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diff --git a/21882.txt b/21882.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2a98ac0 --- /dev/null +++ b/21882.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8777 @@ +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: ASCII + +*** 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 + + + + + +[Illustration: "'Don't!' says Vee. 'You'll spill the coffee.'"] + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +THE HOUSE OF TORCHY + +BY +SEWELL FORD + +AUTHOR OF +TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY, SHORTY MCCABE, Etc. + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY +ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN + +GROSSET & DUNLAP +PUBLISHERS--NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +Copyright, 1917, 1918, by +SEWELL FORD + +Copyright 1918, by +EDWARD J. CLODE + +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER PAGE + +I Torchy and Vee on the Way 1 + +II Vee with Variations 12 + +III A Qualifying Turn for Torchy 25 + +IV Switching Arts on Leon 44 + +V A Recruit for the Eight-three 60 + +VI Torchy in the Gazinkus Class 79 + +VII Back with Clara Belle 96 + +VIII When Torchy got the Call 114 + +IX A Carry-on for Clara 134 + +X All the Way with Anna 152 + +XI At the Turn with Wilfred 172 + +XII Vee Goes Over the Top 193 + +XIII Late Returns on Rupert 214 + +XIV Forsythe at the Finish 232 + +XV The House of Torchy 250 + +XVI Torchy gets the Thumb Grip 272 + +XVII A Low Tackle by Torchy 288 + +XVIII Tag Day at Torchy's 307 + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + + + + +THE HOUSE OF TORCHY + +CHAPTER I + +TORCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY + + +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. + +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. + +"Ottasumpsit Inn?" says he. + +"Why, I expect so," says I, "if that's the way you call it. +Otto--Otta--Yep, that listens something like it." + +You see, Mr. Robert had said it only once, when he handed me the +tickets, and I hadn't paid much attention. + +"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?" + +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---- + +"Gosh!" says I, sighin' relieved. "Sure I got it." + +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. + +The mild-eyed gent with the close-cropped Vandyke and the gold-rimmed +glasses glances over at Vee. + +"Ah--er--I thought Mrs. Ballard was with you!" says he. + +"That's so; she is," says I, grabbin' the pen again and tackin' "Mr. and +Mrs." in front of my autograph. + +That's why, while we're fixin' up a bit before goin' down to breakfast, +I has this little confidential confab with Vee. + +"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." + +"Who wants to?" says Vee. "I'm not ashamed of being on my honeymoon; are +you?" + +"Good girl!" says I. "You bet I ain't. I thought the usual line, though, +was to pretend you'd----" + +"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." + +"And grin too, eh?" says I. "We'll grin back." + +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. + +"Two'll be enough," says I. "But whisper. Seein' as we're only startin' +in on the twosome breakfast game, maybe you could find something nice +and cheerful by a window. Eh?" + +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. + +"Have a fourth buckwheat," says I. + +"No fair, keeping count!" says Vee. "I looked the other way when you +took your fifth." + +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. + +"Cunnin' little town, eh?" says I. "Looks like a birthday cake." + +"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?" + +"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." + +For which crack I gets shoved into a snowdrift. + +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. + +I drifts over by the fireplace, where two substantial old boys are +toastin' their toes and smokin' their cigars. + +"Snappy brand of weather they pass out up here, eh?" I throws off, +pullin' up a rocker. + +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." + +Then he hitches around until I'm well out of view, and says to the +other: + +"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----" + +I'll admit my next stab at bein' sociable was 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. + +"Sorry," says I. "I should have honked." + +She just glares at me, and if I hadn't side-stepped prompt she might +have sunk that parrot bill into my shoulder. + +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? + +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. They didn't act +as though I was visible. + +"Huh!" thinks I. "I'll bet they take notice of Vee when she comes down." + +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. + +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 "Aida." We slips in and listens. Then the leader gets his +eye on us and turns on a fox-trot. + +"Looks like they was waitin' for us to start something," says I. +"Let's." + +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. + +"Do they think we are giving an exhibition?" she pouts. + +"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." + +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. + +"Nice place, this," says I to Vee, as we trails in to dinner that +evenin'. "Almost as sociable as the Grand Central station." + +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. + +"Then you have to be born in the house to be a reg'lar person, I +suppose?" says I. + +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. + +"Why you dear old Verona!" says she. + +"Judith!" gasps Vee, kind of smothery. + +"Whatever are you doing up----" And then Judith gets wise to me sittin' +opposite. "Oh!" says she. + +Vee blushes and exhibits her left hand. + +"It only happened the other night," says she. "This is Mr. Ballard, +Judith. And you?" + +"Oh, ages ago--last spring," says Judith. "Bert, come here." + +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. + +"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?" + +"We--we haven't met anyone," says Vee. + +"Why, how funny!" exclaims Mrs. Nixon. "Please come over right now." + +"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!" + +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. 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. + +"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'. + +That evenin' Judith gets busy plannin' things to do next day. + +"You haven't tried the toboggan chute?" says she. "Why, how absurd!" + +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? + +Anyway, our honeymoon was turnin' out a great success. The Nixons +concluded to stay over a few days, and three or four of the others +found they could too, so we just went on whooping things up. + +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'. + +"I'm afraid that will not be half as nice as this has been," says Vee. + +"It couldn't," says I. "It's the reg'lar thing to do, though." + +"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?" + +"Vee," says I, "you got more good sense than I have red hair. Let's!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +VEE WITH VARIATIONS + + +"But--but look here, Vee," says I, after I'd got my breath back, "you +can't do a thing like that, you know." + +"But I have, Torchy," says she; "and, what is more, I mean to keep on +doing it." + +She don't say it messy, understand--just states it quiet and pleasant. + +And there we are, hardly at the end of our first month, with the rocks +loomin' ahead. + +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. + +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? +I doubt it. Now and then, though, I catch her watchin' me sort of +puzzled. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. + +"And this four-poster with the pineapple tops and the canopy," she goes +on. "Pure Colonial, a hundred years old." + +"Eh?" says I, gazin' at it doubtful. "Course, I was lookin' for +second-hand stuff, but I don't think he ought to work off anything that +ancient on me, do you?" + +"Silly!" says Vee. "It's a gem, and the older the better." + +"We'll need some new rugs, won't we," says I, "in place of some of these +faded things?" + +"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." + +"Oh, when I go out after a home," says I, "I'm some grand little +shopper." + +"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?" + +"Put pink and green stripes around the cigars, I expect," says I. + +"Smarty!" says she. "I'm going to paint pictures." + +"Why not?" says I. "There's no law against it, and here you got all the +tools." + +"You know I used to try it a little," says she. "I took quite a lot of +lessons." + +"Then go to it," says I. "I'll get a yearly rate from a pressing club +to keep the spots off me. I'll bet you could do swell pictures." + +"I know!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "I'll begin with a portrait of +you. Let me try sketching in your head now." + +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. + +"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?" + +At that she lets me off, and after a fifth-innin' stretch I'm called +round to pass on the result. + +"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at what she's done to a perfectly good piece +of stretched canvas. + +"Well, what does it look like?" demands Vee. + +"Why," says I, "I should call it sort of a cross between the Kaiser and +Billy Sunday." + +"Torchy!" says Vee. "I--I think you're just horrid!" + +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 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. + +"You know your hair isn't really red," says Vee; "it--it's such an odd +shade." + +"Sort of triple pink, eh?" says I. + +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. + +"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?" + +And, with the help of a few matches and a sportin' extra, we made quite +a cheerful little blaze in the coal grate. + +"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." + +"Maybe," says I, "you're one of the scarce ones that believes in home +and hubby." + +"We-e-e-ell," says Vee, lockin' her fingers 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." + +Me, I just sits there gawpin' at her. + +"Why," says I, "I thought that when a girl got married she--she----" + +"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?" + +"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." + +Vee's gray eyes light up sudden. + +"Why couldn't you tell me all about some of these deals," she says, "so +that I could be in it too? Why couldn't I help?" + +"Maybe you could," says I, "if you understood all the fine points." + +"Couldn't I learn?" demands Vee. + +"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----" + +"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." + +I nods. "It does," says I. + +"Then why shouldn't I try something of the kind, all my very own?" she +asks. "Oh, in a small way, at first?" + +More gasps from me. This was gettin' serious. + +"You don't mean margin dabblin' at one of them parlor bucket-shops, do +you?" I demands. + +"No fear," says Vee. "I think gambling is just plain stupid. I mean some +sort of legitimate business--buying and selling things." + +"Oh!" says I. "Like real estate, or imported hats, or somebody's +home-made candy? Or maybe you mean startin' one of them Blue 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." + +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. + +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. + +"What do you think, Torchy?" says she. "I've found something!" + +"That trunk key you've been lookin' for?" says I. + +"No," says she. "A business opening." + +"A slot-machine to sell fudge?" says I. + +"You'd never guess," says she. + +"Then shoot it," says I. + +"I'm going to open a shoe-shinery," she announces. + +"Wha-a-a-at!" says I. + +"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 basement. See?" And she +waves a paper at me. + +"Quit your kiddin'," says I. + +But she insists that it's so. Sure enough, that's the way the lease +reads. + +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. + +"Now let's get this straight," says I. "I don't suppose you're plannin' +to do shoe-shinin' yourself?" + +Vee smiles and shakes her head. + +"Or 'tend the cash register and sell shoelaces and gum to gentlemen +customers?" + +"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." + +"No," says I. + +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 kick. All the work is to be collected and delivered, same as laundry. + +"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. + +"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." + +"I see," says I. "You're going to set Tarkins up, eh?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 tricks, like +sendin' out their shoes, you're goin' to be up against it." + +"Then you think I can't make 'boots' pay a profit?" asks Vee. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Now, Mister Business Man," says she, "what do you think of that?" + +"Eh?" says I, starin' at the figures. + +"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?" + +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. + +And afterwards we sits up until long past midnight while Vee plans a +chain of "boots" all over the city. + +"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." + +"I don't care," says Vee. "I've found a job." + +"Guess you have," says I. "And, as I've remarked once or twice before, +you're some girl." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +A QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY + + +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. + +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. + +And then, in trickles this smooth-haired young gent with the broad _a_'s +and the full set of _the dansant_ manners, to show me where I'm 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. + +"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?" + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Quite so," says the symphony. "Precisely why he sent me up, sir--to +talk over anything you might care to discuss." + +"With you!" snorts Old Hickory. "Who the brocaded buckboards are you?" + +"Mr. Runyon's secretary, sir," says the young gent. "Bixby's the name, +sir, as you will see by the card, and----" + +"Ha!" growls old Hickory. "So that's Marc Runyon's answer to me, is it? +Sends his secretary! Very well; you may talk with _my_ secretary. +Torchy!" + +"Right here!" says I, slidin' to the front. + +"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." + +"Got you!" says I, salutin'. + +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: + +"At your service, sir." + +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. +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. + +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. + +"As between private secs, now," says I, "what's puttin' up the bars on +this get-together motion, eh?" + +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. + +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 _poulet +en casserole_ and such truck, not to mention Martinis and demi-tasses +and brunette perfectos, was clean out of the question. + +"My word!" says Bixby, rollin' his eyes. "His physician would never +allow it, you know." + +"Suppose he took a chance and didn't tell the doc?" I suggests. + +"Impossible," says Bixby. "He is with him constantly--travels with him, +you understand." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +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 trustin' of each other as a couple of gentlemen crooks dividin' the +souvenirs after an early mornin' call at a country-house. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"If Mr. Ellins could come to the private car----" begins Bixby. + +"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?" + +Bixby holds up both hands and registers painful protest. + +"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." + +"Now, that's talkin'!" says I. "I'll see what I can do with the boss. +Wait, will you?" + +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. + +"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!" + +"I expect you ain't seen much of him lately, Mr. Ellins?" I suggests. + +Old Hickory hunches his shoulders careless. + +"No," says he. + +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: + +"Well, son?" + +"If you could get away about three," says I, "Mr. Runyon's limousine +will be waiting." + +"Huh!" says he. "Well, I'll see. Perhaps." + +"Yes, sir," says I. "Then you'll be wanting the dope on that terminal +lease. Shall I dig it up?" + +"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." + +"Gee!" says I. "That's some order. Mr. Bixby'll have me lookin' like an +outside porter. But I'll go wind myself up." + +All I could think of, though, was to post myself on that terminal stuff. +And, believe me, I 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +P.M. I had a leather document case stuffed with papers and a cross-index +of 'em in my so-called brain. + +"When you're ready, Mr. Ellins," says I, standin' by with my hat in my +hand. + +"Oh, yes," says he, heavin' himself up reluctant from his desk chair. + +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. + +Also there is Bixby the Busy, with his ear out for us. + +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' +under my breath from the minute I hits the front vestibule. + +"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." + +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. + +"Will you sit here, Mr. Ellins?" murmurs Bixby. "And you here, sir. +Pardon me a moment." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Bixby nods to her and stands one side. Then we waits a minute--two +minutes. And finally the procession appears. + +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. + +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. + +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 he shows the other nurse where to set her tray. + +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. + +"Hello, Ellins," says Runyon. "Mighty good of you to hunt up a wreck +like me." + +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. + +"I--I didn't know," says he. "When did it happen, Runyon?" + +"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?" + +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 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. + +"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." + +Marcus T.'s eyes brighten up. They almost twinkle. + +"Bixby," says he, "what about that? Has there been an increase in the +tonnage rate to the Corrugated?" + +"I think so, sir," says Bixby. "I can look it up, sir." + +"Ah!" says Runyon. "Bixby will look it up." + +"He needn't," says Old Hickory. "It's been doubled, that's all. We had +the notice last week. Torchy, did you----" + +"Yep!" says I, shootin' the letter at him. + +"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----" + +"It's because you think you've got us in a hole," breaks in Old Hickory. +"We've got to load our boats and you control the docks." + +"Oh, yes!" chuckles Marcus T. "An unfortunate situation--for you. But I +presume there are other dockage facilities available." + +"If there were," says Mr. Ellins sarcastic, "do you think we would be +paying you from three to five millions a year?" + +"Bixby, I fear you must explain our position more fully," goes on Mr. +Runyon. + +"Oh, certainly," says Bixby. "I will have a full report prepared +and----" + +"Suppose you tell it to my secretary now," insists Old Hickory, glarin' +menacin' at him. + +"Do so, Bixby," says Marcus T. + +"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----" + +"What about them docks at Three Harbors?" I cuts in. + +"Three Harbors?" repeats Bixby, starin' vague. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Ah!" exclaims Bixby, comin' to life again. "I remember now. Tamarack +Junction. We hold a charter for a railroad from there to Three Harbors." + +"You mean you did hold it," says I. + +"I beg pardon?" says Bixby, gawpin'. + +"It lapsed," says I, "eighteen months ago. Here's a copy, O. K.'d by a +Minnesota notary public. See the date?" + +"Allow me," says Mr. Runyon, reachin' for it. + +Old Hickory gets up and rubbers over his shoulder. "By George!" says he. +"It has lapsed, Runyon. Torchy, where's a map of----" + +"Here you are," says I. "You'll see the branch line sketched in there. +That would cut our haul about fifteen miles." + +"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?" + +Marcus T. turns slow and fixes them keen eyes of his on Bixby the Busy. + +"Hm-m-m!" says he. "It seems that we have overlooked a point, Bixby. +Perhaps, though, you can offer----" + +He can. Some shifty private sec, Bixby is. + +"Your milk, sir," says he, grabbin' the tray and shovin' it in front of +Runyon. + +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. + +He's about the best trained plute I ever saw in captivity. + +"And I think the doctor should take your temperature now," adds Bixby. +"I will call him." + +As he slips off toward the back end of the car Mr. Runyon lets out a +sigh. + +"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." + +Old Hickory does prompt, for we don't want to buy rails at the price +they're bringin' now. + +"And by the way, Runyon," says he, "may I ask what you pay your young +man? I'm just curious." + +"Bixby?" says Runyon. "Oh, twenty-five hundred." + +"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." + +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. + +"Whaddye mean, three thousand?" says I. + +"Dollars," says he. "Beginning to-day." + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +one of my big surprises. I'd thought all along it was so simple. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +She was a cheerful soul, even when she was servin' soggy potatoes or +rappin' me in the ear with her elbow as she reached across to fill my +water glass. + +"He-he! Haw-haw! Oxcuse, Mister," was Bertha's repartee for such little +breaks. + +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. + +And who would have the heart to put the ban on a yodel that begins in +our kitchenette at 7 A.M., even on cloudy mornin's? + +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. + +So you might have thought we'd been glad, when 6.30 P.M. 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'. + +But, believe me, while my domestic instincts may be sproutin' late, +they're comin' strong. I'm beginnin' to yearn for nourishment that I +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. + +"Besides," says she, "I wish we could entertain some of our friends." + +"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?" + +"Such as canned baked beans and celery?" asks Vee, chucklin'. "And yet, +if I stood by and read the directions to her--who knows?" + +"Let's try her on the Piddies," I suggests. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Sure!" says I. "What are friends for, anyway? How about askin' Mr. and +Mrs. Robert Ellins?" + +"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." + +"Atta girl!" says I. "Swell thought." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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----" + +"Silly!" says she. "It's the Battous." + +"Don't know 'em," says I. + +"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." + +"Oh, yes!" says I. "The one with the twinklin' eyes and the curly +iron-gray hair, who always bows so polite and shoots that bon-shure +stuff at you. Him?" + +It was. + +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. + +"I'm sure you would have done the same, Torchy," says she. + +"I might," says I, "if he hadn't been too husky. But what now?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"I'll do any foolish little thing you name," says I. + +"Goody!" says Vee. "I just knew you would. We'll go right up and----" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Oh! Then you're an artist, are you?" + +"I have the honor," says he. "I should be pleased to have you inspect +some of my----" + +"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?" + +He hunches his shoulders and spreads out both hands. + +"It is true, what you say of art," he goes 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 Peronne. But here--there is trouble about +the union. The greasy plumber will not work where I am, it seems. _Eh +bien!_ I am forced out. So I return to my landscapes. Are there not many +rich Americans who pay well for such things?" + +I waves him back into his chair. + +"How'd you come to wander so far from this Peronne place?" says I. + +"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 Peronne. 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 Peronne. 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. + +"And then--_la guerre_! Henri must go to 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." + +"Nothing doing, eh?" says I. + +Battou shakes his head. + +"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." + +"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." + +With that he shakes me by both hands, gives me a bear hug, and rushes +off. + +Pretty soon Vee comes down with smiles in her eyes. + +"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." + +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'. + +"Oh, but you will," says she. "You'll do something." + +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. + +"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." + +"How about his art stuff?" I asks Vee, when I got back. + +"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?" + +"Sent 'em an anonymous ham by parcels post?" says I. + +"No," says Vee. "I'm going to have them down to-night for the rehearsal +dinner." + +"Fine dope!" says I. "And if they survive bein' practiced on----" + +But Vee has skipped off to the kitchenette without waitin' to hear the +rest. + +"Is this to be a reg'lar dress rehearsal?" I asks, when I comes home +again. "Should I doll up regardless?" + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +She'd caught sight of our guests. + +"Please don't mind," says Vee. "We're not very good cooks, Bertha and I. +We--we've spoiled everything, I guess." + +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. + +"Buck up, Vee," says I. "Better luck next time. Chuck the whole shootin' +match into the discards, and we'll all chase around to Roverti's +and----" + +"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----" + +"Pardon," says M. Battou, steppin' to the front; "but perhaps, if you +would permit, I might assist with--with the lamb." + +It's a novel idea, I admit. No wonder Vee gasps a little. + +"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." + +"Do, Leon," urges Madame Battou. "Lamb, is it? Oh, he is wonderful with +lamb." + +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. + +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. + +Once he gets started, he ain't satisfied with 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. + +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. + +"Whisper, Professor," says I, "did you work a spell on it, or what?" + +"Ah-h-h!" says Battou, chucklin' and rubbin' his hands together. "It is +cooked _a la Paysan_, after the manner of Peronne, and with it is the +sauce chateau." + +"That isn't mere cookery," says Vee; "that's art." + +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?" + +"He will if I'm any persuader," says I. "Wouldn't it be great to spring +something like that on Mr. Robert?" + +And while I'm shavin' next mornin' I connect 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. + +"But, Torchy!" says she. "Do you think he would--really?" + +Before I can answer there's a ring at the door, and here is M. Leon +Battou. + +"The agent once more!" says he, producin' a paper. "In three days, it +says. But you have found me the wall-painting, yes?" + +"Professor," says I, "I hate to say it, but there's nothin' doing in the +free-hand fresco line--absolutely." + +He slumps into a chair, and that pitiful, hunted look settles in his +eyes. + +"Then--then we must go," says he. + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"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!" + +"You!" gasps Battou, starin' around at our twelve by eighteen +livin'-room. + +I nods. + +"What would you take it on for as a steady job?" + +"Oh, anything that would provide for us," says he, eager. "But how----" + +"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?" + +He's a keen one, Mr. Battou. + +"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?" + +"Could she!" exclaims Vee. "If she only would!" + +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. + +"I say," whispers Mr. Robert, "your cook must be a real artist." + +"That's how he's carried on the family payroll," says I. + +"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." + +"Rather than have you worried with any more Bunglin' Berthas," says I, +"I'd subsidize the whole of Peronne 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." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A RECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE + + +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? + +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. + +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 _au buerre noir_; 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. + +And while all that may listen expensive, I have Vee's word for it that +since Madame Battou 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. + +"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." + +He smiles grateful, but shakes his head. + +"Ah, Monsieur," says he,--oh, yes, just like that,--"but if I had the +fresh chives, the--the _fin herbes_--ah, then you should see!" + +"Well, can't Madame get what you need at the stores?" says I. + +"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." + +"How about it, Vee?" I asks. "Are we too proud to grow our soup greens +on the premises?" + +She says we ain't, so I tells Leon to breeze 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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh, but the night air is bad to breathe, Monsieur," says he. + +"Not for us," says I. "Anyway, we're used to it, so I guess you'll have +to lay off this bedroom garden business." + +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. + +"Poor chap!" says Vee. "He has been telling me what wonderful things he +used to raise when he lived in Peronne. Isn't there some way, Torchy, +that we could give him more room?" + +"We might rent the roof and glass it in for him," I suggests, "or get a +permit to bridge over the street." + +"Silly!" says she, rumplin' my red hair reckless. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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?" + +"Blamed near an hour away," says I. "Ought to be, hadn't it?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +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 with us, and he's joshin' +us about our livin' in a four-and-bath and sportin' a French chef. + +"Really," says he, "to live up to him you ought to move into a brewer's +palace on Riverside Drive, at least." + +"Oh, Battou would be satisfied if I'd lease Madison Square park for him, +so he could raise onions," says I. + +Which reminds Mr. Robert of something. + +"Oh, I say!" he goes on. "You must see my garden. I'm rather proud of +it, you know." + +"Your garden!" says I, grinnin'. "You don't mean you've been gettin' the +hoe and rake habit, Mr. Robert?" + +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. + +"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." + +"Looks all right to me, as it is," says I. "You got a front yard big +enough to get lost in." + +Also the house ain't any small shack, with all its dormers and striped +awnin's and deep verandas. + +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. + +"Certainly," says Mr. Robert. "I will exhibit it myself. That is--er--by +the way, Gertrude, where the deuce is that garden of ours?" + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +Mrs. Robert laughs and shakes her head. + +"They were never mentioned in my course, you see," says she. "But our +nearest neighbor has some wonderful lilac bushes. Robert, don't you +think we might walk down the east drive and ask your dear friend Mr. +MacGregor Shinn if he'd mind----" + +"Decidedly no," cuts in Mr. Robert. "I'd much prefer not to trouble Mr. +Shinn at all." + +"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." + +But you know Vee. Half an hour later, when we've been left to ourselves, +she announces: + +"Come along, Torchy. I am going to find that east drive." + +"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." + +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. + +"There they are!" exclaims Vee. "Loads of them. And aren't they +fragrant? Smell, Torchy." + +"I am," says I, sniffin' deep. "Don't you hear me?" + +"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?" + +"It needs paint here and there," says I. + +"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." + +"Why not?" says I. "What would it hurt?" + +"But that Shinn person," protests Vee, "might--might not----" + +"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." + +"You absurd boy!" says Vee, squeezin' my hand. "Well, anyway, we might +venture in a step or two." + +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 cut, the +flower beds are full of dry weeds left over from last fall, and most of +the green shutters are closed. + +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. + +"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." + +And, before Vee can object, I've snapped off the end of a twig. + +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 +in a plaid golf suit, and he bores down on us just as gentle as a +tornado. + +"I say, you!" he calls out. "Stop where you are." + +"Don't hurry," says I. "We'll wait for you." + +"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." + +"That's right," says I. "Petty larceny and breakin' and enterin'. I'm +the guilty party." + +"I'm sure there's nothing to make such a fuss about," says Vee, eyin' +him scornful. + +"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?" + +"Breeze ahead, then," says I. "Call the high sheriff. Only let's not get +all foamed up over it, Mr. MacGregor Shinn." + +"Ha!" says he. "Then ye know who I am? Maybe you're stopping up at the +big house?" + +"We are guests of Mr. Ellins, your neighbor," puts in Vee. + +"He's no neighbor of mine," snaps Shinn. "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." + +"Then take it," says Vee, throwing the lilac spray on the ground. + +"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." + +"Is she, now?" says Shinn, still scowlin' at us. + +"And she thinks your place here is pretty cute," I adds. + +"It's a rotten hole," says he. + +"Maybe you're a poor judge," says I. "If it was fixed up a bit I should +think it might be quite spiffy." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Slicin', mon," says he. "Hardly a tee shot found the fairway the whole +round. And then you two come breaking me bushes." + +"My error," says I. "But you should have hung out a sign that you was +inside chewin' nails." + +"I was doing nothing of the kind," says he. "I was waiting for that +grinning idiot, Len Hung, to give me me tea." + +"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." + +"Ye wull not," says MacGregor; "ye'll have tea with me." + +It sounds like a threat, and I can see Vee gettin' ready to object +strenuous. So I gives her the nudge. + +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. + +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. + +"Vee," says I, "our peevish friend is invitin' us to take tea with him. +Shall we chance it?" + +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. + +"Does he say it real polite?" she asks. + +"Na," says MacGregor. "But there'll be hot scones and marmalade." + +"M-m-m-m!" says Vee. "Let's, Torchy." + +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. + +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. + +"Look, Torchy!" says she. "That glimpse of water from the living-room +windows. Isn't that dear? And one could have such a wonderful 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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Mercy!" says she. "You don't mean to say you got all those from our +neighbor's bushes, do you?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "We've been mesmerizin' MacGregor. He's as tame a +Scot now as you'd want to see." + +They could hardly believe it, and when they heard about our havin' tea +with him they gasped. + +"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." + +Mr. Robert, though, winks knowin'. + +"Some of Torchy's red-headed diplomacy, I suspect," says he. "I must +engage you to make our peace with MacGregor." + +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. + +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'. + +"That's really living, isn't it?" says Vee. + +"Why not," says I, "with a twenty-room house, and grounds half as big as +Central Park?" + +"I know," says Vee. "But a little place like Mr. Shinn's would be large +enough for us." + +"I expect it would," says I. "You don't really think you'd like to live +out there, do you, though?" + +"Wouldn't I!" says Vee, her eyes sparklin'. "I'd love it." + +"What would you do all day alone?" I suggests. + +"I'd raise ducks and chickens and flowers," says Vee. "And Leon could +have a garden. Just think!" + +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. + +"I'm luggin' home someone to dinner," says I. "Guess who?" + +Vee couldn't. + +"MacGregor the grouch," says I. + +"Really!" says Vee. "How funny!" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I say," says he casual, "this isn't such a bad hole you have here." + +"Perfectly rotten," says I. + +"Then we might make a trade," says he. "What?" + +"There's no tellin'," says I. "You mean a swap, as things stand?" + +"That's it," says he. "I'm no hand for moving rubbish about." + +"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." + +"Very well," says MacGregor. "I'll stop in town to-night." + +"Oh, Torchy!" says Vee, after he's gone. "Do--do you suppose he +will--really?" + +"You're still for it, eh?" says I. "Sure, now?" + +"Oh, it would be almost too good to be true," says she. "That could be +made just the dearest place!" + +"Yes," says I; "but my job is to talk MacGregor into lettin' it go +cheap, or else we can't afford to touch it." + +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. + +"What's this?" says she. + +"That's your chicken permit," says I. "All aboard for Lilac Lodge! Gee! +I wonder should I grow whiskers, livin' out there?" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS + + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, look, Torchy!" Vee would exclaim about twice a minute when she +discovered something new. + +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. + +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. + +"Only think, Torchy," says Vee, after we've made the rounds inside. "Ten +rooms, just for us!" + +"Twelve, countin' the cellar and attic," says I. "But there's more +outside, ain't there?" + +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 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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"How?" says I. "Why, I feel like I was the Grand Gazinkus of Gazook." + +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. + +"Ah, but it is all so good!" says he. "_Le bleu ciel, les fleurs, les +oiseaux! C'est bonne, tres bonne. Ne c'est pas?_" + +"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?" + +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 _fine herbes_ 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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Ah-h-h-h!" says he. "But monsieur has not the passion for growing green +things." + +"Thanks be, then," says I. "It would land me in the liniment ward if I +had." + +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. + +"What?" I gasps. "Want me to excavate all that? Hal-lup!" + +"Pooh!" says Vee. "It will do you good." + +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. + +"Say," says I, "you ain't got a baby-grand steam-shovel or anything like +that around the place, have you?" + +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. + +"How about havin' a couple more lanes of string-beans laid out?" I +suggests. "And maybe a few hundred mounds of green corn, eh?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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 P.M. 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 cochere at the +Ellinses' up on the hill, and most of that is cut off by trees and lilac +bushes. + +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, there's so many weird sounds I can't account for. + +"What's all that jinglin' going on?" I asks the other evenin'. "Sounds +like a squad of junkmen comin' up the pike." + +"Silly!" says Vee. "Frogs, of course." + +"Oh!" says I. + +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. + +"For the love of Pete," I breaks out, "what do you call that?" + +Vee chuckles. "Didn't you see the calf up at Mr. Robert's?" she asks. +"Well, that's the old cow calling to him." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Torchy," she whispers husky. "Get up." + +"Eh?" says I, pryin' my eyes open reluctant. "Get up? Wha-wha' for?" + +"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." + +"Nothing doing," says I snugglin' into the pillow again. "I--I'm busy." + +"But you must," says she. "Listen. I think someone is prowling around +the house." + +"Let 'em ramble, then," says I. "What do we care?" + +"But suppose it's a--a burglar?" she whispers. + +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. + +"Let's not suppose anything of the sort," says I. + +"But I'm sure I saw someone just now, when I got up to fix the shade," +insists Vee. "Someone who stepped out into the moonlight right there, +between the shadows of those two trees. Then he disappeared out that +way. Come and look." + +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. + +"Maybe you was only dreamin', Vee," says I. "Anyway, let's wait until +mornin', and then----" + +"There!" she breaks in excited. "Just beyond the garden trellis. See?" + +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. + +"It's a man!" gasps Vee, clutchin' me by the sleeve. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "So it is." + +"Well?" says Vee. + +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. + +"Got a nerve, ain't he?" says I. "Let's wait; maybe he'll fall into the +pond." + +"How absurd!" says Vee. "No; we must do something right away." + +"Of course," says I. "I'll shout and ask him what the blazes he thinks +he's doin'." + +"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." + +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. + +"Whaddye mean, revolver?" I asks. + +"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." + +"Think it's loaded?" I whispers. + +"It might be," says Vee. "Anyway, it's better than nothing. Let's get +it." + +"All right," says I. "Soon as I get something on. Just a sec." + +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, 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. + +"Now you stay inside, Vee," says I, "while I go scoutin' and----" + +"No indeed," says Vee. "I am going too." + +"But you mustn't," I insists. + +"Hush!" says she. "I shall." + +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. + +"Guess he must have skipped," says I. + +"But he was here only a moment ago," says Vee. "Don't you know, we saw +him---- Oh, oh!" + +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' +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. + +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? + +"Hey, you!" I sings out real crisp. + +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. + +"That's right; keep your paws up," says I. "And, remember, if you go to +makin' any funny moves----" + +"Why, Torchy!" exclaims Vee, grabbin' my shootin' arm. "It's Leon!" + +"Wha-a-a-at!" says I, starin' at this wabbly party among the coldslaw. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"It was to protect the cabbages, monsieur," says he. + +"Eh?" says I. "Protect 'em from what?" + +"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. But I had found him; yes, two. And I was searching for more +when monsieur----" + +"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." + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +"Now, that's all right, Leon," says I soothin'. "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." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +BACK WITH CLARA BELLE + + +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. + +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. + +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' 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. + +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. + +"Oh, Vee!" I sings out, openin' the terrace door. "Come have a look." + +And, as she don't appear on the jump, I keeps on into the livin'-room +and calls: + +"Hey! What do you know about these? Beans! Perfectly good----" + +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. + +Do I pull some easy johndrew lines and exit graceful? Not me. My feet +was glued to the rug. + +"Beans!" says I, grinnin' simple and danglin' the specimens. "Perfectly +good string----" + +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. + +"Not ours, Torchy?" says she, slidin' out from behind the tea-table and +rushin' over. "Not our very own?" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "Just picked 'em." + +At which the other caller joins in unexpected. + +"From your own garden?" says she. "How interesting! Oh, do show them to +me." + +"Why, sure," says I. "Guess we're doin' our bit, ain't we?" + +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 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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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 some kind of fat worm that had strayed +in from the cucumber bed. + +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. + +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? + +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 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. + +"Zowie!" says I. "You must have made more of a hit with our swell +neighbor than I did, Vee." + +Vee smiles quizzin' and shrugs her shoulders. + +"I'm not so sure," says she. "I almost feel as though we had been +visited by the Probation Officer, or someone like that." + +"How do you mean?" says I. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"The old girl with the pelican chin and the rovin' eyes?" I asks. +"What's the matter with her besides her looks?" + +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. + +"You know who he is," adds Vee. "The tablet man." + +"What?" says I. "'Tupper's Tablets for Indigestion--on Everybody's +Tongue.' Him?" + +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." + +"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." + +"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 soul. +And I shall feel so snobbish if I don't return her call." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Clean out of my line," says I. + +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. + +"I simply couldn't send them back," says Vee; "and yet----" + +"I get you," says I. "But don't worry. Let the thing ride a while. I got +an idea." + +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' into town next +mornin', I tackled three or four on the 8:03 in an offhand way. + +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? + +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. + +"Grand old girl, Clara Belle," says he. + +"Eh?" says I. "Shoot the rest." + +"Couldn't think of it, son," says he. "You're too young. But in my day +Clara Belle Kinney was some queen." + +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. + +"Mr. Ellins," says I, "did you ever know of a Clara Belle Kinney?" + +"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?" + +And old K. W. Mason, what does he do but throw back his shiny dome, open +his mouth, and roar out: + + "Yure right fut is crazy, + Yure left fut is lazy, + But if ye'll be aisy + I'll teach ye to waltz!" + +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. + +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. + +"Was there ever a Katishaw like her?" demands Old Hickory of K. W., who +responds by hummin' husky: + + "I dote upon a tiger + From the Congo or the Niger, + Especially when lashing of his tail." + +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. + +"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?" + +That was my cue, all right, but I passes it up. I wasn't talkin' just +then; I was listenin'. + +"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?" + +"I'd give fifty dollars," says Old Hickory. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"And who do you think she is to have on the program?" demands Vee. +"Farrar!" + +"Aw, come!" says I. + +"And perhaps Mischa Elman," adds Vee. "Isn't that thrilling?" + +I admits that it is. + +"But say," I goes on, "with them big names on the bill, what does she +expect to tax people for the best seats?" + +Vee says how they'd figured they might ask ten dollars for a few choice +chairs. + +"Huh!" says I. "That won't get you far. Why don't you soak 'em proper?" + +"But how?" asks Vee. + +"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." + +Vee stares at me like she thought I'd been touched with the heat, and +wants to know who. + +"Clara Belle Kinney," says I. + +"Why, I never heard of any such person," says she. + +"Oh, yes, you have," says I. "Alias Mrs. Ben Tupper." + +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. + +"But can she sing now?" she asks. + +"What's the odds," says I, "if a lot of them old-timers are willin' to +pay to hear her try?" + +Vee shakes her head and suggests that we go up and talk it over with Mr. +and Mrs. Robert. Which we does. + +"But if she has been off the stage for twenty years," suggests Mrs. +Robert, "perhaps she wouldn't attempt it." + +"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----" + +"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." + +They're some hustlers, that pair. All I have to do is map out the +scheme, and they goes after it with a rush. + +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? + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +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. + +A fine bunch of silver-tops they was, too, when we got 'em all lined up. +You wouldn't 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 wabbly. It's like listenin' to the +ghost of a voice. I heard a few titters from the back rows. + +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. + +"MacFadden! MacFadden!" K. W. Mason is shoutin'. + +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! + + "Wan--two--three! + Balance like me----" + +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 standin' out front with +his arms wavin' and his face red. + +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. + +In the midst of it all Vee gives me the nudge. + +"Do look at Mr. Tupper, will you!" + +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. + +"Gosh!" says I. "His emotions are leakin' into his whiskers. Maybe the +old boy is human, after all." + +A minute later, as I slides easy out of my end seat, Vee asks: + +"Where are you going, Torchy?" + +"I want a glimpse of Mrs. Pemmy Foote's face, that's all," says I. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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 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. + +"Torchy!" she protests. "What an absurd thing to do." + +"Eh?" says I, twistin' it into a cornucopia. "But you know I can't go on +warmin' the bench like this." + +She stares at me puzzled for a second. + +"Meaning what, for instance?" she asks. + +"I got to go help swat the Hun," says I. + +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. + +"Must you?" says she, quiet. + +"I can't take it out in wearin' a button or hirin' someone to hoe +potatoes in the back lot," says I. + +"No," says she. + +"Auntie would come, I suppose?" says I. + +Vee nods. + +"And with Leon here," I goes on, "and Mrs. Battou, you could----" + +"Yes, I could get along," she breaks in. "But--but when?" + +"Right away," says I. "As soon as they can use me." + +"You'll start training for a commission, then?" she asks. + +"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." + +"To-morrow? Oh!" says Vee, with just the suspicion of a break in her +voice. + +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. + +"I--I know just how you feel about it," says Vee. + +"I'm glad somebody does, then," says I. + +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. + +"You are exempt, you know," says he. + +"I know," says I. "If tags came with marriage licenses I might wear one +on my watch-fob to show, I expect." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Oh, well, if you have the fever!" says he. + +And half an hour later I've pushed in past the flag and am answerin' +questions while the sergeant fills out the blank. + +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. + +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. + +But this other party with the zippy waistline, 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? + +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. + +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. + +"Married, you say?" says he. "Since when?" + +"Oh, this century," says I. "Last February, to get it nearer." + +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. 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. + +And the further we went the more he scowled. Finally he shakes his head +at the sergeant. + +"Rejected," says he. + +"Eh?" says I. "You--you don't mean I'm--turned down?" + +He nods. "Underweight, and your eyes don't focus," says he snappy. +"Here's your card. That's all." + +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! + +Somehow I dragged back to the office, and a while later Mr. Ellins +discovers me slumped in my chair with my chin down. + +"Mars and Mercury!" says he. "You haven't been through a battle so soon, +have you?" + +At that, I tries to brace up a bit and pass it off light. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"We'll see about that," says Old Hickory, pushin' a buzzer. + +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 little further, but he claims that's often the +case. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +As for Vee, she don't have much to say, but she gives me the close +tackle when she hears the news. + +"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." + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Likely I'll be mentioned in despatches for the +noble way I handled the correspondence all through a hot spell." + +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 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. + +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. + +"But ain't it all O. K.'d by government inspectors?" I asks. + +"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!" + +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. + +"A hot lot I know about buildin' armored motor-trucks, Mr. Ellins," says +I. "They could feed me anything." + +"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?" + +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. + +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? + +"Thanks," says I. "I'll go right through." + +"But we have four acres of shops, you know," suggests the A. G. M., +smilin' indulgent. + +"Maybe I can do an acre a day," says I. "I got lots of time." + +"That's the spirit," says he, clappin' me friendly on the shoulder. +"Walter, call in Mr. Marvin." + +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. + +"Now, here we have a battery of six hogging machines," he'd say. "They +cut the gears, you know." + +"Oh, yes," I'd say, tryin' to look wise. + +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 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. + +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. + +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, 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. + +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'. + +And say, mornin' happens early out in places like that. By 5:30 A.M. I +could smell bacon grease, and by six-fifteen breakfast was all over and +Petersen had lit his corn-cob pipe. + +"Coom!" says he in pure Scandinavian. + +This trip, I didn't make my entrance in over 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. + +"Here, Mike," says he. "Give this one a try-out." + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +"How about these?" I asks. + +"Aw, wottell!" says Mike. "Forget it." + +"But what if the inspector sees?" I insists. + +Mike gurgles in his throat, indicatin' mirth. + +"Th' inspec'!" he chuckles. "Him wink by his eye, him. Ya! You see! Him +coom Sat'day." + +And I swaps chuckles with Mike. Also, by settin' up the schooners at +Carlouva's that evenin', 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. + +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. + +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. + +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'. 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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----" + +"Hah!" snorts Old Hickory. "But it isn't. For I'm the government in this +instance. I'm 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." + +They seemed in a hurry to start, too. + +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. + +"Wouldn't that be wonderful!" says Vee, clappin' her hands. "Do you +really think he will? A lieutenant, perhaps?" + +"That's what he mentioned," says I. + +"Really!" says Vee, makin' a rush at me. + +"Wait up!" says I. "Halt, I mean. Now, as you were! Sal-ute!" + +"Pooh!" says Vee, continuin' her rush. + +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. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA + + +"Now turn around," says Vee. "Oh, Torchy! Why, you look perfectly----" + +"Do I?" I cuts in. "Well, you don't think I'm goin' to the office like +this, do you?" + +She does. Insists that Mr. Ellins will expect it. + +"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." + +"Hal-lup!" says I. "I surrender." + +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. + +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. + +"Good-morning, Lieutenant," says he. "I see you have--er--got 'em on. +And, allow me to mention, rather a good fit, sir." + +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: + +"What's the word from the Syracuse sector?" + +At that, I gets my breath back. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Ah, yes!" says he. "Mrs. Parker Smith. Show her in, boy." + +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 guess +is she might be the head of an old ladies' home. + +"Mr. Ellins," says she, "I am looking for my niece." + +"Are you?" says Mr. Ellins, "Humph! Hardly think we could be of service +in such a case." + +"Oh!" says she. "I--I am so sorry." + +"Lost, is she?" suggests Mr. Ellins, weakenin'. + +"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----" + +"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." + +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. + +"Let's see," says I. "What's the full description? Age?" + +"Why," says she, hesitatin', "Claire is about twenty-two." + +"Oh!" says I. "Got beyond the flapper stage, then. Height--tall or +short?" + +Mrs. Parker Smith shakes her head. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Thank you," says Mrs. Parker Smith, givin' me a quizzin' smile. +"Perhaps it is enough to say that I have never seen her." + +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. + +"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 been merely +the executor of her small estate." + +"Oh, yes!" says I. "And now she's come to New York, and forgot to send +you her address?" + +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. + +"You have!" says I. "Not a reg'lar cow farm?" + +She nods. + +"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 advance and still +asked for more, I was obliged to refuse." + +"And then?" says I. + +Mrs. Parker Smith shrugs her shoulders. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"What brand of art was she monkeyin' with?" I asks. + +Mrs. Parker Smith couldn't say. Claire hadn't been very chatty in her +letters. Chiefly she had demanded checks. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Claire Lamar!" says I. "Would that be---- Eh? What's wrong?" + +Mrs. Parker Smith seems to be gettin' a jolt of some kind, but she +steadies herself and almost gets back her smile. + +"I--I am sure it would," says she. "It's very odd, though." + +"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----" + +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 General Offices, I had a full +description of Claire, includin' where she hung out. + +"Huh!" says I. "Greenwich Village, eh? You might know." + +"My dear Lieutenant," says Mrs. Parker Smith, "I think you are perfectly +wonderful." + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Shoot," says I, unsuspicious. + +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. + +"But if you would go," she suggests, "with a note from me asking her to +join us somewhere at dinner----" + +I holds up both hands. + +"Sorry," says I, "but I got to duck. That's taking too many chances." + +Then I explains how, although I may look like a singleton, I'm really +the other half of a very interestin' domestic sketch, and that Vee's +expectin' me home to dinner. + +"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." + +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. + +"Course, I could do it alone if I had to," I throws in. + +"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." + +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. + +"What's the big idea?" says she. "I don't get you at all." + +"Maybe if you'd read the note it would help," I suggests. + +"Oh!" says she, and takes it over by the window. + +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." + +"Just as you say," says I. "But, if you ask me, I wouldn't pass up an +aunt like her without takin' a look." + +"Aunt!" says Claire Lamar, _alias_ 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." + +"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." + +"Think of that!" says Claire. "And I've been living for weeks on +window-sill meals, with now and then a ptomaine-defying gorge at the +Pink Poodle's sixty-cent table d'hote. 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." + +With that she glides off to do a dinner change. + +"I believe it is going to be quite an interesting party, don't you?" +says Vee. + +"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." + +This time she's draped herself in a pale yellow kimono with blue +triangles stenciled all over it. + +"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. + +"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." + +"Really!" says Vee. "She must have been quite pretty." + +"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 person. I wish I could +find out what ever became of her." + +"Maybe Mrs. Parker Smith could give you a line," I suggests. + +"Her!" says Claire. "Fat chance! But I must finish dressing. Sorry to +keep you waiting." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I hope you don't mind if I have a puff or two," says Claire. "It goes +here, you know." + +"Anything to make the evenin' a success," says I, signalin' a garcon. +"My khaki lets me out of followin' you." + +So, when the head waiter finally tows in Mrs. Parker Smith, costumed in +the same gray 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. + +"The missing one!" says I, wavin' at Claire. + +"Ah!" says Mrs. Parker Smith, beamin' on her. "So good of you to come!" + +"Wasn't it?" says Claire, removin' the cork tip languid. + +Well, as a get-together I must admit that the outlook was kind of +frosty. Claire showed plenty of enthusiasm for the hors d'oeuvres +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. + +"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----" + +"Excuse me!" says Claire. "I don't have to. I spent a whole month's +vacation on a Vermont farm." + +Mrs. Parker Smith only smiles indulgent. + +"We use electric milkers, you know," says she, "and most of our young +men come from the agricultural colleges." + +"That listens alluring--some," admits Claire. "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." + +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. + +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'. + +"What a duck of a bracelet!" says Vee. "An heirloom, is it?" + +"Almost," says Mrs. Parker Smith. "It was given to me on my +twenty-second birthday, in Florence." + +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. + +"How stunning! Look, Torchy. O-o-oh!" says Vee, gaspin' a little. + +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'. + +"Why--why----" says Vee, gazin' from the picture to Mrs. Parker Smith. +"Isn't this a portrait of--of----" + +"Of a very silly young woman," cuts in Auntie. "We waited in Florence a +week to have that finished." + +"Then--then it is you!" asks Vee. + +The lady in gray nods. Vee asks if she may show it to Claire. + +"Why not?" says Mrs. Parker Smith, smilin'. + +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. + +"Don't tell me," says she, "that--that you are Clara Lamar?" + +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 into her +plate. She makes a quick recovery, though. + +"I was--once," says she. "I had hoped, though, that the name had been +forgotten. Tell me, how--how do you happen to----" + +"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?" + +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. + +"If I had only known it was you!" says she. + +"Then--then you'll come to Meadowbrae with me?" asks Mrs. Parker Smith. + +"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 +blessed if I don't give it a try. When do we start?" + +"But," says Vee to me, later, "I can't imagine her on a farm." + +"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Didn't you notice she couldn't smoke +without gettin' it up her nose?" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA + + +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. + +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 P.M. 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 +plumber's helper called in to tune a pipe organ. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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 sides swingin' glass +sashes, and flower beds outside. + +"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." + +"Oh, well," says I. "There's luck in odd numbers. Cheer up." + +It was after this little chat that I sheds the army costume and wanders +out disguised as a horny-handed workingman. + +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? + +I'd been mullin' on that mystery ever since 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. + +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. + +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. + +"Sobowski!" says I, grabbin' the book. + +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." + +"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." + +"It's a small world, ain't it?" says she. "You can pay me or at the +desk, just as you like." + +Clarice got her tip all right, and loaned me her pencil to write down +Anton's street number. + +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. + +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 his entirely. But seein' it there in the +book brought back the whole thing. + +"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. + +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 +Cafe, 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. + +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. + +"It is that Torchy, hey?" says he. "Well, well! It don't fade any, does +it?" + +"Not that kind of dye," says I. "How's the boy?" + +"Me," says Anton. "Oh, fine like silk. How you like the place, hey?" + +I enthused over the Warsaw Cafe; 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. + +"What!" says he. "They send you out? You must be comin' up?" + +"Only private sec. to Mr. Ellins," says I, "but he chases me around a +good deal. We're busy people these days, you know." + +"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." + +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 side; and the Alcazar movie joint, another +Sobowski enterprise. + +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. + +"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?" + +And Anna, she flashes them high-powered eyes of hers at me kittenish. +"Aw ri'," says she. "I'm on, Mr. Torchy." + +"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." + +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, about ten o'clock, after the early +picture-show crowds had let out and the meetin' in the hall overhead was +in full swing. + +"What sort of meetin'?" I asks, just as a filler. + +"Oh, some kind of labor meetin'," says he. "I d'know. They chin a lot. +That's thirsty work. Good for business, hey?" + +"Is it a labor union?" I insists. + +Anton shrugs his shoulders. + +"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." + +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. + +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 _was_ the Corrugated. But it don't make any hit with Stukey. + +"Hah!" says he, glarin' at me hostile. "A minion." + +"Solid agate yourself," says I. "Wha'd'ye mean--minion?" + +"Aren't you a hireling of the capitalistic class?" demands Stukey. + +"Maybe," says I, "but I ain't above mixin' with lower-case minds now and +then." + +"Case?" says he. "I don't understand." + +"Perhaps that's your trouble," says I. + +"Bah!" says he, real peevish. + +"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." + +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." + +And with that he struts off important. + +Anton hunches his shoulders and lets out a grunt. + +"He has it bad--Stukey," says he. "It is that Anna. Every night he must +walk home with her." + +"She ain't particular, is she?" I suggests. + +"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; oh, +like the devil. You should hear him talk once." + +But Stukey had stirred up a stubborn streak in me. + +"Is he, though," says I, "or do you kid yourself?" + +I thought that would get a come-back out of Anton. And it does. + +"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." + +"Cash or checks?" I puts in. + +"If the bank takes the checks, why should I worry?" asks Anton. + +"Oh, the first one might be all right," says I, "and the second; +but--well, you know your own business, I expect." + +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. + +"Maybe I do," says he, wavin' it under my nose triumphant. + +Which gives me the glimpse I'd been jockeyin' 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. + +"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." + +"Eh?" says I, sort of eager. + +"He tells her a lot he don't tell me," says Anton. + +"That's reasonable, too," says I. "Ask Anna. Say, that ain't a bad +hunch. Much obliged." + +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. + +As Anton had said, he had it bad. Never took his eyes off Anna for a +second. I suppose 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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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!" + +"Urgin' 'em not to quit work, I suppose?" says I. + +"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." + +"Is he?" says I. "I wonder why?" + +"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." + +"Anton was tellin' me," says I. "You lost some of your folks." + +"Lost!" says Anna, a panicky look comin' into her big eyes. "You call it +that? I saw 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!" + +"Then don't tell Stukey," says I, "if you want to keep stringin' him +along." + +"But why?" demands Anna. + +"Because," says I, "the money he's spendin' so free around here comes +from them--the Germans." + +"No, no!" says Anna, whisperin' husky. "That--that's a lie!" + +"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." + +"But--but he's English," protests Anna. "Anyway, his father was." + +"The Huns don't mind who they buy up," says I. + +She's still starin' at me, sort of stunned. + +"German money!" she repeats. "Him!" + +"Anton will show you the checks," says I. "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----" + +"To-night they vote," breaks in Anna. "In two hours." + +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----" + +"No," snaps Anna. "He thinks too slow. I must do this myself." + +"You?" says I. "What could you do?" + +"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." + +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. + +At the Warsaw I finds Anton smokin' placid in his little office. + +"Seen Anna?" I asks. + +"Anna!" says he. "She should be selling tickets at the----" + +"She was," says I; "but just now she's upstairs in the hall." + +"At the meetin'?" gasps Anton. "Anna? Oh, no!" + +"Come, take a look," says I. + +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. + +No wonder. For there, standin' up before more than three hundred yellin' +men, is this high-colored young woman. + +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. + +[Illustration: "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."] + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +About noon I 'phoned the works, and found that all was serene there, +with no signs of a strike yet. + +"No, and I got a hunch there won't be any, either," says I. + +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 the City Hospital +he'd been promised a nice long rest--thirty days, to be exact. + +So I jumps the next train back to Broadway. + +"Ah, Lieutenant!" says Mr. Ellins, glancin' up from his desk. "Find +anything up there?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "His name was Stukey. Another case of drawin' his pay +from Berlin." + +"Hah!" grunts Old Hickory, bitin' into his cigar. "The long arm again. +But can't you recommend something?" + +"Sure!" says I. "If we could find a pair of gold boots about eighteen +buttons high, we ought to send 'em to Anna Sobowski." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED + + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"But can't something be done--somehow?" she asks. + +"Not by me," says Mr. Robert, decided. "Great marlinspikes! I'm not the +war department, am I? I'm only a first-grade lieutenant 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." + +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. + +"If it was the first time," growls Mr. Robert. "But it isn't." + +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. + +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. + +So mother had begun throwin' cat-fits. She'd tackled everyone she knew, +demandin' to know what was to be done to keep Wilfred 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +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: + +"Oh, but you don't understand what it is to be a mother!" + +"Thank the stars I don't!" says he, as he marches out of the room. + +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. + +"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----" + +"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." + +"Ah, say, how'd you get that way?" says I. "Back up!" + +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 to +see if I can't do something to locate Wilfred. So I had to make the +stab. + +"Got that wire with you?" I asks. + +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. + +"H-m-m-m-m!" says I. "Philadelphia. I suppose there's some sort of naval +trainin' station there, eh?" + +Mr. Robert says there is. + +"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?" + +Mrs. Stanton Bliss sighs. "I'm sure I don't know," says she. "I--I +suppose not." + +"Must be somewhere within strikin' distance of Philadelphia, though," +says I. "Now, what camp is near?" + +"Couldn't we wire someone in Washington and find out?" asks Mrs. Bliss. + +"Sure," says I. "And we'd get an official answer from the Secretary of +War about 11 A.M. next spring. It'll be a lot quicker to call up Whitey +Weeks." + +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. + +"About the nearest big one," says he, "is the Ambulance Corps Camp at +Allentown. Somewhere up on the Lehigh. S'long." + +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? + +"Why," says she, "they drive right up to the trenches, don't they? Isn't +that fearfully dangerous?" + +"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----" + +"If he is," cuts in Mrs. Bliss, "I must go to him this very moment." + +Some way that statement seemed to cheer Mr. Robert up a lot. + +"Naturally," says he. "I'll look up a train 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 A.M. and gets you in at 5.15. Will that do?" + +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 A.M.--well, not for her. + +"I should be a sight," says she. + +"You'd still be a mother, wouldn't you?" asks Mr. Robert. + +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. + +"I would gladly take you up myself," says he, lyin' fluent, "if I +didn't have to go back to my boat. But here is Torchy. He'll go, I +suppose." + +"Of course," says Vee. + +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. + +"And they would know if Wilfred was there, wouldn't they?" she adds. + +"Maybe," says I. "I'll go ask." + +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. + +"Can it, boys," says I. "This is unofficial." + +"At ease, sir?" suggests one. + +"As easy as you know how," says I. + +Yes, they says they're ambulancers; on their way back to Allentown, +too. But they didn't happen to know of any Wilfred Stanton Bliss there. + +"You see, sir," says one, "there are about five thousand of us, so he +might----" + +"Sure!" says I. "But mother'll want an affidavit. Would you mind +droppin' in and bein' cross-examined? There's sister Marion, too." + +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. + +Once more it was Marion who threw the switch. + +"Tell me," says she, "will he be wearing a uniform just like yours?" + +They said he would. + +"Oh!" gurgles Marion, "I think it is perfectly spiffy. Don't you, +mother? I'm just crazy to see Wilfred in one." + +Mother catches the enthusiasm. "My noble boy!" says she, rollin' her +eyes up. + +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. + +"And we must have his portrait painted," she remarks, claspin' her hands +excited as the happy thought strikes her. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Bliss? Just a moment," says he, reachin' for a card-index box. "Yes, +ma'am. Wilfred Stanton. He's here." + +"But where?" demands Mrs. Bliss. + +"Why," says the soldier, "he's listed with the casuals just now. +Quartered in the cow-barn." + +"The--the cow-barn!" gasps Mrs. Bliss. + +The soldier grins. + +"It's over that way," says he, wavin' his hand. "Anyone will tell you." + +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 I found a chap hammerin' away at a typewriter. He salutes +and goes to attention. + +"Yes, sir," says he, when I've told him who I'm lookin' for. "Squeaky +Bliss. But he's on duty just now, sir." + +I suggests that his mother and sister are here and would like to have a +glimpse of him right away. + +"They'd better wait until after five, sir," says he. + +"I wouldn't like to try holdin' 'em in that long," says I. + +"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." + +I passes this advice on to Mrs. Bliss. + +"The idea!" says she. "I wish to see my noble soldier boy at once. +Come." + +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 alike. I didn't wonder that +mother couldn't pick out sonny boy. + +"What was it that man said?" she asks. "Wilfred on fatigue. Does that +mean he is resting?" + +"Not exactly," says I. + +About then sister Marion begins to exhibit jumpy emotions. + +"Mother! Mother!" says she, starin' straight ahead. "Look!" + +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. + +I was just nudgin' sister to move along, when Mrs. Bliss lets out this +choky cry: + +"Wilfred!" says she. + +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 sloppy stuff on to the tail of the truck, there'd been a fine spill, +too. + +"My boy! Wilfred!" calls Mrs. Stanton Bliss, holdin' out her arms +invitin' and dramatic. + +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. + +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. + +"Family, sir," says Wilfred. "What--what'll I do?" + +The sergeant takes one look over his shoulder. + +"Oh, well," says he, "drop out until next load." + +Not until Wilfred had led us around the corner does he express his +feelin's. + +"For the love of Mike, mother!" says he. "Wasn't it bad enough without +your springin' that 'muh boy!' stuff? Right before all the fellows, +too. Good-night!" + +"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?" + +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. + +"It's that mucker of a top sergeant, Quigley," says Wilfred. "He's got +it in for me." + +Mrs. Stanton Bliss straightens out her chin dimple as she glares after +the garbage truck, which is rollin' away in the distance. + +"Has he, indeed!" says she. "We will see about that, then." + +"But you must handle him easy, mother," warns Wilfred. + +"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." + +"Now, mother!" protests Wilfred. "Don't make a scene." + +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. + +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. + +The major shakes his head. "Impossible!" says he. + +"Then," says Mrs. Stanton Bliss, tossin' her head, "I shall appeal to +the Secretary of War; to the President, if necessary." + +The major smiles weary. "You'd best talk to his sergeant," says he. "If +he recommends your son's discharge it may go through." + +"That person!" exclaims Mrs. Bliss. "Never! I--I might talk to his +captain." + +"Useless, madam," says the major. "See his sergeant; he's the one." + +And he signifies polite that the interview is over. + +When mother tells sonny the result of this visit to headquarters, he +shrugs his shoulders. + +"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." + +"But at least you can get away long enough to have dinner with us," says +mother. + +"Nothing doin'," says Wilfred. "Can't get out unless Quigley signs a +pass, and he won't." + +"Oh, come!" says I. "He don't look so bad as all that. Let me see what I +can do with him." + +Well, after I'd chased the ladies back to the hotel with instructions to +wait hopeful, I hunts 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. + +"Didn't you play first base for the Fordhams?" I asks. + +"Oh, that was back in '14," says he. + +"As I remember," says I, "you was some star on the bag, though. Now, +about young Bliss. Case of mommer's pet, you know." + +"He had that tag all over him," says Quigley. "But we're knockin' a lot +of that out of him. He's comin' on." + +"Good!" says I. "Would it stop the process to let him off for an evenin' +with the folks--dinner and so on?" + +"Why, no; I guess not," says Quigley. "Might do him good. But he must +apply himself. Send him along." + +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. + +"Say," he remarks, strugglin' through his khaki shirt, "I didn't think +old Quig would do it." + +"Seemed glad to," says I. "Said you was comin' on fine." + +"He did?" gasps Wilfred. "Quigley? Well, what do you know!" + +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. + +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'. + +"What I dread most, Wilfred," says she, "is leaving you at the mercy of +that horrid sergeant." + +"Oh, I'll get along with him somehow," says Wilfred. "I'm goin' to try, +anyway." + +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. + +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 +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. + +"Well, well!" says I. "Got your furlough, eh?" + +"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." + +I couldn't. + +"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?" + +"Huh!" says I. "How long ago was it you signed up, Wilfred?" + +"Just six weeks, sir," says he. + +"Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' at him. "If we had about a hundred thousand +Quigleys!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +VEE GOES OVER THE TOP + + +"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?" + +"At least we can try," says Vee. "The prices this Belcher person is +charging are something outrageous. Eggs ninety cents!" + +"We should worry," says I. "Ain't we got nearly a hundred hens on the +job?" + +"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?" + +"There's so many cases you can't figure out," says I. "Maybe he scrubs +along on small steaks or fried chicken." + +"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 marketing at Belcher's, too. Think +of her having to pay those awful prices!" + +"I would," says I, "if workin'up a case of glooms was any use; but I +can't see----" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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 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. + +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. + +"Sounds impressive," says I. "And what then? Did you try Belcher for +treason, find him guilty, and sentence him to be shot at sunrise?" + +Vee proves that she's good-natured again by runnin' her tongue out at +me. + +"We did not, Smarty," says she. "But we passed a resolution condemning +such extortion severely." + +"How rough of you!" says I. "Anything else?" + +"Yes," says Vee. "We appointed a committee to tell him he'd better +stop." + +"Fine!" says I. "I expect he'll have everything marked down about forty +per cent. by to-morrow night." + +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. + +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. + +"An alibi on every count," says I. "I expect the committee apologized." + +"Very nearly that," says Vee. "The sillies! I just wish I'd been there. +I don't believe half of what he said is true." + +"That's one thing," says I, "but provin' it on him would be another. And +there's where Belcher's got you." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +I lands back on Broadway at 9 A.M. 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. + +"Oh," says I. "Mornin' call up at the Ellinses', eh? I'll stroll up that +way, myself, then." + +Leon hesitates a minute, like he was chokin' over something, and then +remarks: "But no, M'sieur. Madame, I think, is in the village." + +"Why," says I, "I just came from the station. I didn't see the car +around. How long has she been gone?" + +Another exchange of looks, and then Battou answers: + +"She goes at seven." + +"Whaddye mean goes?" says I. "It ain't a habit of hers, is it?" + +Leon nods. + +"All this week," says he. "She goes to the meat and grocery +establishment, I understand." + +"Belcher's?" says I. "But what--what's the idea?" + +"I think it would be best if M'sieur asked Madame," says he. + +"That's right, too," says I. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Well, for the love of soup!" I gasps. + +"Twelve out--thirteen. That's right, isn't it? Thank you so much, sir," +says she, her gray eyes twinklin'. + +"Quit the kiddin'," says I, "and sketch out the plot of the piece." + +"Can't now," says Vee. "So run along. Please!" + +"But how long does this act of yours last?" I insists. + +"Until about noon, I think," says she. "It's such fun. You can't +imagine." + +"What's it for, though?" says I. "Are you pullin' a sleuth stunt on----" + +"S-s-s-sh!" warns Vee. "He's coming. Pretend to be getting a bill +changed or something." + +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. + +"It wasn't as high last Saturday," she objects. + +"No, ma'am," says the clerk. "It's gone up since." + +"Worse luck," says she, pokin' the piece with her finger. "And this is +nearly all bone and fat. Now couldn't you----" + +"I'll ask the boss, ma'am," says the clerk. "Here he is." + +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. + +"Well?" demands Belcher. + +"It's so much to pay for meat like that," says Mrs. Burke. "If you +could----" + +"Take it or leave it," snaps Belcher. + +"Sure now," says she, "you know I can't afford to give----" + +"Then get out!" orders Belcher. + +At which Vee swings open the door of the cage, brushes past me, and +faces him with her eyes snappin'. + +"Pig!" says she explosive. + +"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Belcher, gawpin' at her. + +"I--I beg pardon," says Vee. "I shouldn't have said that, even if it was +so." + +"You--you're discharged, you!" roars Belcher. + +"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." + +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, 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. + +"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!" + +"Let's start at the beginning," says I. "Why did you do it at all?" + +"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----" + +Vee finishes by squeezin' my arm. + +"But how'd you come to break in so prompt?" I asks. "Did you mesmerize +Belcher?" + +"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. + +"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." + +"Huh!" says I, grittin' my teeth. + +"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 to put before our committee Monday. Then we +shall see." + +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. + +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 +_Morgen Blatherskite_, 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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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 after these +days, and I don't see how you're going to stop it." + +"I mean to try to stop Belcher, anyway," says Vee, tossin' her chin up. + +"You ain't got much show," says I; "but go to it." + +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. + +"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." + +"Eh?" says I. "What's it like?" + +"We are going to start a store of our own," says Vee--just like that, +offhand and casual. + +"You are!" says I. "But--but who's goin' to run it?" + +"They made me chairman of the sub-committee," says Vee. "And then I made +them subscribe to a campaign fund. Five thousand. We raised it in as +many minutes. And now--well, I suppose I'm in for it." + +"Listens that way to me," says I. + +"Then I may as well begin," says she. + +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'. + +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 +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. + +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. + +"It ought to be our big day," says Vee. + +It was. For one thing, everybody was stockin' up for over Sunday, and +with the backin' 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Very well," says she; "we'll make ours thirty-five." + +Inside of ten minutes we had a bulletin out twice as big as his. + +"Now I guess he'll be good," says I. + +But he had a scrap or two left in him, it seems. Pretty soon he cuts the +price to thirty. + +"We'll make it twenty-five," says Vee. + +And by eleven o'clock Belcher has countered with potatoes at twenty +cents. + +"Why," gasps Vee, "that's far less than they cost at wholesale. But we +can't let him beat us. Make ours twenty, too." + +"Excuse me, ma'am," puts in one of the Scouts, salutin', "but we've run +out of potatoes." + +"Oh, boy!" says I. "Where do we go from here!" + +Vee hesitates only long enough to draw a deep breath. + +"Torchy," says she, "I have it. Form your boys into a basket brigade, +and buy out Belcher below the market." + +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. + +[Illustration: "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."] + +"I'll bet you've got old Belcher frothin' through his ears," says I. + +"I hope so," says Vee. + +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. + +"Pooh!" says Vee. "I can have signs like that painted, too." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Look!" says she. "Five thousand! I've got it back, Torchy, every +dollar." + +"Eh?" says I. "You ain't sold out to Belcher?" + +"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?" + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT + + +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." + +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 _Agnes_, 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 picture slips out, and of course I has +to take a squint. Then I chuckles. + +"Look!" says I, luggin' it over to where Vee is curled up on the +davenport in front of the fireplace. "Remember that?" + +A giggle from Vee. + +"'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." + +"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?" + +"Let's see," says Vee, reachin' for the readin' glass. "Why, you silly! +That's Captain Killam." + +"Oh!" says I. "Reckless Rupert, the great mind-play hero." + +"I wonder what has become of him?" puts in Vee, restin' her chin on the +knuckle of her forefinger and starin' into the fire. + +"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." + +I don't know as you remember; but, in spite of Killam's havin' got +balled up on the location 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. + +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. + +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. + +"How completely people like that drop out of sight sometimes," says Vee, +shuttin' up the album. + +"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." + +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. + +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 there can't be any mistake. About then, too, he +turns and recognizes me. + +"Well, for the love of beans!" says I. "Rupert!" + +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. + +"And here is someone else you know," says he, wavin' to the cab: "Mrs. +Mumford." + +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. + +"Oh, and you must meet my dear friend, Mr. Vinton Bartley," she purrs. +"Vinton, this is the Torchy I've spoken about so often." + +"Ah, ya-a-as," drawls Vinton, blowin' out a whiff of scented cigarette +smoke lazy. "Quite so. But--er--hadn't we best be getting on, Lorina?" + +"Yes, yes," coos Mrs. Mumford. "By-by, Captain. Good-by, Torchy." + +And off they whirls, leavin' me with my mouth open and Rupert starin' +after 'em gloomy. + +"Lorina, eh?" says I. "How touchin'!" + +Killam only grunts, but it struck me he has tinted up a bit under the +eyes. + +"Say, Rupert," I goes on, "who's your languid friend with the +cream-of-cabbage complexion?" + +"Bartley?" says he. "Oh, he's a friend of Mrs. Mumford; a drama-tist--so +he says." + +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. + +"Why--er--thanks," says the Captain; "but I have a little business to +attend to in here." And he nods to an office buildin'. + +"That'll be all right, too," says I. "I'll wait." + +"Will you?" says Rupert, beamin'. "I shall be pleased." + +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. + +"Excuse me for mentionin' it, Rupert," says I, "but there's lots of +class to you these days." + +"Eh?" says he. "You mean----" + +"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!" + +He pinks up and shakes his head, but I can see I've got the range. + +"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." + +"No," says Rupert; "I've been here all the while. You see, I--I've grown +rather fond of New York." + +"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?" + +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. + +"The fact is," says he, "I've been doing a little literary work." + +"Writin' ads," says I, "or solicitin' magazine subscriptions?" + +"I am getting out a book of poems," says Rupert, dignified. + +"Wh-a-a-at?" I gasps. "Not--not reg'lar limerick stuff?" + +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 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." + +"Looks like the real stuff," says I. "Let's hear how it listens. Ah, +come on! Some of that last one, about scuppers, now." + +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. + +"Which way was you readin' that, backwards or forwards?" says I. + +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?" + +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," says he. "That is all. +Interpreting my own feelings, as it were." + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"But say," says I, "is this Vinton gent the only one of her friends +that's got a voice? Why not pick another announcer?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," says Rupert. "She--she hasn't mentioned the +subject recently." + +"Oh!" says I. "Too busy listenin' to the voice of the viper, eh?" + +Rupert nods and stares sad into his empty demi-tasse. And, say, when +Rupert gets that way he's an appealin' cuss. + +"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?" + +"Why," says he, "I suppose I ought to. It would help the sale of the +book, and perhaps----" + +"One alibi is enough," I breaks in. "Now, another thing: How'd you like +to have me stage-manage this debut of yours?" + +"Oh, would you?" says he, beamin'. + +"Providin' you'll follow directions," says I. + +"Why, certainly," says Rupert. "Any suggestions that you may make----" + +"Then we'll begin right now," says I. "You are to ditch that flossy +floor-walker outfit of yours from this on." + +"You mean," says Rupert, "that I am not to wear these clothes?" + +"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 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." + +"But--but what ought I to wear?" asks Rupert. + +"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." + +"Very well," says Rupert. "But about my being asked to read. Just +how----" + +"Leave it to me, Rupert," says I. "Leave everything to me." + +Which was a lot simpler than tellin' him I didn't know. + +You should have seen Vee's face when I tells her about Rupert's new +line. + +"Captain Killam a poet!" says she. "Oh, really now, Torchy!" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. "He's done enough for a book. Read me some of it, +too." + +"But--but what is it like?" asks Vee. "How does it sound?" + +"Why," says I, "it sounds batty to me--like a record made by a sailor +who was simple 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." + +"But the people in the restaurant," protests Vee. "Suppose they should +laugh, or do something worse?" + +"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?" + +Vee gets that eye twinkle of hers workin'. "I think it will be perfectly +lovely." + +I got to admit, too, that she's quite a help. + +"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." + +"Must we?" says I. "You know we ain't introducin' any London success. +This is Rupert's first stab, remember." + +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 Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins and J. Dudley Simms. + +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. + +"Is it time yet, Torchy?" asks Mr. Robert, when we gets through to the +striped ice cream and chicory essence. + +"Let's hold off," says I, "and see if someone else don't pull a +curtain-raiser." + +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. + +"If they can take that without squirmin'," says I, "I guess they can +stand for Rupert. Go on, Mr. Robert. Shoot." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Killam! Killam!" roars out the sporty wine-opener. + +Others took up the chorus, and in the midst of it I dashes over to drag +Rupert from his chair if necessary. + +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. + +"This is indeed an unexpected honor," says Rupert, lyin' fluent. "I am a +plain sailor-man, as you know, but if you insist----" + +And, before they could hedge, he has squared his shoulders, thrown his +head well back, and 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. + + Tides! + Little, rushing, hurrying tides + Along the sloping deck. + And the bobstay smashing the big blue deep, + While under my hand + The kicking tiller groans + Its oaken soul out in a gray despair. + +That's part of it I copied down afterward. Yet that crowd just lapped it +up. + +"Wow!" "Brava! Brava!" "What's the matter with Killam?" they yells. +"More!" + +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. + +"Shall--shall I----" he starts to ask. + +"No, you boob," I whispers. "Quit while the quittin's good. You got 'em +buffaloed, all right. Let it ride." + +And I fairly shoves him over to his table, 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. + +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. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH + + +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. + +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. + +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 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 wished on him. + +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. + +"Why, Robert!" says young Mrs. Ellins, as she wriggles out of the clinch +and gives him the once-over. "You're a sight." + +"Sorry, my dear," says Mr. Robert; "but the beauty parlor on the +_Narcissus_ wasn't working when I left. But if you can give me half an +hour to----" + +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 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'. + +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. + +"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." + +"Take them away, Jevons," says Mr. Robert, smotherin' a sarcastic smile. + +"Huh!" grumbles Mr. Robert. "What a rotter you are, Forsythe. If I could +only get you aboard the _Narcissus_ for a ten-day cruise! I'd introduce +you to perfumes, the sort you could lean up against. You know, when a +boat has carried mature fish for----" + +"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." + +Havin' said which, Forsythe proceeds to finish what was for him a hard +day's work. + +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. + +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. + +"Entertainin' party, eh?" I remarks on the side, as we escapes from the +dinin'-room. + +"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----" + +Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. Then he adds: + +"I say, Torchy, you have clever ideas now and then." + +"Who, me?" says I. "Someone's been kiddin' you." + +"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." + +"What a cruel thought!" says I. "Still, if a miracle like that could be +pulled, it would be entertainin' to watch. Eh?" + +"Especially if it had to do with handling cold, slippery things," +chuckles Mr. Robert, "like iced eels or pickles." + +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 +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. + +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-cochere 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. + +"Why, it's Miss Gorman!" whispers Vee. + +"Not _the_ Miss Gorman--Miss Jane?" I says. + +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. + +Look at the things she's put through, since the war started, just by +crashin' right in and 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. + +And now she's makin' straight for Mr. Robert. + +"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." + +"Might I ask, Miss Jane," says he, "if any particular qualifications +are----" + +"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 for this one, however, have been terribly +rushed." + +"I see," says Mr. Robert. "And it's perfectly bully of you, Miss Jane. +Splendid! I suppose there'll be a hundred or so." + +"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." + +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. + +"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 do. But +there'll be so much more; decorating the tables, and----" + +Here I nudges Mr. Robert. "How about Forsythe?" I suggests. + +"Eh?" says he. "Why--why---- By Jove, though! Why not? Oh, I say, +Forsythe! Just a moment." + +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. + +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. + +"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----" + +"Oh, I am sure Mr. Hurd would be the very one," puts in Miss Gorman. + +"At last!" says Forsythe, strikin' a pose. "My virtues are about to be +discovered. I shall be delighted to assist you, Miss Gorman, in any +way." + +"Tut, tut, Forsythe!" says Mr. Robert. "Don't be too reckless. Miss Jane +might take you at your word." + +"Go on. Slander me," says Forsythe. "Say that, when enlisted in a noble +cause, I am a miserable shirker." + +"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." + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +Miss Jane ain't a bit disturbed when I makes my report. + +"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 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." + +"You--you mean," says I, gaspin' a bit, "all the hired help?" + +"And the volunteers too," says Miss Jane. "Everyone." + +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. + +"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." + +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 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. + +"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." + +"Quite so," says Forsythe. "We must get to work right away." + +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. + +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'. + +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, too, +that he's gettin' some stunnin' effects and is bein' congratulated +enthusiastic by the girls. + +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. + +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. + +"Why, you've done wonders, Mr. Hurd," says she. "What a versatile genius +you are?" + +"Oh, that!" says he, wavin' a sandwich careless. "But it's an +inspiration to be doing anything at all for you, Miss Gorman." + +And here he hasn't so much as shed his overcoat. + +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. + +"Ah, I am distract," says he, puffin' out his cheeks. "Eet--eet ees too +mooch!" + +"Go on," says I. "Shoot the tragedy. What's too much?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"There ain't a cook in sight," says I. "Sorry, but----" + +"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!" + +"Oh!" says I. "Peelin' potatoes! Why, 'most anybody could help out at +that, I guess. I would myself if----" + +"No," breaks in Miss Jane. "You cannot be spared. And I'm sure I don't +know who could." + +"Unless," I puts in, "Mr. Hurd is all through with his decoratin'." + +"Why, to be sure," says she. "Just tell him, will you?" + +"Suppose I send him over to you, Miss Gorman," says I, "while I hustle +along that piano?" + +She nods, and I lose no time trailin' down Forsythe. + +"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." + +"Oh, certainly," says Forsythe, startin' off brisk. + +"And say," I calls after him, "I hope it won't be anything that'll make +you faint." + +"Please don't worry about me," says he. + +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' around, and half a dozen +murderous-lookin' assistant chefs was sharpenin' long knives and +jabberin' excited in four languages. + +Oh, yes; Forsythe was goin' to need all the inspiration he'd collected, +if he lasted through. + +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. + +"Hey, chef!" I sings out. "Where's that expert potato-peeler I sent +you?" + +"Ah!" says he, rubbin' his hands enthusiastic. "The signor with the +yellow gloves? In the tent there you will find heem." + +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 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. + +I'd just let out my second gasp when I feels somebody at my elbow, and +glances round to find it's Miss Jane. + +"Look!" says I, indicatin' Forsythe and his busy bees. + +"What a picture!" says Miss Jane. + +"Yes," says I, "illustratin' the manly art of lettin' the women do it." + +Miss Jane laughs easy. + +"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!" + +At that, though, if there'd been a medal to be passed out, I guess it +would have been pinned on Forsythe. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE HOUSE OF TORCHY + + +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. + +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. + +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 that after the first +day. In fact, I coded in my O. K. the second noon and was plannin' to +slip back home. + +But when I hinted as much to the Major he nearly threw a cat-fit. Why, +he'd arranged a demonstration at 10 A.M. 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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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'. + +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. I asks him sort of +sympathizin' how long he's been here. He says three months. + +"In this hole?" says I. "How do you keep from goin' bug-house?" + +"I don't mind it," says he. "I find the work quite interesting." + +"But evenin's?" I suggests. + +"I write to my wife," says he. + +I wanted to ask him what about, but I choked it back. "Oh, yes," says I. +"Of course. Any youngsters at home!" + +"No," says he prompt. "Life is complicated enough without children." + +"Oh, I don't know," says I. "They'd sort of help, I should think." + +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." + +"Maybe not," says I, "but----" + +"Few seem to do so," he breaks in. "Just think: one begins by putting +two lives in jeopardy." + +"Let's pass over that," I says hasty. + +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 his character, of planning and directing +his whole career, from boyhood on." + +"Some are girls, though," I suggests. + +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----" + +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. + +"All ready!" says he. "Now I'll show you a fighting machine, young man, +that is the last word in mechanical genius." + +"You can show me anything, Major," says I, "so long as it ain't a morgue +or a State's prison." + +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. + +"Stuck, ain't she?" I asked the Major. + +"We shall see," says he, noddin' to one of his staff, who proceeds to do +a semaphore act with his arms. + +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. + +"Hey, Major!" I calls out above the roar. "Can they see where they're +goin' in there? Hadn't we better give 'em room?" + +"Don't move, please," says he. + +"Just as you say," says I; "only I ain't strong for bein' rolled into +pie-crust." + +"There's no danger," says he. "I merely wish you to see how---- There! +Look!" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Very well," says the Major. "You shall have a ride in it." + +"Excuse me," says I. "I was only foolin'. Honest, Major, I ain't +yearnin'." + +"Telegram for you," breaks in Barnes, the secretary. + +"Oh!" says I, a bit gaspy, as I rips open the envelop. + +It's the one I'd been espectin'. All it says is: "Come at once. VEE." +But I knew what that meant. + +"Sorry, Major," says I, "but I'll have to pass up the rest of the show. +I--I'm called back." + +"Ah! To headquarters?" says he. + +"No," says I. "Home." + +He shakes his head and frowns. "That is a word which no officer is +supposed to have in his vocabulary," says he. + +"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." + +"I understand," says he. "The--the first?" + +I nods. Then I asks: "What's the quickest way across to Long Island?" + +"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 New York +express now. There'll be one down at 8:36 to-morrow morning, though." + +"Wha-a-at!" says I, gawpin' at him. "How about gettin' a machine and +shootin' down to the junction?" + +"My car is the only one here," says he, "and that is out of commission +to-day--valves being ground." + +"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----" + +"Strictly against orders," says he, "except for military purposes." + +"Ah, stretch it, Major," I goes on. "Have a heart. Just think! I want to +get there to-night. Got to!" + +"Impossible," says he. + +"But listen----" I keeps on. + +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 of junior officers bein' married. +Not durin' war-time, anyway. + +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. + +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. + +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 had a vague idea a +car would come along. But none did. + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, I say, old man," says a voice. "No shooting, please." + +And with that out steps a clean-cut, cheerful-faced young gent in a +leather coat, goggled 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. + +"You were out looking for me, I suppose?" he goes on. + +"Depends on who you are," says I. + +"Oh, we might as well come down to cases," says he. "I'm the enemy." + +"You don't look it," says I, grinnin'. + +He shrugs his shoulders. + +"Fact, old man," says he. "I'm the one you were sent to watch +for--Lieutenant Donald Allen, 26th Flying Corps Division, Squadron B." + +"Pleased to meet you," says I. + +"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." + +"Oh, I ain't so sure," says I. + +"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, 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." + +"Then what?" I asks. + +"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." + +"Wha-a-t!" says I. "You--you're goin' back to Mineola--to-night?" + +"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!" + +I was beginning to dope out the mystery. More'n that, I had my fingers +on the tail feathers of a hunch. + +"Why not leave Martin here?" I suggests. "Couldn't you show up in time?" + +"It wouldn't count," says the Lieutenant. "You must have an observer all +the way." + +"How about me subbin' in?" says I. + +"You?" says he. "Why, you're on the other side." + +"That's where you're mixed," says I. "I'm on the wrong side of Long +Island Sound, that's all." + +"Why," says he, "weren't you sent out to----" + +"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." + +"Honest?" says he. "Why, then--then----" + +"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----" + +Well, then I tells him about Vee, and everything. + +"By George!" says he. "You're all right, Lieutenant--er----" + +"Ah, between friends, Donald," says I, "it's Torchy." + +At which we links arms chummy and goes marchin' close order down to the +farm-house 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. + +"Well, how about you?" asks Allen. + +Martin he only moans and reaches for a warm flat-iron that he'd been +holdin' against his stomach. + +"Still dying, eh?" says Allen. "Why didn't you report sick this morning, +instead of letting them send you up with me?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +"I've had enough observing," says Martin. "I--I'm going to get +transferred to the mechanical department." + +"Oh, are you?" says Allen. "Then you'll be just as satisfied to make the +trip back by rail." + +Martin nods. + +"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. + +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." + +"Eh?" says I. "Map of what!" + +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. + +"So it's no use going back to-night." + +"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." + +"Can you?" he asks. + +"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." + +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. + +"Fine work!" says Donald. "That earns 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." + +"You can't make it any too speedy for me," says I, slippin' into the +sheepskin jacket. + +"Ever been up before?" he asks. + +"Only once--in a hydro," says I; "but I ain't missed any chances." + +"That's the spirit!" says he. "Come along. The old bus is anchored down +the field a ways." + +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. + +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'. Later he points down and grins. I grins back. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"It's fifty-fifty," says I. "Where do I hit a station?" + +"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." + +"Thanks," says I. "Hope you'll have the same luck yourself some day." + +"Oh, perhaps," says he, shakin' his head doubtful. "If I ever get back. +But not until I'm past thirty, anyway." + +"Why so late?" asks I. + +"What would get my goat," says he, "would be the risk of breakin' into +the grandfather class before I got ready." + +"Gee!" I gasps. "I hadn't thought of that." + +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. + +"Ah, _mon Dieu!_" says Leon, throwin' up his hands and starin' at me +bug-eyed. "Monsieur!" + +"Go on," says I. "Tell me the worst. What is it?" + +"But no, M'sieur," says he. "It is only that M'sieur appears in so +strange attire." + +"Oh! These?" says I. "Never mind my costume, Leon. What about Vee?" + +"Ah!" says he, his eyes beamin' once more and his hands washin' each +other. "Madame is excellent. She herself will tell you. Come!" + +Upstairs I went, two steps at a time. + +"S-s-sh!" says the nurse, meetin' me at the door. + +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. + +"Torchy," she whispers, "did you drop down out of--of the air?" + +"That was about it," says I. "I got here, though. Are you all right, +girlie?" + +She nods and gives me another of them sketchy, happy smiles. + +"And how about the--the----" I starts to ask. + +She glances towards the corner where the nurse is bendin' over a pink +and white basket. "He's splendid," she whispers. + +"He?" says I. "Then--then it's a boy?" + +She gives my hand a little squeeze. + +And ten minutes later, when I'm shooed out, I'm feelin' so chesty and +happy that I'm tingly all over. + +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. + +"Well," says I, "how about it?" + +"Ah, Monsieur!" says he, givin' me the hearty grip. "I make to you my +best congratulations." + +"Then you don't feel," says I, "that bein' a parent is kind of a sad and +solemn business?" + +"Sad!" says he. "_Non, non!_ 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 _la bonne +chance_. Yes, _la bonne chance!_" + +And say, there's no mistakin' that Leon means every word of it, French +and all. + +"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 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." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP + + +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. + +"How absurd, Torchy!" says Vee. "Not want to see baby? To be sure, she +will." + +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 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. + +"Oh, the dear, darling 'ittle cherub!" they'd squeal. "Isn't he simp-ly +the most won-der-ful baby you ev-er saw?" + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +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. + +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? + +All the alibi I can put up is that I wasn't used to bein' a father. +Ain't there something 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. + +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. + +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. + +So this particular afternoon, when I came breezin' in from town, I +chases right up to 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. + +"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----" + +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. + +"May I ask," says she, "if this is your usual manner of greeting your +offspring?" + +"Why," says I, "I--I expect it is." + +"Humph!" says she. "I might have known." + +"Now, Auntie," protests Vee, "you know very well that Torchy means----" + +"Whatever he means or doesn't mean," 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." + +"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----" + +"Oh, very well," says Auntie. "I do not intend to interfere in any way." + +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. + +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 +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'. + +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. + +"Really!" says she. "Are you never to realize, young man, that you are +now supposed to be a husband and a father?" + +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 as for the rest--well, I knew I +wasn't meetin' the specifications. + +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? + +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. + +"Eh?" he grunts, squintin' at me from under them bushy eyebrows. "A +father! You? Good Lord!" + +"Why not?" says I. "It's still being done, ain't it?" + +"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." + +"Thanks, Mr. Ellins," says I. "It's nice of you to cheer me up that +way." + +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. + +But a minute after I caught him gazin' at me wonderin', and he goes off +shakin' his head. + +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. + +"Well, Torchy," says he, "what you got on your mind?" + +"Nothing you could make copy out of," says I, "but it's a whale of an +event for me." + +"You don't say," says he. "Somebody died and left you the business?" + +"Just the opposite," says I. + +"I don't get you," says he. + +"Ah, what's usually in the next column?" says I. "It's a case of +somebody bein' born." + +"Why--why," says he, openin' his mouth, "you don't mean that----" + +"Uh-huh," says I, tryin' to look modest. + +[Illustration: "I was down on my knees doin' a buckin' bronco act, when +there comes a gasp from the doorway."] + +"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. + +"Say," Whitey goes on, poundin' me on the back jovial, "that's rich, +that is!" + +"Glad it amuses you," says I, startin' to move off. + +"Oh, come, old chap!" says he, followin' along. "Don't get crabby. +What--what is it, anyway?" + +"It's a baby," says I. "Quite a young one. Now go laugh your fat head +off, you human hyena." + +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. + +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' 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. + +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. + +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. + +"I'm afraid I'll bend him in the wrong place," I protests. + +"Goose!" says she. "Of course you won't." + +"Suppose I should drop him?" says I. + +"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." + +"Am I?" says I. + +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 look on my face as if I was havin' a tooth +plugged. + +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. + +"Well, well, Torchy!" says he. "A son and heir, eh? I salute you." + +"Same to you and many of 'em," says I, grinnin' simple. + +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. + +"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?" + +"Just plain foolish," says I. + +"Eh?" says he. + +"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 beginnin' to +suspect I've been miscast for the part." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Oh, I say!" he calls out. "The starboard watch wants to be relieved." + +So Vee comes back and pries the baby out of my grip. + +"Isn't he absurd!" says she. "But he will soon learn. All men are like +that at first, I suppose." + +"Hear that, Mr. Robert?" says I. "That's what I call a sun-cured +disposition." + +She'd make a good animal-trainer, Vee; she's so persistent and patient. +After dinner she jollies me into tryin' it again. + +"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. See, he is looking up at you! Yes, I believe he +is. Do you see Daddy? Do you, precious?" + +"Must be some sight," I murmurs. "What am I supposed to do now?" + +"Oh, you may rock him gently, if you like," says Vee. "And I don't +suppose he'd mind if you sang a bit." + +"Wouldn't that be takin' a mean advantage?" says I. + +Vee laughs and goes off so I can practice alone, which was thoughtful of +her. + +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. + +"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 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. + +"Googly-goo!" remarks Sonny, indicatin' 'most anything you're a mind to +call it. + +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. + +"That's the trick, Buster!" says I. "Friendly face motions is what wins." + +"Goo-oogly-goo!" says he. + +"True words!" says I. "I believe you." + +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. + +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 thrill, +that spreads and spreads until it gets 'way inside of you--under your +vest, on the left side. + +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. + +"Well, if you aren't a picture, you two!" says Vee, bendin' over and +whisperin' in my ear. + +"This ain't a pose," says I. "It's the real thing." + +"You mean----" begins Vee. + +"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." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY + + +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. + +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. + +"Ah, take your thumb off," I sings out to the night operator. "Who you +think you're callin'--the fire house or some doctor?" + +"Here's your party," I hears her remark cheerful, and then this other +voice comes in. + +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. + +"Yes, yes," says I. "This is me. What then?" + +"Did you read about that German naval officer who escaped from an +internment camp last week?" he asks. + +"But that was 'way down in North Carolina or somewhere, wasn't it?" says +I. + +"Perhaps," says Plummer. "But he isn't there now. He's here." + +"Eh?" says I. "Where?" + +"Prowling around my house," says Plummer. "That is, he was a few moments +ago. My chauffeur saw him. So did I. He's on his way down towards the +trolley line now." + +"Why didn't you nab him?" I asks. + +"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." + +"But how'd you come to spot him as a Hun officer?" says I. + +"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." + +"Oh, must we?" says I. "Listens to me like some he-sized job." + +"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." + +"Is that all I have to do?" says I. "What's the scheme--do I trip him up +and sit on his head?" + +"No, no!" says Plummer. "Don't attempt 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." + +"Huh!" says I. "And I'm to go down and---- Say, where do you come in on +this?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +Course this wakes Vee up, and she wants to know what it's all about. + +"Oh, a little private panic that Norton Plummer is indulgin' in," says +I. "Nothin' to get fidgety over. I'll be back soon." + +"But--but you won't be reckless, will you, Torchy?" she asks. + +"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." + +I expect she was some nervous, at that. But she's a good sport, Vee. + +"If you're needed," says she, "of course I want you to go. But do be +careful." + +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. + +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'. + +Besides, what would an escaped German naval officer be doin' up this +way? He'd be 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. + +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. + +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. + +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' 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. + +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. + +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. + +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 +sleuthin' I had to do. Most likely he was up dosin' himself or bathin' +his joints. + +Well, he was. He didn't seem any too enthusiastic about lettin' me have +the key, though. + +"I dunno," says he. "'Tis railroad property, y' understand, and I'd be +afther riskin' me job if any thin' should----" + +"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." + +"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. + +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. + +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. +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. + +"Eh?" says I gaspy. + +"Gotta match?" says he. + +"I--I guess so," says I. + +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. + +He produces a pipe and starts to light up. One match broke, the second +had no strikin' head on it, the third just fizzed. + +"Gr-r-r-r!" says he. + +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. + +"Waitin' for the trolley?" I throws out. + +"What of it?" he growls. + +"Oh, no offense," says I hasty. "Maybe there are others." + +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. + +"You might have better luck inside," says I, swingin' open the door +invitin'. + +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. + +"Ah, take the limit, Cap'n," says I. + +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. + +"Hey!" he sings out startled. "What the----" + +"Now, don't get messy, Cap'n," says I. "You're in, ain't you? Smoke up +and be happy." + +"You--you loafer!" he gurgles throaty. "What do you mean?" + +"Just a playful little prank, Cap," says I. "Don't get excited. You're +perfectly safe." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"You--you better let me out of here quick!" he roars. "I gotta get +back." + +"Oh, you'll get to town all right," says I. "I'll promise you that." + +"Loafer!" he snorts. + +"Say, how do you know I ain't sensitive on that point?" says I. "You +might hurt my feelin's." + +"Gr-r-r!" says he. "I would wring your neck." + +"Such a disposition!" says I. + +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. + +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. + +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 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. + +"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." + +"Gr-r-r-r!" says he. "I--I will teach you to play your jokes on me, +young whipper-snap." + +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. + +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. + +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 the air, and the geraniums +in the flower-boxes noddin' jerky. + +"Say, what do you think you are?" I calls out. "A wooden tank goin' over +the top?" + +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. + +"Hey! Stop him, stop him!" he yells. + +"Stop him yourself, Danny," says I. + +"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." + +"Yes; I've explained all that to him," says I. + +"Go back and come'out of that, ye thievin' Dutchman!" orders Danny, +rushin' up and bangin' on the door with his fists. + +"Just let me out, you Irish shrimp!" snarls the Cap'n. + +"Can't be done--not yet, Danny," says I. + +"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." + +"Get out, Irisher, or I'll fall on you," warns the Cap'n. + +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. + +"Well," says Plummer, "have you seen anything of the escaped prisoner?" + +"That's him," says I, pointin' to the wabblin' shack. + +"Whaddye mean?" says Plummer, starin' puzzled. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Bah!" says the Cap'n. "Why do you call me Hun?" + +"Because I've identified you as an escaped German naval officer," says +Plummer. "Do you deny it?" + +"Me?" says the Cap'n. "Bah!" + +"Who do you claim to be, then?" says I. "A tourist Eskimo or an +out-of-town buyer from Patagonia?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Selma," says the Cap'n. + +"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?" + +"What do you know about it?" demands Petersen. + +"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?" + +Nothing but heavy breathing from inside the shack. + +"You don't mean to say you were too bashful!" goes on Plummer. "A great +big fellow like you!" + +If it hadn't been for the whiskers I believe we could have seen him +blush. + +"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." + +"No, no!" pleads the big gink. "Please! Not like this." + +"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." + +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. + +Inside of ten minutes John is back with 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. + +"Oh, Nels, Nels!" she wails out. "Vy you don'd coom by the house yet?" + +"I was scart, Selma," says Nels, "for fear you'd tell me to go away." + +"But--but I don'd, Nels," says Selma. + +"Shall I let him out for the fade-away scene?" says I. + +Plummer nods. And we had to turn our backs as they go to the fond +clinch. + +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. + +"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." + +"But what about me little lawn," demands Danny, "that's tore up +entirely? And who's to mend me stove-pipe and all?" + +"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." + +"Sure!" says Nels, fishin' in his pockets. + +"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----" + +At which Danny breaks off and shakes his fist menacin'. + +When I gets back home I tiptoes upstairs; but Vee is only dozin', and +wakes up with a jump. + +"Is that you, Torchy?" says she. "Has--has anything dreadful happened?" + +"Yes," says I. "I had to pull a low tackle, and Danny Shea's declared +war on Sweden." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S + + +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. + +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. + +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 in that +fashion. You couldn't blame him, for it was easy to listen to. + +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. + +Then one day Auntie, who's been listenin' disapprovin' all the while, +just can't hold in any longer. + +"Isn't it high time," says she, "that you addressed the child properly +by his right name?" + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Which one?" + +"You don't mean to say," she goes on, "that you have not yet decided on +his baptismal name?" + +"I didn't know he was a Baptist," says I feeble. + +"We hadn't quite settled what to call him," says Vee. + +"Besides," I adds, "I don't see the use bein' in a rush about it. Maybe +were're savin' that up." + +"Saving!" says Auntie. "For what reason?" + +"Oh, general conservation," says I. "Got the habit. We've had heatless +Mondays and wheatless Wednesdays and fryless Fridays and sunless +Sundays, so why not nameless babies?" + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, very well," says I. "I'll be thinking one up." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Maybe it would be printed in the newspapers, used in headlines, or +painted on campaign banners. Might be displayed on billboards. Who could +tell? + +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! + +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 enough for me to make +a mistake that it would take a court order to straighten out. + +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. + +"Let's see," says Vee, glancin' 'em over curious. "Lester. Why, I'm sure +that is rather a nice name for a boy." + +"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." + +"What about Earl?" she asks. + +"Too flossy," says I. "Sounds like you was tryin' to let on he belonged +to the aristocracy." + +"Well, Donald, then," says she. "That's a good, sensible name." + +"But we ain't Scotch," I objects. + +"What's the matter with Philip?" says Vee. + +"I can never remember whether it has one _l_ and two _p_'s or the other +way round." + +"But you haven't considered any of the common ones," goes on Vee, "such +as John or William or Thomas or James or Arthur." + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +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! + +Just the thought of it made me dizzy; and I begun breathin' easier when +I saw Vee shake her head. + +"He's such a little fellow, Auntie," says she. "Wouldn't that be--well, +rather topheavy?" + +Which disposes of Auntie. She admits maybe it would. But from then on, +as the 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. + +"For six generations," says he, "Emil has been the name of the +first-born son in our family." + +"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." + +Mr. Robert don't say so outright, but he suggests that Ellins Ballard +wouldn't be such a bad combination. + +"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." + +"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!" + +Mr. Robert grins. "Entry withdrawn," says he. + +How this Amelia Gaston Leroy got the call to crash in on our little +family affair, though, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +They'd had her up at the Ellinses' once or twice when they were givin' +one of their musical evenin's, and she'd spouted some of her stuff. + +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. + +"Where is he?" she demands. "Please take me at once into the regal +presence of his youthful majesty." + +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. + +"How nice of you to want to see him!" says Vee. "But let me have Baby +brought down here. Just a moment." + +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. + +"Ah, he is one of the sun children, loved of 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?" + +As she fires this straight at me, I has to say something. + +"Does he?" I asks. + +"I am always impressed," she gurgles on, "by the calm serenity in the +eyes of these little ones. It is as if they----" + +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. + +Meanwhile Miss Leroy gets around to statin' the real reason why we're +bein' honored. + +"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. + +"So I am aunt to a Walter who should have been called Clifford, and a +Margaret whom 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. + +"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." + +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. + +"We--we will consider Cedric," says Vee. "Thank you so much." + +"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. + +Vee gazes after her and sighs. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"And yet," says Vee, "unless we can think of something better----" + +"We will," says I. "I'm goin' through them pages in the back of the big +dictionary." + +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. + +"After all," she writes, "Cedric seems rather too harsh, too rough-shod. +So I have decided on Lucian." + +"Huh!" says I. "She's decided, has she? Say, whose tag day is this, +anyway--ours or hers?" + +Vee shrugs her shoulders. + +"I'm not sure that we should like calling him Lucian; it's so--so----" + +"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?" + +Vee chuckles. + +"Oh, no doubt she'll forget all about it by morning," says she. + +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. + +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. + +"After something you read on a cork, eh?" says I. "Much obliged. And I +hope nobody strained his intellect." + +"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." + +"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 _l_'s and _r_'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." + +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. + +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 +_z_'s in the back of the dictionary goin' off, when Vee calls out that +it's the 'phone. + +I tumbles out and paws around for the extension. + +"Wha-what?" says I. "What the blazes! Ye-uh. This is me. Wha-wha's +matter?" + +And then comes this gurgly voice at the other end of the wire. It's our +old friend Amelia. + +"Do you know," says she, "I have just thought of the loveliest name for +your dear baby." + +"Oh, have you?" says I, sort of crisp. + +"Yes," says she, "and I simply couldn't wait until morning to tell you. +Now listen--it's Ethelbert." + +"Ethel-Bert!" says I, gaspy. "Say, you know he's no mixed foursome." + +"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." + +I couldn't agree with her real enthusiastic, so it's lucky she hung up +just as she did. + +"Huh!" I remarks to Vee. "Why not Maryjim or Daisybill? Say, I think our +friend Amelia must have gone off her hinge." + +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 the first reel of the slumber +stuff. I couldn't get back, to save me. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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? + +Honest, I got so fidgety waitin' for that buzzer to go off that I could +almost hear the night operator pluggin' in on our wire. + +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. + +"Give her a good strong ring, please," says I to Exchange, "and keep it +up until you rouse somebody." + +"Leave it to me," says the operator. And in a minute or so I gets this +throaty "Hello!" + +"Miss Leroy?" says I. + +"Yes," says she. "Who is calling?" + +"Ballard," says I. "I'm the fond parent of the nameless baby. And say, +do you still stick to Ethelbert?" + +"Why," says she, "I--er----" + +"I just wanted to tell you," I goes on, "that this guessin' contest +closes at 3 A.M., and if you want to make any more entries you got only +forty minutes to get 'em in. Nighty-night." + +And I rings off just as she begins sputterin' indignant. + +That seems to help a lot, and inside of five minutes I'm snoozin' +peaceful. + +It was next mornin' at breakfast that Vee observes offhand, as though +the subject hadn't been mentioned before: + +"About naming the baby, now." + +"Ye-e-es?" says I, smotherin' a groan. + +"Why couldn't we call him after you?" she asks. + +"Not--not Richard Junior?" says I. + +"Well, after both of us, then," says she. "Richard Hemmingway. It--it is +what I've wanted to name him all along." + +"You have?" says I. "Well, for the love of----" + +"You didn't ask me, that's why," says she. + +"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." + +"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----" + +"Satisfied!" says I. "Why, I'm tickled to pieces. And here you had that +up your sleeve all the while!" + +Vee smiles and nods. + +"We must have the christening very soon," says she, "so everyone will +know." + +"You bet!" says I. "And I've a good notion 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." + +"Oh, yes," says Vee; "but I'm sure he won't mind that in the least." + +"Good girl!" says I, movin' round where I can express my feelin's +better. + +"Don't!" says Vee. "You'll spill the coffee." + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +SEWELL FORD'S STORIES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + + +SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, +sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way. + + +SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with human +nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for +"side-stepping with Shorty." + + +SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up to +the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund," +and gives joy to all concerned. + + +SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for +physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at +swell yachting parties. + + +TORCHY. Illus, by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. + +A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to the +youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his +experiences. + + +TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the +previous book. + + +ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," but +that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people apart, +which brings about many hilariously funny situations. + + +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for +the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious +American slang. + + +WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. + +Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, +in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with his +friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to place +an engagement ring on Vee's finger. + + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + + +MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + +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. + + +SATURDAY'S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. + +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. + + +THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE. Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock. + +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. + + +THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert. + +How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, lifted +herself through sheer determination to a higher plane of life. + + +THE HEART OF RACHAEL. Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. + +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. + + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + + +SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. + +No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal young +people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of the +time when the reader was Seventeen. + + +PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. + +This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, +tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a +finished, exquisite work. + + +PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. + +Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phases +of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishness +that have ever been written. + + +THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. + +Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his +father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a +fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. + + +THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. + +A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country +editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love +interest. + + +THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. + +The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, +drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another +to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising +suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. + + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + +----------------------------------------------------------------------- + +NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE + +HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. + + +MAVERICKS. + +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. + + +A TEXAS RANGER. + +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. + + +WYOMING. + +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. + + +RIDGWAY OF MONTANA. + +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. + + +BUCKY O'CONNOR. + +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. + + +CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT. + +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. + + +BRAND BLOTTERS. + +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. + + +GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + + + +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.txt or 21882.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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