CHAPTER XVTHE HOUSE OF TORCHY
This trip it was a matter of tanks. No, not the ice-water variety, or the kind that absorbs high-balls. Army tanks—the sort that wallows out at daybreak and gives the Hun that chilly feelin' down his spine.
Accordin' to my credentials, I was supposed to be inspectin' 'em for weak spots in the armor or punk work on the gears. And I can tell you now, on the side, that it was 90 per cent. bluff. What the Ordnance Department really wanted to know was whether the work was bein' speeded up proper, how many men on the shifts, and was the steel comin' through from the rollin' mills all right. Get me? Sleuth stuff.
I'd been knockin' around there for four days, bein' towed about by the reserve major, who had a face on him like a stuffed owl, a nut full of decimal fractions, and a rubber-stamp mind. Oh, he was on the job, all right. So was everybody else in sight. I could seethat after the first day. In fact, I coded in my O. K. the second noon and was plannin' to slip back home.
But when I hinted as much to the Major he nearly threw a cat-fit. Why, he'd arranged a demonstration at 10A.M.Thursday, for my special benefit. And there were the tests—horse-power, gun-ranges, resistance, and I don't know what all; technical junk that I savvied about as much as if he'd been tryin' to show me how to play the Chinese alphabet on a piccolo.
Course, I couldn't tell him that, nor I didn't want to break his heart by refusin'. So I agrees to stick around a while longer. But say, I never enjoyed such a poor time doin' it. For there was just one spot on the map where I was anxious to be for the next few days. That was at home. It was one of the times when I ought to be there too, for—— Well, I'll get to that later.
Besides, this fact'ry joint where they were buildin' the tanks wasn't any allurin' spot. I can't advertise just where it was, either; the government wouldn't like it. But if there's any part of Connecticut that's less interestin' to loaf around in, I never got stranded there. You run a spur track out into the bare hillsfor fifteen miles from nowhere, slap up a row of cement barracks, and a few acres of machine shops, string a ten-foot barbed-wire fence around the plant, drape the whole outfit in soft-coal smoke, and you ain't got any Garden of Eden winter resort. Specially when it's full of low-brow mechanics who speak in seven different lingos and subsist mainly on cut plug and garlic.
After I'd checked up all the dope I'd come for, and durin' the times when the Major was out plannin' more inspection stunts for me, I was left to drill around by myself. Hours and hours. And all there was to read in the Major's office was engineerin' magazines and the hist'ry of Essex County, Mass. Havin' been fed up on mechanics, I tackled the hist'ry. One chapter had a corkin' good Indian scalpin' story in it, about a Mrs. Hannah Dustin; and say, as a short-order hair remover she was a lady champ, all right. But the rest of the book wasn't so thrillin'.
So I tried chattin' with the Major's secretary, a Lieutenant Barnes. The Major must have picked him out on account of that serious face of his. First off, I had an idea Barnes was sad just because he was detailed at this soggy place instead of bein' sent to France.I asks him sort of sympathizin' how long he's been here. He says three months.
"In this hole?" says I. "How do you keep from goin' bug-house?"
"I don't mind it," says he. "I find the work quite interesting."
"But evenin's?" I suggests.
"I write to my wife," says he.
I wanted to ask him what about, but I choked it back. "Oh, yes," says I. "Of course. Any youngsters at home!"
"No," says he prompt. "Life is complicated enough without children."
"Oh, I don't know," says I. "They'd sort of help, I should think."
He shakes his head and glares gloomy out of the window. "I cannot agree with you, " says he. "Perhaps you have never seriously considered just what it means to be a parent."
"Maybe not," says I, "but——"
"Few seem to do so," he breaks in. "Just think: one begins by putting two lives in jeopardy."
"Let's pass over that," I says hasty.
He sighs. "If we only could," says he. "And then—— Well, there you are—saddled with the task of caring for another human being, of keeping him in good health, of moldinghis character, of planning and directing his whole career, from boyhood on."
"Some are girls, though," I suggests.
He shudders. "So much the worse," says he. "Girl babies are such delicate creatures; all babies are, in fact. Do you know the average rate of infant mortality in this country? Just think of the hundreds of thousands who do not survive the teething period. Imagine the anxieties, the sleepless nights, the sad little tragedies which come to so many homes. Then the epidemic diseases—measles, scarlet fever, meningitis. Let them survive all those, and what has the parent to face but the battle with other plagues, mental and moral? Think of the number of weak-minded children there are in the world; of perverts, criminally inclined. It is staggering. But if you escape all that, if your children are well and normal, as some are, then you must consider this: Suppose anything should happen to either or both of the parents? What of the little boy or girl? You have seen orphan asylums, I suppose. Have you ever stopped to——"
And then, just as he had me feelin' like I ought to be led out and shot at sunrise, the old Major comes bustlin' in fussy. I could have fallen on his neck.
"All ready!" says he. "Now I'll show you a fighting machine, young man, that is the last word in mechanical genius."
"You can show me anything, Major," says I, "so long as it ain't a morgue or a State's prison."
And he sure had some boiler-plate bus out there champin' at the bit. It looked just as frisky as the Flatiron Buildin', squattin' in the middle of the field, this young Fort Slocum with the caterpillar wheels sunk in the mud.
"Stuck, ain't she?" I asked the Major.
"We shall see," says he, noddin' to one of his staff, who proceeds to do a semaphore act with his arms.
An answerin' snort comes from inside the thing, a purry sort of rumble that grows bigger and bigger, and next I knew, it starts wallowin' right at us. It keeps comin' and comin', gettin' up speed all the while, and if there hadn't been a four-foot stone wall between us I'd been lookin' for a tall tree. I thought it would turn when it came to the wall. But it don't. It gives a lurch, like a cow playin' leap-frog, and over she comes, still pointed our way.
"Hey, Major!" I calls out above the roar."Can they see where they're goin' in there? Hadn't we better give 'em room?"
"Don't move, please," says he.
"Just as you say," says I; "only I ain't strong for bein' rolled into pie-crust. "
"There's no danger," says he. "I merely wish you to see how—— There! Look!"
And say, within twenty feet of us the blamed thing rears up on its haunches, its ugly nose high as a house above us, and, while I'm still holdin' my breath, it pivots on its tail and lumbers back, leavin' a path that looks like it had been paved with Belgian blocks.
Course, that's only part of the performance. We watched it wallow into deep ditches and out, splash through a brook, and mow down trees more'n a foot thick. And all the time the crew were pokin' out wicked-lookin' guns, big and little, that swung round and hunted us out like so many murderous eyes.
"Cute little beast, ain't it?" says I. "You got it trained so it'll almost do a waltz. If I was to pick my position, though, I think I'd rather be on the inside lookin' out."
"Very well," says the Major. "You shall have a ride in it."
"Excuse me," says I. "I was only foolin'. Honest, Major, I ain't yearnin'."
"Telegram for you," breaks in Barnes, the secretary.
"Oh!" says I, a bit gaspy, as I rips open the envelop.
It's the one I'd been espectin'. All it says is: "Come at once.Vee." But I knew what that meant.
"Sorry, Major," says I, "but I'll have to pass up the rest of the show. I—I'm called back."
"Ah! To headquarters?" says he.
"No," says I. "Home."
He shakes his head and frowns. "That is a word which no officer is supposed to have in his vocabulary," says he.
"It's in mine, all right," says I. "But then, I'm not much of an army officer, anyway. I'm mostly a camouflaged private sec. Besides, this ain't any ordinary call. It's a domestic S. O. S. that I've been sort of lookin' for."
"I understand," says he. "The—the first?"
I nods. Then I asks: "What's the quickest way across to Long Island?"
"There isn't any quick way," says he, "unless you have wings. You can't even catch the branch line local that connects with theNew York express now. There'll be one down at 8:36 to-morrow morning, though."
"Wha-a-at!" says I, gawpin' at him. "How about gettin' a machine and shootin' down to the junction?"
"My car is the only one here," says he, "and that is out of commission to-day—valves being ground."
"But look," says I; "you got three or four of those motor-cycles with a bath-tub tacked on the side. Couldn't you let one of your sergeants——"
"Strictly against orders," says he, "except for military purposes."
"Ah, stretch it, Major," I goes on. "Have a heart. Just think! I want to get there to-night. Got to!"
"Impossible," says he.
"But listen——" I keeps on.
Well, it's no use rehearsin' the swell arguments I put up. I said he had a rubber-stamp mind, didn't I? And I made about as much headway talkin' to him as I would if I'd been assaultin' that tank with a tack-hammer. He couldn't see any difference between havin' charge of a string of machine shops in Connecticut and commandin' a regiment in the front-line trenches. Besides, he didn't approveof junior officers bein' married. Not durin' war-time, anyway.
And the worst of it was, I couldn't tell him just the particular kind of ossified old pinhead I thought he was. All I could do was grind my teeth, say "Yes, sir," and salute respectful.
Also there was that undertaker-faced secretary standin' by with his ear out. The prospect of sittin' around watchin' him for the rest of the day wasn't fascinatin'. No; I'd had about all of Barnes I could stand. A few more of his cheerin' observations, and I'd want to jam his head into his typewriter and then tread on the keys. Nor I wasn't goin' to be fed on any more cog-wheel statistics by the Major, either.
All I could keep on my mind then was this one thing: How could I get home? Looked like I was up against it, too. The nearest town was twelve miles off, and the main-line junction was some thirty-odd miles beyond that. Too far for an afternoon hike. But I couldn't just sit around and wait, or pace up and down inside the barbed-wire fence like an enemy alien that had been pastured out. So I wanders through the gate and down a road. I didn't know where it led, or care. Maybe Ihad a vague idea a car would come along. But none did.
I must have been trampin' near an hour, with my chin down and my fists jammed into my overcoat pockets, when I catches a glimpse, out of the tail of my eye, of something yellow dodgin' behind a clump of cedars at one side of the road. First off I thought it might be a cow, as there was a farm-house a little ways ahead. Then it struck me no cow would move as quick as that, or have such a bright yellow hide. So I turns and makes straight for the cedars.
It was a thick, bushy clump. I climbed the stone wall and walked all the way round. Nothin' in sight. Seemed as if I could see branches movin' in there, though, and hear a sound like heavy breathin'. Course, it might be a deer, or a fox. Then I remembered I had half a bag of peanuts somewhere about me. Maybe I could toll the thing out with 'em. I was just fishin' in my pockets when from the middle of the cedars comes this disgusted protest.
"Oh, I say, old man," says a voice. "No shooting, please."
And with that out steps a clean-cut, cheerful-faced young gent in a leather coat, goggledhelmet, and spiral puttees. No wonder I stood starin'. Not that I hadn't seen plenty like him before, but I didn't know the woods was so full of 'em.
"You were out looking for me, I suppose?" he goes on.
"Depends on who you are," says I.
"Oh, we might as well come down to cases," says he. "I'm the enemy."
"You don't look it," says I, grinnin'.
He shrugs his shoulders.
"Fact, old man," says he. "I'm the one you were sent to watch for—Lieutenant Donald Allen, 26th Flying Corps Division, Squadron B."
"Pleased to meet you," says I.
"No doubt," says he. "Have a cigarette?" We lights up from the same match. "But say," he adds, "it was just a piece of tough luck, your catching me in this fix. "
"Oh, I ain't so sure," says I.
"Of course," he says, "it won't go with the C. O. But really, now, what are you going to do when your observer insists that he's dying? I couldn't tell. Perhaps he was. Right in the middle of a perfect flight, too, the chump! Motor working sweet, air as smooth as silk, and no cross currents to speak of. But,with him howling about this awful pain in his tummy, what else could I do? Had to come down and—— Well, here we are. I'm behind the lines, I suppose, and you'll report my surrender."
"Then what?" I asks.
"Oh," says Allen, "as soon as I persuade this trolley-car aviator, Martin, that he isn't dead, I shall load him into the old bus and cart him back to Mineola."
"Wha-a-t!" says I. "You—you're goin' back to Mineola—to-night?"
"If Martin can forget his tummy," says he. "How I'll be guyed! Go to the foot of the eligible list too, and probably miss out on being sent over with my division. Oh, well!"
I was beginning to dope out the mystery. More'n that, I had my fingers on the tail feathers of a hunch.
"Why not leave Martin here?" I suggests. "Couldn't you show up in time?"
"It wouldn't count," says the Lieutenant. "You must have an observer all the way. "
"How about me subbin' in?" says I.
"You?" says he. "Why, you're on the other side."
"That's where you're mixed," says I. "I'mon the wrong side of Long Island Sound, that's all."
"Why," says he, "weren't you sent out to——"
"No," I breaks in; "I'm no spotter. I'm on special detail from the Ordnance Department. And a mighty punk detail at that, if you ask me. The party who's sleuthin' for you, I expect, is the one I saw back at the plant, moonin' around with a pair of field glasses strapped to him. You ain't captured yet; not by me, anyway."
"Honest?" says he. "Why, then—then——"
"Uh-huh!" says I. "And if you can make it back to Mineola with a perfectly good passenger in the extra seat you'll qualify for scout work and most likely be over pluggin' Huns within a month or so. That won't tickle you a bit more'n it will me to get to Long Island to-night, for——"
Well, then I tells him about Vee, and everything.
"By George!" says he. "You're all right, Lieutenant—er——"
"Ah, between friends, Donald," says I, "it's Torchy."
At which we links arms chummy and goes marchin' close order down to the farm-houseto see how this Martin party was gettin' on. We finds him rolled up in quilts on an old sofa that the folks had shoved up in front of the stove—a slim, nervous-lookin' young gink with sandy hair and a peaked nose.
"Well, how about you?" asks Allen.
Martin he only moans and reaches for a warm flat-iron that he'd been holdin' against his stomach.
"Still dying, eh?" says Allen. "Why didn't you report sick this morning, instead of letting them send you up with me?"
"I—I was all right then," whines Martin. "It—it must have been the altitude got me. I—I'd never been that high before, you know."
"Bah!" says the Lieutenant. "Not over thirty-five hundred at any time. How do you expect me to take you back—on the hundred-foot level? You'll make a fine observer, you will!"
"I've had enough observing," says Martin. "I—I'm going to get transferred to the mechanical department."
"Oh, are you?" says Allen. "Then you'll be just as satisfied to make the trip back by rail."
Martin nods.
"And you won't be needing your helmet and things, eh?" goes on the Lieutenant. "I'll take those along, then," and he winks at me.
All of a sudden, though, the sparkles fade out of his eyes. "Jinxed again!" says he. "There'd be no blessed map to hand in."
"Eh?" says I. "Map of what!"
He explains jerky. This scoutin' stunt of his was to locate the tank works and get close enough for an observer to draw a plan of it—all of which he'd done, only by then Martin had got past the drawin' stage.
"So it's no use going back to-night."
"Ain't it?" says I. "Say, if a map of that smoky hole is all you need, I guess I can produce that easy enough."
"Can you?" he asks.
"Why not?" says I. "Ain't I been cooped up there for nearly a week? I can put in a bird's-eye view of the Major in command; one of his secretary, too, if you like. Gimme some paper."
And inside of five minutes I'd sketched out a diagram of the buildin's and the whole outfit. Then we poked Martin up long enough for him to sign it.
"Fine work!" says Donald. "That earnsyou a hop, all right. Now buckle yourself into that cloud costume and I'll show you how a 110-horse-power crow would go from here to the middle of Long Island if he was in a hurry."
"You can't make it any too speedy for me," says I, slippin' into the sheepskin jacket.
"Ever been up before?" he asks.
"Only once—in a hydro," says I; "but I ain't missed any chances."
"That's the spirit!" says he. "Come along. The old bus is anchored down the field a ways."
I couldn't hardly believe I was actually goin' to pull it off until he'd got the motor started and we went skimmin' along the ground. But as soon as we shook off the State of Connecticut and began climbin' up over a strip of woods, I settles back in the little cockpit, buttons the wind-shield over my mouth, and sighs contented.
Allen and I didn't exchange much chat. You don't with an engine of that size roarin' a few feet in front of you and your ears buttoned down by three or four layers of wool and leather. Once he points out ahead and tries to shout something, I don't know what. But I nods and waves encouragin'.Later he points down and grins. I grins back.
Next thing I knew, he's shut off the motor, and I gets a glimpse of the whole of Long Island behavin' odd. Seems as if it's swellin' and widenin' out, like one of these freaky toy balloons you blow up. It didn't seem as if we was divin' down—more like the map was rushin' up to meet us. Pretty soon I could make out a big open space with a lot of squatty buildin's at one end, and in a couple of minutes more the machine was rollin' along on its wheels and we taxied graceful up towards the hangars.
It was just gettin' dusk as we piles out, and the first few yards I walked I felt like I was dressed in a divin' suit with a pair of lead boots on my feet. I saw Allen salute an officer, hand over the map, and heard him say something about Observer Martin wantin' to report sick. Then he steers me off toward the barracks, circles past' em, and leads me through a back gate.
"I think we've put it over, old man," says he, givin' me the cordial grip. "I can't tell you what a good turn you've done me."
"It's fifty-fifty," says I. "Where do I hit a station?"
"You take this trolley that's coming," says he. "That junk you have on you can send back to-morrow, in my care. And I—I trust you'll find things all right at home."
"Thanks," says I. "Hope you'll have the same luck yourself some day."
"Oh, perhaps," says he, shakin' his head doubtful. "If I ever get back. But not until I'm past thirty, anyway."
"Why so late?" asks I.
"What would get my goat," says he, "would be the risk of breakin' into the grandfather class before I got ready."
"Gee!" I gasps. "I hadn't thought of that."
So, with this new idea, and the cheerin' views Barnes had pumped into me, I has plenty to chew over durin' the next hour or so that I'm speedin' towards home. I expect that accounts some for the long face I must have been wearin' when I finally dashes through the front gate of the Lilacs and am let into the house by Leon Battou, the little old Frenchman who cooks and buttles for us.
"Ah,mon Dieu!" says Leon, throwin' up his hands and starin' at me bug-eyed. "Monsieur!"
"Go on," says I. "Tell me the worst. What is it?"
"But no, M'sieur," says he. "It is only that M'sieur appears in so strange attire."
"Oh! These?" says I. "Never mind my costume, Leon. What about Vee?"
"Ah!" says he, his eyes beamin' once more and his hands washin' each other. "Madame is excellent. She herself will tell you. Come!"
Upstairs I went, two steps at a time.
"S-s-sh!" says the nurse, meetin' me at the door.
But I brushes past her, and the next minute I'm over by the bed and Vee is smilin' up at me. It's only the ghost of a smile, but it means a lot to me. She slips one of her hands into mine.
"Torchy," she whispers, "did you drop down out of—of the air?"
"That was about it," says I. "I got here, though. Are you all right, girlie?"
She nods and gives me another of them sketchy, happy smiles.
"And how about the—the——" I starts to ask.
She glances towards the corner where the nurse is bendin' over a pink and white basket. "He's splendid," she whispers.
"He?" says I. "Then—then it's a boy?"
She gives my hand a little squeeze.
And ten minutes later, when I'm shooed out, I'm feelin' so chesty and happy that I'm tingly all over.
Down in the livin'-room Leon is waitin' for me, wearin' a broad grin. He greets me with his hand out. And then, somehow, because he's so different, I expect, I remembers Barnes. I was wonderin' if Leon was just puttin' on.
"Well," says I, "how about it?"
"Ah, Monsieur!" says he, givin' me the hearty grip. "I make to you my best congratulations."
"Then you don't feel," says I, "that bein' a parent is kind of a sad and solemn business?"
"Sad!" says he. "Non, non!It is the grand joy of life. It is when you have the best right to be proud and glad, for to you has comela bonne chance. Yes,la bonne chance!"
And say, there's no mistakin' that Leon means every word of it, French and all.
"Thanks, Leon," says I. "You ought to know. You've been through it yourself. I'll bet you wouldn't even feel bad at being a grandfather. No? Well, I guess I'll follow throughon that line. Maybe I don't deserve so much luck, but I'm takin' it just as though I did. And say, Leon, let's us go out in the back yard and give three cheers for the son and heir of the house of Torchy."
CHAPTER XVITORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP
I expect a lot of people thought it about me; but the one who really registered the idea was Auntie. Trust her. For of course, with an event of this kind staged in the house we couldn't expect to dodge a visit from the old girl. She came clear up from Miami—although, with so much trouble about through sleepers and everything, I kept tellin' Vee I was afraid she wouldn't think it worth while makin' the trip.
"How absurd, Torchy!" says Vee. "Not want to see baby? To be sure, she will."
You see, Vee had the right hunch from the very first—about the importance of this new member of the fam'ly, I mean. She took it as a matter of course that everybody who'd ever known or heard of us would be anxious to rush in and gaze awe-struck and reverent at this remarkable addition we'd made to the population of Long Island. Something like that. She don't have to work up to it. Seems to comenatural. Why, say, she'd sit by and listen without crackin' a smile to these regular gushers who laid it on so thick you'd 'most thought the youngster himself would have turned over and run his tongue out at 'em.
"Oh, the dear, darling 'ittle cherub!" they'd squeal. "Isn't he simp-ly the most won-der-ful baby you ev-er saw?"
And Vee would never blink an eye. In fact, she'd beam on 'em grateful, and repeat to me afterwards what they'd said, like it was just a case of the vote bein' made unanimous, as she knew it was bound to be all along.
Which wasn't a bit like any of the forty-seven varieties of Vee I thought I was so well acquainted with. No. I'll admit she'd shown whims and queer streaks now and then, and maybe a fault or so; but nothing that had anything to do with any tendency of the ego to stick its elbows out. Yet, when it comes to listenin' to flatterin' remarks about our son and heir—well, no Broadway star readin' over what his press-agent had smuggled into the dramatic notes had anything on her. She couldn't have it handed to her too strong.
As for me, I guess I was in sort of a daze there for a week or so. Gettin' to be a parent had been sprung on me so sudden that it wassort of confusin'. I couldn't let on to be a judge of babies myself. I don't know as I'd ever examined one real near to before, anyway—not such a new one as this.
And, between me and you, when I did get a chance to size him up real close once,—they'd all gone out of the room and left me standin' by the crib,—I was kind of disappointed. Uh-huh. No use kiddin' yourself. I couldn't see a thing wonderful about him, or where he was much different from others I'd glanced at casual. Such a small party to have so much fuss made over! Why, one of his hands wasn't much bigger'n a cat's paw. And his face was so red and little and the nose so sketchy that it didn't seem likely he'd ever amount to much. Here he'd had more'n a week to grow in, and I couldn't notice any change at all.
Not that I was nutty enough to report any such thoughts. Hardly. I felt kind of guilty at just havin' 'em in my head. How was it, I asked myself, that I couldn't stand around with my hands clasped and my eyes dimmed up, as a perfectly good parent should when he gazes at his first and only chee-ild! Wasn't I human?
All the alibi I can put up is that I wasn't used to bein' a father. Ain't there somethingin that? Just think, now. Why, I'd hardly got used to bein' married. Here, only a little over a year ago, I was floatin' around free and careless. And then, first thing I know, without any special coachin' in the act, I finds myself pushed out into the center of the stage with the spot-light on me, and I'm introduced as a daddy.
The only thing I could do was try to make a noise like one. I didn't feel it, any more'n I felt like a stained-glass saint in a church window. And I didn't know the lines very well. But there was everybody watching,—Vee, and the nurse, and Madame Battou, and occasional callers,—so I proceeds to bluff it through the best I could.
My merry little idea was to be familiar with the youngster, treat him as if he'd been a member of the fam'ly for a long time, and hide any embarrassin' feelin's I might have by addressin' him loud and joshin'. I expect it was kind of a poor performance, at that. But I seemed to be gettin' away with it, so I stuck to that line. Vee appears to take it all right, and, as nobody else gave me the call, I almost got to believe it was the real thing myself.
So this particular afternoon, when I came breezin' in from town, I chases right up tothe nursery, where I knew I'd find Vee, gives her the usual hail just behind the ear, and then turns hasty to the crib to show I haven't forgot who's there.
"Hello, old sport!" says I, ticklin' him in the ribs. "How you hittin' 'em, hey? Well, well! Look at the fistses doubled up! Who you goin' to hand a wallop to now? Oh, tryin' to punch yourself in the eye, are you? Come there, you young rough-houser, lay off that grouchy stuff and speak some kind words to your daddy. You won't, eh? Goin' to kick a little with the footsies. That's it. Mix in with all fours, you young——"
And just then I hears a suppressed snort that sounds sort of familiar. I glances around panicky, and gets the full benefit of a disgusted glare from a set of chilled steel eyes, and discovers that there's someone besides Vee and the nurse present. Yep. It's Auntie.
"May I ask," says she, "if this is your usual manner of greeting your offspring? "
"Why," says I, "I—I expect it is."
"Humph!" says she. "I might have known."
"Now, Auntie," protests Vee, "you know very well that Torchy means—— "
"Whatever he means or doesn't mean,"breaks in Auntie, "I am sure he has an astonishing way of showing parental affection. Calling the child an 'old scout,' a 'young rough-houser'! It's shocking."
"Sorry," says I; "but I ain't taken any lessons in polite baby talk yet. Maybe in time I could learn this ittums-tweetums stuff, but I doubt it. Always made me sick, that did; and one of the things Vee and I agreed on was that—— "
"Oh, very well," says Auntie. "I do not intend to interfere in any way."
As if she could help it! Why, say, she'd give St. Peter advice on gate-keepin'. But for the time bein', each of us havin' had our say, we calls it a draw and gets back to what looks like a peace footin'. But from then on I knew she had her eyes out at me. Every move I made was liable to get her breathin' short or set her squirmin' in her chair. And you know how it's apt to be in a case like that. I made more breaks than ever. I'd forget about the youngster bein' asleep and cut loose with something noisy at the wrong time. Or I'd jolt her some other way.
But she held in until, one night after dinner, when the baby had indulged in too much day sleepin' and was carryin' on a bit, I takes anotion to soothe him with a few humorous antics while Auntie is safe downstairs. You see, I'd never been able to get him to take any notice of me before; but this time, after I'd done a swell imitation of a Fred Stone dance, I had him cooin' approvin', the nurse smotherin' a smile, and Vee snickerin'.
Naturally, I has to follow it up with something else. I was down on my hands and knees doin' a buckin' bronco act across the floor, when there comes this gasp from the doorway. It seems Auntie was passin' by, and peeked in. Her eyebrows go up, her mouth corners come down, and she stiffens like she'd grabbed a high-voltage feed wire. I saw it comin', but the best I can do is steady myself on my fingers and toes and wish I had cotton in my ears.
"Really!" says she. "Are you never to realize, young man, that you are now supposed to be a husband and a father?"
And, before I can shoot back a word, she's sailed on, her chin in the air and her mouth about as smilin' as a crack in a vinegar bottle. But she'd said it. She'd pushed it home, too. And the worst of it was, I couldn't deny that she had the goods on me. I might pass as a husband, if you didn't expect too much. Butas for the rest—well, I knew I wasn't meetin' the specifications.
The only model I could think of was them fond parent groups you see in the movie close-ups—mother on the right, father at the left, and Little Bright Eyes squeezed in between and bein' mauled affectionate. Had we ever indulged in any such family clinch? Not up to date. Why? Was it because I was a failure as a daddy? Looked so. And here was Auntie taxin' me with it. Would other folks find out, too?
I begun thinkin' over the way different ones had taken the news. Old Hickory, for instance. I was wearin' a wide grin and still feelin' sort of chesty when I broke into his private office and handed him the bulletin.
"Eh?" he grunts, squintin' at me from under them bushy eyebrows. "A father! You? Good Lord!"
"Why not?" says I. "It's still being done, ain't it?"
"Oh, I suppose so. Yes, yes," he goes on, starin' at me. "But somehow, young man, I can hardly think of you as—as—— Well, congratulations, Torchy. You have frequently surprised me by rising to the occasion. Perhaps you will in this also. "
"Thanks, Mr. Ellins," says I. "It's nice of you to cheer me up that way."
Piddie, of course, said the right and elegant thing, just as if he'd learned it out of a book. He always does, you know. Makes a reg'lar little speech, and finishes by givin' me the fraternal handclasp and a pat on the shoulder.
But a minute after I caught him gazin' at me wonderin', and he goes off shakin' his head.
Then I runs across my newspaper friend Whitey Weeks, who used to know me when I was a cub office-boy on the Sunday editor's door.
"Well, Torchy," says he, "what you got on your mind?"
"Nothing you could make copy out of," says I, "but it's a whale of an event for me."
"You don't say," says he. "Somebody died and left you the business?"
"Just the opposite," says I.
"I don't get you," says he.
"Ah, what's usually in the next column?" says I. "It's a case of somebody bein' born."
"Why—why," says he, openin' his mouth, "you don't mean that——"
"Uh-huh," says I, tryin' to look modest.
"I was down on my knees doin' a buckin' bronco act, when there comes a gasp from the doorway.""I was down on my knees doin' a buckin' bronco act, when there comes a gasp from the doorway."
"Haw-haw!" roars Whitey, usin' the steam siren effect. And, as it's right on the corner of Forty-second and Broadway, he comes near collectin' a crowd. Four or five people turn around to see what the merriment is all about, and a couple of 'em stops short in their tracks. One guy I spotted for a vaudeville artist lookin' for stuff that might fat up his act.
"Say," Whitey goes on, poundin' me on the back jovial, "that's rich, that is!"
"Glad it amuses you," says I, startin' to move off.
"Oh, come, old chap!" says he, followin' along. "Don't get crabby. What—what is it, anyway?"
"It's a baby," says I. "Quite a young one. Now go laugh your fat head off, you human hyena."
With that shot I dashes through the traffic and catches a downtown car, leavin' him there with his silly face unhinged. And I did no more announcin' to anybody. I was through advertisin'. When some of the commuters on the eight-three heard the news and started springin' their comic tricks on me, I pretended I didn't understand.
I don't know what they thought. I didn't give a whoop, either. I wasn't demandin' that anybody should pass solemn resolutions thankin'me for what I'd done for my country, or stand with their hats off as I went by. But I was overstocked on this joke-book junk.
Maybe I didn't look like a father, or act like one; but I was doin' my best on the short notice I'd had.
I will say for Vee that she stood by me noble. She seemed to think whatever I did was all right, even when I shied at holdin' the youngster for the first time.
"I'm afraid I'll bend him in the wrong place," I protests.
"Goose!" says she. "Of course you won't."
"Suppose I should drop him?" says I.
"You can't if you take him just as I show you," she goes on patient. "Now, sit down in that chair. Crook your left arm like this. Now hold your knees together, and we'll just put the little precious right in your—— There! Why, you're doing it splendidly."
"Am I?" says I.
I might have believed her if I hadn't caught a glimpse of myself in the glass. Say, I was sittin' there as easy and graceful as if I'd been made of structural iron and reinforced concrete. Stiff! Them stone lions in front of the Public Lib'ry was frolicsome lambs compared to me. And I was wearin' the same happylook on my face as if I was havin' a tooth plugged.
Course that had to be just the time when Mr. Robert Ellins happened in for his first private view. Mrs. Robert had towed him down special. He's a reg'lar friend, though, Mr. Robert is. I can't say how much of a struggle he had to keep his face straight, but after the first spasm has worn off he don't show any more signs of wantin' to cackle. And he don't pull any end-man stuff.
"Well, well, Torchy!" says he. "A son and heir, eh? I salute you."
"Same to you and many of 'em," says I, grinnin' simple.
It was the first thing that came into my head, but I guess I'd better not have let it out. Mrs. Robert pinks up, Vee snickers, and they both hurries into the next room.
"Thank you, Torchy," says Mr. Robert. "Within certain limitations, I trust your wish comes true. But I say—how does it feel, being a father?"
"Just plain foolish," says I.
"Eh?" says he.
"Honest, Mr. Robert," says I, "I never felt so much like a ham sandwich at a Chamber of Commerce banquet as I do right now. I'mbeginnin' to suspect I've been miscast for the part."
"Nonsense!" says he soothin'. "You appear to be getting along swimmingly. I'm sure I wouldn't know how to hold a baby at all."
"You couldn't know less'n I do about it at present writing," says I. "I don't dare move, and both my legs are asleep from the knees down. Do me a favor and call for help, won't you?"
"Oh, I say!" he calls out. "The starboard watch wants to be relieved."
So Vee comes back and pries the baby out of my grip.
"Isn't he absurd!" says she. "But he will soon learn. All men are like that at first, I suppose."
"Hear that, Mr. Robert?" says I. "That's what I call a sun-cured disposition."
She'd make a good animal-trainer, Vee; she's so persistent and patient. After dinner she jollies me into tryin' it again.
"You needn't sit so rigid, you know," she coaches me. "Just relax naturally and let his little head rest easy in the hollow of your arm. No, you don't have to grab him with the other hand. Let him kick his legs if he wants to.See, he is looking up at you! Yes, I believe he is. Do you see Daddy? Do you, precious?"
"Must be some sight," I murmurs. "What am I supposed to do now?"
"Oh, you may rock him gently, if you like," says Vee. "And I don't suppose he'd mind if you sang a bit."
"Wouldn't that be takin' a mean advantage?" says I.
Vee laughs and goes off so I can practice alone, which was thoughtful of her.
I didn't find it so bad this time. I discovers I can wiggle my toes occasionally without lettin' him crash on to the floor. And I begun to get used to lookin' at him at close range, too. His nose don't seem quite so hopeless as it did. I shouldn't wonder but what he'd grow a reg'lar nose there in time. And their little ears are cute, ain't they? But say, it was them big blue eyes that got me interested. First off they sort of wandered around the room aimless; but after a while they steadies down into gazin' at me sort of curious and admirin'. I rather liked that.
"How about it, Snookums?" says I. "What do you think of your amateur daddy? Or are you wonderin' if your hair'll be as red as mine? Don't you care. There's worse thingsin life than bein' bright on top. Eh? Think you'd like to get your fingers in it? Might burny-burn. Well, try it once, if you like." And I ducks my head so he can reach that wavin' forelock of mine.
"Googly-goo!" remarks Sonny, indicatin' 'most anything you're a mind to call it.
Anyway, he seems to be entertained. We was gettin' acquainted fast. Pretty soon he pulls a smile on me. Say, it's the real thing in the smile line, too—confidential and chummy. I has to smile back.
"That's the trick, Buster!" says I. "Friendly face motions is what wins."
"Goo-oogly-goo!" says he.
"True words!" says I. "I believe you."
We must have kept that up for near half an hour, until he shows signs of gettin' sleepy. Just before he drops off, though, he was wavin' one of his hands around, and the first thing I know them soft little pink fingers has circled about my thumb.
Say, that turned the trick—just that. Ever had a baby grip you that way? Your own, I mean? If you have, I expect you'll know what I'm drivin' at. And if you ain't—well, you got something comin' to you. It's a thing I couldn't tell you about. It's a gentle sort ofthrill, that spreads and spreads until it gets 'way inside of you—under your vest, on the left side.
When Vee finally comes in to see how we're gettin' along, he's snoozin' calm and peaceful, with a sketchy smile kind of flickerin' on and off that rosebud mouth of his, like he was indulgin' in pleasant dreams. Also, them little pink fingers was still wrapped around my thumb.
"Well, if you aren't a picture, you two!" says Vee, bendin' over and whisperin' in my ear.
"This ain't a pose," says I. "It's the real thing."
"You mean——" begins Vee.
"I mean I've qualified," says I. "Maybe I didn't show up so strong durin' the initiation, but I squeaked through. I'm a reg'lar daddy now. See! He's givin' me the inside brother grip—on my thumb. You can call Auntie in, if you like."