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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/17301-8.txt b/17301-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1cd16a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/17301-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9067 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of On With 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: On With Torchy + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Illustrator: Foster Lincoln + +Release Date: December 13, 2005 [EBook #17301] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON WITH TORCHY *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Well if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" says +Vee.] + + + + + + +ON WITH TORCHY + + +BY + +SEWELL FORD + + + + +AUTHOR OF + +TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY, ODD NUMBERS, ETC., ETC. + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY + +FOSTER LINCOLN + + + + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + + +Copyright, 1913, 1914, by + +Sewell Ford + + + +Copyright, 1914, by + +Edward J. Clode + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. CHANCING IT FOR VEE + II. PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT + III. WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP + IV. TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM + V. BREEZING BY WITH PEGGY + VI. GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS + VII. TORCHY IN ON THE DRAW + VIII. GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL + IX. LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER + X. MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT + XI. THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY + XII. THE GLAD HAIL FOR TORCHY + XIII. AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE + XIV. CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS + XV. BEING SICCED ON PERCEY + XVI. HOW WHITY GUNKED THE PLOT + XVII. TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"WELL, IF I EVER! LOOK WHERE YOUR SHOULDERS + COME!" . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ + +"BY GORRY!" EXPLODES IRA AS HE GETS HIS FIRST GLIMPSE + +SISTER HAS LANDED A SMACK ON HIS JAW + +BELIEVE ME, IT WAS SOME ARTISTIC MAKEUP! + +"AH, FLUTTER BY, IDLE ONE!" SAYS I + +THEN MY ARM MUST HAVE SLIPPED--AND THE SIDE + CLINCH WA'N'T DISTURBED + +WE WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDST OF PRACTISIN' THE SIDEWISE DIP, + WHEN WHO SHOULD SHOW UP BUT THE HAPPY BRIDEGROOM! + +WE WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDST Of THE SCRIMMAGE WHEN IN WALKS VEE + + + + +ON WITH TORCHY + + +CHAPTER I + +CHANGING IT FOR VEE + +Say, what's next to knowin' when you're well off? Why, thinkin' you +are. + +Which is a little nugget of wisdom I panned out durin' a chat I had not +long ago with Mr. Quinn, that I used to work under when I was on the +door of the Sunday sheet, three or four years back. + +"Hail, Torchy!" says he, as we meets accidental on Broadway. "Still +carrying the burning bush under your hat, aren't you?" + +I grins good-natured at his old josh, just as I used to about twice a +week regular, and admits that I am. + +"You wa'n't lookin' for me to fade to an ash blond, was you?" says I. + +"Ah!" says he. "I see the brilliance is not all on the outside. Well, +what use are you putting it to? Who are you with now?" + +"Same concern," says I. "Corrugated Trust." + +"As First, or Second Vice President?" says he, cockin' his head on one +side humorous. + +"Add 'em together and multiply by three," says I, "then you'll be warm." + +"I don't quite get the result," says he. + +"Ever hear of an office-boy-de-luxe?" says I. "They don't print it on +the letter-heads yet, or paint it on the ground-glass, but that's my +real label. I'm the only one in New York, too." + +Mr. Quinn chuckles and goes off shakin' his head. I expect he's +disappointed that I've stuck so long in one shop without climbin' +further up the ladder. That's what he was always preachin' at me, this +ladder-climbin' advice. But say, hod carriers do that. Me for an +express elevator when the time comes. + +But meanwhile, with a couple of bosses like Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. +Robert, it ain't so worse sittin' behind the brass rail. That's one +reason I ain't changed. Also there's that little mine enterprise me +and Mr. Robert's mixed up in, which ain't come to a head yet. + +Then--well, then, there's Vee. Go on--hand me the jolly! And if you +push me to it I'll admit I ain't any speedy performer at this "Oh, +you!" game. Mr. Robert he thinks it's comic, when he has the kiddin' +fit on, to remark chuckly, "Oh, I say, Torchy, have you seen Miss Vee +lately?" + +There's others too, that seems to get a lot of satisfaction shootin' +the same thing at me, and they sort of snicker when I get pink in the +ears. But, say, there's a heap of difference between pickin' peaches +from an easy chair under the tree, and when you have to shin the garden +wall and reach through the barbed wire ornament on top. + +Course, I ain't comparin' anything--but there's Aunty. Dear old girl! +Square as a brick, and about as yieldin'; good as gold too, but worth +more per ounce than any coined at the mint; and as foxy in the mind as +a corporation lawyer arguin' before the Rapid Transit Commission. Also +I'm as welcome to Aunty's eyesight as Eugene V. Debs would be at the +Union League Club--just about. That ain't any idle rumor, either, nor +something that was hinted to me casual. It's first-hand information, +hot off the bat. + +"Boy," says she, glarin' at me through her gold lorgnette like I was +some kind of insect specimen, "do I understand that you come here to +see my niece?" + +"Well," says I, "there's you and her--guess!" + +"Humph!" she snorts indignant. "Then I wish you to know that your +visits are most unwelcome. Is that quite clear?" + +"I get the outline," says I. "But, you see----" + +"No qualifications, absolutely none!" says she. "Good afternoon, young +man. I shall not expect you to return." + +"Oh, well, in that case," says I, sidlin' off, "why--I--I think I'll be +goin'." + +It was a smear, that's all. I felt about as thick through as a +Saratoga chip, and not half so crisp. Encouragin' finish for an +afternoon call that I'd been bracin' myself up to for weeks, wa'n't it? +And from all I can gather from a couple of sketchy notes Vee gets about +the same line of advice handed her. So there was a debate between her +and Aunty. For I expect nobody can lay the law down flat to Vee +without strikin' a few sparks from them big gray eyes. + +But of course Aunty wins out in the end. It's a cinch, with everything +on her side. Anyway, the next thing I knows about their plans is when +I finds their names in the sailin' list, bound for the Big Ditch, with +most everyone else that could get away. And I makes my discovery about +three hours after the boat has left. + +But that was in January. And I expect it was a fine thing for Vee, +seein' the canal before it revised the geography, and dodgin' all kinds +of grip weather, and meetin' a lot of new people. And if it's worth +all that bother to Aunty just so anybody can forget a party no more +important than me--why, I expect that's all right too. + +But it's just like some folks to remember what they're ordered to +forget. Anyway, I got bulletins now and then, and I was fairly well +posted as to when Aunty landed back in New York, and where she unpacked +her trunks. That helped some; but it didn't cut the barbed wire +exactly. + +And, say, I was gettin' some anxious to see Vee once more. Nearly two +weeks she'd been home, and not so much as a glimpse of her! I'd doped +out all kinds of brilliant schemes; but somehow they didn't work. No +lucky breaks seemed to be comin' my way, either. + +And then, here last Sunday after dinner, I just hauls out that church +weddin' costume I'd collected once, brushes most of the kinks out of my +red hair, sets my jaw solid, and starts to take a sportin' chance. On +the way up I sketches out a scenario, which runs something like this: + +A maid answers the ring. I ask if Miss Vee is in. The maid goes to +see, when the voice of Aunty is heard in the distance, "What! A young +gentleman asking for Verona? No card? Then get his name, Hortense." +Me to the maid, "Messenger from Mr. Westlake, and would Miss Vee care +to take a short motor spin. Waiting below." Then more confab with +Aunty, and five minutes later out comes Vee. Finale: Me and Vee +climbin' to the top of one of them Riverside Drive busses, while Aunty +dreams that she's out with Sappy Westlake, the chosen one. + +Some strategy to that--what? And, sure enough, the piece opens a good +deal as I'd planned; only instead of me bein' alone when I pushes the +button, hanged if two young chappies that had come up in the elevator +with me don't drift along to the same apartment door. We swap sort of +foolish grins, and when Hortense fin'ly shows up everyone of us does a +bashful sidestep to let the others go first. So Hortense opens on what +looks like a revolvin' wedge. But that don't trouble her at all. + +"Oh, yes," says she, swingin' the door wide and askin' no questions. +"This way, please." + +Looked like we was expected; so there's no ducking and while we're +drapin' our hats on the hall rack I'm busy picturin' the look on +Aunty's face when she singles me out of the trio. They was panicky +thoughts, them. + +But a minute later the plot is still further mixed by the sudden +swishy, swirly entrance of an entire stranger,--a tall, thin female +with vivid pink cheeks, a chemical auburn tint to her raven tresses, +and long jet danglers in her ears. She's draped in what looks like a +black silk umbrella cover with rows of fringe and a train tacked to it, +and she wears a red, red rose coquettish over one ear. As she swoops +down on us from the drawin' room she cuts loose with the vivacious +chatter. + +"Ah, there you are, you dear, darling boys!" says she. "And the +Princess Charming is holding court to-day. Ah, Reggy, you scamp! But +you did come, didn't you? And dear Theodore too! Brave, Sir Knights! +That's what you all shall be,--Knights come to woo the Princess!" + +Honest, for awhile there, as this bughouse monologue was bein' put +over, I figured I've made a mistake in the floor, and had been let into +a private ward. But as soon as I gets next to the Georgia accent I +suspects that it ain't any case of squirrels in the attic; but just a +sample of sweet Southern gush. + +Next I gets a peek through the draperies at some straw-colored hair +with a shell-pink ear peepin' from underneath, and I know that whatever +else is wrong don't matter; for over there on the windowseat, +surrounded by half a dozen young gents, is somebody very particular and +special. Followin' this I does a hasty piece of scout work and draws a +deep breath. No Aunty looms on the horizon--not yet, anyway. + +With the arrival of the new delegates the admirin' semicircle has to +break up, and the three of us are towed to the bay window by Vivacious +Vivian. + +"Princess," says she, makin' a low duck, "three other Knights who would +do homage. Allow me first to present Mr. Reginald St. Claire Smith. +Here Reggy. Also Mr. Theodore Braden. And next Mr.--Mr.--er----" + +She's got to me. I expect her first guess was that I'd been dragged in +by one of the other two; but as neither of 'em makes any sign she turns +them black, dark-ringed lamps inquirin' on me and asks, "Oh, I'm sure I +beg pardon, but--but you are----" + +Now who the blazes was I, anyway? It all depended on how well posted +she was, whether I should admit I was Torchy the Banished, or invent an +alias on the spot. + +"Why," says I, draggin' it out to gain time, "you see I'm a--that is, +I'm a--a----" + +"Oh, hello!" breaks in Vee, jumpin' up and holdin' out both hands just +in the nick of time. "Why, of course, Cousin Eulalia! This is a +friend of mine, an old friend." + +"Really!" says Cousin Eulalia. "And I may call him----" + +"Claude," I puts in, winkin' at Vee. "Call me just Claude." + +"Perfectly lovely!" gushes Eulalia. "An unknown knight. 'Deed and you +shall be called Claude--Sir Claude of the Golden Crest. Gentlemen, I +present him to you." + +We looks at each other sort of sheepish, and most of us grins. All but +one, in fact. The blond string bean over in the corner, with the +buttermilk blue eyes and the white eyebrows, he don't seem amused. For +it's Sappy Westlake, the one I run on a siding once at a dance. Think +of keepin' a peeve on ice all that time! + +It's quite a likely lookin' assortment on the whole, though, all +costumed elegant and showin' signs of bein' fairly well parlor broke. + +"What's the occasion?" says I on the side to Miss Vee. "Reunion of +somebody's Sunday school class?" + +She gives me a punch and smothers a snicker, "Don't let Cousin Eulalia +hear you say such a thing," says she. + +We only had a minute; but from what she manages to whisper durin' the +general chatter I makes out that this is a little scheme Eulalia'd +planned to sort of launch Vee into the younger set. She's from +Atlanta, Cousin Eulalia is, one of the best fam'lies, and kind of a +perennial society belle that's tinkled through quite some seasons, but +refuses to quit. Just now she's spendin' a month with Fifth-ave. +friends, and has just discovered that Vee and her are close connected +through a step-uncle marryin' a half-sister of Eulalia's +brother-in-law, or something like that. Anyhow, she insists on the +cousin racket, and has started right in to rush Vee to the front. + +She's some rasher, Eulalia is, too. No twenty-minutes-to-or-after +silences while she's conductin' affairs. Course, it's kind of frothy +stuff to pass for conversation; but it bubbles out constant, and she +blows it around impartial. Her idea of giving Cousin Vee a perfectly +good time seems to be to have us all grouped around that windowseat and +take turns shootin' over puffs of hot air; sort of a taffy-throwin' +competition, you know, with Vee as the mark. + +But Vee don't seem tickled to death over it. She ain't fussed exactly, +as Eulalia rounds us up in a half-circle; but she colors up a little +and acts kind of bored. She's some picture, though. M-m-m-m! And it +was worth while bein' one of a mob, just to stand there watchin' her. + +I expect the young college hicks felt a good deal the same about it as +me, even if they was havin' hard work diggin' up appropriate remarks +when Eulalia swings the arrow so it points to them. Anyway, they does +their best to come up with the polite jolly, and nobody makes a break +to quit. + +It's durin' the tea and sandwich scramble, though, that Cousin Eulalia +gets her happy hunch. Seems that Sappy Westlake has come forward with +an invite to a box party just as Vee is tryin' to make up her mind +whether she'll go with Teddy Braden to some cotillion capers, or accept +a dinner dance bid from one of the other young gents. + +"And all for Wednesday night!" says she. "How stupid of you, with the +week so long!" + +"But I'd planned this box party especially for you," protests Sappy. + +"Oh, give someone else a chance, Westlake," cuts in Reggy. "That's the +night of our frat dance, and I want to ask Miss Vee if----" + +"What's this all about?" demands Eulalia, dancin' kittenish into the +limelight. "Rivalry among our gallant knights? Then the Princess +Charming must decide." + +"Oh, don't, Cousin Eulalia," says Vee, wrinklin' her nose the least +bit. "Please!" + +"Don't what?" says Eulalia, raisin' her long arms flutterin'. "My +dear, I don't understand." + +"Ah, she's hintin' for you to ditch the Princess stuff," I puts in. +"Ain't that it?" and Vee nods emphatic. + +Eulalia lets on that she don't know. "Ditch the--why, what can he mean +by that?" says she. "And you are a Princess Charming; isn't she, boys?" + +Course the bunch admits that she is. + +"There, you see?" goes on Eulalia. "Your faithful knights acclaim you. +Who says that the age of chivalry has passed? Why, here they are, +everyone of them ready to do your lightest bidding. Now, aren't you, +Sir Knights?" + +It's kind of a weak chorus; but the ayes seem to have it. What other +answer could there be, with Vee gazin' flushed and pouty at 'em over +the tea urn? + +"Really, Eulalia, I wish you wouldn't be so absurd," says Vee. + +"My dear Cousin Verona," coos Eulalia, glidin' up and huggin' her +impetuous, "how could anyone keep their heads straight before such +absolutely distracting beauty? See, you have inspired them all with +the spirit of chivalry. And now you must put them to the test. Name +some heroic deed for each to perform. Begin with Reggy. Now what +shall it be?" + +"Fudge!" says Vee, tossin' her head. "I'll do nothing so perfectly +mushy." + +But Cousin Eulalia wa'n't to be squelched, nor have her grand scheme +sidetracked. "Then I declare myself Mistress of the Lists," says she, +"and I shall open the tournament for you. Ho, Trumpeter, summon the +challengers! And--oh, I have it. Each of you Sir Knights must choose +his own task, whatever he deems will best please our Princess Charming. +What say you to that?" + +There's a murmur of "Good business!" "Bully dope!" and the young gents +begin to prick up their ears. + +"Then this is how it stands," goes on Eulalia, beamin' delighted. +"Between now and eight o'clock this evening each knight must do his +valorous best to win the approval of our Princess. Hers it shall be to +decide, the prize her gracious company for next Wednesday night. Come +now, who enters the lists?" + +There's some snickerin' and hangin' back; but fin'ly they're all in. + +"All save the Unknown Knight," pipes up Eulalia, spottin' me in the +rear. "How now, you of the Crimson Crest? Not showing the white +feather, are you?" + +"Me?" says I. "Well, I don't quite get the drift of the game; but if +it'll make you feel any better, you can count me in." + +"Good!" says she, clappin' her hands. "And while you are afield I must +leave too--another tea, you know. But we all meet here again at eight +sharp, with proof or plunder. Teddy, have you decided what to attempt?" + +"Sure," says he. "Me to find the biggest box of candy that can be +bought in New York Sunday evening." + +"Oh, splendid!" gurgles Eulalia. "And you, Mr. Westlake?" + +"Orchids," says Sappy. "Grandmother has dandy ones at her place up in +Westchester, and I can make there and back in my roadster if I'm not +pinched for speeding. I'm going to have a try, and maybe I'll have to +steal the flowers too." + +"There!" says Eulalia, pattin' him on the back. "That's a knightly +spirit. But what of Crimson Crest? What will you do?" + +"The game is to spring something on Miss Vee better'n what the others +put over, is it?" says I. + +"Precisely," says Eulalia, allowin' two of the young gents to help her +on with her wraps. "Have you thought what your offering is to be?" + +"Not yet," says I. "I may take a chance on something fresh." + +They was all pilin' out eager by that time, each one anxious to get +started on his own special fool stunt, so, while I was mixed up in the +gen'ral push, with my hat in my hand and my coat over my arm, it didn't +strike me how I could bolt the programme until I'm half crowded behind +the open hall door. Then I gets a swift thought. Seein' I wouldn't be +missed, and that Vee has her back to me, I simply squeezes in out of +sight and waits while she says by-by to the last one; so, when she +fin'ly shuts the door, there I am. + +"Why, Torchy!" says she. "I thought you had gone." + +"But it wa'n't a wish, was it?" says I. + +"Humph!" says she, flashin' a teasin' glance. "Suppose I don't tell +that?" + +"My nerve is strong today," says I, chuckin' my hat back on the rack; +"so I'll take the benefit of the doubt." + +"But all the others have gone to--to do things that will please me," +she adds. + +"That's why I'm takin' a chance," says I, "that if I stick around I +might--well, I'm shy of grandmothers to steal orchids from, anyway." + +Vee chuckles at that. "Isn't Cousin Eulalia too absurd?" says she. +"And since you're still here--why--well, let's not stand in the hall. +Come in." + +"One minute," says I. "Where's Aunty?" + +"Out," says she. + +"What a pity!" says I, takin' Vee by the arm. "Tell her how much I +missed her." + +"But how did you happen to come up today?" asks Vee. + +"There wa'n't any happenin' to it," says I. "I'd got to my limit, +that's all. Honest, Vee, I just had to come. I'd have come if there'd +been forty Aunties, each armed with a spiked club. It's been months, +you know, since I've had a look at you." + +"Yes, I know," says she, gazin' at the rug. "You--you've grown, +haven't you?" + +"Think so?" says I. "Maybe it's the cut-away coat." + +"No," says she; "although that helps. But as we walked in I thought +you seemed taller than I. Let's measure, here by the pier glass. Now, +back to back. Well, if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" + +"No more than an inch or so," says I, gazin' sideways at the mirror; +and then I lets slip, half under my breath, a sort of gaspy "Gee!" + +"Why the 'Gee'?" says she, glancin' over her shoulder into the glass. + +"Oh, I don't know," says I; "only I don't mind bein' grouped like this, +not a bit." + +"Pooh!" says she, but still holdin' the pose. + +"Seems to me," says I, "that Cousin Eulalia is a slick describer. That +Princess Charming business ain't so wide." + +"Silly!" says she. "Come and sit down." + +She was steerin' for the windowseat; but I picks out a cozy little +high-backed davenport and, reachin' for one of her hands, swings her +into that. "Just room for two here," says I. + +"But you needn't keep my hand," says she. + +"No trouble," says I. "Besides, I thought I'd inspect what kind of a +manicure you take of. M-m-m-m! Pretty fair, no hangnails, all the +half-moons showin' proper, an----" I broke off sudden at that and sat +starin' blank. + +"Well, anything else?" says she. + +"I--I guess not," says I, lettin' her hand slip. "You've chucked it, +eh?" + +"Chucked what?" says she. + +"Nothing much," says I. "But for awhile there, you know, just for fun +you was wearin' something of mine." + +"Oh!" she flashes back. "Then at last you've missed it, have you?" + +"With so much else worth lookin' at," says I, "is it a wonder?" + +"Blarney!" says she, stickin' out her tongue. + +"Did Aunty capture it?" says I. + +Vee shakes her head. + +"Maybe you lost it?" I goes on. "It wa'n't much." + +"Then you wouldn't care if I had?" says she. + +"I wanted you to keep it," says I; "but of course, after all the row +Aunty raised over it, I knew you couldn't." + +"Couldn't I, though?" says she, and with that she fishes up the end of +a little gold neck chain from under some lace--and hanged if there +ain't the ring! + +"Vee!" says I, sort of tingly all over as I gazes at her. "Say, you're +a corker, though! Why, I thought sure you'd----" + +"Silly boy!" says she. "I'll just have to pay you for that. You will +think horrid things of me, will you? There!" + +She does things in a flash when she cuts loose too. Next I knew she +has her fingers in what Eulalia calls my crimson crest and is rumplin' +up all them curls I'd been so careful to slick back. I grabbed her +wrists, and it was more or less of a rough-house scene we was indulgin' +in, when all of a sudden the draperies are brushed back, and in stalks +Aunty, with Cousin Eulalia trailin' behind. + +"Ver-ona!" Talk about havin' a pitcher of cracked ice slipped down +your back! Say, there was more chills in that one word than ever blew +down from Medicine Hat. "What," goes on Aunty, "does this mean?" + +"It--it's a new game," says I, grinnin' foolish. + +"As old as Satan, I should say!" raps out Aunty. + +"Why," squeals Cousin Eulalia gushy, "here is our Unknown Knight, the +first to come back with his tribute! Let's see, what was it you said +you were going to do? Oh, I know--take a chance on something fresh, +wasn't it? Well?" + +"Ye-e-es," says I. "And I guess I did." + +"Trust him for that!" snorts Aunty. "Young man, at our last interview +I thought I made it quite clear that I should not expect you to return?" + +"That's right," says I, edgin' around her towards the door. "And you +wa'n't, was you?" + +Some glance she shot over; but it didn't prove fatal. And as I rides +down I couldn't help swappin' a wink with the elevator boy. + +"Feelin' frisky, eh?" says he. "So was them other young guys. One of +'em tipped me a half." + +"That kind would," says I. "They're comin' back. I'm escapin'." + +But, say, who do you guess wins out for Wednesday night? Ah, rattle +'em again! Eulalia fixed it up. Said it was Vee's decision, and she +was bound to stick by the rules of the game, even if they did have to +throw a bluff to Aunty. Uh-huh! I've got three orchestra seats right +in my pocket, and a table engaged for supper afterwards. Oh, I don't +know. Eulalia ain't so batty, after all. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT + +Trust Piddie for workin' up wild suspicions. Say, he can't find a +stray sheet of scribblin' paper on the floor without pouncin' sleuthy +on it and tryin' to puzzle out the hidden meanin'. + +So when I get the buzzer call to Old Hickory's private office and finds +him and the main stem waitin' in solemn conclave there, I guesses right +off that Piddie's dug up a new one that he hopes to nail me with. Just +now he's holdin' a little bunch of wilted field flowers in one hand, +and as I range up by the desk he shoots over the accusin' glance. + +"Boy," says he, "do you know anything about these?" + +"Why, sure," says I. "They're pickled pigs' feet, ain't they?" + +"No impudence, now!" says he. "Where did they come from?" + +"Off'm Grant's Tomb, if I must guess," says I. "Anyway, I wouldn't +think they was picked in the Subway." + +And at this Old Hickory sniffs impatient. "That is quite enough comic +diversion, young man!" he puts in. "Do you or don't you know anything +about how those things happened to get on my desk?" + +"Me?" says I. "Why, I never saw 'em before! What's the dope?" + +"Huh!" he grunts. "I didn't think this was any of your nonsense: too +tame. And I suppose you might as well know what's afoot. Tell him, +Mr. Piddie." + +Did you ever see a pinhead but what just dotes on springin' a +sensation? Piddie fairly gloats over unloadin' it. "This," says he, +holdin' up the wilted bunch, "is the unaccountable. For the fourth +time flowers of this description have been mysteriously left on Mr. +Ellins' desk. It is not done after hours, or during the night; but in +broad day, sometimes when Mr. Ellins is sitting just where he is now, +and by a hand unseen. Watch has been kept, yet no one has been +detected; and, as you know, only a few persons have free access here. +Still the thing continues. At regular periods these absurd bouquets +appear on this desk, seemingly from nowhere at all. Hence this +inquiry." + +I'd heard Piddie spout a good many times before, but never quite so +eloquent, and I expect I was gawpin' at him some dazed and admirin'. + +"Well," says Old Hickory, squintin' sharp at me from under his bushy +eyebrows, "what have you to offer?" + +"It's by me," says I, shruggin' my shoulders. + +"Oh, come now!" he goes on. "With that high tension brain of yours, +surely you can advance some idea." + +"Why," says I, "offhand I should say that some of them mushy lady +typists out there might be smugglin' in floral tributes to you, Sir." + +Old Hickory grins sarcastic. "Without going into the question of +motive," says he, "that suggestion may be worth considering. What say, +Mr. Piddie?" + +"It might be that Miss Smicks," says Piddie. "She's quite sentimental, +Sir, and I've thought at times she----" + +"Stop!" roars Old Hickory, almost workin' up a blush. "Mr. Piddie, I +am a fat, cross-grained old man, about as attractive personally as a +hippopotamus. Great stuttering tadpoles! Can't you think of anything +but sappy romance? More likely someone wants a raise." + +"Very true, Sir; I hadn't thought of that," chimes in Piddie. "Shall +we call them all in, one at a time, Sir, and----" + +"And what?" snaps Old Hickory. "Think I'm going to ask all those young +women if they've been leaving flowers on my desk?" + +"Couldn't you fake up some job for each one," says I, "and when they +came in be wearin' the flowers conspicuous, and watch if they----" + +"Bah!" breaks in Old Hickory. "What driveling tommyrot! Besides, I +don't believe any of them had a hand in this. How could they? Why, I +tell you, there wasn't a soul in this room between noon and twelve +forty-five to-day; and yet, with me facing that door, these things +appear right at my elbow. It--it's getting on my nerves, and, by the +seven sizzling sisters, I want to know what it all means!" + +"We could have in the detectives," suggests Piddie. + +"If it was a bomb or an infernal machine, I might," says Mr. Ellins +scornful; "but to trace a few dad-blistered flowers--no, thank you! +It's foolish enough as it stands." + +"But there is something behind all this, I'm sure," insists Piddie, +"and if you will allow me to do it, I shall send at once for Dr. +Rudolph Bingstetter." + +"Who's he?" demands Old Hickory. + +"A distinguished scientist who is a friend and neighbor of mine," says +Piddie, swellin' up important. "He was formerly a dentist, I believe; +but now he devotes himself to research and literature. He writes +magazine articles on psychological phenomena, crime mysteries, and so +on. Dr. Bingstetter has a wonderful mind, and is often called on to +unravel baffling cases. It was only a few months ago that he +successfully investigated a haunted house out our way and found----" + +"But I'm not accusing ghosts of this," says Old Hickory. + +"Of course not, Sir," says Piddie; "but I'm sure Dr. Bingstetter could +find out just how those flowers come here. He's an extremely brilliant +man, Sir, and I'm quite positive he could----" + +"Well, well, send for him, then," says Old Hickory. "Only see that you +keep still about it outside there, both of you. I don't care to have +the whole office force chattering and snickering over this affair. +Understand?" + +You bet we did; for when the boss gets real peevish about anything it's +not safe to get your signals mixed! I stands guard on the 'phone booth +while Piddie was sendin' the message, and for once we plots away +together real chummy. + +"He's coming right over this afternoon," whispers Piddie, as he slides +out of the booth. "You're to take him directly into Mr. Ellins' +office,--a large, impressive looking man, you know, with a full round +face and wearing eye-glasses." + +Piddie forgets to mention the shiny frock coat and the forty-four-inch +waist line; but for all that I spots him the minute he hits the brass +gate, which he does about ten minutes before closin' time. + +"Dr. Bingstetter?" says I cautious. + +"I am he," is the answer. + +"S-s-s-s-sh!" says I, puttin' a forefinger to my lips warnin'. + +"S-s-s-s-sh!" echoes the Doc, tiptoein' through the gate. + +Then up comes Piddie, walkin' on his toes too, and the three of us does +a footpad sneak into Old Hickory's office. There wa'n't any wild call +for me to stay as I knows of; but as long as no one threw me out I +thought I'd stick around. + +I must say too the Doc looked and acted the part. First off he sits +there blinkin' wise behind his glasses, and not a sign on his big, +heavy face as he listens to all Piddie and Mr. Ellins can tell him +about the case. Also when he starts askin' questions on his own hook +he makes a noise like a mighty intellect changin' gears. + +"M-m-m-m!" says he, pursin' up his lips and studyin' the bouquet +thoughtful. "Six ox-eyed daisies, four sprays of goldenrod, and three +marshmallow blooms,--thirteen in all. And this is the fourth bunch. +Now, the others, Mr. Ellins, they were not precisely like this one, +were they?" + +"Blessed if I know!" says Old Hickory. "No, come to think of it, they +were all different." + +"Ah, I thought so!" says the Doc, sort of suckin' in his breath +satisfied. "Now, just what flowers did the first one contain, I should +like to know." + +"Why, hang it all, man, I can't remember!" says Old Hickory. "I threw +the things into the waste basket." + +"Ah, that was careless, very careless," says the Doc. "It would have +helped. One ought to cultivate, Mr. Ellins, the habit of accurately +observing small details. However, we shall see what can be done with +this," and once more he puckers his lips, furrows up his noble brow, +and gazes steady at floral exhibit No. 4, turnin' it round slow between +his fat fingers and almost goin' into a trance over it. + +"Hadn't you better take a look around the offices," suggests Old +Hickory, "examine the doors, and so on?" + +"No, no!" says Bingstetter, wavin' away the interruption. "No bypaths. +The trained mind rejects everything contributory, subordinate. It +refuses to be led off into a maze of unsupported conjecture. It seeks +only the vital, primogenitive fact, the hidden truth at the heart of +things. And that is all here--here!" + +Piddie leans forward for another look at the flowers, and wags his head +solemn, I edges around for a closer view myself, and Old Hickory stares +puzzled. + +"You don't mean to say," says he, "that just by gazing at a few flowers +you can----" + +"S-s-s-sh!" breaks in the Doc, holdin' up a warnin' hand. "It is +coming. I am working outward from the primal fact toward the +objective. It is evolving, taking on definite proportions, assuming +shape." + +"Well, what's the result?" demands the boss, hitchin' restless in his +chair. + +"Patience, my dear Sir, patience," says the Doc soothin'. "The +introdeductive method cannot be hurried. It is an exact process, +requiring utmost concentration, until in the fullness of the moment---- +Ah, I have it!" + +"Eh?" says Old Hickory. + +"One moment," says the Doc. "A trifling detail is still missing,--the +day of the week. To-day is Wednesday, is it not? Now, on what day of +last week did you receive a--er--similar token?" + +Old Hickory finally reckons up that it must have been last Wednesday. + +"And the week before?" goes on the Doc. "The bunch of flowers appeared +then on Wednesday, did it not?" + +Yes, he was pretty sure it did. + +"Ah!" says Bingstetter, settlin' back in his chair like it was all +over, "then the cumulative character is established. And such exact +recurrence cannot be due to chance. No, it has all been nicely +calculated, carried out with relentless precision. Four Wednesdays, +four floral threats!" + +"Threats?" says Mr. Ellins, sittin' up prompt. + +"You failed to read them," says the Doc. "That is what comes of +neglecting minor details. But fortunately I came in time to decipher +this one. Observe the fateful number,--thirteen. Note the colors +here,--brown, golden, pink. The pink of the mallow means youth, the +goldenrod stands for hoarded wealth, the brown for age. And all are +bound together by wire grass, which is the tightening snare. A +menacing missive! There will come another on Wednesday next." + +"Think so?" says Old Hickory. + +"I am positive," says the Doc. "One more. We will allude to it for +the present, if you choose, as the fifth bouquet. And this fifth token +will be red, blood red! Mr. Ellins, you are a marked man!" + +"The blazes you say!" snorts Old Hickory. "Well, it won't be the first +time. Who's after me now, though?" + +"Five desperate men," says the Doc, countin' 'em off on his fingers. +"Four have given evidence of their subtle daring. The fifth is yet to +appear. He will come on Wednesday next, and then--he will find that +his coming has been anticipated. I shall be here in person. Now, let +me see--there is a room connecting with this? Ah, very well. Have +three policemen in readiness there. I think it can be arranged so that +our man will walk in among them of his own accord. That is all. Give +yourself no uneasiness, Mr. Ellins. For a week you will be +undisturbed. Until then, Sir, au revoir." + +With that he bows dignified and motions Piddie to lead the way out. I +slides out too, leavin' Old Hickory sittin' there starin' sort of +puzzled and worried at the wall. And, honest, whether you took any +stock in the Doc's yellow forecast or not, it listens kind of creepy. +Course, with him usin' all that highbrow language, I couldn't exactly +follow how he gets to it; but there's no denyin' that it sounds mighty +convincin'. + +And yet--well, I can't say just what there was about Bingstetter that +got me leery; but somehow he reminds me of a street faker or a museum +lecturer. And it does seem sort of fishy that, just by gazin' at a +bunch of flowers, he could dope out all this wild tale about five +desp'rate men. Still, there was no gettin' away from the fact that he +had hit it right about the bouquets appearin' reg'lar every Wednesday. +That must mean something. But why Wednesdays? Now, what was there +that happens on Wednesday that don't---- + +Say, you know how you'll get a fool hunch sometimes, that'll seem such +a nutty proposition first off that you'll almost laugh at yourself for +havin' it; and yet how it'll rattle around in your bean persistent, +until you quit tryin' to get rid of it? Well, this one of mine strikes +me about as I'm snugglin' down into the hay that night, and there was +no gettin' away from it for hours. + +I expect I did tear off a few chunks of slumber between times; but I +was wide awake long before my regular hour for rollin' out, and after +makin' three or four stabs at a second nap I gives it up, slips down +for an early breakfast, and before eight A.M. I'm down in the basement +of the Corrugated Buildin' interviewin' the assistant superintendent in +his little coop of an office. I comes out whistlin' and lookin' wise. +And that night after I'd made a trip over to Long Island across the +Queensboro Bridge I looks wiser still. Nothin' to do until next +Wednesday. + +And when it comes it sure opens up like it's goin' to be a big day, all +right! At first Old Hickory announces that he ain't goin' to have any +cops campin' around in the directors' room. It was all blithering +nonsense! Hadn't he lived through all sorts of warnin's before? And +he'd be eternally blim-scuttled if he was goin' to get cold feet over a +few faded flowers! + +There was Piddie, though, with his say. His idea is to have the +reserves from two precincts scattered all over the shop, and he lugs +around such a serious face and talks so panicky that at last the boss +compromises on havin' two of the buildin' specials detailed for the +job. We smuggles 'em into the big room at eleven o'clock, and tells +'em to lay low until they gets the word. Next comes Bingstetter, +blinkin' mysterious, and has himself concealed behind a screen in the +private office. By that time Old Hickory is almost as nervous as +anybody. + +"Fine state of affairs, things are at now," he growls, "when a man +isn't safe unless he has a bodyguard! That's what comes of all this +political agitation!" + +"Have no fear," says the Doc; "you will not receive the fifth bouquet. +Boy, leave that door into the next room slightly ajar. He will try to +escape that way." + +"Ajar she is," says I, proppin' it open with a 'phone directory. + +"'Tis well," says the Doc. "Now leave us." + +I was goin' to, anyway; for at exactly noon I had a date somewhere +else. There was a window openin' off the bondroom that was screened by +a pile of cases, and out from that was an iron fire escape runnin' +along the whole court side on our floor. I'd picked that window out as +bein' a good place to scout from. And I couldn't have been better +placed; for I saw just who I was expectin' the minute he heaves in +sight. I'd like to have had one glimpse, though, of Old Hickory and +the Doc and Piddie while they was watchin' and listenin' and holdin' +their breath inside there. But I'm near enough when the time comes, to +hear that chorus of gasps that's let loose at twelve-twenty-six exact. + +"Ha!" says the Doc. "As I told you--a red rose!" + +"Well, I'll be slam-whizzled!" explodes Old Hickory. + +"But--but where did it come from?" pants Piddie. "Who--who could +have----" + +And that's just when little Willie, after creepin' cautious along the +fire escape, gives his unsuspectin' victim the snappy elbow tackle from +behind and shoves him into view. + +"Here's your desperado!" says I, givin' my man the persuadin' knee in +the small of his back. "Ah, scramble in there, Old Top! You ain't +goin' to be hurt. In with you now!" + +"Look out!" squeals Piddie. "Police, police!" + +"Ah, can that!" I sings out, helpin' my prisoner through the window and +followin' after. "Police nothin'! Shoo 'em back, will you? He's as +harmless as a kitten." + +"Torchy," calls Old Hickory, recoverin' his nerve a little, "what is +the meaning of this, and who have you there?" + +"This," says I, straightenin' my man up with a shoulder slap, "is the +bearer of the fifth bouquet--also the fourth, and the third, and so on. +This is Mr. Cubbins of the Consolidated Window Cleanin' Company. Ain't +that right, eh, old sport?" + +"'Enery Cubbins, Sir," says he, scrapin' his foot polite and jerkin' +off his old cap. + +"And was it you who just threw this thing on my desk?" demands Old +Hickory, pointin' to the red rose. + +"Meanin' no 'arm at all, Sir, no 'arm at all," says Cubbins. + +"And do I understand that you brought those other flowers in the same +way?" goes on Mr. Ellins. + +"Not thinkin' you'd mind, Sir," says Cubbins; "but if there's henny +hoffense given, I asks pardon, Sir." + +And there couldn't be any mistakin' the genuine tremble in that weak, +pipin' voice, or the meek look in them watery old eyes. For Cubbins is +more or less of a human wreck, when you come to size him up close,--a +thin, bent-shouldered, faded lookin' old party, with wispy, whitish +hair, a peaked red nose, and a peculiar, whimsical quirk to his mouth +corners. Old Hickory looks him over curious for a minute or so. + +"Huh!" he grunts at last. "So you're the one, eh? But why the +blue-belted blazes did you do it?" + +All Cubbins does, though, is to finger his cap bashful. + +"Well, Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, "you seem to be running this show. +Perhaps you'll tell us." + +"That's further'n I've got," says I. "You see, when I traced this +floral tribute business down to a window washer, I----" + +"In the name of all that's brilliant," breaks in Old Hickory, "how did +you ever do that?"' + +"Why, I got to thinkin' about it," says I, "and it struck me that we +had our glass cleaned every Wednesday, and if there was no way of +anyone smugglin' flowers in through the doors, the windows was all +there was left, wa'n't it? Also who's most likely to be monkeyin' +around outside, fifteen stories up, but a window washer?" + +"Ha!" says Old Hickory through his teeth. "And did you do that by the +introdeductive process, may I ask?" + +"No such bunk as that," says I. "Just used my bean, that's all. Then +I got Mac, the assistant buildin' super, to put me wise as to who had +the windows on our floor, and by throwin' a bluff over the 'phone I +made the Consolidated people locate Mr. Cubbins for me. Found him +putterin' round in his garden over in Astoria, and pumped more or less +out of him; but when it come to gettin' him to explain why it was he'd +picked you out, Mr. Ellins, as a mark for his bouquets, I fell down +complete. Mr. Cubbins is English, as maybe you noticed by his talk, +and he used to be a house painter before his health got so bad. Now he +lives with his son-in-law, who tells me that the old gent----" + +"'E's a bit of a liar, my son-in-law is," pipes up Cubbins; "a bally +Socialist, Sir, and I'm ashymed to s'y 'as 'ow 'e's fond of abusin' 'is +betters. Thet's 'ow it all come abaht, Sir. Alw'ys tykin' on over the +rich, 'e is; and 'e's most fond of s'yin' wrong things abaht you +special, Sir; callin' you a bloodsucking predatory person, Sir, and +himpolite nimes like thet. 'Ah, stow thet, Jimmy!!' says I. 'All +bloomin' lies, they are. There ayn't a finer man lives than Mr. +Ellins,' says I. ''Ow do you know?' says 'e. ''Ow?' says I. 'Don't I +wash 'is hoffice windows?' But 'e keeps at it of evenin's, s'yin' as +'ow you do this and that, an' 'e fair talks me down, Jimmy does. But I +know w'at I knows; so to relieve my feelin's a bit I've been bringin' +you the flowers on the sly, Sir; meanin', as I says before, no 'arm at +all, Sir." + +"Well, I'll be dashed!" says Old Hickory, squintin' at Cubbins +humorous. "So you think I'm a good man, eh?" + +"I'm quite sure of it, Sir," says he. "As I was tellin' Jimmy only +last night, 'W'y, at 'ome 'e'd be a Lord!' And so you would, Sir. +But, as I sees it, you're just as much 'ere, Sir. You build things up, +and keep things goin',--big things, such as the likes of me and Jimmy +mykes our livin' from. And it ayn't just your money mykes you a gryte +man; it's your brains and your big 'eart. I know w'at I knows, Sir, +an' I 'opes as 'ow you'll tyke no hoffense at the flowers, Sir." + +"Not a bit, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim. "In fact, that's +a first rate idea of yours. We ought to have some sort of flowers here +all the time. Got many left in your garden, have you, Cubbins?" + +"Plenty, Sir," says Cubbins. "The roses'll be gone soon now, Sir; but +there's golden glow, and hasters comin' on, and zinnias, and----" + +"Then you're engaged, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, "to supply the office +with fresh ones every day. When yours give out we'll have to buy some, +I suppose. And you'll give up this window cleaning job at once. It's +too dangerous. I can't afford to have the only man in the United +States who holds a good opinion of me risking his neck like that." + +"Thankee kindly, Sir," says Cubbins, beamin' grateful. "And we'll see +w'at Jimmy 'as to s'y to that, so we will!" + +"Report that in full," says Old Hickory. "And, Mr. Piddie, see that +Mr. Cubbins' name goes on the payroll from today. But, by the way, +where is your distinguished friend, the scientific investigator?" + +"Why--er--why----" says Piddie, flushin' up and swallowin' hard, "Dr. +Bingstetter left a moment ago." + +"Did, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "He should have stayed awhile and +allowed Torchy to give him a few pointers on evolving things from +primal facts." + +"Ye-e-e-es, Sir," says Piddie, his face all tinted up lovely. + +Which winds up, as you might say, the Mystery of the Fifth Bouquet. +But, believe me, there ain't any tamer party around the shop these days +than this same J. Hemmingway Piddie. And if the old habits get to +croppin' out any time, all I got to do is shut one eye, put my finger +to my lips, and whisper easy, "Ah, go tell that to Doc Bungstarter!" +That gets him behavin'. + +And Cubbins, why--he's blossomed out in a new fall suit, and he stops +at the desk every few days to tell me how he put it all over Jimmy the +night before. So that was some stroke, what? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP + +It was good domework of Mr. Robert's to tip me off about this Higgins +party, or there's no knowin' how hard a time he might have had gettin' +through the brass gate. As it is, the minute I spots the watch chain +and the round cuffs and the neck freckles, I sizes him up as the +expected delegate from the fresh mackerel and blueberry pie district. +One of these long, lanky specimens, he is, with a little stoop to his +shoulders, ginger-colored hair and mustache, and a pair of calm, +sea-blue eyes that look deep and serious. + +I finds him pacin' deliberate up and down the waitin' room at +eight-fifty-three A.M., which is two minutes ahead of my schedule for +openin' the Corrugated for gen'ral business. His overcoat and a +crumpled mornin' paper are on the bench; so I figures he's been there +quite some time. Course, it might have been a stray Rube of most any +name; but I thinks I'll take a chance. + +"Mornin', Ira," says I. + +"Howdy," says he, as natural as if this was a reg'lar habit of ours. +Which puts it up to me to find out if I'm right, after all. + +"Mr. Higgins, ain't it?" says I. + +He nods. + +"When did you get in?" says I. + +"About six," says he. + +"Come down by train or boat?" says I. + +"Train," says he. + +"You've had breakfast, I suppose?" I goes on. + +Another nod. Oh, yes, for an economical converser, he was about the +most consistent breath saver I ever tackled. You could easy go hoarse +havin' a little chat with him. You'd need lots of time too; for after +every one of my bright little sallies Ira looks me over in that quiet, +thoughtful way of his, then counts fifty to himself, and fin'lly +decides whether it'll be a grunt or just a nod. Gettin' information +out of him was like liftin' a trunk upstairs one step at a time. I +manages to drag out, though, that he'd been hangin' around ever since +the buildin' was opened by the day watchman at seven o'clock. + +"Well," says I, "Mr. Robert was lookin' for you to blow in today; but +not quite so early. It'll be near ten before he shows up. Better come +inside and have a comf'table chair." + +He takes that proposition up with himself, fin'lly passin' on it +favorable; and from then on he sits there, with never a move or a +blink, watchin' solemn all the maneuvers that a battery of lady typists +has to go through before settlin' down for a forenoon's work. I'll bet +he could tell you too, a month from now, just how many started with +gum, and which ones renewed their facial scenery with dabs from the +chamois. + +So you can see why I was some relieved when Mr. Robert arrives and +takes him off my hands. I knew from what he'd said the day before that +he'd planned to have about a half-hour interview with Mr. Higgins; but +when the noon hour struck: Ira was still there. At one-fifteen they +goes out to lunch together, and at two-thirty they comes back. It's +after four when Mr. Robert fin'lly comes out to the gate with his brow +wrinkled up. + +"Torchy," says he, "how is your bump of diplomacy today?" + +"It's a dimple, I expect," says I. + +"You're entirely too modest," says he. "Now, I remember several +occasions when you have----" + +"Oh, I gen'rally have my nerve with me, if that's what you mean," says +I. + +"But I don't mean that," says he. "Perhaps finesse is the better word." + +"It's all the same to me," says I. "If I've got it in stock, it's +yours. What do I work it on?" + +"Mr. Higgins," says he. + +"Then score up a goose egg in advance," says I. "It would take a +strong-arm hypnotizer to put the spell on Ira." + +Mr. Robert grins. "Then you have already tested Mr. Higgins' +conversational powers?" says he. + +"Almost lost my voice gettin' him to say good mornin'," says I. "Say, +you'd think he'd done all his talkin' by cable, at a dollar a word. +Where'd he drift in from, anyway?" + +"Boothbay Harbor," says Mr. Robert. + +"Is that a foreign country," says I, "or a nickname for some flag +station?" + +"It's quite a lively little seaport, I believe," says Mr. Robert, "up +on the coast of Maine." + +"Oh, Maine!" says I. "Up there they're willin' to call a town anything +that'll get a laugh. But what's the rest of the scandal?" + +It wasn't any thrillin' tale, though. Seems Mr. Robert had gone into +the yachtin' regattas as usual this last summer; but, instead of +liftin' the mugs, as he'd been in the habit of doin', he'd been beat +out by a new entry,--beat bad too. But he wouldn't be an Ellins if he +let it go at that. Not much! His first move is to find out who built +the Stingaree, and his next is to wire in an order to the same firm to +turn out a sixty-footer that'll go her just one better. Not gettin' +any straight answer to that, he sends word for the head of the yacht +works to come on at his expense. Mr. Higgins is the result. + +"But the deuce of it is," says Mr. Robert, "that, while I'm convinced +he is the cleverest designer of racing yawls that we have in the whole +country, and while he admits quite cheerfully that he can improve on +this year's model, I can't get him to say positively that he will build +such a boat for me." + +"Yes, I should expect that would be more'n he'd let go of all in one +day," says I. + +"But, confound it all!" says Mr. Robert, "I want to know now. All I +can get out of him, though, is that he can't decide for a while. Seems +to have something or other on his mind. Now, if I knew what was +bothering him, you see, I might--well, you get the point, Torchy. I'm +going to leave it to you to find out." + +"Me!" says I. "Gee! I ain't any thought extractor, Mr. Robert." + +"But you have rather a knack of getting to the bottom of things," he +insists, "and if I should explain to Mr. Higgins my regret at being +unable to take him out to dinner, and should present you as my +substitute for the evening--why, you might get some hint, you see. At +least, I wish you'd try it." + +"Bring him on, then," says I; "but it's like playin' a 30 to 1 shot. +Oh, sure, a couple of tens'll be more'n enough for all the expense +account we can cook up." + +And you should have seen me towin' this Down East sphinx around town, +showin' him the sights, and tryin' to locate his chummy streak. It was +most like makin' a long distance call over a fuzzy wire; me strainin' +my vocal chords bein' chatty, and gettin' back only now and then a +distant murmur. It was Ira's first trip to a real Guntown, where we +have salaried crooks and light up our Main-st. with whisky signs; but +he ain't got any questions to ask or any comments to pass. He just +allows them calm eyes of his to wander placid here and there over the +passersby, almost like he was expectin' to see someone he knew, and +takin' mighty little notice of anything in partic'lar. + +"That's the Metropolitan tower over there, Mr. Higgins," says I. "See +the big clock?" + +Ira takes one glance and nods his head. + +"And here comes one of them new double-decker Broadway cars they're +tryin' out," I goes on. "How's that?" + +But no enthus'm from Ira. Must be a hot town, that Boothbay joint! +Along about six-thirty I suggests that it's time for the big eats, and +tries to sound him on his partic'lar fancy in the food line. + +"Plate of fish chowder would suit me," says Ira after due contemplation. + +"Fish what?" says I. "'Fraid we don't grow anything like that on +Broadway. Nix on the shore dinner! You trust it to me, Mr. Higgins, +and I'll steer you up against some appetite teasers that'll make you +forget all the home cookin' you ever met." + +With that I leads him to the flossiest French cafe I knew of, got him +planted comf'table under an illuminated grape arbor, signals +François-with-the-gold-chain-around-his-neck to stand by, and remarks +casual, "Wine list for this gentleman. Cut loose, Mr. Higgins. This +is on the boss, you know." + +"What say?" says he, runnin' his eye over the book that the waiter +holds out. "Rum? No, Sir!" + +"Flit then, François," says I. "We're two dry ones." + +And my hope of gettin' a tongue loosener into Ira goes glimmerin'. +When it comes to tacklin' strange dishes, though, he was no quitter, +followin' me from bouillabaisse to café parfait without battin' an +eyelash, and me orderin' reckless from the card just to see what the +things looked like. + +I don't know whether it was the fancy rations, or the sporty crowd +around us, or the jiggly music, or a combination of all three; but by +the time I've induced Mr. Higgins to tackle a demitasse and light up a +seven-inch Havana he mellows enough so that he's almost on the point of +makin' a remark all by himself. + +"Well," says I encouragin', "why not let it come?" + +And it does. "By gorry!!" says he. "It's most eight o'clock. What +time do the shows begin?" + +"I was just go in' to mention that," says I. "Plenty of time, though. +Anything special you'd like to see?" + +"Why, yes," says he. And then, glancin' around cautious, he leans +across the table and asks mysterious, "Say, where's Maizie Latour +actin'?" + +Honest, it comes out so unexpected he had me gaspin'. "Oh, you +Boothbay ringer!" says I. "Maizie, eh? Now, who would have thought +it? And you only landed this mornin'! Maizie--er--what was that +again?" + +"Latour," says he, flushin' up some and tryin' not to notice my josh. + +"It's by me," says I. "Sounds like musical comedy, though. Is she a +showgirl, or one of the chicken ballet?" + +Ira shakes his head puzzled. "All I know," says he, "is that she's +actin' somewhere in New York, and--and I'd like to find out where. +I--I got to!" he adds emphatic. + +"Then you ought to have said that before," says I, "and Mr. Robert +would have put one of his chappy friends on the job. Sorry, but when +it comes to chorus girls, I ain't----" + +"Hold on!" he breaks in. "You're sort of jumpin' at things, Son. The +fact is I--well, I guess I might's well tell you as anyone. I--I got +to tell someone." + +"Help!" thinks I. "The dam's goin' to give way." + +"You see," he goes on, "it's like this: Nellie's an old friend of mine, +and----" + +"Nellie!" says I. "You just said Maizie." + +"That's what I hear she goes by on the stage," says he. "She was +Nellie Mason up to the Harbor." + +"You don't mean it?" says I. "What was she doin' there?" + +"She was table girl at the Mansion House," says he. + +"Which?" says I. "Oh, dish juggler, eh? And now she's on the stage? +Some jump for Nellie! But, honest now, Higgins, you don't mean to +spring one of them mossy 'Way Down East drammers on me as the true +dope? Come now, don't tell me you and she used to go to school +together, and all that!" + +No, it wa'n't quite on that line. She was only one of Boothbay's +fairest daughters by adoption, havin' drifted in from some mill +town--Biddeford, I think it was--where a weaver's strike had thrown her +out of a job. She was half Irish and half French-Canadian, and, +accordin' to Ira's description, she was some ornamental. + +Anyway, she had the boys all goin' in no time at all. Ira was mealin' +at the Mansion House just then, though; so he was in on the ground +floor from the start. Even at that, how he managed to keep the rail +with so much competition is more'n I can say; but there's something +sort of clean and wholesome lookin' about him, and I expect them calm, +sea-blue eyes helped along. Anyway, him and Nellie kept comp'ny there, +I take it, for three or four months quite steady, and Ira admits that +he was plumb gone on her. + +"Well, what was the hitch?" says I. "Wouldn't she be Mrs. Higgins?" + +"Guess she would if I had asked her," says he; "but I didn't get around +to it quick enough. Fact is, I'd just bought out the boat shop, and I +had fifteen or twenty men to work for me, with four new keels laid down +at once, and--well, I was mighty rushed with work just then and----" + +"I get you," says I. "While you was makin' up your mind what to say, +some wholesale drug drummer with a black mustache won her away." + +It's more complicated than that, though. One of the chambermaids had a +cousin who was assistant property man with a Klaw & Erlanger comp'ny, +and he'd sent on the tip how some enterprisin' manager was lookin' for +fifty new faces for a Broadway production; and so, if Cousin Maggie +wanted to shake the hotel business, here was her chance. Maggie wanted +to, all right; but she lacked the nerve to try it alone. Now, if +Nellie would only go along too--why---- + +And it happens this was one night when Ira had overlooked a date he had +with Nellie, and that while he was doin' overtime at the boatworks +Nellie was waitin' lonesome on the corner all dressed to go over to +South Bristol to a dance. So this bulletin from the great city finds +her in a state of mind. + +"Course," says Maggie, "you got a feller, and all that." + +"Humph!" says Nellie. + +"And there's no tellin'," Maggie goes on, glancin' at her critical, "if +your figure would suit." + +"If they can stand for yours," says Nellie, "I guess I'll take a chance +too. Come on. We'll take the early morning boat." + +And they did. Ira didn't get the details until about a month later, +when who should drift back to the Mansion House but Maggie. Along with +two or three hundred other brunettes and imitation blondes, she'd been +shuffled into the discard. But Nellie had been signed up first rattle +out of the box, and accordin' to the one postcard that had come back +from her since she was now flaggin' as Maizie Latour. But no word at +all had come to Ira. + +"If I'd only bought that ring sooner!" he sighs. "I've got it now, +though. Bought it in Portland on my way down. See?" and he snaps open +a white satin box, disclosin' a cute little pearl set in a circle of +chip diamonds. + +"That's real dainty and classy," says I. + +"Ought to be," says Ira. "It cost me seventeen-fifty. But there's so +blamed much to this place that I don't see just how I'm goin' to find +her, after all." + +"Ah, cheer up, Ira!" says I. "You've got me int'rested, you have, and, +while I ain't any theatrical directory, I expect I could think up some +way to---- Why, sure! There's a Tyson stand up here a few blocks, +where they have all the casts and programmes. Let's go have a look." + +It wa'n't a long hunt, either. The third one we looked at was "Whoops, +Angelina!" and halfway down the list of characters we finds this item: +"Sunflower Girls--Tessie Trelawney, Mae Collins, Maizie Latour----" + +"Here we are!" says I. "And there's just time to get in for the first +curtain." + +Say, I expect you've seen this "Whoops, Angelina!" thing. Just punk +enough to run a year on Broadway, ain't if? And do you remember there +along towards the end of the first spasm where they ring in that "Field +Flowers Fair" song, with a deep stage and a diff'rent chorus for each +verse? Well, as the Sunflowers come on, did you notice special the +second one from the right end? That's Maizie. + +And, believe me, she's some queen! Course, it's a bunch of swell +lookers all around, or they wouldn't be havin' the S.R.O. sign out so +often; but got up the way she was, with all them yellow petals makin' a +sort of frame for her, and them big dark eyes rollin' bold and sassy, +this ex-table girl from the Mansion House stands out some prominent. + +"By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse. And from then +on he sits with his eyes glued on her as long as she's on the stage. + +[Illustration: "By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse.] + +He had a good view too; for comin' late all I could get was upper box +seats at three a throw, and I shoves Ira close up to the rail. That +one remark is all he has to unload durin' the whole performance, and +somehow I didn't have the heart to break in with any comments. You +see, I wa'n't sure how he might be takin' it; so I waits until the +final curtain, and then nudges him out of his dream. + +"Well, how about it?" says I. "Ready to scratch your entry now, are +you?" + +"Eh?" says he, rousin' up. "Pull out? No, Sir! I--I'm going to give +her a chance to take that ring." + +"You are?" says I. "Well, well! Right there with the pep, ain't you? +But how you goin' to manage it?" + +"Why, I--I don't know," says he, lookin' blank. "Say, Son, can't you +fix it for me some way? I--I want Nellie to go back with me. If I +could only see her for a minute, and explain how it was I couldn't----" + +"You win, Ira!" says I. "Hanged if there ain't Tucky Moller down there +in an usher's uniform. He's an old friend of mine. We'll see what he +can do." + +Tucky was willin' enough too; but the best he can promise is to smuggle +a note into the dressin' rooms. We waits in the lobby for the answer, +and inside of five minutes we has it. + +"Ain't they the limit, these spotlight chasers?" says Tucky. "She +tells me to chuck it in the basket with the others, and says she'll +read it to-morrow. Huh! And only a quarter tip after the second act +when I lugs her in a bid to a cabaret supper!" + +"Tonight?" says I. "Where at, Tucky?" + +"Looey's," says he, "with a broker guy that's been buyin' B-10 every +night for a week." + +But when I leads Ira outside and tries to explain how the case stands, +and breaks it to him gentle that his stock has taken a sudden slump, it +develops that he's one of these gents who don't know when they're +crossed off. + +"I've got to see her tonight, that's all," says he. "What's the matter +with our going to the same place?" + +"For one thing," says I, "they wouldn't let us in without our +open-faced clothes on. Got yours with you?" + +"Full evenin' dress?" says Ira, with his eyes bugged. "Why, I never +had any." + +"Then it's by-by, Maizie," says I. + +"Dog-goned if it is!" says he. "Guess I can wait around outside, can't +I?" + +"Well, you have got sportin' blood, Ira," says I. "Sure, there's +nothin' to stop your waitin' if you don't block the traffic. But maybe +it'll be an hour or more." + +"I don't care," says he. "And--and let's go and have a glass of soda +first." + +Course, I couldn't go away and leave things all up in the air like +that; so after Ira'd blown himself we wanders up to the cabaret joint +and I helps him stick around. + +It's some lively scene in front of Looey's at that time of night too; +with all the taxis comin' and goin' and the kalsomined complexions +driftin' in and out, and the head waiters coppin' out the five-spots +dexterous. And every little while there's something extra doin'; like +a couple of college hicks bein' led out by the strong-arm squad for +disputin' a bill, or a perfect gent all ablaze havin' a debate with his +lady-love, or a bunch of out-of-town buyers discoverin' the evenin' +dress rule for the first time and gettin' peeved over it. + +But nothin' can drag Ira's gaze from that revolvin' exit door for +more'n half a minute. There he stands, watchin' eager every couple +that comes out; not excited or fidgety, you understand, but calm and in +dead earnest. It got to be midnight, then half past, then quarter to +one; and then all of a sudden there comes a ripplin', high-pitched +laugh, and out trips a giddy-dressed fairy in a gilt and rhinestone +turban effect with a tall plume stickin' straight up from the front of +it. She's one of these big, full-curved, golden brunettes, with long +jet danglers in her ears and all the haughty airs of a grand opera +star. I didn't dream it was the one we was lookin' for until I sees +Ira straighten up and step out to meet her. + +"Nellie," says he, sort of choky and pleadin'. + +It's a misfire, though; for just then she's turned to finish some +remark to a fat old sport with flat ears and bags under his eyes that's +followin' close behind. So it ain't until she's within a few feet of +Higgins that she sees him at all. Then she stares at him sort of +doubtful, like she could hardly believe her eyes. + +"Nellie," he begins again, "I've been wanting to tell you how it was +that----" + +"You!" she breaks in. And with that she throws her head back and +laughs. It wa'n't what you might call a pleasant laugh, either. It +sounds cold and hard and bitter. + +That's the extent of the reunion too. She's still laughin' as she +brushes by him and lets the old sport help her into the taxi; and a +second later we're left standin' there at the edge of the curb with +another taxi rollin' up in front of us. I notices that Ira's holdin' +something in his hand that he's starin' at foolish. It's the satin box +with the seventeen-fifty ring in it. + +"Well," says I, as we steps back, "returns all in, ain't they?" + +"Not by a long shot!" says Ira. "Dinged if I don't know someone +that'll be glad to take a ring from me, and that's Maggie!" + +"Whew!" says I. "Well, that's some quick shift. Then you ain't goin' +to linger round with a busted heart?" + +"Not much!" says Ira. "Guess I've played fool about long enough. I'm +goin' home." + +"That's gen'rally a safe bet too," says I. "But how about buildin' +that boat for Mr. Robert?" + +"I'll build it," says he; "that is, soon as I can fix it up with +Maggie." + +"Then it's a cinch," says I; "for you look to me, Ira, like one of the +kind that can come back strong." + +So, you see, I had somethin' definite to report next mornin'. + +"He will, eh? Bully!" says Mr. Robert. "But why couldn't he have said +as much to me yesterday? What was the trouble?" + +"Case of moth chasin'," says I, "from the kerosene circuit to the white +lights. But, say, I didn't know before that Broadway had so many +recruitin' stations. They ought to put Boothbay Harbor on the map for +this." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM + +Guess I ain't mentioned Mortimer before. Didn't seem hardly worth +while. You know--there are parties like that, too triflin' to do any +beefin' about. But, honest, for awhile there first off this young +shrimp that was just makin' his debut as one of Miller's subslaves in +the bondroom did get on my nerves more or less. He's a slim, +fine-haired, fair-lookin' young gent, with quick, nervous ways and a +habit of holdin' his chin well up. No boob, you understand. He was a +live one, all right. + +And it wa'n't his havin' his monogram embroidered on his shirt sleeves +or his wearin' a walkin' stick down to work that got me sore. But you +don't look for the raw rebuff from one of these twelve-dollar file +jugglers. That's what he slips me, though, and me only tryin' to put +across the cheery greetin'! + +"Well, Percy," says I, seein' him wanderin' around lonesome durin' +lunch hour, "is it you for the Folies today, or are you takin' a chance +on one of them new automatic grub factories with me?" + +"Beg pardon?" says he, givin' me that frigid, distant look. + +"Ah, can the hauteur!" says I. "We're on the same payroll. Maybe you +didn't notice me before, though. Well, I'm the guardian of the gate, +and I'm offerin' to tow you to a new sandwich works that's quite +popular with the staff." + +"Thanks," says he. "I am lunching at my club." And with that he does +a careless heel-spin, leavin' me stunned and gawpin'. + +"Slap!" thinks I. "You will go doin' the little ray of sunshine act, +will you? Lunchin' at his club! Now there's a classy comeback for +you! Guess I'll spring that myself sometime. Score up for Percy!" + +But I wa'n't closin' the incident at that, and, while in my position it +wouldn't have been hardly the thing for me to get out the war club and +camp on his trail,--him only a four-flushin' bond clerk,--I was holdin' +myself ready for the next openin'. It comes only a few mornin's later +when he strolls in casual about nine-thirty and starts to pike by into +the cloakroom. But I had my toe against the brass gate. + +"What name?" says I. + +"Why," says he, flushin' up, "I--er--I work here." + +"Excuse," says I, drawin' back the foot. "Mistook you for Alfy +Vanderbilt come to buy us out." + +"Puppy!" says he explosive through his front teeth. + +"Meanin' me?" says I. "Why, Algernon! How rough of you!" + +He just glares hack over his shoulder and passes on for his session +with Miller. I'll bet he got it too; for here in the Corrugated we +don't stand for any of that nine-thirty dope except from Mr. Robert. + +It's only the next week, though, that Mortimer pulls a couple more +delayed entrances in succession, and I sure was lookin' to see him come +out with a fresh-air pass in his hand. But it didn't happen. Instead, +as I'm in Old Hickory's office a few days later, allowin' him to give +me a few fool directions about an errand, in breaks Miller all glowin' +under the collar. + +"Mr. Ellins," says he, "I can't stand that young Upton. He's got to +go!" + +"That's too bad," says Old Hickory, shiftin' his cigar to port. "I'd +promised his father to give the boy a three months' trial at least. +One of our big stockholders, Colonel Upton is, you know. But if you +say you can't----" + +"Oh, I suppose I can, Sir, in that case," says Miller; "but he's worse +than useless in the department, and if there's no way of getting him to +observe office hours it's going to be bad for discipline." + +"Try docking him, Miller," suggests Mr. Ellins. "Dock him heavy. And +pile on the work. Keep him on the jump." + +"Yes, Sir," says Miller, grinnin' at me' as he goes out. + +And of course this throws a brighter light on Mortimer's +case,--pampered son takin' his first whirl at honest toil, and all +that. Then later in the day I gets a little private illumination. +Mother arrives. Rather a gushy, talky party she is, with big, snappy +eyes like Mortimer's, and the same haughty airs. Just now, though, +she's a little puffy from excitement and deep emotion. + +Seems Mother and Sister Janice are on their way to the steamer, billed +to spend the winter abroad. Also it develops that stern Father, +standin' grim and bored in the background, has ruled that Son mustn't +quit business for any farewell lallygaggin' at the pier. Hence the +fam'ly call. As the touchin' scene all takes place in the reception +room, just across the brass rail from my desk, I'm almost one of the +party. + +"Oh, my darling boy!" wails Ma, pushin' back her veils and wrappin' him +in the fond clinch. + +"Aw, Mother!" protests Mortimer. + +"But we are to be so far apart," she goes on, "and with your father in +California you are to be all alone! And I just know you'll be forlorn +and lonesome in that dreadful boarding house! Oh, it is perfectly +awful!" + +"Oh, quit it, Mother. I'll be all right," says Mortimer. + +"But the work here," comes back Mother. "Does it come so hard? How +are you to stand it? Oh, if you had only kept on at college, then all +this wouldn't have been necessary." + +"Well, I didn't, that's all," says Mortimer; "so what's the use?" + +"I shall worry about you all the time," insists Mother. "And you are +so careless about writing! How am I to know that you are not ill, or +in trouble? Now promise me, if you should break down under the strain, +that you will cable me at once." + +"Oh, sure!" says Mortimer. "But time's up, Mother. I must be getting +back. Good-by." + +I had to turn my shoulder on the final break-away, and I thought the +whole push had cleared out, when I hears a rustle at the gate, and +here's Mother once more, with her eyes fixed investigatin' on me. + +"Boy," says she, "are you employed here regularly?" + +"I'm one of the fixtures, Ma'am," says I. + +"Very well," says she. "I am glad to hear it. And you have rather an +intelligent appearance." + +"Mostly bluff, though," says I. "You mustn't bank too much on looks." + +"Ah, but I can tell!" says she, noddin' her head and squintin' shrewd. +"You have a kind face too." + +"Ye-e-es?" says I. "But what's this cue for?" + +"I will tell you, Boy," says she, comin' up confidential. "You see, I +must trust someone in this matter. And you will be right here, where +you can see him every day, won't you--my son Mortimer, I mean?" + +"I expect I'll have to," says I, "if he sticks." + +"Then you must do this for me," she goes on. "Keep close to him. Make +yourself his friend." + +"Me?" says I. "Well, there might be some trouble about that." + +"I understand," says she. "It will be difficult, under the +circumstances. And Mortimer has such a proud, reserved nature! He has +always been that way. But now that he is thrown upon his own +resources, and if you could once gain his confidence, he might allow +you to--well, you'll try, won't you? And then I shall depend upon you +to send word to me once every week as to how he looks, if he seems +happy, how he is getting on in business, and so on. Come, do you +promise?" + +"Is this a case of philanthropy, or what?" says I. + +"Oh, I shall see that you are well repaid," says she. + +"That listens well," says I; "but it's kind of vague. Any figures, +now?" + +"Why--er--yes," says she, hesitatin'. "Suppose I should send you, +say, five dollars for every satisfactory report?" + +"Then I'm on the job," says I. + +And in two minutes more she's left me the address of her London +bankers, patted me condescendin' on the shoulder, and has flitted. So +here I am with a brand new side line,--an assignment to be friendly at +so much per. Can you beat that? + +It wa'n't until afterwards, either, when I'm busy throwin' on the +screen pictures of how that extra five'll fat up the Saturday pay +envelope, that I remembers the exact wordin' of the contract. Five for +every satisfactory report. Gee! that's different! Then here's where I +got to see that Mortimer behaves, or else I lose out. And I don't +waste any time plannin' the campaign. I tackles him as he strolls out +thirty seconds ahead of the twelve o'clock whistle. + +"After another one of them clubby lunches?" says I. + +"What's that to you?" he growls. + +"I'm interested, that's all," says I. + +"Oh, no, you're not," says he; "you're just fresh." + +"Ah, come now, Morty," says I. "This ain't no reg'lar feud we're +indulgin' in, you know. Ditch the rude retort and lemme tow you to a +joint where for----" + +"Thanks," says Mortimer. "I prefer my own company." + +"Gee! what poor taste!" says I. + +And it looked like I'd gone and bugged any five-spot prospects with my +first try. + +So I lets Mortimer simmer for a few days, not makin' any more cracks, +friendly or otherwise. I was about to hand in a blank report too, when +one noon he sort of hesitates as he passes the desk, and then stops. + +"I say," he begins, "show me that cheap luncheon place you spoke of, +will you?" + +It's more of an order than anything else; but that only makes this +sudden shift of his more amusin'. "Why, sure," says I. "Soured on the +club, have you?" + +"Not exactly," says he; "but--well, the fact is, Father must have +forgotten to send a check for last month's bill, and I'm on the +board--posted, you know." + +"Then that wa'n't any funny dream of yours, eh," says I, "this club +business? Which is it, Lotos or the Union League?" + +"It's my frat club, of course," says Mortimer. "And I don't mind +saying that it's a deucedly expensive place for me to go, even when I +can sign checks for my meals. I'm always being dragged into billiards, +dollar a corner, and that sort of thing. It counts up, and I--I'm +running rather close to the wind just now." + +"What! And you gettin' twelve?" says I. "Why, say, some supports +fam'lies on that. Takes managin', though. But I'll steer you round to +Max's, where for a quarter you can----" + +"A quarter!" breaks in Mortimer. "But--but that's more than I have +left." + +"And this only Wednesday!" says I. "Gee! but you have been goin' the +pace, ain't you? What is the sum total of the reserve, anyway?" + +Mortimer scoops into his trousers pockets, fishin' up a silver knife, a +gold cigar clipper, and seventeen cents cash. + +"Well, well!" says I. "That is gettin' down to hardpan! It's breakin' +one of my business rules, but I see where I underwrite your lunch +ticket for the next few days." + +"You mean you're going to stake me?" says he. "But why?" + +"Well, it ain't on account of your winnin' ways," says I. + +"Humph!" says he. "Here! You may have this stickpin as security." + +"Gwan!" says I. "I ain't no loan shark. Maybe I'm just makin' an +investment in you. Come on to Max's." + +I could see Mortimer's nose begin to turn up as we crowds in at a table +where a couple of packers from the china store next door was doin' the +sword swallowin' act. "What a noisy, messy place!" says he. + +"The service ain't quite up to Louis Martin's, that's a fact," says I; +"but then, there's no extra charge for the butter and toothpicks." + +We tried the dairy lunch next time; but he don't like that much better. +Pushin' up to the coffee urn with the mob, and havin' a tongue sandwich +slammed down in front of him by a grub hustler that hadn't been to a +manicure lately was only a couple of the details Mortimer shies at. + +"Ah, you'll soon get to overlook little things like that," says I. + +Mortimer shakes his head positive. "It's the disgusting crowd one has +to mingle with," says he. "Such a cheap lot of--of roughnecks!" + +"Huh!" says I. "Lots of 'em are pullin' down more'n you or me. Some +of 'em are almost human too." + +"I don't care," says he. "I dislike to mix with them. It's bad enough +at the boarding house." + +"None of the aristocracy there, either?" says I. + +"They're freaks, all of them," says he. "What do you think--one fellow +wears an outing shirt in to dinner! Then there's an old person with +gray whiskers who--well, I can't bear to watch him. The others are +almost as bad." + +"When you get to know the bunch you won't mind," says I. + +"But I don't care to know them," says Mortimer. "I haven't spoken to a +soul, and don't intend to. They're not my kind, you see." + +"Are you boastin', or complainin'?" says I. "Anyway, you're in for a +lonesome time. What do you do evenin's?" + +"Walk around until I'm tired, that's all," says he. + +"That's excitin'--I don't think," says I. + +Next he branches off on Miller, and starts tellin' me what a deep and +lastin' grouch he'd accumulated against his boss. But I ain't +encouragin' any hammer play of that kind. + +"Stow it, Morty," says I. "I'm wise to all that. Besides, you ought +to know you can't hold a job and come floatin' in at any old hour. No +wonder you got in Dutch with him! Say, is this your first stab at real +work?" + +He admits that it is, and when I gets him to describe how he's been +killin' time when he wa'n't in college it develops that one of his +principal playthings has been a six-cylinder roadster,--mile-a-minute +brand, mostly engine and gastank, with just space enough left for the +driver to snuggle in among the levers on the small of his back. + +"I've had her up to sixty-five an hour on some of those Rhode Island +oiled stretches," says Mortimer. + +"I expect," says I. "And what was it you hit last?" + +"Eh?" says he. "Oh, I see! A milk wagon. Rather stiff damages they +got out of us, with the hospital and doctor's bills and all that. But +it was more the way I was roasted by the blamed newspapers that made +Father so sore. Then my being canned from college soon after--well, +that finished it. So he sends Mother and Sis off to Europe, goes on a +business trip to California himself, closes the house, and chucks me +into this job." + +"Kind of poor trainin' for it, I'll admit," says I. "But buck up, +Morty; we'll do our best." + +"We?" says he, liftin' his eyebrows. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Me and you." + +"What's it got to do with you? I'd like to know!" he demands. + +"I've been retained," says I. "Never you mind how, but I'm here to +pass out the friendly shove, coach you along, see that you make good." + +"Well, I like your nerve!" says he, stoppin' short as we're crossin' +Broadway. "A young mucker like you help me make good! Say, that's +rich, that is! Huh! But why don't you? Come ahead with it, now, if +you're such an expert!" + +It was a dare, all right. And for a minute there we looked each other +over scornful, until I decides that I'll carry on the friend act if I +have to risk gettin' my head punched. + +"First off, Mortimer," says I, "forgettin' what a great man you are so +long as Father's payin' the bills, let's figure on just what your +standin' is now. You're a bum bond clerk, on the ragged edge of bein' +fired, ain't you?" + +He winces some at that; but he still has a comeback. "If it wasn't for +that bonehead Miller, I'd get on," he growls. + +"Bah!" says I. "He's only layin' down the rules of the game; so it's +up to you to follow 'em." + +"But he's unreasonable," whines Mortimer. "He snoops around after me, +finds fault with everything I do, and fines me for being a little late +mornings." + +I takes a long breath and swallows hard. Next I tries to strike the +saintly pose, and then I unreels the copybook dope just like I believed +it myself. + +"He does, eh?" says I. "Then beat him to it. Don't be late. Show up +at eight-thirty instead of nine. That extra half-hour ain't goin' to +kill you. Be the last to quit too. Play up to Miller. Do things the +way he wants 'em done, even if you have to do 'em over a dozen times. +And use your bean." + +"But it's petty, insignificant work," says Mortimer. + +"All the worse for you if you can't swing it," says I. "See here, +now--how are you goin' to feel afterwards if you've always got to look +back on the fact that you begun by fallin' down on a twelve-dollar job?" + +Must have got Mortimer in the short ribs, that last shot; for he walks +all the rest of the way back to the Corrugated without sayin' a word. +Then, just as we gets into the elevator, he unloosens. + +"I don't believe it will do any good to try," says he; "but I've a mind +to give it a whirl." + +I didn't say so, but that was the first thing we'd agreed on that day. +So that night I has to send off a report which reads like this: + + +Mortimer's health O. K.; disposition ragged; business prospects punk. + +Hoping you are the same, + +TORCHY. + + +It's a wonder Mortimer didn't have mental indigestion, with all that +load of gilt-edged advice on his mind, and I wa'n't lookin' for him to +lug it much further'n the door; but, if you'll believe me, he seems to +take it serious. Every mornin' after that I finds his hat on the hook +when I come in, and whenever I gets a glimpse of him durin' the day he +has his coat off and is makin' a noise like the busy bee. At this it +takes some time before he makes an impression on Miller; but fin'lly +Morty comes out to me with a bulletin that seems to tickle him all over. + +"What do you know?" says he. "When Miller was looking over some of my +work to-day he breaks out with, 'Very good, Upton. Keep it up.'" + +"Well, I expect you told him to chase himself, eh?" says I. + +"No," says Mortimer. "I sprung that new scheme of mine for filing the +back records, and perhaps he's going to adopt it." + +"Think of that!" says I. "Say, you keep on, and you'll be presented +with that job for life. But, honest, you don't find Miller such a +fish, do you?" + +"Oh, I guess he's all right in his way," says Mortimer. + +"Then brace yourself, Morty," says I, "while I slip you some more +golden words. Tackle that boardin' house bunch of yours. Ah, hold +your breath while you're doin' it, if you want to, and spray yourself +afterwards with disinfectant, but see if you can't learn to mix in." + +"But why?" says he. "I can't see the use." + +"Say, for the love of Pete," says I, "ain't it hard enough for me to +press out all this wise dope without drawin' diagrams? I don't know +why, only you should. Go on now, take it from me." + +Maybe it was followin' my hunch, or maybe there wa'n't anything else +for him to do, but blamed if this didn't work too. Inside of two weeks +he gives me the whole tale, one day as we're sittin' in the armchairs +at the dairy lunch. + +"Remember my telling you about the fellow who wore the outing shirt?" +says he. "Well, say, he's quite a chap, you know. He's from some +little town out in Wyoming, and he's on here trying to be a +cartoonist--runs a hoisting engine day times and goes to an art school +evenings. How's that, eh?" + +"Sounds batty," says I. "There's most as many would-be cartoonists as +there are nutty ones tryin' to write plays for Belasco." + +"But this Blake's going to get there," says Mortimer. "I was up in his +room Sunday, and he showed me some of his work. Clever stuff, a lot of +it. He's landed a couple of things already. Then there's old man +McQuade, the one with the whiskers. Say, he's been all over the +world,--Siberia, Africa, Japan, South America. Used to be selling +agent for a mill supply firm. He has all his savings invested in an +Egyptian cotton plantation that hasn't begun to pay yet, but he thinks +it will soon. You ought to hear the yarns he can spin, though!" + +"So-o-o?" says I. + +"But Aronwitz is the fellow I'm traveling' around with most just now," +goes on Mortimer enthusiastic. "Say, he's a wonder! Been over here +from Hungary only six years, worked his way through Columbia, copping +an A. M. and an A. B., and sending back money to his old mother right +along. He's a Socialist, or something, and writes for one of those +East Side papers. Then evenings he teaches manual training in a slum +settlement house. He took me over with him the other night and got me +to help him with his boys. My, but they're a bright lot of +youngsters--right off the street too! I've promised to take a class +myself." + +"In what," says I, "table etiquette?" + +"I'm going to start by explaining to them how a gasolene engine works," +says Mortimer. "They're crazy to learn anything like that. It will be +great sport." + +"Mortimer," says I, "a little more of that, and I'll believe you're the +guy that put the seed in succeed. Anyone wouldn't guess you was doin' +penance." + +"I feel that I'm really living at last," says he in earnest. + +So in that next report to Mother, after I'd thanked her for the last +check and filled in the usual health chart and so on, I proceeds to +throw in a few extras about how Son was makin' the great discovery that +most folks was more or less human, after all. Oh, I spread myself on +that part of it, givin' full details! + +"And if that don't charm an extra five out of the old girl," thinks I, +"I miss my guess." + +Does it? Well, say, that happy thought stays with me for about ten +days. At times I figured the bonus might be as high as a fifty. And +then one mornin' here comes a ruddy-faced old party that I spots as +Colonel Upton. He calls for Mortimer, and the two of 'em has a +ten-minute chat in the corridor. Afterwards Morty interviews Miller, +and when he comes out next he has his hat and overcoat with him. + +"So long, Torchy," says he. "I'm leaving." + +"Not for good!" says I. "What's wrong?" + +"Mother," says he. "In some way she's found out about the sort of +people I've been going around with, and she's kicked up a great row, +got Father on the cable, and--well, it's all off. I'm to travel abroad +for a year or so to get it out of my system." + +"Gee!" says I as he goes out to join the Colonel. "Talk about boobing +a swell proposition! But that was too good to last, anyway. And, +believe me, if I'm ever asked again to be friendly on a salary, I bet I +don't overdo the thing." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +BREEZING BY WITH PEGGY + +He's a great old scout, Mr. Ellins. But he always knows where he wants +to get off, all right. He don't whisper his ideas on the subject, +either. + +"Boy," says he the other mornin' as I answers the buzzer, "I am +expecting two young persons to call this forenoon, two young wards of +mine. Huh! Wards! As though I wasn't busy enough with my own affairs +without---- But never mind. Chandler is the name." + +"Yes, Sir," says I. "Chandler. Rush 'em right in, shall I?" + +"No!" snorts Old Hickory. "What I want you to do is to use a little +sense, if you have any. Now, here! I have a committee meeting at ten; +those K. & T. people will be here at ten-forty-five; and after that I +can't say whether I'll be free or not. Of course I must see the young +nuisances; but meantime I want to forget 'em. I am trusting to you to +work 'em in when they'll be the least bother." + +"Got you," says I. "Chink in with Chandlers. Yes, Sir. Anything +more?" + +"No. Get out!" he snaps. + +Fair imitation of a grouch, eh? But you got to get used to Old +Hickory. Besides, there was some excuse for his bein' peeved, havin' a +pair of kids camp down on him this way. Course I was wise to the other +details. Didn't I take their 'phone message to Mr. Robert only the day +before, and send back the answer for 'em to come on? + +Seems this was a case of a second cousin, or something like that, a +nutty college professor, who'd gone and left a will makin' Mr. Ellins a +guardian without so much as askin' by your leave. There was a Mrs. +Chandler; but she don't figure in the guardianship. The youngsters had +been in school somewhere near Boston; but, this bein' the holidays, +what do they do but turn up in New York and express a wild desire to +see dear old Guardy. + +"Gee!" thinks I. "They don't know when they're well off." + +For Old Hickory ain't got a lot of use for the average young person. +I've heard him express his sentiments on that point. "Impudent, +ill-mannered, selfish, spoiled young barbarians, the boys," says he, +"and the girls aren't much better,--silly, giggling young chatterboxes!" + +And the way I has it framed up, this was rather a foxy move of the +young Chandlers, discoverin' their swell New York relations just as the +holiday season was openin'. So I don't figure that the situation calls +for any open-arm motions on my part. No, nothin' like that. I'm here +to give 'em their first touch of frost. + +So about eleven-fifteen, as I glances across the brass rail and sees +this pair advancin' sort of uncertain, I'm all prepared to cause a drop +in the mercury. They wa'n't exactly the type I had in mind, though. +What I'd expected was a brace of high school cutups. But these two are +older than that. + +The young fellow was one of these big-boned, wide-shouldered chaps, +with a heavy, serious look to his face, almost dull. I couldn't tell +at first look whether he was a live wire or not. No such suspicions +about the girl. She ain't what you'd call a queen, exactly. She's too +tall and her face is too long for that. Kind of a cute sort of face, +though, with rather a wide mouth that she can twist into a weird, +one-sided smile. But after one look at them lively blue eyes you knew +she wasn't walkin' in her sleep. It's my cue, though, to let 'em guess +what nuisances they were. + +"May I see Mr. Ellins?" says the young chap. + +"Cards," says I. + +He produces the pasteboards. + +"Oh, yes!" I goes on. "The wards, eh? Marjorie Chandler, Dudley +Winthrop Chandler. Well, you've picked out a busy day, you know." + +"Oh, have we?" says Marjorie. "There, Dud! I was afraid we might. +Perhaps we'd better not call, after all." + +"Good!" says Dudley. "I didn't want to, anyway. We can just send in +our cards and leave word that we----" + +"Ah, can it!" says I. "Mr. Ellins is expectin' you; only he ain't a +man you can walk in on casual." + +"But really," puts in Marjorie, "it's just as well if we don't see him." + +"Yes, and get me fired for not carryin' out instructions," says I. "My +orders are to work you in when there's a chance." + +"Oh, in that case," says Marjorie, "perhaps we had better wait. We +don't wish to cause trouble for anyone, especially such a bright, +charming young----" + +"Nix on the josh," says I. "And have a seat while I skirmish." + +"Very well, then," says she, screwin' her face up cunnin' and handin' +me one of them crooked smiles. + +Say, she pretty near had me goin' right from the start. And as I +tiptoes into the boss's room I sees he ain't doin' anything more +important than signin' letters. + +"They're here," says I, "the wards. Is it all right to run 'em in now?" + +He grunts, nods his head, and keeps on writin'. So I strolls back to +the reception room. + +"All right," says I. "I've fixed it up for you." + +"Now, wasn't that sweet in you?" gurgles Marjorie, glancin' sideways at +Brother. I couldn't swear it was a wink, either; but it's one of them +knowin' fam'ly looks, and she follows it up with a ripply sort of a +giggle. + +"That's right!" says I. "Have all the fun you want with me; but I'd +warn you to ditch the mirth stuff while you're on the carpet. Mr. +Ellins don't like it." + +"How interesting!" says Marjorie. "Dudley, I hope you understand. We +must ditch the mirth stuff." + +They swaps another grin at that, and I have a suspicion I'm bein' +kidded. Just for that too I decides to stick around while they're +gettin' theirs from Old Hickory. + +"This way," says I cold and haughty, as I tows 'em into the private +office. + +Mr. Ellins lets 'em stand there a minute or so without sayin' a word, +and then he turns and looks 'em over deliberate. "Humph!" he grunts. +"Thought you were younger." + +"Yes, Sir," says Marjorie, "we--er--we were at one time." + +Old Hickory shoots a quizzin' glance at her; but there ain't the ghost +of a smile on her face. + +"Huh!" says he. "I've no doubt. And I presume that in due course +you'll be older. Having agreed on that, perhaps you will tell me what +you're doing in New York?" + +Marjorie starts in to give him the answer to that; but Dudley shakes +his head at her and takes the floor himself. "You see, Sir," says he +real respectful, "Mother's abroad this winter, and when we were asked +to visit friends on Long Island we thought----" + +"Amy abroad, is she?" breaks in Mr. Ellins. "How does that happen?" + +"The Adamses took her with them to Egypt," says Dudley. "They are old +friends of ours." + +"Humph!" says Old Hickory. "Your mother must be rather popular?" + +"Oh, everyone likes Mama," put in Marjorie. "She's asked around +everywhere." + +"Yes, yes, I've no doubt," says he. "As I remember her, she was rather +a--but we won't go into that. Did you come to consult me about +anything in particular?" + +"No indeed," says Marjorie. "But you've been so good to bother about +our affairs, and you've done such wonders with the little property poor +Dad left, that we thought, as we were so near, we ought to----" + +"We wanted," breaks in Dudley, "to call and thank you personally for +your kindness. You have been awfully kind, Sir." + +"Think so, do you?" says Mr. Ellins. "Well, is that all?" + +"Yes," says Marjorie; "only--only--oh, Dud, I'm going to do it!" And +with that she makes a rush, lets out a giggle or two, grabs Old Hickory +in a perfectly good hug, and kisses him twice on his bald spot. + +He don't even have a chance to struggle, and before he can get out a +word it's all over and she has backed off, givin' him the full benefit +of one of them twisty smiles. I was lookin' for him to blow up for +fair at that. He don't though. + +"There, there!" says he. "Not in the least necessary, you know. But +if it was something you had to get out of your system, all right. So +you've been visiting, eh? Now, what?" + +"Why, Marjorie's going back to her school, Sir," says Dudley, "and I to +college." + +"Before the holidays are over?" says Mr. Ellins. + +"Oh, we don't mind," says Marjorie. "We don't want to go home and open +up the house; for we should miss Mother so much." + +"Suppose you finish out your vacation with us, then?" suggests Old +Hickory. + +"Oh, thank you, Sir," says Dudley; "but we----" + +"Mother wrote us, you see," breaks in Marjorie, "that we mustn't think +of bothering you another bit." + +"Who says you're a bother?" he demands. "At this time of year I like +to have young folks around--if they're the right kind." + +"But I'm not sure we are the right kind," says Marjorie. "I--I'm not +very serious, you know; and Dud's apt to be noisy. He thinks he can +sing." + +At which Dudley gets fussed and Old Hickory chuckles. + +"I'll take a chance," says Mr. Ellins. "If I'm to be your guardian, I +ought to know you better. So you two trot right up to the house and +prepare to stay the week out. Here, Torchy! 'Phone for the limousine. +No, not a word, young woman! I haven't time to discuss it. Clear out, +both of you! See you at dinner." + +"There!" says Marjorie as a partin' shot. "I just knew you were an old +dear!" + +"Stuff!" protests Mr. Ellins. "'Old bear,' is more like it." + +And me, I picks up a new cue. I escorts 'em out to the gen'ral office +with all the honors. "I'll have that car down in a jiffy, Miss," says +I. + +"Oh, thank you," says Marjorie. "And if you think of anything we ought +to ditch in the meantime--" + +"Ah, what's the use rubbin' it in on me," says I, "after the way you +put it over Mr. Ellins? I don't count. Besides, anybody that fields +their position like you do has got me wearin' their button for keeps." + +"Really?" says she. "I shall remember that, you know; and there's no +telling what dreadful thing I may do before I go. Is there, Dud?" + +"Oh, quit it, Peggy!" says he. "Behave, can't you?" + +"Certainly, Brother dear," says she, runnin' her tongue out at him. +Ever see anyone who could make a cute play of that? Well, Marjorie +could, believe me! + +Funny, though, the sudden hit them two seemed to make with Old Hickory. +Honest, the few days they was around the house his disposition clears +up like coffee does when you stir in the egg. I heard him talkin' to +Mr. Robert about 'em, how well brought up and mannerly they was. He +even unloads some of it on me, by way of suggestin' 'em as models. +You'd most think he'd trained 'em himself. + +Bein' chased up to the house on so many errands, I had a chance to get +the benefit of some of this improvin' influence. And it was kind of +good, I admit, to watch how prompt Dudley hops up every time any older +party comes into the room; and how sweet Marjorie is to everybody, even +the butler. They was just as nice to each other too,--Brother helpin' +Sister on with her wraps, and gettin' down on his knees to put on her +rubbers; while Marjorie never forgets to thank him proper, and pat him +chummy on the cheek. + +"Gee!" thinks I. "A sister like that wouldn't be so bad to have +around." + +Course, I knew this was comp'ny manners, exhibition stuff; but all the +same it was kind of inspirin' to see. It's catchin' too. I even finds +myself speakin' gentle to Piddie, and offerin' to help Mr. Ellins with +his overcoat. + +All of which lasts until here one afternoon, as I'm waitin' in the +Ellins' lib'ry for some presents I'm to deliver, when the spell is +shattered. I'd heard 'em out in the hall, talkin' low and earnest, and +next thing I know they've drifted in where I am and have opened up a +lively debate. + +"Pooh!" says Marjorie. "You can't stop me." + +"See here, Peggy!" comes back Dudley. "Didn't Mother say I was to look +after you?" + +"She didn't tell you to be so everlasting bossy," says Sister. + +"I'm not bossy," comes back Dudley. + +"You are so!" says she. "Old fuss budget! Stewcat!" + +"Rattlehead!" says Dudley. + +"Don't mind me," I breaks in. "I'm havin' my manners improved." + +All that brings out, though, is a glance and a shoulder shrug, and they +proceed with the squabble. + +"Dud Chandler," says Marjorie determined, "I am going to drive the car +today! You did yesterday for an hour." + +"That's entirely different," says Dudley. "I'm used to it, and Henry +said I might." + +"And Henry says I may too--so there!" says Marjorie. "And you know I'm +just crazy to try it on Fifth Avenue." + +"You'd look nice, wouldn't you?" says Brother scornful. "A limousine!" + +"But Bud Adams let me drive theirs; in Boston too," protests Marjorie. + +"Bud Adams is a bonehead, then," says Dudley. + +"Dudley Chandler," snaps Sister, her eyes throwin' off sparks, "don't +you dare talk that way about my friends!" + +"Huh!" says Brother. "If there ever was a boob, that Bud Adams is----" + +Say, there's only a flash and a squeal before Sister has landed a smack +on his jaw and has both hands in his hair. Looked like a real +rough-house session, right there in the lib'ry, when there comes a call +for me down the stairs from Mrs. Ellins. She wants to know if I'm +ready. + +[Illustration: Sister has landed a smack on his jaw.] + +"Waitin' here, Ma'am," says I, steppin' out into the hall. + +"And Marjorie and Dudley?" says she. "Are the dear young folks ready +too?" + +"I'll ask 'em," says I. And with that I dodges hack where they're +standin' glarin' at each other. "Well," says I, "is it to be a go to a +finish, or----" + +"Come, Marjorie," says Dudley, "be decent." + +"I--am going to do it!" announces Marjorie. + +"Mule!" hisses Dudley. + +And that's the status quo between these two models when we starts for +the car. Marjorie makes a quick break and plants herself in front by +the chauffeur, leavin' Brother to climb inside with me and the bundles. +He grits his teeth and murmurs a few remarks under his breath. + +"Some pep to that sister of yours, eh?" says I. + +"She's an obstinate little fool!" says Dudley. "Look at that, now! I +knew she would!" + +Yep, she had. We're no sooner under way than the obligin' Henry slides +out of his seat and lets Miss Marjorie slip in behind the wheel. She +can drive a car all right too. You ought to see her throw in the high +and go beatin' it down the avenue, takin' signals from the traffic cops +at crossing, skinnin' around motor busses, and crowdin' out a fresh +taxi driver that tried to hog a corner on her. Nothin' timid or +amateurish either about the way she handled that ten-thousand-dollar +gas wagon of Old Hickory's. Where I'd be jammin' on both brakes and +callin' for help, she just breezes along like she had the street all to +herself. + +Meantime Brother is sittin' with both feet braced and one hand on the +door, now and then sighin' relieved as we scrape through a tight place. +But we'd been down quite a ways and was part way back, headed for +Riverside Drive, and was rollin' along merry too, when all of a sudden +a fruit faker's wagon looms up out of a side street unexpected, there's +a bump and a crash, and there we are, with a spokeless wooden wheel +draped jaunty over one mud guard, the asphalt strewed with oranges, and +int'rested spectators gatherin' gleeful from all quarters. + +Looks like a bad mess too. The old plug of a horse is down, kickin' +the stuffin' out of the harness, and a few feet off is the huckster, +huddled up in a heap like a bag of meal. Course, there's a cop on the +spot. He pushes in where Dudley is tryin' to help the wagon driver up, +takes one look at the wreck, and then flashes his little notebook. He +puts down our license number, calls for the owner's name, prods the +wagon man without result, tells us we're all pinched, and steps over to +a convenient signal box to ring up an ambulance. Inside of three +minutes we're the storm center of a small mob, and there's two other +cops lookin' us over disapprovin'. + +"Take 'em all to the station house," says one, who happens to be a +roundsman. + +That didn't listen good to me; so I kind of sidles off from our group. +It just struck me that it might be handy to have someone on the outside +lookin' in. But at that I got to the station house almost as soon as +they did. The trio was lined up before the desk Sergeant. Miss +Marjorie's kind of white, but keepin' a stiff lip over it; while Dudley +is holdin' one hand and pattin' it comfortin'. + +"Well, who was driving?" is the first thing the Sergeant wants to know. + +"If you please, Sir," speaks up Dudley, "I was." + +"Why, Dudley!" says Peggy, openin' her eyes wide. "You know----" + +"Hush up!" whispers Brother. + +"Sha'nt!" says Marjorie. "I was driving, Mr. Officer." + +"Rot!" says Dudley. "Pay no attention to her, Sergeant." + +"Suit yourself," says the Sergeant. "I'd just as soon lock up two as +one. Then we'll be sure." + +"There! You see!" says Brother. "You aren't helping any. Now keep +out, will you?" + +"But, Dudley----" protests Marjorie. + +"That'll do," says the Sergeant. "You'll have plenty of time to talk +it over afterwards. Hospital case, eh? Then we can't take bail. +Names, now!" + +And it's while their names are bein' put on the blotter that I slides +out, hunts up a pay station, and gets Mr. Robert on the 'phone. +"Better lug along a good-sized roll," says I, after I've explained the +case, "and start a lawyer or two this way. You'll need 'em." + +"I will," says Mr. Robert. "And you'll meet me at the station, will +you?" + +"Later on," says I. "I want to try a little sleuthin' first." + +You see, I'd spotted the faker's name on the wagon license, and it +occurs to me that before any of them damage-suit shysters get to him it +would be a good scheme to discover just how bad he was bunged up. So +my bluff is that it's an uncle of mine that's been hurt. By pushin' it +good and hard too, and insistin' that I'd got to see him, I gets clear +into the cot without bein' held up. And there's the victim, snoozin' +peaceful. + +"Gee!" says I to the nurse, sniffin' the atmosphere. "Had to brace him +up with a drink, did you?" + +She smiles at that. "Hardly," says she. "He had attended to that, or +he wouldn't be in here. This is the alcoholic ward, you know." + +"Huh!" says I. "Pickled, was he? But is he hurt bad?" + +"Not at all," says she. "He will be all right as soon as he's sober." + +Did I smoke it back to the station house? Well, some! And Mr. Robert +was there, talkin' to two volunteer witnesses who was ready to swear +the faker was drivin' on the wrong side of the street and not lookin' +where he was goin'. + +"How could he," says I, "when he was soused to the ears?" + +Course, it took some time to convince the Sergeant; but after he'd had +word from the hospital he concludes to accept a hundred cash, let +Dudley go until mornin', and scratch Marjorie's name off the book. +Goin' back to the house we four rides inside, with Henry at the wheel. + +"I'm awfully sorry, Dud," says Marjorie, snugglin' up to Brother, +"but--but it was almost worth it. I didn't know you could be so--so +splendid!" + +"Stow it, Peggy," says Dudley. "You're a regular brick!" + +"No, I'm not," says she. "And think what Mr. Ellins will say! + +"There, there!" says Mr. Robert soothin'. "You were not to blame. I +will have someone see the fellow in the morning and settle the damage, +however. There's no need to trouble Father about it, none in the +least." + +"Besides, Peggy," adds Dudley, "I'm the one the charge is made against. +So butt out." + +Looked like it was all settled that way too, and that Old Hickory's +faith in his model wards wa'n't to be disturbed. But when we pulls up +at the house there he is, just goin' up the front steps. + +"Ah!" says he, beamin'. "There you are, eh? And how has my little +Peggy been enjoying herself today?" + +"Mr. Ellins," says she, lookin' him square in the eye, "you mustn't +call me your Peggy any more. I've just hit a man. He's in the +hospital." + +"You--you hit someone!" gasps Old Hickory, starin' puzzled at her. +"What with?" + +"Why, with the car," says she. "I was driving. Dudley tried to stop +me; but I was horrid about it. We had a regular fight over it. Then I +coaxed Henry to let me, and--and this happened. Don't listen to +Dudley. It was all my fault." + +"Wow!" I whispers to Mr. Robert. "Now she's spilled the beans!" + +Did she? Say, I wa'n't in on the fam'ly conference that follows, but I +gets the result from Mr. Robert next day, after he's been to court and +seen Dudley's case dismissed. + +"No, the young folks haven't been sent away," says he. "In fact, +Father thinks more of them than ever. He's going to take 'em both +abroad with him next summer." + +Wouldn't that smear you, though? Say, I wish someone would turn me +loose with a limousine! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS + +Trouble? Say, it was comin' seven diff'rent ways there for +awhile,--our stocks on the slump, a quarterly bein' passed, Congress +actin' up, a lot of gloom rumors floatin' around about what was goin' +to happen to the tariff on steel, and the I Won't Workers pullin' off a +big strike at one of our busiest plants. But all these things was side +issues compared to this scrap that develops between Old Hickory and +Peter K. Groff. + +Maybe you don't know about Peter K.? Well, he's the Mesaba agent of +Corrugated affairs, the big noise at the dirt end of the dividends. +It's Groff handles the ore proposition, you understand, and it's his +company that does the inter-locking act between the ore mines and us +and the railroads. + +Course, I can't give you all the details without pullin' down a +subpoena from the Attorney-General's office, and I ain't anxious to +crowd Willie Rockefeller, or anybody like that, out of the witness +chair. But I can go as far as to state that, as near as I could dope +it out, Peter K. was only standin' on his rights, and if only him and +Mr. Ellins could have got together for half an hour peaceable-like +things could have been squared all around. We needed Groff every tick +of the clock, and just because he ain't always polite in statin' his +views over the wire wa'n't any first-class reason for us extendin' him +an official invitation to go sew his head in a bag. + +Uh-huh, them was Old Hickory's very words. I stood by while he writes +the message. Then I takes it out and shows it to Piddie and grins. +You should have seen Piddie's face. He turns the color of green pea +soup and gasps. He's got all the fightin' qualities of a pet rabbit in +him, Piddie has. + +"But--but that is a flat insult," says he, "and Mr. Groff is a very +irascible person!" + +"A which?" says I. "Never mind, though. If he's got anything on Old +Hickory when it comes to pep in the disposition, he's the real Tabasco +Tommy." + +"But I still contend," says Piddie, "that this reply should not be +sent." + +"Course it shouldn't," says I. "But who's goin' to point that out to +the boss? You?" + +Piddie shudders. I'll bet he went home that night and told Wifey to +prepare for the end of the world. Course, I knew it meant a muss. But +when Old Hickory's been limpin' around with a gouty toe for two weeks, +and his digestion's gone on the fritz, and things in gen'ral has been +breakin' bad--well, it's a case of low barometer in our shop, and +waitin' to see where the lightnin' strikes first. Might's well be +pointed at Peter K., thinks I, as at some Wall Street magnate or me. +Course, Groff goes up in the air a mile, threatens to resign from the +board, and starts stirrin' up a minority move that's liable to end most +anywhere. + +Then, right in the midst of it, Old Hickory accumulates his annual case +of grip, runs up a temperature that ain't got anything to do with his +disposition, and his doctor gives orders for him not to move out of the +house for a week. + +So that throws the whole thing onto me and Mr. Robert. I was takin' it +calm enough too; but with Mr. Robert it's different. He has his coat +off that mornin', and his hair mussed up, and he's smokin' long +brunette cigars instead of his usual cigarettes. He was pawin' over +things panicky. + +"Hang it all!" he explodes. "Some of these papers must go up to the +Governor for his indorsement. Perhaps you'd better take them, Torchy. +But you're not likely to find him in a very agreeable mood, you know." + +"Oh, I can dodge," says I, gatherin' up the stuff. "And what's the +dope? Do I dump these on the bed and make a slide for life, or so I +take out accident insurance and then stick around for orders?" + +"You may--er--stick around," says Mr. Robert. "In fact, my chief +reason for sending you up to the house is the fact that at times you +are apt to have a cheering effect on the Governor. So stay as long as +you find any excuse. + +"Gee!" says I. "I don't know whether this is a special holiday, or a +sentence to sudden death. But I'll take a chance, and if the worst +happens, Mr. Robert, see that Piddie wears a black armband for me." + +He indulges in the first grin he's had on for a week, and I makes my +exit on that. The science of bein' fresh is to know where to quit. + +But, say, that wa'n't all guff we was exchangin' about Old Hickory. I +don't find him tucked away under the down comf'tables, like he ought to +be. Marston, the butler, whispers the boss is in the lib'ry, and sort +of shunts me in without appearin' himself. A wise guy, Marston. + +For here's Mr. Ellins, wearin' a padded silk dressin' gown and old +slippers, pacin' back and forth limpy and lettin' out grunts and growls +at every turn. Talk about your double-distilled grouches! He looks +like he'd been on a diet of mixed pickles and scrap iron for a month, +and hated the whole human race. + +"Well?" he snaps as he sees me edgin' in cautious. + +"Papers for your O. K," says I, holdin' the bunch out at arm's length. + +"My O. K.?" he snarls. "Bah! Now what the zebra-striped Zacharias do +they send those things to me for? What good am I, anyway, except as a +common carrier for all the blinkety blinked aches and pains that ever +existed? A shivery, shaky old lump of clay streaked with cussedness, +that's all I am!" + +"Yes, Sir," says I, from force of habit. + +"Eh?" says he, whirlin' and snappin' his jaws. + +"N-n-no, Sir," says I, sidesteppin' behind a chair. + +"That's right," says he. "Dodge and squirm as if I was a wild animal. +That's what they all do. What are you afraid of, Boy?" + +"Me?" says I. "Why, I'm havin' the time of my life. I don't mind. It +only sounds natural and homelike. And it's mostly bluff, ain't it, Mr. +Ellins?" + +"Discovered!" says he. "Ah, the merciless perspicacity of youth! But +don't tell the others. And put those papers on my desk." + +"Yes, Sir," says I, and after I've spread 'em out I backs into the bay +window and sits down. + +"Well, what are you doing there?" says he. + +"Waiting orders," says I. "Any errands, Mr. Ellins?" + +"Errands?" says he. Then, after thinkin' a second, he raps out, "Yes. +Do you see that collection of bottles and pills and glasses on the +table? Enough to stock a young drugstore! And I've been pouring that +truck into my system by wholesale,--the pink tablets on the half-hour, +the white ones on the quarter, a spoonful of that purple liquid on the +even hour, two of the greenish mixtures on the odd, and getting worse +every day. Bah! I haven't the courage to do it myself, but by the +blue-belted blazes if---- See here, Boy! You're waiting orders, you +say?" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. + +"Then open that window and throw the whole lot into the areaway," says +he. + +"Do you mean it, Mr. Ellins?" says I. + +"Do I--yah, don't I speak plain English?" he growls. "Can't you +understand a simple----" + +"I got you," I breaks in. "Out it goes!" I don't drop any of it +gentle, either. I slams bottles and glasses down on the flaggin' and +chucks the pills into the next yard. I makes a clean sweep. + +"Thanks, Torchy," says he. "The doctor will be here soon. I'll tell +him you did it." + +"Go as far as you like," says I. "Anything else, Sir?" + +"Yes," says he. "Provide me with a temporary occupation." + +"Come again," says I. + +"I want something to do," says he. "Here I've been shut up in this +confounded house for four mortal days! I can't read, can't eat, can't +sleep. I just prowl around like a bear with a sore ear. I want +something that will make me forget what a wretched, futile old fool I +am. Do you know of anything that will fill the bill?" + +"No, sir," says I. + +"Then think," says he. "Come, where is that quick-firing, automatic +intellect of yours? Think, Boy! What would you do if you were shut up +like this?" + +"Why," says I, "I--I might dig up some kind of games, I guess." + +"Games!" says he. "That's worth considering. Well, here's some money. +Go get 'em." + +"But what kind, Sir?" says I. + +"How the slithering Sisyphus should I know what kind?" he snaps. +"Whose idea is this, anyway? You suggested games. Go get 'em, I tell +you! I'll give you half an hour, while I'm looking over this stuff +from the office. Just half an hour. Get out!" + +It's a perfectly cute proposition, ain't it? Games for a heavy-podded +old sinner like him, who's about as frivolous in his habits as one of +them stone lions in front of the new city lib'ry! But here I was on my +way with a yellow-backed twenty in one hand; so it's up to me to +produce. I pikes straight down the avenue to a joint where they've got +three floors filled with nothin' but juvenile joy junk, blows in there +on the jump, nails a clerk that looks like he had more or less bean, +waves the twenty at him, and remarks casual: + +"Gimme the worth of that in things that'll amuse a fifty-eight-year-old +kid who's sick abed and walkin' around the house." + +Did I say clerk? I take it back. He was a salesman, that young gent +was. Never raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to haul out samples, pass +'em up to me for inspection, and pile in a heap what I gives him the +nod on. If I established a record for reckless buyin', he never +mentions it. Inside of twenty minutes I'm on my way back, followed by +a porter with both arms full. + +"The doctor has come," says Marston. "He's in with Mr. Ellins now, +Sir." + +"Ob, is he?" says I. "Makes it very nice, don't it?" And, bein' as +how I was Old Hickory's alibi, as you might say, I pikes right to the +front. + +"Here he is now," says Mr. Ellins. + +And the Doc, who's a chesty, short-legged gent with a dome half under +glass,--you know, sort of a skinned diamond with turf outfield +effect,--he whirls on me accusin'. "Young man," says he, "do I +understand that you had the impudence to----" + +"Well, well!" breaks in Old Hickory, gettin' a glimpse of what the +porter's unloading "What have we here? Look, Hirshway,--Torchy's drug +substitute!" + +"Eh?" says the Doc, starin' puzzled. + +"Games," says Mr. Ellins, startin' to paw over the bundles. "Toys for +a weary toiler. Let's inspect his selection. Now what's this in the +box, Torchy?" + +"Cut-up picture puzzle," says I. "Two hundred pieces. You fit 'em +together." + +"Fine!" says Old Hickory. "And this?" + +"Ring toss," says I. "You try to throw them rope rings over the peg." + +"I see," says he. "Excellent! That will be very amusing and +instructive. Here's an airgun too." + +"Ellins," says Doc Hirshway, "do you mean to say that at your age you +are going to play with such childish things?" + +"Why not?" says Old Hickory. "You forbid business. I must employ +myself in some way, and Torchy recommends these." + +"Bah!" says the Doc disgusted. "If I didn't know you so well, I should +think your mind was affected." + +"Think what you blamed please, you bald-headed old pill peddler!" raps +back the boss, pokin' him playful in the ribs. "I'll bet you a fiver I +can put more of these rings over than you can." + +"Humph!" says the Doc. "I've no time to waste on silly games." And he +stands by watchin' disapprovin' while Old Hickory makes an awkward stab +at the peg. The nearest he comes to it is when he chucks one through +the glass door of a curio cabinet, with a smash that brings the butler +tiptoein' in. + +"Did you ring, Sir?" says Marston. + +"Not a blamed one!" says Mr. Ellins. + +"Take it away, Marston. And then unwrap that large package. There! +Now what the tessellated teacups is that!" + +It's something I didn't know anything about myself; but the young gent +at the store had been strong for puttin' it in, so I'd let it slide. +It's a tin affair, painted bright green, with half a dozen little brass +cups sunk in it. Some rubber balls and a kind of croquet mallet goes +with it. + +"Indoor golf!" says Old Hickory, readin' the instruction pamphlet. +"Oh, I see! A putting green. Set it there on the rug, Marston. Now, +let's see if I've forgotten how to putt." + +We all gathers around while he tries to roll the balls into the cups. +Out of six tries he lands just one. Next time he don't get any at all. + +"Pooh!" says the Doc edgin' up int'rested. "Wretched putting form, +Ellins, wretched! Don't tap it that way: sweep it along---follow +through, with your right elbow out. Here, let me show you!" + +But Hirshway don't do much better. He manages to get two in; but one +was a rank scratch. + +"Ho-ho!" cackles Old Hickory. "Isn't so easy as it looks, eh, +Hirshway? Now it's my turn again, and I'm betting ten I beat you." + +"I take you," says the Doc. + +And blamed if Old Hickory don't pull down the money! + +Well, that's what started things. Next I knew they'd laid out a +regular golf course, drivin' off from the rug in front of the desk, +through the double doors into the drawin' room, then across the hall +into the music room, around the grand piano to the left, through the +back hall, into the lib'ry once more, and onto the tin green. + +Marston is sent to dig out a couple sets of old golf clubs from the +attic, and he is put to caddyin' for the Doc, while I carries the bag +for the boss. Course they was usin' putters mostly, except for fancy +loftin' strokes over bunkers that they'd built out of books and sofa +pillows. And as the balls was softer than the regulation golf kind, +with more bounce to 'em, all sorts of carom strokes was ruled in. + +"No moving the chairs," announces Old Hickory. "All pieces of +furniture are natural hazards." + +"Agreed," says the Doc. "Playing stimies too, I suppose?" + +"Stimies go," says the boss. + +Say, maybe that wa'n't some batty performance, with them two old +duffers golfin' all over the first floor of a Fifth-ave. house, +disputin' about strokes, pokin' balls out from under tables and sofas, +and me and Marston followin' along with the bags. They got as excited +over it as if they'd been playin' for the International Championship, +and when Old Hickory loses four strokes by gettin' his ball wedged in a +corner he cuts loose with the real golfy language. + +We was just finishin' the first round, with the score standin' fourteen +to seventeen in favor of the Doc, when the front doorbell rings and a +maid comes towin' in Piddie. Maybe his eyes don't stick out some too, +as he takes in the scene, But Mr. Ellins is preparin' to make a shot +for position in front of the green and he don't pay any attention. + +"It's Mr. Piddie, Sir," says I. + +"Hang Mr. Piddie!" says Old Hickory. "I can't see him now." + +"But it's very important," says Piddie. "There's someone at the office +who----" + +"No, no, not now!" snaps the boss impatient. + +And I gives Piddie the back-out signal. But you know how much sense +he's got. + +"I assure you, Mr. Ellins," he goes on, "that this is----" + +"S-s-s-st!" says I. "Boom-boom! Outside!" and I jerks my thumb +towards the door. + +That settles Piddie. He fades. + +A minute later Old Hickory gets a lucky carom off a chair leg and holes +out in nineteen, with the Doc playin' twenty-one. + +"Ha, ha!" chuckled the boss. "What's the matter with my form now, +Hirshway? I'll go you another hole for the same stake." + +The Doc was sore and eager to get back. They wa'n't much more'n fairly +started, though, before there's other arrivals, that turns out to be no +less than two of our directors, lookin' serious and worried. + +"Mr. Rawson and Mr. Dunham," announces the maid. + +"Here, Boy!" says the boss, catchin' me by the elbow. "What was that +you said to Mr. Piddie,--that 'Boom-boom!' greeting?" + +I gives it to him and the Doc in a stage whisper. + +"Good!" says he. "Get that, Hirshway? Now let's spring it on 'em. +All together now--S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!" + +Say, it makes a hit with the directors, all right. First off they +didn't seem to know whether they'd strayed into a bughouse, or were +just bein' cheered; but when they sees Old Hickory's mouth corners they +concludes to take it as a josh. It turns out that both of 'em are golf +cranks too, and inside of three minutes they've forgot whatever it was +they'd come for, they've shed their coats, and have been rung into a +foursome. + +Honest, of all the nutty performances! For there was no tellin' where +them balls would roll to, and wherever they went the giddy old boys had +to follow. I remember one of 'em was stretched out full length on his +tummy in the front hall, tryin' to make a billiard shot from under a +low hall seat, when there's another ring at the bell, and Marston, with +a golf bag still slung over his shoulder, lets in a square-jawed, +heavy-set old gent who glares around like he was lookin' for trouble +and would be disappointed if he didn't find it. + +"Mr. Peter K. Groff," announces Marston. + +"Good night!" says I to myself. "The enemy is in our midst." + +But Old Hickory never turns a hair. He stands there in his shirt +sleeves gazin' calm at this grizzly old minin' plute, and then I sees a +kind of cut-up twinkle flash in them deep-set eyes of his as he summons +his foursome to gather around. I didn't know what was coming either, +until they cuts loose with it. And for havin' had no practice they +rips it out strong. + +"S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!" comes the chorus. + +It gets Peter K.'s goat too. His jaw comes open and his eyes pop. +Next he swallows bard and flushes red behind the ears. "Ellins," says +he, "I've come fifteen hundred miles to ask what you mean by telling +me----" + +"Oh, that you, Groff?" breaks in the boss. "Well, don't interrupt our +game. Fore! You, I mean. Fore, there! Now go ahead, Rawson. +Playing eleven, aren't you?" + +And Rawson's just poked his ball out, makin' a neat carom into the +music room, when the hall clock strikes five. + +"By Jove, gentlemen!" exclaims Doc Hirshway. "Sorry, but I must quit. +Should have been in my office an hour ago. I really must go." + +"Quitter!" says Mr. Ellins. "But all right. Trot along. Here, Groff, +you're a golfer, aren't you?" + +"Why--er--yes," says Peter K., actin' sort of dazed; "but I----" + +"That's enough," says Old Hickory. "You take Hirshway's place. +Dunham's your partner. We're playing Nassau, ten a corner. But I'll +tell you,--just to make it interesting, I'll play you on the side to +see whether or not we accept that proposition of yours. Is it a go?" + +"But see here, Ellins," conies back Peter K. "I want you to understand +that you or any other man can't tell me to sew my head in a bag +without----" + +"Oh, drop that!" says Old Hickory. "I withdraw it--mostly gout, +anyway. You ought to know that. And if you can beat me at this game +I'll agree to let you have your own way out there. Are you on, or are +you too much of a dub to try it?" + +"Maybe I am a dub, Hickory Ellins," says Peter K., peelin' off his +coat, "but any game that you can play--er---- Which is my ball?" + +Well, it was some warm contest, believe me, with them two joshin' back +and forth, and at the game time usin' as much foxy strategy as if they +was stealin' railroads away from each other! They must have been at it +for near half an hour when a maid slips in and whispers how Mr. Robert +is callin' for me on the wire. So I puts her on to sub for me with the +bag while I slides into the 'phone booth. + +"Sure, Mr. Robert," says I, "I'm still on the job." + +"But what is happening?" says he. "Didn't Groff come up?" + +"Yep," says I. "He's here yet." + +"You don't say!" says Mr. Robert. "Whe-e-ew! He and the governor +having it hot and heavy, I suppose?" + +"And then some," says I. "Peter K. took first round 12-17, he tied the +second, and now he's trapped in the fireplace on a bad ten." + +"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mr. Robert. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Mr. Ellins is layin' under the piano,--only seven, +but stimied for an approach." + +"In Heaven's name, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "what do you mean? Mr. +Groff trapped in the fireplace, father lying under the piano--why----" + +"Ah, didn't Piddie tell you? The boob!" says I. "It's just golf, +that's all--indoor kind--a batty variation that they made up +themselves. But don't fret. Everything's all lovely, and I guess the +Corrugated is saved. Come up and look 'em over." + +Yep! Peter K. got the decision by slipping over a smear in the fourth, +after which him and Old Hickory leans up against each other and laughs +until their eyes leak. Then Marston wheels in the tea wagon full of +decanters and club soda, and when I left they was clinkin' glasses real +chummy. + +"Son," says Old Hickory, as he pads into the office about noon next +day, "I believe I forgot the usual caddie fee. There you are." + +"Z-z-z-zing!" says I, starin' after him. Cute little strips of +Treasury kale, them with the C's in the corners, aren't they? Well, I +should worry! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +COMING IN ON THE DRAW + +Nothin' like bein' a handy man around the shop. Here at the Corrugated +I'm worked in for almost any old thing, from seein' that Mr. Ellins +takes his gout tablets regular, to arrangin' the directors' room for +the annual meeting and when it comes to subbin' for Mr. Robert--say, +what do you guess is the latest act he bills me for? Art expert! Yep, +A-r-t, with a big A! + +Sounds foolish, don't it? But at that it wa'n't such a bad hunch on +his part. He's a rash promiser, Mr. Robert is; but a shifty +proposition when you try to push a programme on him, for the first +thing you know he's slid from under. I suspicioned some play like that +was comin' here the other afternoon when Sister Marjorie shows up at +the general offices and asks pouty, "Where's Robert?" + +"On the job," says I. "Session of the general sales agents today, you +know." + +"But he was to meet me at the Broadway entrance half an hour ago," says +she, "and I've been sitting in the car waiting for him. Call him out, +won't you, Torchy?" + +"Won't do any good," says I. "He's booked up for the rest of the day." + +"The idea!" says Marjorie. "And he promised faithfully he would go up +with me to see those pictures! You just tell him I'm here, that's all." + +There's more or less light of battle in them bright brown eyes of +Marjorie's, and that Ellins chin of hers is set some solid. So when I +tiptoes in where they're dividin' the map of the world into sellin' +areas, and whispers in Mr. Robert's ear that Sister Marjorie is waitin' +outside, I adds a word of warnin'. + +"It's a case of pictures, you remember," says I. + +"Oh, the deuce!" says Mr. Robert. "Hang Brooks Bladen and his +paintings! I can't go, positively. Just explain, will you, Torchy?" + +"Sure; but I'd go hoarse over it," says I. "You know Marjorie, and if +you don't want the meetin' broke up I expect you'd better come out and +face the music." + +"Oh, well, then I suppose I must," says he, leadin' the way. + +And Marjorie wa'n't in the mood to stand for any smooth excuses. She +didn't care if he had forgotten, and she guessed his old business +affairs could be put off an hour or so. Besides, this meant so much to +poor Brooks. His very first exhibit, too. Ferdy couldn't go, either. +Another one of his sick headaches. But he had promised to buy a +picture, and Marjorie had hoped that Robert would like one of them well +enough to---- + +"Oh, if that's all," puts in Mr. Robert, "then tell him I'll take one, +too." + +"But you can't buy pictures without seeing them," protests Marjorie. +"Brooks is too sensitive. He wants appreciation, encouragement, you +see." + +"A lot I could give him," says Mr. Robert. "Why, I know no more about +that sort of thing than--well, than----" And just here his eye lights +on me. "Oh, I say, though," he goes on, "it would be all right, +wouldn't it, if I sent a--er--a commissioner?" + +"I suppose that would do," says Marjorie. + +"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "Torchy, go with Marjorie and look at that +lot. If they're any good, buy one for me." + +"Wha-a-at!" says I. "Me buy a picture?" + +"Full power," says he, startin' back towards the meetin'. "Pick out +the best, and tell Bladen to send me the bill." + +And there we're left, Marjorie and me, lookin' foolish at each other. + +"Well, he's done a duck," says I. + +"If you mean he's got himself out of buying a picture, you're +mistaken," says she. "Come along." + +She insists on callin' the bluff, too. Course, I tries to show her, +all the way up in the limousine, how punk a performer I'd be at a game +like that, and how they'd spot me for a bush leaguer the first stab I +made. + +"Not at all," says Marjorie, "if you do as I tell you." + +With that she proceeds to coach me in the art critic business. The +lines wa'n't hard to get, anyway. + +"For some of them," she goes on, "you merely go 'Um-m-m!' under your +breath, you know, or 'Ah-h-h-h!' to yourself. Then when I give you a +nudge you may exclaim, 'Fine feeling!' or 'Very daring!' or 'Wonderful +technic, wonderful!'" + +"Yes; but when must I say which?" says I. + +"It doesn't matter in the least," says Marjorie. + +"And you think just them few remarks," says I, "will pull me through." + +"Enough for an entire exhibit at the National Academy," says she. "And +when you decide which you like best, just point it out to Mr. Bladen." + +"Gee!" says I. "Suppose I pick a lemon?" + +"Robert won't know the difference," says she, "and it will serve him +right. Besides, poor Brooks needs the encouragement." + +"Kind of a dub beginner with no backing is he?" says I. + +Marjorie describes him different. Accordin' to her, he's a classy +comer in the art line, with all kinds of talent up his sleeve and Fame +busy just around the corner on a laurel wreath exactly his size. Seems +Brooks was from a good fam'ly that had dropped their bundle somewhere +along the road; so this art racket that he'd taken up as a time killer +he'd had to turn into a steady job. He wa'n't paintin' just to keep +his brushes soft. He was out to win the kale. + +Between the lines I gathers enough to guess that before she hooked up +with Ferdy, the head-achy one, Marjorie had been some mushy over Brooks +boy herself. He'd done a full length of her, it appears, and was +workin' up quite a portrait trade, when all of a sudden he ups and +marries someone else, a rank outsider. + +"Too bad!" sighs Marjorie. "It has sadly interfered with his career, +I'm afraid." + +"Ain't drivin' him to sign work, is it?" says I. + +"Goodness, no!" says Marjorie. "Just the opposite. Of course, Edith +was a poor girl; but her Uncle Jeff is ever so rich. They live with +him, you know. That's the trouble--Uncle Jeff." + +She's a little vague about this Uncle Jeff business; but it helps +explain why we roll up to a perfectly good marble front detached house +just off Riverside Drive, instead of stoppin' at one of them studio +rookeries over on Columbus-ave. And even I'm wise to the fact that +strugglin' young artists don't have a butler on the door unless there's +something like an Uncle Jeff in the fam'ly. + +From the dozen or more cars and taxis hung up along the block I judge +this must be a regular card affair, with tea and sandwich trimmin's. +It's a good guess. A maid tows us up two flights, though, before we're +asked to shed anything; and before we lands Marjorie is gaspin' some, +for she ain't lost any weight since she collected Ferdy. Quite a +studio effect they'd made too, by throwin' a couple of servants' rooms +into one and addin' a big skylight. There was the regulation fishnet +draped around, and some pieces of tin armor and plaster casts, which +proves as well as a court affidavit that here's where the real, +sure-fire skookum creative genius holds forth. + +It's a giddy bunch of lady gushers that's got together there too, and +the soulful chatter is bein' put over so fast it sounds like +intermission at a cabaret show. I'm introduced proper to Brooks boy +and Wifey; but I'd picked 'em both out at first glimpse. No mistakin' +him. He's got on the kind of costume that goes with the fishnet and +brass tea machine,--flowin' tie, velvet coat, baggy trousers, and all, +even to the Vandyke beard. It's kind of a pale, mud-colored set of +face alfalfa; but, then, Brooks boy is sort of that kind himself--that +is, all but his eyes. They're a wide-set, dreamy, baby-blue pair of +lamps, that beams mild and good-natured on everyone. + +But Mrs. Brooks Bladen is got up even more arty than Hubby. Maybe it +wa'n't sugar sackin' or furniture burlap, but that's what the stuff +looked like. It's gathered jaunty just under her armpits and hangs in +long folds to the floor, with a thick rope of yellow silk knotted +careless at one side with the tassels danglin' below her knee, while +around her head is a band of tinsel decoration that might have been +pinched off from a Christmas tree. She's a tall, willowy young woman, +who waves her bare arms around vivacious when she talks and has lots of +sparkle to her eyes. + +"You dear child!" is her greetin' to Marjorie. "So sweet of you to +attempt all those dreadful stairs! No, don't try to talk yet. We +understand, don't we, Brooks? Nice you're not sensitive about it, too." + +I caught the glare Marjorie shoots over, and for a minute I figured how +the picture buyin' deal had been queered at the start; but the next +thing I knew Brooks boy is holdin' Marjorie's hand and beamin' gentle +on her, and she is showin' all her dimples once more. Say, they're +worth watchin', some of these fluff encounters. + +My act? Ah, say, most of that good dope is all wasted. Nobody seems +excited over the fact that I've arrived, even Brooks Bladen. As a +salesman he ain't a great success, I judge. Don't tout up his stuff +any, or try to shove off any seconds or shopworn pieces. He just tells +me to look around, and half apologizes for his line in advance. + +Well, for real hand-painted stuff it was kind of tame. None of this +snowy-mountain-peak or mirror-lake business, such as you see in the +department stores. It's just North River scenes; some clear, some +smoky, some lookin' up, some lookin' down, and some just across. In +one he'd done a Port Lee ferryboat pretty fair; but there's another +that strikes me harder. It shows a curve in the drive, with one of +them green motor busses goin' by, the top loaded, and off in the +background to one side the Palisades loomin' up against a fair-weather +sunset, while in the middle you can see clear up to Yonkers. Honest, +it's almost as good as some of them things on the insurance calendars, +and I'm standin' gawpin' at it when Brooks Bladen and Marjorie drifts +along. + +"Well?" says he, sort of inquirin'. + +"That must be one of the Albany night boats goin' up," says I. "She'll +be turnin' her lights on pretty quick. And it's goin' to be a corkin' +evenin' for a river trip. You can tell that by----" + +But just here Marjorie gives me a jab with her elbow. + +"Ow, yes!" says I, rememberin' my lines. "Um-m-m-m-m! Fine feelin'. +Very darin' too, very! And when it comes to the tech stuff--why, it's +there in clusters. Much obliged--er--that is, I guess you can send +this one. Mr. Robert Ellins. That's right. Charge and send." + +Maybe he wasn't used to makin' such quick sales; for he stares at me +sort of puzzled, and when I turns to Marjorie she's all pinked up like +a strawberry sundae and is smotherin' a giggle with her mesh purse. I +don't know why, either. Strikes me I'd put it over kind of smooth; but +as there seems to be a slip somewhere it's me for the rapid back-away. + +"Thanks, that'll be all to-day," I goes on, "and--and I'll be waitin' +downstairs, Marjorie." + +She don't stop me; so I pushes through the mob at the tea table, +collects my coat and lid, and slips down to the first floor, where I +wanders into the drawin' room. No arty decorations here. Instead of +pictures and plaster casts, the walls are hung with all kinds of +mounted heads and horns, and the floor is covered with odd-lookin' skin +rugs,--tigers, lions, and such. + +I'd been waitin' there sometime, inspectin' the still life menagerie, +when all of a sudden in from the hall rolls one of these invalid +wheeled chairs with a funny little old bald-headed gent manipulatin' +levers. What hair he has left is real white, and most of his face is +covered with a thin growth of close-cropped white whiskers; but under +the frosty shrubb'ry, as well as over all the bare space, he's colored +up as bright as a bottle of maraschino cherries. It's the sort of +sunburn a sandy complexion gets on; but not in a month or a year. You +know? One of these blond Eskimo tints, that seems to go clear through +the skin. How he could get it in a wheel chair, though, I couldn't +figure out. Anyway, there wasn't time. Quick as he sees me he throws +in his reverse gear and comes to a stop between the portières. + +"Well, young man," he raps out sharp and snappy, "who the particular +blazes are you?" + +But, say, I've met too many peevish old parties to let a little jab +like that tie up my tongue. + +"Me?" says I, settin' back easy in the armchair. "Oh, I'm a buyer +representin' a private collector." + +"Buyer of what?" says he. + +"Art," says I. "Just picked up a small lot,--that one with the Albany +night boat in it, you know." + +He stares like he thought I was batty, and then rolls his chair over +closer. "Do I understand," says he, "that you have been buying a +picture--here?" + +"Sure," says I. "Say, ain't you on yet, and you right in the house? +Well, you ought to get next." + +"I mean to," says he. "Bladen's stuff, I suppose?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "And, believe me, Brooksy is some paint slinger; +that is, fine feelin', darin' technic, all that sort of dope." + +"I see," says he, noddin' his head. "Holding a sale, is he? On one of +the upper floors?" + +"Top," says I. "Quite a classy little studio joint he's made up there." + +"Oh, he has, has he?" says the old boy, snappin' his eyes. "Well, of +all the confounded--er--young man, ring that bell!" + +Say, how was I goin' to know? I was beginnin' to suspect that this +chatty streak of mine wa'n't goin' to turn out lucky for someone; but +it's gone too far to hedge. I pushes the button, and in comes the +butler. + +"Tupper," says the old man, glarin' at him shrewd, "you know where the +top-floor studio is, don't you?" + +"Ye-e-es, Sir," says Tapper, almost chokin' over it. + +"You'll find Mr. and Mrs. Bladen there," goes on old Grouchy. "Ask +them to step down here for a moment at once." + +Listened sort of mussy from where I sat, and I wa'n't findin' the +armchair quite so comf'table. "Guess I'll be loafin' along," says I, +casual. + +"You'll stay just where you are for the present!" says he, wheelin' +himself across the door-way. + +"Oh, well, if you insist," says I. + +He did. And for two minutes there I listens to the clock tick and +watches the old sport's white whiskers grow bristly. Then comes the +Bladens. He waves 'em to a parade rest opposite me. + +"What is it, Uncle Jeff?" says Mrs. Bladen, sort of anxious. And with +that I begins to piece out the puzzle. This was Uncle Jeff, eh, the +one with the bank account? + +"So," he explodes, like openin' a bottle of root beer, "you've gone +back to your paint daubing, have you? And you're actually trying to +sell your namby-pamby stuff on my top floor? Come now, Edith, let's +hear you squirm out of that!" + +Considerable fussed, Edith is. No wonder! After one glance at me she +flushes up and begins twistin' the yellow silk cord nervous; but +nothin' in the way of a not guilty plea seems to occur to her. As for +Hubby, he blinks them mild eyes of his a couple of times, and then +stands there placid with both hands in the pockets of his velvet coat, +showin' no deep emotion at all. + +"It's so, isn't it?" demands Uncle. + +"Ye-e-es, Uncle Jeff," admits Edith. "But poor Brooks could do nothing +else, you know. If he'd taken a studio outside, you would have wanted +to know where he was. And those rooms were not in use. Really, what +else could he do?" + +"Mean to tell me he couldn't get along without puttering around with +those fool paints and brushes?" snorts Uncle Jeff. + +"It--it's his life work, Uncle Jeff," says Mrs. Bladen. + +"Rubbish!" says the old boy. "In the first place, it isn't work. +Might be for a woman, maybe, but not for an able-bodied man. You know +my sentiments on that point well enough. In the second place, when I +asked you two to come and live with me, there was no longer any need +for him to do that sort of thing. And you understood that too." + +Edith sighs and nods her head. + +"But still he goes on with his sissy paint daubing!" says Uncle. + +"They're not daubs!" flashes back Edith. "Brooks has been doing some +perfectly splendid work. Everyone says so." + +"Humph!" says Uncle Jeff. "That's what your silly friends tell you. +But it doesn't matter. I won't have him doing it in my house. You +thought, just because I was crippled and couldn't get around or out of +these confounded four rooms, that you could fool me. But you can't, +you see. And now I'm going to give you and Brooks your choice,--either +he stops painting, or out you both go. Now which will it be?" + +"Why, Sir," says Brooks, speakin' up prompt but pleasant, "if that is +the way you feel about it, we shall go." + +"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, squintin' hard at him. "Do you mean it? Want +to leave all this for--for the one mean little room I found you in!" + +"Under your conditions, most certainly, Sir," says Brooks. "I think +Edith feels as I do. Don't you, Edith?" + +"Ye-e-es, of course," says Mrs. Bladen. Then, turnin' on Uncle Jeff, +"Only I think you are a mean, hard-hearted old man, even if you are my +uncle! Oh, you don't know how often I've wanted to tell you so +too,--always prying into this, asking questions about that, finding +fault, forever cross and snappish and suspicious. A waspish, crabbed +old wretch, that's what you are! I just hate you! So there!" + +Uncle Jeff winces a little at these last jabs; but he only turns to +Brooks and asks quiet, "And I suppose those are your sentiments too?" + +"Edith is a little overwrought," says Brooks. "It's true enough that +you're not quite an agreeable person to live with. Still, I hardly +feel that I have treated you just right in this matter. I shouldn't +have deceived you about the studio. When I found that I couldn't bear +to give up my work and live like a loafer on your money, I should have +told you so outright. I haven't liked it, Sir, all this dodging and +twisting of the truth. I'm glad it's over. Would you prefer to have +us go tonight or in the morning?" + +"Come now, that's not the point," says Uncle Jeff. "You hate me, too, +don't you?" + +"No," says Brooks, "and I'm sure Edith doesn't either." + +"Yes I do, Brooks," breaks in Edith. + +Brooks shrugs his shoulders sort of hopeless. + +"In that case," says he, "we shall leave at once--now. I will send +around for our traps later. You have been very generous, and I'm +afraid I've shown myself up for an ungrateful ass, if not worse. +Goodby, Sir." + +He stands there holdin' out his hand, with the old gent starin' hard at +him and not movin'. Fin'lly Uncle Jeff breaks the spell. + +"Well, I'll be hanged!" says he. "Bladen, I didn't think it was in +you. I took you for one of the milksop kind; which shows just how big +a fool an old fool can be. And Edith is right. I'm a crazy, +quarrelsome old wretch. It isn't all rheumatism, either. Some of it +is disposition. And don't you go away thinking I've been generous, +trying to tie you two young people down this way. It was rank +selfishness. But you don't know how hard it comes, being shut up like +this and able only to move around on wheels--after the life I've led +too! I suppose I ought to be satisfied. I've had my share--nearly +thirty years on the go, in jungle, forest, mountains, all over the +globe. I've hunted big game in every--but you know all about that. +And now I suppose I'm worn out, useless. I was trying to get used to +it, and having you young folks around has helped a lot. But it hasn't +been fair to you--not fair." + +He sort of chokes up at the end, and his lower lip trembles some; but +only for a second. He straightens up once more in his chair. "You +must try to make allowances, Edith," he goes on. "Don't--don't hate +the old wretch too hard!" + +That got to her, all right. She' wa'n't gush all the way through, any +more'n Uncle Jeff was all crust. Next thing he knew she was givin' him +the fond tackle and sobbin' against his vest. + +"There, there!" says he, pattin' her soothin'. "We all make our +mistakes, old and young; only us old fellows ought to know better." + +"But--but they aren't daubs!" sobs out Edith. "And--and you said they +were, without even seeing them." + +"Just like me," says he. "And I'm no judge, anyway. But perhaps I'd +better take a look at some of them. How would that be, eh? Couldn't +Tupper bring a couple of them down now?" + +"Oh, may he?" says Edith, brightenin' up and turnin' off the sprayer. +"I have wished that you could see them, you know." + +So Tupper is sent for a couple of paintings, and Brooks chases along to +bring down two more. They ranges 'em on chairs, and wheels Uncle Jeff +into a good position. He squints at 'em earnest and tries hard to work +up some enthusiasm. + +"Ferryboats, sugar refineries, and the North River," says he. "All +looks natural enough. I suppose they're well done too; but--but see +here, young man, couldn't you find anything better to paint?" + +"Where?" says Brooks. "You see, I was able to get out only +occasionally without----" + +"I see," says Uncle Jeff. "Tied to a cranky old man in a wheel chair. +But, by George! I could take you to places worth wasting your paint +on. Ever heard of Yangarook? There's a pink mountain there that rises +up out of a lake, and on still mornings--well, you ought to see it! I +pitched my camp there once for a fortnight. I could find it again. +You go in from Boola Bay, up the Zambesi, and through the jungle. Then +there's the Khula Klaht valley. That's in the Himalayas. Pictures? +Why, you could get 'em there!" + +"I've no doubt I could, Sir," says Brooks. "I've dreamed of doing +something like that some day, too. But what's the use?" + +"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, almost standin' up in his excitement. "Why not, +my boy? I could take you there, chair or no chair. Didn't I go in a +litter once, halfway across Africa, when a clumsy Zulu beater let a +dying rhino gore me in the hip? Yes, and bossed a caravan of sixty +men, and me flat on my back! I'm better able to move now than I was +then, too. And I'm ready to try it. Another year of this, and I'd be +under the ground. I'm sick of being cooped up. I'm hungry for a +breath of mountain air, for a glimpse of the old trails. No use taking +my guns; but you could lug along your painting kit, and Edith could +take care of both of us. We could start within a week. What do you +say, you two?" + +Brooks he looks over at Edith. "Oh, Uncle Jeff!" says she, her eyes +sparklin'. "I should just love it!" + +"I could ask for nothing better," says Brooks. + +"Then it's settled," says Uncle Jeff, reachin' out a hand to each of +'em. "Hurrah for the long trail! We're off!" + +"Me too," says I, "if that's all." + +"Ah!" says Uncle Jeff. "Our young friend who's at the bottom of the +whole of this. Here, Sir! I'm going to teach you a lesson that will +make you cautious about gossiping with strange old men. Pick up that +leopard skin at your feet." + +"Yes, Sir," says I, holdin' it out to him. + +"No, examine it carefully," says he. "That came from a beast I shot on +the shores of Lake Tanganyika. It's the finest specimen of the kind in +my whole collection. Throw it over your arm, you young scamp, and get +along with you!" + +And they're all grinnin' amiable as I backs out with my mouth open. + +"What the deuce!" says Mr. Robert after lunch next day, as he gazes +first at a big package a special messenger has just left, and then at a +note which comes with it. "'The Palisades at Dusk'--five hundred +dollars?" + +"Gee!" I gasps. "Did he sting you that hard?" + +"But it's receipted," says he, "with the compliments of Brooks Bladen. +What does that mean?" + +"Means I'm some buyer, I guess," says I. "Souvenir of a little fam'ly +reunion I started, that's all. But you ain't the only one. Wait till +you see what I drew from Uncle Jeff." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL + +He meant well, Mr. Robert did; but, say, between you and me, he come +blamed near spillin' the beans. Course, I could see by the squint to +his eyelids that he's about to make what passes with him for a comic +openin'. + +"I hate to do it, Torchy," says he, "especially on such a fine +afternoon as this." + +"Go on," says I, "throw the harpoon! Got your yachtin' cap on, ain't +you? Well, have I got to sub for you at a directors' meeting or what?" + +"Worse than that," says he. "You see, Marjorie and Ferdy are having a +veranda tea this afternoon, up at their country house." + +"Help!" says I. "But you ain't billin' me for any such----" + +"Oh, not exactly that," says he. "They can get along very well without +me, and I shall merely 'phone out that Tubby Van Orden has asked me to +help try out his new forty-footer. But there remains little Gladys. +I'd promised to bring her out with me when I came." + +"Ye-e-e-es?" says I doubtful. "She's a little joker, eh?" + +"Why, not at all," says he. "Merely a young school friend of +Marjorie's. Used to be in the kindergarten class when Marjorie was a +senior, and took a great fancy to her, as little girls sometimes do to +older ones, you know." + +Also it seems little Gladys had been spendin' a night or so with +another young friend in town, and someone had to round her up and +deliver her at the tea, where her folks would be waitin' for her. + +"So I'm to take her by the hand and tow her up by train, am I?" says I. + +"I had planned," says Mr. Robert, shakin' his head solemn, "to have you +go up in the machine with her, as Marjorie wants to send someone back +in it--Miss Vee, by the way. Sure it wouldn't bore you?" + +"Z-z-z-ing!" says I. "Say, if it does you'll never hear about it, +believe me!" + +Mr. Robert chuckles. "Then take good care of little Gladys," says he. + +"Won't I, though!" says I. "I'll tell her fairy tales and feed her +stick candy all the way up." + +Honest, I did blow in a quarter on fancy pink gumdrops as I'm passin' +through the arcade; but when I strolls out to the limousine Martin +touches his hat so respectful that I gives him a dip into the first bag. + +"Got your sailin' orders, ain't you, Martin?" says I. "You know we +collect a kid first." + +"Oh, yes, Sir," says he. "Madison avenue. I have the number, Sir." +Just like that you know. "I have the number, Sir"--and more business +with the cap brim. Awful bore, ain't it, specially right there on +Broadway with so many folks to hear? + +"Very well," says I, languid. Then it's me lollin' back on the +limousine cushions and starin' haughty at the poor dubs we graze by as +they try to cross the street. Gee, but it's some different when you're +inside gazin' out, than when you're outside gawpin' in! And even if +you don't have the habit reg'lar, but are only there just for the time +bein', you're bound to get that chesty feelin' more or less. I always +do. About the third block I can look slant-eyed at the cheap skates +ridin' in hired taxis and curl the lip of scorn. + +I've noticed, though, that when I work up feelin's like that there's +bound to be a bump comin' to me soon. But I wasn't lookin' for this +one until it landed. Martin pulls up at the curb, and I hops out, +rushes up the steps, and rings the bell. + +"Little Miss Gladys ready?" says I to the maid. + +She sort of humps her eyebrows and remarks that she'll see. With that +she waves me into the reception hall, and pretty soon comes back to +report that Miss Gladys will be down in a few minutes. She had the +real skirt notion of time, that maid. For more'n a solid half-hour I +squirms around on a chair wonderin' what could be happenin' up in the +nursery. Then all of a sudden a chatter of goodbys comes from the +upper hall, a maid trots down and hands me a suitcase, and then appears +this languishin' vision in the zippy French lid and the draped silk +wrap. + +It's one of these dinky brimless affairs, with skyrocket trimmin' on +the back, and it fits down over her face like a mush bowl over Baby +Brother; but under the rim you could detect some chemical blonde hair +and a pair of pink ears ornamented with pearl pendants the size of +fruit knife handles. She has a complexion to match, one of the kind +that's laid on in layers, with the drugstore red only showing through +the whitewash in spots, and the lips touched up brilliant. Believe me, +it was some artistic makeup! + +[Illustration: Believe me, it was some artistic makeup!] + +Course, I frames this up for the friend; so I asks innocent, "Excuse +me, but when is little Miss Gladys comin'?" + +"Why, I'm Gladys!" comes from between the carmine streaks. + +I gawps at her, then at the maid, and then back at the Ziegfeld vision +again. "But, see here!" I goes on. "Mr. Robert he says how----" + +"Yes, I know," she breaks in. "He 'phoned. The stupid old thing +couldn't come himself, and he's sent one of his young men. That's much +nicer. Torchy, didn't he say? How odd! But come along. Don't stand +there staring. Good-by, Marie. You must do my hair this way again +sometime." + +And next thing I know I'm helpin' her into the car, while Martin tries +to smother a grin. "There you are!" says I, chuckin' her suitcase in +after her. "I--I guess I'll ride in front." + +"What!" says she. "And leave me to take that long ride all alone? +I'll not do it. Come in here at once, or I'll not go a step! Come!" + +No shrinking violet about Gladys, and as I climbs in I shakes loose the +last of that kindergarten dope I'd been primed with. I'll admit I was +some fussed for awhile too, and I expect I does the dummy act, sittin' +there gazin' into the limousine mirror where she's reflected vivid. I +was tryin' to size her up and decide whether she really was one of the +chicken ballet, or only a high school imitation. I'm so busy at it +that I overlooks the fact that she has the same chance of watchin' me. + +"Well?" says she, as we swings into Central Park. "I trust you +approve?" + +"Eh?" says I, comin' out of the trance. "Oh, I get you now. You're +waitin' for the applause. Let's see, are you on at the Winter Garden, +or is it the Casino roof?" + +"Now don't be rude," says she. "Whatever made you think I'd been on +the stage?" + +"I was only judgin' by the get-up," says I. "It's fancy, all right." + +"Pooh!" says she. "I've merely had my hair done the new way. I think +it's perfectly dear too. There's just one little touch, though, that +Marie didn't quite get. I wonder if I couldn't--you'll not care if I +try, will you?" + +"Oh, don't mind me," says I. + +She didn't. She'd already yanked out three or four hatpins and has +pried off the zippy lid. + +"There, hold that, will you?" says she, crowdin' over into the middle +of the seat so's to get a good view in the mirror, and beginnin' to +revise the scenic effect on her head. Near as I can make out, the hair +don't come near enough to meetin' her eyebrows in front or to coverin' +her ears on the side. + +Meanwhile she goes on chatty, "I suppose Mother'll be wild again when +she sees me like this. She always does make such a row if I do +anything different. There was an awful scene the first time I had my +hair touched up. Fancy!" + +"I was wonderin' if that was the natural tint?" says I. + +"Goodness, no!" says Gladys. "It was a horrid brown. And when I used +to go to the seminary they made me wear it braided down my back, with a +bow on top. I was a sight! The seminary was a stupid place, though. +I was always breaking some of their silly rules; so Mummah sent me to +the convent. That was better. Such a jolly lot of girls there, some +whose mothers were great actresses. And just think--two of my best +chums have gone on the stage since! One of them was married and +divorced the very first season too. Now wasn't that thrilling? Mother +is furious because she still writes to me. How absurd! And some of +the others she won't allow me to invite to the house. But we meet now +and then, just the same. There were two in our box party last night, +and we had such a ripping lark afterward!" + +Gladys was runnin' on as confidential as if she'd known me all her +life, interruptin' the flow only when she makes a jab with the +powder-puff and uses the eyebrow pencil. And bein' as how I'd been +cast for a thinkin' part I sneaks out the bag of gumdrops and tucks one +into the off side of my face. The move don't escape her, though. + +"Candy?" says she, sniffin'. + +"Sorry I can't offer you a cigarette," says I, holdin' out the bag. + +"Humph!" says she. "I have smoked them, though. M-m-m-m! Gumdrops! +You dear boy!" + +Yes, Gladys and me had a real chummy time of it durin' that hour's +drive, and I notice she put away her share of the candy just as +enthusiastic as if she'd been a kid in short dresses. As a matter of +fact, she acts and talks like any gushy sixteen-year-old. That's about +what she is, I discovers; though I wouldn't have guessed it if she +hadn't let it out herself. + +But, say, she's some wise for her years, little Gladys is, or else +she's a good bluffer! She had me holdin' my breath more'n once, as she +opens up various lines of chatter. She'd seen all the ripe problem +plays, was posted on the doin's of the Reno colony, and read the Robert +Chambers stuff as fast as it came out. + +And all the time she talks she's goin' through target practice with her +eyes, usin' me as the mark. A lively pair of lamps Gladys has too, the +big, innocent, baby-blue kind that sort of opens up wide and kind of +invites you to gaze into the depths until you get dizzy. Them and the +little, openin' rosebud mouth makes a strong combination, and if it +hadn't been for the mural decorations I might have fallen hard for +Gladys; but ever since I leaned up against a shiny letterbox once I've +been shy of fresh paint. So I proceeds to hand out the defensive josh. + +"Roll 'em away, Sis," says I, "roll 'em the other way!" + +"Pooh!" says she. "Can't a person even look at you?" + +"You're only wastin' ammunition," says I. "You can't put any spell on +me, you know." + +"Oh, really!" says she, rakin' me with a quick broadside. "Do you mean +that you don't like me at all?" + +"Since you've called for it," says I, "I'll admit I ain't strong for +these spotlight color schemes, specially on kids." + +"Kids!" she sputters. "I think you're perfectly horrid, so there!" + +"Stick to it," says I. "Makes me feel better satisfied with myself." + +"Redhead!" says she, runnin' her tongue out. + +"Yes, clear to the roots," says I, "and the tint didn't come out of a +bottle, either." + +"I don't care," says she. "All the girls do it." + +"Your bunch, maybe," says I; "but there's a few that don't." + +"Old sticks, yes," says she. "I'm glad you like that kind. You're as +bad as Mummah." + +"Is that the worst you can say of me?" says I. "How that would please +Mother!" + +Oh, sure, quite a homelike little spat we had, passin' the left handers +back and forth--and inside of five minutes she has made it all up again +and is holdin' out her hand for the last gumdrop. + +"You're silly; but you're rather nice, after all," says she, poutin' +her lips at me. + +"Now quit that," says I. "I got my fingers crossed." + +"'Fraid cat!" says she. "But here's the house, and we're frightfully +early. Now don't act as though you thought I might bite you. I'm +going to take your arm." + +She does too, and cuddles up kittenish as we lands at the porte +cochère. I gets the idea of this move. She's caught a glimpse of a +little group over by the front door, and she wants to make a showy +entrance. + +And who do you guess it is we finds arrangin' the flower vases? Oh, +only Marjorie and Miss Vee. Here I am too, with giddy Gladys, the +imitation front row girl, clingin' tight to my right wing. You should +have seen Vee's eyebrows go up, also Marjorie's stare. It's a minute +or so before she recognizes our little friend, and stands there lookin' +puzzled at us. Talk about your embarrassin' stage waits! I could feel +my face pinkin' up and my ears tinglin'. + +"Ah, say," I breaks out, "don't tell me I've gone and collected the +wrong one!" + +At that there comes a giggle from under the zippy lid. + +"Why, it's Gladys!" says Marjorie. "Well, I never!" + +"Of course, you dear old goose!" says Gladys, and rushes to a clinch. + +"But--but, Gladys!" says Marjorie, holdin' her off for another +inspection. "How you have--er--grown up! Why, your mother never told +me a word!" + +"Oh, Mummah!" says she, indicatin' deep scorn. "Besides, she hasn't +seen me for nearly two days, and--well, I suppose she will fuss, as +usual, about the way I'm dressed. But I've had a perfectly glorious +visit, and coming up in the car with dear Torchy was such sport. +Wasn't it, now?" With which she turns to me. + +"Was it?" says I, and I notices both Vee and Marjorie gazin' at me +int'rested. + +"Of course," says Gladys, prattlin' on, "we quarreled all the way up; +but it was all his fault, and he--oh, phsaw! Here come my dear +parents." + +Takin' Gladys as a sample, you'd never guessed it; for Mother is a +quiet, modest appearin' little party, with her wavy brown hair parted +in the middle and brushed back low. She's wearin' her own complexion +too, and, while she's dressed more or less neat and stylish, she don't +sport ear danglers, or anything like that. With Father in the +background she comes sailin' up smilin', and it ain't until she gets a +peek under the mush-bowl lid that her expression changes. + +"Why, Gladys!" she gasps. + +"Now, Mummah!" protests Gladys peevish. "For goodness sake don't +begin--anyway, not here!" + +"But--but, my dear!" goes on Mother, starin' at her shocked. +"That--that hat! And your hair! And--and your face!" + +"Oh, bother!" says Gladys, stampin' her high-heeled pump. "You'd like +to have me dress like Cousin Tilly, I suppose?" + +"But you know I asked you not to--to have that done to your hair +again," says Mother. + +"And I said I would, so there!" says Gladys emphatic. + +Mother sighs and turns to Father, who is makin' his inspection with a +weary look on his face. He's just an average, stout-built, +good-natured lookin' duck, Father is, a little bald in front, and just +now he's rubbin' the bald spot sort of aimless. + +"You see, Arthur," says Mother. "Can't you do something?" + +First Father scowls, and then he flushes up. "Why--er--ah--oh, blast +it all, Sallie, don't put it up to me!" says he. Then he pulls out a +long black cigar, bites the end off savage, and beats it around the +corner. + +That was a brilliant move of his; for Mother turns out to be one of the +weepy kind, and in a minute more she's slumped into a chair and is +sobbin' away. She's sure she don't know why Gladys should do such +things. Hadn't she forbid her to use so much rouge and powder? Hadn't +she asked her not to wear those hideous ear jewels? And so on and so +on, with Gladys standin' back poutin' defiant. But, say, when they get +too big to spank, what else can Father and Mother do? + +Fin'lly Vee seems to have an idea. She whispers it into Marjorie's +ear, slips into the house, and comes back with a hand mirror and a damp +washcloth, which she proceeds to offer to Gladys, suggestin' that she +use it. + +"Indeed I sha'n't!" says Gladys, her big eyes flashin' scrappy. "I +shall stay just as I am, and if Mother wants to be foolish she can get +over it, that's all!" And Gladys switches over to a porch chair and +slams herself into it. + +Vee looks at her a minute, and then bites her upper lip like she was +keepin' back some remarks. Next she whispers again to Marjorie, who +passes it on to Mother, and then the three of 'em disappears in the +house, leavin' Gladys poutin' on one side of the front door, and me in +a porch swing on the other waitin' for the next act. + +Must have been ten minutes or more before the two plotters appears +again, chattin' away merry with Mother, who's between 'em. And, say, +you should have seen Mother! Talk about your startlin' changes! +They'd been busy with the make-up box, them two had, and now Mother's +got on just as much war paint as Daughter--maybe a little more. Also +they've dug up a blond transformation somewhere, which covers up all +the brown hair, and they've fitted her out with long jet earrings, and +touched up her eyebrows--and, believe me, with all that yellow hair +down over her eyes, and the rouged lips, she looks just like she'd +strayed in from the White Light district! + +You wouldn't think just a little store hair and face calcimine could +make such a change in anybody. Honest, when I tumbles to the fact that +this sporty lookin' female is only Mother fixed up I almost falls out +of the swing! That's nothin' to the jolt that gets to Gladys. + +"Mother!" she gasps. "Wha--what have you been doing?" + +"Why, I've been getting ready for the tea, Gladys," says she. + +"But--but, Mother," says Gladys, "you're never going to let people see +you like that, are you?" + +"Why not, my dear?" says Mother. + +"But your face--ugh!" says Gladys. + +"Oh, bother!" says Mother. "I suppose you'd like to have me look like +Aunt Martha?" + +Gladys stares at her for awhile with her eyes wide and set, like she +was watchin' somethin' horrible that she couldn't turn away from, and +then she goes to pieces in a weepin' fit of her own. Nobody +interferes, and right in the midst of it she breaks off, marches over +to a wicker porch table where the mirror and washcloth had been left, +props the glass up against a vase, and goes to work. First off she +sheds the pearl earrings. + +At that Mother sits down opposite and follows suit with her jet +danglers. + +Next Gladys mops off the scenic effect. + +Marjorie produces another washcloth, and Mother makes a clean sweep too. + +Gladys snatches out a handful of gold hairpins, destroys the turban +twist that Marie had spent so much time buildin' up, and knots 'er hair +simple in the back. + +Mother caps this by liftin' off the blond transformation. + +And as I left for a stroll around the grounds they'd both got back to +lookin' more or less nice and natural. They had gone to a close clinch +and was sobbin' affectionate on each other's shoulders. + +Later the tea got under way and went on as such things generally do, +with folks comin' and goin', and a buzz of chin music that you could +hear clear out to the gate, where I was waitin' with Martin until we +should get the signal to start back. + +I didn't know just how it would be, but I suspected I might be invited +to ride in front on the home trip. I'd made up my mind to start there, +anyway. But, say, when the time comes and Vee trips out to the +limousine, where I'm holdin' the door open and lookin' sheepish, I +takes a chance on a glance into them gray eyes of hers. I got a chill +too. It's only for a second, though. She was doing her best to look +cold and distant; but behind that I could spot a smile. So I changes +the programme. + +"Say," says I, followin' her in and shuttin' the door, "wa'n't that kid +Gladys the limit, though?" + +"Why," says she, givin' me the quizzin' stare, "I thought you had just +loads of fun coming up." + +"Hearing which cruel words," says I, "our hero strode moodily into his +castle." + +Vee snickers at that. "And locked the haughty maiden out in the cold, +I suppose?" says she. + +"If it was you," says I, "I'd take the gate off the hinges." + +"Silly!" says she. "Do you know, Gladys looked real sweet afterward." + +"I'll bet the reform don't last, though," says I. "But that was a +great scheme of yours for persuadin' her to scrub off the stencil work. +There's so many of that kind nowadays, maybe the idea would be worth +copyrightin'. What do you think, Vee?" + +Never mind the rest, though. We had a perfectly good ride back, and up +to date Aunty ain't wise to it. + +Of course by next mornin' too Mr. Robert has forgot all about the +afternoon before, and he seems surprised when I puts in an expense bill +of twenty-five cents. + +"What's this for?" says he. + +"Gumdrops for little Gladys," says I, and as he forks over a quarter I +never cracks a smile. + +Wait until he hears the returns from Marjorie, though! I'll give him +some string to pay up for that kindergarten steer of his. Watch me! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER + +"Well?" says I, keepin' my feet up on the desk and glancin' casual over +the brass rail. "What's your complaint, Spaghetti?" + +It's a wrong guess, to begin with; but I wa'n't even takin' the trouble +to place him accurate. He's some kind of a foreigner, and that's +enough. Besides, from the fidgety way he's grippin' his hat in both +hands, and the hesitating sidlin' style he has of makin' his approach, +I figured he must be a stray that had got the wrong number. + +"If--if you please, Sir," says he, bowin' elaborate and humble, "Mr. +Robert Ellins." + +"Gwan!" says I. "You read that on the floor directory. You don't know +Mr. Robert." + +"But--but if you please, Sir," he goes on, "I wish to speak with him." + +"You do, eh?" says I. "Now, ain't that cute of you? Think you can +pick out any name on the board and drift in for a chat, do you? Come +now, what you peddlin'--dollar safety-razors, bullpups, or what?" + +He ain't a real live wire, this heavy-faced, wide-shouldered, +squatty-built party with the bumper crop of curly black hair. He +blinks his big, full eyes kind of solemn, starin' at me puzzled, and +about as intelligent as a cow gazin' over a fence. An odd lookin' gink +he was, sort of a cross between a dressed up bartender on his day off +and a longshoreman havin' his picture taken. + +"Excuse," says he, rousin' a little, "but--but it is not to peddle. I +would wish to speak with Mr. Robert Ellins." + +"Well, then, you can't," says I, wavin' towards the door; "so beat it!" + +This don't make any more impression than as if I'd tried to push him +over with one finger. "I would wish," he begins again, "to speak +with----" + +"Say, that's all on the record," says I, "and the motion's been denied." + +"But I----" he starts in once more, "I have----" + +Just then Piddie comes turkeyin' over pompous and demands to know what +all the debate is about. + +"Look what wants to see Mr. Robert!" says I. + +"Impossible!" says Piddie, takin' one look. "Send him away at once!" + +"Hear that?" says I to Curlylocks. "Not a chance! Fade, Spaghetti, +fade!" + +The full force of that decision seems to penetrate his nut; for he +gulps hard once or twice, the muscles on his thick throat swells up +rigid, and next a big round tear leaks out of his off eye and trickles +down over his cheek. Maybe it don't look some absurd too, seein' signs +of such deep emotion on a face like that. + +"Now, none of that, my man!" puts in Piddie, who's as chicken hearted +as he is peevish. "Torchy, you--you attend to him." + +"What'll I do," says I, "call in a plumber to stop the leak?" + +"Find out who he is and what he wants," says he, "and then pack him +off. I am very busy." + +"Well," says I, turnin' to the thick guy, "what's the name?" + +"Me?" says he. "I--I am Zandra Popokoulis." + +"Help!" says I. "Popo--here, write it on the pad." But even when he's +done that I can't do more than make a wild stab at sayin' it. "Oh yes, +thanks," I goes on. "Popover for short, eh? Think Mr. Robert would +recognise you by that?" + +"Excuse, Sir," says he, "but at the club he would speak to me as Mike." + +"Oh, at the club, eh?" says I. "Say, I'm beginnin' to get a glimmer. +Been workin' at one of Mr. Robert's clubs, have you?" + +"I am his waiter for long time, Sir," says Popover. + +Course, the rest was simple. He'd quit two or three months ago to take +a trip back home, havin' been promised by the head steward that he +could have his place again any time inside of a year. But imagine the +base perfidy! A second cousin of the meat chef has drifted in +meanwhile, been set to work at Popover's old tables, and the result is +that when Mike reports to claim his job he gets the cold, heartless +chuck. + +"Why not rustle another, then?" says I. + +You'd thought, though, to see the gloomy way he shakes his head, that +this was the last chance he had left. I gather too that club jobs are +fairly well paid, steadier than most kinds of work, and harder to pick +up. + +"Also," he adds, sort of shy, "there is Armina." + +"Oh, always!" says I. "Bunch of millinery in the offing. It never +fails. You're her steady, eh?" + +Popover smiles grateful and pours out details. Armina was a fine girl, +likewise rich--oh, yes. Her father had a flower jobbin' business on +West 28th-st.--very grand. For Armina he had ideas. Any would-be +son-in-law must be in business too. Yet there was a way. He would +take in a partner with two hundred and fifty dollars cash. And Mr. +Popokoulis had saved up nearly that much when he'd got this fool notion +of goin' back home into his head. Now here he was flat broke and +carryin' the banner. It was not only a case of goin' hungry, but of +losin' out on the fair Armina. Hence the eye moisture. + +"Yes, yes," says I. "But the weeps won't help any. And, even if Mr. +Robert would listen to all this sad tale, it's ten to one he wouldn't +butt in at the club. I might get a chance to put it up to him, though. +Suppose you drop in to-morrow sometime, and I'll let you know." + +"But I would wish," says Popover, "to speak with----" + +"Ah, ditch it!" I breaks in weary. "Say, you must have been takin' +militant lessons from Maud Malone. Look here! If you're bound to +stick around and take a long chance, camp there on the bench. Mr. +Robert's busy inside, now; but if he should get through before +lunch--well, we'll see. But don't go bankin' on anything." + +And it was a lovely sample of arrested mental anguish that I has before +me for the next hour or so,--this Popokoulis gent, with his great, +doughy face frozen into a blank stare, about as expressive as a +half-baked squash pie, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, and only +now and then a spasm in his throat showin' that he was still thinkin' +an occasional thought. + +Course, Piddie discovers him after a while and demands pettish, "That +person still here! Who is he?" + +"Club waiter with a mislaid job," says I. + +"What!" says Piddie. "A waiter? Just a common waiter?" + +I couldn't begin to put in all the deep disgust that Piddie expresses; +for, along with his fondness for gettin' next to swell people, he seems +to have a horror of mixin' at all with the common herd. "Waiters!" he +sniffs. "The scum of mankind. If they had a spark of courage, or a +gleam of self respect, or a teaspoonful of brains, they wouldn't be +waiters. Bah!" + +"Also I expect," says I, "if they was all noble specimens of manhood +like us, Sherry's and Rector's would have to be turned into automatic +food dispensaries, eh?" + +"No fear!" says Piddie. "The lower classes will always produce enough +spineless beings to wear aprons and carry trays. Look at that one +there! I suppose he never has a thought or an ambition above----" + +Bz-z-z-zt! goes the buzzer over my desk, and I'm off on the jump for +Mr. Robert's room. I wa'n't missin' any of his calls that mornin'; for +a partic'lar friend of mine was in there--Skid Mallory. Remember Skid, +the young college hick that I helped find his footin' when he first hit +the Corrugated? You know he married a Senator's daughter, and got +boosted into an assistant general manager's berth. And Skid's been +making good ever since. He'd just come back from a little trip abroad, +sort of a delayed weddin' tour, and you can't guess what he'd pulled +off. + +I'd only heard it sketched out so far, but it seems while him and young +Mrs. Mallory was over there in Athens, or some such outlandish place, +this late muss with the Turks was just breakin' loose. Skid he leaves +Wifey at the hotel one mornin' while he goes out for a little stroll; +drifts down their Newspaper Row, where the red ink war extras are so +thick the street looks like a raspberry patch; follows the drum music +up as far as City Hall, where the recruits are bein' reviewed by the +King; listens to the Greek substitute for "Buh-ruh-ruh! Soak 'em!" and +the next thing he knows he's wavin' his lid and yellin' with the best +of 'em. + +It must have stirred up some of that old football fightin' blood of +his; for he'd organized a regular cheerin' section, right there +opposite to the royal stand, and was whoopin' things up like it was +fourth down and two to go on the five-yard line, when all of a sudden +over pikes a Colonel or something from the King's staff and begins +poundin' Skid on the back gleeful. + +It's a young Greek that used to be in his engineerin' class, back in +the dear old college days. He says Skid's just the man he wants to +come help him patch up the railroad that the Turks have been puttin' on +the blink as they dropped back towards headquarters. Would he? Why, +him bein' railroad construction expert of the Corrugated, this was +right in his line! Sure he would! + +And when Mrs. Mallory sees him again at lunchtime he's all costumed as +a Major in the Greek army, and is about to start for the scene of +atrocities. That's Skid, all over. He wasn't breathin' out any idle +gusts, either. He not only rebuilds their bloomin' old line better'n +new, so they can rush soldiers and supplies to the front; but after the +muss is all over he springs his order book on the gover'ment and lands +such a whackin' big contract for steel rails and girders that Old +Hickory decides to work day and night shifts in two more rollin' mills. + +Course, since it was Mr. Robert who helped me root for Skid in the +first place, he's tickled to death, and he tells me confidential how +they're goin' to get the directors together at a big banquet that +evenin' and have a reg'lar lovefeast, with Skid at the head of the +table. + +Just now I finds Mr. Robert pumpin' him for some of the details of his +experience over there, and after I lugs in an atlas they sent me out +for, so Skid can point out something on the map, I just naturally hangs +around with my ear stretched. + +"Ah, that's the place," says Skid, puttin' his finger on a dot, +"Mustapha! Well, it was about six miles east from there that we had +our worst job. Talk about messes! Those Turks may not know how to +build a decent railroad, but believe me they're stars at wrecking a +line thoroughly! At Mustapha they'd ripped up the rails, burned the +ties, and blown great holes in the roadbed with dynamite. But I soon +had a dozen grading gangs at work on that stretch, and new bridges +started, and then I pushed on alone to see what was next. + +"That was when I got nearest to the big noise. Off across the hills +the Turks were pounding away with their heavy guns, and I was anxious +for a look. I kept going and going; but couldn't find any of our +people. Night was shutting in too, and the first thing I knew I wasn't +anywhere in particular, with nothing in sight but an old sheep pen. I +tried bunking there; but it wasn't restful, and before daylight I went +wandering on again. I wanted to locate our advance and get a cup of +coffee. + +"I must have gone a couple of miles farther, and it was getting light, +when a most infernal racket broke loose not one hundred yards ahead. +Really, you know, I thought I'd blundered into the midst of a battle. +Then in a minute the noise let up, and the smoke blew away, and there, +squatting behind a machine gun up on the side of a hill, was one lone +Greek soldier. Not another soul in sight, mind you; just this absurd, +dirty, smoke-stained person, calmly feeding another belt of cartridges +into his gun! + +"'Hello!' says I. 'What the deuce are you doing here?'--'Holding the +hill, Sir,' says he, in good United States. 'Not all alone?' says I. +He shrugs his shoulders at that. 'The others were killed or hurt,' +says he. 'The Red Cross people took them all away last +night,--Lieutenant, Sergeant, everyone. But our battery must keep the +hill.' 'Where's the rest of the advance, though?' says I. 'I don't +know,' says he. 'And you mean to say,' says I, 'you've been here all +night with the Turkish artillery hammering away at you?' 'They are bad +shots, those Turks, very bad,' says he. 'Also they send infantry to +drive me away, many times. See! There come some more. Down there! +Ah-r-r-r! You will, will you?' And with that he turns loose his big +pepperbox on a squad that had just started to dash out of a ravine and +rush him. They were coming our way on the jump. Scared? Say, if +there'd been anything to have crawled into, I'd have been in it! As +there wasn't, I just flattened myself on the ground and waited until it +was all over. + +"Oh, he crumpled 'em up, all right! He hadn't ground out one belt of +cartridges before he had 'em on the run. But I want to tell you I +didn't linger around to see how the next affair would turn out. I +legged it back where I'd come from, and by nine o'clock I was behind +our own lines, trying to find out what sort of campaign this was that +left one machine gun to stave off the whole Turkish army. Of course no +one knew anything very definite. The best guess was that our advance +had been swung off for a flank movement, and that this particular +one-man battery had been overlooked. I don't even know whether he was +picked up again, or whether the Turks finally got him; but let me tell +you, talk as much about your gallant Bulgarians as you like, some of +those little Greeks were good fighters too. Anyway, I'll take off my +hat any day to that one on the hill." + +"Gee!" I breaks out. "Some scrapper, what?" + +At which Mr. Robert swings around and gives me a look. "Ah!" says he. +"I hadn't realized, Torchy, that we still had the pleasure of your +company." + +"Don't mention it," says I. "I was just goin' to--er--by the way, Mr. +Robert, there's a poor scrub waitin' outside for a word with you, an +old club waiter. Says you knew him as Mike." + +"Mike?" says he, looking blank. + +"His real name sounds like Popover," says I. "It's a case of +retrievin' a lost job." + +"Oh, very well," says Mr. Robert. "Perhaps I'll see him later. Not +now. And close the door after you, please." + +So I'm shunted back to the front office, so excited over that war story +that I has to hunt up Piddie and pass it on to him. It gets him too. +Anything in the hero line always does, and this noble young Greek doin' +the come-one-come-all act was a picture that even a two-by-four +imagination like Piddie's couldn't fail to grasp. + +"By Jove, though!" says he. "The spirit of old Thermopylae all over +again! I wish I could have seen that!" + +"As close as Skid did?" says I. "Ah, you'd have turned so green they'd +taken you for a pickled string bean." + +"Oh, I don't pretend to be a daredevil," admits Piddie, with a sudden +rush of modesty. "Still, it is a pity Mr. Mallory did not stay long +enough to find out the name of this unknown hero, and give it to the +world." + +"The moral of which is," says I, "that all heroes ought to carry their +own press agents with 'em." + +We'd threshed it all out, Piddie and me, and I'd gone back to my desk +some reluctant, for this jobless waiter was still sheddin' his gloom +around the reception room, and I was just thinkin' how it would be to +put a screen in front of him, when Mr. Robert and Skid comes out arm in +arm, swappin' josh about that banquet that was to be pulled off. + +"Of course you'll come." Mr. Robert is insistin'. "Only a few +directors, you know. No, no set speeches, or anything like that. But +they'll want to hear how you came to get that big order, and about some +of the interesting things you saw over there, just as you've told me." + +I had hopped up and was holdin' the gate wide open, givin' Skid all the +honors, and Mr. Robert was escortin' him out to the elevator, when I +notices that this Popover party has got his eye on the boss and is +standin' right where he's blockin' the way. + +"Hey, Poppy!" says I in a stage whisper. "Back out! Reverse yourself! +Take a sneak!" But of all the muleheads! There he stands, grippin' +his hat, and thinkin' only of that lost job. + +"All right," Skid is saying; "but remember now, no floral tributes, or +gushy introductions, or sitting in the spotlight for me at +this--er--er---- Well, as I'm a living mortal!" He gets this last out +after a gasp or two, and then stops stock still, starin' straight in +front of him. + +"What is it?" says Mr. Robert. "What's up?" And we sees that Skid +Mallory has his eyes glued to this waiter shrimp. + +"In the name of all that's good," says he, "where did you come from?" + +You can't jar Popover, though, by any little thing like that. When he +gets an idea in his dome it's a fixture there. "I would wish to +speak," says he, "with Mr. Ellins." + +"Yes, yes, another time," says Mr. Robert hasty. + +"But see here!" says Skid, still gazin' steady. "Don't you remember +me? Take a good look now." + +Popover gives him a glance and shakes his head. "Maybe I serve you at +the club, Sir," says he. + +"Club be blowed!" says Skid. "The last time I saw you you were serving +a machine gun, six miles east of Mustapha. Isn't that so?" + +"Oh, Mustapha!" says Popover, his eyes lightin' up a little. "On the +hill just beyond where the bridge was blown up? You came at the +night's end. Oh, yes!" + +"I knew it!" exclaims Skid. "I'd have bet a thousand--same curly hair, +same shoulders, same eyes. Ellins, here's that lone hero I was telling +you about. Here!" + +"But--hut that's only Mike," says Mr. Robert, gazin' from one to the +other. "Used to be a waiter at the club, you know." + +"I don't care what he used to be," says Skid, "or what he is now, I +want to shake hands with him." + +Popover he pinks up and acts foolish about swappin' grips; but Skid +insists. + +"So you beat 'em out in the end, did you?" Skid goes on. "Just +naturally put it all over that whole bunch of Turks, didn't you? But +how did it happen?" + +"I don't know," says Popover, fingerin' his hat nervous. "I am very +busy all the time, and--and I have nothing to eat all night. You see, +all other Greek soldiers was hurt; and me, I must stay to keep the +Turks from the hill. Very busy time, Sir. And I am not much for +fight, anyway." + +"Great Scott!" says Skid. "He says he's not much for--but see here, +how did it end?" + +Popover gives a shoulder shrug. "Once more they run at me after you +go," says he, "and then come our brave Greek General with big army and +chase Turks away. And the Captain say why am I such big fool as to +stay behind. That is all I know. Three weeks ago I am discharged from +being soldier. Now I come back here, and I have no more my good job. +I am much sorry." + +"Think of that!" breaks out Skid. "Talk about the ingratitude of +Republics! Why, England would have given him the Victoria Cross for +that! But can't something or other be done about this job of his?" + +"Why, certainly," says Mr. Robert. "Here, let's go back into my +office." + +"Hey, Popover," says I, steerin' him respectful through the gate. +"Don't forget to tell them about Armina too." + +And as the three of 'em streams in, with the waiter in the middle, I +turns to find Piddie gazin' at the sight button-eyed. + +"Wa'n't you sayin' how much you'd like to see the lone hero of the +hill?" says I. "Well, take a good look. That's him, the squatty one. +Uh-huh. Mike, alias Popover, who quit bein' a waiter to fight for his +country, and after he'd licked all the Turks in sight comes pikin' back +here to hunt around for his tray again. Say, all of 'em ain't such +scum, are they?" + +It was a great old banquet too; for Skid insists that if they must have +a conquerin' hero to drink to Mr. Popokoulis is the only real thing in +sight. Mike wouldn't stand for a seat at the table, though; so they +compromised by havin' him act as head waiter. Skid tells the story +just the same, and makes him stand out where they can all see him. +There was some cheerin' done too. Mr. Robert was tellin' me about it +only this mornin'. + +"And you've got him his old place at the club, eh?" says I. + +"No," says he. "I've arranged to buy out a half interest in a +florist's shop for Mr. Popokoulis." + +"Oh!" says I. "Backin' him for the Armina handicap, eh? It ought to +be a cinch. Some chap, that Popover, even if he was a waiter, eh? +It's tough on Piddie, though. This thing has tied all his ideas in +double bow-knots." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT + +Somehow I sensed it as a kind of a batty excursion at the start. You +see, he'd asked me offhand would I come, and I'd said "Sure, Bo," +careless like, not thinkin' any more about it until here Saturday +afternoon I finds myself on the way to spend the week-end with J. +Meredith Stidler. + +Sounds imposing don't it? But his name's the weightiest part of J. +Meredith. Course, around the Corrugated offices we call him Merry, and +some of the bond clerks even get it Miss Mary; which ain't hardly fair, +for while he's no husky, rough-neck specimen, there's no sissy streak +in him, either. Just one of these neat, finicky featherweights, J. +Meredith is; a well finished two-by-four, with more polish than punch. +You know the kind,--fussy about his clothes, gen'rally has a pink or +something in his coat lapel, hair always just so, and carries a vest +pocket mirror. We ain't got a classier dresser in the shop. Not +noisy, you understand: quiet grays, as a rule; but made for him special +and fittin' snug around the collar. + +Near thirty, I should guess Merry was, and single, of course. No head +of a fam'ly would be sportin' custom-made shoes and sleeve monograms, +or havin' his nails manicured reg'lar twice a week. I'd often wondered +how he could do it too, on seventy-five dollars a month. + +For J. Meredith wa'n't even boss of his department. He just holds down +one of the stools in the audit branch, where he has about as much show +of gettin' a raise as a pavin' block has of bein' blown up Broadway on +a windy day. We got a lot of material like that in the +Corrugated,--just plain, simple cogs in a big dividend-producin' +machine, grindin' along steady and patient, and their places easy +filled when one wears out. A caster off one of the rolltop desks would +be missed more. + +Yet J. Meredith takes it cheerful. Always has a smile as he pushes +through the brass gate, comin' or goin', and stands all the joshin' +that's handed out to him without gettin' peevish. So when he springs +this over-Sunday invite I don't feel like turnin' it down. Course, I'm +wise that it's sort of a charity contribution on his part. He puts it +well, though. + +"It may be rather a dull way for you to pass the day," says he; "but +I'd like to have you come." + +"Let's see," says I. "Vincent won't be expectin' me up to Newport +until later in the season, the Bradley Martins are still abroad, I've +cut the Reggy Vanderbilts, and--well, you're on, Merry. Call it the +last of the month, eh?" + +"The fourth Saturday, then," says he. "Good!" + +I was blamed near lettin' the date get past me too, when he stops me as +I'm pikin' for the dairy lunch Friday noon. "Oh, I say, Torchy," says +he, "ah--er--about tomorrow. Hope you don't mind my mentioning it, but +there will be two other guests--ladies--at dinner tomorrow night." + +He seemed some fussed at gettin' it out; so I catches the cue quick. +"That's easy," says I. "Count me out until another time." + +"Oh, not at all," says he. "In fact, you're expected. I merely wished +to suggest, you know, that--er--well, if you cared to do so, you might +bring along a suit of dark clothes." + +"I get you," says I. "Swell comp'ny. Trust me." + +I winks mysterious, and chuckles to myself, "Here's where I slip one on +J. Meredith." And when I packs my suitcase I puts in that full evenin' +regalia that I wins off'm Son-in-Law Ferdy, you remember, in that real +estate deal. Some Cinderella act, I judged that would be, when Merry +discovers the meek and lowly office boy arrayed like a night-bloomin' +head waiter. "That ought to hold him for a spell," thinks I. + +But, say, you should see the joint we fetches up at out on the south +shore of Long Island that afternoon. Figurin' on a basis of +seventy-five per, I was expectin' some private boardin' house where +Merry has the second floor front, maybe, with use of the bath. But +listen,--a clipped privet hedge, bluestone drive, flower gardens, and a +perfectly good double-breasted mansion standin' back among the trees. +It's a little out of date so far as the lines go,--slate roof, jigsaw +work on the dormers, and a cupola,--but it's more or less of a plute +shack, after all. Then there's a real live butler standin' at the +carriage entrance to open the hack door and take my bag. + +"Gee!" says I. "Say, Merry, who belongs to all this?" + +"Oh! Hadn't I told you?" says he. "You see, I live with my aunt. She +is--er--somewhat peculiar; but----" + +"I should worry!" I breaks in. "Believe me, with a joint like this in +her own name, I wouldn't kick if she had her loft full of hummin' +birds. Who's next in line for it?" + +"Why, I suppose I am," says J. Meredith, "under certain conditions." + +"Z-z-zin'!" says I. "And you hangin' onto a cheap skate job at the +Corrugated!" + +Well, while he's showin' me around the grounds I pumps out the rest of +the sketch. Seems butlers and all that was no new thing to Merry. +He'd been brought up on 'em. He'd lived abroad too. Studied music +there. Not that he ever meant to work at it, but just because he liked +it. You see, about that time the fam'ly income was rollin' in reg'lar +every month from the mills back in Pawtucket, or Fall River, or +somewhere. + +Then all of a sudden things begin to happen,--strikes, panics, stock +grabbin' by the trusts. Father's weak heart couldn't stand the strain. +Meredith's mother followed soon after. And one rainy mornin' he wakes +up in Baden Baden, or Monte Carlo, or wherever it was, to find that +he's a double orphan at the age of twenty-two, with no home, no cash, +and no trade. All he could do was to write an S. O. S. message back to +Aunt Emma Jane. If she hadn't produced, he'd been there yet. + +But Aunty got him out of pawn. Panics and so on hadn't cleaned out her +share of the Stidler estate--not so you'd notice it! She'd been on the +spot, Aunt Emma had, watchin' the market. Long before the jinx hit +Wall Street she'd cashed in her mill stock for gold ballast, and when +property prices started tumblin' she dug up a lard pail from under the +syringa bush and begun investin' in bargain counter real estate. Now +she owns business blocks, villa plots, and shore frontage in big +chunks, and spends her time collectin' rents, makin' new deals, and +swearin' off her taxes. + +You'd most thought, with a perfectly good nephew to blow in some of her +surplus on, she'd made a fam'ly pet of J. Meredith. But not her. Pets +wasn't in her line. Her prescription for him was work, something +reg'lar and constant, so he wouldn't get into mischief. She didn't +care what it brought in, so long as he kept himself in clothes and +spendin' money. And that was about Merry's measure. He could add up a +column of figures and put the sum down neat at the bottom of the page. +So he fitted into our audit department like a nickel into a slot +machine. And there he stuck. + +"But after sportin' around Europe so long," says I, "don't punchin' the +time clock come kind of tough?" + +"It's a horrible, dull grind," says he. "Like being caught in a +treadmill. But I suppose I deserve nothing better. I'm one of the +useless sort, you know. I've no liking, no ability, for business; but +I'm in the mill, and I can't see any way out." + +For a second J. Meredith's voice sounds hopeless. One look ahead has +taken out of him what little pep he had. But the next minute he braces +up, smiles weary, and remarks, "Oh, well! What's the use?" + +Not knowin' the answer to that I shifts the subject by tryin' to get a +line on the other comp'ny that's expected for dinner. + +"They're our next-door neighbors," says he, "the Misses Hibbs." + +"Queens?" says I. + +He pinks up a little at that. "I presume you would call them old +maids," says he. "They are about my age, and--er--the truth is, they +are rather large. But really they're quite nice,--refined, cultured, +all that sort of thing." + +"Specially which one?" says I, givin' him the wink. + +"Now, now!" says he, shakin' his head. "You're as bad as Aunt Emma. +Besides, they're her guests. She asks them over quite often. You see, +they own almost as much property around here as she does, and--well, +common interests, you know." + +"Sure that's all?" says I, noticin' Merry flushin' up more. + +"Why, of course," says he. "That is--er--well, I suppose I may as well +admit that Aunt Emma thinks she is trying her hand at match-making. +Absurd, of course." + +"Oh-ho!" says I. "Wants you to annex the adjoinin' real estate, does +she?" + +"It--it isn't exactly that," says he. "I've no doubt she has decided +that either Pansy or Violet would make a good wife for me." + +"Pansy and Violet!" says I. "Listens well." + +"Perhaps their names are hardly appropriate; but they are nice, +sensible, rather attractive young women, both of them," insists Merry. + +"Then why not?" says I. "What's the matter with the Hymen proposition?" + +"Oh, it's out of the question," protests J. Meredith, blushin' deep. +"Really I--I've never thought of marrying anyone. Why, how could I? +And besides I shouldn't know how to go about it,--proposing, and all +that. Oh, I couldn't! You--you can't understand. I'm such a duffer +at most things." + +There's no fake about him bein' modest. You could tell that by the way +he colored up, even talkin' to me. Odd sort of a gink he was, with a +lot of queer streaks in him that didn't show on the outside. It was +more or less entertainin', followin' up the plot of the piece; but all +of a sudden Merry gets over his confidential spasm and shuts up like a +clam. + +"Almost time to dress for dinner," says he. "We'd best be going in." + +And of course my appearin' in the banquet uniform don't give him any +serious jolt. + +"Well, well, Torchy!" says he, as I strolls into the parlor about +six-thirty, tryin' to forget the points of my dress collar. "How +splendid you look!" + +"I had some battle with the tie," says I. "Ain't the bow lopsided?" + +"A mere trifle," says he. "Allow me. There! Really, I'm quite proud +of you. Aunty'll be pleased too; for, while she dresses very plainly +herself, she likes this sort of thing. You'll see." + +I didn't notice any wild enthusiasm on Aunty's part, though, when she +shows up. A lean, wiry old girl, Aunty is, with her white hair bobbed +up careless and a big shell comb stickin' up bristly, like a picket +fence, on top. There's nothin' soft about her chin, or the square-cut +mouth, and after she'd give me one glance out of them shrewd, squinty +eyes I felt like she'd taken my number,--pedigree, past performances, +and cost mark complete. + +"Howdo, young man?" says she, and with out wastin' any more breath on +me she pikes out to the front door to scout down the drive for the +other guests. + +They arrives on the tick of six-forty-five, and inside of three minutes +Aunty has shooed us into the dinin' room. And, say, the first good +look I had at Pansy and Violet I nearly passed away. "Rather large," +Merry had described 'em. Yes, and then some! They wa'n't just +ordinary fat women; they was a pair of whales,--big all over, tall and +wide and hefty. They had their weight pretty well placed at that; not +lumpy or bulgy, you know, but with them expanses of shoulder, and their +big, heavy faces--well, the picture of slim, narrow-chested Merry +Stidler sittin' wedged in between the two, like the ham in a lunch +counter sandwich, was most too much for me. I swallows a drink of +water and chokes over it. + +I expect Merry caught on too. I'd never seen him so fussed before. +He's makin' a brave stab at bein' chatty; but I can tell he's doin' it +all on his nerve. He glances first to the right, and then turns quick +to the left; but on both sides he's hemmed in by them two human +mountains. + +They wa'n't such bad lookers, either. They has good complexions, kind +of pleasant eyes, and calm, comf'table ways. But there was so much of +'em! Honest, when they both leans toward him at once I held my breath, +expectin' to see him squeezed out like a piece of lead pipe run through +a rollin' machine. + +Nothin' tragic like that happens, though. They don't even crowd him +into the soup. But it's an odd sort of a meal, with J. Meredith and +the Hibbs sisters doin' a draggy three-handed dialogue, while me and +Aunty holds down the side lines. And nothin' that's said or done gets +away from them narrow-set eyes, believe me! + +Looked like something wa'n't goin' just like she'd planned; for the +glances she shoots across the table get sharper and sourer, and +finally, when the roast is brought in, she whispers to the butler, and +the next thing J. Meredith knows, as he glances up from his carvin', he +sees James uncorkin' a bottle of fizz. Merry almost drops his fork and +gawps at Aunty sort of dazed. + +"Meredith," says she, snappy, "go on with your carving! Young man, I +suppose you don't take wine?" + +"N-n-no, Ma'am," says I, watchin' her turn my glass down. I might have +chanced a sip or two, at that; but Aunty has different ideas. + +I notice that J. Meredith seems to shy at the bubbly stuff, as if he +was lettin' on he hated it. He makes a bluff or two; but all he does +is wet his lips. At that Aunty gives a snort. + +"Meredith," says she, hoistin' her hollow-stemmed glass sporty, "to our +guests!" + +"Ah, to be sure," says Merry, and puts his nose into the sparkles in +dead earnest. + +Somehow the table chat livens up a lot soon after that. It was one of +the Miss Hibbs askin' him something about life abroad that starts Merry +off. He begins tellin' about Budapest and Vienna and a lot more of +them guidebook spots, and how comf'table you can live there, and the +music, and the cafes, and the sights, gettin' real enthusiastic over +it, until one of the sisters breaks in with: + +"Think of that, Pansy! If we could only do such things!" + +"But why not?" says Merry. + +"Two women alone?" says a Miss Hibbs. + +"True," says J. Meredith. "One needs an escort." + +"Ah-h-h-h, yes!" sighs Violet. + +"Ah-h-h, yes!" echoes Pansy. + +"James," puts in Aunty just then, "fill Mr. Stidler's glass." + +Merry wa'n't shyin' it any more. He insists on clickin' rims with the +Hibbs sisters, and they does it real kittenish. Merry stops in the +middle of his salad to unload that old one about the Irishman that the +doctor tried to throw a scare into by tellin' him if he didn't quit the +booze he'd go blind within three months. You know--when Mike comes +back with, "Well, I'm an old man, and I'm thinkin' I've seen most +everything worth while." Pansy and Violet shook until their chairs +creaked, and one of 'em near swallows her napkin tryin' to stop the +chuckles. + +In all the time I've known J. Meredith I'd never heard him try to +spring anything comic before; but havin' made such a hit with this one +he follows with others, robbin' the almanac regardless. + +"Oh, you deliciously funny man!" gasps Pansy, tappin' him playful on +the shoulder. + +Course, it wa'n't any cabaret high jinks, you understand. Meredith was +just limbered up a little. In the parlor afterwards while we was +havin' coffee he strings off quite a fancy line of repartee, fin'lly +allowin' himself to be pushed up to the piano, where he ripples through +a few things from Bach and Beethoven and Percy Moore. It's near eleven +o'clock when the Hibbs sisters get their wraps on and Merry starts to +walk home with 'em. + +"You might wait for me, Torchy," says he, pausin' at the door. + +"Nonsense!" says Aunt Emma Jane. + +"Time young people were in bed. Good night, young man." + +There don't seem to be any chance for a debate on the subject; so I +goes up to my room. But it's a peach of a night, warm and moony; so +after I turns out the light I camps down on the windowseat and gazes +out over the shrubby towards the water. I could see the top of the +Hibbs house and a little wharf down on the shore. + +I don't know whether it was the moonlight or the coffee; but I didn't +feel any more like bed than I did like breakfast. Pretty soon I hears +Merry come tiptoein' in and open his door, which was next to mine. I +was goin' to hail him and give him a little josh about disposin' of the +sisters so quick; but I didn't hear him stirrin' around any more until +a few minutes later, when it sounds as if he'd tiptoed downstairs +again. But I wasn't sure. Nothin' doin' for some time after that. +And you know how quiet the country can be on a still, moonshiny night. + +I was gettin' dopy from it, and was startin' to shed my collar and tie, +when off from a distance, somewhere out in the night, music breaks +loose. I couldn't tell whether it was a cornet or a trombone; but it's +something like that. Seems to come from down along the waterfront. +And, say, it sounds kind of weird, hearin' it at night that way. Took +me sometime to place the tune; but I fin'lly makes it out as that good +old mush favorite, "O Promise Me." It was bein' well done too, with +long quavers on the high notes and the low ones comin' out round and +deep. Honest, that was some playin'. I was wide awake once more, +leanin' out over the sill and takin' it all in, when a window on the +floor below goes up and out bobs a white head. It's Aunty. She looks +up and spots me too. + +"Quite some concert, eh?" says I. + +"Is that you, young man?" says she. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Just takin' in the music." + +"Humph!" says she. "I believe it's that fool nephew of mine." + +"Not Merry?" says I. + +"It must be," says she. "And goodness knows why he's out making an +idiot of himself at this time of night! He'll arouse the whole +neighbourhood." + +"Why, I was just thinkin' how classy it was," says I. + +"Bah!" says Aunty. "A lot you know about it. Are you dressed, young +man?" + +I admits that I am. + +"Then I wish you'd go down there and see if it is Merry," says she. +"If it is, tell him I say to come home and go to bed." + +"And if it ain't?" says I. + +"Go along and see," says she. + +I begun to be sorry for Merry. I'd rather pay board than live with a +disposition like that. Down I pikes, out the front door and back +through the shrubby. Meantime the musician has finished "Promise Me" +and has switched to "Annie Laurie." It's easy enough to get the +gen'ral direction the sound comes from; but I couldn't place it exact. +First off I thought it must be from a little summer house down by the +shore; but it wa'n't. I couldn't see anyone around the grounds. Out +on the far end of the Hibbs's wharf, though, there was somethin' dark. +And a swell time I had too, buttin' my way through a five-foot hedge +and landin' in a veg'table garden. But I wades through tomatoes and +lettuce until I strikes a gravel path, and in a couple of minutes I'm +out on the dock just as the soloist is hittin' up "Believe Me, if All +Those Endearing Young Charms." Aunty had the correct dope. It's +Merry, all right. The first glimpse he gets of me he starts guilty and +tries to hide the cornet under the tails of his dress coat. + +"No use, Merry," says I. "You're pinched with the poultry." + +"Wha-a-at!" says he. "Oh, it's you, is it, Torchy? Please--please +don't mention this to my aunt." + +"She beat me to it," says I. "It was her sent me out after you with a +stop order. She says for you to chop the nocturne and go back to the +hay." + +"But how did she---- Oh, dear!" he sighs. "It was all her fault, +anyway." + +"I don't follow you," says I. "But what was it, a serenade?" + +"Goodness, no!" gasps J. Meredith. "Who suggested that?" + +"Why, it has all the earmarks of one," says I. "What else would you be +doin', out playin' the cornet by moonlight on the dock, if you wa'n't +serenadin' someone?" + +"But I wasn't, truly," he protests. "It--it was the champagne, you +know." + +"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean to say you got stewed? Not on a couple +of glasses!" + +"Well, not exactly," says he. "But I can't take wine. I hardly ever +do. It--it goes to my head always. And tonight--well, I couldn't +decline. You saw. Then afterward--oh, I felt so buoyant, so full of +life, that I couldn't go to sleep. I simply had to do something to let +off steam. I wanted to play the cornet. So I came out here, as far +away from anyone as I could get." + +"Too thin, Merry," says I. "That might pass with me; but with +strangers you'd get the laugh." + +"But it's true," he goes on. "And I didn't dream anyone could hear me +from here." + +"Why, you boob," says I, "they could hear you a mile off!" + +"Really?" says he. "But you don't suppose Vio--I mean, the Misses +Hibbs could hear, do you?" + +"Unless it's their habit to putty up their ears at night," says I. + +"But--but what will they think?" he gasps breathless. + +"That they're bein' serenaded by some admirin' friend," says I. +"What's your guess?" + +"Oh--oh!" says Merry, slumpin' down on a settee. "I--I had not thought +of that." + +"Ah, buck up!" say I. "Maybe you can fake an alibi in the mornin'. +Anyway, you can't spend the night here. You got to report to Aunty." + +He lets out another groan, and then gets on his feet. "There's a path +through the bushes along here somewhere," says he. + +"No more cross country work in full dress clothes for me," says I. +"We'll sneak down the Hibbs's drive where the goin's easy." + +We was doin' it real sleuthy too, keepin' on the lawn and dodgin' from +shadow to shadow, when just as we're passin' the house Merry has to +stub his toe and drop his blamed cornet with a bang. + +Then out from a second story window floats a voice: "Who is that, +please?" + +Merry nudges me in the ribs. "Tell them it's you," he whispers. + +"Why, it's--it's me--Torchy," says I reluctant. + +"Oh! Ah!" says a couple of voices in chorus. Then one of 'em goes on, +"The young man who is visiting dear Meredith?" + +"Yep," says I. "Same one." + +"But it wasn't you playing the cornet so beautifully, was it?" comes +coaxin' from the window. + +"Tell them yes," whispers Merry, nudgin' violent. + +"Gwan!" I whispers back. "I'm in bad enough as it is." With that I +speaks up before he can stop me, "Not much!" says I. "That was dear +Meredith himself." + +"Oh-oh!" says the voices together. Then there's whisperin' between +'em. One seems urgin' the other on to something, and at last it comes +out. "Young man," says the voice, smooth and persuadin', "please tell +us who--that is--which one of us was the serenade intended for?" + +This brings the deepest groan of all from J. Meredith. + +"Come on, now," says I, hoarse and low in his ear. "It's up to you. +Which?" + +"Oh, really," he whispers back, "I--I can't!" + +"You got to, and quick," says I. "Come now, was it Pansy?" + +"No, no!" says he, gaspy. + +"Huh!" says I. "Then Violet gets the decision." And I holds him off +by main strength while I calls out, "Why, ain't you on yet? It was for +Violet, of course." + +"Ah-h-h-h! Thank you. Good night," comes a voice--no chorus this +time: just one--and the window is shut. + +"There you are, Merry," says I. "It's all over. You're as good as +booked for life." + +He was game about it, though, Merry was. He squares it with Aunty +before goin' to bed, and right after breakfast next mornin' he marches +over to the Hibbses real business-like. Half an hour later I saw him +strollin' out on the wharf with one of the big sisters, and I knew it +must be Violet. It was his busy day; so I says nothin' to anybody, but +fades. + +And you should have seen the jaunty, beamin' J. Meredith that swings +into the Corrugated Monday mornin'. He stops at the gate to give me a +fraternal grip. + +"It's all right, Torchy," says he. "She--she'll have me--Violet, you +know. And we are to live abroad. We sail in less than a month." + +"But what about Pansy?" says I. + +"Oh, she's coming with us, of course," says he. "Really, they're both +charming girls." + +"Huh!" says I. "That's where you were when I found you. You're past +that point, remember." + +"Yes, I know," says he. "It was you helped me too, and I wish in some +way I could show my----" + +"You can," says I. "Leave me the cornet. I might need it some day +myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY + +It's a shame the way some of these popular clubmen is bothered with +business. Here was Mr. Robert, only the other day, with an important +four-cue match to be played off between four-thirty and dinnertime; and +what does the manager of our Chicago branch have to do but go and muss +up the schedule by wirin' in that he might have to call for +headquarters' advice on that Burlington order maybe after closin' time. + +"Oh, pshaw!" remarks Mr. Robert, after he's read the message. + +"The simp!" says I. "Guess he thinks the Corrugated gen'ral offices +runs night and day shifts, don't he?" + +"Very well put," says Mr. Robert. "Still, it means rather a big +contract. But, you see, the fellows are counting on me for this match, +and if I should---- Oh, but I say, Torchy," he breaks off sudden, +"perhaps you have no very important engagement for the early evening?" + +"Me?" says I. "Nothing I couldn't scratch. I can shoot a little pool +too; but when it comes to balk line billiards I expect I'd be a dub +among your crowd." + +"Refreshing modesty!" says Mr. Robert. "What I had in mind, however, +was that you might wait here for the message from Nixon, while I attend +to the match." + +"Oh, any way you choose," says I. "Sure I'll stay." + +"Thanks," says he. "You needn't wait longer than seven, and if it +comes in you can get me on the 'phone and---- No, it will be in code; +so you'd best bring it over." + +And it wa'n't so much of a wait, after all, not more'n an hour; for at +six-fifteen I've been over to the club, had Mr. Robert called from the +billiard room, got him to fix up his answer, and am pikin' out the +front door with it when he holds me up to add just one more word. +Maybe we was some conspicuous from Fifth-ave., him bein' still in his +shirt sleeves and the steps bein' more or less brilliant. + +Anyway, I'd made another start and was just gettin' well under way, +when alongside scuffs this hollow-eyed object with the mangy whiskers +and the mixed-ale breath. + +"Excuse me, young feller," says he, "but----" + +"Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I. "I'm no soup ticket." + +[Illustration: "Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I.] + +"But just a word, my friend," he insists. + +"Save your breath," says I, "and have it redistilled. It's worth it." + +"Thanks," he puffs out as he shuffles along at my elbow; "but--but +wasn't that Bob Ellins you were just talking to?" + +"Eh?" says I, glancin' at him some astonished; for a seedier specimen +you couldn't find up and down the avenue. "What do you know about him, +if it was?" + +"More than his name," says the wreck. "He--he's an old friend of mine." + +"Oh, of course," says I. "Anyone could tell that at a glimpse. I +expect you used to belong to the same club too?" + +"Is old Barney still on the door?" says he. + +And, say, he had the right dope on that. Not three minutes before I'd +heard Mr. Robert call the old gink by name. But that hardly proved the +case. + +"Clever work," says I. "What was it you used to do there, take out the +ashes." + +"I don't wonder you think so," says he; "but it's a fact that Bob and I +are old friends." + +"Why don't you tackle him, then," says I, "instead of botherin' a busy +man like me? Go back and call him out." + +"I haven't the face," says he. "Look at me!" + +"I have," says I, "and, if you ask me, you look like something the cat +brought in." + +He winces a little at that. "Don't tell Bob how bad it was, then," +says he. "Just say you let me have a fiver for him." + +"Five bucks!" says I. "Say, I'm Mr. Robert's office boy, not his bank +account." + +"Two, then?" he goes on. + +"My, but I must have the boob mark on me plain!" says I. + +"Couldn't you spare a half," he urges, "just a half, to get me a little +something to eat, and a drink, and pay for a bed?" + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "I carry a pocketful of halves to shove out to all +the bums that presents their business cards." + +"But Bob would give it back to you," he pleads. "I swear he would! +Just tell him you gave it to--to----" + +"Well?" says I. "Algernon who?" + +"Tell him it was for Melville Slater," says he. "He'll know." + +"Melly Slater, eh?" says I. "Sounds all aright. But I'd have to chew +it over first, even for a half. I have chances of gettin' stung like +this about four times a day, Melly. And, anyway, I got to file a +message first, over at the next corner." + +"I'll wait outside," says he. + +"That's nice of you," says I. "It ain't any cinch you'll connect, +though." + +But as I dashes into a hotel where there's a blue sign out he leans up +against a window gratin', sort of limp and exhausted, and it looks like +he means to take a sportin' chance. + +How you goin' to tell, anyway? Most of 'em say they've been thrown out +of work by the trusts, but that they've heard of a job in Newark, or +Bridgeport, or somewhere, which they could get if they could only +rustle enough coin to pay the fare. And they'll add interestin' +details about havin' a sick wife, or maybe four hungry kids, and so on. + +But this rusty bunch of works has a new variation. He's an old friend +of the boss. Maybe it was partly so too. If it was--well, I got to +thinkin' that over while the operator was countin' the words, and so +the next thing I does is to walk over to the telephone queen and have +her call up Mr. Robert. + +"Well?" says he, impatient. + +"It's Torchy again," says I. "I've filed the message, all right. But, +say, there's a piece of human junk that I collected from in front of +the club who's tryin' to panhandle me for a half on the strength of +bein' an old chum of yours. He says his name's Melville Slater." + +"Wha-a-at!" gasps Mr. Robert. "Melly Slater, trying to borrow half a +dollar from you?" + +"There's no doubt about his needin' it," says I. "My guess is that a +half would be a life saver to him just now." + +"Why, it doesn't seem possible!!" says Mr. Robert. "Of course, I +haven't seen Melly recently; but I can't imagine how---- Did you say +he was still there?" + +"Hung up on the rail outside, if the cop ain't shooed him off," says I. + +"Then keep him there until I come," says Mr. Robert. "If it's Melly, I +must come. I'll be right over. But don't say a word to him until I +get there." + +"Got you," says I. "Hold Melly and keep mum." + +I could pipe him off through the swing door vestibule; and, honest, +from the lifeless way he's propped up there, one arm hangin' loose, his +head to one side, and that white, pasty look to his nose and +forehead--well, I didn't know but he'd croaked on the spot. So I slips +through the cafe exit and chases along the side street until I meets +Mr. Robert, who's pikin' over full tilt. + +"You're sure it's Melly Slater, are you?" says he. + +"I'm only sure that's what he said," says I. "But you can settle that +soon enough. There he is, over there by the window." + +"Why!" says Mr. Robert. "That can never be Melly; that is, unless he's +changed wonderfully." With that he marches up and taps the object on +the shoulder. "I say," says he, "you're not really Melly Slater, are +you?" + +There's a quick shiver runs through the man against the rail, and he +lifts his eyes up cringin', like he expected to be hit with a club. +Mr. Robert takes one look, and it almost staggers him. Next he reaches +out, gets a firm grip on the gent's collar, and drags him out into a +better light, twistin' the whiskered face up for a close inspection. + +"Blashford!" says he, hissin' it out unpleasant. "Bunny Blashford!" + +"No, no!" says the gent, tryin' to squirm away. "You--you've made a +mistake." + +"Not much!" says Mr. Robert. "I know those sneaking eyes of yours too +well." + +"All right," says he; "but--but don't hit me, Bob. Don't." + +"You--you cur!" says Mr. Robert, holding him at arm's length and +glarin' at him hostile. + +"A ringer, eh?" says I. + +"Worse than that," says Mr. Robert, "a sneaking, contemptible hound! +Trying to pass yourself off for Melly, were you?" he goes on. "Of all +men, Melly! What for?" + +"I--I didn't want you to know I was back," whines Bunny. "And I had to +get money somehow, Bob--honest, I did." + +"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "You--you----" + +But he ain't got any such vocabulary as old Hickory Ellins has; so +here, when he needs it most, all he can do is express his deep disgust +by shakin' this Bunny party like a new hired girl dustin' a rug. He +jerks him this way and that so reckless that I was afraid he'd rattle +him apart, and when he fin'lly lets loose Bunny goes all in a heap on +the sidewalk. I'd never seen Mr. Robert get real wrathy before; but +it's all over in a minute, and he glances around like he was ashamed. + +"Hang it all!" says he, gazin' at the wreck. "I didn't mean to lay my +hands on him." + +"He's in punk condition," says I. "What's to be done, call an +ambulance?" + +That jars Mr. Robert a lot. I expect he was so worked up he didn't +know how rough he was handlin' him, and my suggestin' that he's +qualified Bunny for a cot sobers him down in a minute. Next thing I +knows he's kneelin' over the Blashford gent and liftin' his head up. + +"Here, what's the matter with you?" says Mr. Robert. + +"Don't! Don't strike me again," moans Bunny, cringin'. + +"No, no, I'm not going to," says Mr. Robert. "And I apologize for +shaking you. But what ails you?" + +"I--I'm all in," says Bunny, beginnin' to sniffle. "Don't--don't beat +me! I--I'm going to die; but--but not here, like--like this. I--I +don't want to live; but--but I don't want to finish this way, like a +rat. Help me, Bob, to--to finish decent. I know I don't deserve it +from you; but--but you wouldn't want to see me go like this--dirty and +ragged? I--I want to die clean and--and well dressed. Please, Bob, +for old time's sake?" + +"Nonsense, man!" says Mr. Robert. "You're not going to die now." + +"Yes, I am, Bob," says Bunny. "I--I can tell. I want to, anyway. +I--I'm no good. And I'm in rotten shape. Drink, you know, and I've a +bad heart. I'm near starved too. It's been days since I've eaten +anything--days!" + +"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Then you must have something to eat. +Here, let me help you up. Torchy, you take the other side. Steady, +now! I didn't know you were in such a condition; really, I didn't. +And we'll get you filled up right away." + +"I--I couldn't eat," says Bunny. "I don't want anything. I just want +to quit--only--not like this; but clean, Bob, clean and dressed decent +once more." + +Say, maybe you can guess about how cheerin' it was, hearin' him say +that over and over in that whiny, tremblin' voice of his, watchin' them +shifty, deep-set eyes glisten glassy under the light. About as +comfortin' a sight, he was, as a sick dog in a corner. And of all the +rummy ideas to get in his nut--that about bein' dressed up to die! But +he keeps harpin' away on it until fin'ly Mr. Robert takes notice. + +"Yes, yes!" says the boss. "We'll attend to that, old man. But you +need some nourishment in you first." + +So we drags him over to the opposite corner, where there's a drugstore, +and got a glass of hot milk under his vest. Then I calls a taxi, and +we all starts for the nearest Turkish bath joint. + +"That's all, Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "I won't bother you any more +with this wretched business. You'd best go now." + +"Suppose something happens to him?" says I. "You'll need a witness, +won't you?" + +"I hadn't thought of that," says he. + +"There's no tellin'," says I. "Them coroners deputies are mostly +boneheads. I'd better stay on the job." + +"I know of no one I'd rather have, Torchy," says he. + +Course, he was stretchin' it there. But we fixes it up that while +Bunny is bein' soaked out I'll have time to pluck some eats. Meanwhile +Mr. Robert will 'phone his man to dig out one of his old dress suits, +with fixin's, which I'm to collect and have waitin' for Blashford. + +"Better have him barbered some too, hadn't I?" says I. + +"A lot," says Mr. Robert, slippin' me a couple of tens for expenses. +"And when he's all ready call me at the club." + +So, take it all around, I has quite some busy evenin'. I stayed long +enough to see Bunny wrapped in a sheet and helped into the steam-room, +and then I hustles out for a late dinner. It's near nine-thirty before +I rings Mr. Robert up again, and reports that Bunny would pass a Board +of Health inspection now that he's had the face herbage removed, that +he's costumed proper and correct, and that he's decided not to die +immediate. + +"Very well," says Mr. Robert. "What does he want to do now?" + +"He wants to talk to you," says I. + +"The deuce he does!" says Mr. Robert. "Well, I suppose we might as +well have it out; so bring him up here." + +That's how it happens I'm rung in on this little club corner chat; for +Mr. Robert explains that whatever passes between 'em it might be as +well to have someone else hear. + +And, say, what a diff'rence a little outside upholstery can make, eh? +The steamin' out had helped some, I expect, and a couple more glasses +of hot milk had braced him up too; but blamed if I'd expect just a +shave and a few open-face clothes could change a human ruin into such a +perky lookin' gent as this that leans back graceful against the leather +cushions and lights up one of Mr. Robert's imported cigarettes. +Course, the eye hollows hadn't been filled in, nor the face wrinkles +ironed out; but somehow they only gives him a sort of a distinguished +look. And now that his shoulders ain't slumped, and he's holdin' his +chin up once more, he's almost ornamental. He don't even seem +embarrassed at meetin' Mr. Robert again. If anyone was fussed, it was +the boss. + +"Well?" says he, as we gets settled in the cozy corner. + +"Seems natural as life here; eh, Bob?" says Bunny, glancin' around +approvin'. "And it's nearly four years since I--er----" + +"Since you were kicked out," adds Mr. Robert. "See here, Bunny--just +because I've helped you out of the gutter when I thought you were half +dead, don't run away with the idea that I've either forgotten or +forgiven!" + +"Oh, quite so," says he. "I'm not asking that." + +"Then you've no excuse," goes on Mr. Robert, "for the sneaking, +cowardly way in which you left little Sally Slater waiting in her +bridal gown, the house full of wedding guests, while you ran off with +that unspeakable DeBrett person?" + +"No," says Bunny, flippin' his cigarette ashes off jaunty, "no excuse +worthy of the name." + +"Cad!" says Mr. Robert. + +Bunny shrugs his shoulders. "Precisely," says he. "But you are not +making the discovery for the first time, are you? You knew Sally was +far too good for me. Everyone did, even Brother Melly. It couldn't +have been much of a secret to either of you how deep I was with the +DeBrett too. Yet you wanted me to go on with Sally. Why? Because the +governor hadn't chucked me overboard then, because I could still keep +up a front?" + +"You might have taken a brace," says Mr. Robert. + +"Not I!" says Bunny. "Anyway, not after Trixie DeBrett got hold of me. +The trouble was, Bob, you didn't half appreciate her. She had beauty, +brains, wit, a thousand fascinations, and no more soul than a she boa +constrictor. I was just a rabbit to her, a meal. She thought the +governor would buy her off, say, for a couple hundred thousand or so. +I suppose he would too, if it hadn't been for the Sally complication. +He thought a lot of little Sally. And the way it happened was too raw. +I don't blame him, mind you, nor any of you. I don't even blame +Trixie. That was her game. And, by Jove! she was a star at it. I'd +go back to her now if she'd let me." + +"You're a fool!" snorts Mr. Robert. + +"Always was, my dear Bob," says Bunny placid. "You often told me as +much." + +"But I didn't think," goes on Mr. Robert, "you'd get as low as--as +tonight--begging!" + +"Quite respectable for me, I assure you," says Bunny. "Why, my dear +fellow, during the last few years there's been hardly a crime on the +calendar I shouldn't have committed for a dollar--barring murder, of +course. That requires nerve. How long do you suppose the few +thousands I got from Aunt Eunice lasted? Barely six months. I thought +I knew how to live rather luxuriously myself. But Trixie! Well, she +taught me. And we were in Paris, you know. I didn't cable the +governor until I was down to my last hundred-franc note. His reply was +something of a stinger. I showed it to Trixie. She just laughed and +went out for a drive. She didn't come back. I hear she picked up a +brewer's son at Monte Carlo. Lucky devil, he was! + +"And I? What would you expect? In less than two weeks I was a +stowaway on a French liner. They routed me out and set me to stoking. +I couldn't stand that, of course; so they put me to work in the +kitchens, cleaning pots, dumping garbage, waiting on the crew. I had +to make the round trip too. Then I jumped the stinking craft, only to +get a worse berth on a P. & O. liner. I worked with Chinese, Lascars, +coolies, the scum of the earth; worked and ate and slept and fought +with them. I crawled ashore and deserted in strange ports. I think it +was at Aden where I came nearest to starving the first time. And I +remember the docks at Alexandria. Sometimes the tourists threw down +coppers for the Arab and Berber boys to scrabble for. It's a pleasant +custom. I was there, in that scrabbling, cursing, clawing rabble. And +when I'd had a good day I spent my coppers royally in a native +dance-hall which even guides don't dare show to the trippers. + +"Respectability, my dear Bob, is all a matter of comparison. I +acquired a lot of new standards. As a second cabin steward on a Brazos +liner I became quite haughty. Poverty! You don't know what it means +until you've rubbed elbows with it in the Far East and the Far South. +Here you have the Bowery Mission bread line. That's a fair sample, +Bob, of our American opulence. Free bread!" + +"So you've been in that, have you?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"Have I?" says Bunny. "I've pals down there tonight who will wonder +what has become of me." + +Mr. Robert shudders. And, say, it made me feel chilly along the spine +too. + +"Well, what now?" says Mr. Robert. "I suppose you expect me to find +you some sort of work?" + +"Not at all," says Bunny. "Another of those cigarettes, if you don't +mind. Excellent brand. Thanks. But work? How inconsiderate, Bob! I +wasn't born to be useful. You know that well enough. No, work doesn't +appeal to me." + +Mr. Robert flushes up at that. "Then," says he, pointin' stern, +"there's the door." + +"Oh, what's the hurry?" says Bunny. "This is heaven to me, all +this,--the old club, you know, and good tobacco, and--say, Bob, if I +might suggest, a pint of that '85 vintage would add just the finishing +touch. Come, I haven't tasted a glass of fizz since--well, I've +forgotten. Just for auld lang syne!" + +Mr. Robert gasps, hesitates a second, and then pushes the button. +Bunny inspects the label critical when it's brought in, waves graceful +to Mr. Robert, and slides the bottle back tender into the cooler. + +"Ah-h-h!" says he. "And doesn't Henri have any more of those dainty +little caviar canapes on hand? They go well with fizz." + +"Canapes," says Mr. Robert to the waiter. "And another box of those +gold-tipped Russians." + +"_À vous_!" says Bunny, raisin' a glassful of bubbles and salutin'. +"I'm as thirsty as a camel driver." + +"But what I'd like to know," says Mr. Robert, "is what you propose +doing." + +"You, my dear fellow," says Bunny, settin' down the glass. + +"Truly enterprising!" says Mr. Robert. "But you're going to be +disappointed. In just ten minutes I mean to escort you to the +sidewalk, and then wash my hands of you for good." + +Bunny laughs. "Impossible!" says he. "In the first place, you +couldn't sleep tonight, if you did. Secondly, I should hunt you up +tomorrow and make a nuisance of myself." + +"You'd be thrown out by a porter," says Mr. Robert. + +"Perhaps," says he; "but it wouldn't look nice. I'd be in evening +clothes, you see. The crowd would know at once that I was a gentleman. +Reporters would come. I should tell a most harrowing tale. You'd deny +it, of course; but half the people would believe me. No, no, Bob! +Three hours ago, in my old rags, you might have kicked me into the +gutter, and no one would have made any fuss at all. But now! Why, it +would be absurd! I should make a mighty row over it." + +"You threaten blackmail?" says Mr. Robert, leanin' towards him savage. + +"That is one of my more reputable accomplishments," says Bunny. "But +why force me to that? I have quite a reasonable proposal to submit." + +"If it has anything to do with getting you so far away from New York +that you'll never come back, I'll listen to it," says Mr. Robert. + +"You state the case exactly," says Bunny. "In Paris I got to know a +chap by the name of Dick Langdon; English, you know, and a younger son. +His uncle's a Sir Something or Other. Dick was going the pace. He'd +annexed some funds that he'd found lying around loose. Purely a family +affair; no prosecution. A nice youth, Langdon. We were quite +congenial. + +"A year or so ago I ran across him again, down in Santa Marta. He was +wearing a sun helmet and a white linen suit. He said he'd been shipped +down there as superintendent of a banana plantation about twenty miles +back from the port. He had half a hundred blacks and as many East +Indian coolies under him. There was no one else within miles. Once a +month he got down to see the steamer load and watch the white faces +hungrily. I was only a cabin steward leaning over the rail; but he was +so tickled to see me that he begged me to quit and go back to the +plantation with him. He said he'd make me assistant superintendent, or +permanent guest, or anything. But I was crazy to see New York once +more. I wouldn't listen. Well, I've seen New York, seen enough of it +to last a lifetime. What do you say?" + +"When could you get a steamer?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"The Arapequa sails at ten in the morning," says Bunny eager. "Fare +forty-eight dollars one way. I could go aboard now. Dick would hail +me as a man and a brother. I'm his kind. He'd see that I never had +money enough to get away. I think I might possibly earn my keep +bossing coolies too. And the pulque down there helps you to forget +your troubles." + +"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "ask Barney to call a cab." + +"And, by the way," Bunny is sayin' as I come back, "you might chuck in +a business suit and a few white flannels into a grip, Bob. You +wouldn't want me to arrive in South America dressed like this, would +you?" + +"Very well," says Mr. Robert. "But what I'm most concerned about is +that you do arrive there." + + +"But how do you know, Mr. Robert," says I next mornin', "that he will?" + +"Because I locked him in his stateroom myself," says he, "and bribed a +steward not to let him out until he could see Barnegat light over the +stern." + +"Gee!" says I. "That's one way of losin' a better days' proposition. +And in case any others like him turns up, Mr. Robert, have you got any +more old dress suits?" + +"If I have," says he, "I shall burn them." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE GLAD HAIL FOR TORCHY + +I'll say this for Aunty: She's doin' her best. About all she's omitted +is lockin' Vee in a safety deposit vault and forgettin' the combination. + +Say, you'd most think I was as catchin' as a case of measles. I wish +it was so; for once in awhile, in spite of Aunty, Vee gets exposed. +That's all the good it does, though. What's a few minutes' chat with +the only girl that ever was? It's a wonder we don't have to be +introduced all over again. That would be the case with some girls. +But Vee! Say, lemme put you wise--Vee's different! Uh-huh! I found +that out all by myself. I don't know just where it comes in, or how, +but she is. + +All of which makes it just so much worse when she and Aunty does the +summer flit. Course, I saw it comin' 'way back early in June, and then +the first thing I know they're gone. I gets a bulletin now and +then,--Lenox, the Pier, Newport, and so on,--sometimes from Vee, +sometimes by readin' the society notes. Must be great to have the +papers keep track of you, the way they do of Aunty. And it's so +comfortin' to me, strayin' lonesome into a Broadway movie show of a hot +evening to know that "among the debutantes at a tea dance given in the +Casino by Mrs. Percy Bonehead yesterday afternoon was Miss Verona +Hemmingway." Oh, sure! Say, how many moves am I from a tea dance--me +here behind the brass rail at the Corrugated, with Piddie gettin' +fussy, and Old Hickory jabbin' the buzzer? + +And then, just when I'm peevish enough to be canned and served with +lamb chops, here comes this glad word out of the State of Maine. "It's +nice up here," says she; "but awfully stupid. VEE." That's all--just +a picture postcard. But, say, I'd have put it in a solid gold frame if +there'd been one handy. + +As it is, I sticks the card up on the desk in front of me and gazes +longin'. Some shack, I should judge by the picture,--one of these low, +wide affairs, all built of cobblestones, with a red tile roof and +yellow awnin's. Right on the water too. You can see the waves +frothin' almost up to the front steps. Roarin' Rocks, Maine, is the +name of the place printed underneath. + +"Nice, but stupid, eh?" says I confidential to myself. "That's too +bad. Wonder if I'd be bored to death with a week or so up there? I +wonder what she'd say if----" + +B-r-r-r-r! B-r-r-r-r-r! That's always the way! I just get started on +some rosy dream, and I'm sailin' aloft miles and miles away, when off +goes that blamed buzzer, and back I flop into this same old chair +behind the same old brass rail! All for what? Why, Mr. Robert wants a +tub of desk pins. I gets 'em from Piddie, trots in, and slams 'em down +snappy at Mr. Robert's elbow. + +"Eh?" says he, glancin' up startled. + +"Said pins, dintcher?" says I. + +"Why--er--yes," says he, "I believe I did. Thank you." + +"Huh!" says I, turnin' on my heel. + +"Oh--er--Torchy," he adds. + +"Well?" says I over my shoulder. + +"Might one inquire," says he, "is it distress, or only disposition?" + +"It ain't the effect of too much fresh air, anyway," says I. + +"Ah!" says he, sort of reflective. "Feeling the need of a half +holiday, are you?" + +"Humph!" says I. "What's the good of an afternoon off?" + +He'd just come back from a two weeks' cruise, Mr. Robert had, lookin' +tanned and husky, and a little later on he was goin' off on another +jaunt. Course, that's all right, too. I'd take 'em oftener if I was +him. But hanged if I'd sit there starin' puzzled at any one else who +couldn't, the way he was doin' at me! + +"Mr. Robert," says I, spunkin' up sudden, "what's the matter with me +takin' a vacation?" + +"Why," says he, "I--I presume it might be arranged. When would you +wish to go?" + +"When?" says I. "Why, now--tonight. Say, honest, if I try to stick +out the week I'll get to be a grouch nurser, like Piddie. I'm sick of +the shop, sick of answerin' buzzers, sick of everything!" + +It wasn't what you might call a smooth openin', and from most bosses I +expect it would have won me a free pass to all outdoors. But I guess +Mr. Robert knows what these balky moods are himself. He only humps his +eyebrows humorous and chuckles. + +"That's rather abrupt, isn't it?" says he. "But perhaps--er--just +where is she now, Torchy?" + +I grins back sheepish. "Coast of Maine," says I. + +"Well, well!" says he. "Then you'll need a two weeks' advance, at +least. There! Present this to the cashier. And there is a good +express, I believe, at eight o'clock tonight. Luck to you!" + +"Mr. Robert," says I, choky, "you--you're I-double-It with me. Thanks." + +"My best regards to Kennebunk, Cape Neddick, and Eggemoggen Reach," +says he as we swaps grips. + +Say, there's some boss for you, eh? But how he could dope out the +symptoms so accurate is what gets me. Anyhow, he had the answer; for I +don't stop to consult any vacation guidebook or summer tours pamphlet. +I beats it for the Grand Central, pushes up to the ticket window, and +calls for a round trip to Roaring Rocks. + +"Nothing doing," says the guy. "Give you Bass Rocks, Seal Rocks, or +six varieties of Spouting Rocks; but no Roaring ones on the list. Any +choice?" + +"Gwan, you fresh Mellen seed!" says I. "You got to have 'em. It says +so on the card," and I shoves the postal at him. + +"Ah, yes, my young ruddy duck," says he. "Postmarked Boothbay Harbor, +isn't it? Bath for yours. Change there for steamer. Upper's the best +I can do for you--drawing rooms all gone." + +"Seein' how my private car's bein' reupholstered, I'll chance an +upper," says I. "Only don't put any nose trombone artist underneath." + +Yes, I was feelin' some gayer than a few hours before. What did I care +if the old town was warmin' up as we pulls out until it felt like a +Turkish bath? I was bound north on the map, with my new Norfolk suit +and three outing shirts in my bag, a fair-sized wad of spendin' kale +buttoned into my back pocket, and that card of Vee's stowed away +careful. Say, I should worry! And don't they do some breezin' along +on that Bar Harbor express while you sleep, though? + +"What cute little village is this?" says I to Rastus in the washroom +next mornin' about six-thirty A. M. + +"Pohtland, Suh," says he. "Breakfast stop, Suh." + +"Me for it, then," says I. "When in Maine be a maniac." So I tackles +a plate of pork-and on its native heath; also a hunk of pie. M-m-m-m! +They sure can build pie up there! + +It's quite some State, Maine. Bath is several jumps on, and that next +joint---- Say, it wa'n't until I'd changed to the steamer and was +lookin' over my ticket that I sees anything familiar about the name. +Boothbay! Why, wa'n't that the Rube spot this Ira Higgins hailed from? +Maybe you remember,--Ira, who'd come on to see Mr. Robert about +buildin' a new racin' yacht, the tall, freckled gink with a love affair +on his mind? Why, sure, this was Ira's Harbor I was headed for. And, +say, I didn't feel half so strange about explorin' the State after +that. For Ira, you know, is a friend of mine. Havin' settled that +with myself, I throws out my chest and roams around the decks, climbin' +every flight of stairs I came to, until I gets to a comfy little coop +on the very top where a long guy wearin' white suspenders over a blue +flannel shirt is jugglin' the steerin' wheel. + +"Hello, Cap!" says I. "How's she headin'?" + +He ain't one of the sociable kind, though. You'd most thought, from +the reprovin' stare he gives me, that he didn't appreciate good comp'ny. + +"Can't you read?" says he. + +"Ah, you mean the Keep-Out sign? Sure, Pete," says I; "but I can't see +it from in here." + +"Then git out where you can see it plainer," says he. + +"Ah, quit your kiddin'!" says I. "That's for the common herd, ain't +it? Now, I---- Say, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll tell you +who I am." + +"Say it quick then," says he. "Are you Woodrow Wilson, or only the +Secretary of the Navy?" + +"You're warm," says I. "I'm a friend of Ira Higgins of Boothbay +Harbor." + +"Sho!" says he, removin' his pipe and beginnin' to act human. + +"Happen to know Ira?" says I. + +"Ought to," says he. "First cousins. You from Boston?" + +"Why, Cap!" says I. "What have I ever done to you? Now, honest, do I +look like I--but I'll forgive you this time. New York, Cap: not +Brooklyn, or Staten Island or the Bronx, you know, but straight New +York, West 17th-st. And I've come all this way just to see Mr. +Higgins." + +"Gosh!" says he. "Ira always did have all the luck." + +Next crack he calls me Sorrel Top, and inside of five minutes we was +joshin' away chummy, me up on a tall stool alongside, and him pointin' +out all the sights. And, believe me, the State of Maine's got some +scenery scattered along the wet edge of it! Honest, it's nothin' but +scenery,--rocks and trees and water, and water and trees and rocks, and +then a few more rocks. + +"How about when you hit one of them sharp ones?" says I. + +"Government files a new edge on it," says he. "They keep a gang that +does nothin' else." + +"Think of that!" says I. "I don't see any lobsters floatin' around, +though." + +"Too late in the day," says he. "'Fraid of gittin' sunburned. You +want to watch for 'em about daybreak. Millions then. Travel in +flocks." + +"Ye-e-es?" says I. "All hangin' onto a string, I expect. But why the +painted posts stickin' up out of the water?" + +"Hitchin' posts," says he, "for sea hosses." + +Oh, I got a bunch of valuable marine information from him, and when the +second mate came up he added a lot more. If I hadn't thought to tell +'em how there was always snow on the Singer and Woolworth towers, and +how the East Side gunmen was on strike to raise the homicide price to +three dollars and seventy-five cents, they'd had me well Sweeneyed. As +it was, I guess we split about even. + +Him findin' Boothbay Harbor among all that snarl of islands and +channels wasn't any bluff, though. That was the real sleight of hand. +As we're comin' up to the dock he points out Ira's boatworks, just on +the edge of the town. Half an hour later I've left my baggage at the +hotel and am interviewin' Mr. Higgins. + +He's the same old Ira; only he's wearin' blue overalls and a boiled +shirt with the sleeves rolled up. + +"Roarin' Rocks, eh?" says he. "Why, that's the Hollister place on +Cunner Point, about three miles up." + +"Can I get a trolley?" says I. + +"Trolley!" says he. "Why, Son, there ain't any 'lectric cars nearer'n +Bath." + +"Gee, what a jay burg!" says I. "How about a ferry, then?" + +Ira shakes his head. Seems Roarin' Rocks is a private joint, the +summer place of this Mr. Hollister who's described by Ira as "richer'n +Croesus"--whatever that might mean. Anyway, they're exclusive parties +that don't encourage callers; for the only way of gettin' there is over +a private road around the head of the bay, or by hirin' a launch to +take you up. + +"Generally," says Ira, "they send one of their boats down to meet +company. Now, if they was expectin' you----" + +"That's just it," I breaks in, "they ain't. Fact is, Ira, there's a +young lady visitin' there with her aunt, and--and--well, Aunty and me +ain't so chummy as we might be." + +"Just so," says Ira, noddin' wise. + +"Now my plan was to go up there and kind of stick around, you know," +says I, "sort of in the shade, until the young lady strolled out." + +Ira shakes his head discouragin'. "They're mighty uppish folks," says +he. "Got 'No Trespass' signs all over the place--dogs too." + +"Hellup!" says I. "What am I up against? Why don't Aunty travel with +a bunch of gumshoe guards and be done with it?" + +"Tell you what," says Ira, struck by a stray thought, "if lookin' the +place over'll do any good, you might go out with Eb Westcott this +afternoon when he baits. He's got pots all around the point." + +That don't mean such a lot to me; but my middle name is Brodie. "Show +me Eb," says I. + +He wa'n't any thrillin' sight, Eb; mostly rubber hip boots, flannel +shirt, and whiskers. He could have been cleaner. So could his old tub +of a lobster boat; but not while he stuck to that partic'lar line of +business, I guess. And, say, I know now what baitin' is. It's haulin' +up lobster pots from the bottom of the ocean and decoratin' 'em inside +with fish--ripe fish, at that. The scheme is to lure the lobsters into +the pot. Seems to work too; but I guess a lobster ain't got any sense +of smell. + +"Better put on some old clothes fust," advised Eb, and as I always like +to dress the part I borrows a moldy suit of oilskins from Ira, +includin' one of these yellow sea bonnets, and climbs aboard. + +It's a one-lunger putt-putt--and take it from me the combination of +gasolene and last Tuesday's fish ain't anything like _Eau d'Espagne_! +Quite different! Also I don't care for that jumpy up and down motion +one of these little boats gets on, specially after pie and beans for +breakfast. Then Eb hands me the steerin' ropes while he whittles some +pressed oakum off the end of a brunette plug and loads his pipe. More +perfume comin' my way! + +"Ever try smokin' formaldehyde?" says I. + +"Gosh, no!" says Eb. "What's it like?" + +"You couldn't tell the difference," says I. + +"We git tin tags off'm Sailor's Pride," says Eb. "Save up fifty, and +you git a premium." + +"You ought to," says I, "and a pension for life." + +"Huh!" says Eb. "It's good eatin' too, Ever chaw any?" and he holds +out the plug invitin'. + +"Don't tempt me," says I. "I promised my dear old grandmother I +wouldn't." + +"Lookin' a little peaked, ain't you!" says he. "Most city chaps do +when they fust come; but after 'bout a month of this----" + +"Chop it, Eb!" says I. "I'm feelin' unhappy enough as it is. A month +of this? Ah, say!" + +After awhile we begun stoppin' to bait. Eb would shut off the engine, +run up to a float, haul in a lot of clothesline, and fin'lly pull up an +affair that's a cross between a small crockery crate and an openwork +hen-coop. Next he'd grab a big needle and string a dozen or so of the +gooey fish on a cord. I watched once. After that I turned my back. +By way of bein' obligin', Eb showed me how to roll the flywheel and +start the engine. He said I was a heap stronger in the arms than I +looked, and he didn't mind lettin' me do it right along. Friendly old +yap, Eb was. I kept on rollin' the wheel. + +So about three P. M., as we was workin' our way along the shore, Eb +looks up and remarks, "Here's the Hollister place, Roarin' Rocks." + +Sure enough there it was, almost like the postcard picture, only not +colored quite so vivid. + +"Folks are out airin' themselves too," he goes on. + +They were. I could see three or four people movin' about on the +veranda; for we wa'n't more'n half a block away. First off I spots +Aunty. She's paradin' up and down, stiff and stately, and along with +her waddles a wide, dumpy female in pink. And next, all in white, and +lookin' as slim and graceful as an Easter lily, I makes out Vee; also a +young gent in white flannels and a striped tennis blazer. He's smokin' +a cigarette and swingin' a racket jaunty. I could even hear Vee's +laugh ripple out across the water. You remember how she put it too, +"nice, but awfully stupid." Seems she was makin' the best of it, +though. + +And here I was, in Ira's baggy oilskins, my feet in six inches of oily +brine, squattin' on the edge of a smelly fish box tryin' to hold down a +piece of custard pie! No, that wa'n't exactly the rosy picture I threw +on the screen back in the Corrugated gen'ral offices only yesterday. +Nothing like that! I don't do any hoo-hooin', or wave any private +signals. I pulls the sticky sou'wester further down over my eyes and +squats lower in the boat. + +"Look kind o' gay and festive, don't they?" says Eb, straightenin' up +and wipin' his hands on his corduroys. + +"Who's the party in the tennis outfit?" says I. + +"Him?" says Eb, gawpin' ashore. "Must be young Hollister, that owns +the mahogany speed boat. Stuck up young dude, I guess. Wall, five +more traps to haul, and we're through, Son." + +"Let's go haul 'em, then," says I, grabbin' the flywheel. + +Great excursion, that was! Once more on land, I sneaked soggy footed +up to the hotel and piked for my room. I shied supper and went to the +feathers early, trustin' that if I could get stretched out level with +my eyes shut things would stop wavin' and bobbin' around. That was +good dope too. + +I rolled out next mornin' feelin' fine and silky; but not so cocky by +half. Somehow, I wa'n't gettin' any of the lucky breaks I'd looked for. + +My total programme for the day was just to bat around Boothbay. And, +say, of all the lonesome places for city clothes and a straw lid! +Honest, I never saw so many yachty rigs in my life,--young chaps in +white ducks and sneakers and canvas shoes, girls in middie blouses, old +guys in white flannels and yachtin' caps, even old ladies dressed +sporty and comf'table--and more square feet of sunburn than would cover +Union Square. I felt like a blond Eskimo at a colored camp meetin'. + +As everyone was either comin' from or goin' to the docks, I wanders +down there too, and loafs around watchin' the steamers arrive, and the +big sailin' yachts anchored off in the harbor, and the little boats +dodgin' around in the choppy water. There's a crisp, salty breeze +that's makin' the flags snap, the sun's shinin' bright, and take it +altogether it's some brilliant scene. Only I'm on the outside peekin' +in. + +"What's the use?" thinks I. "I'm off my beat up here." + +Fin'lly I drifts down to the Yacht Club float, where the launches was +comin' in thick. I must have been there near an hour, swappin' never a +word with anybody, and gettin' lonesomer by the minute, when in from +the harbor dashes a long, low, dark-colored boat and comes rushin' at +the float like it meant to make a hydroplane jump. At the wheel I gets +sight of a young chap who has sort of a worried, scared look on his +face. Also he's wearin' a striped blazer. + +"Young Hollister, maybe," thinks I. "And he's in for a smash." + +Just then he manages to throw in his reverse; but it's a little late, +for he's got a lot of headway. Honest, I didn't think it out. And I +was achin' to butt into something. I jumped quick, grabbed the bow as +it came in reach, shoved it off vigorous, and brought him alongside the +fenders without even scratchin' the varnish. + +"Thanks, old chap," says he. "Saved me a bad bump there. I--I'm +greatly obliged." + +"You're welcome," says I. "You was steamin' in a little strong." + +"I haven't handled the Vixen much myself," says he. "You see, our +boatman's laid up,--sprained ankle,--and I had to come down from the +Rocks for some gasolene." + +"Oh! Roarin' Rocks?" says I. + +"Yes," says he. "Where's that fool float tender?" + +"Just gone into the clubhouse," says I. "Maybe I could keep her from +bumpin' while you're gone." + +"By Jove! would you?" says he, handin' over a boathook. + +Even then I wasn't layin' any scheme. I helps when they puts the gas +in, and makes myself generally useful. Also I'm polite and respectful, +which seems to make a hit with him. + +"Deuced bother," says he, "not having any man. I had a picnic planned +for today too." + +"That so?" says I. "Well, I'm no marine engineer, but I'm just killin' +time around here, and if I could help any way----" + +"Oh, I say, but that's jolly of you," says he, "I wonder if you would, +for a day or so? My name's Hollister, Payne Hollister." + +He wasn't Payne to me. He was Joy. Easy? Why, he fairly pushes me +into it! Digs a white jumper out of a locker for me, and a little +round canvas hat with "Vixen" on the front, and trots back uptown to +buy me a swell pair of rubber-soled deck shoes. Business of quick +change for yours truly. Then look! Say, here I am, just about the +yachtiest thing in sight, leanin' back on the steerin' seat cushions of +a classy speed boat that's headed towards Vee at a twenty-mile clip. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE + +Lemme see, I was headed out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine, bound for +Roarin' Rocks, wa'n't I? Hold the picture,--me in a white jumper and +little round canvas hat with "Vixen" printed across the front, white +shoes too, and altogether as yachty as they come. Don't forget young +Mr. Payne Hollister at the wheel, either; although whether I'd +kidnapped him, or he'd kidnapped me, is open for debate. + +Anyway, here I was, subbin' incog for the reg'lar crew, who was laid up +with a sprained ankle. All that because I'd got the happy hail from +Vee on a postcard. It wa'n't any time for unpleasant thoughts then; +but I couldn't help wonderin' how soon Aunty would loom on the horizon +and spoil it all. + +"So there's a picnic on the slate, eh?" I suggests. + +Young Mr. Hollister nods. "I'd promised some of the folks at the +house," says he. "Guests, you know." + +"Oh, yes," says I, feelin' a little shiver flicker down my spine. + +I knew. Vee was a guest there. So was Aunty. The picnic prospects +might have been more allurin'. But I'd butted in, and this was no time +to back out. Besides, I was more or less interested in sizin' up Payne +Hollister. Tall, slim, young gent; dark, serious eyes; nose a little +prominent; and his way of speakin' and actin' a bit pompous,--one of +them impatient, quick-motioned kind that wants to do everything in a +minute. He keeps gettin' up and starin' ahead, like he wa'n't quite +sure where he was goin', and then leanin' over to squint at the engine +restless. + +"Just see if those forward oil cups are full, will you?" says he. + +I climbs over and inspects. Everything seems to be O. K.; although +what I don't know about a six-cylinder marine engine is amazin'. + +"We're slidin' through the water slick," says I. + +"She can turn up much faster than this," says he; "only I don't dare +open her wide." + +I was satisfied. I could use a minute or so about then to plot out a +few scenarios dealin' with how a certain party would act in case of +makin' a sudden discovery. But I hadn't got past picturin' the cold +storage stare before the Hollister place shows up ahead, Payne +throttles the Vixen down cautious, shoots her in between a couple of +rocky points, and fetches her up alongside a rope-padded private float. +There's some steps leadin' up to the top of the rocks. + +"Do you mind running up and asking if they're ready?" says Payne. + +"Why, no," says I; "but--but who do I ask?" + +"That's so," says he. "And they'll not know who you are, either. I'll +go. Just hold her off." + +Me with a boathook, posin' back to for the next ten minutes, not even +darin' to rubber over my shoulder. Then voices, "Have you the coffee +bottles?"--"Don't forget the steamer rugs."--"I put the olives on the +top of the sandwiches."--"Be careful when you land, Mabel dear."--"Oh, +we'll be all right." This last from Vee. + +Another minute and they're down on the float, with Payne Hollister +explainin', "Oh, I forgot. This is someone who is helping me with the +boat while Tucker's disabled." I touches my hat respectful; but I'm +too busy to face around--much too busy! + +"Now, Cousin Mabel," says young Hollister, "right in the middle of that +seat! Easy, now!" + +A squeal from Mabel. No wonder! I gets a glimpse of her as she steps +down, and, believe me, if I had Mabel's shape and weight you couldn't +tease me out on the water in anything smaller'n the Mauretania! All +the graceful lines of a dumplin', Mabel had; about five feet up and +down, and 'most as much around. Vee is on one side, Payne on the +other, both lowerin' away careful; but as she makes the final plunge +before floppin' onto the seat she reaches out one paw and annexes my +right arm. Course that swings me around sudden, and I finds myself +gazin' at Vee over Payne Hollister's shoulders, not three feet away. + +"Oh!" says she, startled, and you couldn't blame her. I just has to +lay one finger on my lips and shake my head mysterious. + +"All right!" sings out Payne, straightenin' up. "Always more or less +exciting getting Cousin Mabel aboard; but it's been accomplished. Now, +Verona!" + +As he gives her a hand she floats in as light as a bird landin' in a +treetop. I could feel her watchin' me curious and puzzled as I passes +the picnic junk down for Hollister to stow away. Course, it wa'n't any +leadin'-heavy, spotlight entrance I was makin' at Roarin' Rocks; but +it's a lot better, thinks I, than not bein' there at all. + +"Oh, dear," sighs Mabel, "what a narrow, uncomfortable seat!" + +"Is it, really?" asks Vee. "Can't it be fixed someway, Payne?" + +"Lemme have a try?" says I. With that I stuffs extra cushions around +her, folds up a life preserver to rest her feet on, and drapes her with +a steamer rug. + +"Thanks," says she, sighin' grateful and rewardin' me with a display of +dimples. "What is your name, young man?" + +"Why," says I, with a glance at Vee, "you can just call me Bill." + +"Nonsense!" says Mabel. "Your name is William." + +"William goes, Miss," says I; and as she snuggles down I chances a wink +Vee's way. No response, though. Vee ain't sure yet whether she ought +to grin or give me the call-down. + +"Cast off!" says Payne, and out between the rocks we shoot, with Aunty +and Mrs. Hollister wavin' from the veranda. Anyway, that was some +relief. This wa'n't Aunty's day for picnickin'. + +She didn't know what she was missin', I expect; for, say, that's good +breathin' air up off Boothbay. There's some life and pep to it, and +rushin' through it that way you can't help pumpin' your lungs full. +Makes you glow and tingle inside and out. Makes you want to holler. +That, and the sunshine dancin' on the water, and the feel of the boat +slicin' through the waves, the engine purrin' away a sort of rag-time +tune, and the pennants whippin', and all that scenery shiftin' around +to new angles, not to mention the fact that Vee's along--well, I was +enjoyin' life about then. Kind of got into my blood. Everything was +lovely, and I didn't care what happened next. + +Me bein' the crew, I expect I should have been fussin' around up front, +coilin' ropes, or groomin' the machinery. But I can't make my eyes +behave. I has to turn around every now and then and grin. Mabel don't +seem to mind. + +"William," says she, signalin' me, "see if you can't find a box of +candy in that basket." + +I hops over the steerin' seat back into the standin' room and digs it +out. Also I lingers around while Mabel feeds in a few pieces. + +"Have some?" says she. "You're so good-natured looking." + +"That's my long suit," says I. + +Then I see Vee's mouth corners twitching and she takes her turn. "You +live around here, I suppose, William?" says she. + +"No such luck," says I. "I come up special to get this job." + +"But," puts in Mabel, holdin' a fat chocolate cream in the air, "Tucker +wasn't hurt until yesterday." + +"That's when I landed," says I. + +"Someone must have sent you word then," says Vee, impish. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Someone mighty special too. Sweet of her, wa'n't +it?" + +"Oh! A girl?" asks Mabel, perkin' up. + +"_The_ girl," says I. + +"Tee-hee!" snickers Mabel, nudgin' Vee delighted. "Is--is she very +nice, William? Tell us about her, won't you?" + +"Oh, do!" says Vee, sarcastic. + +"Well," says I, lookin' at Vee, "she's about your height and build." + +"How interesting!" says Mabel, with another nudge. "Go on. What kind +of hair?" + +"Never was any like it," says I. + +"But her complexion," insists Mabel, "dark or fair?" + +"Pink roses in the mornin', with the dew on," says I. + +"Bravo!" says Mabel, clappin' her hands. "And her eyes?" + +"Why," says I, "maybe you've looked down into deep sea water on a +still, gray day? That's it." + +"She must be a beauty," says Mabel. + +"Nothing but," says I. + +"I hope she has a nice disposition too," says she. + +"Nope," says I, shakin' my head solemn. + +"Humph! What's the matter with that?" says Vee. + +"Jumpy," says I. "Red pepper and powdered sugar; sometimes all sugar, +sometimes all pepper, then again a mixture. You never can tell." + +"Then I'd throw her over," says Vee. + +"Honest, would you?" says I, lookin' her square in the eye. + +"If I didn't like her disposition, I would," says she. + +"But that's the best part of her to me," says I. "Adds variety, you +know, and--well, I expect it's about the only way I'm like her. Mine +is apt to be that way too." + +"Why, of course," comes in Mabel. "If she was as pretty as all that, +and angelic too----" + +"You got the idea," says I. "She'd be in a stained glass window +somewhere, eh?" + +"You're a silly boy!" says Vee. + +"That sounds natural," says I. "I often get that from her." + +"And is she living up here?" asks Mabel. "Visiting," says I. "She's +with her----" + +"William," breaks in Vee, "I think Mr. Hollister wants you." + +I'd most forgot about Payne; for, while he's only a few feet off, he's +as much out of the group as if he was ashore. You know how it is in +one of them high-powered launches with the engine runnin'. You can't +hear a word unless you're right close to. And Payne's twistin' around +restless. + +"Yes, Sir?" says I, goin' up and reportin'. + +"Ask Miss Verona if she doesn't want to come up here," says he. "I--I +think it will trim the boat better." + +"Sure," says I. But when I passes the word to Vee I translates. "Mr. +Hollister's lonesome," says I, "and there's room for another." + +"I've been wondering if I couldn't," says Vee. + +"You can," says I. "Lemme help you over." + +Gives me a chance for a little hand squeeze and another close glimpse +into them gray eyes. I don't make out anything definite, though. But +as she passes forward she puckers her lips saucy and whispers, +"Pepper!" in my ear. I guess, after all, when you're doin' +confidential description you don't want to stick too close to facts. +Makin' it all stained glass window stuff is safer. + +I goes back to Mabel and lets her demand more details. She's just full +of romance, Mabel is; not so full, though, that it interferes with her +absorbin' a few eats now and then. Between answerin' questions I'm +kept busy handin' out crackers, oranges, and doughnuts, openin' the +olive bottle, and gettin' her drinks of water. Reg'lar Consumers' +League, Mabel. I never run a sausage stuffin' machine; but I think I +could now. + +"You're such a handy young man to have around," says Mabel, after I've +split a Boston cracker and lined it with strawb'ry jam for her; "so +much better than Tucker." + +"That's my aim," says I, "to make you forget Tucker." + +Yes, I was gettin' some popular with Mabel, even if I was in wrong with +Vee. They seems to be havin' quite a chatty time of it, Payne showin' +her how to steer, and lettin' her salute passin' launches, and +explainin' how the engine worked. As far as them two went, Mabel and +me was only so much excess baggage. + +"Why, we're clear out beyond Squirrel!" exclaims Mabel at last. "Ask +Payne where we're going to stop for our picnic. I'm getting hungry." + +"Oh, yes," says Payne, "we must be thinking about landing. I had +planned to run out to Damariscove; but that looks like a fog bank +hanging off there. Perhaps we'd better go back to Fisherman's Island, +after all. Tell her Fisherman's." + +I couldn't see what the fog bank had to do with it--not then, anyway. +Why, it was a peach of a day,--all blue sky, not a sign of a cloud +anywhere, and looked like it would stay that way for a week. He keeps +the Vixen headed out to sea for awhile longer, and then all of a sudden +he circles short and starts back. + +"Fog!" he shouts over his shoulder to Mabel. + +"Oh, bother!" says Mabel. "I hate fog. And it is coming in too." + +Yes, that bank did seem to be workin' its way toward us, like a big, +gray curtain that's bein' shoved from the back drop to the front of the +stage. You couldn't see it move, though; but as I watched blamed if it +don't creep up on an island, a mile or so out, and swallow it complete, +same as a picture fades off a movie screen when the lights go wrong. +Just like that. Then a few wisps of thin mist floats by, makin' things +a bit hazy ahead. Squirrel Island, off to the left, disappears like it +had gone to the bottom. The mainland shore grows vague and blurred, +and the first thing we know we ain't anywhere at all, the scenery's all +smudged out, and nothin' in sight but this pearl-gray mist. It ain't +very thick, you know, and only a little damp. Rummy article, this +State of Maine fog! + +Young Hollister is standin' up now, tryin' to keep his bearin's and +doin' his best to look through the haze. He slows the engine down +until we're only just chuggin' along. + +"Let's see," says he, "wasn't Squirrel off there a moment ago?" + +"Why, no," says Vee. "I thought it was more to the left." + +"By Jove!" says he. "And there are rocks somewhere around here too!" + +Funny how quick you can get turned around that way. Inside of three +minutes I couldn't have told where we were at, any more'n if I'd been +blindfolded in a cellar. And I guess young Hollister got to that +condition soon after. + +"We ought to be making the south end of Fisherman's soon," he observes. + +But we didn't. He has me climb out on the bow to sing out if I see +anything. But, say, there was less to see than any spot I was ever in. +I watched and watched, and Payne kept on gettin' nervous. And still we +keeps chuggin' and chuggin', steerin' first one way and then the other. +It seemed hours we'd been gropin' around that way when---- + +"Rocks ahead!" I sings out as something dark looms up. Payne turns her +quick; but before she can swing clear bang goes the bow against +something solid and slides up with a gratin' sound. He tries backin' +off; but she don't budge. + +"Hang it all!" says Payne, shuttin' off the engine. "I guess we're +stuck." + +"Then why not have the picnic right here?" pipes up Mabel. + +"Here!" snaps Payne. "But I don't know where we are." + +"Oh, what's the difference?" says Mabel. "Besides, I'm hungry." + +"I want to get out of this, though," says Payne. "I mean to keep going +until I know where I am." + +"Oh, fudge!" says Mabel. "This is good enough. And if we stay here +and have a nice luncheon perhaps the fog will go away. What's the +sense in drifting around when you're hungry?" + +That didn't seem such bad dope, either. Vee sides with Mabel, and +while Payne don't like the idea he gives in. We seem to have landed +somewhere. So we carts the baskets and things ashore, finds a flat +place up on the rocks, and then the three of us tackles the job of +hoistin' Mabel onto dry land. And it was some enterprise, believe me! + +"Goodness!" pants Mabel, after we'd got her planted safe. "I don't +know how I'm ever going to get back." + +We didn't, either; but after we'd spread out five kinds of sandwiches +within her reach, poured hot coffee out of the patent bottles, opened +the sardines and pickles, set out the cake and doughnuts, Mabel ceases +to worry. + +Payne don't, though. He swallows one sandwich, and then goes back to +inspect the boat. He announces that the tide is comin' in and she +ought to float soon; also that when she does he wants to start back. + +"Now, Payne!" protests Mabel. "Just when I'm comfortable!" + +"And there isn't any hurry, is there?" asks Vee. + +I wa'n't so stuck on buttin' around in the fog myself; so when he asks +me to go down and see if the launch is afloat yet, and I finds that she +can be pushed off easy, I don't hurry about tellin' him so. Instead I +climbs aboard and develops an idea. You see, when I was out with Eb +Westcott in his lobster boat the day before I'd noticed him stop the +engine just by jerkin' a little wire off the spark plug. Here was a +whole bunch of wires, though. Wouldn't do to unhitch 'em all. But +along the inside of the boat is a little box affair that they all lead +into, with one big wire leadin' out. Looked kind of businesslike, that +one did. I unhitches it gentle and drapes it over a nearby screwhead. +Then I strolls back and reports that she's afloat. + +"Good!" says Payne. "I'll just start the engine and be tuning her up +while the girls finish luncheon." + +Well, maybe you can guess. I could hear him windin' away at the +crankin' wheel, windin' and windin', and then stoppin' to cuss a little +under his breath. + +"What's the matter?" sings out Mabel. + +She was one of the kind that's strong on foolish questions. + +"How the blazes should I know?" raps back young Hollister. "I can't +start the blasted thing." + +"Never mind," says Mabel cheerful. "We haven't finished the sandwiches +yet." + +Next time I takes a peek Payne has his tool kit spread out and is busy +takin' things apart. He's getting' himself all smeared up with grease +and oil too. Pity; for he'd started out lookin' so neat and nifty. +Meanwhile we'd fed Mabel to the limit, got her propped up with +cushions, and she's noddin' contented. + +"Guess I'll do some exploring" says I. + +"But I've been wanting to do that this half-hour," says Vee. + +"Well, let's then," says I. + +"Go on," says Mabel, "and tell me about it afterward." + +Oh, yes, we explores. Say, I'm a bear for that too! You have to go +hand in hand over the rocks, to keep from slippin'. And the fog makes +it all the nicer. We didn't go far before we came to the edge. Then +we cross in another direction, and comes to more edge. + +"Why, we're on a little island!" says Vee. + +"Big enough for us," says I. "Here's a good place to sit down too." +We settles ourselves in a snug little corner that gives us a fine view +of the fog. + +"How silly of you to come away up here," says Vee, "just because--well, +just because." + +"It's the only wise move I was ever guilty of," says I. "I feel like I +had Solomon in the grammar grade." + +"But how did you happen to get here--with Payne?" says she. + +"Hypnotized him," says I. "That part was a cinch." + +"And until to-day you didn't know where we were, or anything," says she. + +"I scouted around a bit yesterday afternoon," says I. "Saw you too." + +"Yesterday!" says she. "Why, no one came near all the afternoon; that +is, only a couple of lobstermen in a horrid, smelly old boat." + +"Uh-huh," says I. "One was me, in disguise." + +"Torchy!" says she, gaspin'. And somehow she snuggles up a little +closer after that. "I didn't think when I wrote," she goes on, "that +you would be so absurd." + +"Maybe I was," says I. "But I took it straight, that part about it +bein' stupid up here. I was figurin' on liftin' the gloom. I hadn't +counted on Payne." + +"Well, what then?" says she, tossin' her chin up. + +"Nothin'," says I. "Guess you were right, too." + +"He only came the other day," says Vee; "but he's nice." + +"Aunty thinks so too, don't she?" says I. + +"Why, yes," admits Vee. + +"Another chosen one, is he?" says I. + +Vee flushes. "I don't care!" says she. "He is rather nice." + +"Correct," says I. "I found him that way too; but ain't he--well, just +a little stiff in the neck?" + +That brings out a giggle. "Poor Payne!" says Vee. "He is something of +a stick, you know." + +"We'll forgive him for that," says I. "We'll forgive Mabel. We'll +forgive the fog. Eh?" Then my arm must have slipped. + +"Why, Torchy!" says she. + +"Oh!" says I. "Thought you were too near the edge." And the side +clinch wa'n't disturbed. + +[Illustration: Then my arm must have slipped--and the side clinch +wa'n't disturbed.] + +Some chat too! I don't know when we've had a chance for any such a +good long talk as that, and we both seemed to have a lot of +conversation stored up. Then we chucked pebbles into the water, and +Vee pulls some seaweed and decorates my round hat. You know? It's +easy killin' time when you're paired off right. And the first thing we +knows the fog begins to lighten and the sun almost breaks through. We +hurries back to where Mabel's just rousin' from a doze. + +"Well?" says she. + +"It's a tiny little island we're on," says Vee. + +"Nice little island, though," says I. + +"Hey!" sings out Payne, pokin' his head up over the rocks. "I've been +calling and calling." + +"We've been explorin'," says I. "Got her fixed yet?" + +"Hang it, no!" growls Payne, scrubbin' cotton waste over his forehead. +"And the fog's beginning to lift. Why, there's the shore, +and--and--well, what do you think of that? We're on Grampus Ledges, +not a mile from home!" + +Sure enough, there was Roarin' Rocks just showin' up. + +"Now if I could only start this confounded engine!" says he, starin' +down at it puzzled. + +By this time Vee and Mabel appears, and of course Mabel wants to know +what's the matter. + +"I'm sure I can't tell," says Payne, sighin' hopeless. + +"Wirin' all right, is it?" says I, climbin' in and lookin' scientific. +And--would you believe it?--I only paws around a minute or so before I +finds a loose magneto connection, hooks it up proper, and remarks +casual, "Now let's try her." + +Pur-r-r-r-r! Off she goes. "There!" exclaims Mabel. "I shall never +go out again unless William is along. He's so handy!" + +Say, she stuck to it. Four days I was chief engineer of the +Vixen--and, take it from me, they was perfectly good days. No more +fog. No rain. Just shoolin' around in fair weather, makin' excursions +here and there, with Vee trippin' down to the dock every day in a +fresher and newer yachtin' costume, and lookin' pinker and sweeter +every trip. + +Course, as regards a certain other party, it was a case of artistic +dodgin' for me between times. You got to admit, though, that it wa'n't +a fair test for Aunty. I had her off her guard. Might have been +diff'rent too, if she'd cared for motorboatin'. So maybe I got +careless. I remember once passin' Aunty right in the path, as I'm +luggin' some things up to the house, and all I does is to hoist the +basket up on my shoulder between me and her and push right along. + +Then here the last morning just as we got under way for a run to +Damariscotta, she and Mrs. Hollister was up on the cliff seein' us off. +All the rest was wavin'; so just for sport I takes off my hat and waves +too, grinnin' humorous at Vee as I makes the play. But, say, next time +I looks back she's up on the veranda with the fieldglasses trained on +us. I keeps my hat on after that. My kind of red hair is prominent +enough to the naked eye at almost any distance--but with fieldglasses! +Good night! + +It was a day for forgettin' things, though. Ever sailed up the Scotty +River on a perfect August day, with the sun on the green hills, a sea +breeze tryin' to follow the tide in, and the white gulls swingin' lazy +overhead? It's worth doin'. Then back again, roundin' Ocean Point +about sunset, with the White Islands all tinted up pink off there, and +the old Atlantic as smooth as a skatin' rink as far out as you can see, +and streaked with more colors than a crazy cubist can sling,--some +peaceful picture. + +But what a jar to find Aunty, grim and forbidding waitin' on the dock. +She never says a word until we'd landed and everyone but me had started +for the house. Then I got mine. + +"Boy," says she icy, "take off that hat!" + +I does it reluctant. + +"Humph!" says she. "William! I thought so." That's all; but she says +it mighty expressive. + +The programme for the followin' day included a ten o'clock start, and +I'd been down to the boat ever since breakfast, tidyin' things up and +sort of wonderin'. About nine-fifteen, though, young Hollister comes +wanderin' down by his lonesome. + +"It's all off," says he. "Miss Verona and her aunt have gone." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Gone?" + +"Early this morning," says he. "I don't quite understand why; +something about Verona's being out on the water so much, I believe. +Gone to the mountains. And--er--by the way, Tucker is around again. +Here he comes now." + +"He gets the jumper, then," says I, peelin' it off. "I guess I'm due +back on Broadway." + +"It's mighty good of you to help out," says Payne, "and I--I want to do +the right thing in the way of----" + +"You have," says I. "You've helped me have the time of my life. Put +up the kale, Hollister. If you'll land me at the Harbor, I'll call it +square." + +He don't want to let it stand that way; but I insists. As I climbs out +on the Yacht Club float, where he'd picked me up, he puts out his hand +friendly. + +"And, say," says I, "how about Miss Vee?" + +"Why," says he, "I'm very sorry she couldn't stay longer." + +"Me too," says I. "Some girl, eh?" + +Payne nods hearty, and we swaps a final grip. + +Well, it was great! My one miscue was not wearin' a wig. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS + +We thought it was all over too. That's the way it is in plays and +books, where they don't gen'rally take 'em beyond the final clinch, +leavin' you to fill in the bliss _ad lib_. But here we'd seen 'em +clear through the let-no-man-put-asunder stage, even watched 'em dodge +the rice and confetti in their dash to the limousine. + +"Thank goodness that's through with!" remarks Mother, without makin' +any bones of it. + +Course, her reg'lar cue was to fall on Father's neck and weep; but, +then, I expect Mrs. Cheyne Ballard's one of the kind you can't write +any form sheet for. She's a lively, bunchy little party, all jump and +go and jingle, who looks like she might have been married herself only +day before yesterday. + +"I hope Robbie knows where she put those trunk checks," says Father, at +the same time sighin' sort of relieved. + +From where I stood, though, the guy who was pushin' overboard the +biggest chunk of worry was this I-wilt boy, Mr. Nicholas Talbot. He'd +got her at last! But, z-z-z-zingo! it had been some lively gettin'. +Not that I was all through the campaign with him; but I'd had glimpses +here and there. + +You see, Robbie's almost one of the fam'ly; for Mr. Robert's an old +friend of the Ballards, and was bottle holder or something at the +christenin'. As a matter of fact, she was named Roberta after him. +Then he'd watched her grow up, and always remembered her birthdays, and +kept her latest picture on his desk. So why shouldn't he figure more +or less when so many others was tryin' to straighten out her love +affairs? They was some tangled there for awhile too. + +Robbie's one of the kind, you know, that would have Cupid cross-eyed in +one season. A queen? Well, take it from me! Say, the way her cheeks +was tinted up natural would have a gold medal rose lookin' like it come +off a twenty-nine-cent roll of wall paper. Then them pansy-colored +eyes! Yes, Miss Roberta Ballard was more or less ornamental. That +wa'n't all, of course. She could say more cute things, and cut loose +with more unexpected pranks, than a roomful of Billie Burkes. As +cunnin' as a kitten, she was. + +No wonder Nick Talbot fell for her the first time he was exposed! +Course, he was half engaged to that stunnin' Miss Marian Marlowe at the +time; but wa'n't Robbie waverin' between three young chaps that all +seemed to be in the runnin' before Nick showed up? + +Anyway, Miss Marlowe should have known better than to lug in her steady +when she was visitin'. She'd been chummy with Robbie at boardin' +school, and should have known how dangerous she was. But young Mr. +Talbot had only two looks before he's as strong for Robbie as though it +had been comin' on for years back. Impetuous young gent that way he +was too; and, bein' handicapped by no job, and long on time and money, +he does some spirited rushin'. + +Seems Robbie Ballard didn't mind. Excitement was her middle name, +novelty was her strong suit, and among Nick's other attractions he was +brand new. Besides, wa'n't he a swell one-stepper, a shark at tennis, +and couldn't he sing any ragtime song that she could drum out? The +ninety-horse striped racin' car that he came callin' in helped along +some; for one of Robbie's fads was for travelin' fast. Course, she'd +been brought up in limousines; but the mile in fifty seconds gave her a +genuine thrill. + +When it come to holdin' out her finger for the big solitaire that Nick +flashed on her about the third week, though, she hung back. The others +carried about the same line of jew'lry around in their vest pockets, +waitin' for a chance to decorate her third finger. One had the +loveliest gray eyes too. Then there was another entry, with the +dearest little mustache, who was a bear at doin' the fish-walk tango +with her; not to mention the young civil engineer she'd met last winter +at Palm Beach. But he didn't actually count, not bein' on the scene. + +Anyway, three was enough to keep guessin' at once. Robbie was real +modest that way. But she sure did have 'em all busy. If it was a +sixty-mile drive with Nick before luncheon, it was apt to be an +afternoon romp in the surf with the gray-eyed one, and a toss up as to +which of the trio took her to the Casino dance in the evenin'. Mother +used to laugh over it all with Mr. Robert, who remarked that those kids +were absurd. Nobody seemed to take it serious; for Robbie was only a +few months over nineteen. + +But young Mr. Talbot had it bad. Besides, he'd always got about what +he wanted before, and this time he was in dead earnest. So the first +thing Mother and Father knew they were bein' interviewed. Robbie had +half said she might if there was no kick from her dear parents, and he +wanted to know how about it. Mr. Cheyne Ballard supplied the +information prompt. He called Nick an impudent young puppy, at which +Mother wept and took the young gent's part. Robbie blew in just then +and giggled through the rest of the act, until Father quit disgusted +and put it square up to her. Then she pouted and locked herself in her +room. That's when Mr. Robert was sent for; but she wouldn't give him +any decision, either. + +So for a week there things was in a mess, with Robbie balkin', Mother +havin' a case of nerves, Father nursin' a grouch, and Nick Talbot +mopin' around doleful. Then some girl friend suggested to Robbie that +if she did take Nick they could have a moonlight lawn weddin', with the +flower gardens all lit up by electric bulbs, which would be too dear +for anything. Robbie perked up and asked for details. Inside of an +hour she was plannin' what she would wear. Late in the afternoon Nick +heard the glad news himself, through a third party. + +First off the date was set for early next spring, when she'd be twenty. +That was Father's dope; although Mother was willin' it should be pulled +off around Christmas time. Nick, he stuck out for the first of +October; but Robbie says: + +"Oh, pshaw! There won't be any flowers then, and we'll be back in +town. Why not week after next?" + +So that's the compromise fin'lly agreed on. The moonlight stunt had to +be scratched; but the outdoor part was stuck to--and believe me it was +some classy hitchin' bee! + +They'd been gone about two weeks, I guess, with everybody contented +except maybe the three losers, and all hands countin' the incident +closed; when one forenoon Mother shows up at the general offices, has a +long talk with Mr. Robert, and goes away moppin' her eyes. Then +there's a call for Mr. Cheyne Ballard's downtown number, and Mr. Robert +has a confab with him over the 'phone. Next comes three lively rings +for me on the buzzer, and I chases into the private office. Mr. Robert +is sittin' scowlin', makin' savage' jabs with a paper knife at the +blotter pad. + +"Torchy," says he, "I find myself in a deucedly awkward fix." + +"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I. + +"No, no!" says he. "This is a personal affair, and--well, it's +embarrassing, to say the least." + +"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I. + +"It's about Roberta," says he. + +"What--again?" says I. "But I thought they was travelin' abroad?" + +"I wish they were," says he; "but they're not. At the last moment, it +seems, Robbie decided she didn't care for a foreign trip,--too late in +the season, and she didn't want to be going over just when everyone was +coming back, you know. So they went up to Thundercaps instead." + +"Sounds stormy," says I. + +"You're quite right," says he. "But it's a little gem of a place that +young Talbot's father built up in the Adirondacks. I was there once. +It's right on top of a mountain. And that's where they are now, miles +from anywhere or anybody." + +"And spoony as two mush ladles, I expect," says I. + +"Humph!" says he, tossin' the brass paper knife reckless onto the +polished mahogany desk top. "They ought to be, I will admit; but--oh, +hang it all, if you're to be of any use in this beastly affair, I +suppose you must be told the humiliating, ugly truth! They are not +spooning. Robbie is very unhappy. She--she's being abused." + +"Well, what do you know!" says I. "You don't mean he's begun draggin' +her around by the hair, or----" + +"Don't!" says Mr. Robert, bunchin' his fists nervous. "I can't tell. +Robbie hasn't gone into that. But she has written her mother that she +is utterly wretched, and that this precious Nick Talbot of hers is +unbearable. The young whelp! If I could only get my hands on him for +five minutes! But, blast it all! that's just what I mustn't do +until--until I'm sure. I can't trust myself to go. That is why I must +send you, young man." + +"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Me? Ah, say, Mr. Robert, I wouldn't stand any +show at all mixin' it with a young husk like him. Why, after the first +poke I'd be----" + +"You misunderstand," says he. "That poke part I can attend to very +well myself. But I want to know the worst before I start in, and if I +should go up there now, feeling as I do, I--well, I might not be a very +patient investigator. You see, don't you?" + +"Might blow a gasket, eh?" says I. "And you want me to go up and scout +around. But what if I'm caught at it--am I peddlin' soap, or what?" + +"A plausible errand is just what I've been trying to invent," says he. +"Can you suggest anything?" + +"Why," says I, "I might go disguised as a lone bandit who'd robbed a +train and was----" + +"Too theatrical," objects Mr. Robert. + +"Or a guy come to test the gas meter," I goes on. + +"Nonsense!" says he. "No gas meters up there. Forget the disguise. +They both know you, remember." + +"Oh, well," says I, "if I can't wear a wig, then I expect I'll have to +go as special messenger sent up with some nutty present or other,--a +five-pound box of candy, or flowers, or----" + +"That's it--orchids!" breaks in Mr. Robert. "Robbie expects a bunch +from me about every so often. The very thing!" + +So less'n an hour later I'm on my way, with fifty dollars' worth of +freak posies in a box, and instructions to stick around Thundercaps as +long as I can, with my eyes wide open and my ears stretched. Mr. +Robert figures I'll land there too late for the night train back, +anyway, and after that I'm to use my bean. If I finds the case +desp'rate, I'm to beat it for the nearest telegraph office and wire in. + +"Poor little girl!" is Mr. Robert's closin' remark. "Poor little +Robbie!" + +Cheerful sort of an errand, wa'n't it, bein' sent to butt in on a Keno +curtain raiser? Easy enough workin' up sympathy for the abused bride. +Why, she wa'n't much more'n a kid, and one who'd been coddled and +petted all her life, at that! And here she ups and marries offhand +this two-fisted young hick who turns out to be bad inside. You +wouldn't have guessed it, either; for, barrin' a kind of heavy jaw and +deep-set eyes, he had all the points of a perfectly nice young gent. +Good fam'ly too. Mr. Robert knew two of his brothers well, and durin' +the coo campaign he'd rooted for Nick. Then he had to show a streak +like this! + +"But wait!" thinks I. "If I can get anything on him, he sure will have +it handed to him hot when Mr. Robert arrives. I want to see it done +too." + +You don't get to places like Thundercaps in a minute, though. It's the +middle of the afternoon before I jumps the way train at a little +mountain station, and then I has to hunt up a jay with a buckboard and +take a ten-mile drive over a course like a roller coaster. They ought +to smooth that Adirondack scenery down some. Crude stuff, I call it. + +But, say, the minute we got inside Thundercaps' gates it's +diff'rent--smooth green lawns, lots of flowerbeds, a goldfish +pool,--almost like a chunk of Central Park. In the middle is a +white-sided, red-tiled shack, with pink and white awnings, and odd +windows, and wide, cozy verandas,--just the spot where you'd think a +perfectly good honeymoon might be pulled off. + +I'm just unloadin' my bag and the flowerbox when around a corner of the +cottage trips a cerise-tinted vision in an all lace dress and a +butterfly wrap. Course, it's Robbie. She's heard the sound of wheels, +and has come a runnin'. + +"Oh!" says she, stoppin' sudden and puckerin' her baby mouth into a +pout. "I thought someone was arriving, you know." Which was a sad +jolt to give a rescuer, wa'n't it? + +"Sorry," says I; "but I'm all there is." + +"You're the boy from Uncle Robert's office--Torchy, isn't it?" says she. + +"It is," says I. "Fired up with flowers and Mr. Robert's compliments." + +"The old dear!" says she, grabbin' the box, slippin' off the string and +divin' into the tissue paper. "Orchids, too! Oh, goody! But they +don't go with my coat. Pooh! I don't need it, anyway." With that +she, sheds the butterfly arrangement, chuckin' it casual on the steps, +and jams the whole of that fifty dollars' worth under her sash. +"There, how does that look, Mr. Torchy?" says she, takin' a few fancy +steps back and forth. + +"All right, I guess," says I. + +"Stupid!" says she, stampin' her double A-1 pump peevish. "Is that the +prettiest you can say it? Come, now--aren't they nice on me?" + +"Nice don't cover it," says I. "I was only wonderin' whether orchids +was invented for you, or you for orchids." + +This brings out a frilly little laugh, like jinglin' a string of silver +bells, and she shows both dimples. "That's better," says she. "Almost +as good as some of the things Bud Chandler can say. Dear old Bud! +He's such fun!" + +"He was the gray-eyed one, wa'n't he?" says I. + +"Why, yes," says she. "He was a dear. So was Oggie Holcomb. I wish +Nick would ask them both up." + +"Eh?" says I. "The also rans? Here?" + +"Pooh!" says she. "Why not? It's frightfully dull, being all alone. +But Nick won't do it, the old bear!" + +Which reminds me that I ought to be scoutin' for black eyes, or wrist +bruises, or finger marks on her neck. Nothin' of the kind shows up, +though. + +"Been kind of rough about it, has he?" says I. + +"He's been perfectly awful!" says she. "Sulking around as though I'd +done something terrible! But I'll pay him up. Come, you're not going +back tonight, are you?" + +"Can't," says I. "No train." + +"Then you must play with me," says she, grabbin' my hand kittenish and +startin' to run me across the yard. + +"But, see here," says I, followin' her on the jump. "Where's Hubby?" + +"Oh, I don't know," says she. "Off tramping through the woods with his +dog, I suppose. He's sulking, as usual. And all because I insisted on +writing to Oggie! Then there was something about the servants. I +don't know, only things went wrong at breakfast, and some of them have +threatened to leave. Who cares? Yesterday it was about the tennis +court. What if he did telegraph to have it laid out? I couldn't play +when I found I hadn't brought any tennis shoes, could I? Besides, +there's no fun playing against Nick, he's such a shark. He didn't like +it, either, because I wouldn't use the baby golf course. But I will +with you. Come on." + +"I never did much putting," says I. + +"Nor I," says she; "but we can try." + +Three or four holes was enough for her, though, and then she has a new +idea. "You rag, don't you?" says she. + +"Only a few tango steps," says I. "My feet stutter." + +"Then I'll show you how," says she. "We have some dandy records, and +the veranda's just right." + +So what does she do but tow me back to the house, ring up a couple of +maids to clear away all the rugs and chairs, and push the music machine +up to the open window. + +"Put on that 'Too Much Mustard,' Annette," says she, "and keep it +going." + +Must have surprised Annette some, as I hadn't been accounted for; but a +little thing like that don't bother Robbie. She gives me the proper +grip for the onestep,--which is some close clinch, believe me!--cuddles +her fluffy head down on my necktie, and off we goes. + +"No, don't try to trot," says she. "Just balance and keep time, and +swing two or three times at the turn. Keep your feet apart, you know. +Now back me. Swing! There, you're getting it. Keep on!" + +Some spieler, Robbie; and whether or not that was just a josh about +orchids bein' invented for her, there's no doubt but what ragtime was. +Yes, yes, that's where she lives. And me? Well, I can't say I hated +it. With her coachin' me, and that snappy music goin', I caught the +idea quick enough, and first I knew we was workin' in new variations +that she'd suggest, doin' the slow toe pivot, the kitchen sink, and a +lot more. + +We stopped long enough to have tea and cakes served, and then Robbie +insists on tryin' some new stunts. There's a sidewise dip, where you +twist your partner around like you was tryin' to break her back over a +chair, and we was right in the midst of practisin' that when who should +show up but the happy bridegroom. And someway I've seen 'em look more +pleased. + +[Illustration: We was right in the midst of practisin' the sidewise +dip, when who should show up but the happy bridegroom!] + +"Oh, that you, old Grumpy?" says young Mrs. Talbot, stoppin' for a +minute. "You remember Torchy, from Uncle Robert's office, don't you? +He came up with some orchids. We're having such fun too." + +"Looks so," says Nick. "Can't I cut in?" + +"Oh, bother!" says Robbie. "No, I'm tired now." + +"Just one dance!" pleads Nick. + +"Oh, afterward, perhaps," says she. "There! Just look at those silly +orchids! Aren't they sights?" With that she snakes 'em out and tosses +the wilted bunch careless over the veranda rail. "And now," she adds, +"I must dress for dinner." + +"You've nearly two hours, Pet," protests Nick. "Come to the outlook +with me and watch the sunset." + +"It's too lonesome," says Robbie, and off she goes. + +It should have happened then, if ever. I was standin' by, waitin' for +him to cut loose with the cruel words, and maybe introduce a little +hair-draggin' scene. But Nick Talbot just stands there gazin' after +her kind of sad and mushy, not even grindin' his teeth. Next he sighs, +drops his chin, and slumps into a chair. Honest, that got me; for it +was real woe showin' on his face, and he seems to be strugglin' with it +man fashion. Somehow it seemed up to me to come across with a few +soothin' remarks. + +"Sorry I butted in," says I; "but Mr. Robert sent me up with the +flowers." + +"Oh, that's all right," says he. "Glad you came. I--I suppose she +needed someone else to--to talk to." + +"But you wouldn't stand for invite the leftovers on your honeymoon, +eh?" I suggests. + +"No, hang it all!" says he. "That was too much. She--she mentioned +it, did she?" + +"Just casual," says I. "I take it things ain't been goin' smooth +gen'rally?" + +He nods gloomy. "You were bound to notice it," says he. "Anyone +would. I haven't been able to humor all her whims. Of course, she's +been used to having so much going on around her that this must seem +rather tame; but I thought, you know, that when we were married--well, +she doesn't seem to realize. And I've offered to take her +anywhere,--to Newport, to Lenox, to the White Mountains, or touring. +Three times this week we've packed to go to different places, and then +she's changed her mind. But I can't take her back to Long Island, to +her mother's, so soon, or ask a lot of her friends up here. It would +be absurd. But things can't go on this way, either. It--it's awful!" + +I leaves him with his chin propped up in his hands, starin' gloomy at +the floor, while I wanders out and pipes off the sun dodgin' behind the +hills. + +Later on Robbie insists on draggin' me in for dinner with 'em. She's +some dream too, the way she's got herself up, and lighted up by the +pink candleshades, with them big pansy eyes sparkling and the color +comin' and goin' in her cheeks--say, it most made me dizzy to look. +Then to hear her rattle on in her cute, kittenish way was better'n a +cabaret show. Mostly, though, it's aimed at me; while Nick Talbot is +left to play a thinkin' part. He sits watchin' her with sort of a +dumb, hungry look, like a big dog. + +And it was a punk dinner in other ways. The soup was scorched +somethin' fierce; but Robbie don't seem to notice it. The roast lamb +hadn't had the red cooked out of it; but Robbie only asks what kind of +meat it is and remarks that it tastes queer. She has a reg'lar fit, +though, because the dessert is peach ice-cream with fresh fruit +flavorin'. + +"And Cook ought to know that I like strawberry better," says she. + +"But it's too late for strawberries," explains Nick. + +"I don't care!" pouts Robbie. "I don't like this, and I'm going to +send it all back to the kitchen." She does it too, and the maid grins +impudent as she lugs it out. + +That was a sample of the way Robbie behaved for the rest of the +evenin',--chatterin' and laughin' one minute, almost weepin' the next; +until fin'lly she slams down the piano cover and flounces off to her +room. Nick Talbot sits bitin' his lips and lookin' desp'rate. + +"I'm sure I don't know what to do," says he half to himself. + +At that I can't hold it any longer. "Say, Talbot," says I, "before we +get any further I got to own up that I'm a ringer." + +"A--a what!" says he, starin' puzzled. + +"I'm supposed to be here just as a special messenger," says I; "but, on +the level, I was sent up here to sleuth for brutal acts. Uh-huh! +That's what the folks at home think, from the letters she's been +writin'. Mr. Robert was dead sure of it. But I see now they had the +wrong dope. I guess I've got the idea. What you're up against is +simply a spoiled kid proposition, and if you don't mind my mixin' in +I'd like to state what I think I'd do if it was me." + +"Well, what?" says he. + +"I'd whittle a handle on a good thick shingle," says I, "and use it." + +He stiffens a little at that first off, and then looks at me curious. +Next he chuckles. "By Jove, though!" says he after awhile. + +Yes, we had a long talk, chummy and confidential, and before we turns +in Nick has plotted out a substitute for the shingle programme that he +promises to try on first thing next morning I didn't expect to be in on +it; but we happens to be sittin' on the veranda waitin' for breakfast, +when out comes Robbie in a pink mornin' gown with a cute boudoir cap on +her head. + +"Why haven't they sent up my coffee and rolls?" she demands. + +"Did you order them, Robbie?" says Nick. + +"Why no," says she. "Didn't you?" + +"No," says Nick. "I'm not going to, either. You're mistress of the +house, you know, Robbie, and from now on you are in full charge." + +"But--but I thought Mrs. Parkins, the housekeeper, was to manage all +those things," says she. + +"You said yesterday you couldn't bear Mrs. Parkins," says Nick; "so I'm +sending her back to town. She's packing her things now. There are +four servants left, though, which is enough. But they need +straightening out. They are squabbling over their work, and neglecting +it. You will have to settle all that." + +"But--but, Nick," protests Robbie, "I'm sure I know nothing at all +about it." + +"As my wife you are supposed to," says Nick. "You must learn. Anyway, +I've told them they needn't do another stroke until they get orders +from you. And I wish you'd begin. I'd rather like breakfast." + +He's real calm and pleasant about it; but there's somethin' solid about +the way his jaw is set. Robbie eyes him a minute hesitatin' and +doubtful, like a schoolgirl that's bein' scolded. Then all of a sudden +there's a change. The pout comes off her lips, her chin stops +trembling and she squares her shoulders. + +"I'm--I'm sorry, Nicholas," says she. "I--I'll do my best." And off +she marches to the kitchen. + +And, say, half an hour later we were all sittin' down to as good a ham +omelet as I ever tasted. When I left with Nick to catch the forenoon +express, young Mrs. Talbot was chewin' the end of a lead pencil, with +them pansy eyes of hers glued on a pad where she was dopin' out her +first dinner order. She would break away from it only long enough to +give Hubby a little bird peck on the cheek; but he seems tickled to +death with that. + +So it wa'n't any long report I has to hand in to Mr. Robert that night. + +"All bunk!" says I. "Just a case of a honeymoon that rose a little +late. It's shinin' steady now, though. But, say, I hope I'm never +batty enough to fall for one of the butterfly kind. If I do--good +night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +BEING SICCED ON PERCEY + +Maybe it ain't figured in the headlines, or been noised around enough +for the common stockholders to get panicky over it, but, believe me, it +was some battle! Uh-huh! What else could you expect with Old Hickory +Ellins on one side and George Wesley Jones on the other? And me? Say, +as it happens, I was right on the firin' line. Talk about your drummer +boys of '61--I guess the office boy of this A. M. ain't such a dead one! + +Course I knew when Piddie begins tiptoein' around important, and Mr. +Robert cuts his lunchtime down to an hour, that there's something in +the air besides humidity. + +"Boy," says Old Hickory, shootin' his words out past the stub of a +thick black cigar, "I'm expecting a Mr. Jones sometime this afternoon." + +"Yes, Sir," says I. "Any particular Jones, Sir?" + +"That," says he, "is a detail with which you need not burden your mind. +I am not anticipating a convention of Joneses." + +"Oh!" says I. "I was only thinkin' that in case some other guy by the +same names should----" + +"Yes, I understand," he breaks in; "but in that remote contingency I +will do my best to handle the situation alone. And when Mr. Jones +comes show him in at once. After that I am engaged for the remainder +of the day. Is that quite clear?" + +"I'm next," says I. "Pass a Jones, and then set the block." + +If he thought he could mesmerize me by any such simple motions as that +he had another guess. Why, even if it had been my first day on the +job, I'd have been hep that it wa'n't any common weekday Jones he was +expectin' to stray in accidental. Besides, the minute I spots that +long, thin nose, the close-cropped, grizzly mustache, and the tired +gray eyes with the heavy bags underneath, I knew it was George Wesley +himself. Ain't his pictures been printed often enough lately? + +He looks the part too, and no wonder! If I'd been hammered the way he +has, with seventeen varieties of Rube Legislatures shootin' my past +career as full of holes as a Swiss cheese, grand juries handin' down +new indictments every week end, four thousand grouchy share-holders +howlin' about pared dividends, and twice as many editorial pens +proddin' 'em along----well, take it from me, I'd be on my way towards +the tall trees with my tongue hangin' out! + +Here he is, though, with his shoulders back and a sketchy, sarcastic +smile flickerin' in his mouth corners as he shows up for a hand-to-hand +set-to with Old Hickory Ellins. Course it's news to me that the +Corrugated interests and the P., B. & R. road are mixed up anywhere +along the line; but it ain't surprisin'. + +Besides mines and rollin' mills, we do a wholesale grocery business, +run a few banks, own a lot of steam freighters, and have all kinds of +queer ginks on our payroll, from welfare workers to would-be statesmen. +We're always ready to slip one of our directors onto a railroad board +too; so I takes it that the way P., B. & R. has been juggled lately was +a game that touches us somewhere on the raw. Must be some kind of a +war on the slate, or Old Hickory'd never called for a topliner like +George Wesley Jones to come on the carpet. If it had been a case of +passin' the peace pipe, Mr. Ellins would be goin' out to Chicago to see +him. + +"Mr. Jones, Sir," says I, throwin' the private office door wide open so +it would take me longer to shut it. + +But Old Hickory don't intend to give me any chance to pipe off the +greetin'. He just glances casual at Mr. Jones, then fixes them +rock-drill eyes of his on me, jerks his thumb impatient over his +shoulder, and waits until there's three inches of fireproof material +between me and the scene of the conflict. + +So I strolls back to my chair behind the brass rail and winks +mysterious at the lady typists. Two of 'em giggles nervous. Say, they +got more curiosity, them flossy key pounders! Not one of the bunch but +what knew things was doin'; but what it was all about would have taken +me a week to explain to 'em, even if I'd known myself. + +And I expect I wouldn't have had more'n a vague glimmer, either, if it +hadn't been for Piddie. You might know he'd play the boob somehow if +anything important was on. Say, if he'd trotted in there once durin' +the forenoon he'd been in a dozen times; seein' that the inkwells was +filled, puttin' on new desk blotters, and such fool things as that. +Yet about three-fifteen, right in the middle of the bout, he has to +answer a ring, and it turns out he's forgotten some important papers. + +"Here, Boy," says he, comin' out peevish, "this must go to Mr. Ellins +at once." + +"Huh!" says I, glancin' at the file title. "Copy of charter of the +Palisades Electric! At once is good. Ought to have been on Mr. +Ellins's desk hours ago." + +"Boy!" he explodes threatenin'. + +"Ah, ditch the hysterics, Peddie!" says I. "It's all right now I'm on +the job," and with a grin to comfort him I slips through Mr. Robert's +room and taps on the door of the boss's private office before blowin' +in. + +And, say, it looks like I've arrived almost in time for the final +clinch. Old Hickory is leanin' forward earnest, his jaw shoved out, +his eyes narrowed to slits, and he's poundin' the chair arm with his +big ham fist. + +"What I want to know, Jones," he's sayin', "is simply this: Are your +folks going to drop that Palisades road scheme, or aren't you?" + +Course, I can't break into a dialogue at a point like that; so I closes +the door gentle behind me and backs against the knob, watchin' George +Wesley, who's sittin' there with his chin down and his eyes on the rug. + +"Really, Ellins," says he, "I can't give you an answer to that. +I--er--I must refer you to our Mr. Sturgis." + +"Eh?" snaps old Hickory. "Sturgis! Who the syncopated sculping is +Sturgis?" + +"Why," says Mr. Jones, "Percey J. Sturgis. He is my personal agent in +all such matters, and this--well, this happens to be his pet +enterprise." + +"But it would parallel our proposed West Point line," says Mr. Ellins. + +"I know," says G. Wesley, sighin' weary. "But he secured his charter +for this two years ago, and I promised to back him. He insists on +pushing it through too. I can't very well call him off, you see." + +"Can't, eh?" raps out Old Hickory. "Then let me try. Send for him." + +"No use," says Mr. Jones. "He understands your attitude. He wouldn't +come. I should advise, if you have any proposal to make, that you send +a representative to him." + +"I go to him," snorts Mr. Ellins, "to this understrapper of yours, this +Mr. Percey--er----" + +"Sturgis," puts in George Wesley. "He has offices in our building. +And, really, it's the only way." + +Old Hickory glares and puffs like he was goin' to blow a cylinder head. +But that's just what Hickory Ellins don't do at a time like this. When +you think he's nearest to goin' up with a bang, that's the time when +he's apt to calm down sudden and shift tactics. He does now. +Motionin' me to come to the front, he takes the envelope I hands over, +glances at it thoughtful a second, and then remarks casual: + +"Very well, Jones. I'll send a representative to your Mr. Sturgis. +I'll send Torchy, here." + +I don't know which of us gasped louder, me or George Wesley. Got him +in the short ribs, that proposition did. But, say, he's a game old +sport, even if the papers are callin' him everything from highway +robber to yellow dog. He shrugs his shoulders and bows polite. + +"As you choose, Ellins," says he. + +Maybe he thinks it's a bluff; but it's nothing like that. + +"Boy," says Old Hickory, handin' back the envelope, "go find Mr. Percey +J. Sturgis, explain to him that the president of the P., B. & R. is +bound under a personal agreement not to parallel any lines in which the +Corrugated holds a one-third interest. Tell him I demand that he quit +on this Palisades route. If he won't, offer to buy his blasted +charter. Bid up to one hundred thousand, then 'phone me. Got all +that?" + +"I could say it backwards," says I. "Shake the club first; then wave +the kale at him. Do I take a flyin' start?" + +"Go now," says Old Hickory. "We will wait here until five. If he +wants to know who you are, tell him you're my office boy." + +Wa'n't that rubbin' in the salt, though? But it ain't safe to stir up +Hickory Ellins unless you got him tied to a post, and even then you +want to use a long stick. As I sails out and grabs my new fall derby +off the peg Piddie asks breathless: + +"What's the matter now, and where are you off to?" + +"Outside business for the boss," says I. "Buyin' up a railroad for +him, that's all." + +I left him purple in the face, dashes across to the Subway, and inside +of fifteen minutes I'm listenin' fidgety while a private secretary +explains how Mr. Sturgis is just leavin' town on important business and +can't possibly see me today. + +"Deah-uh me!" says I. "How distressin'! Say, you watch me flag him on +the jump." + +"But I've just told you," insists the secretary, "that Mr. Sturgis +cannot----" + +"Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "This is a case of must--see? If you put me +out I'll lay for him on the way to the elevator." + +Course with some parties that might be a risky tackle; but anyone with +a front name like Percey I'm takin' a chance on. Percey! Listens like +one of the silky-haired kind that wears heliotrope silk socks, don't +it? But, say, what finally shows up is a wide, heavy built gent with a +big, homespun sort of face, crispy brown hair a little long over the +ears, and the steadiest pair of bright brown eyes I ever saw. Nothing +fancy or frail about Percey J. Sturgis. He's solid and substantial, +from his wide-soled No. 10's up to the crown of his seven three-quarter +hat. He has a raincoat thrown careless over one arm, and he's smokin' +a cigar as big and black as any of Old Hickory's. + +"Well, what is it, Son?" says he in one of them deep barytones that you +feel all the way through to your backbone. + +And this is what I've been sent out either to scare off or buy up! +Still, you can't die but once. + +"I'm from Mr. Ellins of the Corrugated Trust," says I. + +"Ah!" says he, smilin' easy. + +Well, considerin' how my knees was wabblin', I expect I put the +proposition over fairly strong. + +"You may tell Mr. Ellins for me," says he, "that I don't intend to +quit." + +"Then it's a case of buy," says I. "What's the charter worth, spot +cash?" + +"Sorry," says he, "but I'm too busy to talk about that just now. I'm +just starting for North Jersey." + +"Suppose I trail along a ways then?" says I. "Mr. Ellins is waitin' +for an answer." + +"Is he?" says Percey J. "Then come, if you wish." And what does he do +but tow me down to a big tourin' car and wave me into one of the back +seats with him. Listens quiet to all I've got to say too, while we're +tearin' uptown, noddin' his head now and then, with them wide-set brown +eyes of his watchin' me amused and curious. But the scare I'm tryin' +to throw into him don't seem to take effect at all. + +"Let's see," says he, as we rolls onto the Fort Lee ferry, "just what +is your official position with the Corrugated?" + +I'd planned to shoot it at him bold and crushin'. But somehow it don't +happen that way. + +"Head office boy," says I, blushin' apologizin'; "but Mr. Ellins sent +me out himself." + +"Indeed?" says he. "Another of his original ideas. A brilliant man, +Mr. Ellins." + +"He's some stayer in a scrap, believe me!" says I. "And he's got the +harpoon out for this Palisades road." + +"So have a good many others," says Mr. Sturgis, chucklin'. "In fact, I +don't mind admitting that I am as near to being beaten on this +enterprise as I've ever been on anything in any life. But if I am +beaten, it will not be by Mr. Ellins. It will be by a hard-headed old +Scotch farmer who owns sixty acres of scrubby land which I must cross +in order to complete my right of way. He won't sell a foot. I've been +trying for six months to get in touch with him; but he's as stubborn as +a cedar stump. And if I don't run a car over rails before next June my +charter lapses. So I'm going up now to try a personal interview. If I +fail, my charter isn't worth a postage stamp. But, win or lose, it +isn't for sale to Hickory Ellins." + +He wa'n't ugly about it. He just states the case calm and +conversational; but somehow you was dead sure he meant it. + +"All right," says I. "Then maybe when I see how you come out I'll have +something definite to report." + +"You should," says he. + +That's where we dropped the subject. It's some swell ride we had up +along the top of the Palisades, and on and on until we're well across +the State line into New York. Along about four-thirty he says we're +most there. We was rollin' through a jay four corners, where the +postoffice occupies one window of the gen'ral store, with the Masonic +Lodge overhead, when alongside the road we comes across a little +tow-headed girl, maybe eight or nine, pawin' around in the grass and +sobbin' doleful. + +"Hold up, Martin," sings out Mr. Sturgis to the chauffeur, and Martin +jams on his emergency so the brake drums squeal. + +What do you guess? Why Percey J. climbs out, asks the kid gentle what +all the woe is about, and discovers that she's lost a whole nickel that +Daddy has given her to buy lolly-pops with on account of its bein' her +birthday. + +"Now that's too bad, isn't it, little one?" says Mr. Sturgis. "But I +guess we can fix that. Come on. Martin, take us back to the store." + +Took out his handkerchief, Percey did, and swabbed off the tear stains, +all the while talkin' low and soothin' to the kid, until he got her +calmed down. And when they came out of the store she was carryin' a +pound box of choc'late creams tied up flossy with a pink ribbon. With +her eyes bugged and so tickled she can't say a word, she lets go of his +hand and dashes back up the road, most likely bent on showin' the folks +at home the results of the miracle that's happened to her. + +That's the kind of a guy Percey J. Sturgis is, even when he has worries +of his own. You'd most thought he was due for a run of luck after a +kind act like that. But someone must have had their fingers crossed; +for as Martin backs up to turn around he connects a rear tire with a +broken ginger ale bottle and--s-s-s-sh! out goes eighty-five pounds' +pressure to the square inch. No remark from Mr. Sturgis. He lights a +fresh cigar and for twenty-five minutes by the dash clock Martin is +busy shiftin' that husky shoe. + +So we're some behind schedule when we pulls up under the horse chestnut +trees a quarter of a mile beyond in front of a barny, weather-beaten +old farmhouse where there's a sour-faced, square-jawed old pirate +sittin' in a home made barrel chair smokin' his pipe and scowlin' +gloomy at the world in gen'ral. It's Ross himself. Percey J. don't +waste any hot air tryin' to melt him. He tells the old guy plain and +simple who he is and what he's after. + +"Dinna talk to me, Mon," says Ross. "I'm no sellin' the farm." + +"May I ask your reasons?" says Mr. Sturgis. + +Ross frowns at him a minute without sayin' a word. Then he pries the +stubby pipe out from the bristly whiskers and points a crooked finger +toward a little bunch of old apple trees on a low knoll. + +"Yon's my reason, Mon," says he solemn. "Yon wee white stone. Three +bairns and the good wife lay under it. I'm no sae youthful mysel'. +And when it's time for me to go I'd be sleepin' peaceful, with none o' +your rattlin' trolley cars comin' near. That's why, Mon." + +"Thank you, Mr. Ross," says Percey J. "I can appreciate your +sentiments. However, our line would run through the opposite side of +your farm, away over there. All we ask is a fifty-foot strip across +your----" + +"You canna have it," says Ross decided, insertin' the pipe once more. + +Which is where most of us would have weakened, I expect. Not Mr. +Sturgis. + +"Just a moment, Friend Ross," says he. "I suppose you know I have the +P., B. & R. back of me, and it's more than likely that your neighbors +have said things about us. There is some ground for prejudice too. +Our recent stock deals look rather bad from the outside. There have +been other circumstances that are not in our favor. But I want to +assure you that this enterprise is a genuine, honest attempt to benefit +you and your community. It is my own. It is part of the general +policy of the road for which I am quite willing to be held largely +responsible. Why, I've had this project for a Palisades trolley road +in mind ever since I came on here a poor boy, twenty-odd years ago, and +took my first trip down the Hudson. This ought to be a rich, +prosperous country here. It isn't. A good electric line, such as I +propose to build, equipped with heavy passenger cars and running a +cheap freight service, would develop this section. It would open to +the public a hundred-mile trip that for scenic grandeur could be +equaled nowhere in this country. Are you going to stand in the way, +Mr. Ross, of an enterprise such as that?" + +Yep, he was. He puffs away just as mulish as ever. + +"Of course," goes on Percey, "it's nothing to you; but the one ambition +of my life has been to build this road. I want to do for this district +what some of our great railroad builders did for the big West. I'm not +a city-bred theorist, nor a Wall Street stock manipulator. I was born +in a one-story log house on a Minnesota farm, and when I was a boy we +hauled our corn and potatoes thirty miles to a river steamboat. Then +the railroad came through. Now my brothers sack their crops almost +within sight of a grain elevator. They live in comfortable houses, +send their children to good schools. So do their neighbors. The +railroad has turned a wilderness into a civilized community. On a +smaller scale here is a like opportunity. If you will let us have that +fifty-foot strip----" + +"Na, Mon, not an inch!" breaks in Ross. + +How he could stick to it against that smooth line of talk I couldn't +see. Why, say, it was the most convincin', heart-throbby stuff I'd +ever listened to, and if it had been me I'd made Percey J. a present of +the whole shootin' match. + +"But see here, Mr. Ross," goes on Sturgis, "I would like to show you +just what we----" + +"Daddy! Daddy!" comes a pipin' hail from somewhere inside, and out +dances a barefooted youngster in a faded blue and white dress. It's +the little heroine of the lost nickel. For a second she gawps at us +sort of scared, and almost decides to scuttle back into the house. +Then she gets another look at Percey J., smiles shy, and sticks one +finger in her mouth. Percey he smiles back encouragin' and holds out a +big, friendly hand. That wins her. + +"Oh, Daddy!" says she, puttin' her little fist in Percey's +confidential. "It's the mans what gimme the candy in the pitty box!" + +As for Daddy Ross, he stares like he couldn't believe his eyes. But +there's the youngster cuddled up against Percey J.'s knee and glancin' +up at him admirin'. + +"Is ut so, Mon?" demands Ross husky, "Was it you give the lass the +sweeties?" + +"Why, yes," admitted Sturgis. + +"Then you shall be knowin'," goes on Ross, "that yon lassie is all I +have left in the world that I care a bawbee for. You've done it, Mon. +Tak' as much of the farm as you like at your own price." + +Well, that's the way Percey J. Sturgis won out. A lucky stroke, eh? +Take it from me, there was more'n that in it. Hardly a word he says +durin' the run back; for he's as quiet and easy when he's on top as +when he's the under dog. We shakes hands friendly as he drops me +uptown long after dark. + +I had all night to think it over; but when I starts for Old Hickory's +office next mornin' I hadn't doped out how I was goin' to put it. + +"Well, what about Percey?" says he. + +"He's the goods," says I. + +"Couldn't scare him, eh?" says Old Hickory. + +"Not if I'd been a mile high," says I. "He won't sell, either. And +say, Mr. Ellins, you want to get next to Percey J. The way I look at +it, this George Wesley Jones stiff ain't the man behind him; Percey is +the man behind Jones." + +"H-m-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory. "I knew there was someone; but I +couldn't trace him. So it's Sturgis, eh? That being so, we need him +with us." + +"But ain't he tied up with Jones?" says I. + +"Jones is a dead dog," says Old Hickory. "At least, he will be inside +of a week." + +That was some prophecy, eh? Read in the papers, didn't you, how G. +Wesley cables over his resignation from Baden Two Times? Couldn't +stand the strain. The directors are still squabblin' over who to put +in as head of the P., B. & R.; but if you want to play a straight +inside tip put your money on Percey J. Uh-huh! Him and Old Hickory +have been confabbin' in there over an hour now, and if he hadn't +flopped to our side would Mr. Ellins be tellin' him funny stories? +Anyway, we're backin' that Palisades line now, and it's goin' through +with a whoop. + +Which is earnin' some int'rest on a pound of choc'lates and a smile. +What? + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +HOW WHITY GUNKED THE PLOT + +I knew something or other outside of business was puttin' hectic spots +in Old Hickory's disposition these last few days; but not until late +yesterday did I guess it was Cousin Inez. + +I expect the Ellins family wasn't any too proud of Cousin Inez, to +start with; for among other things she's got a matrimonial record. +Three hubbies so far, I understand, two safe in a neat kept plot out in +Los Angeles; one in the discards--and she's just been celebratin' the +decree by travelin' abroad. They hadn't seen much of her for years; +but durin' this New York stopover visit she seemed to be makin' up for +lost time. + +About four foot eight Cousin Inez was in her French heels, and fairly +thick through. Maybe it was the way she dressed, but from just below +her double chin she looked the same size all the way down. Tie a +Bulgarian sash on a sack of bran, and you've got the model. Inez was a +bear for sashes too. Another thing she was strong on was hair. +Course, the store blond part didn't quite match the sandy gray that +grew underneath, and the near-auburn frontispiece was another tint +still; but all that added variety and quantity--and what more could you +ask? + +Her bein' some pop-eyed helped you to remember Inez the second time. +About the size of hard-boiled eggs, peeled, them eyes of hers was, and +most the same color. They say she's a wise old girl though,--carries +on three diff'rent business propositions left by her late string of +husbands, goes in deep for classical music, and is some kind of a high +priestess in the theosophy game. A bit faddy, I judged, with maybe a +few bats in her belfry. + +But when it comes to investin' some of her surplus funds in Corrugated +preferred she has to have a good look at the books first, and makes +Cousin Hickory Ellins explain some items in the annual report. Three +or four times she was down to the gen'ral offices before the deal went +through. + +This last visit of hers was something diff'rent, though. + +I took the message down to Martin, the chauffeur myself. It was a +straight call on the carpet. "Tell Cousin Inez the boss wants to see +her before she goes out this afternoon," says I, "and wait with the +limousine until she comes." + +Old Hickory was pacin' his private office, scowlin' and grouchy, as he +sends the word, and it didn't take any second sight to guess he was +peeved about something. I has to snicker too when Cousin Inez floats +in, smilin' mushy as usual. + +She wa'n't smilin' any when she drifts out half an hour later. She's +some flushed behind the ears, and her complexion was a little streaked +under the eyes. She holds her chin up defiant, though, and slams the +brass gate behind her. She'd hardly caught the elevator before there +comes a snappy call for me on the buzzer. + +"Boy," says Old Hickory, glarin' at me savage, "who is this T. Virgil +Bunn?" + +Almost had me tongue-tied for a minute, he shoots it at me so sudden. +"Eh?" says I. "T. Virgil? Why, he's the sculptor poet." + +"So I gather from this thing," says he, wavin' a thin book bound in +baby blue and gold. "But what in the name of Sardanapalus and Xenophon +is a sculptor poet, anyway?" + +"Why, it's--it's--well, that's the way the papers always give it," says +I. "Beyond that I pass." + +"Humph!" grunts Old Hickory. "Then perhaps you'll tell me if this is +poetry. Listen! + + + "'Like necklaces of diamonds hung + About my lady sweet, + So do we string our votive area + All up and down each street. + They shine upon the young and old, + The fair, the sad, the grim, the gay; + Who gather here from far and near + To worship in our Great White Way.' + + +"Now what's your honest opinion of that, Son? Is it poetry? + +"Listens something like it," says I; "but I wouldn't want to say for +sure." + +"Nor I," says Mr. Ellins. "All I'm certain of is that it isn't +sculpture, and that if I should read any more of it I'd be seasick. +But in T. Virgil Bunn himself I have an active and personal interest. +Anything to offer?" + +"Not a glimmer," says I. + +"And I suppose you could find nothing out?" he goes on. + +"I could make a stab," says I. + +"Make a deep one, then," says he, slippin' over a couple of tens for an +expense fund. + +And, say, I knew when Old Hickory begins by unbeltin' so reckless that +he don't mean any casual skimmin' through club annuals for a report. + +"What's the idea?" says I. "Is it for a financial rating or a regular +dragnet of past performances?" + +"Everything you can discover without taking him apart," says Old +Hickory. "In short, I want to know the kind of person who can cause a +fifty-five-year-old widow with grown sons to make a blinkety blinked +fool of herself." + +"He's a charmer, eh?" says I. + +"Evidently," says Mr. Ellins. "Behold this inscription here, 'To dear +Inez, My Lady of the Unfettered Soul--from Virgie.' Get the point, +Son? 'To dear Inez'! Bah! Is he color blind, or what ails him? Of +course it's her money he's after, and for the sake of her boys I'm +going to block him. There! You see what I want?" + +"Sure!" says I. "You got to have details about Virgie before you can +ditch him. Well, I'll see what I can dig up." + +Maybe it strikes you as a chesty bluff for a juvenile party like me to +start with no more clew than that to round up in a few hours what a +high-priced sleuth agency would take a week for. But, say, I didn't +stand guard on the Sunday editor's door two years with my eyes and ears +shut. Course, there's always the city and 'phone directories to start +with. Next you turn to the Who book if you suspect he's ever done any +public stunt. But, say, swallow that Who dope cautious. They let 'em +write their own tickets in that, you know, and you got to make +allowances for the size of the hat-band. + +I'd got that far, discovered that Virgie owned up to bein' thirty-five +and a bachelor, that he was born in Schoharie, son of Telemachus J. and +Matilda Smith Bunn, and that he'd once been president of the village +literary club, when I remembers the clippin' files we used to have back +on Newspaper Row. So down I hikes--and who should I stack up against, +driftin' gloomy through the lower lobby, but Whity Meeks, that used to +be the star man on the Sunday sheet. Course, it wa'n't any miracle; +for Whity's almost as much of a fixture there as Old Gluefoot, the +librarian, or the finger marks on the iron pillars in the press-room. + +A sad example of blighted ambitions, Whity is. When I first knew him +he had a fresh one every Monday mornin', and they ranged all the way +from him plannin' to be a second Dicky Davis to a scheme he had for +hookin' up with Tammany and bein' sent to Congress. Clever boy too. +He could dash off ponies that was almost good enough to print, dope out +the first two acts of a play that was bound to make his fortune if he +could ever finish it, and fake speeches that he'd never heard a word of. + +When he got to doin' Wall Street news, though, and absorbed the idea +that he could stack his little thirty per against the system and break +the bucketshops--well, that was his finish. Two killings that he made +by chance, and he was as good as chained to the ticker for life. No +more new rosy dreams for him: always the same one,--of the day when he +was goin' to show Sully how a cotton corner really ought to be pulled +off, a day when the closin' gong would find him with the City Bank in +one fist and the Subtreasury in the other. You've met that kind, +maybe. Only Whity always tried to dress the part, in a sporty shepherd +plaid, with a checked hat and checked silk socks to match. He has the +same regalia on now, with a carnation in his buttonhole. + +"Well, mounting margins!" says he, as I swings him round by the arm. +"Torchy! Whither away? Come down to buy publicity space for the +Corrugated, have you?" + +"Not in a rag like yours, Whity," says I, "when we own stock in two +real papers. I'm out on a little private gumshoe work for the boss." + +"Sounds thrilling," says he. "Any copy in it?" + +"I'd be chatterin' it to you, wouldn't I?" says I. "Nix! Just plain +fam'ly scrap over whether Cousin Inez shall marry again or not. My job +is to get something on the guy. Don't happen to have any special dope +on T. Virgil Bunn, the sculptor poet, do you?" + +Whity stares at me. "Do I?" says he. + +"Say!" Then he leads me over between the 'phone booth and the cigar +stand, flashes an assignment pad, and remarks, "Gaze on that second +item, my boy." + +"Woof! That's him, all right," says I. "But what's a bouillabaisse +tea?" + +"Heaven and Virgil Bunn only know," says Whity. "But that doesn't +matter. Think of the subtle irony of Fate that sends me up to make a +column story out of Virgie Bunn! Me, of all persons!" + +"Well, why not you?" says I. + +"Why?" says Whity. "Because I made the fellow. He--why, he is my +joke, the biggest scream I ever put over--my joke, understand? And now +this adumbrated ass of a Quigley, who's been sent on here from St. +Louis to take the city desk, he falls for Virgie as a genuine +personage. Not only that, but picks me out to cover this phony tea of +his. And the stinging part is, if I don't I get canned, that's all." + +"Ain't he the goods, then?" says I. "What about this sculptor poet +business?" + +"Bunk," says Whity, "nothing but bunk. Of course, he does putter +around with modeling clay a bit, and writes the sort of club-footed +verse they put in high school monthlies." + +"Gets it printed in a book, though," says I. "I've seen one." + +"Why not?" says Whity. "Anyone can who has the three hundred to pay +for plates and binding. 'Sonnets of the City,' wasn't it? Didn't I +get my commission from the Easy Mark Press for steering him in? Why, I +even scratched off some of those things to help him pad out the book +with. But, say, Torchy, you ought to remember him. You were on the +door then,--tall, wide-shouldered freak, with aureole hair, and a close +cropped Vandyke?" + +"Not the one who wore the Wild West lid and talked like he had a +mouthful of hot oatmeal?" says I. + +"Your description of Virgie's English accent is perfect," says Whity. + +"Well, well!" says I. "The mushbag, we used to call him." + +"Charmingly accurate again!" says Whity. "Verily beside him the +quivering jellyfish of the salt sea was as the armored armadillo of the +desert. Soft? You could poke a finger through him anywhere." + +"But what was his game?" says I. + +"It wasn't a game, my son," says Whity. "It was a mission in life,--to +get things printed about himself. Had no more modesty about it, you +know, than a circus press agent. Perfectly frank and ingenuous, Virgie +was. He'd just come and ask you to put it in that he was a great +man--just like that! The chief used to froth at the mouth on sight of +him. But Virgie looked funny to me in those days. I used to jolly him +along, smoke his Coronas, let him take me out to swell feeds. Then +when they gave Merrow charge of the Sunday side, just for a josh I did +a half-page special about Virgie, called him the sculptor poet, threw +in some views of him in his studio, and quoted some of his verse that +I'd fixed up. It got by. Virgie was so pleased he wanted to give a +banquet for me; but I got him to go in on a little winter wheat flier +instead. He didn't drop much. After that I'd slip in a paragraph +about him now and then, always calling him the sculptor poet. The tag +stuck. Other papers began to use it; until, first thing I knew, Virgie +was getting away with it. Honest, I just invented him. And now he +passes for the real thing!" + +"Where you boobed, then, was in not filin' copyright papers," says I. +"But how does he make it pay?" + +"He doesn't," says Whity. "Listen, Son, and I will divulge the hidden +mystery in the life of T. Virgil Bunn. Cheese factories! Half a dozen +or more of 'em, up Schoharie way. Left to him, you know, by Pa Bunn; a +coarse, rough person, I am told, who drank whey out of a five-gallon +can, but was cute enough to import Camembert labels and make his own +boxes. He passed on a dozen years ago; but left the cheese factories +working night shifts. Virgie draws his share quarterly. He tried a +year or two at some Rube college, and then went abroad to loiter. +While there he exposed himself to the sculptor's art; but it didn't +take very hard. However, Virgie came back and acquired the studio +habit. And you can't live for long in a studio, you know, without +getting the itch to see yourself in print. That's what brought Virgie +to me. And now! Well, now I have to go to Virgie." + +"Ain't as chummy with him as you was, I take it?" says I. + +Whity shrugs his shoulders disgusted. "The saphead!" says he. "Just +because we slipped up on a few stock deals he got cold feet. I haven't +seen him for a year. I wonder how he'll take it? But you mentioned a +Cousin Inez, didn't you?" + +I gives Whity a hasty sketch of the piece, mentionin' no more names, +but suggestin' that Virgie stood to connect with an overgrown widow's +mite if there wa'n't any sudden interference. + +"Ha!" says Whity, speakin' tragic through his teeth. "An idea! He's +put the spell on a rich widow, has he? Now if I could only manage to +queer this autumn leaf romance it would even up for the laceration of +pride that I see coming my way tonight. Describe the fair one." + +"I could point her out if you could smuggle me in," I suggests. + +"A cinch!" says he. "You're Barry of the City Press. Here, stick some +copy paper in your pocket. Take a few notes, that's all." + +"It's a fierce disguise to put on," says I; "but I guess I can stand it +for an evenin'." + +So about eight-thirty we meets again, and' proceeds to hunt up this +studio buildin' over in the East 30's. It ain't any bum Bohemian +ranch, either, but a ten-story elevator joint, with clipped bay trees +on each side of the front door. Virgie's is a top floor suite, with a +boy in buttons outside and a French maid to take your things. + +"Gee!" I whispers to Whity as we pushes in. "There's some swell mob +collectin', eh?" + +Whity is speechless, though, and when he gets his breath again all he +can do is mumble husky, "Teddy Van Alstyne! Mrs. Cromer Paige! The +Bertie Gardiners!" + +They acted like a mixed crowd, though, gazin' around at each other +curious, groupin' into little knots, and chattin' under their breath. +Bein' gents of the press, we edges into a corner behind a palm and +waits to see what happens. + +"There comes Cousin Inez!" says I, nudgin' Whity. "See? The squatty +dame with the pearl ropes over her hair." + +"Sainted Billikens, what a make-up!" says Whity. + +And, believe me, Cousin Inez was dolled for fair. She'd peeled for the +fray, as you might say. And if the dinky shoulder straps held it was +all right; but if one of 'em broke there'd sure be some hurry call for +four yards of burlap to do her up in. She seems smilin' and happy, +though, and keeps glancin' expectant at the red velvet draperies in the +back of the room. + +Sure enough, exactly on the tick of nine, the curtains part, and in +steps the hero of the evenin'. Dress suit? Say, you don't know +Virgie. He's wearin' a reg'lar monk's outfit, of some coarse brown +stuff belted in with a thick rope and open wide at the neck. + +"For the love of beans, look at his feet!" I whispers. + +"Sandals," says Whity, "and no socks! Blessed if Virgie isn't going +the limit!" + +There's a chorus of "Ah-h-h-h's!" as he steps out, and then comes a +buzz of whispers which might have been compliments, and might not. But +it don't faze Virgie. He goes bowin' and handshakin' through the mob, +smilin' mushy on all and several, and actin' as pleased with himself as +if he'd taken the prize at a fancy dress ball. You should have seen +Cousin Inez when he gets to her! + +"Oh, you utterly clever man!" she gushes. "What a genuine genius you +are!" + +"Dear, sweet lady!" says he. "It is indeed gracious of you to say so." + +"Help!" groans Whity, like he had a pain. + +"Ah, buck up!" says I. "It'll be your turn soon." + +I was wonderin' how Virgie was goin' to simmer down enough to pass +Whity the chilly greetin'; for he's just bubblin' over with kind words +and comic little quips. But, say, he don't even try to shade it. + +"Ah, Whity, my boy!" says he, extendin' the cordial paw. "Charming of +you to look me up once more, perfectly charming!" + +"Rot!" growls Whity. "You know I was sent up here to do this blooming +spread of yours. What sort of fake is it, anyway?" + +"Ha, ha! Same old Whity!" says Virgil, poundin' him hearty on the +shoulder. "But you're always welcome, my boy. As for the tea--well, +one of my little affairs, you know,--just a few friends dropping +in--feast of reason, flow of wit, all that sort of thing. You know how +to put it. Don't forget my costume--picked it up at a Trappist +monastery in the Pyrenees. I must give you some photos I've had taken +in it. Ah, another knight of the pencil?" and he glances inquirin' at +me. + +"City Press," says Whity. + +"Fine!" says Virgie, beamin'. "Well, you boys make yourselves quite at +home. I'll send Marie over with cigars and cigarettes. She'll help +you to describe any of the ladies' costumes you may care to mention. +Here's a list of the invited guests too. Now I must be stirring about. +_Au revoir_." + +"Ass!" snarls Whity under his breath. "If I don't give him a roast, +though,--one of the veiled sarcastic kind that will get past! And we +must find some way of queering him with that rich widow." + +"Goin' to be some contract, Whity, believe me!" says I. "Look how +she's taggin' him around!" + +And, say, Cousin Inez sure had the scoopnet out for him! Every move he +makes she's right on his heels, gigglin' and simperin' at all his sappy +speeches and hangin' onto his arm part of the time. Folks was nudgin' +each other and pointin' her out gleeful, and I could easy frame up the +sort of reports that had set Old Hickory's teeth on edge. + +T. Virgil, though, seems to be havin' the time of his life. He +exhibits some clay models, either dancin' girls or a squad of mounted +cops, I couldn't make out which, and he lets himself be persuaded to +read two or three chunks out of his sonnets, very dramatic. Cousin +Inez leads the applause. Then, strikin' a pose, he claps his hands, +the velvet curtains are slid one side, and in comes a French chef +luggin' a tray with a whackin' big casserole on it. + +"_Voilà_!" sings out Virgie. "The bouillabaisse!" + +Marie gets busy passin' around bowls and spoons, and the programme +seems to be for the guests to line up while Virgie gives each a helpin' +out of a long-handled silver ladle. It smells mighty good; so I pushes +in with my bowl. What do you guess I drew? A portion of the tastiest +fish soup you ever met, with a lobster claw and a couple of clams in +it. M-m-m-m! + +"He may be a punk poet," says I to Whity; "but he's a good provider." + +"Huh!" growls Whity, who seems to be sore on account of the hit +Virgie's makin'. + +Next thing I knew along drifts Cousin Inez, who has sort of been +crowded away from her hero, and camps down on the other side of Whity. + +"Isn't this just too unique for words?" she gushes. "And is not dear +Virgil perfectly charming tonight?" + +"Oh, he's a bear at this sort of thing, all right," says Whity, "this +and making cheese." + +"Cheese!" echoes Cousin Inez. + +"Sure!" says Whity. "Hasn't he told you about his cheese factories? +Ask him." + +"But--but I understood that--that he was a poet," says she, "a sculptor +poet." + +"Bah!" says Whity. "He couldn't make his salt at either. All just a +pose!" + +"Why, I can hardly believe it," says Cousin Inez. "I don't believe it, +either." + +"Then read his poetry and look at his so called groups," goes on Whity. + +"But he's such a talented, interesting man," insists Inez. + +"With such an interesting family too," says Whity, winkin'. + +"Family!" gasps Cousin Inez. + +"Wife and six children," says Whity, lyin' easy. + +"Oh--oh!" squeals Inez in that shrill, raspy voice of hers. + +"They say he beats his wife, though," adds Whity. + +"Oh!--oh!" squeals Inez, again, higher and shriller than ever. I +expect she'd been more or less keyed up before; but this adds the +finishin' touch. And she lets 'em out reckless. + +Course, everyone stops chatterin' and looks her way. No wonder! You'd +thought she was havin' a fit. Over rushes Virgil, ladle in hand. + +"My dear Inez!" says he. "What is it? A fishbone?" + +"Monster!" she bowls. "Deceiver! Leave me, never let me see your face +again! Oh--oh! Cheese! Six children! Oh--oh!" With that she +tumbles over on Whity and turns purple in the face. + +Say, it was some sensation we had there for a few minutes; but after +they'd sprinkled her face, and rubbed her wrists, and poured a couple +of fingers of brandy into her, she revives. And the first thing she +catches sight of is Virgie, standin' there lookin' puzzled, still +holdin' the soup ladle. + +"Monster!" she hisses at him. "I know all--all! And I quit you +forever!" + +With that she dashes for the cloakroom, grabs her opera wrap, and beats +it for the elevator. Course, that busts up the show, and inside of +half an hour everybody but us has left, and most of 'em went out +snickerin'. + +"I--I don't understand it at all," says Virgie, rubbin' his eyes dazed. +"She was talking with you, wasn't she, Friend Whity? Was it something +you said about me?" + +"Possibly," says Whity, "I may have mentioned your cheese factories; +and I'm not sure but what I didn't invent a family for you. Just as a +joke, of course. You don't mind, I hope?" + +And at that I was dead sure someone was goin' to be slapped on the +wrist. But, say, all Virgie does is swallow hard a couple of times; +and then, as the full scheme of the plot seems to sink in, he beams +mushy. + +"Mind? Why, my dear boy," says he, "you are my deliverer! I owe you +more than I can ever express. Really, you know, that ridiculous old +person has been the bane of my existence for the last three weeks. She +has fairly haunted me, spoiled all my receptions, and--disturbed me +greatly. Ever since I met her in Rome last winter she has been at it. +Of course I have tried to be nice to her, as I am to everyone +who--er--who might help. But I almost fancy she had the idea that I +would--ah--marry her. Really, I believe she did. Thank you a thousand +times, Whity, for your joke! If she comes back, tell her I have two +wives, a dozen. And have some cigars--oh, fill your pockets, my boy. +And here--the photos showing me in my monk's costume. Be sure to drop +in at my next tea. I'll send you word. Good night, and bless you!" + +He didn't push us out. He just held the door open and patted us on the +back as we went through. And the next thing we knew we was down on the +sidewalk. + +"Double crossed!" groans Whity. "Smothered in mush!" + +"As a plotter, Whity," says I, "you're a dub. But if you gunked it one +way, you drew a consolation the other. At this stage of the game I +guess I'm commissioned by a certain party to hand over to you a small +token of his esteem." + +"Eh?" says Whity. "Twenty? What for?" + +"Ah, go bull the market with it, and don't ask fool questions!" says I. + +Say, it was a perfectly swell story about Virgie's bouillabaisse +function on today's society page, double-column half-tone cut and all. +I had to grin when I shows it to Mr. Ellins. + +"Were you there, young man?" says he, eyin' me suspicious. + +"Yep!" says I. + +"I thought so," says he, "when Cousin Inez came home and began packing +her trunks. I take it that affair of hers with the sculptor poet is +all off??' + +"Blew up with a bang about ten-thirty P. M.," says I. "Your two +tenspots went with it." + +"Huh!" he snorts. "That's as far as I care to inquire. Some day I'm +going to send you out with a thousand and let you wreck the +administration." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE + +First off, when I pipes the party in the pale green lid and the fuzzy +English topcoat, I thought it was some stray from the House of Lords; +but as it drifts nearer to the brass rail and I gets a glimpse of the +mild blue eyes behind the thick, shell-rimmed glasses, I discovers that +it's only Son-in-law Ferdy; you know, hubby to Marjorie Ellins that was. + +"Wat ho!" says I. "Just in from Lunnon?" + +"Why, no," says Ferdy, gawpin' foolish. "Whatever made you think that?" + +"Then it's a disguise, is it?" says I, eyin' the costume critical. + +"Oh, bother!" says Ferdy peevish. "I told Marjorie I should be stared +at. And I just despise being conspicuous, you know! Where's Robert?" + +"Mr. Robert ain't due back for an hour yet," says I. "You could catch +him at the club, I expect." + +"No, no," protests Ferdy hasty. "I--I wouldn't go to the club looking +like this. I--I couldn't stand the chaff I'd get from the fellows. +I'll wait." + +"Suit yourself," says I, towin' him into Mr. Robert's private office. +"You can shed the heather wrap in here, if you like." + +"I--I wish I could," says he. + +"Wha-a-at!" says I. "She ain't sewed you into it, has she? Anyhow, +you don't have to keep it buttoned tight under your chin with all this +steam heat on." + +"I know," says Ferdy, sighin'. "I nearly roasted, coming down in the +train. But, you see, it--it hides the tie." + +"Eh?" says I. "Something else Marjorie picked out? Let's have a peek." + +Ferdy blushes painful. "It's awful," he groans, "perfectly awful!" + +"Not one of these nutty Futurist designs, like a scrambled rainbow shot +full of pink polliwogs?" says I. + +"Worse than that," says Ferdy, unbuttonin' the overcoat reluctant. +"Look!" + +"Zowie! A plush one!" says I. + +Course, they ain't so new. I'd seen 'em in the zippy haberdashers' +windows early in the fall; but I don't remember havin' met one out of +captivity before. And this is about the plushiest affair you could +imagine; bright orange and black, and half an inch thick. + +"Whiffo!" says I. "That is something to have wished onto you! Looks +like a caterpillar in a dream." + +"That's right," says Ferdy. "It's been a perfect nightmare to me ever +since Marjorie bought it. But I can't hurt her feelings by refusing to +wear it. And this silly hat too--a scarf instead of a band!" + +It's almost pathetic the way Ferdy holds the lid off at arm's length +and gazes indignant at it. + +"Draped real sweet, ain't it?" says I. "But most of the smart chappies +are wearin' 'em that way, you know." + +"Not this sickly green shade, though," says Ferdy plaintive. "I wish +Marjorie wouldn't get such things for me. I--I've always been rather +particular about my hats and ties. I like them quiet, you understand." + +"You would get married, though," says I. "But, say, can't you do a +duck by changing after you leave home?" + +Seems the idea hadn't occurred to Ferdy. "But how? Where?" says he, +brightenin' up. + +"In the limousine as you're drivin' down to the station," says I. "You +could keep an extra outfit in the car." + +"By Jove!" says Ferdy. "Then I could change again on the way home, +couldn't I? And if Marjorie didn't know, she wouldn't----" + +"You've surrounded the plot of the piece," says I. "Now go to it. +There's a gents' furnisher down in the arcade." + +He's halfway out to the elevator before it occurs to him that he ain't +responded with any grateful remarks; so back he comes to tell how much +obliged he is. + +"And, Torchy," he adds, "you know you haven't been out to see baby yet. +Why, you must see little Ferdinand!" + +"Ye-e-es, I been meanin' to," says I, maybe not wildly enthusiastic. +"I expect he's quite a kid by this time." + +"Eleven months lacking four days," says Ferdy, his face beamin'. +"Wait! I want to show you his latest picture. Really wonderful +youngster, I tell you." + +So I has to inspect a snapshot that Ferdy produces from his pocketbook; +and, while it looks about as insignificant as most of 'em, I pumps up +some gushy remarks which seem to make a hit with Ferdy. + +"Couldn't you come out Sunday?" says he. + +"'Fraid not," says I. "In fact, I'm booked up for quite a spell." + +"Too bad," says Ferdy, "for we're almost alone now,--only Peggy and +Jane--my little nieces, you know--and Miss Hemmingway, who----" + +"Vee?" says I, comin' straight up on my toes. "Say, Ferdy, I think I +can break away Sunday, after all. Ought to see that youngster of +yours, hadn't I? Must be mighty cute by now." + +"Oh, he is," says Ferdy; "but if you can't come this week----" + +"Got to," says I. "'Leven months, and me never so much as chucked him +under the chin once! Gee! how careless of me!" + +"All right, Sunday next," says Ferdy. "We shall look for you." + +That was throwin' in reverse a little sudden, I admit; but my chances +of gettin' within hailin' distance of Vee ain't so many that I can +afford to overlook any bets. Besides, up at Marjorie's is about the +only place where I don't have to run the gauntlet goin' in, or do a +slide for life comin' out. She'll shinny on my side every trip, +Marjorie will--and believe me I need it all! + +Looked like a special dispensation too, this bid of Ferdy's; for I +wanted half an hour's private chat with Vee the worst way just then, to +clear up a few things. For instance, my last two letters had come back +with "Refused" scratched across the face, and I didn't know whether it +was some of Aunty's fine work, or what. Anyway, it's been a couple of +months now that the wires have been down between us, and I was more or +less anxious to trace the break. + +So Sunday afternoon don't find me missin' any suburban local. Course, +Ferdy's mighty intellect ain't suggested to him anything about askin' +me out for a meal; so I has to take a chance on what time to land +there. But I strikes the mat about two-thirty P. M., and the first one +to show up is Marjorie, lookin' as plump and bloomin' a corn-fed Venus +as ever. + +"Why, Torchy!" says she, with business of surprise. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Special invite of Ferdy's to come see the heir +apparent. Didn't he mention it?" + +"Humph! Ferdy!" says Marjorie. "Did you ever know of him remembering +anything worth while?" + +"Oh, ho!" says I. "In disgrace, is he?" + +"He is," says Marjorie, sniffin' scornful. "But it's nice of you to +want to see baby. The dear little fellow is just taking his afternoon +nap. He wakes up about four, though." + +"Oh, I don't mind waitin' a bit," says I. "You know, I'm crazy to see +that kid." + +"Really!" says Marjorie, beamin' delighted. "Then you shall go right +up now, while he is----" + +"No," says I, holdin' up one hand. "I might sneeze, or something. +I'll just stick around until he wakes up." + +"It's too bad," says Marjorie; "but Verona is dressing and----" + +"What!" says I. "Vee here?" + +"Just going," says Marjorie. "Her aunty is to call for her in about an +hour." + +Say, then was no time for wastin' fleetin' moments on any bluff. "Say, +Marjorie," says I, "couldn't you get her to speed up the toilet motions +a bit and shoo her downstairs? Don't say who; but just hint that +someone wants to see her mighty special for a few moments. There's a +good girl!" + +Marjorie giggles and shows her dimples. "I might try," says she. +"Suppose you wait in the library, where there's a nice log fire." + +So it's me for an easy chair in the corner, where I can watch for the +entrance. Five minutes by the clock on the mantel, and nothing +happens. Ten minutes, and no Vee. Then I hears a smothered snicker +off to the left. I'd got my face all set for the cheerful greetin' +too, when I discovers two pairs of brown eyes inspectin' me roguish, +through the parted portières. And neither pair was any I'd ever seen +before. + +"Huh!" thinks I. "Nice way to treat guests!" and I pretends not to +notice. I've picked up a magazine and am readin' the pictures +industrious, when there's more snickers. I scowls, fidgets around +some, and fin'lly takes another glance. The brown eyes are twinklin' +mischievous, all four of 'em. + +"Well," says I, "what's the joke? Shoot it!" + +At that into the room bounces a couple of girls, somewhere around ten +and twelve, I should judge; tall, long-legged kids, but cute lookin', +and genuine live wires, from their toes up. They're fairly wigglin' +with some kind of excitement. + +"We know who you are!" singsongs one, pointin' the accusin' finger. + +"You're Torchy!" says the other. + +"Then I'm discovered," says I. "How'd you dope it out?" + +"By your hair!" comes in chorus, and then they goes to a panicky clinch +and giggles down each other's necks. + +"Hey, cut out the comic relief," says I, "and give me a turn. Which +one of you is Peggy?" + +"Why, who told you that?" demands the one with the red ribbon. + +"Oh, I'm some guesser myself," says I. "It's you." + +"Pooh! I bet it was Uncle Ferdinand," says she. + +"Good sleuth work!" says I. "He's the guy. But I didn't know he had +such a cunnin' set of nieces. Most as tall as he is, ain't you, Peggy?" + +But that don't happen to be the line of dialogue they're burnin' to +follow out. Exchangin' a look, they advance mysterious until there's +one on each side of me, and then Peggy whispers dramatic: + +"You came to see Miss Vee, didn't you?" + +"Vee?" says I, lookin' puzzled. "Vee which?" + +"Oh, you know, now!" protests Jane, tappin' me playful. + +"Sorry," says I, "but this is a baby visit I'm payin'. Ask Uncle +Ferdinand if it ain't." + +"Humph!" says Peggy. "Anyone can fool Uncle Ferdy." + +"Besides," says Jane, "we saw a picture on Vee's dressing table, and +when we asked who it was she hid it. So there!" + +"Not a picture of me, though," says I. "Couldn't be." + +"Yes, it was," insists Jane. + +"A snapshot of you," says Peggy, "taken in a boat." + +I won't deny that was some cheerful bulletin; but somehow I had a hunch +it might be best not to let on too much. Course, I could locate the +time and place. I must have got on the film durin' my stay up at +Roarin' Rocks last summer. + +"In a boat!" says I. "Of all things!" + +"And Vee doesn't want anyone to know about it," adds Jane, "specially +her aunty." + +"Why not?" comes in Peggy, lookin' me straight in the eye. + +"Very curious!" says I, shakin' my head. "What else did Vee have to +say about me?" + +"M-m-m-m!" says Peggy. "We can't tell." + +"We promised not to," says Jane. + +"You're a fine pair of promisers!" says I. "I expect you hold secrets +like a wire basket holds water." + +"We never said a word, did we, Peggy?" demands Jane. + +"Nope!" says Peggy. "Maybe he's the one Vee's aunty doesn't like." + +"Are you?" says Jane, clawin' my shoulder excited. + +"How utterly thrillin'!" says I. "Say, you're gettin' me all tittered +up. Think it's me Aunty has the war club out for, do you?" + +"It's someone with hair just like yours, anyway," says Peggy. + +"Think of that!" says I. "Does red hair throw Aunty into convulsions, +or what?" + +"Aunt Marjorie says it's because you--that is, because the one she +meant isn't anybody," says Jane. "He's poor, and all that. Are you +poor?" + +"Me?" says I. "Why--say, what is this you're tryin' to pull off on me, +impeachment proceedings? Come now, don't you guess your Aunt +Marjorie'll be wantin' you?" + +"No," says Peggy. "She told us for goodness sake to run off and be +quiet." + +"What about this Miss Vee party, then?" says I. "Don't she need you to +help her hook up?" + +"We just came from her room," says Peggy. + +"She pushed us out and locked the door," adds Jane. + +"Great strategy!" says I. "Show me a door with a key in it." + +"Pooh!" says Peggy. "You couldn't put us both out at once." + +"Couldn't I?" says I. "Let's see." + +With that I grabs one under each arm, and with the pair of 'em +strugglin' and squealin' and rough housin' me for all they was worth, I +starts towards the livin' room. We was right in the midst of the +scrimmage when in walks Vee, with her hat and furs all on, lookin' some +classy, take it from me. But the encouragin' part of it is that she +smiles friendly, and I smiles back. + +[Illustration: We was right in the midst of the scrimmage when in walks +Vee.] + +"Well, you found someone, didn't you, girls?" says she. + +"Oh, Vee, Vee!" sings out Peggy gleeful. "Isn't this Torchy?" + +"Your Torchy?" demands Jane. + +I tips Vee the signal for general denial and winks knowin'. But, say, +you can't get by with anything crude on a pair of open-eyed kids like +that. + +"Oh, I saw!" announces Jane. "And you do know him, don't you, Vee?" + +"Why, I suppose we have met before?" says she, laughin' ripply. +"Haven't we, Torchy?" + +"Now that you mention it," says I, "I remember." And we shakes hands +formal. + +"Came to see the baby, I hear," says Vee. + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Maybe you could tell me about him first, though, +if we could find a quiet corner." + +"Oh, we'll tell you," chimes in Peggy. "We know all about Baby. He +has a tooth!" + +"Say," says I, wigglin' away from the pair, "couldn't you go load up +someone else with information, just for ten minutes or so?" + +"What for?" says Jane, eyin' me suspicious. + +"We'd rather stay here," says Peggy decided. + +I catches a humorous twinkle in Vee's gray eyes as she holds out her +hands to the girls. "Listen," says she confidential. "You know those +hermit cookies you're so fond of? Well, Cook made a whole jarful +yesterday. They're in the pantry." + +"I know," says Jane. "We found 'em last night." + +"The Glue Sisters!" says I. "Now see here, Kids, I've just thought of +a message I ought to give to Miss Vee." + +"Who from?" demands Peggy. + +"From a young chap I know who thinks a lot of her," says I. "It's +strictly private too." + +"What's it about?" says Jane. + +Which was when my tactics gave out. "Say, you two human question +marks," says I, "beat it, won't you?" + +No, they just wouldn't. The best they would do for me was to back off +to the other side of the room, eyes and ears wide open, and there they +stood. + +"Go on!" whispers Vee. "What was it he wanted to say?" + +"It was about a couple of notes he wrote," says I. + +"Yes?" says Vee. "What happened?" + +"They came back," says I, "without being opened." + +"Oh," says Vee, "those must have been the ones that----" + +"Vee, Vee!" breaks in Peggy from over near the window. "Here comes +your aunty." + +"Good night, nurse!" says I. + +"Tell him it's all right," says Vee hasty. "He might send the next +ones in care of Marjorie; then I'll be sure of getting them. By-by, +Peggy. Don't squeeze so hard, Jane. No, please don't come out, +Torchy. Goodby." + +And in another minute I'm left to the mercy of the near-twins once +more. I camps down in the easy chair again, with one on each side, and +the cross examination proceeds. Say, they're a great pair too. + +"Didn't Vee want you to go out 'cause her aunty would see you?" asks +Peggy. + +"There!" says I. "I wonder?" + +"I'm glad she isn't my aunty," says Jane. "She looks too cross." + +"If I was Vee's aunty," puts in Peggy, "I wouldn't be mad if she did +have your picture in a silver frame." + +"Honest?" says I. "How's that?" + +"'Cause I don't think you're so awful horrid, even if you aren't +anybody," says Peggy. "Do you, Jane?" + +"I like him," says Jane. "I think his hair's nice too." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Guess I got some gallery with me, anyway. And +how does Vee stand with you?" + +"Oh, she's just a dear!" says Peggy, clappin' her hands. + +"M-m-m-m!" echoes Jane. "She's going to take us to see Maude Adams +next Wednesday too." + +"Huh!" says I, indicatin' deep thought. "So you'll see her again soon?" + +"I wish it was tomorrow," says Jane. + +"Mr. Torchy," says Peggy, grabbin' me impulsive by one ear and swingin' +my face around, "truly now, aren't you awfully in love with Vee?" + +Say, where do they pick it up, youngsters of that age? Her big brown +eyes are as round and serious as if she knew all about it; and on the +other side is Jane, fairly holdin' her breath. + +"Whisper!" says I. "Could you two keep a secret?" + +"Oh, yes!" comes in chorus. + +"Well, then," says I, "I'm going to hand you one. I think Vee is the +best that ever happened." + +"Oh, goody!" exclaims Peggy. "Then you do love her awfully! But why +don't you----" + +"Wait!" says I. "When I get to be a little older, and some bigger, and +after I've made heaps and heaps of money, and have a big, black +automobile----" + +"And a big, black mustache," adds Peggy. + +"No," says I. "Cut out the miracles. Call it when I'm in business for +myself. Then, if somebody'll only choke off Aunty long enough, I +may--well, some fine moonlight night I may tell her all about it." + +"Oh!" gasps Jane. "Mayn't we be there to hear you do it?" + +"Not if I can bar you out," says I. + +"Please!" says Peggy. "We would sit just as still and not---- Oh, +here's Aunt Marjorie. Aunty, what do you think? Mr. Torchy's been +telling us a secret." + +"There, there, Peggy," says Marjorie, "don't be silly. Torchy is +waiting to see Baby. Come! He's awake now." + +Yep, I had to do the inspection act, after all. And I must say that +most of these infant wonders look a good deal alike; only Ferdinand, +Jr., has a cute way of tryin' out his new tooth on your thumb. + +Goin' back towards the station I meets Ferdy, himself, trampin' in +lonesome from a long walk, and lookin' mighty glum. + +"Of all the gloom carriers!" says I. "What was it let you in bad this +time?" + +"You ought to know," says he. + +"For why?" says I. + +"Oh, fudge!" says he. "I suppose you didn't put me up to that silly +business of changing neckties!" + +"Chinked it, did you?" says I. "But how?" + +"If you must know," says he, "I forgot to change back on my way home, +and Marjorie's still furious. She simply won't let me explain, refuses +to listen to a word. So what can I do?" + +"A cinch!" says I. "You got a pair of livin' dictaphones in the house, +ain't you? Work it off on Peggy and Jane as a secret, and you'll have +your defense on record inside of half an hour. Cheer up, Ferdy. +Ishkabibble!" + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On With Torchy, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON WITH TORCHY *** + +***** This file should be named 17301-8.txt or 17301-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/3/0/17301/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: On With Torchy + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Illustrator: Foster Lincoln + +Release Date: December 13, 2005 [EBook #17301] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON WITH TORCHY *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT=""Well if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" says Vee." BORDER="2" WIDTH="350" HEIGHT="681"> +<H4> +[Frontispiece: "Well if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" says Vee.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +ON WITH TORCHY +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +SEWELL FORD +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF +<BR><BR> +TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY, ODD NUMBERS, ETC., ETC. +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATIONS BY +<BR><BR> +FOSTER LINCOLN +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +NEW YORK +<BR><BR> +GROSSET & DUNLAP +<BR><BR> +PUBLISHERS +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Copyright, 1913, 1914, by +<BR><BR> +Sewell Ford +<BR><BR><BR><BR> +Copyright, 1914, by +<BR><BR> +Edward J. Clode +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<CENTER> + +<TABLE WIDTH="80%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">CHAPTER</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">CHANCING IT FOR VEE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">BREEZING BY WITH PEGGY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">TORCHY IN ON THE DRAW</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">THE GLAD HAIL FOR TORCHY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">BEING SICCED ON PERCEY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">HOW WHITY GUNKED THE PLOT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ILLUSTRATIONS +</H2> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-front"> +"WELL, IF I EVER! LOOK WHERE YOUR SHOULDERS<BR> +COME!" . . . . . . . . . <I>Frontispiece</I> +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-048"> +"BY GORRY!" EXPLODES IRA AS HE GETS HIS FIRST GLIMPSE +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-086"> +SISTER HAS LANDED A SMACK ON HIS JAW +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-134"> +BELIEVE ME, IT WAS SOME ARTISTIC MAKEUP! +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-186"> +"AH, FLUTTER BY, IDLE ONE!" SAYS I +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-240"> +THEN MY ARM MUST HAVE SLIPPED—AND THE SIDE<BR> +CLINCH WA'N'T DISTURBED +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-256"> +WE WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDST OF PRACTISIN' THE SIDEWISE DIP,<BR> +WHEN WHO SHOULD SHOW UP BUT THE HAPPY BRIDEGROOM! +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<A HREF="#img-312"> +WE WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDST Of THE SCRIMMAGE WHEN IN WALKS VEE +</A> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +ON WITH TORCHY +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHANGING IT FOR VEE +</H3> + +<P> +Say, what's next to knowin' when you're well off? Why, thinkin' you +are. +</P> + +<P> +Which is a little nugget of wisdom I panned out durin' a chat I had not +long ago with Mr. Quinn, that I used to work under when I was on the +door of the Sunday sheet, three or four years back. +</P> + +<P> +"Hail, Torchy!" says he, as we meets accidental on Broadway. "Still +carrying the burning bush under your hat, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +I grins good-natured at his old josh, just as I used to about twice a +week regular, and admits that I am. +</P> + +<P> +"You wa'n't lookin' for me to fade to an ash blond, was you?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" says he. "I see the brilliance is not all on the outside. Well, +what use are you putting it to? Who are you with now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Same concern," says I. "Corrugated Trust." +</P> + +<P> +"As First, or Second Vice President?" says he, cockin' his head on one +side humorous. +</P> + +<P> +"Add 'em together and multiply by three," says I, "then you'll be warm." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't quite get the result," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Ever hear of an office-boy-de-luxe?" says I. "They don't print it on +the letter-heads yet, or paint it on the ground-glass, but that's my +real label. I'm the only one in New York, too." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Quinn chuckles and goes off shakin' his head. I expect he's +disappointed that I've stuck so long in one shop without climbin' +further up the ladder. That's what he was always preachin' at me, this +ladder-climbin' advice. But say, hod carriers do that. Me for an +express elevator when the time comes. +</P> + +<P> +But meanwhile, with a couple of bosses like Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. +Robert, it ain't so worse sittin' behind the brass rail. That's one +reason I ain't changed. Also there's that little mine enterprise me +and Mr. Robert's mixed up in, which ain't come to a head yet. +</P> + +<P> +Then—well, then, there's Vee. Go on—hand me the jolly! And if you +push me to it I'll admit I ain't any speedy performer at this "Oh, +you!" game. Mr. Robert he thinks it's comic, when he has the kiddin' +fit on, to remark chuckly, "Oh, I say, Torchy, have you seen Miss Vee +lately?" +</P> + +<P> +There's others too, that seems to get a lot of satisfaction shootin' +the same thing at me, and they sort of snicker when I get pink in the +ears. But, say, there's a heap of difference between pickin' peaches +from an easy chair under the tree, and when you have to shin the garden +wall and reach through the barbed wire ornament on top. +</P> + +<P> +Course, I ain't comparin' anything—but there's Aunty. Dear old girl! +Square as a brick, and about as yieldin'; good as gold too, but worth +more per ounce than any coined at the mint; and as foxy in the mind as +a corporation lawyer arguin' before the Rapid Transit Commission. Also +I'm as welcome to Aunty's eyesight as Eugene V. Debs would be at the +Union League Club—just about. That ain't any idle rumor, either, nor +something that was hinted to me casual. It's first-hand information, +hot off the bat. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," says she, glarin' at me through her gold lorgnette like I was +some kind of insect specimen, "do I understand that you come here to +see my niece?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," says I, "there's you and her—guess!" +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" she snorts indignant. "Then I wish you to know that your +visits are most unwelcome. Is that quite clear?" +</P> + +<P> +"I get the outline," says I. "But, you see——" +</P> + +<P> +"No qualifications, absolutely none!" says she. "Good afternoon, young +man. I shall not expect you to return." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well, in that case," says I, sidlin' off, "why—I—I think I'll be +goin'." +</P> + +<P> +It was a smear, that's all. I felt about as thick through as a +Saratoga chip, and not half so crisp. Encouragin' finish for an +afternoon call that I'd been bracin' myself up to for weeks, wa'n't it? +And from all I can gather from a couple of sketchy notes Vee gets about +the same line of advice handed her. So there was a debate between her +and Aunty. For I expect nobody can lay the law down flat to Vee +without strikin' a few sparks from them big gray eyes. +</P> + +<P> +But of course Aunty wins out in the end. It's a cinch, with everything +on her side. Anyway, the next thing I knows about their plans is when +I finds their names in the sailin' list, bound for the Big Ditch, with +most everyone else that could get away. And I makes my discovery about +three hours after the boat has left. +</P> + +<P> +But that was in January. And I expect it was a fine thing for Vee, +seein' the canal before it revised the geography, and dodgin' all kinds +of grip weather, and meetin' a lot of new people. And if it's worth +all that bother to Aunty just so anybody can forget a party no more +important than me—why, I expect that's all right too. +</P> + +<P> +But it's just like some folks to remember what they're ordered to +forget. Anyway, I got bulletins now and then, and I was fairly well +posted as to when Aunty landed back in New York, and where she unpacked +her trunks. That helped some; but it didn't cut the barbed wire +exactly. +</P> + +<P> +And, say, I was gettin' some anxious to see Vee once more. Nearly two +weeks she'd been home, and not so much as a glimpse of her! I'd doped +out all kinds of brilliant schemes; but somehow they didn't work. No +lucky breaks seemed to be comin' my way, either. +</P> + +<P> +And then, here last Sunday after dinner, I just hauls out that church +weddin' costume I'd collected once, brushes most of the kinks out of my +red hair, sets my jaw solid, and starts to take a sportin' chance. On +the way up I sketches out a scenario, which runs something like this: +</P> + +<P> +A maid answers the ring. I ask if Miss Vee is in. The maid goes to +see, when the voice of Aunty is heard in the distance, "What! A young +gentleman asking for Verona? No card? Then get his name, Hortense." +Me to the maid, "Messenger from Mr. Westlake, and would Miss Vee care +to take a short motor spin. Waiting below." Then more confab with +Aunty, and five minutes later out comes Vee. Finale: Me and Vee +climbin' to the top of one of them Riverside Drive busses, while Aunty +dreams that she's out with Sappy Westlake, the chosen one. +</P> + +<P> +Some strategy to that—what? And, sure enough, the piece opens a good +deal as I'd planned; only instead of me bein' alone when I pushes the +button, hanged if two young chappies that had come up in the elevator +with me don't drift along to the same apartment door. We swap sort of +foolish grins, and when Hortense fin'ly shows up everyone of us does a +bashful sidestep to let the others go first. So Hortense opens on what +looks like a revolvin' wedge. But that don't trouble her at all. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," says she, swingin' the door wide and askin' no questions. +"This way, please." +</P> + +<P> +Looked like we was expected; so there's no ducking and while we're +drapin' our hats on the hall rack I'm busy picturin' the look on +Aunty's face when she singles me out of the trio. They was panicky +thoughts, them. +</P> + +<P> +But a minute later the plot is still further mixed by the sudden +swishy, swirly entrance of an entire stranger,—a tall, thin female +with vivid pink cheeks, a chemical auburn tint to her raven tresses, +and long jet danglers in her ears. She's draped in what looks like a +black silk umbrella cover with rows of fringe and a train tacked to it, +and she wears a red, red rose coquettish over one ear. As she swoops +down on us from the drawin' room she cuts loose with the vivacious +chatter. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, there you are, you dear, darling boys!" says she. "And the +Princess Charming is holding court to-day. Ah, Reggy, you scamp! But +you did come, didn't you? And dear Theodore too! Brave, Sir Knights! +That's what you all shall be,—Knights come to woo the Princess!" +</P> + +<P> +Honest, for awhile there, as this bughouse monologue was bein' put +over, I figured I've made a mistake in the floor, and had been let into +a private ward. But as soon as I gets next to the Georgia accent I +suspects that it ain't any case of squirrels in the attic; but just a +sample of sweet Southern gush. +</P> + +<P> +Next I gets a peek through the draperies at some straw-colored hair +with a shell-pink ear peepin' from underneath, and I know that whatever +else is wrong don't matter; for over there on the windowseat, +surrounded by half a dozen young gents, is somebody very particular and +special. Followin' this I does a hasty piece of scout work and draws a +deep breath. No Aunty looms on the horizon—not yet, anyway. +</P> + +<P> +With the arrival of the new delegates the admirin' semicircle has to +break up, and the three of us are towed to the bay window by Vivacious +Vivian. +</P> + +<P> +"Princess," says she, makin' a low duck, "three other Knights who would +do homage. Allow me first to present Mr. Reginald St. Claire Smith. +Here Reggy. Also Mr. Theodore Braden. And next Mr.—Mr.—er——" +</P> + +<P> +She's got to me. I expect her first guess was that I'd been dragged in +by one of the other two; but as neither of 'em makes any sign she turns +them black, dark-ringed lamps inquirin' on me and asks, "Oh, I'm sure I +beg pardon, but—but you are——" +</P> + +<P> +Now who the blazes was I, anyway? It all depended on how well posted +she was, whether I should admit I was Torchy the Banished, or invent an +alias on the spot. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says I, draggin' it out to gain time, "you see I'm a—that is, +I'm a—a——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, hello!" breaks in Vee, jumpin' up and holdin' out both hands just +in the nick of time. "Why, of course, Cousin Eulalia! This is a +friend of mine, an old friend." +</P> + +<P> +"Really!" says Cousin Eulalia. "And I may call him——" +</P> + +<P> +"Claude," I puts in, winkin' at Vee. "Call me just Claude." +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly lovely!" gushes Eulalia. "An unknown knight. 'Deed and you +shall be called Claude—Sir Claude of the Golden Crest. Gentlemen, I +present him to you." +</P> + +<P> +We looks at each other sort of sheepish, and most of us grins. All but +one, in fact. The blond string bean over in the corner, with the +buttermilk blue eyes and the white eyebrows, he don't seem amused. For +it's Sappy Westlake, the one I run on a siding once at a dance. Think +of keepin' a peeve on ice all that time! +</P> + +<P> +It's quite a likely lookin' assortment on the whole, though, all +costumed elegant and showin' signs of bein' fairly well parlor broke. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the occasion?" says I on the side to Miss Vee. "Reunion of +somebody's Sunday school class?" +</P> + +<P> +She gives me a punch and smothers a snicker, "Don't let Cousin Eulalia +hear you say such a thing," says she. +</P> + +<P> +We only had a minute; but from what she manages to whisper durin' the +general chatter I makes out that this is a little scheme Eulalia'd +planned to sort of launch Vee into the younger set. She's from +Atlanta, Cousin Eulalia is, one of the best fam'lies, and kind of a +perennial society belle that's tinkled through quite some seasons, but +refuses to quit. Just now she's spendin' a month with Fifth-ave. +friends, and has just discovered that Vee and her are close connected +through a step-uncle marryin' a half-sister of Eulalia's +brother-in-law, or something like that. Anyhow, she insists on the +cousin racket, and has started right in to rush Vee to the front. +</P> + +<P> +She's some rasher, Eulalia is, too. No twenty-minutes-to-or-after +silences while she's conductin' affairs. Course, it's kind of frothy +stuff to pass for conversation; but it bubbles out constant, and she +blows it around impartial. Her idea of giving Cousin Vee a perfectly +good time seems to be to have us all grouped around that windowseat and +take turns shootin' over puffs of hot air; sort of a taffy-throwin' +competition, you know, with Vee as the mark. +</P> + +<P> +But Vee don't seem tickled to death over it. She ain't fussed exactly, +as Eulalia rounds us up in a half-circle; but she colors up a little +and acts kind of bored. She's some picture, though. M-m-m-m! And it +was worth while bein' one of a mob, just to stand there watchin' her. +</P> + +<P> +I expect the young college hicks felt a good deal the same about it as +me, even if they was havin' hard work diggin' up appropriate remarks +when Eulalia swings the arrow so it points to them. Anyway, they does +their best to come up with the polite jolly, and nobody makes a break +to quit. +</P> + +<P> +It's durin' the tea and sandwich scramble, though, that Cousin Eulalia +gets her happy hunch. Seems that Sappy Westlake has come forward with +an invite to a box party just as Vee is tryin' to make up her mind +whether she'll go with Teddy Braden to some cotillion capers, or accept +a dinner dance bid from one of the other young gents. +</P> + +<P> +"And all for Wednesday night!" says she. "How stupid of you, with the +week so long!" +</P> + +<P> +"But I'd planned this box party especially for you," protests Sappy. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, give someone else a chance, Westlake," cuts in Reggy. "That's the +night of our frat dance, and I want to ask Miss Vee if——" +</P> + +<P> +"What's this all about?" demands Eulalia, dancin' kittenish into the +limelight. "Rivalry among our gallant knights? Then the Princess +Charming must decide." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't, Cousin Eulalia," says Vee, wrinklin' her nose the least +bit. "Please!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't what?" says Eulalia, raisin' her long arms flutterin'. "My +dear, I don't understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, she's hintin' for you to ditch the Princess stuff," I puts in. +"Ain't that it?" and Vee nods emphatic. +</P> + +<P> +Eulalia lets on that she don't know. "Ditch the—why, what can he mean +by that?" says she. "And you are a Princess Charming; isn't she, boys?" +</P> + +<P> +Course the bunch admits that she is. +</P> + +<P> +"There, you see?" goes on Eulalia. "Your faithful knights acclaim you. +Who says that the age of chivalry has passed? Why, here they are, +everyone of them ready to do your lightest bidding. Now, aren't you, +Sir Knights?" +</P> + +<P> +It's kind of a weak chorus; but the ayes seem to have it. What other +answer could there be, with Vee gazin' flushed and pouty at 'em over +the tea urn? +</P> + +<P> +"Really, Eulalia, I wish you wouldn't be so absurd," says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Cousin Verona," coos Eulalia, glidin' up and huggin' her +impetuous, "how could anyone keep their heads straight before such +absolutely distracting beauty? See, you have inspired them all with +the spirit of chivalry. And now you must put them to the test. Name +some heroic deed for each to perform. Begin with Reggy. Now what +shall it be?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fudge!" says Vee, tossin' her head. "I'll do nothing so perfectly +mushy." +</P> + +<P> +But Cousin Eulalia wa'n't to be squelched, nor have her grand scheme +sidetracked. "Then I declare myself Mistress of the Lists," says she, +"and I shall open the tournament for you. Ho, Trumpeter, summon the +challengers! And—oh, I have it. Each of you Sir Knights must choose +his own task, whatever he deems will best please our Princess Charming. +What say you to that?" +</P> + +<P> +There's a murmur of "Good business!" "Bully dope!" and the young gents +begin to prick up their ears. +</P> + +<P> +"Then this is how it stands," goes on Eulalia, beamin' delighted. +"Between now and eight o'clock this evening each knight must do his +valorous best to win the approval of our Princess. Hers it shall be to +decide, the prize her gracious company for next Wednesday night. Come +now, who enters the lists?" +</P> + +<P> +There's some snickerin' and hangin' back; but fin'ly they're all in. +</P> + +<P> +"All save the Unknown Knight," pipes up Eulalia, spottin' me in the +rear. "How now, you of the Crimson Crest? Not showing the white +feather, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" says I. "Well, I don't quite get the drift of the game; but if +it'll make you feel any better, you can count me in." +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" says she, clappin' her hands. "And while you are afield I must +leave too—another tea, you know. But we all meet here again at eight +sharp, with proof or plunder. Teddy, have you decided what to attempt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure," says he. "Me to find the biggest box of candy that can be +bought in New York Sunday evening." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, splendid!" gurgles Eulalia. "And you, Mr. Westlake?" +</P> + +<P> +"Orchids," says Sappy. "Grandmother has dandy ones at her place up in +Westchester, and I can make there and back in my roadster if I'm not +pinched for speeding. I'm going to have a try, and maybe I'll have to +steal the flowers too." +</P> + +<P> +"There!" says Eulalia, pattin' him on the back. "That's a knightly +spirit. But what of Crimson Crest? What will you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"The game is to spring something on Miss Vee better'n what the others +put over, is it?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Precisely," says Eulalia, allowin' two of the young gents to help her +on with her wraps. "Have you thought what your offering is to be?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet," says I. "I may take a chance on something fresh." +</P> + +<P> +They was all pilin' out eager by that time, each one anxious to get +started on his own special fool stunt, so, while I was mixed up in the +gen'ral push, with my hat in my hand and my coat over my arm, it didn't +strike me how I could bolt the programme until I'm half crowded behind +the open hall door. Then I gets a swift thought. Seein' I wouldn't be +missed, and that Vee has her back to me, I simply squeezes in out of +sight and waits while she says by-by to the last one; so, when she +fin'ly shuts the door, there I am. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Torchy!" says she. "I thought you had gone." +</P> + +<P> +"But it wa'n't a wish, was it?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says she, flashin' a teasin' glance. "Suppose I don't tell +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"My nerve is strong today," says I, chuckin' my hat back on the rack; +"so I'll take the benefit of the doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"But all the others have gone to—to do things that will please me," +she adds. +</P> + +<P> +"That's why I'm takin' a chance," says I, "that if I stick around I +might—well, I'm shy of grandmothers to steal orchids from, anyway." +</P> + +<P> +Vee chuckles at that. "Isn't Cousin Eulalia too absurd?" says she. +"And since you're still here—why—well, let's not stand in the hall. +Come in." +</P> + +<P> +"One minute," says I. "Where's Aunty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Out," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"What a pity!" says I, takin' Vee by the arm. "Tell her how much I +missed her." +</P> + +<P> +"But how did you happen to come up today?" asks Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"There wa'n't any happenin' to it," says I. "I'd got to my limit, +that's all. Honest, Vee, I just had to come. I'd have come if there'd +been forty Aunties, each armed with a spiked club. It's been months, +you know, since I've had a look at you." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know," says she, gazin' at the rug. "You—you've grown, +haven't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Think so?" says I. "Maybe it's the cut-away coat." +</P> + +<P> +"No," says she; "although that helps. But as we walked in I thought +you seemed taller than I. Let's measure, here by the pier glass. Now, +back to back. Well, if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" +</P> + +<P> +"No more than an inch or so," says I, gazin' sideways at the mirror; +and then I lets slip, half under my breath, a sort of gaspy "Gee!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why the 'Gee'?" says she, glancin' over her shoulder into the glass. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know," says I; "only I don't mind bein' grouped like this, +not a bit." +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh!" says she, but still holdin' the pose. +</P> + +<P> +"Seems to me," says I, "that Cousin Eulalia is a slick describer. That +Princess Charming business ain't so wide." +</P> + +<P> +"Silly!" says she. "Come and sit down." +</P> + +<P> +She was steerin' for the windowseat; but I picks out a cozy little +high-backed davenport and, reachin' for one of her hands, swings her +into that. "Just room for two here," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"But you needn't keep my hand," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"No trouble," says I. "Besides, I thought I'd inspect what kind of a +manicure you take of. M-m-m-m! Pretty fair, no hangnails, all the +half-moons showin' proper, an——" I broke off sudden at that and sat +starin' blank. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, anything else?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I guess not," says I, lettin' her hand slip. "You've chucked it, +eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Chucked what?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing much," says I. "But for awhile there, you know, just for fun +you was wearin' something of mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she flashes back. "Then at last you've missed it, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"With so much else worth lookin' at," says I, "is it a wonder?" +</P> + +<P> +"Blarney!" says she, stickin' out her tongue. +</P> + +<P> +"Did Aunty capture it?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +Vee shakes her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe you lost it?" I goes on. "It wa'n't much." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you wouldn't care if I had?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted you to keep it," says I; "but of course, after all the row +Aunty raised over it, I knew you couldn't." +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't I, though?" says she, and with that she fishes up the end of +a little gold neck chain from under some lace—and hanged if there +ain't the ring! +</P> + +<P> +"Vee!" says I, sort of tingly all over as I gazes at her. "Say, you're +a corker, though! Why, I thought sure you'd——" +</P> + +<P> +"Silly boy!" says she. "I'll just have to pay you for that. You will +think horrid things of me, will you? There!" +</P> + +<P> +She does things in a flash when she cuts loose too. Next I knew she +has her fingers in what Eulalia calls my crimson crest and is rumplin' +up all them curls I'd been so careful to slick back. I grabbed her +wrists, and it was more or less of a rough-house scene we was indulgin' +in, when all of a sudden the draperies are brushed back, and in stalks +Aunty, with Cousin Eulalia trailin' behind. +</P> + +<P> +"Ver-ona!" Talk about havin' a pitcher of cracked ice slipped down +your back! Say, there was more chills in that one word than ever blew +down from Medicine Hat. "What," goes on Aunty, "does this mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"It—it's a new game," says I, grinnin' foolish. +</P> + +<P> +"As old as Satan, I should say!" raps out Aunty. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," squeals Cousin Eulalia gushy, "here is our Unknown Knight, the +first to come back with his tribute! Let's see, what was it you said +you were going to do? Oh, I know—take a chance on something fresh, +wasn't it? Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-es," says I. "And I guess I did." +</P> + +<P> +"Trust him for that!" snorts Aunty. "Young man, at our last interview +I thought I made it quite clear that I should not expect you to return?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's right," says I, edgin' around her towards the door. "And you +wa'n't, was you?" +</P> + +<P> +Some glance she shot over; but it didn't prove fatal. And as I rides +down I couldn't help swappin' a wink with the elevator boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Feelin' frisky, eh?" says he. "So was them other young guys. One of +'em tipped me a half." +</P> + +<P> +"That kind would," says I. "They're comin' back. I'm escapin'." +</P> + +<P> +But, say, who do you guess wins out for Wednesday night? Ah, rattle +'em again! Eulalia fixed it up. Said it was Vee's decision, and she +was bound to stick by the rules of the game, even if they did have to +throw a bluff to Aunty. Uh-huh! I've got three orchestra seats right +in my pocket, and a table engaged for supper afterwards. Oh, I don't +know. Eulalia ain't so batty, after all. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT +</H3> + + +<P> +Trust Piddie for workin' up wild suspicions. Say, he can't find a +stray sheet of scribblin' paper on the floor without pouncin' sleuthy +on it and tryin' to puzzle out the hidden meanin'. +</P> + +<P> +So when I get the buzzer call to Old Hickory's private office and finds +him and the main stem waitin' in solemn conclave there, I guesses right +off that Piddie's dug up a new one that he hopes to nail me with. Just +now he's holdin' a little bunch of wilted field flowers in one hand, +and as I range up by the desk he shoots over the accusin' glance. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," says he, "do you know anything about these?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, sure," says I. "They're pickled pigs' feet, ain't they?" +</P> + +<P> +"No impudence, now!" says he. "Where did they come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"Off'm Grant's Tomb, if I must guess," says I. "Anyway, I wouldn't +think they was picked in the Subway." +</P> + +<P> +And at this Old Hickory sniffs impatient. "That is quite enough comic +diversion, young man!" he puts in. "Do you or don't you know anything +about how those things happened to get on my desk?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" says I. "Why, I never saw 'em before! What's the dope?" +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" he grunts. "I didn't think this was any of your nonsense: too +tame. And I suppose you might as well know what's afoot. Tell him, +Mr. Piddie." +</P> + +<P> +Did you ever see a pinhead but what just dotes on springin' a +sensation? Piddie fairly gloats over unloadin' it. "This," says he, +holdin' up the wilted bunch, "is the unaccountable. For the fourth +time flowers of this description have been mysteriously left on Mr. +Ellins' desk. It is not done after hours, or during the night; but in +broad day, sometimes when Mr. Ellins is sitting just where he is now, +and by a hand unseen. Watch has been kept, yet no one has been +detected; and, as you know, only a few persons have free access here. +Still the thing continues. At regular periods these absurd bouquets +appear on this desk, seemingly from nowhere at all. Hence this +inquiry." +</P> + +<P> +I'd heard Piddie spout a good many times before, but never quite so +eloquent, and I expect I was gawpin' at him some dazed and admirin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," says Old Hickory, squintin' sharp at me from under his bushy +eyebrows, "what have you to offer?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's by me," says I, shruggin' my shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, come now!" he goes on. "With that high tension brain of yours, +surely you can advance some idea." +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says I, "offhand I should say that some of them mushy lady +typists out there might be smugglin' in floral tributes to you, Sir." +</P> + +<P> +Old Hickory grins sarcastic. "Without going into the question of +motive," says he, "that suggestion may be worth considering. What say, +Mr. Piddie?" +</P> + +<P> +"It might be that Miss Smicks," says Piddie. "She's quite sentimental, +Sir, and I've thought at times she——" +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" roars Old Hickory, almost workin' up a blush. "Mr. Piddie, I +am a fat, cross-grained old man, about as attractive personally as a +hippopotamus. Great stuttering tadpoles! Can't you think of anything +but sappy romance? More likely someone wants a raise." +</P> + +<P> +"Very true, Sir; I hadn't thought of that," chimes in Piddie. "Shall +we call them all in, one at a time, Sir, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"And what?" snaps Old Hickory. "Think I'm going to ask all those young +women if they've been leaving flowers on my desk?" +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't you fake up some job for each one," says I, "and when they +came in be wearin' the flowers conspicuous, and watch if they——" +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" breaks in Old Hickory. "What driveling tommyrot! Besides, I +don't believe any of them had a hand in this. How could they? Why, I +tell you, there wasn't a soul in this room between noon and twelve +forty-five to-day; and yet, with me facing that door, these things +appear right at my elbow. It—it's getting on my nerves, and, by the +seven sizzling sisters, I want to know what it all means!" +</P> + +<P> +"We could have in the detectives," suggests Piddie. +</P> + +<P> +"If it was a bomb or an infernal machine, I might," says Mr. Ellins +scornful; "but to trace a few dad-blistered flowers—no, thank you! +It's foolish enough as it stands." +</P> + +<P> +"But there is something behind all this, I'm sure," insists Piddie, +"and if you will allow me to do it, I shall send at once for Dr. +Rudolph Bingstetter." +</P> + +<P> +"Who's he?" demands Old Hickory. +</P> + +<P> +"A distinguished scientist who is a friend and neighbor of mine," says +Piddie, swellin' up important. "He was formerly a dentist, I believe; +but now he devotes himself to research and literature. He writes +magazine articles on psychological phenomena, crime mysteries, and so +on. Dr. Bingstetter has a wonderful mind, and is often called on to +unravel baffling cases. It was only a few months ago that he +successfully investigated a haunted house out our way and found——" +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm not accusing ghosts of this," says Old Hickory. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not, Sir," says Piddie; "but I'm sure Dr. Bingstetter could +find out just how those flowers come here. He's an extremely brilliant +man, Sir, and I'm quite positive he could——" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well, send for him, then," says Old Hickory. "Only see that you +keep still about it outside there, both of you. I don't care to have +the whole office force chattering and snickering over this affair. +Understand?" +</P> + +<P> +You bet we did; for when the boss gets real peevish about anything it's +not safe to get your signals mixed! I stands guard on the 'phone booth +while Piddie was sendin' the message, and for once we plots away +together real chummy. +</P> + +<P> +"He's coming right over this afternoon," whispers Piddie, as he slides +out of the booth. "You're to take him directly into Mr. Ellins' +office,—a large, impressive looking man, you know, with a full round +face and wearing eye-glasses." +</P> + +<P> +Piddie forgets to mention the shiny frock coat and the forty-four-inch +waist line; but for all that I spots him the minute he hits the brass +gate, which he does about ten minutes before closin' time. +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Bingstetter?" says I cautious. +</P> + +<P> +"I am he," is the answer. +</P> + +<P> +"S-s-s-s-sh!" says I, puttin' a forefinger to my lips warnin'. +</P> + +<P> +"S-s-s-s-sh!" echoes the Doc, tiptoein' through the gate. +</P> + +<P> +Then up comes Piddie, walkin' on his toes too, and the three of us does +a footpad sneak into Old Hickory's office. There wa'n't any wild call +for me to stay as I knows of; but as long as no one threw me out I +thought I'd stick around. +</P> + +<P> +I must say too the Doc looked and acted the part. First off he sits +there blinkin' wise behind his glasses, and not a sign on his big, +heavy face as he listens to all Piddie and Mr. Ellins can tell him +about the case. Also when he starts askin' questions on his own hook +he makes a noise like a mighty intellect changin' gears. +</P> + +<P> +"M-m-m-m!" says he, pursin' up his lips and studyin' the bouquet +thoughtful. "Six ox-eyed daisies, four sprays of goldenrod, and three +marshmallow blooms,—thirteen in all. And this is the fourth bunch. +Now, the others, Mr. Ellins, they were not precisely like this one, +were they?" +</P> + +<P> +"Blessed if I know!" says Old Hickory. "No, come to think of it, they +were all different." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, I thought so!" says the Doc, sort of suckin' in his breath +satisfied. "Now, just what flowers did the first one contain, I should +like to know." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, hang it all, man, I can't remember!" says Old Hickory. "I threw +the things into the waste basket." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, that was careless, very careless," says the Doc. "It would have +helped. One ought to cultivate, Mr. Ellins, the habit of accurately +observing small details. However, we shall see what can be done with +this," and once more he puckers his lips, furrows up his noble brow, +and gazes steady at floral exhibit No. 4, turnin' it round slow between +his fat fingers and almost goin' into a trance over it. +</P> + +<P> +"Hadn't you better take a look around the offices," suggests Old +Hickory, "examine the doors, and so on?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" says Bingstetter, wavin' away the interruption. "No bypaths. +The trained mind rejects everything contributory, subordinate. It +refuses to be led off into a maze of unsupported conjecture. It seeks +only the vital, primogenitive fact, the hidden truth at the heart of +things. And that is all here—here!" +</P> + +<P> +Piddie leans forward for another look at the flowers, and wags his head +solemn, I edges around for a closer view myself, and Old Hickory stares +puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean to say," says he, "that just by gazing at a few flowers +you can——" +</P> + +<P> +"S-s-s-sh!" breaks in the Doc, holdin' up a warnin' hand. "It is +coming. I am working outward from the primal fact toward the +objective. It is evolving, taking on definite proportions, assuming +shape." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what's the result?" demands the boss, hitchin' restless in his +chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Patience, my dear Sir, patience," says the Doc soothin'. "The +introdeductive method cannot be hurried. It is an exact process, +requiring utmost concentration, until in the fullness of the moment—— +Ah, I have it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says Old Hickory. +</P> + +<P> +"One moment," says the Doc. "A trifling detail is still missing,—the +day of the week. To-day is Wednesday, is it not? Now, on what day of +last week did you receive a—er—similar token?" +</P> + +<P> +Old Hickory finally reckons up that it must have been last Wednesday. +</P> + +<P> +"And the week before?" goes on the Doc. "The bunch of flowers appeared +then on Wednesday, did it not?" +</P> + +<P> +Yes, he was pretty sure it did. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" says Bingstetter, settlin' back in his chair like it was all +over, "then the cumulative character is established. And such exact +recurrence cannot be due to chance. No, it has all been nicely +calculated, carried out with relentless precision. Four Wednesdays, +four floral threats!" +</P> + +<P> +"Threats?" says Mr. Ellins, sittin' up prompt. +</P> + +<P> +"You failed to read them," says the Doc. "That is what comes of +neglecting minor details. But fortunately I came in time to decipher +this one. Observe the fateful number,—thirteen. Note the colors +here,—brown, golden, pink. The pink of the mallow means youth, the +goldenrod stands for hoarded wealth, the brown for age. And all are +bound together by wire grass, which is the tightening snare. A +menacing missive! There will come another on Wednesday next." +</P> + +<P> +"Think so?" says Old Hickory. +</P> + +<P> +"I am positive," says the Doc. "One more. We will allude to it for +the present, if you choose, as the fifth bouquet. And this fifth token +will be red, blood red! Mr. Ellins, you are a marked man!" +</P> + +<P> +"The blazes you say!" snorts Old Hickory. "Well, it won't be the first +time. Who's after me now, though?" +</P> + +<P> +"Five desperate men," says the Doc, countin' 'em off on his fingers. +"Four have given evidence of their subtle daring. The fifth is yet to +appear. He will come on Wednesday next, and then—he will find that +his coming has been anticipated. I shall be here in person. Now, let +me see—there is a room connecting with this? Ah, very well. Have +three policemen in readiness there. I think it can be arranged so that +our man will walk in among them of his own accord. That is all. Give +yourself no uneasiness, Mr. Ellins. For a week you will be +undisturbed. Until then, Sir, au revoir." +</P> + +<P> +With that he bows dignified and motions Piddie to lead the way out. I +slides out too, leavin' Old Hickory sittin' there starin' sort of +puzzled and worried at the wall. And, honest, whether you took any +stock in the Doc's yellow forecast or not, it listens kind of creepy. +Course, with him usin' all that highbrow language, I couldn't exactly +follow how he gets to it; but there's no denyin' that it sounds mighty +convincin'. +</P> + +<P> +And yet—well, I can't say just what there was about Bingstetter that +got me leery; but somehow he reminds me of a street faker or a museum +lecturer. And it does seem sort of fishy that, just by gazin' at a +bunch of flowers, he could dope out all this wild tale about five +desp'rate men. Still, there was no gettin' away from the fact that he +had hit it right about the bouquets appearin' reg'lar every Wednesday. +That must mean something. But why Wednesdays? Now, what was there +that happens on Wednesday that don't—— +</P> + +<P> +Say, you know how you'll get a fool hunch sometimes, that'll seem such +a nutty proposition first off that you'll almost laugh at yourself for +havin' it; and yet how it'll rattle around in your bean persistent, +until you quit tryin' to get rid of it? Well, this one of mine strikes +me about as I'm snugglin' down into the hay that night, and there was +no gettin' away from it for hours. +</P> + +<P> +I expect I did tear off a few chunks of slumber between times; but I +was wide awake long before my regular hour for rollin' out, and after +makin' three or four stabs at a second nap I gives it up, slips down +for an early breakfast, and before eight A.M. I'm down in the basement +of the Corrugated Buildin' interviewin' the assistant superintendent in +his little coop of an office. I comes out whistlin' and lookin' wise. +And that night after I'd made a trip over to Long Island across the +Queensboro Bridge I looks wiser still. Nothin' to do until next +Wednesday. +</P> + +<P> +And when it comes it sure opens up like it's goin' to be a big day, all +right! At first Old Hickory announces that he ain't goin' to have any +cops campin' around in the directors' room. It was all blithering +nonsense! Hadn't he lived through all sorts of warnin's before? And +he'd be eternally blim-scuttled if he was goin' to get cold feet over a +few faded flowers! +</P> + +<P> +There was Piddie, though, with his say. His idea is to have the +reserves from two precincts scattered all over the shop, and he lugs +around such a serious face and talks so panicky that at last the boss +compromises on havin' two of the buildin' specials detailed for the +job. We smuggles 'em into the big room at eleven o'clock, and tells +'em to lay low until they gets the word. Next comes Bingstetter, +blinkin' mysterious, and has himself concealed behind a screen in the +private office. By that time Old Hickory is almost as nervous as +anybody. +</P> + +<P> +"Fine state of affairs, things are at now," he growls, "when a man +isn't safe unless he has a bodyguard! That's what comes of all this +political agitation!" +</P> + +<P> +"Have no fear," says the Doc; "you will not receive the fifth bouquet. +Boy, leave that door into the next room slightly ajar. He will try to +escape that way." +</P> + +<P> +"Ajar she is," says I, proppin' it open with a 'phone directory. +</P> + +<P> +"'Tis well," says the Doc. "Now leave us." +</P> + +<P> +I was goin' to, anyway; for at exactly noon I had a date somewhere +else. There was a window openin' off the bondroom that was screened by +a pile of cases, and out from that was an iron fire escape runnin' +along the whole court side on our floor. I'd picked that window out as +bein' a good place to scout from. And I couldn't have been better +placed; for I saw just who I was expectin' the minute he heaves in +sight. I'd like to have had one glimpse, though, of Old Hickory and +the Doc and Piddie while they was watchin' and listenin' and holdin' +their breath inside there. But I'm near enough when the time comes, to +hear that chorus of gasps that's let loose at twelve-twenty-six exact. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha!" says the Doc. "As I told you—a red rose!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll be slam-whizzled!" explodes Old Hickory. +</P> + +<P> +"But—but where did it come from?" pants Piddie. "Who—who could +have——" +</P> + +<P> +And that's just when little Willie, after creepin' cautious along the +fire escape, gives his unsuspectin' victim the snappy elbow tackle from +behind and shoves him into view. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's your desperado!" says I, givin' my man the persuadin' knee in +the small of his back. "Ah, scramble in there, Old Top! You ain't +goin' to be hurt. In with you now!" +</P> + +<P> +"Look out!" squeals Piddie. "Police, police!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, can that!" I sings out, helpin' my prisoner through the window and +followin' after. "Police nothin'! Shoo 'em back, will you? He's as +harmless as a kitten." +</P> + +<P> +"Torchy," calls Old Hickory, recoverin' his nerve a little, "what is +the meaning of this, and who have you there?" +</P> + +<P> +"This," says I, straightenin' my man up with a shoulder slap, "is the +bearer of the fifth bouquet—also the fourth, and the third, and so on. +This is Mr. Cubbins of the Consolidated Window Cleanin' Company. Ain't +that right, eh, old sport?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Enery Cubbins, Sir," says he, scrapin' his foot polite and jerkin' +off his old cap. +</P> + +<P> +"And was it you who just threw this thing on my desk?" demands Old +Hickory, pointin' to the red rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' no 'arm at all, Sir, no 'arm at all," says Cubbins. +</P> + +<P> +"And do I understand that you brought those other flowers in the same +way?" goes on Mr. Ellins. +</P> + +<P> +"Not thinkin' you'd mind, Sir," says Cubbins; "but if there's henny +hoffense given, I asks pardon, Sir." +</P> + +<P> +And there couldn't be any mistakin' the genuine tremble in that weak, +pipin' voice, or the meek look in them watery old eyes. For Cubbins is +more or less of a human wreck, when you come to size him up close,—a +thin, bent-shouldered, faded lookin' old party, with wispy, whitish +hair, a peaked red nose, and a peculiar, whimsical quirk to his mouth +corners. Old Hickory looks him over curious for a minute or so. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" he grunts at last. "So you're the one, eh? But why the +blue-belted blazes did you do it?" +</P> + +<P> +All Cubbins does, though, is to finger his cap bashful. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, "you seem to be running this show. +Perhaps you'll tell us." +</P> + +<P> +"That's further'n I've got," says I. "You see, when I traced this +floral tribute business down to a window washer, I——" +</P> + +<P> +"In the name of all that's brilliant," breaks in Old Hickory, "how did +you ever do that?"' +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I got to thinkin' about it," says I, "and it struck me that we +had our glass cleaned every Wednesday, and if there was no way of +anyone smugglin' flowers in through the doors, the windows was all +there was left, wa'n't it? Also who's most likely to be monkeyin' +around outside, fifteen stories up, but a window washer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ha!" says Old Hickory through his teeth. "And did you do that by the +introdeductive process, may I ask?" +</P> + +<P> +"No such bunk as that," says I. "Just used my bean, that's all. Then +I got Mac, the assistant buildin' super, to put me wise as to who had +the windows on our floor, and by throwin' a bluff over the 'phone I +made the Consolidated people locate Mr. Cubbins for me. Found him +putterin' round in his garden over in Astoria, and pumped more or less +out of him; but when it come to gettin' him to explain why it was he'd +picked you out, Mr. Ellins, as a mark for his bouquets, I fell down +complete. Mr. Cubbins is English, as maybe you noticed by his talk, +and he used to be a house painter before his health got so bad. Now he +lives with his son-in-law, who tells me that the old gent——" +</P> + +<P> +"'E's a bit of a liar, my son-in-law is," pipes up Cubbins; "a bally +Socialist, Sir, and I'm ashymed to s'y 'as 'ow 'e's fond of abusin' 'is +betters. Thet's 'ow it all come abaht, Sir. Alw'ys tykin' on over the +rich, 'e is; and 'e's most fond of s'yin' wrong things abaht you +special, Sir; callin' you a bloodsucking predatory person, Sir, and +himpolite nimes like thet. 'Ah, stow thet, Jimmy!!' says I. 'All +bloomin' lies, they are. There ayn't a finer man lives than Mr. +Ellins,' says I. ''Ow do you know?' says 'e. ''Ow?' says I. 'Don't I +wash 'is hoffice windows?' But 'e keeps at it of evenin's, s'yin' as +'ow you do this and that, an' 'e fair talks me down, Jimmy does. But I +know w'at I knows; so to relieve my feelin's a bit I've been bringin' +you the flowers on the sly, Sir; meanin', as I says before, no 'arm at +all, Sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll be dashed!" says Old Hickory, squintin' at Cubbins +humorous. "So you think I'm a good man, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm quite sure of it, Sir," says he. "As I was tellin' Jimmy only +last night, 'W'y, at 'ome 'e'd be a Lord!' And so you would, Sir. +But, as I sees it, you're just as much 'ere, Sir. You build things up, +and keep things goin',—big things, such as the likes of me and Jimmy +mykes our livin' from. And it ayn't just your money mykes you a gryte +man; it's your brains and your big 'eart. I know w'at I knows, Sir, +an' I 'opes as 'ow you'll tyke no hoffense at the flowers, Sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim. "In fact, that's +a first rate idea of yours. We ought to have some sort of flowers here +all the time. Got many left in your garden, have you, Cubbins?" +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty, Sir," says Cubbins. "The roses'll be gone soon now, Sir; but +there's golden glow, and hasters comin' on, and zinnias, and——" +</P> + +<P> +"Then you're engaged, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, "to supply the office +with fresh ones every day. When yours give out we'll have to buy some, +I suppose. And you'll give up this window cleaning job at once. It's +too dangerous. I can't afford to have the only man in the United +States who holds a good opinion of me risking his neck like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Thankee kindly, Sir," says Cubbins, beamin' grateful. "And we'll see +w'at Jimmy 'as to s'y to that, so we will!" +</P> + +<P> +"Report that in full," says Old Hickory. "And, Mr. Piddie, see that +Mr. Cubbins' name goes on the payroll from today. But, by the way, +where is your distinguished friend, the scientific investigator?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—er—why——" says Piddie, flushin' up and swallowin' hard, "Dr. +Bingstetter left a moment ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Did, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "He should have stayed awhile and +allowed Torchy to give him a few pointers on evolving things from +primal facts." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-e-es, Sir," says Piddie, his face all tinted up lovely. +</P> + +<P> +Which winds up, as you might say, the Mystery of the Fifth Bouquet. +But, believe me, there ain't any tamer party around the shop these days +than this same J. Hemmingway Piddie. And if the old habits get to +croppin' out any time, all I got to do is shut one eye, put my finger +to my lips, and whisper easy, "Ah, go tell that to Doc Bungstarter!" +That gets him behavin'. +</P> + +<P> +And Cubbins, why—he's blossomed out in a new fall suit, and he stops +at the desk every few days to tell me how he put it all over Jimmy the +night before. So that was some stroke, what? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP +</H3> + + +<P> +It was good domework of Mr. Robert's to tip me off about this Higgins +party, or there's no knowin' how hard a time he might have had gettin' +through the brass gate. As it is, the minute I spots the watch chain +and the round cuffs and the neck freckles, I sizes him up as the +expected delegate from the fresh mackerel and blueberry pie district. +One of these long, lanky specimens, he is, with a little stoop to his +shoulders, ginger-colored hair and mustache, and a pair of calm, +sea-blue eyes that look deep and serious. +</P> + +<P> +I finds him pacin' deliberate up and down the waitin' room at +eight-fifty-three A.M., which is two minutes ahead of my schedule for +openin' the Corrugated for gen'ral business. His overcoat and a +crumpled mornin' paper are on the bench; so I figures he's been there +quite some time. Course, it might have been a stray Rube of most any +name; but I thinks I'll take a chance. +</P> + +<P> +"Mornin', Ira," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdy," says he, as natural as if this was a reg'lar habit of ours. +Which puts it up to me to find out if I'm right, after all. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Higgins, ain't it?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +He nods. +</P> + +<P> +"When did you get in?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"About six," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Come down by train or boat?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Train," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"You've had breakfast, I suppose?" I goes on. +</P> + +<P> +Another nod. Oh, yes, for an economical converser, he was about the +most consistent breath saver I ever tackled. You could easy go hoarse +havin' a little chat with him. You'd need lots of time too; for after +every one of my bright little sallies Ira looks me over in that quiet, +thoughtful way of his, then counts fifty to himself, and fin'lly +decides whether it'll be a grunt or just a nod. Gettin' information +out of him was like liftin' a trunk upstairs one step at a time. I +manages to drag out, though, that he'd been hangin' around ever since +the buildin' was opened by the day watchman at seven o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," says I, "Mr. Robert was lookin' for you to blow in today; but +not quite so early. It'll be near ten before he shows up. Better come +inside and have a comf'table chair." +</P> + +<P> +He takes that proposition up with himself, fin'lly passin' on it +favorable; and from then on he sits there, with never a move or a +blink, watchin' solemn all the maneuvers that a battery of lady typists +has to go through before settlin' down for a forenoon's work. I'll bet +he could tell you too, a month from now, just how many started with +gum, and which ones renewed their facial scenery with dabs from the +chamois. +</P> + +<P> +So you can see why I was some relieved when Mr. Robert arrives and +takes him off my hands. I knew from what he'd said the day before that +he'd planned to have about a half-hour interview with Mr. Higgins; but +when the noon hour struck: Ira was still there. At one-fifteen they +goes out to lunch together, and at two-thirty they comes back. It's +after four when Mr. Robert fin'lly comes out to the gate with his brow +wrinkled up. +</P> + +<P> +"Torchy," says he, "how is your bump of diplomacy today?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a dimple, I expect," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"You're entirely too modest," says he. "Now, I remember several +occasions when you have——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I gen'rally have my nerve with me, if that's what you mean," says +I. +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't mean that," says he. "Perhaps finesse is the better word." +</P> + +<P> +"It's all the same to me," says I. "If I've got it in stock, it's +yours. What do I work it on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Higgins," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Then score up a goose egg in advance," says I. "It would take a +strong-arm hypnotizer to put the spell on Ira." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Robert grins. "Then you have already tested Mr. Higgins' +conversational powers?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Almost lost my voice gettin' him to say good mornin'," says I. "Say, +you'd think he'd done all his talkin' by cable, at a dollar a word. +Where'd he drift in from, anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Boothbay Harbor," says Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that a foreign country," says I, "or a nickname for some flag +station?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's quite a lively little seaport, I believe," says Mr. Robert, "up +on the coast of Maine." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Maine!" says I. "Up there they're willin' to call a town anything +that'll get a laugh. But what's the rest of the scandal?" +</P> + +<P> +It wasn't any thrillin' tale, though. Seems Mr. Robert had gone into +the yachtin' regattas as usual this last summer; but, instead of +liftin' the mugs, as he'd been in the habit of doin', he'd been beat +out by a new entry,—beat bad too. But he wouldn't be an Ellins if he +let it go at that. Not much! His first move is to find out who built +the Stingaree, and his next is to wire in an order to the same firm to +turn out a sixty-footer that'll go her just one better. Not gettin' +any straight answer to that, he sends word for the head of the yacht +works to come on at his expense. Mr. Higgins is the result. +</P> + +<P> +"But the deuce of it is," says Mr. Robert, "that, while I'm convinced +he is the cleverest designer of racing yawls that we have in the whole +country, and while he admits quite cheerfully that he can improve on +this year's model, I can't get him to say positively that he will build +such a boat for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I should expect that would be more'n he'd let go of all in one +day," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"But, confound it all!" says Mr. Robert, "I want to know now. All I +can get out of him, though, is that he can't decide for a while. Seems +to have something or other on his mind. Now, if I knew what was +bothering him, you see, I might—well, you get the point, Torchy. I'm +going to leave it to you to find out." +</P> + +<P> +"Me!" says I. "Gee! I ain't any thought extractor, Mr. Robert." +</P> + +<P> +"But you have rather a knack of getting to the bottom of things," he +insists, "and if I should explain to Mr. Higgins my regret at being +unable to take him out to dinner, and should present you as my +substitute for the evening—why, you might get some hint, you see. At +least, I wish you'd try it." +</P> + +<P> +"Bring him on, then," says I; "but it's like playin' a 30 to 1 shot. +Oh, sure, a couple of tens'll be more'n enough for all the expense +account we can cook up." +</P> + +<P> +And you should have seen me towin' this Down East sphinx around town, +showin' him the sights, and tryin' to locate his chummy streak. It was +most like makin' a long distance call over a fuzzy wire; me strainin' +my vocal chords bein' chatty, and gettin' back only now and then a +distant murmur. It was Ira's first trip to a real Guntown, where we +have salaried crooks and light up our Main-st. with whisky signs; but +he ain't got any questions to ask or any comments to pass. He just +allows them calm eyes of his to wander placid here and there over the +passersby, almost like he was expectin' to see someone he knew, and +takin' mighty little notice of anything in partic'lar. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the Metropolitan tower over there, Mr. Higgins," says I. "See +the big clock?" +</P> + +<P> +Ira takes one glance and nods his head. +</P> + +<P> +"And here comes one of them new double-decker Broadway cars they're +tryin' out," I goes on. "How's that?" +</P> + +<P> +But no enthus'm from Ira. Must be a hot town, that Boothbay joint! +Along about six-thirty I suggests that it's time for the big eats, and +tries to sound him on his partic'lar fancy in the food line. +</P> + +<P> +"Plate of fish chowder would suit me," says Ira after due contemplation. +</P> + +<P> +"Fish what?" says I. "'Fraid we don't grow anything like that on +Broadway. Nix on the shore dinner! You trust it to me, Mr. Higgins, +and I'll steer you up against some appetite teasers that'll make you +forget all the home cookin' you ever met." +</P> + +<P> +With that I leads him to the flossiest French cafe I knew of, got him +planted comf'table under an illuminated grape arbor, signals +François-with-the-gold-chain-around-his-neck to stand by, and remarks +casual, "Wine list for this gentleman. Cut loose, Mr. Higgins. This +is on the boss, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"What say?" says he, runnin' his eye over the book that the waiter +holds out. "Rum? No, Sir!" +</P> + +<P> +"Flit then, François," says I. "We're two dry ones." +</P> + +<P> +And my hope of gettin' a tongue loosener into Ira goes glimmerin'. +When it comes to tacklin' strange dishes, though, he was no quitter, +followin' me from bouillabaisse to café parfait without battin' an +eyelash, and me orderin' reckless from the card just to see what the +things looked like. +</P> + +<P> +I don't know whether it was the fancy rations, or the sporty crowd +around us, or the jiggly music, or a combination of all three; but by +the time I've induced Mr. Higgins to tackle a demitasse and light up a +seven-inch Havana he mellows enough so that he's almost on the point of +makin' a remark all by himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," says I encouragin', "why not let it come?" +</P> + +<P> +And it does. "By gorry!!" says he. "It's most eight o'clock. What +time do the shows begin?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was just go in' to mention that," says I. "Plenty of time, though. +Anything special you'd like to see?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes," says he. And then, glancin' around cautious, he leans +across the table and asks mysterious, "Say, where's Maizie Latour +actin'?" +</P> + +<P> +Honest, it comes out so unexpected he had me gaspin'. "Oh, you +Boothbay ringer!" says I. "Maizie, eh? Now, who would have thought +it? And you only landed this mornin'! Maizie—er—what was that +again?" +</P> + +<P> +"Latour," says he, flushin' up some and tryin' not to notice my josh. +</P> + +<P> +"It's by me," says I. "Sounds like musical comedy, though. Is she a +showgirl, or one of the chicken ballet?" +</P> + +<P> +Ira shakes his head puzzled. "All I know," says he, "is that she's +actin' somewhere in New York, and—and I'd like to find out where. +I—I got to!" he adds emphatic. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you ought to have said that before," says I, "and Mr. Robert +would have put one of his chappy friends on the job. Sorry, but when +it comes to chorus girls, I ain't——" +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on!" he breaks in. "You're sort of jumpin' at things, Son. The +fact is I—well, I guess I might's well tell you as anyone. I—I got +to tell someone." +</P> + +<P> +"Help!" thinks I. "The dam's goin' to give way." +</P> + +<P> +"You see," he goes on, "it's like this: Nellie's an old friend of mine, +and——" +</P> + +<P> +"Nellie!" says I. "You just said Maizie." +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I hear she goes by on the stage," says he. "She was +Nellie Mason up to the Harbor." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean it?" says I. "What was she doin' there?" +</P> + +<P> +"She was table girl at the Mansion House," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Which?" says I. "Oh, dish juggler, eh? And now she's on the stage? +Some jump for Nellie! But, honest now, Higgins, you don't mean to +spring one of them mossy 'Way Down East drammers on me as the true +dope? Come now, don't tell me you and she used to go to school +together, and all that!" +</P> + +<P> +No, it wa'n't quite on that line. She was only one of Boothbay's +fairest daughters by adoption, havin' drifted in from some mill +town—Biddeford, I think it was—where a weaver's strike had thrown her +out of a job. She was half Irish and half French-Canadian, and, +accordin' to Ira's description, she was some ornamental. +</P> + +<P> +Anyway, she had the boys all goin' in no time at all. Ira was mealin' +at the Mansion House just then, though; so he was in on the ground +floor from the start. Even at that, how he managed to keep the rail +with so much competition is more'n I can say; but there's something +sort of clean and wholesome lookin' about him, and I expect them calm, +sea-blue eyes helped along. Anyway, him and Nellie kept comp'ny there, +I take it, for three or four months quite steady, and Ira admits that +he was plumb gone on her. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what was the hitch?" says I. "Wouldn't she be Mrs. Higgins?" +</P> + +<P> +"Guess she would if I had asked her," says he; "but I didn't get around +to it quick enough. Fact is, I'd just bought out the boat shop, and I +had fifteen or twenty men to work for me, with four new keels laid down +at once, and—well, I was mighty rushed with work just then and——" +</P> + +<P> +"I get you," says I. "While you was makin' up your mind what to say, +some wholesale drug drummer with a black mustache won her away." +</P> + +<P> +It's more complicated than that, though. One of the chambermaids had a +cousin who was assistant property man with a Klaw & Erlanger comp'ny, +and he'd sent on the tip how some enterprisin' manager was lookin' for +fifty new faces for a Broadway production; and so, if Cousin Maggie +wanted to shake the hotel business, here was her chance. Maggie wanted +to, all right; but she lacked the nerve to try it alone. Now, if +Nellie would only go along too—why—— +</P> + +<P> +And it happens this was one night when Ira had overlooked a date he had +with Nellie, and that while he was doin' overtime at the boatworks +Nellie was waitin' lonesome on the corner all dressed to go over to +South Bristol to a dance. So this bulletin from the great city finds +her in a state of mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Course," says Maggie, "you got a feller, and all that." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says Nellie. +</P> + +<P> +"And there's no tellin'," Maggie goes on, glancin' at her critical, "if +your figure would suit." +</P> + +<P> +"If they can stand for yours," says Nellie, "I guess I'll take a chance +too. Come on. We'll take the early morning boat." +</P> + +<P> +And they did. Ira didn't get the details until about a month later, +when who should drift back to the Mansion House but Maggie. Along with +two or three hundred other brunettes and imitation blondes, she'd been +shuffled into the discard. But Nellie had been signed up first rattle +out of the box, and accordin' to the one postcard that had come back +from her since she was now flaggin' as Maizie Latour. But no word at +all had come to Ira. +</P> + +<P> +"If I'd only bought that ring sooner!" he sighs. "I've got it now, +though. Bought it in Portland on my way down. See?" and he snaps open +a white satin box, disclosin' a cute little pearl set in a circle of +chip diamonds. +</P> + +<P> +"That's real dainty and classy," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Ought to be," says Ira. "It cost me seventeen-fifty. But there's so +blamed much to this place that I don't see just how I'm goin' to find +her, after all." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, cheer up, Ira!" says I. "You've got me int'rested, you have, and, +while I ain't any theatrical directory, I expect I could think up some +way to—— Why, sure! There's a Tyson stand up here a few blocks, +where they have all the casts and programmes. Let's go have a look." +</P> + +<P> +It wa'n't a long hunt, either. The third one we looked at was "Whoops, +Angelina!" and halfway down the list of characters we finds this item: +"Sunflower Girls—Tessie Trelawney, Mae Collins, Maizie Latour——" +</P> + +<P> +"Here we are!" says I. "And there's just time to get in for the first +curtain." +</P> + +<P> +Say, I expect you've seen this "Whoops, Angelina!" thing. Just punk +enough to run a year on Broadway, ain't if? And do you remember there +along towards the end of the first spasm where they ring in that "Field +Flowers Fair" song, with a deep stage and a diff'rent chorus for each +verse? Well, as the Sunflowers come on, did you notice special the +second one from the right end? That's Maizie. +</P> + +<P> +And, believe me, she's some queen! Course, it's a bunch of swell +lookers all around, or they wouldn't be havin' the S.R.O. sign out so +often; but got up the way she was, with all them yellow petals makin' a +sort of frame for her, and them big dark eyes rollin' bold and sassy, +this ex-table girl from the Mansion House stands out some prominent. +</P> + +<P> +"By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse. And from then +on he sits with his eyes glued on her as long as she's on the stage. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-048"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-048.jpg" ALT=""By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse." BORDER="2" WIDTH="405" HEIGHT="657"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +He had a good view too; for comin' late all I could get was upper box +seats at three a throw, and I shoves Ira close up to the rail. That +one remark is all he has to unload durin' the whole performance, and +somehow I didn't have the heart to break in with any comments. You +see, I wa'n't sure how he might be takin' it; so I waits until the +final curtain, and then nudges him out of his dream. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, how about it?" says I. "Ready to scratch your entry now, are +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says he, rousin' up. "Pull out? No, Sir! I—I'm going to give +her a chance to take that ring." +</P> + +<P> +"You are?" says I. "Well, well! Right there with the pep, ain't you? +But how you goin' to manage it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I—I don't know," says he, lookin' blank. "Say, Son, can't you +fix it for me some way? I—I want Nellie to go back with me. If I +could only see her for a minute, and explain how it was I couldn't——" +</P> + +<P> +"You win, Ira!" says I. "Hanged if there ain't Tucky Moller down there +in an usher's uniform. He's an old friend of mine. We'll see what he +can do." +</P> + +<P> +Tucky was willin' enough too; but the best he can promise is to smuggle +a note into the dressin' rooms. We waits in the lobby for the answer, +and inside of five minutes we has it. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't they the limit, these spotlight chasers?" says Tucky. "She +tells me to chuck it in the basket with the others, and says she'll +read it to-morrow. Huh! And only a quarter tip after the second act +when I lugs her in a bid to a cabaret supper!" +</P> + +<P> +"Tonight?" says I. "Where at, Tucky?" +</P> + +<P> +"Looey's," says he, "with a broker guy that's been buyin' B-10 every +night for a week." +</P> + +<P> +But when I leads Ira outside and tries to explain how the case stands, +and breaks it to him gentle that his stock has taken a sudden slump, it +develops that he's one of these gents who don't know when they're +crossed off. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to see her tonight, that's all," says he. "What's the matter +with our going to the same place?" +</P> + +<P> +"For one thing," says I, "they wouldn't let us in without our +open-faced clothes on. Got yours with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Full evenin' dress?" says Ira, with his eyes bugged. "Why, I never +had any." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it's by-by, Maizie," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Dog-goned if it is!" says he. "Guess I can wait around outside, can't +I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you have got sportin' blood, Ira," says I. "Sure, there's +nothin' to stop your waitin' if you don't block the traffic. But maybe +it'll be an hour or more." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care," says he. "And—and let's go and have a glass of soda +first." +</P> + +<P> +Course, I couldn't go away and leave things all up in the air like +that; so after Ira'd blown himself we wanders up to the cabaret joint +and I helps him stick around. +</P> + +<P> +It's some lively scene in front of Looey's at that time of night too; +with all the taxis comin' and goin' and the kalsomined complexions +driftin' in and out, and the head waiters coppin' out the five-spots +dexterous. And every little while there's something extra doin'; like +a couple of college hicks bein' led out by the strong-arm squad for +disputin' a bill, or a perfect gent all ablaze havin' a debate with his +lady-love, or a bunch of out-of-town buyers discoverin' the evenin' +dress rule for the first time and gettin' peeved over it. +</P> + +<P> +But nothin' can drag Ira's gaze from that revolvin' exit door for +more'n half a minute. There he stands, watchin' eager every couple +that comes out; not excited or fidgety, you understand, but calm and in +dead earnest. It got to be midnight, then half past, then quarter to +one; and then all of a sudden there comes a ripplin', high-pitched +laugh, and out trips a giddy-dressed fairy in a gilt and rhinestone +turban effect with a tall plume stickin' straight up from the front of +it. She's one of these big, full-curved, golden brunettes, with long +jet danglers in her ears and all the haughty airs of a grand opera +star. I didn't dream it was the one we was lookin' for until I sees +Ira straighten up and step out to meet her. +</P> + +<P> +"Nellie," says he, sort of choky and pleadin'. +</P> + +<P> +It's a misfire, though; for just then she's turned to finish some +remark to a fat old sport with flat ears and bags under his eyes that's +followin' close behind. So it ain't until she's within a few feet of +Higgins that she sees him at all. Then she stares at him sort of +doubtful, like she could hardly believe her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Nellie," he begins again, "I've been wanting to tell you how it was +that——" +</P> + +<P> +"You!" she breaks in. And with that she throws her head back and +laughs. It wa'n't what you might call a pleasant laugh, either. It +sounds cold and hard and bitter. +</P> + +<P> +That's the extent of the reunion too. She's still laughin' as she +brushes by him and lets the old sport help her into the taxi; and a +second later we're left standin' there at the edge of the curb with +another taxi rollin' up in front of us. I notices that Ira's holdin' +something in his hand that he's starin' at foolish. It's the satin box +with the seventeen-fifty ring in it. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," says I, as we steps back, "returns all in, ain't they?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not by a long shot!" says Ira. "Dinged if I don't know someone +that'll be glad to take a ring from me, and that's Maggie!" +</P> + +<P> +"Whew!" says I. "Well, that's some quick shift. Then you ain't goin' +to linger round with a busted heart?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not much!" says Ira. "Guess I've played fool about long enough. I'm +goin' home." +</P> + +<P> +"That's gen'rally a safe bet too," says I. "But how about buildin' +that boat for Mr. Robert?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll build it," says he; "that is, soon as I can fix it up with +Maggie." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it's a cinch," says I; "for you look to me, Ira, like one of the +kind that can come back strong." +</P> + +<P> +So, you see, I had somethin' definite to report next mornin'. +</P> + +<P> +"He will, eh? Bully!" says Mr. Robert. "But why couldn't he have said +as much to me yesterday? What was the trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +"Case of moth chasin'," says I, "from the kerosene circuit to the white +lights. But, say, I didn't know before that Broadway had so many +recruitin' stations. They ought to put Boothbay Harbor on the map for +this." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM +</H3> + + +<P> +Guess I ain't mentioned Mortimer before. Didn't seem hardly worth +while. You know—there are parties like that, too triflin' to do any +beefin' about. But, honest, for awhile there first off this young +shrimp that was just makin' his debut as one of Miller's subslaves in +the bondroom did get on my nerves more or less. He's a slim, +fine-haired, fair-lookin' young gent, with quick, nervous ways and a +habit of holdin' his chin well up. No boob, you understand. He was a +live one, all right. +</P> + +<P> +And it wa'n't his havin' his monogram embroidered on his shirt sleeves +or his wearin' a walkin' stick down to work that got me sore. But you +don't look for the raw rebuff from one of these twelve-dollar file +jugglers. That's what he slips me, though, and me only tryin' to put +across the cheery greetin'! +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Percy," says I, seein' him wanderin' around lonesome durin' +lunch hour, "is it you for the Folies today, or are you takin' a chance +on one of them new automatic grub factories with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Beg pardon?" says he, givin' me that frigid, distant look. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, can the hauteur!" says I. "We're on the same payroll. Maybe you +didn't notice me before, though. Well, I'm the guardian of the gate, +and I'm offerin' to tow you to a new sandwich works that's quite +popular with the staff." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," says he. "I am lunching at my club." And with that he does +a careless heel-spin, leavin' me stunned and gawpin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Slap!" thinks I. "You will go doin' the little ray of sunshine act, +will you? Lunchin' at his club! Now there's a classy comeback for +you! Guess I'll spring that myself sometime. Score up for Percy!" +</P> + +<P> +But I wa'n't closin' the incident at that, and, while in my position it +wouldn't have been hardly the thing for me to get out the war club and +camp on his trail,—him only a four-flushin' bond clerk,—I was holdin' +myself ready for the next openin'. It comes only a few mornin's later +when he strolls in casual about nine-thirty and starts to pike by into +the cloakroom. But I had my toe against the brass gate. +</P> + +<P> +"What name?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says he, flushin' up, "I—er—I work here." +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse," says I, drawin' back the foot. "Mistook you for Alfy +Vanderbilt come to buy us out." +</P> + +<P> +"Puppy!" says he explosive through his front teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"Meanin' me?" says I. "Why, Algernon! How rough of you!" +</P> + +<P> +He just glares hack over his shoulder and passes on for his session +with Miller. I'll bet he got it too; for here in the Corrugated we +don't stand for any of that nine-thirty dope except from Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +It's only the next week, though, that Mortimer pulls a couple more +delayed entrances in succession, and I sure was lookin' to see him come +out with a fresh-air pass in his hand. But it didn't happen. Instead, +as I'm in Old Hickory's office a few days later, allowin' him to give +me a few fool directions about an errand, in breaks Miller all glowin' +under the collar. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Ellins," says he, "I can't stand that young Upton. He's got to +go!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's too bad," says Old Hickory, shiftin' his cigar to port. "I'd +promised his father to give the boy a three months' trial at least. +One of our big stockholders, Colonel Upton is, you know. But if you +say you can't——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I suppose I can, Sir, in that case," says Miller; "but he's worse +than useless in the department, and if there's no way of getting him to +observe office hours it's going to be bad for discipline." +</P> + +<P> +"Try docking him, Miller," suggests Mr. Ellins. "Dock him heavy. And +pile on the work. Keep him on the jump." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Sir," says Miller, grinnin' at me' as he goes out. +</P> + +<P> +And of course this throws a brighter light on Mortimer's +case,—pampered son takin' his first whirl at honest toil, and all +that. Then later in the day I gets a little private illumination. +Mother arrives. Rather a gushy, talky party she is, with big, snappy +eyes like Mortimer's, and the same haughty airs. Just now, though, +she's a little puffy from excitement and deep emotion. +</P> + +<P> +Seems Mother and Sister Janice are on their way to the steamer, billed +to spend the winter abroad. Also it develops that stern Father, +standin' grim and bored in the background, has ruled that Son mustn't +quit business for any farewell lallygaggin' at the pier. Hence the +fam'ly call. As the touchin' scene all takes place in the reception +room, just across the brass rail from my desk, I'm almost one of the +party. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my darling boy!" wails Ma, pushin' back her veils and wrappin' him +in the fond clinch. +</P> + +<P> +"Aw, Mother!" protests Mortimer. +</P> + +<P> +"But we are to be so far apart," she goes on, "and with your father in +California you are to be all alone! And I just know you'll be forlorn +and lonesome in that dreadful boarding house! Oh, it is perfectly +awful!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, quit it, Mother. I'll be all right," says Mortimer. +</P> + +<P> +"But the work here," comes back Mother. "Does it come so hard? How +are you to stand it? Oh, if you had only kept on at college, then all +this wouldn't have been necessary." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I didn't, that's all," says Mortimer; "so what's the use?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall worry about you all the time," insists Mother. "And you are +so careless about writing! How am I to know that you are not ill, or +in trouble? Now promise me, if you should break down under the strain, +that you will cable me at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, sure!" says Mortimer. "But time's up, Mother. I must be getting +back. Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +I had to turn my shoulder on the final break-away, and I thought the +whole push had cleared out, when I hears a rustle at the gate, and +here's Mother once more, with her eyes fixed investigatin' on me. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," says she, "are you employed here regularly?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm one of the fixtures, Ma'am," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," says she. "I am glad to hear it. And you have rather an +intelligent appearance." +</P> + +<P> +"Mostly bluff, though," says I. "You mustn't bank too much on looks." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, but I can tell!" says she, noddin' her head and squintin' shrewd. +"You have a kind face too." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-es?" says I. "But what's this cue for?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell you, Boy," says she, comin' up confidential. "You see, I +must trust someone in this matter. And you will be right here, where +you can see him every day, won't you—my son Mortimer, I mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I expect I'll have to," says I, "if he sticks." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must do this for me," she goes on. "Keep close to him. Make +yourself his friend." +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" says I. "Well, there might be some trouble about that." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," says she. "It will be difficult, under the +circumstances. And Mortimer has such a proud, reserved nature! He has +always been that way. But now that he is thrown upon his own +resources, and if you could once gain his confidence, he might allow +you to—well, you'll try, won't you? And then I shall depend upon you +to send word to me once every week as to how he looks, if he seems +happy, how he is getting on in business, and so on. Come, do you +promise?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is this a case of philanthropy, or what?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I shall see that you are well repaid," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"That listens well," says I; "but it's kind of vague. Any figures, +now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—er—yes," says she, hesitatin'. "Suppose I should send you, +say, five dollars for every satisfactory report?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'm on the job," says I. +</P> + +<P> +And in two minutes more she's left me the address of her London +bankers, patted me condescendin' on the shoulder, and has flitted. So +here I am with a brand new side line,—an assignment to be friendly at +so much per. Can you beat that? +</P> + +<P> +It wa'n't until afterwards, either, when I'm busy throwin' on the +screen pictures of how that extra five'll fat up the Saturday pay +envelope, that I remembers the exact wordin' of the contract. Five for +every satisfactory report. Gee! that's different! Then here's where I +got to see that Mortimer behaves, or else I lose out. And I don't +waste any time plannin' the campaign. I tackles him as he strolls out +thirty seconds ahead of the twelve o'clock whistle. +</P> + +<P> +"After another one of them clubby lunches?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"What's that to you?" he growls. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm interested, that's all," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, you're not," says he; "you're just fresh." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, come now, Morty," says I. "This ain't no reg'lar feud we're +indulgin' in, you know. Ditch the rude retort and lemme tow you to a +joint where for——" +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," says Mortimer. "I prefer my own company." +</P> + +<P> +"Gee! what poor taste!" says I. +</P> + +<P> +And it looked like I'd gone and bugged any five-spot prospects with my +first try. +</P> + +<P> +So I lets Mortimer simmer for a few days, not makin' any more cracks, +friendly or otherwise. I was about to hand in a blank report too, when +one noon he sort of hesitates as he passes the desk, and then stops. +</P> + +<P> +"I say," he begins, "show me that cheap luncheon place you spoke of, +will you?" +</P> + +<P> +It's more of an order than anything else; but that only makes this +sudden shift of his more amusin'. "Why, sure," says I. "Soured on the +club, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not exactly," says he; "but—well, the fact is, Father must have +forgotten to send a check for last month's bill, and I'm on the +board—posted, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Then that wa'n't any funny dream of yours, eh," says I, "this club +business? Which is it, Lotos or the Union League?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's my frat club, of course," says Mortimer. "And I don't mind +saying that it's a deucedly expensive place for me to go, even when I +can sign checks for my meals. I'm always being dragged into billiards, +dollar a corner, and that sort of thing. It counts up, and I—I'm +running rather close to the wind just now." +</P> + +<P> +"What! And you gettin' twelve?" says I. "Why, say, some supports +fam'lies on that. Takes managin', though. But I'll steer you round to +Max's, where for a quarter you can——" +</P> + +<P> +"A quarter!" breaks in Mortimer. "But—but that's more than I have +left." +</P> + +<P> +"And this only Wednesday!" says I. "Gee! but you have been goin' the +pace, ain't you? What is the sum total of the reserve, anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +Mortimer scoops into his trousers pockets, fishin' up a silver knife, a +gold cigar clipper, and seventeen cents cash. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well!" says I. "That is gettin' down to hardpan! It's breakin' +one of my business rules, but I see where I underwrite your lunch +ticket for the next few days." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you're going to stake me?" says he. "But why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it ain't on account of your winnin' ways," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says he. "Here! You may have this stickpin as security." +</P> + +<P> +"Gwan!" says I. "I ain't no loan shark. Maybe I'm just makin' an +investment in you. Come on to Max's." +</P> + +<P> +I could see Mortimer's nose begin to turn up as we crowds in at a table +where a couple of packers from the china store next door was doin' the +sword swallowin' act. "What a noisy, messy place!" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"The service ain't quite up to Louis Martin's, that's a fact," says I; +"but then, there's no extra charge for the butter and toothpicks." +</P> + +<P> +We tried the dairy lunch next time; but he don't like that much better. +Pushin' up to the coffee urn with the mob, and havin' a tongue sandwich +slammed down in front of him by a grub hustler that hadn't been to a +manicure lately was only a couple of the details Mortimer shies at. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, you'll soon get to overlook little things like that," says I. +</P> + +<P> +Mortimer shakes his head positive. "It's the disgusting crowd one has +to mingle with," says he. "Such a cheap lot of—of roughnecks!" +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says I. "Lots of 'em are pullin' down more'n you or me. Some +of 'em are almost human too." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care," says he. "I dislike to mix with them. It's bad enough +at the boarding house." +</P> + +<P> +"None of the aristocracy there, either?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"They're freaks, all of them," says he. "What do you think—one fellow +wears an outing shirt in to dinner! Then there's an old person with +gray whiskers who—well, I can't bear to watch him. The others are +almost as bad." +</P> + +<P> +"When you get to know the bunch you won't mind," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't care to know them," says Mortimer. "I haven't spoken to a +soul, and don't intend to. They're not my kind, you see." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you boastin', or complainin'?" says I. "Anyway, you're in for a +lonesome time. What do you do evenin's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Walk around until I'm tired, that's all," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"That's excitin'—I don't think," says I. +</P> + +<P> +Next he branches off on Miller, and starts tellin' me what a deep and +lastin' grouch he'd accumulated against his boss. But I ain't +encouragin' any hammer play of that kind. +</P> + +<P> +"Stow it, Morty," says I. "I'm wise to all that. Besides, you ought +to know you can't hold a job and come floatin' in at any old hour. No +wonder you got in Dutch with him! Say, is this your first stab at real +work?" +</P> + +<P> +He admits that it is, and when I gets him to describe how he's been +killin' time when he wa'n't in college it develops that one of his +principal playthings has been a six-cylinder roadster,—mile-a-minute +brand, mostly engine and gastank, with just space enough left for the +driver to snuggle in among the levers on the small of his back. +</P> + +<P> +"I've had her up to sixty-five an hour on some of those Rhode Island +oiled stretches," says Mortimer. +</P> + +<P> +"I expect," says I. "And what was it you hit last?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says he. "Oh, I see! A milk wagon. Rather stiff damages they +got out of us, with the hospital and doctor's bills and all that. But +it was more the way I was roasted by the blamed newspapers that made +Father so sore. Then my being canned from college soon after—well, +that finished it. So he sends Mother and Sis off to Europe, goes on a +business trip to California himself, closes the house, and chucks me +into this job." +</P> + +<P> +"Kind of poor trainin' for it, I'll admit," says I. "But buck up, +Morty; we'll do our best." +</P> + +<P> +"We?" says he, liftin' his eyebrows. +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh," says I. "Me and you." +</P> + +<P> +"What's it got to do with you? I'd like to know!" he demands. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been retained," says I. "Never you mind how, but I'm here to +pass out the friendly shove, coach you along, see that you make good." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I like your nerve!" says he, stoppin' short as we're crossin' +Broadway. "A young mucker like you help me make good! Say, that's +rich, that is! Huh! But why don't you? Come ahead with it, now, if +you're such an expert!" +</P> + +<P> +It was a dare, all right. And for a minute there we looked each other +over scornful, until I decides that I'll carry on the friend act if I +have to risk gettin' my head punched. +</P> + +<P> +"First off, Mortimer," says I, "forgettin' what a great man you are so +long as Father's payin' the bills, let's figure on just what your +standin' is now. You're a bum bond clerk, on the ragged edge of bein' +fired, ain't you?" +</P> + +<P> +He winces some at that; but he still has a comeback. "If it wasn't for +that bonehead Miller, I'd get on," he growls. +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" says I. "He's only layin' down the rules of the game; so it's +up to you to follow 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"But he's unreasonable," whines Mortimer. "He snoops around after me, +finds fault with everything I do, and fines me for being a little late +mornings." +</P> + +<P> +I takes a long breath and swallows hard. Next I tries to strike the +saintly pose, and then I unreels the copybook dope just like I believed +it myself. +</P> + +<P> +"He does, eh?" says I. "Then beat him to it. Don't be late. Show up +at eight-thirty instead of nine. That extra half-hour ain't goin' to +kill you. Be the last to quit too. Play up to Miller. Do things the +way he wants 'em done, even if you have to do 'em over a dozen times. +And use your bean." +</P> + +<P> +"But it's petty, insignificant work," says Mortimer. +</P> + +<P> +"All the worse for you if you can't swing it," says I. "See here, +now—how are you goin' to feel afterwards if you've always got to look +back on the fact that you begun by fallin' down on a twelve-dollar job?" +</P> + +<P> +Must have got Mortimer in the short ribs, that last shot; for he walks +all the rest of the way back to the Corrugated without sayin' a word. +Then, just as we gets into the elevator, he unloosens. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe it will do any good to try," says he; "but I've a mind +to give it a whirl." +</P> + +<P> +I didn't say so, but that was the first thing we'd agreed on that day. +So that night I has to send off a report which reads like this: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Mortimer's health O. K.; disposition ragged; business prospects punk. +<BR><BR> +Hoping you are the same, +<BR><BR> +TORCHY. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It's a wonder Mortimer didn't have mental indigestion, with all that +load of gilt-edged advice on his mind, and I wa'n't lookin' for him to +lug it much further'n the door; but, if you'll believe me, he seems to +take it serious. Every mornin' after that I finds his hat on the hook +when I come in, and whenever I gets a glimpse of him durin' the day he +has his coat off and is makin' a noise like the busy bee. At this it +takes some time before he makes an impression on Miller; but fin'lly +Morty comes out to me with a bulletin that seems to tickle him all over. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know?" says he. "When Miller was looking over some of my +work to-day he breaks out with, 'Very good, Upton. Keep it up.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I expect you told him to chase himself, eh?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"No," says Mortimer. "I sprung that new scheme of mine for filing the +back records, and perhaps he's going to adopt it." +</P> + +<P> +"Think of that!" says I. "Say, you keep on, and you'll be presented +with that job for life. But, honest, you don't find Miller such a +fish, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I guess he's all right in his way," says Mortimer. +</P> + +<P> +"Then brace yourself, Morty," says I, "while I slip you some more +golden words. Tackle that boardin' house bunch of yours. Ah, hold +your breath while you're doin' it, if you want to, and spray yourself +afterwards with disinfectant, but see if you can't learn to mix in." +</P> + +<P> +"But why?" says he. "I can't see the use." +</P> + +<P> +"Say, for the love of Pete," says I, "ain't it hard enough for me to +press out all this wise dope without drawin' diagrams? I don't know +why, only you should. Go on now, take it from me." +</P> + +<P> +Maybe it was followin' my hunch, or maybe there wa'n't anything else +for him to do, but blamed if this didn't work too. Inside of two weeks +he gives me the whole tale, one day as we're sittin' in the armchairs +at the dairy lunch. +</P> + +<P> +"Remember my telling you about the fellow who wore the outing shirt?" +says he. "Well, say, he's quite a chap, you know. He's from some +little town out in Wyoming, and he's on here trying to be a +cartoonist—runs a hoisting engine day times and goes to an art school +evenings. How's that, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sounds batty," says I. "There's most as many would-be cartoonists as +there are nutty ones tryin' to write plays for Belasco." +</P> + +<P> +"But this Blake's going to get there," says Mortimer. "I was up in his +room Sunday, and he showed me some of his work. Clever stuff, a lot of +it. He's landed a couple of things already. Then there's old man +McQuade, the one with the whiskers. Say, he's been all over the +world,—Siberia, Africa, Japan, South America. Used to be selling +agent for a mill supply firm. He has all his savings invested in an +Egyptian cotton plantation that hasn't begun to pay yet, but he thinks +it will soon. You ought to hear the yarns he can spin, though!" +</P> + +<P> +"So-o-o?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"But Aronwitz is the fellow I'm traveling' around with most just now," +goes on Mortimer enthusiastic. "Say, he's a wonder! Been over here +from Hungary only six years, worked his way through Columbia, copping +an A. M. and an A. B., and sending back money to his old mother right +along. He's a Socialist, or something, and writes for one of those +East Side papers. Then evenings he teaches manual training in a slum +settlement house. He took me over with him the other night and got me +to help him with his boys. My, but they're a bright lot of +youngsters—right off the street too! I've promised to take a class +myself." +</P> + +<P> +"In what," says I, "table etiquette?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to start by explaining to them how a gasolene engine works," +says Mortimer. "They're crazy to learn anything like that. It will be +great sport." +</P> + +<P> +"Mortimer," says I, "a little more of that, and I'll believe you're the +guy that put the seed in succeed. Anyone wouldn't guess you was doin' +penance." +</P> + +<P> +"I feel that I'm really living at last," says he in earnest. +</P> + +<P> +So in that next report to Mother, after I'd thanked her for the last +check and filled in the usual health chart and so on, I proceeds to +throw in a few extras about how Son was makin' the great discovery that +most folks was more or less human, after all. Oh, I spread myself on +that part of it, givin' full details! +</P> + +<P> +"And if that don't charm an extra five out of the old girl," thinks I, +"I miss my guess." +</P> + +<P> +Does it? Well, say, that happy thought stays with me for about ten +days. At times I figured the bonus might be as high as a fifty. And +then one mornin' here comes a ruddy-faced old party that I spots as +Colonel Upton. He calls for Mortimer, and the two of 'em has a +ten-minute chat in the corridor. Afterwards Morty interviews Miller, +and when he comes out next he has his hat and overcoat with him. +</P> + +<P> +"So long, Torchy," says he. "I'm leaving." +</P> + +<P> +"Not for good!" says I. "What's wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," says he. "In some way she's found out about the sort of +people I've been going around with, and she's kicked up a great row, +got Father on the cable, and—well, it's all off. I'm to travel abroad +for a year or so to get it out of my system." +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" says I as he goes out to join the Colonel. "Talk about boobing +a swell proposition! But that was too good to last, anyway. And, +believe me, if I'm ever asked again to be friendly on a salary, I bet I +don't overdo the thing." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BREEZING BY WITH PEGGY +</H3> + + +<P> +He's a great old scout, Mr. Ellins. But he always knows where he wants +to get off, all right. He don't whisper his ideas on the subject, +either. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," says he the other mornin' as I answers the buzzer, "I am +expecting two young persons to call this forenoon, two young wards of +mine. Huh! Wards! As though I wasn't busy enough with my own affairs +without—— But never mind. Chandler is the name." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Sir," says I. "Chandler. Rush 'em right in, shall I?" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" snorts Old Hickory. "What I want you to do is to use a little +sense, if you have any. Now, here! I have a committee meeting at ten; +those K. & T. people will be here at ten-forty-five; and after that I +can't say whether I'll be free or not. Of course I must see the young +nuisances; but meantime I want to forget 'em. I am trusting to you to +work 'em in when they'll be the least bother." +</P> + +<P> +"Got you," says I. "Chink in with Chandlers. Yes, Sir. Anything +more?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Get out!" he snaps. +</P> + +<P> +Fair imitation of a grouch, eh? But you got to get used to Old +Hickory. Besides, there was some excuse for his bein' peeved, havin' a +pair of kids camp down on him this way. Course I was wise to the other +details. Didn't I take their 'phone message to Mr. Robert only the day +before, and send back the answer for 'em to come on? +</P> + +<P> +Seems this was a case of a second cousin, or something like that, a +nutty college professor, who'd gone and left a will makin' Mr. Ellins a +guardian without so much as askin' by your leave. There was a Mrs. +Chandler; but she don't figure in the guardianship. The youngsters had +been in school somewhere near Boston; but, this bein' the holidays, +what do they do but turn up in New York and express a wild desire to +see dear old Guardy. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" thinks I. "They don't know when they're well off." +</P> + +<P> +For Old Hickory ain't got a lot of use for the average young person. +I've heard him express his sentiments on that point. "Impudent, +ill-mannered, selfish, spoiled young barbarians, the boys," says he, +"and the girls aren't much better,—silly, giggling young chatterboxes!" +</P> + +<P> +And the way I has it framed up, this was rather a foxy move of the +young Chandlers, discoverin' their swell New York relations just as the +holiday season was openin'. So I don't figure that the situation calls +for any open-arm motions on my part. No, nothin' like that. I'm here +to give 'em their first touch of frost. +</P> + +<P> +So about eleven-fifteen, as I glances across the brass rail and sees +this pair advancin' sort of uncertain, I'm all prepared to cause a drop +in the mercury. They wa'n't exactly the type I had in mind, though. +What I'd expected was a brace of high school cutups. But these two are +older than that. +</P> + +<P> +The young fellow was one of these big-boned, wide-shouldered chaps, +with a heavy, serious look to his face, almost dull. I couldn't tell +at first look whether he was a live wire or not. No such suspicions +about the girl. She ain't what you'd call a queen, exactly. She's too +tall and her face is too long for that. Kind of a cute sort of face, +though, with rather a wide mouth that she can twist into a weird, +one-sided smile. But after one look at them lively blue eyes you knew +she wasn't walkin' in her sleep. It's my cue, though, to let 'em guess +what nuisances they were. +</P> + +<P> +"May I see Mr. Ellins?" says the young chap. +</P> + +<P> +"Cards," says I. +</P> + +<P> +He produces the pasteboards. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes!" I goes on. "The wards, eh? Marjorie Chandler, Dudley +Winthrop Chandler. Well, you've picked out a busy day, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, have we?" says Marjorie. "There, Dud! I was afraid we might. +Perhaps we'd better not call, after all." +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" says Dudley. "I didn't want to, anyway. We can just send in +our cards and leave word that we——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, can it!" says I. "Mr. Ellins is expectin' you; only he ain't a +man you can walk in on casual." +</P> + +<P> +"But really," puts in Marjorie, "it's just as well if we don't see him." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and get me fired for not carryin' out instructions," says I. "My +orders are to work you in when there's a chance." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, in that case," says Marjorie, "perhaps we had better wait. We +don't wish to cause trouble for anyone, especially such a bright, +charming young——" +</P> + +<P> +"Nix on the josh," says I. "And have a seat while I skirmish." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, then," says she, screwin' her face up cunnin' and handin' +me one of them crooked smiles. +</P> + +<P> +Say, she pretty near had me goin' right from the start. And as I +tiptoes into the boss's room I sees he ain't doin' anything more +important than signin' letters. +</P> + +<P> +"They're here," says I, "the wards. Is it all right to run 'em in now?" +</P> + +<P> +He grunts, nods his head, and keeps on writin'. So I strolls back to +the reception room. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," says I. "I've fixed it up for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, wasn't that sweet in you?" gurgles Marjorie, glancin' sideways at +Brother. I couldn't swear it was a wink, either; but it's one of them +knowin' fam'ly looks, and she follows it up with a ripply sort of a +giggle. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right!" says I. "Have all the fun you want with me; but I'd +warn you to ditch the mirth stuff while you're on the carpet. Mr. +Ellins don't like it." +</P> + +<P> +"How interesting!" says Marjorie. "Dudley, I hope you understand. We +must ditch the mirth stuff." +</P> + +<P> +They swaps another grin at that, and I have a suspicion I'm bein' +kidded. Just for that too I decides to stick around while they're +gettin' theirs from Old Hickory. +</P> + +<P> +"This way," says I cold and haughty, as I tows 'em into the private +office. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Ellins lets 'em stand there a minute or so without sayin' a word, +and then he turns and looks 'em over deliberate. "Humph!" he grunts. +"Thought you were younger." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Sir," says Marjorie, "we—er—we were at one time." +</P> + +<P> +Old Hickory shoots a quizzin' glance at her; but there ain't the ghost +of a smile on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says he. "I've no doubt. And I presume that in due course +you'll be older. Having agreed on that, perhaps you will tell me what +you're doing in New York?" +</P> + +<P> +Marjorie starts in to give him the answer to that; but Dudley shakes +his head at her and takes the floor himself. "You see, Sir," says he +real respectful, "Mother's abroad this winter, and when we were asked +to visit friends on Long Island we thought——" +</P> + +<P> +"Amy abroad, is she?" breaks in Mr. Ellins. "How does that happen?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Adamses took her with them to Egypt," says Dudley. "They are old +friends of ours." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says Old Hickory. "Your mother must be rather popular?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, everyone likes Mama," put in Marjorie. "She's asked around +everywhere." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, I've no doubt," says he. "As I remember her, she was rather +a—but we won't go into that. Did you come to consult me about +anything in particular?" +</P> + +<P> +"No indeed," says Marjorie. "But you've been so good to bother about +our affairs, and you've done such wonders with the little property poor +Dad left, that we thought, as we were so near, we ought to——" +</P> + +<P> +"We wanted," breaks in Dudley, "to call and thank you personally for +your kindness. You have been awfully kind, Sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Think so, do you?" says Mr. Ellins. "Well, is that all?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," says Marjorie; "only—only—oh, Dud, I'm going to do it!" And +with that she makes a rush, lets out a giggle or two, grabs Old Hickory +in a perfectly good hug, and kisses him twice on his bald spot. +</P> + +<P> +He don't even have a chance to struggle, and before he can get out a +word it's all over and she has backed off, givin' him the full benefit +of one of them twisty smiles. I was lookin' for him to blow up for +fair at that. He don't though. +</P> + +<P> +"There, there!" says he. "Not in the least necessary, you know. But +if it was something you had to get out of your system, all right. So +you've been visiting, eh? Now, what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Marjorie's going back to her school, Sir," says Dudley, "and I to +college." +</P> + +<P> +"Before the holidays are over?" says Mr. Ellins. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we don't mind," says Marjorie. "We don't want to go home and open +up the house; for we should miss Mother so much." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose you finish out your vacation with us, then?" suggests Old +Hickory. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, thank you, Sir," says Dudley; "but we——" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother wrote us, you see," breaks in Marjorie, "that we mustn't think +of bothering you another bit." +</P> + +<P> +"Who says you're a bother?" he demands. "At this time of year I like +to have young folks around—if they're the right kind." +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm not sure we are the right kind," says Marjorie. "I—I'm not +very serious, you know; and Dud's apt to be noisy. He thinks he can +sing." +</P> + +<P> +At which Dudley gets fussed and Old Hickory chuckles. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take a chance," says Mr. Ellins. "If I'm to be your guardian, I +ought to know you better. So you two trot right up to the house and +prepare to stay the week out. Here, Torchy! 'Phone for the limousine. +No, not a word, young woman! I haven't time to discuss it. Clear out, +both of you! See you at dinner." +</P> + +<P> +"There!" says Marjorie as a partin' shot. "I just knew you were an old +dear!" +</P> + +<P> +"Stuff!" protests Mr. Ellins. "'Old bear,' is more like it." +</P> + +<P> +And me, I picks up a new cue. I escorts 'em out to the gen'ral office +with all the honors. "I'll have that car down in a jiffy, Miss," says +I. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, thank you," says Marjorie. "And if you think of anything we ought +to ditch in the meantime—" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, what's the use rubbin' it in on me," says I, "after the way you +put it over Mr. Ellins? I don't count. Besides, anybody that fields +their position like you do has got me wearin' their button for keeps." +</P> + +<P> +"Really?" says she. "I shall remember that, you know; and there's no +telling what dreadful thing I may do before I go. Is there, Dud?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, quit it, Peggy!" says he. "Behave, can't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, Brother dear," says she, runnin' her tongue out at him. +Ever see anyone who could make a cute play of that? Well, Marjorie +could, believe me! +</P> + +<P> +Funny, though, the sudden hit them two seemed to make with Old Hickory. +Honest, the few days they was around the house his disposition clears +up like coffee does when you stir in the egg. I heard him talkin' to +Mr. Robert about 'em, how well brought up and mannerly they was. He +even unloads some of it on me, by way of suggestin' 'em as models. +You'd most think he'd trained 'em himself. +</P> + +<P> +Bein' chased up to the house on so many errands, I had a chance to get +the benefit of some of this improvin' influence. And it was kind of +good, I admit, to watch how prompt Dudley hops up every time any older +party comes into the room; and how sweet Marjorie is to everybody, even +the butler. They was just as nice to each other too,—Brother helpin' +Sister on with her wraps, and gettin' down on his knees to put on her +rubbers; while Marjorie never forgets to thank him proper, and pat him +chummy on the cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" thinks I. "A sister like that wouldn't be so bad to have +around." +</P> + +<P> +Course, I knew this was comp'ny manners, exhibition stuff; but all the +same it was kind of inspirin' to see. It's catchin' too. I even finds +myself speakin' gentle to Piddie, and offerin' to help Mr. Ellins with +his overcoat. +</P> + +<P> +All of which lasts until here one afternoon, as I'm waitin' in the +Ellins' lib'ry for some presents I'm to deliver, when the spell is +shattered. I'd heard 'em out in the hall, talkin' low and earnest, and +next thing I know they've drifted in where I am and have opened up a +lively debate. +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh!" says Marjorie. "You can't stop me." +</P> + +<P> +"See here, Peggy!" comes back Dudley. "Didn't Mother say I was to look +after you?" +</P> + +<P> +"She didn't tell you to be so everlasting bossy," says Sister. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not bossy," comes back Dudley. +</P> + +<P> +"You are so!" says she. "Old fuss budget! Stewcat!" +</P> + +<P> +"Rattlehead!" says Dudley. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't mind me," I breaks in. "I'm havin' my manners improved." +</P> + +<P> +All that brings out, though, is a glance and a shoulder shrug, and they +proceed with the squabble. +</P> + +<P> +"Dud Chandler," says Marjorie determined, "I am going to drive the car +today! You did yesterday for an hour." +</P> + +<P> +"That's entirely different," says Dudley. "I'm used to it, and Henry +said I might." +</P> + +<P> +"And Henry says I may too—so there!" says Marjorie. "And you know I'm +just crazy to try it on Fifth Avenue." +</P> + +<P> +"You'd look nice, wouldn't you?" says Brother scornful. "A limousine!" +</P> + +<P> +"But Bud Adams let me drive theirs; in Boston too," protests Marjorie. +</P> + +<P> +"Bud Adams is a bonehead, then," says Dudley. +</P> + +<P> +"Dudley Chandler," snaps Sister, her eyes throwin' off sparks, "don't +you dare talk that way about my friends!" +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says Brother. "If there ever was a boob, that Bud Adams is——" +</P> + +<P> +Say, there's only a flash and a squeal before Sister has landed a smack +on his jaw and has both hands in his hair. Looked like a real +rough-house session, right there in the lib'ry, when there comes a call +for me down the stairs from Mrs. Ellins. She wants to know if I'm +ready. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-086"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-086.jpg" ALT="Sister has landed a smack on his jaw." BORDER="2" WIDTH="388" HEIGHT="539"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Sister has landed a smack on his jaw.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Waitin' here, Ma'am," says I, steppin' out into the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"And Marjorie and Dudley?" says she. "Are the dear young folks ready +too?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll ask 'em," says I. And with that I dodges hack where they're +standin' glarin' at each other. "Well," says I, "is it to be a go to a +finish, or——" +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Marjorie," says Dudley, "be decent." +</P> + +<P> +"I—am going to do it!" announces Marjorie. +</P> + +<P> +"Mule!" hisses Dudley. +</P> + +<P> +And that's the status quo between these two models when we starts for +the car. Marjorie makes a quick break and plants herself in front by +the chauffeur, leavin' Brother to climb inside with me and the bundles. +He grits his teeth and murmurs a few remarks under his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Some pep to that sister of yours, eh?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"She's an obstinate little fool!" says Dudley. "Look at that, now! I +knew she would!" +</P> + +<P> +Yep, she had. We're no sooner under way than the obligin' Henry slides +out of his seat and lets Miss Marjorie slip in behind the wheel. She +can drive a car all right too. You ought to see her throw in the high +and go beatin' it down the avenue, takin' signals from the traffic cops +at crossing, skinnin' around motor busses, and crowdin' out a fresh +taxi driver that tried to hog a corner on her. Nothin' timid or +amateurish either about the way she handled that ten-thousand-dollar +gas wagon of Old Hickory's. Where I'd be jammin' on both brakes and +callin' for help, she just breezes along like she had the street all to +herself. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime Brother is sittin' with both feet braced and one hand on the +door, now and then sighin' relieved as we scrape through a tight place. +But we'd been down quite a ways and was part way back, headed for +Riverside Drive, and was rollin' along merry too, when all of a sudden +a fruit faker's wagon looms up out of a side street unexpected, there's +a bump and a crash, and there we are, with a spokeless wooden wheel +draped jaunty over one mud guard, the asphalt strewed with oranges, and +int'rested spectators gatherin' gleeful from all quarters. +</P> + +<P> +Looks like a bad mess too. The old plug of a horse is down, kickin' +the stuffin' out of the harness, and a few feet off is the huckster, +huddled up in a heap like a bag of meal. Course, there's a cop on the +spot. He pushes in where Dudley is tryin' to help the wagon driver up, +takes one look at the wreck, and then flashes his little notebook. He +puts down our license number, calls for the owner's name, prods the +wagon man without result, tells us we're all pinched, and steps over to +a convenient signal box to ring up an ambulance. Inside of three +minutes we're the storm center of a small mob, and there's two other +cops lookin' us over disapprovin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Take 'em all to the station house," says one, who happens to be a +roundsman. +</P> + +<P> +That didn't listen good to me; so I kind of sidles off from our group. +It just struck me that it might be handy to have someone on the outside +lookin' in. But at that I got to the station house almost as soon as +they did. The trio was lined up before the desk Sergeant. Miss +Marjorie's kind of white, but keepin' a stiff lip over it; while Dudley +is holdin' one hand and pattin' it comfortin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, who was driving?" is the first thing the Sergeant wants to know. +</P> + +<P> +"If you please, Sir," speaks up Dudley, "I was." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Dudley!" says Peggy, openin' her eyes wide. "You know——" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush up!" whispers Brother. +</P> + +<P> +"Sha'nt!" says Marjorie. "I was driving, Mr. Officer." +</P> + +<P> +"Rot!" says Dudley. "Pay no attention to her, Sergeant." +</P> + +<P> +"Suit yourself," says the Sergeant. "I'd just as soon lock up two as +one. Then we'll be sure." +</P> + +<P> +"There! You see!" says Brother. "You aren't helping any. Now keep +out, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"But, Dudley——" protests Marjorie. +</P> + +<P> +"That'll do," says the Sergeant. "You'll have plenty of time to talk +it over afterwards. Hospital case, eh? Then we can't take bail. +Names, now!" +</P> + +<P> +And it's while their names are bein' put on the blotter that I slides +out, hunts up a pay station, and gets Mr. Robert on the 'phone. +"Better lug along a good-sized roll," says I, after I've explained the +case, "and start a lawyer or two this way. You'll need 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"I will," says Mr. Robert. "And you'll meet me at the station, will +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Later on," says I. "I want to try a little sleuthin' first." +</P> + +<P> +You see, I'd spotted the faker's name on the wagon license, and it +occurs to me that before any of them damage-suit shysters get to him it +would be a good scheme to discover just how bad he was bunged up. So +my bluff is that it's an uncle of mine that's been hurt. By pushin' it +good and hard too, and insistin' that I'd got to see him, I gets clear +into the cot without bein' held up. And there's the victim, snoozin' +peaceful. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" says I to the nurse, sniffin' the atmosphere. "Had to brace him +up with a drink, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +She smiles at that. "Hardly," says she. "He had attended to that, or +he wouldn't be in here. This is the alcoholic ward, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says I. "Pickled, was he? But is he hurt bad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all," says she. "He will be all right as soon as he's sober." +</P> + +<P> +Did I smoke it back to the station house? Well, some! And Mr. Robert +was there, talkin' to two volunteer witnesses who was ready to swear +the faker was drivin' on the wrong side of the street and not lookin' +where he was goin'. +</P> + +<P> +"How could he," says I, "when he was soused to the ears?" +</P> + +<P> +Course, it took some time to convince the Sergeant; but after he'd had +word from the hospital he concludes to accept a hundred cash, let +Dudley go until mornin', and scratch Marjorie's name off the book. +Goin' back to the house we four rides inside, with Henry at the wheel. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm awfully sorry, Dud," says Marjorie, snugglin' up to Brother, +"but—but it was almost worth it. I didn't know you could be so—so +splendid!" +</P> + +<P> +"Stow it, Peggy," says Dudley. "You're a regular brick!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not," says she. "And think what Mr. Ellins will say! +</P> + +<P> +"There, there!" says Mr. Robert soothin'. "You were not to blame. I +will have someone see the fellow in the morning and settle the damage, +however. There's no need to trouble Father about it, none in the +least." +</P> + +<P> +"Besides, Peggy," adds Dudley, "I'm the one the charge is made against. +So butt out." +</P> + +<P> +Looked like it was all settled that way too, and that Old Hickory's +faith in his model wards wa'n't to be disturbed. But when we pulls up +at the house there he is, just goin' up the front steps. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" says he, beamin'. "There you are, eh? And how has my little +Peggy been enjoying herself today?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Ellins," says she, lookin' him square in the eye, "you mustn't +call me your Peggy any more. I've just hit a man. He's in the +hospital." +</P> + +<P> +"You—you hit someone!" gasps Old Hickory, starin' puzzled at her. +"What with?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, with the car," says she. "I was driving. Dudley tried to stop +me; but I was horrid about it. We had a regular fight over it. Then I +coaxed Henry to let me, and—and this happened. Don't listen to +Dudley. It was all my fault." +</P> + +<P> +"Wow!" I whispers to Mr. Robert. "Now she's spilled the beans!" +</P> + +<P> +Did she? Say, I wa'n't in on the fam'ly conference that follows, but I +gets the result from Mr. Robert next day, after he's been to court and +seen Dudley's case dismissed. +</P> + +<P> +"No, the young folks haven't been sent away," says he. "In fact, +Father thinks more of them than ever. He's going to take 'em both +abroad with him next summer." +</P> + +<P> +Wouldn't that smear you, though? Say, I wish someone would turn me +loose with a limousine! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS +</H3> + + +<P> +Trouble? Say, it was comin' seven diff'rent ways there for +awhile,—our stocks on the slump, a quarterly bein' passed, Congress +actin' up, a lot of gloom rumors floatin' around about what was goin' +to happen to the tariff on steel, and the I Won't Workers pullin' off a +big strike at one of our busiest plants. But all these things was side +issues compared to this scrap that develops between Old Hickory and +Peter K. Groff. +</P> + +<P> +Maybe you don't know about Peter K.? Well, he's the Mesaba agent of +Corrugated affairs, the big noise at the dirt end of the dividends. +It's Groff handles the ore proposition, you understand, and it's his +company that does the inter-locking act between the ore mines and us +and the railroads. +</P> + +<P> +Course, I can't give you all the details without pullin' down a +subpoena from the Attorney-General's office, and I ain't anxious to +crowd Willie Rockefeller, or anybody like that, out of the witness +chair. But I can go as far as to state that, as near as I could dope +it out, Peter K. was only standin' on his rights, and if only him and +Mr. Ellins could have got together for half an hour peaceable-like +things could have been squared all around. We needed Groff every tick +of the clock, and just because he ain't always polite in statin' his +views over the wire wa'n't any first-class reason for us extendin' him +an official invitation to go sew his head in a bag. +</P> + +<P> +Uh-huh, them was Old Hickory's very words. I stood by while he writes +the message. Then I takes it out and shows it to Piddie and grins. +You should have seen Piddie's face. He turns the color of green pea +soup and gasps. He's got all the fightin' qualities of a pet rabbit in +him, Piddie has. +</P> + +<P> +"But—but that is a flat insult," says he, "and Mr. Groff is a very +irascible person!" +</P> + +<P> +"A which?" says I. "Never mind, though. If he's got anything on Old +Hickory when it comes to pep in the disposition, he's the real Tabasco +Tommy." +</P> + +<P> +"But I still contend," says Piddie, "that this reply should not be +sent." +</P> + +<P> +"Course it shouldn't," says I. "But who's goin' to point that out to +the boss? You?" +</P> + +<P> +Piddie shudders. I'll bet he went home that night and told Wifey to +prepare for the end of the world. Course, I knew it meant a muss. But +when Old Hickory's been limpin' around with a gouty toe for two weeks, +and his digestion's gone on the fritz, and things in gen'ral has been +breakin' bad—well, it's a case of low barometer in our shop, and +waitin' to see where the lightnin' strikes first. Might's well be +pointed at Peter K., thinks I, as at some Wall Street magnate or me. +Course, Groff goes up in the air a mile, threatens to resign from the +board, and starts stirrin' up a minority move that's liable to end most +anywhere. +</P> + +<P> +Then, right in the midst of it, Old Hickory accumulates his annual case +of grip, runs up a temperature that ain't got anything to do with his +disposition, and his doctor gives orders for him not to move out of the +house for a week. +</P> + +<P> +So that throws the whole thing onto me and Mr. Robert. I was takin' it +calm enough too; but with Mr. Robert it's different. He has his coat +off that mornin', and his hair mussed up, and he's smokin' long +brunette cigars instead of his usual cigarettes. He was pawin' over +things panicky. +</P> + +<P> +"Hang it all!" he explodes. "Some of these papers must go up to the +Governor for his indorsement. Perhaps you'd better take them, Torchy. +But you're not likely to find him in a very agreeable mood, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I can dodge," says I, gatherin' up the stuff. "And what's the +dope? Do I dump these on the bed and make a slide for life, or so I +take out accident insurance and then stick around for orders?" +</P> + +<P> +"You may—er—stick around," says Mr. Robert. "In fact, my chief +reason for sending you up to the house is the fact that at times you +are apt to have a cheering effect on the Governor. So stay as long as +you find any excuse. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" says I. "I don't know whether this is a special holiday, or a +sentence to sudden death. But I'll take a chance, and if the worst +happens, Mr. Robert, see that Piddie wears a black armband for me." +</P> + +<P> +He indulges in the first grin he's had on for a week, and I makes my +exit on that. The science of bein' fresh is to know where to quit. +</P> + +<P> +But, say, that wa'n't all guff we was exchangin' about Old Hickory. I +don't find him tucked away under the down comf'tables, like he ought to +be. Marston, the butler, whispers the boss is in the lib'ry, and sort +of shunts me in without appearin' himself. A wise guy, Marston. +</P> + +<P> +For here's Mr. Ellins, wearin' a padded silk dressin' gown and old +slippers, pacin' back and forth limpy and lettin' out grunts and growls +at every turn. Talk about your double-distilled grouches! He looks +like he'd been on a diet of mixed pickles and scrap iron for a month, +and hated the whole human race. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" he snaps as he sees me edgin' in cautious. +</P> + +<P> +"Papers for your O. K," says I, holdin' the bunch out at arm's length. +</P> + +<P> +"My O. K.?" he snarls. "Bah! Now what the zebra-striped Zacharias do +they send those things to me for? What good am I, anyway, except as a +common carrier for all the blinkety blinked aches and pains that ever +existed? A shivery, shaky old lump of clay streaked with cussedness, +that's all I am!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Sir," says I, from force of habit. +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says he, whirlin' and snappin' his jaws. +</P> + +<P> +"N-n-no, Sir," says I, sidesteppin' behind a chair. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right," says he. "Dodge and squirm as if I was a wild animal. +That's what they all do. What are you afraid of, Boy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" says I. "Why, I'm havin' the time of my life. I don't mind. It +only sounds natural and homelike. And it's mostly bluff, ain't it, Mr. +Ellins?" +</P> + +<P> +"Discovered!" says he. "Ah, the merciless perspicacity of youth! But +don't tell the others. And put those papers on my desk." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Sir," says I, and after I've spread 'em out I backs into the bay +window and sits down. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what are you doing there?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Waiting orders," says I. "Any errands, Mr. Ellins?" +</P> + +<P> +"Errands?" says he. Then, after thinkin' a second, he raps out, "Yes. +Do you see that collection of bottles and pills and glasses on the +table? Enough to stock a young drugstore! And I've been pouring that +truck into my system by wholesale,—the pink tablets on the half-hour, +the white ones on the quarter, a spoonful of that purple liquid on the +even hour, two of the greenish mixtures on the odd, and getting worse +every day. Bah! I haven't the courage to do it myself, but by the +blue-belted blazes if—— See here, Boy! You're waiting orders, you +say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh!" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Then open that window and throw the whole lot into the areaway," says +he. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean it, Mr. Ellins?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Do I—yah, don't I speak plain English?" he growls. "Can't you +understand a simple——" +</P> + +<P> +"I got you," I breaks in. "Out it goes!" I don't drop any of it +gentle, either. I slams bottles and glasses down on the flaggin' and +chucks the pills into the next yard. I makes a clean sweep. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, Torchy," says he. "The doctor will be here soon. I'll tell +him you did it." +</P> + +<P> +"Go as far as you like," says I. "Anything else, Sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," says he. "Provide me with a temporary occupation." +</P> + +<P> +"Come again," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"I want something to do," says he. "Here I've been shut up in this +confounded house for four mortal days! I can't read, can't eat, can't +sleep. I just prowl around like a bear with a sore ear. I want +something that will make me forget what a wretched, futile old fool I +am. Do you know of anything that will fill the bill?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Then think," says he. "Come, where is that quick-firing, automatic +intellect of yours? Think, Boy! What would you do if you were shut up +like this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says I, "I—I might dig up some kind of games, I guess." +</P> + +<P> +"Games!" says he. "That's worth considering. Well, here's some money. +Go get 'em." +</P> + +<P> +"But what kind, Sir?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"How the slithering Sisyphus should I know what kind?" he snaps. +"Whose idea is this, anyway? You suggested games. Go get 'em, I tell +you! I'll give you half an hour, while I'm looking over this stuff +from the office. Just half an hour. Get out!" +</P> + +<P> +It's a perfectly cute proposition, ain't it? Games for a heavy-podded +old sinner like him, who's about as frivolous in his habits as one of +them stone lions in front of the new city lib'ry! But here I was on my +way with a yellow-backed twenty in one hand; so it's up to me to +produce. I pikes straight down the avenue to a joint where they've got +three floors filled with nothin' but juvenile joy junk, blows in there +on the jump, nails a clerk that looks like he had more or less bean, +waves the twenty at him, and remarks casual: +</P> + +<P> +"Gimme the worth of that in things that'll amuse a fifty-eight-year-old +kid who's sick abed and walkin' around the house." +</P> + +<P> +Did I say clerk? I take it back. He was a salesman, that young gent +was. Never raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to haul out samples, pass +'em up to me for inspection, and pile in a heap what I gives him the +nod on. If I established a record for reckless buyin', he never +mentions it. Inside of twenty minutes I'm on my way back, followed by +a porter with both arms full. +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor has come," says Marston. "He's in with Mr. Ellins now, +Sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Ob, is he?" says I. "Makes it very nice, don't it?" And, bein' as +how I was Old Hickory's alibi, as you might say, I pikes right to the +front. +</P> + +<P> +"Here he is now," says Mr. Ellins. +</P> + +<P> +And the Doc, who's a chesty, short-legged gent with a dome half under +glass,—you know, sort of a skinned diamond with turf outfield +effect,—he whirls on me accusin'. "Young man," says he, "do I +understand that you had the impudence to——" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well!" breaks in Old Hickory, gettin' a glimpse of what the +porter's unloading "What have we here? Look, Hirshway,—Torchy's drug +substitute!" +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says the Doc, starin' puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"Games," says Mr. Ellins, startin' to paw over the bundles. "Toys for +a weary toiler. Let's inspect his selection. Now what's this in the +box, Torchy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Cut-up picture puzzle," says I. "Two hundred pieces. You fit 'em +together." +</P> + +<P> +"Fine!" says Old Hickory. "And this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ring toss," says I. "You try to throw them rope rings over the peg." +</P> + +<P> +"I see," says he. "Excellent! That will be very amusing and +instructive. Here's an airgun too." +</P> + +<P> +"Ellins," says Doc Hirshway, "do you mean to say that at your age you +are going to play with such childish things?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" says Old Hickory. "You forbid business. I must employ +myself in some way, and Torchy recommends these." +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" says the Doc disgusted. "If I didn't know you so well, I should +think your mind was affected." +</P> + +<P> +"Think what you blamed please, you bald-headed old pill peddler!" raps +back the boss, pokin' him playful in the ribs. "I'll bet you a fiver I +can put more of these rings over than you can." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says the Doc. "I've no time to waste on silly games." And he +stands by watchin' disapprovin' while Old Hickory makes an awkward stab +at the peg. The nearest he comes to it is when he chucks one through +the glass door of a curio cabinet, with a smash that brings the butler +tiptoein' in. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ring, Sir?" says Marston. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a blamed one!" says Mr. Ellins. +</P> + +<P> +"Take it away, Marston. And then unwrap that large package. There! +Now what the tessellated teacups is that!" +</P> + +<P> +It's something I didn't know anything about myself; but the young gent +at the store had been strong for puttin' it in, so I'd let it slide. +It's a tin affair, painted bright green, with half a dozen little brass +cups sunk in it. Some rubber balls and a kind of croquet mallet goes +with it. +</P> + +<P> +"Indoor golf!" says Old Hickory, readin' the instruction pamphlet. +"Oh, I see! A putting green. Set it there on the rug, Marston. Now, +let's see if I've forgotten how to putt." +</P> + +<P> +We all gathers around while he tries to roll the balls into the cups. +Out of six tries he lands just one. Next time he don't get any at all. +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh!" says the Doc edgin' up int'rested. "Wretched putting form, +Ellins, wretched! Don't tap it that way: sweep it along—-follow +through, with your right elbow out. Here, let me show you!" +</P> + +<P> +But Hirshway don't do much better. He manages to get two in; but one +was a rank scratch. +</P> + +<P> +"Ho-ho!" cackles Old Hickory. "Isn't so easy as it looks, eh, +Hirshway? Now it's my turn again, and I'm betting ten I beat you." +</P> + +<P> +"I take you," says the Doc. +</P> + +<P> +And blamed if Old Hickory don't pull down the money! +</P> + +<P> +Well, that's what started things. Next I knew they'd laid out a +regular golf course, drivin' off from the rug in front of the desk, +through the double doors into the drawin' room, then across the hall +into the music room, around the grand piano to the left, through the +back hall, into the lib'ry once more, and onto the tin green. +</P> + +<P> +Marston is sent to dig out a couple sets of old golf clubs from the +attic, and he is put to caddyin' for the Doc, while I carries the bag +for the boss. Course they was usin' putters mostly, except for fancy +loftin' strokes over bunkers that they'd built out of books and sofa +pillows. And as the balls was softer than the regulation golf kind, +with more bounce to 'em, all sorts of carom strokes was ruled in. +</P> + +<P> +"No moving the chairs," announces Old Hickory. "All pieces of +furniture are natural hazards." +</P> + +<P> +"Agreed," says the Doc. "Playing stimies too, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Stimies go," says the boss. +</P> + +<P> +Say, maybe that wa'n't some batty performance, with them two old +duffers golfin' all over the first floor of a Fifth-ave. house, +disputin' about strokes, pokin' balls out from under tables and sofas, +and me and Marston followin' along with the bags. They got as excited +over it as if they'd been playin' for the International Championship, +and when Old Hickory loses four strokes by gettin' his ball wedged in a +corner he cuts loose with the real golfy language. +</P> + +<P> +We was just finishin' the first round, with the score standin' fourteen +to seventeen in favor of the Doc, when the front doorbell rings and a +maid comes towin' in Piddie. Maybe his eyes don't stick out some too, +as he takes in the scene, But Mr. Ellins is preparin' to make a shot +for position in front of the green and he don't pay any attention. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Mr. Piddie, Sir," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Hang Mr. Piddie!" says Old Hickory. "I can't see him now." +</P> + +<P> +"But it's very important," says Piddie. "There's someone at the office +who——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, not now!" snaps the boss impatient. +</P> + +<P> +And I gives Piddie the back-out signal. But you know how much sense +he's got. +</P> + +<P> +"I assure you, Mr. Ellins," he goes on, "that this is——" +</P> + +<P> +"S-s-s-st!" says I. "Boom-boom! Outside!" and I jerks my thumb +towards the door. +</P> + +<P> +That settles Piddie. He fades. +</P> + +<P> +A minute later Old Hickory gets a lucky carom off a chair leg and holes +out in nineteen, with the Doc playin' twenty-one. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha, ha!" chuckled the boss. "What's the matter with my form now, +Hirshway? I'll go you another hole for the same stake." +</P> + +<P> +The Doc was sore and eager to get back. They wa'n't much more'n fairly +started, though, before there's other arrivals, that turns out to be no +less than two of our directors, lookin' serious and worried. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Rawson and Mr. Dunham," announces the maid. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Boy!" says the boss, catchin' me by the elbow. "What was that +you said to Mr. Piddie,—that 'Boom-boom!' greeting?" +</P> + +<P> +I gives it to him and the Doc in a stage whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" says he. "Get that, Hirshway? Now let's spring it on 'em. +All together now—S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!" +</P> + +<P> +Say, it makes a hit with the directors, all right. First off they +didn't seem to know whether they'd strayed into a bughouse, or were +just bein' cheered; but when they sees Old Hickory's mouth corners they +concludes to take it as a josh. It turns out that both of 'em are golf +cranks too, and inside of three minutes they've forgot whatever it was +they'd come for, they've shed their coats, and have been rung into a +foursome. +</P> + +<P> +Honest, of all the nutty performances! For there was no tellin' where +them balls would roll to, and wherever they went the giddy old boys had +to follow. I remember one of 'em was stretched out full length on his +tummy in the front hall, tryin' to make a billiard shot from under a +low hall seat, when there's another ring at the bell, and Marston, with +a golf bag still slung over his shoulder, lets in a square-jawed, +heavy-set old gent who glares around like he was lookin' for trouble +and would be disappointed if he didn't find it. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Peter K. Groff," announces Marston. +</P> + +<P> +"Good night!" says I to myself. "The enemy is in our midst." +</P> + +<P> +But Old Hickory never turns a hair. He stands there in his shirt +sleeves gazin' calm at this grizzly old minin' plute, and then I sees a +kind of cut-up twinkle flash in them deep-set eyes of his as he summons +his foursome to gather around. I didn't know what was coming either, +until they cuts loose with it. And for havin' had no practice they +rips it out strong. +</P> + +<P> +"S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!" comes the chorus. +</P> + +<P> +It gets Peter K.'s goat too. His jaw comes open and his eyes pop. +Next he swallows bard and flushes red behind the ears. "Ellins," says +he, "I've come fifteen hundred miles to ask what you mean by telling +me——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that you, Groff?" breaks in the boss. "Well, don't interrupt our +game. Fore! You, I mean. Fore, there! Now go ahead, Rawson. +Playing eleven, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +And Rawson's just poked his ball out, makin' a neat carom into the +music room, when the hall clock strikes five. +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove, gentlemen!" exclaims Doc Hirshway. "Sorry, but I must quit. +Should have been in my office an hour ago. I really must go." +</P> + +<P> +"Quitter!" says Mr. Ellins. "But all right. Trot along. Here, Groff, +you're a golfer, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—er—yes," says Peter K., actin' sort of dazed; "but I——" +</P> + +<P> +"That's enough," says Old Hickory. "You take Hirshway's place. +Dunham's your partner. We're playing Nassau, ten a corner. But I'll +tell you,—just to make it interesting, I'll play you on the side to +see whether or not we accept that proposition of yours. Is it a go?" +</P> + +<P> +"But see here, Ellins," conies back Peter K. "I want you to understand +that you or any other man can't tell me to sew my head in a bag +without——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, drop that!" says Old Hickory. "I withdraw it—mostly gout, +anyway. You ought to know that. And if you can beat me at this game +I'll agree to let you have your own way out there. Are you on, or are +you too much of a dub to try it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe I am a dub, Hickory Ellins," says Peter K., peelin' off his +coat, "but any game that you can play—er—— Which is my ball?" +</P> + +<P> +Well, it was some warm contest, believe me, with them two joshin' back +and forth, and at the game time usin' as much foxy strategy as if they +was stealin' railroads away from each other! They must have been at it +for near half an hour when a maid slips in and whispers how Mr. Robert +is callin' for me on the wire. So I puts her on to sub for me with the +bag while I slides into the 'phone booth. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure, Mr. Robert," says I, "I'm still on the job." +</P> + +<P> +"But what is happening?" says he. "Didn't Groff come up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep," says I. "He's here yet." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't say!" says Mr. Robert. "Whe-e-ew! He and the governor +having it hot and heavy, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"And then some," says I. "Peter K. took first round 12-17, he tied the +second, and now he's trapped in the fireplace on a bad ten." +</P> + +<P> +"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh," says I. "Mr. Ellins is layin' under the piano,—only seven, +but stimied for an approach." +</P> + +<P> +"In Heaven's name, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "what do you mean? Mr. +Groff trapped in the fireplace, father lying under the piano—why——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, didn't Piddie tell you? The boob!" says I. "It's just golf, +that's all—indoor kind—a batty variation that they made up +themselves. But don't fret. Everything's all lovely, and I guess the +Corrugated is saved. Come up and look 'em over." +</P> + +<P> +Yep! Peter K. got the decision by slipping over a smear in the fourth, +after which him and Old Hickory leans up against each other and laughs +until their eyes leak. Then Marston wheels in the tea wagon full of +decanters and club soda, and when I left they was clinkin' glasses real +chummy. +</P> + +<P> +"Son," says Old Hickory, as he pads into the office about noon next +day, "I believe I forgot the usual caddie fee. There you are." +</P> + +<P> +"Z-z-z-zing!" says I, starin' after him. Cute little strips of +Treasury kale, them with the C's in the corners, aren't they? Well, I +should worry! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +COMING IN ON THE DRAW +</H3> + + +<P> +Nothin' like bein' a handy man around the shop. Here at the Corrugated +I'm worked in for almost any old thing, from seein' that Mr. Ellins +takes his gout tablets regular, to arrangin' the directors' room for +the annual meeting and when it comes to subbin' for Mr. Robert—say, +what do you guess is the latest act he bills me for? Art expert! Yep, +A-r-t, with a big A! +</P> + +<P> +Sounds foolish, don't it? But at that it wa'n't such a bad hunch on +his part. He's a rash promiser, Mr. Robert is; but a shifty +proposition when you try to push a programme on him, for the first +thing you know he's slid from under. I suspicioned some play like that +was comin' here the other afternoon when Sister Marjorie shows up at +the general offices and asks pouty, "Where's Robert?" +</P> + +<P> +"On the job," says I. "Session of the general sales agents today, you +know." +</P> + +<P> +"But he was to meet me at the Broadway entrance half an hour ago," says +she, "and I've been sitting in the car waiting for him. Call him out, +won't you, Torchy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Won't do any good," says I. "He's booked up for the rest of the day." +</P> + +<P> +"The idea!" says Marjorie. "And he promised faithfully he would go up +with me to see those pictures! You just tell him I'm here, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +There's more or less light of battle in them bright brown eyes of +Marjorie's, and that Ellins chin of hers is set some solid. So when I +tiptoes in where they're dividin' the map of the world into sellin' +areas, and whispers in Mr. Robert's ear that Sister Marjorie is waitin' +outside, I adds a word of warnin'. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a case of pictures, you remember," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, the deuce!" says Mr. Robert. "Hang Brooks Bladen and his +paintings! I can't go, positively. Just explain, will you, Torchy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure; but I'd go hoarse over it," says I. "You know Marjorie, and if +you don't want the meetin' broke up I expect you'd better come out and +face the music." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well, then I suppose I must," says he, leadin' the way. +</P> + +<P> +And Marjorie wa'n't in the mood to stand for any smooth excuses. She +didn't care if he had forgotten, and she guessed his old business +affairs could be put off an hour or so. Besides, this meant so much to +poor Brooks. His very first exhibit, too. Ferdy couldn't go, either. +Another one of his sick headaches. But he had promised to buy a +picture, and Marjorie had hoped that Robert would like one of them well +enough to—— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, if that's all," puts in Mr. Robert, "then tell him I'll take one, +too." +</P> + +<P> +"But you can't buy pictures without seeing them," protests Marjorie. +"Brooks is too sensitive. He wants appreciation, encouragement, you +see." +</P> + +<P> +"A lot I could give him," says Mr. Robert. "Why, I know no more about +that sort of thing than—well, than——" And just here his eye lights +on me. "Oh, I say, though," he goes on, "it would be all right, +wouldn't it, if I sent a—er—a commissioner?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose that would do," says Marjorie. +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "Torchy, go with Marjorie and look at that +lot. If they're any good, buy one for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Wha-a-at!" says I. "Me buy a picture?" +</P> + +<P> +"Full power," says he, startin' back towards the meetin'. "Pick out +the best, and tell Bladen to send me the bill." +</P> + +<P> +And there we're left, Marjorie and me, lookin' foolish at each other. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he's done a duck," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"If you mean he's got himself out of buying a picture, you're +mistaken," says she. "Come along." +</P> + +<P> +She insists on callin' the bluff, too. Course, I tries to show her, +all the way up in the limousine, how punk a performer I'd be at a game +like that, and how they'd spot me for a bush leaguer the first stab I +made. +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all," says Marjorie, "if you do as I tell you." +</P> + +<P> +With that she proceeds to coach me in the art critic business. The +lines wa'n't hard to get, anyway. +</P> + +<P> +"For some of them," she goes on, "you merely go 'Um-m-m!' under your +breath, you know, or 'Ah-h-h-h!' to yourself. Then when I give you a +nudge you may exclaim, 'Fine feeling!' or 'Very daring!' or 'Wonderful +technic, wonderful!'" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but when must I say which?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't matter in the least," says Marjorie. +</P> + +<P> +"And you think just them few remarks," says I, "will pull me through." +</P> + +<P> +"Enough for an entire exhibit at the National Academy," says she. "And +when you decide which you like best, just point it out to Mr. Bladen." +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" says I. "Suppose I pick a lemon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Robert won't know the difference," says she, "and it will serve him +right. Besides, poor Brooks needs the encouragement." +</P> + +<P> +"Kind of a dub beginner with no backing is he?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +Marjorie describes him different. Accordin' to her, he's a classy +comer in the art line, with all kinds of talent up his sleeve and Fame +busy just around the corner on a laurel wreath exactly his size. Seems +Brooks was from a good fam'ly that had dropped their bundle somewhere +along the road; so this art racket that he'd taken up as a time killer +he'd had to turn into a steady job. He wa'n't paintin' just to keep +his brushes soft. He was out to win the kale. +</P> + +<P> +Between the lines I gathers enough to guess that before she hooked up +with Ferdy, the head-achy one, Marjorie had been some mushy over Brooks +boy herself. He'd done a full length of her, it appears, and was +workin' up quite a portrait trade, when all of a sudden he ups and +marries someone else, a rank outsider. +</P> + +<P> +"Too bad!" sighs Marjorie. "It has sadly interfered with his career, +I'm afraid." +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't drivin' him to sign work, is it?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Goodness, no!" says Marjorie. "Just the opposite. Of course, Edith +was a poor girl; but her Uncle Jeff is ever so rich. They live with +him, you know. That's the trouble—Uncle Jeff." +</P> + +<P> +She's a little vague about this Uncle Jeff business; but it helps +explain why we roll up to a perfectly good marble front detached house +just off Riverside Drive, instead of stoppin' at one of them studio +rookeries over on Columbus-ave. And even I'm wise to the fact that +strugglin' young artists don't have a butler on the door unless there's +something like an Uncle Jeff in the fam'ly. +</P> + +<P> +From the dozen or more cars and taxis hung up along the block I judge +this must be a regular card affair, with tea and sandwich trimmin's. +It's a good guess. A maid tows us up two flights, though, before we're +asked to shed anything; and before we lands Marjorie is gaspin' some, +for she ain't lost any weight since she collected Ferdy. Quite a +studio effect they'd made too, by throwin' a couple of servants' rooms +into one and addin' a big skylight. There was the regulation fishnet +draped around, and some pieces of tin armor and plaster casts, which +proves as well as a court affidavit that here's where the real, +sure-fire skookum creative genius holds forth. +</P> + +<P> +It's a giddy bunch of lady gushers that's got together there too, and +the soulful chatter is bein' put over so fast it sounds like +intermission at a cabaret show. I'm introduced proper to Brooks boy +and Wifey; but I'd picked 'em both out at first glimpse. No mistakin' +him. He's got on the kind of costume that goes with the fishnet and +brass tea machine,—flowin' tie, velvet coat, baggy trousers, and all, +even to the Vandyke beard. It's kind of a pale, mud-colored set of +face alfalfa; but, then, Brooks boy is sort of that kind himself—that +is, all but his eyes. They're a wide-set, dreamy, baby-blue pair of +lamps, that beams mild and good-natured on everyone. +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Brooks Bladen is got up even more arty than Hubby. Maybe it +wa'n't sugar sackin' or furniture burlap, but that's what the stuff +looked like. It's gathered jaunty just under her armpits and hangs in +long folds to the floor, with a thick rope of yellow silk knotted +careless at one side with the tassels danglin' below her knee, while +around her head is a band of tinsel decoration that might have been +pinched off from a Christmas tree. She's a tall, willowy young woman, +who waves her bare arms around vivacious when she talks and has lots of +sparkle to her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You dear child!" is her greetin' to Marjorie. "So sweet of you to +attempt all those dreadful stairs! No, don't try to talk yet. We +understand, don't we, Brooks? Nice you're not sensitive about it, too." +</P> + +<P> +I caught the glare Marjorie shoots over, and for a minute I figured how +the picture buyin' deal had been queered at the start; but the next +thing I knew Brooks boy is holdin' Marjorie's hand and beamin' gentle +on her, and she is showin' all her dimples once more. Say, they're +worth watchin', some of these fluff encounters. +</P> + +<P> +My act? Ah, say, most of that good dope is all wasted. Nobody seems +excited over the fact that I've arrived, even Brooks Bladen. As a +salesman he ain't a great success, I judge. Don't tout up his stuff +any, or try to shove off any seconds or shopworn pieces. He just tells +me to look around, and half apologizes for his line in advance. +</P> + +<P> +Well, for real hand-painted stuff it was kind of tame. None of this +snowy-mountain-peak or mirror-lake business, such as you see in the +department stores. It's just North River scenes; some clear, some +smoky, some lookin' up, some lookin' down, and some just across. In +one he'd done a Port Lee ferryboat pretty fair; but there's another +that strikes me harder. It shows a curve in the drive, with one of +them green motor busses goin' by, the top loaded, and off in the +background to one side the Palisades loomin' up against a fair-weather +sunset, while in the middle you can see clear up to Yonkers. Honest, +it's almost as good as some of them things on the insurance calendars, +and I'm standin' gawpin' at it when Brooks Bladen and Marjorie drifts +along. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" says he, sort of inquirin'. +</P> + +<P> +"That must be one of the Albany night boats goin' up," says I. "She'll +be turnin' her lights on pretty quick. And it's goin' to be a corkin' +evenin' for a river trip. You can tell that by——" +</P> + +<P> +But just here Marjorie gives me a jab with her elbow. +</P> + +<P> +"Ow, yes!" says I, rememberin' my lines. "Um-m-m-m-m! Fine feelin'. +Very darin' too, very! And when it comes to the tech stuff—why, it's +there in clusters. Much obliged—er—that is, I guess you can send +this one. Mr. Robert Ellins. That's right. Charge and send." +</P> + +<P> +Maybe he wasn't used to makin' such quick sales; for he stares at me +sort of puzzled, and when I turns to Marjorie she's all pinked up like +a strawberry sundae and is smotherin' a giggle with her mesh purse. I +don't know why, either. Strikes me I'd put it over kind of smooth; but +as there seems to be a slip somewhere it's me for the rapid back-away. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, that'll be all to-day," I goes on, "and—and I'll be waitin' +downstairs, Marjorie." +</P> + +<P> +She don't stop me; so I pushes through the mob at the tea table, +collects my coat and lid, and slips down to the first floor, where I +wanders into the drawin' room. No arty decorations here. Instead of +pictures and plaster casts, the walls are hung with all kinds of +mounted heads and horns, and the floor is covered with odd-lookin' skin +rugs,—tigers, lions, and such. +</P> + +<P> +I'd been waitin' there sometime, inspectin' the still life menagerie, +when all of a sudden in from the hall rolls one of these invalid +wheeled chairs with a funny little old bald-headed gent manipulatin' +levers. What hair he has left is real white, and most of his face is +covered with a thin growth of close-cropped white whiskers; but under +the frosty shrubb'ry, as well as over all the bare space, he's colored +up as bright as a bottle of maraschino cherries. It's the sort of +sunburn a sandy complexion gets on; but not in a month or a year. You +know? One of these blond Eskimo tints, that seems to go clear through +the skin. How he could get it in a wheel chair, though, I couldn't +figure out. Anyway, there wasn't time. Quick as he sees me he throws +in his reverse gear and comes to a stop between the portières. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, young man," he raps out sharp and snappy, "who the particular +blazes are you?" +</P> + +<P> +But, say, I've met too many peevish old parties to let a little jab +like that tie up my tongue. +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" says I, settin' back easy in the armchair. "Oh, I'm a buyer +representin' a private collector." +</P> + +<P> +"Buyer of what?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Art," says I. "Just picked up a small lot,—that one with the Albany +night boat in it, you know." +</P> + +<P> +He stares like he thought I was batty, and then rolls his chair over +closer. "Do I understand," says he, "that you have been buying a +picture—here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure," says I. "Say, ain't you on yet, and you right in the house? +Well, you ought to get next." +</P> + +<P> +"I mean to," says he. "Bladen's stuff, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh," says I. "And, believe me, Brooksy is some paint slinger; +that is, fine feelin', darin' technic, all that sort of dope." +</P> + +<P> +"I see," says he, noddin' his head. "Holding a sale, is he? On one of +the upper floors?" +</P> + +<P> +"Top," says I. "Quite a classy little studio joint he's made up there." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he has, has he?" says the old boy, snappin' his eyes. "Well, of +all the confounded—er—young man, ring that bell!" +</P> + +<P> +Say, how was I goin' to know? I was beginnin' to suspect that this +chatty streak of mine wa'n't goin' to turn out lucky for someone; but +it's gone too far to hedge. I pushes the button, and in comes the +butler. +</P> + +<P> +"Tupper," says the old man, glarin' at him shrewd, "you know where the +top-floor studio is, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-es, Sir," says Tapper, almost chokin' over it. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll find Mr. and Mrs. Bladen there," goes on old Grouchy. "Ask +them to step down here for a moment at once." +</P> + +<P> +Listened sort of mussy from where I sat, and I wa'n't findin' the +armchair quite so comf'table. "Guess I'll be loafin' along," says I, +casual. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll stay just where you are for the present!" says he, wheelin' +himself across the door-way. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well, if you insist," says I. +</P> + +<P> +He did. And for two minutes there I listens to the clock tick and +watches the old sport's white whiskers grow bristly. Then comes the +Bladens. He waves 'em to a parade rest opposite me. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Uncle Jeff?" says Mrs. Bladen, sort of anxious. And with +that I begins to piece out the puzzle. This was Uncle Jeff, eh, the +one with the bank account? +</P> + +<P> +"So," he explodes, like openin' a bottle of root beer, "you've gone +back to your paint daubing, have you? And you're actually trying to +sell your namby-pamby stuff on my top floor? Come now, Edith, let's +hear you squirm out of that!" +</P> + +<P> +Considerable fussed, Edith is. No wonder! After one glance at me she +flushes up and begins twistin' the yellow silk cord nervous; but +nothin' in the way of a not guilty plea seems to occur to her. As for +Hubby, he blinks them mild eyes of his a couple of times, and then +stands there placid with both hands in the pockets of his velvet coat, +showin' no deep emotion at all. +</P> + +<P> +"It's so, isn't it?" demands Uncle. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-es, Uncle Jeff," admits Edith. "But poor Brooks could do nothing +else, you know. If he'd taken a studio outside, you would have wanted +to know where he was. And those rooms were not in use. Really, what +else could he do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mean to tell me he couldn't get along without puttering around with +those fool paints and brushes?" snorts Uncle Jeff. +</P> + +<P> +"It—it's his life work, Uncle Jeff," says Mrs. Bladen. +</P> + +<P> +"Rubbish!" says the old boy. "In the first place, it isn't work. +Might be for a woman, maybe, but not for an able-bodied man. You know +my sentiments on that point well enough. In the second place, when I +asked you two to come and live with me, there was no longer any need +for him to do that sort of thing. And you understood that too." +</P> + +<P> +Edith sighs and nods her head. +</P> + +<P> +"But still he goes on with his sissy paint daubing!" says Uncle. +</P> + +<P> +"They're not daubs!" flashes back Edith. "Brooks has been doing some +perfectly splendid work. Everyone says so." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says Uncle Jeff. "That's what your silly friends tell you. +But it doesn't matter. I won't have him doing it in my house. You +thought, just because I was crippled and couldn't get around or out of +these confounded four rooms, that you could fool me. But you can't, +you see. And now I'm going to give you and Brooks your choice,—either +he stops painting, or out you both go. Now which will it be?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Sir," says Brooks, speakin' up prompt but pleasant, "if that is +the way you feel about it, we shall go." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, squintin' hard at him. "Do you mean it? Want +to leave all this for—for the one mean little room I found you in!" +</P> + +<P> +"Under your conditions, most certainly, Sir," says Brooks. "I think +Edith feels as I do. Don't you, Edith?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-es, of course," says Mrs. Bladen. Then, turnin' on Uncle Jeff, +"Only I think you are a mean, hard-hearted old man, even if you are my +uncle! Oh, you don't know how often I've wanted to tell you so +too,—always prying into this, asking questions about that, finding +fault, forever cross and snappish and suspicious. A waspish, crabbed +old wretch, that's what you are! I just hate you! So there!" +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Jeff winces a little at these last jabs; but he only turns to +Brooks and asks quiet, "And I suppose those are your sentiments too?" +</P> + +<P> +"Edith is a little overwrought," says Brooks. "It's true enough that +you're not quite an agreeable person to live with. Still, I hardly +feel that I have treated you just right in this matter. I shouldn't +have deceived you about the studio. When I found that I couldn't bear +to give up my work and live like a loafer on your money, I should have +told you so outright. I haven't liked it, Sir, all this dodging and +twisting of the truth. I'm glad it's over. Would you prefer to have +us go tonight or in the morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"Come now, that's not the point," says Uncle Jeff. "You hate me, too, +don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," says Brooks, "and I'm sure Edith doesn't either." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes I do, Brooks," breaks in Edith. +</P> + +<P> +Brooks shrugs his shoulders sort of hopeless. +</P> + +<P> +"In that case," says he, "we shall leave at once—now. I will send +around for our traps later. You have been very generous, and I'm +afraid I've shown myself up for an ungrateful ass, if not worse. +Goodby, Sir." +</P> + +<P> +He stands there holdin' out his hand, with the old gent starin' hard at +him and not movin'. Fin'lly Uncle Jeff breaks the spell. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll be hanged!" says he. "Bladen, I didn't think it was in +you. I took you for one of the milksop kind; which shows just how big +a fool an old fool can be. And Edith is right. I'm a crazy, +quarrelsome old wretch. It isn't all rheumatism, either. Some of it +is disposition. And don't you go away thinking I've been generous, +trying to tie you two young people down this way. It was rank +selfishness. But you don't know how hard it comes, being shut up like +this and able only to move around on wheels—after the life I've led +too! I suppose I ought to be satisfied. I've had my share—nearly +thirty years on the go, in jungle, forest, mountains, all over the +globe. I've hunted big game in every—but you know all about that. +And now I suppose I'm worn out, useless. I was trying to get used to +it, and having you young folks around has helped a lot. But it hasn't +been fair to you—not fair." +</P> + +<P> +He sort of chokes up at the end, and his lower lip trembles some; but +only for a second. He straightens up once more in his chair. "You +must try to make allowances, Edith," he goes on. "Don't—don't hate +the old wretch too hard!" +</P> + +<P> +That got to her, all right. She' wa'n't gush all the way through, any +more'n Uncle Jeff was all crust. Next thing he knew she was givin' him +the fond tackle and sobbin' against his vest. +</P> + +<P> +"There, there!" says he, pattin' her soothin'. "We all make our +mistakes, old and young; only us old fellows ought to know better." +</P> + +<P> +"But—but they aren't daubs!" sobs out Edith. "And—and you said they +were, without even seeing them." +</P> + +<P> +"Just like me," says he. "And I'm no judge, anyway. But perhaps I'd +better take a look at some of them. How would that be, eh? Couldn't +Tupper bring a couple of them down now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, may he?" says Edith, brightenin' up and turnin' off the sprayer. +"I have wished that you could see them, you know." +</P> + +<P> +So Tupper is sent for a couple of paintings, and Brooks chases along to +bring down two more. They ranges 'em on chairs, and wheels Uncle Jeff +into a good position. He squints at 'em earnest and tries hard to work +up some enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"Ferryboats, sugar refineries, and the North River," says he. "All +looks natural enough. I suppose they're well done too; but—but see +here, young man, couldn't you find anything better to paint?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" says Brooks. "You see, I was able to get out only +occasionally without——" +</P> + +<P> +"I see," says Uncle Jeff. "Tied to a cranky old man in a wheel chair. +But, by George! I could take you to places worth wasting your paint +on. Ever heard of Yangarook? There's a pink mountain there that rises +up out of a lake, and on still mornings—well, you ought to see it! I +pitched my camp there once for a fortnight. I could find it again. +You go in from Boola Bay, up the Zambesi, and through the jungle. Then +there's the Khula Klaht valley. That's in the Himalayas. Pictures? +Why, you could get 'em there!" +</P> + +<P> +"I've no doubt I could, Sir," says Brooks. "I've dreamed of doing +something like that some day, too. But what's the use?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, almost standin' up in his excitement. "Why not, +my boy? I could take you there, chair or no chair. Didn't I go in a +litter once, halfway across Africa, when a clumsy Zulu beater let a +dying rhino gore me in the hip? Yes, and bossed a caravan of sixty +men, and me flat on my back! I'm better able to move now than I was +then, too. And I'm ready to try it. Another year of this, and I'd be +under the ground. I'm sick of being cooped up. I'm hungry for a +breath of mountain air, for a glimpse of the old trails. No use taking +my guns; but you could lug along your painting kit, and Edith could +take care of both of us. We could start within a week. What do you +say, you two?" +</P> + +<P> +Brooks he looks over at Edith. "Oh, Uncle Jeff!" says she, her eyes +sparklin'. "I should just love it!" +</P> + +<P> +"I could ask for nothing better," says Brooks. +</P> + +<P> +"Then it's settled," says Uncle Jeff, reachin' out a hand to each of +'em. "Hurrah for the long trail! We're off!" +</P> + +<P> +"Me too," says I, "if that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" says Uncle Jeff. "Our young friend who's at the bottom of the +whole of this. Here, Sir! I'm going to teach you a lesson that will +make you cautious about gossiping with strange old men. Pick up that +leopard skin at your feet." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Sir," says I, holdin' it out to him. +</P> + +<P> +"No, examine it carefully," says he. "That came from a beast I shot on +the shores of Lake Tanganyika. It's the finest specimen of the kind in +my whole collection. Throw it over your arm, you young scamp, and get +along with you!" +</P> + +<P> +And they're all grinnin' amiable as I backs out with my mouth open. +</P> + +<P> +"What the deuce!" says Mr. Robert after lunch next day, as he gazes +first at a big package a special messenger has just left, and then at a +note which comes with it. "'The Palisades at Dusk'—five hundred +dollars?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" I gasps. "Did he sting you that hard?" +</P> + +<P> +"But it's receipted," says he, "with the compliments of Brooks Bladen. +What does that mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Means I'm some buyer, I guess," says I. "Souvenir of a little fam'ly +reunion I started, that's all. But you ain't the only one. Wait till +you see what I drew from Uncle Jeff." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL +</H3> + + +<P> +He meant well, Mr. Robert did; but, say, between you and me, he come +blamed near spillin' the beans. Course, I could see by the squint to +his eyelids that he's about to make what passes with him for a comic +openin'. +</P> + +<P> +"I hate to do it, Torchy," says he, "especially on such a fine +afternoon as this." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," says I, "throw the harpoon! Got your yachtin' cap on, ain't +you? Well, have I got to sub for you at a directors' meeting or what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Worse than that," says he. "You see, Marjorie and Ferdy are having a +veranda tea this afternoon, up at their country house." +</P> + +<P> +"Help!" says I. "But you ain't billin' me for any such——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, not exactly that," says he. "They can get along very well without +me, and I shall merely 'phone out that Tubby Van Orden has asked me to +help try out his new forty-footer. But there remains little Gladys. +I'd promised to bring her out with me when I came." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-e-es?" says I doubtful. "She's a little joker, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, not at all," says he. "Merely a young school friend of +Marjorie's. Used to be in the kindergarten class when Marjorie was a +senior, and took a great fancy to her, as little girls sometimes do to +older ones, you know." +</P> + +<P> +Also it seems little Gladys had been spendin' a night or so with +another young friend in town, and someone had to round her up and +deliver her at the tea, where her folks would be waitin' for her. +</P> + +<P> +"So I'm to take her by the hand and tow her up by train, am I?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"I had planned," says Mr. Robert, shakin' his head solemn, "to have you +go up in the machine with her, as Marjorie wants to send someone back +in it—Miss Vee, by the way. Sure it wouldn't bore you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Z-z-z-ing!" says I. "Say, if it does you'll never hear about it, +believe me!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Robert chuckles. "Then take good care of little Gladys," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't I, though!" says I. "I'll tell her fairy tales and feed her +stick candy all the way up." +</P> + +<P> +Honest, I did blow in a quarter on fancy pink gumdrops as I'm passin' +through the arcade; but when I strolls out to the limousine Martin +touches his hat so respectful that I gives him a dip into the first bag. +</P> + +<P> +"Got your sailin' orders, ain't you, Martin?" says I. "You know we +collect a kid first." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, Sir," says he. "Madison avenue. I have the number, Sir." +Just like that you know. "I have the number, Sir"—and more business +with the cap brim. Awful bore, ain't it, specially right there on +Broadway with so many folks to hear? +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," says I, languid. Then it's me lollin' back on the +limousine cushions and starin' haughty at the poor dubs we graze by as +they try to cross the street. Gee, but it's some different when you're +inside gazin' out, than when you're outside gawpin' in! And even if +you don't have the habit reg'lar, but are only there just for the time +bein', you're bound to get that chesty feelin' more or less. I always +do. About the third block I can look slant-eyed at the cheap skates +ridin' in hired taxis and curl the lip of scorn. +</P> + +<P> +I've noticed, though, that when I work up feelin's like that there's +bound to be a bump comin' to me soon. But I wasn't lookin' for this +one until it landed. Martin pulls up at the curb, and I hops out, +rushes up the steps, and rings the bell. +</P> + +<P> +"Little Miss Gladys ready?" says I to the maid. +</P> + +<P> +She sort of humps her eyebrows and remarks that she'll see. With that +she waves me into the reception hall, and pretty soon comes back to +report that Miss Gladys will be down in a few minutes. She had the +real skirt notion of time, that maid. For more'n a solid half-hour I +squirms around on a chair wonderin' what could be happenin' up in the +nursery. Then all of a sudden a chatter of goodbys comes from the +upper hall, a maid trots down and hands me a suitcase, and then appears +this languishin' vision in the zippy French lid and the draped silk +wrap. +</P> + +<P> +It's one of these dinky brimless affairs, with skyrocket trimmin' on +the back, and it fits down over her face like a mush bowl over Baby +Brother; but under the rim you could detect some chemical blonde hair +and a pair of pink ears ornamented with pearl pendants the size of +fruit knife handles. She has a complexion to match, one of the kind +that's laid on in layers, with the drugstore red only showing through +the whitewash in spots, and the lips touched up brilliant. Believe me, +it was some artistic makeup! +</P> + +<A NAME="img-134"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-134.jpg" ALT="Believe me, it was some artistic makeup!" BORDER="2" WIDTH="402" HEIGHT="646"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Believe me, it was some artistic makeup!] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Course, I frames this up for the friend; so I asks innocent, "Excuse +me, but when is little Miss Gladys comin'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I'm Gladys!" comes from between the carmine streaks. +</P> + +<P> +I gawps at her, then at the maid, and then back at the Ziegfeld vision +again. "But, see here!" I goes on. "Mr. Robert he says how——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know," she breaks in. "He 'phoned. The stupid old thing +couldn't come himself, and he's sent one of his young men. That's much +nicer. Torchy, didn't he say? How odd! But come along. Don't stand +there staring. Good-by, Marie. You must do my hair this way again +sometime." +</P> + +<P> +And next thing I know I'm helpin' her into the car, while Martin tries +to smother a grin. "There you are!" says I, chuckin' her suitcase in +after her. "I—I guess I'll ride in front." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" says she. "And leave me to take that long ride all alone? +I'll not do it. Come in here at once, or I'll not go a step! Come!" +</P> + +<P> +No shrinking violet about Gladys, and as I climbs in I shakes loose the +last of that kindergarten dope I'd been primed with. I'll admit I was +some fussed for awhile too, and I expect I does the dummy act, sittin' +there gazin' into the limousine mirror where she's reflected vivid. I +was tryin' to size her up and decide whether she really was one of the +chicken ballet, or only a high school imitation. I'm so busy at it +that I overlooks the fact that she has the same chance of watchin' me. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" says she, as we swings into Central Park. "I trust you +approve?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says I, comin' out of the trance. "Oh, I get you now. You're +waitin' for the applause. Let's see, are you on at the Winter Garden, +or is it the Casino roof?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now don't be rude," says she. "Whatever made you think I'd been on +the stage?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was only judgin' by the get-up," says I. "It's fancy, all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh!" says she. "I've merely had my hair done the new way. I think +it's perfectly dear too. There's just one little touch, though, that +Marie didn't quite get. I wonder if I couldn't—you'll not care if I +try, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't mind me," says I. +</P> + +<P> +She didn't. She'd already yanked out three or four hatpins and has +pried off the zippy lid. +</P> + +<P> +"There, hold that, will you?" says she, crowdin' over into the middle +of the seat so's to get a good view in the mirror, and beginnin' to +revise the scenic effect on her head. Near as I can make out, the hair +don't come near enough to meetin' her eyebrows in front or to coverin' +her ears on the side. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile she goes on chatty, "I suppose Mother'll be wild again when +she sees me like this. She always does make such a row if I do +anything different. There was an awful scene the first time I had my +hair touched up. Fancy!" +</P> + +<P> +"I was wonderin' if that was the natural tint?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Goodness, no!" says Gladys. "It was a horrid brown. And when I used +to go to the seminary they made me wear it braided down my back, with a +bow on top. I was a sight! The seminary was a stupid place, though. +I was always breaking some of their silly rules; so Mummah sent me to +the convent. That was better. Such a jolly lot of girls there, some +whose mothers were great actresses. And just think—two of my best +chums have gone on the stage since! One of them was married and +divorced the very first season too. Now wasn't that thrilling? Mother +is furious because she still writes to me. How absurd! And some of +the others she won't allow me to invite to the house. But we meet now +and then, just the same. There were two in our box party last night, +and we had such a ripping lark afterward!" +</P> + +<P> +Gladys was runnin' on as confidential as if she'd known me all her +life, interruptin' the flow only when she makes a jab with the +powder-puff and uses the eyebrow pencil. And bein' as how I'd been +cast for a thinkin' part I sneaks out the bag of gumdrops and tucks one +into the off side of my face. The move don't escape her, though. +</P> + +<P> +"Candy?" says she, sniffin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry I can't offer you a cigarette," says I, holdin' out the bag. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says she. "I have smoked them, though. M-m-m-m! Gumdrops! +You dear boy!" +</P> + +<P> +Yes, Gladys and me had a real chummy time of it durin' that hour's +drive, and I notice she put away her share of the candy just as +enthusiastic as if she'd been a kid in short dresses. As a matter of +fact, she acts and talks like any gushy sixteen-year-old. That's about +what she is, I discovers; though I wouldn't have guessed it if she +hadn't let it out herself. +</P> + +<P> +But, say, she's some wise for her years, little Gladys is, or else +she's a good bluffer! She had me holdin' my breath more'n once, as she +opens up various lines of chatter. She'd seen all the ripe problem +plays, was posted on the doin's of the Reno colony, and read the Robert +Chambers stuff as fast as it came out. +</P> + +<P> +And all the time she talks she's goin' through target practice with her +eyes, usin' me as the mark. A lively pair of lamps Gladys has too, the +big, innocent, baby-blue kind that sort of opens up wide and kind of +invites you to gaze into the depths until you get dizzy. Them and the +little, openin' rosebud mouth makes a strong combination, and if it +hadn't been for the mural decorations I might have fallen hard for +Gladys; but ever since I leaned up against a shiny letterbox once I've +been shy of fresh paint. So I proceeds to hand out the defensive josh. +</P> + +<P> +"Roll 'em away, Sis," says I, "roll 'em the other way!" +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh!" says she. "Can't a person even look at you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're only wastin' ammunition," says I. "You can't put any spell on +me, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, really!" says she, rakin' me with a quick broadside. "Do you mean +that you don't like me at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"Since you've called for it," says I, "I'll admit I ain't strong for +these spotlight color schemes, specially on kids." +</P> + +<P> +"Kids!" she sputters. "I think you're perfectly horrid, so there!" +</P> + +<P> +"Stick to it," says I. "Makes me feel better satisfied with myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Redhead!" says she, runnin' her tongue out. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, clear to the roots," says I, "and the tint didn't come out of a +bottle, either." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care," says she. "All the girls do it." +</P> + +<P> +"Your bunch, maybe," says I; "but there's a few that don't." +</P> + +<P> +"Old sticks, yes," says she. "I'm glad you like that kind. You're as +bad as Mummah." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that the worst you can say of me?" says I. "How that would please +Mother!" +</P> + +<P> +Oh, sure, quite a homelike little spat we had, passin' the left handers +back and forth—and inside of five minutes she has made it all up again +and is holdin' out her hand for the last gumdrop. +</P> + +<P> +"You're silly; but you're rather nice, after all," says she, poutin' +her lips at me. +</P> + +<P> +"Now quit that," says I. "I got my fingers crossed." +</P> + +<P> +"'Fraid cat!" says she. "But here's the house, and we're frightfully +early. Now don't act as though you thought I might bite you. I'm +going to take your arm." +</P> + +<P> +She does too, and cuddles up kittenish as we lands at the porte +cochère. I gets the idea of this move. She's caught a glimpse of a +little group over by the front door, and she wants to make a showy +entrance. +</P> + +<P> +And who do you guess it is we finds arrangin' the flower vases? Oh, +only Marjorie and Miss Vee. Here I am too, with giddy Gladys, the +imitation front row girl, clingin' tight to my right wing. You should +have seen Vee's eyebrows go up, also Marjorie's stare. It's a minute +or so before she recognizes our little friend, and stands there lookin' +puzzled at us. Talk about your embarrassin' stage waits! I could feel +my face pinkin' up and my ears tinglin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, say," I breaks out, "don't tell me I've gone and collected the +wrong one!" +</P> + +<P> +At that there comes a giggle from under the zippy lid. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it's Gladys!" says Marjorie. "Well, I never!" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, you dear old goose!" says Gladys, and rushes to a clinch. +</P> + +<P> +"But—but, Gladys!" says Marjorie, holdin' her off for another +inspection. "How you have—er—grown up! Why, your mother never told +me a word!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Mummah!" says she, indicatin' deep scorn. "Besides, she hasn't +seen me for nearly two days, and—well, I suppose she will fuss, as +usual, about the way I'm dressed. But I've had a perfectly glorious +visit, and coming up in the car with dear Torchy was such sport. +Wasn't it, now?" With which she turns to me. +</P> + +<P> +"Was it?" says I, and I notices both Vee and Marjorie gazin' at me +int'rested. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," says Gladys, prattlin' on, "we quarreled all the way up; +but it was all his fault, and he—oh, phsaw! Here come my dear +parents." +</P> + +<P> +Takin' Gladys as a sample, you'd never guessed it; for Mother is a +quiet, modest appearin' little party, with her wavy brown hair parted +in the middle and brushed back low. She's wearin' her own complexion +too, and, while she's dressed more or less neat and stylish, she don't +sport ear danglers, or anything like that. With Father in the +background she comes sailin' up smilin', and it ain't until she gets a +peek under the mush-bowl lid that her expression changes. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Gladys!" she gasps. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Mummah!" protests Gladys peevish. "For goodness sake don't +begin—anyway, not here!" +</P> + +<P> +"But—but, my dear!" goes on Mother, starin' at her shocked. +"That—that hat! And your hair! And—and your face!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, bother!" says Gladys, stampin' her high-heeled pump. "You'd like +to have me dress like Cousin Tilly, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"But you know I asked you not to—to have that done to your hair +again," says Mother. +</P> + +<P> +"And I said I would, so there!" says Gladys emphatic. +</P> + +<P> +Mother sighs and turns to Father, who is makin' his inspection with a +weary look on his face. He's just an average, stout-built, +good-natured lookin' duck, Father is, a little bald in front, and just +now he's rubbin' the bald spot sort of aimless. +</P> + +<P> +"You see, Arthur," says Mother. "Can't you do something?" +</P> + +<P> +First Father scowls, and then he flushes up. "Why—er—ah—oh, blast +it all, Sallie, don't put it up to me!" says he. Then he pulls out a +long black cigar, bites the end off savage, and beats it around the +corner. +</P> + +<P> +That was a brilliant move of his; for Mother turns out to be one of the +weepy kind, and in a minute more she's slumped into a chair and is +sobbin' away. She's sure she don't know why Gladys should do such +things. Hadn't she forbid her to use so much rouge and powder? Hadn't +she asked her not to wear those hideous ear jewels? And so on and so +on, with Gladys standin' back poutin' defiant. But, say, when they get +too big to spank, what else can Father and Mother do? +</P> + +<P> +Fin'lly Vee seems to have an idea. She whispers it into Marjorie's +ear, slips into the house, and comes back with a hand mirror and a damp +washcloth, which she proceeds to offer to Gladys, suggestin' that she +use it. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I sha'n't!" says Gladys, her big eyes flashin' scrappy. "I +shall stay just as I am, and if Mother wants to be foolish she can get +over it, that's all!" And Gladys switches over to a porch chair and +slams herself into it. +</P> + +<P> +Vee looks at her a minute, and then bites her upper lip like she was +keepin' back some remarks. Next she whispers again to Marjorie, who +passes it on to Mother, and then the three of 'em disappears in the +house, leavin' Gladys poutin' on one side of the front door, and me in +a porch swing on the other waitin' for the next act. +</P> + +<P> +Must have been ten minutes or more before the two plotters appears +again, chattin' away merry with Mother, who's between 'em. And, say, +you should have seen Mother! Talk about your startlin' changes! +They'd been busy with the make-up box, them two had, and now Mother's +got on just as much war paint as Daughter—maybe a little more. Also +they've dug up a blond transformation somewhere, which covers up all +the brown hair, and they've fitted her out with long jet earrings, and +touched up her eyebrows—and, believe me, with all that yellow hair +down over her eyes, and the rouged lips, she looks just like she'd +strayed in from the White Light district! +</P> + +<P> +You wouldn't think just a little store hair and face calcimine could +make such a change in anybody. Honest, when I tumbles to the fact that +this sporty lookin' female is only Mother fixed up I almost falls out +of the swing! That's nothin' to the jolt that gets to Gladys. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother!" she gasps. "Wha—what have you been doing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I've been getting ready for the tea, Gladys," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"But—but, Mother," says Gladys, "you're never going to let people see +you like that, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not, my dear?" says Mother. +</P> + +<P> +"But your face—ugh!" says Gladys. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, bother!" says Mother. "I suppose you'd like to have me look like +Aunt Martha?" +</P> + +<P> +Gladys stares at her for awhile with her eyes wide and set, like she +was watchin' somethin' horrible that she couldn't turn away from, and +then she goes to pieces in a weepin' fit of her own. Nobody +interferes, and right in the midst of it she breaks off, marches over +to a wicker porch table where the mirror and washcloth had been left, +props the glass up against a vase, and goes to work. First off she +sheds the pearl earrings. +</P> + +<P> +At that Mother sits down opposite and follows suit with her jet +danglers. +</P> + +<P> +Next Gladys mops off the scenic effect. +</P> + +<P> +Marjorie produces another washcloth, and Mother makes a clean sweep too. +</P> + +<P> +Gladys snatches out a handful of gold hairpins, destroys the turban +twist that Marie had spent so much time buildin' up, and knots 'er hair +simple in the back. +</P> + +<P> +Mother caps this by liftin' off the blond transformation. +</P> + +<P> +And as I left for a stroll around the grounds they'd both got back to +lookin' more or less nice and natural. They had gone to a close clinch +and was sobbin' affectionate on each other's shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +Later the tea got under way and went on as such things generally do, +with folks comin' and goin', and a buzz of chin music that you could +hear clear out to the gate, where I was waitin' with Martin until we +should get the signal to start back. +</P> + +<P> +I didn't know just how it would be, but I suspected I might be invited +to ride in front on the home trip. I'd made up my mind to start there, +anyway. But, say, when the time comes and Vee trips out to the +limousine, where I'm holdin' the door open and lookin' sheepish, I +takes a chance on a glance into them gray eyes of hers. I got a chill +too. It's only for a second, though. She was doing her best to look +cold and distant; but behind that I could spot a smile. So I changes +the programme. +</P> + +<P> +"Say," says I, followin' her in and shuttin' the door, "wa'n't that kid +Gladys the limit, though?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says she, givin' me the quizzin' stare, "I thought you had just +loads of fun coming up." +</P> + +<P> +"Hearing which cruel words," says I, "our hero strode moodily into his +castle." +</P> + +<P> +Vee snickers at that. "And locked the haughty maiden out in the cold, +I suppose?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"If it was you," says I, "I'd take the gate off the hinges." +</P> + +<P> +"Silly!" says she. "Do you know, Gladys looked real sweet afterward." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet the reform don't last, though," says I. "But that was a +great scheme of yours for persuadin' her to scrub off the stencil work. +There's so many of that kind nowadays, maybe the idea would be worth +copyrightin'. What do you think, Vee?" +</P> + +<P> +Never mind the rest, though. We had a perfectly good ride back, and up +to date Aunty ain't wise to it. +</P> + +<P> +Of course by next mornin' too Mr. Robert has forgot all about the +afternoon before, and he seems surprised when I puts in an expense bill +of twenty-five cents. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this for?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Gumdrops for little Gladys," says I, and as he forks over a quarter I +never cracks a smile. +</P> + +<P> +Wait until he hears the returns from Marjorie, though! I'll give him +some string to pay up for that kindergarten steer of his. Watch me! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER +</H3> + + +<P> +"Well?" says I, keepin' my feet up on the desk and glancin' casual over +the brass rail. "What's your complaint, Spaghetti?" +</P> + +<P> +It's a wrong guess, to begin with; but I wa'n't even takin' the trouble +to place him accurate. He's some kind of a foreigner, and that's +enough. Besides, from the fidgety way he's grippin' his hat in both +hands, and the hesitating sidlin' style he has of makin' his approach, +I figured he must be a stray that had got the wrong number. +</P> + +<P> +"If—if you please, Sir," says he, bowin' elaborate and humble, "Mr. +Robert Ellins." +</P> + +<P> +"Gwan!" says I. "You read that on the floor directory. You don't know +Mr. Robert." +</P> + +<P> +"But—but if you please, Sir," he goes on, "I wish to speak with him." +</P> + +<P> +"You do, eh?" says I. "Now, ain't that cute of you? Think you can +pick out any name on the board and drift in for a chat, do you? Come +now, what you peddlin'—dollar safety-razors, bullpups, or what?" +</P> + +<P> +He ain't a real live wire, this heavy-faced, wide-shouldered, +squatty-built party with the bumper crop of curly black hair. He +blinks his big, full eyes kind of solemn, starin' at me puzzled, and +about as intelligent as a cow gazin' over a fence. An odd lookin' gink +he was, sort of a cross between a dressed up bartender on his day off +and a longshoreman havin' his picture taken. +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse," says he, rousin' a little, "but—but it is not to peddle. I +would wish to speak with Mr. Robert Ellins." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, you can't," says I, wavin' towards the door; "so beat it!" +</P> + +<P> +This don't make any more impression than as if I'd tried to push him +over with one finger. "I would wish," he begins again, "to speak +with——" +</P> + +<P> +"Say, that's all on the record," says I, "and the motion's been denied." +</P> + +<P> +"But I——" he starts in once more, "I have——" +</P> + +<P> +Just then Piddie comes turkeyin' over pompous and demands to know what +all the debate is about. +</P> + +<P> +"Look what wants to see Mr. Robert!" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible!" says Piddie, takin' one look. "Send him away at once!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hear that?" says I to Curlylocks. "Not a chance! Fade, Spaghetti, +fade!" +</P> + +<P> +The full force of that decision seems to penetrate his nut; for he +gulps hard once or twice, the muscles on his thick throat swells up +rigid, and next a big round tear leaks out of his off eye and trickles +down over his cheek. Maybe it don't look some absurd too, seein' signs +of such deep emotion on a face like that. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, none of that, my man!" puts in Piddie, who's as chicken hearted +as he is peevish. "Torchy, you—you attend to him." +</P> + +<P> +"What'll I do," says I, "call in a plumber to stop the leak?" +</P> + +<P> +"Find out who he is and what he wants," says he, "and then pack him +off. I am very busy." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," says I, turnin' to the thick guy, "what's the name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" says he. "I—I am Zandra Popokoulis." +</P> + +<P> +"Help!" says I. "Popo—here, write it on the pad." But even when he's +done that I can't do more than make a wild stab at sayin' it. "Oh yes, +thanks," I goes on. "Popover for short, eh? Think Mr. Robert would +recognise you by that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse, Sir," says he, "but at the club he would speak to me as Mike." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, at the club, eh?" says I. "Say, I'm beginnin' to get a glimmer. +Been workin' at one of Mr. Robert's clubs, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am his waiter for long time, Sir," says Popover. +</P> + +<P> +Course, the rest was simple. He'd quit two or three months ago to take +a trip back home, havin' been promised by the head steward that he +could have his place again any time inside of a year. But imagine the +base perfidy! A second cousin of the meat chef has drifted in +meanwhile, been set to work at Popover's old tables, and the result is +that when Mike reports to claim his job he gets the cold, heartless +chuck. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not rustle another, then?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +You'd thought, though, to see the gloomy way he shakes his head, that +this was the last chance he had left. I gather too that club jobs are +fairly well paid, steadier than most kinds of work, and harder to pick +up. +</P> + +<P> +"Also," he adds, sort of shy, "there is Armina." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, always!" says I. "Bunch of millinery in the offing. It never +fails. You're her steady, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Popover smiles grateful and pours out details. Armina was a fine girl, +likewise rich—oh, yes. Her father had a flower jobbin' business on +West 28th-st.—very grand. For Armina he had ideas. Any would-be +son-in-law must be in business too. Yet there was a way. He would +take in a partner with two hundred and fifty dollars cash. And Mr. +Popokoulis had saved up nearly that much when he'd got this fool notion +of goin' back home into his head. Now here he was flat broke and +carryin' the banner. It was not only a case of goin' hungry, but of +losin' out on the fair Armina. Hence the eye moisture. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes," says I. "But the weeps won't help any. And, even if Mr. +Robert would listen to all this sad tale, it's ten to one he wouldn't +butt in at the club. I might get a chance to put it up to him, though. +Suppose you drop in to-morrow sometime, and I'll let you know." +</P> + +<P> +"But I would wish," says Popover, "to speak with——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, ditch it!" I breaks in weary. "Say, you must have been takin' +militant lessons from Maud Malone. Look here! If you're bound to +stick around and take a long chance, camp there on the bench. Mr. +Robert's busy inside, now; but if he should get through before +lunch—well, we'll see. But don't go bankin' on anything." +</P> + +<P> +And it was a lovely sample of arrested mental anguish that I has before +me for the next hour or so,—this Popokoulis gent, with his great, +doughy face frozen into a blank stare, about as expressive as a +half-baked squash pie, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, and only +now and then a spasm in his throat showin' that he was still thinkin' +an occasional thought. +</P> + +<P> +Course, Piddie discovers him after a while and demands pettish, "That +person still here! Who is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Club waiter with a mislaid job," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"What!" says Piddie. "A waiter? Just a common waiter?" +</P> + +<P> +I couldn't begin to put in all the deep disgust that Piddie expresses; +for, along with his fondness for gettin' next to swell people, he seems +to have a horror of mixin' at all with the common herd. "Waiters!" he +sniffs. "The scum of mankind. If they had a spark of courage, or a +gleam of self respect, or a teaspoonful of brains, they wouldn't be +waiters. Bah!" +</P> + +<P> +"Also I expect," says I, "if they was all noble specimens of manhood +like us, Sherry's and Rector's would have to be turned into automatic +food dispensaries, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"No fear!" says Piddie. "The lower classes will always produce enough +spineless beings to wear aprons and carry trays. Look at that one +there! I suppose he never has a thought or an ambition above——" +</P> + +<P> +Bz-z-z-zt! goes the buzzer over my desk, and I'm off on the jump for +Mr. Robert's room. I wa'n't missin' any of his calls that mornin'; for +a partic'lar friend of mine was in there—Skid Mallory. Remember Skid, +the young college hick that I helped find his footin' when he first hit +the Corrugated? You know he married a Senator's daughter, and got +boosted into an assistant general manager's berth. And Skid's been +making good ever since. He'd just come back from a little trip abroad, +sort of a delayed weddin' tour, and you can't guess what he'd pulled +off. +</P> + +<P> +I'd only heard it sketched out so far, but it seems while him and young +Mrs. Mallory was over there in Athens, or some such outlandish place, +this late muss with the Turks was just breakin' loose. Skid he leaves +Wifey at the hotel one mornin' while he goes out for a little stroll; +drifts down their Newspaper Row, where the red ink war extras are so +thick the street looks like a raspberry patch; follows the drum music +up as far as City Hall, where the recruits are bein' reviewed by the +King; listens to the Greek substitute for "Buh-ruh-ruh! Soak 'em!" and +the next thing he knows he's wavin' his lid and yellin' with the best +of 'em. +</P> + +<P> +It must have stirred up some of that old football fightin' blood of +his; for he'd organized a regular cheerin' section, right there +opposite to the royal stand, and was whoopin' things up like it was +fourth down and two to go on the five-yard line, when all of a sudden +over pikes a Colonel or something from the King's staff and begins +poundin' Skid on the back gleeful. +</P> + +<P> +It's a young Greek that used to be in his engineerin' class, back in +the dear old college days. He says Skid's just the man he wants to +come help him patch up the railroad that the Turks have been puttin' on +the blink as they dropped back towards headquarters. Would he? Why, +him bein' railroad construction expert of the Corrugated, this was +right in his line! Sure he would! +</P> + +<P> +And when Mrs. Mallory sees him again at lunchtime he's all costumed as +a Major in the Greek army, and is about to start for the scene of +atrocities. That's Skid, all over. He wasn't breathin' out any idle +gusts, either. He not only rebuilds their bloomin' old line better'n +new, so they can rush soldiers and supplies to the front; but after the +muss is all over he springs his order book on the gover'ment and lands +such a whackin' big contract for steel rails and girders that Old +Hickory decides to work day and night shifts in two more rollin' mills. +</P> + +<P> +Course, since it was Mr. Robert who helped me root for Skid in the +first place, he's tickled to death, and he tells me confidential how +they're goin' to get the directors together at a big banquet that +evenin' and have a reg'lar lovefeast, with Skid at the head of the +table. +</P> + +<P> +Just now I finds Mr. Robert pumpin' him for some of the details of his +experience over there, and after I lugs in an atlas they sent me out +for, so Skid can point out something on the map, I just naturally hangs +around with my ear stretched. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, that's the place," says Skid, puttin' his finger on a dot, +"Mustapha! Well, it was about six miles east from there that we had +our worst job. Talk about messes! Those Turks may not know how to +build a decent railroad, but believe me they're stars at wrecking a +line thoroughly! At Mustapha they'd ripped up the rails, burned the +ties, and blown great holes in the roadbed with dynamite. But I soon +had a dozen grading gangs at work on that stretch, and new bridges +started, and then I pushed on alone to see what was next. +</P> + +<P> +"That was when I got nearest to the big noise. Off across the hills +the Turks were pounding away with their heavy guns, and I was anxious +for a look. I kept going and going; but couldn't find any of our +people. Night was shutting in too, and the first thing I knew I wasn't +anywhere in particular, with nothing in sight but an old sheep pen. I +tried bunking there; but it wasn't restful, and before daylight I went +wandering on again. I wanted to locate our advance and get a cup of +coffee. +</P> + +<P> +"I must have gone a couple of miles farther, and it was getting light, +when a most infernal racket broke loose not one hundred yards ahead. +Really, you know, I thought I'd blundered into the midst of a battle. +Then in a minute the noise let up, and the smoke blew away, and there, +squatting behind a machine gun up on the side of a hill, was one lone +Greek soldier. Not another soul in sight, mind you; just this absurd, +dirty, smoke-stained person, calmly feeding another belt of cartridges +into his gun! +</P> + +<P> +"'Hello!' says I. 'What the deuce are you doing here?'—'Holding the +hill, Sir,' says he, in good United States. 'Not all alone?' says I. +He shrugs his shoulders at that. 'The others were killed or hurt,' +says he. 'The Red Cross people took them all away last +night,—Lieutenant, Sergeant, everyone. But our battery must keep the +hill.' 'Where's the rest of the advance, though?' says I. 'I don't +know,' says he. 'And you mean to say,' says I, 'you've been here all +night with the Turkish artillery hammering away at you?' 'They are bad +shots, those Turks, very bad,' says he. 'Also they send infantry to +drive me away, many times. See! There come some more. Down there! +Ah-r-r-r! You will, will you?' And with that he turns loose his big +pepperbox on a squad that had just started to dash out of a ravine and +rush him. They were coming our way on the jump. Scared? Say, if +there'd been anything to have crawled into, I'd have been in it! As +there wasn't, I just flattened myself on the ground and waited until it +was all over. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he crumpled 'em up, all right! He hadn't ground out one belt of +cartridges before he had 'em on the run. But I want to tell you I +didn't linger around to see how the next affair would turn out. I +legged it back where I'd come from, and by nine o'clock I was behind +our own lines, trying to find out what sort of campaign this was that +left one machine gun to stave off the whole Turkish army. Of course no +one knew anything very definite. The best guess was that our advance +had been swung off for a flank movement, and that this particular +one-man battery had been overlooked. I don't even know whether he was +picked up again, or whether the Turks finally got him; but let me tell +you, talk as much about your gallant Bulgarians as you like, some of +those little Greeks were good fighters too. Anyway, I'll take off my +hat any day to that one on the hill." +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" I breaks out. "Some scrapper, what?" +</P> + +<P> +At which Mr. Robert swings around and gives me a look. "Ah!" says he. +"I hadn't realized, Torchy, that we still had the pleasure of your +company." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't mention it," says I. "I was just goin' to—er—by the way, Mr. +Robert, there's a poor scrub waitin' outside for a word with you, an +old club waiter. Says you knew him as Mike." +</P> + +<P> +"Mike?" says he, looking blank. +</P> + +<P> +"His real name sounds like Popover," says I. "It's a case of +retrievin' a lost job." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, very well," says Mr. Robert. "Perhaps I'll see him later. Not +now. And close the door after you, please." +</P> + +<P> +So I'm shunted back to the front office, so excited over that war story +that I has to hunt up Piddie and pass it on to him. It gets him too. +Anything in the hero line always does, and this noble young Greek doin' +the come-one-come-all act was a picture that even a two-by-four +imagination like Piddie's couldn't fail to grasp. +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove, though!" says he. "The spirit of old Thermopylae all over +again! I wish I could have seen that!" +</P> + +<P> +"As close as Skid did?" says I. "Ah, you'd have turned so green they'd +taken you for a pickled string bean." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't pretend to be a daredevil," admits Piddie, with a sudden +rush of modesty. "Still, it is a pity Mr. Mallory did not stay long +enough to find out the name of this unknown hero, and give it to the +world." +</P> + +<P> +"The moral of which is," says I, "that all heroes ought to carry their +own press agents with 'em." +</P> + +<P> +We'd threshed it all out, Piddie and me, and I'd gone back to my desk +some reluctant, for this jobless waiter was still sheddin' his gloom +around the reception room, and I was just thinkin' how it would be to +put a screen in front of him, when Mr. Robert and Skid comes out arm in +arm, swappin' josh about that banquet that was to be pulled off. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you'll come." Mr. Robert is insistin'. "Only a few +directors, you know. No, no set speeches, or anything like that. But +they'll want to hear how you came to get that big order, and about some +of the interesting things you saw over there, just as you've told me." +</P> + +<P> +I had hopped up and was holdin' the gate wide open, givin' Skid all the +honors, and Mr. Robert was escortin' him out to the elevator, when I +notices that this Popover party has got his eye on the boss and is +standin' right where he's blockin' the way. +</P> + +<P> +"Hey, Poppy!" says I in a stage whisper. "Back out! Reverse yourself! +Take a sneak!" But of all the muleheads! There he stands, grippin' +his hat, and thinkin' only of that lost job. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," Skid is saying; "but remember now, no floral tributes, or +gushy introductions, or sitting in the spotlight for me at +this—er—er—— Well, as I'm a living mortal!" He gets this last out +after a gasp or two, and then stops stock still, starin' straight in +front of him. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" says Mr. Robert. "What's up?" And we sees that Skid +Mallory has his eyes glued to this waiter shrimp. +</P> + +<P> +"In the name of all that's good," says he, "where did you come from?" +</P> + +<P> +You can't jar Popover, though, by any little thing like that. When he +gets an idea in his dome it's a fixture there. "I would wish to +speak," says he, "with Mr. Ellins." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, another time," says Mr. Robert hasty. +</P> + +<P> +"But see here!" says Skid, still gazin' steady. "Don't you remember +me? Take a good look now." +</P> + +<P> +Popover gives him a glance and shakes his head. "Maybe I serve you at +the club, Sir," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Club be blowed!" says Skid. "The last time I saw you you were serving +a machine gun, six miles east of Mustapha. Isn't that so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Mustapha!" says Popover, his eyes lightin' up a little. "On the +hill just beyond where the bridge was blown up? You came at the +night's end. Oh, yes!" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew it!" exclaims Skid. "I'd have bet a thousand—same curly hair, +same shoulders, same eyes. Ellins, here's that lone hero I was telling +you about. Here!" +</P> + +<P> +"But—hut that's only Mike," says Mr. Robert, gazin' from one to the +other. "Used to be a waiter at the club, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care what he used to be," says Skid, "or what he is now, I +want to shake hands with him." +</P> + +<P> +Popover he pinks up and acts foolish about swappin' grips; but Skid +insists. +</P> + +<P> +"So you beat 'em out in the end, did you?" Skid goes on. "Just +naturally put it all over that whole bunch of Turks, didn't you? But +how did it happen?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," says Popover, fingerin' his hat nervous. "I am very +busy all the time, and—and I have nothing to eat all night. You see, +all other Greek soldiers was hurt; and me, I must stay to keep the +Turks from the hill. Very busy time, Sir. And I am not much for +fight, anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"Great Scott!" says Skid. "He says he's not much for—but see here, +how did it end?" +</P> + +<P> +Popover gives a shoulder shrug. "Once more they run at me after you +go," says he, "and then come our brave Greek General with big army and +chase Turks away. And the Captain say why am I such big fool as to +stay behind. That is all I know. Three weeks ago I am discharged from +being soldier. Now I come back here, and I have no more my good job. +I am much sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"Think of that!" breaks out Skid. "Talk about the ingratitude of +Republics! Why, England would have given him the Victoria Cross for +that! But can't something or other be done about this job of his?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, certainly," says Mr. Robert. "Here, let's go back into my +office." +</P> + +<P> +"Hey, Popover," says I, steerin' him respectful through the gate. +"Don't forget to tell them about Armina too." +</P> + +<P> +And as the three of 'em streams in, with the waiter in the middle, I +turns to find Piddie gazin' at the sight button-eyed. +</P> + +<P> +"Wa'n't you sayin' how much you'd like to see the lone hero of the +hill?" says I. "Well, take a good look. That's him, the squatty one. +Uh-huh. Mike, alias Popover, who quit bein' a waiter to fight for his +country, and after he'd licked all the Turks in sight comes pikin' back +here to hunt around for his tray again. Say, all of 'em ain't such +scum, are they?" +</P> + +<P> +It was a great old banquet too; for Skid insists that if they must have +a conquerin' hero to drink to Mr. Popokoulis is the only real thing in +sight. Mike wouldn't stand for a seat at the table, though; so they +compromised by havin' him act as head waiter. Skid tells the story +just the same, and makes him stand out where they can all see him. +There was some cheerin' done too. Mr. Robert was tellin' me about it +only this mornin'. +</P> + +<P> +"And you've got him his old place at the club, eh?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"No," says he. "I've arranged to buy out a half interest in a +florist's shop for Mr. Popokoulis." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" says I. "Backin' him for the Armina handicap, eh? It ought to +be a cinch. Some chap, that Popover, even if he was a waiter, eh? +It's tough on Piddie, though. This thing has tied all his ideas in +double bow-knots." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT +</H3> + + +<P> +Somehow I sensed it as a kind of a batty excursion at the start. You +see, he'd asked me offhand would I come, and I'd said "Sure, Bo," +careless like, not thinkin' any more about it until here Saturday +afternoon I finds myself on the way to spend the week-end with J. +Meredith Stidler. +</P> + +<P> +Sounds imposing don't it? But his name's the weightiest part of J. +Meredith. Course, around the Corrugated offices we call him Merry, and +some of the bond clerks even get it Miss Mary; which ain't hardly fair, +for while he's no husky, rough-neck specimen, there's no sissy streak +in him, either. Just one of these neat, finicky featherweights, J. +Meredith is; a well finished two-by-four, with more polish than punch. +You know the kind,—fussy about his clothes, gen'rally has a pink or +something in his coat lapel, hair always just so, and carries a vest +pocket mirror. We ain't got a classier dresser in the shop. Not +noisy, you understand: quiet grays, as a rule; but made for him special +and fittin' snug around the collar. +</P> + +<P> +Near thirty, I should guess Merry was, and single, of course. No head +of a fam'ly would be sportin' custom-made shoes and sleeve monograms, +or havin' his nails manicured reg'lar twice a week. I'd often wondered +how he could do it too, on seventy-five dollars a month. +</P> + +<P> +For J. Meredith wa'n't even boss of his department. He just holds down +one of the stools in the audit branch, where he has about as much show +of gettin' a raise as a pavin' block has of bein' blown up Broadway on +a windy day. We got a lot of material like that in the +Corrugated,—just plain, simple cogs in a big dividend-producin' +machine, grindin' along steady and patient, and their places easy +filled when one wears out. A caster off one of the rolltop desks would +be missed more. +</P> + +<P> +Yet J. Meredith takes it cheerful. Always has a smile as he pushes +through the brass gate, comin' or goin', and stands all the joshin' +that's handed out to him without gettin' peevish. So when he springs +this over-Sunday invite I don't feel like turnin' it down. Course, I'm +wise that it's sort of a charity contribution on his part. He puts it +well, though. +</P> + +<P> +"It may be rather a dull way for you to pass the day," says he; "but +I'd like to have you come." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's see," says I. "Vincent won't be expectin' me up to Newport +until later in the season, the Bradley Martins are still abroad, I've +cut the Reggy Vanderbilts, and—well, you're on, Merry. Call it the +last of the month, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"The fourth Saturday, then," says he. "Good!" +</P> + +<P> +I was blamed near lettin' the date get past me too, when he stops me as +I'm pikin' for the dairy lunch Friday noon. "Oh, I say, Torchy," says +he, "ah—er—about tomorrow. Hope you don't mind my mentioning it, but +there will be two other guests—ladies—at dinner tomorrow night." +</P> + +<P> +He seemed some fussed at gettin' it out; so I catches the cue quick. +"That's easy," says I. "Count me out until another time." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, not at all," says he. "In fact, you're expected. I merely wished +to suggest, you know, that—er—well, if you cared to do so, you might +bring along a suit of dark clothes." +</P> + +<P> +"I get you," says I. "Swell comp'ny. Trust me." +</P> + +<P> +I winks mysterious, and chuckles to myself, "Here's where I slip one on +J. Meredith." And when I packs my suitcase I puts in that full evenin' +regalia that I wins off'm Son-in-Law Ferdy, you remember, in that real +estate deal. Some Cinderella act, I judged that would be, when Merry +discovers the meek and lowly office boy arrayed like a night-bloomin' +head waiter. "That ought to hold him for a spell," thinks I. +</P> + +<P> +But, say, you should see the joint we fetches up at out on the south +shore of Long Island that afternoon. Figurin' on a basis of +seventy-five per, I was expectin' some private boardin' house where +Merry has the second floor front, maybe, with use of the bath. But +listen,—a clipped privet hedge, bluestone drive, flower gardens, and a +perfectly good double-breasted mansion standin' back among the trees. +It's a little out of date so far as the lines go,—slate roof, jigsaw +work on the dormers, and a cupola,—but it's more or less of a plute +shack, after all. Then there's a real live butler standin' at the +carriage entrance to open the hack door and take my bag. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" says I. "Say, Merry, who belongs to all this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Hadn't I told you?" says he. "You see, I live with my aunt. She +is—er—somewhat peculiar; but——" +</P> + +<P> +"I should worry!" I breaks in. "Believe me, with a joint like this in +her own name, I wouldn't kick if she had her loft full of hummin' +birds. Who's next in line for it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I suppose I am," says J. Meredith, "under certain conditions." +</P> + +<P> +"Z-z-zin'!" says I. "And you hangin' onto a cheap skate job at the +Corrugated!" +</P> + +<P> +Well, while he's showin' me around the grounds I pumps out the rest of +the sketch. Seems butlers and all that was no new thing to Merry. +He'd been brought up on 'em. He'd lived abroad too. Studied music +there. Not that he ever meant to work at it, but just because he liked +it. You see, about that time the fam'ly income was rollin' in reg'lar +every month from the mills back in Pawtucket, or Fall River, or +somewhere. +</P> + +<P> +Then all of a sudden things begin to happen,—strikes, panics, stock +grabbin' by the trusts. Father's weak heart couldn't stand the strain. +Meredith's mother followed soon after. And one rainy mornin' he wakes +up in Baden Baden, or Monte Carlo, or wherever it was, to find that +he's a double orphan at the age of twenty-two, with no home, no cash, +and no trade. All he could do was to write an S. O. S. message back to +Aunt Emma Jane. If she hadn't produced, he'd been there yet. +</P> + +<P> +But Aunty got him out of pawn. Panics and so on hadn't cleaned out her +share of the Stidler estate—not so you'd notice it! She'd been on the +spot, Aunt Emma had, watchin' the market. Long before the jinx hit +Wall Street she'd cashed in her mill stock for gold ballast, and when +property prices started tumblin' she dug up a lard pail from under the +syringa bush and begun investin' in bargain counter real estate. Now +she owns business blocks, villa plots, and shore frontage in big +chunks, and spends her time collectin' rents, makin' new deals, and +swearin' off her taxes. +</P> + +<P> +You'd most thought, with a perfectly good nephew to blow in some of her +surplus on, she'd made a fam'ly pet of J. Meredith. But not her. Pets +wasn't in her line. Her prescription for him was work, something +reg'lar and constant, so he wouldn't get into mischief. She didn't +care what it brought in, so long as he kept himself in clothes and +spendin' money. And that was about Merry's measure. He could add up a +column of figures and put the sum down neat at the bottom of the page. +So he fitted into our audit department like a nickel into a slot +machine. And there he stuck. +</P> + +<P> +"But after sportin' around Europe so long," says I, "don't punchin' the +time clock come kind of tough?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a horrible, dull grind," says he. "Like being caught in a +treadmill. But I suppose I deserve nothing better. I'm one of the +useless sort, you know. I've no liking, no ability, for business; but +I'm in the mill, and I can't see any way out." +</P> + +<P> +For a second J. Meredith's voice sounds hopeless. One look ahead has +taken out of him what little pep he had. But the next minute he braces +up, smiles weary, and remarks, "Oh, well! What's the use?" +</P> + +<P> +Not knowin' the answer to that I shifts the subject by tryin' to get a +line on the other comp'ny that's expected for dinner. +</P> + +<P> +"They're our next-door neighbors," says he, "the Misses Hibbs." +</P> + +<P> +"Queens?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +He pinks up a little at that. "I presume you would call them old +maids," says he. "They are about my age, and—er—the truth is, they +are rather large. But really they're quite nice,—refined, cultured, +all that sort of thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Specially which one?" says I, givin' him the wink. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, now!" says he, shakin' his head. "You're as bad as Aunt Emma. +Besides, they're her guests. She asks them over quite often. You see, +they own almost as much property around here as she does, and—well, +common interests, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure that's all?" says I, noticin' Merry flushin' up more. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course," says he. "That is—er—well, I suppose I may as well +admit that Aunt Emma thinks she is trying her hand at match-making. +Absurd, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh-ho!" says I. "Wants you to annex the adjoinin' real estate, does +she?" +</P> + +<P> +"It—it isn't exactly that," says he. "I've no doubt she has decided +that either Pansy or Violet would make a good wife for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Pansy and Violet!" says I. "Listens well." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps their names are hardly appropriate; but they are nice, +sensible, rather attractive young women, both of them," insists Merry. +</P> + +<P> +"Then why not?" says I. "What's the matter with the Hymen proposition?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's out of the question," protests J. Meredith, blushin' deep. +"Really I—I've never thought of marrying anyone. Why, how could I? +And besides I shouldn't know how to go about it,—proposing, and all +that. Oh, I couldn't! You—you can't understand. I'm such a duffer +at most things." +</P> + +<P> +There's no fake about him bein' modest. You could tell that by the way +he colored up, even talkin' to me. Odd sort of a gink he was, with a +lot of queer streaks in him that didn't show on the outside. It was +more or less entertainin', followin' up the plot of the piece; but all +of a sudden Merry gets over his confidential spasm and shuts up like a +clam. +</P> + +<P> +"Almost time to dress for dinner," says he. "We'd best be going in." +</P> + +<P> +And of course my appearin' in the banquet uniform don't give him any +serious jolt. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well, Torchy!" says he, as I strolls into the parlor about +six-thirty, tryin' to forget the points of my dress collar. "How +splendid you look!" +</P> + +<P> +"I had some battle with the tie," says I. "Ain't the bow lopsided?" +</P> + +<P> +"A mere trifle," says he. "Allow me. There! Really, I'm quite proud +of you. Aunty'll be pleased too; for, while she dresses very plainly +herself, she likes this sort of thing. You'll see." +</P> + +<P> +I didn't notice any wild enthusiasm on Aunty's part, though, when she +shows up. A lean, wiry old girl, Aunty is, with her white hair bobbed +up careless and a big shell comb stickin' up bristly, like a picket +fence, on top. There's nothin' soft about her chin, or the square-cut +mouth, and after she'd give me one glance out of them shrewd, squinty +eyes I felt like she'd taken my number,—pedigree, past performances, +and cost mark complete. +</P> + +<P> +"Howdo, young man?" says she, and with out wastin' any more breath on +me she pikes out to the front door to scout down the drive for the +other guests. +</P> + +<P> +They arrives on the tick of six-forty-five, and inside of three minutes +Aunty has shooed us into the dinin' room. And, say, the first good +look I had at Pansy and Violet I nearly passed away. "Rather large," +Merry had described 'em. Yes, and then some! They wa'n't just +ordinary fat women; they was a pair of whales,—big all over, tall and +wide and hefty. They had their weight pretty well placed at that; not +lumpy or bulgy, you know, but with them expanses of shoulder, and their +big, heavy faces—well, the picture of slim, narrow-chested Merry +Stidler sittin' wedged in between the two, like the ham in a lunch +counter sandwich, was most too much for me. I swallows a drink of +water and chokes over it. +</P> + +<P> +I expect Merry caught on too. I'd never seen him so fussed before. +He's makin' a brave stab at bein' chatty; but I can tell he's doin' it +all on his nerve. He glances first to the right, and then turns quick +to the left; but on both sides he's hemmed in by them two human +mountains. +</P> + +<P> +They wa'n't such bad lookers, either. They has good complexions, kind +of pleasant eyes, and calm, comf'table ways. But there was so much of +'em! Honest, when they both leans toward him at once I held my breath, +expectin' to see him squeezed out like a piece of lead pipe run through +a rollin' machine. +</P> + +<P> +Nothin' tragic like that happens, though. They don't even crowd him +into the soup. But it's an odd sort of a meal, with J. Meredith and +the Hibbs sisters doin' a draggy three-handed dialogue, while me and +Aunty holds down the side lines. And nothin' that's said or done gets +away from them narrow-set eyes, believe me! +</P> + +<P> +Looked like something wa'n't goin' just like she'd planned; for the +glances she shoots across the table get sharper and sourer, and +finally, when the roast is brought in, she whispers to the butler, and +the next thing J. Meredith knows, as he glances up from his carvin', he +sees James uncorkin' a bottle of fizz. Merry almost drops his fork and +gawps at Aunty sort of dazed. +</P> + +<P> +"Meredith," says she, snappy, "go on with your carving! Young man, I +suppose you don't take wine?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-n-no, Ma'am," says I, watchin' her turn my glass down. I might have +chanced a sip or two, at that; but Aunty has different ideas. +</P> + +<P> +I notice that J. Meredith seems to shy at the bubbly stuff, as if he +was lettin' on he hated it. He makes a bluff or two; but all he does +is wet his lips. At that Aunty gives a snort. +</P> + +<P> +"Meredith," says she, hoistin' her hollow-stemmed glass sporty, "to our +guests!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, to be sure," says Merry, and puts his nose into the sparkles in +dead earnest. +</P> + +<P> +Somehow the table chat livens up a lot soon after that. It was one of +the Miss Hibbs askin' him something about life abroad that starts Merry +off. He begins tellin' about Budapest and Vienna and a lot more of +them guidebook spots, and how comf'table you can live there, and the +music, and the cafes, and the sights, gettin' real enthusiastic over +it, until one of the sisters breaks in with: +</P> + +<P> +"Think of that, Pansy! If we could only do such things!" +</P> + +<P> +"But why not?" says Merry. +</P> + +<P> +"Two women alone?" says a Miss Hibbs. +</P> + +<P> +"True," says J. Meredith. "One needs an escort." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah-h-h-h, yes!" sighs Violet. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah-h-h, yes!" echoes Pansy. +</P> + +<P> +"James," puts in Aunty just then, "fill Mr. Stidler's glass." +</P> + +<P> +Merry wa'n't shyin' it any more. He insists on clickin' rims with the +Hibbs sisters, and they does it real kittenish. Merry stops in the +middle of his salad to unload that old one about the Irishman that the +doctor tried to throw a scare into by tellin' him if he didn't quit the +booze he'd go blind within three months. You know—when Mike comes +back with, "Well, I'm an old man, and I'm thinkin' I've seen most +everything worth while." Pansy and Violet shook until their chairs +creaked, and one of 'em near swallows her napkin tryin' to stop the +chuckles. +</P> + +<P> +In all the time I've known J. Meredith I'd never heard him try to +spring anything comic before; but havin' made such a hit with this one +he follows with others, robbin' the almanac regardless. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you deliciously funny man!" gasps Pansy, tappin' him playful on +the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Course, it wa'n't any cabaret high jinks, you understand. Meredith was +just limbered up a little. In the parlor afterwards while we was +havin' coffee he strings off quite a fancy line of repartee, fin'lly +allowin' himself to be pushed up to the piano, where he ripples through +a few things from Bach and Beethoven and Percy Moore. It's near eleven +o'clock when the Hibbs sisters get their wraps on and Merry starts to +walk home with 'em. +</P> + +<P> +"You might wait for me, Torchy," says he, pausin' at the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" says Aunt Emma Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"Time young people were in bed. Good night, young man." +</P> + +<P> +There don't seem to be any chance for a debate on the subject; so I +goes up to my room. But it's a peach of a night, warm and moony; so +after I turns out the light I camps down on the windowseat and gazes +out over the shrubby towards the water. I could see the top of the +Hibbs house and a little wharf down on the shore. +</P> + +<P> +I don't know whether it was the moonlight or the coffee; but I didn't +feel any more like bed than I did like breakfast. Pretty soon I hears +Merry come tiptoein' in and open his door, which was next to mine. I +was goin' to hail him and give him a little josh about disposin' of the +sisters so quick; but I didn't hear him stirrin' around any more until +a few minutes later, when it sounds as if he'd tiptoed downstairs +again. But I wasn't sure. Nothin' doin' for some time after that. +And you know how quiet the country can be on a still, moonshiny night. +</P> + +<P> +I was gettin' dopy from it, and was startin' to shed my collar and tie, +when off from a distance, somewhere out in the night, music breaks +loose. I couldn't tell whether it was a cornet or a trombone; but it's +something like that. Seems to come from down along the waterfront. +And, say, it sounds kind of weird, hearin' it at night that way. Took +me sometime to place the tune; but I fin'lly makes it out as that good +old mush favorite, "O Promise Me." It was bein' well done too, with +long quavers on the high notes and the low ones comin' out round and +deep. Honest, that was some playin'. I was wide awake once more, +leanin' out over the sill and takin' it all in, when a window on the +floor below goes up and out bobs a white head. It's Aunty. She looks +up and spots me too. +</P> + +<P> +"Quite some concert, eh?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, young man?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh," says I. "Just takin' in the music." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says she. "I believe it's that fool nephew of mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Not Merry?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"It must be," says she. "And goodness knows why he's out making an +idiot of himself at this time of night! He'll arouse the whole +neighbourhood." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I was just thinkin' how classy it was," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" says Aunty. "A lot you know about it. Are you dressed, young +man?" +</P> + +<P> +I admits that I am. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I wish you'd go down there and see if it is Merry," says she. +"If it is, tell him I say to come home and go to bed." +</P> + +<P> +"And if it ain't?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Go along and see," says she. +</P> + +<P> +I begun to be sorry for Merry. I'd rather pay board than live with a +disposition like that. Down I pikes, out the front door and back +through the shrubby. Meantime the musician has finished "Promise Me" +and has switched to "Annie Laurie." It's easy enough to get the +gen'ral direction the sound comes from; but I couldn't place it exact. +First off I thought it must be from a little summer house down by the +shore; but it wa'n't. I couldn't see anyone around the grounds. Out +on the far end of the Hibbs's wharf, though, there was somethin' dark. +And a swell time I had too, buttin' my way through a five-foot hedge +and landin' in a veg'table garden. But I wades through tomatoes and +lettuce until I strikes a gravel path, and in a couple of minutes I'm +out on the dock just as the soloist is hittin' up "Believe Me, if All +Those Endearing Young Charms." Aunty had the correct dope. It's +Merry, all right. The first glimpse he gets of me he starts guilty and +tries to hide the cornet under the tails of his dress coat. +</P> + +<P> +"No use, Merry," says I. "You're pinched with the poultry." +</P> + +<P> +"Wha-a-at!" says he. "Oh, it's you, is it, Torchy? Please—please +don't mention this to my aunt." +</P> + +<P> +"She beat me to it," says I. "It was her sent me out after you with a +stop order. She says for you to chop the nocturne and go back to the +hay." +</P> + +<P> +"But how did she—— Oh, dear!" he sighs. "It was all her fault, +anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't follow you," says I. "But what was it, a serenade?" +</P> + +<P> +"Goodness, no!" gasps J. Meredith. "Who suggested that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it has all the earmarks of one," says I. "What else would you be +doin', out playin' the cornet by moonlight on the dock, if you wa'n't +serenadin' someone?" +</P> + +<P> +"But I wasn't, truly," he protests. "It—it was the champagne, you +know." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean to say you got stewed? Not on a couple +of glasses!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, not exactly," says he. "But I can't take wine. I hardly ever +do. It—it goes to my head always. And tonight—well, I couldn't +decline. You saw. Then afterward—oh, I felt so buoyant, so full of +life, that I couldn't go to sleep. I simply had to do something to let +off steam. I wanted to play the cornet. So I came out here, as far +away from anyone as I could get." +</P> + +<P> +"Too thin, Merry," says I. "That might pass with me; but with +strangers you'd get the laugh." +</P> + +<P> +"But it's true," he goes on. "And I didn't dream anyone could hear me +from here." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you boob," says I, "they could hear you a mile off!" +</P> + +<P> +"Really?" says he. "But you don't suppose Vio—I mean, the Misses +Hibbs could hear, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Unless it's their habit to putty up their ears at night," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"But—but what will they think?" he gasps breathless. +</P> + +<P> +"That they're bein' serenaded by some admirin' friend," says I. +"What's your guess?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—oh!" says Merry, slumpin' down on a settee. "I—I had not thought +of that." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, buck up!" say I. "Maybe you can fake an alibi in the mornin'. +Anyway, you can't spend the night here. You got to report to Aunty." +</P> + +<P> +He lets out another groan, and then gets on his feet. "There's a path +through the bushes along here somewhere," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"No more cross country work in full dress clothes for me," says I. +"We'll sneak down the Hibbs's drive where the goin's easy." +</P> + +<P> +We was doin' it real sleuthy too, keepin' on the lawn and dodgin' from +shadow to shadow, when just as we're passin' the house Merry has to +stub his toe and drop his blamed cornet with a bang. +</P> + +<P> +Then out from a second story window floats a voice: "Who is that, +please?" +</P> + +<P> +Merry nudges me in the ribs. "Tell them it's you," he whispers. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it's—it's me—Torchy," says I reluctant. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Ah!" says a couple of voices in chorus. Then one of 'em goes on, +"The young man who is visiting dear Meredith?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep," says I. "Same one." +</P> + +<P> +"But it wasn't you playing the cornet so beautifully, was it?" comes +coaxin' from the window. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell them yes," whispers Merry, nudgin' violent. +</P> + +<P> +"Gwan!" I whispers back. "I'm in bad enough as it is." With that I +speaks up before he can stop me, "Not much!" says I. "That was dear +Meredith himself." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh-oh!" says the voices together. Then there's whisperin' between +'em. One seems urgin' the other on to something, and at last it comes +out. "Young man," says the voice, smooth and persuadin', "please tell +us who—that is—which one of us was the serenade intended for?" +</P> + +<P> +This brings the deepest groan of all from J. Meredith. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, now," says I, hoarse and low in his ear. "It's up to you. +Which?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, really," he whispers back, "I—I can't!" +</P> + +<P> +"You got to, and quick," says I. "Come now, was it Pansy?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" says he, gaspy. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says I. "Then Violet gets the decision." And I holds him off +by main strength while I calls out, "Why, ain't you on yet? It was for +Violet, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah-h-h-h! Thank you. Good night," comes a voice—no chorus this +time: just one—and the window is shut. +</P> + +<P> +"There you are, Merry," says I. "It's all over. You're as good as +booked for life." +</P> + +<P> +He was game about it, though, Merry was. He squares it with Aunty +before goin' to bed, and right after breakfast next mornin' he marches +over to the Hibbses real business-like. Half an hour later I saw him +strollin' out on the wharf with one of the big sisters, and I knew it +must be Violet. It was his busy day; so I says nothin' to anybody, but +fades. +</P> + +<P> +And you should have seen the jaunty, beamin' J. Meredith that swings +into the Corrugated Monday mornin'. He stops at the gate to give me a +fraternal grip. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right, Torchy," says he. "She—she'll have me—Violet, you +know. And we are to live abroad. We sail in less than a month." +</P> + +<P> +"But what about Pansy?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she's coming with us, of course," says he. "Really, they're both +charming girls." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says I. "That's where you were when I found you. You're past +that point, remember." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know," says he. "It was you helped me too, and I wish in some +way I could show my——" +</P> + +<P> +"You can," says I. "Leave me the cornet. I might need it some day +myself." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY +</H3> + + +<P> +It's a shame the way some of these popular clubmen is bothered with +business. Here was Mr. Robert, only the other day, with an important +four-cue match to be played off between four-thirty and dinnertime; and +what does the manager of our Chicago branch have to do but go and muss +up the schedule by wirin' in that he might have to call for +headquarters' advice on that Burlington order maybe after closin' time. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, pshaw!" remarks Mr. Robert, after he's read the message. +</P> + +<P> +"The simp!" says I. "Guess he thinks the Corrugated gen'ral offices +runs night and day shifts, don't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well put," says Mr. Robert. "Still, it means rather a big +contract. But, you see, the fellows are counting on me for this match, +and if I should—— Oh, but I say, Torchy," he breaks off sudden, +"perhaps you have no very important engagement for the early evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" says I. "Nothing I couldn't scratch. I can shoot a little pool +too; but when it comes to balk line billiards I expect I'd be a dub +among your crowd." +</P> + +<P> +"Refreshing modesty!" says Mr. Robert. "What I had in mind, however, +was that you might wait here for the message from Nixon, while I attend +to the match." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, any way you choose," says I. "Sure I'll stay." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," says he. "You needn't wait longer than seven, and if it +comes in you can get me on the 'phone and—— No, it will be in code; +so you'd best bring it over." +</P> + +<P> +And it wa'n't so much of a wait, after all, not more'n an hour; for at +six-fifteen I've been over to the club, had Mr. Robert called from the +billiard room, got him to fix up his answer, and am pikin' out the +front door with it when he holds me up to add just one more word. +Maybe we was some conspicuous from Fifth-ave., him bein' still in his +shirt sleeves and the steps bein' more or less brilliant. +</P> + +<P> +Anyway, I'd made another start and was just gettin' well under way, +when alongside scuffs this hollow-eyed object with the mangy whiskers +and the mixed-ale breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me, young feller," says he, "but——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I. "I'm no soup ticket." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-186"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-186.jpg" ALT=""Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I." BORDER="2" WIDTH="412" HEIGHT="567"> +<H4> +[Illustration: "Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"But just a word, my friend," he insists. +</P> + +<P> +"Save your breath," says I, "and have it redistilled. It's worth it." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," he puffs out as he shuffles along at my elbow; "but—but +wasn't that Bob Ellins you were just talking to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says I, glancin' at him some astonished; for a seedier specimen +you couldn't find up and down the avenue. "What do you know about him, +if it was?" +</P> + +<P> +"More than his name," says the wreck. "He—he's an old friend of mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, of course," says I. "Anyone could tell that at a glimpse. I +expect you used to belong to the same club too?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is old Barney still on the door?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +And, say, he had the right dope on that. Not three minutes before I'd +heard Mr. Robert call the old gink by name. But that hardly proved the +case. +</P> + +<P> +"Clever work," says I. "What was it you used to do there, take out the +ashes." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't wonder you think so," says he; "but it's a fact that Bob and I +are old friends." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you tackle him, then," says I, "instead of botherin' a busy +man like me? Go back and call him out." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't the face," says he. "Look at me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have," says I, "and, if you ask me, you look like something the cat +brought in." +</P> + +<P> +He winces a little at that. "Don't tell Bob how bad it was, then," +says he. "Just say you let me have a fiver for him." +</P> + +<P> +"Five bucks!" says I. "Say, I'm Mr. Robert's office boy, not his bank +account." +</P> + +<P> +"Two, then?" he goes on. +</P> + +<P> +"My, but I must have the boob mark on me plain!" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't you spare a half," he urges, "just a half, to get me a little +something to eat, and a drink, and pay for a bed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, sure!" says I. "I carry a pocketful of halves to shove out to all +the bums that presents their business cards." +</P> + +<P> +"But Bob would give it back to you," he pleads. "I swear he would! +Just tell him you gave it to—to——" +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" says I. "Algernon who?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him it was for Melville Slater," says he. "He'll know." +</P> + +<P> +"Melly Slater, eh?" says I. "Sounds all aright. But I'd have to chew +it over first, even for a half. I have chances of gettin' stung like +this about four times a day, Melly. And, anyway, I got to file a +message first, over at the next corner." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll wait outside," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"That's nice of you," says I. "It ain't any cinch you'll connect, +though." +</P> + +<P> +But as I dashes into a hotel where there's a blue sign out he leans up +against a window gratin', sort of limp and exhausted, and it looks like +he means to take a sportin' chance. +</P> + +<P> +How you goin' to tell, anyway? Most of 'em say they've been thrown out +of work by the trusts, but that they've heard of a job in Newark, or +Bridgeport, or somewhere, which they could get if they could only +rustle enough coin to pay the fare. And they'll add interestin' +details about havin' a sick wife, or maybe four hungry kids, and so on. +</P> + +<P> +But this rusty bunch of works has a new variation. He's an old friend +of the boss. Maybe it was partly so too. If it was—well, I got to +thinkin' that over while the operator was countin' the words, and so +the next thing I does is to walk over to the telephone queen and have +her call up Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" says he, impatient. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Torchy again," says I. "I've filed the message, all right. But, +say, there's a piece of human junk that I collected from in front of +the club who's tryin' to panhandle me for a half on the strength of +bein' an old chum of yours. He says his name's Melville Slater." +</P> + +<P> +"Wha-a-at!" gasps Mr. Robert. "Melly Slater, trying to borrow half a +dollar from you?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's no doubt about his needin' it," says I. "My guess is that a +half would be a life saver to him just now." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it doesn't seem possible!!" says Mr. Robert. "Of course, I +haven't seen Melly recently; but I can't imagine how—— Did you say +he was still there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hung up on the rail outside, if the cop ain't shooed him off," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Then keep him there until I come," says Mr. Robert. "If it's Melly, I +must come. I'll be right over. But don't say a word to him until I +get there." +</P> + +<P> +"Got you," says I. "Hold Melly and keep mum." +</P> + +<P> +I could pipe him off through the swing door vestibule; and, honest, +from the lifeless way he's propped up there, one arm hangin' loose, his +head to one side, and that white, pasty look to his nose and +forehead—well, I didn't know but he'd croaked on the spot. So I slips +through the cafe exit and chases along the side street until I meets +Mr. Robert, who's pikin' over full tilt. +</P> + +<P> +"You're sure it's Melly Slater, are you?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm only sure that's what he said," says I. "But you can settle that +soon enough. There he is, over there by the window." +</P> + +<P> +"Why!" says Mr. Robert. "That can never be Melly; that is, unless he's +changed wonderfully." With that he marches up and taps the object on +the shoulder. "I say," says he, "you're not really Melly Slater, are +you?" +</P> + +<P> +There's a quick shiver runs through the man against the rail, and he +lifts his eyes up cringin', like he expected to be hit with a club. +Mr. Robert takes one look, and it almost staggers him. Next he reaches +out, gets a firm grip on the gent's collar, and drags him out into a +better light, twistin' the whiskered face up for a close inspection. +</P> + +<P> +"Blashford!" says he, hissin' it out unpleasant. "Bunny Blashford!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" says the gent, tryin' to squirm away. "You—you've made a +mistake." +</P> + +<P> +"Not much!" says Mr. Robert. "I know those sneaking eyes of yours too +well." +</P> + +<P> +"All right," says he; "but—but don't hit me, Bob. Don't." +</P> + +<P> +"You—you cur!" says Mr. Robert, holding him at arm's length and +glarin' at him hostile. +</P> + +<P> +"A ringer, eh?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Worse than that," says Mr. Robert, "a sneaking, contemptible hound! +Trying to pass yourself off for Melly, were you?" he goes on. "Of all +men, Melly! What for?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I didn't want you to know I was back," whines Bunny. "And I had to +get money somehow, Bob—honest, I did." +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "You—you——" +</P> + +<P> +But he ain't got any such vocabulary as old Hickory Ellins has; so +here, when he needs it most, all he can do is express his deep disgust +by shakin' this Bunny party like a new hired girl dustin' a rug. He +jerks him this way and that so reckless that I was afraid he'd rattle +him apart, and when he fin'lly lets loose Bunny goes all in a heap on +the sidewalk. I'd never seen Mr. Robert get real wrathy before; but +it's all over in a minute, and he glances around like he was ashamed. +</P> + +<P> +"Hang it all!" says he, gazin' at the wreck. "I didn't mean to lay my +hands on him." +</P> + +<P> +"He's in punk condition," says I. "What's to be done, call an +ambulance?" +</P> + +<P> +That jars Mr. Robert a lot. I expect he was so worked up he didn't +know how rough he was handlin' him, and my suggestin' that he's +qualified Bunny for a cot sobers him down in a minute. Next thing I +knows he's kneelin' over the Blashford gent and liftin' his head up. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, what's the matter with you?" says Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't! Don't strike me again," moans Bunny, cringin'. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, I'm not going to," says Mr. Robert. "And I apologize for +shaking you. But what ails you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I'm all in," says Bunny, beginnin' to sniffle. "Don't—don't beat +me! I—I'm going to die; but—but not here, like—like this. I—I +don't want to live; but—but I don't want to finish this way, like a +rat. Help me, Bob, to—to finish decent. I know I don't deserve it +from you; but—but you wouldn't want to see me go like this—dirty and +ragged? I—I want to die clean and—and well dressed. Please, Bob, +for old time's sake?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense, man!" says Mr. Robert. "You're not going to die now." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am, Bob," says Bunny. "I—I can tell. I want to, anyway. +I—I'm no good. And I'm in rotten shape. Drink, you know, and I've a +bad heart. I'm near starved too. It's been days since I've eaten +anything—days!" +</P> + +<P> +"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Then you must have something to eat. +Here, let me help you up. Torchy, you take the other side. Steady, +now! I didn't know you were in such a condition; really, I didn't. +And we'll get you filled up right away." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I couldn't eat," says Bunny. "I don't want anything. I just want +to quit—only—not like this; but clean, Bob, clean and dressed decent +once more." +</P> + +<P> +Say, maybe you can guess about how cheerin' it was, hearin' him say +that over and over in that whiny, tremblin' voice of his, watchin' them +shifty, deep-set eyes glisten glassy under the light. About as +comfortin' a sight, he was, as a sick dog in a corner. And of all the +rummy ideas to get in his nut—that about bein' dressed up to die! But +he keeps harpin' away on it until fin'ly Mr. Robert takes notice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes!" says the boss. "We'll attend to that, old man. But you +need some nourishment in you first." +</P> + +<P> +So we drags him over to the opposite corner, where there's a drugstore, +and got a glass of hot milk under his vest. Then I calls a taxi, and +we all starts for the nearest Turkish bath joint. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all, Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "I won't bother you any more +with this wretched business. You'd best go now." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose something happens to him?" says I. "You'll need a witness, +won't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hadn't thought of that," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no tellin'," says I. "Them coroners deputies are mostly +boneheads. I'd better stay on the job." +</P> + +<P> +"I know of no one I'd rather have, Torchy," says he. +</P> + +<P> +Course, he was stretchin' it there. But we fixes it up that while +Bunny is bein' soaked out I'll have time to pluck some eats. Meanwhile +Mr. Robert will 'phone his man to dig out one of his old dress suits, +with fixin's, which I'm to collect and have waitin' for Blashford. +</P> + +<P> +"Better have him barbered some too, hadn't I?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"A lot," says Mr. Robert, slippin' me a couple of tens for expenses. +"And when he's all ready call me at the club." +</P> + +<P> +So, take it all around, I has quite some busy evenin'. I stayed long +enough to see Bunny wrapped in a sheet and helped into the steam-room, +and then I hustles out for a late dinner. It's near nine-thirty before +I rings Mr. Robert up again, and reports that Bunny would pass a Board +of Health inspection now that he's had the face herbage removed, that +he's costumed proper and correct, and that he's decided not to die +immediate. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," says Mr. Robert. "What does he want to do now?" +</P> + +<P> +"He wants to talk to you," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"The deuce he does!" says Mr. Robert. "Well, I suppose we might as +well have it out; so bring him up here." +</P> + +<P> +That's how it happens I'm rung in on this little club corner chat; for +Mr. Robert explains that whatever passes between 'em it might be as +well to have someone else hear. +</P> + +<P> +And, say, what a diff'rence a little outside upholstery can make, eh? +The steamin' out had helped some, I expect, and a couple more glasses +of hot milk had braced him up too; but blamed if I'd expect just a +shave and a few open-face clothes could change a human ruin into such a +perky lookin' gent as this that leans back graceful against the leather +cushions and lights up one of Mr. Robert's imported cigarettes. +Course, the eye hollows hadn't been filled in, nor the face wrinkles +ironed out; but somehow they only gives him a sort of a distinguished +look. And now that his shoulders ain't slumped, and he's holdin' his +chin up once more, he's almost ornamental. He don't even seem +embarrassed at meetin' Mr. Robert again. If anyone was fussed, it was +the boss. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" says he, as we gets settled in the cozy corner. +</P> + +<P> +"Seems natural as life here; eh, Bob?" says Bunny, glancin' around +approvin'. "And it's nearly four years since I—er——" +</P> + +<P> +"Since you were kicked out," adds Mr. Robert. "See here, Bunny—just +because I've helped you out of the gutter when I thought you were half +dead, don't run away with the idea that I've either forgotten or +forgiven!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, quite so," says he. "I'm not asking that." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you've no excuse," goes on Mr. Robert, "for the sneaking, +cowardly way in which you left little Sally Slater waiting in her +bridal gown, the house full of wedding guests, while you ran off with +that unspeakable DeBrett person?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," says Bunny, flippin' his cigarette ashes off jaunty, "no excuse +worthy of the name." +</P> + +<P> +"Cad!" says Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +Bunny shrugs his shoulders. "Precisely," says he. "But you are not +making the discovery for the first time, are you? You knew Sally was +far too good for me. Everyone did, even Brother Melly. It couldn't +have been much of a secret to either of you how deep I was with the +DeBrett too. Yet you wanted me to go on with Sally. Why? Because the +governor hadn't chucked me overboard then, because I could still keep +up a front?" +</P> + +<P> +"You might have taken a brace," says Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Not I!" says Bunny. "Anyway, not after Trixie DeBrett got hold of me. +The trouble was, Bob, you didn't half appreciate her. She had beauty, +brains, wit, a thousand fascinations, and no more soul than a she boa +constrictor. I was just a rabbit to her, a meal. She thought the +governor would buy her off, say, for a couple hundred thousand or so. +I suppose he would too, if it hadn't been for the Sally complication. +He thought a lot of little Sally. And the way it happened was too raw. +I don't blame him, mind you, nor any of you. I don't even blame +Trixie. That was her game. And, by Jove! she was a star at it. I'd +go back to her now if she'd let me." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a fool!" snorts Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Always was, my dear Bob," says Bunny placid. "You often told me as +much." +</P> + +<P> +"But I didn't think," goes on Mr. Robert, "you'd get as low as—as +tonight—begging!" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite respectable for me, I assure you," says Bunny. "Why, my dear +fellow, during the last few years there's been hardly a crime on the +calendar I shouldn't have committed for a dollar—barring murder, of +course. That requires nerve. How long do you suppose the few +thousands I got from Aunt Eunice lasted? Barely six months. I thought +I knew how to live rather luxuriously myself. But Trixie! Well, she +taught me. And we were in Paris, you know. I didn't cable the +governor until I was down to my last hundred-franc note. His reply was +something of a stinger. I showed it to Trixie. She just laughed and +went out for a drive. She didn't come back. I hear she picked up a +brewer's son at Monte Carlo. Lucky devil, he was! +</P> + +<P> +"And I? What would you expect? In less than two weeks I was a +stowaway on a French liner. They routed me out and set me to stoking. +I couldn't stand that, of course; so they put me to work in the +kitchens, cleaning pots, dumping garbage, waiting on the crew. I had +to make the round trip too. Then I jumped the stinking craft, only to +get a worse berth on a P. & O. liner. I worked with Chinese, Lascars, +coolies, the scum of the earth; worked and ate and slept and fought +with them. I crawled ashore and deserted in strange ports. I think it +was at Aden where I came nearest to starving the first time. And I +remember the docks at Alexandria. Sometimes the tourists threw down +coppers for the Arab and Berber boys to scrabble for. It's a pleasant +custom. I was there, in that scrabbling, cursing, clawing rabble. And +when I'd had a good day I spent my coppers royally in a native +dance-hall which even guides don't dare show to the trippers. +</P> + +<P> +"Respectability, my dear Bob, is all a matter of comparison. I +acquired a lot of new standards. As a second cabin steward on a Brazos +liner I became quite haughty. Poverty! You don't know what it means +until you've rubbed elbows with it in the Far East and the Far South. +Here you have the Bowery Mission bread line. That's a fair sample, +Bob, of our American opulence. Free bread!" +</P> + +<P> +"So you've been in that, have you?" asks Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I?" says Bunny. "I've pals down there tonight who will wonder +what has become of me." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Robert shudders. And, say, it made me feel chilly along the spine +too. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what now?" says Mr. Robert. "I suppose you expect me to find +you some sort of work?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all," says Bunny. "Another of those cigarettes, if you don't +mind. Excellent brand. Thanks. But work? How inconsiderate, Bob! I +wasn't born to be useful. You know that well enough. No, work doesn't +appeal to me." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Robert flushes up at that. "Then," says he, pointin' stern, +"there's the door." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what's the hurry?" says Bunny. "This is heaven to me, all +this,—the old club, you know, and good tobacco, and—say, Bob, if I +might suggest, a pint of that '85 vintage would add just the finishing +touch. Come, I haven't tasted a glass of fizz since—well, I've +forgotten. Just for auld lang syne!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Robert gasps, hesitates a second, and then pushes the button. +Bunny inspects the label critical when it's brought in, waves graceful +to Mr. Robert, and slides the bottle back tender into the cooler. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah-h-h!" says he. "And doesn't Henri have any more of those dainty +little caviar canapes on hand? They go well with fizz." +</P> + +<P> +"Canapes," says Mr. Robert to the waiter. "And another box of those +gold-tipped Russians." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>À vous</I>!" says Bunny, raisin' a glassful of bubbles and salutin'. +"I'm as thirsty as a camel driver." +</P> + +<P> +"But what I'd like to know," says Mr. Robert, "is what you propose +doing." +</P> + +<P> +"You, my dear fellow," says Bunny, settin' down the glass. +</P> + +<P> +"Truly enterprising!" says Mr. Robert. "But you're going to be +disappointed. In just ten minutes I mean to escort you to the +sidewalk, and then wash my hands of you for good." +</P> + +<P> +Bunny laughs. "Impossible!" says he. "In the first place, you +couldn't sleep tonight, if you did. Secondly, I should hunt you up +tomorrow and make a nuisance of myself." +</P> + +<P> +"You'd be thrown out by a porter," says Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," says he; "but it wouldn't look nice. I'd be in evening +clothes, you see. The crowd would know at once that I was a gentleman. +Reporters would come. I should tell a most harrowing tale. You'd deny +it, of course; but half the people would believe me. No, no, Bob! +Three hours ago, in my old rags, you might have kicked me into the +gutter, and no one would have made any fuss at all. But now! Why, it +would be absurd! I should make a mighty row over it." +</P> + +<P> +"You threaten blackmail?" says Mr. Robert, leanin' towards him savage. +</P> + +<P> +"That is one of my more reputable accomplishments," says Bunny. "But +why force me to that? I have quite a reasonable proposal to submit." +</P> + +<P> +"If it has anything to do with getting you so far away from New York +that you'll never come back, I'll listen to it," says Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"You state the case exactly," says Bunny. "In Paris I got to know a +chap by the name of Dick Langdon; English, you know, and a younger son. +His uncle's a Sir Something or Other. Dick was going the pace. He'd +annexed some funds that he'd found lying around loose. Purely a family +affair; no prosecution. A nice youth, Langdon. We were quite +congenial. +</P> + +<P> +"A year or so ago I ran across him again, down in Santa Marta. He was +wearing a sun helmet and a white linen suit. He said he'd been shipped +down there as superintendent of a banana plantation about twenty miles +back from the port. He had half a hundred blacks and as many East +Indian coolies under him. There was no one else within miles. Once a +month he got down to see the steamer load and watch the white faces +hungrily. I was only a cabin steward leaning over the rail; but he was +so tickled to see me that he begged me to quit and go back to the +plantation with him. He said he'd make me assistant superintendent, or +permanent guest, or anything. But I was crazy to see New York once +more. I wouldn't listen. Well, I've seen New York, seen enough of it +to last a lifetime. What do you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"When could you get a steamer?" asks Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"The Arapequa sails at ten in the morning," says Bunny eager. "Fare +forty-eight dollars one way. I could go aboard now. Dick would hail +me as a man and a brother. I'm his kind. He'd see that I never had +money enough to get away. I think I might possibly earn my keep +bossing coolies too. And the pulque down there helps you to forget +your troubles." +</P> + +<P> +"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "ask Barney to call a cab." +</P> + +<P> +"And, by the way," Bunny is sayin' as I come back, "you might chuck in +a business suit and a few white flannels into a grip, Bob. You +wouldn't want me to arrive in South America dressed like this, would +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," says Mr. Robert. "But what I'm most concerned about is +that you do arrive there." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"But how do you know, Mr. Robert," says I next mornin', "that he will?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I locked him in his stateroom myself," says he, "and bribed a +steward not to let him out until he could see Barnegat light over the +stern." +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" says I. "That's one way of losin' a better days' proposition. +And in case any others like him turns up, Mr. Robert, have you got any +more old dress suits?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I have," says he, "I shall burn them." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE GLAD HAIL FOR TORCHY +</H3> + + +<P> +I'll say this for Aunty: She's doin' her best. About all she's omitted +is lockin' Vee in a safety deposit vault and forgettin' the combination. +</P> + +<P> +Say, you'd most think I was as catchin' as a case of measles. I wish +it was so; for once in awhile, in spite of Aunty, Vee gets exposed. +That's all the good it does, though. What's a few minutes' chat with +the only girl that ever was? It's a wonder we don't have to be +introduced all over again. That would be the case with some girls. +But Vee! Say, lemme put you wise—Vee's different! Uh-huh! I found +that out all by myself. I don't know just where it comes in, or how, +but she is. +</P> + +<P> +All of which makes it just so much worse when she and Aunty does the +summer flit. Course, I saw it comin' 'way back early in June, and then +the first thing I know they're gone. I gets a bulletin now and +then,—Lenox, the Pier, Newport, and so on,—sometimes from Vee, +sometimes by readin' the society notes. Must be great to have the +papers keep track of you, the way they do of Aunty. And it's so +comfortin' to me, strayin' lonesome into a Broadway movie show of a hot +evening to know that "among the debutantes at a tea dance given in the +Casino by Mrs. Percy Bonehead yesterday afternoon was Miss Verona +Hemmingway." Oh, sure! Say, how many moves am I from a tea dance—me +here behind the brass rail at the Corrugated, with Piddie gettin' +fussy, and Old Hickory jabbin' the buzzer? +</P> + +<P> +And then, just when I'm peevish enough to be canned and served with +lamb chops, here comes this glad word out of the State of Maine. "It's +nice up here," says she; "but awfully stupid. VEE." That's all—just +a picture postcard. But, say, I'd have put it in a solid gold frame if +there'd been one handy. +</P> + +<P> +As it is, I sticks the card up on the desk in front of me and gazes +longin'. Some shack, I should judge by the picture,—one of these low, +wide affairs, all built of cobblestones, with a red tile roof and +yellow awnin's. Right on the water too. You can see the waves +frothin' almost up to the front steps. Roarin' Rocks, Maine, is the +name of the place printed underneath. +</P> + +<P> +"Nice, but stupid, eh?" says I confidential to myself. "That's too +bad. Wonder if I'd be bored to death with a week or so up there? I +wonder what she'd say if——" +</P> + +<P> +B-r-r-r-r! B-r-r-r-r-r! That's always the way! I just get started on +some rosy dream, and I'm sailin' aloft miles and miles away, when off +goes that blamed buzzer, and back I flop into this same old chair +behind the same old brass rail! All for what? Why, Mr. Robert wants a +tub of desk pins. I gets 'em from Piddie, trots in, and slams 'em down +snappy at Mr. Robert's elbow. +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says he, glancin' up startled. +</P> + +<P> +"Said pins, dintcher?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Why—er—yes," says he, "I believe I did. Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says I, turnin' on my heel. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—er—Torchy," he adds. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" says I over my shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Might one inquire," says he, "is it distress, or only disposition?" +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't the effect of too much fresh air, anyway," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" says he, sort of reflective. "Feeling the need of a half +holiday, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says I. "What's the good of an afternoon off?" +</P> + +<P> +He'd just come back from a two weeks' cruise, Mr. Robert had, lookin' +tanned and husky, and a little later on he was goin' off on another +jaunt. Course, that's all right, too. I'd take 'em oftener if I was +him. But hanged if I'd sit there starin' puzzled at any one else who +couldn't, the way he was doin' at me! +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Robert," says I, spunkin' up sudden, "what's the matter with me +takin' a vacation?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says he, "I—I presume it might be arranged. When would you +wish to go?" +</P> + +<P> +"When?" says I. "Why, now—tonight. Say, honest, if I try to stick +out the week I'll get to be a grouch nurser, like Piddie. I'm sick of +the shop, sick of answerin' buzzers, sick of everything!" +</P> + +<P> +It wasn't what you might call a smooth openin', and from most bosses I +expect it would have won me a free pass to all outdoors. But I guess +Mr. Robert knows what these balky moods are himself. He only humps his +eyebrows humorous and chuckles. +</P> + +<P> +"That's rather abrupt, isn't it?" says he. "But perhaps—er—just +where is she now, Torchy?" +</P> + +<P> +I grins back sheepish. "Coast of Maine," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well!" says he. "Then you'll need a two weeks' advance, at +least. There! Present this to the cashier. And there is a good +express, I believe, at eight o'clock tonight. Luck to you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Robert," says I, choky, "you—you're I-double-It with me. Thanks." +</P> + +<P> +"My best regards to Kennebunk, Cape Neddick, and Eggemoggen Reach," +says he as we swaps grips. +</P> + +<P> +Say, there's some boss for you, eh? But how he could dope out the +symptoms so accurate is what gets me. Anyhow, he had the answer; for I +don't stop to consult any vacation guidebook or summer tours pamphlet. +I beats it for the Grand Central, pushes up to the ticket window, and +calls for a round trip to Roaring Rocks. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing doing," says the guy. "Give you Bass Rocks, Seal Rocks, or +six varieties of Spouting Rocks; but no Roaring ones on the list. Any +choice?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gwan, you fresh Mellen seed!" says I. "You got to have 'em. It says +so on the card," and I shoves the postal at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, yes, my young ruddy duck," says he. "Postmarked Boothbay Harbor, +isn't it? Bath for yours. Change there for steamer. Upper's the best +I can do for you—drawing rooms all gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Seein' how my private car's bein' reupholstered, I'll chance an +upper," says I. "Only don't put any nose trombone artist underneath." +</P> + +<P> +Yes, I was feelin' some gayer than a few hours before. What did I care +if the old town was warmin' up as we pulls out until it felt like a +Turkish bath? I was bound north on the map, with my new Norfolk suit +and three outing shirts in my bag, a fair-sized wad of spendin' kale +buttoned into my back pocket, and that card of Vee's stowed away +careful. Say, I should worry! And don't they do some breezin' along +on that Bar Harbor express while you sleep, though? +</P> + +<P> +"What cute little village is this?" says I to Rastus in the washroom +next mornin' about six-thirty A. M. +</P> + +<P> +"Pohtland, Suh," says he. "Breakfast stop, Suh." +</P> + +<P> +"Me for it, then," says I. "When in Maine be a maniac." So I tackles +a plate of pork-and on its native heath; also a hunk of pie. M-m-m-m! +They sure can build pie up there! +</P> + +<P> +It's quite some State, Maine. Bath is several jumps on, and that next +joint—— Say, it wa'n't until I'd changed to the steamer and was +lookin' over my ticket that I sees anything familiar about the name. +Boothbay! Why, wa'n't that the Rube spot this Ira Higgins hailed from? +Maybe you remember,—Ira, who'd come on to see Mr. Robert about +buildin' a new racin' yacht, the tall, freckled gink with a love affair +on his mind? Why, sure, this was Ira's Harbor I was headed for. And, +say, I didn't feel half so strange about explorin' the State after +that. For Ira, you know, is a friend of mine. Havin' settled that +with myself, I throws out my chest and roams around the decks, climbin' +every flight of stairs I came to, until I gets to a comfy little coop +on the very top where a long guy wearin' white suspenders over a blue +flannel shirt is jugglin' the steerin' wheel. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Cap!" says I. "How's she headin'?" +</P> + +<P> +He ain't one of the sociable kind, though. You'd most thought, from +the reprovin' stare he gives me, that he didn't appreciate good comp'ny. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you read?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, you mean the Keep-Out sign? Sure, Pete," says I; "but I can't see +it from in here." +</P> + +<P> +"Then git out where you can see it plainer," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, quit your kiddin'!" says I. "That's for the common herd, ain't +it? Now, I—— Say, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll tell you +who I am." +</P> + +<P> +"Say it quick then," says he. "Are you Woodrow Wilson, or only the +Secretary of the Navy?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're warm," says I. "I'm a friend of Ira Higgins of Boothbay +Harbor." +</P> + +<P> +"Sho!" says he, removin' his pipe and beginnin' to act human. +</P> + +<P> +"Happen to know Ira?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Ought to," says he. "First cousins. You from Boston?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Cap!" says I. "What have I ever done to you? Now, honest, do I +look like I—but I'll forgive you this time. New York, Cap: not +Brooklyn, or Staten Island or the Bronx, you know, but straight New +York, West 17th-st. And I've come all this way just to see Mr. +Higgins." +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh!" says he. "Ira always did have all the luck." +</P> + +<P> +Next crack he calls me Sorrel Top, and inside of five minutes we was +joshin' away chummy, me up on a tall stool alongside, and him pointin' +out all the sights. And, believe me, the State of Maine's got some +scenery scattered along the wet edge of it! Honest, it's nothin' but +scenery,—rocks and trees and water, and water and trees and rocks, and +then a few more rocks. +</P> + +<P> +"How about when you hit one of them sharp ones?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Government files a new edge on it," says he. "They keep a gang that +does nothin' else." +</P> + +<P> +"Think of that!" says I. "I don't see any lobsters floatin' around, +though." +</P> + +<P> +"Too late in the day," says he. "'Fraid of gittin' sunburned. You +want to watch for 'em about daybreak. Millions then. Travel in +flocks." +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-es?" says I. "All hangin' onto a string, I expect. But why the +painted posts stickin' up out of the water?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hitchin' posts," says he, "for sea hosses." +</P> + +<P> +Oh, I got a bunch of valuable marine information from him, and when the +second mate came up he added a lot more. If I hadn't thought to tell +'em how there was always snow on the Singer and Woolworth towers, and +how the East Side gunmen was on strike to raise the homicide price to +three dollars and seventy-five cents, they'd had me well Sweeneyed. As +it was, I guess we split about even. +</P> + +<P> +Him findin' Boothbay Harbor among all that snarl of islands and +channels wasn't any bluff, though. That was the real sleight of hand. +As we're comin' up to the dock he points out Ira's boatworks, just on +the edge of the town. Half an hour later I've left my baggage at the +hotel and am interviewin' Mr. Higgins. +</P> + +<P> +He's the same old Ira; only he's wearin' blue overalls and a boiled +shirt with the sleeves rolled up. +</P> + +<P> +"Roarin' Rocks, eh?" says he. "Why, that's the Hollister place on +Cunner Point, about three miles up." +</P> + +<P> +"Can I get a trolley?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Trolley!" says he. "Why, Son, there ain't any 'lectric cars nearer'n +Bath." +</P> + +<P> +"Gee, what a jay burg!" says I. "How about a ferry, then?" +</P> + +<P> +Ira shakes his head. Seems Roarin' Rocks is a private joint, the +summer place of this Mr. Hollister who's described by Ira as "richer'n +Croesus"—whatever that might mean. Anyway, they're exclusive parties +that don't encourage callers; for the only way of gettin' there is over +a private road around the head of the bay, or by hirin' a launch to +take you up. +</P> + +<P> +"Generally," says Ira, "they send one of their boats down to meet +company. Now, if they was expectin' you——" +</P> + +<P> +"That's just it," I breaks in, "they ain't. Fact is, Ira, there's a +young lady visitin' there with her aunt, and—and—well, Aunty and me +ain't so chummy as we might be." +</P> + +<P> +"Just so," says Ira, noddin' wise. +</P> + +<P> +"Now my plan was to go up there and kind of stick around, you know," +says I, "sort of in the shade, until the young lady strolled out." +</P> + +<P> +Ira shakes his head discouragin'. "They're mighty uppish folks," says +he. "Got 'No Trespass' signs all over the place—dogs too." +</P> + +<P> +"Hellup!" says I. "What am I up against? Why don't Aunty travel with +a bunch of gumshoe guards and be done with it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tell you what," says Ira, struck by a stray thought, "if lookin' the +place over'll do any good, you might go out with Eb Westcott this +afternoon when he baits. He's got pots all around the point." +</P> + +<P> +That don't mean such a lot to me; but my middle name is Brodie. "Show +me Eb," says I. +</P> + +<P> +He wa'n't any thrillin' sight, Eb; mostly rubber hip boots, flannel +shirt, and whiskers. He could have been cleaner. So could his old tub +of a lobster boat; but not while he stuck to that partic'lar line of +business, I guess. And, say, I know now what baitin' is. It's haulin' +up lobster pots from the bottom of the ocean and decoratin' 'em inside +with fish—ripe fish, at that. The scheme is to lure the lobsters into +the pot. Seems to work too; but I guess a lobster ain't got any sense +of smell. +</P> + +<P> +"Better put on some old clothes fust," advised Eb, and as I always like +to dress the part I borrows a moldy suit of oilskins from Ira, +includin' one of these yellow sea bonnets, and climbs aboard. +</P> + +<P> +It's a one-lunger putt-putt—and take it from me the combination of +gasolene and last Tuesday's fish ain't anything like <I>Eau d'Espagne</I>! +Quite different! Also I don't care for that jumpy up and down motion +one of these little boats gets on, specially after pie and beans for +breakfast. Then Eb hands me the steerin' ropes while he whittles some +pressed oakum off the end of a brunette plug and loads his pipe. More +perfume comin' my way! +</P> + +<P> +"Ever try smokin' formaldehyde?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Gosh, no!" says Eb. "What's it like?" +</P> + +<P> +"You couldn't tell the difference," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"We git tin tags off'm Sailor's Pride," says Eb. "Save up fifty, and +you git a premium." +</P> + +<P> +"You ought to," says I, "and a pension for life." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says Eb. "It's good eatin' too, Ever chaw any?" and he holds +out the plug invitin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't tempt me," says I. "I promised my dear old grandmother I +wouldn't." +</P> + +<P> +"Lookin' a little peaked, ain't you!" says he. "Most city chaps do +when they fust come; but after 'bout a month of this——" +</P> + +<P> +"Chop it, Eb!" says I. "I'm feelin' unhappy enough as it is. A month +of this? Ah, say!" +</P> + +<P> +After awhile we begun stoppin' to bait. Eb would shut off the engine, +run up to a float, haul in a lot of clothesline, and fin'lly pull up an +affair that's a cross between a small crockery crate and an openwork +hen-coop. Next he'd grab a big needle and string a dozen or so of the +gooey fish on a cord. I watched once. After that I turned my back. +By way of bein' obligin', Eb showed me how to roll the flywheel and +start the engine. He said I was a heap stronger in the arms than I +looked, and he didn't mind lettin' me do it right along. Friendly old +yap, Eb was. I kept on rollin' the wheel. +</P> + +<P> +So about three P. M., as we was workin' our way along the shore, Eb +looks up and remarks, "Here's the Hollister place, Roarin' Rocks." +</P> + +<P> +Sure enough there it was, almost like the postcard picture, only not +colored quite so vivid. +</P> + +<P> +"Folks are out airin' themselves too," he goes on. +</P> + +<P> +They were. I could see three or four people movin' about on the +veranda; for we wa'n't more'n half a block away. First off I spots +Aunty. She's paradin' up and down, stiff and stately, and along with +her waddles a wide, dumpy female in pink. And next, all in white, and +lookin' as slim and graceful as an Easter lily, I makes out Vee; also a +young gent in white flannels and a striped tennis blazer. He's smokin' +a cigarette and swingin' a racket jaunty. I could even hear Vee's +laugh ripple out across the water. You remember how she put it too, +"nice, but awfully stupid." Seems she was makin' the best of it, +though. +</P> + +<P> +And here I was, in Ira's baggy oilskins, my feet in six inches of oily +brine, squattin' on the edge of a smelly fish box tryin' to hold down a +piece of custard pie! No, that wa'n't exactly the rosy picture I threw +on the screen back in the Corrugated gen'ral offices only yesterday. +Nothing like that! I don't do any hoo-hooin', or wave any private +signals. I pulls the sticky sou'wester further down over my eyes and +squats lower in the boat. +</P> + +<P> +"Look kind o' gay and festive, don't they?" says Eb, straightenin' up +and wipin' his hands on his corduroys. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's the party in the tennis outfit?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Him?" says Eb, gawpin' ashore. "Must be young Hollister, that owns +the mahogany speed boat. Stuck up young dude, I guess. Wall, five +more traps to haul, and we're through, Son." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's go haul 'em, then," says I, grabbin' the flywheel. +</P> + +<P> +Great excursion, that was! Once more on land, I sneaked soggy footed +up to the hotel and piked for my room. I shied supper and went to the +feathers early, trustin' that if I could get stretched out level with +my eyes shut things would stop wavin' and bobbin' around. That was +good dope too. +</P> + +<P> +I rolled out next mornin' feelin' fine and silky; but not so cocky by +half. Somehow, I wa'n't gettin' any of the lucky breaks I'd looked for. +</P> + +<P> +My total programme for the day was just to bat around Boothbay. And, +say, of all the lonesome places for city clothes and a straw lid! +Honest, I never saw so many yachty rigs in my life,—young chaps in +white ducks and sneakers and canvas shoes, girls in middie blouses, old +guys in white flannels and yachtin' caps, even old ladies dressed +sporty and comf'table—and more square feet of sunburn than would cover +Union Square. I felt like a blond Eskimo at a colored camp meetin'. +</P> + +<P> +As everyone was either comin' from or goin' to the docks, I wanders +down there too, and loafs around watchin' the steamers arrive, and the +big sailin' yachts anchored off in the harbor, and the little boats +dodgin' around in the choppy water. There's a crisp, salty breeze +that's makin' the flags snap, the sun's shinin' bright, and take it +altogether it's some brilliant scene. Only I'm on the outside peekin' +in. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the use?" thinks I. "I'm off my beat up here." +</P> + +<P> +Fin'lly I drifts down to the Yacht Club float, where the launches was +comin' in thick. I must have been there near an hour, swappin' never a +word with anybody, and gettin' lonesomer by the minute, when in from +the harbor dashes a long, low, dark-colored boat and comes rushin' at +the float like it meant to make a hydroplane jump. At the wheel I gets +sight of a young chap who has sort of a worried, scared look on his +face. Also he's wearin' a striped blazer. +</P> + +<P> +"Young Hollister, maybe," thinks I. "And he's in for a smash." +</P> + +<P> +Just then he manages to throw in his reverse; but it's a little late, +for he's got a lot of headway. Honest, I didn't think it out. And I +was achin' to butt into something. I jumped quick, grabbed the bow as +it came in reach, shoved it off vigorous, and brought him alongside the +fenders without even scratchin' the varnish. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks, old chap," says he. "Saved me a bad bump there. I—I'm +greatly obliged." +</P> + +<P> +"You're welcome," says I. "You was steamin' in a little strong." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't handled the Vixen much myself," says he. "You see, our +boatman's laid up,—sprained ankle,—and I had to come down from the +Rocks for some gasolene." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Roarin' Rocks?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," says he. "Where's that fool float tender?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just gone into the clubhouse," says I. "Maybe I could keep her from +bumpin' while you're gone." +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove! would you?" says he, handin' over a boathook. +</P> + +<P> +Even then I wasn't layin' any scheme. I helps when they puts the gas +in, and makes myself generally useful. Also I'm polite and respectful, +which seems to make a hit with him. +</P> + +<P> +"Deuced bother," says he, "not having any man. I had a picnic planned +for today too." +</P> + +<P> +"That so?" says I. "Well, I'm no marine engineer, but I'm just killin' +time around here, and if I could help any way——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I say, but that's jolly of you," says he, "I wonder if you would, +for a day or so? My name's Hollister, Payne Hollister." +</P> + +<P> +He wasn't Payne to me. He was Joy. Easy? Why, he fairly pushes me +into it! Digs a white jumper out of a locker for me, and a little +round canvas hat with "Vixen" on the front, and trots back uptown to +buy me a swell pair of rubber-soled deck shoes. Business of quick +change for yours truly. Then look! Say, here I am, just about the +yachtiest thing in sight, leanin' back on the steerin' seat cushions of +a classy speed boat that's headed towards Vee at a twenty-mile clip. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE +</H3> + + +<P> +Lemme see, I was headed out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine, bound for +Roarin' Rocks, wa'n't I? Hold the picture,—me in a white jumper and +little round canvas hat with "Vixen" printed across the front, white +shoes too, and altogether as yachty as they come. Don't forget young +Mr. Payne Hollister at the wheel, either; although whether I'd +kidnapped him, or he'd kidnapped me, is open for debate. +</P> + +<P> +Anyway, here I was, subbin' incog for the reg'lar crew, who was laid up +with a sprained ankle. All that because I'd got the happy hail from +Vee on a postcard. It wa'n't any time for unpleasant thoughts then; +but I couldn't help wonderin' how soon Aunty would loom on the horizon +and spoil it all. +</P> + +<P> +"So there's a picnic on the slate, eh?" I suggests. +</P> + +<P> +Young Mr. Hollister nods. "I'd promised some of the folks at the +house," says he. "Guests, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," says I, feelin' a little shiver flicker down my spine. +</P> + +<P> +I knew. Vee was a guest there. So was Aunty. The picnic prospects +might have been more allurin'. But I'd butted in, and this was no time +to back out. Besides, I was more or less interested in sizin' up Payne +Hollister. Tall, slim, young gent; dark, serious eyes; nose a little +prominent; and his way of speakin' and actin' a bit pompous,—one of +them impatient, quick-motioned kind that wants to do everything in a +minute. He keeps gettin' up and starin' ahead, like he wa'n't quite +sure where he was goin', and then leanin' over to squint at the engine +restless. +</P> + +<P> +"Just see if those forward oil cups are full, will you?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +I climbs over and inspects. Everything seems to be O. K.; although +what I don't know about a six-cylinder marine engine is amazin'. +</P> + +<P> +"We're slidin' through the water slick," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"She can turn up much faster than this," says he; "only I don't dare +open her wide." +</P> + +<P> +I was satisfied. I could use a minute or so about then to plot out a +few scenarios dealin' with how a certain party would act in case of +makin' a sudden discovery. But I hadn't got past picturin' the cold +storage stare before the Hollister place shows up ahead, Payne +throttles the Vixen down cautious, shoots her in between a couple of +rocky points, and fetches her up alongside a rope-padded private float. +There's some steps leadin' up to the top of the rocks. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mind running up and asking if they're ready?" says Payne. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no," says I; "but—but who do I ask?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's so," says he. "And they'll not know who you are, either. I'll +go. Just hold her off." +</P> + +<P> +Me with a boathook, posin' back to for the next ten minutes, not even +darin' to rubber over my shoulder. Then voices, "Have you the coffee +bottles?"—"Don't forget the steamer rugs."—"I put the olives on the +top of the sandwiches."—"Be careful when you land, Mabel dear."—"Oh, +we'll be all right." This last from Vee. +</P> + +<P> +Another minute and they're down on the float, with Payne Hollister +explainin', "Oh, I forgot. This is someone who is helping me with the +boat while Tucker's disabled." I touches my hat respectful; but I'm +too busy to face around—much too busy! +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Cousin Mabel," says young Hollister, "right in the middle of that +seat! Easy, now!" +</P> + +<P> +A squeal from Mabel. No wonder! I gets a glimpse of her as she steps +down, and, believe me, if I had Mabel's shape and weight you couldn't +tease me out on the water in anything smaller'n the Mauretania! All +the graceful lines of a dumplin', Mabel had; about five feet up and +down, and 'most as much around. Vee is on one side, Payne on the +other, both lowerin' away careful; but as she makes the final plunge +before floppin' onto the seat she reaches out one paw and annexes my +right arm. Course that swings me around sudden, and I finds myself +gazin' at Vee over Payne Hollister's shoulders, not three feet away. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" says she, startled, and you couldn't blame her. I just has to +lay one finger on my lips and shake my head mysterious. +</P> + +<P> +"All right!" sings out Payne, straightenin' up. "Always more or less +exciting getting Cousin Mabel aboard; but it's been accomplished. Now, +Verona!" +</P> + +<P> +As he gives her a hand she floats in as light as a bird landin' in a +treetop. I could feel her watchin' me curious and puzzled as I passes +the picnic junk down for Hollister to stow away. Course, it wa'n't any +leadin'-heavy, spotlight entrance I was makin' at Roarin' Rocks; but +it's a lot better, thinks I, than not bein' there at all. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, dear," sighs Mabel, "what a narrow, uncomfortable seat!" +</P> + +<P> +"Is it, really?" asks Vee. "Can't it be fixed someway, Payne?" +</P> + +<P> +"Lemme have a try?" says I. With that I stuffs extra cushions around +her, folds up a life preserver to rest her feet on, and drapes her with +a steamer rug. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," says she, sighin' grateful and rewardin' me with a display of +dimples. "What is your name, young man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says I, with a glance at Vee, "you can just call me Bill." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" says Mabel. "Your name is William." +</P> + +<P> +"William goes, Miss," says I; and as she snuggles down I chances a wink +Vee's way. No response, though. Vee ain't sure yet whether she ought +to grin or give me the call-down. +</P> + +<P> +"Cast off!" says Payne, and out between the rocks we shoot, with Aunty +and Mrs. Hollister wavin' from the veranda. Anyway, that was some +relief. This wa'n't Aunty's day for picnickin'. +</P> + +<P> +She didn't know what she was missin', I expect; for, say, that's good +breathin' air up off Boothbay. There's some life and pep to it, and +rushin' through it that way you can't help pumpin' your lungs full. +Makes you glow and tingle inside and out. Makes you want to holler. +That, and the sunshine dancin' on the water, and the feel of the boat +slicin' through the waves, the engine purrin' away a sort of rag-time +tune, and the pennants whippin', and all that scenery shiftin' around +to new angles, not to mention the fact that Vee's along—well, I was +enjoyin' life about then. Kind of got into my blood. Everything was +lovely, and I didn't care what happened next. +</P> + +<P> +Me bein' the crew, I expect I should have been fussin' around up front, +coilin' ropes, or groomin' the machinery. But I can't make my eyes +behave. I has to turn around every now and then and grin. Mabel don't +seem to mind. +</P> + +<P> +"William," says she, signalin' me, "see if you can't find a box of +candy in that basket." +</P> + +<P> +I hops over the steerin' seat back into the standin' room and digs it +out. Also I lingers around while Mabel feeds in a few pieces. +</P> + +<P> +"Have some?" says she. "You're so good-natured looking." +</P> + +<P> +"That's my long suit," says I. +</P> + +<P> +Then I see Vee's mouth corners twitching and she takes her turn. "You +live around here, I suppose, William?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"No such luck," says I. "I come up special to get this job." +</P> + +<P> +"But," puts in Mabel, holdin' a fat chocolate cream in the air, "Tucker +wasn't hurt until yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"That's when I landed," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Someone must have sent you word then," says Vee, impish. +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh," says I. "Someone mighty special too. Sweet of her, wa'n't +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! A girl?" asks Mabel, perkin' up. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>The</I> girl," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Tee-hee!" snickers Mabel, nudgin' Vee delighted. "Is—is she very +nice, William? Tell us about her, won't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, do!" says Vee, sarcastic. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," says I, lookin' at Vee, "she's about your height and build." +</P> + +<P> +"How interesting!" says Mabel, with another nudge. "Go on. What kind +of hair?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never was any like it," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"But her complexion," insists Mabel, "dark or fair?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pink roses in the mornin', with the dew on," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Bravo!" says Mabel, clappin' her hands. "And her eyes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says I, "maybe you've looked down into deep sea water on a +still, gray day? That's it." +</P> + +<P> +"She must be a beauty," says Mabel. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing but," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope she has a nice disposition too," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope," says I, shakin' my head solemn. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph! What's the matter with that?" says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"Jumpy," says I. "Red pepper and powdered sugar; sometimes all sugar, +sometimes all pepper, then again a mixture. You never can tell." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'd throw her over," says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"Honest, would you?" says I, lookin' her square in the eye. +</P> + +<P> +"If I didn't like her disposition, I would," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"But that's the best part of her to me," says I. "Adds variety, you +know, and—well, I expect it's about the only way I'm like her. Mine +is apt to be that way too." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course," comes in Mabel. "If she was as pretty as all that, +and angelic too——" +</P> + +<P> +"You got the idea," says I. "She'd be in a stained glass window +somewhere, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're a silly boy!" says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"That sounds natural," says I. "I often get that from her." +</P> + +<P> +"And is she living up here?" asks Mabel. "Visiting," says I. "She's +with her——" +</P> + +<P> +"William," breaks in Vee, "I think Mr. Hollister wants you." +</P> + +<P> +I'd most forgot about Payne; for, while he's only a few feet off, he's +as much out of the group as if he was ashore. You know how it is in +one of them high-powered launches with the engine runnin'. You can't +hear a word unless you're right close to. And Payne's twistin' around +restless. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Sir?" says I, goin' up and reportin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Ask Miss Verona if she doesn't want to come up here," says he. "I—I +think it will trim the boat better." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure," says I. But when I passes the word to Vee I translates. "Mr. +Hollister's lonesome," says I, "and there's room for another." +</P> + +<P> +"I've been wondering if I couldn't," says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"You can," says I. "Lemme help you over." +</P> + +<P> +Gives me a chance for a little hand squeeze and another close glimpse +into them gray eyes. I don't make out anything definite, though. But +as she passes forward she puckers her lips saucy and whispers, +"Pepper!" in my ear. I guess, after all, when you're doin' +confidential description you don't want to stick too close to facts. +Makin' it all stained glass window stuff is safer. +</P> + +<P> +I goes back to Mabel and lets her demand more details. She's just full +of romance, Mabel is; not so full, though, that it interferes with her +absorbin' a few eats now and then. Between answerin' questions I'm +kept busy handin' out crackers, oranges, and doughnuts, openin' the +olive bottle, and gettin' her drinks of water. Reg'lar Consumers' +League, Mabel. I never run a sausage stuffin' machine; but I think I +could now. +</P> + +<P> +"You're such a handy young man to have around," says Mabel, after I've +split a Boston cracker and lined it with strawb'ry jam for her; "so +much better than Tucker." +</P> + +<P> +"That's my aim," says I, "to make you forget Tucker." +</P> + +<P> +Yes, I was gettin' some popular with Mabel, even if I was in wrong with +Vee. They seems to be havin' quite a chatty time of it, Payne showin' +her how to steer, and lettin' her salute passin' launches, and +explainin' how the engine worked. As far as them two went, Mabel and +me was only so much excess baggage. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, we're clear out beyond Squirrel!" exclaims Mabel at last. "Ask +Payne where we're going to stop for our picnic. I'm getting hungry." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," says Payne, "we must be thinking about landing. I had +planned to run out to Damariscove; but that looks like a fog bank +hanging off there. Perhaps we'd better go back to Fisherman's Island, +after all. Tell her Fisherman's." +</P> + +<P> +I couldn't see what the fog bank had to do with it—not then, anyway. +Why, it was a peach of a day,—all blue sky, not a sign of a cloud +anywhere, and looked like it would stay that way for a week. He keeps +the Vixen headed out to sea for awhile longer, and then all of a sudden +he circles short and starts back. +</P> + +<P> +"Fog!" he shouts over his shoulder to Mabel. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, bother!" says Mabel. "I hate fog. And it is coming in too." +</P> + +<P> +Yes, that bank did seem to be workin' its way toward us, like a big, +gray curtain that's bein' shoved from the back drop to the front of the +stage. You couldn't see it move, though; but as I watched blamed if it +don't creep up on an island, a mile or so out, and swallow it complete, +same as a picture fades off a movie screen when the lights go wrong. +Just like that. Then a few wisps of thin mist floats by, makin' things +a bit hazy ahead. Squirrel Island, off to the left, disappears like it +had gone to the bottom. The mainland shore grows vague and blurred, +and the first thing we know we ain't anywhere at all, the scenery's all +smudged out, and nothin' in sight but this pearl-gray mist. It ain't +very thick, you know, and only a little damp. Rummy article, this +State of Maine fog! +</P> + +<P> +Young Hollister is standin' up now, tryin' to keep his bearin's and +doin' his best to look through the haze. He slows the engine down +until we're only just chuggin' along. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's see," says he, "wasn't Squirrel off there a moment ago?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no," says Vee. "I thought it was more to the left." +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove!" says he. "And there are rocks somewhere around here too!" +</P> + +<P> +Funny how quick you can get turned around that way. Inside of three +minutes I couldn't have told where we were at, any more'n if I'd been +blindfolded in a cellar. And I guess young Hollister got to that +condition soon after. +</P> + +<P> +"We ought to be making the south end of Fisherman's soon," he observes. +</P> + +<P> +But we didn't. He has me climb out on the bow to sing out if I see +anything. But, say, there was less to see than any spot I was ever in. +I watched and watched, and Payne kept on gettin' nervous. And still we +keeps chuggin' and chuggin', steerin' first one way and then the other. +It seemed hours we'd been gropin' around that way when—— +</P> + +<P> +"Rocks ahead!" I sings out as something dark looms up. Payne turns her +quick; but before she can swing clear bang goes the bow against +something solid and slides up with a gratin' sound. He tries backin' +off; but she don't budge. +</P> + +<P> +"Hang it all!" says Payne, shuttin' off the engine. "I guess we're +stuck." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why not have the picnic right here?" pipes up Mabel. +</P> + +<P> +"Here!" snaps Payne. "But I don't know where we are." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what's the difference?" says Mabel. "Besides, I'm hungry." +</P> + +<P> +"I want to get out of this, though," says Payne. "I mean to keep going +until I know where I am." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, fudge!" says Mabel. "This is good enough. And if we stay here +and have a nice luncheon perhaps the fog will go away. What's the +sense in drifting around when you're hungry?" +</P> + +<P> +That didn't seem such bad dope, either. Vee sides with Mabel, and +while Payne don't like the idea he gives in. We seem to have landed +somewhere. So we carts the baskets and things ashore, finds a flat +place up on the rocks, and then the three of us tackles the job of +hoistin' Mabel onto dry land. And it was some enterprise, believe me! +</P> + +<P> +"Goodness!" pants Mabel, after we'd got her planted safe. "I don't +know how I'm ever going to get back." +</P> + +<P> +We didn't, either; but after we'd spread out five kinds of sandwiches +within her reach, poured hot coffee out of the patent bottles, opened +the sardines and pickles, set out the cake and doughnuts, Mabel ceases +to worry. +</P> + +<P> +Payne don't, though. He swallows one sandwich, and then goes back to +inspect the boat. He announces that the tide is comin' in and she +ought to float soon; also that when she does he wants to start back. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Payne!" protests Mabel. "Just when I'm comfortable!" +</P> + +<P> +"And there isn't any hurry, is there?" asks Vee. +</P> + +<P> +I wa'n't so stuck on buttin' around in the fog myself; so when he asks +me to go down and see if the launch is afloat yet, and I finds that she +can be pushed off easy, I don't hurry about tellin' him so. Instead I +climbs aboard and develops an idea. You see, when I was out with Eb +Westcott in his lobster boat the day before I'd noticed him stop the +engine just by jerkin' a little wire off the spark plug. Here was a +whole bunch of wires, though. Wouldn't do to unhitch 'em all. But +along the inside of the boat is a little box affair that they all lead +into, with one big wire leadin' out. Looked kind of businesslike, that +one did. I unhitches it gentle and drapes it over a nearby screwhead. +Then I strolls back and reports that she's afloat. +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" says Payne. "I'll just start the engine and be tuning her up +while the girls finish luncheon." +</P> + +<P> +Well, maybe you can guess. I could hear him windin' away at the +crankin' wheel, windin' and windin', and then stoppin' to cuss a little +under his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" sings out Mabel. +</P> + +<P> +She was one of the kind that's strong on foolish questions. +</P> + +<P> +"How the blazes should I know?" raps back young Hollister. "I can't +start the blasted thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind," says Mabel cheerful. "We haven't finished the sandwiches +yet." +</P> + +<P> +Next time I takes a peek Payne has his tool kit spread out and is busy +takin' things apart. He's getting' himself all smeared up with grease +and oil too. Pity; for he'd started out lookin' so neat and nifty. +Meanwhile we'd fed Mabel to the limit, got her propped up with +cushions, and she's noddin' contented. +</P> + +<P> +"Guess I'll do some exploring" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"But I've been wanting to do that this half-hour," says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, let's then," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," says Mabel, "and tell me about it afterward." +</P> + +<P> +Oh, yes, we explores. Say, I'm a bear for that too! You have to go +hand in hand over the rocks, to keep from slippin'. And the fog makes +it all the nicer. We didn't go far before we came to the edge. Then +we cross in another direction, and comes to more edge. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, we're on a little island!" says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"Big enough for us," says I. "Here's a good place to sit down too." +We settles ourselves in a snug little corner that gives us a fine view +of the fog. +</P> + +<P> +"How silly of you to come away up here," says Vee, "just because—well, +just because." +</P> + +<P> +"It's the only wise move I was ever guilty of," says I. "I feel like I +had Solomon in the grammar grade." +</P> + +<P> +"But how did you happen to get here—with Payne?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"Hypnotized him," says I. "That part was a cinch." +</P> + +<P> +"And until to-day you didn't know where we were, or anything," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"I scouted around a bit yesterday afternoon," says I. "Saw you too." +</P> + +<P> +"Yesterday!" says she. "Why, no one came near all the afternoon; that +is, only a couple of lobstermen in a horrid, smelly old boat." +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh," says I. "One was me, in disguise." +</P> + +<P> +"Torchy!" says she, gaspin'. And somehow she snuggles up a little +closer after that. "I didn't think when I wrote," she goes on, "that +you would be so absurd." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe I was," says I. "But I took it straight, that part about it +bein' stupid up here. I was figurin' on liftin' the gloom. I hadn't +counted on Payne." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what then?" says she, tossin' her chin up. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin'," says I. "Guess you were right, too." +</P> + +<P> +"He only came the other day," says Vee; "but he's nice." +</P> + +<P> +"Aunty thinks so too, don't she?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes," admits Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"Another chosen one, is he?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +Vee flushes. "I don't care!" says she. "He is rather nice." +</P> + +<P> +"Correct," says I. "I found him that way too; but ain't he—well, just +a little stiff in the neck?" +</P> + +<P> +That brings out a giggle. "Poor Payne!" says Vee. "He is something of +a stick, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll forgive him for that," says I. "We'll forgive Mabel. We'll +forgive the fog. Eh?" Then my arm must have slipped. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Torchy!" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" says I. "Thought you were too near the edge." And the side +clinch wa'n't disturbed. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-240"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-240.jpg" ALT="Then my arm must have slipped—and the side clinch wa'n't disturbed." BORDER="2" WIDTH="419" HEIGHT="653"> +<H4> +[Illustration: Then my arm must have slipped—and the side clinch wa'n't disturbed.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +Some chat too! I don't know when we've had a chance for any such a +good long talk as that, and we both seemed to have a lot of +conversation stored up. Then we chucked pebbles into the water, and +Vee pulls some seaweed and decorates my round hat. You know? It's +easy killin' time when you're paired off right. And the first thing we +knows the fog begins to lighten and the sun almost breaks through. We +hurries back to where Mabel's just rousin' from a doze. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a tiny little island we're on," says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"Nice little island, though," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Hey!" sings out Payne, pokin' his head up over the rocks. "I've been +calling and calling." +</P> + +<P> +"We've been explorin'," says I. "Got her fixed yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hang it, no!" growls Payne, scrubbin' cotton waste over his forehead. +"And the fog's beginning to lift. Why, there's the shore, +and—and—well, what do you think of that? We're on Grampus Ledges, +not a mile from home!" +</P> + +<P> +Sure enough, there was Roarin' Rocks just showin' up. +</P> + +<P> +"Now if I could only start this confounded engine!" says he, starin' +down at it puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +By this time Vee and Mabel appears, and of course Mabel wants to know +what's the matter. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I can't tell," says Payne, sighin' hopeless. +</P> + +<P> +"Wirin' all right, is it?" says I, climbin' in and lookin' scientific. +And—would you believe it?—I only paws around a minute or so before I +finds a loose magneto connection, hooks it up proper, and remarks +casual, "Now let's try her." +</P> + +<P> +Pur-r-r-r-r! Off she goes. "There!" exclaims Mabel. "I shall never +go out again unless William is along. He's so handy!" +</P> + +<P> +Say, she stuck to it. Four days I was chief engineer of the +Vixen—and, take it from me, they was perfectly good days. No more +fog. No rain. Just shoolin' around in fair weather, makin' excursions +here and there, with Vee trippin' down to the dock every day in a +fresher and newer yachtin' costume, and lookin' pinker and sweeter +every trip. +</P> + +<P> +Course, as regards a certain other party, it was a case of artistic +dodgin' for me between times. You got to admit, though, that it wa'n't +a fair test for Aunty. I had her off her guard. Might have been +diff'rent too, if she'd cared for motorboatin'. So maybe I got +careless. I remember once passin' Aunty right in the path, as I'm +luggin' some things up to the house, and all I does is to hoist the +basket up on my shoulder between me and her and push right along. +</P> + +<P> +Then here the last morning just as we got under way for a run to +Damariscotta, she and Mrs. Hollister was up on the cliff seein' us off. +All the rest was wavin'; so just for sport I takes off my hat and waves +too, grinnin' humorous at Vee as I makes the play. But, say, next time +I looks back she's up on the veranda with the fieldglasses trained on +us. I keeps my hat on after that. My kind of red hair is prominent +enough to the naked eye at almost any distance—but with fieldglasses! +Good night! +</P> + +<P> +It was a day for forgettin' things, though. Ever sailed up the Scotty +River on a perfect August day, with the sun on the green hills, a sea +breeze tryin' to follow the tide in, and the white gulls swingin' lazy +overhead? It's worth doin'. Then back again, roundin' Ocean Point +about sunset, with the White Islands all tinted up pink off there, and +the old Atlantic as smooth as a skatin' rink as far out as you can see, +and streaked with more colors than a crazy cubist can sling,—some +peaceful picture. +</P> + +<P> +But what a jar to find Aunty, grim and forbidding waitin' on the dock. +She never says a word until we'd landed and everyone but me had started +for the house. Then I got mine. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," says she icy, "take off that hat!" +</P> + +<P> +I does it reluctant. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says she. "William! I thought so." That's all; but she says +it mighty expressive. +</P> + +<P> +The programme for the followin' day included a ten o'clock start, and +I'd been down to the boat ever since breakfast, tidyin' things up and +sort of wonderin'. About nine-fifteen, though, young Hollister comes +wanderin' down by his lonesome. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all off," says he. "Miss Verona and her aunt have gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Early this morning," says he. "I don't quite understand why; +something about Verona's being out on the water so much, I believe. +Gone to the mountains. And—er—by the way, Tucker is around again. +Here he comes now." +</P> + +<P> +"He gets the jumper, then," says I, peelin' it off. "I guess I'm due +back on Broadway." +</P> + +<P> +"It's mighty good of you to help out," says Payne, "and I—I want to do +the right thing in the way of——" +</P> + +<P> +"You have," says I. "You've helped me have the time of my life. Put +up the kale, Hollister. If you'll land me at the Harbor, I'll call it +square." +</P> + +<P> +He don't want to let it stand that way; but I insists. As I climbs out +on the Yacht Club float, where he'd picked me up, he puts out his hand +friendly. +</P> + +<P> +"And, say," says I, "how about Miss Vee?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says he, "I'm very sorry she couldn't stay longer." +</P> + +<P> +"Me too," says I. "Some girl, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Payne nods hearty, and we swaps a final grip. +</P> + +<P> +Well, it was great! My one miscue was not wearin' a wig. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS +</H3> + + +<P> +We thought it was all over too. That's the way it is in plays and +books, where they don't gen'rally take 'em beyond the final clinch, +leavin' you to fill in the bliss <I>ad lib</I>. But here we'd seen 'em +clear through the let-no-man-put-asunder stage, even watched 'em dodge +the rice and confetti in their dash to the limousine. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank goodness that's through with!" remarks Mother, without makin' +any bones of it. +</P> + +<P> +Course, her reg'lar cue was to fall on Father's neck and weep; but, +then, I expect Mrs. Cheyne Ballard's one of the kind you can't write +any form sheet for. She's a lively, bunchy little party, all jump and +go and jingle, who looks like she might have been married herself only +day before yesterday. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope Robbie knows where she put those trunk checks," says Father, at +the same time sighin' sort of relieved. +</P> + +<P> +From where I stood, though, the guy who was pushin' overboard the +biggest chunk of worry was this I-wilt boy, Mr. Nicholas Talbot. He'd +got her at last! But, z-z-z-zingo! it had been some lively gettin'. +Not that I was all through the campaign with him; but I'd had glimpses +here and there. +</P> + +<P> +You see, Robbie's almost one of the fam'ly; for Mr. Robert's an old +friend of the Ballards, and was bottle holder or something at the +christenin'. As a matter of fact, she was named Roberta after him. +Then he'd watched her grow up, and always remembered her birthdays, and +kept her latest picture on his desk. So why shouldn't he figure more +or less when so many others was tryin' to straighten out her love +affairs? They was some tangled there for awhile too. +</P> + +<P> +Robbie's one of the kind, you know, that would have Cupid cross-eyed in +one season. A queen? Well, take it from me! Say, the way her cheeks +was tinted up natural would have a gold medal rose lookin' like it come +off a twenty-nine-cent roll of wall paper. Then them pansy-colored +eyes! Yes, Miss Roberta Ballard was more or less ornamental. That +wa'n't all, of course. She could say more cute things, and cut loose +with more unexpected pranks, than a roomful of Billie Burkes. As +cunnin' as a kitten, she was. +</P> + +<P> +No wonder Nick Talbot fell for her the first time he was exposed! +Course, he was half engaged to that stunnin' Miss Marian Marlowe at the +time; but wa'n't Robbie waverin' between three young chaps that all +seemed to be in the runnin' before Nick showed up? +</P> + +<P> +Anyway, Miss Marlowe should have known better than to lug in her steady +when she was visitin'. She'd been chummy with Robbie at boardin' +school, and should have known how dangerous she was. But young Mr. +Talbot had only two looks before he's as strong for Robbie as though it +had been comin' on for years back. Impetuous young gent that way he +was too; and, bein' handicapped by no job, and long on time and money, +he does some spirited rushin'. +</P> + +<P> +Seems Robbie Ballard didn't mind. Excitement was her middle name, +novelty was her strong suit, and among Nick's other attractions he was +brand new. Besides, wa'n't he a swell one-stepper, a shark at tennis, +and couldn't he sing any ragtime song that she could drum out? The +ninety-horse striped racin' car that he came callin' in helped along +some; for one of Robbie's fads was for travelin' fast. Course, she'd +been brought up in limousines; but the mile in fifty seconds gave her a +genuine thrill. +</P> + +<P> +When it come to holdin' out her finger for the big solitaire that Nick +flashed on her about the third week, though, she hung back. The others +carried about the same line of jew'lry around in their vest pockets, +waitin' for a chance to decorate her third finger. One had the +loveliest gray eyes too. Then there was another entry, with the +dearest little mustache, who was a bear at doin' the fish-walk tango +with her; not to mention the young civil engineer she'd met last winter +at Palm Beach. But he didn't actually count, not bein' on the scene. +</P> + +<P> +Anyway, three was enough to keep guessin' at once. Robbie was real +modest that way. But she sure did have 'em all busy. If it was a +sixty-mile drive with Nick before luncheon, it was apt to be an +afternoon romp in the surf with the gray-eyed one, and a toss up as to +which of the trio took her to the Casino dance in the evenin'. Mother +used to laugh over it all with Mr. Robert, who remarked that those kids +were absurd. Nobody seemed to take it serious; for Robbie was only a +few months over nineteen. +</P> + +<P> +But young Mr. Talbot had it bad. Besides, he'd always got about what +he wanted before, and this time he was in dead earnest. So the first +thing Mother and Father knew they were bein' interviewed. Robbie had +half said she might if there was no kick from her dear parents, and he +wanted to know how about it. Mr. Cheyne Ballard supplied the +information prompt. He called Nick an impudent young puppy, at which +Mother wept and took the young gent's part. Robbie blew in just then +and giggled through the rest of the act, until Father quit disgusted +and put it square up to her. Then she pouted and locked herself in her +room. That's when Mr. Robert was sent for; but she wouldn't give him +any decision, either. +</P> + +<P> +So for a week there things was in a mess, with Robbie balkin', Mother +havin' a case of nerves, Father nursin' a grouch, and Nick Talbot +mopin' around doleful. Then some girl friend suggested to Robbie that +if she did take Nick they could have a moonlight lawn weddin', with the +flower gardens all lit up by electric bulbs, which would be too dear +for anything. Robbie perked up and asked for details. Inside of an +hour she was plannin' what she would wear. Late in the afternoon Nick +heard the glad news himself, through a third party. +</P> + +<P> +First off the date was set for early next spring, when she'd be twenty. +That was Father's dope; although Mother was willin' it should be pulled +off around Christmas time. Nick, he stuck out for the first of +October; but Robbie says: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, pshaw! There won't be any flowers then, and we'll be back in +town. Why not week after next?" +</P> + +<P> +So that's the compromise fin'lly agreed on. The moonlight stunt had to +be scratched; but the outdoor part was stuck to—and believe me it was +some classy hitchin' bee! +</P> + +<P> +They'd been gone about two weeks, I guess, with everybody contented +except maybe the three losers, and all hands countin' the incident +closed; when one forenoon Mother shows up at the general offices, has a +long talk with Mr. Robert, and goes away moppin' her eyes. Then +there's a call for Mr. Cheyne Ballard's downtown number, and Mr. Robert +has a confab with him over the 'phone. Next comes three lively rings +for me on the buzzer, and I chases into the private office. Mr. Robert +is sittin' scowlin', makin' savage' jabs with a paper knife at the +blotter pad. +</P> + +<P> +"Torchy," says he, "I find myself in a deucedly awkward fix." +</P> + +<P> +"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" says he. "This is a personal affair, and—well, it's +embarrassing, to say the least." +</P> + +<P> +"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"It's about Roberta," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"What—again?" says I. "But I thought they was travelin' abroad?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wish they were," says he; "but they're not. At the last moment, it +seems, Robbie decided she didn't care for a foreign trip,—too late in +the season, and she didn't want to be going over just when everyone was +coming back, you know. So they went up to Thundercaps instead." +</P> + +<P> +"Sounds stormy," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"You're quite right," says he. "But it's a little gem of a place that +young Talbot's father built up in the Adirondacks. I was there once. +It's right on top of a mountain. And that's where they are now, miles +from anywhere or anybody." +</P> + +<P> +"And spoony as two mush ladles, I expect," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says he, tossin' the brass paper knife reckless onto the +polished mahogany desk top. "They ought to be, I will admit; but—oh, +hang it all, if you're to be of any use in this beastly affair, I +suppose you must be told the humiliating, ugly truth! They are not +spooning. Robbie is very unhappy. She—she's being abused." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what do you know!" says I. "You don't mean he's begun draggin' +her around by the hair, or——" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't!" says Mr. Robert, bunchin' his fists nervous. "I can't tell. +Robbie hasn't gone into that. But she has written her mother that she +is utterly wretched, and that this precious Nick Talbot of hers is +unbearable. The young whelp! If I could only get my hands on him for +five minutes! But, blast it all! that's just what I mustn't do +until—until I'm sure. I can't trust myself to go. That is why I must +send you, young man." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Me? Ah, say, Mr. Robert, I wouldn't stand any +show at all mixin' it with a young husk like him. Why, after the first +poke I'd be——" +</P> + +<P> +"You misunderstand," says he. "That poke part I can attend to very +well myself. But I want to know the worst before I start in, and if I +should go up there now, feeling as I do, I—well, I might not be a very +patient investigator. You see, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Might blow a gasket, eh?" says I. "And you want me to go up and scout +around. But what if I'm caught at it—am I peddlin' soap, or what?" +</P> + +<P> +"A plausible errand is just what I've been trying to invent," says he. +"Can you suggest anything?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says I, "I might go disguised as a lone bandit who'd robbed a +train and was——" +</P> + +<P> +"Too theatrical," objects Mr. Robert. +</P> + +<P> +"Or a guy come to test the gas meter," I goes on. +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" says he. "No gas meters up there. Forget the disguise. +They both know you, remember." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well," says I, "if I can't wear a wig, then I expect I'll have to +go as special messenger sent up with some nutty present or other,—a +five-pound box of candy, or flowers, or——" +</P> + +<P> +"That's it—orchids!" breaks in Mr. Robert. "Robbie expects a bunch +from me about every so often. The very thing!" +</P> + +<P> +So less'n an hour later I'm on my way, with fifty dollars' worth of +freak posies in a box, and instructions to stick around Thundercaps as +long as I can, with my eyes wide open and my ears stretched. Mr. +Robert figures I'll land there too late for the night train back, +anyway, and after that I'm to use my bean. If I finds the case +desp'rate, I'm to beat it for the nearest telegraph office and wire in. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor little girl!" is Mr. Robert's closin' remark. "Poor little +Robbie!" +</P> + +<P> +Cheerful sort of an errand, wa'n't it, bein' sent to butt in on a Keno +curtain raiser? Easy enough workin' up sympathy for the abused bride. +Why, she wa'n't much more'n a kid, and one who'd been coddled and +petted all her life, at that! And here she ups and marries offhand +this two-fisted young hick who turns out to be bad inside. You +wouldn't have guessed it, either; for, barrin' a kind of heavy jaw and +deep-set eyes, he had all the points of a perfectly nice young gent. +Good fam'ly too. Mr. Robert knew two of his brothers well, and durin' +the coo campaign he'd rooted for Nick. Then he had to show a streak +like this! +</P> + +<P> +"But wait!" thinks I. "If I can get anything on him, he sure will have +it handed to him hot when Mr. Robert arrives. I want to see it done +too." +</P> + +<P> +You don't get to places like Thundercaps in a minute, though. It's the +middle of the afternoon before I jumps the way train at a little +mountain station, and then I has to hunt up a jay with a buckboard and +take a ten-mile drive over a course like a roller coaster. They ought +to smooth that Adirondack scenery down some. Crude stuff, I call it. +</P> + +<P> +But, say, the minute we got inside Thundercaps' gates it's +diff'rent—smooth green lawns, lots of flowerbeds, a goldfish +pool,—almost like a chunk of Central Park. In the middle is a +white-sided, red-tiled shack, with pink and white awnings, and odd +windows, and wide, cozy verandas,—just the spot where you'd think a +perfectly good honeymoon might be pulled off. +</P> + +<P> +I'm just unloadin' my bag and the flowerbox when around a corner of the +cottage trips a cerise-tinted vision in an all lace dress and a +butterfly wrap. Course, it's Robbie. She's heard the sound of wheels, +and has come a runnin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" says she, stoppin' sudden and puckerin' her baby mouth into a +pout. "I thought someone was arriving, you know." Which was a sad +jolt to give a rescuer, wa'n't it? +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry," says I; "but I'm all there is." +</P> + +<P> +"You're the boy from Uncle Robert's office—Torchy, isn't it?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"It is," says I. "Fired up with flowers and Mr. Robert's compliments." +</P> + +<P> +"The old dear!" says she, grabbin' the box, slippin' off the string and +divin' into the tissue paper. "Orchids, too! Oh, goody! But they +don't go with my coat. Pooh! I don't need it, anyway." With that +she, sheds the butterfly arrangement, chuckin' it casual on the steps, +and jams the whole of that fifty dollars' worth under her sash. +"There, how does that look, Mr. Torchy?" says she, takin' a few fancy +steps back and forth. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, I guess," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Stupid!" says she, stampin' her double A-1 pump peevish. "Is that the +prettiest you can say it? Come, now—aren't they nice on me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nice don't cover it," says I. "I was only wonderin' whether orchids +was invented for you, or you for orchids." +</P> + +<P> +This brings out a frilly little laugh, like jinglin' a string of silver +bells, and she shows both dimples. "That's better," says she. "Almost +as good as some of the things Bud Chandler can say. Dear old Bud! +He's such fun!" +</P> + +<P> +"He was the gray-eyed one, wa'n't he?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes," says she. "He was a dear. So was Oggie Holcomb. I wish +Nick would ask them both up." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says I. "The also rans? Here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh!" says she. "Why not? It's frightfully dull, being all alone. +But Nick won't do it, the old bear!" +</P> + +<P> +Which reminds me that I ought to be scoutin' for black eyes, or wrist +bruises, or finger marks on her neck. Nothin' of the kind shows up, +though. +</P> + +<P> +"Been kind of rough about it, has he?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"He's been perfectly awful!" says she. "Sulking around as though I'd +done something terrible! But I'll pay him up. Come, you're not going +back tonight, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't," says I. "No train." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must play with me," says she, grabbin' my hand kittenish and +startin' to run me across the yard. +</P> + +<P> +"But, see here," says I, followin' her on the jump. "Where's Hubby?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know," says she. "Off tramping through the woods with his +dog, I suppose. He's sulking, as usual. And all because I insisted on +writing to Oggie! Then there was something about the servants. I +don't know, only things went wrong at breakfast, and some of them have +threatened to leave. Who cares? Yesterday it was about the tennis +court. What if he did telegraph to have it laid out? I couldn't play +when I found I hadn't brought any tennis shoes, could I? Besides, +there's no fun playing against Nick, he's such a shark. He didn't like +it, either, because I wouldn't use the baby golf course. But I will +with you. Come on." +</P> + +<P> +"I never did much putting," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I," says she; "but we can try." +</P> + +<P> +Three or four holes was enough for her, though, and then she has a new +idea. "You rag, don't you?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"Only a few tango steps," says I. "My feet stutter." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll show you how," says she. "We have some dandy records, and +the veranda's just right." +</P> + +<P> +So what does she do but tow me back to the house, ring up a couple of +maids to clear away all the rugs and chairs, and push the music machine +up to the open window. +</P> + +<P> +"Put on that 'Too Much Mustard,' Annette," says she, "and keep it +going." +</P> + +<P> +Must have surprised Annette some, as I hadn't been accounted for; but a +little thing like that don't bother Robbie. She gives me the proper +grip for the onestep,—which is some close clinch, believe me!—cuddles +her fluffy head down on my necktie, and off we goes. +</P> + +<P> +"No, don't try to trot," says she. "Just balance and keep time, and +swing two or three times at the turn. Keep your feet apart, you know. +Now back me. Swing! There, you're getting it. Keep on!" +</P> + +<P> +Some spieler, Robbie; and whether or not that was just a josh about +orchids bein' invented for her, there's no doubt but what ragtime was. +Yes, yes, that's where she lives. And me? Well, I can't say I hated +it. With her coachin' me, and that snappy music goin', I caught the +idea quick enough, and first I knew we was workin' in new variations +that she'd suggest, doin' the slow toe pivot, the kitchen sink, and a +lot more. +</P> + +<P> +We stopped long enough to have tea and cakes served, and then Robbie +insists on tryin' some new stunts. There's a sidewise dip, where you +twist your partner around like you was tryin' to break her back over a +chair, and we was right in the midst of practisin' that when who should +show up but the happy bridegroom. And someway I've seen 'em look more +pleased. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-256"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-256.jpg" ALT="We was right in the midst of practisin' the sidewise dip, when who should show up but the happy bridegroom!]" BORDER="2" WIDTH="501" HEIGHT="443"> +<H4> +[Illustration: We was right in the midst of practisin' the sidewise +dip,<BR>when who should show up but the happy bridegroom!] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Oh, that you, old Grumpy?" says young Mrs. Talbot, stoppin' for a +minute. "You remember Torchy, from Uncle Robert's office, don't you? +He came up with some orchids. We're having such fun too." +</P> + +<P> +"Looks so," says Nick. "Can't I cut in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, bother!" says Robbie. "No, I'm tired now." +</P> + +<P> +"Just one dance!" pleads Nick. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, afterward, perhaps," says she. "There! Just look at those silly +orchids! Aren't they sights?" With that she snakes 'em out and tosses +the wilted bunch careless over the veranda rail. "And now," she adds, +"I must dress for dinner." +</P> + +<P> +"You've nearly two hours, Pet," protests Nick. "Come to the outlook +with me and watch the sunset." +</P> + +<P> +"It's too lonesome," says Robbie, and off she goes. +</P> + +<P> +It should have happened then, if ever. I was standin' by, waitin' for +him to cut loose with the cruel words, and maybe introduce a little +hair-draggin' scene. But Nick Talbot just stands there gazin' after +her kind of sad and mushy, not even grindin' his teeth. Next he sighs, +drops his chin, and slumps into a chair. Honest, that got me; for it +was real woe showin' on his face, and he seems to be strugglin' with it +man fashion. Somehow it seemed up to me to come across with a few +soothin' remarks. +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry I butted in," says I; "but Mr. Robert sent me up with the +flowers." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's all right," says he. "Glad you came. I—I suppose she +needed someone else to—to talk to." +</P> + +<P> +"But you wouldn't stand for invite the leftovers on your honeymoon, +eh?" I suggests. +</P> + +<P> +"No, hang it all!" says he. "That was too much. She—she mentioned +it, did she?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just casual," says I. "I take it things ain't been goin' smooth +gen'rally?" +</P> + +<P> +He nods gloomy. "You were bound to notice it," says he. "Anyone +would. I haven't been able to humor all her whims. Of course, she's +been used to having so much going on around her that this must seem +rather tame; but I thought, you know, that when we were married—well, +she doesn't seem to realize. And I've offered to take her +anywhere,—to Newport, to Lenox, to the White Mountains, or touring. +Three times this week we've packed to go to different places, and then +she's changed her mind. But I can't take her back to Long Island, to +her mother's, so soon, or ask a lot of her friends up here. It would +be absurd. But things can't go on this way, either. It—it's awful!" +</P> + +<P> +I leaves him with his chin propped up in his hands, starin' gloomy at +the floor, while I wanders out and pipes off the sun dodgin' behind the +hills. +</P> + +<P> +Later on Robbie insists on draggin' me in for dinner with 'em. She's +some dream too, the way she's got herself up, and lighted up by the +pink candleshades, with them big pansy eyes sparkling and the color +comin' and goin' in her cheeks—say, it most made me dizzy to look. +Then to hear her rattle on in her cute, kittenish way was better'n a +cabaret show. Mostly, though, it's aimed at me; while Nick Talbot is +left to play a thinkin' part. He sits watchin' her with sort of a +dumb, hungry look, like a big dog. +</P> + +<P> +And it was a punk dinner in other ways. The soup was scorched +somethin' fierce; but Robbie don't seem to notice it. The roast lamb +hadn't had the red cooked out of it; but Robbie only asks what kind of +meat it is and remarks that it tastes queer. She has a reg'lar fit, +though, because the dessert is peach ice-cream with fresh fruit +flavorin'. +</P> + +<P> +"And Cook ought to know that I like strawberry better," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"But it's too late for strawberries," explains Nick. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care!" pouts Robbie. "I don't like this, and I'm going to +send it all back to the kitchen." She does it too, and the maid grins +impudent as she lugs it out. +</P> + +<P> +That was a sample of the way Robbie behaved for the rest of the +evenin',—chatterin' and laughin' one minute, almost weepin' the next; +until fin'lly she slams down the piano cover and flounces off to her +room. Nick Talbot sits bitin' his lips and lookin' desp'rate. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I don't know what to do," says he half to himself. +</P> + +<P> +At that I can't hold it any longer. "Say, Talbot," says I, "before we +get any further I got to own up that I'm a ringer." +</P> + +<P> +"A—a what!" says he, starin' puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm supposed to be here just as a special messenger," says I; "but, on +the level, I was sent up here to sleuth for brutal acts. Uh-huh! +That's what the folks at home think, from the letters she's been +writin'. Mr. Robert was dead sure of it. But I see now they had the +wrong dope. I guess I've got the idea. What you're up against is +simply a spoiled kid proposition, and if you don't mind my mixin' in +I'd like to state what I think I'd do if it was me." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd whittle a handle on a good thick shingle," says I, "and use it." +</P> + +<P> +He stiffens a little at that first off, and then looks at me curious. +Next he chuckles. "By Jove, though!" says he after awhile. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, we had a long talk, chummy and confidential, and before we turns +in Nick has plotted out a substitute for the shingle programme that he +promises to try on first thing next morning I didn't expect to be in on +it; but we happens to be sittin' on the veranda waitin' for breakfast, +when out comes Robbie in a pink mornin' gown with a cute boudoir cap on +her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Why haven't they sent up my coffee and rolls?" she demands. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you order them, Robbie?" says Nick. +</P> + +<P> +"Why no," says she. "Didn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," says Nick. "I'm not going to, either. You're mistress of the +house, you know, Robbie, and from now on you are in full charge." +</P> + +<P> +"But—but I thought Mrs. Parkins, the housekeeper, was to manage all +those things," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"You said yesterday you couldn't bear Mrs. Parkins," says Nick; "so I'm +sending her back to town. She's packing her things now. There are +four servants left, though, which is enough. But they need +straightening out. They are squabbling over their work, and neglecting +it. You will have to settle all that." +</P> + +<P> +"But—but, Nick," protests Robbie, "I'm sure I know nothing at all +about it." +</P> + +<P> +"As my wife you are supposed to," says Nick. "You must learn. Anyway, +I've told them they needn't do another stroke until they get orders +from you. And I wish you'd begin. I'd rather like breakfast." +</P> + +<P> +He's real calm and pleasant about it; but there's somethin' solid about +the way his jaw is set. Robbie eyes him a minute hesitatin' and +doubtful, like a schoolgirl that's bein' scolded. Then all of a sudden +there's a change. The pout comes off her lips, her chin stops +trembling and she squares her shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm—I'm sorry, Nicholas," says she. "I—I'll do my best." And off +she marches to the kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +And, say, half an hour later we were all sittin' down to as good a ham +omelet as I ever tasted. When I left with Nick to catch the forenoon +express, young Mrs. Talbot was chewin' the end of a lead pencil, with +them pansy eyes of hers glued on a pad where she was dopin' out her +first dinner order. She would break away from it only long enough to +give Hubby a little bird peck on the cheek; but he seems tickled to +death with that. +</P> + +<P> +So it wa'n't any long report I has to hand in to Mr. Robert that night. +</P> + +<P> +"All bunk!" says I. "Just a case of a honeymoon that rose a little +late. It's shinin' steady now, though. But, say, I hope I'm never +batty enough to fall for one of the butterfly kind. If I do—good +night!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BEING SICCED ON PERCEY +</H3> + + +<P> +Maybe it ain't figured in the headlines, or been noised around enough +for the common stockholders to get panicky over it, but, believe me, it +was some battle! Uh-huh! What else could you expect with Old Hickory +Ellins on one side and George Wesley Jones on the other? And me? Say, +as it happens, I was right on the firin' line. Talk about your drummer +boys of '61—I guess the office boy of this A. M. ain't such a dead one! +</P> + +<P> +Course I knew when Piddie begins tiptoein' around important, and Mr. +Robert cuts his lunchtime down to an hour, that there's something in +the air besides humidity. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," says Old Hickory, shootin' his words out past the stub of a +thick black cigar, "I'm expecting a Mr. Jones sometime this afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Sir," says I. "Any particular Jones, Sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"That," says he, "is a detail with which you need not burden your mind. +I am not anticipating a convention of Joneses." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" says I. "I was only thinkin' that in case some other guy by the +same names should——" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I understand," he breaks in; "but in that remote contingency I +will do my best to handle the situation alone. And when Mr. Jones +comes show him in at once. After that I am engaged for the remainder +of the day. Is that quite clear?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm next," says I. "Pass a Jones, and then set the block." +</P> + +<P> +If he thought he could mesmerize me by any such simple motions as that +he had another guess. Why, even if it had been my first day on the +job, I'd have been hep that it wa'n't any common weekday Jones he was +expectin' to stray in accidental. Besides, the minute I spots that +long, thin nose, the close-cropped, grizzly mustache, and the tired +gray eyes with the heavy bags underneath, I knew it was George Wesley +himself. Ain't his pictures been printed often enough lately? +</P> + +<P> +He looks the part too, and no wonder! If I'd been hammered the way he +has, with seventeen varieties of Rube Legislatures shootin' my past +career as full of holes as a Swiss cheese, grand juries handin' down +new indictments every week end, four thousand grouchy share-holders +howlin' about pared dividends, and twice as many editorial pens +proddin' 'em along——well, take it from me, I'd be on my way towards +the tall trees with my tongue hangin' out! +</P> + +<P> +Here he is, though, with his shoulders back and a sketchy, sarcastic +smile flickerin' in his mouth corners as he shows up for a hand-to-hand +set-to with Old Hickory Ellins. Course it's news to me that the +Corrugated interests and the P., B. & R. road are mixed up anywhere +along the line; but it ain't surprisin'. +</P> + +<P> +Besides mines and rollin' mills, we do a wholesale grocery business, +run a few banks, own a lot of steam freighters, and have all kinds of +queer ginks on our payroll, from welfare workers to would-be statesmen. +We're always ready to slip one of our directors onto a railroad board +too; so I takes it that the way P., B. & R. has been juggled lately was +a game that touches us somewhere on the raw. Must be some kind of a +war on the slate, or Old Hickory'd never called for a topliner like +George Wesley Jones to come on the carpet. If it had been a case of +passin' the peace pipe, Mr. Ellins would be goin' out to Chicago to see +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Jones, Sir," says I, throwin' the private office door wide open so +it would take me longer to shut it. +</P> + +<P> +But Old Hickory don't intend to give me any chance to pipe off the +greetin'. He just glances casual at Mr. Jones, then fixes them +rock-drill eyes of his on me, jerks his thumb impatient over his +shoulder, and waits until there's three inches of fireproof material +between me and the scene of the conflict. +</P> + +<P> +So I strolls back to my chair behind the brass rail and winks +mysterious at the lady typists. Two of 'em giggles nervous. Say, they +got more curiosity, them flossy key pounders! Not one of the bunch but +what knew things was doin'; but what it was all about would have taken +me a week to explain to 'em, even if I'd known myself. +</P> + +<P> +And I expect I wouldn't have had more'n a vague glimmer, either, if it +hadn't been for Piddie. You might know he'd play the boob somehow if +anything important was on. Say, if he'd trotted in there once durin' +the forenoon he'd been in a dozen times; seein' that the inkwells was +filled, puttin' on new desk blotters, and such fool things as that. +Yet about three-fifteen, right in the middle of the bout, he has to +answer a ring, and it turns out he's forgotten some important papers. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Boy," says he, comin' out peevish, "this must go to Mr. Ellins +at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says I, glancin' at the file title. "Copy of charter of the +Palisades Electric! At once is good. Ought to have been on Mr. +Ellins's desk hours ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Boy!" he explodes threatenin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, ditch the hysterics, Peddie!" says I. "It's all right now I'm on +the job," and with a grin to comfort him I slips through Mr. Robert's +room and taps on the door of the boss's private office before blowin' +in. +</P> + +<P> +And, say, it looks like I've arrived almost in time for the final +clinch. Old Hickory is leanin' forward earnest, his jaw shoved out, +his eyes narrowed to slits, and he's poundin' the chair arm with his +big ham fist. +</P> + +<P> +"What I want to know, Jones," he's sayin', "is simply this: Are your +folks going to drop that Palisades road scheme, or aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Course, I can't break into a dialogue at a point like that; so I closes +the door gentle behind me and backs against the knob, watchin' George +Wesley, who's sittin' there with his chin down and his eyes on the rug. +</P> + +<P> +"Really, Ellins," says he, "I can't give you an answer to that. +I—er—I must refer you to our Mr. Sturgis." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" snaps old Hickory. "Sturgis! Who the syncopated sculping is +Sturgis?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why," says Mr. Jones, "Percey J. Sturgis. He is my personal agent in +all such matters, and this—well, this happens to be his pet +enterprise." +</P> + +<P> +"But it would parallel our proposed West Point line," says Mr. Ellins. +</P> + +<P> +"I know," says G. Wesley, sighin' weary. "But he secured his charter +for this two years ago, and I promised to back him. He insists on +pushing it through too. I can't very well call him off, you see." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't, eh?" raps out Old Hickory. "Then let me try. Send for him." +</P> + +<P> +"No use," says Mr. Jones. "He understands your attitude. He wouldn't +come. I should advise, if you have any proposal to make, that you send +a representative to him." +</P> + +<P> +"I go to him," snorts Mr. Ellins, "to this understrapper of yours, this +Mr. Percey—er——" +</P> + +<P> +"Sturgis," puts in George Wesley. "He has offices in our building. +And, really, it's the only way." +</P> + +<P> +Old Hickory glares and puffs like he was goin' to blow a cylinder head. +But that's just what Hickory Ellins don't do at a time like this. When +you think he's nearest to goin' up with a bang, that's the time when +he's apt to calm down sudden and shift tactics. He does now. +Motionin' me to come to the front, he takes the envelope I hands over, +glances at it thoughtful a second, and then remarks casual: +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, Jones. I'll send a representative to your Mr. Sturgis. +I'll send Torchy, here." +</P> + +<P> +I don't know which of us gasped louder, me or George Wesley. Got him +in the short ribs, that proposition did. But, say, he's a game old +sport, even if the papers are callin' him everything from highway +robber to yellow dog. He shrugs his shoulders and bows polite. +</P> + +<P> +"As you choose, Ellins," says he. +</P> + +<P> +Maybe he thinks it's a bluff; but it's nothing like that. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," says Old Hickory, handin' back the envelope, "go find Mr. Percey +J. Sturgis, explain to him that the president of the P., B. & R. is +bound under a personal agreement not to parallel any lines in which the +Corrugated holds a one-third interest. Tell him I demand that he quit +on this Palisades route. If he won't, offer to buy his blasted +charter. Bid up to one hundred thousand, then 'phone me. Got all +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I could say it backwards," says I. "Shake the club first; then wave +the kale at him. Do I take a flyin' start?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go now," says Old Hickory. "We will wait here until five. If he +wants to know who you are, tell him you're my office boy." +</P> + +<P> +Wa'n't that rubbin' in the salt, though? But it ain't safe to stir up +Hickory Ellins unless you got him tied to a post, and even then you +want to use a long stick. As I sails out and grabs my new fall derby +off the peg Piddie asks breathless: +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter now, and where are you off to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Outside business for the boss," says I. "Buyin' up a railroad for +him, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +I left him purple in the face, dashes across to the Subway, and inside +of fifteen minutes I'm listenin' fidgety while a private secretary +explains how Mr. Sturgis is just leavin' town on important business and +can't possibly see me today. +</P> + +<P> +"Deah-uh me!" says I. "How distressin'! Say, you watch me flag him on +the jump." +</P> + +<P> +"But I've just told you," insists the secretary, "that Mr. Sturgis +cannot——" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "This is a case of must—see? If you put me +out I'll lay for him on the way to the elevator." +</P> + +<P> +Course with some parties that might be a risky tackle; but anyone with +a front name like Percey I'm takin' a chance on. Percey! Listens like +one of the silky-haired kind that wears heliotrope silk socks, don't +it? But, say, what finally shows up is a wide, heavy built gent with a +big, homespun sort of face, crispy brown hair a little long over the +ears, and the steadiest pair of bright brown eyes I ever saw. Nothing +fancy or frail about Percey J. Sturgis. He's solid and substantial, +from his wide-soled No. 10's up to the crown of his seven three-quarter +hat. He has a raincoat thrown careless over one arm, and he's smokin' +a cigar as big and black as any of Old Hickory's. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what is it, Son?" says he in one of them deep barytones that you +feel all the way through to your backbone. +</P> + +<P> +And this is what I've been sent out either to scare off or buy up! +Still, you can't die but once. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm from Mr. Ellins of the Corrugated Trust," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" says he, smilin' easy. +</P> + +<P> +Well, considerin' how my knees was wabblin', I expect I put the +proposition over fairly strong. +</P> + +<P> +"You may tell Mr. Ellins for me," says he, "that I don't intend to +quit." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it's a case of buy," says I. "What's the charter worth, spot +cash?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry," says he, "but I'm too busy to talk about that just now. I'm +just starting for North Jersey." +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose I trail along a ways then?" says I. "Mr. Ellins is waitin' +for an answer." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he?" says Percey J. "Then come, if you wish." And what does he do +but tow me down to a big tourin' car and wave me into one of the back +seats with him. Listens quiet to all I've got to say too, while we're +tearin' uptown, noddin' his head now and then, with them wide-set brown +eyes of his watchin' me amused and curious. But the scare I'm tryin' +to throw into him don't seem to take effect at all. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's see," says he, as we rolls onto the Fort Lee ferry, "just what +is your official position with the Corrugated?" +</P> + +<P> +I'd planned to shoot it at him bold and crushin'. But somehow it don't +happen that way. +</P> + +<P> +"Head office boy," says I, blushin' apologizin'; "but Mr. Ellins sent +me out himself." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed?" says he. "Another of his original ideas. A brilliant man, +Mr. Ellins." +</P> + +<P> +"He's some stayer in a scrap, believe me!" says I. "And he's got the +harpoon out for this Palisades road." +</P> + +<P> +"So have a good many others," says Mr. Sturgis, chucklin'. "In fact, I +don't mind admitting that I am as near to being beaten on this +enterprise as I've ever been on anything in any life. But if I am +beaten, it will not be by Mr. Ellins. It will be by a hard-headed old +Scotch farmer who owns sixty acres of scrubby land which I must cross +in order to complete my right of way. He won't sell a foot. I've been +trying for six months to get in touch with him; but he's as stubborn as +a cedar stump. And if I don't run a car over rails before next June my +charter lapses. So I'm going up now to try a personal interview. If I +fail, my charter isn't worth a postage stamp. But, win or lose, it +isn't for sale to Hickory Ellins." +</P> + +<P> +He wa'n't ugly about it. He just states the case calm and +conversational; but somehow you was dead sure he meant it. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," says I. "Then maybe when I see how you come out I'll have +something definite to report." +</P> + +<P> +"You should," says he. +</P> + +<P> +That's where we dropped the subject. It's some swell ride we had up +along the top of the Palisades, and on and on until we're well across +the State line into New York. Along about four-thirty he says we're +most there. We was rollin' through a jay four corners, where the +postoffice occupies one window of the gen'ral store, with the Masonic +Lodge overhead, when alongside the road we comes across a little +tow-headed girl, maybe eight or nine, pawin' around in the grass and +sobbin' doleful. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold up, Martin," sings out Mr. Sturgis to the chauffeur, and Martin +jams on his emergency so the brake drums squeal. +</P> + +<P> +What do you guess? Why Percey J. climbs out, asks the kid gentle what +all the woe is about, and discovers that she's lost a whole nickel that +Daddy has given her to buy lolly-pops with on account of its bein' her +birthday. +</P> + +<P> +"Now that's too bad, isn't it, little one?" says Mr. Sturgis. "But I +guess we can fix that. Come on. Martin, take us back to the store." +</P> + +<P> +Took out his handkerchief, Percey did, and swabbed off the tear stains, +all the while talkin' low and soothin' to the kid, until he got her +calmed down. And when they came out of the store she was carryin' a +pound box of choc'late creams tied up flossy with a pink ribbon. With +her eyes bugged and so tickled she can't say a word, she lets go of his +hand and dashes back up the road, most likely bent on showin' the folks +at home the results of the miracle that's happened to her. +</P> + +<P> +That's the kind of a guy Percey J. Sturgis is, even when he has worries +of his own. You'd most thought he was due for a run of luck after a +kind act like that. But someone must have had their fingers crossed; +for as Martin backs up to turn around he connects a rear tire with a +broken ginger ale bottle and—s-s-s-sh! out goes eighty-five pounds' +pressure to the square inch. No remark from Mr. Sturgis. He lights a +fresh cigar and for twenty-five minutes by the dash clock Martin is +busy shiftin' that husky shoe. +</P> + +<P> +So we're some behind schedule when we pulls up under the horse chestnut +trees a quarter of a mile beyond in front of a barny, weather-beaten +old farmhouse where there's a sour-faced, square-jawed old pirate +sittin' in a home made barrel chair smokin' his pipe and scowlin' +gloomy at the world in gen'ral. It's Ross himself. Percey J. don't +waste any hot air tryin' to melt him. He tells the old guy plain and +simple who he is and what he's after. +</P> + +<P> +"Dinna talk to me, Mon," says Ross. "I'm no sellin' the farm." +</P> + +<P> +"May I ask your reasons?" says Mr. Sturgis. +</P> + +<P> +Ross frowns at him a minute without sayin' a word. Then he pries the +stubby pipe out from the bristly whiskers and points a crooked finger +toward a little bunch of old apple trees on a low knoll. +</P> + +<P> +"Yon's my reason, Mon," says he solemn. "Yon wee white stone. Three +bairns and the good wife lay under it. I'm no sae youthful mysel'. +And when it's time for me to go I'd be sleepin' peaceful, with none o' +your rattlin' trolley cars comin' near. That's why, Mon." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Mr. Ross," says Percey J. "I can appreciate your +sentiments. However, our line would run through the opposite side of +your farm, away over there. All we ask is a fifty-foot strip across +your——" +</P> + +<P> +"You canna have it," says Ross decided, insertin' the pipe once more. +</P> + +<P> +Which is where most of us would have weakened, I expect. Not Mr. +Sturgis. +</P> + +<P> +"Just a moment, Friend Ross," says he. "I suppose you know I have the +P., B. & R. back of me, and it's more than likely that your neighbors +have said things about us. There is some ground for prejudice too. +Our recent stock deals look rather bad from the outside. There have +been other circumstances that are not in our favor. But I want to +assure you that this enterprise is a genuine, honest attempt to benefit +you and your community. It is my own. It is part of the general +policy of the road for which I am quite willing to be held largely +responsible. Why, I've had this project for a Palisades trolley road +in mind ever since I came on here a poor boy, twenty-odd years ago, and +took my first trip down the Hudson. This ought to be a rich, +prosperous country here. It isn't. A good electric line, such as I +propose to build, equipped with heavy passenger cars and running a +cheap freight service, would develop this section. It would open to +the public a hundred-mile trip that for scenic grandeur could be +equaled nowhere in this country. Are you going to stand in the way, +Mr. Ross, of an enterprise such as that?" +</P> + +<P> +Yep, he was. He puffs away just as mulish as ever. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," goes on Percey, "it's nothing to you; but the one ambition +of my life has been to build this road. I want to do for this district +what some of our great railroad builders did for the big West. I'm not +a city-bred theorist, nor a Wall Street stock manipulator. I was born +in a one-story log house on a Minnesota farm, and when I was a boy we +hauled our corn and potatoes thirty miles to a river steamboat. Then +the railroad came through. Now my brothers sack their crops almost +within sight of a grain elevator. They live in comfortable houses, +send their children to good schools. So do their neighbors. The +railroad has turned a wilderness into a civilized community. On a +smaller scale here is a like opportunity. If you will let us have that +fifty-foot strip——" +</P> + +<P> +"Na, Mon, not an inch!" breaks in Ross. +</P> + +<P> +How he could stick to it against that smooth line of talk I couldn't +see. Why, say, it was the most convincin', heart-throbby stuff I'd +ever listened to, and if it had been me I'd made Percey J. a present of +the whole shootin' match. +</P> + +<P> +"But see here, Mr. Ross," goes on Sturgis, "I would like to show you +just what we——" +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy! Daddy!" comes a pipin' hail from somewhere inside, and out +dances a barefooted youngster in a faded blue and white dress. It's +the little heroine of the lost nickel. For a second she gawps at us +sort of scared, and almost decides to scuttle back into the house. +Then she gets another look at Percey J., smiles shy, and sticks one +finger in her mouth. Percey he smiles back encouragin' and holds out a +big, friendly hand. That wins her. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Daddy!" says she, puttin' her little fist in Percey's +confidential. "It's the mans what gimme the candy in the pitty box!" +</P> + +<P> +As for Daddy Ross, he stares like he couldn't believe his eyes. But +there's the youngster cuddled up against Percey J.'s knee and glancin' +up at him admirin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Is ut so, Mon?" demands Ross husky, "Was it you give the lass the +sweeties?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes," admitted Sturgis. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you shall be knowin'," goes on Ross, "that yon lassie is all I +have left in the world that I care a bawbee for. You've done it, Mon. +Tak' as much of the farm as you like at your own price." +</P> + +<P> +Well, that's the way Percey J. Sturgis won out. A lucky stroke, eh? +Take it from me, there was more'n that in it. Hardly a word he says +durin' the run back; for he's as quiet and easy when he's on top as +when he's the under dog. We shakes hands friendly as he drops me +uptown long after dark. +</P> + +<P> +I had all night to think it over; but when I starts for Old Hickory's +office next mornin' I hadn't doped out how I was goin' to put it. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what about Percey?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"He's the goods," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't scare him, eh?" says Old Hickory. +</P> + +<P> +"Not if I'd been a mile high," says I. "He won't sell, either. And +say, Mr. Ellins, you want to get next to Percey J. The way I look at +it, this George Wesley Jones stiff ain't the man behind him; Percey is +the man behind Jones." +</P> + +<P> +"H-m-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory. "I knew there was someone; but I +couldn't trace him. So it's Sturgis, eh? That being so, we need him +with us." +</P> + +<P> +"But ain't he tied up with Jones?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Jones is a dead dog," says Old Hickory. "At least, he will be inside +of a week." +</P> + +<P> +That was some prophecy, eh? Read in the papers, didn't you, how G. +Wesley cables over his resignation from Baden Two Times? Couldn't +stand the strain. The directors are still squabblin' over who to put +in as head of the P., B. & R.; but if you want to play a straight +inside tip put your money on Percey J. Uh-huh! Him and Old Hickory +have been confabbin' in there over an hour now, and if he hadn't +flopped to our side would Mr. Ellins be tellin' him funny stories? +Anyway, we're backin' that Palisades line now, and it's goin' through +with a whoop. +</P> + +<P> +Which is earnin' some int'rest on a pound of choc'lates and a smile. +What? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOW WHITY GUNKED THE PLOT +</H3> + + +<P> +I knew something or other outside of business was puttin' hectic spots +in Old Hickory's disposition these last few days; but not until late +yesterday did I guess it was Cousin Inez. +</P> + +<P> +I expect the Ellins family wasn't any too proud of Cousin Inez, to +start with; for among other things she's got a matrimonial record. +Three hubbies so far, I understand, two safe in a neat kept plot out in +Los Angeles; one in the discards—and she's just been celebratin' the +decree by travelin' abroad. They hadn't seen much of her for years; +but durin' this New York stopover visit she seemed to be makin' up for +lost time. +</P> + +<P> +About four foot eight Cousin Inez was in her French heels, and fairly +thick through. Maybe it was the way she dressed, but from just below +her double chin she looked the same size all the way down. Tie a +Bulgarian sash on a sack of bran, and you've got the model. Inez was a +bear for sashes too. Another thing she was strong on was hair. +Course, the store blond part didn't quite match the sandy gray that +grew underneath, and the near-auburn frontispiece was another tint +still; but all that added variety and quantity—and what more could you +ask? +</P> + +<P> +Her bein' some pop-eyed helped you to remember Inez the second time. +About the size of hard-boiled eggs, peeled, them eyes of hers was, and +most the same color. They say she's a wise old girl though,—carries +on three diff'rent business propositions left by her late string of +husbands, goes in deep for classical music, and is some kind of a high +priestess in the theosophy game. A bit faddy, I judged, with maybe a +few bats in her belfry. +</P> + +<P> +But when it comes to investin' some of her surplus funds in Corrugated +preferred she has to have a good look at the books first, and makes +Cousin Hickory Ellins explain some items in the annual report. Three +or four times she was down to the gen'ral offices before the deal went +through. +</P> + +<P> +This last visit of hers was something diff'rent, though. +</P> + +<P> +I took the message down to Martin, the chauffeur myself. It was a +straight call on the carpet. "Tell Cousin Inez the boss wants to see +her before she goes out this afternoon," says I, "and wait with the +limousine until she comes." +</P> + +<P> +Old Hickory was pacin' his private office, scowlin' and grouchy, as he +sends the word, and it didn't take any second sight to guess he was +peeved about something. I has to snicker too when Cousin Inez floats +in, smilin' mushy as usual. +</P> + +<P> +She wa'n't smilin' any when she drifts out half an hour later. She's +some flushed behind the ears, and her complexion was a little streaked +under the eyes. She holds her chin up defiant, though, and slams the +brass gate behind her. She'd hardly caught the elevator before there +comes a snappy call for me on the buzzer. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," says Old Hickory, glarin' at me savage, "who is this T. Virgil +Bunn?" +</P> + +<P> +Almost had me tongue-tied for a minute, he shoots it at me so sudden. +"Eh?" says I. "T. Virgil? Why, he's the sculptor poet." +</P> + +<P> +"So I gather from this thing," says he, wavin' a thin book bound in +baby blue and gold. "But what in the name of Sardanapalus and Xenophon +is a sculptor poet, anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it's—it's—well, that's the way the papers always give it," says +I. "Beyond that I pass." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" grunts Old Hickory. "Then perhaps you'll tell me if this is +poetry. Listen! +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"'Like necklaces of diamonds hung<BR> +About my lady sweet,<BR> +So do we string our votive area<BR> +All up and down each street.<BR> +They shine upon the young and old,<BR> +The fair, the sad, the grim, the gay;<BR> +Who gather here from far and near<BR> +To worship in our Great White Way.' +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Now what's your honest opinion of that, Son? Is it poetry? +</P> + +<P> +"Listens something like it," says I; "but I wouldn't want to say for +sure." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I," says Mr. Ellins. "All I'm certain of is that it isn't +sculpture, and that if I should read any more of it I'd be seasick. +But in T. Virgil Bunn himself I have an active and personal interest. +Anything to offer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a glimmer," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"And I suppose you could find nothing out?" he goes on. +</P> + +<P> +"I could make a stab," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Make a deep one, then," says he, slippin' over a couple of tens for an +expense fund. +</P> + +<P> +And, say, I knew when Old Hickory begins by unbeltin' so reckless that +he don't mean any casual skimmin' through club annuals for a report. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the idea?" says I. "Is it for a financial rating or a regular +dragnet of past performances?" +</P> + +<P> +"Everything you can discover without taking him apart," says Old +Hickory. "In short, I want to know the kind of person who can cause a +fifty-five-year-old widow with grown sons to make a blinkety blinked +fool of herself." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a charmer, eh?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Evidently," says Mr. Ellins. "Behold this inscription here, 'To dear +Inez, My Lady of the Unfettered Soul—from Virgie.' Get the point, +Son? 'To dear Inez'! Bah! Is he color blind, or what ails him? Of +course it's her money he's after, and for the sake of her boys I'm +going to block him. There! You see what I want?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure!" says I. "You got to have details about Virgie before you can +ditch him. Well, I'll see what I can dig up." +</P> + +<P> +Maybe it strikes you as a chesty bluff for a juvenile party like me to +start with no more clew than that to round up in a few hours what a +high-priced sleuth agency would take a week for. But, say, I didn't +stand guard on the Sunday editor's door two years with my eyes and ears +shut. Course, there's always the city and 'phone directories to start +with. Next you turn to the Who book if you suspect he's ever done any +public stunt. But, say, swallow that Who dope cautious. They let 'em +write their own tickets in that, you know, and you got to make +allowances for the size of the hat-band. +</P> + +<P> +I'd got that far, discovered that Virgie owned up to bein' thirty-five +and a bachelor, that he was born in Schoharie, son of Telemachus J. and +Matilda Smith Bunn, and that he'd once been president of the village +literary club, when I remembers the clippin' files we used to have back +on Newspaper Row. So down I hikes—and who should I stack up against, +driftin' gloomy through the lower lobby, but Whity Meeks, that used to +be the star man on the Sunday sheet. Course, it wa'n't any miracle; +for Whity's almost as much of a fixture there as Old Gluefoot, the +librarian, or the finger marks on the iron pillars in the press-room. +</P> + +<P> +A sad example of blighted ambitions, Whity is. When I first knew him +he had a fresh one every Monday mornin', and they ranged all the way +from him plannin' to be a second Dicky Davis to a scheme he had for +hookin' up with Tammany and bein' sent to Congress. Clever boy too. +He could dash off ponies that was almost good enough to print, dope out +the first two acts of a play that was bound to make his fortune if he +could ever finish it, and fake speeches that he'd never heard a word of. +</P> + +<P> +When he got to doin' Wall Street news, though, and absorbed the idea +that he could stack his little thirty per against the system and break +the bucketshops—well, that was his finish. Two killings that he made +by chance, and he was as good as chained to the ticker for life. No +more new rosy dreams for him: always the same one,—of the day when he +was goin' to show Sully how a cotton corner really ought to be pulled +off, a day when the closin' gong would find him with the City Bank in +one fist and the Subtreasury in the other. You've met that kind, +maybe. Only Whity always tried to dress the part, in a sporty shepherd +plaid, with a checked hat and checked silk socks to match. He has the +same regalia on now, with a carnation in his buttonhole. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, mounting margins!" says he, as I swings him round by the arm. +"Torchy! Whither away? Come down to buy publicity space for the +Corrugated, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not in a rag like yours, Whity," says I, "when we own stock in two +real papers. I'm out on a little private gumshoe work for the boss." +</P> + +<P> +"Sounds thrilling," says he. "Any copy in it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd be chatterin' it to you, wouldn't I?" says I. "Nix! Just plain +fam'ly scrap over whether Cousin Inez shall marry again or not. My job +is to get something on the guy. Don't happen to have any special dope +on T. Virgil Bunn, the sculptor poet, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +Whity stares at me. "Do I?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Say!" Then he leads me over between the 'phone booth and the cigar +stand, flashes an assignment pad, and remarks, "Gaze on that second +item, my boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Woof! That's him, all right," says I. "But what's a bouillabaisse +tea?" +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven and Virgil Bunn only know," says Whity. "But that doesn't +matter. Think of the subtle irony of Fate that sends me up to make a +column story out of Virgie Bunn! Me, of all persons!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, why not you?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" says Whity. "Because I made the fellow. He—why, he is my +joke, the biggest scream I ever put over—my joke, understand? And now +this adumbrated ass of a Quigley, who's been sent on here from St. +Louis to take the city desk, he falls for Virgie as a genuine +personage. Not only that, but picks me out to cover this phony tea of +his. And the stinging part is, if I don't I get canned, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't he the goods, then?" says I. "What about this sculptor poet +business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bunk," says Whity, "nothing but bunk. Of course, he does putter +around with modeling clay a bit, and writes the sort of club-footed +verse they put in high school monthlies." +</P> + +<P> +"Gets it printed in a book, though," says I. "I've seen one." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" says Whity. "Anyone can who has the three hundred to pay +for plates and binding. 'Sonnets of the City,' wasn't it? Didn't I +get my commission from the Easy Mark Press for steering him in? Why, I +even scratched off some of those things to help him pad out the book +with. But, say, Torchy, you ought to remember him. You were on the +door then,—tall, wide-shouldered freak, with aureole hair, and a close +cropped Vandyke?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not the one who wore the Wild West lid and talked like he had a +mouthful of hot oatmeal?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Your description of Virgie's English accent is perfect," says Whity. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well!" says I. "The mushbag, we used to call him." +</P> + +<P> +"Charmingly accurate again!" says Whity. "Verily beside him the +quivering jellyfish of the salt sea was as the armored armadillo of the +desert. Soft? You could poke a finger through him anywhere." +</P> + +<P> +"But what was his game?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't a game, my son," says Whity. "It was a mission in life,—to +get things printed about himself. Had no more modesty about it, you +know, than a circus press agent. Perfectly frank and ingenuous, Virgie +was. He'd just come and ask you to put it in that he was a great +man—just like that! The chief used to froth at the mouth on sight of +him. But Virgie looked funny to me in those days. I used to jolly him +along, smoke his Coronas, let him take me out to swell feeds. Then +when they gave Merrow charge of the Sunday side, just for a josh I did +a half-page special about Virgie, called him the sculptor poet, threw +in some views of him in his studio, and quoted some of his verse that +I'd fixed up. It got by. Virgie was so pleased he wanted to give a +banquet for me; but I got him to go in on a little winter wheat flier +instead. He didn't drop much. After that I'd slip in a paragraph +about him now and then, always calling him the sculptor poet. The tag +stuck. Other papers began to use it; until, first thing I knew, Virgie +was getting away with it. Honest, I just invented him. And now he +passes for the real thing!" +</P> + +<P> +"Where you boobed, then, was in not filin' copyright papers," says I. +"But how does he make it pay?" +</P> + +<P> +"He doesn't," says Whity. "Listen, Son, and I will divulge the hidden +mystery in the life of T. Virgil Bunn. Cheese factories! Half a dozen +or more of 'em, up Schoharie way. Left to him, you know, by Pa Bunn; a +coarse, rough person, I am told, who drank whey out of a five-gallon +can, but was cute enough to import Camembert labels and make his own +boxes. He passed on a dozen years ago; but left the cheese factories +working night shifts. Virgie draws his share quarterly. He tried a +year or two at some Rube college, and then went abroad to loiter. +While there he exposed himself to the sculptor's art; but it didn't +take very hard. However, Virgie came back and acquired the studio +habit. And you can't live for long in a studio, you know, without +getting the itch to see yourself in print. That's what brought Virgie +to me. And now! Well, now I have to go to Virgie." +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't as chummy with him as you was, I take it?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +Whity shrugs his shoulders disgusted. "The saphead!" says he. "Just +because we slipped up on a few stock deals he got cold feet. I haven't +seen him for a year. I wonder how he'll take it? But you mentioned a +Cousin Inez, didn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +I gives Whity a hasty sketch of the piece, mentionin' no more names, +but suggestin' that Virgie stood to connect with an overgrown widow's +mite if there wa'n't any sudden interference. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha!" says Whity, speakin' tragic through his teeth. "An idea! He's +put the spell on a rich widow, has he? Now if I could only manage to +queer this autumn leaf romance it would even up for the laceration of +pride that I see coming my way tonight. Describe the fair one." +</P> + +<P> +"I could point her out if you could smuggle me in," I suggests. +</P> + +<P> +"A cinch!" says he. "You're Barry of the City Press. Here, stick some +copy paper in your pocket. Take a few notes, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a fierce disguise to put on," says I; "but I guess I can stand it +for an evenin'." +</P> + +<P> +So about eight-thirty we meets again, and' proceeds to hunt up this +studio buildin' over in the East 30's. It ain't any bum Bohemian +ranch, either, but a ten-story elevator joint, with clipped bay trees +on each side of the front door. Virgie's is a top floor suite, with a +boy in buttons outside and a French maid to take your things. +</P> + +<P> +"Gee!" I whispers to Whity as we pushes in. "There's some swell mob +collectin', eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Whity is speechless, though, and when he gets his breath again all he +can do is mumble husky, "Teddy Van Alstyne! Mrs. Cromer Paige! The +Bertie Gardiners!" +</P> + +<P> +They acted like a mixed crowd, though, gazin' around at each other +curious, groupin' into little knots, and chattin' under their breath. +Bein' gents of the press, we edges into a corner behind a palm and +waits to see what happens. +</P> + +<P> +"There comes Cousin Inez!" says I, nudgin' Whity. "See? The squatty +dame with the pearl ropes over her hair." +</P> + +<P> +"Sainted Billikens, what a make-up!" says Whity. +</P> + +<P> +And, believe me, Cousin Inez was dolled for fair. She'd peeled for the +fray, as you might say. And if the dinky shoulder straps held it was +all right; but if one of 'em broke there'd sure be some hurry call for +four yards of burlap to do her up in. She seems smilin' and happy, +though, and keeps glancin' expectant at the red velvet draperies in the +back of the room. +</P> + +<P> +Sure enough, exactly on the tick of nine, the curtains part, and in +steps the hero of the evenin'. Dress suit? Say, you don't know +Virgie. He's wearin' a reg'lar monk's outfit, of some coarse brown +stuff belted in with a thick rope and open wide at the neck. +</P> + +<P> +"For the love of beans, look at his feet!" I whispers. +</P> + +<P> +"Sandals," says Whity, "and no socks! Blessed if Virgie isn't going +the limit!" +</P> + +<P> +There's a chorus of "Ah-h-h-h's!" as he steps out, and then comes a +buzz of whispers which might have been compliments, and might not. But +it don't faze Virgie. He goes bowin' and handshakin' through the mob, +smilin' mushy on all and several, and actin' as pleased with himself as +if he'd taken the prize at a fancy dress ball. You should have seen +Cousin Inez when he gets to her! +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you utterly clever man!" she gushes. "What a genuine genius you +are!" +</P> + +<P> +"Dear, sweet lady!" says he. "It is indeed gracious of you to say so." +</P> + +<P> +"Help!" groans Whity, like he had a pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, buck up!" says I. "It'll be your turn soon." +</P> + +<P> +I was wonderin' how Virgie was goin' to simmer down enough to pass +Whity the chilly greetin'; for he's just bubblin' over with kind words +and comic little quips. But, say, he don't even try to shade it. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Whity, my boy!" says he, extendin' the cordial paw. "Charming of +you to look me up once more, perfectly charming!" +</P> + +<P> +"Rot!" growls Whity. "You know I was sent up here to do this blooming +spread of yours. What sort of fake is it, anyway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ha, ha! Same old Whity!" says Virgil, poundin' him hearty on the +shoulder. "But you're always welcome, my boy. As for the tea—well, +one of my little affairs, you know,—just a few friends dropping +in—feast of reason, flow of wit, all that sort of thing. You know how +to put it. Don't forget my costume—picked it up at a Trappist +monastery in the Pyrenees. I must give you some photos I've had taken +in it. Ah, another knight of the pencil?" and he glances inquirin' at +me. +</P> + +<P> +"City Press," says Whity. +</P> + +<P> +"Fine!" says Virgie, beamin'. "Well, you boys make yourselves quite at +home. I'll send Marie over with cigars and cigarettes. She'll help +you to describe any of the ladies' costumes you may care to mention. +Here's a list of the invited guests too. Now I must be stirring about. +<I>Au revoir</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Ass!" snarls Whity under his breath. "If I don't give him a roast, +though,—one of the veiled sarcastic kind that will get past! And we +must find some way of queering him with that rich widow." +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' to be some contract, Whity, believe me!" says I. "Look how +she's taggin' him around!" +</P> + +<P> +And, say, Cousin Inez sure had the scoopnet out for him! Every move he +makes she's right on his heels, gigglin' and simperin' at all his sappy +speeches and hangin' onto his arm part of the time. Folks was nudgin' +each other and pointin' her out gleeful, and I could easy frame up the +sort of reports that had set Old Hickory's teeth on edge. +</P> + +<P> +T. Virgil, though, seems to be havin' the time of his life. He +exhibits some clay models, either dancin' girls or a squad of mounted +cops, I couldn't make out which, and he lets himself be persuaded to +read two or three chunks out of his sonnets, very dramatic. Cousin +Inez leads the applause. Then, strikin' a pose, he claps his hands, +the velvet curtains are slid one side, and in comes a French chef +luggin' a tray with a whackin' big casserole on it. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Voilà</I>!" sings out Virgie. "The bouillabaisse!" +</P> + +<P> +Marie gets busy passin' around bowls and spoons, and the programme +seems to be for the guests to line up while Virgie gives each a helpin' +out of a long-handled silver ladle. It smells mighty good; so I pushes +in with my bowl. What do you guess I drew? A portion of the tastiest +fish soup you ever met, with a lobster claw and a couple of clams in +it. M-m-m-m! +</P> + +<P> +"He may be a punk poet," says I to Whity; "but he's a good provider." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" growls Whity, who seems to be sore on account of the hit +Virgie's makin'. +</P> + +<P> +Next thing I knew along drifts Cousin Inez, who has sort of been +crowded away from her hero, and camps down on the other side of Whity. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't this just too unique for words?" she gushes. "And is not dear +Virgil perfectly charming tonight?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he's a bear at this sort of thing, all right," says Whity, "this +and making cheese." +</P> + +<P> +"Cheese!" echoes Cousin Inez. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure!" says Whity. "Hasn't he told you about his cheese factories? +Ask him." +</P> + +<P> +"But—but I understood that—that he was a poet," says she, "a sculptor +poet." +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" says Whity. "He couldn't make his salt at either. All just a +pose!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I can hardly believe it," says Cousin Inez. "I don't believe it, +either." +</P> + +<P> +"Then read his poetry and look at his so called groups," goes on Whity. +</P> + +<P> +"But he's such a talented, interesting man," insists Inez. +</P> + +<P> +"With such an interesting family too," says Whity, winkin'. +</P> + +<P> +"Family!" gasps Cousin Inez. +</P> + +<P> +"Wife and six children," says Whity, lyin' easy. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—oh!" squeals Inez in that shrill, raspy voice of hers. +</P> + +<P> +"They say he beats his wife, though," adds Whity. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!—oh!" squeals Inez, again, higher and shriller than ever. I +expect she'd been more or less keyed up before; but this adds the +finishin' touch. And she lets 'em out reckless. +</P> + +<P> +Course, everyone stops chatterin' and looks her way. No wonder! You'd +thought she was havin' a fit. Over rushes Virgil, ladle in hand. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Inez!" says he. "What is it? A fishbone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Monster!" she bowls. "Deceiver! Leave me, never let me see your face +again! Oh—oh! Cheese! Six children! Oh—oh!" With that she +tumbles over on Whity and turns purple in the face. +</P> + +<P> +Say, it was some sensation we had there for a few minutes; but after +they'd sprinkled her face, and rubbed her wrists, and poured a couple +of fingers of brandy into her, she revives. And the first thing she +catches sight of is Virgie, standin' there lookin' puzzled, still +holdin' the soup ladle. +</P> + +<P> +"Monster!" she hisses at him. "I know all—all! And I quit you +forever!" +</P> + +<P> +With that she dashes for the cloakroom, grabs her opera wrap, and beats +it for the elevator. Course, that busts up the show, and inside of +half an hour everybody but us has left, and most of 'em went out +snickerin'. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I don't understand it at all," says Virgie, rubbin' his eyes dazed. +"She was talking with you, wasn't she, Friend Whity? Was it something +you said about me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Possibly," says Whity, "I may have mentioned your cheese factories; +and I'm not sure but what I didn't invent a family for you. Just as a +joke, of course. You don't mind, I hope?" +</P> + +<P> +And at that I was dead sure someone was goin' to be slapped on the +wrist. But, say, all Virgie does is swallow hard a couple of times; +and then, as the full scheme of the plot seems to sink in, he beams +mushy. +</P> + +<P> +"Mind? Why, my dear boy," says he, "you are my deliverer! I owe you +more than I can ever express. Really, you know, that ridiculous old +person has been the bane of my existence for the last three weeks. She +has fairly haunted me, spoiled all my receptions, and—disturbed me +greatly. Ever since I met her in Rome last winter she has been at it. +Of course I have tried to be nice to her, as I am to everyone +who—er—who might help. But I almost fancy she had the idea that I +would—ah—marry her. Really, I believe she did. Thank you a thousand +times, Whity, for your joke! If she comes back, tell her I have two +wives, a dozen. And have some cigars—oh, fill your pockets, my boy. +And here—the photos showing me in my monk's costume. Be sure to drop +in at my next tea. I'll send you word. Good night, and bless you!" +</P> + +<P> +He didn't push us out. He just held the door open and patted us on the +back as we went through. And the next thing we knew we was down on the +sidewalk. +</P> + +<P> +"Double crossed!" groans Whity. "Smothered in mush!" +</P> + +<P> +"As a plotter, Whity," says I, "you're a dub. But if you gunked it one +way, you drew a consolation the other. At this stage of the game I +guess I'm commissioned by a certain party to hand over to you a small +token of his esteem." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says Whity. "Twenty? What for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, go bull the market with it, and don't ask fool questions!" says I. +</P> + +<P> +Say, it was a perfectly swell story about Virgie's bouillabaisse +function on today's society page, double-column half-tone cut and all. +I had to grin when I shows it to Mr. Ellins. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you there, young man?" says he, eyin' me suspicious. +</P> + +<P> +"Yep!" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought so," says he, "when Cousin Inez came home and began packing +her trunks. I take it that affair of hers with the sculptor poet is +all off??' +</P> + +<P> +"Blew up with a bang about ten-thirty P. M.," says I. "Your two +tenspots went with it." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" he snorts. "That's as far as I care to inquire. Some day I'm +going to send you out with a thousand and let you wreck the +administration." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE +</H3> + + +<P> +First off, when I pipes the party in the pale green lid and the fuzzy +English topcoat, I thought it was some stray from the House of Lords; +but as it drifts nearer to the brass rail and I gets a glimpse of the +mild blue eyes behind the thick, shell-rimmed glasses, I discovers that +it's only Son-in-law Ferdy; you know, hubby to Marjorie Ellins that was. +</P> + +<P> +"Wat ho!" says I. "Just in from Lunnon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no," says Ferdy, gawpin' foolish. "Whatever made you think that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then it's a disguise, is it?" says I, eyin' the costume critical. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, bother!" says Ferdy peevish. "I told Marjorie I should be stared +at. And I just despise being conspicuous, you know! Where's Robert?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Robert ain't due back for an hour yet," says I. "You could catch +him at the club, I expect." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," protests Ferdy hasty. "I—I wouldn't go to the club looking +like this. I—I couldn't stand the chaff I'd get from the fellows. +I'll wait." +</P> + +<P> +"Suit yourself," says I, towin' him into Mr. Robert's private office. +"You can shed the heather wrap in here, if you like." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I wish I could," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"Wha-a-at!" says I. "She ain't sewed you into it, has she? Anyhow, +you don't have to keep it buttoned tight under your chin with all this +steam heat on." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," says Ferdy, sighin'. "I nearly roasted, coming down in the +train. But, you see, it—it hides the tie." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh?" says I. "Something else Marjorie picked out? Let's have a peek." +</P> + +<P> +Ferdy blushes painful. "It's awful," he groans, "perfectly awful!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not one of these nutty Futurist designs, like a scrambled rainbow shot +full of pink polliwogs?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Worse than that," says Ferdy, unbuttonin' the overcoat reluctant. +"Look!" +</P> + +<P> +"Zowie! A plush one!" says I. +</P> + +<P> +Course, they ain't so new. I'd seen 'em in the zippy haberdashers' +windows early in the fall; but I don't remember havin' met one out of +captivity before. And this is about the plushiest affair you could +imagine; bright orange and black, and half an inch thick. +</P> + +<P> +"Whiffo!" says I. "That is something to have wished onto you! Looks +like a caterpillar in a dream." +</P> + +<P> +"That's right," says Ferdy. "It's been a perfect nightmare to me ever +since Marjorie bought it. But I can't hurt her feelings by refusing to +wear it. And this silly hat too—a scarf instead of a band!" +</P> + +<P> +It's almost pathetic the way Ferdy holds the lid off at arm's length +and gazes indignant at it. +</P> + +<P> +"Draped real sweet, ain't it?" says I. "But most of the smart chappies +are wearin' 'em that way, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Not this sickly green shade, though," says Ferdy plaintive. "I wish +Marjorie wouldn't get such things for me. I—I've always been rather +particular about my hats and ties. I like them quiet, you understand." +</P> + +<P> +"You would get married, though," says I. "But, say, can't you do a +duck by changing after you leave home?" +</P> + +<P> +Seems the idea hadn't occurred to Ferdy. "But how? Where?" says he, +brightenin' up. +</P> + +<P> +"In the limousine as you're drivin' down to the station," says I. "You +could keep an extra outfit in the car." +</P> + +<P> +"By Jove!" says Ferdy. "Then I could change again on the way home, +couldn't I? And if Marjorie didn't know, she wouldn't——" +</P> + +<P> +"You've surrounded the plot of the piece," says I. "Now go to it. +There's a gents' furnisher down in the arcade." +</P> + +<P> +He's halfway out to the elevator before it occurs to him that he ain't +responded with any grateful remarks; so back he comes to tell how much +obliged he is. +</P> + +<P> +"And, Torchy," he adds, "you know you haven't been out to see baby yet. +Why, you must see little Ferdinand!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-e-es, I been meanin' to," says I, maybe not wildly enthusiastic. +"I expect he's quite a kid by this time." +</P> + +<P> +"Eleven months lacking four days," says Ferdy, his face beamin'. +"Wait! I want to show you his latest picture. Really wonderful +youngster, I tell you." +</P> + +<P> +So I has to inspect a snapshot that Ferdy produces from his pocketbook; +and, while it looks about as insignificant as most of 'em, I pumps up +some gushy remarks which seem to make a hit with Ferdy. +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't you come out Sunday?" says he. +</P> + +<P> +"'Fraid not," says I. "In fact, I'm booked up for quite a spell." +</P> + +<P> +"Too bad," says Ferdy, "for we're almost alone now,—only Peggy and +Jane—my little nieces, you know—and Miss Hemmingway, who——" +</P> + +<P> +"Vee?" says I, comin' straight up on my toes. "Say, Ferdy, I think I +can break away Sunday, after all. Ought to see that youngster of +yours, hadn't I? Must be mighty cute by now." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he is," says Ferdy; "but if you can't come this week——" +</P> + +<P> +"Got to," says I. "'Leven months, and me never so much as chucked him +under the chin once! Gee! how careless of me!" +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Sunday next," says Ferdy. "We shall look for you." +</P> + +<P> +That was throwin' in reverse a little sudden, I admit; but my chances +of gettin' within hailin' distance of Vee ain't so many that I can +afford to overlook any bets. Besides, up at Marjorie's is about the +only place where I don't have to run the gauntlet goin' in, or do a +slide for life comin' out. She'll shinny on my side every trip, +Marjorie will—and believe me I need it all! +</P> + +<P> +Looked like a special dispensation too, this bid of Ferdy's; for I +wanted half an hour's private chat with Vee the worst way just then, to +clear up a few things. For instance, my last two letters had come back +with "Refused" scratched across the face, and I didn't know whether it +was some of Aunty's fine work, or what. Anyway, it's been a couple of +months now that the wires have been down between us, and I was more or +less anxious to trace the break. +</P> + +<P> +So Sunday afternoon don't find me missin' any suburban local. Course, +Ferdy's mighty intellect ain't suggested to him anything about askin' +me out for a meal; so I has to take a chance on what time to land +there. But I strikes the mat about two-thirty P. M., and the first one +to show up is Marjorie, lookin' as plump and bloomin' a corn-fed Venus +as ever. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Torchy!" says she, with business of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Uh-huh," says I. "Special invite of Ferdy's to come see the heir +apparent. Didn't he mention it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Humph! Ferdy!" says Marjorie. "Did you ever know of him remembering +anything worth while?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, ho!" says I. "In disgrace, is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is," says Marjorie, sniffin' scornful. "But it's nice of you to +want to see baby. The dear little fellow is just taking his afternoon +nap. He wakes up about four, though." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't mind waitin' a bit," says I. "You know, I'm crazy to see +that kid." +</P> + +<P> +"Really!" says Marjorie, beamin' delighted. "Then you shall go right +up now, while he is——" +</P> + +<P> +"No," says I, holdin' up one hand. "I might sneeze, or something. +I'll just stick around until he wakes up." +</P> + +<P> +"It's too bad," says Marjorie; "but Verona is dressing and——" +</P> + +<P> +"What!" says I. "Vee here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just going," says Marjorie. "Her aunty is to call for her in about an +hour." +</P> + +<P> +Say, then was no time for wastin' fleetin' moments on any bluff. "Say, +Marjorie," says I, "couldn't you get her to speed up the toilet motions +a bit and shoo her downstairs? Don't say who; but just hint that +someone wants to see her mighty special for a few moments. There's a +good girl!" +</P> + +<P> +Marjorie giggles and shows her dimples. "I might try," says she. +"Suppose you wait in the library, where there's a nice log fire." +</P> + +<P> +So it's me for an easy chair in the corner, where I can watch for the +entrance. Five minutes by the clock on the mantel, and nothing +happens. Ten minutes, and no Vee. Then I hears a smothered snicker +off to the left. I'd got my face all set for the cheerful greetin' +too, when I discovers two pairs of brown eyes inspectin' me roguish, +through the parted portières. And neither pair was any I'd ever seen +before. +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" thinks I. "Nice way to treat guests!" and I pretends not to +notice. I've picked up a magazine and am readin' the pictures +industrious, when there's more snickers. I scowls, fidgets around +some, and fin'lly takes another glance. The brown eyes are twinklin' +mischievous, all four of 'em. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," says I, "what's the joke? Shoot it!" +</P> + +<P> +At that into the room bounces a couple of girls, somewhere around ten +and twelve, I should judge; tall, long-legged kids, but cute lookin', +and genuine live wires, from their toes up. They're fairly wigglin' +with some kind of excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"We know who you are!" singsongs one, pointin' the accusin' finger. +</P> + +<P> +"You're Torchy!" says the other. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'm discovered," says I. "How'd you dope it out?" +</P> + +<P> +"By your hair!" comes in chorus, and then they goes to a panicky clinch +and giggles down each other's necks. +</P> + +<P> +"Hey, cut out the comic relief," says I, "and give me a turn. Which +one of you is Peggy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, who told you that?" demands the one with the red ribbon. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm some guesser myself," says I. "It's you." +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh! I bet it was Uncle Ferdinand," says she. +</P> + +<P> +"Good sleuth work!" says I. "He's the guy. But I didn't know he had +such a cunnin' set of nieces. Most as tall as he is, ain't you, Peggy?" +</P> + +<P> +But that don't happen to be the line of dialogue they're burnin' to +follow out. Exchangin' a look, they advance mysterious until there's +one on each side of me, and then Peggy whispers dramatic: +</P> + +<P> +"You came to see Miss Vee, didn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Vee?" says I, lookin' puzzled. "Vee which?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you know, now!" protests Jane, tappin' me playful. +</P> + +<P> +"Sorry," says I, "but this is a baby visit I'm payin'. Ask Uncle +Ferdinand if it ain't." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" says Peggy. "Anyone can fool Uncle Ferdy." +</P> + +<P> +"Besides," says Jane, "we saw a picture on Vee's dressing table, and +when we asked who it was she hid it. So there!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not a picture of me, though," says I. "Couldn't be." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it was," insists Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"A snapshot of you," says Peggy, "taken in a boat." +</P> + +<P> +I won't deny that was some cheerful bulletin; but somehow I had a hunch +it might be best not to let on too much. Course, I could locate the +time and place. I must have got on the film durin' my stay up at +Roarin' Rocks last summer. +</P> + +<P> +"In a boat!" says I. "Of all things!" +</P> + +<P> +"And Vee doesn't want anyone to know about it," adds Jane, "specially +her aunty." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" comes in Peggy, lookin' me straight in the eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Very curious!" says I, shakin' my head. "What else did Vee have to +say about me?" +</P> + +<P> +"M-m-m-m!" says Peggy. "We can't tell." +</P> + +<P> +"We promised not to," says Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a fine pair of promisers!" says I. "I expect you hold secrets +like a wire basket holds water." +</P> + +<P> +"We never said a word, did we, Peggy?" demands Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"Nope!" says Peggy. "Maybe he's the one Vee's aunty doesn't like." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you?" says Jane, clawin' my shoulder excited. +</P> + +<P> +"How utterly thrillin'!" says I. "Say, you're gettin' me all tittered +up. Think it's me Aunty has the war club out for, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's someone with hair just like yours, anyway," says Peggy. +</P> + +<P> +"Think of that!" says I. "Does red hair throw Aunty into convulsions, +or what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt Marjorie says it's because you—that is, because the one she +meant isn't anybody," says Jane. "He's poor, and all that. Are you +poor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Me?" says I. "Why—say, what is this you're tryin' to pull off on me, +impeachment proceedings? Come now, don't you guess your Aunt +Marjorie'll be wantin' you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," says Peggy. "She told us for goodness sake to run off and be +quiet." +</P> + +<P> +"What about this Miss Vee party, then?" says I. "Don't she need you to +help her hook up?" +</P> + +<P> +"We just came from her room," says Peggy. +</P> + +<P> +"She pushed us out and locked the door," adds Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"Great strategy!" says I. "Show me a door with a key in it." +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh!" says Peggy. "You couldn't put us both out at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't I?" says I. "Let's see." +</P> + +<P> +With that I grabs one under each arm, and with the pair of 'em +strugglin' and squealin' and rough housin' me for all they was worth, I +starts towards the livin' room. We was right in the midst of the +scrimmage when in walks Vee, with her hat and furs all on, lookin' some +classy, take it from me. But the encouragin' part of it is that she +smiles friendly, and I smiles back. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-312"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-312.jpg" ALT="We was right in the midst of the scrimmage when in walks Vee." BORDER="2" WIDTH="629" HEIGHT="436"> +<H4> +[Illustration: We was right in the midst of the scrimmage when in walks Vee.] +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Well, you found someone, didn't you, girls?" says she. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Vee, Vee!" sings out Peggy gleeful. "Isn't this Torchy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your Torchy?" demands Jane. +</P> + +<P> +I tips Vee the signal for general denial and winks knowin'. But, say, +you can't get by with anything crude on a pair of open-eyed kids like +that. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I saw!" announces Jane. "And you do know him, don't you, Vee?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I suppose we have met before?" says she, laughin' ripply. +"Haven't we, Torchy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Now that you mention it," says I, "I remember." And we shakes hands +formal. +</P> + +<P> +"Came to see the baby, I hear," says Vee. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Maybe you could tell me about him first, though, +if we could find a quiet corner." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we'll tell you," chimes in Peggy. "We know all about Baby. He +has a tooth!" +</P> + +<P> +"Say," says I, wigglin' away from the pair, "couldn't you go load up +someone else with information, just for ten minutes or so?" +</P> + +<P> +"What for?" says Jane, eyin' me suspicious. +</P> + +<P> +"We'd rather stay here," says Peggy decided. +</P> + +<P> +I catches a humorous twinkle in Vee's gray eyes as she holds out her +hands to the girls. "Listen," says she confidential. "You know those +hermit cookies you're so fond of? Well, Cook made a whole jarful +yesterday. They're in the pantry." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," says Jane. "We found 'em last night." +</P> + +<P> +"The Glue Sisters!" says I. "Now see here, Kids, I've just thought of +a message I ought to give to Miss Vee." +</P> + +<P> +"Who from?" demands Peggy. +</P> + +<P> +"From a young chap I know who thinks a lot of her," says I. "It's +strictly private too." +</P> + +<P> +"What's it about?" says Jane. +</P> + +<P> +Which was when my tactics gave out. "Say, you two human question +marks," says I, "beat it, won't you?" +</P> + +<P> +No, they just wouldn't. The best they would do for me was to back off +to the other side of the room, eyes and ears wide open, and there they +stood. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on!" whispers Vee. "What was it he wanted to say?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was about a couple of notes he wrote," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes?" says Vee. "What happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"They came back," says I, "without being opened." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," says Vee, "those must have been the ones that——" +</P> + +<P> +"Vee, Vee!" breaks in Peggy from over near the window. "Here comes +your aunty." +</P> + +<P> +"Good night, nurse!" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him it's all right," says Vee hasty. "He might send the next +ones in care of Marjorie; then I'll be sure of getting them. By-by, +Peggy. Don't squeeze so hard, Jane. No, please don't come out, +Torchy. Goodby." +</P> + +<P> +And in another minute I'm left to the mercy of the near-twins once +more. I camps down in the easy chair again, with one on each side, and +the cross examination proceeds. Say, they're a great pair too. +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't Vee want you to go out 'cause her aunty would see you?" asks +Peggy. +</P> + +<P> +"There!" says I. "I wonder?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad she isn't my aunty," says Jane. "She looks too cross." +</P> + +<P> +"If I was Vee's aunty," puts in Peggy, "I wouldn't be mad if she did +have your picture in a silver frame." +</P> + +<P> +"Honest?" says I. "How's that?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cause I don't think you're so awful horrid, even if you aren't +anybody," says Peggy. "Do you, Jane?" +</P> + +<P> +"I like him," says Jane. "I think his hair's nice too." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well!" says I. "Guess I got some gallery with me, anyway. And +how does Vee stand with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she's just a dear!" says Peggy, clappin' her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"M-m-m-m!" echoes Jane. "She's going to take us to see Maude Adams +next Wednesday too." +</P> + +<P> +"Huh!" says I, indicatin' deep thought. "So you'll see her again soon?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wish it was tomorrow," says Jane. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Torchy," says Peggy, grabbin' me impulsive by one ear and swingin' +my face around, "truly now, aren't you awfully in love with Vee?" +</P> + +<P> +Say, where do they pick it up, youngsters of that age? Her big brown +eyes are as round and serious as if she knew all about it; and on the +other side is Jane, fairly holdin' her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Whisper!" says I. "Could you two keep a secret?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes!" comes in chorus. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then," says I, "I'm going to hand you one. I think Vee is the +best that ever happened." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, goody!" exclaims Peggy. "Then you do love her awfully! But why +don't you——" +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" says I. "When I get to be a little older, and some bigger, and +after I've made heaps and heaps of money, and have a big, black +automobile——" +</P> + +<P> +"And a big, black mustache," adds Peggy. +</P> + +<P> +"No," says I. "Cut out the miracles. Call it when I'm in business for +myself. Then, if somebody'll only choke off Aunty long enough, I +may—well, some fine moonlight night I may tell her all about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" gasps Jane. "Mayn't we be there to hear you do it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not if I can bar you out," says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Please!" says Peggy. "We would sit just as still and not—— Oh, +here's Aunt Marjorie. Aunty, what do you think? Mr. Torchy's been +telling us a secret." +</P> + +<P> +"There, there, Peggy," says Marjorie, "don't be silly. Torchy is +waiting to see Baby. Come! He's awake now." +</P> + +<P> +Yep, I had to do the inspection act, after all. And I must say that +most of these infant wonders look a good deal alike; only Ferdinand, +Jr., has a cute way of tryin' out his new tooth on your thumb. +</P> + +<P> +Goin' back towards the station I meets Ferdy, himself, trampin' in +lonesome from a long walk, and lookin' mighty glum. +</P> + +<P> +"Of all the gloom carriers!" says I. "What was it let you in bad this +time?" +</P> + +<P> +"You ought to know," says he. +</P> + +<P> +"For why?" says I. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, fudge!" says he. "I suppose you didn't put me up to that silly +business of changing neckties!" +</P> + +<P> +"Chinked it, did you?" says I. "But how?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you must know," says he, "I forgot to change back on my way home, +and Marjorie's still furious. She simply won't let me explain, refuses +to listen to a word. So what can I do?" +</P> + +<P> +"A cinch!" says I. "You got a pair of livin' dictaphones in the house, +ain't you? Work it off on Peggy and Jane as a secret, and you'll have +your defense on record inside of half an hour. Cheer up, Ferdy. +Ishkabibble!" +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On With Torchy, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON WITH TORCHY *** + +***** This file should be named 17301-h.htm or 17301-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/3/0/17301/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: On With Torchy + +Author: Sewell Ford + +Illustrator: Foster Lincoln + +Release Date: December 13, 2005 [EBook #17301] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON WITH TORCHY *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Well if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" says +Vee.] + + + + + + +ON WITH TORCHY + + +BY + +SEWELL FORD + + + + +AUTHOR OF + +TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY, ODD NUMBERS, ETC., ETC. + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY + +FOSTER LINCOLN + + + + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + + +Copyright, 1913, 1914, by + +Sewell Ford + + + +Copyright, 1914, by + +Edward J. Clode + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. CHANCING IT FOR VEE + II. PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT + III. WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP + IV. TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM + V. BREEZING BY WITH PEGGY + VI. GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS + VII. TORCHY IN ON THE DRAW + VIII. GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL + IX. LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER + X. MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT + XI. THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY + XII. THE GLAD HAIL FOR TORCHY + XIII. AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE + XIV. CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS + XV. BEING SICCED ON PERCEY + XVI. HOW WHITY GUNKED THE PLOT + XVII. TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"WELL, IF I EVER! LOOK WHERE YOUR SHOULDERS + COME!" . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_ + +"BY GORRY!" EXPLODES IRA AS HE GETS HIS FIRST GLIMPSE + +SISTER HAS LANDED A SMACK ON HIS JAW + +BELIEVE ME, IT WAS SOME ARTISTIC MAKEUP! + +"AH, FLUTTER BY, IDLE ONE!" SAYS I + +THEN MY ARM MUST HAVE SLIPPED--AND THE SIDE + CLINCH WA'N'T DISTURBED + +WE WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDST OF PRACTISIN' THE SIDEWISE DIP, + WHEN WHO SHOULD SHOW UP BUT THE HAPPY BRIDEGROOM! + +WE WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDST Of THE SCRIMMAGE WHEN IN WALKS VEE + + + + +ON WITH TORCHY + + +CHAPTER I + +CHANGING IT FOR VEE + +Say, what's next to knowin' when you're well off? Why, thinkin' you +are. + +Which is a little nugget of wisdom I panned out durin' a chat I had not +long ago with Mr. Quinn, that I used to work under when I was on the +door of the Sunday sheet, three or four years back. + +"Hail, Torchy!" says he, as we meets accidental on Broadway. "Still +carrying the burning bush under your hat, aren't you?" + +I grins good-natured at his old josh, just as I used to about twice a +week regular, and admits that I am. + +"You wa'n't lookin' for me to fade to an ash blond, was you?" says I. + +"Ah!" says he. "I see the brilliance is not all on the outside. Well, +what use are you putting it to? Who are you with now?" + +"Same concern," says I. "Corrugated Trust." + +"As First, or Second Vice President?" says he, cockin' his head on one +side humorous. + +"Add 'em together and multiply by three," says I, "then you'll be warm." + +"I don't quite get the result," says he. + +"Ever hear of an office-boy-de-luxe?" says I. "They don't print it on +the letter-heads yet, or paint it on the ground-glass, but that's my +real label. I'm the only one in New York, too." + +Mr. Quinn chuckles and goes off shakin' his head. I expect he's +disappointed that I've stuck so long in one shop without climbin' +further up the ladder. That's what he was always preachin' at me, this +ladder-climbin' advice. But say, hod carriers do that. Me for an +express elevator when the time comes. + +But meanwhile, with a couple of bosses like Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. +Robert, it ain't so worse sittin' behind the brass rail. That's one +reason I ain't changed. Also there's that little mine enterprise me +and Mr. Robert's mixed up in, which ain't come to a head yet. + +Then--well, then, there's Vee. Go on--hand me the jolly! And if you +push me to it I'll admit I ain't any speedy performer at this "Oh, +you!" game. Mr. Robert he thinks it's comic, when he has the kiddin' +fit on, to remark chuckly, "Oh, I say, Torchy, have you seen Miss Vee +lately?" + +There's others too, that seems to get a lot of satisfaction shootin' +the same thing at me, and they sort of snicker when I get pink in the +ears. But, say, there's a heap of difference between pickin' peaches +from an easy chair under the tree, and when you have to shin the garden +wall and reach through the barbed wire ornament on top. + +Course, I ain't comparin' anything--but there's Aunty. Dear old girl! +Square as a brick, and about as yieldin'; good as gold too, but worth +more per ounce than any coined at the mint; and as foxy in the mind as +a corporation lawyer arguin' before the Rapid Transit Commission. Also +I'm as welcome to Aunty's eyesight as Eugene V. Debs would be at the +Union League Club--just about. That ain't any idle rumor, either, nor +something that was hinted to me casual. It's first-hand information, +hot off the bat. + +"Boy," says she, glarin' at me through her gold lorgnette like I was +some kind of insect specimen, "do I understand that you come here to +see my niece?" + +"Well," says I, "there's you and her--guess!" + +"Humph!" she snorts indignant. "Then I wish you to know that your +visits are most unwelcome. Is that quite clear?" + +"I get the outline," says I. "But, you see----" + +"No qualifications, absolutely none!" says she. "Good afternoon, young +man. I shall not expect you to return." + +"Oh, well, in that case," says I, sidlin' off, "why--I--I think I'll be +goin'." + +It was a smear, that's all. I felt about as thick through as a +Saratoga chip, and not half so crisp. Encouragin' finish for an +afternoon call that I'd been bracin' myself up to for weeks, wa'n't it? +And from all I can gather from a couple of sketchy notes Vee gets about +the same line of advice handed her. So there was a debate between her +and Aunty. For I expect nobody can lay the law down flat to Vee +without strikin' a few sparks from them big gray eyes. + +But of course Aunty wins out in the end. It's a cinch, with everything +on her side. Anyway, the next thing I knows about their plans is when +I finds their names in the sailin' list, bound for the Big Ditch, with +most everyone else that could get away. And I makes my discovery about +three hours after the boat has left. + +But that was in January. And I expect it was a fine thing for Vee, +seein' the canal before it revised the geography, and dodgin' all kinds +of grip weather, and meetin' a lot of new people. And if it's worth +all that bother to Aunty just so anybody can forget a party no more +important than me--why, I expect that's all right too. + +But it's just like some folks to remember what they're ordered to +forget. Anyway, I got bulletins now and then, and I was fairly well +posted as to when Aunty landed back in New York, and where she unpacked +her trunks. That helped some; but it didn't cut the barbed wire +exactly. + +And, say, I was gettin' some anxious to see Vee once more. Nearly two +weeks she'd been home, and not so much as a glimpse of her! I'd doped +out all kinds of brilliant schemes; but somehow they didn't work. No +lucky breaks seemed to be comin' my way, either. + +And then, here last Sunday after dinner, I just hauls out that church +weddin' costume I'd collected once, brushes most of the kinks out of my +red hair, sets my jaw solid, and starts to take a sportin' chance. On +the way up I sketches out a scenario, which runs something like this: + +A maid answers the ring. I ask if Miss Vee is in. The maid goes to +see, when the voice of Aunty is heard in the distance, "What! A young +gentleman asking for Verona? No card? Then get his name, Hortense." +Me to the maid, "Messenger from Mr. Westlake, and would Miss Vee care +to take a short motor spin. Waiting below." Then more confab with +Aunty, and five minutes later out comes Vee. Finale: Me and Vee +climbin' to the top of one of them Riverside Drive busses, while Aunty +dreams that she's out with Sappy Westlake, the chosen one. + +Some strategy to that--what? And, sure enough, the piece opens a good +deal as I'd planned; only instead of me bein' alone when I pushes the +button, hanged if two young chappies that had come up in the elevator +with me don't drift along to the same apartment door. We swap sort of +foolish grins, and when Hortense fin'ly shows up everyone of us does a +bashful sidestep to let the others go first. So Hortense opens on what +looks like a revolvin' wedge. But that don't trouble her at all. + +"Oh, yes," says she, swingin' the door wide and askin' no questions. +"This way, please." + +Looked like we was expected; so there's no ducking and while we're +drapin' our hats on the hall rack I'm busy picturin' the look on +Aunty's face when she singles me out of the trio. They was panicky +thoughts, them. + +But a minute later the plot is still further mixed by the sudden +swishy, swirly entrance of an entire stranger,--a tall, thin female +with vivid pink cheeks, a chemical auburn tint to her raven tresses, +and long jet danglers in her ears. She's draped in what looks like a +black silk umbrella cover with rows of fringe and a train tacked to it, +and she wears a red, red rose coquettish over one ear. As she swoops +down on us from the drawin' room she cuts loose with the vivacious +chatter. + +"Ah, there you are, you dear, darling boys!" says she. "And the +Princess Charming is holding court to-day. Ah, Reggy, you scamp! But +you did come, didn't you? And dear Theodore too! Brave, Sir Knights! +That's what you all shall be,--Knights come to woo the Princess!" + +Honest, for awhile there, as this bughouse monologue was bein' put +over, I figured I've made a mistake in the floor, and had been let into +a private ward. But as soon as I gets next to the Georgia accent I +suspects that it ain't any case of squirrels in the attic; but just a +sample of sweet Southern gush. + +Next I gets a peek through the draperies at some straw-colored hair +with a shell-pink ear peepin' from underneath, and I know that whatever +else is wrong don't matter; for over there on the windowseat, +surrounded by half a dozen young gents, is somebody very particular and +special. Followin' this I does a hasty piece of scout work and draws a +deep breath. No Aunty looms on the horizon--not yet, anyway. + +With the arrival of the new delegates the admirin' semicircle has to +break up, and the three of us are towed to the bay window by Vivacious +Vivian. + +"Princess," says she, makin' a low duck, "three other Knights who would +do homage. Allow me first to present Mr. Reginald St. Claire Smith. +Here Reggy. Also Mr. Theodore Braden. And next Mr.--Mr.--er----" + +She's got to me. I expect her first guess was that I'd been dragged in +by one of the other two; but as neither of 'em makes any sign she turns +them black, dark-ringed lamps inquirin' on me and asks, "Oh, I'm sure I +beg pardon, but--but you are----" + +Now who the blazes was I, anyway? It all depended on how well posted +she was, whether I should admit I was Torchy the Banished, or invent an +alias on the spot. + +"Why," says I, draggin' it out to gain time, "you see I'm a--that is, +I'm a--a----" + +"Oh, hello!" breaks in Vee, jumpin' up and holdin' out both hands just +in the nick of time. "Why, of course, Cousin Eulalia! This is a +friend of mine, an old friend." + +"Really!" says Cousin Eulalia. "And I may call him----" + +"Claude," I puts in, winkin' at Vee. "Call me just Claude." + +"Perfectly lovely!" gushes Eulalia. "An unknown knight. 'Deed and you +shall be called Claude--Sir Claude of the Golden Crest. Gentlemen, I +present him to you." + +We looks at each other sort of sheepish, and most of us grins. All but +one, in fact. The blond string bean over in the corner, with the +buttermilk blue eyes and the white eyebrows, he don't seem amused. For +it's Sappy Westlake, the one I run on a siding once at a dance. Think +of keepin' a peeve on ice all that time! + +It's quite a likely lookin' assortment on the whole, though, all +costumed elegant and showin' signs of bein' fairly well parlor broke. + +"What's the occasion?" says I on the side to Miss Vee. "Reunion of +somebody's Sunday school class?" + +She gives me a punch and smothers a snicker, "Don't let Cousin Eulalia +hear you say such a thing," says she. + +We only had a minute; but from what she manages to whisper durin' the +general chatter I makes out that this is a little scheme Eulalia'd +planned to sort of launch Vee into the younger set. She's from +Atlanta, Cousin Eulalia is, one of the best fam'lies, and kind of a +perennial society belle that's tinkled through quite some seasons, but +refuses to quit. Just now she's spendin' a month with Fifth-ave. +friends, and has just discovered that Vee and her are close connected +through a step-uncle marryin' a half-sister of Eulalia's +brother-in-law, or something like that. Anyhow, she insists on the +cousin racket, and has started right in to rush Vee to the front. + +She's some rasher, Eulalia is, too. No twenty-minutes-to-or-after +silences while she's conductin' affairs. Course, it's kind of frothy +stuff to pass for conversation; but it bubbles out constant, and she +blows it around impartial. Her idea of giving Cousin Vee a perfectly +good time seems to be to have us all grouped around that windowseat and +take turns shootin' over puffs of hot air; sort of a taffy-throwin' +competition, you know, with Vee as the mark. + +But Vee don't seem tickled to death over it. She ain't fussed exactly, +as Eulalia rounds us up in a half-circle; but she colors up a little +and acts kind of bored. She's some picture, though. M-m-m-m! And it +was worth while bein' one of a mob, just to stand there watchin' her. + +I expect the young college hicks felt a good deal the same about it as +me, even if they was havin' hard work diggin' up appropriate remarks +when Eulalia swings the arrow so it points to them. Anyway, they does +their best to come up with the polite jolly, and nobody makes a break +to quit. + +It's durin' the tea and sandwich scramble, though, that Cousin Eulalia +gets her happy hunch. Seems that Sappy Westlake has come forward with +an invite to a box party just as Vee is tryin' to make up her mind +whether she'll go with Teddy Braden to some cotillion capers, or accept +a dinner dance bid from one of the other young gents. + +"And all for Wednesday night!" says she. "How stupid of you, with the +week so long!" + +"But I'd planned this box party especially for you," protests Sappy. + +"Oh, give someone else a chance, Westlake," cuts in Reggy. "That's the +night of our frat dance, and I want to ask Miss Vee if----" + +"What's this all about?" demands Eulalia, dancin' kittenish into the +limelight. "Rivalry among our gallant knights? Then the Princess +Charming must decide." + +"Oh, don't, Cousin Eulalia," says Vee, wrinklin' her nose the least +bit. "Please!" + +"Don't what?" says Eulalia, raisin' her long arms flutterin'. "My +dear, I don't understand." + +"Ah, she's hintin' for you to ditch the Princess stuff," I puts in. +"Ain't that it?" and Vee nods emphatic. + +Eulalia lets on that she don't know. "Ditch the--why, what can he mean +by that?" says she. "And you are a Princess Charming; isn't she, boys?" + +Course the bunch admits that she is. + +"There, you see?" goes on Eulalia. "Your faithful knights acclaim you. +Who says that the age of chivalry has passed? Why, here they are, +everyone of them ready to do your lightest bidding. Now, aren't you, +Sir Knights?" + +It's kind of a weak chorus; but the ayes seem to have it. What other +answer could there be, with Vee gazin' flushed and pouty at 'em over +the tea urn? + +"Really, Eulalia, I wish you wouldn't be so absurd," says Vee. + +"My dear Cousin Verona," coos Eulalia, glidin' up and huggin' her +impetuous, "how could anyone keep their heads straight before such +absolutely distracting beauty? See, you have inspired them all with +the spirit of chivalry. And now you must put them to the test. Name +some heroic deed for each to perform. Begin with Reggy. Now what +shall it be?" + +"Fudge!" says Vee, tossin' her head. "I'll do nothing so perfectly +mushy." + +But Cousin Eulalia wa'n't to be squelched, nor have her grand scheme +sidetracked. "Then I declare myself Mistress of the Lists," says she, +"and I shall open the tournament for you. Ho, Trumpeter, summon the +challengers! And--oh, I have it. Each of you Sir Knights must choose +his own task, whatever he deems will best please our Princess Charming. +What say you to that?" + +There's a murmur of "Good business!" "Bully dope!" and the young gents +begin to prick up their ears. + +"Then this is how it stands," goes on Eulalia, beamin' delighted. +"Between now and eight o'clock this evening each knight must do his +valorous best to win the approval of our Princess. Hers it shall be to +decide, the prize her gracious company for next Wednesday night. Come +now, who enters the lists?" + +There's some snickerin' and hangin' back; but fin'ly they're all in. + +"All save the Unknown Knight," pipes up Eulalia, spottin' me in the +rear. "How now, you of the Crimson Crest? Not showing the white +feather, are you?" + +"Me?" says I. "Well, I don't quite get the drift of the game; but if +it'll make you feel any better, you can count me in." + +"Good!" says she, clappin' her hands. "And while you are afield I must +leave too--another tea, you know. But we all meet here again at eight +sharp, with proof or plunder. Teddy, have you decided what to attempt?" + +"Sure," says he. "Me to find the biggest box of candy that can be +bought in New York Sunday evening." + +"Oh, splendid!" gurgles Eulalia. "And you, Mr. Westlake?" + +"Orchids," says Sappy. "Grandmother has dandy ones at her place up in +Westchester, and I can make there and back in my roadster if I'm not +pinched for speeding. I'm going to have a try, and maybe I'll have to +steal the flowers too." + +"There!" says Eulalia, pattin' him on the back. "That's a knightly +spirit. But what of Crimson Crest? What will you do?" + +"The game is to spring something on Miss Vee better'n what the others +put over, is it?" says I. + +"Precisely," says Eulalia, allowin' two of the young gents to help her +on with her wraps. "Have you thought what your offering is to be?" + +"Not yet," says I. "I may take a chance on something fresh." + +They was all pilin' out eager by that time, each one anxious to get +started on his own special fool stunt, so, while I was mixed up in the +gen'ral push, with my hat in my hand and my coat over my arm, it didn't +strike me how I could bolt the programme until I'm half crowded behind +the open hall door. Then I gets a swift thought. Seein' I wouldn't be +missed, and that Vee has her back to me, I simply squeezes in out of +sight and waits while she says by-by to the last one; so, when she +fin'ly shuts the door, there I am. + +"Why, Torchy!" says she. "I thought you had gone." + +"But it wa'n't a wish, was it?" says I. + +"Humph!" says she, flashin' a teasin' glance. "Suppose I don't tell +that?" + +"My nerve is strong today," says I, chuckin' my hat back on the rack; +"so I'll take the benefit of the doubt." + +"But all the others have gone to--to do things that will please me," +she adds. + +"That's why I'm takin' a chance," says I, "that if I stick around I +might--well, I'm shy of grandmothers to steal orchids from, anyway." + +Vee chuckles at that. "Isn't Cousin Eulalia too absurd?" says she. +"And since you're still here--why--well, let's not stand in the hall. +Come in." + +"One minute," says I. "Where's Aunty?" + +"Out," says she. + +"What a pity!" says I, takin' Vee by the arm. "Tell her how much I +missed her." + +"But how did you happen to come up today?" asks Vee. + +"There wa'n't any happenin' to it," says I. "I'd got to my limit, +that's all. Honest, Vee, I just had to come. I'd have come if there'd +been forty Aunties, each armed with a spiked club. It's been months, +you know, since I've had a look at you." + +"Yes, I know," says she, gazin' at the rug. "You--you've grown, +haven't you?" + +"Think so?" says I. "Maybe it's the cut-away coat." + +"No," says she; "although that helps. But as we walked in I thought +you seemed taller than I. Let's measure, here by the pier glass. Now, +back to back. Well, if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" + +"No more than an inch or so," says I, gazin' sideways at the mirror; +and then I lets slip, half under my breath, a sort of gaspy "Gee!" + +"Why the 'Gee'?" says she, glancin' over her shoulder into the glass. + +"Oh, I don't know," says I; "only I don't mind bein' grouped like this, +not a bit." + +"Pooh!" says she, but still holdin' the pose. + +"Seems to me," says I, "that Cousin Eulalia is a slick describer. That +Princess Charming business ain't so wide." + +"Silly!" says she. "Come and sit down." + +She was steerin' for the windowseat; but I picks out a cozy little +high-backed davenport and, reachin' for one of her hands, swings her +into that. "Just room for two here," says I. + +"But you needn't keep my hand," says she. + +"No trouble," says I. "Besides, I thought I'd inspect what kind of a +manicure you take of. M-m-m-m! Pretty fair, no hangnails, all the +half-moons showin' proper, an----" I broke off sudden at that and sat +starin' blank. + +"Well, anything else?" says she. + +"I--I guess not," says I, lettin' her hand slip. "You've chucked it, +eh?" + +"Chucked what?" says she. + +"Nothing much," says I. "But for awhile there, you know, just for fun +you was wearin' something of mine." + +"Oh!" she flashes back. "Then at last you've missed it, have you?" + +"With so much else worth lookin' at," says I, "is it a wonder?" + +"Blarney!" says she, stickin' out her tongue. + +"Did Aunty capture it?" says I. + +Vee shakes her head. + +"Maybe you lost it?" I goes on. "It wa'n't much." + +"Then you wouldn't care if I had?" says she. + +"I wanted you to keep it," says I; "but of course, after all the row +Aunty raised over it, I knew you couldn't." + +"Couldn't I, though?" says she, and with that she fishes up the end of +a little gold neck chain from under some lace--and hanged if there +ain't the ring! + +"Vee!" says I, sort of tingly all over as I gazes at her. "Say, you're +a corker, though! Why, I thought sure you'd----" + +"Silly boy!" says she. "I'll just have to pay you for that. You will +think horrid things of me, will you? There!" + +She does things in a flash when she cuts loose too. Next I knew she +has her fingers in what Eulalia calls my crimson crest and is rumplin' +up all them curls I'd been so careful to slick back. I grabbed her +wrists, and it was more or less of a rough-house scene we was indulgin' +in, when all of a sudden the draperies are brushed back, and in stalks +Aunty, with Cousin Eulalia trailin' behind. + +"Ver-ona!" Talk about havin' a pitcher of cracked ice slipped down +your back! Say, there was more chills in that one word than ever blew +down from Medicine Hat. "What," goes on Aunty, "does this mean?" + +"It--it's a new game," says I, grinnin' foolish. + +"As old as Satan, I should say!" raps out Aunty. + +"Why," squeals Cousin Eulalia gushy, "here is our Unknown Knight, the +first to come back with his tribute! Let's see, what was it you said +you were going to do? Oh, I know--take a chance on something fresh, +wasn't it? Well?" + +"Ye-e-es," says I. "And I guess I did." + +"Trust him for that!" snorts Aunty. "Young man, at our last interview +I thought I made it quite clear that I should not expect you to return?" + +"That's right," says I, edgin' around her towards the door. "And you +wa'n't, was you?" + +Some glance she shot over; but it didn't prove fatal. And as I rides +down I couldn't help swappin' a wink with the elevator boy. + +"Feelin' frisky, eh?" says he. "So was them other young guys. One of +'em tipped me a half." + +"That kind would," says I. "They're comin' back. I'm escapin'." + +But, say, who do you guess wins out for Wednesday night? Ah, rattle +'em again! Eulalia fixed it up. Said it was Vee's decision, and she +was bound to stick by the rules of the game, even if they did have to +throw a bluff to Aunty. Uh-huh! I've got three orchestra seats right +in my pocket, and a table engaged for supper afterwards. Oh, I don't +know. Eulalia ain't so batty, after all. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT + +Trust Piddie for workin' up wild suspicions. Say, he can't find a +stray sheet of scribblin' paper on the floor without pouncin' sleuthy +on it and tryin' to puzzle out the hidden meanin'. + +So when I get the buzzer call to Old Hickory's private office and finds +him and the main stem waitin' in solemn conclave there, I guesses right +off that Piddie's dug up a new one that he hopes to nail me with. Just +now he's holdin' a little bunch of wilted field flowers in one hand, +and as I range up by the desk he shoots over the accusin' glance. + +"Boy," says he, "do you know anything about these?" + +"Why, sure," says I. "They're pickled pigs' feet, ain't they?" + +"No impudence, now!" says he. "Where did they come from?" + +"Off'm Grant's Tomb, if I must guess," says I. "Anyway, I wouldn't +think they was picked in the Subway." + +And at this Old Hickory sniffs impatient. "That is quite enough comic +diversion, young man!" he puts in. "Do you or don't you know anything +about how those things happened to get on my desk?" + +"Me?" says I. "Why, I never saw 'em before! What's the dope?" + +"Huh!" he grunts. "I didn't think this was any of your nonsense: too +tame. And I suppose you might as well know what's afoot. Tell him, +Mr. Piddie." + +Did you ever see a pinhead but what just dotes on springin' a +sensation? Piddie fairly gloats over unloadin' it. "This," says he, +holdin' up the wilted bunch, "is the unaccountable. For the fourth +time flowers of this description have been mysteriously left on Mr. +Ellins' desk. It is not done after hours, or during the night; but in +broad day, sometimes when Mr. Ellins is sitting just where he is now, +and by a hand unseen. Watch has been kept, yet no one has been +detected; and, as you know, only a few persons have free access here. +Still the thing continues. At regular periods these absurd bouquets +appear on this desk, seemingly from nowhere at all. Hence this +inquiry." + +I'd heard Piddie spout a good many times before, but never quite so +eloquent, and I expect I was gawpin' at him some dazed and admirin'. + +"Well," says Old Hickory, squintin' sharp at me from under his bushy +eyebrows, "what have you to offer?" + +"It's by me," says I, shruggin' my shoulders. + +"Oh, come now!" he goes on. "With that high tension brain of yours, +surely you can advance some idea." + +"Why," says I, "offhand I should say that some of them mushy lady +typists out there might be smugglin' in floral tributes to you, Sir." + +Old Hickory grins sarcastic. "Without going into the question of +motive," says he, "that suggestion may be worth considering. What say, +Mr. Piddie?" + +"It might be that Miss Smicks," says Piddie. "She's quite sentimental, +Sir, and I've thought at times she----" + +"Stop!" roars Old Hickory, almost workin' up a blush. "Mr. Piddie, I +am a fat, cross-grained old man, about as attractive personally as a +hippopotamus. Great stuttering tadpoles! Can't you think of anything +but sappy romance? More likely someone wants a raise." + +"Very true, Sir; I hadn't thought of that," chimes in Piddie. "Shall +we call them all in, one at a time, Sir, and----" + +"And what?" snaps Old Hickory. "Think I'm going to ask all those young +women if they've been leaving flowers on my desk?" + +"Couldn't you fake up some job for each one," says I, "and when they +came in be wearin' the flowers conspicuous, and watch if they----" + +"Bah!" breaks in Old Hickory. "What driveling tommyrot! Besides, I +don't believe any of them had a hand in this. How could they? Why, I +tell you, there wasn't a soul in this room between noon and twelve +forty-five to-day; and yet, with me facing that door, these things +appear right at my elbow. It--it's getting on my nerves, and, by the +seven sizzling sisters, I want to know what it all means!" + +"We could have in the detectives," suggests Piddie. + +"If it was a bomb or an infernal machine, I might," says Mr. Ellins +scornful; "but to trace a few dad-blistered flowers--no, thank you! +It's foolish enough as it stands." + +"But there is something behind all this, I'm sure," insists Piddie, +"and if you will allow me to do it, I shall send at once for Dr. +Rudolph Bingstetter." + +"Who's he?" demands Old Hickory. + +"A distinguished scientist who is a friend and neighbor of mine," says +Piddie, swellin' up important. "He was formerly a dentist, I believe; +but now he devotes himself to research and literature. He writes +magazine articles on psychological phenomena, crime mysteries, and so +on. Dr. Bingstetter has a wonderful mind, and is often called on to +unravel baffling cases. It was only a few months ago that he +successfully investigated a haunted house out our way and found----" + +"But I'm not accusing ghosts of this," says Old Hickory. + +"Of course not, Sir," says Piddie; "but I'm sure Dr. Bingstetter could +find out just how those flowers come here. He's an extremely brilliant +man, Sir, and I'm quite positive he could----" + +"Well, well, send for him, then," says Old Hickory. "Only see that you +keep still about it outside there, both of you. I don't care to have +the whole office force chattering and snickering over this affair. +Understand?" + +You bet we did; for when the boss gets real peevish about anything it's +not safe to get your signals mixed! I stands guard on the 'phone booth +while Piddie was sendin' the message, and for once we plots away +together real chummy. + +"He's coming right over this afternoon," whispers Piddie, as he slides +out of the booth. "You're to take him directly into Mr. Ellins' +office,--a large, impressive looking man, you know, with a full round +face and wearing eye-glasses." + +Piddie forgets to mention the shiny frock coat and the forty-four-inch +waist line; but for all that I spots him the minute he hits the brass +gate, which he does about ten minutes before closin' time. + +"Dr. Bingstetter?" says I cautious. + +"I am he," is the answer. + +"S-s-s-s-sh!" says I, puttin' a forefinger to my lips warnin'. + +"S-s-s-s-sh!" echoes the Doc, tiptoein' through the gate. + +Then up comes Piddie, walkin' on his toes too, and the three of us does +a footpad sneak into Old Hickory's office. There wa'n't any wild call +for me to stay as I knows of; but as long as no one threw me out I +thought I'd stick around. + +I must say too the Doc looked and acted the part. First off he sits +there blinkin' wise behind his glasses, and not a sign on his big, +heavy face as he listens to all Piddie and Mr. Ellins can tell him +about the case. Also when he starts askin' questions on his own hook +he makes a noise like a mighty intellect changin' gears. + +"M-m-m-m!" says he, pursin' up his lips and studyin' the bouquet +thoughtful. "Six ox-eyed daisies, four sprays of goldenrod, and three +marshmallow blooms,--thirteen in all. And this is the fourth bunch. +Now, the others, Mr. Ellins, they were not precisely like this one, +were they?" + +"Blessed if I know!" says Old Hickory. "No, come to think of it, they +were all different." + +"Ah, I thought so!" says the Doc, sort of suckin' in his breath +satisfied. "Now, just what flowers did the first one contain, I should +like to know." + +"Why, hang it all, man, I can't remember!" says Old Hickory. "I threw +the things into the waste basket." + +"Ah, that was careless, very careless," says the Doc. "It would have +helped. One ought to cultivate, Mr. Ellins, the habit of accurately +observing small details. However, we shall see what can be done with +this," and once more he puckers his lips, furrows up his noble brow, +and gazes steady at floral exhibit No. 4, turnin' it round slow between +his fat fingers and almost goin' into a trance over it. + +"Hadn't you better take a look around the offices," suggests Old +Hickory, "examine the doors, and so on?" + +"No, no!" says Bingstetter, wavin' away the interruption. "No bypaths. +The trained mind rejects everything contributory, subordinate. It +refuses to be led off into a maze of unsupported conjecture. It seeks +only the vital, primogenitive fact, the hidden truth at the heart of +things. And that is all here--here!" + +Piddie leans forward for another look at the flowers, and wags his head +solemn, I edges around for a closer view myself, and Old Hickory stares +puzzled. + +"You don't mean to say," says he, "that just by gazing at a few flowers +you can----" + +"S-s-s-sh!" breaks in the Doc, holdin' up a warnin' hand. "It is +coming. I am working outward from the primal fact toward the +objective. It is evolving, taking on definite proportions, assuming +shape." + +"Well, what's the result?" demands the boss, hitchin' restless in his +chair. + +"Patience, my dear Sir, patience," says the Doc soothin'. "The +introdeductive method cannot be hurried. It is an exact process, +requiring utmost concentration, until in the fullness of the moment---- +Ah, I have it!" + +"Eh?" says Old Hickory. + +"One moment," says the Doc. "A trifling detail is still missing,--the +day of the week. To-day is Wednesday, is it not? Now, on what day of +last week did you receive a--er--similar token?" + +Old Hickory finally reckons up that it must have been last Wednesday. + +"And the week before?" goes on the Doc. "The bunch of flowers appeared +then on Wednesday, did it not?" + +Yes, he was pretty sure it did. + +"Ah!" says Bingstetter, settlin' back in his chair like it was all +over, "then the cumulative character is established. And such exact +recurrence cannot be due to chance. No, it has all been nicely +calculated, carried out with relentless precision. Four Wednesdays, +four floral threats!" + +"Threats?" says Mr. Ellins, sittin' up prompt. + +"You failed to read them," says the Doc. "That is what comes of +neglecting minor details. But fortunately I came in time to decipher +this one. Observe the fateful number,--thirteen. Note the colors +here,--brown, golden, pink. The pink of the mallow means youth, the +goldenrod stands for hoarded wealth, the brown for age. And all are +bound together by wire grass, which is the tightening snare. A +menacing missive! There will come another on Wednesday next." + +"Think so?" says Old Hickory. + +"I am positive," says the Doc. "One more. We will allude to it for +the present, if you choose, as the fifth bouquet. And this fifth token +will be red, blood red! Mr. Ellins, you are a marked man!" + +"The blazes you say!" snorts Old Hickory. "Well, it won't be the first +time. Who's after me now, though?" + +"Five desperate men," says the Doc, countin' 'em off on his fingers. +"Four have given evidence of their subtle daring. The fifth is yet to +appear. He will come on Wednesday next, and then--he will find that +his coming has been anticipated. I shall be here in person. Now, let +me see--there is a room connecting with this? Ah, very well. Have +three policemen in readiness there. I think it can be arranged so that +our man will walk in among them of his own accord. That is all. Give +yourself no uneasiness, Mr. Ellins. For a week you will be +undisturbed. Until then, Sir, au revoir." + +With that he bows dignified and motions Piddie to lead the way out. I +slides out too, leavin' Old Hickory sittin' there starin' sort of +puzzled and worried at the wall. And, honest, whether you took any +stock in the Doc's yellow forecast or not, it listens kind of creepy. +Course, with him usin' all that highbrow language, I couldn't exactly +follow how he gets to it; but there's no denyin' that it sounds mighty +convincin'. + +And yet--well, I can't say just what there was about Bingstetter that +got me leery; but somehow he reminds me of a street faker or a museum +lecturer. And it does seem sort of fishy that, just by gazin' at a +bunch of flowers, he could dope out all this wild tale about five +desp'rate men. Still, there was no gettin' away from the fact that he +had hit it right about the bouquets appearin' reg'lar every Wednesday. +That must mean something. But why Wednesdays? Now, what was there +that happens on Wednesday that don't---- + +Say, you know how you'll get a fool hunch sometimes, that'll seem such +a nutty proposition first off that you'll almost laugh at yourself for +havin' it; and yet how it'll rattle around in your bean persistent, +until you quit tryin' to get rid of it? Well, this one of mine strikes +me about as I'm snugglin' down into the hay that night, and there was +no gettin' away from it for hours. + +I expect I did tear off a few chunks of slumber between times; but I +was wide awake long before my regular hour for rollin' out, and after +makin' three or four stabs at a second nap I gives it up, slips down +for an early breakfast, and before eight A.M. I'm down in the basement +of the Corrugated Buildin' interviewin' the assistant superintendent in +his little coop of an office. I comes out whistlin' and lookin' wise. +And that night after I'd made a trip over to Long Island across the +Queensboro Bridge I looks wiser still. Nothin' to do until next +Wednesday. + +And when it comes it sure opens up like it's goin' to be a big day, all +right! At first Old Hickory announces that he ain't goin' to have any +cops campin' around in the directors' room. It was all blithering +nonsense! Hadn't he lived through all sorts of warnin's before? And +he'd be eternally blim-scuttled if he was goin' to get cold feet over a +few faded flowers! + +There was Piddie, though, with his say. His idea is to have the +reserves from two precincts scattered all over the shop, and he lugs +around such a serious face and talks so panicky that at last the boss +compromises on havin' two of the buildin' specials detailed for the +job. We smuggles 'em into the big room at eleven o'clock, and tells +'em to lay low until they gets the word. Next comes Bingstetter, +blinkin' mysterious, and has himself concealed behind a screen in the +private office. By that time Old Hickory is almost as nervous as +anybody. + +"Fine state of affairs, things are at now," he growls, "when a man +isn't safe unless he has a bodyguard! That's what comes of all this +political agitation!" + +"Have no fear," says the Doc; "you will not receive the fifth bouquet. +Boy, leave that door into the next room slightly ajar. He will try to +escape that way." + +"Ajar she is," says I, proppin' it open with a 'phone directory. + +"'Tis well," says the Doc. "Now leave us." + +I was goin' to, anyway; for at exactly noon I had a date somewhere +else. There was a window openin' off the bondroom that was screened by +a pile of cases, and out from that was an iron fire escape runnin' +along the whole court side on our floor. I'd picked that window out as +bein' a good place to scout from. And I couldn't have been better +placed; for I saw just who I was expectin' the minute he heaves in +sight. I'd like to have had one glimpse, though, of Old Hickory and +the Doc and Piddie while they was watchin' and listenin' and holdin' +their breath inside there. But I'm near enough when the time comes, to +hear that chorus of gasps that's let loose at twelve-twenty-six exact. + +"Ha!" says the Doc. "As I told you--a red rose!" + +"Well, I'll be slam-whizzled!" explodes Old Hickory. + +"But--but where did it come from?" pants Piddie. "Who--who could +have----" + +And that's just when little Willie, after creepin' cautious along the +fire escape, gives his unsuspectin' victim the snappy elbow tackle from +behind and shoves him into view. + +"Here's your desperado!" says I, givin' my man the persuadin' knee in +the small of his back. "Ah, scramble in there, Old Top! You ain't +goin' to be hurt. In with you now!" + +"Look out!" squeals Piddie. "Police, police!" + +"Ah, can that!" I sings out, helpin' my prisoner through the window and +followin' after. "Police nothin'! Shoo 'em back, will you? He's as +harmless as a kitten." + +"Torchy," calls Old Hickory, recoverin' his nerve a little, "what is +the meaning of this, and who have you there?" + +"This," says I, straightenin' my man up with a shoulder slap, "is the +bearer of the fifth bouquet--also the fourth, and the third, and so on. +This is Mr. Cubbins of the Consolidated Window Cleanin' Company. Ain't +that right, eh, old sport?" + +"'Enery Cubbins, Sir," says he, scrapin' his foot polite and jerkin' +off his old cap. + +"And was it you who just threw this thing on my desk?" demands Old +Hickory, pointin' to the red rose. + +"Meanin' no 'arm at all, Sir, no 'arm at all," says Cubbins. + +"And do I understand that you brought those other flowers in the same +way?" goes on Mr. Ellins. + +"Not thinkin' you'd mind, Sir," says Cubbins; "but if there's henny +hoffense given, I asks pardon, Sir." + +And there couldn't be any mistakin' the genuine tremble in that weak, +pipin' voice, or the meek look in them watery old eyes. For Cubbins is +more or less of a human wreck, when you come to size him up close,--a +thin, bent-shouldered, faded lookin' old party, with wispy, whitish +hair, a peaked red nose, and a peculiar, whimsical quirk to his mouth +corners. Old Hickory looks him over curious for a minute or so. + +"Huh!" he grunts at last. "So you're the one, eh? But why the +blue-belted blazes did you do it?" + +All Cubbins does, though, is to finger his cap bashful. + +"Well, Torchy," says Mr. Ellins, "you seem to be running this show. +Perhaps you'll tell us." + +"That's further'n I've got," says I. "You see, when I traced this +floral tribute business down to a window washer, I----" + +"In the name of all that's brilliant," breaks in Old Hickory, "how did +you ever do that?"' + +"Why, I got to thinkin' about it," says I, "and it struck me that we +had our glass cleaned every Wednesday, and if there was no way of +anyone smugglin' flowers in through the doors, the windows was all +there was left, wa'n't it? Also who's most likely to be monkeyin' +around outside, fifteen stories up, but a window washer?" + +"Ha!" says Old Hickory through his teeth. "And did you do that by the +introdeductive process, may I ask?" + +"No such bunk as that," says I. "Just used my bean, that's all. Then +I got Mac, the assistant buildin' super, to put me wise as to who had +the windows on our floor, and by throwin' a bluff over the 'phone I +made the Consolidated people locate Mr. Cubbins for me. Found him +putterin' round in his garden over in Astoria, and pumped more or less +out of him; but when it come to gettin' him to explain why it was he'd +picked you out, Mr. Ellins, as a mark for his bouquets, I fell down +complete. Mr. Cubbins is English, as maybe you noticed by his talk, +and he used to be a house painter before his health got so bad. Now he +lives with his son-in-law, who tells me that the old gent----" + +"'E's a bit of a liar, my son-in-law is," pipes up Cubbins; "a bally +Socialist, Sir, and I'm ashymed to s'y 'as 'ow 'e's fond of abusin' 'is +betters. Thet's 'ow it all come abaht, Sir. Alw'ys tykin' on over the +rich, 'e is; and 'e's most fond of s'yin' wrong things abaht you +special, Sir; callin' you a bloodsucking predatory person, Sir, and +himpolite nimes like thet. 'Ah, stow thet, Jimmy!!' says I. 'All +bloomin' lies, they are. There ayn't a finer man lives than Mr. +Ellins,' says I. ''Ow do you know?' says 'e. ''Ow?' says I. 'Don't I +wash 'is hoffice windows?' But 'e keeps at it of evenin's, s'yin' as +'ow you do this and that, an' 'e fair talks me down, Jimmy does. But I +know w'at I knows; so to relieve my feelin's a bit I've been bringin' +you the flowers on the sly, Sir; meanin', as I says before, no 'arm at +all, Sir." + +"Well, I'll be dashed!" says Old Hickory, squintin' at Cubbins +humorous. "So you think I'm a good man, eh?" + +"I'm quite sure of it, Sir," says he. "As I was tellin' Jimmy only +last night, 'W'y, at 'ome 'e'd be a Lord!' And so you would, Sir. +But, as I sees it, you're just as much 'ere, Sir. You build things up, +and keep things goin',--big things, such as the likes of me and Jimmy +mykes our livin' from. And it ayn't just your money mykes you a gryte +man; it's your brains and your big 'eart. I know w'at I knows, Sir, +an' I 'opes as 'ow you'll tyke no hoffense at the flowers, Sir." + +"Not a bit, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, smilin' grim. "In fact, that's +a first rate idea of yours. We ought to have some sort of flowers here +all the time. Got many left in your garden, have you, Cubbins?" + +"Plenty, Sir," says Cubbins. "The roses'll be gone soon now, Sir; but +there's golden glow, and hasters comin' on, and zinnias, and----" + +"Then you're engaged, Cubbins," says Old Hickory, "to supply the office +with fresh ones every day. When yours give out we'll have to buy some, +I suppose. And you'll give up this window cleaning job at once. It's +too dangerous. I can't afford to have the only man in the United +States who holds a good opinion of me risking his neck like that." + +"Thankee kindly, Sir," says Cubbins, beamin' grateful. "And we'll see +w'at Jimmy 'as to s'y to that, so we will!" + +"Report that in full," says Old Hickory. "And, Mr. Piddie, see that +Mr. Cubbins' name goes on the payroll from today. But, by the way, +where is your distinguished friend, the scientific investigator?" + +"Why--er--why----" says Piddie, flushin' up and swallowin' hard, "Dr. +Bingstetter left a moment ago." + +"Did, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "He should have stayed awhile and +allowed Torchy to give him a few pointers on evolving things from +primal facts." + +"Ye-e-e-es, Sir," says Piddie, his face all tinted up lovely. + +Which winds up, as you might say, the Mystery of the Fifth Bouquet. +But, believe me, there ain't any tamer party around the shop these days +than this same J. Hemmingway Piddie. And if the old habits get to +croppin' out any time, all I got to do is shut one eye, put my finger +to my lips, and whisper easy, "Ah, go tell that to Doc Bungstarter!" +That gets him behavin'. + +And Cubbins, why--he's blossomed out in a new fall suit, and he stops +at the desk every few days to tell me how he put it all over Jimmy the +night before. So that was some stroke, what? + + + + +CHAPTER III + +WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP + +It was good domework of Mr. Robert's to tip me off about this Higgins +party, or there's no knowin' how hard a time he might have had gettin' +through the brass gate. As it is, the minute I spots the watch chain +and the round cuffs and the neck freckles, I sizes him up as the +expected delegate from the fresh mackerel and blueberry pie district. +One of these long, lanky specimens, he is, with a little stoop to his +shoulders, ginger-colored hair and mustache, and a pair of calm, +sea-blue eyes that look deep and serious. + +I finds him pacin' deliberate up and down the waitin' room at +eight-fifty-three A.M., which is two minutes ahead of my schedule for +openin' the Corrugated for gen'ral business. His overcoat and a +crumpled mornin' paper are on the bench; so I figures he's been there +quite some time. Course, it might have been a stray Rube of most any +name; but I thinks I'll take a chance. + +"Mornin', Ira," says I. + +"Howdy," says he, as natural as if this was a reg'lar habit of ours. +Which puts it up to me to find out if I'm right, after all. + +"Mr. Higgins, ain't it?" says I. + +He nods. + +"When did you get in?" says I. + +"About six," says he. + +"Come down by train or boat?" says I. + +"Train," says he. + +"You've had breakfast, I suppose?" I goes on. + +Another nod. Oh, yes, for an economical converser, he was about the +most consistent breath saver I ever tackled. You could easy go hoarse +havin' a little chat with him. You'd need lots of time too; for after +every one of my bright little sallies Ira looks me over in that quiet, +thoughtful way of his, then counts fifty to himself, and fin'lly +decides whether it'll be a grunt or just a nod. Gettin' information +out of him was like liftin' a trunk upstairs one step at a time. I +manages to drag out, though, that he'd been hangin' around ever since +the buildin' was opened by the day watchman at seven o'clock. + +"Well," says I, "Mr. Robert was lookin' for you to blow in today; but +not quite so early. It'll be near ten before he shows up. Better come +inside and have a comf'table chair." + +He takes that proposition up with himself, fin'lly passin' on it +favorable; and from then on he sits there, with never a move or a +blink, watchin' solemn all the maneuvers that a battery of lady typists +has to go through before settlin' down for a forenoon's work. I'll bet +he could tell you too, a month from now, just how many started with +gum, and which ones renewed their facial scenery with dabs from the +chamois. + +So you can see why I was some relieved when Mr. Robert arrives and +takes him off my hands. I knew from what he'd said the day before that +he'd planned to have about a half-hour interview with Mr. Higgins; but +when the noon hour struck: Ira was still there. At one-fifteen they +goes out to lunch together, and at two-thirty they comes back. It's +after four when Mr. Robert fin'lly comes out to the gate with his brow +wrinkled up. + +"Torchy," says he, "how is your bump of diplomacy today?" + +"It's a dimple, I expect," says I. + +"You're entirely too modest," says he. "Now, I remember several +occasions when you have----" + +"Oh, I gen'rally have my nerve with me, if that's what you mean," says +I. + +"But I don't mean that," says he. "Perhaps finesse is the better word." + +"It's all the same to me," says I. "If I've got it in stock, it's +yours. What do I work it on?" + +"Mr. Higgins," says he. + +"Then score up a goose egg in advance," says I. "It would take a +strong-arm hypnotizer to put the spell on Ira." + +Mr. Robert grins. "Then you have already tested Mr. Higgins' +conversational powers?" says he. + +"Almost lost my voice gettin' him to say good mornin'," says I. "Say, +you'd think he'd done all his talkin' by cable, at a dollar a word. +Where'd he drift in from, anyway?" + +"Boothbay Harbor," says Mr. Robert. + +"Is that a foreign country," says I, "or a nickname for some flag +station?" + +"It's quite a lively little seaport, I believe," says Mr. Robert, "up +on the coast of Maine." + +"Oh, Maine!" says I. "Up there they're willin' to call a town anything +that'll get a laugh. But what's the rest of the scandal?" + +It wasn't any thrillin' tale, though. Seems Mr. Robert had gone into +the yachtin' regattas as usual this last summer; but, instead of +liftin' the mugs, as he'd been in the habit of doin', he'd been beat +out by a new entry,--beat bad too. But he wouldn't be an Ellins if he +let it go at that. Not much! His first move is to find out who built +the Stingaree, and his next is to wire in an order to the same firm to +turn out a sixty-footer that'll go her just one better. Not gettin' +any straight answer to that, he sends word for the head of the yacht +works to come on at his expense. Mr. Higgins is the result. + +"But the deuce of it is," says Mr. Robert, "that, while I'm convinced +he is the cleverest designer of racing yawls that we have in the whole +country, and while he admits quite cheerfully that he can improve on +this year's model, I can't get him to say positively that he will build +such a boat for me." + +"Yes, I should expect that would be more'n he'd let go of all in one +day," says I. + +"But, confound it all!" says Mr. Robert, "I want to know now. All I +can get out of him, though, is that he can't decide for a while. Seems +to have something or other on his mind. Now, if I knew what was +bothering him, you see, I might--well, you get the point, Torchy. I'm +going to leave it to you to find out." + +"Me!" says I. "Gee! I ain't any thought extractor, Mr. Robert." + +"But you have rather a knack of getting to the bottom of things," he +insists, "and if I should explain to Mr. Higgins my regret at being +unable to take him out to dinner, and should present you as my +substitute for the evening--why, you might get some hint, you see. At +least, I wish you'd try it." + +"Bring him on, then," says I; "but it's like playin' a 30 to 1 shot. +Oh, sure, a couple of tens'll be more'n enough for all the expense +account we can cook up." + +And you should have seen me towin' this Down East sphinx around town, +showin' him the sights, and tryin' to locate his chummy streak. It was +most like makin' a long distance call over a fuzzy wire; me strainin' +my vocal chords bein' chatty, and gettin' back only now and then a +distant murmur. It was Ira's first trip to a real Guntown, where we +have salaried crooks and light up our Main-st. with whisky signs; but +he ain't got any questions to ask or any comments to pass. He just +allows them calm eyes of his to wander placid here and there over the +passersby, almost like he was expectin' to see someone he knew, and +takin' mighty little notice of anything in partic'lar. + +"That's the Metropolitan tower over there, Mr. Higgins," says I. "See +the big clock?" + +Ira takes one glance and nods his head. + +"And here comes one of them new double-decker Broadway cars they're +tryin' out," I goes on. "How's that?" + +But no enthus'm from Ira. Must be a hot town, that Boothbay joint! +Along about six-thirty I suggests that it's time for the big eats, and +tries to sound him on his partic'lar fancy in the food line. + +"Plate of fish chowder would suit me," says Ira after due contemplation. + +"Fish what?" says I. "'Fraid we don't grow anything like that on +Broadway. Nix on the shore dinner! You trust it to me, Mr. Higgins, +and I'll steer you up against some appetite teasers that'll make you +forget all the home cookin' you ever met." + +With that I leads him to the flossiest French cafe I knew of, got him +planted comf'table under an illuminated grape arbor, signals +Francois-with-the-gold-chain-around-his-neck to stand by, and remarks +casual, "Wine list for this gentleman. Cut loose, Mr. Higgins. This +is on the boss, you know." + +"What say?" says he, runnin' his eye over the book that the waiter +holds out. "Rum? No, Sir!" + +"Flit then, Francois," says I. "We're two dry ones." + +And my hope of gettin' a tongue loosener into Ira goes glimmerin'. +When it comes to tacklin' strange dishes, though, he was no quitter, +followin' me from bouillabaisse to cafe parfait without battin' an +eyelash, and me orderin' reckless from the card just to see what the +things looked like. + +I don't know whether it was the fancy rations, or the sporty crowd +around us, or the jiggly music, or a combination of all three; but by +the time I've induced Mr. Higgins to tackle a demitasse and light up a +seven-inch Havana he mellows enough so that he's almost on the point of +makin' a remark all by himself. + +"Well," says I encouragin', "why not let it come?" + +And it does. "By gorry!!" says he. "It's most eight o'clock. What +time do the shows begin?" + +"I was just go in' to mention that," says I. "Plenty of time, though. +Anything special you'd like to see?" + +"Why, yes," says he. And then, glancin' around cautious, he leans +across the table and asks mysterious, "Say, where's Maizie Latour +actin'?" + +Honest, it comes out so unexpected he had me gaspin'. "Oh, you +Boothbay ringer!" says I. "Maizie, eh? Now, who would have thought +it? And you only landed this mornin'! Maizie--er--what was that +again?" + +"Latour," says he, flushin' up some and tryin' not to notice my josh. + +"It's by me," says I. "Sounds like musical comedy, though. Is she a +showgirl, or one of the chicken ballet?" + +Ira shakes his head puzzled. "All I know," says he, "is that she's +actin' somewhere in New York, and--and I'd like to find out where. +I--I got to!" he adds emphatic. + +"Then you ought to have said that before," says I, "and Mr. Robert +would have put one of his chappy friends on the job. Sorry, but when +it comes to chorus girls, I ain't----" + +"Hold on!" he breaks in. "You're sort of jumpin' at things, Son. The +fact is I--well, I guess I might's well tell you as anyone. I--I got +to tell someone." + +"Help!" thinks I. "The dam's goin' to give way." + +"You see," he goes on, "it's like this: Nellie's an old friend of mine, +and----" + +"Nellie!" says I. "You just said Maizie." + +"That's what I hear she goes by on the stage," says he. "She was +Nellie Mason up to the Harbor." + +"You don't mean it?" says I. "What was she doin' there?" + +"She was table girl at the Mansion House," says he. + +"Which?" says I. "Oh, dish juggler, eh? And now she's on the stage? +Some jump for Nellie! But, honest now, Higgins, you don't mean to +spring one of them mossy 'Way Down East drammers on me as the true +dope? Come now, don't tell me you and she used to go to school +together, and all that!" + +No, it wa'n't quite on that line. She was only one of Boothbay's +fairest daughters by adoption, havin' drifted in from some mill +town--Biddeford, I think it was--where a weaver's strike had thrown her +out of a job. She was half Irish and half French-Canadian, and, +accordin' to Ira's description, she was some ornamental. + +Anyway, she had the boys all goin' in no time at all. Ira was mealin' +at the Mansion House just then, though; so he was in on the ground +floor from the start. Even at that, how he managed to keep the rail +with so much competition is more'n I can say; but there's something +sort of clean and wholesome lookin' about him, and I expect them calm, +sea-blue eyes helped along. Anyway, him and Nellie kept comp'ny there, +I take it, for three or four months quite steady, and Ira admits that +he was plumb gone on her. + +"Well, what was the hitch?" says I. "Wouldn't she be Mrs. Higgins?" + +"Guess she would if I had asked her," says he; "but I didn't get around +to it quick enough. Fact is, I'd just bought out the boat shop, and I +had fifteen or twenty men to work for me, with four new keels laid down +at once, and--well, I was mighty rushed with work just then and----" + +"I get you," says I. "While you was makin' up your mind what to say, +some wholesale drug drummer with a black mustache won her away." + +It's more complicated than that, though. One of the chambermaids had a +cousin who was assistant property man with a Klaw & Erlanger comp'ny, +and he'd sent on the tip how some enterprisin' manager was lookin' for +fifty new faces for a Broadway production; and so, if Cousin Maggie +wanted to shake the hotel business, here was her chance. Maggie wanted +to, all right; but she lacked the nerve to try it alone. Now, if +Nellie would only go along too--why---- + +And it happens this was one night when Ira had overlooked a date he had +with Nellie, and that while he was doin' overtime at the boatworks +Nellie was waitin' lonesome on the corner all dressed to go over to +South Bristol to a dance. So this bulletin from the great city finds +her in a state of mind. + +"Course," says Maggie, "you got a feller, and all that." + +"Humph!" says Nellie. + +"And there's no tellin'," Maggie goes on, glancin' at her critical, "if +your figure would suit." + +"If they can stand for yours," says Nellie, "I guess I'll take a chance +too. Come on. We'll take the early morning boat." + +And they did. Ira didn't get the details until about a month later, +when who should drift back to the Mansion House but Maggie. Along with +two or three hundred other brunettes and imitation blondes, she'd been +shuffled into the discard. But Nellie had been signed up first rattle +out of the box, and accordin' to the one postcard that had come back +from her since she was now flaggin' as Maizie Latour. But no word at +all had come to Ira. + +"If I'd only bought that ring sooner!" he sighs. "I've got it now, +though. Bought it in Portland on my way down. See?" and he snaps open +a white satin box, disclosin' a cute little pearl set in a circle of +chip diamonds. + +"That's real dainty and classy," says I. + +"Ought to be," says Ira. "It cost me seventeen-fifty. But there's so +blamed much to this place that I don't see just how I'm goin' to find +her, after all." + +"Ah, cheer up, Ira!" says I. "You've got me int'rested, you have, and, +while I ain't any theatrical directory, I expect I could think up some +way to---- Why, sure! There's a Tyson stand up here a few blocks, +where they have all the casts and programmes. Let's go have a look." + +It wa'n't a long hunt, either. The third one we looked at was "Whoops, +Angelina!" and halfway down the list of characters we finds this item: +"Sunflower Girls--Tessie Trelawney, Mae Collins, Maizie Latour----" + +"Here we are!" says I. "And there's just time to get in for the first +curtain." + +Say, I expect you've seen this "Whoops, Angelina!" thing. Just punk +enough to run a year on Broadway, ain't if? And do you remember there +along towards the end of the first spasm where they ring in that "Field +Flowers Fair" song, with a deep stage and a diff'rent chorus for each +verse? Well, as the Sunflowers come on, did you notice special the +second one from the right end? That's Maizie. + +And, believe me, she's some queen! Course, it's a bunch of swell +lookers all around, or they wouldn't be havin' the S.R.O. sign out so +often; but got up the way she was, with all them yellow petals makin' a +sort of frame for her, and them big dark eyes rollin' bold and sassy, +this ex-table girl from the Mansion House stands out some prominent. + +"By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse. And from then +on he sits with his eyes glued on her as long as she's on the stage. + +[Illustration: "By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse.] + +He had a good view too; for comin' late all I could get was upper box +seats at three a throw, and I shoves Ira close up to the rail. That +one remark is all he has to unload durin' the whole performance, and +somehow I didn't have the heart to break in with any comments. You +see, I wa'n't sure how he might be takin' it; so I waits until the +final curtain, and then nudges him out of his dream. + +"Well, how about it?" says I. "Ready to scratch your entry now, are +you?" + +"Eh?" says he, rousin' up. "Pull out? No, Sir! I--I'm going to give +her a chance to take that ring." + +"You are?" says I. "Well, well! Right there with the pep, ain't you? +But how you goin' to manage it?" + +"Why, I--I don't know," says he, lookin' blank. "Say, Son, can't you +fix it for me some way? I--I want Nellie to go back with me. If I +could only see her for a minute, and explain how it was I couldn't----" + +"You win, Ira!" says I. "Hanged if there ain't Tucky Moller down there +in an usher's uniform. He's an old friend of mine. We'll see what he +can do." + +Tucky was willin' enough too; but the best he can promise is to smuggle +a note into the dressin' rooms. We waits in the lobby for the answer, +and inside of five minutes we has it. + +"Ain't they the limit, these spotlight chasers?" says Tucky. "She +tells me to chuck it in the basket with the others, and says she'll +read it to-morrow. Huh! And only a quarter tip after the second act +when I lugs her in a bid to a cabaret supper!" + +"Tonight?" says I. "Where at, Tucky?" + +"Looey's," says he, "with a broker guy that's been buyin' B-10 every +night for a week." + +But when I leads Ira outside and tries to explain how the case stands, +and breaks it to him gentle that his stock has taken a sudden slump, it +develops that he's one of these gents who don't know when they're +crossed off. + +"I've got to see her tonight, that's all," says he. "What's the matter +with our going to the same place?" + +"For one thing," says I, "they wouldn't let us in without our +open-faced clothes on. Got yours with you?" + +"Full evenin' dress?" says Ira, with his eyes bugged. "Why, I never +had any." + +"Then it's by-by, Maizie," says I. + +"Dog-goned if it is!" says he. "Guess I can wait around outside, can't +I?" + +"Well, you have got sportin' blood, Ira," says I. "Sure, there's +nothin' to stop your waitin' if you don't block the traffic. But maybe +it'll be an hour or more." + +"I don't care," says he. "And--and let's go and have a glass of soda +first." + +Course, I couldn't go away and leave things all up in the air like +that; so after Ira'd blown himself we wanders up to the cabaret joint +and I helps him stick around. + +It's some lively scene in front of Looey's at that time of night too; +with all the taxis comin' and goin' and the kalsomined complexions +driftin' in and out, and the head waiters coppin' out the five-spots +dexterous. And every little while there's something extra doin'; like +a couple of college hicks bein' led out by the strong-arm squad for +disputin' a bill, or a perfect gent all ablaze havin' a debate with his +lady-love, or a bunch of out-of-town buyers discoverin' the evenin' +dress rule for the first time and gettin' peeved over it. + +But nothin' can drag Ira's gaze from that revolvin' exit door for +more'n half a minute. There he stands, watchin' eager every couple +that comes out; not excited or fidgety, you understand, but calm and in +dead earnest. It got to be midnight, then half past, then quarter to +one; and then all of a sudden there comes a ripplin', high-pitched +laugh, and out trips a giddy-dressed fairy in a gilt and rhinestone +turban effect with a tall plume stickin' straight up from the front of +it. She's one of these big, full-curved, golden brunettes, with long +jet danglers in her ears and all the haughty airs of a grand opera +star. I didn't dream it was the one we was lookin' for until I sees +Ira straighten up and step out to meet her. + +"Nellie," says he, sort of choky and pleadin'. + +It's a misfire, though; for just then she's turned to finish some +remark to a fat old sport with flat ears and bags under his eyes that's +followin' close behind. So it ain't until she's within a few feet of +Higgins that she sees him at all. Then she stares at him sort of +doubtful, like she could hardly believe her eyes. + +"Nellie," he begins again, "I've been wanting to tell you how it was +that----" + +"You!" she breaks in. And with that she throws her head back and +laughs. It wa'n't what you might call a pleasant laugh, either. It +sounds cold and hard and bitter. + +That's the extent of the reunion too. She's still laughin' as she +brushes by him and lets the old sport help her into the taxi; and a +second later we're left standin' there at the edge of the curb with +another taxi rollin' up in front of us. I notices that Ira's holdin' +something in his hand that he's starin' at foolish. It's the satin box +with the seventeen-fifty ring in it. + +"Well," says I, as we steps back, "returns all in, ain't they?" + +"Not by a long shot!" says Ira. "Dinged if I don't know someone +that'll be glad to take a ring from me, and that's Maggie!" + +"Whew!" says I. "Well, that's some quick shift. Then you ain't goin' +to linger round with a busted heart?" + +"Not much!" says Ira. "Guess I've played fool about long enough. I'm +goin' home." + +"That's gen'rally a safe bet too," says I. "But how about buildin' +that boat for Mr. Robert?" + +"I'll build it," says he; "that is, soon as I can fix it up with +Maggie." + +"Then it's a cinch," says I; "for you look to me, Ira, like one of the +kind that can come back strong." + +So, you see, I had somethin' definite to report next mornin'. + +"He will, eh? Bully!" says Mr. Robert. "But why couldn't he have said +as much to me yesterday? What was the trouble?" + +"Case of moth chasin'," says I, "from the kerosene circuit to the white +lights. But, say, I didn't know before that Broadway had so many +recruitin' stations. They ought to put Boothbay Harbor on the map for +this." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM + +Guess I ain't mentioned Mortimer before. Didn't seem hardly worth +while. You know--there are parties like that, too triflin' to do any +beefin' about. But, honest, for awhile there first off this young +shrimp that was just makin' his debut as one of Miller's subslaves in +the bondroom did get on my nerves more or less. He's a slim, +fine-haired, fair-lookin' young gent, with quick, nervous ways and a +habit of holdin' his chin well up. No boob, you understand. He was a +live one, all right. + +And it wa'n't his havin' his monogram embroidered on his shirt sleeves +or his wearin' a walkin' stick down to work that got me sore. But you +don't look for the raw rebuff from one of these twelve-dollar file +jugglers. That's what he slips me, though, and me only tryin' to put +across the cheery greetin'! + +"Well, Percy," says I, seein' him wanderin' around lonesome durin' +lunch hour, "is it you for the Folies today, or are you takin' a chance +on one of them new automatic grub factories with me?" + +"Beg pardon?" says he, givin' me that frigid, distant look. + +"Ah, can the hauteur!" says I. "We're on the same payroll. Maybe you +didn't notice me before, though. Well, I'm the guardian of the gate, +and I'm offerin' to tow you to a new sandwich works that's quite +popular with the staff." + +"Thanks," says he. "I am lunching at my club." And with that he does +a careless heel-spin, leavin' me stunned and gawpin'. + +"Slap!" thinks I. "You will go doin' the little ray of sunshine act, +will you? Lunchin' at his club! Now there's a classy comeback for +you! Guess I'll spring that myself sometime. Score up for Percy!" + +But I wa'n't closin' the incident at that, and, while in my position it +wouldn't have been hardly the thing for me to get out the war club and +camp on his trail,--him only a four-flushin' bond clerk,--I was holdin' +myself ready for the next openin'. It comes only a few mornin's later +when he strolls in casual about nine-thirty and starts to pike by into +the cloakroom. But I had my toe against the brass gate. + +"What name?" says I. + +"Why," says he, flushin' up, "I--er--I work here." + +"Excuse," says I, drawin' back the foot. "Mistook you for Alfy +Vanderbilt come to buy us out." + +"Puppy!" says he explosive through his front teeth. + +"Meanin' me?" says I. "Why, Algernon! How rough of you!" + +He just glares hack over his shoulder and passes on for his session +with Miller. I'll bet he got it too; for here in the Corrugated we +don't stand for any of that nine-thirty dope except from Mr. Robert. + +It's only the next week, though, that Mortimer pulls a couple more +delayed entrances in succession, and I sure was lookin' to see him come +out with a fresh-air pass in his hand. But it didn't happen. Instead, +as I'm in Old Hickory's office a few days later, allowin' him to give +me a few fool directions about an errand, in breaks Miller all glowin' +under the collar. + +"Mr. Ellins," says he, "I can't stand that young Upton. He's got to +go!" + +"That's too bad," says Old Hickory, shiftin' his cigar to port. "I'd +promised his father to give the boy a three months' trial at least. +One of our big stockholders, Colonel Upton is, you know. But if you +say you can't----" + +"Oh, I suppose I can, Sir, in that case," says Miller; "but he's worse +than useless in the department, and if there's no way of getting him to +observe office hours it's going to be bad for discipline." + +"Try docking him, Miller," suggests Mr. Ellins. "Dock him heavy. And +pile on the work. Keep him on the jump." + +"Yes, Sir," says Miller, grinnin' at me' as he goes out. + +And of course this throws a brighter light on Mortimer's +case,--pampered son takin' his first whirl at honest toil, and all +that. Then later in the day I gets a little private illumination. +Mother arrives. Rather a gushy, talky party she is, with big, snappy +eyes like Mortimer's, and the same haughty airs. Just now, though, +she's a little puffy from excitement and deep emotion. + +Seems Mother and Sister Janice are on their way to the steamer, billed +to spend the winter abroad. Also it develops that stern Father, +standin' grim and bored in the background, has ruled that Son mustn't +quit business for any farewell lallygaggin' at the pier. Hence the +fam'ly call. As the touchin' scene all takes place in the reception +room, just across the brass rail from my desk, I'm almost one of the +party. + +"Oh, my darling boy!" wails Ma, pushin' back her veils and wrappin' him +in the fond clinch. + +"Aw, Mother!" protests Mortimer. + +"But we are to be so far apart," she goes on, "and with your father in +California you are to be all alone! And I just know you'll be forlorn +and lonesome in that dreadful boarding house! Oh, it is perfectly +awful!" + +"Oh, quit it, Mother. I'll be all right," says Mortimer. + +"But the work here," comes back Mother. "Does it come so hard? How +are you to stand it? Oh, if you had only kept on at college, then all +this wouldn't have been necessary." + +"Well, I didn't, that's all," says Mortimer; "so what's the use?" + +"I shall worry about you all the time," insists Mother. "And you are +so careless about writing! How am I to know that you are not ill, or +in trouble? Now promise me, if you should break down under the strain, +that you will cable me at once." + +"Oh, sure!" says Mortimer. "But time's up, Mother. I must be getting +back. Good-by." + +I had to turn my shoulder on the final break-away, and I thought the +whole push had cleared out, when I hears a rustle at the gate, and +here's Mother once more, with her eyes fixed investigatin' on me. + +"Boy," says she, "are you employed here regularly?" + +"I'm one of the fixtures, Ma'am," says I. + +"Very well," says she. "I am glad to hear it. And you have rather an +intelligent appearance." + +"Mostly bluff, though," says I. "You mustn't bank too much on looks." + +"Ah, but I can tell!" says she, noddin' her head and squintin' shrewd. +"You have a kind face too." + +"Ye-e-es?" says I. "But what's this cue for?" + +"I will tell you, Boy," says she, comin' up confidential. "You see, I +must trust someone in this matter. And you will be right here, where +you can see him every day, won't you--my son Mortimer, I mean?" + +"I expect I'll have to," says I, "if he sticks." + +"Then you must do this for me," she goes on. "Keep close to him. Make +yourself his friend." + +"Me?" says I. "Well, there might be some trouble about that." + +"I understand," says she. "It will be difficult, under the +circumstances. And Mortimer has such a proud, reserved nature! He has +always been that way. But now that he is thrown upon his own +resources, and if you could once gain his confidence, he might allow +you to--well, you'll try, won't you? And then I shall depend upon you +to send word to me once every week as to how he looks, if he seems +happy, how he is getting on in business, and so on. Come, do you +promise?" + +"Is this a case of philanthropy, or what?" says I. + +"Oh, I shall see that you are well repaid," says she. + +"That listens well," says I; "but it's kind of vague. Any figures, +now?" + +"Why--er--yes," says she, hesitatin'. "Suppose I should send you, +say, five dollars for every satisfactory report?" + +"Then I'm on the job," says I. + +And in two minutes more she's left me the address of her London +bankers, patted me condescendin' on the shoulder, and has flitted. So +here I am with a brand new side line,--an assignment to be friendly at +so much per. Can you beat that? + +It wa'n't until afterwards, either, when I'm busy throwin' on the +screen pictures of how that extra five'll fat up the Saturday pay +envelope, that I remembers the exact wordin' of the contract. Five for +every satisfactory report. Gee! that's different! Then here's where I +got to see that Mortimer behaves, or else I lose out. And I don't +waste any time plannin' the campaign. I tackles him as he strolls out +thirty seconds ahead of the twelve o'clock whistle. + +"After another one of them clubby lunches?" says I. + +"What's that to you?" he growls. + +"I'm interested, that's all," says I. + +"Oh, no, you're not," says he; "you're just fresh." + +"Ah, come now, Morty," says I. "This ain't no reg'lar feud we're +indulgin' in, you know. Ditch the rude retort and lemme tow you to a +joint where for----" + +"Thanks," says Mortimer. "I prefer my own company." + +"Gee! what poor taste!" says I. + +And it looked like I'd gone and bugged any five-spot prospects with my +first try. + +So I lets Mortimer simmer for a few days, not makin' any more cracks, +friendly or otherwise. I was about to hand in a blank report too, when +one noon he sort of hesitates as he passes the desk, and then stops. + +"I say," he begins, "show me that cheap luncheon place you spoke of, +will you?" + +It's more of an order than anything else; but that only makes this +sudden shift of his more amusin'. "Why, sure," says I. "Soured on the +club, have you?" + +"Not exactly," says he; "but--well, the fact is, Father must have +forgotten to send a check for last month's bill, and I'm on the +board--posted, you know." + +"Then that wa'n't any funny dream of yours, eh," says I, "this club +business? Which is it, Lotos or the Union League?" + +"It's my frat club, of course," says Mortimer. "And I don't mind +saying that it's a deucedly expensive place for me to go, even when I +can sign checks for my meals. I'm always being dragged into billiards, +dollar a corner, and that sort of thing. It counts up, and I--I'm +running rather close to the wind just now." + +"What! And you gettin' twelve?" says I. "Why, say, some supports +fam'lies on that. Takes managin', though. But I'll steer you round to +Max's, where for a quarter you can----" + +"A quarter!" breaks in Mortimer. "But--but that's more than I have +left." + +"And this only Wednesday!" says I. "Gee! but you have been goin' the +pace, ain't you? What is the sum total of the reserve, anyway?" + +Mortimer scoops into his trousers pockets, fishin' up a silver knife, a +gold cigar clipper, and seventeen cents cash. + +"Well, well!" says I. "That is gettin' down to hardpan! It's breakin' +one of my business rules, but I see where I underwrite your lunch +ticket for the next few days." + +"You mean you're going to stake me?" says he. "But why?" + +"Well, it ain't on account of your winnin' ways," says I. + +"Humph!" says he. "Here! You may have this stickpin as security." + +"Gwan!" says I. "I ain't no loan shark. Maybe I'm just makin' an +investment in you. Come on to Max's." + +I could see Mortimer's nose begin to turn up as we crowds in at a table +where a couple of packers from the china store next door was doin' the +sword swallowin' act. "What a noisy, messy place!" says he. + +"The service ain't quite up to Louis Martin's, that's a fact," says I; +"but then, there's no extra charge for the butter and toothpicks." + +We tried the dairy lunch next time; but he don't like that much better. +Pushin' up to the coffee urn with the mob, and havin' a tongue sandwich +slammed down in front of him by a grub hustler that hadn't been to a +manicure lately was only a couple of the details Mortimer shies at. + +"Ah, you'll soon get to overlook little things like that," says I. + +Mortimer shakes his head positive. "It's the disgusting crowd one has +to mingle with," says he. "Such a cheap lot of--of roughnecks!" + +"Huh!" says I. "Lots of 'em are pullin' down more'n you or me. Some +of 'em are almost human too." + +"I don't care," says he. "I dislike to mix with them. It's bad enough +at the boarding house." + +"None of the aristocracy there, either?" says I. + +"They're freaks, all of them," says he. "What do you think--one fellow +wears an outing shirt in to dinner! Then there's an old person with +gray whiskers who--well, I can't bear to watch him. The others are +almost as bad." + +"When you get to know the bunch you won't mind," says I. + +"But I don't care to know them," says Mortimer. "I haven't spoken to a +soul, and don't intend to. They're not my kind, you see." + +"Are you boastin', or complainin'?" says I. "Anyway, you're in for a +lonesome time. What do you do evenin's?" + +"Walk around until I'm tired, that's all," says he. + +"That's excitin'--I don't think," says I. + +Next he branches off on Miller, and starts tellin' me what a deep and +lastin' grouch he'd accumulated against his boss. But I ain't +encouragin' any hammer play of that kind. + +"Stow it, Morty," says I. "I'm wise to all that. Besides, you ought +to know you can't hold a job and come floatin' in at any old hour. No +wonder you got in Dutch with him! Say, is this your first stab at real +work?" + +He admits that it is, and when I gets him to describe how he's been +killin' time when he wa'n't in college it develops that one of his +principal playthings has been a six-cylinder roadster,--mile-a-minute +brand, mostly engine and gastank, with just space enough left for the +driver to snuggle in among the levers on the small of his back. + +"I've had her up to sixty-five an hour on some of those Rhode Island +oiled stretches," says Mortimer. + +"I expect," says I. "And what was it you hit last?" + +"Eh?" says he. "Oh, I see! A milk wagon. Rather stiff damages they +got out of us, with the hospital and doctor's bills and all that. But +it was more the way I was roasted by the blamed newspapers that made +Father so sore. Then my being canned from college soon after--well, +that finished it. So he sends Mother and Sis off to Europe, goes on a +business trip to California himself, closes the house, and chucks me +into this job." + +"Kind of poor trainin' for it, I'll admit," says I. "But buck up, +Morty; we'll do our best." + +"We?" says he, liftin' his eyebrows. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Me and you." + +"What's it got to do with you? I'd like to know!" he demands. + +"I've been retained," says I. "Never you mind how, but I'm here to +pass out the friendly shove, coach you along, see that you make good." + +"Well, I like your nerve!" says he, stoppin' short as we're crossin' +Broadway. "A young mucker like you help me make good! Say, that's +rich, that is! Huh! But why don't you? Come ahead with it, now, if +you're such an expert!" + +It was a dare, all right. And for a minute there we looked each other +over scornful, until I decides that I'll carry on the friend act if I +have to risk gettin' my head punched. + +"First off, Mortimer," says I, "forgettin' what a great man you are so +long as Father's payin' the bills, let's figure on just what your +standin' is now. You're a bum bond clerk, on the ragged edge of bein' +fired, ain't you?" + +He winces some at that; but he still has a comeback. "If it wasn't for +that bonehead Miller, I'd get on," he growls. + +"Bah!" says I. "He's only layin' down the rules of the game; so it's +up to you to follow 'em." + +"But he's unreasonable," whines Mortimer. "He snoops around after me, +finds fault with everything I do, and fines me for being a little late +mornings." + +I takes a long breath and swallows hard. Next I tries to strike the +saintly pose, and then I unreels the copybook dope just like I believed +it myself. + +"He does, eh?" says I. "Then beat him to it. Don't be late. Show up +at eight-thirty instead of nine. That extra half-hour ain't goin' to +kill you. Be the last to quit too. Play up to Miller. Do things the +way he wants 'em done, even if you have to do 'em over a dozen times. +And use your bean." + +"But it's petty, insignificant work," says Mortimer. + +"All the worse for you if you can't swing it," says I. "See here, +now--how are you goin' to feel afterwards if you've always got to look +back on the fact that you begun by fallin' down on a twelve-dollar job?" + +Must have got Mortimer in the short ribs, that last shot; for he walks +all the rest of the way back to the Corrugated without sayin' a word. +Then, just as we gets into the elevator, he unloosens. + +"I don't believe it will do any good to try," says he; "but I've a mind +to give it a whirl." + +I didn't say so, but that was the first thing we'd agreed on that day. +So that night I has to send off a report which reads like this: + + +Mortimer's health O. K.; disposition ragged; business prospects punk. + +Hoping you are the same, + +TORCHY. + + +It's a wonder Mortimer didn't have mental indigestion, with all that +load of gilt-edged advice on his mind, and I wa'n't lookin' for him to +lug it much further'n the door; but, if you'll believe me, he seems to +take it serious. Every mornin' after that I finds his hat on the hook +when I come in, and whenever I gets a glimpse of him durin' the day he +has his coat off and is makin' a noise like the busy bee. At this it +takes some time before he makes an impression on Miller; but fin'lly +Morty comes out to me with a bulletin that seems to tickle him all over. + +"What do you know?" says he. "When Miller was looking over some of my +work to-day he breaks out with, 'Very good, Upton. Keep it up.'" + +"Well, I expect you told him to chase himself, eh?" says I. + +"No," says Mortimer. "I sprung that new scheme of mine for filing the +back records, and perhaps he's going to adopt it." + +"Think of that!" says I. "Say, you keep on, and you'll be presented +with that job for life. But, honest, you don't find Miller such a +fish, do you?" + +"Oh, I guess he's all right in his way," says Mortimer. + +"Then brace yourself, Morty," says I, "while I slip you some more +golden words. Tackle that boardin' house bunch of yours. Ah, hold +your breath while you're doin' it, if you want to, and spray yourself +afterwards with disinfectant, but see if you can't learn to mix in." + +"But why?" says he. "I can't see the use." + +"Say, for the love of Pete," says I, "ain't it hard enough for me to +press out all this wise dope without drawin' diagrams? I don't know +why, only you should. Go on now, take it from me." + +Maybe it was followin' my hunch, or maybe there wa'n't anything else +for him to do, but blamed if this didn't work too. Inside of two weeks +he gives me the whole tale, one day as we're sittin' in the armchairs +at the dairy lunch. + +"Remember my telling you about the fellow who wore the outing shirt?" +says he. "Well, say, he's quite a chap, you know. He's from some +little town out in Wyoming, and he's on here trying to be a +cartoonist--runs a hoisting engine day times and goes to an art school +evenings. How's that, eh?" + +"Sounds batty," says I. "There's most as many would-be cartoonists as +there are nutty ones tryin' to write plays for Belasco." + +"But this Blake's going to get there," says Mortimer. "I was up in his +room Sunday, and he showed me some of his work. Clever stuff, a lot of +it. He's landed a couple of things already. Then there's old man +McQuade, the one with the whiskers. Say, he's been all over the +world,--Siberia, Africa, Japan, South America. Used to be selling +agent for a mill supply firm. He has all his savings invested in an +Egyptian cotton plantation that hasn't begun to pay yet, but he thinks +it will soon. You ought to hear the yarns he can spin, though!" + +"So-o-o?" says I. + +"But Aronwitz is the fellow I'm traveling' around with most just now," +goes on Mortimer enthusiastic. "Say, he's a wonder! Been over here +from Hungary only six years, worked his way through Columbia, copping +an A. M. and an A. B., and sending back money to his old mother right +along. He's a Socialist, or something, and writes for one of those +East Side papers. Then evenings he teaches manual training in a slum +settlement house. He took me over with him the other night and got me +to help him with his boys. My, but they're a bright lot of +youngsters--right off the street too! I've promised to take a class +myself." + +"In what," says I, "table etiquette?" + +"I'm going to start by explaining to them how a gasolene engine works," +says Mortimer. "They're crazy to learn anything like that. It will be +great sport." + +"Mortimer," says I, "a little more of that, and I'll believe you're the +guy that put the seed in succeed. Anyone wouldn't guess you was doin' +penance." + +"I feel that I'm really living at last," says he in earnest. + +So in that next report to Mother, after I'd thanked her for the last +check and filled in the usual health chart and so on, I proceeds to +throw in a few extras about how Son was makin' the great discovery that +most folks was more or less human, after all. Oh, I spread myself on +that part of it, givin' full details! + +"And if that don't charm an extra five out of the old girl," thinks I, +"I miss my guess." + +Does it? Well, say, that happy thought stays with me for about ten +days. At times I figured the bonus might be as high as a fifty. And +then one mornin' here comes a ruddy-faced old party that I spots as +Colonel Upton. He calls for Mortimer, and the two of 'em has a +ten-minute chat in the corridor. Afterwards Morty interviews Miller, +and when he comes out next he has his hat and overcoat with him. + +"So long, Torchy," says he. "I'm leaving." + +"Not for good!" says I. "What's wrong?" + +"Mother," says he. "In some way she's found out about the sort of +people I've been going around with, and she's kicked up a great row, +got Father on the cable, and--well, it's all off. I'm to travel abroad +for a year or so to get it out of my system." + +"Gee!" says I as he goes out to join the Colonel. "Talk about boobing +a swell proposition! But that was too good to last, anyway. And, +believe me, if I'm ever asked again to be friendly on a salary, I bet I +don't overdo the thing." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +BREEZING BY WITH PEGGY + +He's a great old scout, Mr. Ellins. But he always knows where he wants +to get off, all right. He don't whisper his ideas on the subject, +either. + +"Boy," says he the other mornin' as I answers the buzzer, "I am +expecting two young persons to call this forenoon, two young wards of +mine. Huh! Wards! As though I wasn't busy enough with my own affairs +without---- But never mind. Chandler is the name." + +"Yes, Sir," says I. "Chandler. Rush 'em right in, shall I?" + +"No!" snorts Old Hickory. "What I want you to do is to use a little +sense, if you have any. Now, here! I have a committee meeting at ten; +those K. & T. people will be here at ten-forty-five; and after that I +can't say whether I'll be free or not. Of course I must see the young +nuisances; but meantime I want to forget 'em. I am trusting to you to +work 'em in when they'll be the least bother." + +"Got you," says I. "Chink in with Chandlers. Yes, Sir. Anything +more?" + +"No. Get out!" he snaps. + +Fair imitation of a grouch, eh? But you got to get used to Old +Hickory. Besides, there was some excuse for his bein' peeved, havin' a +pair of kids camp down on him this way. Course I was wise to the other +details. Didn't I take their 'phone message to Mr. Robert only the day +before, and send back the answer for 'em to come on? + +Seems this was a case of a second cousin, or something like that, a +nutty college professor, who'd gone and left a will makin' Mr. Ellins a +guardian without so much as askin' by your leave. There was a Mrs. +Chandler; but she don't figure in the guardianship. The youngsters had +been in school somewhere near Boston; but, this bein' the holidays, +what do they do but turn up in New York and express a wild desire to +see dear old Guardy. + +"Gee!" thinks I. "They don't know when they're well off." + +For Old Hickory ain't got a lot of use for the average young person. +I've heard him express his sentiments on that point. "Impudent, +ill-mannered, selfish, spoiled young barbarians, the boys," says he, +"and the girls aren't much better,--silly, giggling young chatterboxes!" + +And the way I has it framed up, this was rather a foxy move of the +young Chandlers, discoverin' their swell New York relations just as the +holiday season was openin'. So I don't figure that the situation calls +for any open-arm motions on my part. No, nothin' like that. I'm here +to give 'em their first touch of frost. + +So about eleven-fifteen, as I glances across the brass rail and sees +this pair advancin' sort of uncertain, I'm all prepared to cause a drop +in the mercury. They wa'n't exactly the type I had in mind, though. +What I'd expected was a brace of high school cutups. But these two are +older than that. + +The young fellow was one of these big-boned, wide-shouldered chaps, +with a heavy, serious look to his face, almost dull. I couldn't tell +at first look whether he was a live wire or not. No such suspicions +about the girl. She ain't what you'd call a queen, exactly. She's too +tall and her face is too long for that. Kind of a cute sort of face, +though, with rather a wide mouth that she can twist into a weird, +one-sided smile. But after one look at them lively blue eyes you knew +she wasn't walkin' in her sleep. It's my cue, though, to let 'em guess +what nuisances they were. + +"May I see Mr. Ellins?" says the young chap. + +"Cards," says I. + +He produces the pasteboards. + +"Oh, yes!" I goes on. "The wards, eh? Marjorie Chandler, Dudley +Winthrop Chandler. Well, you've picked out a busy day, you know." + +"Oh, have we?" says Marjorie. "There, Dud! I was afraid we might. +Perhaps we'd better not call, after all." + +"Good!" says Dudley. "I didn't want to, anyway. We can just send in +our cards and leave word that we----" + +"Ah, can it!" says I. "Mr. Ellins is expectin' you; only he ain't a +man you can walk in on casual." + +"But really," puts in Marjorie, "it's just as well if we don't see him." + +"Yes, and get me fired for not carryin' out instructions," says I. "My +orders are to work you in when there's a chance." + +"Oh, in that case," says Marjorie, "perhaps we had better wait. We +don't wish to cause trouble for anyone, especially such a bright, +charming young----" + +"Nix on the josh," says I. "And have a seat while I skirmish." + +"Very well, then," says she, screwin' her face up cunnin' and handin' +me one of them crooked smiles. + +Say, she pretty near had me goin' right from the start. And as I +tiptoes into the boss's room I sees he ain't doin' anything more +important than signin' letters. + +"They're here," says I, "the wards. Is it all right to run 'em in now?" + +He grunts, nods his head, and keeps on writin'. So I strolls back to +the reception room. + +"All right," says I. "I've fixed it up for you." + +"Now, wasn't that sweet in you?" gurgles Marjorie, glancin' sideways at +Brother. I couldn't swear it was a wink, either; but it's one of them +knowin' fam'ly looks, and she follows it up with a ripply sort of a +giggle. + +"That's right!" says I. "Have all the fun you want with me; but I'd +warn you to ditch the mirth stuff while you're on the carpet. Mr. +Ellins don't like it." + +"How interesting!" says Marjorie. "Dudley, I hope you understand. We +must ditch the mirth stuff." + +They swaps another grin at that, and I have a suspicion I'm bein' +kidded. Just for that too I decides to stick around while they're +gettin' theirs from Old Hickory. + +"This way," says I cold and haughty, as I tows 'em into the private +office. + +Mr. Ellins lets 'em stand there a minute or so without sayin' a word, +and then he turns and looks 'em over deliberate. "Humph!" he grunts. +"Thought you were younger." + +"Yes, Sir," says Marjorie, "we--er--we were at one time." + +Old Hickory shoots a quizzin' glance at her; but there ain't the ghost +of a smile on her face. + +"Huh!" says he. "I've no doubt. And I presume that in due course +you'll be older. Having agreed on that, perhaps you will tell me what +you're doing in New York?" + +Marjorie starts in to give him the answer to that; but Dudley shakes +his head at her and takes the floor himself. "You see, Sir," says he +real respectful, "Mother's abroad this winter, and when we were asked +to visit friends on Long Island we thought----" + +"Amy abroad, is she?" breaks in Mr. Ellins. "How does that happen?" + +"The Adamses took her with them to Egypt," says Dudley. "They are old +friends of ours." + +"Humph!" says Old Hickory. "Your mother must be rather popular?" + +"Oh, everyone likes Mama," put in Marjorie. "She's asked around +everywhere." + +"Yes, yes, I've no doubt," says he. "As I remember her, she was rather +a--but we won't go into that. Did you come to consult me about +anything in particular?" + +"No indeed," says Marjorie. "But you've been so good to bother about +our affairs, and you've done such wonders with the little property poor +Dad left, that we thought, as we were so near, we ought to----" + +"We wanted," breaks in Dudley, "to call and thank you personally for +your kindness. You have been awfully kind, Sir." + +"Think so, do you?" says Mr. Ellins. "Well, is that all?" + +"Yes," says Marjorie; "only--only--oh, Dud, I'm going to do it!" And +with that she makes a rush, lets out a giggle or two, grabs Old Hickory +in a perfectly good hug, and kisses him twice on his bald spot. + +He don't even have a chance to struggle, and before he can get out a +word it's all over and she has backed off, givin' him the full benefit +of one of them twisty smiles. I was lookin' for him to blow up for +fair at that. He don't though. + +"There, there!" says he. "Not in the least necessary, you know. But +if it was something you had to get out of your system, all right. So +you've been visiting, eh? Now, what?" + +"Why, Marjorie's going back to her school, Sir," says Dudley, "and I to +college." + +"Before the holidays are over?" says Mr. Ellins. + +"Oh, we don't mind," says Marjorie. "We don't want to go home and open +up the house; for we should miss Mother so much." + +"Suppose you finish out your vacation with us, then?" suggests Old +Hickory. + +"Oh, thank you, Sir," says Dudley; "but we----" + +"Mother wrote us, you see," breaks in Marjorie, "that we mustn't think +of bothering you another bit." + +"Who says you're a bother?" he demands. "At this time of year I like +to have young folks around--if they're the right kind." + +"But I'm not sure we are the right kind," says Marjorie. "I--I'm not +very serious, you know; and Dud's apt to be noisy. He thinks he can +sing." + +At which Dudley gets fussed and Old Hickory chuckles. + +"I'll take a chance," says Mr. Ellins. "If I'm to be your guardian, I +ought to know you better. So you two trot right up to the house and +prepare to stay the week out. Here, Torchy! 'Phone for the limousine. +No, not a word, young woman! I haven't time to discuss it. Clear out, +both of you! See you at dinner." + +"There!" says Marjorie as a partin' shot. "I just knew you were an old +dear!" + +"Stuff!" protests Mr. Ellins. "'Old bear,' is more like it." + +And me, I picks up a new cue. I escorts 'em out to the gen'ral office +with all the honors. "I'll have that car down in a jiffy, Miss," says +I. + +"Oh, thank you," says Marjorie. "And if you think of anything we ought +to ditch in the meantime--" + +"Ah, what's the use rubbin' it in on me," says I, "after the way you +put it over Mr. Ellins? I don't count. Besides, anybody that fields +their position like you do has got me wearin' their button for keeps." + +"Really?" says she. "I shall remember that, you know; and there's no +telling what dreadful thing I may do before I go. Is there, Dud?" + +"Oh, quit it, Peggy!" says he. "Behave, can't you?" + +"Certainly, Brother dear," says she, runnin' her tongue out at him. +Ever see anyone who could make a cute play of that? Well, Marjorie +could, believe me! + +Funny, though, the sudden hit them two seemed to make with Old Hickory. +Honest, the few days they was around the house his disposition clears +up like coffee does when you stir in the egg. I heard him talkin' to +Mr. Robert about 'em, how well brought up and mannerly they was. He +even unloads some of it on me, by way of suggestin' 'em as models. +You'd most think he'd trained 'em himself. + +Bein' chased up to the house on so many errands, I had a chance to get +the benefit of some of this improvin' influence. And it was kind of +good, I admit, to watch how prompt Dudley hops up every time any older +party comes into the room; and how sweet Marjorie is to everybody, even +the butler. They was just as nice to each other too,--Brother helpin' +Sister on with her wraps, and gettin' down on his knees to put on her +rubbers; while Marjorie never forgets to thank him proper, and pat him +chummy on the cheek. + +"Gee!" thinks I. "A sister like that wouldn't be so bad to have +around." + +Course, I knew this was comp'ny manners, exhibition stuff; but all the +same it was kind of inspirin' to see. It's catchin' too. I even finds +myself speakin' gentle to Piddie, and offerin' to help Mr. Ellins with +his overcoat. + +All of which lasts until here one afternoon, as I'm waitin' in the +Ellins' lib'ry for some presents I'm to deliver, when the spell is +shattered. I'd heard 'em out in the hall, talkin' low and earnest, and +next thing I know they've drifted in where I am and have opened up a +lively debate. + +"Pooh!" says Marjorie. "You can't stop me." + +"See here, Peggy!" comes back Dudley. "Didn't Mother say I was to look +after you?" + +"She didn't tell you to be so everlasting bossy," says Sister. + +"I'm not bossy," comes back Dudley. + +"You are so!" says she. "Old fuss budget! Stewcat!" + +"Rattlehead!" says Dudley. + +"Don't mind me," I breaks in. "I'm havin' my manners improved." + +All that brings out, though, is a glance and a shoulder shrug, and they +proceed with the squabble. + +"Dud Chandler," says Marjorie determined, "I am going to drive the car +today! You did yesterday for an hour." + +"That's entirely different," says Dudley. "I'm used to it, and Henry +said I might." + +"And Henry says I may too--so there!" says Marjorie. "And you know I'm +just crazy to try it on Fifth Avenue." + +"You'd look nice, wouldn't you?" says Brother scornful. "A limousine!" + +"But Bud Adams let me drive theirs; in Boston too," protests Marjorie. + +"Bud Adams is a bonehead, then," says Dudley. + +"Dudley Chandler," snaps Sister, her eyes throwin' off sparks, "don't +you dare talk that way about my friends!" + +"Huh!" says Brother. "If there ever was a boob, that Bud Adams is----" + +Say, there's only a flash and a squeal before Sister has landed a smack +on his jaw and has both hands in his hair. Looked like a real +rough-house session, right there in the lib'ry, when there comes a call +for me down the stairs from Mrs. Ellins. She wants to know if I'm +ready. + +[Illustration: Sister has landed a smack on his jaw.] + +"Waitin' here, Ma'am," says I, steppin' out into the hall. + +"And Marjorie and Dudley?" says she. "Are the dear young folks ready +too?" + +"I'll ask 'em," says I. And with that I dodges hack where they're +standin' glarin' at each other. "Well," says I, "is it to be a go to a +finish, or----" + +"Come, Marjorie," says Dudley, "be decent." + +"I--am going to do it!" announces Marjorie. + +"Mule!" hisses Dudley. + +And that's the status quo between these two models when we starts for +the car. Marjorie makes a quick break and plants herself in front by +the chauffeur, leavin' Brother to climb inside with me and the bundles. +He grits his teeth and murmurs a few remarks under his breath. + +"Some pep to that sister of yours, eh?" says I. + +"She's an obstinate little fool!" says Dudley. "Look at that, now! I +knew she would!" + +Yep, she had. We're no sooner under way than the obligin' Henry slides +out of his seat and lets Miss Marjorie slip in behind the wheel. She +can drive a car all right too. You ought to see her throw in the high +and go beatin' it down the avenue, takin' signals from the traffic cops +at crossing, skinnin' around motor busses, and crowdin' out a fresh +taxi driver that tried to hog a corner on her. Nothin' timid or +amateurish either about the way she handled that ten-thousand-dollar +gas wagon of Old Hickory's. Where I'd be jammin' on both brakes and +callin' for help, she just breezes along like she had the street all to +herself. + +Meantime Brother is sittin' with both feet braced and one hand on the +door, now and then sighin' relieved as we scrape through a tight place. +But we'd been down quite a ways and was part way back, headed for +Riverside Drive, and was rollin' along merry too, when all of a sudden +a fruit faker's wagon looms up out of a side street unexpected, there's +a bump and a crash, and there we are, with a spokeless wooden wheel +draped jaunty over one mud guard, the asphalt strewed with oranges, and +int'rested spectators gatherin' gleeful from all quarters. + +Looks like a bad mess too. The old plug of a horse is down, kickin' +the stuffin' out of the harness, and a few feet off is the huckster, +huddled up in a heap like a bag of meal. Course, there's a cop on the +spot. He pushes in where Dudley is tryin' to help the wagon driver up, +takes one look at the wreck, and then flashes his little notebook. He +puts down our license number, calls for the owner's name, prods the +wagon man without result, tells us we're all pinched, and steps over to +a convenient signal box to ring up an ambulance. Inside of three +minutes we're the storm center of a small mob, and there's two other +cops lookin' us over disapprovin'. + +"Take 'em all to the station house," says one, who happens to be a +roundsman. + +That didn't listen good to me; so I kind of sidles off from our group. +It just struck me that it might be handy to have someone on the outside +lookin' in. But at that I got to the station house almost as soon as +they did. The trio was lined up before the desk Sergeant. Miss +Marjorie's kind of white, but keepin' a stiff lip over it; while Dudley +is holdin' one hand and pattin' it comfortin'. + +"Well, who was driving?" is the first thing the Sergeant wants to know. + +"If you please, Sir," speaks up Dudley, "I was." + +"Why, Dudley!" says Peggy, openin' her eyes wide. "You know----" + +"Hush up!" whispers Brother. + +"Sha'nt!" says Marjorie. "I was driving, Mr. Officer." + +"Rot!" says Dudley. "Pay no attention to her, Sergeant." + +"Suit yourself," says the Sergeant. "I'd just as soon lock up two as +one. Then we'll be sure." + +"There! You see!" says Brother. "You aren't helping any. Now keep +out, will you?" + +"But, Dudley----" protests Marjorie. + +"That'll do," says the Sergeant. "You'll have plenty of time to talk +it over afterwards. Hospital case, eh? Then we can't take bail. +Names, now!" + +And it's while their names are bein' put on the blotter that I slides +out, hunts up a pay station, and gets Mr. Robert on the 'phone. +"Better lug along a good-sized roll," says I, after I've explained the +case, "and start a lawyer or two this way. You'll need 'em." + +"I will," says Mr. Robert. "And you'll meet me at the station, will +you?" + +"Later on," says I. "I want to try a little sleuthin' first." + +You see, I'd spotted the faker's name on the wagon license, and it +occurs to me that before any of them damage-suit shysters get to him it +would be a good scheme to discover just how bad he was bunged up. So +my bluff is that it's an uncle of mine that's been hurt. By pushin' it +good and hard too, and insistin' that I'd got to see him, I gets clear +into the cot without bein' held up. And there's the victim, snoozin' +peaceful. + +"Gee!" says I to the nurse, sniffin' the atmosphere. "Had to brace him +up with a drink, did you?" + +She smiles at that. "Hardly," says she. "He had attended to that, or +he wouldn't be in here. This is the alcoholic ward, you know." + +"Huh!" says I. "Pickled, was he? But is he hurt bad?" + +"Not at all," says she. "He will be all right as soon as he's sober." + +Did I smoke it back to the station house? Well, some! And Mr. Robert +was there, talkin' to two volunteer witnesses who was ready to swear +the faker was drivin' on the wrong side of the street and not lookin' +where he was goin'. + +"How could he," says I, "when he was soused to the ears?" + +Course, it took some time to convince the Sergeant; but after he'd had +word from the hospital he concludes to accept a hundred cash, let +Dudley go until mornin', and scratch Marjorie's name off the book. +Goin' back to the house we four rides inside, with Henry at the wheel. + +"I'm awfully sorry, Dud," says Marjorie, snugglin' up to Brother, +"but--but it was almost worth it. I didn't know you could be so--so +splendid!" + +"Stow it, Peggy," says Dudley. "You're a regular brick!" + +"No, I'm not," says she. "And think what Mr. Ellins will say! + +"There, there!" says Mr. Robert soothin'. "You were not to blame. I +will have someone see the fellow in the morning and settle the damage, +however. There's no need to trouble Father about it, none in the +least." + +"Besides, Peggy," adds Dudley, "I'm the one the charge is made against. +So butt out." + +Looked like it was all settled that way too, and that Old Hickory's +faith in his model wards wa'n't to be disturbed. But when we pulls up +at the house there he is, just goin' up the front steps. + +"Ah!" says he, beamin'. "There you are, eh? And how has my little +Peggy been enjoying herself today?" + +"Mr. Ellins," says she, lookin' him square in the eye, "you mustn't +call me your Peggy any more. I've just hit a man. He's in the +hospital." + +"You--you hit someone!" gasps Old Hickory, starin' puzzled at her. +"What with?" + +"Why, with the car," says she. "I was driving. Dudley tried to stop +me; but I was horrid about it. We had a regular fight over it. Then I +coaxed Henry to let me, and--and this happened. Don't listen to +Dudley. It was all my fault." + +"Wow!" I whispers to Mr. Robert. "Now she's spilled the beans!" + +Did she? Say, I wa'n't in on the fam'ly conference that follows, but I +gets the result from Mr. Robert next day, after he's been to court and +seen Dudley's case dismissed. + +"No, the young folks haven't been sent away," says he. "In fact, +Father thinks more of them than ever. He's going to take 'em both +abroad with him next summer." + +Wouldn't that smear you, though? Say, I wish someone would turn me +loose with a limousine! + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS + +Trouble? Say, it was comin' seven diff'rent ways there for +awhile,--our stocks on the slump, a quarterly bein' passed, Congress +actin' up, a lot of gloom rumors floatin' around about what was goin' +to happen to the tariff on steel, and the I Won't Workers pullin' off a +big strike at one of our busiest plants. But all these things was side +issues compared to this scrap that develops between Old Hickory and +Peter K. Groff. + +Maybe you don't know about Peter K.? Well, he's the Mesaba agent of +Corrugated affairs, the big noise at the dirt end of the dividends. +It's Groff handles the ore proposition, you understand, and it's his +company that does the inter-locking act between the ore mines and us +and the railroads. + +Course, I can't give you all the details without pullin' down a +subpoena from the Attorney-General's office, and I ain't anxious to +crowd Willie Rockefeller, or anybody like that, out of the witness +chair. But I can go as far as to state that, as near as I could dope +it out, Peter K. was only standin' on his rights, and if only him and +Mr. Ellins could have got together for half an hour peaceable-like +things could have been squared all around. We needed Groff every tick +of the clock, and just because he ain't always polite in statin' his +views over the wire wa'n't any first-class reason for us extendin' him +an official invitation to go sew his head in a bag. + +Uh-huh, them was Old Hickory's very words. I stood by while he writes +the message. Then I takes it out and shows it to Piddie and grins. +You should have seen Piddie's face. He turns the color of green pea +soup and gasps. He's got all the fightin' qualities of a pet rabbit in +him, Piddie has. + +"But--but that is a flat insult," says he, "and Mr. Groff is a very +irascible person!" + +"A which?" says I. "Never mind, though. If he's got anything on Old +Hickory when it comes to pep in the disposition, he's the real Tabasco +Tommy." + +"But I still contend," says Piddie, "that this reply should not be +sent." + +"Course it shouldn't," says I. "But who's goin' to point that out to +the boss? You?" + +Piddie shudders. I'll bet he went home that night and told Wifey to +prepare for the end of the world. Course, I knew it meant a muss. But +when Old Hickory's been limpin' around with a gouty toe for two weeks, +and his digestion's gone on the fritz, and things in gen'ral has been +breakin' bad--well, it's a case of low barometer in our shop, and +waitin' to see where the lightnin' strikes first. Might's well be +pointed at Peter K., thinks I, as at some Wall Street magnate or me. +Course, Groff goes up in the air a mile, threatens to resign from the +board, and starts stirrin' up a minority move that's liable to end most +anywhere. + +Then, right in the midst of it, Old Hickory accumulates his annual case +of grip, runs up a temperature that ain't got anything to do with his +disposition, and his doctor gives orders for him not to move out of the +house for a week. + +So that throws the whole thing onto me and Mr. Robert. I was takin' it +calm enough too; but with Mr. Robert it's different. He has his coat +off that mornin', and his hair mussed up, and he's smokin' long +brunette cigars instead of his usual cigarettes. He was pawin' over +things panicky. + +"Hang it all!" he explodes. "Some of these papers must go up to the +Governor for his indorsement. Perhaps you'd better take them, Torchy. +But you're not likely to find him in a very agreeable mood, you know." + +"Oh, I can dodge," says I, gatherin' up the stuff. "And what's the +dope? Do I dump these on the bed and make a slide for life, or so I +take out accident insurance and then stick around for orders?" + +"You may--er--stick around," says Mr. Robert. "In fact, my chief +reason for sending you up to the house is the fact that at times you +are apt to have a cheering effect on the Governor. So stay as long as +you find any excuse. + +"Gee!" says I. "I don't know whether this is a special holiday, or a +sentence to sudden death. But I'll take a chance, and if the worst +happens, Mr. Robert, see that Piddie wears a black armband for me." + +He indulges in the first grin he's had on for a week, and I makes my +exit on that. The science of bein' fresh is to know where to quit. + +But, say, that wa'n't all guff we was exchangin' about Old Hickory. I +don't find him tucked away under the down comf'tables, like he ought to +be. Marston, the butler, whispers the boss is in the lib'ry, and sort +of shunts me in without appearin' himself. A wise guy, Marston. + +For here's Mr. Ellins, wearin' a padded silk dressin' gown and old +slippers, pacin' back and forth limpy and lettin' out grunts and growls +at every turn. Talk about your double-distilled grouches! He looks +like he'd been on a diet of mixed pickles and scrap iron for a month, +and hated the whole human race. + +"Well?" he snaps as he sees me edgin' in cautious. + +"Papers for your O. K," says I, holdin' the bunch out at arm's length. + +"My O. K.?" he snarls. "Bah! Now what the zebra-striped Zacharias do +they send those things to me for? What good am I, anyway, except as a +common carrier for all the blinkety blinked aches and pains that ever +existed? A shivery, shaky old lump of clay streaked with cussedness, +that's all I am!" + +"Yes, Sir," says I, from force of habit. + +"Eh?" says he, whirlin' and snappin' his jaws. + +"N-n-no, Sir," says I, sidesteppin' behind a chair. + +"That's right," says he. "Dodge and squirm as if I was a wild animal. +That's what they all do. What are you afraid of, Boy?" + +"Me?" says I. "Why, I'm havin' the time of my life. I don't mind. It +only sounds natural and homelike. And it's mostly bluff, ain't it, Mr. +Ellins?" + +"Discovered!" says he. "Ah, the merciless perspicacity of youth! But +don't tell the others. And put those papers on my desk." + +"Yes, Sir," says I, and after I've spread 'em out I backs into the bay +window and sits down. + +"Well, what are you doing there?" says he. + +"Waiting orders," says I. "Any errands, Mr. Ellins?" + +"Errands?" says he. Then, after thinkin' a second, he raps out, "Yes. +Do you see that collection of bottles and pills and glasses on the +table? Enough to stock a young drugstore! And I've been pouring that +truck into my system by wholesale,--the pink tablets on the half-hour, +the white ones on the quarter, a spoonful of that purple liquid on the +even hour, two of the greenish mixtures on the odd, and getting worse +every day. Bah! I haven't the courage to do it myself, but by the +blue-belted blazes if---- See here, Boy! You're waiting orders, you +say?" + +"Uh-huh!" says I. + +"Then open that window and throw the whole lot into the areaway," says +he. + +"Do you mean it, Mr. Ellins?" says I. + +"Do I--yah, don't I speak plain English?" he growls. "Can't you +understand a simple----" + +"I got you," I breaks in. "Out it goes!" I don't drop any of it +gentle, either. I slams bottles and glasses down on the flaggin' and +chucks the pills into the next yard. I makes a clean sweep. + +"Thanks, Torchy," says he. "The doctor will be here soon. I'll tell +him you did it." + +"Go as far as you like," says I. "Anything else, Sir?" + +"Yes," says he. "Provide me with a temporary occupation." + +"Come again," says I. + +"I want something to do," says he. "Here I've been shut up in this +confounded house for four mortal days! I can't read, can't eat, can't +sleep. I just prowl around like a bear with a sore ear. I want +something that will make me forget what a wretched, futile old fool I +am. Do you know of anything that will fill the bill?" + +"No, sir," says I. + +"Then think," says he. "Come, where is that quick-firing, automatic +intellect of yours? Think, Boy! What would you do if you were shut up +like this?" + +"Why," says I, "I--I might dig up some kind of games, I guess." + +"Games!" says he. "That's worth considering. Well, here's some money. +Go get 'em." + +"But what kind, Sir?" says I. + +"How the slithering Sisyphus should I know what kind?" he snaps. +"Whose idea is this, anyway? You suggested games. Go get 'em, I tell +you! I'll give you half an hour, while I'm looking over this stuff +from the office. Just half an hour. Get out!" + +It's a perfectly cute proposition, ain't it? Games for a heavy-podded +old sinner like him, who's about as frivolous in his habits as one of +them stone lions in front of the new city lib'ry! But here I was on my +way with a yellow-backed twenty in one hand; so it's up to me to +produce. I pikes straight down the avenue to a joint where they've got +three floors filled with nothin' but juvenile joy junk, blows in there +on the jump, nails a clerk that looks like he had more or less bean, +waves the twenty at him, and remarks casual: + +"Gimme the worth of that in things that'll amuse a fifty-eight-year-old +kid who's sick abed and walkin' around the house." + +Did I say clerk? I take it back. He was a salesman, that young gent +was. Never raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to haul out samples, pass +'em up to me for inspection, and pile in a heap what I gives him the +nod on. If I established a record for reckless buyin', he never +mentions it. Inside of twenty minutes I'm on my way back, followed by +a porter with both arms full. + +"The doctor has come," says Marston. "He's in with Mr. Ellins now, +Sir." + +"Ob, is he?" says I. "Makes it very nice, don't it?" And, bein' as +how I was Old Hickory's alibi, as you might say, I pikes right to the +front. + +"Here he is now," says Mr. Ellins. + +And the Doc, who's a chesty, short-legged gent with a dome half under +glass,--you know, sort of a skinned diamond with turf outfield +effect,--he whirls on me accusin'. "Young man," says he, "do I +understand that you had the impudence to----" + +"Well, well!" breaks in Old Hickory, gettin' a glimpse of what the +porter's unloading "What have we here? Look, Hirshway,--Torchy's drug +substitute!" + +"Eh?" says the Doc, starin' puzzled. + +"Games," says Mr. Ellins, startin' to paw over the bundles. "Toys for +a weary toiler. Let's inspect his selection. Now what's this in the +box, Torchy?" + +"Cut-up picture puzzle," says I. "Two hundred pieces. You fit 'em +together." + +"Fine!" says Old Hickory. "And this?" + +"Ring toss," says I. "You try to throw them rope rings over the peg." + +"I see," says he. "Excellent! That will be very amusing and +instructive. Here's an airgun too." + +"Ellins," says Doc Hirshway, "do you mean to say that at your age you +are going to play with such childish things?" + +"Why not?" says Old Hickory. "You forbid business. I must employ +myself in some way, and Torchy recommends these." + +"Bah!" says the Doc disgusted. "If I didn't know you so well, I should +think your mind was affected." + +"Think what you blamed please, you bald-headed old pill peddler!" raps +back the boss, pokin' him playful in the ribs. "I'll bet you a fiver I +can put more of these rings over than you can." + +"Humph!" says the Doc. "I've no time to waste on silly games." And he +stands by watchin' disapprovin' while Old Hickory makes an awkward stab +at the peg. The nearest he comes to it is when he chucks one through +the glass door of a curio cabinet, with a smash that brings the butler +tiptoein' in. + +"Did you ring, Sir?" says Marston. + +"Not a blamed one!" says Mr. Ellins. + +"Take it away, Marston. And then unwrap that large package. There! +Now what the tessellated teacups is that!" + +It's something I didn't know anything about myself; but the young gent +at the store had been strong for puttin' it in, so I'd let it slide. +It's a tin affair, painted bright green, with half a dozen little brass +cups sunk in it. Some rubber balls and a kind of croquet mallet goes +with it. + +"Indoor golf!" says Old Hickory, readin' the instruction pamphlet. +"Oh, I see! A putting green. Set it there on the rug, Marston. Now, +let's see if I've forgotten how to putt." + +We all gathers around while he tries to roll the balls into the cups. +Out of six tries he lands just one. Next time he don't get any at all. + +"Pooh!" says the Doc edgin' up int'rested. "Wretched putting form, +Ellins, wretched! Don't tap it that way: sweep it along---follow +through, with your right elbow out. Here, let me show you!" + +But Hirshway don't do much better. He manages to get two in; but one +was a rank scratch. + +"Ho-ho!" cackles Old Hickory. "Isn't so easy as it looks, eh, +Hirshway? Now it's my turn again, and I'm betting ten I beat you." + +"I take you," says the Doc. + +And blamed if Old Hickory don't pull down the money! + +Well, that's what started things. Next I knew they'd laid out a +regular golf course, drivin' off from the rug in front of the desk, +through the double doors into the drawin' room, then across the hall +into the music room, around the grand piano to the left, through the +back hall, into the lib'ry once more, and onto the tin green. + +Marston is sent to dig out a couple sets of old golf clubs from the +attic, and he is put to caddyin' for the Doc, while I carries the bag +for the boss. Course they was usin' putters mostly, except for fancy +loftin' strokes over bunkers that they'd built out of books and sofa +pillows. And as the balls was softer than the regulation golf kind, +with more bounce to 'em, all sorts of carom strokes was ruled in. + +"No moving the chairs," announces Old Hickory. "All pieces of +furniture are natural hazards." + +"Agreed," says the Doc. "Playing stimies too, I suppose?" + +"Stimies go," says the boss. + +Say, maybe that wa'n't some batty performance, with them two old +duffers golfin' all over the first floor of a Fifth-ave. house, +disputin' about strokes, pokin' balls out from under tables and sofas, +and me and Marston followin' along with the bags. They got as excited +over it as if they'd been playin' for the International Championship, +and when Old Hickory loses four strokes by gettin' his ball wedged in a +corner he cuts loose with the real golfy language. + +We was just finishin' the first round, with the score standin' fourteen +to seventeen in favor of the Doc, when the front doorbell rings and a +maid comes towin' in Piddie. Maybe his eyes don't stick out some too, +as he takes in the scene, But Mr. Ellins is preparin' to make a shot +for position in front of the green and he don't pay any attention. + +"It's Mr. Piddie, Sir," says I. + +"Hang Mr. Piddie!" says Old Hickory. "I can't see him now." + +"But it's very important," says Piddie. "There's someone at the office +who----" + +"No, no, not now!" snaps the boss impatient. + +And I gives Piddie the back-out signal. But you know how much sense +he's got. + +"I assure you, Mr. Ellins," he goes on, "that this is----" + +"S-s-s-st!" says I. "Boom-boom! Outside!" and I jerks my thumb +towards the door. + +That settles Piddie. He fades. + +A minute later Old Hickory gets a lucky carom off a chair leg and holes +out in nineteen, with the Doc playin' twenty-one. + +"Ha, ha!" chuckled the boss. "What's the matter with my form now, +Hirshway? I'll go you another hole for the same stake." + +The Doc was sore and eager to get back. They wa'n't much more'n fairly +started, though, before there's other arrivals, that turns out to be no +less than two of our directors, lookin' serious and worried. + +"Mr. Rawson and Mr. Dunham," announces the maid. + +"Here, Boy!" says the boss, catchin' me by the elbow. "What was that +you said to Mr. Piddie,--that 'Boom-boom!' greeting?" + +I gives it to him and the Doc in a stage whisper. + +"Good!" says he. "Get that, Hirshway? Now let's spring it on 'em. +All together now--S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!" + +Say, it makes a hit with the directors, all right. First off they +didn't seem to know whether they'd strayed into a bughouse, or were +just bein' cheered; but when they sees Old Hickory's mouth corners they +concludes to take it as a josh. It turns out that both of 'em are golf +cranks too, and inside of three minutes they've forgot whatever it was +they'd come for, they've shed their coats, and have been rung into a +foursome. + +Honest, of all the nutty performances! For there was no tellin' where +them balls would roll to, and wherever they went the giddy old boys had +to follow. I remember one of 'em was stretched out full length on his +tummy in the front hall, tryin' to make a billiard shot from under a +low hall seat, when there's another ring at the bell, and Marston, with +a golf bag still slung over his shoulder, lets in a square-jawed, +heavy-set old gent who glares around like he was lookin' for trouble +and would be disappointed if he didn't find it. + +"Mr. Peter K. Groff," announces Marston. + +"Good night!" says I to myself. "The enemy is in our midst." + +But Old Hickory never turns a hair. He stands there in his shirt +sleeves gazin' calm at this grizzly old minin' plute, and then I sees a +kind of cut-up twinkle flash in them deep-set eyes of his as he summons +his foursome to gather around. I didn't know what was coming either, +until they cuts loose with it. And for havin' had no practice they +rips it out strong. + +"S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!" comes the chorus. + +It gets Peter K.'s goat too. His jaw comes open and his eyes pop. +Next he swallows bard and flushes red behind the ears. "Ellins," says +he, "I've come fifteen hundred miles to ask what you mean by telling +me----" + +"Oh, that you, Groff?" breaks in the boss. "Well, don't interrupt our +game. Fore! You, I mean. Fore, there! Now go ahead, Rawson. +Playing eleven, aren't you?" + +And Rawson's just poked his ball out, makin' a neat carom into the +music room, when the hall clock strikes five. + +"By Jove, gentlemen!" exclaims Doc Hirshway. "Sorry, but I must quit. +Should have been in my office an hour ago. I really must go." + +"Quitter!" says Mr. Ellins. "But all right. Trot along. Here, Groff, +you're a golfer, aren't you?" + +"Why--er--yes," says Peter K., actin' sort of dazed; "but I----" + +"That's enough," says Old Hickory. "You take Hirshway's place. +Dunham's your partner. We're playing Nassau, ten a corner. But I'll +tell you,--just to make it interesting, I'll play you on the side to +see whether or not we accept that proposition of yours. Is it a go?" + +"But see here, Ellins," conies back Peter K. "I want you to understand +that you or any other man can't tell me to sew my head in a bag +without----" + +"Oh, drop that!" says Old Hickory. "I withdraw it--mostly gout, +anyway. You ought to know that. And if you can beat me at this game +I'll agree to let you have your own way out there. Are you on, or are +you too much of a dub to try it?" + +"Maybe I am a dub, Hickory Ellins," says Peter K., peelin' off his +coat, "but any game that you can play--er---- Which is my ball?" + +Well, it was some warm contest, believe me, with them two joshin' back +and forth, and at the game time usin' as much foxy strategy as if they +was stealin' railroads away from each other! They must have been at it +for near half an hour when a maid slips in and whispers how Mr. Robert +is callin' for me on the wire. So I puts her on to sub for me with the +bag while I slides into the 'phone booth. + +"Sure, Mr. Robert," says I, "I'm still on the job." + +"But what is happening?" says he. "Didn't Groff come up?" + +"Yep," says I. "He's here yet." + +"You don't say!" says Mr. Robert. "Whe-e-ew! He and the governor +having it hot and heavy, I suppose?" + +"And then some," says I. "Peter K. took first round 12-17, he tied the +second, and now he's trapped in the fireplace on a bad ten." + +"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mr. Robert. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Mr. Ellins is layin' under the piano,--only seven, +but stimied for an approach." + +"In Heaven's name, Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "what do you mean? Mr. +Groff trapped in the fireplace, father lying under the piano--why----" + +"Ah, didn't Piddie tell you? The boob!" says I. "It's just golf, +that's all--indoor kind--a batty variation that they made up +themselves. But don't fret. Everything's all lovely, and I guess the +Corrugated is saved. Come up and look 'em over." + +Yep! Peter K. got the decision by slipping over a smear in the fourth, +after which him and Old Hickory leans up against each other and laughs +until their eyes leak. Then Marston wheels in the tea wagon full of +decanters and club soda, and when I left they was clinkin' glasses real +chummy. + +"Son," says Old Hickory, as he pads into the office about noon next +day, "I believe I forgot the usual caddie fee. There you are." + +"Z-z-z-zing!" says I, starin' after him. Cute little strips of +Treasury kale, them with the C's in the corners, aren't they? Well, I +should worry! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +COMING IN ON THE DRAW + +Nothin' like bein' a handy man around the shop. Here at the Corrugated +I'm worked in for almost any old thing, from seein' that Mr. Ellins +takes his gout tablets regular, to arrangin' the directors' room for +the annual meeting and when it comes to subbin' for Mr. Robert--say, +what do you guess is the latest act he bills me for? Art expert! Yep, +A-r-t, with a big A! + +Sounds foolish, don't it? But at that it wa'n't such a bad hunch on +his part. He's a rash promiser, Mr. Robert is; but a shifty +proposition when you try to push a programme on him, for the first +thing you know he's slid from under. I suspicioned some play like that +was comin' here the other afternoon when Sister Marjorie shows up at +the general offices and asks pouty, "Where's Robert?" + +"On the job," says I. "Session of the general sales agents today, you +know." + +"But he was to meet me at the Broadway entrance half an hour ago," says +she, "and I've been sitting in the car waiting for him. Call him out, +won't you, Torchy?" + +"Won't do any good," says I. "He's booked up for the rest of the day." + +"The idea!" says Marjorie. "And he promised faithfully he would go up +with me to see those pictures! You just tell him I'm here, that's all." + +There's more or less light of battle in them bright brown eyes of +Marjorie's, and that Ellins chin of hers is set some solid. So when I +tiptoes in where they're dividin' the map of the world into sellin' +areas, and whispers in Mr. Robert's ear that Sister Marjorie is waitin' +outside, I adds a word of warnin'. + +"It's a case of pictures, you remember," says I. + +"Oh, the deuce!" says Mr. Robert. "Hang Brooks Bladen and his +paintings! I can't go, positively. Just explain, will you, Torchy?" + +"Sure; but I'd go hoarse over it," says I. "You know Marjorie, and if +you don't want the meetin' broke up I expect you'd better come out and +face the music." + +"Oh, well, then I suppose I must," says he, leadin' the way. + +And Marjorie wa'n't in the mood to stand for any smooth excuses. She +didn't care if he had forgotten, and she guessed his old business +affairs could be put off an hour or so. Besides, this meant so much to +poor Brooks. His very first exhibit, too. Ferdy couldn't go, either. +Another one of his sick headaches. But he had promised to buy a +picture, and Marjorie had hoped that Robert would like one of them well +enough to---- + +"Oh, if that's all," puts in Mr. Robert, "then tell him I'll take one, +too." + +"But you can't buy pictures without seeing them," protests Marjorie. +"Brooks is too sensitive. He wants appreciation, encouragement, you +see." + +"A lot I could give him," says Mr. Robert. "Why, I know no more about +that sort of thing than--well, than----" And just here his eye lights +on me. "Oh, I say, though," he goes on, "it would be all right, +wouldn't it, if I sent a--er--a commissioner?" + +"I suppose that would do," says Marjorie. + +"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "Torchy, go with Marjorie and look at that +lot. If they're any good, buy one for me." + +"Wha-a-at!" says I. "Me buy a picture?" + +"Full power," says he, startin' back towards the meetin'. "Pick out +the best, and tell Bladen to send me the bill." + +And there we're left, Marjorie and me, lookin' foolish at each other. + +"Well, he's done a duck," says I. + +"If you mean he's got himself out of buying a picture, you're +mistaken," says she. "Come along." + +She insists on callin' the bluff, too. Course, I tries to show her, +all the way up in the limousine, how punk a performer I'd be at a game +like that, and how they'd spot me for a bush leaguer the first stab I +made. + +"Not at all," says Marjorie, "if you do as I tell you." + +With that she proceeds to coach me in the art critic business. The +lines wa'n't hard to get, anyway. + +"For some of them," she goes on, "you merely go 'Um-m-m!' under your +breath, you know, or 'Ah-h-h-h!' to yourself. Then when I give you a +nudge you may exclaim, 'Fine feeling!' or 'Very daring!' or 'Wonderful +technic, wonderful!'" + +"Yes; but when must I say which?" says I. + +"It doesn't matter in the least," says Marjorie. + +"And you think just them few remarks," says I, "will pull me through." + +"Enough for an entire exhibit at the National Academy," says she. "And +when you decide which you like best, just point it out to Mr. Bladen." + +"Gee!" says I. "Suppose I pick a lemon?" + +"Robert won't know the difference," says she, "and it will serve him +right. Besides, poor Brooks needs the encouragement." + +"Kind of a dub beginner with no backing is he?" says I. + +Marjorie describes him different. Accordin' to her, he's a classy +comer in the art line, with all kinds of talent up his sleeve and Fame +busy just around the corner on a laurel wreath exactly his size. Seems +Brooks was from a good fam'ly that had dropped their bundle somewhere +along the road; so this art racket that he'd taken up as a time killer +he'd had to turn into a steady job. He wa'n't paintin' just to keep +his brushes soft. He was out to win the kale. + +Between the lines I gathers enough to guess that before she hooked up +with Ferdy, the head-achy one, Marjorie had been some mushy over Brooks +boy herself. He'd done a full length of her, it appears, and was +workin' up quite a portrait trade, when all of a sudden he ups and +marries someone else, a rank outsider. + +"Too bad!" sighs Marjorie. "It has sadly interfered with his career, +I'm afraid." + +"Ain't drivin' him to sign work, is it?" says I. + +"Goodness, no!" says Marjorie. "Just the opposite. Of course, Edith +was a poor girl; but her Uncle Jeff is ever so rich. They live with +him, you know. That's the trouble--Uncle Jeff." + +She's a little vague about this Uncle Jeff business; but it helps +explain why we roll up to a perfectly good marble front detached house +just off Riverside Drive, instead of stoppin' at one of them studio +rookeries over on Columbus-ave. And even I'm wise to the fact that +strugglin' young artists don't have a butler on the door unless there's +something like an Uncle Jeff in the fam'ly. + +From the dozen or more cars and taxis hung up along the block I judge +this must be a regular card affair, with tea and sandwich trimmin's. +It's a good guess. A maid tows us up two flights, though, before we're +asked to shed anything; and before we lands Marjorie is gaspin' some, +for she ain't lost any weight since she collected Ferdy. Quite a +studio effect they'd made too, by throwin' a couple of servants' rooms +into one and addin' a big skylight. There was the regulation fishnet +draped around, and some pieces of tin armor and plaster casts, which +proves as well as a court affidavit that here's where the real, +sure-fire skookum creative genius holds forth. + +It's a giddy bunch of lady gushers that's got together there too, and +the soulful chatter is bein' put over so fast it sounds like +intermission at a cabaret show. I'm introduced proper to Brooks boy +and Wifey; but I'd picked 'em both out at first glimpse. No mistakin' +him. He's got on the kind of costume that goes with the fishnet and +brass tea machine,--flowin' tie, velvet coat, baggy trousers, and all, +even to the Vandyke beard. It's kind of a pale, mud-colored set of +face alfalfa; but, then, Brooks boy is sort of that kind himself--that +is, all but his eyes. They're a wide-set, dreamy, baby-blue pair of +lamps, that beams mild and good-natured on everyone. + +But Mrs. Brooks Bladen is got up even more arty than Hubby. Maybe it +wa'n't sugar sackin' or furniture burlap, but that's what the stuff +looked like. It's gathered jaunty just under her armpits and hangs in +long folds to the floor, with a thick rope of yellow silk knotted +careless at one side with the tassels danglin' below her knee, while +around her head is a band of tinsel decoration that might have been +pinched off from a Christmas tree. She's a tall, willowy young woman, +who waves her bare arms around vivacious when she talks and has lots of +sparkle to her eyes. + +"You dear child!" is her greetin' to Marjorie. "So sweet of you to +attempt all those dreadful stairs! No, don't try to talk yet. We +understand, don't we, Brooks? Nice you're not sensitive about it, too." + +I caught the glare Marjorie shoots over, and for a minute I figured how +the picture buyin' deal had been queered at the start; but the next +thing I knew Brooks boy is holdin' Marjorie's hand and beamin' gentle +on her, and she is showin' all her dimples once more. Say, they're +worth watchin', some of these fluff encounters. + +My act? Ah, say, most of that good dope is all wasted. Nobody seems +excited over the fact that I've arrived, even Brooks Bladen. As a +salesman he ain't a great success, I judge. Don't tout up his stuff +any, or try to shove off any seconds or shopworn pieces. He just tells +me to look around, and half apologizes for his line in advance. + +Well, for real hand-painted stuff it was kind of tame. None of this +snowy-mountain-peak or mirror-lake business, such as you see in the +department stores. It's just North River scenes; some clear, some +smoky, some lookin' up, some lookin' down, and some just across. In +one he'd done a Port Lee ferryboat pretty fair; but there's another +that strikes me harder. It shows a curve in the drive, with one of +them green motor busses goin' by, the top loaded, and off in the +background to one side the Palisades loomin' up against a fair-weather +sunset, while in the middle you can see clear up to Yonkers. Honest, +it's almost as good as some of them things on the insurance calendars, +and I'm standin' gawpin' at it when Brooks Bladen and Marjorie drifts +along. + +"Well?" says he, sort of inquirin'. + +"That must be one of the Albany night boats goin' up," says I. "She'll +be turnin' her lights on pretty quick. And it's goin' to be a corkin' +evenin' for a river trip. You can tell that by----" + +But just here Marjorie gives me a jab with her elbow. + +"Ow, yes!" says I, rememberin' my lines. "Um-m-m-m-m! Fine feelin'. +Very darin' too, very! And when it comes to the tech stuff--why, it's +there in clusters. Much obliged--er--that is, I guess you can send +this one. Mr. Robert Ellins. That's right. Charge and send." + +Maybe he wasn't used to makin' such quick sales; for he stares at me +sort of puzzled, and when I turns to Marjorie she's all pinked up like +a strawberry sundae and is smotherin' a giggle with her mesh purse. I +don't know why, either. Strikes me I'd put it over kind of smooth; but +as there seems to be a slip somewhere it's me for the rapid back-away. + +"Thanks, that'll be all to-day," I goes on, "and--and I'll be waitin' +downstairs, Marjorie." + +She don't stop me; so I pushes through the mob at the tea table, +collects my coat and lid, and slips down to the first floor, where I +wanders into the drawin' room. No arty decorations here. Instead of +pictures and plaster casts, the walls are hung with all kinds of +mounted heads and horns, and the floor is covered with odd-lookin' skin +rugs,--tigers, lions, and such. + +I'd been waitin' there sometime, inspectin' the still life menagerie, +when all of a sudden in from the hall rolls one of these invalid +wheeled chairs with a funny little old bald-headed gent manipulatin' +levers. What hair he has left is real white, and most of his face is +covered with a thin growth of close-cropped white whiskers; but under +the frosty shrubb'ry, as well as over all the bare space, he's colored +up as bright as a bottle of maraschino cherries. It's the sort of +sunburn a sandy complexion gets on; but not in a month or a year. You +know? One of these blond Eskimo tints, that seems to go clear through +the skin. How he could get it in a wheel chair, though, I couldn't +figure out. Anyway, there wasn't time. Quick as he sees me he throws +in his reverse gear and comes to a stop between the portieres. + +"Well, young man," he raps out sharp and snappy, "who the particular +blazes are you?" + +But, say, I've met too many peevish old parties to let a little jab +like that tie up my tongue. + +"Me?" says I, settin' back easy in the armchair. "Oh, I'm a buyer +representin' a private collector." + +"Buyer of what?" says he. + +"Art," says I. "Just picked up a small lot,--that one with the Albany +night boat in it, you know." + +He stares like he thought I was batty, and then rolls his chair over +closer. "Do I understand," says he, "that you have been buying a +picture--here?" + +"Sure," says I. "Say, ain't you on yet, and you right in the house? +Well, you ought to get next." + +"I mean to," says he. "Bladen's stuff, I suppose?" + +"Uh-huh," says I. "And, believe me, Brooksy is some paint slinger; +that is, fine feelin', darin' technic, all that sort of dope." + +"I see," says he, noddin' his head. "Holding a sale, is he? On one of +the upper floors?" + +"Top," says I. "Quite a classy little studio joint he's made up there." + +"Oh, he has, has he?" says the old boy, snappin' his eyes. "Well, of +all the confounded--er--young man, ring that bell!" + +Say, how was I goin' to know? I was beginnin' to suspect that this +chatty streak of mine wa'n't goin' to turn out lucky for someone; but +it's gone too far to hedge. I pushes the button, and in comes the +butler. + +"Tupper," says the old man, glarin' at him shrewd, "you know where the +top-floor studio is, don't you?" + +"Ye-e-es, Sir," says Tapper, almost chokin' over it. + +"You'll find Mr. and Mrs. Bladen there," goes on old Grouchy. "Ask +them to step down here for a moment at once." + +Listened sort of mussy from where I sat, and I wa'n't findin' the +armchair quite so comf'table. "Guess I'll be loafin' along," says I, +casual. + +"You'll stay just where you are for the present!" says he, wheelin' +himself across the door-way. + +"Oh, well, if you insist," says I. + +He did. And for two minutes there I listens to the clock tick and +watches the old sport's white whiskers grow bristly. Then comes the +Bladens. He waves 'em to a parade rest opposite me. + +"What is it, Uncle Jeff?" says Mrs. Bladen, sort of anxious. And with +that I begins to piece out the puzzle. This was Uncle Jeff, eh, the +one with the bank account? + +"So," he explodes, like openin' a bottle of root beer, "you've gone +back to your paint daubing, have you? And you're actually trying to +sell your namby-pamby stuff on my top floor? Come now, Edith, let's +hear you squirm out of that!" + +Considerable fussed, Edith is. No wonder! After one glance at me she +flushes up and begins twistin' the yellow silk cord nervous; but +nothin' in the way of a not guilty plea seems to occur to her. As for +Hubby, he blinks them mild eyes of his a couple of times, and then +stands there placid with both hands in the pockets of his velvet coat, +showin' no deep emotion at all. + +"It's so, isn't it?" demands Uncle. + +"Ye-e-es, Uncle Jeff," admits Edith. "But poor Brooks could do nothing +else, you know. If he'd taken a studio outside, you would have wanted +to know where he was. And those rooms were not in use. Really, what +else could he do?" + +"Mean to tell me he couldn't get along without puttering around with +those fool paints and brushes?" snorts Uncle Jeff. + +"It--it's his life work, Uncle Jeff," says Mrs. Bladen. + +"Rubbish!" says the old boy. "In the first place, it isn't work. +Might be for a woman, maybe, but not for an able-bodied man. You know +my sentiments on that point well enough. In the second place, when I +asked you two to come and live with me, there was no longer any need +for him to do that sort of thing. And you understood that too." + +Edith sighs and nods her head. + +"But still he goes on with his sissy paint daubing!" says Uncle. + +"They're not daubs!" flashes back Edith. "Brooks has been doing some +perfectly splendid work. Everyone says so." + +"Humph!" says Uncle Jeff. "That's what your silly friends tell you. +But it doesn't matter. I won't have him doing it in my house. You +thought, just because I was crippled and couldn't get around or out of +these confounded four rooms, that you could fool me. But you can't, +you see. And now I'm going to give you and Brooks your choice,--either +he stops painting, or out you both go. Now which will it be?" + +"Why, Sir," says Brooks, speakin' up prompt but pleasant, "if that is +the way you feel about it, we shall go." + +"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, squintin' hard at him. "Do you mean it? Want +to leave all this for--for the one mean little room I found you in!" + +"Under your conditions, most certainly, Sir," says Brooks. "I think +Edith feels as I do. Don't you, Edith?" + +"Ye-e-es, of course," says Mrs. Bladen. Then, turnin' on Uncle Jeff, +"Only I think you are a mean, hard-hearted old man, even if you are my +uncle! Oh, you don't know how often I've wanted to tell you so +too,--always prying into this, asking questions about that, finding +fault, forever cross and snappish and suspicious. A waspish, crabbed +old wretch, that's what you are! I just hate you! So there!" + +Uncle Jeff winces a little at these last jabs; but he only turns to +Brooks and asks quiet, "And I suppose those are your sentiments too?" + +"Edith is a little overwrought," says Brooks. "It's true enough that +you're not quite an agreeable person to live with. Still, I hardly +feel that I have treated you just right in this matter. I shouldn't +have deceived you about the studio. When I found that I couldn't bear +to give up my work and live like a loafer on your money, I should have +told you so outright. I haven't liked it, Sir, all this dodging and +twisting of the truth. I'm glad it's over. Would you prefer to have +us go tonight or in the morning?" + +"Come now, that's not the point," says Uncle Jeff. "You hate me, too, +don't you?" + +"No," says Brooks, "and I'm sure Edith doesn't either." + +"Yes I do, Brooks," breaks in Edith. + +Brooks shrugs his shoulders sort of hopeless. + +"In that case," says he, "we shall leave at once--now. I will send +around for our traps later. You have been very generous, and I'm +afraid I've shown myself up for an ungrateful ass, if not worse. +Goodby, Sir." + +He stands there holdin' out his hand, with the old gent starin' hard at +him and not movin'. Fin'lly Uncle Jeff breaks the spell. + +"Well, I'll be hanged!" says he. "Bladen, I didn't think it was in +you. I took you for one of the milksop kind; which shows just how big +a fool an old fool can be. And Edith is right. I'm a crazy, +quarrelsome old wretch. It isn't all rheumatism, either. Some of it +is disposition. And don't you go away thinking I've been generous, +trying to tie you two young people down this way. It was rank +selfishness. But you don't know how hard it comes, being shut up like +this and able only to move around on wheels--after the life I've led +too! I suppose I ought to be satisfied. I've had my share--nearly +thirty years on the go, in jungle, forest, mountains, all over the +globe. I've hunted big game in every--but you know all about that. +And now I suppose I'm worn out, useless. I was trying to get used to +it, and having you young folks around has helped a lot. But it hasn't +been fair to you--not fair." + +He sort of chokes up at the end, and his lower lip trembles some; but +only for a second. He straightens up once more in his chair. "You +must try to make allowances, Edith," he goes on. "Don't--don't hate +the old wretch too hard!" + +That got to her, all right. She' wa'n't gush all the way through, any +more'n Uncle Jeff was all crust. Next thing he knew she was givin' him +the fond tackle and sobbin' against his vest. + +"There, there!" says he, pattin' her soothin'. "We all make our +mistakes, old and young; only us old fellows ought to know better." + +"But--but they aren't daubs!" sobs out Edith. "And--and you said they +were, without even seeing them." + +"Just like me," says he. "And I'm no judge, anyway. But perhaps I'd +better take a look at some of them. How would that be, eh? Couldn't +Tupper bring a couple of them down now?" + +"Oh, may he?" says Edith, brightenin' up and turnin' off the sprayer. +"I have wished that you could see them, you know." + +So Tupper is sent for a couple of paintings, and Brooks chases along to +bring down two more. They ranges 'em on chairs, and wheels Uncle Jeff +into a good position. He squints at 'em earnest and tries hard to work +up some enthusiasm. + +"Ferryboats, sugar refineries, and the North River," says he. "All +looks natural enough. I suppose they're well done too; but--but see +here, young man, couldn't you find anything better to paint?" + +"Where?" says Brooks. "You see, I was able to get out only +occasionally without----" + +"I see," says Uncle Jeff. "Tied to a cranky old man in a wheel chair. +But, by George! I could take you to places worth wasting your paint +on. Ever heard of Yangarook? There's a pink mountain there that rises +up out of a lake, and on still mornings--well, you ought to see it! I +pitched my camp there once for a fortnight. I could find it again. +You go in from Boola Bay, up the Zambesi, and through the jungle. Then +there's the Khula Klaht valley. That's in the Himalayas. Pictures? +Why, you could get 'em there!" + +"I've no doubt I could, Sir," says Brooks. "I've dreamed of doing +something like that some day, too. But what's the use?" + +"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, almost standin' up in his excitement. "Why not, +my boy? I could take you there, chair or no chair. Didn't I go in a +litter once, halfway across Africa, when a clumsy Zulu beater let a +dying rhino gore me in the hip? Yes, and bossed a caravan of sixty +men, and me flat on my back! I'm better able to move now than I was +then, too. And I'm ready to try it. Another year of this, and I'd be +under the ground. I'm sick of being cooped up. I'm hungry for a +breath of mountain air, for a glimpse of the old trails. No use taking +my guns; but you could lug along your painting kit, and Edith could +take care of both of us. We could start within a week. What do you +say, you two?" + +Brooks he looks over at Edith. "Oh, Uncle Jeff!" says she, her eyes +sparklin'. "I should just love it!" + +"I could ask for nothing better," says Brooks. + +"Then it's settled," says Uncle Jeff, reachin' out a hand to each of +'em. "Hurrah for the long trail! We're off!" + +"Me too," says I, "if that's all." + +"Ah!" says Uncle Jeff. "Our young friend who's at the bottom of the +whole of this. Here, Sir! I'm going to teach you a lesson that will +make you cautious about gossiping with strange old men. Pick up that +leopard skin at your feet." + +"Yes, Sir," says I, holdin' it out to him. + +"No, examine it carefully," says he. "That came from a beast I shot on +the shores of Lake Tanganyika. It's the finest specimen of the kind in +my whole collection. Throw it over your arm, you young scamp, and get +along with you!" + +And they're all grinnin' amiable as I backs out with my mouth open. + +"What the deuce!" says Mr. Robert after lunch next day, as he gazes +first at a big package a special messenger has just left, and then at a +note which comes with it. "'The Palisades at Dusk'--five hundred +dollars?" + +"Gee!" I gasps. "Did he sting you that hard?" + +"But it's receipted," says he, "with the compliments of Brooks Bladen. +What does that mean?" + +"Means I'm some buyer, I guess," says I. "Souvenir of a little fam'ly +reunion I started, that's all. But you ain't the only one. Wait till +you see what I drew from Uncle Jeff." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL + +He meant well, Mr. Robert did; but, say, between you and me, he come +blamed near spillin' the beans. Course, I could see by the squint to +his eyelids that he's about to make what passes with him for a comic +openin'. + +"I hate to do it, Torchy," says he, "especially on such a fine +afternoon as this." + +"Go on," says I, "throw the harpoon! Got your yachtin' cap on, ain't +you? Well, have I got to sub for you at a directors' meeting or what?" + +"Worse than that," says he. "You see, Marjorie and Ferdy are having a +veranda tea this afternoon, up at their country house." + +"Help!" says I. "But you ain't billin' me for any such----" + +"Oh, not exactly that," says he. "They can get along very well without +me, and I shall merely 'phone out that Tubby Van Orden has asked me to +help try out his new forty-footer. But there remains little Gladys. +I'd promised to bring her out with me when I came." + +"Ye-e-e-es?" says I doubtful. "She's a little joker, eh?" + +"Why, not at all," says he. "Merely a young school friend of +Marjorie's. Used to be in the kindergarten class when Marjorie was a +senior, and took a great fancy to her, as little girls sometimes do to +older ones, you know." + +Also it seems little Gladys had been spendin' a night or so with +another young friend in town, and someone had to round her up and +deliver her at the tea, where her folks would be waitin' for her. + +"So I'm to take her by the hand and tow her up by train, am I?" says I. + +"I had planned," says Mr. Robert, shakin' his head solemn, "to have you +go up in the machine with her, as Marjorie wants to send someone back +in it--Miss Vee, by the way. Sure it wouldn't bore you?" + +"Z-z-z-ing!" says I. "Say, if it does you'll never hear about it, +believe me!" + +Mr. Robert chuckles. "Then take good care of little Gladys," says he. + +"Won't I, though!" says I. "I'll tell her fairy tales and feed her +stick candy all the way up." + +Honest, I did blow in a quarter on fancy pink gumdrops as I'm passin' +through the arcade; but when I strolls out to the limousine Martin +touches his hat so respectful that I gives him a dip into the first bag. + +"Got your sailin' orders, ain't you, Martin?" says I. "You know we +collect a kid first." + +"Oh, yes, Sir," says he. "Madison avenue. I have the number, Sir." +Just like that you know. "I have the number, Sir"--and more business +with the cap brim. Awful bore, ain't it, specially right there on +Broadway with so many folks to hear? + +"Very well," says I, languid. Then it's me lollin' back on the +limousine cushions and starin' haughty at the poor dubs we graze by as +they try to cross the street. Gee, but it's some different when you're +inside gazin' out, than when you're outside gawpin' in! And even if +you don't have the habit reg'lar, but are only there just for the time +bein', you're bound to get that chesty feelin' more or less. I always +do. About the third block I can look slant-eyed at the cheap skates +ridin' in hired taxis and curl the lip of scorn. + +I've noticed, though, that when I work up feelin's like that there's +bound to be a bump comin' to me soon. But I wasn't lookin' for this +one until it landed. Martin pulls up at the curb, and I hops out, +rushes up the steps, and rings the bell. + +"Little Miss Gladys ready?" says I to the maid. + +She sort of humps her eyebrows and remarks that she'll see. With that +she waves me into the reception hall, and pretty soon comes back to +report that Miss Gladys will be down in a few minutes. She had the +real skirt notion of time, that maid. For more'n a solid half-hour I +squirms around on a chair wonderin' what could be happenin' up in the +nursery. Then all of a sudden a chatter of goodbys comes from the +upper hall, a maid trots down and hands me a suitcase, and then appears +this languishin' vision in the zippy French lid and the draped silk +wrap. + +It's one of these dinky brimless affairs, with skyrocket trimmin' on +the back, and it fits down over her face like a mush bowl over Baby +Brother; but under the rim you could detect some chemical blonde hair +and a pair of pink ears ornamented with pearl pendants the size of +fruit knife handles. She has a complexion to match, one of the kind +that's laid on in layers, with the drugstore red only showing through +the whitewash in spots, and the lips touched up brilliant. Believe me, +it was some artistic makeup! + +[Illustration: Believe me, it was some artistic makeup!] + +Course, I frames this up for the friend; so I asks innocent, "Excuse +me, but when is little Miss Gladys comin'?" + +"Why, I'm Gladys!" comes from between the carmine streaks. + +I gawps at her, then at the maid, and then back at the Ziegfeld vision +again. "But, see here!" I goes on. "Mr. Robert he says how----" + +"Yes, I know," she breaks in. "He 'phoned. The stupid old thing +couldn't come himself, and he's sent one of his young men. That's much +nicer. Torchy, didn't he say? How odd! But come along. Don't stand +there staring. Good-by, Marie. You must do my hair this way again +sometime." + +And next thing I know I'm helpin' her into the car, while Martin tries +to smother a grin. "There you are!" says I, chuckin' her suitcase in +after her. "I--I guess I'll ride in front." + +"What!" says she. "And leave me to take that long ride all alone? +I'll not do it. Come in here at once, or I'll not go a step! Come!" + +No shrinking violet about Gladys, and as I climbs in I shakes loose the +last of that kindergarten dope I'd been primed with. I'll admit I was +some fussed for awhile too, and I expect I does the dummy act, sittin' +there gazin' into the limousine mirror where she's reflected vivid. I +was tryin' to size her up and decide whether she really was one of the +chicken ballet, or only a high school imitation. I'm so busy at it +that I overlooks the fact that she has the same chance of watchin' me. + +"Well?" says she, as we swings into Central Park. "I trust you +approve?" + +"Eh?" says I, comin' out of the trance. "Oh, I get you now. You're +waitin' for the applause. Let's see, are you on at the Winter Garden, +or is it the Casino roof?" + +"Now don't be rude," says she. "Whatever made you think I'd been on +the stage?" + +"I was only judgin' by the get-up," says I. "It's fancy, all right." + +"Pooh!" says she. "I've merely had my hair done the new way. I think +it's perfectly dear too. There's just one little touch, though, that +Marie didn't quite get. I wonder if I couldn't--you'll not care if I +try, will you?" + +"Oh, don't mind me," says I. + +She didn't. She'd already yanked out three or four hatpins and has +pried off the zippy lid. + +"There, hold that, will you?" says she, crowdin' over into the middle +of the seat so's to get a good view in the mirror, and beginnin' to +revise the scenic effect on her head. Near as I can make out, the hair +don't come near enough to meetin' her eyebrows in front or to coverin' +her ears on the side. + +Meanwhile she goes on chatty, "I suppose Mother'll be wild again when +she sees me like this. She always does make such a row if I do +anything different. There was an awful scene the first time I had my +hair touched up. Fancy!" + +"I was wonderin' if that was the natural tint?" says I. + +"Goodness, no!" says Gladys. "It was a horrid brown. And when I used +to go to the seminary they made me wear it braided down my back, with a +bow on top. I was a sight! The seminary was a stupid place, though. +I was always breaking some of their silly rules; so Mummah sent me to +the convent. That was better. Such a jolly lot of girls there, some +whose mothers were great actresses. And just think--two of my best +chums have gone on the stage since! One of them was married and +divorced the very first season too. Now wasn't that thrilling? Mother +is furious because she still writes to me. How absurd! And some of +the others she won't allow me to invite to the house. But we meet now +and then, just the same. There were two in our box party last night, +and we had such a ripping lark afterward!" + +Gladys was runnin' on as confidential as if she'd known me all her +life, interruptin' the flow only when she makes a jab with the +powder-puff and uses the eyebrow pencil. And bein' as how I'd been +cast for a thinkin' part I sneaks out the bag of gumdrops and tucks one +into the off side of my face. The move don't escape her, though. + +"Candy?" says she, sniffin'. + +"Sorry I can't offer you a cigarette," says I, holdin' out the bag. + +"Humph!" says she. "I have smoked them, though. M-m-m-m! Gumdrops! +You dear boy!" + +Yes, Gladys and me had a real chummy time of it durin' that hour's +drive, and I notice she put away her share of the candy just as +enthusiastic as if she'd been a kid in short dresses. As a matter of +fact, she acts and talks like any gushy sixteen-year-old. That's about +what she is, I discovers; though I wouldn't have guessed it if she +hadn't let it out herself. + +But, say, she's some wise for her years, little Gladys is, or else +she's a good bluffer! She had me holdin' my breath more'n once, as she +opens up various lines of chatter. She'd seen all the ripe problem +plays, was posted on the doin's of the Reno colony, and read the Robert +Chambers stuff as fast as it came out. + +And all the time she talks she's goin' through target practice with her +eyes, usin' me as the mark. A lively pair of lamps Gladys has too, the +big, innocent, baby-blue kind that sort of opens up wide and kind of +invites you to gaze into the depths until you get dizzy. Them and the +little, openin' rosebud mouth makes a strong combination, and if it +hadn't been for the mural decorations I might have fallen hard for +Gladys; but ever since I leaned up against a shiny letterbox once I've +been shy of fresh paint. So I proceeds to hand out the defensive josh. + +"Roll 'em away, Sis," says I, "roll 'em the other way!" + +"Pooh!" says she. "Can't a person even look at you?" + +"You're only wastin' ammunition," says I. "You can't put any spell on +me, you know." + +"Oh, really!" says she, rakin' me with a quick broadside. "Do you mean +that you don't like me at all?" + +"Since you've called for it," says I, "I'll admit I ain't strong for +these spotlight color schemes, specially on kids." + +"Kids!" she sputters. "I think you're perfectly horrid, so there!" + +"Stick to it," says I. "Makes me feel better satisfied with myself." + +"Redhead!" says she, runnin' her tongue out. + +"Yes, clear to the roots," says I, "and the tint didn't come out of a +bottle, either." + +"I don't care," says she. "All the girls do it." + +"Your bunch, maybe," says I; "but there's a few that don't." + +"Old sticks, yes," says she. "I'm glad you like that kind. You're as +bad as Mummah." + +"Is that the worst you can say of me?" says I. "How that would please +Mother!" + +Oh, sure, quite a homelike little spat we had, passin' the left handers +back and forth--and inside of five minutes she has made it all up again +and is holdin' out her hand for the last gumdrop. + +"You're silly; but you're rather nice, after all," says she, poutin' +her lips at me. + +"Now quit that," says I. "I got my fingers crossed." + +"'Fraid cat!" says she. "But here's the house, and we're frightfully +early. Now don't act as though you thought I might bite you. I'm +going to take your arm." + +She does too, and cuddles up kittenish as we lands at the porte +cochere. I gets the idea of this move. She's caught a glimpse of a +little group over by the front door, and she wants to make a showy +entrance. + +And who do you guess it is we finds arrangin' the flower vases? Oh, +only Marjorie and Miss Vee. Here I am too, with giddy Gladys, the +imitation front row girl, clingin' tight to my right wing. You should +have seen Vee's eyebrows go up, also Marjorie's stare. It's a minute +or so before she recognizes our little friend, and stands there lookin' +puzzled at us. Talk about your embarrassin' stage waits! I could feel +my face pinkin' up and my ears tinglin'. + +"Ah, say," I breaks out, "don't tell me I've gone and collected the +wrong one!" + +At that there comes a giggle from under the zippy lid. + +"Why, it's Gladys!" says Marjorie. "Well, I never!" + +"Of course, you dear old goose!" says Gladys, and rushes to a clinch. + +"But--but, Gladys!" says Marjorie, holdin' her off for another +inspection. "How you have--er--grown up! Why, your mother never told +me a word!" + +"Oh, Mummah!" says she, indicatin' deep scorn. "Besides, she hasn't +seen me for nearly two days, and--well, I suppose she will fuss, as +usual, about the way I'm dressed. But I've had a perfectly glorious +visit, and coming up in the car with dear Torchy was such sport. +Wasn't it, now?" With which she turns to me. + +"Was it?" says I, and I notices both Vee and Marjorie gazin' at me +int'rested. + +"Of course," says Gladys, prattlin' on, "we quarreled all the way up; +but it was all his fault, and he--oh, phsaw! Here come my dear +parents." + +Takin' Gladys as a sample, you'd never guessed it; for Mother is a +quiet, modest appearin' little party, with her wavy brown hair parted +in the middle and brushed back low. She's wearin' her own complexion +too, and, while she's dressed more or less neat and stylish, she don't +sport ear danglers, or anything like that. With Father in the +background she comes sailin' up smilin', and it ain't until she gets a +peek under the mush-bowl lid that her expression changes. + +"Why, Gladys!" she gasps. + +"Now, Mummah!" protests Gladys peevish. "For goodness sake don't +begin--anyway, not here!" + +"But--but, my dear!" goes on Mother, starin' at her shocked. +"That--that hat! And your hair! And--and your face!" + +"Oh, bother!" says Gladys, stampin' her high-heeled pump. "You'd like +to have me dress like Cousin Tilly, I suppose?" + +"But you know I asked you not to--to have that done to your hair +again," says Mother. + +"And I said I would, so there!" says Gladys emphatic. + +Mother sighs and turns to Father, who is makin' his inspection with a +weary look on his face. He's just an average, stout-built, +good-natured lookin' duck, Father is, a little bald in front, and just +now he's rubbin' the bald spot sort of aimless. + +"You see, Arthur," says Mother. "Can't you do something?" + +First Father scowls, and then he flushes up. "Why--er--ah--oh, blast +it all, Sallie, don't put it up to me!" says he. Then he pulls out a +long black cigar, bites the end off savage, and beats it around the +corner. + +That was a brilliant move of his; for Mother turns out to be one of the +weepy kind, and in a minute more she's slumped into a chair and is +sobbin' away. She's sure she don't know why Gladys should do such +things. Hadn't she forbid her to use so much rouge and powder? Hadn't +she asked her not to wear those hideous ear jewels? And so on and so +on, with Gladys standin' back poutin' defiant. But, say, when they get +too big to spank, what else can Father and Mother do? + +Fin'lly Vee seems to have an idea. She whispers it into Marjorie's +ear, slips into the house, and comes back with a hand mirror and a damp +washcloth, which she proceeds to offer to Gladys, suggestin' that she +use it. + +"Indeed I sha'n't!" says Gladys, her big eyes flashin' scrappy. "I +shall stay just as I am, and if Mother wants to be foolish she can get +over it, that's all!" And Gladys switches over to a porch chair and +slams herself into it. + +Vee looks at her a minute, and then bites her upper lip like she was +keepin' back some remarks. Next she whispers again to Marjorie, who +passes it on to Mother, and then the three of 'em disappears in the +house, leavin' Gladys poutin' on one side of the front door, and me in +a porch swing on the other waitin' for the next act. + +Must have been ten minutes or more before the two plotters appears +again, chattin' away merry with Mother, who's between 'em. And, say, +you should have seen Mother! Talk about your startlin' changes! +They'd been busy with the make-up box, them two had, and now Mother's +got on just as much war paint as Daughter--maybe a little more. Also +they've dug up a blond transformation somewhere, which covers up all +the brown hair, and they've fitted her out with long jet earrings, and +touched up her eyebrows--and, believe me, with all that yellow hair +down over her eyes, and the rouged lips, she looks just like she'd +strayed in from the White Light district! + +You wouldn't think just a little store hair and face calcimine could +make such a change in anybody. Honest, when I tumbles to the fact that +this sporty lookin' female is only Mother fixed up I almost falls out +of the swing! That's nothin' to the jolt that gets to Gladys. + +"Mother!" she gasps. "Wha--what have you been doing?" + +"Why, I've been getting ready for the tea, Gladys," says she. + +"But--but, Mother," says Gladys, "you're never going to let people see +you like that, are you?" + +"Why not, my dear?" says Mother. + +"But your face--ugh!" says Gladys. + +"Oh, bother!" says Mother. "I suppose you'd like to have me look like +Aunt Martha?" + +Gladys stares at her for awhile with her eyes wide and set, like she +was watchin' somethin' horrible that she couldn't turn away from, and +then she goes to pieces in a weepin' fit of her own. Nobody +interferes, and right in the midst of it she breaks off, marches over +to a wicker porch table where the mirror and washcloth had been left, +props the glass up against a vase, and goes to work. First off she +sheds the pearl earrings. + +At that Mother sits down opposite and follows suit with her jet +danglers. + +Next Gladys mops off the scenic effect. + +Marjorie produces another washcloth, and Mother makes a clean sweep too. + +Gladys snatches out a handful of gold hairpins, destroys the turban +twist that Marie had spent so much time buildin' up, and knots 'er hair +simple in the back. + +Mother caps this by liftin' off the blond transformation. + +And as I left for a stroll around the grounds they'd both got back to +lookin' more or less nice and natural. They had gone to a close clinch +and was sobbin' affectionate on each other's shoulders. + +Later the tea got under way and went on as such things generally do, +with folks comin' and goin', and a buzz of chin music that you could +hear clear out to the gate, where I was waitin' with Martin until we +should get the signal to start back. + +I didn't know just how it would be, but I suspected I might be invited +to ride in front on the home trip. I'd made up my mind to start there, +anyway. But, say, when the time comes and Vee trips out to the +limousine, where I'm holdin' the door open and lookin' sheepish, I +takes a chance on a glance into them gray eyes of hers. I got a chill +too. It's only for a second, though. She was doing her best to look +cold and distant; but behind that I could spot a smile. So I changes +the programme. + +"Say," says I, followin' her in and shuttin' the door, "wa'n't that kid +Gladys the limit, though?" + +"Why," says she, givin' me the quizzin' stare, "I thought you had just +loads of fun coming up." + +"Hearing which cruel words," says I, "our hero strode moodily into his +castle." + +Vee snickers at that. "And locked the haughty maiden out in the cold, +I suppose?" says she. + +"If it was you," says I, "I'd take the gate off the hinges." + +"Silly!" says she. "Do you know, Gladys looked real sweet afterward." + +"I'll bet the reform don't last, though," says I. "But that was a +great scheme of yours for persuadin' her to scrub off the stencil work. +There's so many of that kind nowadays, maybe the idea would be worth +copyrightin'. What do you think, Vee?" + +Never mind the rest, though. We had a perfectly good ride back, and up +to date Aunty ain't wise to it. + +Of course by next mornin' too Mr. Robert has forgot all about the +afternoon before, and he seems surprised when I puts in an expense bill +of twenty-five cents. + +"What's this for?" says he. + +"Gumdrops for little Gladys," says I, and as he forks over a quarter I +never cracks a smile. + +Wait until he hears the returns from Marjorie, though! I'll give him +some string to pay up for that kindergarten steer of his. Watch me! + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER + +"Well?" says I, keepin' my feet up on the desk and glancin' casual over +the brass rail. "What's your complaint, Spaghetti?" + +It's a wrong guess, to begin with; but I wa'n't even takin' the trouble +to place him accurate. He's some kind of a foreigner, and that's +enough. Besides, from the fidgety way he's grippin' his hat in both +hands, and the hesitating sidlin' style he has of makin' his approach, +I figured he must be a stray that had got the wrong number. + +"If--if you please, Sir," says he, bowin' elaborate and humble, "Mr. +Robert Ellins." + +"Gwan!" says I. "You read that on the floor directory. You don't know +Mr. Robert." + +"But--but if you please, Sir," he goes on, "I wish to speak with him." + +"You do, eh?" says I. "Now, ain't that cute of you? Think you can +pick out any name on the board and drift in for a chat, do you? Come +now, what you peddlin'--dollar safety-razors, bullpups, or what?" + +He ain't a real live wire, this heavy-faced, wide-shouldered, +squatty-built party with the bumper crop of curly black hair. He +blinks his big, full eyes kind of solemn, starin' at me puzzled, and +about as intelligent as a cow gazin' over a fence. An odd lookin' gink +he was, sort of a cross between a dressed up bartender on his day off +and a longshoreman havin' his picture taken. + +"Excuse," says he, rousin' a little, "but--but it is not to peddle. I +would wish to speak with Mr. Robert Ellins." + +"Well, then, you can't," says I, wavin' towards the door; "so beat it!" + +This don't make any more impression than as if I'd tried to push him +over with one finger. "I would wish," he begins again, "to speak +with----" + +"Say, that's all on the record," says I, "and the motion's been denied." + +"But I----" he starts in once more, "I have----" + +Just then Piddie comes turkeyin' over pompous and demands to know what +all the debate is about. + +"Look what wants to see Mr. Robert!" says I. + +"Impossible!" says Piddie, takin' one look. "Send him away at once!" + +"Hear that?" says I to Curlylocks. "Not a chance! Fade, Spaghetti, +fade!" + +The full force of that decision seems to penetrate his nut; for he +gulps hard once or twice, the muscles on his thick throat swells up +rigid, and next a big round tear leaks out of his off eye and trickles +down over his cheek. Maybe it don't look some absurd too, seein' signs +of such deep emotion on a face like that. + +"Now, none of that, my man!" puts in Piddie, who's as chicken hearted +as he is peevish. "Torchy, you--you attend to him." + +"What'll I do," says I, "call in a plumber to stop the leak?" + +"Find out who he is and what he wants," says he, "and then pack him +off. I am very busy." + +"Well," says I, turnin' to the thick guy, "what's the name?" + +"Me?" says he. "I--I am Zandra Popokoulis." + +"Help!" says I. "Popo--here, write it on the pad." But even when he's +done that I can't do more than make a wild stab at sayin' it. "Oh yes, +thanks," I goes on. "Popover for short, eh? Think Mr. Robert would +recognise you by that?" + +"Excuse, Sir," says he, "but at the club he would speak to me as Mike." + +"Oh, at the club, eh?" says I. "Say, I'm beginnin' to get a glimmer. +Been workin' at one of Mr. Robert's clubs, have you?" + +"I am his waiter for long time, Sir," says Popover. + +Course, the rest was simple. He'd quit two or three months ago to take +a trip back home, havin' been promised by the head steward that he +could have his place again any time inside of a year. But imagine the +base perfidy! A second cousin of the meat chef has drifted in +meanwhile, been set to work at Popover's old tables, and the result is +that when Mike reports to claim his job he gets the cold, heartless +chuck. + +"Why not rustle another, then?" says I. + +You'd thought, though, to see the gloomy way he shakes his head, that +this was the last chance he had left. I gather too that club jobs are +fairly well paid, steadier than most kinds of work, and harder to pick +up. + +"Also," he adds, sort of shy, "there is Armina." + +"Oh, always!" says I. "Bunch of millinery in the offing. It never +fails. You're her steady, eh?" + +Popover smiles grateful and pours out details. Armina was a fine girl, +likewise rich--oh, yes. Her father had a flower jobbin' business on +West 28th-st.--very grand. For Armina he had ideas. Any would-be +son-in-law must be in business too. Yet there was a way. He would +take in a partner with two hundred and fifty dollars cash. And Mr. +Popokoulis had saved up nearly that much when he'd got this fool notion +of goin' back home into his head. Now here he was flat broke and +carryin' the banner. It was not only a case of goin' hungry, but of +losin' out on the fair Armina. Hence the eye moisture. + +"Yes, yes," says I. "But the weeps won't help any. And, even if Mr. +Robert would listen to all this sad tale, it's ten to one he wouldn't +butt in at the club. I might get a chance to put it up to him, though. +Suppose you drop in to-morrow sometime, and I'll let you know." + +"But I would wish," says Popover, "to speak with----" + +"Ah, ditch it!" I breaks in weary. "Say, you must have been takin' +militant lessons from Maud Malone. Look here! If you're bound to +stick around and take a long chance, camp there on the bench. Mr. +Robert's busy inside, now; but if he should get through before +lunch--well, we'll see. But don't go bankin' on anything." + +And it was a lovely sample of arrested mental anguish that I has before +me for the next hour or so,--this Popokoulis gent, with his great, +doughy face frozen into a blank stare, about as expressive as a +half-baked squash pie, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, and only +now and then a spasm in his throat showin' that he was still thinkin' +an occasional thought. + +Course, Piddie discovers him after a while and demands pettish, "That +person still here! Who is he?" + +"Club waiter with a mislaid job," says I. + +"What!" says Piddie. "A waiter? Just a common waiter?" + +I couldn't begin to put in all the deep disgust that Piddie expresses; +for, along with his fondness for gettin' next to swell people, he seems +to have a horror of mixin' at all with the common herd. "Waiters!" he +sniffs. "The scum of mankind. If they had a spark of courage, or a +gleam of self respect, or a teaspoonful of brains, they wouldn't be +waiters. Bah!" + +"Also I expect," says I, "if they was all noble specimens of manhood +like us, Sherry's and Rector's would have to be turned into automatic +food dispensaries, eh?" + +"No fear!" says Piddie. "The lower classes will always produce enough +spineless beings to wear aprons and carry trays. Look at that one +there! I suppose he never has a thought or an ambition above----" + +Bz-z-z-zt! goes the buzzer over my desk, and I'm off on the jump for +Mr. Robert's room. I wa'n't missin' any of his calls that mornin'; for +a partic'lar friend of mine was in there--Skid Mallory. Remember Skid, +the young college hick that I helped find his footin' when he first hit +the Corrugated? You know he married a Senator's daughter, and got +boosted into an assistant general manager's berth. And Skid's been +making good ever since. He'd just come back from a little trip abroad, +sort of a delayed weddin' tour, and you can't guess what he'd pulled +off. + +I'd only heard it sketched out so far, but it seems while him and young +Mrs. Mallory was over there in Athens, or some such outlandish place, +this late muss with the Turks was just breakin' loose. Skid he leaves +Wifey at the hotel one mornin' while he goes out for a little stroll; +drifts down their Newspaper Row, where the red ink war extras are so +thick the street looks like a raspberry patch; follows the drum music +up as far as City Hall, where the recruits are bein' reviewed by the +King; listens to the Greek substitute for "Buh-ruh-ruh! Soak 'em!" and +the next thing he knows he's wavin' his lid and yellin' with the best +of 'em. + +It must have stirred up some of that old football fightin' blood of +his; for he'd organized a regular cheerin' section, right there +opposite to the royal stand, and was whoopin' things up like it was +fourth down and two to go on the five-yard line, when all of a sudden +over pikes a Colonel or something from the King's staff and begins +poundin' Skid on the back gleeful. + +It's a young Greek that used to be in his engineerin' class, back in +the dear old college days. He says Skid's just the man he wants to +come help him patch up the railroad that the Turks have been puttin' on +the blink as they dropped back towards headquarters. Would he? Why, +him bein' railroad construction expert of the Corrugated, this was +right in his line! Sure he would! + +And when Mrs. Mallory sees him again at lunchtime he's all costumed as +a Major in the Greek army, and is about to start for the scene of +atrocities. That's Skid, all over. He wasn't breathin' out any idle +gusts, either. He not only rebuilds their bloomin' old line better'n +new, so they can rush soldiers and supplies to the front; but after the +muss is all over he springs his order book on the gover'ment and lands +such a whackin' big contract for steel rails and girders that Old +Hickory decides to work day and night shifts in two more rollin' mills. + +Course, since it was Mr. Robert who helped me root for Skid in the +first place, he's tickled to death, and he tells me confidential how +they're goin' to get the directors together at a big banquet that +evenin' and have a reg'lar lovefeast, with Skid at the head of the +table. + +Just now I finds Mr. Robert pumpin' him for some of the details of his +experience over there, and after I lugs in an atlas they sent me out +for, so Skid can point out something on the map, I just naturally hangs +around with my ear stretched. + +"Ah, that's the place," says Skid, puttin' his finger on a dot, +"Mustapha! Well, it was about six miles east from there that we had +our worst job. Talk about messes! Those Turks may not know how to +build a decent railroad, but believe me they're stars at wrecking a +line thoroughly! At Mustapha they'd ripped up the rails, burned the +ties, and blown great holes in the roadbed with dynamite. But I soon +had a dozen grading gangs at work on that stretch, and new bridges +started, and then I pushed on alone to see what was next. + +"That was when I got nearest to the big noise. Off across the hills +the Turks were pounding away with their heavy guns, and I was anxious +for a look. I kept going and going; but couldn't find any of our +people. Night was shutting in too, and the first thing I knew I wasn't +anywhere in particular, with nothing in sight but an old sheep pen. I +tried bunking there; but it wasn't restful, and before daylight I went +wandering on again. I wanted to locate our advance and get a cup of +coffee. + +"I must have gone a couple of miles farther, and it was getting light, +when a most infernal racket broke loose not one hundred yards ahead. +Really, you know, I thought I'd blundered into the midst of a battle. +Then in a minute the noise let up, and the smoke blew away, and there, +squatting behind a machine gun up on the side of a hill, was one lone +Greek soldier. Not another soul in sight, mind you; just this absurd, +dirty, smoke-stained person, calmly feeding another belt of cartridges +into his gun! + +"'Hello!' says I. 'What the deuce are you doing here?'--'Holding the +hill, Sir,' says he, in good United States. 'Not all alone?' says I. +He shrugs his shoulders at that. 'The others were killed or hurt,' +says he. 'The Red Cross people took them all away last +night,--Lieutenant, Sergeant, everyone. But our battery must keep the +hill.' 'Where's the rest of the advance, though?' says I. 'I don't +know,' says he. 'And you mean to say,' says I, 'you've been here all +night with the Turkish artillery hammering away at you?' 'They are bad +shots, those Turks, very bad,' says he. 'Also they send infantry to +drive me away, many times. See! There come some more. Down there! +Ah-r-r-r! You will, will you?' And with that he turns loose his big +pepperbox on a squad that had just started to dash out of a ravine and +rush him. They were coming our way on the jump. Scared? Say, if +there'd been anything to have crawled into, I'd have been in it! As +there wasn't, I just flattened myself on the ground and waited until it +was all over. + +"Oh, he crumpled 'em up, all right! He hadn't ground out one belt of +cartridges before he had 'em on the run. But I want to tell you I +didn't linger around to see how the next affair would turn out. I +legged it back where I'd come from, and by nine o'clock I was behind +our own lines, trying to find out what sort of campaign this was that +left one machine gun to stave off the whole Turkish army. Of course no +one knew anything very definite. The best guess was that our advance +had been swung off for a flank movement, and that this particular +one-man battery had been overlooked. I don't even know whether he was +picked up again, or whether the Turks finally got him; but let me tell +you, talk as much about your gallant Bulgarians as you like, some of +those little Greeks were good fighters too. Anyway, I'll take off my +hat any day to that one on the hill." + +"Gee!" I breaks out. "Some scrapper, what?" + +At which Mr. Robert swings around and gives me a look. "Ah!" says he. +"I hadn't realized, Torchy, that we still had the pleasure of your +company." + +"Don't mention it," says I. "I was just goin' to--er--by the way, Mr. +Robert, there's a poor scrub waitin' outside for a word with you, an +old club waiter. Says you knew him as Mike." + +"Mike?" says he, looking blank. + +"His real name sounds like Popover," says I. "It's a case of +retrievin' a lost job." + +"Oh, very well," says Mr. Robert. "Perhaps I'll see him later. Not +now. And close the door after you, please." + +So I'm shunted back to the front office, so excited over that war story +that I has to hunt up Piddie and pass it on to him. It gets him too. +Anything in the hero line always does, and this noble young Greek doin' +the come-one-come-all act was a picture that even a two-by-four +imagination like Piddie's couldn't fail to grasp. + +"By Jove, though!" says he. "The spirit of old Thermopylae all over +again! I wish I could have seen that!" + +"As close as Skid did?" says I. "Ah, you'd have turned so green they'd +taken you for a pickled string bean." + +"Oh, I don't pretend to be a daredevil," admits Piddie, with a sudden +rush of modesty. "Still, it is a pity Mr. Mallory did not stay long +enough to find out the name of this unknown hero, and give it to the +world." + +"The moral of which is," says I, "that all heroes ought to carry their +own press agents with 'em." + +We'd threshed it all out, Piddie and me, and I'd gone back to my desk +some reluctant, for this jobless waiter was still sheddin' his gloom +around the reception room, and I was just thinkin' how it would be to +put a screen in front of him, when Mr. Robert and Skid comes out arm in +arm, swappin' josh about that banquet that was to be pulled off. + +"Of course you'll come." Mr. Robert is insistin'. "Only a few +directors, you know. No, no set speeches, or anything like that. But +they'll want to hear how you came to get that big order, and about some +of the interesting things you saw over there, just as you've told me." + +I had hopped up and was holdin' the gate wide open, givin' Skid all the +honors, and Mr. Robert was escortin' him out to the elevator, when I +notices that this Popover party has got his eye on the boss and is +standin' right where he's blockin' the way. + +"Hey, Poppy!" says I in a stage whisper. "Back out! Reverse yourself! +Take a sneak!" But of all the muleheads! There he stands, grippin' +his hat, and thinkin' only of that lost job. + +"All right," Skid is saying; "but remember now, no floral tributes, or +gushy introductions, or sitting in the spotlight for me at +this--er--er---- Well, as I'm a living mortal!" He gets this last out +after a gasp or two, and then stops stock still, starin' straight in +front of him. + +"What is it?" says Mr. Robert. "What's up?" And we sees that Skid +Mallory has his eyes glued to this waiter shrimp. + +"In the name of all that's good," says he, "where did you come from?" + +You can't jar Popover, though, by any little thing like that. When he +gets an idea in his dome it's a fixture there. "I would wish to +speak," says he, "with Mr. Ellins." + +"Yes, yes, another time," says Mr. Robert hasty. + +"But see here!" says Skid, still gazin' steady. "Don't you remember +me? Take a good look now." + +Popover gives him a glance and shakes his head. "Maybe I serve you at +the club, Sir," says he. + +"Club be blowed!" says Skid. "The last time I saw you you were serving +a machine gun, six miles east of Mustapha. Isn't that so?" + +"Oh, Mustapha!" says Popover, his eyes lightin' up a little. "On the +hill just beyond where the bridge was blown up? You came at the +night's end. Oh, yes!" + +"I knew it!" exclaims Skid. "I'd have bet a thousand--same curly hair, +same shoulders, same eyes. Ellins, here's that lone hero I was telling +you about. Here!" + +"But--hut that's only Mike," says Mr. Robert, gazin' from one to the +other. "Used to be a waiter at the club, you know." + +"I don't care what he used to be," says Skid, "or what he is now, I +want to shake hands with him." + +Popover he pinks up and acts foolish about swappin' grips; but Skid +insists. + +"So you beat 'em out in the end, did you?" Skid goes on. "Just +naturally put it all over that whole bunch of Turks, didn't you? But +how did it happen?" + +"I don't know," says Popover, fingerin' his hat nervous. "I am very +busy all the time, and--and I have nothing to eat all night. You see, +all other Greek soldiers was hurt; and me, I must stay to keep the +Turks from the hill. Very busy time, Sir. And I am not much for +fight, anyway." + +"Great Scott!" says Skid. "He says he's not much for--but see here, +how did it end?" + +Popover gives a shoulder shrug. "Once more they run at me after you +go," says he, "and then come our brave Greek General with big army and +chase Turks away. And the Captain say why am I such big fool as to +stay behind. That is all I know. Three weeks ago I am discharged from +being soldier. Now I come back here, and I have no more my good job. +I am much sorry." + +"Think of that!" breaks out Skid. "Talk about the ingratitude of +Republics! Why, England would have given him the Victoria Cross for +that! But can't something or other be done about this job of his?" + +"Why, certainly," says Mr. Robert. "Here, let's go back into my +office." + +"Hey, Popover," says I, steerin' him respectful through the gate. +"Don't forget to tell them about Armina too." + +And as the three of 'em streams in, with the waiter in the middle, I +turns to find Piddie gazin' at the sight button-eyed. + +"Wa'n't you sayin' how much you'd like to see the lone hero of the +hill?" says I. "Well, take a good look. That's him, the squatty one. +Uh-huh. Mike, alias Popover, who quit bein' a waiter to fight for his +country, and after he'd licked all the Turks in sight comes pikin' back +here to hunt around for his tray again. Say, all of 'em ain't such +scum, are they?" + +It was a great old banquet too; for Skid insists that if they must have +a conquerin' hero to drink to Mr. Popokoulis is the only real thing in +sight. Mike wouldn't stand for a seat at the table, though; so they +compromised by havin' him act as head waiter. Skid tells the story +just the same, and makes him stand out where they can all see him. +There was some cheerin' done too. Mr. Robert was tellin' me about it +only this mornin'. + +"And you've got him his old place at the club, eh?" says I. + +"No," says he. "I've arranged to buy out a half interest in a +florist's shop for Mr. Popokoulis." + +"Oh!" says I. "Backin' him for the Armina handicap, eh? It ought to +be a cinch. Some chap, that Popover, even if he was a waiter, eh? +It's tough on Piddie, though. This thing has tied all his ideas in +double bow-knots." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT + +Somehow I sensed it as a kind of a batty excursion at the start. You +see, he'd asked me offhand would I come, and I'd said "Sure, Bo," +careless like, not thinkin' any more about it until here Saturday +afternoon I finds myself on the way to spend the week-end with J. +Meredith Stidler. + +Sounds imposing don't it? But his name's the weightiest part of J. +Meredith. Course, around the Corrugated offices we call him Merry, and +some of the bond clerks even get it Miss Mary; which ain't hardly fair, +for while he's no husky, rough-neck specimen, there's no sissy streak +in him, either. Just one of these neat, finicky featherweights, J. +Meredith is; a well finished two-by-four, with more polish than punch. +You know the kind,--fussy about his clothes, gen'rally has a pink or +something in his coat lapel, hair always just so, and carries a vest +pocket mirror. We ain't got a classier dresser in the shop. Not +noisy, you understand: quiet grays, as a rule; but made for him special +and fittin' snug around the collar. + +Near thirty, I should guess Merry was, and single, of course. No head +of a fam'ly would be sportin' custom-made shoes and sleeve monograms, +or havin' his nails manicured reg'lar twice a week. I'd often wondered +how he could do it too, on seventy-five dollars a month. + +For J. Meredith wa'n't even boss of his department. He just holds down +one of the stools in the audit branch, where he has about as much show +of gettin' a raise as a pavin' block has of bein' blown up Broadway on +a windy day. We got a lot of material like that in the +Corrugated,--just plain, simple cogs in a big dividend-producin' +machine, grindin' along steady and patient, and their places easy +filled when one wears out. A caster off one of the rolltop desks would +be missed more. + +Yet J. Meredith takes it cheerful. Always has a smile as he pushes +through the brass gate, comin' or goin', and stands all the joshin' +that's handed out to him without gettin' peevish. So when he springs +this over-Sunday invite I don't feel like turnin' it down. Course, I'm +wise that it's sort of a charity contribution on his part. He puts it +well, though. + +"It may be rather a dull way for you to pass the day," says he; "but +I'd like to have you come." + +"Let's see," says I. "Vincent won't be expectin' me up to Newport +until later in the season, the Bradley Martins are still abroad, I've +cut the Reggy Vanderbilts, and--well, you're on, Merry. Call it the +last of the month, eh?" + +"The fourth Saturday, then," says he. "Good!" + +I was blamed near lettin' the date get past me too, when he stops me as +I'm pikin' for the dairy lunch Friday noon. "Oh, I say, Torchy," says +he, "ah--er--about tomorrow. Hope you don't mind my mentioning it, but +there will be two other guests--ladies--at dinner tomorrow night." + +He seemed some fussed at gettin' it out; so I catches the cue quick. +"That's easy," says I. "Count me out until another time." + +"Oh, not at all," says he. "In fact, you're expected. I merely wished +to suggest, you know, that--er--well, if you cared to do so, you might +bring along a suit of dark clothes." + +"I get you," says I. "Swell comp'ny. Trust me." + +I winks mysterious, and chuckles to myself, "Here's where I slip one on +J. Meredith." And when I packs my suitcase I puts in that full evenin' +regalia that I wins off'm Son-in-Law Ferdy, you remember, in that real +estate deal. Some Cinderella act, I judged that would be, when Merry +discovers the meek and lowly office boy arrayed like a night-bloomin' +head waiter. "That ought to hold him for a spell," thinks I. + +But, say, you should see the joint we fetches up at out on the south +shore of Long Island that afternoon. Figurin' on a basis of +seventy-five per, I was expectin' some private boardin' house where +Merry has the second floor front, maybe, with use of the bath. But +listen,--a clipped privet hedge, bluestone drive, flower gardens, and a +perfectly good double-breasted mansion standin' back among the trees. +It's a little out of date so far as the lines go,--slate roof, jigsaw +work on the dormers, and a cupola,--but it's more or less of a plute +shack, after all. Then there's a real live butler standin' at the +carriage entrance to open the hack door and take my bag. + +"Gee!" says I. "Say, Merry, who belongs to all this?" + +"Oh! Hadn't I told you?" says he. "You see, I live with my aunt. She +is--er--somewhat peculiar; but----" + +"I should worry!" I breaks in. "Believe me, with a joint like this in +her own name, I wouldn't kick if she had her loft full of hummin' +birds. Who's next in line for it?" + +"Why, I suppose I am," says J. Meredith, "under certain conditions." + +"Z-z-zin'!" says I. "And you hangin' onto a cheap skate job at the +Corrugated!" + +Well, while he's showin' me around the grounds I pumps out the rest of +the sketch. Seems butlers and all that was no new thing to Merry. +He'd been brought up on 'em. He'd lived abroad too. Studied music +there. Not that he ever meant to work at it, but just because he liked +it. You see, about that time the fam'ly income was rollin' in reg'lar +every month from the mills back in Pawtucket, or Fall River, or +somewhere. + +Then all of a sudden things begin to happen,--strikes, panics, stock +grabbin' by the trusts. Father's weak heart couldn't stand the strain. +Meredith's mother followed soon after. And one rainy mornin' he wakes +up in Baden Baden, or Monte Carlo, or wherever it was, to find that +he's a double orphan at the age of twenty-two, with no home, no cash, +and no trade. All he could do was to write an S. O. S. message back to +Aunt Emma Jane. If she hadn't produced, he'd been there yet. + +But Aunty got him out of pawn. Panics and so on hadn't cleaned out her +share of the Stidler estate--not so you'd notice it! She'd been on the +spot, Aunt Emma had, watchin' the market. Long before the jinx hit +Wall Street she'd cashed in her mill stock for gold ballast, and when +property prices started tumblin' she dug up a lard pail from under the +syringa bush and begun investin' in bargain counter real estate. Now +she owns business blocks, villa plots, and shore frontage in big +chunks, and spends her time collectin' rents, makin' new deals, and +swearin' off her taxes. + +You'd most thought, with a perfectly good nephew to blow in some of her +surplus on, she'd made a fam'ly pet of J. Meredith. But not her. Pets +wasn't in her line. Her prescription for him was work, something +reg'lar and constant, so he wouldn't get into mischief. She didn't +care what it brought in, so long as he kept himself in clothes and +spendin' money. And that was about Merry's measure. He could add up a +column of figures and put the sum down neat at the bottom of the page. +So he fitted into our audit department like a nickel into a slot +machine. And there he stuck. + +"But after sportin' around Europe so long," says I, "don't punchin' the +time clock come kind of tough?" + +"It's a horrible, dull grind," says he. "Like being caught in a +treadmill. But I suppose I deserve nothing better. I'm one of the +useless sort, you know. I've no liking, no ability, for business; but +I'm in the mill, and I can't see any way out." + +For a second J. Meredith's voice sounds hopeless. One look ahead has +taken out of him what little pep he had. But the next minute he braces +up, smiles weary, and remarks, "Oh, well! What's the use?" + +Not knowin' the answer to that I shifts the subject by tryin' to get a +line on the other comp'ny that's expected for dinner. + +"They're our next-door neighbors," says he, "the Misses Hibbs." + +"Queens?" says I. + +He pinks up a little at that. "I presume you would call them old +maids," says he. "They are about my age, and--er--the truth is, they +are rather large. But really they're quite nice,--refined, cultured, +all that sort of thing." + +"Specially which one?" says I, givin' him the wink. + +"Now, now!" says he, shakin' his head. "You're as bad as Aunt Emma. +Besides, they're her guests. She asks them over quite often. You see, +they own almost as much property around here as she does, and--well, +common interests, you know." + +"Sure that's all?" says I, noticin' Merry flushin' up more. + +"Why, of course," says he. "That is--er--well, I suppose I may as well +admit that Aunt Emma thinks she is trying her hand at match-making. +Absurd, of course." + +"Oh-ho!" says I. "Wants you to annex the adjoinin' real estate, does +she?" + +"It--it isn't exactly that," says he. "I've no doubt she has decided +that either Pansy or Violet would make a good wife for me." + +"Pansy and Violet!" says I. "Listens well." + +"Perhaps their names are hardly appropriate; but they are nice, +sensible, rather attractive young women, both of them," insists Merry. + +"Then why not?" says I. "What's the matter with the Hymen proposition?" + +"Oh, it's out of the question," protests J. Meredith, blushin' deep. +"Really I--I've never thought of marrying anyone. Why, how could I? +And besides I shouldn't know how to go about it,--proposing, and all +that. Oh, I couldn't! You--you can't understand. I'm such a duffer +at most things." + +There's no fake about him bein' modest. You could tell that by the way +he colored up, even talkin' to me. Odd sort of a gink he was, with a +lot of queer streaks in him that didn't show on the outside. It was +more or less entertainin', followin' up the plot of the piece; but all +of a sudden Merry gets over his confidential spasm and shuts up like a +clam. + +"Almost time to dress for dinner," says he. "We'd best be going in." + +And of course my appearin' in the banquet uniform don't give him any +serious jolt. + +"Well, well, Torchy!" says he, as I strolls into the parlor about +six-thirty, tryin' to forget the points of my dress collar. "How +splendid you look!" + +"I had some battle with the tie," says I. "Ain't the bow lopsided?" + +"A mere trifle," says he. "Allow me. There! Really, I'm quite proud +of you. Aunty'll be pleased too; for, while she dresses very plainly +herself, she likes this sort of thing. You'll see." + +I didn't notice any wild enthusiasm on Aunty's part, though, when she +shows up. A lean, wiry old girl, Aunty is, with her white hair bobbed +up careless and a big shell comb stickin' up bristly, like a picket +fence, on top. There's nothin' soft about her chin, or the square-cut +mouth, and after she'd give me one glance out of them shrewd, squinty +eyes I felt like she'd taken my number,--pedigree, past performances, +and cost mark complete. + +"Howdo, young man?" says she, and with out wastin' any more breath on +me she pikes out to the front door to scout down the drive for the +other guests. + +They arrives on the tick of six-forty-five, and inside of three minutes +Aunty has shooed us into the dinin' room. And, say, the first good +look I had at Pansy and Violet I nearly passed away. "Rather large," +Merry had described 'em. Yes, and then some! They wa'n't just +ordinary fat women; they was a pair of whales,--big all over, tall and +wide and hefty. They had their weight pretty well placed at that; not +lumpy or bulgy, you know, but with them expanses of shoulder, and their +big, heavy faces--well, the picture of slim, narrow-chested Merry +Stidler sittin' wedged in between the two, like the ham in a lunch +counter sandwich, was most too much for me. I swallows a drink of +water and chokes over it. + +I expect Merry caught on too. I'd never seen him so fussed before. +He's makin' a brave stab at bein' chatty; but I can tell he's doin' it +all on his nerve. He glances first to the right, and then turns quick +to the left; but on both sides he's hemmed in by them two human +mountains. + +They wa'n't such bad lookers, either. They has good complexions, kind +of pleasant eyes, and calm, comf'table ways. But there was so much of +'em! Honest, when they both leans toward him at once I held my breath, +expectin' to see him squeezed out like a piece of lead pipe run through +a rollin' machine. + +Nothin' tragic like that happens, though. They don't even crowd him +into the soup. But it's an odd sort of a meal, with J. Meredith and +the Hibbs sisters doin' a draggy three-handed dialogue, while me and +Aunty holds down the side lines. And nothin' that's said or done gets +away from them narrow-set eyes, believe me! + +Looked like something wa'n't goin' just like she'd planned; for the +glances she shoots across the table get sharper and sourer, and +finally, when the roast is brought in, she whispers to the butler, and +the next thing J. Meredith knows, as he glances up from his carvin', he +sees James uncorkin' a bottle of fizz. Merry almost drops his fork and +gawps at Aunty sort of dazed. + +"Meredith," says she, snappy, "go on with your carving! Young man, I +suppose you don't take wine?" + +"N-n-no, Ma'am," says I, watchin' her turn my glass down. I might have +chanced a sip or two, at that; but Aunty has different ideas. + +I notice that J. Meredith seems to shy at the bubbly stuff, as if he +was lettin' on he hated it. He makes a bluff or two; but all he does +is wet his lips. At that Aunty gives a snort. + +"Meredith," says she, hoistin' her hollow-stemmed glass sporty, "to our +guests!" + +"Ah, to be sure," says Merry, and puts his nose into the sparkles in +dead earnest. + +Somehow the table chat livens up a lot soon after that. It was one of +the Miss Hibbs askin' him something about life abroad that starts Merry +off. He begins tellin' about Budapest and Vienna and a lot more of +them guidebook spots, and how comf'table you can live there, and the +music, and the cafes, and the sights, gettin' real enthusiastic over +it, until one of the sisters breaks in with: + +"Think of that, Pansy! If we could only do such things!" + +"But why not?" says Merry. + +"Two women alone?" says a Miss Hibbs. + +"True," says J. Meredith. "One needs an escort." + +"Ah-h-h-h, yes!" sighs Violet. + +"Ah-h-h, yes!" echoes Pansy. + +"James," puts in Aunty just then, "fill Mr. Stidler's glass." + +Merry wa'n't shyin' it any more. He insists on clickin' rims with the +Hibbs sisters, and they does it real kittenish. Merry stops in the +middle of his salad to unload that old one about the Irishman that the +doctor tried to throw a scare into by tellin' him if he didn't quit the +booze he'd go blind within three months. You know--when Mike comes +back with, "Well, I'm an old man, and I'm thinkin' I've seen most +everything worth while." Pansy and Violet shook until their chairs +creaked, and one of 'em near swallows her napkin tryin' to stop the +chuckles. + +In all the time I've known J. Meredith I'd never heard him try to +spring anything comic before; but havin' made such a hit with this one +he follows with others, robbin' the almanac regardless. + +"Oh, you deliciously funny man!" gasps Pansy, tappin' him playful on +the shoulder. + +Course, it wa'n't any cabaret high jinks, you understand. Meredith was +just limbered up a little. In the parlor afterwards while we was +havin' coffee he strings off quite a fancy line of repartee, fin'lly +allowin' himself to be pushed up to the piano, where he ripples through +a few things from Bach and Beethoven and Percy Moore. It's near eleven +o'clock when the Hibbs sisters get their wraps on and Merry starts to +walk home with 'em. + +"You might wait for me, Torchy," says he, pausin' at the door. + +"Nonsense!" says Aunt Emma Jane. + +"Time young people were in bed. Good night, young man." + +There don't seem to be any chance for a debate on the subject; so I +goes up to my room. But it's a peach of a night, warm and moony; so +after I turns out the light I camps down on the windowseat and gazes +out over the shrubby towards the water. I could see the top of the +Hibbs house and a little wharf down on the shore. + +I don't know whether it was the moonlight or the coffee; but I didn't +feel any more like bed than I did like breakfast. Pretty soon I hears +Merry come tiptoein' in and open his door, which was next to mine. I +was goin' to hail him and give him a little josh about disposin' of the +sisters so quick; but I didn't hear him stirrin' around any more until +a few minutes later, when it sounds as if he'd tiptoed downstairs +again. But I wasn't sure. Nothin' doin' for some time after that. +And you know how quiet the country can be on a still, moonshiny night. + +I was gettin' dopy from it, and was startin' to shed my collar and tie, +when off from a distance, somewhere out in the night, music breaks +loose. I couldn't tell whether it was a cornet or a trombone; but it's +something like that. Seems to come from down along the waterfront. +And, say, it sounds kind of weird, hearin' it at night that way. Took +me sometime to place the tune; but I fin'lly makes it out as that good +old mush favorite, "O Promise Me." It was bein' well done too, with +long quavers on the high notes and the low ones comin' out round and +deep. Honest, that was some playin'. I was wide awake once more, +leanin' out over the sill and takin' it all in, when a window on the +floor below goes up and out bobs a white head. It's Aunty. She looks +up and spots me too. + +"Quite some concert, eh?" says I. + +"Is that you, young man?" says she. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Just takin' in the music." + +"Humph!" says she. "I believe it's that fool nephew of mine." + +"Not Merry?" says I. + +"It must be," says she. "And goodness knows why he's out making an +idiot of himself at this time of night! He'll arouse the whole +neighbourhood." + +"Why, I was just thinkin' how classy it was," says I. + +"Bah!" says Aunty. "A lot you know about it. Are you dressed, young +man?" + +I admits that I am. + +"Then I wish you'd go down there and see if it is Merry," says she. +"If it is, tell him I say to come home and go to bed." + +"And if it ain't?" says I. + +"Go along and see," says she. + +I begun to be sorry for Merry. I'd rather pay board than live with a +disposition like that. Down I pikes, out the front door and back +through the shrubby. Meantime the musician has finished "Promise Me" +and has switched to "Annie Laurie." It's easy enough to get the +gen'ral direction the sound comes from; but I couldn't place it exact. +First off I thought it must be from a little summer house down by the +shore; but it wa'n't. I couldn't see anyone around the grounds. Out +on the far end of the Hibbs's wharf, though, there was somethin' dark. +And a swell time I had too, buttin' my way through a five-foot hedge +and landin' in a veg'table garden. But I wades through tomatoes and +lettuce until I strikes a gravel path, and in a couple of minutes I'm +out on the dock just as the soloist is hittin' up "Believe Me, if All +Those Endearing Young Charms." Aunty had the correct dope. It's +Merry, all right. The first glimpse he gets of me he starts guilty and +tries to hide the cornet under the tails of his dress coat. + +"No use, Merry," says I. "You're pinched with the poultry." + +"Wha-a-at!" says he. "Oh, it's you, is it, Torchy? Please--please +don't mention this to my aunt." + +"She beat me to it," says I. "It was her sent me out after you with a +stop order. She says for you to chop the nocturne and go back to the +hay." + +"But how did she---- Oh, dear!" he sighs. "It was all her fault, +anyway." + +"I don't follow you," says I. "But what was it, a serenade?" + +"Goodness, no!" gasps J. Meredith. "Who suggested that?" + +"Why, it has all the earmarks of one," says I. "What else would you be +doin', out playin' the cornet by moonlight on the dock, if you wa'n't +serenadin' someone?" + +"But I wasn't, truly," he protests. "It--it was the champagne, you +know." + +"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean to say you got stewed? Not on a couple +of glasses!" + +"Well, not exactly," says he. "But I can't take wine. I hardly ever +do. It--it goes to my head always. And tonight--well, I couldn't +decline. You saw. Then afterward--oh, I felt so buoyant, so full of +life, that I couldn't go to sleep. I simply had to do something to let +off steam. I wanted to play the cornet. So I came out here, as far +away from anyone as I could get." + +"Too thin, Merry," says I. "That might pass with me; but with +strangers you'd get the laugh." + +"But it's true," he goes on. "And I didn't dream anyone could hear me +from here." + +"Why, you boob," says I, "they could hear you a mile off!" + +"Really?" says he. "But you don't suppose Vio--I mean, the Misses +Hibbs could hear, do you?" + +"Unless it's their habit to putty up their ears at night," says I. + +"But--but what will they think?" he gasps breathless. + +"That they're bein' serenaded by some admirin' friend," says I. +"What's your guess?" + +"Oh--oh!" says Merry, slumpin' down on a settee. "I--I had not thought +of that." + +"Ah, buck up!" say I. "Maybe you can fake an alibi in the mornin'. +Anyway, you can't spend the night here. You got to report to Aunty." + +He lets out another groan, and then gets on his feet. "There's a path +through the bushes along here somewhere," says he. + +"No more cross country work in full dress clothes for me," says I. +"We'll sneak down the Hibbs's drive where the goin's easy." + +We was doin' it real sleuthy too, keepin' on the lawn and dodgin' from +shadow to shadow, when just as we're passin' the house Merry has to +stub his toe and drop his blamed cornet with a bang. + +Then out from a second story window floats a voice: "Who is that, +please?" + +Merry nudges me in the ribs. "Tell them it's you," he whispers. + +"Why, it's--it's me--Torchy," says I reluctant. + +"Oh! Ah!" says a couple of voices in chorus. Then one of 'em goes on, +"The young man who is visiting dear Meredith?" + +"Yep," says I. "Same one." + +"But it wasn't you playing the cornet so beautifully, was it?" comes +coaxin' from the window. + +"Tell them yes," whispers Merry, nudgin' violent. + +"Gwan!" I whispers back. "I'm in bad enough as it is." With that I +speaks up before he can stop me, "Not much!" says I. "That was dear +Meredith himself." + +"Oh-oh!" says the voices together. Then there's whisperin' between +'em. One seems urgin' the other on to something, and at last it comes +out. "Young man," says the voice, smooth and persuadin', "please tell +us who--that is--which one of us was the serenade intended for?" + +This brings the deepest groan of all from J. Meredith. + +"Come on, now," says I, hoarse and low in his ear. "It's up to you. +Which?" + +"Oh, really," he whispers back, "I--I can't!" + +"You got to, and quick," says I. "Come now, was it Pansy?" + +"No, no!" says he, gaspy. + +"Huh!" says I. "Then Violet gets the decision." And I holds him off +by main strength while I calls out, "Why, ain't you on yet? It was for +Violet, of course." + +"Ah-h-h-h! Thank you. Good night," comes a voice--no chorus this +time: just one--and the window is shut. + +"There you are, Merry," says I. "It's all over. You're as good as +booked for life." + +He was game about it, though, Merry was. He squares it with Aunty +before goin' to bed, and right after breakfast next mornin' he marches +over to the Hibbses real business-like. Half an hour later I saw him +strollin' out on the wharf with one of the big sisters, and I knew it +must be Violet. It was his busy day; so I says nothin' to anybody, but +fades. + +And you should have seen the jaunty, beamin' J. Meredith that swings +into the Corrugated Monday mornin'. He stops at the gate to give me a +fraternal grip. + +"It's all right, Torchy," says he. "She--she'll have me--Violet, you +know. And we are to live abroad. We sail in less than a month." + +"But what about Pansy?" says I. + +"Oh, she's coming with us, of course," says he. "Really, they're both +charming girls." + +"Huh!" says I. "That's where you were when I found you. You're past +that point, remember." + +"Yes, I know," says he. "It was you helped me too, and I wish in some +way I could show my----" + +"You can," says I. "Leave me the cornet. I might need it some day +myself." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY + +It's a shame the way some of these popular clubmen is bothered with +business. Here was Mr. Robert, only the other day, with an important +four-cue match to be played off between four-thirty and dinnertime; and +what does the manager of our Chicago branch have to do but go and muss +up the schedule by wirin' in that he might have to call for +headquarters' advice on that Burlington order maybe after closin' time. + +"Oh, pshaw!" remarks Mr. Robert, after he's read the message. + +"The simp!" says I. "Guess he thinks the Corrugated gen'ral offices +runs night and day shifts, don't he?" + +"Very well put," says Mr. Robert. "Still, it means rather a big +contract. But, you see, the fellows are counting on me for this match, +and if I should---- Oh, but I say, Torchy," he breaks off sudden, +"perhaps you have no very important engagement for the early evening?" + +"Me?" says I. "Nothing I couldn't scratch. I can shoot a little pool +too; but when it comes to balk line billiards I expect I'd be a dub +among your crowd." + +"Refreshing modesty!" says Mr. Robert. "What I had in mind, however, +was that you might wait here for the message from Nixon, while I attend +to the match." + +"Oh, any way you choose," says I. "Sure I'll stay." + +"Thanks," says he. "You needn't wait longer than seven, and if it +comes in you can get me on the 'phone and---- No, it will be in code; +so you'd best bring it over." + +And it wa'n't so much of a wait, after all, not more'n an hour; for at +six-fifteen I've been over to the club, had Mr. Robert called from the +billiard room, got him to fix up his answer, and am pikin' out the +front door with it when he holds me up to add just one more word. +Maybe we was some conspicuous from Fifth-ave., him bein' still in his +shirt sleeves and the steps bein' more or less brilliant. + +Anyway, I'd made another start and was just gettin' well under way, +when alongside scuffs this hollow-eyed object with the mangy whiskers +and the mixed-ale breath. + +"Excuse me, young feller," says he, "but----" + +"Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I. "I'm no soup ticket." + +[Illustration: "Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I.] + +"But just a word, my friend," he insists. + +"Save your breath," says I, "and have it redistilled. It's worth it." + +"Thanks," he puffs out as he shuffles along at my elbow; "but--but +wasn't that Bob Ellins you were just talking to?" + +"Eh?" says I, glancin' at him some astonished; for a seedier specimen +you couldn't find up and down the avenue. "What do you know about him, +if it was?" + +"More than his name," says the wreck. "He--he's an old friend of mine." + +"Oh, of course," says I. "Anyone could tell that at a glimpse. I +expect you used to belong to the same club too?" + +"Is old Barney still on the door?" says he. + +And, say, he had the right dope on that. Not three minutes before I'd +heard Mr. Robert call the old gink by name. But that hardly proved the +case. + +"Clever work," says I. "What was it you used to do there, take out the +ashes." + +"I don't wonder you think so," says he; "but it's a fact that Bob and I +are old friends." + +"Why don't you tackle him, then," says I, "instead of botherin' a busy +man like me? Go back and call him out." + +"I haven't the face," says he. "Look at me!" + +"I have," says I, "and, if you ask me, you look like something the cat +brought in." + +He winces a little at that. "Don't tell Bob how bad it was, then," +says he. "Just say you let me have a fiver for him." + +"Five bucks!" says I. "Say, I'm Mr. Robert's office boy, not his bank +account." + +"Two, then?" he goes on. + +"My, but I must have the boob mark on me plain!" says I. + +"Couldn't you spare a half," he urges, "just a half, to get me a little +something to eat, and a drink, and pay for a bed?" + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "I carry a pocketful of halves to shove out to all +the bums that presents their business cards." + +"But Bob would give it back to you," he pleads. "I swear he would! +Just tell him you gave it to--to----" + +"Well?" says I. "Algernon who?" + +"Tell him it was for Melville Slater," says he. "He'll know." + +"Melly Slater, eh?" says I. "Sounds all aright. But I'd have to chew +it over first, even for a half. I have chances of gettin' stung like +this about four times a day, Melly. And, anyway, I got to file a +message first, over at the next corner." + +"I'll wait outside," says he. + +"That's nice of you," says I. "It ain't any cinch you'll connect, +though." + +But as I dashes into a hotel where there's a blue sign out he leans up +against a window gratin', sort of limp and exhausted, and it looks like +he means to take a sportin' chance. + +How you goin' to tell, anyway? Most of 'em say they've been thrown out +of work by the trusts, but that they've heard of a job in Newark, or +Bridgeport, or somewhere, which they could get if they could only +rustle enough coin to pay the fare. And they'll add interestin' +details about havin' a sick wife, or maybe four hungry kids, and so on. + +But this rusty bunch of works has a new variation. He's an old friend +of the boss. Maybe it was partly so too. If it was--well, I got to +thinkin' that over while the operator was countin' the words, and so +the next thing I does is to walk over to the telephone queen and have +her call up Mr. Robert. + +"Well?" says he, impatient. + +"It's Torchy again," says I. "I've filed the message, all right. But, +say, there's a piece of human junk that I collected from in front of +the club who's tryin' to panhandle me for a half on the strength of +bein' an old chum of yours. He says his name's Melville Slater." + +"Wha-a-at!" gasps Mr. Robert. "Melly Slater, trying to borrow half a +dollar from you?" + +"There's no doubt about his needin' it," says I. "My guess is that a +half would be a life saver to him just now." + +"Why, it doesn't seem possible!!" says Mr. Robert. "Of course, I +haven't seen Melly recently; but I can't imagine how---- Did you say +he was still there?" + +"Hung up on the rail outside, if the cop ain't shooed him off," says I. + +"Then keep him there until I come," says Mr. Robert. "If it's Melly, I +must come. I'll be right over. But don't say a word to him until I +get there." + +"Got you," says I. "Hold Melly and keep mum." + +I could pipe him off through the swing door vestibule; and, honest, +from the lifeless way he's propped up there, one arm hangin' loose, his +head to one side, and that white, pasty look to his nose and +forehead--well, I didn't know but he'd croaked on the spot. So I slips +through the cafe exit and chases along the side street until I meets +Mr. Robert, who's pikin' over full tilt. + +"You're sure it's Melly Slater, are you?" says he. + +"I'm only sure that's what he said," says I. "But you can settle that +soon enough. There he is, over there by the window." + +"Why!" says Mr. Robert. "That can never be Melly; that is, unless he's +changed wonderfully." With that he marches up and taps the object on +the shoulder. "I say," says he, "you're not really Melly Slater, are +you?" + +There's a quick shiver runs through the man against the rail, and he +lifts his eyes up cringin', like he expected to be hit with a club. +Mr. Robert takes one look, and it almost staggers him. Next he reaches +out, gets a firm grip on the gent's collar, and drags him out into a +better light, twistin' the whiskered face up for a close inspection. + +"Blashford!" says he, hissin' it out unpleasant. "Bunny Blashford!" + +"No, no!" says the gent, tryin' to squirm away. "You--you've made a +mistake." + +"Not much!" says Mr. Robert. "I know those sneaking eyes of yours too +well." + +"All right," says he; "but--but don't hit me, Bob. Don't." + +"You--you cur!" says Mr. Robert, holding him at arm's length and +glarin' at him hostile. + +"A ringer, eh?" says I. + +"Worse than that," says Mr. Robert, "a sneaking, contemptible hound! +Trying to pass yourself off for Melly, were you?" he goes on. "Of all +men, Melly! What for?" + +"I--I didn't want you to know I was back," whines Bunny. "And I had to +get money somehow, Bob--honest, I did." + +"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "You--you----" + +But he ain't got any such vocabulary as old Hickory Ellins has; so +here, when he needs it most, all he can do is express his deep disgust +by shakin' this Bunny party like a new hired girl dustin' a rug. He +jerks him this way and that so reckless that I was afraid he'd rattle +him apart, and when he fin'lly lets loose Bunny goes all in a heap on +the sidewalk. I'd never seen Mr. Robert get real wrathy before; but +it's all over in a minute, and he glances around like he was ashamed. + +"Hang it all!" says he, gazin' at the wreck. "I didn't mean to lay my +hands on him." + +"He's in punk condition," says I. "What's to be done, call an +ambulance?" + +That jars Mr. Robert a lot. I expect he was so worked up he didn't +know how rough he was handlin' him, and my suggestin' that he's +qualified Bunny for a cot sobers him down in a minute. Next thing I +knows he's kneelin' over the Blashford gent and liftin' his head up. + +"Here, what's the matter with you?" says Mr. Robert. + +"Don't! Don't strike me again," moans Bunny, cringin'. + +"No, no, I'm not going to," says Mr. Robert. "And I apologize for +shaking you. But what ails you?" + +"I--I'm all in," says Bunny, beginnin' to sniffle. "Don't--don't beat +me! I--I'm going to die; but--but not here, like--like this. I--I +don't want to live; but--but I don't want to finish this way, like a +rat. Help me, Bob, to--to finish decent. I know I don't deserve it +from you; but--but you wouldn't want to see me go like this--dirty and +ragged? I--I want to die clean and--and well dressed. Please, Bob, +for old time's sake?" + +"Nonsense, man!" says Mr. Robert. "You're not going to die now." + +"Yes, I am, Bob," says Bunny. "I--I can tell. I want to, anyway. +I--I'm no good. And I'm in rotten shape. Drink, you know, and I've a +bad heart. I'm near starved too. It's been days since I've eaten +anything--days!" + +"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Then you must have something to eat. +Here, let me help you up. Torchy, you take the other side. Steady, +now! I didn't know you were in such a condition; really, I didn't. +And we'll get you filled up right away." + +"I--I couldn't eat," says Bunny. "I don't want anything. I just want +to quit--only--not like this; but clean, Bob, clean and dressed decent +once more." + +Say, maybe you can guess about how cheerin' it was, hearin' him say +that over and over in that whiny, tremblin' voice of his, watchin' them +shifty, deep-set eyes glisten glassy under the light. About as +comfortin' a sight, he was, as a sick dog in a corner. And of all the +rummy ideas to get in his nut--that about bein' dressed up to die! But +he keeps harpin' away on it until fin'ly Mr. Robert takes notice. + +"Yes, yes!" says the boss. "We'll attend to that, old man. But you +need some nourishment in you first." + +So we drags him over to the opposite corner, where there's a drugstore, +and got a glass of hot milk under his vest. Then I calls a taxi, and +we all starts for the nearest Turkish bath joint. + +"That's all, Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "I won't bother you any more +with this wretched business. You'd best go now." + +"Suppose something happens to him?" says I. "You'll need a witness, +won't you?" + +"I hadn't thought of that," says he. + +"There's no tellin'," says I. "Them coroners deputies are mostly +boneheads. I'd better stay on the job." + +"I know of no one I'd rather have, Torchy," says he. + +Course, he was stretchin' it there. But we fixes it up that while +Bunny is bein' soaked out I'll have time to pluck some eats. Meanwhile +Mr. Robert will 'phone his man to dig out one of his old dress suits, +with fixin's, which I'm to collect and have waitin' for Blashford. + +"Better have him barbered some too, hadn't I?" says I. + +"A lot," says Mr. Robert, slippin' me a couple of tens for expenses. +"And when he's all ready call me at the club." + +So, take it all around, I has quite some busy evenin'. I stayed long +enough to see Bunny wrapped in a sheet and helped into the steam-room, +and then I hustles out for a late dinner. It's near nine-thirty before +I rings Mr. Robert up again, and reports that Bunny would pass a Board +of Health inspection now that he's had the face herbage removed, that +he's costumed proper and correct, and that he's decided not to die +immediate. + +"Very well," says Mr. Robert. "What does he want to do now?" + +"He wants to talk to you," says I. + +"The deuce he does!" says Mr. Robert. "Well, I suppose we might as +well have it out; so bring him up here." + +That's how it happens I'm rung in on this little club corner chat; for +Mr. Robert explains that whatever passes between 'em it might be as +well to have someone else hear. + +And, say, what a diff'rence a little outside upholstery can make, eh? +The steamin' out had helped some, I expect, and a couple more glasses +of hot milk had braced him up too; but blamed if I'd expect just a +shave and a few open-face clothes could change a human ruin into such a +perky lookin' gent as this that leans back graceful against the leather +cushions and lights up one of Mr. Robert's imported cigarettes. +Course, the eye hollows hadn't been filled in, nor the face wrinkles +ironed out; but somehow they only gives him a sort of a distinguished +look. And now that his shoulders ain't slumped, and he's holdin' his +chin up once more, he's almost ornamental. He don't even seem +embarrassed at meetin' Mr. Robert again. If anyone was fussed, it was +the boss. + +"Well?" says he, as we gets settled in the cozy corner. + +"Seems natural as life here; eh, Bob?" says Bunny, glancin' around +approvin'. "And it's nearly four years since I--er----" + +"Since you were kicked out," adds Mr. Robert. "See here, Bunny--just +because I've helped you out of the gutter when I thought you were half +dead, don't run away with the idea that I've either forgotten or +forgiven!" + +"Oh, quite so," says he. "I'm not asking that." + +"Then you've no excuse," goes on Mr. Robert, "for the sneaking, +cowardly way in which you left little Sally Slater waiting in her +bridal gown, the house full of wedding guests, while you ran off with +that unspeakable DeBrett person?" + +"No," says Bunny, flippin' his cigarette ashes off jaunty, "no excuse +worthy of the name." + +"Cad!" says Mr. Robert. + +Bunny shrugs his shoulders. "Precisely," says he. "But you are not +making the discovery for the first time, are you? You knew Sally was +far too good for me. Everyone did, even Brother Melly. It couldn't +have been much of a secret to either of you how deep I was with the +DeBrett too. Yet you wanted me to go on with Sally. Why? Because the +governor hadn't chucked me overboard then, because I could still keep +up a front?" + +"You might have taken a brace," says Mr. Robert. + +"Not I!" says Bunny. "Anyway, not after Trixie DeBrett got hold of me. +The trouble was, Bob, you didn't half appreciate her. She had beauty, +brains, wit, a thousand fascinations, and no more soul than a she boa +constrictor. I was just a rabbit to her, a meal. She thought the +governor would buy her off, say, for a couple hundred thousand or so. +I suppose he would too, if it hadn't been for the Sally complication. +He thought a lot of little Sally. And the way it happened was too raw. +I don't blame him, mind you, nor any of you. I don't even blame +Trixie. That was her game. And, by Jove! she was a star at it. I'd +go back to her now if she'd let me." + +"You're a fool!" snorts Mr. Robert. + +"Always was, my dear Bob," says Bunny placid. "You often told me as +much." + +"But I didn't think," goes on Mr. Robert, "you'd get as low as--as +tonight--begging!" + +"Quite respectable for me, I assure you," says Bunny. "Why, my dear +fellow, during the last few years there's been hardly a crime on the +calendar I shouldn't have committed for a dollar--barring murder, of +course. That requires nerve. How long do you suppose the few +thousands I got from Aunt Eunice lasted? Barely six months. I thought +I knew how to live rather luxuriously myself. But Trixie! Well, she +taught me. And we were in Paris, you know. I didn't cable the +governor until I was down to my last hundred-franc note. His reply was +something of a stinger. I showed it to Trixie. She just laughed and +went out for a drive. She didn't come back. I hear she picked up a +brewer's son at Monte Carlo. Lucky devil, he was! + +"And I? What would you expect? In less than two weeks I was a +stowaway on a French liner. They routed me out and set me to stoking. +I couldn't stand that, of course; so they put me to work in the +kitchens, cleaning pots, dumping garbage, waiting on the crew. I had +to make the round trip too. Then I jumped the stinking craft, only to +get a worse berth on a P. & O. liner. I worked with Chinese, Lascars, +coolies, the scum of the earth; worked and ate and slept and fought +with them. I crawled ashore and deserted in strange ports. I think it +was at Aden where I came nearest to starving the first time. And I +remember the docks at Alexandria. Sometimes the tourists threw down +coppers for the Arab and Berber boys to scrabble for. It's a pleasant +custom. I was there, in that scrabbling, cursing, clawing rabble. And +when I'd had a good day I spent my coppers royally in a native +dance-hall which even guides don't dare show to the trippers. + +"Respectability, my dear Bob, is all a matter of comparison. I +acquired a lot of new standards. As a second cabin steward on a Brazos +liner I became quite haughty. Poverty! You don't know what it means +until you've rubbed elbows with it in the Far East and the Far South. +Here you have the Bowery Mission bread line. That's a fair sample, +Bob, of our American opulence. Free bread!" + +"So you've been in that, have you?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"Have I?" says Bunny. "I've pals down there tonight who will wonder +what has become of me." + +Mr. Robert shudders. And, say, it made me feel chilly along the spine +too. + +"Well, what now?" says Mr. Robert. "I suppose you expect me to find +you some sort of work?" + +"Not at all," says Bunny. "Another of those cigarettes, if you don't +mind. Excellent brand. Thanks. But work? How inconsiderate, Bob! I +wasn't born to be useful. You know that well enough. No, work doesn't +appeal to me." + +Mr. Robert flushes up at that. "Then," says he, pointin' stern, +"there's the door." + +"Oh, what's the hurry?" says Bunny. "This is heaven to me, all +this,--the old club, you know, and good tobacco, and--say, Bob, if I +might suggest, a pint of that '85 vintage would add just the finishing +touch. Come, I haven't tasted a glass of fizz since--well, I've +forgotten. Just for auld lang syne!" + +Mr. Robert gasps, hesitates a second, and then pushes the button. +Bunny inspects the label critical when it's brought in, waves graceful +to Mr. Robert, and slides the bottle back tender into the cooler. + +"Ah-h-h!" says he. "And doesn't Henri have any more of those dainty +little caviar canapes on hand? They go well with fizz." + +"Canapes," says Mr. Robert to the waiter. "And another box of those +gold-tipped Russians." + +"_A vous_!" says Bunny, raisin' a glassful of bubbles and salutin'. +"I'm as thirsty as a camel driver." + +"But what I'd like to know," says Mr. Robert, "is what you propose +doing." + +"You, my dear fellow," says Bunny, settin' down the glass. + +"Truly enterprising!" says Mr. Robert. "But you're going to be +disappointed. In just ten minutes I mean to escort you to the +sidewalk, and then wash my hands of you for good." + +Bunny laughs. "Impossible!" says he. "In the first place, you +couldn't sleep tonight, if you did. Secondly, I should hunt you up +tomorrow and make a nuisance of myself." + +"You'd be thrown out by a porter," says Mr. Robert. + +"Perhaps," says he; "but it wouldn't look nice. I'd be in evening +clothes, you see. The crowd would know at once that I was a gentleman. +Reporters would come. I should tell a most harrowing tale. You'd deny +it, of course; but half the people would believe me. No, no, Bob! +Three hours ago, in my old rags, you might have kicked me into the +gutter, and no one would have made any fuss at all. But now! Why, it +would be absurd! I should make a mighty row over it." + +"You threaten blackmail?" says Mr. Robert, leanin' towards him savage. + +"That is one of my more reputable accomplishments," says Bunny. "But +why force me to that? I have quite a reasonable proposal to submit." + +"If it has anything to do with getting you so far away from New York +that you'll never come back, I'll listen to it," says Mr. Robert. + +"You state the case exactly," says Bunny. "In Paris I got to know a +chap by the name of Dick Langdon; English, you know, and a younger son. +His uncle's a Sir Something or Other. Dick was going the pace. He'd +annexed some funds that he'd found lying around loose. Purely a family +affair; no prosecution. A nice youth, Langdon. We were quite +congenial. + +"A year or so ago I ran across him again, down in Santa Marta. He was +wearing a sun helmet and a white linen suit. He said he'd been shipped +down there as superintendent of a banana plantation about twenty miles +back from the port. He had half a hundred blacks and as many East +Indian coolies under him. There was no one else within miles. Once a +month he got down to see the steamer load and watch the white faces +hungrily. I was only a cabin steward leaning over the rail; but he was +so tickled to see me that he begged me to quit and go back to the +plantation with him. He said he'd make me assistant superintendent, or +permanent guest, or anything. But I was crazy to see New York once +more. I wouldn't listen. Well, I've seen New York, seen enough of it +to last a lifetime. What do you say?" + +"When could you get a steamer?" asks Mr. Robert. + +"The Arapequa sails at ten in the morning," says Bunny eager. "Fare +forty-eight dollars one way. I could go aboard now. Dick would hail +me as a man and a brother. I'm his kind. He'd see that I never had +money enough to get away. I think I might possibly earn my keep +bossing coolies too. And the pulque down there helps you to forget +your troubles." + +"Torchy," says Mr. Robert, "ask Barney to call a cab." + +"And, by the way," Bunny is sayin' as I come back, "you might chuck in +a business suit and a few white flannels into a grip, Bob. You +wouldn't want me to arrive in South America dressed like this, would +you?" + +"Very well," says Mr. Robert. "But what I'm most concerned about is +that you do arrive there." + + +"But how do you know, Mr. Robert," says I next mornin', "that he will?" + +"Because I locked him in his stateroom myself," says he, "and bribed a +steward not to let him out until he could see Barnegat light over the +stern." + +"Gee!" says I. "That's one way of losin' a better days' proposition. +And in case any others like him turns up, Mr. Robert, have you got any +more old dress suits?" + +"If I have," says he, "I shall burn them." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE GLAD HAIL FOR TORCHY + +I'll say this for Aunty: She's doin' her best. About all she's omitted +is lockin' Vee in a safety deposit vault and forgettin' the combination. + +Say, you'd most think I was as catchin' as a case of measles. I wish +it was so; for once in awhile, in spite of Aunty, Vee gets exposed. +That's all the good it does, though. What's a few minutes' chat with +the only girl that ever was? It's a wonder we don't have to be +introduced all over again. That would be the case with some girls. +But Vee! Say, lemme put you wise--Vee's different! Uh-huh! I found +that out all by myself. I don't know just where it comes in, or how, +but she is. + +All of which makes it just so much worse when she and Aunty does the +summer flit. Course, I saw it comin' 'way back early in June, and then +the first thing I know they're gone. I gets a bulletin now and +then,--Lenox, the Pier, Newport, and so on,--sometimes from Vee, +sometimes by readin' the society notes. Must be great to have the +papers keep track of you, the way they do of Aunty. And it's so +comfortin' to me, strayin' lonesome into a Broadway movie show of a hot +evening to know that "among the debutantes at a tea dance given in the +Casino by Mrs. Percy Bonehead yesterday afternoon was Miss Verona +Hemmingway." Oh, sure! Say, how many moves am I from a tea dance--me +here behind the brass rail at the Corrugated, with Piddie gettin' +fussy, and Old Hickory jabbin' the buzzer? + +And then, just when I'm peevish enough to be canned and served with +lamb chops, here comes this glad word out of the State of Maine. "It's +nice up here," says she; "but awfully stupid. VEE." That's all--just +a picture postcard. But, say, I'd have put it in a solid gold frame if +there'd been one handy. + +As it is, I sticks the card up on the desk in front of me and gazes +longin'. Some shack, I should judge by the picture,--one of these low, +wide affairs, all built of cobblestones, with a red tile roof and +yellow awnin's. Right on the water too. You can see the waves +frothin' almost up to the front steps. Roarin' Rocks, Maine, is the +name of the place printed underneath. + +"Nice, but stupid, eh?" says I confidential to myself. "That's too +bad. Wonder if I'd be bored to death with a week or so up there? I +wonder what she'd say if----" + +B-r-r-r-r! B-r-r-r-r-r! That's always the way! I just get started on +some rosy dream, and I'm sailin' aloft miles and miles away, when off +goes that blamed buzzer, and back I flop into this same old chair +behind the same old brass rail! All for what? Why, Mr. Robert wants a +tub of desk pins. I gets 'em from Piddie, trots in, and slams 'em down +snappy at Mr. Robert's elbow. + +"Eh?" says he, glancin' up startled. + +"Said pins, dintcher?" says I. + +"Why--er--yes," says he, "I believe I did. Thank you." + +"Huh!" says I, turnin' on my heel. + +"Oh--er--Torchy," he adds. + +"Well?" says I over my shoulder. + +"Might one inquire," says he, "is it distress, or only disposition?" + +"It ain't the effect of too much fresh air, anyway," says I. + +"Ah!" says he, sort of reflective. "Feeling the need of a half +holiday, are you?" + +"Humph!" says I. "What's the good of an afternoon off?" + +He'd just come back from a two weeks' cruise, Mr. Robert had, lookin' +tanned and husky, and a little later on he was goin' off on another +jaunt. Course, that's all right, too. I'd take 'em oftener if I was +him. But hanged if I'd sit there starin' puzzled at any one else who +couldn't, the way he was doin' at me! + +"Mr. Robert," says I, spunkin' up sudden, "what's the matter with me +takin' a vacation?" + +"Why," says he, "I--I presume it might be arranged. When would you +wish to go?" + +"When?" says I. "Why, now--tonight. Say, honest, if I try to stick +out the week I'll get to be a grouch nurser, like Piddie. I'm sick of +the shop, sick of answerin' buzzers, sick of everything!" + +It wasn't what you might call a smooth openin', and from most bosses I +expect it would have won me a free pass to all outdoors. But I guess +Mr. Robert knows what these balky moods are himself. He only humps his +eyebrows humorous and chuckles. + +"That's rather abrupt, isn't it?" says he. "But perhaps--er--just +where is she now, Torchy?" + +I grins back sheepish. "Coast of Maine," says I. + +"Well, well!" says he. "Then you'll need a two weeks' advance, at +least. There! Present this to the cashier. And there is a good +express, I believe, at eight o'clock tonight. Luck to you!" + +"Mr. Robert," says I, choky, "you--you're I-double-It with me. Thanks." + +"My best regards to Kennebunk, Cape Neddick, and Eggemoggen Reach," +says he as we swaps grips. + +Say, there's some boss for you, eh? But how he could dope out the +symptoms so accurate is what gets me. Anyhow, he had the answer; for I +don't stop to consult any vacation guidebook or summer tours pamphlet. +I beats it for the Grand Central, pushes up to the ticket window, and +calls for a round trip to Roaring Rocks. + +"Nothing doing," says the guy. "Give you Bass Rocks, Seal Rocks, or +six varieties of Spouting Rocks; but no Roaring ones on the list. Any +choice?" + +"Gwan, you fresh Mellen seed!" says I. "You got to have 'em. It says +so on the card," and I shoves the postal at him. + +"Ah, yes, my young ruddy duck," says he. "Postmarked Boothbay Harbor, +isn't it? Bath for yours. Change there for steamer. Upper's the best +I can do for you--drawing rooms all gone." + +"Seein' how my private car's bein' reupholstered, I'll chance an +upper," says I. "Only don't put any nose trombone artist underneath." + +Yes, I was feelin' some gayer than a few hours before. What did I care +if the old town was warmin' up as we pulls out until it felt like a +Turkish bath? I was bound north on the map, with my new Norfolk suit +and three outing shirts in my bag, a fair-sized wad of spendin' kale +buttoned into my back pocket, and that card of Vee's stowed away +careful. Say, I should worry! And don't they do some breezin' along +on that Bar Harbor express while you sleep, though? + +"What cute little village is this?" says I to Rastus in the washroom +next mornin' about six-thirty A. M. + +"Pohtland, Suh," says he. "Breakfast stop, Suh." + +"Me for it, then," says I. "When in Maine be a maniac." So I tackles +a plate of pork-and on its native heath; also a hunk of pie. M-m-m-m! +They sure can build pie up there! + +It's quite some State, Maine. Bath is several jumps on, and that next +joint---- Say, it wa'n't until I'd changed to the steamer and was +lookin' over my ticket that I sees anything familiar about the name. +Boothbay! Why, wa'n't that the Rube spot this Ira Higgins hailed from? +Maybe you remember,--Ira, who'd come on to see Mr. Robert about +buildin' a new racin' yacht, the tall, freckled gink with a love affair +on his mind? Why, sure, this was Ira's Harbor I was headed for. And, +say, I didn't feel half so strange about explorin' the State after +that. For Ira, you know, is a friend of mine. Havin' settled that +with myself, I throws out my chest and roams around the decks, climbin' +every flight of stairs I came to, until I gets to a comfy little coop +on the very top where a long guy wearin' white suspenders over a blue +flannel shirt is jugglin' the steerin' wheel. + +"Hello, Cap!" says I. "How's she headin'?" + +He ain't one of the sociable kind, though. You'd most thought, from +the reprovin' stare he gives me, that he didn't appreciate good comp'ny. + +"Can't you read?" says he. + +"Ah, you mean the Keep-Out sign? Sure, Pete," says I; "but I can't see +it from in here." + +"Then git out where you can see it plainer," says he. + +"Ah, quit your kiddin'!" says I. "That's for the common herd, ain't +it? Now, I---- Say, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll tell you +who I am." + +"Say it quick then," says he. "Are you Woodrow Wilson, or only the +Secretary of the Navy?" + +"You're warm," says I. "I'm a friend of Ira Higgins of Boothbay +Harbor." + +"Sho!" says he, removin' his pipe and beginnin' to act human. + +"Happen to know Ira?" says I. + +"Ought to," says he. "First cousins. You from Boston?" + +"Why, Cap!" says I. "What have I ever done to you? Now, honest, do I +look like I--but I'll forgive you this time. New York, Cap: not +Brooklyn, or Staten Island or the Bronx, you know, but straight New +York, West 17th-st. And I've come all this way just to see Mr. +Higgins." + +"Gosh!" says he. "Ira always did have all the luck." + +Next crack he calls me Sorrel Top, and inside of five minutes we was +joshin' away chummy, me up on a tall stool alongside, and him pointin' +out all the sights. And, believe me, the State of Maine's got some +scenery scattered along the wet edge of it! Honest, it's nothin' but +scenery,--rocks and trees and water, and water and trees and rocks, and +then a few more rocks. + +"How about when you hit one of them sharp ones?" says I. + +"Government files a new edge on it," says he. "They keep a gang that +does nothin' else." + +"Think of that!" says I. "I don't see any lobsters floatin' around, +though." + +"Too late in the day," says he. "'Fraid of gittin' sunburned. You +want to watch for 'em about daybreak. Millions then. Travel in +flocks." + +"Ye-e-es?" says I. "All hangin' onto a string, I expect. But why the +painted posts stickin' up out of the water?" + +"Hitchin' posts," says he, "for sea hosses." + +Oh, I got a bunch of valuable marine information from him, and when the +second mate came up he added a lot more. If I hadn't thought to tell +'em how there was always snow on the Singer and Woolworth towers, and +how the East Side gunmen was on strike to raise the homicide price to +three dollars and seventy-five cents, they'd had me well Sweeneyed. As +it was, I guess we split about even. + +Him findin' Boothbay Harbor among all that snarl of islands and +channels wasn't any bluff, though. That was the real sleight of hand. +As we're comin' up to the dock he points out Ira's boatworks, just on +the edge of the town. Half an hour later I've left my baggage at the +hotel and am interviewin' Mr. Higgins. + +He's the same old Ira; only he's wearin' blue overalls and a boiled +shirt with the sleeves rolled up. + +"Roarin' Rocks, eh?" says he. "Why, that's the Hollister place on +Cunner Point, about three miles up." + +"Can I get a trolley?" says I. + +"Trolley!" says he. "Why, Son, there ain't any 'lectric cars nearer'n +Bath." + +"Gee, what a jay burg!" says I. "How about a ferry, then?" + +Ira shakes his head. Seems Roarin' Rocks is a private joint, the +summer place of this Mr. Hollister who's described by Ira as "richer'n +Croesus"--whatever that might mean. Anyway, they're exclusive parties +that don't encourage callers; for the only way of gettin' there is over +a private road around the head of the bay, or by hirin' a launch to +take you up. + +"Generally," says Ira, "they send one of their boats down to meet +company. Now, if they was expectin' you----" + +"That's just it," I breaks in, "they ain't. Fact is, Ira, there's a +young lady visitin' there with her aunt, and--and--well, Aunty and me +ain't so chummy as we might be." + +"Just so," says Ira, noddin' wise. + +"Now my plan was to go up there and kind of stick around, you know," +says I, "sort of in the shade, until the young lady strolled out." + +Ira shakes his head discouragin'. "They're mighty uppish folks," says +he. "Got 'No Trespass' signs all over the place--dogs too." + +"Hellup!" says I. "What am I up against? Why don't Aunty travel with +a bunch of gumshoe guards and be done with it?" + +"Tell you what," says Ira, struck by a stray thought, "if lookin' the +place over'll do any good, you might go out with Eb Westcott this +afternoon when he baits. He's got pots all around the point." + +That don't mean such a lot to me; but my middle name is Brodie. "Show +me Eb," says I. + +He wa'n't any thrillin' sight, Eb; mostly rubber hip boots, flannel +shirt, and whiskers. He could have been cleaner. So could his old tub +of a lobster boat; but not while he stuck to that partic'lar line of +business, I guess. And, say, I know now what baitin' is. It's haulin' +up lobster pots from the bottom of the ocean and decoratin' 'em inside +with fish--ripe fish, at that. The scheme is to lure the lobsters into +the pot. Seems to work too; but I guess a lobster ain't got any sense +of smell. + +"Better put on some old clothes fust," advised Eb, and as I always like +to dress the part I borrows a moldy suit of oilskins from Ira, +includin' one of these yellow sea bonnets, and climbs aboard. + +It's a one-lunger putt-putt--and take it from me the combination of +gasolene and last Tuesday's fish ain't anything like _Eau d'Espagne_! +Quite different! Also I don't care for that jumpy up and down motion +one of these little boats gets on, specially after pie and beans for +breakfast. Then Eb hands me the steerin' ropes while he whittles some +pressed oakum off the end of a brunette plug and loads his pipe. More +perfume comin' my way! + +"Ever try smokin' formaldehyde?" says I. + +"Gosh, no!" says Eb. "What's it like?" + +"You couldn't tell the difference," says I. + +"We git tin tags off'm Sailor's Pride," says Eb. "Save up fifty, and +you git a premium." + +"You ought to," says I, "and a pension for life." + +"Huh!" says Eb. "It's good eatin' too, Ever chaw any?" and he holds +out the plug invitin'. + +"Don't tempt me," says I. "I promised my dear old grandmother I +wouldn't." + +"Lookin' a little peaked, ain't you!" says he. "Most city chaps do +when they fust come; but after 'bout a month of this----" + +"Chop it, Eb!" says I. "I'm feelin' unhappy enough as it is. A month +of this? Ah, say!" + +After awhile we begun stoppin' to bait. Eb would shut off the engine, +run up to a float, haul in a lot of clothesline, and fin'lly pull up an +affair that's a cross between a small crockery crate and an openwork +hen-coop. Next he'd grab a big needle and string a dozen or so of the +gooey fish on a cord. I watched once. After that I turned my back. +By way of bein' obligin', Eb showed me how to roll the flywheel and +start the engine. He said I was a heap stronger in the arms than I +looked, and he didn't mind lettin' me do it right along. Friendly old +yap, Eb was. I kept on rollin' the wheel. + +So about three P. M., as we was workin' our way along the shore, Eb +looks up and remarks, "Here's the Hollister place, Roarin' Rocks." + +Sure enough there it was, almost like the postcard picture, only not +colored quite so vivid. + +"Folks are out airin' themselves too," he goes on. + +They were. I could see three or four people movin' about on the +veranda; for we wa'n't more'n half a block away. First off I spots +Aunty. She's paradin' up and down, stiff and stately, and along with +her waddles a wide, dumpy female in pink. And next, all in white, and +lookin' as slim and graceful as an Easter lily, I makes out Vee; also a +young gent in white flannels and a striped tennis blazer. He's smokin' +a cigarette and swingin' a racket jaunty. I could even hear Vee's +laugh ripple out across the water. You remember how she put it too, +"nice, but awfully stupid." Seems she was makin' the best of it, +though. + +And here I was, in Ira's baggy oilskins, my feet in six inches of oily +brine, squattin' on the edge of a smelly fish box tryin' to hold down a +piece of custard pie! No, that wa'n't exactly the rosy picture I threw +on the screen back in the Corrugated gen'ral offices only yesterday. +Nothing like that! I don't do any hoo-hooin', or wave any private +signals. I pulls the sticky sou'wester further down over my eyes and +squats lower in the boat. + +"Look kind o' gay and festive, don't they?" says Eb, straightenin' up +and wipin' his hands on his corduroys. + +"Who's the party in the tennis outfit?" says I. + +"Him?" says Eb, gawpin' ashore. "Must be young Hollister, that owns +the mahogany speed boat. Stuck up young dude, I guess. Wall, five +more traps to haul, and we're through, Son." + +"Let's go haul 'em, then," says I, grabbin' the flywheel. + +Great excursion, that was! Once more on land, I sneaked soggy footed +up to the hotel and piked for my room. I shied supper and went to the +feathers early, trustin' that if I could get stretched out level with +my eyes shut things would stop wavin' and bobbin' around. That was +good dope too. + +I rolled out next mornin' feelin' fine and silky; but not so cocky by +half. Somehow, I wa'n't gettin' any of the lucky breaks I'd looked for. + +My total programme for the day was just to bat around Boothbay. And, +say, of all the lonesome places for city clothes and a straw lid! +Honest, I never saw so many yachty rigs in my life,--young chaps in +white ducks and sneakers and canvas shoes, girls in middie blouses, old +guys in white flannels and yachtin' caps, even old ladies dressed +sporty and comf'table--and more square feet of sunburn than would cover +Union Square. I felt like a blond Eskimo at a colored camp meetin'. + +As everyone was either comin' from or goin' to the docks, I wanders +down there too, and loafs around watchin' the steamers arrive, and the +big sailin' yachts anchored off in the harbor, and the little boats +dodgin' around in the choppy water. There's a crisp, salty breeze +that's makin' the flags snap, the sun's shinin' bright, and take it +altogether it's some brilliant scene. Only I'm on the outside peekin' +in. + +"What's the use?" thinks I. "I'm off my beat up here." + +Fin'lly I drifts down to the Yacht Club float, where the launches was +comin' in thick. I must have been there near an hour, swappin' never a +word with anybody, and gettin' lonesomer by the minute, when in from +the harbor dashes a long, low, dark-colored boat and comes rushin' at +the float like it meant to make a hydroplane jump. At the wheel I gets +sight of a young chap who has sort of a worried, scared look on his +face. Also he's wearin' a striped blazer. + +"Young Hollister, maybe," thinks I. "And he's in for a smash." + +Just then he manages to throw in his reverse; but it's a little late, +for he's got a lot of headway. Honest, I didn't think it out. And I +was achin' to butt into something. I jumped quick, grabbed the bow as +it came in reach, shoved it off vigorous, and brought him alongside the +fenders without even scratchin' the varnish. + +"Thanks, old chap," says he. "Saved me a bad bump there. I--I'm +greatly obliged." + +"You're welcome," says I. "You was steamin' in a little strong." + +"I haven't handled the Vixen much myself," says he. "You see, our +boatman's laid up,--sprained ankle,--and I had to come down from the +Rocks for some gasolene." + +"Oh! Roarin' Rocks?" says I. + +"Yes," says he. "Where's that fool float tender?" + +"Just gone into the clubhouse," says I. "Maybe I could keep her from +bumpin' while you're gone." + +"By Jove! would you?" says he, handin' over a boathook. + +Even then I wasn't layin' any scheme. I helps when they puts the gas +in, and makes myself generally useful. Also I'm polite and respectful, +which seems to make a hit with him. + +"Deuced bother," says he, "not having any man. I had a picnic planned +for today too." + +"That so?" says I. "Well, I'm no marine engineer, but I'm just killin' +time around here, and if I could help any way----" + +"Oh, I say, but that's jolly of you," says he, "I wonder if you would, +for a day or so? My name's Hollister, Payne Hollister." + +He wasn't Payne to me. He was Joy. Easy? Why, he fairly pushes me +into it! Digs a white jumper out of a locker for me, and a little +round canvas hat with "Vixen" on the front, and trots back uptown to +buy me a swell pair of rubber-soled deck shoes. Business of quick +change for yours truly. Then look! Say, here I am, just about the +yachtiest thing in sight, leanin' back on the steerin' seat cushions of +a classy speed boat that's headed towards Vee at a twenty-mile clip. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE + +Lemme see, I was headed out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine, bound for +Roarin' Rocks, wa'n't I? Hold the picture,--me in a white jumper and +little round canvas hat with "Vixen" printed across the front, white +shoes too, and altogether as yachty as they come. Don't forget young +Mr. Payne Hollister at the wheel, either; although whether I'd +kidnapped him, or he'd kidnapped me, is open for debate. + +Anyway, here I was, subbin' incog for the reg'lar crew, who was laid up +with a sprained ankle. All that because I'd got the happy hail from +Vee on a postcard. It wa'n't any time for unpleasant thoughts then; +but I couldn't help wonderin' how soon Aunty would loom on the horizon +and spoil it all. + +"So there's a picnic on the slate, eh?" I suggests. + +Young Mr. Hollister nods. "I'd promised some of the folks at the +house," says he. "Guests, you know." + +"Oh, yes," says I, feelin' a little shiver flicker down my spine. + +I knew. Vee was a guest there. So was Aunty. The picnic prospects +might have been more allurin'. But I'd butted in, and this was no time +to back out. Besides, I was more or less interested in sizin' up Payne +Hollister. Tall, slim, young gent; dark, serious eyes; nose a little +prominent; and his way of speakin' and actin' a bit pompous,--one of +them impatient, quick-motioned kind that wants to do everything in a +minute. He keeps gettin' up and starin' ahead, like he wa'n't quite +sure where he was goin', and then leanin' over to squint at the engine +restless. + +"Just see if those forward oil cups are full, will you?" says he. + +I climbs over and inspects. Everything seems to be O. K.; although +what I don't know about a six-cylinder marine engine is amazin'. + +"We're slidin' through the water slick," says I. + +"She can turn up much faster than this," says he; "only I don't dare +open her wide." + +I was satisfied. I could use a minute or so about then to plot out a +few scenarios dealin' with how a certain party would act in case of +makin' a sudden discovery. But I hadn't got past picturin' the cold +storage stare before the Hollister place shows up ahead, Payne +throttles the Vixen down cautious, shoots her in between a couple of +rocky points, and fetches her up alongside a rope-padded private float. +There's some steps leadin' up to the top of the rocks. + +"Do you mind running up and asking if they're ready?" says Payne. + +"Why, no," says I; "but--but who do I ask?" + +"That's so," says he. "And they'll not know who you are, either. I'll +go. Just hold her off." + +Me with a boathook, posin' back to for the next ten minutes, not even +darin' to rubber over my shoulder. Then voices, "Have you the coffee +bottles?"--"Don't forget the steamer rugs."--"I put the olives on the +top of the sandwiches."--"Be careful when you land, Mabel dear."--"Oh, +we'll be all right." This last from Vee. + +Another minute and they're down on the float, with Payne Hollister +explainin', "Oh, I forgot. This is someone who is helping me with the +boat while Tucker's disabled." I touches my hat respectful; but I'm +too busy to face around--much too busy! + +"Now, Cousin Mabel," says young Hollister, "right in the middle of that +seat! Easy, now!" + +A squeal from Mabel. No wonder! I gets a glimpse of her as she steps +down, and, believe me, if I had Mabel's shape and weight you couldn't +tease me out on the water in anything smaller'n the Mauretania! All +the graceful lines of a dumplin', Mabel had; about five feet up and +down, and 'most as much around. Vee is on one side, Payne on the +other, both lowerin' away careful; but as she makes the final plunge +before floppin' onto the seat she reaches out one paw and annexes my +right arm. Course that swings me around sudden, and I finds myself +gazin' at Vee over Payne Hollister's shoulders, not three feet away. + +"Oh!" says she, startled, and you couldn't blame her. I just has to +lay one finger on my lips and shake my head mysterious. + +"All right!" sings out Payne, straightenin' up. "Always more or less +exciting getting Cousin Mabel aboard; but it's been accomplished. Now, +Verona!" + +As he gives her a hand she floats in as light as a bird landin' in a +treetop. I could feel her watchin' me curious and puzzled as I passes +the picnic junk down for Hollister to stow away. Course, it wa'n't any +leadin'-heavy, spotlight entrance I was makin' at Roarin' Rocks; but +it's a lot better, thinks I, than not bein' there at all. + +"Oh, dear," sighs Mabel, "what a narrow, uncomfortable seat!" + +"Is it, really?" asks Vee. "Can't it be fixed someway, Payne?" + +"Lemme have a try?" says I. With that I stuffs extra cushions around +her, folds up a life preserver to rest her feet on, and drapes her with +a steamer rug. + +"Thanks," says she, sighin' grateful and rewardin' me with a display of +dimples. "What is your name, young man?" + +"Why," says I, with a glance at Vee, "you can just call me Bill." + +"Nonsense!" says Mabel. "Your name is William." + +"William goes, Miss," says I; and as she snuggles down I chances a wink +Vee's way. No response, though. Vee ain't sure yet whether she ought +to grin or give me the call-down. + +"Cast off!" says Payne, and out between the rocks we shoot, with Aunty +and Mrs. Hollister wavin' from the veranda. Anyway, that was some +relief. This wa'n't Aunty's day for picnickin'. + +She didn't know what she was missin', I expect; for, say, that's good +breathin' air up off Boothbay. There's some life and pep to it, and +rushin' through it that way you can't help pumpin' your lungs full. +Makes you glow and tingle inside and out. Makes you want to holler. +That, and the sunshine dancin' on the water, and the feel of the boat +slicin' through the waves, the engine purrin' away a sort of rag-time +tune, and the pennants whippin', and all that scenery shiftin' around +to new angles, not to mention the fact that Vee's along--well, I was +enjoyin' life about then. Kind of got into my blood. Everything was +lovely, and I didn't care what happened next. + +Me bein' the crew, I expect I should have been fussin' around up front, +coilin' ropes, or groomin' the machinery. But I can't make my eyes +behave. I has to turn around every now and then and grin. Mabel don't +seem to mind. + +"William," says she, signalin' me, "see if you can't find a box of +candy in that basket." + +I hops over the steerin' seat back into the standin' room and digs it +out. Also I lingers around while Mabel feeds in a few pieces. + +"Have some?" says she. "You're so good-natured looking." + +"That's my long suit," says I. + +Then I see Vee's mouth corners twitching and she takes her turn. "You +live around here, I suppose, William?" says she. + +"No such luck," says I. "I come up special to get this job." + +"But," puts in Mabel, holdin' a fat chocolate cream in the air, "Tucker +wasn't hurt until yesterday." + +"That's when I landed," says I. + +"Someone must have sent you word then," says Vee, impish. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Someone mighty special too. Sweet of her, wa'n't +it?" + +"Oh! A girl?" asks Mabel, perkin' up. + +"_The_ girl," says I. + +"Tee-hee!" snickers Mabel, nudgin' Vee delighted. "Is--is she very +nice, William? Tell us about her, won't you?" + +"Oh, do!" says Vee, sarcastic. + +"Well," says I, lookin' at Vee, "she's about your height and build." + +"How interesting!" says Mabel, with another nudge. "Go on. What kind +of hair?" + +"Never was any like it," says I. + +"But her complexion," insists Mabel, "dark or fair?" + +"Pink roses in the mornin', with the dew on," says I. + +"Bravo!" says Mabel, clappin' her hands. "And her eyes?" + +"Why," says I, "maybe you've looked down into deep sea water on a +still, gray day? That's it." + +"She must be a beauty," says Mabel. + +"Nothing but," says I. + +"I hope she has a nice disposition too," says she. + +"Nope," says I, shakin' my head solemn. + +"Humph! What's the matter with that?" says Vee. + +"Jumpy," says I. "Red pepper and powdered sugar; sometimes all sugar, +sometimes all pepper, then again a mixture. You never can tell." + +"Then I'd throw her over," says Vee. + +"Honest, would you?" says I, lookin' her square in the eye. + +"If I didn't like her disposition, I would," says she. + +"But that's the best part of her to me," says I. "Adds variety, you +know, and--well, I expect it's about the only way I'm like her. Mine +is apt to be that way too." + +"Why, of course," comes in Mabel. "If she was as pretty as all that, +and angelic too----" + +"You got the idea," says I. "She'd be in a stained glass window +somewhere, eh?" + +"You're a silly boy!" says Vee. + +"That sounds natural," says I. "I often get that from her." + +"And is she living up here?" asks Mabel. "Visiting," says I. "She's +with her----" + +"William," breaks in Vee, "I think Mr. Hollister wants you." + +I'd most forgot about Payne; for, while he's only a few feet off, he's +as much out of the group as if he was ashore. You know how it is in +one of them high-powered launches with the engine runnin'. You can't +hear a word unless you're right close to. And Payne's twistin' around +restless. + +"Yes, Sir?" says I, goin' up and reportin'. + +"Ask Miss Verona if she doesn't want to come up here," says he. "I--I +think it will trim the boat better." + +"Sure," says I. But when I passes the word to Vee I translates. "Mr. +Hollister's lonesome," says I, "and there's room for another." + +"I've been wondering if I couldn't," says Vee. + +"You can," says I. "Lemme help you over." + +Gives me a chance for a little hand squeeze and another close glimpse +into them gray eyes. I don't make out anything definite, though. But +as she passes forward she puckers her lips saucy and whispers, +"Pepper!" in my ear. I guess, after all, when you're doin' +confidential description you don't want to stick too close to facts. +Makin' it all stained glass window stuff is safer. + +I goes back to Mabel and lets her demand more details. She's just full +of romance, Mabel is; not so full, though, that it interferes with her +absorbin' a few eats now and then. Between answerin' questions I'm +kept busy handin' out crackers, oranges, and doughnuts, openin' the +olive bottle, and gettin' her drinks of water. Reg'lar Consumers' +League, Mabel. I never run a sausage stuffin' machine; but I think I +could now. + +"You're such a handy young man to have around," says Mabel, after I've +split a Boston cracker and lined it with strawb'ry jam for her; "so +much better than Tucker." + +"That's my aim," says I, "to make you forget Tucker." + +Yes, I was gettin' some popular with Mabel, even if I was in wrong with +Vee. They seems to be havin' quite a chatty time of it, Payne showin' +her how to steer, and lettin' her salute passin' launches, and +explainin' how the engine worked. As far as them two went, Mabel and +me was only so much excess baggage. + +"Why, we're clear out beyond Squirrel!" exclaims Mabel at last. "Ask +Payne where we're going to stop for our picnic. I'm getting hungry." + +"Oh, yes," says Payne, "we must be thinking about landing. I had +planned to run out to Damariscove; but that looks like a fog bank +hanging off there. Perhaps we'd better go back to Fisherman's Island, +after all. Tell her Fisherman's." + +I couldn't see what the fog bank had to do with it--not then, anyway. +Why, it was a peach of a day,--all blue sky, not a sign of a cloud +anywhere, and looked like it would stay that way for a week. He keeps +the Vixen headed out to sea for awhile longer, and then all of a sudden +he circles short and starts back. + +"Fog!" he shouts over his shoulder to Mabel. + +"Oh, bother!" says Mabel. "I hate fog. And it is coming in too." + +Yes, that bank did seem to be workin' its way toward us, like a big, +gray curtain that's bein' shoved from the back drop to the front of the +stage. You couldn't see it move, though; but as I watched blamed if it +don't creep up on an island, a mile or so out, and swallow it complete, +same as a picture fades off a movie screen when the lights go wrong. +Just like that. Then a few wisps of thin mist floats by, makin' things +a bit hazy ahead. Squirrel Island, off to the left, disappears like it +had gone to the bottom. The mainland shore grows vague and blurred, +and the first thing we know we ain't anywhere at all, the scenery's all +smudged out, and nothin' in sight but this pearl-gray mist. It ain't +very thick, you know, and only a little damp. Rummy article, this +State of Maine fog! + +Young Hollister is standin' up now, tryin' to keep his bearin's and +doin' his best to look through the haze. He slows the engine down +until we're only just chuggin' along. + +"Let's see," says he, "wasn't Squirrel off there a moment ago?" + +"Why, no," says Vee. "I thought it was more to the left." + +"By Jove!" says he. "And there are rocks somewhere around here too!" + +Funny how quick you can get turned around that way. Inside of three +minutes I couldn't have told where we were at, any more'n if I'd been +blindfolded in a cellar. And I guess young Hollister got to that +condition soon after. + +"We ought to be making the south end of Fisherman's soon," he observes. + +But we didn't. He has me climb out on the bow to sing out if I see +anything. But, say, there was less to see than any spot I was ever in. +I watched and watched, and Payne kept on gettin' nervous. And still we +keeps chuggin' and chuggin', steerin' first one way and then the other. +It seemed hours we'd been gropin' around that way when---- + +"Rocks ahead!" I sings out as something dark looms up. Payne turns her +quick; but before she can swing clear bang goes the bow against +something solid and slides up with a gratin' sound. He tries backin' +off; but she don't budge. + +"Hang it all!" says Payne, shuttin' off the engine. "I guess we're +stuck." + +"Then why not have the picnic right here?" pipes up Mabel. + +"Here!" snaps Payne. "But I don't know where we are." + +"Oh, what's the difference?" says Mabel. "Besides, I'm hungry." + +"I want to get out of this, though," says Payne. "I mean to keep going +until I know where I am." + +"Oh, fudge!" says Mabel. "This is good enough. And if we stay here +and have a nice luncheon perhaps the fog will go away. What's the +sense in drifting around when you're hungry?" + +That didn't seem such bad dope, either. Vee sides with Mabel, and +while Payne don't like the idea he gives in. We seem to have landed +somewhere. So we carts the baskets and things ashore, finds a flat +place up on the rocks, and then the three of us tackles the job of +hoistin' Mabel onto dry land. And it was some enterprise, believe me! + +"Goodness!" pants Mabel, after we'd got her planted safe. "I don't +know how I'm ever going to get back." + +We didn't, either; but after we'd spread out five kinds of sandwiches +within her reach, poured hot coffee out of the patent bottles, opened +the sardines and pickles, set out the cake and doughnuts, Mabel ceases +to worry. + +Payne don't, though. He swallows one sandwich, and then goes back to +inspect the boat. He announces that the tide is comin' in and she +ought to float soon; also that when she does he wants to start back. + +"Now, Payne!" protests Mabel. "Just when I'm comfortable!" + +"And there isn't any hurry, is there?" asks Vee. + +I wa'n't so stuck on buttin' around in the fog myself; so when he asks +me to go down and see if the launch is afloat yet, and I finds that she +can be pushed off easy, I don't hurry about tellin' him so. Instead I +climbs aboard and develops an idea. You see, when I was out with Eb +Westcott in his lobster boat the day before I'd noticed him stop the +engine just by jerkin' a little wire off the spark plug. Here was a +whole bunch of wires, though. Wouldn't do to unhitch 'em all. But +along the inside of the boat is a little box affair that they all lead +into, with one big wire leadin' out. Looked kind of businesslike, that +one did. I unhitches it gentle and drapes it over a nearby screwhead. +Then I strolls back and reports that she's afloat. + +"Good!" says Payne. "I'll just start the engine and be tuning her up +while the girls finish luncheon." + +Well, maybe you can guess. I could hear him windin' away at the +crankin' wheel, windin' and windin', and then stoppin' to cuss a little +under his breath. + +"What's the matter?" sings out Mabel. + +She was one of the kind that's strong on foolish questions. + +"How the blazes should I know?" raps back young Hollister. "I can't +start the blasted thing." + +"Never mind," says Mabel cheerful. "We haven't finished the sandwiches +yet." + +Next time I takes a peek Payne has his tool kit spread out and is busy +takin' things apart. He's getting' himself all smeared up with grease +and oil too. Pity; for he'd started out lookin' so neat and nifty. +Meanwhile we'd fed Mabel to the limit, got her propped up with +cushions, and she's noddin' contented. + +"Guess I'll do some exploring" says I. + +"But I've been wanting to do that this half-hour," says Vee. + +"Well, let's then," says I. + +"Go on," says Mabel, "and tell me about it afterward." + +Oh, yes, we explores. Say, I'm a bear for that too! You have to go +hand in hand over the rocks, to keep from slippin'. And the fog makes +it all the nicer. We didn't go far before we came to the edge. Then +we cross in another direction, and comes to more edge. + +"Why, we're on a little island!" says Vee. + +"Big enough for us," says I. "Here's a good place to sit down too." +We settles ourselves in a snug little corner that gives us a fine view +of the fog. + +"How silly of you to come away up here," says Vee, "just because--well, +just because." + +"It's the only wise move I was ever guilty of," says I. "I feel like I +had Solomon in the grammar grade." + +"But how did you happen to get here--with Payne?" says she. + +"Hypnotized him," says I. "That part was a cinch." + +"And until to-day you didn't know where we were, or anything," says she. + +"I scouted around a bit yesterday afternoon," says I. "Saw you too." + +"Yesterday!" says she. "Why, no one came near all the afternoon; that +is, only a couple of lobstermen in a horrid, smelly old boat." + +"Uh-huh," says I. "One was me, in disguise." + +"Torchy!" says she, gaspin'. And somehow she snuggles up a little +closer after that. "I didn't think when I wrote," she goes on, "that +you would be so absurd." + +"Maybe I was," says I. "But I took it straight, that part about it +bein' stupid up here. I was figurin' on liftin' the gloom. I hadn't +counted on Payne." + +"Well, what then?" says she, tossin' her chin up. + +"Nothin'," says I. "Guess you were right, too." + +"He only came the other day," says Vee; "but he's nice." + +"Aunty thinks so too, don't she?" says I. + +"Why, yes," admits Vee. + +"Another chosen one, is he?" says I. + +Vee flushes. "I don't care!" says she. "He is rather nice." + +"Correct," says I. "I found him that way too; but ain't he--well, just +a little stiff in the neck?" + +That brings out a giggle. "Poor Payne!" says Vee. "He is something of +a stick, you know." + +"We'll forgive him for that," says I. "We'll forgive Mabel. We'll +forgive the fog. Eh?" Then my arm must have slipped. + +"Why, Torchy!" says she. + +"Oh!" says I. "Thought you were too near the edge." And the side +clinch wa'n't disturbed. + +[Illustration: Then my arm must have slipped--and the side clinch +wa'n't disturbed.] + +Some chat too! I don't know when we've had a chance for any such a +good long talk as that, and we both seemed to have a lot of +conversation stored up. Then we chucked pebbles into the water, and +Vee pulls some seaweed and decorates my round hat. You know? It's +easy killin' time when you're paired off right. And the first thing we +knows the fog begins to lighten and the sun almost breaks through. We +hurries back to where Mabel's just rousin' from a doze. + +"Well?" says she. + +"It's a tiny little island we're on," says Vee. + +"Nice little island, though," says I. + +"Hey!" sings out Payne, pokin' his head up over the rocks. "I've been +calling and calling." + +"We've been explorin'," says I. "Got her fixed yet?" + +"Hang it, no!" growls Payne, scrubbin' cotton waste over his forehead. +"And the fog's beginning to lift. Why, there's the shore, +and--and--well, what do you think of that? We're on Grampus Ledges, +not a mile from home!" + +Sure enough, there was Roarin' Rocks just showin' up. + +"Now if I could only start this confounded engine!" says he, starin' +down at it puzzled. + +By this time Vee and Mabel appears, and of course Mabel wants to know +what's the matter. + +"I'm sure I can't tell," says Payne, sighin' hopeless. + +"Wirin' all right, is it?" says I, climbin' in and lookin' scientific. +And--would you believe it?--I only paws around a minute or so before I +finds a loose magneto connection, hooks it up proper, and remarks +casual, "Now let's try her." + +Pur-r-r-r-r! Off she goes. "There!" exclaims Mabel. "I shall never +go out again unless William is along. He's so handy!" + +Say, she stuck to it. Four days I was chief engineer of the +Vixen--and, take it from me, they was perfectly good days. No more +fog. No rain. Just shoolin' around in fair weather, makin' excursions +here and there, with Vee trippin' down to the dock every day in a +fresher and newer yachtin' costume, and lookin' pinker and sweeter +every trip. + +Course, as regards a certain other party, it was a case of artistic +dodgin' for me between times. You got to admit, though, that it wa'n't +a fair test for Aunty. I had her off her guard. Might have been +diff'rent too, if she'd cared for motorboatin'. So maybe I got +careless. I remember once passin' Aunty right in the path, as I'm +luggin' some things up to the house, and all I does is to hoist the +basket up on my shoulder between me and her and push right along. + +Then here the last morning just as we got under way for a run to +Damariscotta, she and Mrs. Hollister was up on the cliff seein' us off. +All the rest was wavin'; so just for sport I takes off my hat and waves +too, grinnin' humorous at Vee as I makes the play. But, say, next time +I looks back she's up on the veranda with the fieldglasses trained on +us. I keeps my hat on after that. My kind of red hair is prominent +enough to the naked eye at almost any distance--but with fieldglasses! +Good night! + +It was a day for forgettin' things, though. Ever sailed up the Scotty +River on a perfect August day, with the sun on the green hills, a sea +breeze tryin' to follow the tide in, and the white gulls swingin' lazy +overhead? It's worth doin'. Then back again, roundin' Ocean Point +about sunset, with the White Islands all tinted up pink off there, and +the old Atlantic as smooth as a skatin' rink as far out as you can see, +and streaked with more colors than a crazy cubist can sling,--some +peaceful picture. + +But what a jar to find Aunty, grim and forbidding waitin' on the dock. +She never says a word until we'd landed and everyone but me had started +for the house. Then I got mine. + +"Boy," says she icy, "take off that hat!" + +I does it reluctant. + +"Humph!" says she. "William! I thought so." That's all; but she says +it mighty expressive. + +The programme for the followin' day included a ten o'clock start, and +I'd been down to the boat ever since breakfast, tidyin' things up and +sort of wonderin'. About nine-fifteen, though, young Hollister comes +wanderin' down by his lonesome. + +"It's all off," says he. "Miss Verona and her aunt have gone." + +"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Gone?" + +"Early this morning," says he. "I don't quite understand why; +something about Verona's being out on the water so much, I believe. +Gone to the mountains. And--er--by the way, Tucker is around again. +Here he comes now." + +"He gets the jumper, then," says I, peelin' it off. "I guess I'm due +back on Broadway." + +"It's mighty good of you to help out," says Payne, "and I--I want to do +the right thing in the way of----" + +"You have," says I. "You've helped me have the time of my life. Put +up the kale, Hollister. If you'll land me at the Harbor, I'll call it +square." + +He don't want to let it stand that way; but I insists. As I climbs out +on the Yacht Club float, where he'd picked me up, he puts out his hand +friendly. + +"And, say," says I, "how about Miss Vee?" + +"Why," says he, "I'm very sorry she couldn't stay longer." + +"Me too," says I. "Some girl, eh?" + +Payne nods hearty, and we swaps a final grip. + +Well, it was great! My one miscue was not wearin' a wig. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS + +We thought it was all over too. That's the way it is in plays and +books, where they don't gen'rally take 'em beyond the final clinch, +leavin' you to fill in the bliss _ad lib_. But here we'd seen 'em +clear through the let-no-man-put-asunder stage, even watched 'em dodge +the rice and confetti in their dash to the limousine. + +"Thank goodness that's through with!" remarks Mother, without makin' +any bones of it. + +Course, her reg'lar cue was to fall on Father's neck and weep; but, +then, I expect Mrs. Cheyne Ballard's one of the kind you can't write +any form sheet for. She's a lively, bunchy little party, all jump and +go and jingle, who looks like she might have been married herself only +day before yesterday. + +"I hope Robbie knows where she put those trunk checks," says Father, at +the same time sighin' sort of relieved. + +From where I stood, though, the guy who was pushin' overboard the +biggest chunk of worry was this I-wilt boy, Mr. Nicholas Talbot. He'd +got her at last! But, z-z-z-zingo! it had been some lively gettin'. +Not that I was all through the campaign with him; but I'd had glimpses +here and there. + +You see, Robbie's almost one of the fam'ly; for Mr. Robert's an old +friend of the Ballards, and was bottle holder or something at the +christenin'. As a matter of fact, she was named Roberta after him. +Then he'd watched her grow up, and always remembered her birthdays, and +kept her latest picture on his desk. So why shouldn't he figure more +or less when so many others was tryin' to straighten out her love +affairs? They was some tangled there for awhile too. + +Robbie's one of the kind, you know, that would have Cupid cross-eyed in +one season. A queen? Well, take it from me! Say, the way her cheeks +was tinted up natural would have a gold medal rose lookin' like it come +off a twenty-nine-cent roll of wall paper. Then them pansy-colored +eyes! Yes, Miss Roberta Ballard was more or less ornamental. That +wa'n't all, of course. She could say more cute things, and cut loose +with more unexpected pranks, than a roomful of Billie Burkes. As +cunnin' as a kitten, she was. + +No wonder Nick Talbot fell for her the first time he was exposed! +Course, he was half engaged to that stunnin' Miss Marian Marlowe at the +time; but wa'n't Robbie waverin' between three young chaps that all +seemed to be in the runnin' before Nick showed up? + +Anyway, Miss Marlowe should have known better than to lug in her steady +when she was visitin'. She'd been chummy with Robbie at boardin' +school, and should have known how dangerous she was. But young Mr. +Talbot had only two looks before he's as strong for Robbie as though it +had been comin' on for years back. Impetuous young gent that way he +was too; and, bein' handicapped by no job, and long on time and money, +he does some spirited rushin'. + +Seems Robbie Ballard didn't mind. Excitement was her middle name, +novelty was her strong suit, and among Nick's other attractions he was +brand new. Besides, wa'n't he a swell one-stepper, a shark at tennis, +and couldn't he sing any ragtime song that she could drum out? The +ninety-horse striped racin' car that he came callin' in helped along +some; for one of Robbie's fads was for travelin' fast. Course, she'd +been brought up in limousines; but the mile in fifty seconds gave her a +genuine thrill. + +When it come to holdin' out her finger for the big solitaire that Nick +flashed on her about the third week, though, she hung back. The others +carried about the same line of jew'lry around in their vest pockets, +waitin' for a chance to decorate her third finger. One had the +loveliest gray eyes too. Then there was another entry, with the +dearest little mustache, who was a bear at doin' the fish-walk tango +with her; not to mention the young civil engineer she'd met last winter +at Palm Beach. But he didn't actually count, not bein' on the scene. + +Anyway, three was enough to keep guessin' at once. Robbie was real +modest that way. But she sure did have 'em all busy. If it was a +sixty-mile drive with Nick before luncheon, it was apt to be an +afternoon romp in the surf with the gray-eyed one, and a toss up as to +which of the trio took her to the Casino dance in the evenin'. Mother +used to laugh over it all with Mr. Robert, who remarked that those kids +were absurd. Nobody seemed to take it serious; for Robbie was only a +few months over nineteen. + +But young Mr. Talbot had it bad. Besides, he'd always got about what +he wanted before, and this time he was in dead earnest. So the first +thing Mother and Father knew they were bein' interviewed. Robbie had +half said she might if there was no kick from her dear parents, and he +wanted to know how about it. Mr. Cheyne Ballard supplied the +information prompt. He called Nick an impudent young puppy, at which +Mother wept and took the young gent's part. Robbie blew in just then +and giggled through the rest of the act, until Father quit disgusted +and put it square up to her. Then she pouted and locked herself in her +room. That's when Mr. Robert was sent for; but she wouldn't give him +any decision, either. + +So for a week there things was in a mess, with Robbie balkin', Mother +havin' a case of nerves, Father nursin' a grouch, and Nick Talbot +mopin' around doleful. Then some girl friend suggested to Robbie that +if she did take Nick they could have a moonlight lawn weddin', with the +flower gardens all lit up by electric bulbs, which would be too dear +for anything. Robbie perked up and asked for details. Inside of an +hour she was plannin' what she would wear. Late in the afternoon Nick +heard the glad news himself, through a third party. + +First off the date was set for early next spring, when she'd be twenty. +That was Father's dope; although Mother was willin' it should be pulled +off around Christmas time. Nick, he stuck out for the first of +October; but Robbie says: + +"Oh, pshaw! There won't be any flowers then, and we'll be back in +town. Why not week after next?" + +So that's the compromise fin'lly agreed on. The moonlight stunt had to +be scratched; but the outdoor part was stuck to--and believe me it was +some classy hitchin' bee! + +They'd been gone about two weeks, I guess, with everybody contented +except maybe the three losers, and all hands countin' the incident +closed; when one forenoon Mother shows up at the general offices, has a +long talk with Mr. Robert, and goes away moppin' her eyes. Then +there's a call for Mr. Cheyne Ballard's downtown number, and Mr. Robert +has a confab with him over the 'phone. Next comes three lively rings +for me on the buzzer, and I chases into the private office. Mr. Robert +is sittin' scowlin', makin' savage' jabs with a paper knife at the +blotter pad. + +"Torchy," says he, "I find myself in a deucedly awkward fix." + +"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I. + +"No, no!" says he. "This is a personal affair, and--well, it's +embarrassing, to say the least." + +"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I. + +"It's about Roberta," says he. + +"What--again?" says I. "But I thought they was travelin' abroad?" + +"I wish they were," says he; "but they're not. At the last moment, it +seems, Robbie decided she didn't care for a foreign trip,--too late in +the season, and she didn't want to be going over just when everyone was +coming back, you know. So they went up to Thundercaps instead." + +"Sounds stormy," says I. + +"You're quite right," says he. "But it's a little gem of a place that +young Talbot's father built up in the Adirondacks. I was there once. +It's right on top of a mountain. And that's where they are now, miles +from anywhere or anybody." + +"And spoony as two mush ladles, I expect," says I. + +"Humph!" says he, tossin' the brass paper knife reckless onto the +polished mahogany desk top. "They ought to be, I will admit; but--oh, +hang it all, if you're to be of any use in this beastly affair, I +suppose you must be told the humiliating, ugly truth! They are not +spooning. Robbie is very unhappy. She--she's being abused." + +"Well, what do you know!" says I. "You don't mean he's begun draggin' +her around by the hair, or----" + +"Don't!" says Mr. Robert, bunchin' his fists nervous. "I can't tell. +Robbie hasn't gone into that. But she has written her mother that she +is utterly wretched, and that this precious Nick Talbot of hers is +unbearable. The young whelp! If I could only get my hands on him for +five minutes! But, blast it all! that's just what I mustn't do +until--until I'm sure. I can't trust myself to go. That is why I must +send you, young man." + +"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Me? Ah, say, Mr. Robert, I wouldn't stand any +show at all mixin' it with a young husk like him. Why, after the first +poke I'd be----" + +"You misunderstand," says he. "That poke part I can attend to very +well myself. But I want to know the worst before I start in, and if I +should go up there now, feeling as I do, I--well, I might not be a very +patient investigator. You see, don't you?" + +"Might blow a gasket, eh?" says I. "And you want me to go up and scout +around. But what if I'm caught at it--am I peddlin' soap, or what?" + +"A plausible errand is just what I've been trying to invent," says he. +"Can you suggest anything?" + +"Why," says I, "I might go disguised as a lone bandit who'd robbed a +train and was----" + +"Too theatrical," objects Mr. Robert. + +"Or a guy come to test the gas meter," I goes on. + +"Nonsense!" says he. "No gas meters up there. Forget the disguise. +They both know you, remember." + +"Oh, well," says I, "if I can't wear a wig, then I expect I'll have to +go as special messenger sent up with some nutty present or other,--a +five-pound box of candy, or flowers, or----" + +"That's it--orchids!" breaks in Mr. Robert. "Robbie expects a bunch +from me about every so often. The very thing!" + +So less'n an hour later I'm on my way, with fifty dollars' worth of +freak posies in a box, and instructions to stick around Thundercaps as +long as I can, with my eyes wide open and my ears stretched. Mr. +Robert figures I'll land there too late for the night train back, +anyway, and after that I'm to use my bean. If I finds the case +desp'rate, I'm to beat it for the nearest telegraph office and wire in. + +"Poor little girl!" is Mr. Robert's closin' remark. "Poor little +Robbie!" + +Cheerful sort of an errand, wa'n't it, bein' sent to butt in on a Keno +curtain raiser? Easy enough workin' up sympathy for the abused bride. +Why, she wa'n't much more'n a kid, and one who'd been coddled and +petted all her life, at that! And here she ups and marries offhand +this two-fisted young hick who turns out to be bad inside. You +wouldn't have guessed it, either; for, barrin' a kind of heavy jaw and +deep-set eyes, he had all the points of a perfectly nice young gent. +Good fam'ly too. Mr. Robert knew two of his brothers well, and durin' +the coo campaign he'd rooted for Nick. Then he had to show a streak +like this! + +"But wait!" thinks I. "If I can get anything on him, he sure will have +it handed to him hot when Mr. Robert arrives. I want to see it done +too." + +You don't get to places like Thundercaps in a minute, though. It's the +middle of the afternoon before I jumps the way train at a little +mountain station, and then I has to hunt up a jay with a buckboard and +take a ten-mile drive over a course like a roller coaster. They ought +to smooth that Adirondack scenery down some. Crude stuff, I call it. + +But, say, the minute we got inside Thundercaps' gates it's +diff'rent--smooth green lawns, lots of flowerbeds, a goldfish +pool,--almost like a chunk of Central Park. In the middle is a +white-sided, red-tiled shack, with pink and white awnings, and odd +windows, and wide, cozy verandas,--just the spot where you'd think a +perfectly good honeymoon might be pulled off. + +I'm just unloadin' my bag and the flowerbox when around a corner of the +cottage trips a cerise-tinted vision in an all lace dress and a +butterfly wrap. Course, it's Robbie. She's heard the sound of wheels, +and has come a runnin'. + +"Oh!" says she, stoppin' sudden and puckerin' her baby mouth into a +pout. "I thought someone was arriving, you know." Which was a sad +jolt to give a rescuer, wa'n't it? + +"Sorry," says I; "but I'm all there is." + +"You're the boy from Uncle Robert's office--Torchy, isn't it?" says she. + +"It is," says I. "Fired up with flowers and Mr. Robert's compliments." + +"The old dear!" says she, grabbin' the box, slippin' off the string and +divin' into the tissue paper. "Orchids, too! Oh, goody! But they +don't go with my coat. Pooh! I don't need it, anyway." With that +she, sheds the butterfly arrangement, chuckin' it casual on the steps, +and jams the whole of that fifty dollars' worth under her sash. +"There, how does that look, Mr. Torchy?" says she, takin' a few fancy +steps back and forth. + +"All right, I guess," says I. + +"Stupid!" says she, stampin' her double A-1 pump peevish. "Is that the +prettiest you can say it? Come, now--aren't they nice on me?" + +"Nice don't cover it," says I. "I was only wonderin' whether orchids +was invented for you, or you for orchids." + +This brings out a frilly little laugh, like jinglin' a string of silver +bells, and she shows both dimples. "That's better," says she. "Almost +as good as some of the things Bud Chandler can say. Dear old Bud! +He's such fun!" + +"He was the gray-eyed one, wa'n't he?" says I. + +"Why, yes," says she. "He was a dear. So was Oggie Holcomb. I wish +Nick would ask them both up." + +"Eh?" says I. "The also rans? Here?" + +"Pooh!" says she. "Why not? It's frightfully dull, being all alone. +But Nick won't do it, the old bear!" + +Which reminds me that I ought to be scoutin' for black eyes, or wrist +bruises, or finger marks on her neck. Nothin' of the kind shows up, +though. + +"Been kind of rough about it, has he?" says I. + +"He's been perfectly awful!" says she. "Sulking around as though I'd +done something terrible! But I'll pay him up. Come, you're not going +back tonight, are you?" + +"Can't," says I. "No train." + +"Then you must play with me," says she, grabbin' my hand kittenish and +startin' to run me across the yard. + +"But, see here," says I, followin' her on the jump. "Where's Hubby?" + +"Oh, I don't know," says she. "Off tramping through the woods with his +dog, I suppose. He's sulking, as usual. And all because I insisted on +writing to Oggie! Then there was something about the servants. I +don't know, only things went wrong at breakfast, and some of them have +threatened to leave. Who cares? Yesterday it was about the tennis +court. What if he did telegraph to have it laid out? I couldn't play +when I found I hadn't brought any tennis shoes, could I? Besides, +there's no fun playing against Nick, he's such a shark. He didn't like +it, either, because I wouldn't use the baby golf course. But I will +with you. Come on." + +"I never did much putting," says I. + +"Nor I," says she; "but we can try." + +Three or four holes was enough for her, though, and then she has a new +idea. "You rag, don't you?" says she. + +"Only a few tango steps," says I. "My feet stutter." + +"Then I'll show you how," says she. "We have some dandy records, and +the veranda's just right." + +So what does she do but tow me back to the house, ring up a couple of +maids to clear away all the rugs and chairs, and push the music machine +up to the open window. + +"Put on that 'Too Much Mustard,' Annette," says she, "and keep it +going." + +Must have surprised Annette some, as I hadn't been accounted for; but a +little thing like that don't bother Robbie. She gives me the proper +grip for the onestep,--which is some close clinch, believe me!--cuddles +her fluffy head down on my necktie, and off we goes. + +"No, don't try to trot," says she. "Just balance and keep time, and +swing two or three times at the turn. Keep your feet apart, you know. +Now back me. Swing! There, you're getting it. Keep on!" + +Some spieler, Robbie; and whether or not that was just a josh about +orchids bein' invented for her, there's no doubt but what ragtime was. +Yes, yes, that's where she lives. And me? Well, I can't say I hated +it. With her coachin' me, and that snappy music goin', I caught the +idea quick enough, and first I knew we was workin' in new variations +that she'd suggest, doin' the slow toe pivot, the kitchen sink, and a +lot more. + +We stopped long enough to have tea and cakes served, and then Robbie +insists on tryin' some new stunts. There's a sidewise dip, where you +twist your partner around like you was tryin' to break her back over a +chair, and we was right in the midst of practisin' that when who should +show up but the happy bridegroom. And someway I've seen 'em look more +pleased. + +[Illustration: We was right in the midst of practisin' the sidewise +dip, when who should show up but the happy bridegroom!] + +"Oh, that you, old Grumpy?" says young Mrs. Talbot, stoppin' for a +minute. "You remember Torchy, from Uncle Robert's office, don't you? +He came up with some orchids. We're having such fun too." + +"Looks so," says Nick. "Can't I cut in?" + +"Oh, bother!" says Robbie. "No, I'm tired now." + +"Just one dance!" pleads Nick. + +"Oh, afterward, perhaps," says she. "There! Just look at those silly +orchids! Aren't they sights?" With that she snakes 'em out and tosses +the wilted bunch careless over the veranda rail. "And now," she adds, +"I must dress for dinner." + +"You've nearly two hours, Pet," protests Nick. "Come to the outlook +with me and watch the sunset." + +"It's too lonesome," says Robbie, and off she goes. + +It should have happened then, if ever. I was standin' by, waitin' for +him to cut loose with the cruel words, and maybe introduce a little +hair-draggin' scene. But Nick Talbot just stands there gazin' after +her kind of sad and mushy, not even grindin' his teeth. Next he sighs, +drops his chin, and slumps into a chair. Honest, that got me; for it +was real woe showin' on his face, and he seems to be strugglin' with it +man fashion. Somehow it seemed up to me to come across with a few +soothin' remarks. + +"Sorry I butted in," says I; "but Mr. Robert sent me up with the +flowers." + +"Oh, that's all right," says he. "Glad you came. I--I suppose she +needed someone else to--to talk to." + +"But you wouldn't stand for invite the leftovers on your honeymoon, +eh?" I suggests. + +"No, hang it all!" says he. "That was too much. She--she mentioned +it, did she?" + +"Just casual," says I. "I take it things ain't been goin' smooth +gen'rally?" + +He nods gloomy. "You were bound to notice it," says he. "Anyone +would. I haven't been able to humor all her whims. Of course, she's +been used to having so much going on around her that this must seem +rather tame; but I thought, you know, that when we were married--well, +she doesn't seem to realize. And I've offered to take her +anywhere,--to Newport, to Lenox, to the White Mountains, or touring. +Three times this week we've packed to go to different places, and then +she's changed her mind. But I can't take her back to Long Island, to +her mother's, so soon, or ask a lot of her friends up here. It would +be absurd. But things can't go on this way, either. It--it's awful!" + +I leaves him with his chin propped up in his hands, starin' gloomy at +the floor, while I wanders out and pipes off the sun dodgin' behind the +hills. + +Later on Robbie insists on draggin' me in for dinner with 'em. She's +some dream too, the way she's got herself up, and lighted up by the +pink candleshades, with them big pansy eyes sparkling and the color +comin' and goin' in her cheeks--say, it most made me dizzy to look. +Then to hear her rattle on in her cute, kittenish way was better'n a +cabaret show. Mostly, though, it's aimed at me; while Nick Talbot is +left to play a thinkin' part. He sits watchin' her with sort of a +dumb, hungry look, like a big dog. + +And it was a punk dinner in other ways. The soup was scorched +somethin' fierce; but Robbie don't seem to notice it. The roast lamb +hadn't had the red cooked out of it; but Robbie only asks what kind of +meat it is and remarks that it tastes queer. She has a reg'lar fit, +though, because the dessert is peach ice-cream with fresh fruit +flavorin'. + +"And Cook ought to know that I like strawberry better," says she. + +"But it's too late for strawberries," explains Nick. + +"I don't care!" pouts Robbie. "I don't like this, and I'm going to +send it all back to the kitchen." She does it too, and the maid grins +impudent as she lugs it out. + +That was a sample of the way Robbie behaved for the rest of the +evenin',--chatterin' and laughin' one minute, almost weepin' the next; +until fin'lly she slams down the piano cover and flounces off to her +room. Nick Talbot sits bitin' his lips and lookin' desp'rate. + +"I'm sure I don't know what to do," says he half to himself. + +At that I can't hold it any longer. "Say, Talbot," says I, "before we +get any further I got to own up that I'm a ringer." + +"A--a what!" says he, starin' puzzled. + +"I'm supposed to be here just as a special messenger," says I; "but, on +the level, I was sent up here to sleuth for brutal acts. Uh-huh! +That's what the folks at home think, from the letters she's been +writin'. Mr. Robert was dead sure of it. But I see now they had the +wrong dope. I guess I've got the idea. What you're up against is +simply a spoiled kid proposition, and if you don't mind my mixin' in +I'd like to state what I think I'd do if it was me." + +"Well, what?" says he. + +"I'd whittle a handle on a good thick shingle," says I, "and use it." + +He stiffens a little at that first off, and then looks at me curious. +Next he chuckles. "By Jove, though!" says he after awhile. + +Yes, we had a long talk, chummy and confidential, and before we turns +in Nick has plotted out a substitute for the shingle programme that he +promises to try on first thing next morning I didn't expect to be in on +it; but we happens to be sittin' on the veranda waitin' for breakfast, +when out comes Robbie in a pink mornin' gown with a cute boudoir cap on +her head. + +"Why haven't they sent up my coffee and rolls?" she demands. + +"Did you order them, Robbie?" says Nick. + +"Why no," says she. "Didn't you?" + +"No," says Nick. "I'm not going to, either. You're mistress of the +house, you know, Robbie, and from now on you are in full charge." + +"But--but I thought Mrs. Parkins, the housekeeper, was to manage all +those things," says she. + +"You said yesterday you couldn't bear Mrs. Parkins," says Nick; "so I'm +sending her back to town. She's packing her things now. There are +four servants left, though, which is enough. But they need +straightening out. They are squabbling over their work, and neglecting +it. You will have to settle all that." + +"But--but, Nick," protests Robbie, "I'm sure I know nothing at all +about it." + +"As my wife you are supposed to," says Nick. "You must learn. Anyway, +I've told them they needn't do another stroke until they get orders +from you. And I wish you'd begin. I'd rather like breakfast." + +He's real calm and pleasant about it; but there's somethin' solid about +the way his jaw is set. Robbie eyes him a minute hesitatin' and +doubtful, like a schoolgirl that's bein' scolded. Then all of a sudden +there's a change. The pout comes off her lips, her chin stops +trembling and she squares her shoulders. + +"I'm--I'm sorry, Nicholas," says she. "I--I'll do my best." And off +she marches to the kitchen. + +And, say, half an hour later we were all sittin' down to as good a ham +omelet as I ever tasted. When I left with Nick to catch the forenoon +express, young Mrs. Talbot was chewin' the end of a lead pencil, with +them pansy eyes of hers glued on a pad where she was dopin' out her +first dinner order. She would break away from it only long enough to +give Hubby a little bird peck on the cheek; but he seems tickled to +death with that. + +So it wa'n't any long report I has to hand in to Mr. Robert that night. + +"All bunk!" says I. "Just a case of a honeymoon that rose a little +late. It's shinin' steady now, though. But, say, I hope I'm never +batty enough to fall for one of the butterfly kind. If I do--good +night!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +BEING SICCED ON PERCEY + +Maybe it ain't figured in the headlines, or been noised around enough +for the common stockholders to get panicky over it, but, believe me, it +was some battle! Uh-huh! What else could you expect with Old Hickory +Ellins on one side and George Wesley Jones on the other? And me? Say, +as it happens, I was right on the firin' line. Talk about your drummer +boys of '61--I guess the office boy of this A. M. ain't such a dead one! + +Course I knew when Piddie begins tiptoein' around important, and Mr. +Robert cuts his lunchtime down to an hour, that there's something in +the air besides humidity. + +"Boy," says Old Hickory, shootin' his words out past the stub of a +thick black cigar, "I'm expecting a Mr. Jones sometime this afternoon." + +"Yes, Sir," says I. "Any particular Jones, Sir?" + +"That," says he, "is a detail with which you need not burden your mind. +I am not anticipating a convention of Joneses." + +"Oh!" says I. "I was only thinkin' that in case some other guy by the +same names should----" + +"Yes, I understand," he breaks in; "but in that remote contingency I +will do my best to handle the situation alone. And when Mr. Jones +comes show him in at once. After that I am engaged for the remainder +of the day. Is that quite clear?" + +"I'm next," says I. "Pass a Jones, and then set the block." + +If he thought he could mesmerize me by any such simple motions as that +he had another guess. Why, even if it had been my first day on the +job, I'd have been hep that it wa'n't any common weekday Jones he was +expectin' to stray in accidental. Besides, the minute I spots that +long, thin nose, the close-cropped, grizzly mustache, and the tired +gray eyes with the heavy bags underneath, I knew it was George Wesley +himself. Ain't his pictures been printed often enough lately? + +He looks the part too, and no wonder! If I'd been hammered the way he +has, with seventeen varieties of Rube Legislatures shootin' my past +career as full of holes as a Swiss cheese, grand juries handin' down +new indictments every week end, four thousand grouchy share-holders +howlin' about pared dividends, and twice as many editorial pens +proddin' 'em along----well, take it from me, I'd be on my way towards +the tall trees with my tongue hangin' out! + +Here he is, though, with his shoulders back and a sketchy, sarcastic +smile flickerin' in his mouth corners as he shows up for a hand-to-hand +set-to with Old Hickory Ellins. Course it's news to me that the +Corrugated interests and the P., B. & R. road are mixed up anywhere +along the line; but it ain't surprisin'. + +Besides mines and rollin' mills, we do a wholesale grocery business, +run a few banks, own a lot of steam freighters, and have all kinds of +queer ginks on our payroll, from welfare workers to would-be statesmen. +We're always ready to slip one of our directors onto a railroad board +too; so I takes it that the way P., B. & R. has been juggled lately was +a game that touches us somewhere on the raw. Must be some kind of a +war on the slate, or Old Hickory'd never called for a topliner like +George Wesley Jones to come on the carpet. If it had been a case of +passin' the peace pipe, Mr. Ellins would be goin' out to Chicago to see +him. + +"Mr. Jones, Sir," says I, throwin' the private office door wide open so +it would take me longer to shut it. + +But Old Hickory don't intend to give me any chance to pipe off the +greetin'. He just glances casual at Mr. Jones, then fixes them +rock-drill eyes of his on me, jerks his thumb impatient over his +shoulder, and waits until there's three inches of fireproof material +between me and the scene of the conflict. + +So I strolls back to my chair behind the brass rail and winks +mysterious at the lady typists. Two of 'em giggles nervous. Say, they +got more curiosity, them flossy key pounders! Not one of the bunch but +what knew things was doin'; but what it was all about would have taken +me a week to explain to 'em, even if I'd known myself. + +And I expect I wouldn't have had more'n a vague glimmer, either, if it +hadn't been for Piddie. You might know he'd play the boob somehow if +anything important was on. Say, if he'd trotted in there once durin' +the forenoon he'd been in a dozen times; seein' that the inkwells was +filled, puttin' on new desk blotters, and such fool things as that. +Yet about three-fifteen, right in the middle of the bout, he has to +answer a ring, and it turns out he's forgotten some important papers. + +"Here, Boy," says he, comin' out peevish, "this must go to Mr. Ellins +at once." + +"Huh!" says I, glancin' at the file title. "Copy of charter of the +Palisades Electric! At once is good. Ought to have been on Mr. +Ellins's desk hours ago." + +"Boy!" he explodes threatenin'. + +"Ah, ditch the hysterics, Peddie!" says I. "It's all right now I'm on +the job," and with a grin to comfort him I slips through Mr. Robert's +room and taps on the door of the boss's private office before blowin' +in. + +And, say, it looks like I've arrived almost in time for the final +clinch. Old Hickory is leanin' forward earnest, his jaw shoved out, +his eyes narrowed to slits, and he's poundin' the chair arm with his +big ham fist. + +"What I want to know, Jones," he's sayin', "is simply this: Are your +folks going to drop that Palisades road scheme, or aren't you?" + +Course, I can't break into a dialogue at a point like that; so I closes +the door gentle behind me and backs against the knob, watchin' George +Wesley, who's sittin' there with his chin down and his eyes on the rug. + +"Really, Ellins," says he, "I can't give you an answer to that. +I--er--I must refer you to our Mr. Sturgis." + +"Eh?" snaps old Hickory. "Sturgis! Who the syncopated sculping is +Sturgis?" + +"Why," says Mr. Jones, "Percey J. Sturgis. He is my personal agent in +all such matters, and this--well, this happens to be his pet +enterprise." + +"But it would parallel our proposed West Point line," says Mr. Ellins. + +"I know," says G. Wesley, sighin' weary. "But he secured his charter +for this two years ago, and I promised to back him. He insists on +pushing it through too. I can't very well call him off, you see." + +"Can't, eh?" raps out Old Hickory. "Then let me try. Send for him." + +"No use," says Mr. Jones. "He understands your attitude. He wouldn't +come. I should advise, if you have any proposal to make, that you send +a representative to him." + +"I go to him," snorts Mr. Ellins, "to this understrapper of yours, this +Mr. Percey--er----" + +"Sturgis," puts in George Wesley. "He has offices in our building. +And, really, it's the only way." + +Old Hickory glares and puffs like he was goin' to blow a cylinder head. +But that's just what Hickory Ellins don't do at a time like this. When +you think he's nearest to goin' up with a bang, that's the time when +he's apt to calm down sudden and shift tactics. He does now. +Motionin' me to come to the front, he takes the envelope I hands over, +glances at it thoughtful a second, and then remarks casual: + +"Very well, Jones. I'll send a representative to your Mr. Sturgis. +I'll send Torchy, here." + +I don't know which of us gasped louder, me or George Wesley. Got him +in the short ribs, that proposition did. But, say, he's a game old +sport, even if the papers are callin' him everything from highway +robber to yellow dog. He shrugs his shoulders and bows polite. + +"As you choose, Ellins," says he. + +Maybe he thinks it's a bluff; but it's nothing like that. + +"Boy," says Old Hickory, handin' back the envelope, "go find Mr. Percey +J. Sturgis, explain to him that the president of the P., B. & R. is +bound under a personal agreement not to parallel any lines in which the +Corrugated holds a one-third interest. Tell him I demand that he quit +on this Palisades route. If he won't, offer to buy his blasted +charter. Bid up to one hundred thousand, then 'phone me. Got all +that?" + +"I could say it backwards," says I. "Shake the club first; then wave +the kale at him. Do I take a flyin' start?" + +"Go now," says Old Hickory. "We will wait here until five. If he +wants to know who you are, tell him you're my office boy." + +Wa'n't that rubbin' in the salt, though? But it ain't safe to stir up +Hickory Ellins unless you got him tied to a post, and even then you +want to use a long stick. As I sails out and grabs my new fall derby +off the peg Piddie asks breathless: + +"What's the matter now, and where are you off to?" + +"Outside business for the boss," says I. "Buyin' up a railroad for +him, that's all." + +I left him purple in the face, dashes across to the Subway, and inside +of fifteen minutes I'm listenin' fidgety while a private secretary +explains how Mr. Sturgis is just leavin' town on important business and +can't possibly see me today. + +"Deah-uh me!" says I. "How distressin'! Say, you watch me flag him on +the jump." + +"But I've just told you," insists the secretary, "that Mr. Sturgis +cannot----" + +"Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "This is a case of must--see? If you put me +out I'll lay for him on the way to the elevator." + +Course with some parties that might be a risky tackle; but anyone with +a front name like Percey I'm takin' a chance on. Percey! Listens like +one of the silky-haired kind that wears heliotrope silk socks, don't +it? But, say, what finally shows up is a wide, heavy built gent with a +big, homespun sort of face, crispy brown hair a little long over the +ears, and the steadiest pair of bright brown eyes I ever saw. Nothing +fancy or frail about Percey J. Sturgis. He's solid and substantial, +from his wide-soled No. 10's up to the crown of his seven three-quarter +hat. He has a raincoat thrown careless over one arm, and he's smokin' +a cigar as big and black as any of Old Hickory's. + +"Well, what is it, Son?" says he in one of them deep barytones that you +feel all the way through to your backbone. + +And this is what I've been sent out either to scare off or buy up! +Still, you can't die but once. + +"I'm from Mr. Ellins of the Corrugated Trust," says I. + +"Ah!" says he, smilin' easy. + +Well, considerin' how my knees was wabblin', I expect I put the +proposition over fairly strong. + +"You may tell Mr. Ellins for me," says he, "that I don't intend to +quit." + +"Then it's a case of buy," says I. "What's the charter worth, spot +cash?" + +"Sorry," says he, "but I'm too busy to talk about that just now. I'm +just starting for North Jersey." + +"Suppose I trail along a ways then?" says I. "Mr. Ellins is waitin' +for an answer." + +"Is he?" says Percey J. "Then come, if you wish." And what does he do +but tow me down to a big tourin' car and wave me into one of the back +seats with him. Listens quiet to all I've got to say too, while we're +tearin' uptown, noddin' his head now and then, with them wide-set brown +eyes of his watchin' me amused and curious. But the scare I'm tryin' +to throw into him don't seem to take effect at all. + +"Let's see," says he, as we rolls onto the Fort Lee ferry, "just what +is your official position with the Corrugated?" + +I'd planned to shoot it at him bold and crushin'. But somehow it don't +happen that way. + +"Head office boy," says I, blushin' apologizin'; "but Mr. Ellins sent +me out himself." + +"Indeed?" says he. "Another of his original ideas. A brilliant man, +Mr. Ellins." + +"He's some stayer in a scrap, believe me!" says I. "And he's got the +harpoon out for this Palisades road." + +"So have a good many others," says Mr. Sturgis, chucklin'. "In fact, I +don't mind admitting that I am as near to being beaten on this +enterprise as I've ever been on anything in any life. But if I am +beaten, it will not be by Mr. Ellins. It will be by a hard-headed old +Scotch farmer who owns sixty acres of scrubby land which I must cross +in order to complete my right of way. He won't sell a foot. I've been +trying for six months to get in touch with him; but he's as stubborn as +a cedar stump. And if I don't run a car over rails before next June my +charter lapses. So I'm going up now to try a personal interview. If I +fail, my charter isn't worth a postage stamp. But, win or lose, it +isn't for sale to Hickory Ellins." + +He wa'n't ugly about it. He just states the case calm and +conversational; but somehow you was dead sure he meant it. + +"All right," says I. "Then maybe when I see how you come out I'll have +something definite to report." + +"You should," says he. + +That's where we dropped the subject. It's some swell ride we had up +along the top of the Palisades, and on and on until we're well across +the State line into New York. Along about four-thirty he says we're +most there. We was rollin' through a jay four corners, where the +postoffice occupies one window of the gen'ral store, with the Masonic +Lodge overhead, when alongside the road we comes across a little +tow-headed girl, maybe eight or nine, pawin' around in the grass and +sobbin' doleful. + +"Hold up, Martin," sings out Mr. Sturgis to the chauffeur, and Martin +jams on his emergency so the brake drums squeal. + +What do you guess? Why Percey J. climbs out, asks the kid gentle what +all the woe is about, and discovers that she's lost a whole nickel that +Daddy has given her to buy lolly-pops with on account of its bein' her +birthday. + +"Now that's too bad, isn't it, little one?" says Mr. Sturgis. "But I +guess we can fix that. Come on. Martin, take us back to the store." + +Took out his handkerchief, Percey did, and swabbed off the tear stains, +all the while talkin' low and soothin' to the kid, until he got her +calmed down. And when they came out of the store she was carryin' a +pound box of choc'late creams tied up flossy with a pink ribbon. With +her eyes bugged and so tickled she can't say a word, she lets go of his +hand and dashes back up the road, most likely bent on showin' the folks +at home the results of the miracle that's happened to her. + +That's the kind of a guy Percey J. Sturgis is, even when he has worries +of his own. You'd most thought he was due for a run of luck after a +kind act like that. But someone must have had their fingers crossed; +for as Martin backs up to turn around he connects a rear tire with a +broken ginger ale bottle and--s-s-s-sh! out goes eighty-five pounds' +pressure to the square inch. No remark from Mr. Sturgis. He lights a +fresh cigar and for twenty-five minutes by the dash clock Martin is +busy shiftin' that husky shoe. + +So we're some behind schedule when we pulls up under the horse chestnut +trees a quarter of a mile beyond in front of a barny, weather-beaten +old farmhouse where there's a sour-faced, square-jawed old pirate +sittin' in a home made barrel chair smokin' his pipe and scowlin' +gloomy at the world in gen'ral. It's Ross himself. Percey J. don't +waste any hot air tryin' to melt him. He tells the old guy plain and +simple who he is and what he's after. + +"Dinna talk to me, Mon," says Ross. "I'm no sellin' the farm." + +"May I ask your reasons?" says Mr. Sturgis. + +Ross frowns at him a minute without sayin' a word. Then he pries the +stubby pipe out from the bristly whiskers and points a crooked finger +toward a little bunch of old apple trees on a low knoll. + +"Yon's my reason, Mon," says he solemn. "Yon wee white stone. Three +bairns and the good wife lay under it. I'm no sae youthful mysel'. +And when it's time for me to go I'd be sleepin' peaceful, with none o' +your rattlin' trolley cars comin' near. That's why, Mon." + +"Thank you, Mr. Ross," says Percey J. "I can appreciate your +sentiments. However, our line would run through the opposite side of +your farm, away over there. All we ask is a fifty-foot strip across +your----" + +"You canna have it," says Ross decided, insertin' the pipe once more. + +Which is where most of us would have weakened, I expect. Not Mr. +Sturgis. + +"Just a moment, Friend Ross," says he. "I suppose you know I have the +P., B. & R. back of me, and it's more than likely that your neighbors +have said things about us. There is some ground for prejudice too. +Our recent stock deals look rather bad from the outside. There have +been other circumstances that are not in our favor. But I want to +assure you that this enterprise is a genuine, honest attempt to benefit +you and your community. It is my own. It is part of the general +policy of the road for which I am quite willing to be held largely +responsible. Why, I've had this project for a Palisades trolley road +in mind ever since I came on here a poor boy, twenty-odd years ago, and +took my first trip down the Hudson. This ought to be a rich, +prosperous country here. It isn't. A good electric line, such as I +propose to build, equipped with heavy passenger cars and running a +cheap freight service, would develop this section. It would open to +the public a hundred-mile trip that for scenic grandeur could be +equaled nowhere in this country. Are you going to stand in the way, +Mr. Ross, of an enterprise such as that?" + +Yep, he was. He puffs away just as mulish as ever. + +"Of course," goes on Percey, "it's nothing to you; but the one ambition +of my life has been to build this road. I want to do for this district +what some of our great railroad builders did for the big West. I'm not +a city-bred theorist, nor a Wall Street stock manipulator. I was born +in a one-story log house on a Minnesota farm, and when I was a boy we +hauled our corn and potatoes thirty miles to a river steamboat. Then +the railroad came through. Now my brothers sack their crops almost +within sight of a grain elevator. They live in comfortable houses, +send their children to good schools. So do their neighbors. The +railroad has turned a wilderness into a civilized community. On a +smaller scale here is a like opportunity. If you will let us have that +fifty-foot strip----" + +"Na, Mon, not an inch!" breaks in Ross. + +How he could stick to it against that smooth line of talk I couldn't +see. Why, say, it was the most convincin', heart-throbby stuff I'd +ever listened to, and if it had been me I'd made Percey J. a present of +the whole shootin' match. + +"But see here, Mr. Ross," goes on Sturgis, "I would like to show you +just what we----" + +"Daddy! Daddy!" comes a pipin' hail from somewhere inside, and out +dances a barefooted youngster in a faded blue and white dress. It's +the little heroine of the lost nickel. For a second she gawps at us +sort of scared, and almost decides to scuttle back into the house. +Then she gets another look at Percey J., smiles shy, and sticks one +finger in her mouth. Percey he smiles back encouragin' and holds out a +big, friendly hand. That wins her. + +"Oh, Daddy!" says she, puttin' her little fist in Percey's +confidential. "It's the mans what gimme the candy in the pitty box!" + +As for Daddy Ross, he stares like he couldn't believe his eyes. But +there's the youngster cuddled up against Percey J.'s knee and glancin' +up at him admirin'. + +"Is ut so, Mon?" demands Ross husky, "Was it you give the lass the +sweeties?" + +"Why, yes," admitted Sturgis. + +"Then you shall be knowin'," goes on Ross, "that yon lassie is all I +have left in the world that I care a bawbee for. You've done it, Mon. +Tak' as much of the farm as you like at your own price." + +Well, that's the way Percey J. Sturgis won out. A lucky stroke, eh? +Take it from me, there was more'n that in it. Hardly a word he says +durin' the run back; for he's as quiet and easy when he's on top as +when he's the under dog. We shakes hands friendly as he drops me +uptown long after dark. + +I had all night to think it over; but when I starts for Old Hickory's +office next mornin' I hadn't doped out how I was goin' to put it. + +"Well, what about Percey?" says he. + +"He's the goods," says I. + +"Couldn't scare him, eh?" says Old Hickory. + +"Not if I'd been a mile high," says I. "He won't sell, either. And +say, Mr. Ellins, you want to get next to Percey J. The way I look at +it, this George Wesley Jones stiff ain't the man behind him; Percey is +the man behind Jones." + +"H-m-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory. "I knew there was someone; but I +couldn't trace him. So it's Sturgis, eh? That being so, we need him +with us." + +"But ain't he tied up with Jones?" says I. + +"Jones is a dead dog," says Old Hickory. "At least, he will be inside +of a week." + +That was some prophecy, eh? Read in the papers, didn't you, how G. +Wesley cables over his resignation from Baden Two Times? Couldn't +stand the strain. The directors are still squabblin' over who to put +in as head of the P., B. & R.; but if you want to play a straight +inside tip put your money on Percey J. Uh-huh! Him and Old Hickory +have been confabbin' in there over an hour now, and if he hadn't +flopped to our side would Mr. Ellins be tellin' him funny stories? +Anyway, we're backin' that Palisades line now, and it's goin' through +with a whoop. + +Which is earnin' some int'rest on a pound of choc'lates and a smile. +What? + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +HOW WHITY GUNKED THE PLOT + +I knew something or other outside of business was puttin' hectic spots +in Old Hickory's disposition these last few days; but not until late +yesterday did I guess it was Cousin Inez. + +I expect the Ellins family wasn't any too proud of Cousin Inez, to +start with; for among other things she's got a matrimonial record. +Three hubbies so far, I understand, two safe in a neat kept plot out in +Los Angeles; one in the discards--and she's just been celebratin' the +decree by travelin' abroad. They hadn't seen much of her for years; +but durin' this New York stopover visit she seemed to be makin' up for +lost time. + +About four foot eight Cousin Inez was in her French heels, and fairly +thick through. Maybe it was the way she dressed, but from just below +her double chin she looked the same size all the way down. Tie a +Bulgarian sash on a sack of bran, and you've got the model. Inez was a +bear for sashes too. Another thing she was strong on was hair. +Course, the store blond part didn't quite match the sandy gray that +grew underneath, and the near-auburn frontispiece was another tint +still; but all that added variety and quantity--and what more could you +ask? + +Her bein' some pop-eyed helped you to remember Inez the second time. +About the size of hard-boiled eggs, peeled, them eyes of hers was, and +most the same color. They say she's a wise old girl though,--carries +on three diff'rent business propositions left by her late string of +husbands, goes in deep for classical music, and is some kind of a high +priestess in the theosophy game. A bit faddy, I judged, with maybe a +few bats in her belfry. + +But when it comes to investin' some of her surplus funds in Corrugated +preferred she has to have a good look at the books first, and makes +Cousin Hickory Ellins explain some items in the annual report. Three +or four times she was down to the gen'ral offices before the deal went +through. + +This last visit of hers was something diff'rent, though. + +I took the message down to Martin, the chauffeur myself. It was a +straight call on the carpet. "Tell Cousin Inez the boss wants to see +her before she goes out this afternoon," says I, "and wait with the +limousine until she comes." + +Old Hickory was pacin' his private office, scowlin' and grouchy, as he +sends the word, and it didn't take any second sight to guess he was +peeved about something. I has to snicker too when Cousin Inez floats +in, smilin' mushy as usual. + +She wa'n't smilin' any when she drifts out half an hour later. She's +some flushed behind the ears, and her complexion was a little streaked +under the eyes. She holds her chin up defiant, though, and slams the +brass gate behind her. She'd hardly caught the elevator before there +comes a snappy call for me on the buzzer. + +"Boy," says Old Hickory, glarin' at me savage, "who is this T. Virgil +Bunn?" + +Almost had me tongue-tied for a minute, he shoots it at me so sudden. +"Eh?" says I. "T. Virgil? Why, he's the sculptor poet." + +"So I gather from this thing," says he, wavin' a thin book bound in +baby blue and gold. "But what in the name of Sardanapalus and Xenophon +is a sculptor poet, anyway?" + +"Why, it's--it's--well, that's the way the papers always give it," says +I. "Beyond that I pass." + +"Humph!" grunts Old Hickory. "Then perhaps you'll tell me if this is +poetry. Listen! + + + "'Like necklaces of diamonds hung + About my lady sweet, + So do we string our votive area + All up and down each street. + They shine upon the young and old, + The fair, the sad, the grim, the gay; + Who gather here from far and near + To worship in our Great White Way.' + + +"Now what's your honest opinion of that, Son? Is it poetry? + +"Listens something like it," says I; "but I wouldn't want to say for +sure." + +"Nor I," says Mr. Ellins. "All I'm certain of is that it isn't +sculpture, and that if I should read any more of it I'd be seasick. +But in T. Virgil Bunn himself I have an active and personal interest. +Anything to offer?" + +"Not a glimmer," says I. + +"And I suppose you could find nothing out?" he goes on. + +"I could make a stab," says I. + +"Make a deep one, then," says he, slippin' over a couple of tens for an +expense fund. + +And, say, I knew when Old Hickory begins by unbeltin' so reckless that +he don't mean any casual skimmin' through club annuals for a report. + +"What's the idea?" says I. "Is it for a financial rating or a regular +dragnet of past performances?" + +"Everything you can discover without taking him apart," says Old +Hickory. "In short, I want to know the kind of person who can cause a +fifty-five-year-old widow with grown sons to make a blinkety blinked +fool of herself." + +"He's a charmer, eh?" says I. + +"Evidently," says Mr. Ellins. "Behold this inscription here, 'To dear +Inez, My Lady of the Unfettered Soul--from Virgie.' Get the point, +Son? 'To dear Inez'! Bah! Is he color blind, or what ails him? Of +course it's her money he's after, and for the sake of her boys I'm +going to block him. There! You see what I want?" + +"Sure!" says I. "You got to have details about Virgie before you can +ditch him. Well, I'll see what I can dig up." + +Maybe it strikes you as a chesty bluff for a juvenile party like me to +start with no more clew than that to round up in a few hours what a +high-priced sleuth agency would take a week for. But, say, I didn't +stand guard on the Sunday editor's door two years with my eyes and ears +shut. Course, there's always the city and 'phone directories to start +with. Next you turn to the Who book if you suspect he's ever done any +public stunt. But, say, swallow that Who dope cautious. They let 'em +write their own tickets in that, you know, and you got to make +allowances for the size of the hat-band. + +I'd got that far, discovered that Virgie owned up to bein' thirty-five +and a bachelor, that he was born in Schoharie, son of Telemachus J. and +Matilda Smith Bunn, and that he'd once been president of the village +literary club, when I remembers the clippin' files we used to have back +on Newspaper Row. So down I hikes--and who should I stack up against, +driftin' gloomy through the lower lobby, but Whity Meeks, that used to +be the star man on the Sunday sheet. Course, it wa'n't any miracle; +for Whity's almost as much of a fixture there as Old Gluefoot, the +librarian, or the finger marks on the iron pillars in the press-room. + +A sad example of blighted ambitions, Whity is. When I first knew him +he had a fresh one every Monday mornin', and they ranged all the way +from him plannin' to be a second Dicky Davis to a scheme he had for +hookin' up with Tammany and bein' sent to Congress. Clever boy too. +He could dash off ponies that was almost good enough to print, dope out +the first two acts of a play that was bound to make his fortune if he +could ever finish it, and fake speeches that he'd never heard a word of. + +When he got to doin' Wall Street news, though, and absorbed the idea +that he could stack his little thirty per against the system and break +the bucketshops--well, that was his finish. Two killings that he made +by chance, and he was as good as chained to the ticker for life. No +more new rosy dreams for him: always the same one,--of the day when he +was goin' to show Sully how a cotton corner really ought to be pulled +off, a day when the closin' gong would find him with the City Bank in +one fist and the Subtreasury in the other. You've met that kind, +maybe. Only Whity always tried to dress the part, in a sporty shepherd +plaid, with a checked hat and checked silk socks to match. He has the +same regalia on now, with a carnation in his buttonhole. + +"Well, mounting margins!" says he, as I swings him round by the arm. +"Torchy! Whither away? Come down to buy publicity space for the +Corrugated, have you?" + +"Not in a rag like yours, Whity," says I, "when we own stock in two +real papers. I'm out on a little private gumshoe work for the boss." + +"Sounds thrilling," says he. "Any copy in it?" + +"I'd be chatterin' it to you, wouldn't I?" says I. "Nix! Just plain +fam'ly scrap over whether Cousin Inez shall marry again or not. My job +is to get something on the guy. Don't happen to have any special dope +on T. Virgil Bunn, the sculptor poet, do you?" + +Whity stares at me. "Do I?" says he. + +"Say!" Then he leads me over between the 'phone booth and the cigar +stand, flashes an assignment pad, and remarks, "Gaze on that second +item, my boy." + +"Woof! That's him, all right," says I. "But what's a bouillabaisse +tea?" + +"Heaven and Virgil Bunn only know," says Whity. "But that doesn't +matter. Think of the subtle irony of Fate that sends me up to make a +column story out of Virgie Bunn! Me, of all persons!" + +"Well, why not you?" says I. + +"Why?" says Whity. "Because I made the fellow. He--why, he is my +joke, the biggest scream I ever put over--my joke, understand? And now +this adumbrated ass of a Quigley, who's been sent on here from St. +Louis to take the city desk, he falls for Virgie as a genuine +personage. Not only that, but picks me out to cover this phony tea of +his. And the stinging part is, if I don't I get canned, that's all." + +"Ain't he the goods, then?" says I. "What about this sculptor poet +business?" + +"Bunk," says Whity, "nothing but bunk. Of course, he does putter +around with modeling clay a bit, and writes the sort of club-footed +verse they put in high school monthlies." + +"Gets it printed in a book, though," says I. "I've seen one." + +"Why not?" says Whity. "Anyone can who has the three hundred to pay +for plates and binding. 'Sonnets of the City,' wasn't it? Didn't I +get my commission from the Easy Mark Press for steering him in? Why, I +even scratched off some of those things to help him pad out the book +with. But, say, Torchy, you ought to remember him. You were on the +door then,--tall, wide-shouldered freak, with aureole hair, and a close +cropped Vandyke?" + +"Not the one who wore the Wild West lid and talked like he had a +mouthful of hot oatmeal?" says I. + +"Your description of Virgie's English accent is perfect," says Whity. + +"Well, well!" says I. "The mushbag, we used to call him." + +"Charmingly accurate again!" says Whity. "Verily beside him the +quivering jellyfish of the salt sea was as the armored armadillo of the +desert. Soft? You could poke a finger through him anywhere." + +"But what was his game?" says I. + +"It wasn't a game, my son," says Whity. "It was a mission in life,--to +get things printed about himself. Had no more modesty about it, you +know, than a circus press agent. Perfectly frank and ingenuous, Virgie +was. He'd just come and ask you to put it in that he was a great +man--just like that! The chief used to froth at the mouth on sight of +him. But Virgie looked funny to me in those days. I used to jolly him +along, smoke his Coronas, let him take me out to swell feeds. Then +when they gave Merrow charge of the Sunday side, just for a josh I did +a half-page special about Virgie, called him the sculptor poet, threw +in some views of him in his studio, and quoted some of his verse that +I'd fixed up. It got by. Virgie was so pleased he wanted to give a +banquet for me; but I got him to go in on a little winter wheat flier +instead. He didn't drop much. After that I'd slip in a paragraph +about him now and then, always calling him the sculptor poet. The tag +stuck. Other papers began to use it; until, first thing I knew, Virgie +was getting away with it. Honest, I just invented him. And now he +passes for the real thing!" + +"Where you boobed, then, was in not filin' copyright papers," says I. +"But how does he make it pay?" + +"He doesn't," says Whity. "Listen, Son, and I will divulge the hidden +mystery in the life of T. Virgil Bunn. Cheese factories! Half a dozen +or more of 'em, up Schoharie way. Left to him, you know, by Pa Bunn; a +coarse, rough person, I am told, who drank whey out of a five-gallon +can, but was cute enough to import Camembert labels and make his own +boxes. He passed on a dozen years ago; but left the cheese factories +working night shifts. Virgie draws his share quarterly. He tried a +year or two at some Rube college, and then went abroad to loiter. +While there he exposed himself to the sculptor's art; but it didn't +take very hard. However, Virgie came back and acquired the studio +habit. And you can't live for long in a studio, you know, without +getting the itch to see yourself in print. That's what brought Virgie +to me. And now! Well, now I have to go to Virgie." + +"Ain't as chummy with him as you was, I take it?" says I. + +Whity shrugs his shoulders disgusted. "The saphead!" says he. "Just +because we slipped up on a few stock deals he got cold feet. I haven't +seen him for a year. I wonder how he'll take it? But you mentioned a +Cousin Inez, didn't you?" + +I gives Whity a hasty sketch of the piece, mentionin' no more names, +but suggestin' that Virgie stood to connect with an overgrown widow's +mite if there wa'n't any sudden interference. + +"Ha!" says Whity, speakin' tragic through his teeth. "An idea! He's +put the spell on a rich widow, has he? Now if I could only manage to +queer this autumn leaf romance it would even up for the laceration of +pride that I see coming my way tonight. Describe the fair one." + +"I could point her out if you could smuggle me in," I suggests. + +"A cinch!" says he. "You're Barry of the City Press. Here, stick some +copy paper in your pocket. Take a few notes, that's all." + +"It's a fierce disguise to put on," says I; "but I guess I can stand it +for an evenin'." + +So about eight-thirty we meets again, and' proceeds to hunt up this +studio buildin' over in the East 30's. It ain't any bum Bohemian +ranch, either, but a ten-story elevator joint, with clipped bay trees +on each side of the front door. Virgie's is a top floor suite, with a +boy in buttons outside and a French maid to take your things. + +"Gee!" I whispers to Whity as we pushes in. "There's some swell mob +collectin', eh?" + +Whity is speechless, though, and when he gets his breath again all he +can do is mumble husky, "Teddy Van Alstyne! Mrs. Cromer Paige! The +Bertie Gardiners!" + +They acted like a mixed crowd, though, gazin' around at each other +curious, groupin' into little knots, and chattin' under their breath. +Bein' gents of the press, we edges into a corner behind a palm and +waits to see what happens. + +"There comes Cousin Inez!" says I, nudgin' Whity. "See? The squatty +dame with the pearl ropes over her hair." + +"Sainted Billikens, what a make-up!" says Whity. + +And, believe me, Cousin Inez was dolled for fair. She'd peeled for the +fray, as you might say. And if the dinky shoulder straps held it was +all right; but if one of 'em broke there'd sure be some hurry call for +four yards of burlap to do her up in. She seems smilin' and happy, +though, and keeps glancin' expectant at the red velvet draperies in the +back of the room. + +Sure enough, exactly on the tick of nine, the curtains part, and in +steps the hero of the evenin'. Dress suit? Say, you don't know +Virgie. He's wearin' a reg'lar monk's outfit, of some coarse brown +stuff belted in with a thick rope and open wide at the neck. + +"For the love of beans, look at his feet!" I whispers. + +"Sandals," says Whity, "and no socks! Blessed if Virgie isn't going +the limit!" + +There's a chorus of "Ah-h-h-h's!" as he steps out, and then comes a +buzz of whispers which might have been compliments, and might not. But +it don't faze Virgie. He goes bowin' and handshakin' through the mob, +smilin' mushy on all and several, and actin' as pleased with himself as +if he'd taken the prize at a fancy dress ball. You should have seen +Cousin Inez when he gets to her! + +"Oh, you utterly clever man!" she gushes. "What a genuine genius you +are!" + +"Dear, sweet lady!" says he. "It is indeed gracious of you to say so." + +"Help!" groans Whity, like he had a pain. + +"Ah, buck up!" says I. "It'll be your turn soon." + +I was wonderin' how Virgie was goin' to simmer down enough to pass +Whity the chilly greetin'; for he's just bubblin' over with kind words +and comic little quips. But, say, he don't even try to shade it. + +"Ah, Whity, my boy!" says he, extendin' the cordial paw. "Charming of +you to look me up once more, perfectly charming!" + +"Rot!" growls Whity. "You know I was sent up here to do this blooming +spread of yours. What sort of fake is it, anyway?" + +"Ha, ha! Same old Whity!" says Virgil, poundin' him hearty on the +shoulder. "But you're always welcome, my boy. As for the tea--well, +one of my little affairs, you know,--just a few friends dropping +in--feast of reason, flow of wit, all that sort of thing. You know how +to put it. Don't forget my costume--picked it up at a Trappist +monastery in the Pyrenees. I must give you some photos I've had taken +in it. Ah, another knight of the pencil?" and he glances inquirin' at +me. + +"City Press," says Whity. + +"Fine!" says Virgie, beamin'. "Well, you boys make yourselves quite at +home. I'll send Marie over with cigars and cigarettes. She'll help +you to describe any of the ladies' costumes you may care to mention. +Here's a list of the invited guests too. Now I must be stirring about. +_Au revoir_." + +"Ass!" snarls Whity under his breath. "If I don't give him a roast, +though,--one of the veiled sarcastic kind that will get past! And we +must find some way of queering him with that rich widow." + +"Goin' to be some contract, Whity, believe me!" says I. "Look how +she's taggin' him around!" + +And, say, Cousin Inez sure had the scoopnet out for him! Every move he +makes she's right on his heels, gigglin' and simperin' at all his sappy +speeches and hangin' onto his arm part of the time. Folks was nudgin' +each other and pointin' her out gleeful, and I could easy frame up the +sort of reports that had set Old Hickory's teeth on edge. + +T. Virgil, though, seems to be havin' the time of his life. He +exhibits some clay models, either dancin' girls or a squad of mounted +cops, I couldn't make out which, and he lets himself be persuaded to +read two or three chunks out of his sonnets, very dramatic. Cousin +Inez leads the applause. Then, strikin' a pose, he claps his hands, +the velvet curtains are slid one side, and in comes a French chef +luggin' a tray with a whackin' big casserole on it. + +"_Voila_!" sings out Virgie. "The bouillabaisse!" + +Marie gets busy passin' around bowls and spoons, and the programme +seems to be for the guests to line up while Virgie gives each a helpin' +out of a long-handled silver ladle. It smells mighty good; so I pushes +in with my bowl. What do you guess I drew? A portion of the tastiest +fish soup you ever met, with a lobster claw and a couple of clams in +it. M-m-m-m! + +"He may be a punk poet," says I to Whity; "but he's a good provider." + +"Huh!" growls Whity, who seems to be sore on account of the hit +Virgie's makin'. + +Next thing I knew along drifts Cousin Inez, who has sort of been +crowded away from her hero, and camps down on the other side of Whity. + +"Isn't this just too unique for words?" she gushes. "And is not dear +Virgil perfectly charming tonight?" + +"Oh, he's a bear at this sort of thing, all right," says Whity, "this +and making cheese." + +"Cheese!" echoes Cousin Inez. + +"Sure!" says Whity. "Hasn't he told you about his cheese factories? +Ask him." + +"But--but I understood that--that he was a poet," says she, "a sculptor +poet." + +"Bah!" says Whity. "He couldn't make his salt at either. All just a +pose!" + +"Why, I can hardly believe it," says Cousin Inez. "I don't believe it, +either." + +"Then read his poetry and look at his so called groups," goes on Whity. + +"But he's such a talented, interesting man," insists Inez. + +"With such an interesting family too," says Whity, winkin'. + +"Family!" gasps Cousin Inez. + +"Wife and six children," says Whity, lyin' easy. + +"Oh--oh!" squeals Inez in that shrill, raspy voice of hers. + +"They say he beats his wife, though," adds Whity. + +"Oh!--oh!" squeals Inez, again, higher and shriller than ever. I +expect she'd been more or less keyed up before; but this adds the +finishin' touch. And she lets 'em out reckless. + +Course, everyone stops chatterin' and looks her way. No wonder! You'd +thought she was havin' a fit. Over rushes Virgil, ladle in hand. + +"My dear Inez!" says he. "What is it? A fishbone?" + +"Monster!" she bowls. "Deceiver! Leave me, never let me see your face +again! Oh--oh! Cheese! Six children! Oh--oh!" With that she +tumbles over on Whity and turns purple in the face. + +Say, it was some sensation we had there for a few minutes; but after +they'd sprinkled her face, and rubbed her wrists, and poured a couple +of fingers of brandy into her, she revives. And the first thing she +catches sight of is Virgie, standin' there lookin' puzzled, still +holdin' the soup ladle. + +"Monster!" she hisses at him. "I know all--all! And I quit you +forever!" + +With that she dashes for the cloakroom, grabs her opera wrap, and beats +it for the elevator. Course, that busts up the show, and inside of +half an hour everybody but us has left, and most of 'em went out +snickerin'. + +"I--I don't understand it at all," says Virgie, rubbin' his eyes dazed. +"She was talking with you, wasn't she, Friend Whity? Was it something +you said about me?" + +"Possibly," says Whity, "I may have mentioned your cheese factories; +and I'm not sure but what I didn't invent a family for you. Just as a +joke, of course. You don't mind, I hope?" + +And at that I was dead sure someone was goin' to be slapped on the +wrist. But, say, all Virgie does is swallow hard a couple of times; +and then, as the full scheme of the plot seems to sink in, he beams +mushy. + +"Mind? Why, my dear boy," says he, "you are my deliverer! I owe you +more than I can ever express. Really, you know, that ridiculous old +person has been the bane of my existence for the last three weeks. She +has fairly haunted me, spoiled all my receptions, and--disturbed me +greatly. Ever since I met her in Rome last winter she has been at it. +Of course I have tried to be nice to her, as I am to everyone +who--er--who might help. But I almost fancy she had the idea that I +would--ah--marry her. Really, I believe she did. Thank you a thousand +times, Whity, for your joke! If she comes back, tell her I have two +wives, a dozen. And have some cigars--oh, fill your pockets, my boy. +And here--the photos showing me in my monk's costume. Be sure to drop +in at my next tea. I'll send you word. Good night, and bless you!" + +He didn't push us out. He just held the door open and patted us on the +back as we went through. And the next thing we knew we was down on the +sidewalk. + +"Double crossed!" groans Whity. "Smothered in mush!" + +"As a plotter, Whity," says I, "you're a dub. But if you gunked it one +way, you drew a consolation the other. At this stage of the game I +guess I'm commissioned by a certain party to hand over to you a small +token of his esteem." + +"Eh?" says Whity. "Twenty? What for?" + +"Ah, go bull the market with it, and don't ask fool questions!" says I. + +Say, it was a perfectly swell story about Virgie's bouillabaisse +function on today's society page, double-column half-tone cut and all. +I had to grin when I shows it to Mr. Ellins. + +"Were you there, young man?" says he, eyin' me suspicious. + +"Yep!" says I. + +"I thought so," says he, "when Cousin Inez came home and began packing +her trunks. I take it that affair of hers with the sculptor poet is +all off??' + +"Blew up with a bang about ten-thirty P. M.," says I. "Your two +tenspots went with it." + +"Huh!" he snorts. "That's as far as I care to inquire. Some day I'm +going to send you out with a thousand and let you wreck the +administration." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE + +First off, when I pipes the party in the pale green lid and the fuzzy +English topcoat, I thought it was some stray from the House of Lords; +but as it drifts nearer to the brass rail and I gets a glimpse of the +mild blue eyes behind the thick, shell-rimmed glasses, I discovers that +it's only Son-in-law Ferdy; you know, hubby to Marjorie Ellins that was. + +"Wat ho!" says I. "Just in from Lunnon?" + +"Why, no," says Ferdy, gawpin' foolish. "Whatever made you think that?" + +"Then it's a disguise, is it?" says I, eyin' the costume critical. + +"Oh, bother!" says Ferdy peevish. "I told Marjorie I should be stared +at. And I just despise being conspicuous, you know! Where's Robert?" + +"Mr. Robert ain't due back for an hour yet," says I. "You could catch +him at the club, I expect." + +"No, no," protests Ferdy hasty. "I--I wouldn't go to the club looking +like this. I--I couldn't stand the chaff I'd get from the fellows. +I'll wait." + +"Suit yourself," says I, towin' him into Mr. Robert's private office. +"You can shed the heather wrap in here, if you like." + +"I--I wish I could," says he. + +"Wha-a-at!" says I. "She ain't sewed you into it, has she? Anyhow, +you don't have to keep it buttoned tight under your chin with all this +steam heat on." + +"I know," says Ferdy, sighin'. "I nearly roasted, coming down in the +train. But, you see, it--it hides the tie." + +"Eh?" says I. "Something else Marjorie picked out? Let's have a peek." + +Ferdy blushes painful. "It's awful," he groans, "perfectly awful!" + +"Not one of these nutty Futurist designs, like a scrambled rainbow shot +full of pink polliwogs?" says I. + +"Worse than that," says Ferdy, unbuttonin' the overcoat reluctant. +"Look!" + +"Zowie! A plush one!" says I. + +Course, they ain't so new. I'd seen 'em in the zippy haberdashers' +windows early in the fall; but I don't remember havin' met one out of +captivity before. And this is about the plushiest affair you could +imagine; bright orange and black, and half an inch thick. + +"Whiffo!" says I. "That is something to have wished onto you! Looks +like a caterpillar in a dream." + +"That's right," says Ferdy. "It's been a perfect nightmare to me ever +since Marjorie bought it. But I can't hurt her feelings by refusing to +wear it. And this silly hat too--a scarf instead of a band!" + +It's almost pathetic the way Ferdy holds the lid off at arm's length +and gazes indignant at it. + +"Draped real sweet, ain't it?" says I. "But most of the smart chappies +are wearin' 'em that way, you know." + +"Not this sickly green shade, though," says Ferdy plaintive. "I wish +Marjorie wouldn't get such things for me. I--I've always been rather +particular about my hats and ties. I like them quiet, you understand." + +"You would get married, though," says I. "But, say, can't you do a +duck by changing after you leave home?" + +Seems the idea hadn't occurred to Ferdy. "But how? Where?" says he, +brightenin' up. + +"In the limousine as you're drivin' down to the station," says I. "You +could keep an extra outfit in the car." + +"By Jove!" says Ferdy. "Then I could change again on the way home, +couldn't I? And if Marjorie didn't know, she wouldn't----" + +"You've surrounded the plot of the piece," says I. "Now go to it. +There's a gents' furnisher down in the arcade." + +He's halfway out to the elevator before it occurs to him that he ain't +responded with any grateful remarks; so back he comes to tell how much +obliged he is. + +"And, Torchy," he adds, "you know you haven't been out to see baby yet. +Why, you must see little Ferdinand!" + +"Ye-e-es, I been meanin' to," says I, maybe not wildly enthusiastic. +"I expect he's quite a kid by this time." + +"Eleven months lacking four days," says Ferdy, his face beamin'. +"Wait! I want to show you his latest picture. Really wonderful +youngster, I tell you." + +So I has to inspect a snapshot that Ferdy produces from his pocketbook; +and, while it looks about as insignificant as most of 'em, I pumps up +some gushy remarks which seem to make a hit with Ferdy. + +"Couldn't you come out Sunday?" says he. + +"'Fraid not," says I. "In fact, I'm booked up for quite a spell." + +"Too bad," says Ferdy, "for we're almost alone now,--only Peggy and +Jane--my little nieces, you know--and Miss Hemmingway, who----" + +"Vee?" says I, comin' straight up on my toes. "Say, Ferdy, I think I +can break away Sunday, after all. Ought to see that youngster of +yours, hadn't I? Must be mighty cute by now." + +"Oh, he is," says Ferdy; "but if you can't come this week----" + +"Got to," says I. "'Leven months, and me never so much as chucked him +under the chin once! Gee! how careless of me!" + +"All right, Sunday next," says Ferdy. "We shall look for you." + +That was throwin' in reverse a little sudden, I admit; but my chances +of gettin' within hailin' distance of Vee ain't so many that I can +afford to overlook any bets. Besides, up at Marjorie's is about the +only place where I don't have to run the gauntlet goin' in, or do a +slide for life comin' out. She'll shinny on my side every trip, +Marjorie will--and believe me I need it all! + +Looked like a special dispensation too, this bid of Ferdy's; for I +wanted half an hour's private chat with Vee the worst way just then, to +clear up a few things. For instance, my last two letters had come back +with "Refused" scratched across the face, and I didn't know whether it +was some of Aunty's fine work, or what. Anyway, it's been a couple of +months now that the wires have been down between us, and I was more or +less anxious to trace the break. + +So Sunday afternoon don't find me missin' any suburban local. Course, +Ferdy's mighty intellect ain't suggested to him anything about askin' +me out for a meal; so I has to take a chance on what time to land +there. But I strikes the mat about two-thirty P. M., and the first one +to show up is Marjorie, lookin' as plump and bloomin' a corn-fed Venus +as ever. + +"Why, Torchy!" says she, with business of surprise. + +"Uh-huh," says I. "Special invite of Ferdy's to come see the heir +apparent. Didn't he mention it?" + +"Humph! Ferdy!" says Marjorie. "Did you ever know of him remembering +anything worth while?" + +"Oh, ho!" says I. "In disgrace, is he?" + +"He is," says Marjorie, sniffin' scornful. "But it's nice of you to +want to see baby. The dear little fellow is just taking his afternoon +nap. He wakes up about four, though." + +"Oh, I don't mind waitin' a bit," says I. "You know, I'm crazy to see +that kid." + +"Really!" says Marjorie, beamin' delighted. "Then you shall go right +up now, while he is----" + +"No," says I, holdin' up one hand. "I might sneeze, or something. +I'll just stick around until he wakes up." + +"It's too bad," says Marjorie; "but Verona is dressing and----" + +"What!" says I. "Vee here?" + +"Just going," says Marjorie. "Her aunty is to call for her in about an +hour." + +Say, then was no time for wastin' fleetin' moments on any bluff. "Say, +Marjorie," says I, "couldn't you get her to speed up the toilet motions +a bit and shoo her downstairs? Don't say who; but just hint that +someone wants to see her mighty special for a few moments. There's a +good girl!" + +Marjorie giggles and shows her dimples. "I might try," says she. +"Suppose you wait in the library, where there's a nice log fire." + +So it's me for an easy chair in the corner, where I can watch for the +entrance. Five minutes by the clock on the mantel, and nothing +happens. Ten minutes, and no Vee. Then I hears a smothered snicker +off to the left. I'd got my face all set for the cheerful greetin' +too, when I discovers two pairs of brown eyes inspectin' me roguish, +through the parted portieres. And neither pair was any I'd ever seen +before. + +"Huh!" thinks I. "Nice way to treat guests!" and I pretends not to +notice. I've picked up a magazine and am readin' the pictures +industrious, when there's more snickers. I scowls, fidgets around +some, and fin'lly takes another glance. The brown eyes are twinklin' +mischievous, all four of 'em. + +"Well," says I, "what's the joke? Shoot it!" + +At that into the room bounces a couple of girls, somewhere around ten +and twelve, I should judge; tall, long-legged kids, but cute lookin', +and genuine live wires, from their toes up. They're fairly wigglin' +with some kind of excitement. + +"We know who you are!" singsongs one, pointin' the accusin' finger. + +"You're Torchy!" says the other. + +"Then I'm discovered," says I. "How'd you dope it out?" + +"By your hair!" comes in chorus, and then they goes to a panicky clinch +and giggles down each other's necks. + +"Hey, cut out the comic relief," says I, "and give me a turn. Which +one of you is Peggy?" + +"Why, who told you that?" demands the one with the red ribbon. + +"Oh, I'm some guesser myself," says I. "It's you." + +"Pooh! I bet it was Uncle Ferdinand," says she. + +"Good sleuth work!" says I. "He's the guy. But I didn't know he had +such a cunnin' set of nieces. Most as tall as he is, ain't you, Peggy?" + +But that don't happen to be the line of dialogue they're burnin' to +follow out. Exchangin' a look, they advance mysterious until there's +one on each side of me, and then Peggy whispers dramatic: + +"You came to see Miss Vee, didn't you?" + +"Vee?" says I, lookin' puzzled. "Vee which?" + +"Oh, you know, now!" protests Jane, tappin' me playful. + +"Sorry," says I, "but this is a baby visit I'm payin'. Ask Uncle +Ferdinand if it ain't." + +"Humph!" says Peggy. "Anyone can fool Uncle Ferdy." + +"Besides," says Jane, "we saw a picture on Vee's dressing table, and +when we asked who it was she hid it. So there!" + +"Not a picture of me, though," says I. "Couldn't be." + +"Yes, it was," insists Jane. + +"A snapshot of you," says Peggy, "taken in a boat." + +I won't deny that was some cheerful bulletin; but somehow I had a hunch +it might be best not to let on too much. Course, I could locate the +time and place. I must have got on the film durin' my stay up at +Roarin' Rocks last summer. + +"In a boat!" says I. "Of all things!" + +"And Vee doesn't want anyone to know about it," adds Jane, "specially +her aunty." + +"Why not?" comes in Peggy, lookin' me straight in the eye. + +"Very curious!" says I, shakin' my head. "What else did Vee have to +say about me?" + +"M-m-m-m!" says Peggy. "We can't tell." + +"We promised not to," says Jane. + +"You're a fine pair of promisers!" says I. "I expect you hold secrets +like a wire basket holds water." + +"We never said a word, did we, Peggy?" demands Jane. + +"Nope!" says Peggy. "Maybe he's the one Vee's aunty doesn't like." + +"Are you?" says Jane, clawin' my shoulder excited. + +"How utterly thrillin'!" says I. "Say, you're gettin' me all tittered +up. Think it's me Aunty has the war club out for, do you?" + +"It's someone with hair just like yours, anyway," says Peggy. + +"Think of that!" says I. "Does red hair throw Aunty into convulsions, +or what?" + +"Aunt Marjorie says it's because you--that is, because the one she +meant isn't anybody," says Jane. "He's poor, and all that. Are you +poor?" + +"Me?" says I. "Why--say, what is this you're tryin' to pull off on me, +impeachment proceedings? Come now, don't you guess your Aunt +Marjorie'll be wantin' you?" + +"No," says Peggy. "She told us for goodness sake to run off and be +quiet." + +"What about this Miss Vee party, then?" says I. "Don't she need you to +help her hook up?" + +"We just came from her room," says Peggy. + +"She pushed us out and locked the door," adds Jane. + +"Great strategy!" says I. "Show me a door with a key in it." + +"Pooh!" says Peggy. "You couldn't put us both out at once." + +"Couldn't I?" says I. "Let's see." + +With that I grabs one under each arm, and with the pair of 'em +strugglin' and squealin' and rough housin' me for all they was worth, I +starts towards the livin' room. We was right in the midst of the +scrimmage when in walks Vee, with her hat and furs all on, lookin' some +classy, take it from me. But the encouragin' part of it is that she +smiles friendly, and I smiles back. + +[Illustration: We was right in the midst of the scrimmage when in walks +Vee.] + +"Well, you found someone, didn't you, girls?" says she. + +"Oh, Vee, Vee!" sings out Peggy gleeful. "Isn't this Torchy?" + +"Your Torchy?" demands Jane. + +I tips Vee the signal for general denial and winks knowin'. But, say, +you can't get by with anything crude on a pair of open-eyed kids like +that. + +"Oh, I saw!" announces Jane. "And you do know him, don't you, Vee?" + +"Why, I suppose we have met before?" says she, laughin' ripply. +"Haven't we, Torchy?" + +"Now that you mention it," says I, "I remember." And we shakes hands +formal. + +"Came to see the baby, I hear," says Vee. + +"Oh, sure!" says I. "Maybe you could tell me about him first, though, +if we could find a quiet corner." + +"Oh, we'll tell you," chimes in Peggy. "We know all about Baby. He +has a tooth!" + +"Say," says I, wigglin' away from the pair, "couldn't you go load up +someone else with information, just for ten minutes or so?" + +"What for?" says Jane, eyin' me suspicious. + +"We'd rather stay here," says Peggy decided. + +I catches a humorous twinkle in Vee's gray eyes as she holds out her +hands to the girls. "Listen," says she confidential. "You know those +hermit cookies you're so fond of? Well, Cook made a whole jarful +yesterday. They're in the pantry." + +"I know," says Jane. "We found 'em last night." + +"The Glue Sisters!" says I. "Now see here, Kids, I've just thought of +a message I ought to give to Miss Vee." + +"Who from?" demands Peggy. + +"From a young chap I know who thinks a lot of her," says I. "It's +strictly private too." + +"What's it about?" says Jane. + +Which was when my tactics gave out. "Say, you two human question +marks," says I, "beat it, won't you?" + +No, they just wouldn't. The best they would do for me was to back off +to the other side of the room, eyes and ears wide open, and there they +stood. + +"Go on!" whispers Vee. "What was it he wanted to say?" + +"It was about a couple of notes he wrote," says I. + +"Yes?" says Vee. "What happened?" + +"They came back," says I, "without being opened." + +"Oh," says Vee, "those must have been the ones that----" + +"Vee, Vee!" breaks in Peggy from over near the window. "Here comes +your aunty." + +"Good night, nurse!" says I. + +"Tell him it's all right," says Vee hasty. "He might send the next +ones in care of Marjorie; then I'll be sure of getting them. By-by, +Peggy. Don't squeeze so hard, Jane. No, please don't come out, +Torchy. Goodby." + +And in another minute I'm left to the mercy of the near-twins once +more. I camps down in the easy chair again, with one on each side, and +the cross examination proceeds. Say, they're a great pair too. + +"Didn't Vee want you to go out 'cause her aunty would see you?" asks +Peggy. + +"There!" says I. "I wonder?" + +"I'm glad she isn't my aunty," says Jane. "She looks too cross." + +"If I was Vee's aunty," puts in Peggy, "I wouldn't be mad if she did +have your picture in a silver frame." + +"Honest?" says I. "How's that?" + +"'Cause I don't think you're so awful horrid, even if you aren't +anybody," says Peggy. "Do you, Jane?" + +"I like him," says Jane. "I think his hair's nice too." + +"Well, well!" says I. "Guess I got some gallery with me, anyway. And +how does Vee stand with you?" + +"Oh, she's just a dear!" says Peggy, clappin' her hands. + +"M-m-m-m!" echoes Jane. "She's going to take us to see Maude Adams +next Wednesday too." + +"Huh!" says I, indicatin' deep thought. "So you'll see her again soon?" + +"I wish it was tomorrow," says Jane. + +"Mr. Torchy," says Peggy, grabbin' me impulsive by one ear and swingin' +my face around, "truly now, aren't you awfully in love with Vee?" + +Say, where do they pick it up, youngsters of that age? Her big brown +eyes are as round and serious as if she knew all about it; and on the +other side is Jane, fairly holdin' her breath. + +"Whisper!" says I. "Could you two keep a secret?" + +"Oh, yes!" comes in chorus. + +"Well, then," says I, "I'm going to hand you one. I think Vee is the +best that ever happened." + +"Oh, goody!" exclaims Peggy. "Then you do love her awfully! But why +don't you----" + +"Wait!" says I. "When I get to be a little older, and some bigger, and +after I've made heaps and heaps of money, and have a big, black +automobile----" + +"And a big, black mustache," adds Peggy. + +"No," says I. "Cut out the miracles. Call it when I'm in business for +myself. Then, if somebody'll only choke off Aunty long enough, I +may--well, some fine moonlight night I may tell her all about it." + +"Oh!" gasps Jane. "Mayn't we be there to hear you do it?" + +"Not if I can bar you out," says I. + +"Please!" says Peggy. "We would sit just as still and not---- Oh, +here's Aunt Marjorie. Aunty, what do you think? Mr. Torchy's been +telling us a secret." + +"There, there, Peggy," says Marjorie, "don't be silly. Torchy is +waiting to see Baby. Come! He's awake now." + +Yep, I had to do the inspection act, after all. And I must say that +most of these infant wonders look a good deal alike; only Ferdinand, +Jr., has a cute way of tryin' out his new tooth on your thumb. + +Goin' back towards the station I meets Ferdy, himself, trampin' in +lonesome from a long walk, and lookin' mighty glum. + +"Of all the gloom carriers!" says I. "What was it let you in bad this +time?" + +"You ought to know," says he. + +"For why?" says I. + +"Oh, fudge!" says he. "I suppose you didn't put me up to that silly +business of changing neckties!" + +"Chinked it, did you?" says I. "But how?" + +"If you must know," says he, "I forgot to change back on my way home, +and Marjorie's still furious. She simply won't let me explain, refuses +to listen to a word. So what can I do?" + +"A cinch!" says I. "You got a pair of livin' dictaphones in the house, +ain't you? Work it off on Peggy and Jane as a secret, and you'll have +your defense on record inside of half an hour. Cheer up, Ferdy. +Ishkabibble!" + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of On With Torchy, by Sewell Ford + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ON WITH TORCHY *** + +***** This file should be named 17301.txt or 17301.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/7/3/0/17301/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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