Course, it don't sound natural. A merry sunrise party is an event that ain't often listed on the cards, unless it's a continuous session from the evenin' before. But this wasn't a case of a bunch of night-bloomin' gladiolas who'd lasted through. Hardly. Although Auntie does have something of a look like the parties you see lined up at Yorkville Court, charged with havin' been rude to taxi drivers; and Mr. Ellins might have been passin' the night on a bakery gratin' with a sportin' extra for a blanket.
We was a long, long ways from either taxis or traffic cops, though. We was on Nunca Secos Key, with the Gulf of Mexico murmurin' gentle behind us, and out in front a big red sun was blazin' through the black pines that edge the west coast of Florida. Five of us, includin' Vee and Captain Rupert Killam and me; and each in our own peculiar way was registerin' the Pollyanna-Mrs. Wiggs stuff.
Why not? For one thing, it's about as handsome a December mornin' as you could dream of—the air soft and mild, with a clean, salty smell to it that sort of gives you a romantic hunch every sniff you pump in.
But the big reason for this early-mornin' joyfest of ours— Well, there's the pirate treasure, almost enough to load a pushcart with. You know how you feel when you pluck a stray quarter from the L stairs, or maybe retrieve a dollar bill that's been playin' hide-and-seek in the gutter? Multiply that by the thrill you'd get if you'd had your salary raised and been offered par for a block of industrials that had been wished on you at ten a share, all in the same day. Then you'll have a vague idea of how chirky we was at 5:30 A.M. as we stood around in front of that mound we'd torn open, gawpin' first at the heap of loot and then at each other.
Simple way to pass the time, eh? But, somehow, we couldn't seem to take it in that we'd actually done the trick. I know I couldn't. I've always kidded myself along, too, that I was something of a speed artist when it came to framin' up a situation. I expect we all hand ourselves little floral offerings like that. But when we get up against anything really new—that is, some sensation we ain't happened to meet before—we find we ain't such hair-trigger propositions, after all. We catches ourselves doin' the open-face act, while the little stranger idea stands tappin' patient on the wood.
Course, treasure huntin' was just what had lured us so far from home. For nearly three weeks, now, that had been the big notion. But cruisin' around in a yacht lookin' for pirate gold as sort of a freaky lark is one thing, while actually diggin' it out and seein' it heaped before you on the sand is another.
Maybe Captain Killam was expectin' to carry the game this far. He's just cocky enough for that. But it's plain to see that Auntie and Mr. Ellins had been playin' a long shot just for the sport of holdin' a ticket and watchin' the wheel turn. As for me and Vee, we'd pooh-poohed the idea consistent from the very start, and had only been let in along towards the last because we'd happened to be useful. I don't know that we was any more staggered, though, than the rest of 'em. One sure sign that Old Hickory and Auntie was excited was the fact that they'd begun callin' each other by their given names.
"Cornelia," says he, "we've done it. We have achieved adventure."
"In spite of our gray hairs—eh, Matthew?" says she.
"In spite of everything," says Old Hickory. "True, we haven't been shipwrecked, or endured hardship, or spilled any gore. But we have outfaced a lot of ridicule. If the whiskered old sinners who hid away this stuff had met as much they might have given up piracy in disgust. Who knows?"
With that Mr. Ellins snips the end from a fat black cigar, jams his hands in his pockets, and spreads his feet wide apart. He's costumed in a flannel outing shirt open at the neck, and a pair of khaki trousers stuffed into hip rubber boots with the tops turned down. Also his grizzly hair is tousled and his face is well smeared up with soot or something. Honest, if he'd had a patch over one eye and gold rings in his ears he could have qualified as a bold, bad buccaneer himself. Only there's an amiable cut-up twinkle under them shaggy brows of his, such as I'd never seen there before.
"Killam," says he, "why don't you chortle?"
"I—I beg pardon?" says Rupert.
He's sittin' on a log, busy rollin' a cigarette, and in place of his usual solemn air he looks satisfied and happy. That's as much as he can seem to loosen up.
"Great pickled persimmons, man!" snorts Old Hickory. "Let's be human. Come, we're all tickled to death, aren't we? Let's make a noise about it, then. Torchy, can't you start something appropriate?"
"Sure!" says I. "How about doin' a war dance? Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Get in step, Vee. Now we're off. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!"
"Fine!" says Old Hickory, droppin' in behind Vee and roarin' out the Sagawa patter like a steam siren. "Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh! Come, Captain. Fall in, Cornelia. Yuh-huh! Yuh-huh!"
Would you believe it? Well, Auntie does. I never thought it was in the old girl. But say, there she is, her gray hair streamin' down over her shoulders, her skirts grabbed up on either side, and lettin' out the yelps easy and joyous. Even Rupert has to grin and join in.
Round and round that treasure heap we prances, like so many East Side kids 'round a Maypole in Central Park, with the yuh-huhs comin' faster and louder, until finally Auntie slumps on the sand and uncorks the only real genuine laugh I've ever known her to be guilty of. No wonder Vee stops and rushes over to her.
"Why, Auntie!'" says Vee. "What's the matter?"
"Matter?" says Auntie, breathin' hard and chucklin' in between. "Why, my dear child, I haven't done anything so absurd as this since—since I was forty, and—and it has done me a world of good, I'm sure."
What do you know about that? Admits she carried on as late as forty! And here I'd supposed she was born scowlin' about the time tabasco sauce was invented. Well, once more I got to revise my ideas about her. Maybe she ain't any frostier underneath than the rest of us.
"Allow me, Cornelia, to present you with the palm," says Mr. Ellins, handin' her a palmetto leaf. "As a war dancer you betray evidence of previous proficiency. Doesn't she, Torchy?"
"I'll bet she could have had Mrs. Sittin' Bull crowded into the back drop," says I grinnin'.
And Auntie returns the grin.
You might know it would be Rupert who'd break the spell.
"I am wondering," says be, "just how we are going to get all this treasure on board the yacht without the crew knowing all about it."
"Why wonder?" says Old Hickory. "Leave it to Torchy."
"Ah, say!" I protests.
"No alibis," insists Mr. Ellins, slappin' me encouragin' on the shoulder. "Strategy is what we want from you, young man. Plenty of it under that brilliant hair of yours. We'll give you three minutes."
And of course, havin' it batted up to me that way by the big boss, and with Vee gazin' at me expectant, I had to produce.
"You'll stand for any little tale I tell 'em, eh?" I asks.
"Absolutely," says he.
So we gets to work with the dozen or more canvas sacks that Rupert has been foxy enough to bring along. In the bottom we puts a shovelful of sand; then we dumps in the gold pieces and jewels promiscuous, with more sand on top, not fillin' any sack more'n a third full. That made 'em easy to handle, and when they was tossed into the launch there was no suspicious jingle or anything like that.
Half an hour later we was chuggin' away from the little natural jackpot that we'd opened so successful, headed for theAgnes. And, believe me, the old yacht looks mighty homey and invitin', lyin' there in the calm of the mornin' with all her awnin's spread and a trickle of blue smoke driftin' up from the forward galley.
"Any orders?" asks Mr. Ellins, as we starts to run alongside.
"I got a few words to say to them early-bird sailors that's house-cleanin' the decks," says I. "I'm goin' to ask you to stay in the boat, Mr. Ellins, and look worried. The rest can go aboard. Captain Killam might rout out the chef and get action on an early breakfast."
"Ay, ay, Captain Torchy," says Old Hickory. "Here we are, with a smiling reception committee to greet us, as usual."
There was five in the scrubbin' squad, includin' the second mate, a pie-faced Swede by the name of Nelse; and, while they seems mighty busy with pails and mops and brass polishers, I notice they all manages to drift over to our side of the yacht. You couldn't exactly accuse them of wearin' grins, but they did look as though something amusin' had occurred recent. Which shows we was still doin' duty as human jokes. But that's just what I makes my play on.
As soon as I can dash up the landin' steps, I beckons the second mate to follow me aft.
"Call your bunch back here, too," says I, "So there'll be no bonehead plays made."
Then, when I gets 'em together, I tips Nelse the knowin' wink.
"You ain't supposed to know a thing about what's been goin' on to-night, eh?" I asks.
Nelse, he shrugs his shoulders.
"Aye yust know about work," says he, lyin' free and easy.
"That's a swell motto to pin on the wall," says I. "But listen, Nelse, while I put a case to you. Suppose, now, you'd been tipped off that if you dug under a certain bush in a certain back yard you'd find—well, something worth luggin' away? Ah, never mind shakin' your head! This is only supposin'. And we'll say the neighbors were wise; they'd watched you go out with your spade and lantern. And after you'd near broke your back diggin' you found you'd been buffaloed. Are you followin' me?"
Who says a Swede is all solid maple from the neck up? Nelse's buttermilk blue eyes flickers with almost human intelligence. Some of the men smother a snicker.
"Well," I goes on, "we'll say you was sensitive about it. In order to duck their frivolous remarks when you came sneakin' back, maybe you'd be deceitful enough to bluff it through. You might lug something home in the bag, even if it was only some loose real estate. I don't say you would, mind you. You got such an honest, cash-register face. But there are shifty parties who could do that and never bat an eye. I ain't mentionin' any names."
I didn't need to. To a man, they glances over the rail at Mr. Ellins.
"Then that's all," says I. "Only you got to lay off with them merry expressions when you lug those sacks aboard. Handle 'em careful and reverent, and stow 'em in the main cabin where you're told. If you do it well I expect there'll be more or less in it for all of you. Now, then, got your cues, have you?"
They salutes respectful.
"Then get busy with the stevedore stuff," says I.
And say, if they'd been coached by a stage manager they couldn't have done better. Course, I did catch 'em passin' the wink to each other as two of 'em marches across the deck holdin' a sack tender between 'em; but that was when they knew nobody but me could see. While they was down where Old Hickory had his eye on 'em, they was as solemn as pallbearers. But I'll bet it wasn't many minutes after they got to their own quarters before the hearty haw-haws was turned loose in four different languages.
Meanwhile Auntie and Mr. Ellins has been lookin' on without gettin' the plot of the piece.
"I must say," Auntie comes out with, "that I see no very subtle strategy about that performance. Those men must have suspected. What did they think they were carrying on board so carefully?"
"Sand," says I.
"Huh!" grunts Old Hickory.
"You said you'd stand for it," says I. "And all you owe 'em is about two apiece for helpin' you save your face."
"My face, eh?" says Old Hickory.
"Someone had to be the goat," says I.
"Why, to be sure," cuts in Auntie, beamin' good-natured again. "And I think Torchy managed it very cleverly."
"Thanks, Mrs. Hemmingway," says I. "Maybe you'll do as much for me some time, eh?"
"Why—er—certainly I will," says Auntie, catchin' her breath a little.
I had just sense enough to let it ride at that, for you can't push a thing too far before breakfast. But I didn't mean to let this grand little idea of mine grow cold. It struck me that, if ever I was goin' to call for a show-down from Auntie, this was the day.
So, when I finally turned in for a forenoon nap, I was busier plottin' out just how it ought to be done than I was at makin' up lost sleep. I ain't one of them that can romp around all night, though, and then do the fretful toss on the hay for very long after I've hit the pillow. First thing I knew, I was pryin' my eyes open to find that it's almost 1:30 P.M., and with the sun beatin' straight down on the deck overhead I don't need to turn on any steam heat in the stateroom.
A good souse in a tubful of salty Gulf water wakes me up all over, and when I've dolled myself in a fresh Palm Beach suit and a soft collared shirt I'm feelin' like Winnin' Willie.
As it happens, Vee and I has the luncheon table to ourselves that day, neither Auntie nor Mr. Ellins havin' shown up, and the others bein' all through. And somehow Vee always does have that look of—well, as though she'd just blown in from the rose garden. You know, kind of clean and crisp and—and honeysuckley. Maybe it's that pinky-white complexion of hers, or the simple way she dresses. Anyway, she looks good enough to eat. Don't do to tell 'em so, though.
"Good morning, Torchy," says she, chirky and sweet.
"Wrong on two counts, young lady," says I, ticklin' her ear playful as I passes.
"Really?" says she, delayin' her attack on a grapefruit. "Just how?"
"It's afternoon, for one item," says I. "And say, why not ditch that juvenile hail? Torchy, Torchy! Seems to me I ought to be mistered to-day. Someone ought to do it, anyway."
"Why to-day any more than yesterday?" asks Vee.
I waits until the dinin'-room steward has faded, and then I remarks haughty: "Maybe it ain't come to you that I'm a near-plute now."
"Pooh!" says Vee. "You're not a bit richer than I am."
"Boy, page the auditin' committee!" says I. "How strong do you tally up?"
"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "Neither do you, Mister Torchy."
"Oh, yes, I do," says I. "I've got just the same as you."
Vee runs out the tip of her tongue at me.
"That's the sort of disposition," says she, "which goes with red hair."
"Towhead yourself!" says I. "What kind of a scramble has the cook got on the eggs to-day?"
"You'd better order soft-boiled," says Vee. "I'll open them for you."
"Will you?" says I. "Just this once, or does that stand?"
"This—this is so abrupt!" says Vee, snickerin'.
"You tell it well," says I. "Just as though I hadn't been doin' my best to dodge the net! But what chance has a man got when he's cornered at breakfast and she offers to— Ouch!"
Vee springs one of them boardin'-school tricks of hers, shootin' a teaspoonful of water accurate across the table.
"Rough-houser!" says I, moppin' my eye with the napkin. "If your Auntie can't train you, maybe she'll let me try."
"Oh, no doubt she would," says Vee.
"I might ask her," I suggests.
"I'd love to be around when you did," says she, rollin' her eyes impish.
"Meanin' I wouldn't dare, eh?" says I.
Vee only dabbles her pink finger-ends in the little glass bowl, and chuckles like she was rememberin' something funny.
"Suppose I did and got away with it?" I asks.
Vee gives me a quizzin' glance from them gray eyes, one of the kind that sort of warms me up under my vest.
"I couldn't decorate you with the Victoria Cross," says she.
"But would you take a chance on the results?" I asks.
"One of the silly things I've learned from you," says Vee, lowerin' her eyelids fetchin', "is to—to take a chance."
"Vee!" says I, startin' to dash around the table.
"Hush!" says she, wavin' me hack. "Here come your eggs."
Say, what went on durin' the rest of the day I couldn't tell. I expect it was a good deal the same kind of an afternoon we'd been havin' right along, but to me it was three X double A with the band playin'. I was light in the head and I had springs in my heels. Everything and everybody looked good to me.
I jollied Old Hickory into lettin' me tip the sailors that had lugged the sacks aboard, and I threw in some of his best cigars just by way of relievin' my feelin's. Whenever I passed Captain Rupert Killam I hammered him on the back folksy and told him he sure was some discoverer. I even let Mrs. Mumford feed me an earful about how the late dear Mr. Mumford always remembered to send home a bunch of roses on their weddin' anniversary. Rather than revisit the scene himself, I suppose.
But when it come to playin' opposite Auntie—say, I was right there with the Percy-boy stuff: givin' her a hand up the stairs when she came on deck, leadin' her to a chair on the shady side, and hintin' how she looked mighty chipper after an all-night session such as we'd had. Talk about smooth stuff! I had the inside of a banana peel lookin' like a nutmeg grater.
Auntie falls for it, too. She has me whisper in her ear just where the treasure is stowed and how complete we'd thrown the crew off the trail. I works up that sketch of my talk with the Swede second mate until I had her shoulders shakin'.
"What a boy you are!" says she, gaspy.
"Don't overlook the fact that I'll be votin' next year," says I.
"How absurd!" says Auntie.
"We do grow up, you know," says I. "It's a habit we have. And now, how about a glass of that iced pineapple the steward fixes so well? Sure! Lemme fetch a couple."
The climax was when she got me to holdin' a skein of yarn for her. As Old Hickory strolls by and sees me with my hands stuck out, I thought he was goin' to swallow his cigar.
Still, I couldn't get just the right cue. Not that I'd mapped out anything definite. I only knew I had something special and particular to say to Auntie, but I couldn't spring it unless I got the proper hunch. So the afternoon petered out, and the sun dropped into the Gulf, and folks begun disappearin' to dress for dinner.
The word had been passed that this was to be a special event to-night, so it's full white flannels for the men and evenin' gowns for the ladies. You see, we hadn't told the outsiders a word. In fact, they didn't even know we'd been away from the yacht durin' the night.
It's a swell feed the steward puts on, too, considerin' where we was. Nothin' dry about it, either; for, while Mr. Ellins ain't a great hand to overdo irrigation, he's no guide to the Great Desert. There was silver ice buckets on the floor, and J. Dudley Simms lost a side bet to Professor Leonidas Barr on namin' the vintage. He was five years too young.
Not until coffee had been served did Old Hickory give any hint that this was to be a regular celebration, with post-prandial doin's. Then he proceeds to chase out all the help, lockin' the doors behind 'em. Next he has me pull the shades over the cabin windows.
"Friends," says he, "you all know what it was that we came down here for. It sounded foolish in New York, I acknowledge. Even in these surroundings, our enterprise may have appealed to some of you as a bit fantastic. But—Torchy, will you and Captain Killam bring those sacks?"
Did we have 'em goggle-eyed? Say, when we dumped peck after peck of treasure and sand in the middle of the dinner table, and they got to pawin' over those weird old gold pieces and them samples of antique jewelry, it was a knockout for fair.
"My word!" gasps J. Dudley. "You must feel like successful bank robbers."
"Wonderful!" says Professor Barr, breathin' excited through his whiskers. "Why, some of these doubloons must have been coined during the reign of—"
"Cornelia," breaks in Mrs. Mumford, "will you look at that old brooch. It's exquisite!"
"Then it is yours as a souvenir of the trip," says Auntie—just like that.
Next, Dudley and the Professor was asked to pick out a trinket. After which Mr. Ellins suggests that they divide the loot into five equal piles, and that we draw numbers to see who get which. Rupert wasn't strong for this free and casual way of splittin' the gate receipts, but he gives in. And when we each has our heap in front of us, with the sand scraped into the middle of the cloth, Old Hickory has the glasses filled once more, and starts up that pirate song of his:
"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest—Yo-ho-ho! and a bottle of rum."
Right in the middle of the festivities, too, I takes my runnin' jump. Pickin' out a quaint old ring from my collection, I slips around beside Auntie and snuggles up confidential.
"Well, Torchy," says she, "what is it?"
"It's a big favor," says I. "See this? I want you to let me ask Vee to wear this for—for keeps. Can I?"
"You—you mean—" she begins.
"Uh-huh!" says I. "Until some time I can fit one on—well, one that the best man hands me. Come on, Auntie. Have a heart!"
"You ridiculous boy!" says she. "If you must, though—"
Say, I wasn't lookin' for that next move of hers. Think of it—Auntie! And she lands one right on my cheek, too. Everyone sees it. And, while I'm pinkin' up like a cranberry tart, Old Hickory sings out gleeful:
"Tut, tut, Cornelia! What is this all about?"
"I suppose," says Auntie, "that we must drink a toast to these youngsters of ours. That is, if Verona insists on being so foolish."
"How about it, Vee?" I whispers, capturin' her left hand. "Do we let 'em drink?"
"Silly!" says she. "The other finger."
It's a bit public, I admit. Might as well have hired a hall. But they all seems to enjoy handin' us the jolly. Mr. Ellins makes a reg'lar speech, tellin' how fond he is of both of us and how this event pleases him more'n findin' the buried treasure. He winds up by askin' if everybody ain't about ready to start back for New York. The vote is unanimous.
"Why not to-night?" asks J. Dudley.
"To-night it shall be," says Old Hickory.
"Say, Mr. Ellins," I breaks out just then, "lemme pass the word on that, will you?"
And, when I gets the nod, I breezes out on deck and up to the Captain's stateroom.
"Cap," says I, "welcome words from the boss."
"Sailing orders?" he asks.
"Yep!" says I. "You're to tie her loose from Florida as quick as you know how, and head her straight for the wet end of Broadway. Get me? Broadway! Say, but don't that listen good?"
And, speakin' of thrills, what beats gettin' back to your own home town? Why, say, that mornin' when we unloads from theAgnesafter a whole month of battin' around, New York looked to me like it had been touched up with gold leaf and ruby paint. Things seemed so fresh and crisp, and all so sort of natural and familiar. And the sounds and the smells! It's all good.
Course, there wasn't any pelicans floatin' around in the North River, nor any cocoanut palms wavin' over West Thirty-fourth Street. As our taxis bumped us along, we dodged between coffee-colored heaps of slush that had once been snow, and overhead all that waved in the breeze was dingy blankets hung out on the fire-escapes. Also we finds Broadway ripped up in new spots, with the sewer pipes exposed jaunty.
But somehow them things are what you expect. And you feel that, after all, there's only one reg'lar place on the map—here, where you can either pay a nickel for a hot-dog breakfast off a pushcart, or blow in ninety cents for a pair of yesterday's eggs in a Fifth Avenue grill: where you can see lovely lady plutesses roll by in their heliotrope limousines, or watch little Rosie Chianti sail down the asphalt on one roller skate.
Uh-huh! It's a great place to get back to, take it from me. Specially when you hit it like I did, a two-way winner with a full-sized portion of pirate loot, and Vee wearin' a ring of mine.
And maybe I didn't enjoy driftin' into the Corrugated general offices, with everybody, from fair-haired Vincent up to Mr. Robert, givin' me the glad hail. Some different, eh, from the first time I struck there, 'way back in the early days? I was one of a bunch then, trailin' a want ad; and when Piddie had us lined up, it looked like I'd be only an "also ran" until Old Hickory pads past, discovered my pink thatch, and has me signed on as office boy.
Different! Why, inside of two minutes I begun to believe I was somebody. Vincent starts it when he swings the brass gate wide, just as I used to do for bank presidents.
"Good morning, sir," says he. "Glad to see you back, sir."
"Vincent," says I, "there's two of us, then; only I'm glad all over."
I hadn't counted on that row of lady typists, either. Honest, I never faced such a battery of friendly smiles in all my more or less cheerful career. Even Miss Muggs, who wears a business face that would have a head undertaker lookin' frivolous, loosens up her mouth corners for a second; while as for some of the other self-startin' queens—well, they had me rosy in the ears, all right. I hurries past to where Mr. Piddie is tryin' to make his ingrowin' dignity let loose its grip for a minute.
"Ah!" says he. "Back from the sunny South, eh? And how did you find Florida?"
"Easy," says I. "We looked it up on the map."
"No, no," says Piddie; "I mean, how was the weather down there?"
"No weather at all," says I. "They just have climate. How are things around the shop, though?"
"Very satisfactory," says Piddie, rubbin' his hands.
"Bound to be," says I, "with you and Mr. Robert sittin' on the lid."
With which soothin' josh and a pat on the shoulder, I slips through into the private office, where Mr. Robert sits puffin' a cigarette placid in front of a heaped-up desk. When he sees me, he grins.
"Well, well!" says he, shovin' out the cordial palm. "So the treasure seekers have returned, have they?" And he chuckles.
"Uh-huh!" says I, doin' a little grin on my own account.
"At least," he goes on, "you have a fine tropical complexion to show for your trip. Little else, I presume?"
"Brace yourself, Mr. Robert," says I, "for you got a jolt comin'."
"Why," says he, "you can't mean that—"
I nods.
"Rupert had the right dope," says I. "It was just where he said it was—jewels and everything. Why, say, we got enough to stock a museum—sacks full."
"Oh, I say, Torchy!" says he, after starin' at me a second. "What's the sense?"
"I don't claim there's any sense to it," says I. "It was the simplest stunt you ever saw. We just went and dug, that's all. But there was the stuff. And we got away with it. You might's well get used to believing though, for I'm applyin' right now for a block of Corrugated preferred. That's what I'm goin' to soak my share into."
"Your share?" says he. "But I didn't understand that you—"
"Vee and I helped locate the treasure mound," I explains, "and got counted in just in time. And say, the best is yet to come. It's goin' to be Vee and me for keeps pretty soon."
"Wha-a-at!" says he. "You've won over Auntie?"
"Right and regular," says I. "Vee's wearin' the ring."
Say, Mr. Robert's got a grip on him when he gets real enthusiastic. I could feel it in my fingers for hours after. Then he had to call in Piddie and tell him, and by noon the word has been passed all through the offices. I expect it started modest, but by the time it got to that bunch of young hicks in the bond room they had it that I was going to marry a Newport heiress, resign from the Corrugated, and live abroad.
"In some swell Scotch castle, I suppose?" one of 'em asks.
"Unless I can rent Buckingham Palace," says I. "Say, it's a wonder you boys would let anybody feed you a chunk like that! Newport heiress be blowed! She's just a nice New York girl, one I've known four or five years; and when it comes to settlin' down we'll most likely look for three rooms on the top floor with a two-by-four bath and a foldin' kitchenette. I'll be satisfied at that, though."
It's a great state of mind to be in. I hope I didn't look as foolish as I felt. If I had I guess they'd have had most of my private seccing gone over careful. But nobody seemed to suspect how giddy I was in the head. I goes caromin' around, swappin' smiles with perfect strangers and actin' like I thought life was just a continuous picnic, with no dishes to wash afterwards.
Course, my reg'lar evenin' program is to doll up after dinner and drop around. I'll admit Auntie hadn't issued any standin' invitation, but if Vee was expectin' me that's enough. And she was. We went to shows some, or took walks up the Drive, or just sat in the window nook and indulged in merry conversation. Once we had a whale of a time, when Mr. Robert gives a perfectly good dinner dance for us. Oh, the real thing—Cupid place-cards, a floral centerpiece representin' twin hearts, and all that sort of stuff. I begun to feel as if it was all over but the shoutin'. Even got to scoutin' around at odd times, pricin' small apartments and gazin' into furniture store windows.
And then— Well, it was just a little chat Auntie has over the 'phone that takes most of the joy out of life. I didn't notice what she was sayin' at first, bein' busy tryin' to draw out the floor plan of a cute four-room affair I'd inspected recent. All of a sudden, though, I pricks up my ears.
"But it's so hot in Jamaica," Auntie is tellin' this friend of hers—"that is, unless one goes to Montego Bay, and the hotel there— Oh, Newcastle? Yes, that is delightful, but— Can one, really? An army officer's villa! That would be ideal, up there in the mountains. And Jamaica always routs my rheumatism. For three months? When can we get a good steamer? The tenth. That would give us time. Well, I think we shall join you. Let me sleep on it. I'll call you about noon to-morrow? Good-by."
Meanwhile Vee and I are gazin' blank at each other. We don't need any diagram to understand what Auntie is up to. Just one of her old tricks—a speedy packin' up and a casual getaway for Jamaica. Say, wouldn't that crack your faith in human nature? And she proceeds to announce her scheme as placid as if it was something she'd thought out special for our benefit.
"Excuse me," says I, "but you ain't plannin' on Vee's goin' along, too, are you?"
"Why, certainly," says she. "Verona could not stay here alone. And at this season the mountains of Jamaica are—"
"It's utterly stupid at Newcastle," breaks in Vee. "Nothing but a lot of black soldiers, and a few fat English officers, and seeing the same dozen people at teas three times a week."
"Besides," I puts in, "it would be a long jump for me to run down for over Sunday, wouldn't it?"
"How unreasonable of you both," says Auntie. "Now, you young people have been together a great deal of late. You can well afford to be separated for a few months."
I goes choky in the throat. There was a lot of points I wanted to make, but I couldn't seem to state 'em fast enough. All I can get out is: "But—but see here; we—we was sort of plannin' to—to be—"
"Nonsense!" cuts in Auntie. "You are hardly more than children, either of you. It's absurd enough of you becoming engaged. But beyond that— Oh, not for years and years."
Oh, yes, there was a lot more to the debate—on our side. I registered strong, with some cuttin' remark about bein' treated like a scrap of paper. As for Auntie, she simply stands pat. "Not for years and years." That's where her argument begins and ends. Not that she's messy about it, or intends to be mean. She simply don't take our little plans serious. They don't count.
"There, there!" says she. "We'll say no more about it," and sails off to sort out the dresses she'll want to stow in her trunk.
"Huh!" says I, glancin' at Vee. "Merry idea of hers, eh? Years and years! Talks like she thought gettin' married was some game like issuin' long-term bonds maturin' about 1950."
"If you only knew how stupid and dull it's going to be for me there!" says Vee, poutin'.
"With you that far off," says I, "New York ain't goin' to seem so gay for a certain party."
"I suppose I must go, though," says Vee.
"I don't get it," says I.
"Oh, but I must," says she.
Durin' the next week we talked it over a lot; but, so far as I can remember, we only said about the same thing. It came out that this friend of Auntie's was one that Vee never could stand for, anyway: a giddy old dame who kalsomined her face, was free with advice on bringin' up nieces, and was a bridge and embroidery fiend.
"And I shall be left to sit around," says Vee, "bored stiff."
I knew it wasn't just a whim of hers; for one evening along towards the last, I found her with her eyelids red.
"Been cryin'?" I asks.
"A little," says Vee. "Silly thing to do when one's packing."
"See here, Vee," says I; "I ought to be doing something about this."
"But you can't," says she. "No one can. I must trot along with Auntie, just as I always have, and stay until—until she's ready to come back."
"Then it'll be a case of movin' on somewhere for the summer, I expect—Nova Scotia or Iceland?" says I.
Vee nods and lets out a sigh.
"If we was a pair of wild ducks, now," says I.
At which she snickers kind of hysterical and—well, it's the first time I ever knew her to do the sob act. Also I'd never been quite sure before that I was much more to her than sort of an amusin' pal. But when she grips me around the neck that way, and snuggles her head of straw-colored hair down on my necktie, and just naturally cuts loose for a good cry—say, then I knew.
"Then she grips me around the neck, and snuggles her head down on my necktie—say, then I knew."[Illustration: "Then she grips me around the neck,and snuggles her head down on my necktie—say, then I knew."]
"Then she grips me around the neck, and snuggles her head down on my necktie—say, then I knew."[Illustration: "Then she grips me around the neck,and snuggles her head down on my necktie—say, then I knew."]
I knew it was to be me and Vee from then on. I ain't givin' it any fancy name. We ain't either of us the mushy kind, I hope. But I felt that she needed me to stand by, that I could be of some use. That was thrillin' and wonderful enough for me. And as I folded her in gentle and let her turn the sprinkler on a brand-new plaid silk scarf that I'd just put up a dollar for, I set my jaw firm and says to myself, "Torchy, here's where you quit the youths' department for good. Into the men's section for you, and see that you act the part."
"Vee," I whispers, "leave it to me. I didn't know just where I stood before. But I'm out of the trance now, and I'm set for action. Leave it to me."
"All right, Torchy," says she a bit choky, but tryin' to work up a smile. "You can do nothing, though."
Couldn't I? Maybe not. I was out to make a stab, anyway. There was a couple of days left before the steamer sailed, and I'd just passed a resolution that Vee was to stay behind. Beyond that my program was vague. After I'd walked a dozen blocks it begun to get clearer. My first stop was at the Ellins house; and when I'd succeeded in convincin' the new butler that it was no good tryin' to stall me off, I'm led into the lib'ry, where Old Hickory is sittin' in front of the big marble fireplace, half way through his second cigar. What I puts up to him is when I can realize on my share of the pirate loot.
"Why," says he, "the dealers haven't made a report as yet, but if you wish an advance I should be happy to—"
"To-morrow?" says I.
"Certainly," says he. "Say five thousand—ten—"
"Make it five," says I. "May I call up Mr. Robert from here?"
Mrs. Robert Ellins tells me this is his night at the club, so all I has to do is hop a Fifth Avenue stage, and in less'n twenty minutes he's broke away from his billiard game and is listenin' while I state the situation to him.
"Course," says I, "it would bump Auntie some, but seems to me it's comin' to her."
"Quite a reasonable conclusion," says he.
"It ain't as if she needed Vee," I goes on. "She's just got in the habit of havin' her 'round. That might be all right, too, if she didn't have the travel bug so bad. But with her keepin' on the wing so constant— Well, I'm no bloomin' sea-gull. And when you're engaged, this long-distance stuff ought to be ruled out. It's got to be."
"The way you suggest ought to accomplish that," says Mr. Robert.
"What sticks me is where to camp down afterwards," says I. "I've been lookin' around some, but—"
"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "Who was it that was bothering me just after dinner? Waddy Crane! He's been pretending to be an artist, you know; but now he's got hold of his money, it's all off. He's going to start a bandbox theater in Chicago, elevate the drama, all that sort of thing. And that studio apartment of his up in the Fifties would be the very thing for you two. Wants to unload the lease and furnishings. Oh, Waddy has excellent taste in rugs and old mahogany. And it will be a rare bargain; I shall see to that. What do you say?"
Bein' in the plungin' mood, I said I'd take a chance.
"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "I'll have it all arranged before midnight. But when and where does the—er—affair come off?"
"I'm just plottin' that out," says I. "Could I sort of count on you and Mrs. Ellins for to-morrow evenin', say?"
"At your service," says Mr. Robert.
"Then I'll think up a place and see if I can pull it," says I.
If it hadn't been for that little detail of visitin' the license bureau I wouldn't have sprung it on Vee until the last minute. As it is, I has to toll her downtown with a bid to luncheon, and then I suggests visitin' City Hall. She's wise in a minute, too.
"It's no use, Torchy," says she. "I've promised Auntie that, whatever else I did, I would never run away to be married."
And there my grand little scheme is shot full of holes, all in a second. When I get headway on like I had then, though, I just don't know when I'm blocked. I swallows hard once or twice, and then shrugs my shoulders.
"Let's get the license, anyway," says I.
"What's the sense?" asks Vee.
"I can have it to read over, can't I?" says I. "That'll help some. Besides— Ah, come on, Vee! Be a sport. Didn't you say you'd leave it to me?"
"But I can't break my promise, Torchy," says she.
"That's right," says I, "and I wouldn't ask you to. Let's take the subway."
I won; and when I put her in a taxi an hour later she was still blushin' from answerin' questions. I had that paper with the city seal on it in my inside pocket, though. My next job is on the Reverend Percey, the one who did the job for Mr. Robert the time I stage-managed his impromptu knot-tyin'. Course, I couldn't sign him up for anything definite, but I got a schedule of his spare time from six o'clock on, and where he would be.
"But I—I don't quite understand," says he, starin' puzzled through his glasses. "You say you are uncertain whether my services will be—"
"Now listen, Percey," says I. "I'm the most uncertain party at the present writing that you ever saw. But if I should 'phone, I want you to answer the call like a deputy chief goin' to a third alarm. Get that? And I'm payin' time and a half for every minute after dark. See?"
Maybe that wasn't just the way to hire a reverend, but I was too rushed to think up the proper frills. I had to attend to a lot of little things, among 'em bein' this plant with Auntie's cruisin' friend, the widow. She was in the habit, Mrs. Mumford was, of pickin' Auntie up now and then for an evenin' drive in her limousine; and what I was tryin' to suggest was that this would be a swell night for it.
"But I don't see how I can," says she, cooin' as usual. "Mrs. Hemmingway is to be a guest at a going-away dinner, and may not be home until late."
"Eh?" says I. "Why, that's fine—I mean, for Auntie. Ripping, eh, what? Much obliged."
The foxy old girl. She'd never mentioned it. And if I hadn't found out just as I— But I did. It simplifies things a lot. That is, it would unless— Here I grabs the 'phone again and calls up Vee.
"Auntie's going out to dinner to-night," says I.
"Yes, I know," says Vee. "She has just told me. I am not included."
"Then whisper," says I. "Revise that wardrobe trunk of yours like you expected a cold winter in Jamaica. Have a bag ready, too, and a traveling dress handy."
"But why, Torchy?" she insists.
"Leave it to me," says I. "We'll be up about 8:30."
"We?" she asks.
"Now be good," says I, "and you may be happy. Also get busy."
You see, I figured that what she didn't know she couldn't worry about, nor discuss with Auntie. Besides, it was all too hazy in my head for me to sketch it out very clear to anyone.
Honest, I don't see now how I kept from gettin' things bugged, for I sure was crashin' ahead reckless. I felt like I'd been monkeyin' with a flyin' machine until I'd got it started and had been caught somewhere in the riggin' with nobody at the wheel. But I was glad of it.
Mr. Robert helped out wonderful. When I stops packin' my suitcase long enough to remark, "But say, if it does work, where am I headed for?" he's right there with the useful information.
"Here!" says he. "Your tickets and drawing-room reservation. It's a nice little place up in Vermont—quiet, refined, comfortable, all that sort of thing. Train at 10:45."
"Oh!" says I. "Then that's all right. Lemme see, where's that other sock?"
Say, I'd even forgot who all I'd asked to be on hand. That was what I was checkin' up when I rode past Auntie's floor on the elevator. I finds Vee some excited and more or less curious.
"Please," says she, "what is it all about?"
"It's a little game," says I, "entitled ditching Jamaica. There'll be some of our friends here directly to join in."
"Torchy," says Vee, starin' a bit scared, "you—you mean that— Anyway, I should change my frock, I suppose?"
"If you do," says I, "couldn't you make it that pink one, with the flimsy pink hat?"
"You goose!" says she. "If you like, though. Why, there is someone now!"
"That'll be Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins," says I. "You'll have to show speed."
Trust Vee. Just the' same, I don't know where there's another girl that could dress for the big event in less'n half an hour, while the guests was arrivin'. Next came Mr. Robert's sister, Marjorie, towin' her Ferdie along. Aunt Zenobia and my Uncle Kyrle and Aunt Martha breezed in soon after, with Old Hickory and Mrs. Ellins right behind 'em. Then Piddie, who'd put on his evenin' clothes over in Jersey at 5:30 and had been on the trolley most of the time since.
No, it wasn't a big mob, but it was a heap better than havin' some Connecticut parson call in wifie and the hired girl, as I'd first planned it.
And prompt at 9:30 the Reverend Percey shows up, some out of breath from his dash across from the subway, but ready to shoot his lines as soon as he got his hat off. While he didn't quite have to do that, we didn't waste much time on settin' the stage.
"Come on, Vee," says I, takin' her by the hand. "How about over there in our old window alcove, eh? Tum tum-te-tum!"
She holds back just a second. Then she tosses her chin up, smiles brave at me, and gives my fingers a squeeze. Say, she's some girl.
Another minute and the Reverend Percey is off with a flyin' start. He ain't so husky to look at, but he booms out the "Wilt-thou" stuff real impressive and solemn, part of the time peekin' over his glasses at the folks behind, and then lookin' earnest at us. For an off-hand performance I call it a good job. And almost before I knew it was under way it's all over.
"Well, Vee," says I, plantin' a smack in the right place, "we've done it!"
"I—I wish Auntie knew," says she.
"But she does," says Mr. Robert. "At Torchy's request I have just called her up. She will be here in less than half an hour."
"With her blessin'—or what?" I asks.
"As to that," says Mr. Robert, "I am not informed."
Anyway, we had time to brace ourselves. Vee had only finished changing and the bags was bein' sent down to the taxi when in she comes.
"Young man—" she begins.
But I heads her off.
"Why, Auntie!" says I, lettin' on to be surprised, and holdin' out both hands. "You don't know how we missed you. Honest! All my fault, though. But say, with your stickin' to that years-and-years idea, what else could we do—I ask you?"
And then I notices that them straight-cut mouth corners of hers ain't set near so hard as I thought. Her eyes ain't throwin' off sparks, either. They're sort of dewy, in fact. And when she does speak again there's a break in her voice.
"Come," says she, beckonin' us up. "Perhaps you know best, after all, you silly children."
I'll bet we made a fine group, too, the three of us, Auntie in the middle, givin' us the fond clinch.
"But such impudence of you, to do it right here!" she goes on. "No one but you, Torchy, would have thought of that."
"Had to," says I, "with everything else barred. I suspected it might bump you some, but—"
"Pardon me," breaks in Mr. Robert, "but it's time for you to start for your train."
"Train!" says Vee. "Torchy, where are we going?"
"Just a sec.," says I, "till I look at the tickets."
So the last I heard from Auntie was a gasp.