimp in her + perfectly good plans. But she's doin' fairly well, and she don't have to think up ways of killin' time.</p> + + <p>Course, we have a few other things to think about, too. Just learnin' how to live in New York is a merry little + game all by itself. That's<a class="pagenum" name="page_45" title="45" id="page_45"></a> one of my big surprises. I'd + thought all along it was so simple.</p> + + <p>But say, we've been gettin' wise to a few facts this last month or so, for we've been tryin' to dope out which one + of the forty-nine varieties of New York's home-sweet-home repertoire was the kind for us. I don't mean we've been + changin' our street number, or testin' out different four-room-and-bath combinations. The studio apartment I got at a + bargain suits first rate. It's the meal proposition.</p> + + <p>First off, we decides gay and reckless that we'll breakfast and lunch in and take our dinners out. That listened + well and seemed easy enough—until Vee got to huntin' up a two-handed, light-footed female party who could boil + eggs without scorchin' the shells, dish up such things as canned salmon with cream sauce, and put a few potatoes + through the French fry process, doublin' in bed-makin' and dust-chasin' durin' her spare time. That shouldn't call + for any prize-winnin' graduate from a cookin' college, should it?</p> + + <p>But say, the specimens that go in for general housework in this burg are a sad lot. I ain't goin' all through the + list. I'll just touch lightly on Bertha.</p> + + <p>She was a cheerful soul, even when she was<a class="pagenum" name="page_46" title="46" id="page_46"></a> servin' + soggy potatoes or rappin' me in the ear with her elbow as she reached across to fill my water glass.</p> + + <p>"He-he! Haw-haw! Oxcuse, Mister," was Bertha's repartee for such little breaks.</p> + + <p>Course, I could plead with her for the umpteenth time to try pourin' from the button hand side, but it would have + been simpler to have worn a head guard durin' meals.</p> + + <p>And who would have the heart to put the ban on a yodel that begins in our kitchenette at 7 <span class= + "smcap">A.M.</span> , even on cloudy mornin's?</p> + + <p>If Bertha had been No. 1, or even No. 2, she'd have had her passports handed her about the second mornin'; but, as + she was the last of a punk half dozen, we tried not to mind her musical interludes. So at the end of three weeks her + friendly relations with us were still unbroken, though most of the dishes were otherwise.</p> + + <p>So you might have thought we'd been glad, when 6.30 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span> came, to put on our things and + join about a million or so other New Yorkers in findin' a dinner joint where the cooks and waiters made no claim to + havin' an amateur standin'.</p> + + <p>But, believe me, while my domestic instincts may be sproutin' late, they're comin' strong. I'm beginnin' to yearn + for nourishment that I<a class="pagenum" name="page_47" title="47" id="page_47"></a> don't have to learn the French + for or pick off'm a menu. I'd like to eat without bein' surrounded by three-chinned female parties with high blood + pressure, or bein' stared at by pop-eyed old sports who're givin' some kittenish cloak model a bright evenin'. And + Vee feels more or less the same way.</p> + + <p>"Besides," says she, "I wish we could entertain some of our friends."</p> + + <p>"Just what I was wishin'," says I. "Say, couldn't we find a few simple things in the cook-book that Bertha + couldn't queer?"</p> + + <p>"Such as canned baked beans and celery?" asks Vee, chucklin'. "And yet, if I stood by and read the directions to + her—who knows?"</p> + + <p>"Let's try her on the Piddies," I suggests.</p> + + <p>Well, we did. And if the potatoes had been cooked a little more and the roast a little less, it wouldn't have been + so bad. The olives were all right, even if Bertha did forget to serve 'em until she brought in the ice cream. But + then, the Piddies are used to little slips like that, havin' lived so long out in Jersey.</p> + + <p>"You see," explains Vee to me afterwards, "Bertha was a bit flurried over her first dinner-party. She isn't much + used to a gas oven, either. Don't you think we might try another?"</p> + + <p>"Sure!" says I. "What are friends for, anyway? How<a class="pagenum" name="page_48" title="48" id="page_48"></a> + about askin' Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, dear!" sighs Vee, lookin' scared. Then she is struck with a bright idea. "I'll tell you: we will rehearse the + next one the night before."</p> + + <p>"Atta girl!" says I. "Swell thought."</p> + + <p>It was while she and Bertha was strugglin' over the cook-book, and gettin' advice from various sources, from + housekeepin' magazines to the janitor's wife, that this Leon Battou party shows up with his sob hist'ry.</p> + + <p>"Oh, Torchy!" Vee hails me with, as I come home from the office here the other evenin'. "What becomes of people + when they're dispossessed—when they're put out on the street with their things, you know?"</p> + + <p>"Why," says I, "they generally stay out until they can find a place where they can move in. Has anybody been + threatenin' to chuck us out for not——"</p> + + <p>"Silly!" says she. "It's the Battous."</p> + + <p>"Don't know 'em," says I.</p> + + <p>"But surely," goes on Vee, "you've seen him. He's that funny little old Frenchman who's always dodging in and out + of the elevator with odd-looking parcels under his arm."</p> + + <p>"Oh, yes!" says I. "The one with the twinklin' eyes and the curly iron-gray hair, who<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_49" title="49" id="page_49"></a> always bows so polite and shoots that bon-shure stuff at you. Him?"</p> + + <p>It was.</p> + + <p>It seems the agent had served notice on 'em that mornin'. They'd been havin' a grand pow-wow over it in the lower + vestibule, when Vee had come along and got mixed up in the debate. She'd seen Mrs. Battou doin' the weep act on + hubby's shoulder while he was tryin' to explain and makin' all sorts of promises. I expect the agent had heard such + tales before. Anyway, he was kind of rough with 'em—at which Vee had sailed in and told him just what she + thought.</p> + + <p>"I'm sure you would have done the same, Torchy," says she.</p> + + <p>"I might," says I, "if he hadn't been too husky. But what now?"</p> + + <p>"I told them not to worry a bit," says Vee, "and that when you came home you would tell them what to do. You will, + won't you, Torchy?"</p> + + <p>Course, there was only one real sensible answer to that. Who was I, to step in casual and ditch a court order? But + say, when the only girl in the universe tackles you with the clingin' clinch, hints that you're a big, brainy hero + who can handle any proposition that's batted up to you—well, that's no time to be sensible.<a class="pagenum" + name="page_50" title="50" id="page_50"></a></p> + + <p>"I'll do any foolish little thing you name," says I.</p> + + <p>"Goody!" says Vee. "I just knew you would. We'll go right up and——"</p> + + <p>"Just a sec," says I. "Maybe I'd better have a private talk with this Mr. Battou first off. Suppose you run up and + jolly the old lady while he comes down here."</p> + + <p>She agrees to that, and three minutes later I've struck a pose which is sort of a cross between that of a justice + of the supreme court and a bush league umpire, while M. Leon Battou is sittin' on the edge of a chair opposite, + conversin' rapid with both hands and a pair of eloquent eyebrows.</p> + + <p>"But consider, monsieur," he's sayin'. "Only because of owing so little! Can they not wait until I have found some + good customers for my paintings?"</p> + + <p>"Oh! Then you're an artist, are you?"</p> + + <p>"I have the honor," says he. "I should be pleased to have you inspect some of my—— "</p> + + <p>"It wouldn't help a bit," says I. "All I know about art is that as a rule it don't pay. Don't you do anything + else?"</p> + + <p>He hunches his shoulders and spreads out both hands.</p> + + <p>"It is true, what you say of art," he goes<a class="pagenum" name="page_51" title="51" id="page_51"></a> on. "And + so then I must do the decorating of walls—the wreaths of roses on the ceiling. That was my profession when we + lived at Péronne. But here—there is trouble about the union. The greasy plumber will not work where I am, it + seems. <i>Eh bien!</i> I am forced out. So I return to my landscapes. Are there not many rich Americans who pay well + for such things?"</p> + + <p>I waves him back into his chair.</p> + + <p>"How'd you come to wander so far from this Péronne place?" says I.</p> + + <p>"It was because of our son, Henri," says he. "You see, he preferred to be as my father was, a chef. I began that + way, too. The Battous always do—a family of cooks. But I broke away. Henri would not. He became the pastry chef + at the Hotel Gaspard in Péronne. And who shall say, too, that he was not an artist in his way? Yes, with a certain + fame. At least, they heard here, in New York. You would not believe what they offered if he would leave Péronne. And + after months of saying no he said yes. It was true. They paid as they promised—more. So Henri sends for us to + come also. We found him living like a prince. Truly! For more than three years we enjoyed his good fortune.</p> + + <p>"And then—<i>la guerre</i>! Henri must go to<a class="pagenum" name="page_52" title="52" id="page_52"></a> + join his regiment. True, he might have stayed. But we talked not of that. It was for France. So he went, not to + return. Ah, yes! At Ypres, after only three months in the trenches. Then I say to the little mother, 'Courage! I, + Leon Battou, am still a painter. The art which has been as a pastime shall be made to yield us bread. You shall see.' + Ah, I believed—then."</p> + + <p>"Nothing doing, eh?" says I.</p> + + <p>Battou shakes his head.</p> + + <p>"Well," says I, "the surest bet just now would be to locate some wall-frescoin'. I'll see what can be done along + that line."</p> + + <p>"Ah, that is noble of you, young man," exclaims Battou. "It is wonderful to find such a friend. A thousand thanks! + I will tell the little mother that we are saved."</p> + + <p>With that he shakes me by both hands, gives me a bear hug, and rushes off.</p> + + <p>Pretty soon Vee comes down with smiles in her eyes.</p> + + <p>"I just knew you would find a way, Torchy," says she. "You don't know how happy you've made them. Now tell me all + about it."</p> + + <p>And say, I couldn't convince her I hadn't done a blamed thing but shoot a little hot air, not after I'd nearly + gone hoarse explainin'.<a class="pagenum" name="page_53" title="53" id="page_53"></a></p> + + <p>"Oh, but you will," says she. "You'll do something."</p> + + <p>Who could help tryin', after that? I tackles the agent with a proposition that Battou should work out the back + rent, but he's a fish-eyed gink.</p> + + <p>"Say," he growls out past his cigar, "if we tried to lug along every panhandling artist that wanted to graft rent + off us, we'd be in fine shape by the end of the year, wouldn't we? Forget it."</p> + + <p>"How about his art stuff?" I asks Vee, when I got back.</p> + + <p>"Oh, utterly hopeless," says she. "But one can't tell him so. He doesn't know how bad it is. I suppose he is all + right as a wall decorator. Do you know, Torchy, they must be in serious straits. Those two little rooms of theirs are + almost bare, and I'm sure they've been living on cheese and crackers for days. What do you think I've done?"</p> + + <p>"Sent 'em an anonymous ham by parcels post?" says I.</p> + + <p>"No," says Vee. "I'm going to have them down to-night for the rehearsal dinner."</p> + + <p>"Fine dope!" says I. "And if they survive bein' practiced on——"</p> + + <p>But Vee has skipped off to the kitchenette without waitin' to hear the rest.<a class="pagenum" name="page_54" + title="54" id="page_54"></a></p> + + <p>"Is this to be a reg'lar dress rehearsal?" I asks, when I comes home again. "Should I doll up regardless?"</p> + + <p>Yes, she says I must. I was just strugglin' into my dinner coat, too, when the bell rings. I expect Vee had forgot + to tell 'em that six-forty-five was our reg'lar hour. And say, M. Leon was right there with the boulevard + costume—peg-top trousers, fancy vest, flowin' tie, and a silk tile. As for Madame Battou, she's all in gray and + white.</p> + + <p>I'd towed 'em into the studio, and was havin' 'em shed their things, when Vee bounces in out of the kitchenette + and announces impetuous:</p> + + <p>"Oh, Torchy! We've made a mess of everything. That horrid leg of lamb won't do anything but sozzle away in the + pan; the string-beans have been scorched; and—oh, goodness!"</p> + + <p>She'd caught sight of our guests.</p> + + <p>"Please don't mind," says Vee. "We're not very good cooks, Bertha and I. We—we've spoiled everything, I + guess."</p> + + <p>She's tryin' to be cheerful over it. And she sure is a picture, standin' there with a big apron coverin' up most + of her evenin' dress, and her upper lip a bit trembly.</p> + + <p>"Buck up, Vee," says I. "Better luck next time. Chuck the whole shootin' match into the<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_55" title="55" id="page_55"></a> discards, and we'll all chase around to Roverti's and——"</p> + + <p>"Bother Roverti's!" breaks in Vee. "Can't we ever have a decent dinner in our own home? Am I too stupid for that? + And there's that perfectly gug-good l-l-l-leg of—of——"</p> + + <p>"Pardon," says M. Battou, steppin' to the front; "but perhaps, if you would permit, I might assist with—with + the lamb."</p> + + <p>It's a novel idea, I admit. No wonder Vee gasps a little.</p> + + <p>"Why not?" says I. "Course it ain't reg'lar, but if Mr. Battou wants to do some expert coachin', I expect you and + Bertha could use it."</p> + + <p>"Do, Leon," urges Madame Battou. "Lamb, is it? Oh, he is wonderful with lamb."</p> + + <p>She hadn't overstated the case, either. Inside of two minutes he has his coat off, a bath towel draped over his + fancy vest, and has sent Bertha skirmishin' down the avenue for garlic, cloves, parsley, carrots, and a few other + things that had been overlooked, it seems.</p> + + <p>Well, we stands grouped around the kitchenette door for a while, watchin' him resuscitate that pale-lookin' leg of + lamb, jab things into it, pour stuff over it, and mesmerize the gas oven into doin' its full duty.</p> + + <p>Once he gets started, he ain't satisfied with<a class="pagenum" name="page_56" title="56" id="page_56"></a> simply + turnin' out the roast. He takes some string-beans and cuts 'em into shoelaces; he carves rosettes out of beets and + carrots; he produces a swell salad out of nothing at all; and with a little flour and whipped cream he throws + together some kind of puffy dessert that looked like it would melt in your mouth.</p> + + <p>And by seven-thirty we was sittin' down to a meal such as you don't meet up with outside of some of them Fifth + Avenue joints where you have to own a head waiter before they let you in.</p> + + <p>"Whisper, Professor," says I, "did you work a spell on it, or what?"</p> + + <p>"Ah-h-h!" says Battou, chucklin' and rubbin' his hands together. "It is cooked <i>à la Paysan</i>, after the + manner of Péronne, and with it is the sauce château. "</p> + + <p>"That isn't mere cookery," says Vee; "that's art."</p> + + <p>It was quite a cheery evenin'. And after the Battous had gone, Vee and I asked each other, almost in chorus: "Do + you suppose he'd do it again?"</p> + + <p>"He will if I'm any persuader," says I. "Wouldn't it be great to spring something like that on Mr. Robert?"</p> + + <p>And while I'm shavin' next mornin' I connect<a class="pagenum" name="page_57" title="57" id="page_57"></a> with + the big idea. Do you ever get 'em that way? It cost me a nick under the ear, but I didn't care. While I'm usin' the + alum stick I sketches out the scheme for Vee.</p> + + <p>"But, Torchy!" says she. "Do you think he would—really?"</p> + + <p>Before I can answer there's a ring at the door, and here is M. Leon Battou.</p> + + <p>"The agent once more!" says he, producin' a paper. "In three days, it says. But you have found me the + wall-painting, yes?"</p> + + <p>"Professor," says I, "I hate to say it, but there's nothin' doing in the free-hand fresco + line—absolutely."</p> + + <p>He slumps into a chair, and that pitiful, hunted look settles in his eyes.</p> + + <p>"Then—then we must go," says he.</p> + + <p>"Listen, Professor," says I, pattin' him soothin' on the shoulder. "Why not can this art stuff, that nobody wants, + and switch to somethin' you're a wizard at?"</p> + + <p>"You—you mean," says he, "that I should—should turn chef? I—Leon Battou—in a big noisy + hotel kitchen? Oh, but I could not. No, I could not! "</p> + + <p>"Professor," says I, "the only person in this town that I know of who's nutty enough to want to hire a wall + decorator reg'lar is me!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_58" title="58" id="page_58"></a></p> + + <p>"You!" gasps Battou, starin' around at our twelve by eighteen livin'-room.</p> + + <p>I nods.</p> + + <p>"What would you take it on for as a steady job?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, anything that would provide for us," says he, eager. "But how—— "</p> + + <p>"That's just the point," says I. "When you wasn't paintin' could you cook a little on the side? Officially you'd + be a decorator, but between times—— Eh?"</p> + + <p>He's a keen one, Mr. Battou.</p> + + <p>"For so charming young people," says he, bowin' low, "it would be a great pleasure. And the little + mother—ah, you should see what a manager she is! She can make a franc go farther. Could she assist also?"</p> + + <p>"Could she!" exclaims Vee. "If she only would!"</p> + + <p>Well, say, inside of half an hour we'd fixed up the whole deal, I'd armed Battou with a check to shove under the + nose of that agent, and Vee had given Bertha her permanent release. And believe me, compared to what was put before + Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins that evenin', the dress rehearsal dinner looked like Monday night at an actors' + boardin'-house.<a class="pagenum" name="page_59" title="59" id="page_59"></a></p> + + <p>"I say," whispers Mr. Robert, "your cook must be a real artist."</p> + + <p>"That's how he's carried on the family payroll," says I.</p> + + <p>"Of course," says Vee afterwards, "while we can afford it, I suppose, it does seem scandalously extravagant for us + to have cooking like that every day."</p> + + <p>"Rather than have you worried with any more Bunglin' Berthas," says I, "I'd subsidize the whole of Péronne to come + over. And just think of all I'll save by not havin' to buy my hat back from the coat-room boys every night."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_60" title="60" id="page_60"></a> + <a name="A_RECRUIT_FOR_THE_EIGHT-THREE_1571" id="A_RECRUIT_FOR_THE_EIGHT-THREE_1571"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + <h3>A RECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE</h3> + </div> + + <p>Have you a shiny little set of garden tools in your home? Have we? Well, I should seed catalogue. Honest to + goodness! Here! I can show you a local time-table and my commuter's ticket. How about that, eh, for me?</p> + + <p>And I don't know now just what it was worked the sudden shift for us—the Battous, or our visit to the Robert + Ellinses', or meetin' up with MacGregor Shinn, the consistent grouch.</p> + + <p>It begun with window-boxes. Professor Leon Battou, our official wall decorator and actin' cook, springs 'em on me + timid one day after lunch. It had been some snack, too—onion soup sprinkled with croutons and sprayed with + grated cheese; calf's brains <i>au buerre noir</i>; a mixed salad; and a couple of gooseberry tarts with the + demi-tasse. Say, I'm gettin' so I can eat in French, even if I can't talk it.</p> + + <p>And while all that may listen expensive, I have Vee's word for it that since Madame Battou<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_61" title="61" id="page_61"></a> has been doin' the marketin' the high cost of livin' has been jarred off the + roost. I don't know how accurate Professor Leon is at countin' up the calories in every meal, but I'm here to + announce that he always produces something tasty, with no post-prandial regrets concealed in the bottom of the + casserole.</p> + + <p>"Professor," says I, "I've been a stranger to this burry brains style of nourishment a long time, but you can ring + an encore on that whenever you like."</p> + + <p>He smiles grateful, but shakes his head.</p> + + <p>"Ah, Monsieur," says he,—oh, yes, just like that,—"but if I had the fresh chives, the—the <i>fin + herbes</i>—ah, then you should see!"</p> + + <p>"Well, can't Madame get what you need at the stores?" says I.</p> + + <p>"But at such a price!" says Leon. "And of so discouraging a quality. While, if we had but a few handfuls of good + soil in some small boxes by the windows—— Come, I will show you. Here, and here, where the sun comes in + the morning. I could secure them myself if you would not think them unlovely to have in view."</p> + + <p>"How about it, Vee?" I asks. "Are we too proud to grow our soup greens on the premises?"</p> + + <p>She says we ain't, so I tells Leon to breeze<a class="pagenum" name="page_62" title="62" id="page_62"></a> ahead + with his hangin' garden. Course, I ain't lookin' for anything more'n a box on the ledge. But he's an ingenious old + boy, Leon. With a hammer and saw and a few boxes from the grocery, he builds a rack that fits into one of the front + windows; and the first thing I know, he has the space chuckful of shallow trays, and seeds planted in every one. A + few days later, and the other window is blocked off similar. Also I get a bill from the florist for two bushels of + dirt.</p> + + <p>Well, our front windows did look kind of odd, and our view out was pretty well barred off; but he had painted the + things up neat, and he did all his waterin' and fussin' around early in the mornin', so we let it ride. When he + starts in to use our bedroom windows the same way, though, I has to call him off.</p> + + <p>"See here, Professor," says I, "you ain't mistakin' this studio apartment for a New Jersey truck-farm, are you! + Besides, we have to keep them windows open at night, and your green stuff is apt to get nipped."</p> + + <p>"Oh, but the night air is bad to breathe, Monsieur," says he.</p> + + <p>"Not for us," says I. "Anyway, we're used to it, so I guess you'll have to lay off this bedroom garden + business."<a class="pagenum" name="page_63" title="63" id="page_63"></a></p> + + <p>He takes away the boxes, but it's plain he's disappointed. I believe if I'd let him gone on he'd had cabbages + growin' on the mantelpiece, a lettuce bed on the readin'-table, and maybe a potato patch on the fire-escape. I never + knew gardenin' could be made such an indoor sport.</p> + + <p>"Poor chap!" says Vee. "He has been telling me what wonderful things he used to raise when he lived in Péronne. + Isn't there some way, Torchy, that we could give him more room?"</p> + + <p>"We might rent the roof and glass it in for him," I suggests, "or get a permit to bridge over the street."</p> + + <p>"Silly!" says she, rumplin' my red hair reckless.</p> + + <p>That was about the time we was havin' some of that delayed winter weather, and it was touchin' to see Professor + Battou nurse along them pale green shoots that he'd coaxed up in his window-boxes. Then it runs off warm and sunny + again, just as we gets this week-end invite from Mr. Robert.</p> + + <p>Course, I'd been out to his Long Island place before, but somehow I hadn't got excited over it. This time it's + different. Vee was goin' along, for one thing. And I expect the fact that spring had come bouncin' in on us after + a<a class="pagenum" name="page_64" title="64" id="page_64"></a> hard winter had something to do with our enthusiasm + for gettin' out of town. You know how it is. For eleven months you're absolutely sure the city's the only place to + live in, and you feel sorry for them near-Rubes who have to catch trains to get home. And then, all of a sudden, + about this time of year, you get that restless feelin', and wonder what it is ails you. I think it struck Vee harder + than it did me.</p> + + <p>"Goody!" says she, when I tell her we're expected to go out Saturday noon and stay over until Monday mornin'. "It + is real country out there, too, isn't it?"</p> + + <p>"Blamed near an hour away," says I. "Ought to be, hadn't it?"</p> + + <p>"I hope they have lilac bushes in bloom," says Vee. "Do you know, Torchy, if I lived in the country, I'd have + those if nothing else. Wouldn't you?"</p> + + <p>"I expect so," says I, "though I ain't doped out just what I would do in a case like that. It ain't seemed worth + while. But if lilacs are the proper stunt for a swell country place, I'll bet Mr. Robert's got 'em."</p> + + <p>By the time we'd been shot out to Harbor Hills station, though, I'd forgot whether it was lilacs or + lilies-of-the-valley that Vee was particular about; for Mr. Robert goes along<a class="pagenum" name="page_65" title= + "65" id="page_65"></a> with us, and he's joshin' us about our livin' in a four-and-bath and sportin' a French + chef.</p> + + <p>"Really," says he, "to live up to him you ought to move into a brewer's palace on Riverside Drive, at least."</p> + + <p>"Oh, Battou would be satisfied if I'd lease Madison Square park for him, so he could raise onions," says I.</p> + + <p>Which reminds Mr. Robert of something.</p> + + <p>"Oh, I say!" he goes on. "You must see my garden. I'm rather proud of it, you know."</p> + + <p>"Your garden!" says I, grinnin'. "You don't mean you've been gettin' the hoe and rake habit, Mr. Robert?"</p> + + <p>Honest, that's the last thing you'd look for from him, for until he got married about the only times he ever + strayed from the pavements was when he went yachtin'. But by the way he talks now you'd think farmer was his middle + name.</p> + + <p>"Now, over there," says he, after we've been picked up at the station by his machine and rolled off three or four + miles, "over there I am raising a crop of Italian clover to plow in. That's a new hedge I'm setting out, + too—hydrangeas, I think. It takes time to get things in shape, you see."</p> + + <p>"Looks all right to me, as it is," says I.<a class="pagenum" name="page_66" title="66" id="page_66"></a> "You got + a front yard big enough to get lost in."</p> + + <p>Also the house ain't any small shack, with all its dormers and striped awnin's and deep verandas.</p> + + <p>But it's too nice an afternoon to spend much time inside, and after we've found Mrs. Robert, Vee asks to be shown + the garden.</p> + + <p>"Certainly," says Mr. Robert. "I will exhibit it myself. That is—er—by the way, Gertrude, where the + deuce is that garden of ours?"</p> + + <p>Come to find out, it was Mrs. Robert who was the pie-plant and radish expert. She could tell you which rows was + beets and which was corn without lookin' it up on her chart.</p> + + <p>She'd been takin' a course in landscape-gardenin', too; and as she pilots us around the grounds, namin' the + different bushes and things, she listens like a nursery pamphlet. And Vee falls for it hard.</p> + + <p>"How perfectly splendid," says she, "to be able to plan things like that, and to know so many shrubs by their long + names. But haven't you anything as common as lilacs!"</p> + + <p>Mrs. Robert laughs and shakes her head.</p> + + <p>"They were never mentioned in my course, you see," says she. "But our nearest neighbor has some wonderful lilac + bushes. Robert, don't<a class="pagenum" name="page_67" title="67" id="page_67"></a> you think we might walk down the + east drive and ask your dear friend Mr. MacGregor Shinn if he'd mind——"</p> + + <p>"Decidedly no," cuts in Mr. Robert. "I'd much prefer not to trouble Mr. Shinn at all."</p> + + <p>"Oh, very well," says Mrs. Robert. And then, turnin' to us: "We haven't been particularly fortunate in our + relations with Mr. Shinn; our fault, no doubt."</p> + + <p>But you know Vee. Half an hour later, when we've been left to ourselves, she announces:</p> + + <p>"Come along, Torchy. I am going to find that east drive."</p> + + <p>"It's a case of lilacs or bust, eh?" says I. "All right; I'm right behind you. But let's make it a sleuthy + getaway, so they won't know."</p> + + <p>We let on it was a risky stunt, slippin' out a side terrace door, dodgin' past the garage, and finally strikin' a + driveway different from the one we'd come in by. We follows along until we fetches up by some big stone + gateposts.</p> + + <p>"There they are!" exclaims Vee. "Loads of them. And aren't they fragrant? Smell, Torchy."<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_68" title="68" id="page_68"></a></p> + + <p>"I am," says I, sniffin' deep. "Don't you hear me?"</p> + + <p>"Yes; and that Mr. Shinn will too, if you're as noisy as that over it," says she. "I suppose that is where he + lives. Isn't it the cutest little cottage?"</p> + + <p>"It needs paint here and there," says I.</p> + + <p>"I know," says Vee. "But look at that old Dutch roof with the wide eaves, and the recessed doorway, and the + trellises on either side, and that big clump of purple lilacs nestling against the gable end. Oh, and there's a + cunning little pond in the rear, just where it ought to be! I do wish we might go in and walk around a bit."</p> + + <p>"Why not?" says I. "What would it hurt?"</p> + + <p>"But that Shinn person," protests Vee, "might—might not——"</p> + + <p>"Well, he couldn't any more'n shoo us off," says I, "and if he's nutty enough to do that after a good look at you, + then he's hopeless."</p> + + <p>"You absurd boy!" says Vee, squeezin' my hand. "Well, anyway, we might venture in a step or two."</p> + + <p>As a matter of fact, there don't seem to be anyone in sight. You might almost think nobody lived there; for the + new grass ain't been<a class="pagenum" name="page_69" title="69" id="page_69"></a> cut, the flower beds are full of + dry weeds left over from last fall, and most of the green shutters are closed.</p> + + <p>There's smoke comin' from the kitchen chimney, though, so we wanders around front, bringin' up under the big lilac + bush. It's just covered with blossoms—a truck-load, I should say; and it did seem a shame, Vee bein' so strong + for 'em, that she couldn't have one little spray.</p> + + <p>"About a quarter a bunch, them would be on Broadway," says I, diggin' up some change. "Well, here's where Neighbor + Shinn makes a sale."</p> + + <p>And, before Vee can object, I've snapped off the end of a twig.</p> + + <p>I'd just dropped the quarter in an envelop and was stickin' it on the end of the broken branch, when the front + door opens, and out dashes this tall gink with the rusty Vandyke and the hectic face. Yep, it's a lurid map, all + right. Some of it might have been from goin' without a hat in the wind and weather, for his forehead and bald spot + are just as high-colored as the rest; but there's a lot of temper tint, too, lightin' up the tan, and the deep + furrows between the eyes shows it ain't an uncommon state for him to be in. Quite a husk he is, costumed<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_70" title="70" id="page_70"></a> in a plaid golf suit, and he bores down on us just as gentle as + a tornado.</p> + + <p>"I say, you!" he calls out. "Stop where you are."</p> + + <p>"Don't hurry," says I. "We'll wait for you."</p> + + <p>"Ye will, wull ye!" he snarls, as he comes stampin' up in front of us. "Ye'd best. And what have ye there, Miss? + Hah! Pickin' me posies, eh? And trespassin', too."</p> + + <p>"That's right," says I. "Petty larceny and breakin' and enterin'. I'm the guilty party."</p> + + <p>"I'm sure there's nothing to make such a fuss about," says Vee, eyin' him scornful.</p> + + <p>"Oh, ho!" says he. "It's a light matter, I suppose, prowling around private grounds and pilfering? I ought to be + taking it as a joke, eh? Don't ye know, you two, I could have you taken in charge for this?"</p> + + <p>"Breeze ahead, then," says I. "Call the high sheriff. Only let's not get all foamed up over it, Mr. MacGregor + Shinn."</p> + + <p>"Ha!" says he. "Then ye know who I am? Maybe you're stopping up at the big house? "</p> + + <p>"We are guests of Mr. Ellins, your neighbor," puts in Vee.</p> + + <p>"He's no neighbor of mine," snaps Shinn.<a class="pagenum" name="page_71" title="71" id="page_71"></a> "Not him. + His bulldog worries me cat, his roosters wake me up in the morning, and his Dago workmen chatter about all day long. + No, I'll not own such a man as neighbor. Nor will I have his guests stealing my posies."</p> + + <p>"Then take it," says Vee, throwing the lilac spray on the ground.</p> + + <p>"You'll find a quarter stuck on the bush," says I. "Sorry, MacGregor, we couldn't make a trade. The young lady is + mighty fond of lilacs."</p> + + <p>"Is she, now?" says Shinn, still scowlin' at us.</p> + + <p>"And she thinks your place here is pretty cute," I adds.</p> + + <p>"It's a rotten hole," says he.</p> + + <p>"Maybe you're a poor judge," says I. "If it was fixed up a bit I should think it might be quite spiffy."</p> + + <p>"What call has an old bachelor to be fixing things up?" he demands. "What do I care how the place looks? And what + business is it of yours, anyway?"</p> + + <p>"Say, you're a consistent grouch, ain't you?" says I, givin' him the grin. "What's the particular + trouble—was you toppin' your drive to-day?"</p> + + <p>"Slicin', mon," says he. "Hardly a tee shot<a class="pagenum" name="page_72" title="72" id="page_72"></a> found + the fairway the whole round. And then you two come breaking me bushes."</p> + + <p>"My error," says I. "But you should have hung out a sign that you was inside chewin' nails."</p> + + <p>"I was doing nothing of the kind," says he. "I was waiting for that grinning idiot, Len Hung, to give me me + tea."</p> + + <p>"Well, don't choke over it when you do get it," says I. "And if you ain't ready to sic the police on us we'll be + trotting along back."</p> + + <p>"Ye wull not," says MacGregor; "ye'll have tea with me."</p> + + <p>It sounds like a threat, and I can see Vee gettin' ready to object strenuous. So I gives her the nudge.</p> + + <p>I expect it's because I'm so used to Old Hickory's blowin' out a fuse that I don't duck quicker when a gas-bomb + disposition begins to sputter around. They don't mean half of it, these furious fizzers.</p> + + <p>Sometimes it's sciatica, more often a punk digestion, and seldom pure cussedness. If you don't humor 'em by comin' + back messy yourself, but just jolly 'em along, they're apt to work out of it. And I'd seen sort of a human flicker in + them blue-gray eyes of MacGregor Shinn's.<a class="pagenum" name="page_73" title="73" id="page_73"></a></p> + + <p>"Vee," says I, "our peevish friend is invitin' us to take tea with him. Shall we chance it?"</p> + + <p>And you know what a good sport Vee is. She lets the curve come into her mouth corners again, both of her cheek + dimples show, and she shoots a quizzin' smile at Mr. Shinn.</p> + + <p>"Does he say it real polite?" she asks.</p> + + <p>"Na," says MacGregor. "But there'll be hot scones and marmalade."</p> + + <p>"M-m-m-m!" says Vee. "Let's, Torchy."</p> + + <p>It's an odd finish to an affair that started so scrappy. Not that Shinn reverses himself entirely, or turns from a + whiskered golf grump into a stage fairy in spangled skirts. He goes right on with his growlin' and + grumblin'—about the way his Chink cook serves the tea, about havin' to live in a rotten hole like Harbor Hills, + about everything in general. But a great deal of it is just to hear himself talk, I judge.</p> + + <p>We had a perfectly good high tea, and them buttered scones with marmalade couldn't be beat. Also he shows us all + over the house, and Vee raves about it.</p> + + <p>"Look, Torchy!" says she. "That glimpse of water from the living-room windows. Isn't that dear? And one could have + such a wonderful<a class="pagenum" name="page_74" title="74" id="page_74"></a> garden beyond. Such a splendid big + fireplace, too. And what huge beams in the ceiling! It's a very old house, isn't it, Mr. Shinn?"</p> + + <p>"The rascally agent who sold it to me said it was," says MacGregor, "but I wouldn't believe a word of his on any + subject. 'Did I ask you for an old house, at all?' I tells him. For what I wanted was just a place where I could live + quiet, and maybe have me game of golf when I wanted it. But here I've gone off me game; and, besides, the country's + no place to live quiet in. I should be in town, so I should, like any decent white man. I've a mind to look up a + place at once. Try another scone, young lady."</p> + + <p>So it was long after six before we got away, and the last thing MacGregor does is to load Vee down with a whole + armful of lilac blossoms.</p> + + <p>I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Robert thought we'd been makin' a wholesale raid when they saw us comin' in with the + plunder. Mrs. Robert almost turns pale.</p> + + <p>"Mercy!" says she. "You don't mean to say you got all those from our neighbor's bushes, do you?"</p> + + <p>"Uh-huh," says I. "We've been mesmerizin'<a class="pagenum" name="page_75" title="75" id="page_75"></a> MacGregor. + He's as tame a Scot now as you'd want to see."</p> + + <p>They could hardly believe it, and when they heard about our havin' tea with him they gasped.</p> + + <p>"Of all persons!" says Mrs. Robert. "Why, he has been glaring at us for a year, and sending us the most bristling + messages. I don't understand."</p> + + <p>Mr. Robert, though, winks knowin'.</p> + + <p>"Some of Torchy's red-headed diplomacy, I suspect," says he. "I must engage you to make our peace with + MacGregor."</p> + + <p>That's all we saw of him, though, durin' our stay. For one thing, we was kept fairly busy. I never knew you could + have so much fun in the country. Ever watch a bunch of young ducks waddlin' about? Say, ain't they a circus! And them + fluffy little chicks squabblin' over worms. Honest, I near laughed myself sick. Vee was for luggin' some of 'em home + to the apartment. But she was thrilled over 'most everything out there, from the fat robins on the lawn to the new + leaves on the trees.</p> + + <p>And, believe me, when we gets back to town again, our studio apartment seems cramped and stuffy. We talked over + everything we'd seen and done at the Ellinses'. <a class="pagenum" name="page_76" title="76" id="page_76"></a></p> + + <p>"That's really living, isn't it?" says Vee.</p> + + <p>"Why not," says I, "with a twenty-room house, and grounds half as big as Central Park?"</p> + + <p>"I know," says Vee. "But a little place like Mr. Shinn's would be large enough for us."</p> + + <p>"I expect it would," says I. "You don't really think you'd like to live out there, do you, though?"</p> + + <p>"Wouldn't I!" says Vee, her eyes sparklin'. "I'd love it."</p> + + <p>"What would you do all day alone?" I suggests.</p> + + <p>"I'd raise ducks and chickens and flowers," says Vee. "And Leon could have a garden. Just think!"</p> + + <p>Yep—I thought. I must have kept awake hours that night, tryin' not to. And the more I mulled it + over—— Well, in the mornin' I had a talk with Mr. Robert, after which I got busy with the long-distance + 'phone. I didn't say anything much at lunch about what I'd done, but around three o'clock I calls up the + apartment.</p> + + <p>"I'm luggin' home someone to dinner," says I. "Guess who?"</p> + + <p>Vee couldn't.</p> + + <p>"MacGregor the grouch," says I.<a class="pagenum" name="page_77" title="77" id="page_77"></a></p> + + <p>"Really!" says Vee. "How funny!"</p> + + <p>"It's part of the plot," says I. "Tell the Professor to spread himself on the eatings, and have the rooms all + fixed up slick."</p> + + <p>Vee says she will. And she does. MacGregor falls for it, too. You should have seen him after dinner, leanin' back + comfortable in our biggest chair, sippin' his coffee, and puffin' one of Old Hickory's special perfectos that I'd + begged for the occasion.</p> + + <p>And still I didn't let on. What I'm after is to have him spring the proposition on me. Just before he's ready to + go, too, he does.</p> + + <p>"I say," says he casual, "this isn't such a bad hole you have here."</p> + + <p>"Perfectly rotten," says I.</p> + + <p>"Then we might make a trade," says he. "What?"</p> + + <p>"There's no tellin'," says I. "You mean a swap, as things stand?"</p> + + <p>"That's it," says he. "I'm no hand for moving rubbish about."</p> + + <p>"Me either," says I. "But if you mean business, suppose you drop in to-morrow at the office, about ten-thirty, and + talk it over."</p> + + <p>"Very well," says MacGregor. "I'll stop in town to-night."<a class="pagenum" name="page_78" title="78" id= + "page_78"></a></p> + + <p>"Oh, Torchy!" says Vee, after he's gone. "Do—do you suppose he will—really? "</p> + + <p>"You're still for it, eh?" says I. "Sure, now?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, it would be almost too good to be true," says she. "That could be made just the dearest place!"</p> + + <p>"Yes," says I; "but my job is to talk MacGregor into lettin' it go cheap, or else we can't afford to touch + it."</p> + + <p>Well, I can't claim it was all my smooth work that did the trick, for MacGregor had bought the place at a bargain + first off, and now he was anxious to unload. Still, he hadn't been born north of Glasgow for nothing. But the figures + Mr. Robert said would be about right I managed to shade by twenty per cent., and my lump invoice of that old mahogany + of ours maybe was a bit generous. Anyway, when I goes home that night I tosses Vee a long envelop.</p> + + <p>"What's this?" says she.</p> + + <p>"That's your chicken permit," says I. "All aboard for Lilac Lodge! Gee! I wonder should I grow whiskers, livin' + out there?"</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_79" title="79" id="page_79"></a> + <a name="TORCHY_IN_THE_GAZINKUS_CLASS_2062" id="TORCHY_IN_THE_GAZINKUS_CLASS_2062"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + <h3>TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS</h3> + </div> + + <p>I expect I'll get used to it all in time. This rural stuff, I mean. But it ain't goin' to come easy. When you've + been brought up to think of home as some place where you've got a right to leave your trunk as long as you pay the + rent prompt,—a joint where you have so many square feet of space on a certain floor, and maybe eight or ten + inches of brick and plaster between you and a lot of strangers,—and then all of a sudden you switch to a whole + house that's all yours, with gobs of land all around it, and trees and bushes and things that you can do what you + like with—well, it's sort of staggerin' at first.</p> + + <p>Why, the day Vee and I moved into this Harbor Hills place that I'd made the swift trade for with MacGregor Shinn, + we just had our baggage dumped in the middle of the livin'-room, chucked our wraps on some chairs, and went scoutin' + around from one room to another for over an hour, kind of nutty and excited.<a class="pagenum" name="page_80" title= + "80" id="page_80"></a></p> + + <p>"Oh, look, Torchy!" Vee would exclaim about twice a minute when she discovered something new.</p> + + <p>You know, we'd been in the house only once before, and then we'd looked around just casual. And if you want to + find out how little you really see when you think you're lookin', you want to make a deal like that once—buy a + joint just as it stands, and then, a few days after, camp down in it and tot up what you've really got. Why, say, + you'd 'most thought we'd been blindfolded that first time.</p> + + <p>Course, this was different. Now we was takin' stock, you might say, of the things we was goin' to live with. And, + believe me, I never had any idea I'd ever own such a collection, or so big a slice of the U. S. A.</p> + + <p>"Only think, Torchy," says Vee, after we've made the rounds inside. "Ten rooms, just for us!"</p> + + <p>"Twelve, countin' the cellar and attic," says I. "But there's more outside, ain't there?"</p> + + <p>Yep, there was. There was an old stable that had been turned into a garage, with a couple of rooms finished off + upstairs. Then there was a carriage shed, with more rooms over that, also a chicken house beyond. And stowed away in + odd corners was all kinds of junk that might be<a class="pagenum" name="page_81" title="81" id="page_81"></a> more or + less useful to have: a couple of lawn-mowers, an old sleigh hoisted up on the rafters of the carriage house, a weird + old buggy, a plow, a grindstone, a collection of old chairs and sofas that had seen better days, a birch-bark + canoe—things like that.</p> + + <p>Then there was our lily pond. We had to walk all round that, poke in with a pole to see how deep it might be, and + wonder if there was any fish in it. On beyond was some trees—apple and pear and cherry, accordin' to Vee, and + 'way at the back a tall cedar hedge.</p> + + <p>"Why, it's almost an estate," says Vee. "Nearly five acres, you know. How does it seem, Torchy, to think that all + this is ours?"</p> + + <p>"How?" says I. "Why, I feel like I was the Grand Gazinkus of Gazook."</p> + + <p>But, at that, my feelin's wa'n't a marker to the emotions Professor Leon Battou, our artist-chef, manages to work + up. He's so tickled at gettin' back to the country and away from the city, where him and Madame Battou come so near + starvin' on the street, that he goes skippin' around like a sunshine kid, pattin' the trees, droppin' down on his + hands and knees in the grass to dig up dandelions, and keepin' up a steady stream of explosive French and rapid-fire + English.<a class="pagenum" name="page_82" title="82" id="page_82"></a></p> + + <p>"Ah, but it is all so good!" says he. "<i>Le bleu ciel, les fleurs, les oiseaux! C'est bonne, tres bonne. Ne c'est + pas?</i>"</p> + + <p>"I expect it is, Leon," says I. "Although I might not state it just that way myself. Picked out a spot yet for + your garden?"</p> + + <p>Foolish question! That was his first move, after taking a glance at the particular brand of cook-stove he'd got to + wrestle with. Just to the left of the kitchen wing is a little plot shut in by privet bushes and a trellis, which is + where he says the <i>fine herbes</i> are meant to grow. He tows us around there and exhibits it chesty. Mostly it's + full of last year's weeds; but he explains how he will soon have it in shape. And for the next week the only way we + ever got any meals cooked was because Madame Battou used to go drag him in by the arm and make him quit diggin' long + enough to hash up some of them tasty dishes for us.</p> + + <p>If all amateur gardeners are apt to go so dippy over it, I hope I don't catch the disease. No danger, I guess. I + made my stab at it about the third day, when Vee wanted some ground spaded up for a pansy bed. And say, in half an + hour, there, I'd worked up enough palm blisters and backache to last me a month. It may seem sport to some people, + but to me it has<a class="pagenum" name="page_83" title="83" id="page_83"></a> all the ear-marks of plain, hard work, + such as you can indulge in reg'lar by carryin' a foldin' dinner-pail and lettin' yourself out to a padrone.</p> + + <p>Leon, though, just couldn't seem to let it alone. He almost made a vice of it, to my mind. Why, say, he's out + there at first crack of day, whenever that is; and in the evenin', as soon as he has served dinner, he sneaks out to + put in a few more licks, and stays until it's so dark he can hardly find his way back.</p> + + <p>You know all them window-boxes he had clutterin' up the studio apartment. Well, he insists on cratin' every last + one of 'em and expressin' 'em along; and now he has all that alleged lettuce and parsley and carrots and so on set + out in neat little rows; and when he ain't sprinklin' 'em with the hose or dosin' 'em with fertilizer, he's out there + ticklin' 'em with a rake.</p> + + <p>"Gee!" says I. "I thought all you had to do to a garden was just to chuck in the seeds and let 'em grow. But + accordin' to your method it would be less trouble bringin' up a pair of twins."</p> + + <p>"Ah-h-h-h!" says he. "But monsieur has not the passion for growing green things. "</p> + + <p>"Thanks be, then," says I. "It would land me in the liniment ward if I had."<a class="pagenum" name="page_84" + title="84" id="page_84"></a></p> + + <p>I must say, though, that Vee's 'most as bad with her flowers. Honest, when she shows me where she's planned to + have this and that, and hints that I can get busy durin' my spare time with the spade, I almost wished we was back in + town.</p> + + <p>"What?" I gasps. "Want me to excavate all that? Hal-lup!"</p> + + <p>"Pooh!" says Vee. "It will do you good."</p> + + <p>Maybe she thought so. But I knew it wouldn't. So I chases up the hill to the Ellins place, and broke in on Mr. + Robert just as he's finishin' breakfast.</p> + + <p>"Say," says I, "you ain't got a baby-grand steam-shovel or anything like that around the place, have you?"</p> + + <p>He says he's sorry, but he ain't. When he hears what I'm up against, though, he comes to the rescue noble by + lendin' me one of his expert Dago soil-disturbers, at $1.75 per—and with Vee bossin' him she got the whole job + done in half a day. After that I begun to enjoy gardenin' a bit more. I'm gettin' to be a real shark at it, too. And + ambitious! You ought to hear me.</p> + + <p>"How about havin' a couple more lanes of string-beans laid out?" I suggests. "And <a class="pagenum" name= + "page_85" title="85" id="page_85"></a> maybe a few hundred mounds of green corn, eh?"</p> + + <p>And then I can watch Joe start the enterprise with a plow and an old white horse, and I can go to the office + feelin' that, no matter how much I seem to be soldierin', as a matter of fact I'm puttin' in a full day's work. When + I get back in the afternoon, the first thing I want to see is how much I've got done.</p> + + <p>Not that I'm able to duck all kinds of labor that way. Believe me, a country place is no loafin' spot, especially + when it's new, or you're new to it. Vee tends to that. Say, that girl can think up more odd forms of givin' me + exercise than a bunch of football coaches—movin' bureaus, hangin' pictures, puttin' up curtain-rods, fixin' + door-catches, and little things like that.</p> + + <p>Up to a few weeks ago all I knew about saws and screw-drivers and so on was that they were shiny things displayed + in the hardware store windows. But if I keep on tacklin' all the odd jobs she sics me on to, I'll be able to qualify + pretty soon as a boss carpenter, a master plumber, and an expert electrician.</p> + + <p>Course, I gouge myself now and then. My knuckles look like I'd been mixin' in a food riot, and I've spoiled two + perfectly good suits<a class="pagenum" name="page_86" title="86" id="page_86"></a> of clothes. But I can point with + pride to at least three doors that I've coaxed into shuttin', I've solved the mystery of what happens to a + window-weight when the sash-cord breaks, and I've rigged up two drop-lights without gettin' myself electrocuted or + askin' any advice from Mr. Edison.</p> + + <p>Which reminds me that what I can't seem to get used to about the country is the poor way it's lighted up at night. + You know, our place is out a couple of miles from the village and the railroad station; and, while we got electric + bulbs enough in the house, outside there ain't a lamp-post in sight. Dark! Say, after 8 <span class= + "smcap">p.m.</span> you might as well be livin' in a sub-cellar with the sidewalk gratin' closed. Honest, the only + glim we can see from our front porch is a flicker from the porte cochère at the Ellinses' up on the hill, and most of + that is cut off by trees and lilac bushes.</p> + + <p>Vee don't seem to mind, though. These mild evenin's recent, she's dragged me out after dinner for a spell and made + me sit with her watchin' for the moon to come up. I do it, but it ain't anything I'm strong for. I can't see the + percentage in starin' out at nothing at all but black space and guessin' where the driveway is or what them dark + streaks are. Then,<a class="pagenum" name="page_87" title="87" id="page_87"></a> there's so many weird sounds I can't + account for.</p> + + <p>"What's all that jinglin' going on?" I asks the other evenin'. "Sounds like a squad of junkmen comin' up the + pike."</p> + + <p>"Silly!" says Vee. "Frogs, of course."</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says I.</p> + + <p>Then I listens some more, until something else breaks loose. It's sort of a cross between the dyin' moan of a + gyastacutus and the whine of a subway express roundin' a sharp curve.</p> + + <p>"For the love of Pete," I breaks out, "what do you call that?"</p> + + <p>Vee chuckles. "Didn't you see the calf up at Mr. Robert's?" she asks. "Well, that's the old cow calling to + him."</p> + + <p>"If she feels as bad as that," says I, "I wish she'd wait until mornin' to express herself. That's the most + doleful sound I ever heard. Come on; let's go in while you tinkle out something lively and cheerin' on the + piano."</p> + + <p>I never thought I was one of the timid kind, either. Course, I'm no Carnegie hero, or anything like that; but I've + always managed to get along in the city without developin' a case of nerves. Out here, though, it's different. Two or + three evenin's now I've felt almost jumpy, just over nothing at all, it seems.<a class="pagenum" name="page_88" + title="88" id="page_88"></a></p> + + <p>Maybe that's why I didn't show up any better, here the other night, when Vee rings in this silent alarm on me. I + was certainly poundin' my ear industrious when gradually I gets the idea that someone is shakin' me by the shoulders. + It's Vee.</p> + + <p>"Torchy," she whispers husky. "Get up."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I, pryin' my eyes open reluctant. "Get up? Wha-wha' for?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, don't be stupid about it," says she. "I've been trying to rouse you for five minutes. Please get up and come + to the window."</p> + + <p>"Nothing doing," says I snugglin' into the pillow again. "I—I'm busy."</p> + + <p>"But you must," says she. "Listen. I think someone is prowling around the house. "</p> + + <p>"Let 'em ramble, then," says I. "What do we care?"</p> + + <p>"But suppose it's a—a burglar?" she whispers.</p> + + <p>I'll admit that gives me a goose-fleshy feelin' down the spine. It's such a disturbin' word to have sprung on you + in the middle of the night.</p> + + <p>"Let's not suppose anything of the sort," says I.</p> + + <p>"But I'm sure I saw someone just now, when I got up to fix the shade," insists Vee. "Someone<a class="pagenum" + name="page_89" title="89" id="page_89"></a> who stepped out into the moonlight right there, between the shadows of + those two trees. Then he disappeared out that way. Come and look."</p> + + <p>Well, I was up by then, and half awake, so I tries to peer out into the back yard. I'm all for grantin' a general + alibi, though.</p> + + <p>"Maybe you was only dreamin', Vee," says I. "Anyway, let's wait until mornin', and then——"</p> + + <p>"There!" she breaks in excited. "Just beyond the garden trellis. See?"</p> + + <p>Yep. There's no denyin' that someone is sneakin' around out there. First off I thought it might be a female in a + white skirt and a raincoat; but when we gets the head showin' plain above some bushes we can make out a mustache.</p> + + <p>"It's a man!" gasps Vee, clutchin' me by the sleeve.</p> + + <p>"Uh-huh," says I. "So it is."</p> + + <p>"Well?" says Vee.</p> + + <p>I expect that was my cue to come across with the bold and noble acts. But, somehow, I didn't yearn to dash out + into the moonlight in my pajamas and mix in rough with a total stranger. But I didn't mean to give it away if I could + help it.<a class="pagenum" name="page_90" title="90" id="page_90"></a></p> + + <p>"Got a nerve, ain't he?" says I. "Let's wait; maybe he'll fall into the pond."</p> + + <p>"How absurd!" says Vee. "No; we must do something right away."</p> + + <p>"Of course," says I. "I'll shout and ask him what the blazes he thinks he's doin'. "</p> + + <p>"Don't," says Vee. "There may be others—in the house. And before you let him know you see him, you ought to + be armed. Get your revolver."</p> + + <p>At that I just gawped at Vee, for she knows well enough I don't own anything more deadly than a safety razor, and + that all the gun-play I ever indulged in was once or twice at a Coney Island shootin' gallery where I slaughtered a + clay pipe by aimin' at a glass ball.</p> + + <p>"Whaddye mean, revolver?" I asks.</p> + + <p>"S-s-s-sh!" says she. "There's that Turkish pistol, you know, that Mr. Shinn left hanging over the mantel in the + living-room."</p> + + <p>"Think it's loaded?" I whispers.</p> + + <p>"It might be," says Vee. "Anyway, it's better than nothing. Let's get it."</p> + + <p>"All right," says I. "Soon as I get something on. Just a sec."</p> + + <p>So I jumps into a pair of trousers and a coat and some bath slippers, while Vee throws on a dressin'-sack. We + feels our way sleuthy downstairs,<a class="pagenum" name="page_91" title="91" id="page_91"></a> and after rappin' my + shins on a couple of rockers I gets down the old pistol. It's a curious, wicked-lookin' antique about two feet long, + with a lot of carvin' and silver inlay on the barrel. I'd never examined the thing to see how it worked, but it feels + sort of comfortin' just to grip it in my hand. We unlocks the back door easy.</p> + + <p>"Now you stay inside, Vee," says I, "while I go scoutin' and——"</p> + + <p>"No indeed," says Vee. "I am going too."</p> + + <p>"But you mustn't," I insists.</p> + + <p>"Hush!" says she. "I shall."</p> + + <p>And she did. So we begins our first burglar hunt as a twosome, and I must say there's other sports I enjoy more. + Out across the lawn we sneaks, steppin' as easy as we can, and keepin' in the shadow most of the time.</p> + + <p>"Guess he must have skipped," says I.</p> + + <p>"But he was here only a moment ago," says Vee. "Don't you know, we saw him—— Oh, oh!"</p> + + <p>I don't blame her for gaspin'. Not twenty feet ahead of us, crouchin' down in the cabbage patch, is the villain. + Just why he should be tryin' to hide among a lot of cabbage plants not over three inches high, I don't stop to think. + All I knew was that here was someone prowlin'<a class="pagenum" name="page_92" title="92" id="page_92"></a> around at + night on my premises, and all in a flash I begins to see red. Swingin' Vee behind me, I unlimbers the old pistol and + cocks it. I didn't care whether this was the open season for burglars or not. I wanted to get this one, and get him + hard.</p> + + <p>Must have been a minute or more that I had him covered, tryin' to steady my arm so I could keep the muzzle pointed + straight at his back, when all of a sudden he lifts his right hand and begins scratchin' his ear. Somehow, that + breaks the spell. Why should a burglar hump himself on his hands and knees in a truck patch and stop to scratch his + ear?</p> + + <p>"Hey, you!" I sings out real crisp.</p> + + <p>Maybe that ain't quite the way to open a line of chat with a midnight marauder. I've been kidded about it some + since; but at the time it sounded all right. And it had the proper effect. He comes up on his toes with his hands in + the air, like he was worked by springs.</p> + + <p>"That's right; keep your paws up," says I. "And, remember, if you go to makin' any funny moves——"</p> + + <p>"Why, Torchy!" exclaims Vee, grabbin' my shootin' arm. "It's Leon!"</p> + + <p>"Wha-a-a-at!" says I, starin' at this wabbly party among the coldslaw.<a class="pagenum" name="page_93" title="93" + id="page_93"></a></p> + + <p>But it's Professor Battou, all right. He's costumed in a night-shirt, an old overcoat, and a pair of rubbers; and + he certainly does look odd, standin' there in the moonlight with his elbows up and his knees knockin' one + another.</p> + + <p>"Well, well, Leon!" says I, sighin' relieved. "So it's you, is it? And we had you all spotted as a second-story + worker. All right; you don't need to hold the pose any longer. But maybe you'll tell us what you're crawlin' around + out here in the garden for at this time of night."</p> + + <p>He tried to, but he's had such a scare thrown into him that his conversation works are all gummed up. After we've + led him into the house, though, and he's had a drink of spring water, he does a little better.</p> + + <p>"It was to protect the cabbages, monsieur," says he.</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I. "Protect 'em from what?"</p> + + <p>"There is a wicked worm," says Leon, "which does his evil work in the night. Ah, such a sly beast! And so + destructive! Just at the top of the young root he eats—snip, snip! And in the morning I find that two, four, + sometimes six tender plants he has cut off. I am enrage. 'Ha!' I say. 'I will discover you yet at your mischief.' So + I cannot sleep for thinking.<a class="pagenum" name="page_94" title="94" id="page_94"></a> But I had found him; yes, + two. And I was searching for more when monsieur—— "</p> + + <p>"Yes, I know," says I. He's glancin' worried at the old pistol I'm still holdin' in my hand. "My error, Leon. I + might have guessed. And as the clock's just strikin' three, I think we'd all better hit the hay again. Come on, Vee; + it's all over."</p> + + <p>And, in spite of that half hour or so of time out, I was up earlier than usual in the mornin'. I had a little job + to do that I'd planned out before I went to sleep again. As soon as I'm dressed I slips downstairs, takes that + Turkish pistol, and chucks it into the middle of the pond. I'll never know whether it was loaded or not. I don't want + to know. For if it had been—— Well, what's the use?</p> + + <p>Comin' back in through the kitchen, I finds Leon busy dishin' up toast and eggs. He glances at me nervous, and + then hangs his head. But he gets out what he has to say man fashion.</p> + + <p>"I trust monsieur is not displeased," says he. "It was not wise for me to walk about at night. But those wicked + worms! Still, if monsieur desires, it shall not occur again. I ask pardon."</p> + + <p>"Now, that's all right, Leon," says I soothin'.<a class="pagenum" name="page_95" title="95" id="page_95"></a> + "Don't worry. When it comes to playin' the boob act, I guess we split about fifty-fifty. I'd a little rather you + didn't, but if you must hunt the wicked worm at night, why, go to it. You won't run any more risk of being shot up by + me. For I've disarmed."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_96" title="96" id="page_96"></a> + <a name="BACK_WITH_CLARA_BELLE_2471" id="BACK_WITH_CLARA_BELLE_2471"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + <h3>BACK WITH CLARA BELLE</h3> + </div> + + <p>And me kiddin' myself I was fairly well parlor-broke. It seems not. You'd 'most think, though, I'd had enough + front-room trainin' to stand me through in a place like Harbor Hills. I had a wild idea, too, that when we moved into + the country we'd tagged the reg'lar social stuff good-by.</p> + + <p>That was a poor hunch. I'm just discoverin' that there's more tea fights and dinner dances and such goin's on out + here in the commuter zone than in any five blocks of Fifth Avenue you can name. And it seems that anywhere within ten + miles of this Piping Rock Club brings you into the most active sector. So here we are, right in the thick of + things.</p> + + <p>At that, I expect it might have been quite some time before we was bothered any if it hadn't been for our bein' + sort of backed by the Robert Ellinses. As their friends we're counted in right off the reel. I've been joshed into + lettin'<a class="pagenum" name="page_97" title="97" id="page_97"></a> my name go on the waitin' list at the Country + Club; I'm allowed to subscribe to this and that; some of the neighbors have begun payin' first calls on Vee.</p> + + <p>So I might have had sense enough to watch my step. Yet, here the other afternoon, when I makes an early getaway + from the Corrugated and hops off the 5:17, I dashes across the back lots and comes into our place by the rear instead + of the front drive. You see, I'd been watchin' a row of string-beans we had comin' along, and I wanted to spring the + first ones on Vee. Sure enough, I finds three or four pods 'most big enough to eat; so I picks 'em and goes breezin' + into the house, wavin' em gleeful.</p> + + <p>"Oh, Vee!" I sings out, openin' the terrace door. "Come have a look."</p> + + <p>And, as she don't appear on the jump, I keeps on into the livin'-room and calls:</p> + + <p>"Hey! What do you know about these? Beans! Perfectly good——"</p> + + <p>Well, that's as far as I gets, for there's Vee, sittin' behind the silver tea-urn, all dolled up; and Leon, in his + black coat, holdin' a plate of dinky little cakes; and a couple of strange ladies starin' at me button-eyed. I'd + crashed right into the midst of tea and callers.</p> + + <p>Do I pull some easy johndrew lines and exit<a class="pagenum" name="page_98" title="98" id="page_98"></a> + graceful? Not me. My feet was glued to the rug.</p> + + <p>"Beans!" says I, grinnin' simple and danglin' the specimens. "Perfectly good string——"</p> + + <p>Then I catches the eye of the stiff-necked dame with the straight nose and the gun-metal hair. No, both eyes, it + was; and a cold, suspicious, stabby look is what they shoots my way. No wonder I chokes off the feeble-minded remarks + and turns sort of panicky to Vee, half expectin' to find her blushin' painful or signalin' me to clear out. Nothing + like that from Vee, though.</p> + + <p>"Not ours, Torchy?" says she, slidin' out from behind the tea-table and rushin' over. "Not our very own?"</p> + + <p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "Just picked 'em."</p> + + <p>At which the other caller joins in unexpected.</p> + + <p>"From your own garden?" says she. "How interesting! Oh, do show them to me."</p> + + <p>"Why, sure," says I. "Guess we're doin' our bit, ain't we?"</p> + + <p>She's a wide, dumpy-built old girl, and dressed sort of freaky. Also her line of talk is a kind of purry, throaty + gush that's almost too soothin' to be true. But anybody who makes only half a bluff at being interested in<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_99" title="99" id="page_99"></a> our garden wins us. And not until she's inspected our first + string-beans through her gold lorgnette, and remarked twice more how wonderful it was for us to raise anything like + that, does it occur to Vee to introduce me proper to both ladies.</p> + + <p>The tall, stiff-necked dame turns out to be Mrs. Pemberton Foote. Honest! Could you blame her for bein' jarred + when I come bouncin' in with garden truck?</p> + + <p>Think of it! Why, she's one of the super-tax brigade and moves among the smartest of the smart-setters. And Pemmy, + he's on the polo team, you know.</p> + + <p>Oh, reg'lar people, the Pembroke Footes are. And the very fact that Mrs. Foote is here callin' on Vee ought to + have me thrilled to the bone.</p> + + <p>Yet all I got sense enough to do is wave half-grown string-beans at her, and then sit by gawpy, balancin' a cup of + tea on my knee, and watch her apply the refrigeratin' process to the dumpy old girl whose name I didn't quite catch. + Say, but she does it thorough and artistic. Only two or three times did the dumpy one try to kick in on the chat, and + when she does, Mrs. Pemmy rolls them glittery eyes towards her slow, givin' her the up-and-down like she was<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_100" title="100" id="page_100"></a> some kind of fat worm that had strayed in from the cucumber + bed.</p> + + <p>Can't these women throw the harpoon into each other ruthless, though? Why, you could see that old girl fairly + squirm when she got one of them assault-and-battery glances. Her under lip would quiver a bit, she'd wink hard three + or four times, and then she'd sort of collapse, smotherin' a sigh and not finishin' what she'd started out to say. + She did want to be so folksy, too.</p> + + <p>Course, she's an odd-lookin' party, with that bucket-shaped lid decorated with pale green satin fruit, and the + piles of thick blondine hair that was turnin' gray, and her foolish big eyes with the puffy rolls underneath and the + crows'-feet in the corners. And of course anybody with ankles suggestin' piano legs really shouldn't go in for + high-tide skirts and white silk stockin's with black butterflies worked on 'em. Should they?</p> + + <p>Still, she'd raved over our string-beans, so when she makes a last fluttery try at jimmyin' her way into the + conversation, and Mrs. Foote squelches her prompt again, and she gives up for good, it's me jumpin' snappy to tow her + out and tuck her in the limousine. Havin' made my escape, I stays outside until after Mrs. Pemmy<a class="pagenum" + name="page_101" title="101" id="page_101"></a> has gone too, which don't happen for near half an hour later. But when + I hears the front door shut on her, I sidles in at the back.</p> + + <p>"Zowie!" says I. "You must have made more of a hit with our swell neighbor than I did, Vee."</p> + + <p>Vee smiles quizzin' and shrugs her shoulders.</p> + + <p>"I'm not so sure," says she. "I almost feel as though we had been visited by the Probation Officer, or someone + like that."</p> + + <p>"How do you mean?" says I.</p> + + <p>"Of course," she goes on, "Mrs. Foote did not actually say that we were on trial socially, but she hinted as much. + And she made it quite plain that unless we got started in the right set our case would be utterly hopeless."</p> + + <p>"Just think of that!" says I. "Real sweet of her, eh? Sort of inspector general, is she? You should have asked her + to show her badge, though."</p> + + <p>"Oh, there's no doubt that she speaks with authority," says Vee. "She wasn't snippy about it, either. And chiefly + she was trying to warn me against Mrs. Ben Tupper."</p> + + <p>"The old girl with the pelican chin and the rovin' eyes?" I asks. "What's the matter with her besides her + looks?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_102" title="102" id="page_102"></a></p> + + <p>Well, accordin' to Mrs. Pemmy Foote, there was a lot. She had a past, for one thing. She was a pushing, + presumptuous person, for another. And, besides, this Benjamin Tupper party—the male of the species—was + wholly impossible.</p> + + <p>"You know who he is," adds Vee. "The tablet man."</p> + + <p>"What?" says I. "'Tupper's Tablets for Indigestion—on Everybody's Tongue.' Him?"</p> + + <p>Vee nods. "And they live in that barny stucco house just as you turn off Sagamore Boulevard—the one with the + hideous red-tiled roof and the concrete lions in front."</p> + + <p>"Goodness Agnes!" says I. "Folks have been indicted for less than that. I've seen Tupper, too; someone pointed him + out goin' in on the express only the other mornin'. Looks like a returned Nihilist who'd been nominated in one of the + back wards of Petrograd to run for the Duma on a free-vodka platform. He's got wiry whiskers that he must trim with a + pair of tin-shears, tufts in his ears, and the general build of a performin' chimpanzee. Oh, he's a rare one, + Tupper."</p> + + <p>"Then," says Vee, sort of draggy, "I—I suppose Mrs. Foote is right. It's too bad, for that Mrs. Tupper did + seem such a friendly old<a class="pagenum" name="page_103" title="103" id="page_103"></a> soul. And I shall feel so + snobbish if I don't return her call."</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says I. "I don't see why Mrs. Pemmy couldn't let you find out about her for yourself. Even if the old girl + don't belong, what's the use bein' so rough with her?"</p> + + <p>"Do you know, Torchy," says Vee, "I felt that way about it when Mrs. Foote was snubbing her. And yet—well, I + wish I knew just what to do."</p> + + <p>"Clean out of my line," says I.</p> + + <p>I expect it was the roses that set me mullin' the case over again. They was sent over for Vee a couple of days + later—half a dozen great busters, like young cabbages, with stems a yard long. They come with the compliments + of Mrs. Ben Tupper.</p> + + <p>"I simply couldn't send them back," says Vee; "and yet——"</p> + + <p>"I get you," says I. "But don't worry. Let the thing ride a while. I got an idea. "</p> + + <p>It wasn't anything staggerin'. It had just struck me that if Vee had to hand out any social smears she ought to do + it on her own dope, and not accordin' to Mrs. Pemmy Foote's say-so. Which is why I begins pumpin' information out of + anybody that came handy. Goin'<a class="pagenum" name="page_104" title="104" id="page_104"></a> into town next + mornin', I tackled three or four on the 8:03 in an offhand way.</p> + + <p>Oh, yes, the Ben Tuppers! Business of hunchin' the shoulders. No, they didn't belong to the Country Club, nor the + Hunt Association, nor figure on the Library or Hospital boards, or anything else. In fact, they don't mingle much. + Hadn't made the grade. Barred? We-e-ell, in a way, perhaps. Why? Oh, there was Mrs. Ben. Wasn't she enough? An + ex-actress with two or three hubbys in the discard! Could she expect people to swallow that?</p> + + <p>Only one gent, though, had anything definite to offer. He's a middle-aged sport that seems to make a specialty of + wearin' checked suits and yellow gloves. He chuckles when I mentions Mrs. Tupper.</p> + + <p>"Grand old girl, Clara Belle," says he.</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I. "Shoot the rest."</p> + + <p>"Couldn't think of it, son," says he. "You're too young. But in my day Clara Belle Kinney was some queen."</p> + + <p>And that's all I can get out of him except more chuckles. I files away the name, though; and that afternoon, while + we was waitin' for a quorum of directors to straggle into the General Offices, I springs it on Old Hickory.<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_105" title="105" id="page_105"></a></p> + + <p>"Mr. Ellins," says I, "did you ever know of a Clara Belle Kinney?"</p> + + <p>"Wha-a-at?" he gasps, almost swallowin' his cigar. "Listen to that, Mason. Here's a young innocent asking if we + ever knew Clara Belle Kinney. Did we?"</p> + + <p>And old K. W. Mason, what does he do but throw back his shiny dome, open his mouth, and roar out:</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + <tr> + <td>"Yure right fut is crazy,</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>Yure left fut is lazy,</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>But if ye'll be aisy</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td><span style='margin-left: 20px'>I'll teach ye to waltz!"</span></td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>After which them two old cut-ups wink at each other rakish and slap their knees. All of which ain't so + illuminatin'. But they keep on, mentionin' Koster Bial's and the Cork Room, until I can patch together quite a sketch + of Mrs. Tupper's early career.</p> + + <p>Seems she'd made her first hit in this old-time concert-hall when she was a sweet young thing in her teens. One of + her naughty stunts was kickin' her slipper into an upper box, and gettin' it tossed back with a mash note in it, or + maybe a twenty-dollar bill. Then she'd graduated into comic opera.</p> + + <p>"Was there ever a Katishaw like her?" demands<a class="pagenum" name="page_106" title="106" id="page_106"></a> Old + Hickory of K. W., who responds by hummin' husky:</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + <tr> + <td>"I dote upon a tiger</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>From the Congo or the Niger,</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>Especially when lashing of his tail."</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>And, while they don't go into details, I gathered that they'd been Clara Belle fans—had sent her orchids on + openin' nights, and maybe had set up wine suppers for her and her friends. They knew about a couple of her + matrimonial splurges. One was with her manager, of course; the next was a young broker whose fam'ly got him to break + it off. After that they'd lost track of her.</p> + + <p>"It seems to me," says Old Hickory, "that I heard she had married someone in Buffalo, or Rochester, and had quit + the stage. A patent medicine chap, I think he was, who'd made a lot of money out of something or other. I wonder what + has become of her?"</p> + + <p>That was my cue, all right, but I passes it up. I wasn't talkin' just then; I was listenin'.</p> + + <p>"Ah-h-h!" goes on Mr. Mason, foldin' his hands over his forward sponson and rollin' his eyes sentimental. "Dear + Clara Belle! I say, Ellins, wouldn't you like to hear her sing that MacFadden song once more?"<a class="pagenum" + name="page_107" title="107" id="page_107"></a></p> + + <p>"I'd give fifty dollars," says Old Hickory.</p> + + <p>"I'd make it a hundred if she'd follow it with 'O Promise Me,'" says K. W. "What was her record—six hundred + nights on Broadway, wasn't it?"</p> + + <p>Say, they went on reminiscin' so long, it's a wonder the monthly meetin' ever got started at all. I might have + forgot them hot-air bids of theirs, too, if it hadn't been for something Vee announces that night across the + dinner-table.</p> + + <p>Seems that Mrs. Robert Ellins had been rung into managin' one of these war benefit stunts, and she's decided to + use their new east terrace for an outdoor stage and the big drawin'-room it opens off from as an auditorium. You + know, Mrs. Robert used to give violin recitals and do concert work herself, so she ain't satisfied with amateur + talent. Besides, she knows so many professional people.</p> + + <p>"And who do you think she is to have on the program?" demands Vee. "Farrar!"</p> + + <p>"Aw, come!" says I.</p> + + <p>"And perhaps Mischa Elman," adds Vee. "Isn't that thrilling?"</p> + + <p>I admits that it is.</p> + + <p>"But say," I goes on, "with them big names on the bill, what does she expect to tax people for the best + seats?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_108" title="108" id="page_108"></a></p> + + <p>Vee says how they'd figured they might ask ten dollars for a few choice chairs.</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says I. "That won't get you far. Why don't you soak 'em proper?"</p> + + <p>"But how?" asks Vee.</p> + + <p>"You put in a bald-headed row," says I, "and I'll find you a party who'll fill it at a hundred a throw."</p> + + <p>Vee stares at me like she thought I'd been touched with the heat, and wants to know who.</p> + + <p>"Clara Belle Kinney," says I.</p> + + <p>"Why, I never heard of any such person," says she.</p> + + <p>"Oh, yes, you have," says I. "Alias Mrs. Ben Tupper."</p> + + <p>Course, I had some job convincin' her I wasn't joshin'; and even after I'd sketched out the whole story, and + showed her that Clara Belle's past wasn't anything to really shudder over, Vee is still doubtful.</p> + + <p>"But can she sing now?" she asks.</p> + + <p>"What's the odds," says I, "if a lot of them old-timers are willin' to pay to hear her try?"</p> + + <p>Vee shakes her head and suggests that we go up and talk it over with Mr. and Mrs. Robert. Which we does.</p> + + <p>"But if she has been off the stage for twenty<a class="pagenum" name="page_109" title="109" id="page_109"></a> + years," suggests Mrs. Robert, "perhaps she wouldn't attempt it."</p> + + <p>"I'll bet she would for Vee," says I. "Any way, she wouldn't feel sore at being asked And if you could sting a + bunch of twenty or thirty for a hundred apiece—— "</p> + + <p>"Just fancy!" says Mrs. Robert, drawin' in a long breath and doin' rapid-fire mental arithmetic. "Verona, let's + drive right over and see her at once."</p> + + <p>They're some hustlers, that pair. All I have to do is map out the scheme, and they goes after it with a rush.</p> + + <p>And say, I want to tell you that was a perfectly good charity concert, judged by the box-office receipts or any + way you want to size it up. Bein' the official press-agent, who's got a better right to admit it?</p> + + <p>True, Elman didn't show up, but his alibi was sound. And not until the last minute was we sure whether the fair + Geraldine would get there or not. But my contribution to the headliners was there from the first tap of the bell.</p> + + <p>Vee says she actually wept on her shoulder when the proposition was sprung on her. Seems she'd been livin' in + Harbor Hills for nearly three years without havin' been let in on a thing—with nobody callin' on her, or + even<a class="pagenum" name="page_110" title="110" id="page_110"></a> noddin' as she drove by. Most of her neighbors + was a lot younger, folks who barely remembered that there had been such a party as Clara Belle Kinney, and who + couldn't have told whether she'd been a singer or a bareback rider. They only knew her as a dumpy freakish dressed + old girl whose drugged hair was turnin' gray.</p> + + <p>"Of course," she says, sort of timid and trembly, "I have kept up my singing as well as I could. Mr. Tupper likes + to have me. But I know my voice isn't what it was once. It's dear of you to ask me, though, and—and I'll do my + best."</p> + + <p>I don't take any credit for fillin' that double row of wicker chairs we put down front and had the nerve to ask + that hold-up price for. When the word was passed around that Clara Belle Kinney was to be among the performers, they + almost mobbed me for tickets. Why, I collected from two-thirds of the Corrugated directors without turnin' a hand, + and for two days there about all I did was answer 'phone calls from Broad Street and the clubs—brokers, bank + presidents, and so on, who wanted to know if there was any left.</p> + + <p>A fine bunch of silver-tops they was, too, when we got 'em all lined up. You wouldn't<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_111" title="111" id="page_111"></a> have suspected it of some of them dignified old scouts, either. Back of + 'em, fillin' every corner of the long room and spillin' out into the big hall, was the top crust of our local smart + set, come to hear Farrar at close range.</p> + + <p>Yep, Geraldine made quite a hit. Nothing strange about that. And that piece from "Madame Butterfly" she gave just + brought 'em right up on their toes. But say, you should hear what breaks loose when it's announced that the third + number will be an old favorite revival by Clara Belle Kinney. That's all the name we gave. What if most of the + audience was simply starin' puzzled and stretchin' their necks to see who was comin'? Them old boys down front seemed + to know what they was howlin' about.</p> + + <p>Yes, Clara Belle does show up a bit husky in evenin' dress. Talk about elbow dimples! And I was wishin' she'd + forgot to do her hair that antique way, all piled up on her head, with a few coy ringlets over one ear. But she'd + landscaped her facial scenery artistic, and she sure does know how to roll them big eyes of hers.</p> + + <p>I didn't much enjoy listenin' through them first few bars, though. There wasn't merely a crack here and there. Her + voice went to a complete smash at times, besides bein' weak and<a class="pagenum" name="page_112" title="112" id= + "page_112"></a> wabbly. It's like listenin' to the ghost of a voice. I heard a few titters from the back rows.</p> + + <p>But them old boys don't seem to mind. It was a voice comin' to them from 'way back in the '90's. And when she + struggles through the first verse of "O Promise Me," and pauses to get her second wind, maybe they don't give her a + hand. That seemed to pep her up a lot. She gets a better grip on the high notes, the tremolo effect wears off, and + she goes to it like a winner. Begins to get the crowd with her, too. Why, say, even Farrar stands up and leads in the + call for an encore. She ain't alone.</p> + + <p>"MacFadden! MacFadden!" K. W. Mason is shoutin'.</p> + + <p>So in a minute more Clara Belle, her eyes shinin', has swung into that raggy old tune, and when she gets to the + chorus she beckons to the front rows and says: "Now, all together, boys!</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + <tr> + <td>"Wan—two—three!</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>Balance like me——"</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>Did they come in on it? Say, they roared it out like so many young college hicks riotin' around the campus after a + session at a rathskeller. You should have seen Old Hickory<a class="pagenum" name="page_113" title="113" id= + "page_113"></a> standin' out front with his arms wavin' and his face red.</p> + + <p>Then they demands some of the Katishaw stuff, and "Comrades," and "Little Annie Rooney." And with every encore + Clara Belle seems to shake off five or ten years, until you could almost see what a footlight charmer she must have + been.</p> + + <p>In the midst of it all Vee gives me the nudge.</p> + + <p>"Do look at Mr. Tupper, will you!"</p> + + <p>Yes, he's sittin' over in a corner, with his white shirt-front bulgin', his neck stretched forward eager, and his + big hairy paws grippin' the chair-back in front. And hanged if a drop of brine ain't tricklin' down one side of his + nose.</p> + + <p>"Gosh!" says I. "His emotions are leakin' into his whiskers. Maybe the old boy is human, after all."</p> + + <p>A minute later, as I slides easy out of my end seat, Vee asks:</p> + + <p>"Where are you going, Torchy?"</p> + + <p>"I want a glimpse of Mrs. Pemmy Foote's face, that's all," says I.</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_114" title="114" id="page_114"></a> + <a name="WHEN_TORCHY_GOT_THE_CALL_2929" id="WHEN_TORCHY_GOT_THE_CALL_2929"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + <h3>WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL</h3> + </div> + + <p>No, I ain't said much about it before. There are some things you're apt to keep to yourself, specially the ones + that root deep. And I'll admit that at first there I don't quite know where I was at. But as affairs got messier and + messier, and the U-boats got busier, and I heard some first-hand details of what had happened to the + Belgians—well, I got mighty restless. I expect I indulged in more serious thought stuff than I'd ever been + guilty of.</p> + + <p>You see, it was along back when we were gettin' our first close-ups of the big scrap—some of our boats sunk, + slinkers reported off Sandy Hook, bomb plots shown up, and Papa Joffre over here soundin' the S. O. S. earnest.</p> + + <p>Then there was Mr. Robert joinin' the Naval Reserves, and two young hicks from the bond room who'd volunteered. + We'd had postals from 'em at the trainin' camp. Even Vee was busy with a first-aid class, learnin' how to tie + bandages and put on splints.<a class="pagenum" name="page_115" title="115" id="page_115"></a></p> + + <p>So private seccing seemed sort of tame and useless—like keepin' on sprinklin' the lawn after your chimney + was bein' struck by lightnin'. I felt like I ought to be gettin' in the game somehow. Anyway, it seemed as if it was + my ante.</p> + + <p>Not that I'd been rushed off my feet by all this buntin'-wavin' or khaki-wearin'. I'm no panicky Old Glory + trail-hitter. Nor I didn't lug around the idea I was the missin' hero who was to romp through the barbed wire, stamp + Hindenburg's whiskers in the mud, and lead the Allies across the Rhine. I didn't even kid myself I could swim out and + kick a hole in a submarine, or do the darin' aviator act after a half-hour lesson at Mineola.</p> + + <p>In fact, I suspected that sheddin' the enemy's gore wasn't much in my line. I knew I should dislike quittin' the + hay at dawn to sneak out and get mixed up with half a bushel of impetuous scrap-iron. Still, if it had to be done, + why not me as well as the next party?</p> + + <p>I'd been meanin' to talk it over with Vee—sort of hint around, anyway, and see how she'd take it. But as a + matter of fact I never could seem to find just the right openin' until, there one night after dinner, as she finishes + a new<a class="pagenum" name="page_116" title="116" id="page_116"></a> piece she's tryin' over on the piano, I + wanders up beside her and starts absent-minded tearin' little bits off a corner of the music.</p> + + <p>"Torchy!" she protests. "What an absurd thing to do."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I, twistin' it into a cornucopia. "But you know I can't go on warmin' the bench like this."</p> + + <p>She stares at me puzzled for a second.</p> + + <p>"Meaning what, for instance?" she asks.</p> + + <p>"I got to go help swat the Hun," says I.</p> + + <p>The flickery look in them gray eyes of hers steadies down, and she reaches out for one of my hands. That's all. No + jumpy emotions—not even a lip quiver.</p> + + <p>"Must you?" says she, quiet.</p> + + <p>"I can't take it out in wearin' a button or hirin' someone to hoe potatoes in the back lot," says I.</p> + + <p>"No," says she.</p> + + <p>"Auntie would come, I suppose?" says I.</p> + + <p>Vee nods.</p> + + <p>"And with Leon here," I goes on, "and Mrs. Battou, you could——"</p> + + <p>"Yes, I could get along," she breaks in. "But—but when?"</p> + + <p>"Right away," says I. "As soon as they can use me."<a class="pagenum" name="page_117" title="117" id= + "page_117"></a></p> + + <p>"You'll start training for a commission, then?" she asks.</p> + + <p>"Not me," says I. "I'd be poor enough as a private, but maybe I'd help fill in one of the back rows. I don't know + much about it. I'll look it up to-morrow."</p> + + <p>"To-morrow? Oh!" says Vee, with just the suspicion of a break in her voice.</p> + + <p>And that's all we had to say about it. Every word. You'd thought we'd exhausted the subject, or got the tongue + cramp. But I expect we each had a lot of thoughts that didn't get registered. I know I did. And next mornin' the + breakaway came sort of hard.</p> + + <p>"I—I know just how you feel about it," says Vee.</p> + + <p>"I'm glad somebody does, then," says I.</p> + + <p>Puttin' the proposition up to Old Hickory was different. He shoots a quick glance at me from under them shaggy + eyebrows, bites into his cigar savage, and grunts discontented.</p> + + <p>"You are exempt, you know," says he.</p> + + <p>"I know," says I. "If tags came with marriage licenses I might wear one on my watch-fob to show, I expect."</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says he. "It seems to me that rapid-fire brain of yours might be better utilized than by hiding it under a + trench helmet."<a class="pagenum" name="page_118" title="118" id="page_118"></a></p> + + <p>"Speedy thinkers seem to be a drug on the market just now," says I. "Anyway, I feel like it was up to me to + deliver something—I can't say just what. But campin' behind a roll-top here on the nineteenth floor ain't going + to help much, is it?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, well, if you have the fever!" says he.</p> + + <p>And half an hour later I've pushed in past the flag and am answerin' questions while the sergeant fills out the + blank.</p> + + <p>Maybe you can guess I ain't in any frivolous mood. I don't believe I thought I was about to push back the invader, + or turn the tide for civilization. Neither was I lookin' on this as a sportin' flier or a larky excursion that I was + goin' to indulge in at public expense. My idea was that there'd been a general call for such as me, and that I was + comin' across. I was more or less sober about it.</p> + + <p>They didn't seem much impressed at the recruitin' station. Course, you couldn't expect the sergeant to get + thrilled over every party that drifted in. He'd been there for weeks, I suppose, answerin' the same fool questions + over and over, knowin' all the time that half of them that came in was bluffin' and that a big per cent. of the + others wouldn't do.</p> + + <p>But this other party with the zippy waistline,<a class="pagenum" name="page_119" title="119" id="page_119"></a> + the swellin' chest, and the nifty shoulder-straps—why should he glare at me in that cold, suspicious way? I + wasn't tryin' to break into the army with felonious intent. How could he be sure, just from a casual glance, that I + was such vicious scum?</p> + + <p>Oh, yes; I've figured out since that he didn't mean more'n half of it, or couldn't help lookin' at civilians that + way after four years at West Point, or thought he had to. But that's what I get handed to me when I've dropped all + the little things that seemed important to me and walks in to chuck what I had to offer Uncle Sam on the recruitin' + table.</p> + + <p>Some kind of inspectin' officer, I've found out he was, makin' the rounds to see that the sergeants didn't loaf on + the job. And, just to show that no young patriot in a last year's Panama and a sport-cut suit could slip anything + over on him, he shoots in a few crisp questions on his own account.</p> + + <p>"Married, you say?" says he. "Since when?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, this century," says I. "Last February, to get it nearer."</p> + + <p>He sniffs disagreeable without sayin' why. Also he takes a hand when it comes to testin' me to see whether I'm + club-footed or spavined.<a class="pagenum" name="page_120" title="120" id="page_120"></a> Course, I'm no perfect male + like you see in the knit underwear ads, but I've got the usual number of toes and teeth, my wind is fairly good, and + I don't expect my arteries have begun to harden yet. He listens to my heart action and measures my chest expansion. + Then I had to name the different colors and squint through a tube at some black dots on a card.</p> + + <p>And the further we went the more he scowled. Finally he shakes his head at the sergeant.</p> + + <p>"Rejected," says he.</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I. "You—you don't mean I'm—turned down?"</p> + + <p>He nods. "Underweight, and your eyes don't focus," says he snappy. "Here's your card. That's all."</p> + + <p>Yes, it was a jolt. I expect I stood there blinkin' stupid at him for a minute or so before I had sense enough to + drift out on the sidewalk. And I might as well admit I was feelin' mighty low. I didn't know whether to hunt up the + nearest hospital, or sit down on the curb and wait until they came after me with the stretcher-cart. Anyway, I knew I + must be a physical wreck. And to think I hadn't suspected it before!</p> + + <p>Somehow I dragged back to the office, and a<a class="pagenum" name="page_121" title="121" id="page_121"></a> while + later Mr. Ellins discovers me slumped in my chair with my chin down.</p> + + <p>"Mars and Mercury!" says he. "You haven't been through a battle so soon, have you?"</p> + + <p>At that, I tries to brace up a bit and pass it off light.</p> + + <p>"Why didn't someone tell me I was a chronic invalid?" says I, after sketchin' out how my entry had been scratched + by the chesty one. "I wonder where I could get a pair of crutches and a light-runnin' wheel chair?"</p> + + <p>"Bah!" says he. "Some of those army officers have red-tape brains and no more common sense than he guinea-pigs. + What in the name of the Seven Shahs did he think was the matter with you?"</p> + + <p>"My eyes don't track and I weigh under the scale," says I. "I expect there's other things, too. Maybe my floatin' + ribs are water-logged and my memory muscle-bound. But I'm a wreck, all right."</p> + + <p>"We'll see about that," says Old Hickory, pushin' a buzzer.</p> + + <p>And inside of an hour I felt a lot better. I'd been gone over by a life insurance expert, who said I hadn't a soft + spot on me, and an eye specialist had reported that my sight was up to the average. Oh, the right lamp did range + a<a class="pagenum" name="page_122" title="122" id="page_122"></a> little further, but he claims that's often the + case.</p> + + <p>"Maybe my hair was too vivid for trench work," says I, "or else that captain was luggin' a grouch. Makes me feel + like a wooden nickel at the bottom of the till, just the same; for I did hope I might be useful somehow. I'll look + swell joinin' the home guards, won't I?"</p> + + <p>"Don't overlook the fact, young man," puts in Old Hickory, "that the Corrugated Trust is not altogether out of + this affair, and that we are running short-handed as it is."</p> + + <p>I was too sore in my mind to be soothed much by that thought just then, though I did buckle into the work harder + than ever.</p> + + <p>As for Vee, she don't have much to say, but she gives me the close tackle when she hears the news.</p> + + <p>"I don't care!" says she. "It was splendid of you to want to go. And I shall be just as proud of you as though you + had been accepted."</p> + + <p>"Oh, sure!" says I. "Likely I'll be mentioned in despatches for the noble way I handled the correspondence all + through a hot spell."</p> + + <p>That state of mind I didn't shake loose in a hurry, either. For three or four weeks, there, I was about the + meekest commuter carried on<a class="pagenum" name="page_123" title="123" id="page_123"></a> the eight-three. I + didn't do any gloatin' over the war news. I didn't join any of the volunteer boards of strategy that met every + mornin' to tell each other how the subs ought to be suppressed, or what Haig should be doin' on the West front. I + even stopped wearin' an enameled flag in my buttonhole. If that was all I could do, I wouldn't fourflush.</p> + + <p>The Corrugated was handlin' a lot of war contracts, too. Course, we was only gettin' our ten per cent., and from + some we'd subbed out not even that. It didn't strike me there was any openin' for me until I'd heard Mr. Ellins, for + about the fourth time that week, start beefin' about the kind of work we was gettin' done.</p> + + <p>"But ain't it all O. K.'d by government inspectors?" I asks.</p> + + <p>"Precisely why I am suspicious," says he. "Not three per cent. turned back! And on rush work that's too good to be + true. Looks to me like careless inspecting—or worse. Yet every man I've sent out has brought in a clean bill; + even for the Wonder Motors people, who have that sub-contract for five hundred tanks. And I wouldn't trust that crowd + to pass the hat for an orphans' home. I wish I knew of a man who could—could—— By the Great + Isosceles! Torchy!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_124" title="124" id="page_124"></a></p> + + <p>I knew I was elected when he first begun squintin' at me that way. But I couldn't see where I'd be such a + wonderful find.</p> + + <p>"A hot lot I know about buildin' armored motor-trucks, Mr. Ellins," says I. "They could feed me anything."</p> + + <p>"You let 'em," says he; "and meanwhile you unlimber that high-tension intellect of yours and see what you can pick + up. Remember, I shall expect results from you, young man. When can you start for Cleveland? To-night, eh? Good! And + just note this: It isn't merely the Corrugated Trust you are representing: it's Uncle Sam and the Allies generally. + And if anything shoddy is being passed, you hunt it out. Understand?"</p> + + <p>Yep. I did. And I'll admit I was some thrilled with the idea. But I felt like a Boy Scout being sent to round up a + gang of gunfighters. I skips home, though, packs my bag, and climbs aboard the night express.</p> + + <p>When I'd finally located the Wonder works, and had my credentials read by everyone, from the rookie sentry at the + gate to the Assistant General Manager, and they was convinced I'd come direct from Old Hickory Ellins, they starts + passin' out the smooth stuff. Oh, yes! Certainly! Anything special I wished to see?<a class="pagenum" name="page_125" + title="125" id="page_125"></a></p> + + <p>"Thanks," says I. "I'll go right through."</p> + + <p>"But we have four acres of shops, you know," suggests the A. G. M., smilin' indulgent.</p> + + <p>"Maybe I can do an acre a day," says I. "I got lots of time."</p> + + <p>"That's the spirit," says he, clappin' me friendly on the shoulder. "Walter, call in Mr. Marvin."</p> + + <p>He was some grand little demonstrator, Mr. Marvin—one of these round-faced, pink-cheeked, chunky built young + gents, who was as chummy and as entertainin' from the first handshake as if we'd been room-mates at college. I can't + say how well posted he was on what was goin' on in the different departments he hustled me through, but he knew + enough to smother me with machinery details.</p> + + <p>"Now, here we have a battery of six hogging machines," he'd say. "They cut the gears, you know."</p> + + <p>"Oh, yes," I'd say, tryin' to look wise.</p> + + <p>It was that way all through the trip. I saw two or three thousand sweaty men in smeared overalls and sleeveless + undershirts putterin' around lathes and things that whittled shavings off shiny steel bars, or hammered red-hot + chunks of it into different shapes, or bit holes<a class="pagenum" name="page_126" title="126" id="page_126"></a> in + great sheets of steel. I watched electric cranes the size of trolley cars juggle chunks of metal that weighed tons. I + listened to the roar and rattle and crash and bang, and at the end of two hours my head was whirlin' as fast as some + of them big belt wheels; and I knew almost as much about what I'd seen as a two-year-old does about the tick-tock + daddy holds up to her ear.</p> + + <p>Young Mr. Marvin don't seem discouraged, though. He suggests that we drive into town for lunch. We did, in a + canary-colored roadster that purred along at about fifty most of the way. We fed at a swell club, along with a bunch + of cheerful young lieutenants of industry who didn't seem worried about the high cost of anything. I gathered that + most of 'em was in the same line as Mr. Marvin—supplies or munitions. From the general talk, and the casual way + they ordered pink cocktails and expensive cigars, I judged it wasn't exactly a losin' game.</p> + + <p>Nor they didn't seem anxious about gettin' back to punch in on the time-clocks. About two-thirty we adjourns to + the Country Club, and if I'd been a mashie fiend I might have finished a hard day's work with a game of golf. I + thought I ought to do some more shops,<a class="pagenum" name="page_127" title="127" id="page_127"></a> though. Why, + to be sure! But at five we knocked off again, and I was towed to another club, where we had a plunge in a marble pool + so as to be in shape for a little dinner Mr. Marvin was gettin' up for me. Quite some dinner! There was a jolly trip + out to an amusement park later on. Oh, the Wonder folks were no tightwads when it came to showin' special agents of + the Corrugated around.</p> + + <p>I tried another day of it before givin' up. It was no use. They had me buffaloed. So I thanked all hands and + hinted that maybe I'd better be goin' back. I hope I didn't deceive anyone, for I did go back—to the hotel. But + by night I'd invested $11.45 in a second-hand outfit—warranted steam-cleaned—and I had put up $6. more + for a week's board with a Swede lady whose front porch faced the ten-foot fence guardin' the Wondor Motors' main + plant. Also, Mrs. Petersen had said it was a cinch I could get a job. Her old man would show me where in the + mornin'.</p> + + <p>And say, mornin' happens early out in places like that. By 5:30 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> I could smell + bacon grease, and by six-fifteen breakfast was all over and Petersen had lit his corn-cob pipe.</p> + + <p>"Coom!" says he in pure Scandinavian.</p> + + <p>This trip, I didn't make my entrance in over<a class="pagenum" name="page_128" title="128" id="page_128"></a> the + Turkish rugs of the private office. I was lined up with a couple of dozen others against a fence about tenth from a + window where there was a "Men Wanted" sign out. Being about as much of a mechanic as I am a brunette, I made no wild + bluffs. I just said I wanted a job. And I got it—riveter's helper, whatever that might be. By eight-thirty my + name and number was on the payroll, and the foreman of shop No. 19 was introducin' me to my new boss.</p> + + <p>"Here, Mike," says he. "Give this one a try-out."</p> + + <p>His name wasn't Mike. It was something like Sneezowski. He was a Pole who'd come over three years ago to work for + John D. at Bayonne, New Jersey, but had got into some kind of trouble there. I didn't wonder. He had wicked little + eyes, one lopped ear, and a ragged mustache that stood out like tushes. But he sure could handle a pneumatic riveter + rapid, and when it came to reprovin' me for not keepin' the pace he expressed himself fluent.</p> + + <p>In the course of a couple of hours, though, I got the hang of how to work them rivet tongs without droppin' 'em + more 'n once every five minutes. But I think it was the grin I<a class="pagenum" name="page_129" title="129" id= + "page_129"></a> slipped Mike now and then that got him to overlookin' my awkward motions. Believe me, too, by six + o'clock I felt less like grinnin' than any time I could remember. I never knew you could ache in so many places at + once. From the ankles down I felt fine. And yet, before the week was out I was helpin' Mike speed up.</p> + + <p>It didn't look promisin' for sleuth work at first. Half a dozen times I was on the point of chuckin' the job. But + the thoughts of havin' to face Old Hickory with a blank report kept me pluggin' away. I begun to get my bearin's a + bit to see things, to put this and that together.</p> + + <p>We was workin' on shaped steel plates, armor for the tanks. Now and then one would come through with some of the + holes only quarter or half punched. Course, you couldn't put rivets in them places.</p> + + <p>"How about these?" I asks.</p> + + <p>"Aw, wottell!" says Mike. "Forget it."</p> + + <p>"But what if the inspector sees?" I insists.</p> + + <p>Mike gurgles in his throat, indicatin' mirth.</p> + + <p>"Th' inspec'!" he chuckles. "Him wink by his eye, him. Ya! You see! Him coom Sat'day. "</p> + + <p>And I swaps chuckles with Mike. Also, by settin' up the schooners at Carlouva's that evenin',<a class="pagenum" + name="page_130" title="130" id="page_130"></a> I got Mike to let out more professional secrets along the same line. + There was others who joined in. They bragged of chipped gears that was shipped through with the bad cogs covered with + grease, of flawy drivin' shafts, of cheesy armor-plate that you could puncture with a tack-hammer.</p> + + <p>While it was all fresh that night I jotted down pages of such gossip in a little red note-book. I had names and + dates. That bunch of piece-workers must have thought I was a bear for details, or else nutty in the head; but they + was too polite to mention it so long as I insisted each time that it was my buy.</p> + + <p>Anyway, I got quite a lot of first-hand evidence as to the kind of inspectin' done by the army officer assigned to + this particular plant. I had to smile, too, when I saw Mr. Marvin towin' him through our shop Saturday forenoon. + Maybe they was three minutes breezin' through. And I didn't need the extra smear of smut on my face. Marvin never + glanced my way. This was the same officer who'd been in on our dinner party, too.</p> + + <p>Yes, I found chattin' with Mike and his friends a lot more illuminatin' than listenin' to Mr. Marvin. So, when I + drew down my second pay envelop, I told the clerk I was quittin'.<a class="pagenum" name="page_131" title="131" id= + "page_131"></a> I don't mind sayin', either, that it seemed good to splash around in a reg'lar bath-tub once more and + to look a sirloin steak in the face again. A stiff collar did seem odd, though.</p> + + <p>Me and Mr. Ellins had some session. We went through that red note-book thorough. He was breathin' a bit heavy at + times, and he chewed hard on his cigar all the way; but he never blew a fuse until forty-eight hours later. The + General Manager of Wonder Motors, four department heads, and the army officer detailed as inspector was part of the + audience. They'd been called on the carpet by wire, and was grouped around one end of our directors' table. At the + other end was Old Hickory, Mr. Robert, Piddie, and me.</p> + + <p>Item by item, Mr. Ellins had sketched out to the Wonder crowd the bunk stuff they'd been slippin' over. First they + tried protestin' indignant; then they made a stab at actin' hurt; but in the end they just looked plain foolish.</p> + + <p>"My dear Mr. Ellins," put in the General Manager, "one cannot watch every workman in a plant of that magnitude. + Besides," here he hunches his shoulders, "if the government is satisfied——"</p> + + <p>"Hah!" snorts Old Hickory. "But it isn't. For I'm the government in this instance. I'm<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_132" title="132" id="page_132"></a> standing for Uncle Sam. That's what I meant when I took those ten per cent. + contracts. I'm too old to go out and fight his enemies abroad, but I can stay behind and watch for yellow-livered + buzzards such as you. Call that business, do you? Fattening your dividends by sending our boys up against the + Prussian guns in junky motor-tanks covered with tin armor! Bah! Your ethics need chloride of lime on them. And you + come here whining that you can't watch your men! By the great sizzling sisters, we'll see if you can't! You will put + in every missing rivet, replace every flawy plate, and make every machine perfect, or I'll smash your little + two-by-four concern so flat the bankruptcy courts won't find enough to tack a libel notice on. Now go back and get + busy."</p> + + <p>They seemed in a hurry to start, too.</p> + + <p>An hour or so later, when Old Hickory had stopped steaming, he passes out a different set of remarks to me. Oh, + the usual grateful boss stuff. Even says he's going to make the War Department give me a commission, with a special + detail.</p> + + <p>"Wouldn't that be wonderful!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "Do you really think he will? A lieutenant, + perhaps?"</p> + + <p>"That's what he mentioned," says I.<a class="pagenum" name="page_133" title="133" id="page_133"></a></p> + + <p>"Really!" says Vee, makin' a rush at me.</p> + + <p>"Wait up!" says I. "Halt, I mean. Now, as you were! Sal-ute!"</p> + + <p>"Pooh!" says Vee, continuin' her rush.</p> + + <p>But say, she knows how to salute, all right. Her way would break up an army, though. All the same, I guess I've + earned it, for by Monday night I'll be up in a Syracuse shovel works, wearin' a one-piece business suit of the + Never-rip brand, and I'll likely have enough grease on me to lubricate a switch-engine.</p> + + <p>"It's lucky you don't see me, Vee," says I, "when I'm out savin' the country. You'd wonder how you ever come to do + it."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_134" title="134" id="page_134"></a> + <a name="A_CARRY-ON_FOR_CLARA_3415" id="A_CARRY-ON_FOR_CLARA_3415"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + <h3>A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA</h3> + </div> + + <p>"Now turn around," says Vee. "Oh, Torchy! Why, you look perfectly——"</p> + + <p>"Do I?" I cuts in. "Well, you don't think I'm goin' to the office like this, do you?"</p> + + <p>She does. Insists that Mr. Ellins will expect it.</p> + + <p>"Besides," says she, "it is in the army regulations that you must. If you don't—well, I'm not sure whether + it is treason or mutiny."</p> + + <p>"Hal-lup!" says I. "I surrender."</p> + + <p>So I starts for town lookin' as warlike as if I'd just come from a front trench, and feelin' like a masquerader + who'd lost his way to the ball-room.</p> + + <p>In the office, Old Hickory gives me the thorough up-and-down. It's a genial, fatherly sort of inspection, and he + ends it with a satisfied grunt.</p> + + <p>"Good-morning, Lieutenant," says he. "I see you have—er—got 'em on. And, allow me to mention, rather a + good fit, sir."<a class="pagenum" name="page_135" title="135" id="page_135"></a></p> + + <p>I gasps. Sirred by Old Hickory! Do you wonder I got fussed? But he only chuckles easy, waves me to take a chair, + and goes on with:</p> + + <p>"What's the word from the Syracuse sector?"</p> + + <p>At that, I gets my breath back.</p> + + <p>"Fairly good deal up there, sir," says I. "They're workin' in a carload or so of wormy ash for the shovel handles, + and some of the steel runs below test; but most of their stuff grades well. I'll have my notes typed off right + away."</p> + + <p>After I've filed my report I should have ducked. But this habit of stickin' around the shop is hard to break. And + that's how I happen to be on hand when the lady in gray drifts in for her chatty confab with Mr. Ellins.</p> + + <p>Seems she held quite a block of our preferred, for when Vincent lugs in her card Old Hickory spots the name right + away as being on our widow-and-orphan list that we wave at investigatin' committees.</p> + + <p>"Ah, yes!" says he. "Mrs. Parker Smith. Show her in, boy."</p> + + <p>Such a quiet, gentle, dignified party she is, her costume tonin' in with her gray hair, and an easy way of + speakin' and all, that my first<a class="pagenum" name="page_136" title="136" id="page_136"></a> guess is she might + be the head of an old ladies' home.</p> + + <p>"Mr. Ellins," says she, "I am looking for my niece."</p> + + <p>"Are you?" says Mr. Ellins, "Humph! Hardly think we could be of service in such a case."</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says she. "I—I am so sorry."</p> + + <p>"Lost, is she?" suggests Mr. Ellins, weakenin'.</p> + + <p>"She is somewhere in New York," goes on Mrs. Parker Smith. "Of course, I know it is an imposition to trouble you + with such a matter. But I thought you might have someone in your office who—who——"</p> + + <p>"We have," says he. "Torchy,—er—I mean, Lieutenant,—Mrs. Parker Smith. Here, madam, is a young + man who will find your niece for you at once. In private life he is my secretary; and as it happens that just now he + is on special detail, his services are entirely at your disposal."</p> + + <p>She looks a little doubtful about bein' shunted like that, but she follows me into the next room, where I produces + a pencil and pad and calls for details businesslike.</p> + + <p>"Let's see," says I. "What's the full description? Age?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_137" title="137" id= + "page_137"></a></p> + + <p>"Why," says she, hesitatin', "Claire is about twenty-two."</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says I. "Got beyond the flapper stage, then. Height—tall or short?"</p> + + <p>Mrs. Parker Smith shakes her head.</p> + + <p>"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "You see, Claire is not an own niece. She—well, she is a daughter of my + first husband's second wife's step-sister."</p> + + <p>"Wha-a-at?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Daughter of your—— Oh, say, let's not go into it as deep as that. + I'm dizzy already. Suppose we call her an in-law once removed and let it go at that?"</p> + + <p>"Thank you," says Mrs. Parker Smith, givin' me a quizzin' smile. "Perhaps it is enough to say that I have never + seen her."</p> + + <p>She does go on to explain, though, that when Claire's step-uncle, or whatever he was, found his heart trouble + gettin' worse, he wrote to Mrs. Parker Smith, askin' her to forget the past and look after the orphan girl that he's + been tryin' to bring up. It's just as clear to me as the average movie plot, but I nods my head.</p> + + <p>"So for three years," says she, "while Claire was in boarding-school, I acted as her guardian; but since she has + come of age I have<a class="pagenum" name="page_138" title="138" id="page_138"></a> been merely the executor of her + small estate."</p> + + <p>"Oh, yes!" says I. "And now she's come to New York, and forgot to send you her address?"</p> + + <p>It was something like that. Claire had gone in for art. Looked like she'd splurged heavy on it, too; for the drain + on her income had been something fierce. Meanwhile, Mrs. Parker Smith had doped out an entirely different future for + Claire. The funds that had been tied up in a Vermont barrel-stave fact'ry, that was makin' less and less barrel + staves every year, Auntie had pulled out and invested in a model dairy farm out near Rockford, Illinois. She'd made + the capital turn over from fifteen to twenty per cent., too, by livin' right on the job and cashin' in the cream + tickets herself.</p> + + <p>"You have!" says I. "Not a reg'lar cow farm?"</p> + + <p>She nods.</p> + + <p>"It did seem rather odd, at first," says she. "But I wanted to get away from—from everything. But + now—— Well, I want Claire. I suppose I am a little lonesome. Besides, I want her to try taking charge. + Recently, when she had drawn her income for half a year in<a class="pagenum" name="page_139" title="139" id= + "page_139"></a> advance and still asked for more, I was obliged to refuse."</p> + + <p>"And then?" says I.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Parker Smith shrugs her shoulders.</p> + + <p>"The foolish girl chose to quarrel with me," says she. "About ten days ago she sent me a curt note. I could keep + her money; she was tired of being dictated to. I needn't write any more, for she had moved to another address, had + changed her name."</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says I. "That does make it complicated. You don't know what she looks like, or what name she flags under, + and I'm to find her in little New York?"</p> + + <p>But I finds myself tacklin this hopeless puzzle from every angle I could think of. I tried 'phonin' to Claire's + old street number. Nothin' doin'. They didn't know anything about Miss Hunt.</p> + + <p>"What brand of art was she monkeyin' with?" I asks.</p> + + <p>Mrs. Parker Smith couldn't say. Claire hadn't been very chatty in her letters. Chiefly she had demanded + checks.</p> + + <p>"But in one she did mention," says the lady in gray, "that—— Now, what was it! Oh, yes! Something + about 'landing a cover.' What could that mean?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_140" title="140" id="page_140"></a></p> + + <p>"Cover?" says I. "Why, for a magazine, maybe. That's it. And if we only knew what name she'd sign, we + might—— Would she stick to the Claire part? I'll bet she would. Wait. I'll get a bunch of back numbers + from the arcade news-stand and we'll go through 'em."</p> + + <p>We'd hunted through an armful, though, before we runs across this freaky sketch of a purple nymph, with bright + yellow hair, bouncin' across a stretch of dark blue lawn.</p> + + <p>"Claire Lamar!" says I. "Would that be—— Eh? What's wrong?"</p> + + <p>Mrs. Parker Smith seems to be gettin' a jolt of some kind, but she steadies herself and almost gets back her + smile.</p> + + <p>"I—I am sure it would," says she. "It's very odd, though."</p> + + <p>"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Listens kind of arty—Claire Lamar. Lemme see. This snappy fifteen-center has + editorial offices on Fourth Avenue and—— Well, well! Barry Frost, ad. manager! Say, if I can get him on + the wire—— "</p> + + <p>Just by luck, I did. Would he pry some facts for me out of the art editor, facts about a certain party? Sure he + would. And inside of ten minutes, without leavin' the Corrugated<a class="pagenum" name="page_141" title="141" id= + "page_141"></a> General Offices, I had a full description of Claire, includin' where she hung out.</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says I. "Greenwich Village, eh? You might know."</p> + + <p>"My dear Lieutenant," says Mrs. Parker Smith, "I think you are perfectly wonderful."</p> + + <p>"Swell thought!" says I. "But you needn't let on to Mr. Ellins how simple it was. And now, all you got to do + is——"</p> + + <p>"I know," she cuts in. "And I really ought not to trouble you another moment. But, since Mr. Ellins has been so + kind—well, I am going to ask you to help me just a trifle more."</p> + + <p>"Shoot," says I, unsuspicious.</p> + + <p>It ain't much, she says. But she's afraid, if she trails Claire to her rooms, the young lady might send down word + she was out, or make a quick exit.</p> + + <p>"But if you would go," she suggests, "with a note from me asking her to join us somewhere at + dinner——"</p> + + <p>I holds up both hands.</p> + + <p>"Sorry," says I, "but I got to duck. That's taking too many chances."</p> + + <p>Then I explains how, although I may look like a singleton, I'm really the other half of a<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_142" title="142" id="page_142"></a> very interestin' domestic sketch, and that Vee's expectin' me home to + dinner.</p> + + <p>"Why, all the better!" says Mrs. Parker Smith. "Have her come in and join us. I'll tell you: we will have our + little party down at the old Napoleon, where they have such delicious French cooking. Now, please."</p> + + <p>As I've hinted before, she is some persuader. I ain't mesmerized so strong, though, but what I got sense enough to + play it safe by callin' up Vee first. I don't think she was strong for joinin' the reunion until I points out that I + might be some shy at wanderin' down into the art-student colony and collectin' a strange young lady illustrator all + by myself.</p> + + <p>"Course, I could do it alone if I had to," I throws in.</p> + + <p>"H-m-m-m!" says Vee. "If that bashfulness of yours is likely to be as bad as all that, perhaps I'd better + come."</p> + + <p>So by six o 'clock Vee and I are in the dinky reception-room of one of them Belasco boardin'-houses, tryin' to + convince a young female in a paint-splashed smock and a floppy boudoir cap that we ain't tryin' to kidnap or + otherwise annoy her.</p> + + <p>"What's the big idea?" says she. "I don't get you at all."<a class="pagenum" name="page_143" title="143" id= + "page_143"></a></p> + + <p>"Maybe if you'd read the note it would help," I suggests.</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says she, and takes it over by the window.</p> + + <p>She's a long-waisted, rangy young party, who walks with a Theda Bara slouch and tries to talk out of one side of + her mouth. "Hello!" she goes on. "The Parker Smith person. That's enough. It's all off."</p> + + <p>"Just as you say," says I. "But, if you ask me, I wouldn't pass up an aunt like her without takin' a look."</p> + + <p>"Aunt!" says Claire Lamar, <i>alias</i> Hunt. "Listen: she's about as much an aunt to me as I am to either of you. + And I've never shed any tears over the fact, either. The only aunt that I'd ever own was one that my family would + never tell me much about. I had to find out about her for myself. Take it from me, though, she was some aunt."</p> + + <p>"Tastes in aunts differ, I expect," says I. "And Mrs. Parker Smith don't claim to be a reg'lar aunt, anyway. She + seems harmless, too. All she wants is a chance to give you a rosy prospectus of life on a cow farm and blow you to a + dinner at the Napoleon."</p> + + <p>"Think of that!" says Claire. "And I've been living for weeks on window-sill meals,<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_144" title="144" id="page_144"></a> with now and then a ptomaine-defying gorge at the Pink Poodle's sixty-cent + table d'hôte. Oh, I'll come, I'll come! But I warn you: the Parker Smith person will understand before the evening is + over that I was born to no cow farm in Illinois. "</p> + + <p>With that she glides off to do a dinner change.</p> + + <p>"I believe it is going to be quite an interesting party, don't you?" says Vee.</p> + + <p>"The signs point that way," says I. "But the old girl really ought to wear shock-absorbers if she wants to last + through the evenin'. S-s-s-sh! Claire is comin' back."</p> + + <p>This time she's draped herself in a pale yellow kimono with blue triangles stenciled all over it.</p> + + <p>"Speaking of perfectly good aunts," says she, "there!" And she displays a silver-framed photo. It's an old-timer + done in faded brown, and shows a dashin' young party wearin' funny sleeves, a ringlet cascade on one side of her + head, and a saucy little pancake lid over one ear.</p> + + <p>"That," explains Claire, "was my aunt Clara Lamar; not my real aunt, you know, but near enough for me to claim + her. This was taken in '82, I believe."<a class="pagenum" name="page_145" title="145" id="page_145"></a></p> + + <p>"Really!" says Vee. "She must have been quite pretty."</p> + + <p>"That doesn't half tell it," says Claire. "She was a charmer, simply fascinating. Not beautiful, you know, but she + had a way with her. She was brilliant, daring, one of the kind that men raved over. At twenty she married a + Congressman, fat and forty. She hadn't lived in Washington six months before her receptions were crushes. She flirted + industriously. A young French aide and an army officer fought a duel over her. And, while the capital was buzzing + with that, she eloped with another diplomat, a Russian. For a year or two they lived in Paris. She had her salon. + Then the Russian got himself killed in some way, and she soon married again—another American, quite wealthy. He + brought her back to New York, and they lived in one of those old brown-stone mansions on lower Fifth Avenue. Her + dinner parties were the talk of the town—champagne with the fish, vodka with the coffee, cigarettes for the + women, cut-up stunts afterwards. I forget just who No. 3 was, but he succumbed. Couldn't stand the pace, I suppose. + And then—— Well, Aunt Clara disappeared. But, say, she was a regular<a class="pagenum" name="page_146" + title="146" id="page_146"></a> person. I wish I could find out what ever became of her."</p> + + <p>"Maybe Mrs. Parker Smith could give you a line," I suggests.</p> + + <p>"Her!" says Claire. "Fat chance! But I must finish dressing. Sorry to keep you waiting."</p> + + <p>We did get a bit restless durin' the next half hour, but the wait was worth while. For, believe me, when Claire + comes down again she's some dolled.</p> + + <p>I don't mean she was any home-destroyer. That face of hers is too long and heavy for the front row of a song + review. But she has plenty of zip to her get-up. After one glance I calls a taxi.</p> + + <p>The way I'd left it with Mrs. Parker Smith, we was to land Claire at the hotel first; then call her up, and + proceed to order dinner. So we had another little stage wait, with only the three of us at the table.</p> + + <p>"I hope you don't mind if I have a puff or two," says Claire. "It goes here, you know."</p> + + <p>"Anything to make the evenin' a success," says I, signalin' a garçon. "My khaki lets me out of followin' you."</p> + + <p>So, when the head waiter finally tows in Mrs. Parker Smith, costumed in the same gray<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_147" title="147" id="page_147"></a> dress and lookin' meeker and gentler than ever, she is greeted with a + sporty tableau. But she don't faint or anything. She just springs that twisty smile of hers and comes right on.</p> + + <p>"The missing one!" says I, wavin' at Claire.</p> + + <p>"Ah!" says Mrs. Parker Smith, beamin' on her. "So good of you to come!"</p> + + <p>"Wasn't it?" says Claire, removin' the cork tip languid.</p> + + <p>Well, as a get-together I must admit that the outlook was kind of frosty. Claire showed plenty of enthusiasm for + the <i>hors d'œuvres</i> and the low-tide soup and so on, but mighty little for this volunteer auntie, who + starts to describe the subtle joys of the butter business.</p> + + <p>"Perhaps you have never seen a herd of registered Guernseys," says Mrs. Parker Smith, "when they are munching + contentedly at milking time, with their big, dreamy eyes——"</p> + + <p>"Excuse me!" says Claire. "I don't have to. I spent a whole month's vacation on a Vermont farm."</p> + + <p>Mrs. Parker Smith only smiles indulgent.</p> + + <p>"We use electric milkers, you know," says she, "and most of our young men come from the agricultural + colleges."</p> + + <p>"That listens alluring—some," admits Claire.<a class="pagenum" name="page_148" title="148" id= + "page_148"></a> "But I can't see myself planted ten miles out on an R. F. D. route, even with college-bred help. + Pardon me if I light another dope-stick."</p> + + <p>I could get her idea easy enough, by then. Claire wasn't half so sporty as she hoped she was. It was just her way + of doing the carry-on for Aunt Clara Lamar. But, at the same time, we couldn't help feelin' kind of sorry for Mrs. + Parker Smith. She was tryin' to be so nice and friendly, and she wasn't gettin' anywhere.</p> + + <p>It was by way of switchin' the line of table chat, I expect, that Vee breaks in with that remark about the only + piece of jewelry the old girl is wearin'.</p> + + <p>"What a duck of a bracelet!" says Vee. "An heirloom, is it?"</p> + + <p>"Almost," says Mrs. Parker Smith. "It was given to me on my twenty-second birthday, in Florence."</p> + + <p>She slips it off and passes it over for inspection. The part that goes around the wrist is all of fine chain-work, + silver and gold, woven almost like cloth, and on top is a cameo, 'most as big as a clam.</p> + + <p>"How stunning! Look, Torchy. O-o-oh!" says Vee, gaspin' a little.<a class="pagenum" name="page_149" title="149" + id="page_149"></a></p> + + <p>In handling the thing she must have pressed a catch somewhere, for the cameo springs back, revealin' a locket + effect underneath with a picture in it. Course, we couldn't help seein'.</p> + + <p>"Why—why——" says Vee, gazin' from the picture to Mrs. Parker Smith. "Isn't this a portrait + of—of——"</p> + + <p>"Of a very silly young woman," cuts in Auntie. "We waited in Florence a week to have that finished."</p> + + <p>"Then—then it is you!" asks Vee.</p> + + <p>The lady in gray nods. Vee asks if she may show it to Claire.</p> + + <p>"Why not?" says Mrs. Parker Smith, smilin'.</p> + + <p>We didn't stop to explain. I passes it on to Claire, and then we both watches her face. For the dinky little + picture under the cameo is a dead ringer for the one Claire had shown us in the silver frame. So it was Claire's turn + to catch a short breath.</p> + + <p>"Don't tell me," says she, "that—that you are Clara Lamar?"</p> + + <p>Which was when Auntie got her big jolt. For a second the pink fades out of her cheeks, and the salad fork she'd + been holdin' rattles<a class="pagenum" name="page_150" title="150" id="page_150"></a> into her plate. She makes a + quick recovery, though.</p> + + <p>"I was—once," says she. "I had hoped, though, that the name had been forgotten. Tell me, how—how do + you happen to——"</p> + + <p>"Why," says Claire, "uncle had the scrapbook habit. Anyway, I found this one in an old desk, and it was all about + you. Your picture was in it, too. And say, Auntie, you were the real thing, weren't you?"</p> + + <p>After that it was a reg'lar reunion. For Claire had dug up her heroine. And, no matter how strong Auntie protests + that she ain't that sort of a party now, and hasn't been for years and years, Claire keeps right on. She's a + consistent admirer, even if she is a little late.</p> + + <p>"If I had only known it was you!" says she.</p> + + <p>"Then—then you'll come to Meadowbrae with me?" asks Mrs. Parker Smith.</p> + + <p>"You bet!" says Claire. "Between you and me, this art career of mine has rather fizzled out. Besides, keeping it + up has got to be rather a bore. Honest, a spaghetti and cigarette life is a lot more romantic to read about than it + is to follow. Whether I could learn to run a dairy farm or not, I don't know; but, with an aunt like you to coach me + along, I'm<a class="pagenum" name="page_151" title="151" id="page_151"></a> blessed if I don't give it a try. When do + we start?"</p> + + <p>"But," says Vee to me, later, "I can't imagine her on a farm."</p> + + <p>"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Didn't you notice she couldn't smoke without gettin' it up her nose?"</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_152" title="152" id="page_152"></a> + <a name="ALL_THE_WAY_WITH_ANNA_3856" id="ALL_THE_WAY_WITH_ANNA_3856"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + <h3>ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA</h3> + </div> + + <p>Believe me, Belinda, this havin' a boss who's apt to stack you up casual against stuff that would worry a secret + service corps recruited from seventh sons is a grand little cure for monotonous moments. Just because I happen to get + a few easy breaks on my first special details seems to give Old Hickory the merry idea that when he wants someone to + do the wizard act, all he has to do is press the button for me. I don't know whether my wearin' the khaki uniform + helps out the notion or not. I shouldn't wonder.</p> + + <p>Now, here a week or ten days ago, when I leaves Vee and my peaceful little home after a week-end swing, I expects + to be shot up to Amesbury, Mass., to inspect a gun-limber factory. Am I? Not at all. By 3 <span class= + "smcap">P.M.</span> I'm in Bridgeport, Conn., wanderin' about sort of aimless, and tryin' to size up a proposition + that I'm about as well qualified to handle as<a class="pagenum" name="page_153" title="153" id="page_153"></a> a + plumber's helper called in to tune a pipe organ.</p> + + <p>Why was it that some three thousand hands in one of our sub-contractin' plants was bent on gettin' stirred up and + messy about every so often, in spite of all that had been done to soothe 'em?</p> + + <p>Does that listen simple, or excitin', or even interestin'? It didn't to me. Specially after I'd given the + once-over to this giddy mob of Wops and Hunkies and Sneezowskis.</p> + + <p>The office people didn't know how many brands of Czechs or Magyars or Polacks they had in the shops. What they was + real sure of was that a third of the bunch had walked out twice within the last month, and if they quit again, as + there was signs of their doin', we stood to drop about $200,000 in bonuses on shell contracts.</p> + + <p>It wasn't a matter of wage scales, either. Honest, some of them ginks with three z's in their names was runnin' + up, with over-time and all, pay envelops that averaged as much as twelve a day. Why, some of the women and girls were + pullin' down twenty-five a week. And they couldn't kick on the workin' conditions, either. Here was a brand-new + concrete plant, clean as a new dish-pan, with half the<a class="pagenum" name="page_154" title="154" id= + "page_154"></a> sides swingin' glass sashes, and flower beds outside.</p> + + <p>"And still they threaten another strike," says the general manager. "If it comes, we might as well scrap this + whole plant and transfer the equipment to Pennsylvania or somewhere else. Unless"—here he grins + sarcastic—"you can find out what ails 'em, Lieutenant. But you are only the third bright young man the + Corrugated has sent out to tell us what's what, you know."</p> + + <p>"Oh, well," says I. "There's luck in odd numbers. Cheer up."</p> + + <p>It was after this little chat that I sheds the army costume and wanders out disguised as a horny-handed + workingman.</p> + + <p>Not that I'd decided to get a job right away. After my last stab I ain't so strong for this ten-hour cold-lunch + trick as I was when I was new to the patriotic sleuthin' act. Besides, bein' no linguist, I couldn't see how workin' + with such a mixed lot was goin' to get me anywhere. If I could only run across a good ambidextrous interpreter, now, + one who could listen in ten languages and talk in six, it might help. And who was it I once knew that had moved to + Bridgeport?</p> + + <p>I'd been mullin' on that mystery ever since<a class="pagenum" name="page_155" title="155" id="page_155"></a> I + struck the town. Just a glimmer, somewhere in the back of my nut, that there had been such a party some time or + other. I'll admit that wasn't much of a clue to start out trailin' in a place of this size, but it's all I had.</p> + + <p>I must have walked miles, readin' the signs on the stores, pushin' my way through the crowds, and finally droppin' + into a fairly clean-lookin' restaurant for dinner. Half way through the goulash and noodles, I had this bright + thought about consultin' the 'phone book. The cashier that let me have it eyed me suspicious as I props it up against + the sugar bowl and starts in with the A's.</p> + + <p>Ever try readin' a telephone directory straight through? By the time I'd got through the M's I'd had to order + another cup of coffee and a second piece of lemon pie. At that, the waitress was gettin' uneasy. She'd just shoved my + check at me for the third time, and was addin' a glass of wooden tooth-picks, when I lets out this excited stage + whisper.</p> + + <p>"Sobowski!" says I, grabbin' the book.</p> + + <p>The young lady in the frilled apron rests her thumbs on her hips dignified and shoots me a haughty glance. "Ring + off, young feller," says she. "You got the wrong number."<a class="pagenum" name="page_156" title="156" id= + "page_156"></a></p> + + <p>"Not so, Clarice," says I. "His first name is Anton, and he used to run a shine parlor in the arcade of the + Corrugated buildin', New York, N. Y."</p> + + <p>"It's a small world, ain't it?" says she. "You can pay me or at the desk, just as you like."</p> + + <p>Clarice got her tip all right, and loaned me her pencil to write down Anton's street number.</p> + + <p>A stocky, bow-legged son of Kosciuszko, built close to the ground, and with a neck on him like a truck-horse, as I + remembered Anton. But the hottest kind of a sport. Used to run a pool on the ball-games, and made a book on the + ponies now and then. Always had a roll with him. He'd take a nickel tip from me and then bet a guy in the next chair + fifty to thirty-five the Giants would score more'n three runs against the Cubs' new pitcher in to-morrow's game. That + kind.</p> + + <p>Must have been two or three years back that Anton had told me about some openin' he had to go in with a + brother-in-law up in Bridgeport. Likely I didn't pay much attention at the time. Anyway, he was missin' soon after; + and if I hadn't been in the habit of callin' him Old Sobstuff I'd have forgotten that name of<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_157" title="157" id="page_157"></a> his entirely. But seein' it there in the book brought back the whole + thing.</p> + + <p>"Anton Sobowski, saloon," was the way it was listed. So he was runnin' a suds parlor, eh? Well, it wasn't likely + he'd know much about labor troubles, but it wouldn't do any harm to look him up. When I came to trail down the street + number, though, blamed if it ain't within half a block of our branch works.</p> + + <p>And, sure enough, in a little office beyond the bar, leanin' back luxurious in a swivel-chair, and displayin' a + pair of baby-blue armlets over his shirt sleeves, I discovers Mr. Sobowski himself. It ain't any brewery-staked + hole-in-the-wall he's boss of, either. It's the Warsaw Café, bar and restaurant, all glittery and gorgeous, with lace + curtains in the front windows, red, white, and blue mosquito nettin' draped artistic over the frosted mirrors, and + three busy mixers behind the mahogany bar.</p> + + <p>Anton has fleshed up considerable since he quit jugglin' the brushes, and he's lost a little of the good-natured + twinkle from his wide-set eyes. He glances up at me sort of surly when I first steps into the office; but the minute + I takes off the straw lid and ducks my head at him, he lets loose a rumbly chuckle.<a class="pagenum" name="page_158" + title="158" id="page_158"></a></p> + + <p>"It is that Torchy, hey?" says he. "Well, well! It don't fade any, does it?"</p> + + <p>"Not that kind of dye," says I. "How's the boy?"</p> + + <p>"Me," says Anton. "Oh, fine like silk. How you like the place, hey?"</p> + + <p>I enthused over the Warsaw Café; and when he found I was still with the Corrugated, and didn't want to touch him + for any coin, but had just happened to be in town and thought I'd look him up for old times' sake—well, Anton + opened up considerable.</p> + + <p>"What!" says he. "They send you out? You must be comin' up?"</p> + + <p>"Only private sec. to Mr. Ellins," says I, "but he chases me around a good deal. We're busy people these days, you + know."</p> + + <p>"The Corrugated Trust! I should say so," agrees Anton, waggin' his head earnest. "Big people, big money. I like to + have my brother-in-law meet you. Wait."</p> + + <p>Seemed a good deal like wastin' time, but I spent the whole evenin' with Anton. I met not only the brother-in-law, + but also Mrs. Sobowski, his wife; and another Mrs. Sobowski, an aunt or something; and Miss Anna Sobowski, his niece. + Also I saw the three-story Sobowski boardin'-house that Anton conducted on the<a class="pagenum" name="page_159" + title="159" id="page_159"></a> side; and the Alcazar movie joint, another Sobowski enterprise.</p> + + <p>That's where this Anna party was sellin' tickets—a peachy-cheeked, high-chested young lady with big, rollin' + eyes, and her mud-colored hair waved something wonderful. I was introduced reg'lar and impressive.</p> + + <p>"Anna," says Anton, "take a good look at this young man. He's a friend of mine. Any time he comes by, pass him in + free—any time at all. See?"</p> + + <p>And Anna, she flashes them high-powered eyes of hers at me kittenish. "Aw ri'," says she. "I'm on, Mr. + Torchy."</p> + + <p>"That girl," confides Anton to me afterwards, "was eating black bread and cabbage soup in Poland less than three + years ago. Now she buys high kid boots, two kinds of leather, at fourteen dollars. And makes goo-goo eyes at all the + men. Yes, but never no mistakes with the change. Not Anna."</p> + + <p>All of which was interestin' enough, but it didn't seem to help any. You never can tell, though, can you? You see, + it was kind of hard, breakin' away from Anton once he'd started to get folksy and show me what an important party + he'd come to be. He wanted me to see the Warsaw when it was really doin' business,<a class="pagenum" name="page_160" + title="160" id="page_160"></a> about ten o'clock, after the early picture-show crowds had let out and the meetin' in + the hall overhead was in full swing.</p> + + <p>"What sort of meetin'?" I asks, just as a filler.</p> + + <p>"Oh, some kind of labor meetin'," says he. "I d'know. They chin a lot. That's thirsty work. Good for business, + hey?"</p> + + <p>"Is it a labor union?" I insists.</p> + + <p>Anton shrugs his shoulders.</p> + + <p>"You wait," says he. "Mr. Stukey, he'll tell you all about it. Yes, an ear-full. He's a good spender, Stukey. + Hires the hall, too."</p> + + <p>Somehow, that listened like it might be a lead. But an hour later, when I'd had a chance to look him over, I was + for passin' Stukey up. For he sure was disappointin' to view. One of these thin, sallow, dyspeptic parties, with deep + lines down either side of his mouth, a bristly, jutty little mustache, and ratty little eyes.</p> + + <p>I expect Anton meant well when he brings out strong, in introducin' me, how I'm connected with the Corrugated + Trust. In fact, you might almost gather I <i>was</i> the Corrugated. But it don't make any hit with Stukey.</p> + + <p>"Hah!" says he, glarin' at me hostile. "A minion."<a class="pagenum" name="page_161" title="161" id= + "page_161"></a></p> + + <p>"Solid agate yourself," says I. "Wha'd'ye mean—minion?"</p> + + <p>"Aren't you a hireling of the capitalistic class?" demands Stukey.</p> + + <p>"Maybe," says I, "but I ain't above mixin' with lower-case minds now and then."</p> + + <p>"Case?" says he. "I don't understand."</p> + + <p>"Perhaps that's your trouble," says I.</p> + + <p>"Bah!" says he, real peevish.</p> + + <p>"Come, come, boys!" says Anton, clappin' us jovial on the shoulders. "What's this all about, hey? We are all + friends here. Yes? Is it that the meetin' goes wrong, Mr. Stukey? Tell us, now."</p> + + <p>Stukey shakes his head at him warnin'. "What meetin'?" says he. "Don't be foolish. What time is it? Ten-twenty! I + have an engagement."</p> + + <p>And with that he struts off important.</p> + + <p>Anton hunches his shoulders and lets out a grunt.</p> + + <p>"He has it bad—Stukey," says he. "It is that Anna. Every night he must walk home with her."</p> + + <p>"She ain't particular, is she?" I suggests.</p> + + <p>"Oh, I don't know," says Anton. "Yes, he is older, and not a strong hearty man, like some of these young fellows. + But he is educated;<a class="pagenum" name="page_162" title="162" id="page_162"></a> oh, like the devil. You should + hear him talk once."</p> + + <p>But Stukey had stirred up a stubborn streak in me.</p> + + <p>"Is he, though," says I, "or do you kid yourself?"</p> + + <p>I thought that would get a come-back out of Anton. And it does.</p> + + <p>"If I am so foolish," says he, "would I be here, with my name in gold above the door, or back shining shoes in the + Corrugated arcade yet? Hey? I will tell you this. Nobodies don't come and hire my hall from me, fifty a week, in + advance."</p> + + <p>"Cash or checks?" I puts in.</p> + + <p>"If the bank takes the checks, why should I worry?" asks Anton.</p> + + <p>"Oh, the first one might be all right," says I, "and the second; but—well, you know your own business, I + expect."</p> + + <p>Anton gazes at me stupid for a minute, then turns to his desk and fishes out a bunch of returned checks. He goes + through 'em rapid until he has run across the one he's lookin' for.</p> + + <p>"Maybe I do," says he, wavin' it under my nose triumphant.</p> + + <p>Which gives me the glimpse I'd been jockeyin'<a class="pagenum" name="page_163" title="163" id="page_163"></a> + for. The name of that bank was enough. From then on I was mighty interested in this Mortimer J. Stukey; and while I + didn't exactly use the pressure pump on Anton, I may have asked a few leadin' questions. Who was Stukey, where did he + come from, and what was his idea—hirin' halls and so on? While Anton could recognize a dollar a long way off, + he wasn't such a keen observer of folks.</p> + + <p>"I don't worry whether he's a Wilson man or not," says Anton, "or which movie star he likes best after Mary + Pickford. If I did I should ask Anna."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I, sort of eager.</p> + + <p>"He tells her a lot he don't tell me," says Anton.</p> + + <p>"That's reasonable, too," says I. "Ask Anna. Say, that ain't a bad hunch. Much obliged."</p> + + <p>It wasn't so easy, though, with Stukey on the job, to get near enough to ask Anna anything. When they came in, and + Anton invites me to join the fam'ly group in the boardin'-house dinin'-room while the cheese sandwiches and pickles + was bein' passed around, I finds Stukey blockin' me off scientific.</p> + + <p>As Anton had said, he had it bad. Never took his eyes off Anna for a second. I suppose<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_164" title="164" id="page_164"></a> he thought he was registerin' tender emotions, but it struck me as more of + a hungry look than anything else. Miss Sobowski seemed to like it, though.</p> + + <p>I expect a real lady's man wouldn't have had much trouble cuttin' in on Stukey and towin' Anna off into a corner. + But that ain't my strong suit. The best I could do was to wait until the next day, when there was no opposition. + Meantime I'd been usin' the long-distance reckless; so by the time Anna shows up at the Alcazar to open the window + for the evenin' sale, I was primed with a good many more facts about a certain party than I had been the night + before. Stukey wasn't quite such a man of mystery as he had been.</p> + + <p>Course, I might have gone straight to Anton; but, somehow, I wanted to try out a few hints on Anna. I couldn't say + just why, either. The line of josh I opens with ain't a bit subtle. It don't have to be. Anna was tickled to pieces + to be kidded about her feller. She invites me into the box-office, offers me chewin' gum, and proceeds to get quite + frisky.</p> + + <p>"Ah, who was tellin' you that?" says she. "Can't a girl have a gentleman frien' without everybody's askin' is she + engaged? Wotcher think?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_165" title="165" id="page_165"></a></p> + + <p>"Tut-tut!" says I. "I suppose, when you two had your heads together so close, he was rehearsin' one of his + speeches to you—the kind he makes up in the hall, eh?"</p> + + <p>"Mr. Stukey don't make no speeches there," says Anna. "He just tells the others what to say. You ought to hear him + talk, though. My, sometimes he's just grand!"</p> + + <p>"Urgin' 'em not to quit work, I suppose?" says I.</p> + + <p>"Him?" says Anna. "Not much. He wants 'em to strike, all the time strike, until they own the shops. He's got no + use for rich people. Calls 'em blood-suckers and things like that. Oh, he's sump'n fierce when he talks about the + rich."</p> + + <p>"Is he?" says I. "I wonder why?"</p> + + <p>"All the workers get like that," says Anna. "Mr. Stukey says that pretty soon everybody will join—all but + the rich blood-suckers, and they'll be in jail. He was poor himself once. So was I, you know, in Poland. But we got + along until the Germans came, and then—— Ugh! I don't like to remember."</p> + + <p>"Anton was tellin' me," says I. "You lost some of your folks."</p> + + <p>"Lost!" says Anna, a panicky look comin' into her big eyes. "You call it that? I saw<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_166" title="166" id="page_166"></a> my father shot, my two brothers dragged off to work in the trenches, and my + sister—oh, I can't! I can't say it!"</p> + + <p>"Then don't tell Stukey," says I, "if you want to keep stringin' him along."</p> + + <p>"But why?" demands Anna.</p> + + <p>"Because," says I, "the money he's spendin' so free around here comes from them—the Germans."</p> + + <p>"No, no!" says Anna, whisperin' husky. "That—that's a lie!"</p> + + <p>"Sorry," says I; "but I got his number straight. He was workin' for a German insurance company up to 1915, + bookkeepin' at ninety a month. Then he got the chuck. He came near starvin'. It was when he was almost in that he + went crawlin' back to 'em, and they gave him this job. If you don't believe it's German money he's spendin' ask Anton + to show you some of Stukey's canceled checks."</p> + + <p>"But—but he's English," protests Anna. "Anyway, his father was."</p> + + <p>"The Huns don't mind who they buy up," says I.</p> + + <p>She's still starin' at me, sort of stunned.</p> + + <p>"German money!" she repeats. "Him!"</p> + + <p>"Anton will show you the checks," says I.<a class="pagenum" name="page_167" title="167" id="page_167"></a> "He + don't care where they come from, so long as he can cash 'em. But you might hint to him that if another big strike is + pulled it's apt to be a long one, and in that case the movie business will get a crimp put in it. The Warsaw + receipts, too. I take it that Stukey's tryin' to work the hands up to a point where they'll vote + for——"</p> + + <p>"To-night they vote," breaks in Anna. "In two hours."</p> + + <p>I lets out a whistle. "Zowie!" says I. "Guess I'm a little late. Say, you got a 'phone here. Would it do any good + if you called Anton up and——"</p> + + <p>"No," snaps Anna. "He thinks too slow. I must do this myself."</p> + + <p>"You?" says I. "What could you do?"</p> + + <p>"I don't know," says Anna. "But I must try. And quick. Hey, Marson! You—at the door. Come here and sell the + tickets. Put an usher in your place."</p> + + <p>With that she bounces down off the tall chair, shoves the substitute into her place, and goes streamin' out + bare-headed. I decides to follow. But she leaves me behind as though I'd been standin' still.</p> + + <p>At the Warsaw I finds Anton smokin' placid in his little office.<a class="pagenum" name="page_168" title="168" id= + "page_168"></a></p> + + <p>"Seen Anna?" I asks.</p> + + <p>"Anna!" says he. "She should be selling tickets at the——"</p> + + <p>"She was," says I; "but just now she's upstairs in the hall."</p> + + <p>"At the meetin'?" gasps Anton. "Anna? Oh, no!"</p> + + <p>"Come, take a look," says I.</p> + + <p>And, for once in his life, Anton got a quick move on. He don't ask me to follow, but I trails along; and just as + we strikes the top stair we hears a rousin' cheer go up. I suppose any other time we'd been barred out, but there's + nobody to hold us up as we pushes through, for everyone has their eyes glued on the little stage at the far end of + the hall.</p> + + <p>No wonder. For there, standin' up before more than three hundred yellin' men, is this high-colored young + woman.</p> + + <p>Course, I couldn't get a word of it, my Polish education havin' been sadly neglected when I was young. But Anna + seems to be tellin' some sort of story. My guess was that it's the one she'd hinted at to me—about her father + and brothers and sister. But this time she seems to be throwin' in all the details.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <a name="illus-001" id="illus-001"></a> <img src="images/illus-168.jpg" alt= + ""Quick as a flash, Anna turns and points to Stukey. I caught his name as she hisses it out. Stukey, turnin' a sickly yellow, slumps in his chair."" + title="" /> + <br /> + <span class="caption">"Quick as a flash, Anna turns and points to Stukey. I caught his name as she hisses it out. + Stukey, turnin' a sickly yellow, slumps in his chair."</span> + </div> + + <p><a class="pagenum" name="page_169" title="169" id="page_169"></a>There was nothin' frivolous about Anna's eyes + now. It almost gave me a creepy feelin' to watch 'em—as if she was seein' things again that she'd like to + forget—awful things. And she was makin' those three hundred men see the same things.</p> + + <p>All of a sudden she breaks off, covers her face with her hands, and shivers. Then, quick as a flash, she turns and + points to Stukey. I caught his name as she hisses it out. Stukey, turnin' a sickly yellow, slumps in his chair. + Another second, and she's turned back to the men out front. She is puttin' something up to them—a question, + straight from the shoulder.</p> + + <p>The first to make a move is a squatty, thick-necked gent with one eye walled out. He jumps on a chair, shouts a + few excited words, waves his long arms, and starts for the stage businesslike. The next thing I knew the riot was on, + with Mortimer J. Stukey playin' the heavy lead and bein' tossed around like a rat.</p> + + <p>It must have been Anton that switched off the lights and sent for the police. I didn't stop to ask. Bein' near the + door, I felt my way downstairs and made a quick exit. Course, the ceremonies promised to continue interestin', but + somehow this struck me as a swell time for me to quit. So I strolls back to the hotel and goes to bed.<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_170" title="170" id="page_170"></a></p> + + <p>Yes, I was some curious to know how the muss ended, but I didn't hurry around next mornin'. As a matter of fact, + I'd enjoyed the society of the Sobowskis quite a lot durin' the past two days, and I thought I'd better stay away for + a while. They're a strenuous bunch when they're stirred up—even a kittenish young thing like Anna.</p> + + <p>About noon I 'phoned the works, and found that all was serene there, with no signs of a strike yet.</p> + + <p>"No, and I got a hunch there won't be any, either," says I.</p> + + <p>I was plannin' to linger in Bridgeport another day or so; but when the afternoon paper came out I changed my mind. + Accordin' to the police-court reporter's account, there'd been some little disturbance in Warsaw Hall the night + before. Seems a stranger by the name of Stukey had butted into a meetin' of the Pulaski Social Club, and had + proceeded to get so messy that it had been found necessary to throw him out. Half a dozen witnesses told how rude + he'd been, includin' the well-known citizen, Mr. Anton Sobowski, who owned the premises. The said Stukey had been a + bit damaged; but after he'd been patched up at<a class="pagenum" name="page_171" title="171" id="page_171"></a> the + City Hospital he'd been promised a nice long rest—thirty days, to be exact.</p> + + <p>So I jumps the next train back to Broadway.</p> + + <p>"Ah, Lieutenant!" says Mr. Ellins, glancin' up from his desk. "Find anything up there?"</p> + + <p>"Uh-huh," says I. "His name was Stukey. Another case of drawin' his pay from Berlin."</p> + + <p>"Hah!" grunts Old Hickory, bitin' into his cigar. "The long arm again. But can't you recommend something?"</p> + + <p>"Sure!" says I. "If we could find a pair of gold boots about eighteen buttons high, we ought to send 'em to Anna + Sobowski."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_172" title="172" id="page_172"></a> + <a name="AT_THE_TURN_WITH_WILFRED_4346" id="AT_THE_TURN_WITH_WILFRED_4346"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + <h3>AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED</h3> + </div> + + <p>I expect Mr. Robert overstated the case a bit. He was more or less hectic back of the ears about then, havin' just + broken away after a half-hour session with Mrs. Stanton Bliss.</p> + + <p>"That woman," says he, slumpin' into a chair and moppin' his brow, "has the mental equipment of a pet rabbit and + the disposition of a setting hen. Good Lord! "</p> + + <p>I looks over at Vee and grins. Had to. It ain't often you see Mr. Robert like that. And him bein' all dolled up in + his nifty navy uniform made it seem just that much funnier. But Vee don't grin back. She'd sympathize with 'most + anybody. At that exact minute, I'll bet she was bein' sorry for both of 'em all in the same breath, as you might + say.</p> + + <p>"But can't something be done—somehow?" she asks.</p> + + <p>"Not by me," says Mr. Robert, decided. "Great marlinspikes! I'm not the war department, am I? I'm only a + first-grade lieutenant<a class="pagenum" name="page_173" title="173" id="page_173"></a> in command of a blessed, + smelly old menhaden trawler that's posing as a mine-sweeper. I am supposed to be enjoying a twenty-four hour shore + leave in the peace and quiet of my home, and I get—this."</p> + + <p>He waves his hand toward the other room, where the afore-mentioned Mrs. Stanton Bliss is sobbin, sniffin', and + otherwise registerin' deep emotion by clawin' Mrs. Robert about the shoulders and wavin' away the smellin' salts.</p> + + <p>"If it was the first time," growls Mr. Robert. "But it isn't."</p> + + <p>That was true, too. You see, we'd heard somethin' about the other spasms. They'd begun along in July, when the + awful news came out that Wilfred's red ink number had been plucked from the jar. Now you get it, don't you? Nothing + unique. The same little old tragedy that was bein' staged in a million homes, includin' four-room flats, + double-decker tenements, and boardin'-houses.</p> + + <p>Only this happened to hit the forty-room country house of the Stanton Blisses. Course, it was different. Look who + was bein' stirred up by it.</p> + + <p>So mother had begun throwin' cat-fits. She'd tackled everyone she knew, demandin' to know what was to be done to + keep Wilfred<a class="pagenum" name="page_174" title="174" id="page_174"></a> out of it. Among others, of course, + she'd held up Mr. Robert. Wasn't he their nearest neighbor, and hadn't the Blisses entertained the Ellinses a lot? + Not that she put it that way, exactly. But when she came with this hunch about gettin' sonny a snap job on some sort + of naval construction work, why, of course, Mr. Robert couldn't duck. Yes, he thought he could place Wilfred. And he + did—time-keeper, six-hour shift, and near enough so he could run back and forth every day in his machine.</p> + + <p>That might have been good enough for some folks. It meant dodgin' the draft for Wilfred, dead sure. But mother + didn't stay satisfied long. She went investigatin' around the plant. She found the office stuffy, Wilfred's desk had + no electric fan on it, she wasn't sure of the drinkin' water, and the foreman was quite an impossible sort of person + who always sneered when he had anything to say to Wilfred. Couldn't Mr. Robert attend to some of these things? Mr. + Robert said he'd try—if he had time. He didn't get the time. More visits from mother.</p> + + <p>Then this latest catastrophe. The Stanton Blisses had been away from home for three weeks or more, house-partyin' + and motorin' through the mountains. Poor Wilfred had had<a class="pagenum" name="page_175" title="175" id= + "page_175"></a> to stay behind. What a stupidly distressin' thing war was, wasn't it? But he had been asked to spend + his nights and Sundays with a college chum whose home was several miles nearer the works.</p> + + <p>And then they had come back to find this scribbled note. Things had been gettin' worse and worse, Wilfred wrote. + Some young hoodlums around the plant had shouted after him as he drove off in his car. Even young girls. The men had + been surly to him, and that beastly foreman—— Well, he wasn't goin' to stand for it, that was all. He + didn't know just what he was goin' to do, but he was clearin' out. They'd hear from him later.</p> + + <p>They had. This six-word message from Philadelphia, dated nearly two weeks ago, was also waitin'. It said that he'd + enlisted, was all right, and for them not to worry. Nothin' more.</p> + + <p>You couldn't blame mother for bein' stirred up. Her Wilfred had gone. Somewhere in some army camp or other, or at + some naval trainin' station, the son and heir of the house of Bliss was minglin' with the coarse sons of the common + people, was eatin' common food, was wearin' common clothes, was goin' up against the common thing generally. And + that<a class="pagenum" name="page_176" title="176" id="page_176"></a> wasn't the worst of it. Where? Why didn't Mr. + Robert tell her where? And couldn't he get him away at once? Mr. Robert had almost gone hoarse tryin' to explain why + he couldn't. But after every try she'd come back with this wail:</p> + + <p>"Oh, but you don't understand what it is to be a mother!"</p> + + <p>"Thank the stars I don't!" says he, as he marches out of the room.</p> + + <p>I was for clearin' out so he'd be free to shoo her in any style he wanted to. We'd been havin' dinner with the + Ellinses, Vee and I, and it was time to go home anyway. But there's no budgin' Vee.</p> + + <p>"Don't you think Torchy might find out where he is?" she suggests. "Bein' in the army himself, you know, and so + clever at that sort of thing, I should think—— "</p> + + <p>"Why, to be sure," breaks in Mr. Robert, perkin' up all of a sudden and starin' at me. "Lieutenant Torchy to the + rescue, of course. He's the very one."</p> + + <p>"Ah, say, how'd you get that way?" says I. "Back up!"</p> + + <p>He's off, though, callin' Mrs. Stanton Bliss. And before I can escape he's sickin' her on real enthusiastic. Also + there's Vee urgin' me<a class="pagenum" name="page_177" title="177" id="page_177"></a> to see if I can't do something + to locate Wilfred. So I had to make the stab.</p> + + <p>"Got that wire with you?" I asks.</p> + + <p>Yes, Mrs. Bliss had all the documents right handy. I takes the yellow sheet over under the readin' lamp and + squints at it sleuthy, partly to kill time, and partly because I couldn't think of anything else to do. And of course + they all have to gather round and watch me close, as if I was about to pull some miracle. Foolish! It was a great + deal worse than that.</p> + + <p>"H-m-m-m-m!" says I. "Philadelphia. I suppose there's some sort of naval trainin' station there, eh?"</p> + + <p>Mr. Robert says there is.</p> + + <p>"But if Wilfred was at it," I goes on, "and didn't want you to find him, he wouldn't have sent this from there, + would he?"</p> + + <p>Mrs. Stanton Bliss sighs. "I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I—I suppose not."</p> + + <p>"Must be somewhere within strikin' distance of Philadelphia, though," says I. "Now, what camp is near?"</p> + + <p>"Couldn't we wire someone in Washington and find out?" asks Mrs. Bliss.</p> + + <p>"Sure," says I. "And we'd get an official answer from the Secretary of War about 11<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_178" title="178" id="page_178"></a> <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> next spring. It'll be a lot quicker to call + up Whitey Weeks."</p> + + <p>They don't know everything in newspaper offices, but there are mighty few things they can't find out. Whitey, + though, didn't even have to consult the copy desk or the clippin' bureau.</p> + + <p>"About the nearest big one," says he, "is the Ambulance Corps Camp at Allentown. Somewhere up on the Lehigh. + S'long."</p> + + <p>Here was another jolt for Mrs. Stanton Bliss. The Ambulance Corps! She near keeled over again, just hearin' me say + it. Oh, oh! Did I really believe Wilfred could have been as rash as that?</p> + + <p>"Why," says she, "they drive right up to the trenches, don't they? Isn't that fearfully dangerous?"</p> + + <p>"War isn't a parlor pastime," puts in Mr. Robert. "And the ambulance drivers take their chances with the rest of + the men. But there's no fightin' going on at Allentown. If Wilfred is there——"</p> + + <p>"If he is," cuts in Mrs. Bliss, "I must go to him this very moment."</p> + + <p>Some way that statement seemed to cheer Mr. Robert up a lot.</p> + + <p>"Naturally," says he. "I'll look up a train<a class="pagenum" name="page_179" title="179" id="page_179"></a> for + you. Just a second. In the A's. Allentown—Allen. Ah, page 156. M-m-m. Here you are. First one starts at 2 + <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> and gets you in at 5.15. Will that do?"</p> + + <p>Mrs. Bliss turns on him sort of dazed, and blinks them round eyes of hers. She's a fairly well put up old girl, + you know, built sort of on the pouter-pigeon type, but with good lines below the waist, and a complexion that she's + taken lots of pains with. Dresses real classy, and, back to, she's often mistaken for daughter Marion. Travels in + quite a gay bunch, I understand, with Mr. Stanton Bliss kind of trailin' along behind. Usually, when she ain't + indulgin' in hysterics, she has very fetchin' kittenish ways. You know the kind. Their specialty's makin' the + surroundin' males jump through the hoop for 'em. But when it comes to arrivin' anywhere at 5.15 <span class= + "smcap">A.M.</span> —well, not for her.</p> + + <p>"I should be a sight," says she.</p> + + <p>"You'd still be a mother, wouldn't you?" asks Mr. Robert.</p> + + <p>It was rough of him, as he was given to understand by the looks of all three ladies present, includin' Mrs. + Robert; so he tries to square himself by lookin' up a ten o'clock train, all Pullman, with diner and observation.</p> + + <p>"I would gladly take you up myself," says<a class="pagenum" name="page_180" title="180" id="page_180"></a> he, + lyin' fluent, "if I didn't have to go back to my boat. But here is Torchy. He'll go, I suppose."</p> + + <p>"Of course," says Vee.</p> + + <p>And that's how I came to be occupyin' drawin'-room A, along with mother and sister Marion, as we breezes up into + the Pennsylvania hills on this Wilfred hunt. A gushy, giggly young party Marion is, but she turns out to be quite a + help. It was her who spots the two young soldiers driftin' through towards the smokin' compartment, and suggests that + maybe they're goin' to the same camp.</p> + + <p>"And they would know if Wilfred was there, wouldn't they?" she adds.</p> + + <p>"Maybe," says I. "I'll go ask."</p> + + <p>Nice, clean-cut young chaps they was. They'd stretched out comfortable on the leather seats, and was enjoyin' a + perfectly good smoke, until I shows up. The minute I appears, though, they chucks their cigars and jumps up, heels + together, right hand to the hat-brim. That's what I get by havin' this dinky bar on my shoulders.</p> + + <p>"Can it, boys," says I. "This is unofficial."</p> + + <p>"At ease, sir?" suggests one.</p> + + <p>"As easy as you know how," says I.</p> + + <p>Yes, they says they're ambulancers; on their<a class="pagenum" name="page_181" title="181" id="page_181"></a> way + back to Allentown, too. But they didn't happen to know of any Wilfred Stanton Bliss there.</p> + + <p>"You see, sir," says one, "there are about five thousand of us, so he might—— "</p> + + <p>"Sure!" says I. "But mother'll want an affidavit. Would you mind droppin' in and bein' cross-examined? There's + sister Marion, too."</p> + + <p>Obligin' chaps, they were; let me tow 'em into the drawin'-room, listened patient while Mrs. Bliss described just + how Wilfred looked, and tried their best to remember havin' seen such a party. Also they gave her their expert + opinion on how long the war was goin' to last, when Wilfred would be sent over, and what chances he stood of comin' + back without a scratch.</p> + + <p>Once more it was Marion who threw the switch.</p> + + <p>"Tell me," says she, "will he be wearing a uniform just like yours?"</p> + + <p>They said he would.</p> + + <p>"Oh!" gurgles Marion, "I think it is perfectly spiffy. Don't you, mother? I'm just crazy to see Wilfred in + one."</p> + + <p>Mother catches the enthusiasm. "My noble boy!" says she, rollin' her eyes up.<a class="pagenum" name="page_182" + title="182" id="page_182"></a></p> + + <p>From then on she's quite chipper. The idea of findin' sonny made over into a smart, dashin' soldier seemed to + crowd out all the panicky thoughts she'd been havin'. From little hints she let drop, I judged that she was already + picturin' him as a gallant hero, struttin' around haughty and givin' off stern commands. Maybe he'd been made a + captain or something. Surely they would soon see that her Wilfred ought to be an officer of some kind.</p> + + <p>"And we must have his portrait painted," she remarks, claspin' her hands excited as the happy thought strikes + her.</p> + + <p>The boys looked steady out of the window and managed to smother the smiles. I imagine they'd seen all sorts of + mothers come to camp.</p> + + <p>It's a lively little burg, Allentown, even if I didn't know it was on the map before. At the station you take a + trolley that runs straight through the town and out to the fair grounds, where the camp is located. Goin' up the + hill, you pass through the square and by the Soldiers' Monument. Say, it's some monument, too. Then out a long street + lined with nice, comfortable-lookin' homes, until you get a glimpse of blue hills rollin' away as far as you can see, + and there you are.<a class="pagenum" name="page_183" title="183" id="page_183"></a></p> + + <p>The boys piloted us past the guard at the gates, through a grove of trees, and left us at the information bureau, + where a soldier wearin' shell-rimmed glasses listened patient while mother and sister both talked at once.</p> + + <p>"Bliss? Just a moment," says he, reachin' for a card-index box. "Yes, ma'am. Wilfred Stanton. He's here."</p> + + <p>"But where?" demands Mrs. Bliss.</p> + + <p>"Why," says the soldier, "he's listed with the casuals just now. Quartered in the cow-barn."</p> + + <p>"The—the cow-barn!" gasps Mrs. Bliss.</p> + + <p>The soldier grins.</p> + + <p>"It's over that way," says he, wavin' his hand. "Anyone will tell you."</p> + + <p>They did. We wandered on and on, past the parade ground that used to be the trottin' track, past new barracks that + was being knocked together hasty, until we comes to this dingy white buildin' with all the underwear hung up to dry + around it. I took one glance inside, where the cots was stacked in thick and soldiers was loafin' around in various + stages of dress and undress, and then I shooed mother and sister off a ways while I went scoutin' in alone. At a desk + made out of a packin'-box<a class="pagenum" name="page_184" title="184" id="page_184"></a> I found a chap hammerin' + away at a typewriter. He salutes and goes to attention.</p> + + <p>"Yes, sir," says he, when I've told him who I'm lookin' for. "Squeaky Bliss. But he's on duty just now, sir."</p> + + <p>I suggests that his mother and sister are here and would like to have a glimpse of him right away.</p> + + <p>"They'd better wait until after five, sir," says he.</p> + + <p>"I wouldn't like to try holdin' 'em in that long," says I.</p> + + <p>"Very well, sir," says he. "Squeaky's on fatigue. Somewhere down at the further end of the grand stand you might + catch him. But if it's his mother—well, I'd wait."</p> + + <p>I passes this advice on to Mrs. Bliss.</p> + + <p>"The idea!" says she. "I wish to see my noble soldier boy at once. Come."</p> + + <p>So we went. There was no scarcity of young fellows in olive drab. The place was thick with 'em. Squads were + drillin' every way you looked, and out in the center of the field, where two or three hundred new ambulances were + lined up, more squads were studyin' the insides of the motor, or practicin' loadin' in stretchers. Hundreds and + hundreds of young fellows in uniform, all lookin' just<a class="pagenum" name="page_185" title="185" id= + "page_185"></a> alike. I didn't wonder that mother couldn't pick out sonny boy.</p> + + <p>"What was it that man said?" she asks. "Wilfred on fatigue. Does that mean he is resting?"</p> + + <p>"Not exactly," says I.</p> + + <p>About then sister Marion begins to exhibit jumpy emotions.</p> + + <p>"Mother! Mother!" says she, starin' straight ahead. "Look!"</p> + + <p>All I could see was a greasy old truck backed up in front of some low windows under the grand stand, with half a + dozen young toughs in smeary blue overalls jugglin' a load of galvanized iron cans. Looked like garbage cans; smelled + that way too. And the gang that was handlin' 'em—well, most of 'em had had their heads shaved, and in that rig + they certainly did look like a bunch from Sing Sing.</p> + + <p>I was just nudgin' sister to move along, when Mrs. Bliss lets out this choky cry:</p> + + <p>"Wilfred!" says she.</p> + + <p>She hadn't made any mistake, either. It was sonny, all right. And you should have seen his face as he swings + around and finds who's watchin' him. If it hadn't been for the bunkie who was helpin' him lift that can of<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_186" title="186" id="page_186"></a> sloppy stuff on to the tail of the truck, there'd been a + fine spill, too.</p> + + <p>"My boy! Wilfred!" calls Mrs. Stanton Bliss, holdin' out her arms invitin' and dramatic.</p> + + <p>Now, in the first place, Wilfred was in no shape to be the party of the second part in a motherly clinch act. It's + messy work, loadin' garbage cans, and he's peeled down for it. He was costumed in a pair of overalls that would have + stood in the corner all by themselves, and an army undershirt with one sleeve half ripped off.</p> + + <p>In the second place, all the rest of the bunch was wearin' broad grins, and he knew it. So he don't rush over at + once. Instead he steps around to the front of the truck and salutes a husky, freckled-necked young sergeant who's + sittin' behind the steerin' wheel.</p> + + <p>"Family, sir," says Wilfred. "What—what'll I do?"</p> + + <p>The sergeant takes one look over his shoulder.</p> + + <p>"Oh, well," says he, "drop out until next load."</p> + + <p>Not until Wilfred had led us around the corner does he express his feelin's.</p> + + <p>"For the love of Mike, mother!" says he. "Wasn't it bad enough without your springin'<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_187" title="187" id="page_187"></a> that 'muh boy!' stuff? Right before all the fellows, too. Good-night!"</p> + + <p>"But, Wilfred," insists mother, "what does this mean? Why do I find you—well, like this? Oh, it's too + dreadful for words. Who has done this to you—and why?"</p> + + <p>Jerky, little by little, Wilfred sketches out the answer. Army life wasn't what he'd expected. Not at all. He was + sore on the whole business. He'd been let in for it, that was all. It wasn't so bad for some of the fellows, but + they'd been lucky. As for him—well, he'd come here to learn to be an ambulance driver, and he had spent his + first week in the kitchen, peelin' potatoes. Then, when they'd let him off that, and given him his first pass to go + to town, just because he'd been a little late comin' back they'd jumped on him somethin' fierce. They'd shoved him on + this garbage detail. He'd been on it ever since.</p> + + <p>"It's that mucker of a top sergeant, Quigley," says Wilfred. "He's got it in for me."</p> + + <p>Mrs. Stanton Bliss straightens out her chin dimple as she glares after the garbage truck, which is rollin' away in + the distance.</p> + + <p>"Has he, indeed!" says she. "We will see about that, then."<a class="pagenum" name="page_188" title="188" id= + "page_188"></a></p> + + <p>"But you must handle him easy, mother," warns Wilfred.</p> + + <p>"That person!" snorts mother. "I shall have nothing to do with him whatever. I mean to get you out of this, + Wilfred. I am going straight to the general."</p> + + <p>"Now, mother!" protests Wilfred. "Don't make a scene."</p> + + <p>When she was properly stirred up, though, that was mother's long suit. And she starts right in. Course, I tried to + head her off, but it's no use. As there wasn't a general handy, she had to be satisfied with a major. Seemed like a + mighty busy major, too; but when he heard his orderly tryin' to shunt the ladies, he gives the signal to let 'em in. + You can bet I didn't follow. Didn't have to, for Mrs. Bliss wasn't doin' any whisperin' about then.</p> + + <p>And she sure made it plain to the major how little she thought of the U. S. Army, and specially that part of it + located at Allentown, Pa. Havin' got that off her chest, and been listened to patient, she demands that Wilfred be + excused from all his disgustin' duties, and be allowed to go home with her at once and for good.</p> + + <p>The major shakes his head. "Impossible!" says he.<a class="pagenum" name="page_189" title="189" id= + "page_189"></a></p> + + <p>"Then," says Mrs. Stanton Bliss, tossin' her head, "I shall appeal to the Secretary of War; to the President, if + necessary."</p> + + <p>The major smiles weary. "You'd best talk to his sergeant," says he. "If he recommends your son's discharge it may + go through."</p> + + <p>"That person!" exclaims Mrs. Bliss. "Never! I—I might talk to his captain. "</p> + + <p>"Useless, madam," says the major. "See his sergeant; he's the one."</p> + + <p>And he signifies polite that the interview is over.</p> + + <p>When mother tells sonny the result of this visit to headquarters, he shrugs his shoulders.</p> + + <p>"I knew it would be that way," says he. "They've got me, and I've got to stand for it. No use askin' Quigley. You + might as well go home."</p> + + <p>"But at least you can get away long enough to have dinner with us," says mother.</p> + + <p>"Nothing doin'," says Wilfred. "Can't get out unless Quigley signs a pass, and he won't."</p> + + <p>"Oh, come!" says I. "He don't look so bad as all that. Let me see what I can do with him."</p> + + <p>Well, after I'd chased the ladies back to the hotel with instructions to wait hopeful, I hunts<a class="pagenum" + name="page_190" title="190" id="page_190"></a> up Top Sergeant Quigley. Had quite a revealin' chat with him, too. + Come to look at him close after he'd washed up, he's rather decent appearin'. Face seems sort of familiar, too.</p> + + <p>"Didn't you play first base for the Fordhams?" I asks.</p> + + <p>"Oh, that was back in '14," says he.</p> + + <p>"As I remember," says I, "you was some star on the bag, though. Now, about young Bliss. Case of mommer's pet, you + know."</p> + + <p>"He had that tag all over him," says Quigley. "But we're knockin' a lot of that out of him. He's comin' on."</p> + + <p>"Good!" says I. "Would it stop the process to let him off for an evenin' with the folks—dinner and so + on?"</p> + + <p>"Why, no; I guess not," says Quigley. "Might do him good. But he must apply himself. Send him along."</p> + + <p>So a half hour later I sat on a cot in the cow-barn and watched Wilfred, fresh from the shower bath, get into his + army uniform.</p> + + <p>"Say," he remarks, strugglin' through his khaki shirt, "I didn't think old Quig would do it."</p> + + <p>"Seemed glad to," says I. "Said you was comin' on fine."<a class="pagenum" name="page_191" title="191" id= + "page_191"></a></p> + + <p>"He did?" gasps Wilfred. "Quigley? Well, what do you know!"</p> + + <p>Not such a bad imitation of a soldier, Wilfred, when he'd laced up the leggins and got the snappy-cut coat + buttoned tight. He's some different from what he was when sister first discovered him. And we had quite a gay dinner + together.</p> + + <p>First off mother was for campin' right down there indefinitely, where she could see her darlin' boy every day; but + between Wilfred and me we persuaded her different. I expect the hotel quarters had something to do with it, too. + Anyway, after Wilfred had promised to try for a couple of days off soon, for a visit home, she consents to start back + in the mornin'.</p> + + <p>"What I dread most, Wilfred," says she, "is leaving you at the mercy of that horrid sergeant."</p> + + <p>"Oh, I'll get along with him somehow," says Wilfred. "I'm goin' to try, anyway."</p> + + <p>And right there, as I understand it, Wilfred Stanton Bliss started to be a man and a soldier. He had a long way to + go, though, it seemed to me.</p> + + <p>So here the other day, only a couple of weeks since we made our trip, I'm some surprised to see who it is givin' + me the zippy salute on the<a class="pagenum" name="page_192" title="192" id="page_192"></a> station platform out + home. Yes, it's Wilfred. And say, he's got his shoulders squared, he's carryin' his chin up, and he's wearin' his + uniform like it grew on him.</p> + + <p>"Well, well!" says I. "Got your furlough, eh?"</p> + + <p>"Yes, sir," says he. "Seventy-two hours. Had a whale of a time, too. You can't guess who I brought home with me, + I'll bet."</p> + + <p>I couldn't.</p> + + <p>"Our top sergeant—Quigley," says he. "Say, he's all right. He's had us transferred to the best barracks in + camp. Guess we deserve it, too, for we're on the way to bein' the crackerjack section of them all. You ought to see + us drill. Some class! And it's all due to Quigley. Do you know what he thinks? That we're slated among the next lot + to go over. How about that, sir? Won't that be great?"</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says I. "How long ago was it you signed up, Wilfred?"</p> + + <p>"Just six weeks, sir," says he.</p> + + <p>"Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' at him. "If we had about a hundred thousand Quigleys!"</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_193" title="193" id="page_193"></a> + <a name="VEE_GOES_OVER_THE_TOP_4882" id="VEE_GOES_OVER_THE_TOP_4882"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + <h3>VEE GOES OVER THE TOP</h3> + </div> + + <p>"But listen, Vee," says I. "If Hoover can't pull it off, with all the backin' he's got, what's the use of a few of + you women mixin' in?"</p> + + <p>"At least we can try," says Vee. "The prices this Belcher person is charging are something outrageous. Eggs ninety + cents!"</p> + + <p>"We should worry," says I. "Ain't we got nearly a hundred hens on the job?"</p> + + <p>"But others haven't," says Vee. "Those people in that row of little cottages down by the station. The Walters, for + instance. He can't get more than twenty-five or thirty dollars a week, can he?"</p> + + <p>"There's so many cases you can't figure out," says I. "Maybe he scrubs along on small steaks or fried + chicken."</p> + + <p>"It's no joking matter," protests Vee. "Of course there are plenty of people worse off then the Walters. That Mrs. + Burke, whose two boys are in the Sixty-ninth. She must do her<a class="pagenum" name="page_194" title="194" id= + "page_194"></a> marketing at Belcher's, too. Think of her having to pay those awful prices!"</p> + + <p>"I would," says I, "if workin'up a case of glooms was any use; but I can't see—— "</p> + + <p>"We can see enough," breaks in Vee. "The new Belcher limousine, the additions to their hideous big house. All + made, too, out of food profiteering right here. It's got to stop, that's all."</p> + + <p>Which is where I should have shouted "Kamerad" and come runnin' out with my hands up, but I tried to show her that + Belcher was only playin' the game like everyone else was playin' it.</p> + + <p>"He ain't springin' anything new," says I. "He's just followin' the mob. They're all doin' it, from the Steel + Trust down to the push-cart men. And when you come to interferin' with business—well, that's serious."</p> + + <p>"Humph!" says Vee. "When it comes to taking advantage of poor people and depriving them of enough to eat, I call + it plain piracy. And you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Torchy, standing up for such things."</p> + + <p>So you see I was about as convincin' as a jazz band tryin' to imitate the Metropolitan orchestra doin' the + overture to "Lucia." If I hadn't finally had sense enough to switch the<a class="pagenum" name="page_195" title="195" + id="page_195"></a> subject a little, there might have been a poutin' scene and maybe a double case of sulks. But when + I got to askin' where she'd collected all this grouch against our local meat and provision octopus, she cheers up + again.</p> + + <p>Seems she'd been to a Red Cross meetin' that afternoon, where a lot of the ladies was swappin' tales of woe about + their kitchen expense accounts. Some of 'em had been keepin' track of prices in the city markets and was able to + shoot the deadly parallel at Belcher. Anyway, they ditched the sweater-knittin' and bandage-rollin' for the time + bein', and proceeded to organize the Woman's Economic League on the spot.</p> + + <p>"Sounds impressive," says I. "And what then? Did you try Belcher for treason, find him guilty, and sentence him to + be shot at sunrise?"</p> + + <p>Vee proves that she's good-natured again by runnin' her tongue out at me.</p> + + <p>"We did not, Smarty," says she. "But we passed a resolution condemning such extortion severely."</p> + + <p>"How rough of you!" says I. "Anything else?"</p> + + <p>"Yes," says Vee. "We appointed a committee to tell him he'd better stop."<a class="pagenum" name="page_196" title= + "196" id="page_196"></a></p> + + <p>"Fine!" says I. "I expect he'll have everything marked down about forty per cent. by to-morrow night."</p> + + <p>Somehow, it didn't work out just that way. Next report I got from Vee was that the committee had interviewed + Belcher, but there was nothing doin'. He'd been awfully nice to 'em, even if he had talked through his cigar part of + the time.</p> + + <p>Belcher says he feels just as bad as they about havin' to soak on such stiff prices. But how can he help it? The + cold-storage people are boostin' their schedules every day. They ain't to blame, either. They're bein' held up by the + farmers out West who are havin' their hair cut too often. Besides, all the hens in the country have quit layin' and + joined the I. W. W., and every kind of meat is scarce on account of Pershing's men developin' such big appetites. + He's sorry, but he's doin' his best, considerin' the war and everything. If people would only get the habit of usin' + corn meal for their pie crusts, everything would be lovely once more.</p> + + <p>"An alibi on every count," says I. "I expect the committee apologized."</p> + + <p>"Very nearly that," says Vee. "The sillies!<a class="pagenum" name="page_197" title="197" id="page_197"></a> I + just wish I'd been there. I don't believe half of what he said is true."</p> + + <p>"That's one thing," says I, "but provin' it on him would be another. And there's where Belcher's got you."</p> + + <p>Course, I like to watch Vee in action, for she sure is a humdinger when she gets started. As a rule, too, I don't + believe in tryin' to block her off in any of her little enterprises.</p> + + <p>But here was once where it seemed to me she was up against a hopeless proposition. So I goes on to point out, sort + of gentle and soothin', how war prices couldn't be helped, any more'n you could stop the tide from comin' in.</p> + + <p>Oh, I'm some smooth suggester, I am, when you get into fireside diplomacy. Anyway, the price of eggs wasn't + mentioned again that evenin'. As a matter of fact, Vee ain't troubled much with marketin' details, for Madame Battou, + wife of the little old Frenchman who does the cheffing for us so artistic, attends to layin' in the supplies. And, + believe me, when she sails forth with her market basket you can be sure she's goin' to get sixteen ounces to the + pound and the rock bottom price on everything. No 'phone orders for her. I don't believe Vee knew what the inside of + Belcher's store looks like. I'm sure I didn't.<a class="pagenum" name="page_198" title="198" id="page_198"></a></p> + + <p>So I thought the big drive on the roast beef and canned goods sector had been called off. About that time, too, I + got another inspection detail handed me,—and I didn't see my happy home until another week-end.</p> + + <p>I lands back on Broadway at 9 <span class="smcap">a.m</span> . Havin' reported at the Corrugated general offices + and found Old Hickory out of town, I declares a special holiday and beats it out to the part of Long Island I'm + beginnin' to know best. Struck me Professor Battou held his face kind of funny when he saw me blow in; and as I asks + for Vee, him and the madam swaps glances. He say she's out.</p> + + <p>"Oh," says I. "Mornin' call up at the Ellinses', eh? I'll stroll up that way, myself, then."</p> + + <p>Leon hesitates a minute, like he was chokin' over something, and then remarks: "But no, M'sieur. Madame, I think, + is in the village."</p> + + <p>"Why," says I, "I just came from the station. I didn't see the car around. How long has she been gone?"</p> + + <p>Another exchange of looks, and then Battou answers:</p> + + <p>"She goes at seven."</p> + + <p>"Whaddye mean goes?" says I. "It ain't a habit of hers, is it?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_199" title="199" id= + "page_199"></a></p> + + <p>Leon nods.</p> + + <p>"All this week," says he. "She goes to the meat and grocery establishment, I understand."</p> + + <p>"Belcher's?" says I. "But what—what's the idea?"</p> + + <p>"I think it would be best if M'sieur asked Madame," says he.</p> + + <p>"That's right, too," says I.</p> + + <p>You can guess I was some puzzled. Was Vee doin' the spy act on Belcher, watchin' him open the store and spendin' + the forenoon concealed in a crockery crate or something? No, that didn't sound reasonable. But what the—— + Meanwhile I was leggin' it down towards the village.</p> + + <p>It's a busy place, Belcher's, specially on Saturday forenoon. Out front three or four delivery trucks was bein' + loaded up, and inside a lot of clerks was jumpin' round. Among the customers was two Jap butlers, three or four + Swedish maids, and some of the women from the village. But no Vee anywhere in sight.</p> + + <p>Loomin' prominent in the midst of all this active tradin' is Belcher himself, a thick-necked, ruddy-cheeked party, + with bristly black hair cut shoe-brush style and growing down<a class="pagenum" name="page_200" title="200" id= + "page_200"></a> to a point in front. His big, bulgy eyes are cold and fishy, but they seem to take in everything + that's goin' on. I hadn't been standin' around more'n half a minute before he snaps his finger, and a clerk comes + hustlin' over to ask what I'll have.</p> + + <p>"Box of ginger-snaps," says I offhand; and a minute later I'm bein' shunted towards a wire-cage with a cash slip + in my hand.</p> + + <p>I'd dug up a quarter, and was waitin' for the change to be passed out through the little window, when I hears a + familiar snicker. Then I glances in to see who's presidin' at the cash register. And say, of all the sudden jolts I + ever got! It's Vee.</p> + + <p>"Well, for the love of soup!" I gasps.</p> + + <p>"Twelve out—thirteen. That's right, isn't it? Thank you so much, sir," says she, her gray eyes + twinklin'.</p> + + <p>"Quit the kiddin'," says I, "and sketch out the plot of the piece."</p> + + <p>"Can't now," says Vee. "So run along. Please!"</p> + + <p>"But how long does this act of yours last?" I insists.</p> + + <p>"Until about noon, I think," says she. "It's such fun. You can't imagine."<a class="pagenum" name="page_201" + title="201" id="page_201"></a></p> + + <p>"What's it for, though?" says I. "Are you pullin' a sleuth stunt on—— "</p> + + <p>"S-s-s-sh!" warns Vee. "He's coming. Pretend to be getting a bill changed or something."</p> + + <p>It's while I'm fishin' out a ten that this little dialogue at the meat counter begins to get conspicuous: A thin, + stoop-shouldered female with gray streaks in her hair is puttin' up a howl at the price of corned beef. She'd asked + for the cheapest piece they had, and it had been weighed for her, but still she wasn't satisfied.</p> + + <p>"It wasn't as high last Saturday," she objects.</p> + + <p>"No, ma'am," says the clerk. "It's gone up since."</p> + + <p>"Worse luck," says she, pokin' the piece with her finger. "And this is nearly all bone and fat. Now couldn't + you——"</p> + + <p>"I'll ask the boss, ma'am," says the clerk. "Here he is."</p> + + <p>Belcher has come over and is listenin', glarin' hostile at the woman.</p> + + <p>"It's Mrs. Burke, the one whose sons are in the army," whispers Vee.</p> + + <p>"Well?" demands Belcher.<a class="pagenum" name="page_202" title="202" id="page_202"></a></p> + + <p>"It's so much to pay for meat like that," says Mrs. Burke. "If you could—— "</p> + + <p>"Take it or leave it," snaps Belcher.</p> + + <p>"Sure now," says she, "you know I can't afford to give——"</p> + + <p>"Then get out!" orders Belcher.</p> + + <p>At which Vee swings open the door of the cage, brushes past me, and faces him with her eyes snappin'.</p> + + <p>"Pig!" says she explosive.</p> + + <p>"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Belcher, gawpin' at her.</p> + + <p>"I—I beg pardon," says Vee. "I shouldn't have said that, even if it was so. "</p> + + <p>"You—you're discharged, you!" roars Belcher.</p> + + <p>"Isn't that nice?" says Vee, reachin' for her hat and coat. "Then I can go home with my husband, I suppose. And if + I have earned any of that princely salary—five dollars a week, it was to be, wasn't it?—well, you may + credit it to my account: Mrs. Richard Tabor Ballard, you know. Come, Torchy."</p> + + <p>Say, I always did suspect there was mighty few things Vee was afraid of, but I never thought she had so much clear + grit stowed away in her system. For to sail past Belcher the way he looked then took a heap of nerve,<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_203" title="203" id="page_203"></a> believe me. But before he can get that thick tongue of his + limbered up we're outside, with Vee snuggled up mufflin' the giggles against my coat sleeve.</p> + + <p>"Oh, it's been such a lark, Torchy!" says she. "I've passed as Miss Hemmingway for six days, and I don't believe + more than three or four persons have suspected. Thank goodness, Belcher wasn't one of them. For I've + learned—oh, such a lot!"</p> + + <p>"Let's start at the beginning," says I. "Why did you do it at all?"</p> + + <p>"Because the committee was so ready to believe the whoppers he told," says Vee. "And they wanted to disband the + League, especially that Mrs. Norton Plummer, whose husband is a lawyer. She was almost disagreeable about it. Truly. + 'But, my dear,' she said to me, 'one can't act merely on rumor and prejudice. If we had a few facts or figures it + might be different.' And you know that sour smile of hers. Well! That's why I did it. I asked them to give me ten + days. And now—— "</p> + + <p>Vee finishes by squeezin' my arm.</p> + + <p>"But how'd you come to break in so prompt?" I asks. "Did you mesmerize Belcher?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_204" + title="204" id="page_204"></a></p> + + <p>"I bought up his cashier—paid her to report that she was ill," says Vee. "Then I smoothed back my hair, put + on this old black dress, and went begging for the job. That's when I began to know Mr. Belcher. He's quite a + different person when he is hiring a cashier from the one you see talking to customers. Really, I've never been + looked at that way before—as if I were some sort of insect. But when he found I would work cheap, and could get + Mrs. Robert Ellins to go on my bond if I should turn out a thief, he took me on.</p> + + <p>"Getting up so early was a bit hard, and eating a cold luncheon harder still; but worst of all was having to hear + him growl and snap at the clerks. Oh, he's perfectly horrid. I don't see how they stand it. Of course, I had my + share. 'Miss Blockhead' was his pet name for me."</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says I, grittin' my teeth.</p> + + <p>"Meaning that you'd like to tell Belcher a few things yourself?" asks Vee. "Well, you needn't. I'd no right to be + there, for one thing. And, for another, this is my own particular affair. I know what I am going to do to Mr. + Belcher; at least, what I'm going to try to do. Anyway, I shall have some figures<a class="pagenum" name="page_205" + title="205" id="page_205"></a> to put before our committee Monday. Then we shall see."</p> + + <p>Yep, she had the goods on him. I helped her straighten out the evidence: copies of commission-house bills showin' + what he had paid for stuff, and duplicates of sales-slips givin' the retail prices he got. And say, all he was + stickin' on was from thirty to sixty per cent. profit.</p> + + <p>He didn't always wait for the wholesaler to start the boostin', either. Vee points out where he has jacked up the + price three times on the same shipment—just as the spell took him. He'd be readin' away in his <i>Morgen + Blatherskite</i>, and all of a sudden he'd jump out of his chair. I'm no expert on provision prices, but some of them + items had me bug-eyed.</p> + + <p>"Why," says I, "it looks like this Belcher party meant to discourage eatin' altogether. Couldn't do better if he + was runnin' a dinin'-car."</p> + + <p>"It's robbery, that's what it is," says Vee. "And when you think that his chief victims are such helpless people + as the Burkes and the Walters—well, it's little less than criminal."</p> + + <p>"It's a rough deal," I admits, "but one that's bein' pulled in the best circles. War profits are what everybody + seems to be out<a class="pagenum" name="page_206" title="206" id="page_206"></a> after these days, and I don't see + how you're going to stop it. "</p> + + <p>"I mean to try to stop Belcher, anyway," says Vee, tossin' her chin up.</p> + + <p>"You ain't got much show," says I; "but go to it."</p> + + <p>Just how much fight there was in Vee, though, I didn't have any idea of until I saw her Monday evenin' after + another meetin' of the League. It seems she'd met this Mrs. Norton Plummer on her own ground and had smeared her all + over the map.</p> + + <p>"What do you suppose she wanted to do?" demands Vee. "Pass more resolutions! Well, I told her just what I thought + of that. As well pin a 'Please-keep-out' notice on your door to scare away burglars as to send resolutions to + Belcher. And when I showed her what profits he was making, item by item, she hadn't another word to say. Then I + proposed my plan."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I. "What's it like?"</p> + + <p>"We are going to start a store of our own," says Vee—just like that, offhand and casual.</p> + + <p>"You are!" says I. "But—but who's goin' to run it?"</p> + + <p>"They made me chairman of the sub-committee," says Vee. "And then I made them<a class="pagenum" name="page_207" + title="207" id="page_207"></a> subscribe to a campaign fund. Five thousand. We raised it in as many minutes. And + now—well, I suppose I'm in for it."</p> + + <p>"Listens that way to me," says I.</p> + + <p>"Then I may as well begin," says she.</p> + + <p>And say, there's nothin' draggy about Vee when she really goes over the top. While I'm dressin' for dinner she + calls up a real estate dealer and leases a vacant store in the other end of the block from Belcher's. Between the + roast and salad she uses the 'phone some more and drafts half a dozen young ladies from the Country Club set to act + as relay clerks. Later on in the evenin' she rounds up Major Percy Thomson, who's been invalided home from the + Quartermaster's Department on account of a game knee, and gets him to serve as buyin' agent for a week or so. Her + next move is to charter a couple of three-ton motor-trucks to haul supplies out from town; and when I went to sleep + she was still jottin' things down on a pad to be attended to in the mornin'.</p> + + <p>For two or three days nothin' much seemed to happen. The windows of that vacant store was whitened mysterious, + carpenters were hammerin' away inside, and now and then a truck backed up and was unloaded. But no<a class="pagenum" + name="page_208" title="208" id="page_208"></a> word was given out as to what was goin' to be sprung. Not until Friday + mornin'. Then the commuters on the 8.03 was hit bang in the eye by a whalin' big red, white, and blue sign announcin' + that the W. E. L. Supply Company was open for business.</p> + + <p>Course, it was kind of crude compared to Belcher's. No fancy counters or showcases or window displays of + cracker-boxes. And the stock was limited to staples that could be handled easy. But the price bulletins posted up + outside was what made some of them gents who'd been doin' the fam'ly marketin' stop and stare. A few of 'em turned + halfway to the station and dashed back to leave their orders. Goin' into town they spread the news through the train. + The story of that latest bag of U-boats, which the mornin' papers all carried screamers about, was almost thrown into + the discard. If I hadn't been due for a ten o'clock committee meetin' at the Corrugated, I'd have stayed out and + watched the openin'. Havin' told Old Hickory about it, though, I was on hand next mornin' with a whole day's + furlough.</p> + + <p>"It ought to be our big day," says Vee.</p> + + <p>It was. For one thing, everybody was stockin' up for over Sunday, and with the backin'<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_209" title="209" id="page_209"></a> of the League the Supply Company could count on about fifty good customers + as a starter. Most of the ladies came themselves, rollin' up in limousines or tourin' cars and cartin' home their own + stuff. Also the cottage people, who'd got wind of the big mark-down bargains, begun to come in bunches, every woman + with a basket.</p> + + <p>But they didn't swamp Vee. She'd already added to her force of young lady clerks a squad of hand-picked Boy + Scouts, and it was my job to manage the youngsters.</p> + + <p>I'd worked out the system the night before. Each one had typed price lists in his pocket, and besides that I'd put + 'em through an hour's drill on weights and measures before the show started.</p> + + <p>I don't know when it was Belcher begun to get wise and start his counter-attack; but the first time I had a chance + to slip out and take a squint his way, I saw this whackin' big sign in front of his place: "Potatoes, 40 cents per + peck." Which I promptly reports to Vee.</p> + + <p>"Very well," says she; "we'll make ours thirty-five."</p> + + <p>Inside of ten minutes we had a bulletin out twice as big as his.</p> + + <p>"Now I guess he'll be good," says I.<a class="pagenum" name="page_210" title="210" id="page_210"></a></p> + + <p>But he had a scrap or two left in him, it seems. Pretty soon he cuts the price to thirty.</p> + + <p>"We'll make it twenty-five," says Vee.</p> + + <p>And by eleven o'clock Belcher has countered with potatoes at twenty cents.</p> + + <p>"Why," gasps Vee, "that's far less than they cost at wholesale. But we can't let him beat us. Make ours twenty, + too."</p> + + <p>"Excuse me, ma'am," puts in one of the Scouts, salutin', "but we've run out of potatoes."</p> + + <p>"Oh, boy!" says I. "Where do we go from here!"</p> + + <p>Vee hesitates only long enough to draw a deep breath.</p> + + <p>"Torchy," says she, "I have it. Form your boys into a basket brigade, and buy out Belcher below the market."</p> + + <p>Talk about your frenzied finance! Wasn't that puttin' it over on him! For two hours, there, we went long on + Belcher's potatoes at twenty, until his supply ran out too. Then he switched to sugar and butter. Quotations went off + as fast as when the bottom drops out of a bull market. All we had to do to hammer down the prices of anything in the + food line, whether we had it or not, was to stick out a cut-rate sign—Belcher was sure to go it one better; and + when Vee got it far enough below cost, she started her buyin' corps, workin' in customers, clerks, and anybody that + was handy. And by night if every fam'ly within five miles hadn't stocked up on bargain provisions it was their own + fault; for if they didn't have cash of their own Vee was right there with the long-distance credit.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <a name="illus-002" id="illus-002"></a> <img src="images/illus-210.jpg" alt= + ""Belcher has come over and is listenin', glarin' hostile at the woman. 'It's Mrs. Burke, the one whose sons are in the army,' whispers Vee."" + title="" /> + <br /> + <span class="caption">"Belcher has come over and is listenin', glarin' hostile at the woman. 'It's Mrs. Burke, the + one whose sons are in the army,' whispers Vee."</span> + </div> + + <p><a class="pagenum" name="page_211" title="211" id="page_211"></a>"I'll bet you've got old Belcher frothin' through + his ears," says I.</p> + + <p>"I hope so," says Vee.</p> + + <p>The followin' Monday, though, he comes back at her with his big push. He had the whole front of his store + plastered with below-cost bulletins.</p> + + <p>"Pooh!" says Vee. "I can have signs like that painted, too."</p> + + <p>And she did. It didn't bother her a bit if her stock ran out. She kept up on the cut-rate game, and when people + asked for things she didn't have she just sent 'em to Belcher's.</p> + + <p>Maybe you saw what some of the papers printed. Course, they joshed the ladies more or less, but also they played + up a peppery interview with Belcher which got him in bad with everybody. Vee wasn't so pleased at the publicity + stuff, but she didn't squeal.<a class="pagenum" name="page_212" title="212" id="page_212"></a></p> + + <p>What was worryin' me some was how soon the grand smash was comin'. I knew that the campaign fund had been whittled + into considerable, and now that prices had been slashed there was no chance for profits.</p> + + <p>It was botherin' Vee some, too, for she'd promised not to assess the League members again unless she could show + 'em where they were comin' out. By the middle of the week things looked squally. Belcher had given out word that he + meant to bust up this fool woman's opposition, if it took his last cent.</p> + + <p>Then, here the other night, I comes home to find Vee wearin' a satisfied grin. As I comes in she jumps up from her + desk and waves a check at me.</p> + + <p>"Look!" says she. "Five thousand! I've got it back, Torchy, every dollar."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I. "You ain't sold out to Belcher?"</p> + + <p>"I should say not," says she. "To the Noonan chain. Mr. Noonan came himself. He'd read about our fight in the + newspapers, and said he'd be glad to take it off our hands. He's been wanting to establish a branch in this district. + Five thousand for stock and good will. What do you think of that?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_213" title="213" id= + "page_213"></a></p> + + <p>"I ain't thinkin'," says I. "I'm just gaspin' for breath. Noonan, eh? Then I see where Belcher gets off. And if + you don't mind my whisperin' in your ear, Vee, you're some whizz."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_214" title="214" id="page_214"></a> + <a name="LATE_RETURNS_ON_RUPERT_5389" id="LATE_RETURNS_ON_RUPERT_5389"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + <h3>LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT</h3> + </div> + + <p>Vee and I were goin' over some old snapshots the other night. It's done now and then, you know. Not deliberate. + I'll admit that's a pastime you wouldn't get all worked up over plannin' ahead for. Tuesday mornin', say, you don't + remark breathless: "I'll tell you: Saturday night at nine-thirty let's get out them last year's prints and give 'em + the comp'ny front."</p> + + <p>It don't happen that way—not with our sketch. What I was grapplin' for in the bottom of the window-seat + locker was something different—maybe a marshmallow fork, or a corn-popper, or a catalogue of bath-room + fixtures. Anyway, it was something we thought we wanted a lot, when I digs up this album of views that Vee took + durin' that treasure-huntin' cruise of ours last winter on the old <i>Agnes</i>, with Auntie and Old Hickory and + Captain Rupert Killam and the rest of the bunch. I was just tossin' the book one side when a<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_215" title="215" id="page_215"></a> picture slips out, and of course I has to take a squint. Then I + chuckles.</p> + + <p>"Look!" says I, luggin' it over to where Vee is curled up on the davenport in front of the fireplace. "Remember + that?"</p> + + <p>A giggle from Vee.</p> + + <p>"'Auntie enjoying a half-hour eulogy of the dear departed, by Mrs. Mumford,' should be the title," says she. + "She'd been sound asleep for twenty minutes."</p> + + <p>"Which is what you might call good defensive," says I. "But who's this gazin' over the rail beyond—J. Dudley + Simms, or is that a ventilator?"</p> + + <p>"Let's see," says Vee, reachin' for the readin' glass. "Why, you silly! That's Captain Killam."</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says I. "Reckless Rupert, the great mind-play hero."</p> + + <p>"I wonder what has become of him?" puts in Vee, restin' her chin on the knuckle of her forefinger and starin' into + the fire.</p> + + <p>"Him?" says I. "Most likely he's back in St. Petersburg, Florida, all dolled in white flannels, givin' the tin-can + tourists a treat. That would be Rupert's game. "</p> + + <p>I don't know as you remember; but, in spite of Killam's havin' got balled up on the location<a class="pagenum" + name="page_216" title="216" id="page_216"></a> of this pirate island, and Vee and me havin' to find it for him, he + came in for his share of the loot. Must have been quite a nice little pot for Rupert, too—enough to keep him + costumed for his mysterious hero act for a long time, providin' he don't overdress the part.</p> + + <p>Weird combination—Rupert: about 60 per cent. camouflage and the rest solemn boob. An ex-school-teacher from + some little flag station in middle Illinois, who'd drifted down to the West Coast, and got to be a captain by ownin' + an old cruiser that he took fishin' parties out to the grouper banks on. Them was the real facts in the life story of + Rupert.</p> + + <p>But the picture he threw on the screen of himself must have been something else again—seasoned sailor, hardy + adventurer, daredevil explorer, and who knows what else? Catch him in one of his silent, starey moods, with them + buttermilk blue eyes of his opened wide and vacant, and you had the outline. But that's as far as you'd get. I always + thought Rupert himself was a little vague about it, but he would insist on takin' himself so serious. That's why we + never got along well, I expect. To me Rupert was a walkin' joke, except when he got to sleuthin' around Vee and me + and made a nuisance of himself.<a class="pagenum" name="page_217" title="217" id="page_217"></a></p> + + <p>"How completely people like that drop out of sight sometimes," says Vee, shuttin' up the album.</p> + + <p>"Yes," says I. "Contrary to old ladies who meet at summer resorts and in department-stores, it's a sizable world + we live in. Thanks be for that, too."</p> + + <p>But you never can tell. It ain't more'n three days later, as I'm breezin through a cross street down in the + cloak-and-suit and publishin' house district, when a taxi rolls up to the curb just ahead, and out piles a + wide-shouldered gent with freckles on the back of his neck. Course, I don't let on I can spot anybody I've ever known + just by a sectional glimpse like that. But this was no common case of freckles. This was a splotchy, spattery system + of rust marks, like a bird's-eye view of the enemy's trenches after a week of drum fire. Besides, there was the pale + carroty hair.</p> + + <p>Even then, the braid-bound cutaway and the biscuit-colored spats had me buffaloed. So I slows up until I can get a + front view of the party who's almost tripped himself with the horn-handled walkin'-stick and is havin' a few last + words with someone in the cab. Then I sees the washed out blue eyes, and I know<a class="pagenum" name="page_218" + title="218" id="page_218"></a> there can't be any mistake. About then, too, he turns and recognizes me.</p> + + <p>"Well, for the love of beans!" says I. "Rupert!"</p> + + <p>The funny part of it is that I gets it off as cordial as if I was discoverin' an old trench mate. You know how you + will. And, while I can't say Captain Killam registered any wild joy in his greetin', still he seemed pleased enough. + He gives me a real hearty shake.</p> + + <p>"And here is someone else you know," says he, wavin' to the cab: "Mrs. Mumford."</p> + + <p>Blamed if it ain't the cooin' widow. She's right there with the old familiar purry gush, too, squeezin' my fingers + kittenish and askin' me how "dear, sweet Verona" is. I was just noticin' that she'd ditched the half mournin' for + some real zippy raiment when she leans back so as to exhibit a third party in the taxi—a young gent with one of + these dead-white faces and a cute little black mustache—reg'lar lounge-lizard type.</p> + + <p>"Oh, and you must meet my dear friend, Mr. Vinton Bartley," she purrs. "Vinton, this is the Torchy I've spoken + about so often."</p> + + <p>"Ah, ya-a-as," drawls Vinton, blowin' out a whiff of scented cigarette smoke lazy. "Quite<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_219" title="219" id="page_219"></a> so. But—er—hadn't we best be getting on, Lorina?"</p> + + <p>"Yes, yes," coos Mrs. Mumford. "By-by, Captain. Good-by, Torchy."</p> + + <p>And off they whirls, leavin' me with my mouth open and Rupert starin' after 'em gloomy.</p> + + <p>"Lorina, eh?" says I. "How touchin'!"</p> + + <p>Killam only grunts, but it struck me he has tinted up a bit under the eyes.</p> + + <p>"Say, Rupert," I goes on, "who's your languid friend with the cream-of-cabbage complexion?"</p> + + <p>"Bartley?" says he. "Oh, he's a friend of Mrs. Mumford; a drama-tist—so he says."</p> + + <p>Now, I might have let it ride at that and gone along about my own affairs, which ain't so pressin' just then. Yes, + I might. But I don't. Maybe it was hornin' in where there was no welcome sign on the mat, and then again perhaps it + was only a natural folksy feelin' for an old friend I hadn't seen for a long time. Anyway, I'm prompted sudden to + take Rupert by the arm and insist that he must come and have lunch with me.</p> + + <p>"Why—er—thanks," says the Captain; "but I have a little business to attend to in here." And he nods to + an office buildin'.<a class="pagenum" name="page_220" title="220" id="page_220"></a></p> + + <p>"That'll be all right, too," says I. "I'll wait."</p> + + <p>"Will you?" says Rupert, beamin'. "I shall be pleased."</p> + + <p>So in less'n half an hour I have Rupert planted cozy at a corner table with a mixed grill in front of him, and I'm + givin' him the cue for openin' any confidential chat he may have on hand. He's a good deal of a clam, though, Rupert. + And suspicious! He must have been born lookin' over his shoulder. But in my own crude way I can sometimes josh 'em + along.</p> + + <p>"Excuse me for mentionin' it, Rupert," says I, "but there's lots of class to you these days."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says he. "You mean——"</p> + + <p>"The whole effect," says I, "from the gaiters to the new-model lid. Just like you'd strolled out from some Fifth + Avenue club and was goin' to 'phone your brokers to buy another block of Bethlehem at the market. Honest!"</p> + + <p>He pinks up and shakes his head, but I can see I've got the range.</p> + + <p>"And here Vee and I had it doped out," I goes on, "how you'd be down on the West Coast by this time, investin' + your pile in orange groves and corner lots."<a class="pagenum" name="page_221" title="221" id="page_221"></a></p> + + <p>"No," says Rupert; "I've been here all the while. You see, I—I've grown rather fond of New York."</p> + + <p>"You needn't apologize," says I. "There's a few million others with the same weakness, not countin' the ones that + sleep in New Jersey but always register from here. Gone into some kind of business, have you?"</p> + + <p>Rupert does some fancy side-steppin' about then; but all of a sudden he changes his mind, and, after glancin' + around to see that no one has an ear out, he starts his confession.</p> + + <p>"The fact is," says he, "I've been doing a little literary work."</p> + + <p>"Writin' ads," says I, "or solicitin' magazine subscriptions?"</p> + + <p>"I am getting out a book of poems," says Rupert, dignified.</p> + + <p>"Wh-a-a-at?" I gasps. "Not—not reg'lar limerick stuff?"</p> + + <p>I can see now that was a bad break. But Rupert was patient with me. He explains that these are all poems about + sailors and ships and so on; real salt, tarry stuff. Also, he points out how it's built the new style way, with no + foolish rhymes at the end, and with long lines or short, just as they happen to come. To make it clear, he digs up a + roll<a class="pagenum" name="page_222" title="222" id="page_222"></a> of galley proofs he's just collected from the + publishers. And say, he had the goods. There it was, yards of it, all printed neat in big fat type. "Sea Songs" is + what he calls 'em, and each one has a separate tag of its own, such as "Kittywakes, " "Close Hauled," and "Scuppers + Under."</p> + + <p>"Looks like the real stuff," says I. "Let's hear how it listens. Ah, come on! Some of that last one, about + scuppers, now."</p> + + <p>With a little more urgin', Rupert reads it to me. I should call him a good reader, too. Anyway, he can untie one + of them deep, boomin' voices, and with that long, serious face of his helpin' out the general effect—well, it's + kind of impressive. He spiels off two or three stickfuls and then stops.</p> + + <p>"Which way was you readin' that, backwards or forwards?" says I.</p> + + <p>Rupert begins to stiffen up, and I hurries on with the apology. "My mistake," says I. "I thought maybe you might + have got mixed at the start. No offense. But say, Cap'n, what's the big idea? What does it all mean?"</p> + + <p>In some ways Rupert is good-natured. He was then. He explains how in this brand of verse you don't try to tell a + story or anything like that. "I am merely giving my impressions,"<a class="pagenum" name="page_223" title="223" id= + "page_223"></a> says he. "That is all. Interpreting my own feelings, as it were."</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says I. "Then there's no goin' behind the returns. Who's to say you don't feel that way? I get you now. But + that ain't the kind of stuff you can wish onto the magazines, is it?"</p> + + <p>Which shows just how far behind the bass-drum I am. Rupert tells me the different places where he's unloaded his + pieces, most of 'em for real money. Also, I pumps out of him how he came to get into the game. Seems he'd been + roomin' down in old Greenwich Village; just happened to drift in among them long-haired men and short-haired girls. + It turns out that the book was a little enterprise that was being backed by Mrs. Mumford. Yes, it's that kind of a + book—so much down in advance to the Grafter Press. You know, Mrs. Mumford always did fall for Rupert, and after + she's read one of his sea spasms in a magazine she don't lose any time huntin' him out and renewin' their cruise + acquaintance. A real poet! Say, I can just see her playin' that up among her friends. And when she finds he's mixin' + in with all those dear, delightful Bohemians, she insists that Rupert tow her along too.<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_224" title="224" id="page_224"></a></p> + + <p>From then on it was a common thing for her and Rupert to go browsin' around among them garlic and red-ink joints, + defyin' ptomaines and learnin' to braid spaghetti on a fork. That was her idea of life. She hires an apartment right + off Washington Square and moves in from Montclair for the winter. She begun to have what she called her "salon + evenings," when she collected any kind of near-celebrity she could get.</p> + + <p>Mr. Vinton Bartley was generally one of the favored guests. I didn't need any second sight, either, to suspect + that Vinton was sort of crowdin' in on this little romance of Rupert's. And by eggin' Rupert along judicious I got + the whole tale.</p> + + <p>Seems it had been one of Mrs. Mumford's ambitions to spring Rupert on an unsuspectin' public. Her idea is to have + Rupert called on, some night at the Purple Pup, to step up to the head of the long table and give one of his sea + songs. She'd picked Vinton to do the callin'. And Vinton had balked.</p> + + <p>"But say," says I, "is this Vinton gent the only one of her friends that's got a voice? Why not pick another + announcer?"</p> + + <p>"I'm sure I don't know," says Rupert.<a class="pagenum" name="page_225" title="225" id="page_225"></a> + "She—she hasn't mentioned the subject recently."</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says I. "Too busy listenin' to the voice of the viper, eh?"</p> + + <p>Rupert nods and stares sad into his empty demi-tasse. And, say, when Rupert gets that way he's an appealin' + cuss.</p> + + <p>"See here, Rupert," says I; "if you got a call of that kind, would you come to the front and make a noise like a + real poet?"</p> + + <p>"Why," says he, "I suppose I ought to. It would help the sale of the book, and perhaps——"</p> + + <p>"One alibi is enough," I breaks in. "Now, another thing: How'd you like to have me stage-manage this début of + yours?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, would you?" says he, beamin'.</p> + + <p>"Providin' you'll follow directions," says I.</p> + + <p>"Why, certainly," says Rupert. "Any suggestions that you may make——"</p> + + <p>"Then we'll begin right now," says I. "You are to ditch that flossy floor-walker outfit of yours from this + on."</p> + + <p>"You mean," says Rupert, "that I am not to wear these clothes?"</p> + + <p>"Just that," says I. "When you get to givin' mornin' readin's at the Plaza for the benefit of the Red Cross, you + can dig 'em out<a class="pagenum" name="page_226" title="226" id="page_226"></a> again; but for the Purple Pup you + got to be costumed different. Who ever heard of a goulash poet in a braid-bound cutaway and spats? Say, it's a wonder + they let you live south of the Arch."</p> + + <p>"But—but what ought I to wear?" asks Rupert.</p> + + <p>"Foolish question!" says I. "Who are you, anyway? Answer: the Sailor Poet. There you are! Sea captain's togs for + you—double-breasted blue coat, baggy-kneed blue trousers, and a yachtin' cap."</p> + + <p>"Very well," says Rupert. "But about my being asked to read. Just how—— "</p> + + <p>"Leave it to me, Rupert," says I. "Leave everything to me."</p> + + <p>Which was a lot simpler than tellin' him I didn't know.</p> + + <p>You should have seen Vee's face when I tells her about Rupert's new line.</p> + + <p>"Captain Killam a poet!" says she. "Oh, really now, Torchy!"</p> + + <p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "He's done enough for a book. Read me some of it, too."</p> + + <p>"But—but what is it like?" asks Vee. "How does it sound?"</p> + + <p>"Why," says I, "it sounds batty to me—like a record made by a sailor who was simple<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_227" title="227" id="page_227"></a> in the head and talked a lot in his sleep. Course, I'm no judge. What's the + difference, though? Rupert wants to spout it in public."</p> + + <p>"But the people in the restaurant," protests Vee. "Suppose they should laugh, or do something worse?"</p> + + <p>"That's where Rupert is takin' a chance," says I. "Personally, I think he'll be lucky if they don't throw plates + at him. But we ain't underwritin' any accident policy; we're just bookin' him for a part he claims he can play. Are + you on?"</p> + + <p>Vee gets that eye twinkle of hers workin'. "I think it will be perfectly lovely. "</p> + + <p>I got to admit, too, that she's quite a help.</p> + + <p>"We must be sure Mrs. Mumford and that Bartley person are both there," says she. "And we ought to have as many of + Captain Killam's friends as possible. I'll tell you. Let's give a dinner-party."</p> + + <p>"Must we?" says I. "You know we ain't introducin' any London success. This is Rupert's first stab, remember."</p> + + <p>We set the date for the day the book was to be out, which gives Rupert an excuse for celebratin'. He'd invited + Mrs. Mumford and Vinton to be his guests, and they'd promised to be on hand. As for us, we'd rounded up<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_228" title="228" id="page_228"></a> Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins and J. Dudley Simms.</p> + + <p>Well, everybody showed up. And as it happens, it's one of the big nights at the Purple Pup. The long center table + is surrounded by a gay bunch of assorted artists who are bein' financed by an out-of-town buyer who seems to be + openin' Chianti reckless. We were over in one corner, as far away from the ukulele torturers as we could get, while + at the other end of the room is Rupert with his two. I thought he looked kind of pallid, but it might have been only + on account of the cigarette smoke.</p> + + <p>"Is it time yet, Torchy?" asks Mr. Robert, when we gets through to the striped ice cream and chicory essence.</p> + + <p>"Let's hold off," says I, "and see if someone else don't pull a curtain-raiser."</p> + + <p>Sure enough, they did. A bald-headed, red-faced old boy with a Liberty Bond button in his coat-lapel insists on + everybody's drinkin' to our boys at the front. Followin' that, someone leads a slim, big-eyed young female to the + piano and announces that she will do a couple of Serbian folk-songs. Maybe she did. I hope the Serbs forgive her.</p> + + <p>"If they can take that without squirmin',"<a class="pagenum" name="page_229" title="229" id="page_229"></a> says + I, "I guess they can stand for Rupert. Go on, Mr. Robert. Shoot."</p> + + <p>Course, he's no spellbinder, but he can say what he wants to in a few words and make himself heard. And then, + bein' in naval uniform helped.</p> + + <p>"I think we have with us to-night," says he, "Captain Rupert Killam, the sailor poet. I should like, if it pleases + the company, to ask Captain Killam to read for us some of his popular verses. Does anyone second the motion?"</p> + + <p>"Killam! Killam!" roars out the sporty wine-opener.</p> + + <p>Others took up the chorus, and in the midst of it I dashes over to drag Rupert from his chair if necessary.</p> + + <p>But I wasn't needed. As a matter of fact, he beat me to it. Before I could get half way to him, he is standin' at + the end of the long table, his eyes dropped modest, and a brand-new volume of "Sea Songs" held conspicuous over his + chest.</p> + + <p>"This is indeed an unexpected honor," says Rupert, lyin' fluent. "I am a plain sailor-man, as you know, but if you + insist——"</p> + + <p>And, before they could hedge, he has squared his shoulders, thrown his head well back, and<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_230" title="230" id="page_230"></a> has cut loose with that boomin' voice of his. Does he put it over? Say, + honest, I finds myself listenin' with my mouth open, just as though I understood every word. And the first thing I + know he's carryin' the house with him. Even some of the Hungarian waiters stopped to see what it's all about.</p> + + <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + <tr> + <td>Tides!</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>Little, rushing, hurrying tides</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>Along the sloping deck.</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>And the bobstay smashing the big blue deep,</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>While under my hand</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>The kicking tiller groans</td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td>Its oaken soul out in a gray despair.</td> + </tr> + </table> + + <p>That's part of it I copied down afterward. Yet that crowd just lapped it up.</p> + + <p>"Wow!" "Brava! Brava!" "What's the matter with Killam?" they yells. "More!"</p> + + <p>Rupert was flushin' clear up the back of his neck now. Also he was fumblin' with the book, hesitatin' what to give + 'em next, when I pushes in and begins pumpin' his hand.</p> + + <p>"Shall—shall I——" he starts to ask.</p> + + <p>"No, you boob," I whispers. "Quit while the quittin's good. You got 'em buffaloed, all right. Let it ride."</p> + + <p>And I fairly shoves him over to his table,<a class="pagenum" name="page_231" title="231" id="page_231"></a> where + Sister Mumford has already split out a new pair of gloves and is beamin' joyous, while Vinton is sittin' there with + his chin on his necktie, lookin' like someone had beaned him with a bung-starter.</p> + + <p>But we wasn't wise just how strong Rupert had scored until we saw the half page Whitey Weeks had gotten out of it + for the Sunday paper. "New Poet Captures Greenwich Village" is the top headline, and there's a three-column cut + showin' Rupert spoutin' his "Sea Songs" through the cigarette smoke. Also, I gather from a casual remark Rupert let + drop yesterday that the prospects of him and Mrs. Mumford enterin' the mixed doubles class soon are good. And, with + her ownin' a big retail coal business over in Jersey, I expect Rupert can go on writin' his pomes as free as he + likes.</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_232" title="232" id="page_232"></a> + <a name="FORSYTHE_AT_THE_FINISH_5832" id="FORSYTHE_AT_THE_FINISH_5832"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + <h3>FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH</h3> + </div> + + <p>I expect I wouldn't have noticed Forsythe particular if it hadn't been for Mrs. Robert. It takes all kinds, you + know, to make up a week-end house-party bunch; and in these days, when specimens of the razor-usin' sex are so + scarce—well, that's when half portions like this T. Forsythe Hurd get by as full orders.</p> + + <p>Besides, Mrs. Robert had meant well. Her idea was to make the Captain's 48-hour shore leave as gay and lively as + possible. She'd had a hard time roundin' up any of his friends, too. Hence Forsythe. One of these slim, fine-haired, + well manicured parlor Pomeranians, Forsythe is—the kind who raves over the sandwiches and whispers perfectly + killin' things to the ladies as he flits about at afternoon teas.</p> + + <p>We were up at the Ellinses', Vee and me, fillin' out at Saturday luncheon, when Mr. Robert drifts in, about an + hour behind schedule. You know, he's commandin' one of these coast patrol boats. Some of 'em are converted<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_233" title="233" id="page_233"></a> steam yachts, some are sea-goin' tugs, and then again some + are just old menhaden fish-boats painted gray with a few three-inch guns stuck around on 'em casual. And this last is + the sort of craft Mr. Robert had had wished on him.</p> + + <p>Seems there'd been some weather off the Hook for the last few days, and, with a fresh U-boat scare on, him and his + reformed glue barge had been havin' anything but a merry time. I don't know how the old fish-boat stood it, but Mr. + Robert showed that he'd been on more or less active service. He had a three days' growth of stubble on his face, his + navy uniform was wrinkled and brine-stained, and the knuckles on one hand were all barked up.</p> + + <p>"Why, Robert!" says young Mrs. Ellins, as she wriggles out of the clinch and gives him the once-over. "You're a + sight."</p> + + <p>"Sorry, my dear," says Mr. Robert; "but the beauty parlor on the <i>Narcissus</i> wasn't working when I left. But + if you can give me half an hour to—— "</p> + + <p>He got it. And when he shows up again in dry togs and with his face mowed he's almost fit to mingle with the + guests. It was about then that T. Forsythe was pullin' his star act at the salad bowl. Course, when you have<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_234" title="234" id="page_234"></a> only ordinary people around, you let the kitchen help do + such things. But when Forsythe is present he's asked to mix the salad dressin'.</p> + + <p>So there is Forsythe, wearin' a jade-green tie to match the color of the salad bowl, surrounded by cruets and + pepper grinders and paprika bottles, and manipulatin' his own special olivewood spoon and fork as dainty and graceful + as if he was conductin' an orchestra.</p> + + <p>"Oh, I say, Jevons," says he, signalin' the Ellinses' butler, "have someone conduct a clove of garlic to the back + veranda, slice it, and gently rub it on a crust of fresh bread. Then bring me the bread. And do you mind very much, + Mrs. Ellins, if I have those Papa Gontier roses removed? They clash with an otherwise perfect color scheme, and + you've no idea how sensitive I am to such jarring notes. Besides, their perfume is so beastly obtrusive. At times + I've been made quite ill by them. Really."</p> + + <p>"Take them away, Jevons," says Mr. Robert, smotherin' a sarcastic smile.</p> + + <p>"Huh!" grumbles Mr. Robert. "What a rotter you are, Forsythe. If I could only get you aboard the <i>Narcissus</i> + for a ten-day cruise! I'd introduce you to perfumes, the sort you<a class="pagenum" name="page_235" title="235" id= + "page_235"></a> could lean up against. You know, when a boat has carried mature fish for—— "</p> + + <p>"Please, Bob!" protests Forsythe. "We admit you're a hero, and that you've been saving the country, but don't + let's have the disgusting details; at least, not when the salad dressing is at its most critical stage."</p> + + <p>Havin' said which, Forsythe proceeds to finish what was for him a hard day's work.</p> + + <p>Discussin' his likes and dislikes was Forsythe's strong hold, and, if you could believe him, he had more finicky + notions than a sanatorium full of nervous wrecks. He positively couldn't bear the sight of this, the touch of that, + and the sound of the other thing. The rustle of a newspaper made him so fidgety he could hardly sit still. The smell + of boiled cabbage made him faint. Someone had sent him a plaid necktie for Christmas. He had ordered his man to pick + it up with the fire-tongs and throw it in the ash-can. Things like that.</p> + + <p>All through luncheon we listened while Forsythe described the awful agonies he'd gone through. We had to listen. + You can guess what a joy it was. And, all the time, I could watch Mr. Robert gettin' sorer and sorer.<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_236" title="236" id="page_236"></a></p> + + <p>"Entertainin' party, eh?" I remarks on the side, as we escapes from the dinin'-room.</p> + + <p>"Forsythe," says Mr. Robert, "is one of those persons you're always wanting to kick and never do. I could + generally avoid him at the club, but here—— "</p> + + <p>Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. Then he adds:</p> + + <p>"I say, Torchy, you have clever ideas now and then."</p> + + <p>"Who, me?" says I. "Someone's been kiddin' you."</p> + + <p>"Perhaps," says he; "but if anything should occur to you that might help toward putting Forsythe in a position + where real work and genuine discomfort couldn't be dodged—well, I should be deeply grateful."</p> + + <p>"What a cruel thought!" says I. "Still, if a miracle like that could be pulled, it would be entertainin' to watch. + Eh?"</p> + + <p>"Especially if it had to do with handling cold, slippery things," chuckles Mr. Robert, "like iced eels or + pickles."</p> + + <p>Then we both grins. I was tryin' to picture Forsythe servin' a sentence as helper in a fish market or assistant + stirrer in a soap fact'ry. Not that anything like that could happen through me. Who was I to interfere<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_237" title="237" id="page_237"></a> with a brilliant drawin'-room performer like him? Honest, + with Forsythe scintillatin' around, I felt like a Bolsheviki of the third class. And yet, the longer I watched him, + the more I mulled over that hint Mr. Robert had thrown out.</p> + + <p>I was still wonderin' if I was all hollow above the eyes, when our placid afternoon gatherin' is busted complete + by a big cream-colored limousine rollin' through the porte-cochère and a new arrival breezin' in. From the way Jevons + swells his chest out as he helps her shed the mink-lined motor coat, I guessed she must be somebody important.</p> + + <p>"Why, it's Miss Gorman!" whispers Vee.</p> + + <p>"Not <i>the</i> Miss Gorman—Miss Jane?" I says.</p> + + <p>Vee nods, and I stretches my neck out another kink. Who wouldn't? Not just because she's a society head-liner, or + the richest old maid in the country, but because she's such a wonder at gettin' things done. You know, I + expect—Red Cross work, suffrage campaignin', Polish relief. Say, I'll bet if she could be turned loose in + Mexico or Russia for a couple of months, she'd have things runnin' as smooth as a directors' meetin' of the Standard + Oil.</p> + + <p>Look at the things she's put through, since the war started, just by crashin' right in and<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_238" title="238" id="page_238"></a> stayin' on the job. They say she keeps four secretaries with their + suitcases packed, ready to jump into their travelin' clothes and slide down the pole when she pushes the buzzer + button.</p> + + <p>And now she's makin' straight for Mr. Robert.</p> + + <p>"What luck!" says she. "I wasn't at all sure of finding you. How much leave have you? Only until Monday morning? + Oh, you overworked naval officers! But you must find some men for me, Robert; two, at least. I need them at + once."</p> + + <p>"Might I ask, Miss Jane," says he, "if any particular qualifications are—— "</p> + + <p>"What I would like," breaks in Miss Gorman, "would be two active, intelligent young men with some initiative and + executive ability. You see, I am giving a going away dinner for some soldiers of the Rainbow Division who are about + to be sent to the transports. It's an official secret, of course. No one is supposed to know that they are going to + sail soon, but everyone does know. None of their friends or relatives are to be allowed to be there to wish them + God-speed or anything like that, and they need cheering up just now. So I arrange one of these dinners when I can. My + plans<a class="pagenum" name="page_239" title="239" id="page_239"></a> for this one, however, have been terribly + rushed."</p> + + <p>"I see," says Mr. Robert. "And it's perfectly bully of you, Miss Jane. Splendid! I suppose there'll be a hundred + or so."</p> + + <p>"Six eighty," says she, never battin' an eye. "We are not including the officers—only privates. And we don't + want one of them to lift a finger for it. They've had enough fatigue duty. This time they're to be + guests—honored guests. I have permission from the Brigadier in command. We are to have one of the mess halls + for a whole day. The chef and waiters have been engaged, too. And an orchestra. But there'll be so many to + manage—the telling of who to go where, and seeing that the entertainers don't get lost, and that the little + dinner favors are put around, and all those details. So I must have help."</p> + + <p>I could see Mr. Robert rollin' his eyes around for me, so I steps up. Just from hearin' her talk a couple of + minutes I'd caught the fever. That's a way she has, I understand. So the next thing I knew I'd been patted on the + shoulder and taken on as a volunteer.</p> + + <p>"Precisely the sort of assistant I was hoping for," says Miss Gorman. "I can tell by his hair. I know just what I + shall ask him to<a class="pagenum" name="page_240" title="240" id="page_240"></a> do. But there'll be so much more; + decorating the tables, and——"</p> + + <p>Here I nudges Mr. Robert. "How about Forsythe?" I suggests.</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says he. "Why—why—— By Jove, though! Why not? Oh, I say, Forsythe! Just a moment."</p> + + <p>Maybe the same thought struck him as had come to me, which is that helpin' Miss Jane give a blowout to near seven + hundred soldiers wouldn't be any rest-cure stunt. She's rated at about ninety horse-power herself, when she's speeded + up, and anybody that happens to be on her staff has got to keep movin' in high. They'd have to be ready to tackle + anything that turned up, too.</p> + + <p>But, to hear Mr. Robert explain it to Forsythe, you'd think it was just that his fame as an arranger of floral + center-pieces had spread until Miss Gorman has decided nobody else would do.</p> + + <p>"Although, heaven knows, I never suspected you could be really useful, Forsythe, " says Mr. Robert. "But if Miss + Jane thinks you'd be a help——"</p> + + <p>"Oh, I am sure Mr. Hurd would be the very one," puts in Miss Gorman.</p> + + <p>"At last!" says Forsythe, strikin' a pose.<a class="pagenum" name="page_241" title="241" id="page_241"></a> "My + virtues are about to be discovered. I shall be delighted to assist you, Miss Gorman, in any way."</p> + + <p>"Tut, tut, Forsythe!" says Mr. Robert. "Don't be too reckless. Miss Jane might take you at your word."</p> + + <p>"Go on. Slander me," says Forsythe. "Say that, when enlisted in a noble cause, I am a miserable shirker."</p> + + <p>"Indeed, I shouldn't believe a word of it, even if I had time to listen to him," declares Miss Jane. "And I must + be at the camp within an hour. I shall need one of you young men now. Let me see. Suppose I take this + one—Torchy, isn't it? Get your coat. I'll not promise to have you back for dinner, but I'll try. Thank you so + much, Robert."</p> + + <p>And then it was a case of goin' on from there. Whew! I've sort of had the notion now and then, when I've been + operatin' with Old Hickory Ellins at the Corrugated Trust on busy days, that I was some rapid private sec. But say, + havin' followed Miss Jane Gorman through them dinner preliminaries, I know better.</p> + + <p>While that French chauffeur of hers is rollin' us down Long Island at from forty to fifty miles per hour, she has + her note-book out and<a class="pagenum" name="page_242" title="242" id="page_242"></a> is pumpin' me full of things + I'm expected to remember—what train the chef's gang is comin' on, how the supplies are to be carted over, who + to see about knockin' up a stage for the cabaret talent, and where the buntin' has been ordered. I borrows a pad and + pencil, and wishes I knew shorthand.</p> + + <p>By the time we lands at the camp, though, I have a fair idea of the job she's tackled; and while she's havin' an + interview with the C. O. I starts explorin' the scene of the banquet. First off I finds that the mess-hall seats less + than five hundred, the way they got the tables fixed; that there's no room for a stage without breakin' through one + end and tackin' it on; and that the camp cooks will have the range ovens full of bread and the tops covered with + oatmeal in double boilers as usual. Outside of that and a few other things, the arrangements was lovely.</p> + + <p>Miss Jane ain't a bit disturbed when I makes my report.</p> + + <p>"There!" says she. "Didn't I say you were just the assistant I needed? Now, please tell all those things to the + Brigadier. He will know exactly what to do. Then you'd best be out here early Monday morning to see that they're done + properly. And I think, Torchy, I shall<a class="pagenum" name="page_243" title="243" id="page_243"></a> make you my + general manager for this occasion. Yes, I'll do it. Everyone will report first to you, and you will tell them exactly + where to go and what to do."</p> + + <p>"You—you mean," says I, gaspin' a bit, "all the hired help?"</p> + + <p>"And the volunteers too," says Miss Jane. "Everyone."</p> + + <p>Maybe I grinned. I didn't know just how it was goin' to work out, but I could feel something comin'. Forsythe was + goin' to get his. He stood to get it good, too. Not all on account of what I owed Mr. Robert for the friendly turns + he'd done me. Some of it would be on my own hook, to pay up for the yawny half hours I'd had to sit through listenin' + while Forsythe discoursed about himself. You should have seen the satisfied look on Mr. Robert's face when I hinted + how Forsythe might be in line for new sensations.</p> + + <p>"If I could only be there to watch!" says he. "You must tell me all about it afterwards. They'll enjoy hearing of + it at the club."</p> + + <p>But, at that, Forsythe wasn't the one to walk right into trouble. He's a shifty party, and he ain't been duckin' + work all these years without gettin' expert at it. Accordin' to<a class="pagenum" name="page_244" title="244" id= + "page_244"></a> schedule he was to show up at the camp about nine-thirty Monday morning; but it's nearer noon when he + rolls up in his car. And I don't hesitate a bit about givin' him the call.</p> + + <p>"You know it's this week, not next," says I, "that this dinner is comin' off. And there's four bolts of buntin' + waitin' to be hung up."</p> + + <p>"Quite so," says Forsythe. "We must get to work right away."</p> + + <p>I had to chase down to the station again then, to see that the chef's outfit was bein' loaded on the trucks; but I + was cheered up by the thought of Forsythe balanced on top of a tall step-ladder with his mouth full of tacks and his + collar gettin' wilty.</p> + + <p>It's near an hour before I gets back, though. Do I find Forsythe in his shirt-sleeves climbin' around on the + rafters? I do not. He's sittin' comfortable in a camp-chair on a fur motor robe, smokin' a cigarette calm, and + surrounded by half a dozen classy young ladies that he's rounded up by 'phone from the nearest country club. The + girls and three or four chauffeurs are doin' the work, while Forsythe is doin' the heavy directin'.</p> + + <p>He'd sketched out his decoratin' scheme on the back of an envelop, and now he was tellin' 'em how to carry it out. + The worst of it is,<a class="pagenum" name="page_245" title="245" id="page_245"></a> too, that he's gettin' some + stunnin' effects and is bein' congratulated enthusiastic by the girls.</p> + + <p>It's the same way with fixin' up the tables with ferns and flowers. Forsythe plans it out with a pencil, and his + crew do the hustlin' around.</p> + + <p>Course, I had to let it ride. Besides, there was a dozen other things for me to look after. But I'm good at a + waitin' game. I kept my eye on Forsythe, to see that he didn't slip away. He was still there at two-thirty, havin' + organized a picnic luncheon with the young ladies, when Miss Jane blew in. And blamed if she don't fall for + Forsythe's stuff, too.</p> + + <p>"Why, you've done wonders, Mr. Hurd," says she. "What a versatile genius you are? "</p> + + <p>"Oh, that!" says he, wavin' a sandwich careless. "But it's an inspiration to be doing anything at all for you, + Miss Gorman."</p> + + <p>And here he hasn't so much as shed his overcoat.</p> + + <p>It must have been half an hour later when Sig. Zaretti, the head chef, comes huntin' me out with a desperate look + in his eyes. I was consultin' Miss Jane about borrowin' a piano from the Y. M. C. A. tent, but he kicks right in.</p> + + <p>"Ah, I am distract," says he, puffin' out his cheeks. "Eet—eet ees too mooch!"<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_246" title="246" id="page_246"></a></p> + + <p>"Go on," says I. "Shoot the tragedy. What's too much?"</p> + + <p>"That Pedro and that Salvatore," says he. "They have become lost, the worthless ones. They disappear on me. And in + three hours I am to serve, in this crude place, a dinner of six courses to seven hundred men. They abandon me at such + a time, with so much to be done."</p> + + <p>"Well, that's up to you," says I. "Can't some of your crowd double in brass? What about workin' in some of your + waiters?"</p> + + <p>"But they are all employed," says Zaretti. "Besides, the union does not permit. If you could assist me with two + men, even one. I implore."</p> + + <p>"There ain't a cook in sight," says I. "Sorry, but——"</p> + + <p>"Eet ees not for cook," he protests. "No; only to help make the peel from those so many potatoes. One who could + make the peel. Please!"</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says I. "Peelin' potatoes! Why, 'most anybody could help out at that, I guess. I would myself + if——"</p> + + <p>"No," breaks in Miss Jane. "You cannot be spared. And I'm sure I don't know who could."<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_247" title="247" id="page_247"></a></p> + + <p>"Unless," I puts in, "Mr. Hurd is all through with his decoratin'."</p> + + <p>"Why, to be sure," says she. "Just tell him, will you?"</p> + + <p>"Suppose I send him over to you, Miss Gorman," says I, "while I hustle along that piano?"</p> + + <p>She nods, and I lose no time trailin' down Forsythe.</p> + + <p>"Emergency call for you from Miss Jane," says I, edgin' in among his admirers and tappin' him on the shoulder. + "She's waitin' over by headquarters."</p> + + <p>"Oh, certainly," says Forsythe, startin' off brisk.</p> + + <p>"And say," I calls after him, "I hope it won't be anything that'll make you faint."</p> + + <p>"Please don't worry about me," says he.</p> + + <p>Well, I tried not to. In fact, I tried so hard that some folks might have thought I'd heard good news from home. + But I'd had a peek or two into the camp kitchen since Zaretti's food construction squad had moved in, and, believe + me, it was no place for an artistic temperament, subject to creeps up the back. There was about a ton of cold-storage + turkeys bein' unpacked, bushels of onions goin' through the shuckin' process, buckets of soup stock standin'<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_248" title="248" id="page_248"></a> around, and half a dozen murderous-lookin' assistant chefs + was sharpenin' long knives and jabberin' excited in four languages.</p> + + <p>Oh, yes; Forsythe was goin' to need all the inspiration he'd collected, if he lasted through.</p> + + <p>I kind of wanted to stick around and cheer him up with friendly words while he was fishin' potatoes out of the + cold water and learnin' to use a peelin'-knife, but my job wouldn't let me. After I'd seen the piano landed on the + new stage, there were chairs to be placed for the orchestra, and then other things. So it was some little time before + I got around to the kitchen wing again, pretendin' to be lookin' for Zaretti. But nowhere in that steamin', hustlin', + garlic-smellin' bunch could I see Forsythe.</p> + + <p>"Hey, chef!" I sings out. "Where's that expert potato-peeler I sent you?"</p> + + <p>"Ah!" says he, rubbin' his hands enthusiastic. "The signor with the yellow gloves? In the tent there you will find + heem."</p> + + <p>So I steps over to the door of a sort of canvas annex and peers in. And say, it was a rude shock. Forsythe is + there, all right. He's snuggled up cozy next to an oil heater, holdin' a watch in one hand and a cigarette in the + other, while around him is grouped his faithful<a class="pagenum" name="page_249" title="249" id="page_249"></a> + fluff body-guard, each with a pan in her lap and the potato-peelin's comin' off rapid. Forsythe? Oh, he seems to be + speedin' 'em up and keepin' tally.</p> + + <p>I'd just let out my second gasp when I feels somebody at my elbow, and glances round to find it's Miss Jane.</p> + + <p>"Look!" says I, indicatin' Forsythe and his busy bees.</p> + + <p>"What a picture!" says Miss Jane.</p> + + <p>"Yes," says I, "illustratin' the manly art of lettin' the women do it."</p> + + <p>Miss Jane laughs easy.</p> + + <p>"It has been that way for ages," says she. "Mr. Hurd is only running true to type. But see! The potatoes are + nearly all peeled and our dinner is going to be served on time. What splendid assistants you've both been!"</p> + + <p>At that, though, if there'd been a medal to be passed out, I guess it would have been pinned on Forsythe.</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_250" title="250" id="page_250"></a> + <a name="THE_HOUSE_OF_TORCHY_6269" id="THE_HOUSE_OF_TORCHY_6269"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + <h3>THE HOUSE OF TORCHY</h3> + </div> + + <p>This trip it was a matter of tanks. No, not the ice-water variety, or the kind that absorbs high-balls. Army + tanks—the sort that wallows out at daybreak and gives the Hun that chilly feelin' down his spine.</p> + + <p>Accordin' to my credentials, I was supposed to be inspectin' 'em for weak spots in the armor or punk work on the + gears. And I can tell you now, on the side, that it was 90 per cent. bluff. What the Ordnance Department really + wanted to know was whether the work was bein' speeded up proper, how many men on the shifts, and was the steel comin' + through from the rollin' mills all right. Get me? Sleuth stuff.</p> + + <p>I'd been knockin' around there for four days, bein' towed about by the reserve major, who had a face on him like a + stuffed owl, a nut full of decimal fractions, and a rubber-stamp mind. Oh, he was on the job, all right. So was + everybody else in sight. I could see<a class="pagenum" name="page_251" title="251" id="page_251"></a> that after the + first day. In fact, I coded in my O. K. the second noon and was plannin' to slip back home.</p> + + <p>But when I hinted as much to the Major he nearly threw a cat-fit. Why, he'd arranged a demonstration at 10 + <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> Thursday, for my special benefit. And there were the tests—horse-power, + gun-ranges, resistance, and I don't know what all; technical junk that I savvied about as much as if he'd been tryin' + to show me how to play the Chinese alphabet on a piccolo.</p> + + <p>Course, I couldn't tell him that, nor I didn't want to break his heart by refusin'. So I agrees to stick around a + while longer. But say, I never enjoyed such a poor time doin' it. For there was just one spot on the map where I was + anxious to be for the next few days. That was at home. It was one of the times when I ought to be there too, + for—— Well, I'll get to that later.</p> + + <p>Besides, this fact'ry joint where they were buildin' the tanks wasn't any allurin' spot. I can't advertise just + where it was, either; the government wouldn't like it. But if there's any part of Connecticut that's less interestin' + to loaf around in, I never got stranded there. You run a spur track out into the bare hills<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_252" title="252" id="page_252"></a> for fifteen miles from nowhere, slap up a row of cement barracks, and a few + acres of machine shops, string a ten-foot barbed-wire fence around the plant, drape the whole outfit in soft-coal + smoke, and you ain't got any Garden of Eden winter resort. Specially when it's full of low-brow mechanics who speak + in seven different lingos and subsist mainly on cut plug and garlic.</p> + + <p>After I'd checked up all the dope I'd come for, and durin' the times when the Major was out plannin' more + inspection stunts for me, I was left to drill around by myself. Hours and hours. And all there was to read in the + Major's office was engineerin' magazines and the hist'ry of Essex County, Mass. Havin' been fed up on mechanics, I + tackled the hist'ry. One chapter had a corkin' good Indian scalpin' story in it, about a Mrs. Hannah Dustin; and say, + as a short-order hair remover she was a lady champ, all right. But the rest of the book wasn't so thrillin'.</p> + + <p>So I tried chattin' with the Major's secretary, a Lieutenant Barnes. The Major must have picked him out on account + of that serious face of his. First off, I had an idea Barnes was sad just because he was detailed at this soggy place + instead of bein' sent to France.<a class="pagenum" name="page_253" title="253" id="page_253"></a> I asks him sort of + sympathizin' how long he's been here. He says three months.</p> + + <p>"In this hole?" says I. "How do you keep from goin' bug-house?"</p> + + <p>"I don't mind it," says he. "I find the work quite interesting."</p> + + <p>"But evenin's?" I suggests.</p> + + <p>"I write to my wife," says he.</p> + + <p>I wanted to ask him what about, but I choked it back. "Oh, yes," says I. "Of course. Any youngsters at home!"</p> + + <p>"No," says he prompt. "Life is complicated enough without children."</p> + + <p>"Oh, I don't know," says I. "They'd sort of help, I should think."</p> + + <p>He shakes his head and glares gloomy out of the window. "I cannot agree with you, " says he. "Perhaps you have + never seriously considered just what it means to be a parent."</p> + + <p>"Maybe not," says I, "but——"</p> + + <p>"Few seem to do so," he breaks in. "Just think: one begins by putting two lives in jeopardy."</p> + + <p>"Let's pass over that," I says hasty.</p> + + <p>He sighs. "If we only could," says he. "And then—— Well, there you are—saddled with the task of + caring for another human being, of keeping him in good health, of molding<a class="pagenum" name="page_254" title= + "254" id="page_254"></a> his character, of planning and directing his whole career, from boyhood on."</p> + + <p>"Some are girls, though," I suggests.</p> + + <p>He shudders. "So much the worse," says he. "Girl babies are such delicate creatures; all babies are, in fact. Do + you know the average rate of infant mortality in this country? Just think of the hundreds of thousands who do not + survive the teething period. Imagine the anxieties, the sleepless nights, the sad little tragedies which come to so + many homes. Then the epidemic diseases—measles, scarlet fever, meningitis. Let them survive all those, and what + has the parent to face but the battle with other plagues, mental and moral? Think of the number of weak-minded + children there are in the world; of perverts, criminally inclined. It is staggering. But if you escape all that, if + your children are well and normal, as some are, then you must consider this: Suppose anything should happen to either + or both of the parents? What of the little boy or girl? You have seen orphan asylums, I suppose. Have you ever + stopped to——"</p> + + <p>And then, just as he had me feelin' like I ought to be led out and shot at sunrise, the old Major comes bustlin' + in fussy. I could have fallen on his neck.<a class="pagenum" name="page_255" title="255" id="page_255"></a></p> + + <p>"All ready!" says he. "Now I'll show you a fighting machine, young man, that is the last word in mechanical + genius."</p> + + <p>"You can show me anything, Major," says I, "so long as it ain't a morgue or a State's prison."</p> + + <p>And he sure had some boiler-plate bus out there champin' at the bit. It looked just as frisky as the Flatiron + Buildin', squattin' in the middle of the field, this young Fort Slocum with the caterpillar wheels sunk in the + mud.</p> + + <p>"Stuck, ain't she?" I asked the Major.</p> + + <p>"We shall see," says he, noddin' to one of his staff, who proceeds to do a semaphore act with his arms.</p> + + <p>An answerin' snort comes from inside the thing, a purry sort of rumble that grows bigger and bigger, and next I + knew, it starts wallowin' right at us. It keeps comin' and comin', gettin' up speed all the while, and if there + hadn't been a four-foot stone wall between us I'd been lookin' for a tall tree. I thought it would turn when it came + to the wall. But it don't. It gives a lurch, like a cow playin' leap-frog, and over she comes, still pointed our + way.</p> + + <p>"Hey, Major!" I calls out above the roar.<a class="pagenum" name="page_256" title="256" id="page_256"></a> "Can + they see where they're goin' in there? Hadn't we better give 'em room?"</p> + + <p>"Don't move, please," says he.</p> + + <p>"Just as you say," says I; "only I ain't strong for bein' rolled into pie-crust. "</p> + + <p>"There's no danger," says he. "I merely wish you to see how—— There! Look!"</p> + + <p>And say, within twenty feet of us the blamed thing rears up on its haunches, its ugly nose high as a house above + us, and, while I'm still holdin' my breath, it pivots on its tail and lumbers back, leavin' a path that looks like it + had been paved with Belgian blocks.</p> + + <p>Course, that's only part of the performance. We watched it wallow into deep ditches and out, splash through a + brook, and mow down trees more'n a foot thick. And all the time the crew were pokin' out wicked-lookin' guns, big and + little, that swung round and hunted us out like so many murderous eyes.</p> + + <p>"Cute little beast, ain't it?" says I. "You got it trained so it'll almost do a waltz. If I was to pick my + position, though, I think I'd rather be on the inside lookin' out."</p> + + <p>"Very well," says the Major. "You shall have a ride in it."</p> + + <p>"Excuse me," says I. "I was only foolin'. Honest, Major, I ain't yearnin'."<a class="pagenum" name="page_257" + title="257" id="page_257"></a></p> + + <p>"Telegram for you," breaks in Barnes, the secretary.</p> + + <p>"Oh!" says I, a bit gaspy, as I rips open the envelop.</p> + + <p>It's the one I'd been espectin'. All it says is: "Come at once. <span class="smcap">Vee</span> ." But I knew what + that meant.</p> + + <p>"Sorry, Major," says I, "but I'll have to pass up the rest of the show. I—I'm called back."</p> + + <p>"Ah! To headquarters?" says he.</p> + + <p>"No," says I. "Home."</p> + + <p>He shakes his head and frowns. "That is a word which no officer is supposed to have in his vocabulary," says + he.</p> + + <p>"It's in mine, all right," says I. "But then, I'm not much of an army officer, anyway. I'm mostly a camouflaged + private sec. Besides, this ain't any ordinary call. It's a domestic S. O. S. that I've been sort of lookin' for."</p> + + <p>"I understand," says he. "The—the first?"</p> + + <p>I nods. Then I asks: "What's the quickest way across to Long Island?"</p> + + <p>"There isn't any quick way," says he, "unless you have wings. You can't even catch the branch line local that + connects with the<a class="pagenum" name="page_258" title="258" id="page_258"></a> New York express now. There'll be + one down at 8:36 to-morrow morning, though."</p> + + <p>"Wha-a-at!" says I, gawpin' at him. "How about gettin' a machine and shootin' down to the junction?"</p> + + <p>"My car is the only one here," says he, "and that is out of commission to-day—valves being ground."</p> + + <p>"But look," says I; "you got three or four of those motor-cycles with a bath-tub tacked on the side. Couldn't you + let one of your sergeants——"</p> + + <p>"Strictly against orders," says he, "except for military purposes."</p> + + <p>"Ah, stretch it, Major," I goes on. "Have a heart. Just think! I want to get there to-night. Got to!"</p> + + <p>"Impossible," says he.</p> + + <p>"But listen——" I keeps on.</p> + + <p>Well, it's no use rehearsin' the swell arguments I put up. I said he had a rubber-stamp mind, didn't I? And I made + about as much headway talkin' to him as I would if I'd been assaultin' that tank with a tack-hammer. He couldn't see + any difference between havin' charge of a string of machine shops in Connecticut and commandin' a regiment in the + front-line trenches. Besides, he didn't approve<a class="pagenum" name="page_259" title="259" id="page_259"></a> of + junior officers bein' married. Not durin' war-time, anyway.</p> + + <p>And the worst of it was, I couldn't tell him just the particular kind of ossified old pinhead I thought he was. + All I could do was grind my teeth, say "Yes, sir," and salute respectful.</p> + + <p>Also there was that undertaker-faced secretary standin' by with his ear out. The prospect of sittin' around + watchin' him for the rest of the day wasn't fascinatin'. No; I'd had about all of Barnes I could stand. A few more of + his cheerin' observations, and I'd want to jam his head into his typewriter and then tread on the keys. Nor I wasn't + goin' to be fed on any more cog-wheel statistics by the Major, either.</p> + + <p>All I could keep on my mind then was this one thing: How could I get home? Looked like I was up against it, too. + The nearest town was twelve miles off, and the main-line junction was some thirty-odd miles beyond that. Too far for + an afternoon hike. But I couldn't just sit around and wait, or pace up and down inside the barbed-wire fence like an + enemy alien that had been pastured out. So I wanders through the gate and down a road. I didn't know where it led, or + care. Maybe I<a class="pagenum" name="page_260" title="260" id="page_260"></a> had a vague idea a car would come + along. But none did.</p> + + <p>I must have been trampin' near an hour, with my chin down and my fists jammed into my overcoat pockets, when I + catches a glimpse, out of the tail of my eye, of something yellow dodgin' behind a clump of cedars at one side of the + road. First off I thought it might be a cow, as there was a farm-house a little ways ahead. Then it struck me no cow + would move as quick as that, or have such a bright yellow hide. So I turns and makes straight for the cedars.</p> + + <p>It was a thick, bushy clump. I climbed the stone wall and walked all the way round. Nothin' in sight. Seemed as if + I could see branches movin' in there, though, and hear a sound like heavy breathin'. Course, it might be a deer, or a + fox. Then I remembered I had half a bag of peanuts somewhere about me. Maybe I could toll the thing out with 'em. I + was just fishin' in my pockets when from the middle of the cedars comes this disgusted protest.</p> + + <p>"Oh, I say, old man," says a voice. "No shooting, please."</p> + + <p>And with that out steps a clean-cut, cheerful-faced young gent in a leather coat, goggled<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_261" title="261" id="page_261"></a> helmet, and spiral puttees. No wonder I stood starin'. Not that I hadn't + seen plenty like him before, but I didn't know the woods was so full of 'em.</p> + + <p>"You were out looking for me, I suppose?" he goes on.</p> + + <p>"Depends on who you are," says I.</p> + + <p>"Oh, we might as well come down to cases," says he. "I'm the enemy."</p> + + <p>"You don't look it," says I, grinnin'.</p> + + <p>He shrugs his shoulders.</p> + + <p>"Fact, old man," says he. "I'm the one you were sent to watch for—Lieutenant Donald Allen, 26th Flying Corps + Division, Squadron B."</p> + + <p>"Pleased to meet you," says I.</p> + + <p>"No doubt," says he. "Have a cigarette?" We lights up from the same match. "But say," he adds, "it was just a + piece of tough luck, your catching me in this fix. "</p> + + <p>"Oh, I ain't so sure," says I.</p> + + <p>"Of course," he says, "it won't go with the C. O. But really, now, what are you going to do when your observer + insists that he's dying? I couldn't tell. Perhaps he was. Right in the middle of a perfect flight, too, the chump! + Motor working sweet, air as smooth as silk, and no cross currents to speak of. But,<a class="pagenum" name="page_262" + title="262" id="page_262"></a> with him howling about this awful pain in his tummy, what else could I do? Had to come + down and—— Well, here we are. I'm behind the lines, I suppose, and you'll report my surrender."</p> + + <p>"Then what?" I asks.</p> + + <p>"Oh," says Allen, "as soon as I persuade this trolley-car aviator, Martin, that he isn't dead, I shall load him + into the old bus and cart him back to Mineola."</p> + + <p>"Wha-a-t!" says I. "You—you're goin' back to Mineola—to-night?"</p> + + <p>"If Martin can forget his tummy," says he. "How I'll be guyed! Go to the foot of the eligible list too, and + probably miss out on being sent over with my division. Oh, well!"</p> + + <p>I was beginning to dope out the mystery. More'n that, I had my fingers on the tail feathers of a hunch.</p> + + <p>"Why not leave Martin here?" I suggests. "Couldn't you show up in time?"</p> + + <p>"It wouldn't count," says the Lieutenant. "You must have an observer all the way. "</p> + + <p>"How about me subbin' in?" says I.</p> + + <p>"You?" says he. "Why, you're on the other side."</p> + + <p>"That's where you're mixed," says I. "I'm<a class="pagenum" name="page_263" title="263" id="page_263"></a> on the + wrong side of Long Island Sound, that's all."</p> + + <p>"Why," says he, "weren't you sent out to——"</p> + + <p>"No," I breaks in; "I'm no spotter. I'm on special detail from the Ordnance Department. And a mighty punk detail + at that, if you ask me. The party who's sleuthin' for you, I expect, is the one I saw back at the plant, moonin' + around with a pair of field glasses strapped to him. You ain't captured yet; not by me, anyway."</p> + + <p>"Honest?" says he. "Why, then—then——"</p> + + <p>"Uh-huh!" says I. "And if you can make it back to Mineola with a perfectly good passenger in the extra seat you'll + qualify for scout work and most likely be over pluggin' Huns within a month or so. That won't tickle you a bit more'n + it will me to get to Long Island to-night, for——"</p> + + <p>Well, then I tells him about Vee, and everything.</p> + + <p>"By George!" says he. "You're all right, Lieutenant—er——"</p> + + <p>"Ah, between friends, Donald," says I, "it's Torchy."</p> + + <p>At which we links arms chummy and goes marchin' close order down to the farm-house <a class="pagenum" name= + "page_264" title="264" id="page_264"></a> to see how this Martin party was gettin' on. We finds him rolled up in + quilts on an old sofa that the folks had shoved up in front of the stove—a slim, nervous-lookin' young gink + with sandy hair and a peaked nose.</p> + + <p>"Well, how about you?" asks Allen.</p> + + <p>Martin he only moans and reaches for a warm flat-iron that he'd been holdin' against his stomach.</p> + + <p>"Still dying, eh?" says Allen. "Why didn't you report sick this morning, instead of letting them send you up with + me?"</p> + + <p>"I—I was all right then," whines Martin. "It—it must have been the altitude got me. I—I'd never + been that high before, you know."</p> + + <p>"Bah!" says the Lieutenant. "Not over thirty-five hundred at any time. How do you expect me to take you + back—on the hundred-foot level? You'll make a fine observer, you will!"</p> + + <p>"I've had enough observing," says Martin. "I—I'm going to get transferred to the mechanical department."</p> + + <p>"Oh, are you?" says Allen. "Then you'll be just as satisfied to make the trip back by rail."</p> + + <p>Martin nods.<a class="pagenum" name="page_265" title="265" id="page_265"></a></p> + + <p>"And you won't be needing your helmet and things, eh?" goes on the Lieutenant. "I'll take those along, then," and + he winks at me.</p> + + <p>All of a sudden, though, the sparkles fade out of his eyes. "Jinxed again!" says he. "There'd be no blessed map to + hand in."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I. "Map of what!"</p> + + <p>He explains jerky. This scoutin' stunt of his was to locate the tank works and get close enough for an observer to + draw a plan of it—all of which he'd done, only by then Martin had got past the drawin' stage.</p> + + <p>"So it's no use going back to-night."</p> + + <p>"Ain't it?" says I. "Say, if a map of that smoky hole is all you need, I guess I can produce that easy + enough."</p> + + <p>"Can you?" he asks.</p> + + <p>"Why not?" says I. "Ain't I been cooped up there for nearly a week? I can put in a bird's-eye view of the Major in + command; one of his secretary, too, if you like. Gimme some paper."</p> + + <p>And inside of five minutes I'd sketched out a diagram of the buildin's and the whole outfit. Then we poked Martin + up long enough for him to sign it.</p> + + <p>"Fine work!" says Donald. "That earns<a class="pagenum" name="page_266" title="266" id="page_266"></a> you a hop, + all right. Now buckle yourself into that cloud costume and I'll show you how a 110-horse-power crow would go from + here to the middle of Long Island if he was in a hurry."</p> + + <p>"You can't make it any too speedy for me," says I, slippin' into the sheepskin jacket.</p> + + <p>"Ever been up before?" he asks.</p> + + <p>"Only once—in a hydro," says I; "but I ain't missed any chances."</p> + + <p>"That's the spirit!" says he. "Come along. The old bus is anchored down the field a ways."</p> + + <p>I couldn't hardly believe I was actually goin' to pull it off until he'd got the motor started and we went + skimmin' along the ground. But as soon as we shook off the State of Connecticut and began climbin' up over a strip of + woods, I settles back in the little cockpit, buttons the wind-shield over my mouth, and sighs contented.</p> + + <p>Allen and I didn't exchange much chat. You don't with an engine of that size roarin' a few feet in front of you + and your ears buttoned down by three or four layers of wool and leather. Once he points out ahead and tries to shout + something, I don't know what. But I nods and waves encouragin'.<a class="pagenum" name="page_267" title="267" id= + "page_267"></a> Later he points down and grins. I grins back.</p> + + <p>Next thing I knew, he's shut off the motor, and I gets a glimpse of the whole of Long Island behavin' odd. Seems + as if it's swellin' and widenin' out, like one of these freaky toy balloons you blow up. It didn't seem as if we was + divin' down—more like the map was rushin' up to meet us. Pretty soon I could make out a big open space with a + lot of squatty buildin's at one end, and in a couple of minutes more the machine was rollin' along on its wheels and + we taxied graceful up towards the hangars.</p> + + <p>It was just gettin' dusk as we piles out, and the first few yards I walked I felt like I was dressed in a divin' + suit with a pair of lead boots on my feet. I saw Allen salute an officer, hand over the map, and heard him say + something about Observer Martin wantin' to report sick. Then he steers me off toward the barracks, circles past' em, + and leads me through a back gate.</p> + + <p>"I think we've put it over, old man," says he, givin' me the cordial grip. "I can't tell you what a good turn + you've done me."</p> + + <p>"It's fifty-fifty," says I. "Where do I hit a station?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_268" title="268" id= + "page_268"></a></p> + + <p>"You take this trolley that's coming," says he. "That junk you have on you can send back to-morrow, in my care. + And I—I trust you'll find things all right at home."</p> + + <p>"Thanks," says I. "Hope you'll have the same luck yourself some day."</p> + + <p>"Oh, perhaps," says he, shakin' his head doubtful. "If I ever get back. But not until I'm past thirty, + anyway."</p> + + <p>"Why so late?" asks I.</p> + + <p>"What would get my goat," says he, "would be the risk of breakin' into the grandfather class before I got + ready."</p> + + <p>"Gee!" I gasps. "I hadn't thought of that."</p> + + <p>So, with this new idea, and the cheerin' views Barnes had pumped into me, I has plenty to chew over durin' the + next hour or so that I'm speedin' towards home. I expect that accounts some for the long face I must have been + wearin' when I finally dashes through the front gate of the Lilacs and am let into the house by Leon Battou, the + little old Frenchman who cooks and buttles for us.</p> + + <p>"Ah, <i>mon Dieu!</i>" says Leon, throwin' up his hands and starin' at me bug-eyed. "Monsieur!"<a class="pagenum" + name="page_269" title="269" id="page_269"></a></p> + + <p>"Go on," says I. "Tell me the worst. What is it?"</p> + + <p>"But no, M'sieur," says he. "It is only that M'sieur appears in so strange attire."</p> + + <p>"Oh! These?" says I. "Never mind my costume, Leon. What about Vee?"</p> + + <p>"Ah!" says he, his eyes beamin' once more and his hands washin' each other. "Madame is excellent. She herself will + tell you. Come!"</p> + + <p>Upstairs I went, two steps at a time.</p> + + <p>"S-s-sh!" says the nurse, meetin' me at the door.</p> + + <p>But I brushes past her, and the next minute I'm over by the bed and Vee is smilin' up at me. It's only the ghost + of a smile, but it means a lot to me. She slips one of her hands into mine.</p> + + <p>"Torchy," she whispers, "did you drop down out of—of the air?"</p> + + <p>"That was about it," says I. "I got here, though. Are you all right, girlie?"</p> + + <p>She nods and gives me another of them sketchy, happy smiles.</p> + + <p>"And how about the—the——" I starts to ask.</p> + + <p>She glances towards the corner where the nurse is bendin' over a pink and white basket. "He's splendid," she + whispers.<a class="pagenum" name="page_270" title="270" id="page_270"></a></p> + + <p>"He?" says I. "Then—then it's a boy?"</p> + + <p>She gives my hand a little squeeze.</p> + + <p>And ten minutes later, when I'm shooed out, I'm feelin' so chesty and happy that I'm tingly all over.</p> + + <p>Down in the livin'-room Leon is waitin' for me, wearin' a broad grin. He greets me with his hand out. And then, + somehow, because he's so different, I expect, I remembers Barnes. I was wonderin' if Leon was just puttin' on.</p> + + <p>"Well," says I, "how about it?"</p> + + <p>"Ah, Monsieur!" says he, givin' me the hearty grip. "I make to you my best congratulations."</p> + + <p>"Then you don't feel," says I, "that bein' a parent is kind of a sad and solemn business?"</p> + + <p>"Sad!" says he. "<i>Non, non!</i> It is the grand joy of life. It is when you have the best right to be proud and + glad, for to you has come <i>la bonne chance</i>. Yes, <i>la bonne chance!</i>"</p> + + <p>And say, there's no mistakin' that Leon means every word of it, French and all.</p> + + <p>"Thanks, Leon," says I. "You ought to know. You've been through it yourself. I'll bet you wouldn't even feel bad + at being a grandfather. No? Well, I guess I'll follow through<a class="pagenum" name="page_271" title="271" id= + "page_271"></a> on that line. Maybe I don't deserve so much luck, but I'm takin' it just as though I did. And say, + Leon, let's us go out in the back yard and give three cheers for the son and heir of the house of Torchy."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_272" title="272" id="page_272"></a> + <a name="TORCHY_GETS_THE_THUMB_GRIP_6816" id="TORCHY_GETS_THE_THUMB_GRIP_6816"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + <h3>TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP</h3> + </div> + + <p>I expect a lot of people thought it about me; but the one who really registered the idea was Auntie. Trust her. + For of course, with an event of this kind staged in the house we couldn't expect to dodge a visit from the old girl. + She came clear up from Miami—although, with so much trouble about through sleepers and everything, I kept + tellin' Vee I was afraid she wouldn't think it worth while makin' the trip.</p> + + <p>"How absurd, Torchy!" says Vee. "Not want to see baby? To be sure, she will."</p> + + <p>You see, Vee had the right hunch from the very first—about the importance of this new member of the fam'ly, + I mean. She took it as a matter of course that everybody who'd ever known or heard of us would be anxious to rush in + and gaze awe-struck and reverent at this remarkable addition we'd made to the population of Long Island. Something + like that. She don't have to work up to it. Seems to come<a class="pagenum" name="page_273" title="273" id= + "page_273"></a> natural. Why, say, she'd sit by and listen without crackin' a smile to these regular gushers who laid + it on so thick you'd 'most thought the youngster himself would have turned over and run his tongue out at 'em.</p> + + <p>"Oh, the dear, darling 'ittle cherub!" they'd squeal. "Isn't he simp-ly the most won-der-ful baby you ev-er + saw?"</p> + + <p>And Vee would never blink an eye. In fact, she'd beam on 'em grateful, and repeat to me afterwards what they'd + said, like it was just a case of the vote bein' made unanimous, as she knew it was bound to be all along.</p> + + <p>Which wasn't a bit like any of the forty-seven varieties of Vee I thought I was so well acquainted with. No. I'll + admit she'd shown whims and queer streaks now and then, and maybe a fault or so; but nothing that had anything to do + with any tendency of the ego to stick its elbows out. Yet, when it comes to listenin' to flatterin' remarks about our + son and heir—well, no Broadway star readin' over what his press-agent had smuggled into the dramatic notes had + anything on her. She couldn't have it handed to her too strong.</p> + + <p>As for me, I guess I was in sort of a daze there for a week or so. Gettin' to be a parent had been sprung on me so + sudden that it was<a class="pagenum" name="page_274" title="274" id="page_274"></a> sort of confusin'. I couldn't let + on to be a judge of babies myself. I don't know as I'd ever examined one real near to before, anyway—not such a + new one as this.</p> + + <p>And, between me and you, when I did get a chance to size him up real close once,—they'd all gone out of the + room and left me standin' by the crib,—I was kind of disappointed. Uh-huh. No use kiddin' yourself. I couldn't + see a thing wonderful about him, or where he was much different from others I'd glanced at casual. Such a small party + to have so much fuss made over! Why, one of his hands wasn't much bigger'n a cat's paw. And his face was so red and + little and the nose so sketchy that it didn't seem likely he'd ever amount to much. Here he'd had more'n a week to + grow in, and I couldn't notice any change at all.</p> + + <p>Not that I was nutty enough to report any such thoughts. Hardly. I felt kind of guilty at just havin' 'em in my + head. How was it, I asked myself, that I couldn't stand around with my hands clasped and my eyes dimmed up, as a + perfectly good parent should when he gazes at his first and only chee-ild! Wasn't I human?</p> + + <p>All the alibi I can put up is that I wasn't used to bein' a father. Ain't there something<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_275" title="275" id="page_275"></a> in that? Just think, now. Why, I'd hardly got used to bein' married. Here, + only a little over a year ago, I was floatin' around free and careless. And then, first thing I know, without any + special coachin' in the act, I finds myself pushed out into the center of the stage with the spot-light on me, and + I'm introduced as a daddy.</p> + + <p>The only thing I could do was try to make a noise like one. I didn't feel it, any more'n I felt like a + stained-glass saint in a church window. And I didn't know the lines very well. But there was everybody + watching,—Vee, and the nurse, and Madame Battou, and occasional callers,—so I proceeds to bluff it + through the best I could.</p> + + <p>My merry little idea was to be familiar with the youngster, treat him as if he'd been a member of the fam'ly for a + long time, and hide any embarrassin' feelin's I might have by addressin' him loud and joshin'. I expect it was kind + of a poor performance, at that. But I seemed to be gettin' away with it, so I stuck to that line. Vee appears to take + it all right, and, as nobody else gave me the call, I almost got to believe it was the real thing myself.</p> + + <p>So this particular afternoon, when I came breezin' in from town, I chases right up to<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_276" title="276" id="page_276"></a> the nursery, where I knew I'd find Vee, gives her the usual hail just + behind the ear, and then turns hasty to the crib to show I haven't forgot who's there.</p> + + <p>"Hello, old sport!" says I, ticklin' him in the ribs. "How you hittin' 'em, hey? Well, well! Look at the fistses + doubled up! Who you goin' to hand a wallop to now? Oh, tryin' to punch yourself in the eye, are you? Come there, you + young rough-houser, lay off that grouchy stuff and speak some kind words to your daddy. You won't, eh? Goin' to kick + a little with the footsies. That's it. Mix in with all fours, you young——"</p> + + <p>And just then I hears a suppressed snort that sounds sort of familiar. I glances around panicky, and gets the full + benefit of a disgusted glare from a set of chilled steel eyes, and discovers that there's someone besides Vee and the + nurse present. Yep. It's Auntie.</p> + + <p>"May I ask," says she, "if this is your usual manner of greeting your offspring? "</p> + + <p>"Why," says I, "I—I expect it is."</p> + + <p>"Humph!" says she. "I might have known."</p> + + <p>"Now, Auntie," protests Vee, "you know very well that Torchy means—— "</p> + + <p>"Whatever he means or doesn't mean,"<a class="pagenum" name="page_277" title="277" id="page_277"></a> breaks in + Auntie, "I am sure he has an astonishing way of showing parental affection. Calling the child an 'old scout,' a + 'young rough-houser'! It's shocking."</p> + + <p>"Sorry," says I; "but I ain't taken any lessons in polite baby talk yet. Maybe in time I could learn this + ittums-tweetums stuff, but I doubt it. Always made me sick, that did; and one of the things Vee and I agreed on was + that—— "</p> + + <p>"Oh, very well," says Auntie. "I do not intend to interfere in any way."</p> + + <p>As if she could help it! Why, say, she'd give St. Peter advice on gate-keepin'. But for the time bein', each of us + havin' had our say, we calls it a draw and gets back to what looks like a peace footin'. But from then on I knew she + had her eyes out at me. Every move I made was liable to get her breathin' short or set her squirmin' in her chair. + And you know how it's apt to be in a case like that. I made more breaks than ever. I'd forget about the youngster + bein' asleep and cut loose with something noisy at the wrong time. Or I'd jolt her some other way.</p> + + <p>But she held in until, one night after dinner, when the baby had indulged in too much day sleepin' and was + carryin' on a bit, I takes a<a class="pagenum" name="page_278" title="278" id="page_278"></a> notion to soothe him + with a few humorous antics while Auntie is safe downstairs. You see, I'd never been able to get him to take any + notice of me before; but this time, after I'd done a swell imitation of a Fred Stone dance, I had him cooin' + approvin', the nurse smotherin' a smile, and Vee snickerin'.</p> + + <p>Naturally, I has to follow it up with something else. I was down on my hands and knees doin' a buckin' bronco act + across the floor, when there comes this gasp from the doorway. It seems Auntie was passin' by, and peeked in. Her + eyebrows go up, her mouth corners come down, and she stiffens like she'd grabbed a high-voltage feed wire. I saw it + comin', but the best I can do is steady myself on my fingers and toes and wish I had cotton in my ears.</p> + + <p>"Really!" says she. "Are you never to realize, young man, that you are now supposed to be a husband and a + father?"</p> + + <p>And, before I can shoot back a word, she's sailed on, her chin in the air and her mouth about as smilin' as a + crack in a vinegar bottle. But she'd said it. She'd pushed it home, too. And the worst of it was, I couldn't deny + that she had the goods on me. I might pass as a husband, if you didn't expect too much. But<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_279" title="279" id="page_279"></a> as for the rest—well, I knew I wasn't meetin' the specifications.</p> + + <p>The only model I could think of was them fond parent groups you see in the movie close-ups—mother on the + right, father at the left, and Little Bright Eyes squeezed in between and bein' mauled affectionate. Had we ever + indulged in any such family clinch? Not up to date. Why? Was it because I was a failure as a daddy? Looked so. And + here was Auntie taxin' me with it. Would other folks find out, too?</p> + + <p>I begun thinkin' over the way different ones had taken the news. Old Hickory, for instance. I was wearin' a wide + grin and still feelin' sort of chesty when I broke into his private office and handed him the bulletin.</p> + + <p>"Eh?" he grunts, squintin' at me from under them bushy eyebrows. "A father! You? Good Lord!"</p> + + <p>"Why not?" says I. "It's still being done, ain't it?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, I suppose so. Yes, yes," he goes on, starin' at me. "But somehow, young man, I can hardly think of you + as—as—— Well, congratulations, Torchy. You have frequently surprised me by rising to the occasion. + Perhaps you will in this also. "<a class="pagenum" name="page_280" title="280" id="page_280"></a></p> + + <p>"Thanks, Mr. Ellins," says I. "It's nice of you to cheer me up that way."</p> + + <p>Piddie, of course, said the right and elegant thing, just as if he'd learned it out of a book. He always does, you + know. Makes a reg'lar little speech, and finishes by givin' me the fraternal handclasp and a pat on the shoulder.</p> + + <p>But a minute after I caught him gazin' at me wonderin', and he goes off shakin' his head.</p> + + <p>Then I runs across my newspaper friend Whitey Weeks, who used to know me when I was a cub office-boy on the Sunday + editor's door.</p> + + <p>"Well, Torchy," says he, "what you got on your mind?"</p> + + <p>"Nothing you could make copy out of," says I, "but it's a whale of an event for me."</p> + + <p>"You don't say," says he. "Somebody died and left you the business?"</p> + + <p>"Just the opposite," says I.</p> + + <p>"I don't get you," says he.</p> + + <p>"Ah, what's usually in the next column?" says I. "It's a case of somebody bein' born."</p> + + <p>"Why—why," says he, openin' his mouth, "you don't mean that——"</p> + + <p>"Uh-huh," says I, tryin' to look modest.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <a name="illus-003" id="illus-003"></a> <img src="images/illus-280.jpg" alt= + ""I was down on my knees doin' a buckin' bronco act, when there comes a gasp from the doorway."" title= + "" /> + <br /> + <span class="caption">"I was down on my knees doin' a buckin' bronco act, when there comes a gasp from the + doorway."</span> + </div> + + <p><a class="pagenum" name="page_281" title="281" id="page_281"></a>"Haw-haw!" roars Whitey, usin' the steam siren + effect. And, as it's right on the corner of Forty-second and Broadway, he comes near collectin' a crowd. Four or five + people turn around to see what the merriment is all about, and a couple of 'em stops short in their tracks. One guy I + spotted for a vaudeville artist lookin' for stuff that might fat up his act.</p> + + <p>"Say," Whitey goes on, poundin' me on the back jovial, "that's rich, that is!"</p> + + <p>"Glad it amuses you," says I, startin' to move off.</p> + + <p>"Oh, come, old chap!" says he, followin' along. "Don't get crabby. What—what is it, anyway?"</p> + + <p>"It's a baby," says I. "Quite a young one. Now go laugh your fat head off, you human hyena."</p> + + <p>With that shot I dashes through the traffic and catches a downtown car, leavin' him there with his silly face + unhinged. And I did no more announcin' to anybody. I was through advertisin'. When some of the commuters on the + eight-three heard the news and started springin' their comic tricks on me, I pretended I didn't understand.</p> + + <p>I don't know what they thought. I didn't give a whoop, either. I wasn't demandin' that anybody should pass solemn + resolutions thankin'<a class="pagenum" name="page_282" title="282" id="page_282"></a> me for what I'd done for my + country, or stand with their hats off as I went by. But I was overstocked on this joke-book junk.</p> + + <p>Maybe I didn't look like a father, or act like one; but I was doin' my best on the short notice I'd had.</p> + + <p>I will say for Vee that she stood by me noble. She seemed to think whatever I did was all right, even when I shied + at holdin' the youngster for the first time.</p> + + <p>"I'm afraid I'll bend him in the wrong place," I protests.</p> + + <p>"Goose!" says she. "Of course you won't."</p> + + <p>"Suppose I should drop him?" says I.</p> + + <p>"You can't if you take him just as I show you," she goes on patient. "Now, sit down in that chair. Crook your left + arm like this. Now hold your knees together, and we'll just put the little precious right in your—— + There! Why, you're doing it splendidly."</p> + + <p>"Am I?" says I.</p> + + <p>I might have believed her if I hadn't caught a glimpse of myself in the glass. Say, I was sittin' there as easy + and graceful as if I'd been made of structural iron and reinforced concrete. Stiff! Them stone lions in front of the + Public Lib'ry was frolicsome lambs compared to me. And I was wearin' the same happy<a class="pagenum" name="page_283" + title="283" id="page_283"></a> look on my face as if I was havin' a tooth plugged.</p> + + <p>Course that had to be just the time when Mr. Robert Ellins happened in for his first private view. Mrs. Robert had + towed him down special. He's a reg'lar friend, though, Mr. Robert is. I can't say how much of a struggle he had to + keep his face straight, but after the first spasm has worn off he don't show any more signs of wantin' to cackle. And + he don't pull any end-man stuff.</p> + + <p>"Well, well, Torchy!" says he. "A son and heir, eh? I salute you."</p> + + <p>"Same to you and many of 'em," says I, grinnin' simple.</p> + + <p>It was the first thing that came into my head, but I guess I'd better not have let it out. Mrs. Robert pinks up, + Vee snickers, and they both hurries into the next room.</p> + + <p>"Thank you, Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "Within certain limitations, I trust your wish comes true. But I + say—how does it feel, being a father?"</p> + + <p>"Just plain foolish," says I.</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says he.</p> + + <p>"Honest, Mr. Robert," says I, "I never felt so much like a ham sandwich at a Chamber of Commerce banquet as I do + right now. I'm<a class="pagenum" name="page_284" title="284" id="page_284"></a> beginnin' to suspect I've been + miscast for the part."</p> + + <p>"Nonsense!" says he soothin'. "You appear to be getting along swimmingly. I'm sure I wouldn't know how to hold a + baby at all."</p> + + <p>"You couldn't know less'n I do about it at present writing," says I. "I don't dare move, and both my legs are + asleep from the knees down. Do me a favor and call for help, won't you?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, I say!" he calls out. "The starboard watch wants to be relieved."</p> + + <p>So Vee comes back and pries the baby out of my grip.</p> + + <p>"Isn't he absurd!" says she. "But he will soon learn. All men are like that at first, I suppose."</p> + + <p>"Hear that, Mr. Robert?" says I. "That's what I call a sun-cured disposition."</p> + + <p>She'd make a good animal-trainer, Vee; she's so persistent and patient. After dinner she jollies me into tryin' it + again.</p> + + <p>"You needn't sit so rigid, you know," she coaches me. "Just relax naturally and let his little head rest easy in + the hollow of your arm. No, you don't have to grab him with the other hand. Let him kick his legs if he wants + to.<a class="pagenum" name="page_285" title="285" id="page_285"></a> See, he is looking up at you! Yes, I believe he + is. Do you see Daddy? Do you, precious?"</p> + + <p>"Must be some sight," I murmurs. "What am I supposed to do now?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, you may rock him gently, if you like," says Vee. "And I don't suppose he'd mind if you sang a bit."</p> + + <p>"Wouldn't that be takin' a mean advantage?" says I.</p> + + <p>Vee laughs and goes off so I can practice alone, which was thoughtful of her.</p> + + <p>I didn't find it so bad this time. I discovers I can wiggle my toes occasionally without lettin' him crash on to + the floor. And I begun to get used to lookin' at him at close range, too. His nose don't seem quite so hopeless as it + did. I shouldn't wonder but what he'd grow a reg'lar nose there in time. And their little ears are cute, ain't they? + But say, it was them big blue eyes that got me interested. First off they sort of wandered around the room aimless; + but after a while they steadies down into gazin' at me sort of curious and admirin'. I rather liked that.</p> + + <p>"How about it, Snookums?" says I. "What do you think of your amateur daddy? Or are you wonderin' if your hair'll + be as red as mine? Don't you care. There's worse things<a class="pagenum" name="page_286" title="286" id= + "page_286"></a> in life than bein' bright on top. Eh? Think you'd like to get your fingers in it? Might burny-burn. + Well, try it once, if you like." And I ducks my head so he can reach that wavin' forelock of mine.</p> + + <p>"Googly-goo!" remarks Sonny, indicatin' 'most anything you're a mind to call it.</p> + + <p>Anyway, he seems to be entertained. We was gettin' acquainted fast. Pretty soon he pulls a smile on me. Say, it's + the real thing in the smile line, too—confidential and chummy. I has to smile back.</p> + + <p>"That's the trick, Buster!" says I. "Friendly face motions is what wins."</p> + + <p>"Goo-oogly-goo!" says he.</p> + + <p>"True words!" says I. "I believe you."</p> + + <p>We must have kept that up for near half an hour, until he shows signs of gettin' sleepy. Just before he drops off, + though, he was wavin' one of his hands around, and the first thing I know them soft little pink fingers has circled + about my thumb.</p> + + <p>Say, that turned the trick—just that. Ever had a baby grip you that way? Your own, I mean? If you have, I + expect you'll know what I'm drivin' at. And if you ain't—well, you got something comin' to you. It's a thing I + couldn't tell you about. It's a gentle sort of<a class="pagenum" name="page_287" title="287" id="page_287"></a> + thrill, that spreads and spreads until it gets 'way inside of you—under your vest, on the left side.</p> + + <p>When Vee finally comes in to see how we're gettin' along, he's snoozin' calm and peaceful, with a sketchy smile + kind of flickerin' on and off that rosebud mouth of his, like he was indulgin' in pleasant dreams. Also, them little + pink fingers was still wrapped around my thumb.</p> + + <p>"Well, if you aren't a picture, you two!" says Vee, bendin' over and whisperin' in my ear.</p> + + <p>"This ain't a pose," says I. "It's the real thing."</p> + + <p>"You mean——" begins Vee.</p> + + <p>"I mean I've qualified," says I. "Maybe I didn't show up so strong durin' the initiation, but I squeaked through. + I'm a reg'lar daddy now. See! He's givin' me the inside brother grip—on my thumb. You can call Auntie in, if + you like."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_288" title="288" id="page_288"></a> + <a name="A_LOW_TACKLE_BY_TORCHY_7216" id="A_LOW_TACKLE_BY_TORCHY_7216"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + <h3>A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY</h3> + </div> + + <p>What I like about livin' out in the forty-minute-if-you're-lucky sector is that, once you get here, it's so nice + and quiet. You don't have to worry, when you turn in at night, about manhole covers bein' blown through your front + windows, or whether the basement floor will drop into the subway, or if some gun gang is going to use your street for + a shootin' gallery. All you do is douse the lights and feel sure nothin's going to happen until breakfast.</p> + + <p>We were talkin' something along this line the other evenin', Vee and me, sayin' how restful and soothin' these + spring nights in the country was—you know, sort of handin' it to ourselves. And it couldn't have been more'n + two hours later that I'm routed rude out of the downy by the 'phone bell. It's buzzin' away frantic. I scrambles out + and fits the receiver to my ear just in time to get the full benefit of the last half of a long ring.<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_289" title="289" id="page_289"></a></p> + + <p>"Ah, take your thumb off," I sings out to the night operator. "Who you think you're callin'—the fire house + or some doctor?"</p> + + <p>"Here's your party," I hears her remark cheerful, and then this other voice comes in.</p> + + <p>Well, it's Norton Plummer, that fussy little lawyer neighbor of ours who lives about half a mile the other side of + the railroad. Since he's been made chairman of the local Council of Defense and put me on as head of one of his + committees, he's rung me up frequent, generally at dinner-time, to ask if I have anything to report. Seems to think, + just because I'm a reserve lieutenant on special detail, that I ought to be discoverin' spies and diggin' out plots + every few minutes.</p> + + <p>"Yes, yes," says I. "This is me. What then?"</p> + + <p>"Did you read about that German naval officer who escaped from an internment camp last week?" he asks.</p> + + <p>"But that was 'way down in North Carolina or somewhere, wasn't it?" says I.</p> + + <p>"Perhaps," says Plummer. "But he isn't there now. He's here."</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I. "Where?"</p> + + <p>"Prowling around my house," says Plummer. "That is, he was a few moments ago.<a class="pagenum" name="page_290" + title="290" id="page_290"></a> My chauffeur saw him. So did I. He's on his way down towards the trolley line + now."</p> + + <p>"Why didn't you nab him?" I asks.</p> + + <p>"Me?" says Plummer. "Why, he's a huge fellow, and no doubt a desperate man. I presume he was after me: I don't + know."</p> + + <p>"But how'd you come to spot him as a Hun officer?" says I.</p> + + <p>"By the description I read," says he. "It fits perfectly. There's no telling what he's up to around here. And + listen: I have telephoned to the Secret Service headquarters in town for them to send some men out in a machine. But + they'll be nearly an hour on the road, at best. Meanwhile, what we must do is to prevent him from catching that last + trolley car, which goes in about twelve-fifteen. We must stop him, you see."</p> + + <p>"Oh, must we?" says I. "Listens to me like some he-sized job."</p> + + <p>"That's why I called you up," says Plummer. "You know where the line crosses the railroad? Well, he'll probably + try to get on there. Hurry down and prevent him."</p> + + <p>"Is that all I have to do?" says I. "What's the scheme—do I trip him up and sit on his head?"</p> + + <p>"No, no!" says Plummer. "Don't attempt<a class="pagenum" name="page_291" title="291" id="page_291"></a> violence. + He's a powerful man. Why, my chauffeur saw him break the chain on our back gate as if it had been nothing but twine. + Just gave it a push—and snap it went. Oh, he's strong as a bull. Ill-tempered, too."</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says I. "And I'm to go down and—— Say, where do you come in on this?"</p> + + <p>"I'll be there with John just as soon as we can quiet Mrs. Plummer and the maids, " says he. "They're almost in + hysterics. In the meantime, though, if you could get there and—— Well, use strategy of some kind. + Anything to keep him from catching that car. You understand?"</p> + + <p>"I get you," says I. "And it don't sound enticin' at all. But I'll see what I can do. If you find me smeared all + over the road, though, you'll know I didn't pull it off. Also, I'd suggest that you make that soothin' act of yours + speedy."</p> + + <p>Course this wakes Vee up, and she wants to know what it's all about.</p> + + <p>"Oh, a little private panic that Norton Plummer is indulgin' in," says I. "Nothin' to get fidgety over. I'll be + back soon."</p> + + <p>"But—but you won't be reckless, will you, Torchy?" she asks.<a class="pagenum" name="page_292" title="292" + id="page_292"></a></p> + + <p>"Who, me?" says I. "How foolish. Why, I invented that 'Safety First' motto, and side-steppin' trouble is the + easiest thing I do. Trust me."</p> + + <p>I expect she was some nervous, at that. But she's a good sport, Vee.</p> + + <p>"If you're needed," says she, "of course I want you to go. But do be careful."</p> + + <p>I didn't need any coaxin'. Somehow, I never could get used to roamin' around in the country after dark. Always + seemed sort of spooky. Bein' brought up in the city, I expect, where the scenery is illuminated constant, accounts + for that. So, as I slips out the front gate and down towards the station, I keeps in the middle of the road and + glances suspicious at the tree shadows.</p> + + <p>Not that I was takin' Plummer's Hun scare real serious. He'd had a bad case of spy fever recent. Why, only last + week he got all stirred up over what he announced was a private wireless outfit that he'd discovered somewhere in the + outskirts of Flushing; and when they came to trail it down it turns out to be some new wire clothes-line strung up + back of a flat buildin'.</p> + + <p>Besides, what would an escaped German naval officer be doin' up this way? He'd be<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_293" title="293" id="page_293"></a> more apt to strike for Mexico, wouldn't he? Still, long as I'd let Plummer + put me on the committee, it was up to me to answer any calls. Might be entertainin' to see who he'd mistaken for an + enemy alien this time. And if all I was expected to do was spill a little impromptu strategy—well, maybe I + could, and then again maybe I couldn't. I'd take a look, anyway.</p> + + <p>It was seein' a light in Danny Shea's little cottage, back on a side lane, that gave me my original hunch. Danny + is one of the important officials of the Long Island Railroad, if you let him tell it. He's the flagman down where + the highway and trolley line cross the tracks at grade, and when his rheumatism ain't makin' him grouchy he's more or + less amusin' to chin with.</p> + + <p>Danny had pestered the section boss until he'd got him to build a little square coop for him, there by the + crossin'—a place where he could crawl in between trains, smoke his pipe, and toast himself over a sheet-iron + stove about as big as a picnic coffee-pot.</p> + + <p>And that sentry-box effect was the pride of Danny's heart. Most of his spare time and all the money he could bone + out of the commuters he spent in improvin' and decoratin'<a class="pagenum" name="page_294" title="294" id= + "page_294"></a> it. He'd cut a couple of round windows, like port-holes, and fitted 'em with swingin' sashes. Then + he'd tacked on some flower-boxes underneath and filled 'em with geraniums.</p> + + <p>When he wasn't waterin' his flowers or coaxin' along his little grass-plot or addin' another shelf inside, he was + paintin' the outside. Danny's idea of a swell color scheme seemed to be to get on as many different shades as + possible. The roof was red, the sides a bright blue. But where he spread himself was on the trim. All you had to do + to get on the right side of Danny was to lug him out a half-pound can of paint different from any he'd applied so + far. He'd use it somehow.</p> + + <p>So the window-sashes was picked out in yellow, the side battens loomed up prominent as black lines, and the + door-panels was a pale pink. Nearly all the commuters had been touched by Danny for something or other that could be + added to the shack. Only a week or so before, I'd got in strong with him by contributin' a new padlock for the + door—a vivid red one, like they have on the village jail in vaudeville plays.</p> + + <p>And it struck me now that if I had the key to that little box of Danny's it would make a perfectly good + listenin'-post for any midnight<a class="pagenum" name="page_295" title="295" id="page_295"></a> sleuthin' I had to + do. Most likely he was up dosin' himself or bathin' his joints.</p> + + <p>Well, he was. He didn't seem any too enthusiastic about lettin' me have the key, though.</p> + + <p>"I dunno," says he. "'Tis railroad property, y' understand, and I'd be afther riskin' me job if any thin' + should——"</p> + + <p>"I know, Danny," says I. "But you tell 'em it was commandeered by the U. S. Army, which is me; and if that don't + square you I'll have Mr. Baker come on and tell the section boss where he gets off."</p> + + <p>"Verra well," says Danny. And in less than five minutes more I'm down there at the crossin', all snug and cozy, + peekin' out of them round windows into No Man's Land.</p> + + <p>For a while it was kind of excitin'; but after that it got sort of monotonous. There was about half of an old moon + in the sky, and only a few clouds, so you could see fairly well—if there'd been anything to see. But nothing + seemed to be stirrin', up or down the road.</p> + + <p>What a nut that Norton Plummer was, anyway, feedin' me up with his wild tales in the middle of the night! And why + didn't he show up? Finally I got restless, and walked out where I could rubber up the trolley track.<a class= + "pagenum" name="page_296" title="296" id="page_296"></a> No sign or sound of a car. Then I looks at my watch again, + and figures out it ain't due for twenty minutes or so. Next I strolls across the railroad to look for Plummer. And, + just as I'm passin' a big maple tree, out steps this huge party with the whiskers. I nearly jumped out of my + puttees.</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I gaspy.</p> + + <p>"Gotta match?" says he.</p> + + <p>"I—I guess so," says I.</p> + + <p>I reached as far as I could when I hands him the box, too. He's a whale of a man, tall and bulky. And his whiskers + are the bristly kind—straw-colored, I should say. He's wearin' a double-breasted blue coat and a sort of + yachtin' cap. Uh-huh! Plummer must have been right. If this gink wasn't a Hun naval officer, then what was he? The + ayes had it.</p> + + <p>He produces a pipe and starts to light up. One match broke, the second had no strikin' head on it, the third just + fizzed.</p> + + <p>"Gr-r-r-r!" says he.</p> + + <p>Then he starts for the crossin', me trailin' along. I saw he had his eye on Danny's sentry-box, meanin' to get in + the lee of it. Even then I didn't have any bright little idea.</p> + + <p>"Waitin' for the trolley?" I throws out.</p> + + <p>"What of it?" he growls.<a class="pagenum" name="page_297" title="297" id="page_297"></a></p> + + <p>"Oh, no offense," says I hasty. "Maybe there are others."</p> + + <p>He just lets out another grunt, and tries one more match with his face up against the side of the shanty. And + then, all in a jump, my bean got into gear.</p> + + <p>"You might have better luck inside," says I, swingin' open the door invitin'.</p> + + <p>He don't even say thank you. He ain't one of that kind. For a second or so I thought he wasn't goin' to take any + notice; but after one more failure he steps around, inspects the inside of the shanty, and then squeezes himself + through the door. At that, he wasn't all the way in, but by the time he had a match goin' I'd got my nerve back.</p> + + <p>"Ah, take the limit, Cap'n," says I.</p> + + <p>With that I plants one foot impulsive right where he was widest, gives a quick shove, slams the door shut behind + him, and snaps the big padlock through the hasp.</p> + + <p>"Hey!" he sings out startled. "What the——"</p> + + <p>"Now, don't get messy, Cap'n," says I. "You're in, ain't you? Smoke up and be happy."</p> + + <p>"You—you loafer!" he gurgles throaty. "What do you mean?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_298" title="298" id= + "page_298"></a></p> + + <p>"Just a playful little prank, Cap," says I. "Don't get excited. You're perfectly safe."</p> + + <p>Maybe he was. But some folks don't appreciate little attentions like that. The Cap'n starts in bumpin' and + thrashin' violent in there, like a pup that's crawled into a drainpipe and got himself stuck. He hammers on the walls + with his fists, throws his weight against the door, and tries to kick his way out.</p> + + <p>But the section boss must have used rail spikes and reinforced the studdin' with fishplates when he built that + coop for Danny, or else the big Hun was too tight a fit to get full play for his strength. Anyway, all he did was + make the little house rock until you'd thought Long Island was enjoyin' a young earthquake. Meanwhile I stands by, + ready to do a sprint if he should break loose, and offers more or less cheerin' advice.</p> + + <p>"Easy with your elbows in there, Cap," says I. "You're assaultin' railroad property, you know, and if you do any + damage you can be pinched for malicious mischief."</p> + + <p>"You—you better let me out of here quick!" he roars. "I gotta get back."</p> + + <p>"Oh, you'll get to town all right," says I. "I'll promise you that."</p> + + <p>"Loafer!" he snorts.<a class="pagenum" name="page_299" title="299" id="page_299"></a></p> + + <p>"Say, how do you know I ain't sensitive on that point?" says I. "You might hurt my feelin's."</p> + + <p>"Gr-r-r!" says he. "I would wring your neck."</p> + + <p>"Such a disposition!" says I.</p> + + <p>Oh, yes, we swapped quite a little repartee, me and the Cap'n, or whatever he was. But, instead of his bein' + soothed by it he gets more strenuous every minute. He had that shack rockin' like a boat.</p> + + <p>Next thing I saw was one of his big feet stickin' out under the bottom sill. Then I remembers that the sentry-box + has only a dirt floor—on account of the stove, I expect. Course Danny has banked the outside up with sod for + five or six inches, but that ain't enough to hold it down with a human tornado cuttin' loose inside. A minute more + and another foot appears on the other side, and the next I knew the whole shootin' match begins to rise, wabbly but + sure, until he's lifted it almost to his knees.</p> + + <p>Looked like the Cap'n was goin' to shed the coop over his head, as you'd shuck a shirt, and I was edgin' away + prepared to make a run for it. But right there the elevatin' process stops, and after some violent squirms + there<a class="pagenum" name="page_300" title="300" id="page_300"></a> comes an outburst of language that would only + get the delete sign if I should give it. I could dope out what had happened. That plank seat across one side had + caught the Cap'n about where he buckles his belt, and he couldn't budge it any further.</p> + + <p>"Want a shoe-horn, Cap'n?" I asks. "Say, next time you try wearin' a kiosk as a slip-on sweater you'd better train + down for the act."</p> + + <p>"Gr-r-r-r!" says he. "I—I will teach you to play your jokes on me, young whipper-snap."</p> + + <p>He does some more writhin', and pretty soon manages to swing open one of the port-holes. With his face up to that, + like a deep-sea diver peekin' out o' his copper bonnet, he starts for me, kickin' over the little stove as he gets + under way, and tearin' the whole thing loose from the foundation.</p> + + <p>Course he's some handicapped by the hobble-skirt effect around his knees, and the weight above his shoulders makes + him a bit topheavy; but, at that, he can get over the ground as fast as I can walk backwards.</p> + + <p>Must have been kind of a weird sight, there in the moonlight—me bein' pursued up the road by this shack with + legs under it, the little tin smoke-pipe wavin' jaunty about nine feet in<a class="pagenum" name="page_301" title= + "301" id="page_301"></a> the air, and the geraniums in the flower-boxes noddin' jerky.</p> + + <p>"Say, what do you think you are?" I calls out. "A wooden tank goin' over the top? "</p> + + <p>I was sort of wonderin' how long he could keep this up, and what would be the finish, when from behind me I hears + this spluttery line of exclamations indicatin' rage. It's Danny, who's got anxious about lettin' me have the use of + his coop and has come down to see what's happenin' to it. Well, he saw.</p> + + <p>"Hey! Stop him, stop him!" he yells.</p> + + <p>"Stop him yourself, Danny," says I.</p> + + <p>"But he's runnin' away with me little flag-house, thief of the worruld!" howls Danny. "It's breakin' and enterin' + and carryin' away th' property of the Long Island Railroad that he's guilty of."</p> + + <p>"Yes; I've explained all that to him," says I.</p> + + <p>"Go back and come'out of that, ye thievin' Dutchman!" orders Danny, rushin' up and bangin' on the door with his + fists.</p> + + <p>"Just let me out, you Irish shrimp!" snarls the Cap'n.</p> + + <p>"Can't be done—not yet, Danny," says I.</p> + + <p>"But—but he's destroyin' me flowers and runnin' off with me little house," protested Danny. "I'll have the + law on him, so I will."<a class="pagenum" name="page_302" title="302" id="page_302"></a></p> + + <p>"Get out, Irisher, or I'll fall on you," warns the Cap'n.</p> + + <p>And right in the midst of this debate I sees Norton Plummer and his chauffeur hurryin' up from across the tracks. + I skips back to meet 'em.</p> + + <p>"Well," says Plummer, "have you seen anything of the escaped prisoner?"</p> + + <p>"That's him," says I, pointin' to the wabblin' shack.</p> + + <p>"Whaddye mean?" says Plummer, starin' puzzled.</p> + + <p>"He's inside," says I. "You said use strategy, didn't you? Well, that's the best I had in stock. I got him boxed, + all right, but he won't stay put. He insists on playin' the human turtle. What'll we do with him now? Come see."</p> + + <p>"My word!" says Plummer, as he gets a view of the Cap'n's legs and the big whiskered face at the little window. + "So there you are, eh, you runaway Hun?"</p> + + <p>"Bah!" says the Cap'n. "Why do you call me Hun?"</p> + + <p>"Because I've identified you as an escaped German naval officer," says Plummer. "Do you deny it?"</p> + + <p>"Me?" says the Cap'n. "Bah!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_303" title="303" id="page_303"></a></p> + + <p>"Who do you claim to be, then?" says I. "A tourist Eskimo or an out-of-town buyer from Patagonia?"</p> + + <p>"I'm Nels Petersen, that's who I am," says he, "and I'm chief engineer of a ferry-boat that's due to make her + first run at five-thirty-three."</p> + + <p>"What!" says Plummer. "Are you the Swede engineer who has been writing love letters to—— Say, what is + the name of Mrs. Plummer's maid?"</p> + + <p>"Selma," says the Cap'n.</p> + + <p>"By George!" says Plummer. "I believe the man's right. But see here: what were you doing prowling around my back + yard to-night! Why didn't you go to the servants' entrance and ask the cook for Selma, if you're as much in love with + her as you've written that you are?"</p> + + <p>"What do you know about it?" demands Petersen.</p> + + <p>"Good Lord!" gasps Plummer. "Haven't I had to puzzle out all those wretched scrawls of yours and read 'em to her? + Such mushy letters, too! Come, if you're the man, why didn't you call Selma out and tell her all that to her + face?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_304" title="304" id="page_304"></a></p> + + <p>Nothing but heavy breathing from inside the shack.</p> + + <p>"You don't mean to say you were too bashful!" goes on Plummer. "A great big fellow like you!"</p> + + <p>If it hadn't been for the whiskers I believe we could have seen him blush.</p> + + <p>"Look here," says Plummer. "You may be what you say you are, and then again you may not. Perhaps you just guessed + at the girl's name. We can't afford to take any chances. The only way to settle it is to send for Selma."</p> + + <p>"No, no!" pleads the big gink. "Please! Not like this."</p> + + <p>"Yes, just like that," insists Plummer. "Only, if you'd rather, you can carry your house back where it belongs and + sit down. John, run home and bring Selma here."</p> + + <p>Well, we had our man nicely tamed now. With Selma liable to show up, he was ready to do as he was told. Just why, + we couldn't make out. Anyway, he hobbles back to the crossin' and eases the shack down where he found it. Also, he + slumps inside on the bench and waits, durin' which proceedin' the last trolley goes boomin' past.</p> + + <p>Inside of ten minutes John is back with<a class="pagenum" name="page_305" title="305" id="page_305"></a> the maid. + Kind of a slim, classy-lookin' girl she is, too. And when Selma sees that big face at the round window there's no + doubt about his being the chosen one.</p> + + <p>"Oh, Nels, Nels!" she wails out. "Vy you don'd coom by the house yet?"</p> + + <p>"I was scart, Selma," says Nels, "for fear you'd tell me to go away."</p> + + <p>"But—but I don'd, Nels," says Selma.</p> + + <p>"Shall I let him out for the fade-away scene?" says I.</p> + + <p>Plummer nods. And we had to turn our backs as they go to the fond clinch.</p> + + <p>Accordin' to Plummer, Selma had been waitin' for Nels to say the word for more'n a year, and for the last two + months she'd been so absent-minded and moody that she hadn't been of much use around the house. But him gettin' + himself boxed up as an escaped Hun had sort of broken the ice.</p> + + <p>"There, now!" says Plummer. "You two go back to the house and talk it over. You may have until three-fifteen to + settle all details, and then I'll have John drive Petersen down to his ferry-boat. Be sure and fix the day, though. I + don't want to go through another night like this."</p> + + <p>"But what about me little lawn," demands<a class="pagenum" name="page_306" title="306" id="page_306"></a> Danny, + "that's tore up entirely? And who's to mend me stove-pipe and all?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, here's something that will cover all that, Danny," says Plummer, slippin' him a ten-spot. "And I've no doubt + Petersen will contribute something, too."</p> + + <p>"Sure!" says Nels, fishin' in his pockets.</p> + + <p>"Two bits!" says Danny, pickin' up the quarter scornful. "Thim Swedes are the tightwads! And if ever I find this + wan kidnappin' me little house again—— "</p> + + <p>At which Danny breaks off and shakes his fist menacin'.</p> + + <p>When I gets back home I tiptoes upstairs; but Vee is only dozin', and wakes up with a jump.</p> + + <p>"Is that you, Torchy?" says she. "Has—has anything dreadful happened?"</p> + + <p>"Yes," says I. "I had to pull a low tackle, and Danny Shea's declared war on Sweden."</p> + <hr class="major" /> + + <div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> + <a class="pagenum" name="page_307" title="307" id="page_307"></a> + <a name="TAG_DAY_AT_TORCHYS_7701" id="TAG_DAY_AT_TORCHYS_7701"></a> + <h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + <h3>TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S</h3> + </div> + + <p>Course, in a way, it was our fault, I expect. We never should have let on that there was any hitch about what we + was goin' to name the baby. Blessed if I know now just how it got around. I remember Vee and I havin' one or two + little talks on the subject, but I don't think we'd tackled the proposition real serious.</p> + + <p>You see, at first we were too busy sort of gettin' used to havin' him around and framin' up a line on this parent + act we was supposed to put over. Anyway, I was. And for three or four weeks, there, I called him anything that came + handy, from Young Sport to Old Snoodlekins. Vee she sticks to Baby. Uh-huh—just plain Baby. But the way she + says it, breathin' it out kind of soft and gentle, sounded perfectly all right to me.</p> + + <p>And the youngster didn't seem to have any kick comin'. He was gettin' so he'd look up and coo real intelligent + when she speaks to him<a class="pagenum" name="page_308" title="308" id="page_308"></a> in that fashion. You couldn't + blame him, for it was easy to listen to.</p> + + <p>As for the different things I called him—well, he didn't mind them, either. No matter what it was,—Old + Pink Toes or Wiggle-heels,—he'd generally pass it off with a smile, providin' he wasn't too busy with his + bottle or tryin' to get hold of his foot with both of his hands.</p> + + <p>Then one day Auntie, who's been listenin' disapprovin' all the while, just can't hold in any longer.</p> + + <p>"Isn't it high time," says she, "that you addressed the child properly by his right name?"</p> + + <p>"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Which one?"</p> + + <p>"You don't mean to say," she goes on, "that you have not yet decided on his baptismal name?"</p> + + <p>"I didn't know he was a Baptist," says I feeble.</p> + + <p>"We hadn't quite settled what to call him," says Vee.</p> + + <p>"Besides," I adds, "I don't see the use bein' in a rush about it. Maybe were're savin' that up."</p> + + <p>"Saving!" says Auntie. "For what reason?"</p> + + <p>"Oh, general conservation," says I. "Got<a class="pagenum" name="page_309" title="309" id="page_309"></a> the + habit. We've had heatless Mondays and wheatless Wednesdays and fryless Fridays and sunless Sundays, so why not + nameless babies?"</p> + + <p>Auntie sniffs and goes off with her nose in the air, as she always does whenever I spring any of my punk + persiflage on her.</p> + + <p>But then Vee takes it up, and says Auntie is right and that we really ought to decide on a name and begin using + it.</p> + + <p>"Oh, very well," says I. "I'll be thinking one up."</p> + + <p>Seemed simple enough. Course, I'd never named any babies before, but I had an idea I could dig out half a dozen + good, serviceable monickers between then and dinner-time.</p> + + <p>Somehow, though, I couldn't seem to hit on anything that I was willing to wish on to the youngster offhand. When I + got right up against the problem, it seemed kind of serious.</p> + + <p>Why, here was something he'd have to live with all his life; us, too. We'd have to say it over maybe a hundred + times a day. And if he grew up and amounted to anything, as we was sure he would, it would mean that this front name + of his that I had to pick out might be displayed more or less prominent. It would be on his office door, on his + letterheads, on his cards. He'd sign it to checks.<a class="pagenum" name="page_310" title="310" id= + "page_310"></a></p> + + <p>Maybe it would be printed in the newspapers, used in headlines, or painted on campaign banners. Might be displayed + on billboards. Who could tell?</p> + + <p>And the deeper I got into the thing the more I wabbled about from one name to another, until I wondered how people + had the nerve to give their children some of the tags you hear—Percy, Isadore, Lulu, Reginald, and so on. And + do it so casual, too. Why, I knew of a couple who named their three girls after parlor-cars; and a gink in Brooklyn + who called one of his boys Prospect, after the park. Think of loadin' a helpless youngster with anything freaky like + that!</p> + + <p>Besides, how were you going to know that even the best name you could pick wouldn't turn out to be a misfit? About + the only Percy I ever knew in real life was a great two-fisted husk who was foreman of a stereotypin' room; and here + in the Corrugated Buildin', if you'll come in some night after five, I can show you a wide built scrub lady, with + hair redder'n mine and a voice like a huckster—her front name is Violet. Yet I expect, when them two was + babies, both those names sounded kind of cute. I could see where it would be easy<a class="pagenum" name="page_311" + title="311" id="page_311"></a> enough for me to make a mistake that it would take a court order to straighten + out.</p> + + <p>So, when Vee asks if I've made any choice yet I had to admit that I'm worse muddled up on the subject than when I + started in. All I can do is hand over a list I've copied down on the back of an envelop with every one of 'em checked + off as no good.</p> + + <p>"Let's see," says Vee, glancin' 'em over curious. "Lester. Why, I'm sure that is rather a nice name for a + boy."</p> + + <p>"Yes," says I; "but after I put it down I remembered a Lester I knew once. He was a simp that wore pink neckties + and used to write love-letters to Mary Pickford."</p> + + <p>"What about Earl?" she asks.</p> + + <p>"Too flossy," says I. "Sounds like you was tryin' to let on he belonged to the aristocracy."</p> + + <p>"Well, Donald, then," says she. "That's a good, sensible name."</p> + + <p>"But we ain't Scotch," I objects.</p> + + <p>"What's the matter with Philip?" says Vee.</p> + + <p>"I can never remember whether it has one <i>l</i> and two <i>p</i>'s or the other way round."</p> + + <p>"But you haven't considered any of the common ones," goes on Vee, "such as John or William or Thomas or James or + Arthur."<a class="pagenum" name="page_312" title="312" id="page_312"></a></p> + + <p>"Because that would mean he'd be called Bill or Tom or Art," says I. "Besides, I kind of thought he ought to have + something out of the usual run—one you wouldn't forget as soon as you heard it."</p> + + <p>"If I may suggest," breaks in Auntie, "the custom of giving the eldest son the family name of his mother is rather + a good one. Had you considered Hemmingway?"</p> + + <p>I just gasps and glances at Vee. What if she should fall for anything like that! Think of smotherin' a baby under + most of the alphabet all at one swoop! And imagine a boy strugglin' through schooldays and vacations with all that + tied to him.</p> + + <p>Hemmingway! Why, he'd grow up round-shouldered and knock-kneed, and most likely turn out to be a floor-walker in + the white goods department, or the manager of a gift-shop tearoom. Hemmingway!</p> + + <p>Just the thought of it made me dizzy; and I begun breathin' easier when I saw Vee shake her head.</p> + + <p>"He's such a little fellow, Auntie," says she. "Wouldn't that be—well, rather topheavy?"</p> + + <p>Which disposes of Auntie. She admits maybe it would. But from then on, as the<a class="pagenum" name="page_313" + title="313" id="page_313"></a> news seems to spread that we was havin' a kind of deadlock with the namin' process, + the volunteers got busy. Old Leon Battou, our butler-cook, hinted that his choice would be Emil.</p> + + <p>"For six generations," says he, "Emil has been the name of the first-born son in our family."</p> + + <p>"That's stickin' to tradition," says I. "It sounds perfectly swell, too, when you know how to pronounce it. But, + you see, we're foundin' a new dynasty."</p> + + <p>Mr. Robert don't say so outright, but he suggests that Ellins Ballard wouldn't be such a bad combination.</p> + + <p>"True," he adds, "the governor and I deserve no such distinction; but I'm sure we would both be immensely + flattered. And there's no telling how reckless we might be when it come to presenting christening cups and that sort + of thing."</p> + + <p>"That's worth rememberin'," says I. "And I expect you wouldn't mind, in case you had a boy to name later on, + callin' him Torchy, eh!"</p> + + <p>Mr. Robert grins. "Entry withdrawn," says he.</p> + + <p>How this Amelia Gaston Leroy got the call to crash in on our little family affair, though,<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_314" title="314" id="page_314"></a> I couldn't quite dope out. We never suspected before that she was such an + intimate friend of ours. Course, since we'd been livin' out in the Piping Rock section we had seen more or less of + her—more, as a rule. She was built that way.</p> + + <p>Oh, yes. Amelia was one of the kind that could bounce in among three or four people in a thirty by forty-five + living-room and make the place seem crowded. Mr. Robert's favorite description of her was that one half of Amelia + didn't know how the other half lived. To state it plain, Amelia was some whale of a girl. One look at her, and you + did no more guessin' as to what caused the food shortage.</p> + + <p>I got the shock of my life, too, when they told me she was the one that wrote so much of this mushy magazine + poetry you see printed. For all the lady poetesses I'd ever seen had been thin, shingled-chested parties with + mud-colored hair and soulful eyes.</p> + + <p>There was nothing thin about Amelia. Her eyes might have been soulful enough at times, but mostly I'd seen 'em + fixed on a tray of sandwiches or a plate of layer cake.</p> + + <p>They'd had her up at the Ellinses' once or twice when they were givin' one of their musical<a class="pagenum" + name="page_315" title="315" id="page_315"></a> evenin's, and she'd spouted some of her stuff.</p> + + <p>Her first call on us, though, was when she blew in last Sunday afternoon and announced that she'd come to see + "that dear, darling man child" of ours. And for a girl of her size Amelia is some breeze, take it from me. Honest, + for the first ten minutes or so there I felt like our happy little home had been hit by a young tornado.</p> + + <p>"Where is he?" she demands. "Please take me at once into the regal presence of his youthful majesty."</p> + + <p>I noticed Vee sizin' her up panicky, and I knew she was thinkin' of what might happen to them spindle-legged white + chairs in the nursery.</p> + + <p>"How nice of you to want to see him!" says Vee. "But let me have Baby brought down here. Just a moment."</p> + + <p>And she steers her towards a solid built davenport that we'd been meanin' to have reupholstered anyway. Then we + was treated to a line of high-brow gush as Amelia inspects the youngster through her shell lorgnette and tries to + tell us in impromptu blank verse how wonderful he is.</p> + + <p>"Ah, he is one of the sun children, loved of<a class="pagenum" name="page_316" title="316" id="page_316"></a> the + high gods," says she, rollin' her eyes. "He comes to you wearing the tints of dawn and trailing clouds of glory. You + remember how Wordsworth puts it?"</p> + + <p>As she fires this straight at me, I has to say something.</p> + + <p>"Does he?" I asks.</p> + + <p>"I am always impressed," she gurgles on, "by the calm serenity in the eyes of these little ones. It is as if + they——"</p> + + <p>But just then Snoodlekins begins screwin' up his face. He's never been mauled around by a lady poetess before, or + maybe it was just because there was so much of her. Anyway, he tears loose with a fine large howl and the serenity + stuff is all off. It takes Vee four or five minutes to soothe him.</p> + + <p>Meanwhile Miss Leroy gets around to statin' the real reason why we're bein' honored.</p> + + <p>"I understand," says she, "that you have not as yet chosen a name for him. So I am going to help you. I adore it. + I have always wanted to name a baby, and I've never been allowed. Think of that! My brother has five children, too; + but he would not listen to any of my suggestions.</p> + + <p>"So I am aunt to a Walter who should have been called Clifford, and a Margaret whom<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_317" title="317" id="page_317"></a> I wanted to name Beryl, and so on. Even my laundress preferred to select + names for her twins from some she had seen on a circus poster rather than let me do it for her.</p> + + <p>"But I am sure you are rational young people, and recognize that I have some natural talent in that direction. + Names! Why, I have made a study of them. I must, you see, in my writing. And this dear little fellow deserves + something fitting. Now let me see. Ah, I have it! He shall be Cedric—after Cedric the Red, you know."</p> + + <p>Accordin' to her, it was all settled. She heaves herself up off the davenport, straightens her hat, and prepares + to leave, smilin' satisfied, like an expert who's been called in and has finished the job.</p> + + <p>"We—we will consider Cedric," says Vee. "Thank you so much."</p> + + <p>"Oh, not at all," says Amelia. "Of course, if I should happen to think of anything better within the next few days + I will let you know at once." And out she floats.</p> + + <p>Vee gazes after her and sighs.</p> + + <p>"I suppose Cedric is rather a good name," says she, "but somehow I don't feel like using one that a stranger has + picked out for us. Do you, Torchy?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_318" title="318" id="page_318"></a></p> + + <p>"You've said it," says I. "I'd sooner let her buy my neckties, or tell me how I should have my eggs cooked for + breakfast."</p> + + <p>"And yet," says Vee, "unless we can think of something better——"</p> + + <p>"We will," says I. "I'm goin' through them pages in the back of the big dictionary."</p> + + <p>In less'n half an hour there's a knock at the door, and here's a chauffeur come with a note from Amelia. On the + way home she's had another hunch.</p> + + <p>"After all," she writes, "Cedric seems rather too harsh, too rough-shod. So I have decided on Lucian."</p> + + <p>"Huh!" says I. "She's decided, has she? Say, whose tag day is this, anyway—ours or hers?"</p> + + <p>Vee shrugs her shoulders.</p> + + <p>"I'm not sure that we should like calling him Lucian; it's so—so—— "</p> + + <p>"I know," says I, "so perfectly sweet. Say, can't we block Amelia off somehow? Suppose I send back word that a + rich step-uncle has promised to leave him a ton of coal if we call the baby Ebenezer after him?"</p> + + <p>Vee chuckles.</p> + + <p>"Oh, no doubt she'll forget all about it by morning," says she.<a class="pagenum" name="page_319" title="319" id= + "page_319"></a></p> + + <p>Seems we'd just begun hearin' from the outside districts, though, or else they'd been savin' up their ideas for + this particular afternoon and evenin'; for between then and nine o'clock no less'n half a dozen different parties + dropped in, every last one of 'em with a name to register. And their contributions ranged all the way from Aaron to + Xury. There were two rooters for Woodrow and one for Pershing.</p> + + <p>Some of the neighbors were real serious about it. They told us what a time they'd had namin' some of their + children, brought up cases where families had been busted up over such discussions, and showed us where their choice + couldn't be beat. One merry bunch from the Country Club thought they was pullin' something mighty humorous when they + stopped in to tell us how they'd held a votin' contest on the subject, and that the winnin' combination was, Paul + Roger.</p> + + <p>"After something you read on a cork, eh?" says I. "Much obliged. And I hope nobody strained his intellect."</p> + + <p>"The idea!" says Vee, after they've rolled off. "Voting on such a thing at a club! Just as if Baby was a + battleship, or a—a new moving-picture place. I think that's perfectly horrid of them."<a class="pagenum" name= + "page_320" title="320" id="page_320"></a></p> + + <p>"It was fresh, all right," says I. "But I expect we got to stand for such guff until we can give out that we've + found a name that suits us. Lemme tackle that list again. Now, how would Russell do? Russell Ballard? No; too many + <i>l</i>'s and <i>r</i>'s. Here's Chester. And I expect the boys would call him Chesty. Then there's Clyde. But + there's steamship line by that name. What about Stanley? Oh, yes; he was an explorer."</p> + + <p>I admit I was gettin' desperate about then. I was flounderin' around in a whole ocean of names, long ones and + short ones, fancy and plain, yet I couldn't quite make up my mind. I'd mussed my hair, shed my collar, and scribbled + over sheets and sheets of paper, without gettin' anywhere at all. And when I gave up and turned in about + eleven-thirty, my head was so muddled I wouldn't have had the nerve to have named a pet kitten.</p> + + <p>I must have just dozed off to sleep when I hears this bell ringin' somewhere. I couldn't quite make out whether it + was a fire alarm, or the <i>z</i>'s in the back of the dictionary goin' off, when Vee calls out that it's the + 'phone.</p> + + <p>I tumbles out and paws around for the extension.<a class="pagenum" name="page_321" title="321" id= + "page_321"></a></p> + + <p>"Wha-what?" says I. "What the blazes! Ye-uh. This is me. Wha-wha's matter?"</p> + + <p>And then comes this gurgly voice at the other end of the wire. It's our old friend Amelia.</p> + + <p>"Do you know," says she, "I have just thought of the loveliest name for your dear baby."</p> + + <p>"Oh, have you?" says I, sort of crisp.</p> + + <p>"Yes," says she, "and I simply couldn't wait until morning to tell you. Now listen—it's Ethelbert."</p> + + <p>"Ethel-Bert!" says I, gaspy. "Say, you know he's no mixed foursome."</p> + + <p>"No, no," says she. Ethelbert—one name, after the old Saxon king. Ethelbert Ballard. "Isn't that just + perfect? And I am so glad it came to me."</p> + + <p>I couldn't agree with her real enthusiastic, so it's lucky she hung up just as she did.</p> + + <p>"Huh!" I remarks to Vee. "Why not Maryjim or Daisybill? Say, I think our friend Amelia must have gone off her + hinge."</p> + + <p>But Vee only yawns and advises me to go to sleep and forget it. Well, I tried. You know how it is, though, when + you've been jolted out of the feathers just as you're halfway through<a class="pagenum" name="page_322" title="322" + id="page_322"></a> the first reel of the slumber stuff. I couldn't get back, to save me.</p> + + <p>I counted sheep jumpin' over a wall, I tried lookin' down a railroad track until I could seen the rails meet, and + I spelled Constantinople backwards. Nothing doing in the Morpheus act.</p> + + <p>I was wider awake then than a new taxi driver makin' his first trip up Broadway. I could think of swell names for + seashore cottages, for new surburban additions, and for other people's babies. I invented an explosive pretzel that + would win the war. I thought of bills I ought to pay next week sure, and of what I meant to tell the laundryman if he + kept on making hash of my pet shirts.</p> + + <p>Then I got to wonderin' about this old-maid poetess. Was she through for the night, or did she work double shifts? + If she wasn't any nearer sleep than I was she might think up half a dozen substitutes for Ethelbert before mornin'. + Would she insist on springin' each one on me as they hit her?</p> + + <p>Maybe she was gettin' ready to call me again now. Should I pretend not to hear and let her ring, or would it be + better to answer and let on that this was Police Headquarters?</p> + + <p>Honest, I got so fidgety waitin' for that<a class="pagenum" name="page_323" title="323" id="page_323"></a> buzzer + to go off that I could almost hear the night operator pluggin' in on our wire.</p> + + <p>And then a thought struck me that wouldn't let go. So, slippin' out easy and throwin' on a bath-robe, I sneaked + downstairs to the back hall 'phone, turned on the light, and hunted up Miss Leroy's number in the book.</p> + + <p>"Give her a good strong ring, please," says I to Exchange, "and keep it up until you rouse somebody."</p> + + <p>"Leave it to me," says the operator. And in a minute or so I gets this throaty "Hello! "</p> + + <p>"Miss Leroy?" says I.</p> + + <p>"Yes," says she. "Who is calling?"</p> + + <p>"Ballard," says I. "I'm the fond parent of the nameless baby. And say, do you still stick to Ethelbert?"</p> + + <p>"Why," says she, "I—er——"</p> + + <p>"I just wanted to tell you," I goes on, "that this guessin' contest closes at 3 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> , + and if you want to make any more entries you got only forty minutes to get 'em in. Nighty-night."</p> + + <p>And I rings off just as she begins sputterin' indignant.</p> + + <p>That seems to help a lot, and inside of five minutes I'm snoozin' peaceful.</p> + + <p>It was next mornin' at breakfast that Vee<a class="pagenum" name="page_324" title="324" id="page_324"></a> + observes offhand, as though the subject hadn't been mentioned before:</p> + + <p>"About naming the baby, now."</p> + + <p>"Ye-e-es?" says I, smotherin' a groan.</p> + + <p>"Why couldn't we call him after you?" she asks.</p> + + <p>"Not—not Richard Junior?" says I.</p> + + <p>"Well, after both of us, then," says she. "Richard Hemmingway. It—it is what I've wanted to name him all + along."</p> + + <p>"You have?" says I. "Well, for the love of——"</p> + + <p>"You didn't ask me, that's why," says she.</p> + + <p>"Why—why, so I didn't," says I. "And say, Vee, I don't know who's got a better right. As for my part of the + name, I've used it so little it's almost as good as new. Richard Hemmingway Ballard it shall be."</p> + + <p>"Oh, I'm so glad," says she. "Of course, I did want you to be the one to pick it out; but if you're satisfied + with——"</p> + + <p>"Satisfied!" says I. "Why, I'm tickled to pieces. And here you had that up your sleeve all the while!"</p> + + <p>Vee smiles and nods.</p> + + <p>"We must have the christening very soon," says she, "so everyone will know."</p> + + <p>"You bet!" says I. "And I've a good notion<a class="pagenum" name="page_325" title="325" id="page_325"></a> to put + it on the train bulletin down at the station, too. First off, though, we'd better tell young Richard himself and see + how he likes it. I expect, though, unless his next crop of hair comes out a different tint from this one, that he'll + have to answer to 'Young Torchy' for a good many years."</p> + + <p>"Oh, yes," says Vee; "but I'm sure he won't mind that in the least."</p> + + <p>"Good girl!" says I, movin' round where I can express my feelin's better.</p> + + <p style='margin-bottom:60px'>"Don't!" says Vee. "You'll spill the coffee."</p> + <hr class='full' /> + + <h2>SEWELL FORD'S STORIES</h2> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for + Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + + <p>SHORTY McCABE. 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>SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. 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>SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. 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>SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. 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>TORCHY. 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>TRYING OUT TORCHY. 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>ON WITH TORCHY. 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>TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.</p> + + <p>Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is + full of humor and infectious American slang.</p> + + <p>WILT THOU TORCHY. 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 style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center;">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + <hr class='full' /> + + <h2>KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES</h2> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for + Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + + <p>MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</p> + + <p>This book has a fairy-story touch, counterbalanced by the sturdy reality of struggle, sacrifice, and resulting + peace and power of a mother's experiences.</p> + + <p>SATURDAY'S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.</p> + + <p>Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, makes a quest for happiness. She passes through three + stages—poverty, wealth and service—and works out a creditable salvation.</p> + + <p>THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE. Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock.</p> + + <p>The story of a sensible woman who keeps within her means, refuses to be swamped by social engagements, lives a + normal human life of varied interests, and has her own romance.</p> + + <p>THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert.</p> + + <p>How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, lifted herself through sheer determination to a higher + plane of life.</p> + + <p>THE HEART OF RACHAEL. Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.</p> + + <p>Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in working out these, there is shown the beauty and strength of + soul of one of fiction's most appealing characters.</p> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center;"><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted + Fiction</i></p> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center;">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + <hr class='full' /> + + <h2>BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS</h2> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for + Grosset & Dunlap's list.</p> + + <p>SEVENTEEN. 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>PENROD. 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>PENROD AND SAM. 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>THE TURMOIL. 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>THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. 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>THE FLIRT. 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 style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center;"><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted + Fiction</i></p> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center;">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + <hr class='full' /> + + <h2>NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE</h2> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center;">HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED.</p> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center; font-weight: bold;">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for + Grosset and Dunlap's list.</p> + + <p>MAVERICKS.</p> + + <p>A tale of the western frontier, where the "rustler," whose depredations are so keenly resented by the early + settlers of the range, abounds. One of the sweetest love stories ever told.</p> + + <p>A TEXAS RANGER.</p> + + <p>How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried law into the mesquit, saved the life of an innocent + man after a series of thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then passed through deadly peril to + ultimate happiness.</p> + + <p>WYOMING.</p> + + <p>In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured the breezy charm of "cattleland," and brings out + the turbid life of the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor.</p> + + <p>RIDGWAY OF MONTANA.</p> + + <p>The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and mining industries are the religion of the + country. The political contest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give this story great strength and + charm.</p> + + <p>BUCKY O'CONNOR.</p> + + <p>Every chapter teems with "wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with the dashing spirit of the border, told with + dramatic dash and absorbing fascination of style and plot.</p> + + <p>CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT.</p> + + <p>A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of a bitter feud between cattle-men and sheep-herders. + The heroine is a most unusual woman and her love story reaches a culmination that is fittingly characteristic of the + great free West.</p> + + <p>BRAND BLOTTERS.</p> + + <p>A story of the Cattle Range. This story brings out the turbid life of the frontier, with all its engaging dash and + vigor, with a charming love interest running through its 320 pages.</p> + + <p style="font-size: smaller; text-align: center;">Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The House of Torchy, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF TORCHY *** + +***** This file should be named 21882-h.htm or 21882-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/1/8/8/21882/ + +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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