CHAPTER XIIIFIRST AID FOR THE MAIN STEM
Well, I ain't been adopted yet; but it's the next thing to it. Me and Zenobia are gettin' to understand each other better every day. And, say, for a ripe old party, she's younger in her mind than lots of folks I know who ain't lived half so long. Maybe she did do her first travelin' up and down Broadway in a horse stage; but that ain't the way she wants to cover the ground now. What do you think she springs at the dinner table the other night? Says she's goin' to the next aviation meet and hire some one to take her up for an aëroplane ride.
"Why, Zenobia!" says Sister Martha, so shocked her white frizzes almost stand up and wiggle.
That's Martha's cue, all right. She don't seem to get used to Zenobia's ways, although they've been livin' together all these years. A genuine, consistent antique, Sister Martha is, who still likes to talk about the time when Horace Greeley ran for President. Accordin' to her conversation the last real sensation thatcame her way was when she went over to Brooklyn and heard Henry Ward Beecher preach.
But even Martha ain't no worse when you get to know her. She's a harmless, well meanin' old soul, and I'm 'most beginnin' to believe she's pretty near as pious as she thinks she is. Anyway, it ain't any Sunday pose with her. She lugs her religion right through the week, holidays and all, and spreads it around even. I got it straight from Zenobia that Martha's even begun ringin' me into her goodnight prayers, along with the cook and the President.
Also Martha has started in on what she calls my moral trainin', which she dopes out as havin' been neglected somethin' shameful. Whenever Zenobia ain't around to interrupt, I get a Jonah story, or a Sampson and Delilah hair cuttin' yarn pumped into me, and if there ain't any cogs missin' in her scheme I ought to be buddin' a soul before long.
"Torchy," says she real solemn the other night, "I hope you do not use profane language. Do you?"
"Well," says I, "when I was on the Sunday editor's door I did used to think I could put over a few gingery ones; but since I've been with the Corrugated Trust I've kind of got out of practice."
"Ah!" says she, beamin'. "That is good,very good! Your associations are better; is that it?"
"Mainly it's on account of Mr. Ellins," says I. "Maybe you never happened to hear him; but, say, you ought to be there some mornin' when he limps in with the gout in both feet and a hang-over grouch from the day before! Cuss! Why, after listenin' to him grow real enthusiastic once, I got discouraged. What's the use? thinks I."
Well, someway that gives Martha an awful jolt; for maybe you remember my tellin' how it turns out that her and Zenobia are second cousins to Old Hickory. She says how she's pained and mortified beyond words to learn that Mr. Ellins should allow his employees to hear him use such language.
"Ah, that's all right," says I. "As long as it ain't fired at 'em, nobody feels bad. Mostly they grins, except now and then a new lady typewriter who squirms and turns pale. He don't whisper when he's cussin', Mr. Ellins don't."
"Shocking!" says Sister Martha. "Does—does he do this often?"
"It all depends on how he's feelin'," says I; "but for the past week or ten days he's been at it pretty reg'lar. I expect he's been havin' a worse siege than usual."
Oh, me and Martha had a real heart to hearttalk that night, and when I fin'lly goes up to my top floor suite I leaves her fannin' herself and gaspin' for breath. But she'd asked for facts, and I'd handed 'em over. How was I to guess what was goin' to be the follow up on that?
Not expectin' anything more'n instructions about some errand or other, I ain't any disturbed when Piddie comes up to the gate desk right after lunch next day, lookin' as stern and solemn as if he'd been sent to read a warrant.
"Boy," says he, "Mr. Ellins, senior, wishes to see you in his private office!"
"Well, that ain't surprisin', is it, Piddie?" says I. "You don't suppose we can talk over big affairs like ours out here, do you? Keep your ear off the keyhole, too!" And with that I goes in chipper and cheerful.
The minute I gets through the last door, though, I feels the frost in the air. Mr. Ellins, he lets me wait long enough for the chill to strike in, while he signs a basketful of letters. Then he swings around in his swivel chair and proceeds to size me up through them gunmetal gray eyes of his. Say, it was like standin' in front of a searchlight and under a cold shower, all at once.
"So, young man!" says he. "You have been hearing me swear, eh?"
That's enough for me. Just from that I cansketch the whole plot. And it don't take me a month to figure out the line of talk I'm goin' to use. What's the sense in playin' for time when your blue ticket's all made out.
"Heard you?" says I. "Think I wear my ears full of putty?"
"Huh!" he grunts. "And do I understand that you disapprove of my profanity?"
"Ah, who's been fillin' you up?" says I. "Why, you're an artist at it."
"Thanks," says he. "And I suppose you felt it your duty to inform my relatives of the fact? Very thoughtful of you, I'm sure."
"Don't mention it," says I.
"You—you're an impertinent young whelp!" says he, his cheeks gettin' purple and puffy.
"Ah, don't mind the frills," says I. "Get out the can. I'm fired, ain't I?"
"No!" he shouts, bangin' his fist down on the desk. "At least, not until I get through with you. What I want to know is why in blue belted blazes you did it!"
"Well," says I, "first off I guess it just naturally slipped out; then, when I saw what a hit I was makin' with Martha—why, I expect I sort of enjoyed givin' her the details."
Somehow, that seems to graze his funnybone, and he has a struggle to keep a grin out of his mouth corners. "Humph!" says he. "I—I'dlike to have seen her then. So you went on to describe the general state of my health, did you?"
"It was you we was chattin' about," says I.
"Fascinating topic, I've no doubt," he growls; "but I hardly appreciate the attention. Understand?"
"That's breakin' on me gradual," says I.
"Fortunately for you, though," he goes on, "you didn't attempt to lie out of it. By the way, why didn't you?"
"And her just after givin' you the whole game over the 'phone?" says I. "Ah, say!"
"Young man," says he, shootin' over the quizzin' gaze, "either you are too blickety blinked fresh to keep, or else you're too keen to lose; hanged if I know which! But—er—well, I'll take a chance. You may go out and report to Mr. Piddie for duty."
"It'll near break his heart," says I.
It does, too. I expect from what he'd heard in the private office that he was figurin' on handin' me my hat as I was shot out and remarkin' that he knew all along it was comin' to me. Then there'd be a rollcall of new office boys, with him pickin' out one more to his taste than me. But no such luck for him.
"Cheer up, Piddie," says I. "I'll have the warden send you an invitation when they fin'lly get me right."
Course, I don't make any squeal at the house about my narrow escape; for I knew Martha only meant it for the best. Next day Mr. Ellins don't show up at the office at all, and that evenin' Martha is better posted on his condition than I am. She's been busy on the wire again, this time locatin' him at home.
"My poor cousin," says she, "is in a wretched state. He has been overworking, I fear, and seems to be a nervous wreck. That will account, I have no doubt, for his recent lapses into profanity. He feels rather ashamed of himself; but perhaps I should make allowances. What he needs is rest and quiet. Luckily, I happened to know just the place for him and was able to persuade him to go there at once. He started this afternoon."
It's called the Wesley Restorium, Martha says, and is run by an old friend of hers who used to be a missionary doctor in China. He's an awfully good man, and she's sure he'll help Mr. Ellins a lot. Besides, his place is only about fifty miles off, over in North Jersey; so Mr. Ellins could make the run easy in his limousine.
Well, that leaves only Mr. Robert, Piddie, and me to manage the Corrugated, and we was all bearin' up under the load well enough except Piddie; when along about two o'clock there's a long distance call from the Main Stem, anda few minutes later Mr. Robert sends out for me.
"Torchy," says he, "you seem to be elected. The governor wants you."
"Me?" says I.
"Yes," says Mr. Robert. "I don't exactly understand why. He is at a sanatorium, you know, and we had arranged to send up his private secretary with the important mail this afternoon; but he says he wants you. Says you're responsible for his being there—whatever that means."
"I'm on," says I. "When do I start?"
There's a train at three-thirty-four; so that gives me time to chase around to the house after a grip, then back to the office to gather up a bundle of late letters, and pike for Jersey City. And at that it's five o'clock before I'm landed at a little flag station umpteen miles beyond nowhere. My! but the north end of Jersey has some up and down to it, though! From what I'd heard I thought the State was all meadows; but here I am carted in a four-horse bus up the side of a hill that's twice as tall as the Metropolitan tower.
Say, I never saw so much country spread out all at once before—nothing but hills and trees, and no signs of houses anywhere. Made me so blamed lonesome lookin' at it that I had to shut my eyes for a spell. And when we gets to thetop there's a big shack like a new set of car barns, with hundreds of windows, and big wide veranda all around. It looks as homy and cheerful as the Art Museum. The lawn is full of rocks and stumps, and the few little flowerbeds that have been laid out looked lost and homesick.
Pacin' up and down the verandas, like animals in a cage, was about fifty people, and over at one end, all by himself, looms up Old Hickory, lookin' big and ugly and disgusted with life.
"Well!" he growls. "So you got here, eh? Hope you like it as well as I do. Bring that mail inside."
While he's more or less grouchy, he don't act any more like a nervous wreck than usual. I take it that he was some tired when he got up here night before; but that he cut out dinner and turned in for a good twelve-hour snooze instead. Then he's had a quiet day, and I judge he was a lot better already.
He's just got well into his letters, when an attendant guy in a white duck uniform steps in and taps him on the shoulder.
"Well?" says Old Hickory.
"Vesper service is beginning in the chapel, sir," says the gent.
"Let it begin, then," says Mr. Ellins.
"But," says the gent, "it is usual for guests to——"
"It isn't for me!" snaps Mr. Ellins. "You get out!"
And the gent got out.
We could hear 'em singin' hymns and so on for half an hour; but Mr. Ellins keeps right on goin' through his mail and makin' notes on the envelops until six o'clock, when a big gong rings.
"Thank heaven! Dinner!" says he. "Come on, Torchy; I'm hungry enough to eat a bale of hay!" Then he's hardly got into his chair in the dinin' room before he's snapping his fingers for a waiter. "Hey!" he sings out. "Bring me a dry Martini right away, and a pint of Château Yquem with the fish."
"Excuse me," says the waiter, "but there isn't anything like that on the bill of fare. If it's something to drink you want, you can order buttermilk, which is extra."
"Buttermilk!" snorts Old Hickory. "Say, where's the proprietor? Send him over here!"
He didn't have to call him twice; for the boss of the Restorium had heard the row and was glidin' our way as fast as his rubber heels would let him. He's a short legged, pop eyed, red faced party, wearin' cute white side whiskers, a black Prince Albert, and a minister's necktie.
"Gently, gently," says he, pattin' the airwith his hands and puckering his mouth. "Remember to speak softly in the dining room."
"All right, Doc," says Mr. Ellins; "but I want a cocktail."
"Tut, tut, brother!" says the Doc, liftin' a warnin' finger and raisin' his eyebrows. "No intoxicating liquors served here, you know. Now a glass of nice buttermilk is just what——"
"Bah! Buttermilk!" snorts Hickory. "Think I come from a dairy?"
The Doc does his best to soothe him down and fin'lly persuades him to tackle his mutton broth without the Martini. It's a good enough feed; but kind of plain, about what you'd get in one of these Eighth-ave. joints, four courses for thirty-five cents. Mr. Ellins gets left again when he calls for a demitasse after the tapioca pudding. Nothing doing in the coffee line.
"Huh!" he grunts. "I suppose I may smoke, eh?"
"On the north veranda, from seven until eight-fifteen," says the waiter.
"Well, I'll be—blistered!" says Old Hickory.
While he's burnin' a couple of black perfectos out on the smoke reservation, I roams around the Restorium. It's furnished neat and simple, with lots of varnished woodwork and a few framed railroad photos on the walls. In the parlor was four or five groups of womenin rockin' chairs, talkin' low and doin' fancy-work. Most of the men were tiptoein' up and down the veranda. They was a stoop shouldered, dyspeptic lookin' lot. Down in the basement in a place labeled "Recreation Room," a couple of checker games was in progress, and four gents was shovin' weights up and down the shuffleboard. Yes, it was a perfectly good place to be quiet in. I could guess why Hickory Ellins had begun to show signs of bein' restless. By eight o'clock he comes marchin' in and up to the office desk.
"Where's the billiard room?" says he.
"There is no billiard room, brother," says the Doc, steppin' to the front. "Here we have eliminated all of those things that might disturb our beautiful peace and quiet."
"Have, eh?" grunts Hickory. "Then where can I find three others to make up a bridge game?"
"Card playing," says the Doc, putting his thumb and forefingers together, "is not allowed in the Restorium."
"Sorrowing sisters by the sea!" remarks Mr. Ellins. "No billiards! No cards! Say, what the merry Mithridates do you think I'm going to do with myself from now until twelve o'clock, eh?"
"By referring to the rules of this establishment, Mr. Ellins," says the Doc, speakin' coldand reprovin', "you will see that the general retiring hour is fixed at nine-thirty. At nine-forty-five the gas is all turned off."
"What!" roars Hickory. "Think you're going to put me to bed at nine-thirty?"
"You are at liberty to sit up in the dark, if you choose," the Doc comes back at him. "Any guest who is dissatisfied with the manner in which the Restorium is conducted has the option of leaving."
"Well, say!" says Mr. Ellins, thumpin' the desk earnest, "I am dissatisfied! Buttermilk and vesper services! Huh! Do you suppose I've paid two weeks in advance for such a dose? Where's your 'phone?"
With that he calls up New York, gets his chauffeur on the wire, and orders him to have the car here first thing in the morning, even if he has to start before light.
"And what is more," says Mr. Ellins, walkin' back to the Doc, "I propose to buy the rest of this hill and open a real live hotel as close to your place as I can put it. There'll be something going on in it all the time, if I have to make everything free, and you can bet your last dollar the wine list will have something besides buttermilk on it! There'll be billiard tables, bowling alleys, a dance hall, and a brass band playing all night. I'll fix your beautiful peace and quiet for you!"
The Doc, he smiles a kind of sanctified smile and points to the clock. "In just forty-five minutes," says he, "the lights go out."
That's all the satisfaction Mr. Ellins gets, too; so he takes me in tow and we beat it 'steen times around the verandas, him stating his opinions of restoriums in general, Cousin Martha in partic'lar, and now and then shootin' a sarcastic remark at me. But when he sees the other victims begin sneakin' off one by one he growls out:
"Well, son, I suppose they'll be locking us out if we don't follow suit. Get the keys to our rooms."
First off I thought I could have a great snooze; but it's such a blamed quiet place that I found myself wide awake, with my ear strained to see if I couldn't hear something. After an hour or so of that, I gets up and sits by the open window; but as there ain't any moon or any street lights, it's like starin' down a coalhole.
I was wondering if the country was always as black as that at night, and what would happen to anyone that strayed out into it, when all of a sudden I hears a window raised, and way down in the basement under the dining room I sees a bright light shinin' out. "Hello!" thinks I. "Some of the help must be bustin' the rules and regulations."
By leanin' out and rubberin' I could look down into the room. And, say, the shock almost tumbled me out. For there's the Doc sittin' in his shirtsleeves with four other gents around a green topped table decorated with stacks of chips. The Doc is just dealin', and before the shade is pulled down again I had time to see him reach under the lower deck and haul up a decanter that might have been full of cold tea.
Well, say, I don't do a thing but hustle into my clothes and chase down the corridor to Mr. Ellins' room. Is he int'rested in the tale? He's all of that.
"Torchy," says he, "if you can lead me down to that game, I—I'll forgive you. Perhaps I'll do better than that."
I used up half a box of matches findin' the way; but at last we located the light comin' through the transom.
"Good work!" he whispers. "Now you go back to bed and enjoy a long night's rest."
Sure I did—not. I wouldn't have missed hearin' that exchange of happy greetin's for a farm. And the way the Doc chokes up and splutters tryin' to explain things was somethin' lovely. He was gettin' himself as twisted as a pretzel, when Old Hickory breaks in.
"That's all right, Doc," says he. "Innocent little relaxation. I understand perfectly. Now, what's the ante?"
Well, after that the conversation wasn't so excitin'; nothing but, "I'll take three cards," or "Raise you two more blues." So I sneaks back and falls into the hay once more.
At breakfast Mr. Ellins shows up more smilin' and chipper than I'd ever seen him anywhere before. He puts away three soft boiled eggs, a couple of lamb chops, and two cups of coffee made special for him. The Doc he follows us out to the limousine.
"Sorry to have you go so soon, Mr. Ellins," says he, rubbin' one hand over the other, "very sorry indeed, sir. And—er—about those memoranda from my assistants. I will see that they are redeemed, you know."
"Those I O U's?" says Mr. Ellins. "Oh, you tell the boys I tore 'em up. Yours, too, Doctor. I had my fun out of the game. So long."
And for the next four miles Old Hickory don't do much but gaze out on the landscape and chuckle.
"Was that a bluff about buildin' that hotel?" says I after awhile.
"Well," says Mr. Ellins, "not exactly; but I think I shall present the Restorium with a pipe organ instead."
CHAPTER XIVIN ON THE OOLONG
Course it was a cinch; but Piddie ain't got done wonderin' yet how I did it. I can tell that by the puzzled way he has of lookin' me over when he thinks I ain't noticin'.
You see, we'd been havin' a quiet week at the Corrugated. This fine spell of weather has braced Old Hickory up until he almost forgets how he's cast himself for the great grouch collector. Things must have been runnin' smooth, too; for he can even read about the Return from Elba plans without chuckin' the mornin' paper into the waste basket and gettin' purple behind the ears.
Then, all of a sudden here the other afternoon, Piddie comes trottin' out of the private office all flustered up and begins pawin' excited through the big bond safe. He's hardly got started at that before there comes three rings on the buzzer for him, and he trots back to see what the old man wants now. Next there are hurry calls for the general auditor and the head of the contract department, and before Mr. Ellinsgets through he's had every chief in the shop up on the carpet and put 'em through the third degree. Way out by my gate I could hear him layin' down the law to 'em, and they comes out lookin' wild and worried.
Which don't get me excited any at all. I worked in the newspaper office too long and saw too many Sunday editions go to press for that. So when I hears him yell for me I don't jump over the desk and get goose flesh up the back. I keeps right on snappin' rubber bands at the spring water bottle until he's shouted a couple more times. Then I winks at the row of lady typists and strolls in, calm and easy.
"Yes, sir?" says I.
"See here, boy!" says he. "Do you happen by any chance to know where that son of mine might be found at this moment?"
"Mr. Robert?" says I. "Nix."
"No, of course you don't!" says Old Hickory, glarin' at me. "No one around this precious asylum for undeveloped cerebellums seems to know anything they ought to. Bah!"
"Yes, sir," says I.
"Don't grin at me that way!" he snaps. "Get out! No, stay where you are! If you don't know where Robert is, where do you think he might be found?"
"Tried any of his clubs?" says I.
He had, all of 'em. Also he'd had him pagedthrough four hotel grill rooms and called up three brokers' offices.
"Well, if he ain't havin' a late lunch, or playin' billiards, or watchin' the stock board, I give it up," says I. "Maybe you've noticed that Mr. Robert ain't been in many afternoons lately."
"Huh! Perhaps I haven't, though!" grunts Old Hickory. "But this time it is important that he should be here. Young man, you seem to have less wool on your wits than most of the office force; so I am going to confide to you that unless we find Robert before four-thirty o'clock this afternoon the Corrugated Trust Company will lose a lot of money."
"Oh, if it's a case of savin' the next dividend," says I, "I'll take another think. I expect you asked for him at the house?"
"He was there at one-fifteen and left twenty minutes later," says Mr. Ellins.
"Yes; but what kind of clothes was he wearin'?" says I.
"Clothes!" snorts out Old Hickory. "What the blithering——"
"Lemme ask his man," says I, grabbin' the desk 'phone. "Plaza—yes, Plaza, double O double three sixty-one. Sure! You got it. Say, Mr. Ellins, that butler of yours don't burn the carpet movin' fast, does he? He must——Hello! I want to talk to Walters. Ah, nevermind who I am, switch him on!" And inside of two minutes I have the report. "Frock coat and silk lid," says I. "See? Society date."
"Huh!" says the old man. "That settles it. He's tagging around after that young lady violinist again. Might have guessed; for since she's come back from Paris he has taken about as much interest in business as a cat does in astronomy. But to-morrow morning we'll——"
"Say," I breaks in, "if it's a case of young lady, why not locate her and then scout for Mr. Robert in the neighborhood? That ought to be easy."
"Think so?" says he. "Well, young man, you have my permission to tackle the job. Her name is Inez Webster. I don't know where she lives, or with whom she's staying; but she's somewhere in New York. Now, how will you begin?"
"By rubberin' at Mr. Robert's date pad," says I.
"Good!" says Old Hickory. "No one else thought of that," and he leads the way in and unlocks Mr. Robert's rolltop. "Now what do those scratches mean?"
"I. W. 2:15," says I, readin' it off. "The arrow points to Inez. He must be with her now."
"Wherever that is!" growls Mr. Ellins. "Go on."
"Say, lemme think a minute," says I, slippin' into the swing chair and doin' the Sherlock gaze at the desk.
"Oh, certainly!" says he, snappy and sarcastic. "Take a nap over it! Plenty of time!" and with that he pads back into his office and slams the door.
Now I didn't like pawin' through the pigeon-holes or drawers; but when I happens to glance at the waste basket I feels more at home. In a jiffy I has it dumped on the rug. There was an empty cigarette box, the usual collection of circulars, a dozen torn business letters, and so on. It looked like a hopeless hunt, too, until I runs across this invitation card announcin' that the Misses Pulsifer will be at home from two-fifteen until five-thirty. There's a Fort Washington Road address, and down in one corner it says "music." Also to-day's the day.
"Whoop!" says I, stowin' away the card. "Me for the Misses Pulsifers' on a long shot. Hey, Mr. Ellins!" I shouts, stickin' my head in the door. "Can I draw two bones for expense money? I'm on the trail."
"The blazes you are!" says he.
"Yep," says I. "Mebbe it's a false scent; but if I find him what's the message?"
"Just ask Robert," says he, "if it has occurred to him that those P. K. & Q. contract copies have got to be filed with the bonding company this afternoon. That's all."
"Right!" says I. "P. K. & Q. contracts. I'm off."
Ever get as far up into the northwest corner of the island as Fort Washington Road? Then you know how many blocks it is from the nearest subway station. Not havin' time for a half-hour stroll, I takes a Broadway express, jumps it at 157th, hunts up a taxi, and turns down the red flag.
"Now don't try zigzaggin' around to roll up mileage," says I to the shuffer; "but beat it straight there."
Some swell places up in that neck of Manhattan, what? Why, some of them folks has so much back yard they keep their own cow. When we rolls in through a pair of big stone gates I begin to suspect that the Misses Pulsifers was lady plutes for fair, and the size of the house had me stunned.
"I'm swell lookin' front door comp'ny, I am," thinks I, handin' over a dollar thirty to the taxi pirate and paradin' in across the red carpet. "Now what is it I tell the butler when he pushes out his tray?"
All the guard they has on the door, though, is a French maid, and when she starts to lookme over suspicious I shoves the invitation card at her.
"Say, Marie," says I, "where's the doin's?"
"Pardon?" says she. "What you wish?"
"Ah, where do they keep the music?" says I.
"Ze musicale?" says she. "It is commence. S-s-s-sh!" and she points down the hallway.
"Yes, I was afraid I'd be late," says I. "Glad they didn't wait. I'll sneak into a back seat."
Did I? Well, say, I didn't know what I was runnin' into; for as I pushes through some draperies I finds myself on the side lines of the biggest herd of girls I ever saw collected in one room before. Why, there was rows and rows of 'em, all in white dresses, and the minute I steps in about two hundred pairs of eyes revolves my way.
Talk about jumpin' into the limelight! I felt like I'd wandered out on the stage while the big scene was goin' on. Then comes the giggles, and business with the elbows of passin' the nudge along. They all forgets what's doin' up on the platform by the piano and pays strict attention to me. Blush? Say, I'll bet my ears ain't got back their reg'lar color yet!
Seemed like my feet was stuck to the floor, too. Maybe it was an hour I stood there, and maybe it was only a minute; but at last I takesone wild look around over that girl convention and then I backs out. I'd seen him, though. Way over by an open window on the other side was Mr. Robert, one of the four men in that whole crowd. So out the front door I rushes and then tiptoes around the veranda until I came to him.
And he wa'n't gazin' around watchin' for casual butters-in. Not Mr. Robert! All he's seein' is the slim young lady standin' up on the platform with the violin tucked under her chin. You couldn't blame him much, either; for, while I ain't any judge of the sort of music she was teasin' out of the strings, I'll say this much: The way she was doin' it was well worth watchin'. The swing of that elbow of hers, and the Isadora Duncan sway of her shoulders as she hits the high notes sure did have some class to it. He's so busy followin' her motions that he don't even know when I leans in within six inches of him and whispers. So I has to give him the gentle prod.
"Eh!" says he, whirlin' around. "Why, what the—Torchy!"
"Uh-huh," says I. "Crawl out backwards, can't you?"
"Wha—what's that!" says he, whisperin' sort of husky.
"You got to do it," says I. "I was sent up special to get you."
"Why, what's the matter?" says he.
"P. K. & Q. contracts," says I. "Did you file 'em yet?"
"By Jove, no!" he groans under his breath. "I—I forgot."
"Then it's a case of beat it," says I.
"But—but I can't!" says Mr. Robert. "I can't possibly leave now, right in the middle of——"
"That's so," says I. "She's lookin' this way now. But where'd you stow the contracts? Remember that, do you?"
"Why, of course," says he. "Third left hand drawer of my desk, in a document box."
"'S enough!" says I. "I'll 'phone down and tell 'em. They'll fix it up. Don't move; she's lookin' your way again."
"Wait!" says he, behind his hand. "I must see you before you go back, after the concert is over. Wait for me in the garden."
"In the garden, Maud, it is," says I, and with that I slides back to the front entrance and gets Marie to lead me to the 'phone booth.
Well, I'd got the joint all sized up now. It's one of these swell boardin' schools for girls, where they take piano lessons and are exposed to French and the German measles. And, now my knees has quit wabblin' and I was safe out of the hall, I was almost glad I'd come up and give the young ladies such a treat. I couldn'thelp admirin' Mr. Robert's nerve, though; for he must have known what he was lettin' himself in for when he follows Inez up there. But when they get it that bad there's no tellin' how reckless they'll be.
If it had been all the same to Mr. Robert, my next move would have been to get away from the spot as quick as my feet would let me; but so long as he'd assigned me a waiting part that's what it had to be. With Marie's help I finds the garden out at the back of the house and makes myself comf'table on a rustic seat. It's a flossy garden scene, all right, with winding paths, and flowerbeds, and cute little summer houses, and all sorts of bushes in bloom. Now and then I could hear music driftin' out, and when a piece was through the hand clappin' would commence, like a shower on a tin roof.
Say, it had sittin' behind the brass rail in the office beat to a froth, and I was enjoyin' it, lazy and comf'table, with my feet up on the bench and my head back; when all at once there's a big spasm of applause, the doors openin' on the back veranda are swung open, everybody starts chatterin' together, there's a swish and a rustle and a clatter of high heels; and the next thing I knew the whole blamed garden was full of 'em.
Girls! Say, all the fifty-seven varieties was represented,—tall ones, short ones, thin ones,plump ones, and plain fatties. There was aristocratic brunettes, and dimpled blondes, and every shade between. They ranged from fourteen up, and they sported all kinds of hair dressin', from double pleated braids to the latest thing in turban swirls. And there was little Willie, hemmed in by a twelve-foot wall on three sides and solid squads of girls on the fourth!
First they began sailin' by in groups of twos and threes and fours, all givin' me the goo-goo stare and snickerin'. Honest, you'd thought I was some kind of a humorous curiosity, specially exhibited for the occasion. Ain't they the limit, though? And the whispered remarks they passed! "Why, Madge! Aren't you just killing! Whose brother did you say you thought——Yes, and so curly, too!"
I try to forget that red thatch of mine most of the time; but this was no place to practice bein' absent minded. It didn't seem to make any diff'rence whether I put my hat on or left it off, they were wise to the ruddy hair. All I could do was to squeeze myself into one corner of the seat and pretend not to notice 'em. What I wanted most was to stand up and holler for Mr. Robert. Why in blazes didn't he show up, anyway?
I'd been enjoyin' this gen'ral inspection stunt for four or five minutes, when maids begun circulatin'among the mob with trays of sandwiches and plates of chicken salad, and every last one of 'em stopped at my station.
"No, thanks," says I. Think I wanted to give a food destroyin' performance before an audience like that? I was just wavin' away the fourth offer of picnic grub when I hears a little squeal come from a bunch of new recruits, and when I looks up to see what's happening now—well, you'd never guess. It's Miss Vee! You know, the pink and white queen I was tellin' you about meetin' at the swell dancin' class where I subbed for Izzie in the cloakroom and was invited out to join the merry throng.
She ain't got the ballroom costume on, of course; but I'd know them big gray eyes and that straw colored hair and that sweet pea complexion in any disguise. For a second she stands there gazin' at me sort of surprised and puzzled, like she didn't know whether to give me the nod or just put up her chin and sail by. If I could I'd looked the other way, so's to give her a chance to duck recognizin' me; but I couldn't do anything but stare back. And the next thing I knew she's comin' straight for me.
"Why, Torchy!" says she, sort of purry and confidential. "You!" And blamed if she wa'n't holdin' out both hands.
Well, say, you can't imagine what a diff'rence that makes to me. It was like fallin' offa roof and landin' in a hammock. What did I care for that push of young lady fluffs then?
"Sure thing, it's me," says I, grabbin' the hands before she could change her mind. "Say, have a seat, won't you, Miss Vee?"
"Oh, then you haven't forgotten?" says she.
"Me? Forget?" says I. "Say, Miss Vee, I'll keep right on rememberin' that spiel we had together until breathin' goes out of fashion—and then some! Gee! but I'm glad you happened along!"
"But how is it," says she, "that you——"
"Special commission," says I. "I'm waitin' here for Mr. Robert Ellins."
"Oh!" says she. "And have you had some salad and sandwiches?"
"No; but I'm ready for 'em now," says I. "That is, if——Say, you don't mind doin' this, do you?"
"Why should I?" says she.
"Oh, well," says I, "you see I ain't—well, I'm kind of outclassed here, and I didn't know but some of the other girls might——"
"Let them dare!" says Miss Vee, straightenin' up and glancin' around haughty. My! but she's a thoroughbred! There was one group standin' a little way off watchin' us; but that look of Miss Vee's scattered 'em as thoughshe'd turned the hose on them. Next minute she was smilin' again. "You see," she goes on, sittin' close, "I'm not much afraid."
"You're a hummer, you are!" says I, lookin' her over approvin'.
"There, there!" says she. "I see that you must have something to eat right away. Here, Hortense! There! Now you'll have a cup of tea, won't you?"
"Anything you pass out goes with me," says I, "even to tea."
It was my first offense in the oolong line, and, honest, I couldn't tell now how it tasted; but I knew all about how Vee handles a cup and saucer, though, and the way she has of lookin' at you over the rim. Say, she's the only girl I ever knew who could talk more'n a minute to a feller without the aid of giggles. There's some sense to what she has to say, too, and all the way you can tell whether she's joshin' or not is by watchin' her eyes. And me, I wa'n't losin' any tricks.
She tells me all about how she's been to school here ever since she was a little girl. Seems she's as shy on parents as I am; but she has an aunt that she lives with between school terms. This is her finishin' year, and as soon as the final doin's are over she and Aunty are due to sail for Europe.
"Coming back in September?" says I.
"Oh, no indeed!" says she. "Perhaps not for two years."
"Gee!" says I.
"Well?" says she, and I finds myself lookin' square into them big gray eyes of hers.
"Oh, nothing," says I; "only—only it sounds a long ways off. And, say, you don't happen to have a spare photo, do you, maybe one taken in that dress you wore the night of the ball?"
"Silly!" says she. "But suppose I have?"
"Why," says I,—"why, I thought—well, say, it wouldn't do any harm to leave my new address, would it! That's the number, care of Mrs. Zenobia Preble."
"Zenobia!" says she. "Why, I know who she is. Do you live with——"
"I'm half adopted already," says I. "Bully old girl, ain't she? And say, Miss Vee——"
It was just about then I had the feelin' that some one was tryin' to butt in on this two-part dialogue of ours, and as I looks up, sure enough there's Mr. Robert, with his eyes wide and his mouth half open, watchin' us.
"Well, it's all over," says I. "Mr. Robert's waitin' for me. Good luck and—and——Oh, what's the use? Give my regards to Europe, will you? Good-by!" And with that we shakes hands and I breaks away.
"I don't wish to seem curious," says Mr.Robert, as we walks out to his cab, "but—er—is this something recent?"
"Not very," says I. "We've met before."
"Then allow me," says he, "to congratulate you on your good taste."
"Thanks!" says I. "Same to you; and I ain't got so much on you at that, eh?"
We drops the subject there; but Mr. Robert seems so pleased over something or other that we'd gone twenty blocks before he remembers what brought me up.
"Oh, by the way," says he, "I suppose there'll be no end of row about my forgetting to send down those contracts. The Governor was wild, wasn't he?"
"He was wild, all right," says I, "without knowin' whether you'd forgot 'em or not."
"But when you 'phoned him," says Mr. Robert, "of course he——"
"Ah, say!" says I. "Do I look like a trouble hunter? I 'phoned Piddie—told him to sneak 'em out, send 'em down, and keep his mouth shut. All you got to do is act innocent."
Never mind the hot air Mr. Robert passes out after that. What tickles me most is the package that came for me yesterday by messenger. I finds it on my plate at dinner time; so both the old ladies was on hand when I opens it.
"Why, Torchy!" says Aunt Martha, lookin'at me shocked and scandalized. "A young lady's picture!"
"Yep," says I. "Ain't she a dream, though?"
And, say, Martha'd been lecturin' me yet if it hadn't been for Zenobia breakin' in.
"Do remember, Martha," says she, "that you were not always sixty-three years old, and that once——Why, bless me! This must be Alicia Vernon's child. Is there a name on the back? There is! Verona Ashton Hemmingway, heiress to all that is left of poor Dick's fortune. She's a beauty, just like her mother."
"She's all of that," says I.
It didn't make any diff'rence to Aunt Martha who she was, though. She didn't think it right for young ladies to give away their pictures to young men. She was for askin' me how long I'd known Miss Vee, and——
"There, now, Martha," said Zenobia, "suppose we don't."
That's how it is I can guess who it was blew themselves for a corkin' big silver frame, and put Vee's picture in it, and stood it on my bureau. Course, Vee's on her way to foreign parts now, and there's no tellin' when she's comin' back. Besides, there ain't anything in it, anyway. But somehow that picture in the silver frame seems to help some.