The house of Torchy

TORC

S EWE 1,1 FORD

THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA

LOS ANGELES

IN MEMORY OF

James J. McBride

PRESENTED BY

Margaret McBride

AJ£L^~
7

'

THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

By SEWELL FORD

TORCHY

TRYING OUT TORCHY
ON WITH TORCHY
TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC.
WILT THOU TORCHY
THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

SHORTY McCABE'S ODD
NUMBERS

SHORTY McCABE ON
THE JOB

SHORTY McCABE LOOKS
'EM OVER

"'DON'T!' SAYS VEE. 'YOU'LL SPILL THE COFKEK.' "

THE HOUSE
OF TORCHY

BY

SEWELL FORD

ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN

NEW YORK

EDWARD J. CLODE

COFTRISHT, 1917, 1918, BT

SEWELL FORD

COPYRIGHT, 1018, BT

EDWARD J. CLODB

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

CHAPTBR FAUE

I TORCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY . 1

II VEE WITH VARIATIONS ...

HI A QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY

IV SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON . .

V A EECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE

VI TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS

VII BACK WITH CLARA BELLE . .

VIII WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL .

IX A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA . .

X ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA . .

XI AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED .

XII VEE GOES OVER THE TOP . .

XIII LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT . .

XIV FORSYTHE AT THE FlNISH . .

XV THE HOUSE OF TORCHY . .

XVI TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP .

XVII A Low TACKLE BY TORCHY . .

XVIII TAG DAY AT TORCHY 's

104:5283

THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

CHAPTER I

TOECHT AND VEE ON THE WAY

SAY, I thought I'd taken a sportin' chance
now and then before ; but I was only kid-
din ' myself. Believe me, this gettin' mar
ried act is the big plunge. Uh-huh ! Specially
when it's done offhand and casual, the way we
went at it.

My first jolt is handed me early in the morn-
in' as we piles off the mountain express at
this little flag stop up in Vermont, and a roly-
poly gent in a horse-blanket ulster and a coon-
skin cap with a badge on it steps up and greets
me cheerful.

" Ottasumpsit Inn?" says he.

"Why, I expect so," says I, "if that's the
way you call it. Otto — Otta — Yep, that listens
something like it."

You see, Mr. Robert had said it only once,

2 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

when he handed me the tickets, and I hadn't
paid much attention.

"Aye gorry!" says the chirky gent, ga therm'
up our hand luggage. "Guess you're the ones
we're lookin' for. Got yer trunk-checks
handy?"

With that I starts fishin' through my pockets
panicky. I finds a railroad folder, our marriage
certificate, the keys to the studio apartment I'd
hired, the box the ring came in, and—

"Gosh!" says I, sighin' relieved. "Sure I
got it."

The driver grins good-natured and stows us
into a two-seated sleigh, and off we're whirled,
bells jinglin', for half a mile or so through the
stinging mornin' air. Next thing I know, I'm
bein' towed up to a desk and a hotel register is
shoved at me. Just like an old-timer, I dashes
off my name — Richard T. Ballard.

The mild-eyed gent with the close-cropped
Vandyke and the gold-rimmed glasses glances
over at Vee.

"Ah — er — I thought Mrs. Ballard was with
you?" says he.

"That's so; she is," says I, grabbin' the pen
again and tackin' "Mr. and Mrs." in front of
my autograph.

That's why, while we're fixin' up a bit before

TORCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY 3

goin' down to breakfast, I has this little con
fidential confab with Vee.

" It 's no use, Vee, ' ' says I. " I 'm a rank ama
teur. We might just as well have rice and con
fetti all over us. I've made two breaks already,
and I'm liable to make more. We can't bluff
'em."

"Who wants to?" says Vee. "I'm not
ashamed of being on my honeymoon; are you?"

"Good girl!" says I. "You bet I ain't. I
thought the usual line, though, was to pretend
you'd "

* ' I know, ' ' says Vee. * * And I always thought
that was perfectly silly. Besides, I don't be
lieve we could fool anyone if we tried. It's
much simpler not to bother. Let them guess."

"And grin too, eh?" says I. "We'll grin
back."

Say, that's the happy hunch. Leaves you
with nothing to worry about. All you got to
do is go ahead and enjoy yourself, free and
frolicsome. So when this imposin' head wait
ress with the forty-eight bust and the grand
duchess air bears down on us majestic, and in
quires dignified, "Two, sir?" I don't let it
stagger me.

"Two '11 be enough," says I. "But whisper.
Seem' as we're only startin' in on the two-

4 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

some breakfast game, maybe you could find
something nice and cheerful by a window.
Eh?"

It's some breakfast. M-m-m-m! Cute little
country sausages, buckwheat cakes that would
melt in your mouth, with strained honey to
go on 'em.

"Have a fourth buckwheat," says I.

"No fair, keeping count!" says Vee. "I
looked the other way when you took your fifth. ' '

Honest, I can't see where we acted much dif
ferent than we did before. Somehow, we always
could find things to giggle over. We sure had a
good time takin' our first after-breakfast stroll
together down Main Street, Vee in her silver-
fox furs and me in my new mink-lined over
coat that Mr. Robert had wished on me casual
just before we left.

"Cunnin' little town, eh?" says I. "Looks
like a birthday cake."

"Or a Christmas card," says Vee. "Look at
this old door with the brass knocker and the
green fan-light above. Isn't that Colonial,
though?"

" It 's an old-timer, all right, ' ' says I. ' ' Hello !
Here's a place worth rememberin' — the Wom
an's Exchange. Now I'll know where to go in
case I should want to swap you off."

TORCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY 5

For which crack I gets shoved into a snow
drift.

It ain't until afternoon that I'm struck with
the fact that neither of us knows a soul up here.
Course, the landlord nods pleasant to me, and
I'd talked to the young room clerk a bit, and
the bell-hops had all smiled friendly, specially
them I'd fed quarters to. But by then I was
feelin' sort of folksy, so I begun takin' notice
of the other guests and plannin' who I should
get chummy with first.

I drifts over by the fireplace, where two sub
stantial old boys are toastin' their toes and
smokin' their cigars.

' ' Snappy brand of weather they pass out up
here, eh?" I throws off, pullin' up a rocker.

They turn, sort of surprised, and give me the
once-over deliberate, after which one of them,
a gent with juttin' eyebrows, clears his throat
and remarks, "Quite bracing, indeed."

Then he hitches around until I'm well out of
view, and says to the other :

"As I was observing, an immediate readjust
ment of international trade balances is inevi
table. European bankers are preparing for it.
We are not. Only last month one of the Barings
cabled "

I'll admit my next stab at bein' sociable was

6 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

kind of feeble. In front of the desk is a group
of three gents, one of 'em not over fifty or so ;
but when I edges up close enough to hear what
the debate is about, I finds it has something to
do with a scheme for revivin' Italian opera in
Boston, and I backs off so sudden I almost
bumps into a hook-beaked old dame who is wad-
dim' up to the letter-box.

" Sorry," says I. "I should have honked."

She just glares at me, and if I hadn't side
stepped prompt she might have sunk that par
rot bill into my shoulder.

After that I sidles into a corner where I
couldn't be hit from behind, and tries to dope
out the cause of all this hostility. Did they
take me for a German spy or what? Or was
this really an old folks' home masqueradin' as
a hotel, with Vee and me breakin' in under
false pretenses?

So far as I could see, the inmates was friendly
enough with each other. The old girls sat around
in the office and parlors, chattin' over their
knittin' and crochet. The old boys paired off
mostly, though some of them only read or
played solitaire. A few people went out
wrapped up in expensive furs and was loaded
into sleighs. The others waved good-by to 'em.
But I might have been built out of window-

TOUCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY 7

glass. They didn't act as though I was visible.

"Huh!" thinks I. "I'll bet they take notice
of Vee when she comes down."

If I'd put anything up on that proposition
I'd owed myself money. They couldn't see her
any more'n they could me. When we went out
for another walk nobody even looked after us.
I didn't say anything then, but I kept thinkin'.
And all that evenin' we sat around amongst
'em without bein' disturbed.

About eight o'clock an orchestra shows up
and cuts loose with music in the ball-room,
mostly classic stuff like the "Spring Song" and
handfuls plucked from "Ai'da." We slips in
and listens. Then the leader gets his eye on us
and turns on a fox-trot.

"Looks like they was waitin' for us to start
something," says I. "Let's."

We'd gone around three or four times when
Vee balks. About twenty-five old ladies, with a
sprinklin' of white-whiskered old codgers, had
filed in and was watchin' us solemn and critical
from the side-lines. Some was squintin' dis-
approvin' through their lorgnettes, and I no
ticed a few whisperin' to each other. Vee quits
right in the middle of a reverse.

"Do they think we are giving an exhibition?"
she pouts.

8 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

''Maybe we're breakin' some of the rules and
by-laws, " says I. "Anyway, I think we ought
to beat it before they call in the high sheriff. ' '

Next day it was just the same. We was out
part of the time, indulgin' in walks and sleigh
rides; but nobody seemed to see us, goin' or
comin'. And I begun to get good and sore.

"Nice place, this," says I to Vee, as we trails
in to dinner that evenin'. "Almost as sociable
as the Grand Central station."

Vee tries to explain that it's always like this
in these exclusive little all-the-year-round joints
where about the same crowd of people come
every season.

* ' Then you have to be born in the house to be
a reg'lar person, I suppose?" says I.

Well, it's about then I notices this classy
young couple who are makin' their way across
the dinin'-room, bein' hailed right and left.
And next thing I know, the young lady gets
her eye on Vee, stops to take another look, then
rushes over and gives her the fond clinch from
behind.

"Why you dear old Verona!" says she.

"Judith!" gasps Vee, kind of smothery.

1 ' Whatever are you doing up ' ' And then

Judith gets wise to me sittin' opposite. "Oh!"
says she.

TORCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY 9

Vee blushes and exhibits her left hand.

"It only happened the other night," says she.
"This is Mr. Ballard, Judith. And you?"

"Oh, ages ago — last spring," says Judith.
"Bert, come here."

It 's a case of old boardin '-school friends who 'd
lost track of each other. Quite a stunner, young
Mrs. Nixon is, too, and Bert is a good match for
her. The two girls hold quite a reunion, with
us men standin' around lookin' foolish.

"We're living in Springfield, you know,"
goes on Judith, "where Bert is helping to build
another munition plant. Just ran up to spend
the week-end with Auntie. You've met her, of
course?"

"We — we haven't met anyone," says Vee.

"Why, how funny!" exclaims Mrs. Nixon.
"Please come over right now."

"My dear," says Auntie, pattin' Vee chummy
on the hand, "we have all been wondering who
you two young people were. I knew you must

be nice, but — er Come, won't you join us

at this table? We'll make just a splendid little
family party. Now do ! "

Oh, yes, we did. And after dinner I'll be
hanged if we ain't introduced to almost every
body in the hotel. It's a reg'lar reception, with
folks standin' in line to shake hands with us.

10 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

The old boy with the eye awnin's turns out to
be an ex-Secretary of the Treasury; an antique
with a patent ear- 'phone has been justice of
some State Supreme Court ; and so on. Oh, lots
of class to 'em. But after I'd been vouched for
by someone they knew they all gives me the
hearty grip, offers me cigars, and hopes I'm
enjoyin' my stay.

"And so you are a niece of dear Mrs. Hem-
mingway?" says old Parrot-Face, when her
turn comes. " Think of that ! And this is your
husband!" And then she says how nice it is
that some other young people will be up in the
mornin'.

That evenin' Judith gets busy plannin' things
to do next day.

"You haven't tried the toboggan chute?" says
she. "Why, how absurd!"

Yep, it was a big day, Saturday was. Half a
dozen more young folks drifted in, includin' a
couple of Harvard men that Vee knew, a girl
she'd met abroad, and another she'd seen at a
house-party. They was all live wires, too, ready
for any sort of fun. And we had all kinds.
Maybe we didn't keep that toboggan slide warm.
Say, it's some sport, ain't it?

Anyway, our honeymoon was turnin' out a
great success. The Nixons concluded to stay

TORCHY AND VEE ON THE WAY 11

over a few days, and three or four of the others
found they could too, so we just went on whoop
ing things up.

Next I knew we 'd been there a week, and was
due to make a jump to Washington for a few
days of sight-seem '.

"I'm afraid that will not be half as nice as
this has been," says Vee.

' ' It couldn 't, ' ' says I. "It '& the reg 'lar thing
to do, though."

"I hate doing the regular thing," says Vee.
"Besides, I'm dying to see our little studio
apartment and get settled in it. Why not-
well, just go home?"

"Vee," says I, "you got more good sense
than I have red hair. Let's!"

CHAPTER II

VEE WITH VARIATIONS

"Bui — but look here, Vee," says I, after I'd
got my breath back, "you can't do a thing like
that, you know."

"But I have, Torchy," says she; "and, what
is more, I mean to keep on doing it."

She don't say it messy, understand — just
states it quiet and pleasant.

And there we are, hardly at the end of our
first month, with the rocks loomin' ahead.

Say, where did I collect all this bunk about
gettin' married, anyway? I had an idea that
after the honeymoon was over, you just settled
down and lived happy, or otherwise, ever after.
But, believe me, there's nothing to it. It ain't
all over, not by a long shot. As a matter of
fact, you've just begun to live, and you got to
learn how.

Here I am, discoverin' a new Vee every day
or so, and almost dizzy tryin' to get acquainted
with all of 'em. Do I show up that way to her!

VEE WITH VARIATIONS 13

I doubt it. Now and then, though, I catch her
watchin' me sort of puzzled.

So there's nothing steady goin' or settled
about us yet, thanks be. Home ain't a place to
yawn in. Not ours. "We don't get all our excite
ment out of changin' the furniture round, either.
Oh, sure, we do that, too. You know, we're
startin' in with a ready-made home — a studio
apartment that Mr. Robert picked up for me at
a bargain, all furnished.

He was a near-artist, if you remember, this
Waddy Crane party, who'd had a bale of cou-
pon-bearin' certificates willed to him, and what
was a van-load of furniture more or less to
him? Course, I'm no judge of such junk,
but Vee seems to think we've got something
swell.

"Just look at this noble old davenport, will
you!" says she. "Isn't it a beauty! And that
highboy! Real old San Domingo mahogany
that is, with perfectly lovely crotch veneer in
the panels. See?"

"Uh-huh," says I.

"And this four-poster with the pineapple
tops and the canopy," she goes on. "Pure
Colonial, a hundred years old."

" Eh ? " say s I, gazin ' at it doubtful. ' < Course,
I was lookin' for second-hand stuff, but I don't

14 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

think he ought to work off anything that ancient
on me, do you?"

* ' Silly ! ' ' says Vee. " It 's a gem, and the older
the better."

"We'll need some new rugs, won't we," says
I, "in place of some of these faded things!"

"Faded!" says Vee. "Why, those are Bok-
haras. I will say for Mr. Crane that he has
good taste. This is furnished so much better
than most studios — nothing useless, no mixing
of periods."

"Oh, when I go out after a home," says I,
"I'm some grand little shopper."

" Pooh ! " says Vee. " Who couldn 't do it the
way you did? Why, the place looks as if he'd
just taken his hat and walked out. There are
even cigars in the humidor. And his easel and
paints and brushes! Do you know what I'm
going to do, Torchy?"

"Put pink and green stripes around the
cigars, I expect," says I.

"Smarty!" says she. "I'm going to paint
pictures."

* * Why not ? ' ' says I. * * There 's no law against
it, and here you got all the tools."

"You know I used to try it a little," says
she. "I took quite a lot of lessons."

"Then go to it," says I. "I'll get a yearly

VEE WITH VARIATIONS 15

rate from a pressing club to keep the spots off
me. I'll bet you could do swell pictures."

"I know!" says Vee, clappin' her hands.
"I'll begin with a portrait of you. Let me try
sketching in your head now."

That's the way Vee generally goes at things —
with a rush. Say, she had me sittin' with my
chin up and my arms draped in one position
until I had a neck-ache that ran clear to my
heels.

"Hal-lup!" says I, when both feet was sound
asleep and my spine felt ossified. "Couldn't I
put on a sub while I drew a long breath?"

At that she lets me off, and after a fifth-
innin' stretch I'm called round to pass on the
result.

"Hm-m-m!" says I, starin' at what she's done
to a perfectly good piece of stretched canvas.

"Well, what does it look like?" demands Vee.

"Why," says I, "I should call it sort of a
cross between the Kaiser and Billy Sunday."

"Torchy!" says Vee. "I — I think you're
just horrid ! ' '

For a whole week she sticks to it industrious,
jottin' down studies of various parts of my
map while I'm eatin' breakfast, and workin'
over 'em until I come back from the office in the
afternoon. Did I throw out any more comic

16 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

cracks? Never a one — not even when the pic
ture showed that my eyes toed in. All I did was
pat her on the back and say she was a wonder.
But say, I got so I dreaded to look at the thing.

"You know your hair isn't really red," says
Vee; "it — it's such an odd shade."

"Sort of triple pink, eh?" says I.

She squeezes out some more paints, stirs 'em
vigorous, and makes another stab. This time
she gets a bilious lavender with streaks of fire
box red in it.

"Bother!" says she, chuckin' away the
brushes. "What's the use pretending I'm an
artist when I'm not? Look at that hideous
mess! It's too awful for words. Take away
that fire-screen, will you, Torchy?"

And, with the help of a few matches and a
sportin' extra, we made quite a cheerful little
blaze in the coal grate.

"There!" says Vee, as we watches the bon
fire. "So that's over. And it's rather a relief
to find out that I haven't got to be a lady artist,
after all. What is more, I am positive I couldn't
write a book. I'm afraid, Torchy, that I am a
most every-day sort of person."

"Maybe," says I, "you're one of the scarce
ones that believes in home and hubby."

"We-e-e-ell," says Vee, lockin' her fingers

VEE WITH VARIATIONS 17

and restin' her chin on 'em thoughtful, "not
precisely that type, either. My mind may not be
particularly advanced, but the modified harem
existence for women doesn't appeal to me. And
I must confess that, with kitchenette breakfasts,
dinners out, and one maid, I can't get wildly
excited over a wholly domestic career. Torchy,
I simply must have something to do."

Me, I just sits there gawpin' at her.

"Why," says I, "I thought that when a girl
got married she — she "

* ' I know, ' ' says she. ' ' You think you thought.
So did I. But you really didn't think about it
at all, and I'm only beginning to. Of course,
you have your work. I suppose it's interesting,
too. Isn't it?"

"It's a great game," says I. "Specially
these days, when doin' any kind of business is
about as substantial as jugglin' six china plates
while you're balanced on top of two chairs and
a kitchen table. Honest, we got deals enough
in the air to make you dizzy followin' 'em. If
they all go through we'll stand to cut a melon
that would pay off the national debt. If they
should all go wrong — well, it would be some
smash, believe me."

Vee's gray eyes light up sudden.

"Why couldn't you tell me all about some of

18 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

these deals," she says, "so that I could be in it
too ? Why couldn ' t 1 help ? ' '

"Maybe you could," says I, "if you under
stood all the fine points."

"Couldn't I learn?" demands Vee.

"Well," says I, "I've been right in the thick
of it for quite some years. If you could
pick up in a week or so what it's taken me
years to—

"I see," cuts in Vee. "I suppose you're
right, too. But I'm sure that I should like to be
in business. It must be fascinating, all that
planning and scheming. It must make life so
interesting."

I nods. "It does," says I.

"Then why shouldn't I try something of the
kind, all my very own?" she asks. "Oh, in a
small way, at first?"

More gasps from me. This was gettin'
serious.

"You don't mean margin dabblin' at one of
them parlor bucket-shops, do you?" I demands.

"No fear," says Vee. "I think gambling is
just plain stupid. I mean some sort of legiti
mate business — buying and selling things."

" Oh ! " says I. * * Like real estate, or imported
hats, or somebody's home-made candy? Or
maybe you mean startin' one of them Blue

VEE WITH VARIATIONS 19

Goose novelty shops down in Greenwich Vil
lage. I'll tell you. "Why not manufacture left-
handed collar buttons for the south-paw trade?
There's a field."

Vee don't say any more. In fact, three or
four days goes by without her mentionin' any
thing about bavin' nothing to do, and I'd 'most
forgot this batty talk of ours.

And then, one afternoon when I comes home
after a busy day at doin' nothing much and try-
in' to' look important over it, she greets me with
a flyin' tackle and drags me over to a big wing-
chair by the window.

"What do you think, Torchyf" says she.
"I've found something!"

"That trunk key you've been lookin' for?"
says I.

"No," says she. "A business opening."

"A slot-machine to sell fudge!" says I.

"You'd never guess," says she.

"Then shoot it," says I.

"I'm going to open a shoe-shinery," she an
nounces.

"Wha-a-a-at!" says I.

"Only I'm not going to call it that," she goes
on. "It isn't to be a 'parlor,' either, nor a
'shine shop.' It's to be just a 'Boots.' Eight
here in the building. I've leased part of the

20 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

basement. See?" And she waves a paper at
me.

"Quit your kiddin'," says I.

But she insists that it's so. Sure enough,
that's the way the lease reads.

And that's when, as I was tellin' you, I rises
up majestic and announces flat that she simply
can't do a thing like that. Also she comes back
at me just as prompt by sayin' that she can and
will. It's the first time we've met head-on goin'
different ways, and I had just sense enough to
throw in my emergency before the crash came.

"Now let's get this straight," says I. "I
don't suppose you're plannin' to do shoe-shinin'
yourself?"

Vee smiles and shakes her head.

"Or 'tend the cash register and sell shoe
laces and gum to gentlemen customers?"

"Oh, it's not to be that sort of place," says
she. "It's to be an English 'boots,' on a large
scale. You know what I mean."

"No," says I.

So she sketches out the enterprise for me. In
stead of a reg'lar Tony joint with a row of
chairs and a squad of blue-shirted Greeks jab-
berin' about the war, this is to be a chairless,
spittoonless shine factory, where the customer
only steps in to sign a monthly contract or regis-

VEE WITH VARIATIONS 21

ter a kick. All the work is to be collected and
delivered, same as laundry.

"I would never have thought of it," explains
Vee, "if it hadn't been for Tarkins. He's that
pasty-faced, sharp-nosed young fellow who's
been helping the janitor recently. A cousin, I
believe. He's a war wreck, too. Just think,
Torchy : he was in the trenches for more than a
year, and has only been out of a base hospital
two months. They wouldn't let him enlist
again; so he came over here to his relatives.

"It was while he was up trying to stop that
radiator leak the other day that I asked him if
he would take out a pair of my boots and find
some place where they could be cleaned. He
brought them back inside of half an hour, beau
tifully done. And when I insisted on being told
where he'd taken them, so that I might send
them to the same place again, he admitted that
he had done the work himself. 'My old job,
ma'am,' says he. 'I was boots at the Argyle
Club, ma'am, before I went out to strafe the
'Uns. Seven years, ma 'am. But they got a girl
doin' it now, a flapper. Wouldn't take me back/
Just fancy ! And Tarkins a trench hero ! So I
got to thinking. ' '

"I see," says I. "You're going to set Tar
kins up, eh?"

22 THE HOUSE OF TOKCHY

"I'm going to make him my manager," says
Vee. "He will have charge of the shop and
solicit orders. We are going to start with only
two polishers ; one for day work, the other for
the night shift. And Tarkins will always be on
the job. They're installing a 'phone now, and
he will sleep on a cot in the back office. We
will work this block first, something like four
hundred apartments. Later on — well, we'll
see."

"I don't want to croak," says I, "but do you
think folks will send out their footwear that
way? You know, New Yorkers ain't used to
gettin' their shines except on the hoof."

"I mean to educate them to my 'boots' sys
tem," says Vee. "I'm getting up a circular
now. I shall show them how much time they
can save, how many tips they can avoid. You
see, each customer will have a delivery box, with
his name and address on it. No chance for mis
takes. The boxes can be set outside the apart
ment doors. We will have four collections, per
haps ; two in the daytime, two at night. And

when they see the kind of work we do Well,

you wait."

"I'll admit it don't listen so worse," says I.
"The scheme has its good points. But when
you come to teachin' New York people new

VEE WITH VAKIATIONS 23

tricks, like sendin' out their shoes, you're goin'
to be up against it."

''Then you think I can't make 'boots' pay a
profit!" asks Vee.

"That would be my guess," says I. "If it
was a question of underwritin' a stock issue for
the scheme I'd have to turn it down."

"Good!" says Vee. "Now I shall work all
the harder. Tarkins will be around early in the
morning to get you as our first customer."

Say, for the next few days she certainly was
a busy party — plannin' out her block campaign,
lookin' over supply bills, and checkin' up Tar-
kins 's reports.

I don't know when I'd ever seen her so inter
ested in anything, or so chirky. Her cheeks
were pink all the time and her eyes dancin'.
And somehow we had such a lot to talk about.

Course, though, I didn't expect it to last. You
wouldn't look for a girl like Vee, who'd never
had any trainin' for that sort of thing, to start
a new line and make a go of it right off the bat.
But, so long as she wasn't investin' very heavy,
it didn't matter.

And then, here last night, after she'd been
workin' over her account-books for an hour or
.so, she comes at me with a whoop, and waves
a sheet of paper under my nose excited.

24 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Now, Mister Business Man," says she,
"what do you think of that?"

"Eh?" says I, starin' at the figures.

"One hundred and seventeen regular cus
tomers the first week," says she, "and a net
profit of $23.45. Now how about underwriting
that stock issue?"

Well, it was a case of backin' up. She had it
all figured out plain. She 'd made good from the
start. And, just to prove that it's real money
that she's made all by herself, she insists on in-
vitin' me out to a celebration dinner. It's a
swell one, too, take it from me.

And afterwards we sits up until long past
midnight while Vee plans a chain of "boots" all
over the city.

"Gee!" says I. "Maybe you'll be gettin'
yourself written up as ' The Shine Queen of New
York' or something like that. Lucky Auntie's
in Jamaica. Think what a jolt it would give
her."

"I don't care," says Vee. "I've found a
job."

"Guess you have," says I. "And, as I've
remarked once or twice before, you're some
girl."

CHAPTER III

A QUALIFYING TURN FOE TOECHY

AND here all along I'd been kiddin' myself
that I was a perfectly good private sec. Also
I had an idea the Corrugated Trust was one of
the main piers that kept New York from slump-
in' into the North River, and that the boss, Old
Hickory Ellins, was sort of a human skyscraper
who loomed up as imposin' in the financial fore
ground as the Metropolitan Tower does on the
picture post-cards that ten-day trippers mail to
the folks back home.

Not that I'd been workin' up any extra chest
measure since I've had an inside desk and had
connected with a few shares of our preferred
stock; I always did feel more or less that way
about our concern. And the closer I got to things,
seein' how wide our investments was scattered
and how many big deals we stood behind, the
surer I was that we was important people.

And then, in trickles this smooth-haired young
gent with the broad &'s and the full set of the
dansant manners, to show me where I'm

25

26 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

wrong on all counts. He'd succeeded in con-
vincin' Vincent-on-the-gate that nobody around
the shop would do but Mr. Ellins himself, so
here was Old Hickory standin' in the door of
his private office with the card in his hand and
starin' puzzled at this immaculate symphony in
browns.

"Eh?" says he. "You're from Runyon, are
you? Well, I wired him to stop off on his way
through and have luncheon with me at the Union
League. Know anything about that, do you?"

"Mr. Runyon regrets very much," says the
young gent, "that he will be unable to accept
your kind invitation. He is on his way to New
port, you know, and—

"Yes, I understand all that," breaks in Old
Hickory. ' ' Daughter 's wedding. But that isn 't
until next week, and while he was in town I
thought we might have a little chat and settle a
few things. ' '

"Quite so," says the symphony. "Precisely
why he sent me up, sir — to talk over anything
you might care to discuss."

' ' With you ! " snorts Old Hickory. ' « Who the
brocaded buckboards are you?"

"Mr. Runyon 's secretary, sir," says the
young gent. "Bixby's the name, sir, as you
will see by the card, and "

4 ' Ha ! " growls old Hickory. * ' So that 's Marc
Runyon's answer to me, is it? Sends his secre
tary ! Very well ; you may talk with my secre
tary. Torchy ! ' '

"Eight here!" says I, slidin' to the front.

"Take this person somewhere," says Mr.
Ellins, jerkin' his thumb at Bixby; "instruct
him what to tell his master about how we regard
that terminal hold-up; then dust him off care
fully and lead him to the elevator."

"Got you!" says I, salutin'.

You might think that would have jolted Mr.
Bixby. But no. He gets the door shut in his
face without even blinkin' or gettin' pink under
the eyes. Don't even indulge in any shoulder
shrugs or other signs of muffled emotion. He
just turns to me calm and remarks business
like:

"At your service, sir."

Now, say, this lubricated diplomacy act ain't
my long suit as a general thing, but I couldn't
figure a percentage in puttin' over any more
rough stuff on Bixby. It rolled off him too easy.
Course, it might be all right for Mr. Ellins to get
messy or blow a gasket if he wanted to ; but I
couldn't see that it was gettin' us anywhere.
He hadn't planned this luncheon affair just for
the sake of being sociable — I knew that much.

28 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

The big idea was to get next to Marcus T. Run-
yon and thresh out a certain proposition on a
face-to-face basis. And if he chucked that over
board because of a whim, we stood to lose.

It was up to me now, though. Maybe I could
n't be as smooth as this Bixby party, but I
could make a stab along that line. It would be
good practice, anyhow. So I tows him over to
my corner, and arranges him easy in an arm
chair.

"As between private sees, now," says I,
"what's puttin' up the bars on this get-together
motion, eh I"

Well, considerin' that Bixby is English and
don't understand the American language very
well, we got along fine. Once or twice, there, I
thought I should have to call in an interpreter ;
but by bein' careful to state things simple, and
by goin' over some of the points two or three
times slow, we managed to make out what each
other meant.

It seems that Marcus T. is more or less of a
frail and tender party. Dashin' out for a Union
League luncheon, fillin' himself up on poulet
en casserole and such truck, not to mention Mar
tinis and demi-tasses and brunette perfectos,
was clean out of the question.

"My word!" says Bixby, rollin' his eyes.

QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY 29

< 'His physician would never allow it, you
know."

"Suppose he took a chance and didn't tell
the doc?" I suggests.

"Impossible," says Bixby. "He is with him
constantly — travels with him, you understand."

I didn't get it all at first, but I sopped it up
gradual. Marcus T. wasn't takin' any casual
fiit from his Palm Beach winter home to his
Newport summer place. No jumpin' into a com
mon Pullman for him, joinin' the smokin'-room
bunch, and scrabblin' for his meals in the diner.
Hardly.

He was travelin' in his private car, with his
private secretary, his private physician, his
trained nurse, his private chef, and most likely,
his private bootblack. And he was strictly
under his doctor's orders. He wasn't even
goin' to have a peek at Broadway or Fifth
Avenue ; for, although a suite had been engaged
for him at the Plutoria, the Doc had ruled
against it only that mornin'. No; he had to
stay in the private car, that had been run on a
special sidin' over in the Pennsylvania yards.

"So you see," says Bixby, spreadin' out his
varnished finger-nails helpless. "And yet, I
am sure he would very much like to have a chat
with his old friend Mr. Ellins."

30 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

I had all I could do to choke back a haw-haw.
His old friend, eh I Oh, I expect they might be
called friends, in a way. They hadn't actually
stuck any knives into each other. And 'way
back, when they was both operatin' in Chicago,
I understand they was together a good deal.

But since Well, maybe at a circus you've

seen a couple of old tigers pacin' back and forth
in nearby cages and catchin' sight of one an
other now and then! Something like that.

''Friend" wasn't the way Marcus T. was in
dexed on our books. If we spotted any sus
picious moves in the market, or found one of our
subsidiary companies being led astray by un
seen hands, or a big contract slippin' away
mysterious, the word was alw,ays passed to
"watch the Runyon interests." And I'll admit
that when the Corrugated saw an openin' to put
a crimp in a Runyon deal, or overbid 'em on a
franchise, or crack a ripe egg on one of their
bond issues, we only waited long enough for it
to get dark before gettin' busy. Oh, yes, we was
real chummy that way.

And then again, with the Runyon system
touchin' ours in so many spots, we had a lot of
open daylight dealin's. We interlocked here
and there; we had joint leases, trackage
agreements, and so on, where we was just as

QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY 31

trustin' of each other as a couple of gentlemen
crooks dividin' the souvenirs after an early
mornin' call at a country-house.

This terminal business Old Hickory had men
tioned was a sample. Course, I only knew about
it in a vague sort of way : something about ore
docks up on the Lakes. Anyway, it was a case
where the Runyon people had hogged the water
front and was friskin' us for tonnage charges on
every steamer we loaded.

I know it was something that had to be re
newed annual, for I'd heard Mr. Ellins beefin'
about it more'n once. Last year, I remember,
he was worse than usual, which was accounted
for later by the fact that the ton rate had been
jumped a couple of cents. And now it had been
almost doubled. No wonder he wanted a con
fab with Marcus T. on the subject. And, from
where I stood, it looked like he ought to have
it, grouch or no grouch.

I 1 Bixby, ' ' says I, ' ' Mr. Ellins would just grieve
himself sick if this reunion he's planned don't
come off. Now, what's the best you can do?"

"If Mr. Ellins could come to the private
car " begins Bixby.

"Say." I breaks in, "you wouldn't ask him
to climb over freight-cars and dodge switch-
engines just for old times' sake, would you?"

32

Bixby holds up both hands and registers pain
ful protest.

"By no means," says he. "We would send
the limousine for Mr. Ellins, have it wait his
convenience, and drive him directly to the car
steps. I think I can arrange the interview for
any time between two-thirty and four o'clock
this afternoon."

"Now, that's talkin'!" says I. "I'll see
what I can do with the boss. Wait, will you?"

Oh, boy, though! That was about as tough
a job as I ever tackled. Old Hickory still has
his neck feathers ruffled, and he's chewin' sav
age on a black cigar when I go in to slip him
the soothin' syrup. First off I explains elabo
rate what a sick man Mr. Runyon is, and all
about the trained nurse and the private physi
cian.

' ' Bah ! " say s Old Hickory. " I '11 bet he 's no
more an invalid than I am. Just coddling him
self, that's all. Got the private car habit, too!
Why, I knew Marc Runyon when he thought an
upper berth was the very lap of luxury; knew
him when he'd grind his teeth over payin' a ten-
dollar fee to a doctor. And now he's trying to
buy back his digestion by hiring a private
physician, is he! The simple-minded old
sinner!"

QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY 33

"I expect you ain't seen much of him lately,
Mr. Ellins!" I suggests.

Old Hickory hunches his shoulders careless.

"No," says he.

Then he gazes reminiscent at the ceilin'. I
could tell by watchin' his lower jaw sort of
loosen up that he was thinkin' of the old days,
or something like that. It struck me as a good
time to let things simmer. I drops back a step
and waits. All of a sudden he turns to me and
demands :

"Well, son?"

"If you could get away about three," says I,
"Mr. Runyon's limousine will be waiting."

"Huh!" says he. "Well, I '11 see. Perhaps."

"Yes, sir," says I. "Then you'll be wanting
the dope on that terminal lease. Shall I dig
it up?"

"Oh, you might as well," says Old Hickory.
"There isn't much, but bring along anything
you may find. You will have to serve as my
entire retinue, Torchy. I expect you to behave
like a regular high-toned secretary."

"Gee!" says I. "That's some order. Mr.
Bixby'll have me lookin' like an outside porter.
But I'll go wind myself up."

All I could think of, though, was to post my
self on that terminal stuff. And, believe me, I

34 THE HOUSE OF TOKCHY

waded into that strong. Inside of ten minutes
after I'd sent Bixby on his way I had Piddie
clawin ' through the record safe, two stenograph
ers searchin' the letter-files, and Vincent out
buyin' maps of Lake Superior. I had about four
hours to use in gettin' wise to the fine points of
a deal that had been runnin' on for ten years;
but I can absorb a lot of information in a short
time when I really get my mind pores open.

At that, though, I expect my head would have
been just a junk-heap of back-number facts if I
hadn't run across the name of this guy McClave
in some of the correspondence. Seems he'd
been assistant traffic agent for one of the Run-
yon lines, but had been dropped durin' a con
solidation shake-up. And now he happens to be
holdin' down a desk out in our general offices.
Just on a chance, I pushes the button for him.

Well, say, talk about tappin' the main feed
pipe! Why, that quiet little Scotchman in the
shiny black cutaway coat and the baggy plaid
trousers, he knew more about how iron ore gets
from the mines to the smelters than I do about
puttin' on my own clothes. And as for the in
side hist'ry of how we got that tonnage charge
wished onto us, why, McClave had been called
in when the merry little scheme was first plotted
out.

QUALIFYING TURN FOB TORCHY 35

I made him start at the beginning and explain
every item, while we munched fried-egg sand
wiches as we went over reports, sorted out old
letters, and marked up a perfectly good map of
Minnesota. But by three P.M. I had a leather
document case stuffed with papers and a cross-
index of 'em in my so-called brain.

"When you're ready, Mr. Ellins," says I,
standin' by with my hat in my hand.

"Oh, yes," says he, heavin' himself up reluc
tant from his desk chair.

And, sure enough, there's a silk-lined limou
sine and a French chauffeur waitin' in front of
the arcade. In no time at all, too, we're rolled
across Seventh Avenue, down through a tunnel,
and out alongside a shiny private car with a
brass-bound bay-window on one end and flower-
boxes hung on the side. They even had a car
pet laid on the steps. It's a happy little home
on wheels.

Also there is Bixby the Busy, with his ear out
for us.

Talk about private seccing as a fine art!
Why, say, I fairly held my breath watchin' him
operate. Every move is as smooth and silent
as a steel lathe runnin' in an oil bath. He don't
exactly whisper, or give us the hush-up sign,
but somehow he gets me steppin' soft and talk-

36 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

in* under my breath from the minute I hits the
front vestibule.

"So good of you, Mr. Ellins," he coos sooth-
in'. "Will you come right in! Mr. Runyon
will be with you in a moment. Just finishing a
treatment, you know. This way, gentlemen."

Say, it was like bein' ushered into church
durin' the prayer. Once inside, you'd never
guess it was just a car. More like the corner of
a perfectly good drawin'-room — easy chairs,
Turkish rugs, silver vases full of roses, double
hangings at the windows.

"Will you sit here, Mr. Ellins I" murmurs
Bixby. "And you here, sir. Pardon me a mo
ment."

Then he glides about, pullin' down a shade,
movin' a vase, studyin' how the light is goin'
to strike in, pattin' a cushion, shovin' out a foot-
rest — like he was settin' the stage for the big
scene. And right in the midst of it I near
spilled the beans by pullin' an afternoon edition
out of my pocket. Bixby swoops down on me
panicky.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" says he, pluckin' the
paper out of my fingers. "But may I put this
outside? Mr. Runyon cannot stand the rustling
of newspapers. Please don't mind. There!
Now I think we are ready."

QUALIFYING TURN FOE TORCHY 37

I wanted to warn him that I hadn't quite
stopped breathin' yet, but he's off to the other
end of the room, where a nurse in a white cap
is peekin' through the draperies.

Bixby nods to her and stands one side. Then
we waits a minute — two minutes. And finally
the procession appears.

First, a nurse carryin' a steamer rug; next,
another nurse with a tray; and after them a
valet and the private physician with the great
Marcus T. walkin' slow between.

He ain't so imposin' when you get that close,
though. Kind of a short, poddy party, who
looks like he'd been upholstered generous once
but had shrunk a lot. There are heavy bags
under his eyes, dewlaps at his mouth-corners,
and deep seams across his clean-shaved face.
He has sort of a cigar-ash complexion. And
yet, under them shaggy brows is a keen pair of
eyes that seem to take in everything.

Old Hickory gets up right off, with his hand
out. But it's a social error. Bixby blocks him
off graceful. He's in full command, Bixby is.
With a one-finger gesture he signals the nurse
to drape her rug over the chair. Then he nods
to the doctor and the valet to go ahead. They
ease Runyon into his seat. Bixby motions 'em
to wrap up his knees. By an eyelid flutter

38 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

he shows the other nurse where to set her
tray.

It's almost as complicated a process as dock-
in' an ocean liner. When it's finished, Bixby
waves one hand gentle, and they all fade back
through the draperies.

1 1 Hello, Ellins, ' ' says Runyon. * ' Mighty good
of you to hunt up a wreck like me."

I almost gasped out loud. Somehow, after
seein' him handled like a mummy that way, you
didn't expect to hear him speak. It's a shock.
Even Old Hickory must have felt something as
I did.

"I— I didn't know," says he. "When did it
happen, Runyonf"

"Oh, it's nothing," says Marcus T. "I am
merely paying up for fifty-odd years of hard
living by — by this. Ever try to exist on arti
ficial sour milk and medicated hay, Ellins?
Hope you never come to it. Don't look as
though you would. But you were always
tougher than I, even back in the State Street
days, eh?"

First thing I knew, they were chattin' away
free and easy. Course, there was Bixby all the
time, standin' behind watchful. And right in
the middle of a sentence he didn't hesitate to
butt in and hand Mr. Runyon a glass of what

QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY 39

looked like thin whitewash. Marcus T. would
take a sip obedient and then go on with his talk.
At last he asks if there's anything special he
can do for Mr. Ellins.

"Why, yes," says Old Hickory, settin' his
jaw. "You might call off your highwaymen on
that Manitou terminal lease, Runyon. That is,
unless you mean to take all of our mining
profits."

Marcus T.'s eyes brighten up. They almost
twinkle.

"Bixby," says he, "what about that? Has
there been an increase in the tonnage rate to the
Corrugated?"

"I think so, sir," says Bixby. "I can look it
up, sir."

"Ah!" says Runyon. "Bixby will look it
up."

"He needn't," says Old Hickory. "It's been
doubled, that's all. We had the notice last week.
Torchy, did you—

"Yep!" says I, shootin' the letter at him.

"Well, well!" says Runyon, after he's gazed
at it. "There must have been some well
founded cause for such an advance. Bixby, you
must "

"It's because you think you've got us in a
hole," breaks in Old Hickory. "We've got

40

to load our boats and you control the
docks."

"Oh, yes!" chuckles Marcus T. "An unfor
tunate situation — for you. But I presume there
are other dockage facilities available."

"If there were," says Mr. Ellins sarcastic,
" do you think we would be paying you from
three to five millions a year?"

"Bixby, I fear you must explain our position
more fully," goes on Mr. Runyon.

"Oh, certainly," says Bixby. "I will have a
full report prepared and "

"Suppose you tell it to my secretary now,"
insists Old Hickory, glarin' menacin' at
him.

"Do so, Bixby," says Marcus T.

"Why — er — you see," says Bixby, turnin' to
me, "as I understand the case, the only outlet
you have to deep water is over our tracks
to "

"What about them docks at Three Har
bors?" I cuts in.

"Three Harbors?" repeats Bixby, starin'
vague.

1 ' Precisely, ' ' says Marcus T. "As the young
man suggests, there is plenty of unemployed
dockage at that point. But your ore tracks do
not connect with that port."

QUALIFYING TUEN FOR TORCHY 41

"They would if we laid forty miles of rails,
branchin' off at Tamarack Junction," says I.
"That spur has all been surveyed and the right
of way cleared."

"Ah!" exclaims Bixby, comin' to life again.
"I remember now. Tamarack Junction. We
hold a charter for a railroad from there to Three
Harbors."

"You mean you did hold it," says I.

"I beg pardon?" says Bixby, gawpin'.

"It lapsed," says I, "eighteen months ago.
Here's a copy, 0. K.'d by a Minnesota notary
public. See the date?"

"Allow me," says Mr. Runyon, reachin' for
it.

Old Hickory gets up and rubbers over his
shoulder. "By George! " says he. "It has
lapsed, Runyon. Torchy, where 's a map
of "

"Here you are," says I. "You'll see the
branch line sketched in there. That would cut
our haul about fifteen miles."

"And leave you with a lot of vacant ore docks
on your hands, eh, Runyon?" puts in Old Hick
ory. "We could have those rails laid by the
time the ice was out of the Soo. Well, well!
Throws rather a new light on the situation,
doesn't it?"

42 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

Marcus T. turns slow and fixes them keen
eyes of his on Bixby the Busy.

1 ' Hm-m-m ! ' ' says he. * ' It seems that we have
overlooked a point, Bixby. Perhaps, though,
you can offer "

He can. Some shifty private sec, Bixby is.

1 'Your milk, sir," says he, grabbin' the tray
and shovin' it in front of Runyon.

For a second or so the great Marcus T. eyes
it indignant. Then his shoulders sag, the fire
dies out of his eyes, and he takes the glass.

He's about the best trained plute I ever saw
in captivity.

"And I think the doctor should take your tem
perature now," adds Bixby. "I will call him."

As he slips off toward the back end of the car
Mr. Runyon lets out a sigh.

''It's no use, Ellins," says he. "One can't
pamper a ruined digestion and still enjoy these
friendly little business bouts. One simply can 't.
Name your own terms for continuing that ter
minal lease."

Old Hickory does prompt, for we don't want
to buy rails at the price they're bringin'
now.

"And by the way, Runyon," says he, "may I
ask what you pay your young man? I'm just
curious."

QUALIFYING TURN FOR TORCHY 43

"Bixby?" says Runyon. "Oh, twenty-five
hundred. ' '

"Huh!" says Mr. Ellins. "My secretary
forgets my milk now and then, but he remem
bers such trifles as lapsed charters. He is draw
ing three thousand."

I hope Marcus T. didn't hear the gasp I lets
out — I tried to smother it. And the first thing
I does when we gets back into the limousine is
to grin at the boss.

"Whaddye mean, three thousand!" says I.

"Dollars," says he. "Beginning to-day."

"Z-z-z-zing!" says I. "Going up, up! And
there I was plannin' to take a special course in
trained nursin', so I could hold my job."

CHAPTER IV

SWITCHING AKTS ON LEON

OH, sure! We're coming along grand. Did
you think we'd be heavin' the blue willow- ware
at each other by this time ? No. We 've hardly
displayed any bef ore-breakfast dispositions yet.

Not that we confine ourselves to the coo vo
cabulary, or advertise any continuous turtle
dove act. Gettin' married ain't jellied our
brains, I hope. Besides, we're busy. I've got a
new gilt-edged job to fill, you know; and Vee,
she has one of her own, too.

Well, I can't say that her scheme of runnin'
a Boots, Limited, has mesmerized all New York
into havin' its shoe-shinin' done out. There's
something about this cloth top and white gaiter
craze that's puttin' a crimp in her perfectly
good plans. But she's doin' fairly well, and she
don't have to think up ways of killin' time.

Course, we have a few other things to think
about, too. Just learnin' how to live in New
York is a merry little game all by itself. That 's

44

SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON 45

one of my big surprises. I'd thought all along
it was so simple.

But say, we've been gettin' wise to a few
facts this last month or so, for we've been tryin'
to dope out which one of the forty-nine varieties
of New York's home-sweet-home repertoire was
the kind for us. I don't mean we've been
changin' our street number, or testin' out dif
ferent four-room-and-bath combinations. The
studio apartment I got at a bargain suits first
rate. It's the meal proposition.

First off, we decides gay and reckless that
we'll breakfast and lunch in and take our din
ners out. That listened well and seemed easy
enough — until Vee got to huntin' up a two-
handed, light-footed female party who could boil
eggs without scorchin' the shells, dish up such
things as canned salmon with cream sauce, and
put a few potatoes through the French fry
process, doublin' in bed-makin' and dust-chasm '
durin' her spare time. That shouldn't call for
any prize-winnin' graduate from a cookin' col
lege, should it?

But say, the specimens that go in for general
housework in this burg are a sad lot. I ain't
goin' all through the list. I'll just touch lightly
on Bertha.

She was a cheerful soul, even when she was

46 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

servin' soggy potatoes or rappin' me in the ear
with her elbow as she reached across to fill my
water glass.

11 He-he! Haw-haw! Oxcuse, Mister," was
Bertha's repartee for such little breaks.

Course, I could plead with her for the ump
teenth time to try pourin' from the button hand
side, but it would have been simpler to have
worn a head guard durin' meals.

And who would have the heart to put the ban
on a yodel that begins in our kitchenette at 7
A.M., even on cloudy mornin's?

If Bertha had been No. 1, or even No. 2, she'd
have had her passports handed her about the
second mornin'; but, as she was the last of a
punk half dozen, we tried not to mind her musi
cal interludes. So at the end of three weeks her
friendly relations with us were still unbroken,
though most of the dishes were otherwise.

So you might have thought we'd been glad,
when 6.30 P.M. came, to put on our things and
join about a million or so other New Yorkers
in nndin' a dinner joint where the cooks and
waiters made no claim to havin' an amateur
standin'.

But, believe me, while my domestic instincts
may be sproutin' late, they're comin' strong.
I'm beginnin' to yearn for nourishment that I

SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON 47

don't have to learn the French for or pick off 'm
a menu. I'd like to eat without bein' surrounded
by three-chinned female parties with high blood
pressure, or bein' stared at by pop-eyed old
sports who 're givin' some kittenish cloak model
a bright evenin'. And Vee feels more or less
the same way.

" Besides," says she, "I wish we could enter
tain some of our friends."

"Just what I was wishin'," says I. "Say,
couldn't we find a few simple things in the cook
book that Bertha couldn't queer?"

''Such as canned baked beans and celery1?"
asks Vee, chucklin'. "And yet, if I stood by
and read the directions to her — who knows f ' '

"Let's try her on the Piddies," I suggests.

Well, we did. And if the potatoes had been
cooked a little more and the roast a little less, it
wouldn't have been so bad. The olives were all
right, even if Bertha did forget to serve 'em
until she brought in the ice cream. But then,
the Piddies are used to little slips like that,
havin' lived so long out in Jersey.

"You see," explains Vee to me afterwards,
"Bertha was a bit flurried over her first dinner
party. She isn't much used to a gas oven,
either. Don 't you think we might try another f ' '

* * Sure ! ' ' says I. * ' What are friends for, any-

48 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

way? How about askin' Mr. and Mrs. Robert
Ellins!"

"Oh, dear!" sighs Vee, lookin' scared. Then
she is struck with a bright idea. "I'll tell you :
we will rehearse the next one the night before. ' '

"Atta girl!" says I. "Swell thought."

It was while she and Bertha was strugglin'
over the cook-book, and gettin' advice from
various sources, from housekeepin' magazines
to the janitor's wife, that this Leon Battou
party shows up with his sob hist'ry.

1 ' Oh, Torchy ! ' ' Vee hails me with, as I come
home from the office here the other evenin'.
"What becomes of people when they're dispos
sessed — when they're put out on the street with
their things, you know?"

"Why," says I, "they generally stay out un
til they can find a place where they can move
in. Has anybody been threatenin' to chuck us
out for not "

"Silly!" says she. "It's the Battous."

"Don't know 'em," says I.

"But surely," goes on Vee, "you've seen
him. He's that funny little old Frenchman
who 's always dodging in and out of the elevator
with odd-looking parcels under his arm."

* ' Oh, yes ! ' ' says I. ' ' The one with the
twinklin' eyes and the curly iron-gray hair, who

SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON 49

always bows so polite and shoots that bon-shure
stuff at you. Him?"

It was.

It seems the agent had served notice on 'em
that mornin'. They'd been havin' a grand pow
wow over it in the lower vestibule, when Vee
had come along and got mixed up in the debate.
She'd seen Mrs. Battou doin' the weep act on
hubby's shoulder while he was tryin' to explain
and makin' all sorts of promises. I expect the
agent had heard such tales before. Anyway,
he was kind of rough with 'em — at which Vee
had sailed in and told him just what she thought.

"I'm sure you would have done the same,
Torchy," says she.

"I might," says I, "if he hadn't been too
husky. But what now?"

"I told them not to worry a bit," says Vee,
' ' and that when you came home you would tell
them what to do. You will, won't you,
Torchy?"

Course, there was only one real sensible an
swer to that. Who was I, to step in casual and
ditch a court order? But say, when the only
girl in the universe tackles you with the clingin'
clinch, hints that you're a big, brainy hero who
can handle any proposition that's batted up to
you — well, that's no time to be sensible.

50 THE HOUSE OF TOKCHY

"I'll do any foolish little thing you name,"
says I.

1 ' Goody ! ' ' says Vee. ' ' I just knew you would.
We'll go right up and—

< t

EJust a sec," says I. "Maybe I'd better
have a private talk with this Mr. Battou first
off. Suppose you run up and jolly the old lady
while he comes down here."

She agrees to that, and three minutes later
I've struck a pose which is sort of a cross be
tween that of a justice of the supreme court
and a bush league umpire, while M. Leon Battou
is sittin' on the edge of a chair opposite, con-
versin' rapid with both hands and a pair of elo
quent eyebrows.

"But consider, monsieur," he's sayin'.
"Only because of owing so little ! Can they not
wait until I have found some good customers
for my paintings 1 ' '

"Oh! Then you're an artist, are you?"

"I have the honor," says he. "I should be
pleased to have you inspect some of my "

"It wouldn't help a bit," says I. "All I
know about art is that as a rule it don't pay.
Don't you do anything else?"

He hunches his shoulders and spreads out
both hands.

"It is true, what you say of art," he goes

on. "And so then I must do the decorating
of walls — the wreaths of roses on the ceiling.
That was my profession when we lived at Pe-
ronne. But here — there is trouble about the
union. The greasy plumber will not work where
I am, it seems. Eh bien! I am forced out. So
I return to my landscapes. Are there not many
rich Americans who pay well for such things ! ' '

I waves him back into his chair.

"How'd you come to wander so far from this
Peronne place!" says I.

"It was because of our son, Henri," says he.
"You see, he preferred to be as my father was,
a chef. I began that way, too. The Battous
always do — a family of cooks. But I broke
away. Henri would not. He became the pastry
chef at the Hotel Gaspard in Peronne. And
who shall say, too, that he was not an artist in
his way? Yes, with a certain fame. At least,
they heard here, in New York. You would not
believe what they offered if he would leave
Peronne. And after months of saying no he said
yes. It was true. They paid as they promised —
more. So Henri sends for us to come also. We
found him living like a prince. Truly! For
more than three years we enjoyed his good for
tune.

"And then — la guerre! Henri must go to-

52 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

join his regiment. True, he might have stayed.
But we talked not of that. It was for France.
So he went, not to return. Ah, yes ! At Ypres,
after only three months in the trenches. Then
I say to the little mother, 'Courage! I, Leon
Battou, am still a painter. The art which has
been as a pastime shall be made to yield
us bread. You shall see.' Ah, I believed —
then."

"Nothing doing, eh?" says I.

Battou shakes his head.

"Well," says I, "the surest bet just now
would be to locate some wall-frescoin'. I'll see
what can be done along that line."

"Ah, that is noble of you, young man," ex
claims Battou. "It is wonderful to find such a
friend. A thousand thanks! I will tell the
little mother that we are saved."

With that he shakes me by both hands, gives
me a bear hug, and rushes off.

Pretty soon Vee comes down with smiles in
her eyes.

"I just knew you would find a way, Torchy,"
says she. "You don't know how happy you've
made them. Now tell me all about it."

And say, I couldn't convince her I hadn't
done a blamed thing but shoot a little hot air,
not after I'd nearly gone hoarse explaining.

SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON 53'

"Oh, but you will," says she. "You'll do
something. ' '

Who could help tryin', after that? I tackles
the agent with a proposition that Battou should
work out the back rent, but he's a fish-eyed
gink.

"Say," he growls out past his cigar, "if we
tried to lug along every panhandling artist that
wanted to graft rent off us, we'd be in fine shape
by the end of the year, wouldn't we? Forget it."

"How about his art stuff?" I asks Vee, when
I got back.

"Oh, utterly hopeless," says she. "But one
can't tell him so. He doesn't know how bad it
is. I suppose he is all right as a wall decorator.
Do you know, Torchy, they must be in serious
straits. Those two little rooms of theirs are
almost bare, and I'm sure they've been living
on cheese and crackers for days. What do you
think I've done?"

"Sent 'em an anonymous ham by parcels
post!" says I.

"No," says Vee. "I'm going to have them
down to-night for the rehearsal dinner."

"Pine dope!" says I. "And if they survive
bein' practiced on—

But Vee has skipped off to the kitchenette
without waitin' to hear the rest.

54 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Is this to be a reg'lar dress rehearsal!" I
asks, when I comes home again. "Should I doll
up regardless?"

Yes, she says I must. I was just strugglin'
into my dinner coat, too, when the bell rings.
I expect Vee had forgot to tell 'em that six-
forty-five was our reg'lar hour. And say, M.
Leon was right there with the boulevard cos
tume — peg-top trousers, fancy vest, flowin' tie,
and a silk tile. As for Madame Battou, she's all
in gray and white.

I'd towed 'em into the studio, and was havin'
'em shed their things, when Vee bounces in out
of the kitchenette and announces impetuous :

"Oh, Torchy! We've made a mess of every
thing. That horrid leg of lamb won't do any
thing but sozzle away in the pan; the string-
beans have been scorched ; and — oh, goodness ! ' '

She'd caught sight of our guests.

"Please don't mind," says Vee. "We're not
very good cooks, Bertha and I. We — we've
spoiled everything, I guess."

She's tryin' to be cheerful over it. And she
sure is a picture, standin' there with a big apron
coverin' up most of her evenin' dress, and her
upper lip a bit trembly.

"Buck up, Vee," says I. "Better luck next
time. Chuck the whole shootin' match into the

SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON 55

discards, and we'll all chase around to Roverti's
and "

* ' Bother Roverti 's ! " breaks in Vee. * ' Can 't
we ever have a decent dinner in our own home ?
Am I too stupid for that0? And there's that per
fectly gug-good 1-1-1-leg of — of—

' 'Pardon," says M. Battou, steppin' to the
front; "but perhaps, if you would permit, I
might assist with — with the lamb."

It's a novel idea, I admit. No wonder Vee
gasps a little.

' ( Why not ! ' ' says I. ' ' Course it ain 't reg 'lar,
but if Mr. Battou wants to do some expert
coachin', I expect you and Bertha could use it."

* * Do, Leon, ' ' urges Madame Battou. * ' Lamb,
is it? Oh, he is wonderful with lamb."

She hadn't overstated the case, either. In
side of two minutes he has his coat off, a bath
towel draped over his fancy vest, and has sent
Bertha skirmishin' down the avenue for garlic,
cloves, parsley, carrots, and a few other things
that had been overlooked, it seems.

Well, we stands grouped around the kitch
enette door for a while, watchin' him resusci
tate that pale-lookin' leg of lamb, jab things into
it, pour stuff over it, and mesmerize the gas
oven into doin' its full duty.

Once he gets started, he ain't satisfied with

56 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

simply turnin' out the roast. He takes some
string-beans and cuts 'em into shoe-laces; he
carves rosettes out of beets and carrots; he
produces a swell salad out of nothing at all;
and with a little flour and whipped cream he
throws together some kind of puffy dessert that
looked like it would melt in your mouth.

And by seven- thirty we was sittin' down to a
meal such as you don't meet up with outside of
some of them Fifth Avenue joints where you
have to own a head waiter before they let you
in.

"Whisper, Professor," says I, "did you work
a spell on it, or what?"

"Ah-h-h!" says Battou, chucklin' and rubbin'
his hands together. "It is cooked d la Paysan,
after the manner of Peronne, and with it is the
sauce chateau."

' ' That isn 't mere cookery, ' ' says Vee ; * ' that 's
art."

It was quite a cheery evenin'. And after the
Battous had gone, Vee and I asked each other,
almost in chorus: "Do you suppose he'd do it
again!"

"He will if I'm any persuader," says I.
' ' Wouldn 't it be great to spring something like
that on Mr. Robert?"

And while I'm shavin' next mornin' I con-

SWITCHING AETS ON LEON 57

nect with the big idea. Do you ever get 'em
that way? It cost me a nick under the ear, but
I didn't care. While I'm usin' the alum stick I
sketches out the scheme for Vee.

"But, Torchy!" says she. "Do you think he
would — really ? ' *

Before I can answer there's a ring at the
door, and here is M. Leon Battou.

"The agent once more!" says he, producin' a
paper. "In three days, it says. But you have
found me the wall-painting, yes 1 ' '

"Professor," says I, "I hate to say it, but
there's nothin' doing in the free-hand fresco
line — absolutely. ' '

He slumps into a chair , and that pitiful,
hunted look settles in his eyes.

' ' Then — then we must go, ' ' says he.

"Listen, Professor," says I, pattin' him
soothin' on the shoulder. "Why not can this
art stuff, that nobody wants, and switch to
somethin' you're a wizard at?"

"You — you mean," says he, "that I should —
should turn chef? I — Leon Battou — in a big
noisy hotel kitchen? Oh, but I could not. No,
I could not! "

"Professor," says I, "the only person in this
town that I know of who 's nutty enough to want
to hire a wall decorator reg'lar is me! "

58 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"You!" gasps Battou, starin' around at our
twelve by eighteen livin'-room.

I nods.

"What would you take it on for as a steady
job?"

"Oh, anything that would provide for us,"
says he, eager. "But how—

"That's just the point," says I. "When you
wasn't paintin' could you cook a little on the
side? Officially you'd be a decorator, but be
tween times Eh ? ' '

He's a keen one, Mr. Battou.

"For so charming young people," says he,
bowin' low, "it would be a great pleasure. And
the little mother — ah, you should see what a
manager she is ! She can make a franc go far
ther. Could she assist also?"

"Could she!" exclaims Vee. "If she only
would!"

Well, say, inside of half an hour we'd fixed
up the whole deal, I'd armed Battou with a
check to shove under the nose of that agent, and
Vee had given Bertha her permanent release.
And believe me, compared to what was
put before Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins that
•evenin', the dress rehearsal dinner looked
like Monday night at an actors' boardin'-
house.

SWITCHING ARTS ON LEON 59

"I say," whispers Mr. Robert, "your cook
must be a real artist."

"That's how he's carried on the family pay
roll," says I.

"Of course," says Vee afterwards, "while we
can afford it, I suppose, it does seem scanda
lously extravagant for us to have cooking like
that every day."

"Rather than have you worried with any
more Bunglin' Berthas," says I, "I'd subsidize
the whole of Peronne to come over. And just
think of all I'll save by not havin' to buy my
hat back from the coat-room boys every night."

CHAPTER V

A EECKUIT FOB THE EIGHT-THREE

HAVE you a shiny little set of garden tools in
your home? Have we? Well, I should seed
catalogue. Honest to goodness ! Here ! I can
show you a local time-table and my commuter's
ticket. How about that, eh, for me f

And I don't know now just what it was
worked the sudden shift for us — the Battous,
or our visit to the Robert Ellinses', or meetin'
up with MacGregor Shinn, the consistent
grouch.

It begun with window-boxes. Professor Leon
Battou, our official wall decorator and actin'
cook, springs 'em on me timid one day after
lunch. It had been some snack, too — onion
soup sprinkled with croutons and sprayed with
grated cheese; calf's brains au buerre noir; a
mixed salad; and a couple of gooseberry tarts
with the demi-tasse. Say, I'm gettin' so I can
eat in French, even if I can't talk it.

And while all that may listen expensive, I
have Vee's word for it that since Madame Bat-

60

RECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE 61

ton has been doin' the marketin' the high cost
of livin' has been jarred off the roost. I don't
know how accurate Professor Leon is at count-
in' up the calories in every meal, but I'm here
to announce that he always produces something
tasty, with no post-prandial regrets concealed
in the bottom of the casserole.

"Professor," says I, "I've been a stranger
to this burry brains style of nourishment a long
time, but you can ring an encore on that when
ever you like."

He smiles grateful, but shakes his head.

"Ah, Monsieur," says he, — oh, yes, just like
that, — "but if I had the fresh chives, the — the
fin herbes — ah, then you should see!"

"Well, can't Madame get what you need at
the stores?" says I.

"But at such a price!" says Leon. "And of
so discouraging a quality. While, if we had but
a few handfuls of good soil in some small boxes

by the windows Come, I will show you.

Here, and here, where the sun comes in the
morning. I could secure them myself if you
would not think them unlovely to have in view."

"How about it, Vee?" I asks. "Are we too
proud to grow our soup greens on the
premises?"

She says we ain't, so I tells Leon to breeze

62

ahead with his hangin' garden. Course, I ain't
lookin' for anything more'n a box on the ledge.
But he's an ingenious old boy, Leon. With a
hammer and saw and a few boxes from the gro
cery, he builds a rack that fits into one of the
front windows; and the first thing I know, he
has the space chuckful of shallow trays, and
seeds planted in every one. A few days later,
and the other window is blocked off similar.
Also I get a bill from the florist for two bushels
of dirt.

Well, our front windows did look kind of odd,
and our view out was pretty well barred off ; but
he had painted the things up neat, and he did all
his waterin' and fussin' around early in the
mornin', so we let it ride. When he starts in
to use our bedroom windows the same way,
though, I has to call him off.

"See here, Professor," says I, "you ain't
mistakin' this studio apartment for a New Jer
sey truck-farm, are you? Besides, we have to
keep them windows open at night, and your
green stuff is apt to get nipped."

"Oh, but the night air is bad to breathe, Mon
sieur," says he.

"Not for us," says I. "Anyway, we're used
to it, so I guess you'll have to lay off this bed
room garden business."

BECRUIT FOE THE EIGHT-THREE 62

He takes away the boxes, but it's plain he's
disappointed. I believe if I'd let him gone on
he'd had cabbages growin' on the mantelpiece, a
lettuce bed on the readin '-table, and maybe a
potato patch on the fire-escape. I never knew
gardenin' could be made such an indoor sport.

"Poor chap!" says Vee. "He has been tell
ing me what wonderful things he used to raise
when he lived in Peronne. Isn't there some
way, Torchy, that we could give him more
room ? ' '

"We might rent the roof and glass it in for
him," I suggests, "or get a permit to bridge
over the street."

' ' Silly ! ' ' says she, rumplin' my red hair reck
less.

That was about the time we was havin' some
of that delayed winter weather, and it was
touchin' to see Professor Battou nurse along
them pale green shoots that he'd coaxed up in
his window-boxes. Then it runs off warm and
sunny again, just as we gets this week-end invite
from Mr. Robert.

Course, I'd been out to his Long Island place
before, but somehow I hadn't got excited over
it. This time it's different. Vee was goin'
along, for one thing. And I expect the fact
that spring had come bouncin' in on us after a

64 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

hard winter had something to do with our en
thusiasm for gettin' out of town. You know
how it is. For eleven months you're absolutely
sure the city's the only place to live in, and
you feel sorry for them near-Rubes who have
to catch trains to get home. And then, all of a
sudden, about this time of year, you get that
restless feelin', and wonder what it is ails you.
I think it struck Vee harder than it did me.

" Goody!" says she, when I tell her we're
expected to go out Saturday noon and stay
over until Monday mornin '. "It is real country
out there, too, isn't it?"

" Blamed near an hour away," says I.
"Ought to be, hadn't it?"

"I hope they have lilac bushes in bloom,"
says Vee. "Do you know, Torchy, if I lived
in the country, I'd have those if nothing else.
Wouldn't you?"

"I expect so," says I, "though I ain't doped
out just what I would do in a case like that.
It ain't seemed worth while. But if lilacs are
the proper stunt for a swell country place, I'll
bet Mr. Robert's got 'em."

By the time we'd been shot out to Harbor
Hills station, though, I'd forgot whether it
was lilacs or lilies-of-the-valley that Vee was
particular about; for Mr. Robert goes along

BECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE 65

with us, and he's joshin' us about our livin' in
a four-and-bath and sportin' a French chef.

"Really," says he, "to live up to him you
ought to move into a brewer's palace on River
side Drive, at least."

"Oh, Battou would be satisfied if I'd lease
Madison Square park for him, so he could raise
onions," says I.

Which reminds Mr. Robert of something.

"Oh, I say!" he goes on. "You must see
my garden. I'm rather proud of it, you know."

"Your garden!" says I, grinnin'. "You
don't mean you've been gettin' the hoe and
rake habit, Mr. Robert?"

Honest, that's the last thing you'd look for
from him, for until he got married about the
only times he ever strayed from the pavements
was when he went yachtin'. But by the way
he talks now you'd think farmer was his middle
name.

"Now, over there," says he, after we've been
picked up at the station by his machine and
rolled off three or four miles, "over there I
am raising a crop of Italian clover to plow in.
That's a new hedge I'm setting out, too —
hydrangeas, I think. It takes time to get things
in shape, you see."

"Looks all right to me, as it is," says L

66 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"You got a front yard big enough to get lost
in."

Also the house ain't any small shack, with all
its dormers and striped awnin's and deep
verandas.

But it's too nice an afternoon to spend much
time inside, and after we've found Mrs. Robert,
Vee asks to be shown the garden.

1 ' Certainly, " says Mr. Robert. "I will ex
hibit it myself. That is — er — by the way, Ger
trude, where the deuce is that garden of ours!"

Come to find out, it was Mrs. Robert who
was the pie-plant and radish expert. She could
tell you which rows was beets and which was
corn without lookin' it up on her chart.

She'd been takin' a course in landscape-
gardening too; and as she pilots us around the
grounds, namin' the different bushes and
things, she listens like a nursery pamphlet.
And Vee falls for it hard.

"How perfectly splendid," says she, "to be
able to plan things like that, and to know so
many shrubs by their long names. But haven't
you anything as common as lilacs!"

Mrs. Robert laughs and shakes her head.

"They were never mentioned in my course,
you see," says she. "But our nearest neighbor
has some wonderful lilac bushes. Robert, don't

RECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE 67

you think we might walk down the east drive
and ask your dear friend Mr. MacGregor Shinn
if he'd mind "

"Decidedly no," cuts in Mr. Robert. "I'd
much prefer not to trouble Mr. Shinn at
all."

"Oh, very well," says Mrs. Robert. And
then, turnin' to us: "We haven't been particu
larly fortunate in our relations with Mr. Shinn ;
our fault, no doubt. ' '

But you know Vee. Half an hour later,
when we've been left to ourselves, she an
nounces :

"Come along, Torchy. I am going to find
that east drive."

"It's a case of lilacs or bust, eh?" says I.
"All right; I'm right behind you. But let's
make it a sleuthy getaway, so they won't
know. ' '

We let on it was a risky stunt, slippin' out
a side terrace door, dodgin' past the garage,
and finally strikin' a driveway different from
the one we'd come in by. We follows along
until we fetches up by some big stone gate
posts.

"There they are !" exclaims Vee. "Loads of
them. And aren't they fragrant? Smell.,
Torchy."

68 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

''I am," says I, sniffin' deep. " Don't you
hear me?"

"Yes; and that Mr. Shinn will too, if you're
as noisy as that over it," says she. "I sup
pose that is where he lives. Isn't it the cutest
little cottage?"

"It needs paint here and there," says I.

"I know," says Vee. "But look at that old
Dutch roof with the wide eaves, and the re
cessed doorway, and the trellises on either side,
and that big clump of purple lilacs nestling
against the gable end. Oh, and there's a cun
ning little pond in the rear, just where it ought
to be! I do wish we might go in and walk
around a bit."

1 ' Why not f " says I. ' ' What would it hurt ? ' '

"But that Shinn person," protests Vee,
"might — might not "

"Well, he couldn't any more'n shoo us off,"
says I, "and if he's nutty enough to do that
after a good look at you, then he's hope
less."

"You absurd boy!" says Vee, squeezin' my
hand. "Well, anyway, we might venture in a
step or two."

As a matter of fact, there don't seem to be
anyone in sight. You might almost think no
body lived there; for the new grass ain't been

RECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE 69

cut, the flower beds are full of dry weeds left
over from last fall, and most of the green shut
ters are closed.

There's smoke comin' from the kitchen chim
ney, though, so we wanders around front,
bringin' up under the big lilac bush. It's just
covered with blossoms — a truck-load, I should
say; and it did seem a shame, Vee bein' so
strong for 'em, that she couldn't have one little
spray.

"About a quarter a bunch, them would be on
Broadway," says I, diggin' up some change.
"Well, here's where Neighbor Shinn makes a
sale."

And, before Vee can object, I've snapped off
the end of a twig.

I'd just dropped the quarter in an envelop
and was stickin' it on the end of the broken
branch, when the front door opens, and out
dashes this tall gink with the rusty Vandyke
and the hectic face. Yep, it's a lurid map, all
right. Some of it might have been from goin*
without a hat in the wind and weather, for his
forehead and bald spot are just as high-colored
as the rest; but there's a lot of temper tint,
too, lightin' up the tan, and the deep furrows
between the eyes shows it ain't an uncommon
state for him to be in. Quite a husk he is, cos-

70 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

turned in a plaid golf suit, and he bores down
on us just as gentle as a tornado.

"I say, you!" he calls out. "Stop where you
are."

"Don't hurry," says I. "We'll wait for
you. ' '

"Ye will, wull ye!" he snarls, as he comes
stampin' up in front of us. "Ye'd best. And
what have ye there, Miss? Hah! Pickin' me
posies, eh? And trespassin', too."

"That's right," says I. "Petty larceny and
breakin' and enterin'. I'm the guilty party."

"I'm sure there's nothing to make such a
fuss about," says Vee, eyin' him scornful.

"Oh, ho!" says he. "It's a light matter, I
suppose, prowling around private grounds and
pilfering? I ought to be taking it as a joke,
eh? Don't ye know, you two, I could have you
taken in charge for this ? ' '

' l Breeze ahead, then, ' ' says I. * ' Call the high
sheriff. Only let's not get all foamed up over
it, Mr. MacGregor Shinn."

"Ha!" says he. "Then ye know who I
am? Maybe you're stopping up at the big
house?"

"We are guests of Mr. Ellins, your neigh
bor," puts in Vee.

"He's no neighbor of mine," snaps Shinn.

RECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE 71

"Not him. His bulldog worries me cat, his
roosters wake me up in the morning, and his
Dago workmen chatter about all day long. No,
I'll not own such a man as neighbor. Nor
will I have his guests stealing my posies."

"Then take it,7' says Vee, throwing the lilac
spray on the ground.

"You'll find a quarter stuck on the bush,"
says I. "Sorry, MacGregor, we couldn't make
a trade. The young lady is mighty fond of
lilacs. ' '

"Is she, now?" says Shinn, still scowlin' at
us.

"And she thinks your place here is pretty
cute," I adds.

"It's a rotten hole," says he.

"Maybe you're a poor judge," says I. "If
it was fixed up a bit I should think it might be
quite spiffy."

"What call has an old bachelor to be fixing
things up!" he demands. "What do I care
how the place looks? And what business is it
of yours, anyway?"

"Say, you're a consistent grouch, ain't you?"
says I, givin' him the grin. "What's the par
ticular trouble — was you toppin' your drive to
day?"

' ; Slicin ', men, ' ' says he. ' * Hardly a tee shot

72 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

found the fairway the whole round. And then
you two come breaking me bushes."

"My error," says I. "But you should have
hung out a sign that you was inside chewin'
nails."

"I was doing nothing of the kind," says he.
"I was waiting for that grinning idiot, Len
Hung, to give me me tea,"

"Well, don't choke over it when you do get
it," says I. "And if you ain't ready to sic the
police on us we'll be trotting along back."

"Ye wull not," says MacGregor; "ye '11 have
tea with me."

It sounds like a threat, and I can see Vee
gettin' ready to object strenuous. So I gives
her the nudge.

I expect it's because I'm so used to Old
Hickory's blowin' out a fuse that I don't duck
quicker when a gas-bomb disposition begins to
sputter around. They don't mean half of it,
these furious fizzers.

Sometimes it's sciatica, more often a punk
digestion, and seldom pure cussedness. If you
don't humor 'em by comin' back messy your
self, but just jolly 'em along, they're apt to
work out of it. And I'd seen sort of a human
flicker in them blue-gray eyes of MacGregor
Shinn's.

EECRUIT FOE THE EIGHT-THREE 73

"Vee," says I, "our peevish friend is in-
vitin' us to take tea with him. Shall we chance
it?"

And you know what a good sport Vee is.
She lets the curve come into her mouth corners
again, both of her cheek dimples show, and she
shoots a quizzin' smile at Mr. Shinn.

"Does he say it real polite?" she asks.

"Na," says MacGregor. "But there'll be
hot scones and marmalade."

' ' M-m-m-m ! ' ' says Vee. ' * Let 's, Torchy. ' '

It's an odd finish to an affair that started so
scrappy. Not that Shinn reverses himself en
tirely, or turns from a whiskered golf grump
into a stage fairy in spangled skirts. He goes
right on with his growlin' and grumblin'-
about the way his Chink cook serves the tea,
about havin' to live in a rotten hole like Har
bor Hills, about everything in general. But a
great deal of it is just to hear himself talk, I
judge.

We had a perfectly good high tea, and them
buttered scones with marmalade couldn't be
beat. Also he shows us all over the house, and
Vee raves about it.

"Look, Torchy!" says she. "That glimpse
of water from the living-room windows. Isn't
that dear! And one could have such a won-

74

derful garden beyond. Such a splendid big
fireplace, too. And what huge beams in the
ceiling! It's a very old house, isn't it, Mr.
Shinn?"

"The rascally agent who sold it to me said it
was," says MacGregor, "but I wouldn't be
lieve a word of his on any subject. 'Did I ask
you for an old house, at all?' I tells him. For
what I wanted was just a place where I could
live quiet, and maybe have me game of golf
when I wanted it. But here I've gone off me
game; and, besides, the country's no place to
live quiet in. I should be in town, so I should,
like any decent white man. I've a mind to
look up a place at once. Try another scone,
young lady."

So it was long after six before we got away,
and the last thing MacGregor does is to load
Vee down with a whole armful of lilac blos
soms.

I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Robert thought we'd
been makin' a wholesale raid when they saw
us comin' in with the plunder. Mrs. Robert
almost turns pale.

"Mercy!" says she. "You don't mean to
say you got all those from our neighbor's
bushes, do you?"

"Uh-huh," says I. "We've been mesmeriz-

EECRUIT FOE THE EIGHT-THREE 75

in' MacGregor. He's as tame a Scot now as
you'd want to see."

They could hardly believe it, and when they
heard about our havin' tea with him they
gasped.

' ' Of all persons ! ' ' says Mrs. Eobert. ' ' Why,
he has been glaring at us for a year, and send
ing us the most bristling messages. I don't
understand. ' '

Mr. Eobert, though, winks knowin'.

"Some of Torchy's red-headed diplomacy, I
suspect," says he. "I must engage you to
make our peace with MacGregor."

That's all we saw of him, though, durin' our
stay. For one thing, we was kept fairly busy.
I never knew you could have so much fun in
the country. Ever watch a bunch of young
ducks waddlin' about? Say, ain't they a cir
cus! And them fluffy little chicks squabblin'
over worms. Honest, I near laughed myself
sick. Vee was for luggin' some of 'em home to
the apartment. But she was thrilled over 'most
everything out there, from the fat robins on the
lawn to the new leaves on the trees.

And, believe me, when we gets back to town
again, our studio apartment seems cramped and
stuffy. We talked over everything we'd seen
and done at the Ellinses'.

76 THE HOUSE OF TOBCHY

"That's really living, isn't it?" says Vee.

"Why not," says I, "with a twenty-room
house, and grounds half as big as Central
Park?"

"I know," says Vee. "But a little place like
Mr. Shinn's would be large enough for us."

"I expect it would," says I. "You don't
really think you'd like to live out there, do you,
though?"

"Wouldn't I!" says Vee, her eyes sparklin'.
"I'd love it."

"What would you do all day alone?" I sug
gests.

"I'd raise ducks and chickens and flowers,"
says Vee. "And Leon could have a garden.
Just think!"

Yep — I thought. I must have kept awake
hours that night, tryin' not to. And the more I
mulled it over— Well, in the mornin' I had
a talk with Mr. Robert, after which I got busy
with the long-distance 'phone. I didn't say
anything much at lunch about what I'd done,
but around three o'clock I calls up the apart
ment.

"I'm luggin' home someone to dinner," says
I. "Guess who?"

Vee couldn't.

"MacGregor the grouch," says I.

RECRUIT FOR THE EIGHT-THREE 77

1 < Really ? ' ' says Vee. * ' How funny ! ' '

"It's part of the plot," says I. ''Tell the
Professor to spread himself on the eatings, and
have the rooms all fixed up slick."

Vee says she will. And she does. Mac-
Gregor falls for it, too. You should have seen
him after dinner, leanin' back comfortable in
our biggest chair, sippin' his coffee, and puffin'
one of Old Hickory's special perfectos that I'd
begged for the occasion.

And still I didn't let on. What I'm after is
to have him spring the proposition on me. Just
before he's ready to go, too, he does.

"I say," says he casual, "this isn't such a
bad hole you have here."

"Perfectly rotten," says I.

"Then we might make a trade," says he.
"What?"

"There's no tellin'," says I. "You mean a
swap, as things stand!"

"That's it," says he. "I'm no hand for
moving rubbish about."

"Me either," says I. "But if you mean
business, suppose you drop in to-morrow
at the office, about ten-thirty, and talk it
over."

"Very well," says MacGregor. "I'll stop
in town to-night."

78 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Oh, Torchy!" says Vee, after he's gone.
"Do — do you suppose he will — really!"

"You're still for it, eh!" says I. "Sure,
now!"

"Oh, it would be almost too good to be true,"
says she. ' ' That could be made just the dear
est place!"

"Yes," says I; "but my job is to talk Mae-
Gregor into lettin' it go cheap, or else we can't
afford to touch it."

Well, I can't claim it was all my smooth
work that did the trick, for MacGregor had
bought the place at a bargain first off, and now
he was anxious to unload. Still, he hadn't been
born north of Glasgow for nothing. But the
figures Mr. Eobert said would be about right I
managed to shade by twenty per cent., and my
lump invoice of that old mahogany of ours
maybe was a bit generous. Anyway, when I
goes home that night I tosses Vee a long
envelop.

"What's this?" says she.

"That's your chicken permit," says I. "All
aboard for Lilac Lodge! Gee! I wonder
should I grow whiskers, livin' out there!"

CHAPTER VI

TOBOHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS

I EXPECT I'll get used to it all in time. This
rural stuff, I mean. But it ain't goin' to come
easy. When you've been brought up to think
of home as some place where you've got a right
to leave your trunk as long as you pay the rent
prompt, — a joint where you have so many
square feet of space on a certain floor, and
maybe eight or ten inches of brick and plaster
between you and a lot of strangers, — and then
all of a sudden you switch to a whole house
that's all yours, with gobs of land all around it,
and trees and bushes and things that you can
do what you like with — well, it's sort of stag-
gerin' at first.

Why, the day Vee and I moved into this Har
bor Hills place that I'd made the swift trade
for with MacGregor Shinn, we just had our
baggage dumped in the middle of the livin'-
room, chucked our wraps on some chairs, and
went scoutin' around from one room to another
for over an hour, kind of nutty and excited.

79

80 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Oh, look, Torchy!" Vee would exclaim
about twice a minute when she discovered some
thing new.

You know, we'd been in the house only once
before, and then we'd looked around just cas
ual. And if you want to find out how little you
really see when you think you're lookin', you
want to make a deal like that once — buy a joint
just as it stands, and then, a few days after,
camp down in it and tot up what you've really
got. Why, say, you'd 'most thought we'd been
blindfolded that first time.

Course, this was different. Now we was tak-
in' stock, you might say, of the things we was
goin' to live with. And, believe me, I never
had any idea I'd ever own such a collection, or
so big a slice of the U. S. A.

' 'Only think, Torchy," says Vee, after we've
made the rounds inside. "Ten rooms, just for
us!"

"Twelve, countin' the cellar and attic," says
I. "But there's more outside, ain't there?"

Yep, there was. There was an old stable that
had been turned into a garage, with a couple of
rooms finished off upstairs. Then there was a
carriage shed, with more rooms over that, also
a chicken house beyond. And stowed away in
odd corners was all kinds of junk that might be

TOKCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS 81

more or less useful to have: a couple of lawn-
mowers, an old sleigh hoisted up on the rafters
of the carriage house, a weird old buggy, a plow,
a grindstone, a collection of old chairs and
sofas that had seen better days, a birch-bark
canoe — things like that.

Then there was our lily pond. We had to
walk all round that, poke in with a pole to see
how deep it might be, and wonder if there was
any fish in it. On beyond was some trees — apple
and pear and cherry, accordin' to Vee, and 'way
at the back a tall cedar hedge.

"Why, it's almost an estate," says Vee.
"Nearly five acres, you know. How does it
seem, Torchy, to think that all this is ours ? ' '

' ' How r ' says I. ' « Why, I feel like I was the
Grand Gazinkus of Gazook."

But, at that, my feelin's wa'n't a marker to
the emotions Professor Leon Battou, our artist-
chef, manages to work up. He's so tickled at
gettin' back to the country and away from the
city, where him and Madame Battou come so
near starvin' on the street, that he goes skip-
pin' around like a sunshine kid, pattin' the
trees, droppin' down on his hands and knees
in the grass to dig up dandelions, and keepin'
up a steady stream of explosive French and
rapid-fire English.

82 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Ah, but it is all so good!" says he "Le
bleu del, les fleurs, les oiseaux! C'est bonne,
tres bonne. Ne c'est pas?"

"I expect it is, Leon," says I. "Although I
might not state it just that way myself. Picked
out a spot yet for your garden?"

Foolish question! That was his first move,
after taking a glance at the particular brand of
cook-stove he'd got to wrestle with. Just to
the left of the kitchen wing is a little plot shut
in by privet bushes and a trellis, which is where
he says the fine herbes are meant to grow.
He tows us around there and exhibits it chesty.
Mostly it's full of last year's weeds; but he ex
plains how he will soon have it in shape. And
for the next week the only way we ever got any
meals cooked was because Madame Battou used
to go drag him in by the arm and make him
quit diggin' long enough to hash up some of
them tasty dishes for us.

If all amateur gardeners are apt to go so
dippy over it, I hope I don't catch the disease.
No danger, I guess. I made my stab at it about
the third day, when Vee wanted some ground
spaded up for a pansy bed. And say, in half
an hour, there, I'd worked up enough palm
blisters and backache to last me a month. It
may seem sport to some people, but to me it has

TOECHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS 83

all the ear-marks of plain, hard work, such as
you can indulge in reg'lar by carryin' a foldin'
dinner-pail and lettin' yourself out to a padrone.

Leon, though, just couldn't seem to let it
alone. He almost made a vice of it, to my mind.
Why, say, he's out there at first crack of day,
whenever that is; and in the evenin', as soon
as he has served dinner, he sneaks out to put
in a few more licks, and stays until it 's so dark
he can hardly find his way back.

You know all them window-boxes he had clut-
terin' up the studio apartment. Well, he
insists on cratin' every last one of 'em and
expressin' 'em along; and now he has all that
alleged lettuce and parsley and carrots and so
on set out in neat little rows ; and when he ain't
sprinklin' 'em with the hose or dosin' 'em with
fertilizer, he's out there ticklin' 'em with a
rake.

"Gee!" says I. "I thought all you had to do
to a garden was just to chuck in the seeds and
let 'em grow. But accordin' to your method it
would be less trouble bringin' up a pair of
twins."

"Ah-h-h-h!" says he. "But monsieur has
not the passion for growing green things."

"Thanks be, then," says I. "It would land
me in the liniment ward if I had. ' '

84 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

I must say, though, that Vee's 'most as bad
with her flowers. Honest, when she shows me
where she's planned to have this and that, and
hints that I can get busy durin' my spare time
with the spade, I almost wished we was back
in town.

''What?" I gasps. "Want me to excavate
all that? Hal-tap!"

"Pooh!" says Vee. "It will do you
good."

Maybe she thought so. But I knt-w it would
n't. So I chases up the hill to the Dims place,
and broke in on Mr. Robert just as hr 's finishin'
breakfast.

"Say," says I, "you ain't got a baby-grand
steam-shovel or anything like that around the
place, have you?"

He says he's sorry, but he ain't. When he
hears what I'm up against, though, he comes
to the rescue noble by lendin' me one of his
expert Dago soil-disturbers, at $1.75 per — and
with Vee bossin' him she got the whole job done
in half a day. After that I begun to enjoy gar-
denin' a bit more. I'm gettin' to be a real
shark at it, too. And ambitious ! You ought to
hear me.

"How about havin' a couple more lanes of
string-beans laid out?" I suggests. "And

TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS 85

maybe a few hundred mounds of green corn,
eh?"

And then I can watch Joe start the enter
prise with a plow and an old white horse, and
I can go to the office feelin' that, no matter how
much I seem to be soldiering as a matter of fact
I'm puttin' in a full day's work. When I get
back in the afternoon, the first thing I want to
see is how much I've got done.

Not that I'm able to duck all kinds of labor
that way. Believe me, a country place is no
loafin' spot, especially when it's new, or you're
new to it. Vee tends to that. Say, that girl can
think up more odd forms of givin' me exercise
than a bunch of football coaches — movin' bu
reaus, hangin' pictures, puttin' up curtain-
rods, fixin' door-catches, and little things like
that.

Up to a few weeks ago all I knew about saws
and screw-drivers and so on was that they were
shiny things displayed in the hardware store
windows. But if I keep on tacklin' all the odd
jobs she sics me on to, I'll be able to qualify
pretty soon as a boss carpenter, a master
plumber, and an expert electrician.

Course, I gouge myself now and then. My
knuckles look like I'd been mixin' in a food
riot, and I've spoiled two perfectly good suits

86 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

of clothes. But I can point with pride to at
least three doors that I've coaxed into shuttin',
I've solved the mystery of what happens to a
window-weight when the sash-cord breaks, and
I've rigged up two drop-lights without gettin'
myself electrocuted or askin' any advice from
Mr. Edison.

Which reminds me that what I can't seem to
get used to about the country is the poor way
it's lighted up at night. You know, our place
is out a couple of miles from the village and the
railroad station; and, while we got electric
bulbs enough in the house, outside there ain't
a lamp-post in sight. Dark ! Say, after 8 P.M.
you might as well be livin' in a sub-cellar with
the sidewalk gratin' closed. Honest, the only
glim we can see from our front porch is a flicker
from the porte cochere at the Ellinses' up on
the hill, and most of that is cut off by trees and
lilac bushes.

Vee don't seem to mind, though. These mild
evenin's recent, she's dragged me out after din
ner for a spell and made me sit with her watch-
in ' for the moon to come up. I do it, but it
ain't anything I'm strong for. I can't see the
percentage in starin' out at nothing at all
but black space and guessin' where the drive
way is or what them dark streaks are. Then,

TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS 87

there's so many weird sounds I can't account
for.

"What's all that jinglin' going on?" I asks
the other evenin'. "Sounds like a squad of
junkmen comin' up the pike."

"Silly!" says Vee. "Frogs, of course."

"Oh!" says I.

Then I listens some more, until something
else breaks loose. It's sort of a cross between
the dyin' moan of a gyastacutus and the whine
of a subway express roundin' a sharp curve.

"For the love of Pete," I breaks out, "what
do you call that!"

Vee chuckles. "Didn't you see the calf up
at Mr. Robert's?" she asks. "Well, that's the
old cow calling to him."

"If she feels as bad as that," says I, "I wish
she'd wait until mornin' to express herself.
That's the most doleful sound I ever heard.
Come on ; let 's go in while you tinkle out some
thing lively and cheerin' on the piano."

I never thought I was one of the timid kind,
either. Course, I'm no Carnegie hero, or any
thing like that; but I've always managed to get
along in the city without developin' a case of
nerves. Out here, though, it's different. Two
or three evenin 's now I've felt almost jumpy,
just over nothing at all, it seems.

88 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

Maybe that's why I didn't show up any bet
ter, here the other night, when Vee rings in
this silent alarm on me. I was certainly
poundin' my ear industrious when gradually
I gets the idea that someone is shakin' me by
the shoulders. It's Vee.

"Torchy," she whispers husky. "Get up."

"Eh?" says I, pryin' my eyes open reluctant.
"Get up? Wha-wha' for?"

"Oh, don't be stupid about it," says she.
"I've been trying to rouse you for five minutes.
Please get up and come to the window."

"Nothing doing," says I snugglin' into the
pillow again. "I — I'm busy."

"But you must," says she. "Listen. I think
someone is prowling around the house. ' '

"Let 'em ramble, then," says I. "What do
we care?"

"But suppose it's a — a burglar?" she whis
pers.

I'll admit that gives me a goose-fleshy feelin'
down the spine. It's such a disturbin' word
to have sprung on you in the middle of the
night.

"Let's not suppose anything of the sort,"
says I.

"But I'm sure I saw someone just now, when
I got up to fix the shade," insists Vee. "Some-

one who stepped out into the moonlight right
there, between the shadows of those two trees.
Then he disappeared out that way. Come and
look."

Well, I was up by then, and half awake, so I
tries to peer out into the back yard. I'm all for
grantin' a general alibi, though.

" Maybe you was only dreamin', Vee," says
I. "Anyway, let's wait until mornin', and
then "

"There!" she breaks in excited. "Just be
yond the garden trellis. See?"

Yep. There's no denyin' that someone is
sneakin' around out there. First off I thought
it might be a female in a white skirt and a rain
coat; but when we gets the head showin' plain
above some bushes we can make out a mus
tache.

"It's a man !" gasps Vee, clutchin' me by the
sleeve.

"Uh-huh," says I. "So it is."

"Well?" says Vee.

I expect that was my cue to come across with
the bold and noble acts. But, somehow, I did
n't yearn to dash out into the moonlight in
my pajamas and mix in rough with a total
stranger. But I didn 't mean to give it away if
I could help it.

90 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Got a nerve, ain't he?" says I. "Let's
wait; maybe he'll fall into the pond."

"How absurd!" says Vee. "No; we must
do something right away."

"Of course," says I. "I'll shout and ask
him what the blazes he thinks he's doin'."

"Don't," says Vee. "There may be others
—in the house. And before you let him know
you see him, you ought to be armed. Get your
revolver."

At that I just gawped at Vee, for she knows
well enough I don't own anything more deadly
than a safety razor, and that all the gun-play
I ever indulged in was once or twice at a Coney
Island shootin' gallery where I slaughtered a
clay pipe by aimin' at a glass ball.

"Whaddye mean, revolver?" I asks.

* ' S-s-s-sh ! ' ' says she. ' * There 's that Turkish
pistol, you know, that Mr. Shinn left hanging
over the mantel in the living-room."

"Think it's loaded?" I whispers.

"It might be," says Vee. "Anyway, it's bet
ter than nothing. Let's get it."

"All right," says I. "Soon as I get some
thing on. Just a sec."

So I jumps into a pair of trousers and a coat
and some bath slippers, while Vee throws on a
dressin'-sack. We feels our way sleuthy down-

TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS 91

stairs, and after rappin' my shins on a couple
of rockers I gets down the old pistol. It's a
curious, wicked-lookin' antique about two feet
long, with a lot of carvin' and silver inlay on
the barrel. I'd never examined the thing to
see how it worked, but it feels sort of comfortin'
just to grip it in my hand. We unlocks the
back door easy.

"Now you stay inside, Vee," says I, "while
I go scoutin' and "

"No indeed," says Vee. "I am going too."

"But you mustn't," I insists.

"Hush!" says she. "I shall."

And she did. So we begins our first burglar
hunt as a twosome, and I must say there's other
sports I enjoy more. Out across the lawn we
sneaks, steppin' as easy as we can, and keepin'
in the shadow most of the time.

"Guess he must have skipped," says I.

"But he was here only a moment ago," says

Vee. "Don't you know, we saw him Oh,

oh!"

I don't blame her for gaspin'. Not twenty
feet ahead of us, crouchin' down in the cabbage
patch, is the villain. Just why he should be
tryin' to hide among a lot of cabbage plants
not over three inches high, I don't stop to think.
All I knew was that here was someone prowlin'

92 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

around at night on my premises, and all in a
flash I begins to see red. Swingin' Vee behind
me, I unlimbers the old pistol and cocks it. I
didn't care whether this was the open season
for burglars or not. I wanted to get this one,
and get him hard.

Must have been a minute or more that I had
him covered, tryin' to steady my arm so I could
keep the muzzle pointed straight at his back,
when all of a sudden he lifts his right hand
and begins scratchin' his ear. Somehow, that
breaks the spell. Why should a burglar hump
himself on his hands and knees in a truck patch
and stop to scratch his ear?

"Hey, you!" I sings out real crisp.

Maybe that ain't quite the way to open a
line of chat with a midnight marauder. I've
been kidded about it some since; but at the
time it sounded all right. And it had the
proper effect. He comes up on his toes with his
hands in the air, like he was worked by springs.

"That's right; keep your paws up," says I.
"And, remember, if you go to makin' any funny
moves "

""Why, Torchy!" exclaims Vee, grabbin' my
shootin' arm. "It's Leon!"

"Wha-a-a-at!" says I, starin' at this wabbly
party among the coldslaw.

TORCHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS 93

But it's Professor Battou, all right. He's
costumed in a night-shirt, an old overcoat, and a
pair of rubbers ; and he certainly does look odd,
standin' there in the moonlight with his elbows
up and his knees knockin' one another.

1 'Well, well, Leon!" says I, sighin' relieved.
"So it's you, is it? And we had you all spotted
as a second-story worker. All right; you don't
need to hold the pose any longer. But may
be you'll tell us what you're crawlin' around
out here in the garden for at this time of
night."

He tried to, but he's had such a scare thrown
into him that his conversation works are all
gummed up. After we've led him into the
house, though, and he's had a drink of spring
water, he does a little better.

"It was to protect the cabbages, monsieur,"
says he.

"Eh I" says I. "Protect 'em from what?"

"There is a wicked worm," says Leon,
"which does his evil work in the night. Ah,
such a sly beast! And so destructive! Just
at the top of the young root he eats — snip, snip!
And in the morning I find that two, four, some
times six tender plants he has cut off. I am
enrage. 'Ha!' I say. 'I will discover you yet
at your mischief.' So I cannot sleep for think-

94 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

ing. But I had found him; yes, two. And I
was searching for more when monsieur—

"Yes, I know," says I. He's glancin' wor
ried at the old pistol I'm still holdin' in my
hand. "My error, Leon. I might have guessed.
And as the clock's just strikin' three, I think
we'd all better hit the hay again. Come on,
Vee; it's all over."

And, in spite of that half hour or so of time
out, I was up earlier than usual in the mornin'.
I had a little job to do that I'd planned out
before I went to sleep again. As soon as I'm
dressed I slips downstairs, takes that Turkish
pistol, and chucks it into the middle of the
pond. I'll never know whether it was loaded
or not. I don't want to know. For if it had
been Well, what's the use?

Comin' back in through the kitchen, I finds
Leon busy dishin' up toast and eggs. He
glances at me nervous, and then hangs his
head. But he gets out what he has to say man
fashion.

"I trust monsieur is not displeased," says
he. "It was not wise for me to walk about at
night. But those wicked worms ! Still, if mon
sieur desires, it shall not occur again. I ask
pardon."

"Now, that's all right, Leon," says I sooth-

TOECHY IN THE GAZINKUS CLASS 95

in'. " Don't worry. When it comes to playin'
the boob act, I guess we split about fifty-fifty.
I'd a little rather you didn't, but if you must
hunt the wicked worm at night, why, go to it.
You won't run any more risk of being shot up
by me. For I've disarmed. "

CHAPTER VII

BACK WITH CLAEA BELUE

AND me kiddin' myself I was fairly well
parlor-broke. It seems not. You'd 'most think,
though, I'd had enough front-room trainin' to
stand me through in a place like Harbor Hills.
I had a wild idea, too, that when we moved into
the country we'd tagged the reg'lar social stuff
good-by.

That was a poor hunch. I'm just discoverin'
that there's more tea fights and dinner dances
and such goin's on out here in the commuter
zone than in any five blocks of Fifth Avenue
you can name. And it seems that anywhere
within ten miles of this Piping Rock Club brings
you into the most active sector. So here we are,
right in the thick of things.

At that, I expect it might have been quite
some time before we was bothered any if it
hadn't been for our bein' sort of backed by the
Robert Ellinses. As their friends we're counted
in right off the reel. I've been joshed into let-

BACK WITH CLARA BELLE 97

tin' my name go on the waitin' list at the Coun
try Club; I'm allowed to subscribe to this and
that; some of the neighbors have begun payin'
first calls on Vee.

So I might have had sense enough to watch
my step. Yet, here the other afternoon, when
I makes an early getaway from the Corrugated
and hops off the 5 : 17, I dashes across the back
lots and comes into our place by the rear instead
of the front drive. You see, I'd been watchin'
a row of string-beans we had comin' along, and
I wanted to spring the first ones on Vee. Sure
enough, I finds three or four pods 'most big
enough to eat; so I picks 'em and goes breezin'
into the house, wavin' em gleeful.

"Oh, Vee!" I sings out, openin' the terrace
door. "Come have a look."

And, as she don't appear on the jump, I
keeps on into the livin'-room and calls:

"Hey! What do you know about these?
Beans! Perfectly good "

Well, that's as far as I gets, for there's Vee,
sittin' behind the silver tea-urn, all dolled up;
and Leon, in his black coat, holdin' a plate
of dinky little cakes; and a couple of strange
ladies starin' at me button-eyed. I'd crashed
right into the midst of tea and callers.

Do I pull some easy johndrew lines and exit

98 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

graceful! Not me. My feet was glued to the
rug.

1 'Beans!" says I, grinnin' simple and
danglin' the specimens. "Perfectly good
string "

Then I catches the eye of the stiff-necked
dame with the straight nose and the gun-metal
hair. No, both eyes, it was; and a cold, sus
picious, stabby look is what they shoots my
way. No wonder I chokes off the feeble-minded
remarks and turns sort of panicky to Vee, half
expectin' to find her blushin' painful or signal-
in' me to clear out. Nothing like that from
Vee, though.

"Not ours, Torchy?" says she, slidin' out
from behind the tea-table and rushin' over.
"Not our very own?"

"Uh-huh!" says I. "Just picked 'em."

At which the other caller joins in unexpected.

"From your own garden?" says she. "How
interesting! Oh, do show them to me."

"Why, sure," says I. "Guess we're doin'
our bit, ain't we?"

She's a wide, dumpy-built old girl, and
dressed sort of freaky. Also her line of talk
is a kind of purry, throaty gush that's almost
too soothin' to be true. But anybody who
makes only half a bluff at being interested in

99

our garden wins us. And not until she's in
spected our first string-beans through her gold
lorgnette, and remarked twice more how won
derful it was for us to raise anything like that,
does it occur to Vee to introduce me proper to
both ladies.

The tall, stiff-necked dame turns out to be
Mrs. Pemberton Foote. Honest! Could you
blame her for bein' jarred when I come bouncin'
in with garden truck?

Think of it! Why, she's one of the super
tax brigade and moves among the smartest of
the smart-setters. And Pemmy, he's on the
polo team, you know.

Oh, reg'lar people, the Pembroke Pootes are.
And the very fact that Mrs. Foote is here call-
in' on Vee ought to have me thrilled to the
bone.

Yet all I got sense enough to do is wave
half-grown string-beans at her, and then sit by
gawpy, balancin' a cup of tea on my knee, and
watch her apply the refrigeratin' process to the
dumpy old girl whose name I didn't quite catch.
Say, but she does it thorough and artistic.
Only two or three times did the dumpy one try
to kick in on the chat, and when she does, Mrs.
Pemmy rolls them glittery eyes towards her
slow, givin' her the up-and-down like she was

100 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

some kind of fat worm that had strayed in
from the cucumber bed.

Can't these women throw the harpoon into
each other ruthless, though? Why, you could
see that old girl fairly squirm when she got
one of them assault-and-battery glances. Her
under lip would quiver a bit, she'd wink hard
three or four times, and then she'd sort of col
lapse, smotherin' a sigh and not finishin' what
she'd started out to say. She did want to be
so folksy, too.

Course, she's an odd-lookin' party, with that
bucket-shaped lid decorated with pale green
satin fruit, and the piles of thick blondine hair
that was turnin' gray, and her foolish big eyes
with the puffy rolls underneath and the crows '-
feet in the corners. And of course anybody
with ankles suggestin' piano legs really should
n't go in for high-tide skirts and white silk
stockin's with black butterflies worked on 'em.
Should they?

Still, she'd raved over our string-beans, so
when she makes a last fluttery try at jimmyin'
her way into the conversation, and Mrs. Foote
squelches her prompt again, and she gives up
for good, it's me jumpin' snappy to tow her out
and tuck her in the limousine. Havin' made my
escape, I stays outside until after Mrs. Pemmy

BACK WITH CLARA BELLE 101

has gone too, which don't happen for near half
an hour later. But when I hears the front door
shut on her, I sidles in at the back.

"Zowie!" says I. "You must have made
more of a hit with our swell neighbor than I
did,Vee."

Vee smiles quizzin' and shrugs her shoulders.

"I'm not so sure," says she. "I almost feel
as though we had been visited by the Probation
Officer, or someone like that."

"How do you mean?" says I.

"Of course," she goes on, "Mrs. Poote did
not actually say that we were on trial so
cially, but she hi: ted as much. And she made
it quite plain t;iat unless we got started in
the right set our case would be utterly hope
less."

"Just think of that!" says I. "Real sweet
of her, eh? Sort of inspector general, is she?
You should have asked her to show her badge,
though."

"Oh, there's no doubt that she speaks with
authority," says Vee. "She wasn't snippy
about it, either. And chiefly she was trying to
warn me against Mrs. Ben Tupper."

"The old girl with the pelican chin and the
rovin ' eyes ? " I asks. ' ' What 's the matter with
her besides her looks?"

102 THE HOUSE OF TOKCHY

Well, accordin' to Mrs. Pemmy Foote, there
was a lot. She had a past, for one thing. She
was a pushing, presumptuous person, for an
other. And, besides, this Benjamin Tupper
party — the male of the species — was wholly
impossible.

"You know who he is," adds Vee. "The tab
let man."

"What!" says I. " ' Tupper 's Tablets for
Indigestion — on Everybody's Tongue.' Him?"

Vee nods. "And they live in that barny
stucco house just as you turn off Sagamore
Boulevard — the one with the hideous red-tiled
roof and the concrete lions in front."

"Goodness Agnes!" says I. "Folks have
been indicted for less than that. I've seen Tup
per, too; someone pointed him out goin' in on
the express only the other mornin'. Looks like
a returned Nihilist who 'd been nominated in one
of the back wards of Petrograd to run for the
Duma on a free-vodka platform. He's got wiry
whiskers that he must trim with a pair of tin-
shears, tufts in his ears, and the general build
of a performin' chimpanzee. Oh, he's a rare
one, Tupper."

"Then," says Vee, sort of draggy, "I — I
suppose Mrs. Foote is right. It's too bad, for
that Mrs. Tupper did seem such a friendly old

BACK WITH CLARA BELLE 103

soul. And I shall feel so snobbish if I don't
return her call."

"Huh!" says I. "I don't see why Mrs.
Pemmy couldn't let you find out about her
for yourself. Even if the old girl don't
belong, what's the use bein' so rough with
her?"

"Do you know, Torchy," says Vee, "I felt
that way about it when Mrs. Foote was snub
bing her. And yet — well, I wish I knew just
what to do."

' ' Clean out of my line, ' ' says I.

I expect it was the roses that set me mullin'
the case over again. They was sent over for
Vee a couple of days later — half a dozen great
busters, like young cabbages, with stems a yard
long. They come with the compliments of Mrs.
Ben Tupper.

"I simply couldn't send them back," says
Vee; "and yet —

"I get you," says I. "But don't worry. Let
the thing ride a while. I got an idea."

It wasn't anything staggerin'. It had just
struck me that if Vee had to hand out any
social smears she ought to do it on her own
dope, and not accordin' to Mrs. Pemmy Foote 's
say-so. Which is why I begins pumpin' infor
mation out of anybody that came handy. Goin'

104 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

into town next mornin', I tackled three or four
on the 8 : 03 in an offhand way.

Oh, yes, the Ben Tuppers! Business of
hunchin' the shoulders. No, they didn't belong
to the Country Club, nor the Hunt Association,
nor figure on the Library or Hospital boards,
or anything else. In fact, they don't mingle
much. Hadn't made the grade. Barred?
We-e-ell, in a way, perhaps. Why? Oh, there
was Mrs. Ben. Wasn't she enough? An ex-
actress with two or three hubbys in the dis
card! Could she expect people to swallow
that?

Only one gent, though, had anything definite
to offer. He's a middle-aged sport that seems
to make a specialty of wearin' checked suits
and yellow gloves. He chuckles when I men
tions Mrs. Tupper.

"Grand old girl, Clara Belle," says he.

"Eh?" says I. "Shoot the rest."

"Couldn't think of it, son," says he.
"You're too young. But in my day Clara
Belle Kinney was some queen."

And that's all I can get out of him except
more chuckles. I files away the name, though ;
and that afternoon, while we was waitin' for a
quorum of directors to straggle into the Gen
eral Offices, I springs it on Old Hickory.

BACK WITH CLAEA BELLE 105

"Mr. Ellins," says I, "did you ever know of
a Clara Belle Kinney?"

"Wha-a-at?" he gasps, almost swallowin'
his cigar. "Listen to that, Mason. Here's a
young innocent asking if we ever knew Clara
Belle Kinney. Did we?"

And old K. W. Mason, what does he do but
throw back his shiny dome, open his mouth,
and roar out :

" Yure right fut is crazy,
Yure left fut is lazy,
But if ye'll be aisy

I'll teach ye to waltz! "

After which them two old cut-ups wink at
each other rakish and slap their knees. All of
which ain't so illuminatin'. But they keep on,
mentionin' Koster Bial's and the Cork Koom,
until I can patch together quite a sketch of Mrs.
Tupper's early career.

Seems she'd made her first hit in this old-
time concert-hall when she was a sweet young
thing in her teens. One of her naughty stunts
was kickin' her slipper into an upper box, and
gettin' it tossed back with a mash note in it, or
maybe a twenty-dollar bill. Then she'd gradu
ated into comic opera.

"Was there ever a Katishaw like her?" de-

106 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

mands Old Hickory of K. W., who responds by
hummin' husky:

" I dote upon a tiger
From the Congo or the Niger,
Especially when lashing of his tail."

And, while they don't go into details, I gath
ered that they'd been Clara Belle fans — had
sent her orchids on openin' nights, and maybe
had set up wine suppers for her and her friends.
They knew about a couple of her matrimonial
splurges. One was with her manager, of
course; the next was a young broker whose
fam'ly got him to break it off. After that
they'd lost track of her.

"It seems to me," says Old Hickory, "that
I heard she had married someone in Buffalo, or
Rochester, and had quit the stage. A patent
medicine chap, I think he was, who'd made a
lot of money out of something or other. I won
der what has become of her!"

That was my cue, all right, but I passes it
up. I wasn't talkin' just then; I was listenin'.

"Ah-h-h!" goes on Mr. Mason, foldin' his
nands over his forward sponson and rollin' his
eyes sentimental. "Dear Clara Belle! I say,
Ellins, wouldn't you like to hear her sing that
MacFadden song once more?"

BACK WITH CLAEA BELLE 107

"I'd give fifty dollars," says Old Hickory.

"I'd make it a hundred if she'd follow it with
'0 Promise Me,' " says K. W. "What was
her record — six hundred nights on Broadway,
wasn't it?"

Say, they went on reminiscin' so long, it's a
wonder the monthly meetin' ever got started at
all. I might have forgot them hot-air bids of
theirs, too, if it hadn't been for something Vee
announces that night across the dinner-table.

Seems that Mrs. Robert Ellins had been rung
into managin' one of these war benefit stunts,
and she's decided to use their new east terrace
for an outdoor stage and the big drawin'-room
it opens off from as an auditorium. You know,
Mrs. Robert used to give violin recitals and do
concert work herself, so she ain't satisfied with
amateur talent. Besides, she knows so many
professional people.

"And who do you think she is to have on the
program!" demands Vee. "Farrar!"

"Aw, come!" says I.

"And perhaps Mischa Elman," adds Vee.
"Isn't that thrilling!"

I admits that it is.

"But say," I goes on, "with them big names
on the bill, what does she expect to tax people
for the best seats!"

108 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

Vee says how they'd figured they might ask
ten dollars for a few choice chairs.

"Huh!" says I. "That won't get you far.
Why don't you soak 'em proper?"

"But how!" asks Vee.

"You put in a bald-headed row," says I,
"and I'll find you a party who'll fill it at a
hundred a throw."

Vee stares at me like she thought I'd been
touched with the heat, and wants to know who.

"Clara Belle Kinney," says I.

"Why, I never heard of any such person,"
says she.

"Oh, yes, you have," says I. "Alias Mrs.
Ben Tupper."

Course, I had some job convincin' her I
wasn't joshin'; and even after I'd sketched out
the whole story, and showed her that Clara
Belle's past wasn't anything to really shudder
over, Vee is still doubtful.

"But can she sing now?" she asks.

"What's the odds," says I, "if a lot of
them old-timers are willin' to pay to hear her
try!"

Vee shakes her head and suggests that we
go up and talk it over with Mr. and Mrs.
Robert. Which we does.

' ' But if she has been off the stage for twenty

years," suggests Mrs. Eobert, " perhaps she
wouldn't attempt it."

"I'll bet she would for Vee," says I. "Any
way, she wouldn't feel sore at being asked.
And if you could sting a bunch of twenty or
thirty for a hundred apiece

"Just fancy!" says Mrs. Eobert, drawin' in
a long breath and doin' rapid-fire mental arith
metic. "Verona, let's drive right over and see
her at once."

They're some hustlers, that pair. All I has
to do is map out the scheme, and they goes after
it with a rush.

And say, I want to tell you that was a per
fectly good charity concert, judged by the box-
office receipts or any way you want to size it
up. Bein' the official press-agent, who's got a
better right to admit it?

True, Elman didn't show up, but his alibi
was sound. And not until the last minute was
we sure whether the fair Geraldine would get
there or not. But my contribution to the head-
liners was there from the first tap of the bell.

Vee says she actually wept on her shoulder
when the proposition was sprung on her.
Seems she'd been livin' in Harbor Hills for
nearly three years without havin' been let in
on a thing — with nobody callin ' on her, or even

110 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

noddin' as she drove by. Most of her neigh
bors was a lot younger, folks who barely re
membered that there had been such a party as
Clara Belle Kinney, and who couldn't have
told whether she'd been a singer or a bare
back rider. They only knew her as a dumpy
freakish dressed old girl whose drugged hair
was turnin' gray.

"Of course," she says, sort of timid and
trembly, "I have kept up my singing as well
as I could. Mr. Tupper likes to have me. But
I know my voice isn't what it was once. It's
dear of you to ask me, though, and — and I'll
do my best."

I don't take any credit for fillin' that double
row of wicker chairs we put down front and
had the nerve to ask that hold-up price for.
When the word was passed around that Clara
Belle Kinney was to be among the performers,
they almost mobbed me for tickets. Why, I
collected from two-thirds of the Corrugated
directors without turnin' a hand, and for two
days there about all I did was answer 'phone
calls from Broad Street and the clubs — brokers,
bank presidents, and so on, who wanted to know
if there was any left.

A fine bunch of silver-tops they was, too,
when we got 'em all lined up. You wouldn't

BACK WITH CLAEA BELLE 111

have suspected it of some of them dignified old
scouts, either. Back of 'em, fillin every corner
of the long room and spillin' out into the big
hall, was the top crust of our local smart set,
come to hear Farrar at close range.

Yep, Geraldine made quite a hit. Nothing
strange about that. And that piece from "Ma
dame Butterfly" she gave just brought 'em
right up on their toes. But say, you should
hear what breaks loose when it's announced
that the third number will be an old favorite
revival by Clara Belle Kinney. That's all the
name we gave. What if most of the audience
was simply starin' puzzled and stretchin' their
necks to see who was comin' Them old boys
down front seemed to know what they was
howlin' about.

Yes, Clara Belle does show up a bit husky in
evenin' dress. Talk about elbow dimples ! And
I was wishin' she'd forgot to do her hair that
antique way, all piled up on her head, with a
few coy ringlets over one ear. But she 'd land
scaped her facial scenery artistic, and she sure
does know how to roll them big eyes of hers.

I didn't much enjoy listenin' through them
first few bars, though. There wasn't merely a
crack here and there. Her voice went to a
complete smash at times, besides bein' weak and

112 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

wabbly. It's like listenin' to the ghost of a
voice. I heard a few titters from the back
rows.

But them old boys don't seem to mind. It
was a voice comin' to them from 'way back in
the '90 's. And when she struggles through the
first verse of "0 Promise Me," and pauses to
get her second wind, maybe they don't give her
a hand. That seemed to pep her up a lot. She
gets a better grip on the high notes, the tremolo
effect wears off, and she goes to it like a winner.
Begins to get the crowd with her, too. Why,
say, even Farrar stands up and leads in the call
for an encore. She ain't alone.

"MacFadden! MacFadden!" K. W. Mason
is shoutin'.

So in a minute more Clara Belle, her eyes
shinin', has swung into that raggy old tune, and
when she gets to the chorus she beckons to the
front rows and says : ' ' Now, all together, boys !

" Wan — two — three !
Balance like me "

Did they come in on it? Say, they roared it
out like so many young college hicks riotin'
around the campus after a session at a rath
skeller. You should have seen Old Hickory

BACK WITH CLARA BELLE 113

standin' out front with his arms wavin' and his
face red.

Then they demands some of the Katishaw
stuff, and "Comrades," and "Little Annie
Eooney." And with every encore Clara Belle
seems to shake off five or ten years, until you
could almost see what a footlight charmer she
must have been.

In the midst of it all Vee gives me the nudge.

"Do look at Mr. Tupper, will you?"

Yes, he's sittin' over in a corner, with his
white shirt-front bulgin', his neck stretched for
ward eager, and his big hairy paws grippin' the
chair-back in front. And hanged if a drop of
brine ain't tricklin' down one side of his nose.

"Gosh!" says I. "His emotions are leakin'
into his whiskers. Maybe the old boy is human,
after all."

A minute later, as I slides easy out of my
end seat, Vee asks :

"Where are you going, Torchy?"

"I want a glimpse of Mrs. Pemmy Foote's
face, that's all," says I.

CHAPTER VIH

WHEN TOBCHY GOT THE CALL

No, I ain't said much about it before. There
are some things you're apt to keep to yourself,
specially the ones that root deep. And I'll
admit that at first there I don't quite know
where I was at. But as affairs got messier and
messier, and the U-boats got busier, and I heard
some first-hand details of what had happened
to the Belgians — well, I got mighty restless. I
expect I indulged in more serious thought stuff
than I'd ever been guilty of.

You see, it was along back when we were get-
tin' our first close-ups of the big scrap — some
of our boats sunk, slinkers reported off Sandy
Hook, bomb plots shown up, and Papa Joffre
over here soundin' the S. 0. S. earnest.

Then there was Mr. Robert joinm' the Naval
Reserves, and two young hicks from the bond
room who'd volunteered. We'd had postals
from 'em at the trainin' camp. Even Vee was
busy with a first-aid class, learnin' how to tie
bandages and put on splints.

114

WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL 115

So private seccing seemed sort of tame and
useless — like keepin' on sprinklin' the lawn
after your chimney was bein' struck by light-
nin'. I felt like I ought to be gettin' in the
game somehow. Anyway, it seemed as if it was
my ante.

Not that I'd been rushed off my feet by all
this buntin'-wavin' or khaki- wearin*. I'm no
panicky Old Glory trail-hitter. Nor I didn't
lug around the idea I was the missin' hero who
was to romp through the barbed wire, stamp
Hindenburg's whiskers in the mud, and lead the
Allies across the Rhine. I didn't even kid my
self I could swim out and kick a hole in a sub
marine, or do the darin' aviator act after a
half-hour lesson at Mineola.

In fact, I suspected that sheddin' the enemy's
gore wasn't much in my line. I knew I should
dislike quittin' the hay at dawn to sneak
out and get mixed up with half a bushel
of impetuous scrap-iron. Still, if it had
to be done, why not me as well as the
next party?

I'd been meanin' to talk it over with Vee —
sort of hint around, anyway, and see how she 'd
take it. But as a matter of fact I never could
seem to find just the right openin' until, there
one night after dinner, as she finishes a new

116 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

piece she's tryin' over on the piano, I wanders
up beside her and starts absent-minded tearin'
little bits off a corner of the music.

"Torchy!" she protests. "What an absurd
thing to do."

"Eh?" says I, twistin' it into a cornucopia.
"But you know I can't go on warmin' the bench
like this."

She stares at me puzzled for a second.

"Meaning what, for instance?" she asks.

"I got to go help swat the Hun," says I.

The flickery look in them gray eyes of hers
steadies down, and she reaches out for one of
my hands. That's all. No jumpy emotions —
not even a lip quiver.

"Must you?" says she, quiet.

"I can't take it out in wearin' a button or
hirin' someone to hoe potatoes in the back lot,"
says I.

"No," says she.

"Auntie would come, I suppose?" says I.

Vee nods.

"And with Leon here," I goes on, "and Mrs.
Battou, you could "

"Yes, I could get along," she breaks in.
"But— but when?"

"Right away," says I. "As soon as they can
use me."

WHEN TOECHY GOT THE CALL 117

"You'll start training for a commission,
then?" she asks.

"Not me," says I. "I'd be poor enough as
a private, but maybe I'd help fill in one of the
back rows. I don't know much about it. I'll
look it up to-morrow."

"To-morrow? Oh!" says Vee, with just the
suspicion of a break in her voice.

And that's all we had to say about it. Every
word. You'd thought we'd exhausted the sub
ject, or got the tongue cramp. But I expect
we each had a lot of thoughts that didn't get
registered. I know I did. And next mornin'
the breakaway came sort of hard.

"I — I know just how you feel about it," says
Vee.

"I'm glad somebody does, then," says I.

Puttin' the proposition up to Old Hickory
was different. He shoots a quick glance at me
from under them shaggy eyebrows, bites into
his cigar savage, and grunts discontented.

"You are exempt, you know," says he.

"I know," says I. "If tags came with mar
riage licenses I might wear one on my watch-
fob to show, I expect."

' ' Huh ! ' ' says he. ' ' It seems to me that rapid-
fire brain of yours might be better utilized than
by hiding it under a trench helmet."

118 THE HOUSE OF TORCIIY

" Speedy thinkers seem to be a drug on the
market just now," says I. "Anyway, I feel like
it was up to me to deliver something — I can't
say just what. But campin' behind a roll-top
here on the nineteenth floor ain't going to help
much, is it?"

' ' Oh, well, if you have the fever ! ' ' says he.

And half an hour later I've pushed in past
the flag and am answerin' questions while the
sergeant fills out the blank.

Maybe you can guess I ain't in any frivolous
mood. I don't believe I thought I was about
to push back the invader, or turn the tide for
civilization. Neither was I lookin' on this as a
sportin' flier or a larky excursion that I was
goin' to indulge in at public expense. My idea
was that there 'd been a general call for such as
me, and that I was comin' across. I was more
or less sober about it.

They didn't seem much impressed at the re-
cruitin' station. Course, you couldn't expect
the sergeant to get thrilled over every party
that drifted in. He'd been there for weeks, I
suppose, answerin' the same fool questions over
and over, knowin' all the time that half of them
that came in was bluffin' and that a big per
cent, of the others wouldn't do.

But this other party with the zippy waist-

WHEN TOECHY GOT THE CALL 119

line, the swellin' chest, and the nifty shoulder-
straps — why should he glare at me in that cold,
suspicious way? I wasn't tryin' to break into
the army with felonious intent. How could he
be sure, just from a casual glance, that I was
such vicious scum?

Oh, yes ; I've figured out since that he didn't
mean more'n half of it, or couldn't help lookin'
at civilians that way after four years at West
Point, or thought he had to. But that's what
I get handed to me when I've dropped all the
little things that seemed important to me and
walks in to chuck what I had to offer Uncle
Sam on the recruitin' table.

Some kind of inspectin' officer, I've found
out he was, makin' the rounds to see that the
sergeants didn't loaf on the job. And, just to
show that no young patriot in a last year's
Panama and a sport-cut suit could slip any
thing over on him, he shoots in a few crisp
questions on his own account.

" Married, you say!" says he. " Since
when? "

"Oh, this century," says I. "Last Febru
ary, to get it nearer."

He sniffs disagreeable without sayin' why.
Also he takes a hand when it comes to testin'
me to see whether I'm club-footed or spavined.

120 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

Course, I'm no perfect male like you see in the
knit underwear ads, but I've got the usual num
ber of toes and teeth, my wind is fairly good,
and I don't expect my arteries have begun to
harden yet. He listens to my heart action
and measures my chest expansion. Then
I had to name the different colors and
squint through a tube at some black dots
on a card.

And the further we went the more he scowled.
Finally he shakes his head at the sergeant.

4 'Rejected," says he.

"Eh?" says I. "You — you don't mean I'm
— turned down?"

He nods. "Underweight, and your eyes don't
focus," says he snappy. Here's your card.
That's all."

Yes, it was a jolt. I expect I stood there
blinkin' stupid at him for a minute or so before
I had sense enough to drift out on the sidewalk.
And I might as well admit I was feelin' mighty
low. I didn't know whether to hunt up the
nearest hospital, or sit down on the curb and
wait until they came after me with the
stretcher-cart. Anyway, I knew I must be a
physical wreck. And to think I hadn't sus
pected it before!

Somehow I dragged back to the office, and a

WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL 123

the eight-three. I didn't do any gloatin' over
the war news. I didn't join any of the volun
teer boards of strategy that met every mornin'
to tell each other how the subs ought to be sup
pressed, or what Haig should be doin' on the
West front. I even stopped wearin' an enam
eled flag in my buttonhole. If that was all I
could do, I wouldn't fourflush.

The Corrugated was handlin' a lot of war
contracts, too. Course, we was only gettin' our
ten per cent., and from some we'd subbed out
not even that. It didn't strike me there was
any openin' for me until I'd heard Mr. Ellins,
for about the fourth time that week, start beef-
in' about the kind of work we was gettin' done.

"But ain't it all 0. K.'d by government in
spectors'?" I asks.

"Precisely why I am suspicious," says he.
"Not three per cent, turned back! And on
rush work that's too good to be true. Looks
to me like careless inspecting — or worse. Yet
every man I've sent out has brought in a clean
bill; even for the Wonder Motors people, who
have that sub-contract for five hundred tanks.
And I wouldn't trust that crowd to pass the
hat for an orphans' home. I wish I knew of a
man who could — could By the Great Isos
celes ! Torchy ! ' '

124 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

I knew I was elected when he first begun
squintin' at me that way. But I couldn't see
where I'd be such a wonderful find.

"A hot lot I know about buildin' armored
motor-trucks, Mr. Ellins," says I. "They
could feed me anything."

"You let 'em," says he; "and meanwhile
you unlimber that high-tension intellect of yours
and see what you can pick up. Remember, I
shall expect results from you, young man.
When can you start for Cleveland! To-night,
eh? Good ! And just note this : It isn't merely
the Corrugated Trust you are representing:
it's Uncle Sam and the Allies generally. And
if anything shoddy is being passed, you hunt
it out. Understand?"

Yep. I did. And I'll admit I was some
thrilled with the idea. But I felt like a Boy
Scout being sent to round up a gang of gun-
fighters. I skips home, though, packs my bag,
and climbs aboard the night express.

When I'd finally located the Wonder works,
and had my credentials read by everyone, from
the rookie sentry at the gate to the Assistant
General Manager, and they was convinced I'd
come direct from Old Hickory Ellins, they
starts passin' out the smooth stuff. Oh, yes!
Certainly! Anything special I wished to see?

"Thanks," says I. "I'll go right through."

"But we have four acres of shops, you
know," suggests the A. G. M., smilin' indul
gent.

"Maybe I can do an acre a day," says I.
"I got lots of time."

"That's the spirit," says he, clappin' me
friendly on the shoulder. "Walter, call in Mr.
Marvin. ' '

He was some grand little demonstrator,
Mr. Marvin — one of these round-faced, pink-
cheeked, chunky built young gents, who was as
chummy and as entertainin' from the first
handshake as if we'd been room-mates at col
lege. I can't say how well posted he was on
what was goin' on in the different departments
he hustled me through, but he knew enough to
smother me with machinery details.

"Now, here we have a battery of six hog
ging machines," he'd say. "They cut the
gears, you know."

"Oh, yes," I'd say, tryin' to look wise.

It was that way all through the trip. I saw
two or three thousand sweaty men in smeared
overalls and sleeveless undershirts putterin'
around lathes and things that whittled shavings
off shiny steel bars, or hammered red-hot
chunks of it into different shapes, or bit holes

126 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

in great sheets of steel. I watched electric
cranes the size of trolley cars juggle chunks of
metal that weighed tons. I listened to the roar
and rattle and crash and bang, and at the end
of two hours my head was whirlin' as fast as
some of them big belt wheels; and I knew al
most as much about what I'd seen as a two-
year-old does about the tick-tock daddy holds
up to her ear.

Young Mr. Marvin don't seem discouraged,
though. He suggests that we drive into town
for lunch. We did, in a canary-colored roadster
that purred along at about fifty most of the
way. We fed at a swell club, along with a
bunch of cheerful young lieutenants of indus
try who didn't seem worried about the high
cost of anything. I gathered that most of 'em
was in the same line as Mr. Marvin — supplies
or munitions. From the general talk, and the
casual way they ordered pink cocktails and ex
pensive cigars, I judged it wasn't exactly a
losin' game.

Nor they didn't seem anxious about gettin'
back to punch in on the time-clocks. About
two-thirty we adjourns to the Country Club,
and if I'd been a mashie fiend I might have
finished a hard day's work with a game of golf.
I thought I ought to do some more shops,

WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL 127

though. Why, to be sure! But at five we
knocked off again, and I was towed to another
club, where we had a plunge in a marble pool
so as to be in shape for a little dinner Mr. Mar
vin was gettin' up for me. Quite some dinner!
There was a jolly trip out to an amusement
park later on. Oh, the Wonder folks were no
tight-wads when it came to showin' special
agents of the Corrugated around.

I tried another day of it before givin' up.
It was no use. They had me buffaloed. So I
thanked all hands and hinted that maybe I'd
better be goin' back. I hope I didn't deceive
anyone, for I did go back — to the hotel. But
by night I'd invested $11.45 in a second-hand
outfit — warranted steam-cleaned — and I had
put up $6. more for a week's board with a
Swede lady whose front porch faced the ten-
foot fence guardin' the Wondor Motors' main
plant. Also, Airs. Petersen had said it was a
cinch I could get a job. Her old man would
show me where in the mornin'.

And say, mornin' happens early out in places
like that. By 5 : 30 A.M. I could smell bacon
grease, and by six-fifteen breakfast was all over
and Petersen had lit his corn-cob pipe.

"Coom!" says he in pure Scandinavian.

This trip, I didn't make my entrance in over

128 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

the Turkish rugs of the private office. I was
lined up with a couple of dozen others against
a fence about tenth from a window where there
was a ' ' Men Wanted ' ' sign out. Being about as
much of a mechanic as I am a brunette, I made
no wild bluffs. I just said I wanted a job.
And I got it — riveter's helper, whatever that
might be. By eight-thirty my name and num
ber was on the pay-roll, and the foreman of
shop No. 19 was introducin' me to my new
boss.

"Here, Mike," says he. "Give this one a
try-out. ' '

His name wasn't Mike. It was something
like Sneezowski. He was a Pole who'd come
over three years ago to work for John D. at
Bayonne, New Jersey, but had got into some
kind of trouble there. I didn't wonder. He
had wicked little eyes, one lopped ear, and a
ragged mustache that stood out like tushes.
But he sure could handle a pneumatic riveter
rapid, and when it came to reprovin' me for
not keepin' the pace he expressed himself
fluent.

In the course of a couple of hours, though,
I got the hang of how to work them rivet
tongs without droppin' 'em more 'n once every
five minutes. But I think it was the grin I

WHEN TOBCHY GOT THE CALL 129

slipped Mike now and then that got him to
overlookin' my awkward motions. Believe me,
too, by six o'clock I felt less like grinnin' than
any time I could remember. I never knew you
could ache in so many places at once. From
the ankles down I felt fine. And yet, before
the week was out I was helpin' Mike speed up.

It didn't look promisin' for sleuth work at
first. Half a dozen times I was on the point
of chuckin' the job. But the thoughts of hav-
in' to face Old Hickory with a blank report
kept me pluggin' away. I begun to get my
bearin's a bit to see things, to put this and that
together.

We was workin' on shaped steel plates,
armor for the tanks. Now and then one would
come through with some of the holes only quar
ter or half punched. Course, you couldn't put
rivets in them places.

"How about these?" I asks.

"Aw, wottell!" says Mike. "Forget it."

"But what if the inspector sees?" I insists.

Mike gurgles in his throat, indicatin' mirth.

"Th' inspec'!" he chuckles. "Him wink by
his eye, him. Ya! You see! Him coom Sat'-
day."

And I swaps chuckles with Mike. Also, by
settin' up the schooners at Carlouva's that eve-

130 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

nin', I got Mike to let out more professional
secrets along the same line. There was others
who joined in. They bragged of chipped gears
that was shipped through with the bad cogs
covered with grease, of flawy drivin' shafts, of
cheesy armor-plate that you could puncture
with a tack-hammer.

While it was all fresh that night I jotted
down pages of such gossip in a little red note
book. I had names and dates. That bunch of
piece-workers must have thought I was a bear
for details, or else nutty in the head ; but they
was too polite to mention it so long as I in
sisted each time that it was my buy.

Anyway, I got quite a lot of first-hand evi
dence as to the kind of inspectin' done by the
army officer assigned to this particular plant.
I had to smile, too, when I saw Mr. Marvin
towin' him through our shop Saturday fore
noon. Maybe they was three minutes breezin'
through. And I didn't need the extra smear
of smut on my face. Marvin never glanced
my way. This was the same officer who'd been
in on our dinner party, too.

Yes, I found chattin' with Mike and his
friends a lot more illuminatin' than listenin'
to Mr. Marvin. So, when I drew down my sec
ond pay envelop, I told the clerk I was quit-

WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL 131

tin'. I don't mind sayin', either, that it seemed
good to splash around in a reg'lar bath-tub
once more and to look a sirloin steak in the
face again. A stiff collar did seem odd, though.

Me and Mr. Ellins had some session. We
went through that red note-book thorough. He
was breathin' a bit heavy at times, and he
chewed hard on his cigar all the way ; but he
never blew a fuse until fortyreight hours later.
The General Manager of Wonder Motors, four
department heads, and the army officer de
tailed as inspector was part of the audience.
They'd been called on the carpet by wire, and
was grouped around one end of our directors'
table. At the other end was Old Hickory, Mr,
Robert, Piddie, and me.

Item by item, Mr. Ellins had sketched out to
the Wonder crowd the bunk stuff they'd been
slippin' over. First they tried protestin' in
dignant; then they made a stab at actin' hurt;
but in the end they just looked plain foolish.

"My dear Mr. Ellins," put in the General
Manager, "one cannot watch every workman in
a plant of that magnitude. Besides," here he
hunches his shoulders, "if the government is
satisfied "

"Hah!" snorts Old Hickory. "But it isn't.
For I'm the government in this instance. I'm

132 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

standing for Uncle Sam. That's what I meant
when I took those ten per cent, contracts. I'm
too old to go out and fight his enemies abroad,
but I can stay behind and watch for yellow-
livered buzzards such as you. Call that busi
ness, do you? Fattening your dividends by
sending our boys up against the Prussian guns
in junky motor-tanks covered with tin armor!
Bah! Your ethics need chloride of lime on
them. And you come here whining that you
can't watch your men! By the great sizzling
sisters, we'll see if you can't! You will put in
every missing rivet, replace every flawy plate,
and make every machine perfect, or I'll smash
your little two-by-four concern so flat the bank
ruptcy courts won't find enough to tack a libel
notice on. Now go back and get busy. ' '

They seemed in a hurry to start, too.

An hour or so later, when Old Hickory had
stopped steaming, he passes out a different set
of remarks to me. Oh, the usual grateful boss
stuff. Even says he 's going to make the War
Department give me a commission, with a spe
cial detail.

"Wouldn't that be wonderful!" says Vee,
clappin' her hands. "Do you really think he
will? A lieutenant, perhaps?"

"That's what he mentioned," says I.

WHEN TORCHY GOT THE CALL 133

"Really!" says Vee, makin' a rush at me.

"Wait up!" says I. "Halt, I mean. Now,
as you were! Sal-ute!"

"Pooh!" says Vee, continuin' her rush.

But say, she knows how to salute, all right.
Her way would break up an army, though.
All the same, I guess I've earned it, for by
Monday night I'll be up in a Syracuse shovel
works, wearin' a one-piece business suit of
the Never-rip brand, and I'll likely have
enough grease on me to lubricate a switch-
engine.

"It's lucky you don't see me, Vee," says I,
"when I'm out savin' the country. You'd
wonder how you ever come to do it."

CHAPTER IX

A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA

"Now turn around," says Vee. "Oh,
Torchy! Why, you look perfectly "

"Do I?" I cuts in. "Well, you don't think
I'm goin' to the office like this, do you?"

She does. Insists that Mr. Ellins will ex
pect it.

"Besides," says she, "it is in the army regu
lations that you must. If you don't — well,
I'm not sure whether it is treason or mutiny."

"Hal-lup!" says I. "I surrender."

So I starts for town lookm* as warlike as if
I'd just come from a front trench, and feelin'
like a masquerader who'd lost his way to the
ball-room.

In the office, Old Hickory gives me the thor
ough up-and-down. It's a genial, fatherly sort
of inspection, and he ends it with a satisfied
grunt.

"Good-morning, Lieutenant," says he. "I
see you have — er — got 'em on. And, allow me
to mention, rather a good fit, sir."

134

A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA 135

I gasps. Sirred by Old Hickory! Do you
wonder I got fussed? But he only chuckles
easy, waves me to take a chair, and goes on
with:

"What's the word from the Syracuse sec
tor?"

At that, I gets my breath back.

"Fairly good deal up there, sir," says I.
"They're workin' in a carload or so of wormy
ash for the shovel handles, and some of the
steel runs below test; but most of their stuff
grades well. I'll have my notes typed off right
away. ' '

After I've filed my report I should have
ducked. But this habit of stickin' around the
shop is hard to break. And that's how I hap
pen to be on hand when the lady in gray drifts
in for her chatty confab with Mr. Ellins.

Seems she held quite a block of our pre
ferred, for when Vincent lugs in her card Old
Hickory spots the name right away as being on
our widow-and-orphan list that we wave at in-
vestigatin' committees.

"Ah, yes!" says he. "Mrs. Parker Smith.
Show her in, boy."

Such a quiet, gentle, dignified party she is,
her costume tonin' in with her gray hair, and
an easy way of speakin' and all, that my first

136 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

guess is she might be the head of an old ladies*
home.

"Mr. Ellins," says she, "I am looking for
my niece."

"Are you?" says Mr. Ellins, "Humph!
Hardly think we could be of service in such
a case."

"Oh!" says she. "I — I am so sorry."

"Lost, is she?" suggests Mr. Ellins, weak-
enin'.

"She is somewhere in New York," goes on
Mrs. Parker Smith. "Of course, I know it is
an imposition to trouble you with such a mat
ter. But I thought you might have someone
in your office who — who "

"We have," says he. "Torchy, — er — I
mean, Lieutenant, — Mrs. Parker Smith. Here,
madam, is a young man who will find your
niece for you at once. In private life he is
my secretary; and as it happens that just now
he is on special detail, his services are entirely
at your disposal."

She looks a little doubtful about bein*
shunted like that, but she follows me into the
next room, where I produces a pencil and pad
and calls for details businesslike.

"Let's see," says I. "What's the full de
scription? Age?"

A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA 137

"Why," says she, hesitating " Claire is
about twenty- two."

"Oh!" says I. "Got beyond the flapper
stage, then. Height — tall or short?"

Mrs. Parker Smith shakes her head.

"I'm sure I don't know," says she. "You
see, Claire is not an own niece. She — well, she
•is a daughter of my first husband's second
wife's step-sister."

"Wha-a-at?" says I, gawpin' at her.

"Daughter of your Oh, say, let's not go

into it as deep as that. I'm dizzy already.
Suppose we call her an in-law once removed
and let it go at that!"

"Thank you," says Mrs. Parker Smith, giv-
in' me a quizzin' smile. "Perhaps it is enough
to say that I have never seen her. ' '

She does go on to explain, though, that when
Claire's step-uncle, or whatever he was, found
his heart trouble gettin' worse, he wrote to
Mrs. Parker Smith, askin' her to forget the
past and look after the orphan girl that he's
been tryin' to bring up. It's just as clear to
me as the average movie plot, but I nods my
head.

"So for three years," says she, "while
Claire was in boarding-school, I acted as her
guardian ; but since she has come of age I have

138 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

been merely the executor of her small
estate."

"Oh, yes!" says I. "And now she's come to
New York, and forgot to send you her ad
dress?"

It was something like that. Claire had gone
in for art. Looked like she'd splurged heavy
on it, too; for the drain on her income had
been something fierce. Meanwhile, Mrs. Parker
Smith had doped out an entirely different fu
ture for Claire. The funds that had been tied
up in a Vermont barrel-stave fact'ry, that was
makin' less and less barrel staves every year,
Auntie had pulled out and invested in a model
dairy farm out near Rockford, Illinois. She'd
made the capital turn over from fifteen to
twenty per cent., too, by livin' right on
the job and cashin' in the cream tickets
herself.

"You have!" says I. "Not a reg'lar cow
farm?"

She nods.

"It did seem rather odd, at first," says she.
"But I wanted to get away from — from every
thing. But now— Well, I want Claire. I
suppose I am a little lonesome. Besides, I
want her to try taking charge. Recently, when
she had drawn her income for half a year in

A CARRY-ON FOB CLARA 139

advance and still asked for more, I was obliged
to refuse."

"And then?" says I.

Mrs. Parker Smith shrugs her shoulders.

"The foolish girl chose to quarrel with me,"
says she. "About ten days ago she sent me a
curt note. I could keep her money; she was
tired of being dictated to. I needn't write any
more, for she had moved to another address,
had changed her name."

"Huh!" says I. "That does make it compli
cated. You don't know what she looks like, or
what name she flags under, and I'm to find her
in little New York?"

But I finds myself tacklin this hopeless puz
zle from every angle I could think of. I tried
'phonin' to Claire's old street number. Noth-
in' doin'. They didn't know anything about
Miss Hunt.

"What brand of art was she monkeyin'
with?" I asks.

Mrs. Parker Smith couldn't say. Claire
hadn't been very chatty in her letters. Chiefly
she had demanded checks.

"But in one she did mention," says the lady

in gray, ' ' that Now, what was it ! Oh, yes !

Something about 'landing a cover.' What
could that mean?"

140 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Cover?" says I. "Why, for a magazine,
maybe. That's it. And if we only knew what

name she'd sign, we might Would she

stick to the Claire part? I'll bet she would.
Wait. I'll get a bunch of back numbers from
the arcade news-stand and we'll go through
'em."

We'd hunted through an armful, though, be
fore we runs across this freaky sketch of a
purple nymph, with bright yellow hair, bounc-
in' across a stretch of dark blue lawn.

"Claire Lamar!" says I. "Would that
be- Eh ? What 's wrong ? ' '

Mrs. Parker Smith seems to be gettin' a
jolt of some kind, but she steadies herself and
almost gets back her smile.

"I — I am sure it would," says she. "It's
very odd, though."

"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Listens kind
of arty — Claire Lamar. Lemme see. This
snappy fifteen-center has editorial offices on

Fourth Avenue and Well, well! Barry

Frost, ad. manager! Say, if I can get him
on the wire

Just by luck, I did. Would he pry some
facts for me out of the art editor, facts about
a certain party? Sure he would. And inside
of ten minutes, without leavin' the Corrugated

A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA 141

General Offices, I had a full description of
Claire, includin' where she hung out.

"Huh!" says I. "Greenwich Village, eh?
You might know."

"My dear Lieutenant," says Mrs. Parker
Smith, "I think you are perfectly wonder
ful."

"Swell thought!" says I. "But you needn't
let on to Mr. Ellins how simple it was. And
now, all you got to do is "

"I know," she cuts in. "And I really
ought not to trouble you another moment.
But, since Mr. Ellins has been so kind — well,
I am going to ask you to help me just a trifle
more."

"Shoot," says I, unsuspicious.

It ain't much, she says. But she's afraid,
if she trails Claire to her rooms, the young
lady might send down word she was out, or
make a quick exit.

"But if you would go," she suggests, "with
a note from me asking her to join us some
where at dinner "

I holds up both hands.

"Sorry," says I, "but I got to duck. That's
taking too many chances."

Then I explains how, although I may look
like a singleton, I'm really the other half of a

142 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

very interestin' domestic sketch, and that Vee's
expectin' me home to dinner.

"Why, all the better!" says Mrs. Parker
Smith. "Have her come in and join us. I'll
tell you: we will have our little party down
at the old Napoleon, where they have such
delicious French cooking. Now, please."

As I've hinted before, she is some persuader.
I ain't mesmerized so strong, though, but what
I got sense enough to play it safe by callin'
up Vee first. I don't think she was strong for
joinin' the reunion until I points out that I
might be some shy at wanderin' down into
the art-student colony and collectin' a strange
young lady illustrator all by myself.

"Course, I could do it alone if I had to," I
throws in.

"H-m-m-m!" says Vee. "If that bashful-
ness of yours is likely to be as bad as all that,
perhaps I'd better come."

So by six o 'clock Vee and I are in the dinky
reception-room of one of them Belasco board-
in '-houses, tryin' to convince a young female
in a paint-splashed smock and a floppy boudoir
cap that we ain't tryin' to kidnap or otherwise
annoy her.

"What's the big idea?" says she. "I don't
get you at all."

A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA 143

" Maybe if you'd read the note it would
help," I suggests.

"Oh! " says she, and takes it over by the
window.

She's a long-waisted, rangy young party,
who walks with a Theda Bara slouch and tries
to talk out of one side of her mouth. ' ' Hello ! ' '
she goes on. "The Parker Smith person.
That's enough. It's all off."

"Just as you say," says I. "But, if you
ask me, I wouldn't pass up an aunt like her
without takin' a look."

"Aunt!" says Claire Lamar, alias Hunt.
"Listen: she's about as much an aunt to me as
I am to either of you. And I've never shed
any tears over the fact, either. The only
aunt that I'd ever own was one that my family
would never tell me much about. I had to
find out about her for myself. Take it from
me, though, she was some aunt."

"Tastes in aunts differ, I expect," says I.
"And Mrs. Parker Smith don't claim to be a
reg'lar aunt, anyway. She seems harmless,
too. All she wants is a chance to give you
a rosy prospectus of life on a cow farm and
blow you to a dinner at the Napoleon."

"Think of that!" says Claire. "And I've
been living for weeks on window-sill meals,

144 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

with now and then a ptomaine-defying gorge
at the Pink Poodle's sixty-cent table d'hote.
Oh, I'll come, I'll come! But I warn you:
the Parker Smith person will understand be
fore the evening is over that I was born to no
cow farm in Illinois."

With that she glides off to do a dinner
change.

"I believe it is going to be quite an interest
ing party, don't you?" says Vee.

"The signs point that way," says I. "But
the old girl really ought to wear shock-
absorbers if she wants to last through the eve-
nin'. S-s-s-sh! Claire is comin' back."

This time she's draped herself in a pale
yellow kimono with blue triangles stenciled all
over it.

"Speaking of perfectly good aunts," says
she, "there!" And she displays a silver-
framed photo. It's an old-timer done in faded
brown, and shows a dashin' young party wear-
in' funny sleeves, a ringlet cascade on one side
of her head, and a saucy little pancake lid over
one ear.

"That," explains Claire, "was my aunt
Clara Lamar; not my real aunt, you know, but
near enough for me to claim her. This was
taken in '82, I believe."

A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA 145

"Really!" says Vee. "She must have been
quite pretty."

"That doesn't half tell it," says Claire.
"She was a charmer, simply fascinating. Not
beautiful, you know, but she had a way with
her. She was brilliant, daring, one of the kind
that men raved over. At twenty she married
a Congressman, fat and forty. She hadn't
lived in Washington six months before her re
ceptions were crushes. She flirted industri
ously. A young French aide and an army
officer fought a duel over her. And, while the
capital was buzzing with that, she eloped with
another diplomat, a Russian. For a year or
two they lived in Paris. She had her salon.
Then the Russian got himself killed in some
way, and she soon married again — another
American, quite wealthy. He brought her
back to New York, and they lived in one of
those old brown-stone mansions on lower Fifth
Avenue. Her dinner parties were the talk of
the town — champagne with the fish, vodka with
the coffee, cigarettes for the women, cut-up
stunts afterwards. I forget just who No. 3
was, but he succumbed. Couldn't stand the

pace, I suppose. And then Well, Aunt

Clara disappeared. But, say, she was a regu-

146 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

lar person. I wish I conld find out what ever
became of her."

" Maybe Mrs. Parker Smith could give you
a line," I suggests.

"Her!" says Claire. "Fat chance! But I
must finish dressing. Sorry to keep you wait
ing."

We did get a bit restless durin' the next
half hour, but the wait was worth while. For,
believe me, when Claire comes down again
she's some dolled.

I don't mean she was any home-destroyer.
That face of hers is too long and heavy for
the front row of a song review. But she has
plenty of zip to her get-up. After one glance
I calls a taxi.

The way I'd left it with Mrs. Parker Smith,
we was to land Claire at the hotel first; then
call her up, and proceed to order dinner. So
we had another little stage wait, with only the
three of us at the table.

"I hope you don't mind if I have a puff or
two," says Claire. "It goes here, you know."

"Anything to make the evenin' a success,"
says I, signalin' a gargon. "My khaki lets me
out of followin' you."

So, when the head waiter finally tows in
Mrs. Parker Smith, costumed in the same gray

A CAERY-ON FOR CLARA 147

dress and lookin' meeker and gentler than ever,
she is greeted with a sporty tableau. But she
don 't faint or anything. She just springs that
twisty smile of hers and comes right on.

"The missing one!" says I, wavin' at Claire.

"Ah!" says Mrs. Parker Smith, beamin' on
her. "So good of you to come!"

"Wasn't it?" says Claire, removin' the cork
tip languid.

Well, as a get-together I must admit that
the outlook was kind of frosty. Claire showed
plenty of enthusiasm for the hors d'ceuvres and
the low-tide soup and so on, but mighty little
for this volunteer auntie, who starts to de
scribe the subtle joys of the butter business.

"Perhaps you have never seen a herd of
registered Guernseys," says Mrs. Parker
Smith, "when they are munching contentedly
at milking time, with their big, dreamy
eyes "

"Excuse me!" says Claire. "I don't have
to. I spent a whole month's vacation on a
Vermont farm."

Mrs. Parker Smith only smiles indulgent.

"We use electric milkers, you know," says
she, "and most of our young men come from
the agricultural colleges."

"That listens alluring — some," admits Claire,

148 THE HOUSE OP TORCHY

"But I can't see myself planted ten miles out
on an B. F. D. route, even with college-bred
help. Pardon me if I light another dope-
stick."

I could get her idea easy enough, by then.
Claire wasn't half so sporty as she hoped she
was. It was just her way of doing the carry-
on for Aunt Clara Lamar. But, at the same
time, we couldn't help feelin' kind of sorry
for Mrs. Parker Smith. She was tryin' to be
so nice and friendly, and she wasn't gettin'
anywhere.

It was by way of switchin' the line of table
chat, I expect, that Vee breaks in with that
remark about the only piece of jewelry the
old girl is wearin'.

"What a duck of a bracelet!" says Vee.
"An heirloom, is it?"

"Almost," says Mrs. Parker Smith. "It
was given to me on my twenty-second birth
day, in Florence."

She slips it off and passes it over for inspec
tion. The part that goes around the wrist is
all of fine chain-work, silver and gold, woven
almost like cloth, and on top is a cameo, 'most
as big as a clam.

"How stunning! Look, Torchy. 0-o-oh!"
says Vee, gaspin' a little.

A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA 149

In handling the thing she must have pressed
a catch somewhere, for the cameo springs
back, revealin' a locket effect underneath with
a picture in it. Course, we couldn't help
seein'.

"Why — why " says Vee, gazin' from the

picture to Mrs. Parker Smith. "Isn't this a
portrait of — of "

"Of a very silly young woman," cuts in
Auntie. "We waited in Florence a week to
have that finished."

"Then — then it is you?" asks Vee.

The lady in gray nods. Vee asks if she
may show it to Claire.

"Why not!" says Mrs. Parker Smith,
smilin'.

We didn't stop to explain. I passes it on
to Claire, and then we both watches her face.
For the dinky little picture under the cameo
is a dead ringer for the one Claire had shown
us in the silver frame. So it was Claire's turn
to catch a short breath.

"Don't tell me," says she, "that — that you
are Clara Lamar?"

Which was when Auntie got her big jolt.
For a second the pink fades out of her cheeks,
and the salad fork she'd been holdin' rattles

150 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

into her plate. She makes a quick recovery,
though.

"I was — once," says she. "I had hoped,
though, that the name had been forgotten.
Tell me, how — how do you happen to "

1 1'

'Why," says Claire, " uncle had the scrap-
book habit. Anyway, I found this one in an
old desk, and it was all about you. Your pic
ture was in it, too. And say, Auntie, you
were the real thing, weren't you!"

After that it was a reg'lar reunion. For
Claire had dug up her heroine. And, no mat
ter how strong Auntie protests that she ain't
that sort of a party now, and hasn't been for
years and years, Claire keeps right on. She's
a consistent admirer, even if she is a little
late.

"If I had only known it was you!" says she.

"Then — then you'll come to Meadowbrae
with me?" asks Mrs. Parker Smith.

"You bet!" says Claire. "Between you and
me, this art career of mine has rather fizzled
out. Besides, keeping it up has got to be
rather a bore. Honest, a spaghetti and ciga
rette life is a lot more romantic to read about
than it is to follow. Whether I could learn to
run a dairy farm or not, I don't know; but,
with an aunt like you to coach me along, I'm

A CARRY-ON FOR CLARA 151

blessed if I don't give it a try. When do we
start?"

"But," says Vee to me, later, "I can't
imagine her on a farm."

"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Didn't you
notice she couldn't smoke without gettin' it up
her nose?"

CHAPTER X

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA

BELIEVE me, Belinda, this havin' a boss who's
apt to stack you up casual against stuff that
would worry a secret service corps recruited
from seventh sons is a grand little cure for
monotonous moments. Just because I happen
to get a few easy breaks on my first special
details seems to give Old Hickory the merry
idea that when he wants someone to do the
wizard act, all he has to do is press the button
for me. I don't know whether my wearin' the
khaki uniform helps out the notion or not. I
shouldn't wonder.

Now, here a week or ten days ago, when I
leaves Vee and my peaceful little home after a
week-end swing, I expects to be shot up to
Amesbury, Mass., to inspect a gun-limber fac
tory. Am I? Not at all. By 3 P.M. I'm in
Bridgeport, Conn., wanderin' about sort of
aimless, and tryin' to size up a proposition
that I'm about as well qualified to handle as

152

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 153

a plumber's helper called in to tune a pipe
organ.

Why was it that some three thousand hands
in one of our sub-contractin' plants was bent
on gettin' stirred up and messy about every
so often, in spite of all that had been done to
soothe 'em I

Does that listen simple, or excitin', or even
interestin"? It didn't to me. Specially after
I'd given the once-over to this giddy mob of
Wops and Hunkies and Sneezowskis.

The office people didn't know how many
brands of Czechs or Magyars or Polacks they
had in the shops. What they was real sure of
was that a third of the bunch had walked out
twice within the last month, and if they quit
again, as there was signs of their doin', we
stood to drop about $200,000 in bonuses on
shell contracts.

It wasn't a matter of wage scales, either.
Honest, some of them ginks with three z's in
their names was runnin' up, with over-time
and all, pay envelops that averaged as much
as twelve a day. Why, some of the women and
girls were pullin' down twenty-five a week.
And they couldn't kick on the workin' condi
tions, either. Here was a brand-new concrete
plant, clean as a new dish-pan, with half the

154 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

sides swingin' glass sashes, and flower beds
outside.

"And still they threaten another strike,"
says the general manager. "If it comes, we
might as well scrap this whole plant and trans
fer the equipment to Pennsylvania or some
where else. Unless"— here he grins sarcastic
— "you can find out what ails 'em, Lieutenant.
But you are only the third bright young man
the Corrugated has sent out to tell us what's
what, you know."

"Oh, well," says I. "There's luck in odd
numbers. Cheer up."

It was after this little chat that I sheds the
army costume and wanders out disguised as a
horny-handed workingman.

Not that I'd decided to get a job right away.
After my last stab I ain't so strong for this
ten-hour cold-lunch trick as I was when I was
new to the patriotic sleuthin' act. Besides,
bein' no linguist, I couldn't see how workin'
with such a mixed lot was goin' to get me any
where. If I could only run across a good am
bidextrous interpreter, now, one who could
listen in ten languages and talk in six, it
might help. And who was it I once knew that
had moved to Bridgeport?

I'd been mullin' on that mystery ever since

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 155

I struck the town. Just a glimmer, some
where in the back of my nut, that there had
been such a party some time or other. I'll
admit that wasn't much of a clue to start out
trailin' in a place of this size, but it's all I
had.

I must have walked miles, readin' the signs
on the stores, pushin' my way through the
crowds, and finally droppin' into a fairly
clean-lookin' restaurant for dinner. Half way
through the goulash and noodles, I had this
bright thought about consultin' the 'phone
book. The cashier that let me have it eyed
me suspicious as I props it up against the
sugar bowl and starts in with the A's.

Ever try readin' a telephone directory
straight through! By the time I'd got through
the M's I'd had to order another cup of coffee
and a second piece of lemon pie. At that,
the waitress was gettin' uneasy. She'd just
shoved my check at me for the third time,
and was addin' a glass of wooden tooth-picks,
when I lets out this excited stage whisper.

"Sobowski!" says I, grabbin' the book.

The young lady in the frilled apron rests
her thumbs on her hips dignified and shoots
me a haughty glance. ' ' Ring off, young feller, ' '
says she. "You got the wrong number."

156 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Not so, Clarice," says I. "His first name
is Anton, and he used to run a shine parlor
in the arcade of the Corrugated buildin', New
York, N. Y."

"It's a small world, ain't it?" says she.
"You can pay me or at the desk, just as you
like."

Clarice got her tip all right, and loaned me
her pencil to write down Anton's street num
ber.

A stocky, bow-legged son of Kosciuszko,
built close to the ground, and with a neck on
him like a truck-horse, as I remembered Anton.
But the hottest kind of a sport. Used to run a
pool on the ball-games, and made a book on
the ponies now and then. Always had a roll
with him. He'd take a nickel tip from me and
then bet a guy in the next chair fifty to thirty-
five the Giants would score more'n three runs
against the Cubs' new pitcher in to-morrow's
game. That kind.

Must have been two or three years back that
Anton had told me about some openin' he had
to go in with a brother-in-law up in Bridge
port. Likely I didn't pay much attention at
the time. Anyway, he was missin' soon after;
and if I hadn't been in the habit of callin' him
Old Sobstuff I'd have forgotten that name of

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 157

his entirely. But seem' it there in the book
brought back the whole thing.

" Anton Sobowski, saloon," was the way it
was listed. So he was runnin' a suds parlor,
eh? Well, it wasn't likely he'd know much
about labor troubles, but it wouldn't do any
harm to look him up. When I came to trail
down the street number, though, blamed if it
ain't within half a block of our branch works.

And, sure enough, in a little office beyond
the bar, leanin' back luxurious in a swivel-
chair, and displayin' a pair of baby-blue arm
lets over his shirt sleeves, I discovers Mr. Sob
owski himself. It ain't any brewery-staked
hole-in-the-wall he's boss of, either. It's the
Warsaw Cafe, bar and restaurant, all glit
tery and gorgeous, with lace curtains in the
front windows, red, white, and blue mosquito
nettin' draped artistic over the frosted mir
rors, and three busy mixers behind the ma
hogany bar.

Anton has fleshed up considerable since he
quit jugglin' the brushes, and he's lost a little
of the good-natured twinkle from his wide-set
eyes. He glances up at me sort of surly when
I first steps into the office; but the minute I
takes off the straw lid and ducks my head at
him, he lets loose a rumbly chuckle.

158 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"It is that Torchy, hey?" says he. "Well,
well! It don't fade any, does it?"

"Not that kind of dye," says I. "How's
the boy?"

"Me," says Anton. "Oh, fine like silk.
How you like the place, hey?"

I enthused over the Warsaw Cafe ; and when
he found I was still with the Corrugated, and
didn't want to touch him for any coin, but
had just happened to be in town and thought
I'd look him up for old times' sake — well, An
ton opened up considerable.

"What!" says he. "They send you out?
You must be comin' up?"

"Only private sec. to Mr. Ellins," says I,
"but he chases me around a good deal. We're
busy people these days, you know."

"The Corrugated Trust! I should say so"
agrees Anton, waggin' his head earnest. "Big
people, big money. I like to have my brother-
in-law meet you. Wait."

Seemed a good deal like wastin' time, but
I spent the whole evenin' with Anton. I met
not only the brother-in-law, but also Mrs. Sob-
owski, his wife; and another Mrs. Sobowski,
an aunt or something ; and Miss Anna Sobowski,
his niece. Also I saw the three-story Sobowski
boardin '-house that Anton conducted on the

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 159

side ; and the Alcazar movie joint, another Sob-
owski enterprise.

That's where this Anna party was sellin'
tickets — a peachy-cheeked, high-chested young
lady with big, rollin' eyes, and her mud-colored
hair waved something wonderful. I was intro
duced reg'lar and impressive.

"Anna," says Anton, "take a good look
at this young man. He's a friend of mine.
Any time he comes by, pass him in free — any
time at all. See?"

And Anna, she flashes them high-powered
eyes of hers at me kittenish. "Aw ri'," says
she. "I'm on, Mr. Torchy."

"That girl," confides Anton to me after
wards, "was eating black bread and cabbage
soup in Poland less than three years ago.
Now she buys high kid boots, two kinds of
leather, at fourteen dollars. And makes goo-
goo eyes at all the men. Yes, but never no mis
takes with the change. Not Anna."

All of which was inter estin' enough, but it
didn't seem to help any. You never can tell,
though, can you ? You see, it was kind of hard,
breakin' away from Anton once he'd started
to get folksy and show me what an important
party he'd come to be. He wanted me to see
the Warsaw when it was really doin' business,

160 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

about ten o'clock, after the early picture-show
crowds had let out and the meetin' in the hall
overhead was in full swing.

"What sort of meetin'?" I asks, just as a
filler.

"Oh, some kind of labor meetin'," says he.
"I d'know. They chin a lot. That's thirsty
work. Good for business, hey?"

"Is it a labor union?" I insists.

Anton shrugs his shoulders.

"You wait," says he. "Mr. Stukey, he'll
tell you all about it. Yes, an ear-full. He's
a good spender, Stukey. Hires the hall, too."

Somehow, that listened like it might be a
lead. But an hour later, when I'd had a
chance to look him over, I was for passin'
Stukey up. For he sure was disappointin' to
view. One of these thin, sallow, dyspeptic
parties, with deep lines down either side of his
mouth, a bristly, jutty little mustache, and
ratty little eyes.

I expect Anton meant well when he brings
out strong, in introducin' me, how I'm con
nected with the Corrugated Trust. In fact,
you might almost gather I was the Corru
gated. But it don't make any hit with Stukey.

"Hah!" says he, glarin' at me hostile. "A
minion. ' '

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 161

" Solid agate yourself," says I. "Wha'd'ye
mean — minion I ' '

"Aren't you a hireling of the capitalistic
class?" demands Stukey.

"Maybe," says I, "but I ain't above mixin'
with lower-case minds now and then."

"Case?" says he. "I don't understand."

"Perhaps that's your trouble," says I.

"Bah!" says he, real peevish.

"Come, come, boys!" says Anton, clappin'
us jovial on the shoulders. "What's this all
about, hey? We are all friends here. Yes?
Is it that the meetin' goes wrong, Mr. Stukey?
Tell us, now."

Stukey shakes his head at him warnin'.
"What meetin'?" says he. "Don't be foolish.
What time is it? Ten- twenty! I have an
engagement. ' '

And with that he struts off important.

Anton hunches his shoulders and lets out
a grunt.

"He has it bad — Stukey," says he. "It is
that Anna. Every night he must walk home
with her."

"She ain't particular, is she?" I suggests.

"Oh, I don't know," says Anton. "Yes, he
is older, and not a strong hearty man, like
some of these young fellows. But he is edu-

162 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

cated; oh, like the devil. You should hear him
talk once."

But Stukey had stirred up a stubborn streak
in me.

' l Is he, though, ' ' says I, ' ' or do you kid your
self!"

I thought that would get a come-back out
of Anton. And it does.

"If I am so foolish," says he, "would I be
here, with my name in gold above the door,
or back shining shoes in the Corrugated ar
cade yet? Hey? I will tell you this. Nobodies
don't come and hire my hall from me, fifty a
week, in advance."

"Cash or checks?" I puts in.

"If the bank takes the checks, why should
I worry?" asks Anton.

"Oh, the first one might be all right," says
I, "and the second; but — well, you know your
own business, I expect."

Anton gazes at me stupid for a minute, then
turns to his desk and fishes out a bunch of
returned checks. He goes through 'em rapid
until he has run across the one he's lookin'
for.

"Maybe I do," says he, wavin' it under my
nose triumphant.

Which gives me the glimpse I'd been jockey-

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 163

in' for. The name of that bank was enough.
From then on I was mighty interested in this
Mortimer J. Stukey; and while I didn't ex
actly use the pressure pump on Anton, I may
have asked a few leadin' questions. Who was
Stukey, where did he come from, and what was
his idea — hirin' halls and so on? While An
ton could recognize a dollar a long way off, he
wasn't such a keen observer of folks.

"I don't worry whether he's a Wilson man
or not," says Anton, "or which movie star he
likes best after Mary Pickford. If I did I
should ask Anna."

"Eh?" says I, sort of eager.

"He tells her a lot he don't tell me," says
Anton.

"That's reasonable, too," says I. "Ask
Anna. Say, that ain't a bad hunch. Much
obliged. ' '

It wasn't so easy, though, with Stukey on
the job, to get near enough to ask Anna any
thing. When they came in, and Anton invites
me to join the fam'ly group in the boardin'-
house dinin'-room while the cheese sandwiches
and pickles was bein' passed around, I finds
Stukey blockin' me off scientific.

As Anton had said, he had it bad. Never
took his eyes off Anna for a second. I sup-

164 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

pose he thought he was registerin' tender
emotions, but it struck me as more of a hun
gry look than anything else. Miss Sobowski
seemed to like it, though.

I expect a real lady's man wouldn't have
had much trouble cuttin' in on Stukey and
towin' Anna off into a corner. But that ain't
my strong suit. The best I could do was to
wait until the next day, when there was no
opposition. Meantime I'd been usin' the long
distance reckless; so by the time Anna shows
up at the Alcazar to open the window for the
evenin' sale, I was primed with a good many
more facts about a certain party than I had
been the night before. Stukey wasn't quite
such a man of mystery as he had been.

Course, I might have gone straight to An
ton; but, somehow, I wanted to try out a few
hints on Anna. I couldn't say just why, either.
The line of josh I opens with ain't a bit subtle.
It don't have to be. Anna was tickled to pieces
to be kidded about her feller. She invites me
into the box-office, offers me chewin' gum, and
proceeds to get quite frisky.

"Ah, who was tellin' you that?" says she.
"Can't a girl have a gentleman frien' without
everybody's askin' is she engaged! Wotcher
think!"

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 165

" Tut- tut!" says I. "I suppose, when you
two had your heads together so close, he was
rehearsin' one of his speeches to you — the
kind he makes up in the hall, eh?"

"Mr. Stukey don't make no speeches there,"
says Anna. * * He just tells the others what to
say. You ought to hear him talk, though.
My, sometimes he's just grand!"

"Urgin' 'em not to quit work, I suppose?"
says I.

"Him?" says Anna. "Not much. He wants
'em to strike, all the time strike, until they
own the shops. He's got no use for rich
people. Calls 'em blood-suckers and things
like that. Oh, he 's sump 'n fierce when he talks
about the rich."

"Is he?" says I. "I wonder why?"

"All the workers get like that," says Anna.
"Mr. Stukey says that pretty soon everybody
will join — all but the rich blood-suckers, and
they'll be in jail. He was poor himself once.
So was I, you know, in Poland. But we got

along until the Germans came, and then

Ugh! I don't like to remember."

"Anton was tellin' me," says I. "You lost
some of your folks."

"Lost!" says Anna, a panicky look comin'
into her big eyes. "You call it that? I saw

166 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

my father shot, my two brothers dragged off
to work in the trenches, and my sister — oh,
I can't! I can't say it!"

"Then don't tell Stukey," says I, "if you
want to keep stringin' him along."

"But why!" demands Anna.

"Because," says I, "the money he's spend-
in' so free around here comes from them — the
Germans."

"No, no!" says Anna, whisperin' husky.
"That— that's a He!"

"Sorry," says I; "but I got his number
straight. He was workin' for a German in
surance company up to 1915, bookkeepin' at
ninety a month. Then he got the ghuck. He
came near starvin'. It was when he was al
most in that he went crawlin' back to 'em,
and they gave him this job. If you don't
believe it's German money he's spendin' ask
Anton to show you some of Stukey 's canceled
checks. ' '

"But — but he's English," protests Anna.
"Anyway, his father was."

"The Huns don't mind who they buy up,"
says I.

She's still starin* at me, sort of stunned.

"German money!" she repeats. "Him!"

"Anton will show you the checks," says I.

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 167

"He don't care where they come from, so long
as he can cash 'em. But you might hint to
him that if another big strike is pulled it '& apt
to be a long one, and in that case the movie
business will get a crimp put in it. The War
saw receipts, too. I take it that Stukey's try-
in' to work the hands up to a point where
they'll vote for ':

"To-night they vote," breaks in Anna. "In
two hours."

I lets out a whistle. "Zowie!" says I.
"Guess I'm a little late. Say, you got a 'phone
here. Would it do any good if you called
Anton up and "

t i '

!No," snaps Anna. "He thinks too slow.
I must do this myself."

"You?" says I. "What could you do?"

"I don't know," says Anna. "But I must
try. And quick. Hey, Marson! You — at the
door. Come here and sell the tickets. Put an
usher in your place."

With that she bounces down off the tall
chair, shoves the substitute into her place,
and goes streamin' out bare-headed. I decides
to follow. But she leaves me behind as though
I'd been standin' still.

At the Warsaw I finds Anton smokin' placid
in his little office.

168 THE HOUSE OF TOKCHY

"Seen Anna?'* I asks.

"Anna!" says he. "She should be selling
tickets at the :

"She was," says I; "but just now she's up
stairs in the hall."

"At the meetin'?" gasps Anton. "Anna?
Oh, no!"

"Come, take a look," says I.

And, for once in his life, Anton got a
quick move on. He don't ask me to follow,
but I trails along; and just as we strikes the
top stair we hears a rousin' cheer go up. I
suppose any other time we'd been barred out,
but there's nobody to hold us up as we pushes
through, for everyone has their eyes glued
on the little stage at the far end of the hall.

No wonder. For there, standin' up before
more than three hundred yellin' men, is this
high-colored young woman.

Course, I couldn't get a word of it, my Po
lish education bavin' been sadly neglected when
I was young. But Anna seems to be tellin'
some sort of story. My guess was that it's
the one she'd hinted at to me — about her
father and brothers and sister. But this time
she seems to be throwin' in all the details.

There was nothin' frivolous about Anna's
eyes now. It almost gave me a creepy feelin'

a

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA

to watch 'em — as if she was seein' things again
that she'd like to forget— awful things. And
she was makin' those three hundred men see
the same things.

All of a sudden she breaks off, covers her
face with her hands, and shivers. Then, quick
as a flash, she turns and points to Stukey. I
caught his name as she hisses it out. Stukey,
turnin' a sickly yellow, slumps in his chair.
Another second, and she's turned back to the
men out front. She is puttin' something up
to them — a question, straight from the shoulder.

The first to make a move is a squatty, thick-
necked gent with one eye walled out. He
jumps on a chair, shouts a few excited words,
waves his long arms, and starts for the stage
businesslike. The next thing I knew the riot
was on, with Mortimer J. Stukey playin' the
heavy lead and bein' tossed around like a
rat.

It must have been Anton that switched off
the lights and sent for the police. I didn't
stop to ask. Bein' near the door, I felt my
way downstairs and made a quick exit. Course,
the ceremonies promised to continue interest-
in', but somehow this struck me as a swell
time for me to quit. So I strolls back to the
hotel and goes to bed.

170 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

Yes, I was some curious to know how the
muss ended, but I didn't hurry around next
mornin'. As a matter of fact, I'd enjoyed
the society of the Sobowskis quite a lot dur-
in' the past two days, and I thought I'd
better stay away for a while. They're
a strenuous bunch when they're stirred
up — even a kittenish young thing like
Anna.

About noon I 'phoned the works, and found
that all was serene there, with no signs of a
strike yet.

"No, and I got a hunch there won't be any,
either," says I.

I was plannin' to linger in Bridgeport an
other day or so ; but when the afternoon paper
came out I changed my mind. Accordin' to
the police-court reporter's account, there 'd
been some little disturbance in Warsaw Hall
the night before, Seems a stranger by the
name of Stukey had butted into a meetin' of
the Pulaski Social Club, and had proceeded
to get so messy that it had been found neces
sary to throw him out. Half a dozen witnesses
told how rude he'd been, includin' the well-
known citizen, Mr. Anton Sobowski, who owned
the premises. The said Stukey had been a bit
damaged; but after he'd been patched up at

ALL THE WAY WITH ANNA 171

the City Hospital he'd been promised a nice
long rest — thirty days, to be exact.

So I jumps the next train back to Broad
way.

4 'Ah, Lieutenant!" says Mr. Ellins, glanc-
in' up from his desk. "Find anything up
there?"

"Uh-huh," says I. "His name was Stukey.
Another case of drawin' his pay from Berlin."

"Hah!" grunts Old Hickory, bitin' into his
cigar. "The long arm again. But can't you
recommend something?"

"Sure!" says I. "If we could find a pair
of gold boots about eighteen buttons high, we
ought to send 'em to Anna Sobowski."

CHAPTER XI

AT THE THEN WITH WILFBED

I EXPECT Mr. Robert overstated the case a
bit. He was more or less hectic back of the
ears about then, havin' just broken away after
a half-hour session with Mrs. Stanton Bliss.

"That woman," says he, slumpin' into a
chair and moppin' his brow, "has the mental
equipment of a pet rabbit and the disposition
of a setting hen. Good Lord!"

I looks over at Vee and grins. Had to. It
ain't often you see Mr. Robert like that. And
him bein' all dolled up in his nifty navy uni
form made it seem just that much funnier.
But Vee don't grin back. She'd sympathize
with 'most anybody. At that exact minute,
I'll bet she was bein' sorry for both of 'em
all in the same breath, as you might say.

"But can't something be done — somehow?"
she asks.

"Not by me," says Mr. Robert, decided.
"Great marlinspikes ! I'm not the war depart
ment, am I? I'm only a first-grade lieutenant

172

AT THE TURN WITH WILFEED 173

in command of a blessed, smelly old men
haden trawler that's posing as a mine-sweeper.
I am supposed to be enjoying a twenty-four
hour shore leave in the peace and quiet of
my home, and I get — this."

He waves his hand toward the other room,
where the afore-mentioned Mrs. Stanton Bliss
is sobbin, sniffin', and otherwise registerin*
deep emotion by clawin' Mrs. Robert about the
shoulders and wavin' away the smellin' Baits.

"If it was the first time," growls Mr.
Robert. "But it isn't."

That was true, too. You see, we'd heard
somethin' about the other spasms. They'd
begun along in July, when the awful news
came out that Wilfred's red ink number had
been plucked from the jar. Now you get it,
don't you? Nothing unique. The same little
old tragedy that was bein' staged in a million
homes, includin' four-room flats, double-decker
tenements, and boardin '-houses.

Only this happened to hit the forty-room
country house of the Stanton Blisses. Course,
it was different. Look who was bein' stirred
up by it.

So mother had begun throwin' cat-fits.
She'd tackled everyone she knew, demandin'
to know what was to be done to keep Wilfred

174 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

out of it. Among others, of course, she'd held
up Mr. Robert. Wasn't he their nearest neigh
bor, and hadn't the Blisses entertained the El-
linses a lot? Not that she put it that way,
exactly. But when she came with this hunch
about gettin' sonny a snap job on some sort
of naval construction work, why, of course,
Mr. Robert couldn 't duck. Yes, he thought he
could place Wilfred. And he did — time-keeper,
six-hour shift, and near enough so he could
run back and forth every day in his machine.

That might have been good enough for some
folks. It meant dodgin' the draft for Wil
fred, dead sure. But mother didn't stay satis
fied long. She went investigatin' around the
plant. She found the office stuffy, Wilfred's
desk had no electric fan on it, she wasn't sure
of the drinkin' water, and the foreman was
quite an impossible sort of person who always
sneered when he had anything to say to Wil
fred. Couldn't Mr. Robert attend to some of
these things'? Mr. Robert said he'd try — if he
had time. He didn't get the time. More visits
from mother.

Then this latest catastrophe. The Stanton
Blisses had been away from home for three
weeks or more, house-partyin' and motorin'
through the mountains. Poor Wilfred had had

AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED 175

to stay behind. What a stupidly distressin'
thing war was, wasn't it! But he had been
asked to spend his nights and Sundays with a
college chum whose home was several miles
nearer the works.

And then they had come back to find this
scribbled note. Things had been gettin' worse
and worse, Wilfred wrote. Some young hood
lums around the plant had shouted after him
as he drove off in his car. Even young girls.
The men had been surly to him, and that

beastly foreman Well, he wasn't goin' to

stand for it, that was all. He didn't know
just what he was goin' to do, but he was clear-
in' out. They'd hear from him later.

They had. This six-word message from
Philadelphia, dated nearly two weeks ago, was
also waitin'. It said that he'd enlisted, was
all right, and for them not to worry. Nothin'
more.

You couldn't blame mother for bein' stirred
up. Her Wilfred had gone. Somewhere in
some army camp or other, or at some naval
trainin' station, the son and heir of the house
of Bliss was minglin' with the coarse sons of
the common people, was eatin' common food,
was wearin' common clothes, was goin' up
against the common thing generally. And that

176 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

wasn't the worst of it. Where? Why didn't
Mr. Robert tell her where? And couldn't he
get him away at once? Mr. Robert had almost
gone hoarse tryin' to explain why he couldn't.
But after every try she'd come back with this
wail:

"Oh, but you don't understand what it is
to be a mother!"

" Thank the stars I don't!" says he, as he
marches out of the room.

I was for clearin' out so he'd be free to
shoo her in any style he wanted to. We'd
been havin' dinner with the Ellinses, Vee and
I, and it was time to go home anyway. But
there's no budgin' Vee.

"Don't you think Torchy might find out
where he is?" she suggests. "Bein' in the
army himself, you know, and so clever at that
sort of thing, I should think '

"Why, to be sure," breaks in Mr. Robert,
perkin' up all of a sudden and starin' at me.
"Lieutenant Torchy to the rescue, of course.
He's the very one."

"Ah, say, how'd you get that way?" says
I. "Back up!"

He's off, though, callin' Mrs. Stanton Bliss.
And before I can escape he's sickin' her on
real enthusiastic. Also there's Vee urgin' me

AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED 177

to see if I can't do something to locate Wil
fred. So I had to make the stab.

4 'Got that wire with you!" I asks.

Yes, Mrs. Bliss had all the documents right
handy. I takes the yellow sheet over under
the readin' lamp and squints at it sleuthy,
partly to kill time, and partly because I could
n't think of anything else to do. And of course
they all have to gather round and watch me
close, as if I was about to pull some miracle.
Foolish! It was a great deal worse than
that.

( ' H-m-m-m-m ! " says I. "Philadelphia. I
suppose there's some sort of naval trainin'
station there, eh?"

Mr. Robert says there is.

''But if Wilfred was at it," I goes on, "and
didn't want you to find him, he wouldn't have
sent this from there, would he?"

Mrs. Stanton Bliss sighs. "I'm sure I don't
know," says she. "I — I suppose not."

"Must be somewhere within strikin' dis
tance of Philadelphia, though," says I. "Now,
what camp is near?"

"Couldn't we wire someone in Washington
and find out?" asks Mrs. Bliss.

"Sure," says I. "And we'd get an official
answer from the Secretary of War about 11

178 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

A.M. next spring. It'll be a lot quicker to call
up Whitey Weeks."

They don't know everything in newspaper
offices, but there are mighty few things they
can't find out. Whitey, though, didn't even
have to consult the copy desk or the clippin'
bureau.

"About the nearest big one," says he, "is
the Ambulance Corps Camp at Allentown.
Somewhere up on the Lehigh. S'long."

Here was another jolt for Mrs. Stanton
Bliss. The Ambulance Corps! She near
keeled over again, just hearin' me say it. Oh,
oh! Did I really believe Wilfred could have
been as rash as that?

"Why," says she, "they drive right up to
the trenches, don't they? Isn't that fearfully
dangerous?"

"War isn't a parlor pastime," puts in Mr.
Robert. "And the ambulance drivers take
their chances with the rest of the men. But
there's no fightin' going on at Allentown. If
Wilfred is there "

"If he is," cuts in Mrs. Bliss, "I must go to
him this very moment."

Some way that statement seemed to cheer
Mr. Robert up a lot.

"Naturally," says he. "I'll look up a train

AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED 179

for you. Just a second. In the A's. Allen-
town — Allen. Ah, page 156. M-m-m. Here
you are. First one starts at 2 A.M. and gets
you in at 5.15. Will that do?"

Mrs. Bliss turns on him sort of dazed, and
blinks them round eyes of hers. She's a fairly
well put up old girl, you know, built sort of on
the pouter-pigeon type, but with good lines
below the waist, and a complexion that she's
taken lots of pains with. Dresses real classy,
and, back to, she's often mistaken for daughter
Marion. Travels in quite a gay bunch, I under
stand, with Mr. Stanton Bliss kind of trailin'
along behind. Usually, when she ain't indulg-
in' in hysterics, she has very fetchin' kittenish
ways. You know the kind. Their specialty's
makin' the surroundin' males jump through
the hoop for 'em. But when it comes to arriv-
in' anywhere at 5.15 A.M. — well, not for her.

"I should be a sight," says she.

"You'd still be a mother, wouldn't you?"
asks Mr. Robert.

It was rough of him, as he was given to
understand by the looks of all three ladies
present, includin' Mrs. Robert; so he tries to
square himself by lookin' up a ten o'clock
train, all Pullman, with diner and observation.

"I would gladly take you up myself," says

180 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

he, lyin ' fluent, * ' if I didn 't have to go back to
my boat. But here is Torchy. He'll go, I
suppose."

"Of course," says Vee.

And that's how I came to be occupyin'
drawin '-room A, along with mother and sister
Marion, as we breezes up into the Pennsylvania
hills on this Wilfred hunt. A gushy, giggly
young party Marion is, but she turns out to
be quite a help. It was her who spots the
two young soldiers driftin' through towards
the smokin' compartment, and suggests that
maybe they're goin' to the same camp.

"And they would know if Wilfred Was
there, wouldn't they?" she adds.

"Maybe," says I. "I'll go ask."

Nice, clean-cut young chaps they was.
They'd stretched out comfortable on the
leather seats, and was enjoyin' a perfectly
good smoke, until I shows up. The minute I
appears, though, they chucks their cigars and
jumps up, heels together, right hand to the
hat-brim. That's what I get by havin' this
dinky bar on my shoulders.

"Can it, boys," says I. "This is unofficial."

"At ease, sir?" suggests one.

"As easy as you know how," says I.

Yes, they says they're ambulancers; on their

AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED 181

way back to Allentown, too. But they didn't
happen to know of any Wilfred Stanton Bliss
there.

"You see, sir," says one, " there are about
five thousand of us, so he might "

"Sure!" says I. "But mother '11 want an
affidavit. Would you mind droppin' in and
bein' cross-examined? There's sister Marion,
too."

Obligin' chaps, they were; let me tow 'em
into the drawin'-room, listened patient while
Mrs. Bliss described just how Wilfred looked,
and tried their best to remember havin' seen
such a party. Also they gave her their ex
pert opinion on how long the war was goin'
to last, when Wilfred would be sent over, and
what chances he stood of comin' back without
a scratch.

Once more it was Marion who threw the
switch.

"Tell me," says she, "will he be wearing a
uniform just like yours?"

They said he would.

"Oh!" gurgles Marion, "I think it is per
fectly spiffy. Don't you, mother? I'm just
crazy to see Wilfred in one."

Mother catches the enthusiasm. "My noble
boy!" says she, rollin' her eyes up.

182 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

From then on she's quite chipper. The
idea of findin' sonny made over into a smart,
dashin' soldier seemed to crowd out all the
panicky thoughts she'd been havin'. From
little hints she let drop, I judged that she was
already picturin' him as a gallant hero, strut-
tin' around haughty and givin' off stern com
mands. Maybe he'd been made a captain or
something. Surely they would soon see that
her Wilfred ought to be an officer of some
kind.

"And we must have his portrait painted,"
she remarks, claspin' her hands excited as
the happy thought strikes her.

The boys looked steady out of the window
and managed to smother the smiles. I imagine
they'd seen all sorts of mothers come to camp.

It's a lively little burg, Allentown, even if
I didn't know it was on the map before. At
the station you take a trolley that runs straight
through the town and out to the fair grounds,
where the camp is located. Goin' up the hill,
you pass through the square and by the Sol
diers' Monument. Say, it's some monument,
too. Then out a long street lined with nice,
comf ortable-lookin ' homes, until you get a
glimpse of blue hills rollin' away as far as
you can see, and there you are.

AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED 183

The boys piloted us past the guard at the
gates, through a grove of trees, and left us
at the information bureau, where a soldier
wearin' shell-rimmed glasses listened patient
while mother and sister both talked at
once.

"Bliss? Just a moment," says he, reachin'
for a card-index box. "Yes, ma'am. Wilfred
Stanton. He's here."

"But where?" demands Mrs. Bliss.

"Why," says the soldier, "he's listed with
the casuals just now. Quartered in the cow-
barn."

"The — the cow-barn!" gasps Mrs. Bliss.

The soldier grins.

"It's over that way," says he, wavin' his
hand. "Anyone will tell you."

They did. We wandered on and on, past
the parade ground that used to be the trottin'
track, past new barracks that was being
knocked together hasty, until we comes to this
dingy white buildin' with all the underwear
hung up to dry around it. I took one glance
inside, where the cots was stacked in thick and
soldiers was loafin' around in various stages
of dress and undress, and then I shooed mother
and sister off a ways while I went scoutin' in
alone. At a desk made out of a packin'-box

184 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

I found a chap hammerin' away at a type
writer. He salutes and goes to attention.

"Yes, sir," says he, when I've told him
who I'm lookin' for. "Squeaky Bliss. But
he's on duty just now, sir."

I suggests that his mother and sister are
here and would like to have a glimpse of him
right away.

"They'd better wait until after five, sir,"
says he.

"I wouldn't like to try holdin' 'em in that
long," says I.

"Very well, sir," says he. " Squeaky 's on
fatigue. Somewhere down at the further end
of the grand stand you might catch him. But
if it's his mother — well, I'd wait."

I passes this advice on to Mrs. Bliss.

"The idea!" says she. "I wish to see my
noble soldier boy at once. Come."

So we went. There was no scarcity of
young fellows in olive drab. The place was
thick with 'em. Squads were drillin' every
way you looked, and out in the center of the
field, where two or three hundred new ambu
lances were lined up, more squads were study-
in' the insides of the motor, or practicin'
loadin' in stretchers. Hundreds and hundreds
of young fellows in uniform, all lookin' just

AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED 185

alike. I didn't wonder that mother couldn't
pick out sonny boy.

"What was it that man said!" she asks.
" Wilfred on fatigue. Does that mean he is
resting?"

"Not exactly," says I.

About then sister Marion begins to exhibit
jumpy emotions.

"Mother! Mother!" says she, starin'
straight ahead. "Look!"

All I could see was a greasy old truck
backed up in front of some low windows under
the grand stand, with half a dozen young
toughs in smeary blue overalls jugglin' a load
of galvanized iron cans. Looked like garbage
cans; smelled that way too. And the gang
that was handlin' 'em — well, most of 'em
had had their heads shaved, and in that rig
they certainly did look like a bunch from Sing
Sing.

I was just nudgin' sister to move along,
when Mrs. Bliss lets out this choky cry:

"Wilfred!" says she.

She hadn't made any mistake, either. It
was sonny, all right. And you should have
seen his face as he swings around and finds
who's watchin' him. If it hadn't been for the
bunkie who was helpin' him lift that can of

186 THE HOUSE OF TOKCHY

sloppy stuff on to the tail of the truck, there 'd
been a fine spill, too.

"My boy! Wilfred!" calls Mrs. Stanton
Bliss, holdin' out her arms invitin' and dra
matic.

Now, in the first place, Wilfred was in no
shape to be the party of the second part in
a motherly clinch act. It's messy work, load-
in' garbage cans, and he's peeled down for it.
He was costumed in a pair of overalls that
would have stood in the corner all by them
selves, and an army undershirt with one sleeve
half ripped off.

In the second place, all the rest of the bunch
was wearin' broad grins, and he knew it. So
he don't rush over at once. Instead he steps
around to the front of the truck and salutes
a husky, freckled-necked young sergeant who's
sittin' behind the steerin' wheel.

"Family, sir," says Wilfred. "What—
what '11 I do?"

The sergeant takes one look over his shoulder.

"Oh, well," says he, "drop out until next
load."

Not until Wilfred had led us around the
corner does he express his feelin's.

"For the love of Mike, mother!" says he.
'"Wasn't it bad enough without your springin'

that <muh boy!' stuff? Bight before all the
fellows, too. Good-night!"

"But, Wilfred," insists mother, "what does
this mean? Why do I find you — well, like
this? Oh, it's too dreadful for words. WTio
has done this to you — and why?"

Jerky, little by little, Wilfred sketches out
the answer. Army life wasn't what he'd ex
pected. Not at all. He was sore on the whole
business. He'd been let in for it, that was all.
It wasn't so bad for some of the fellows, but
they'd been lucky. As for him — well, he'd
come here to learn to be an ambulance driver,
and he had spent his first week in the kitchen,
peelin' potatoes. Then, when they'd let him
off that, and given him his first pass to go to
town, just because he'd been a little late comin'
back they'd jumped on him somethin' fierce.
They'd shoved him on this garbage detail.
He'd been on it ever since.

"It's that mucker of a top sergeant, Quig-
ley," says Wilfred. "He's got it in for
me."

Mrs. Stanton Bliss straightens out her chin
dimple as she glares after the garbage truck,
which is rollin' away in the distance.

"Has he, indeed!" says she. "We will see
about that, then."

188 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"But you must handle him easy, mother, "
warns Wilfred.

"That person !" snorts mother. "I shall
have nothing to do with him whatever. I
mean to get you out of this, Wilfred. I am go
ing straight to the general."

"Now, mother!" protests Wilfred. "Don't
make a scene."

When she was properly stirred up, though,
that was mother's long suit. And she starts
right in. Course, I tried to head her off, but
it's no use. As there wasn't a general handy,
she had to be satisfied with a major. Seemed
like a mighty busy major, too; but when he
heard his orderly tryin' to shunt the ladies, he
gives the signal to let 'em in. You can bet
I didn't follow. Didn't have to, for Mrs. Bliss
wasn't doin' any whisperin' about then.

And she sure made it plain to the major
how little she thought of the U. S. Army, and
specially that part of it located at Allentown,
Pa. Havin' got that off her chest, and been
listened to patient, she demands that Wilfred
be excused from all his disgustin' duties, and
be allowed to go home with her at once and for
good.

The major shakes his head. "Impossible!"
says he.

AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED 189

"Then," says Mrs. Stanton Bliss, tossin*
her head, "I shall appeal to the Secretary of
War; to the President, if necessary."

The major smiles weary. "You'd best talk
to his sergeant," says he. "If he recommends
your son's discharge it may go through."

"That person!" exclaims Mrs. Bliss.
"Never! I — I might talk to his captain."

"Useless, madam," says the major. "See
his sergeant; he's the one."

And he signifies polite that the interview is
over.

When mother tells sonny the result of this
visit to headquarters, he shrugs his shoulders.

"I knew it would be that way," says he.
"They've got me, and I've got to stand for it.
No use askin' Quigley. You might as well go
home."

"But at least you can get away long enough
to have dinner with us," says mother.

"Nothing doin'," says Wilfred. "Can't get
out unless Quigley signs a pass, and he
won't."

"Oh, come!" says I. "He don't look so bad
as all that. Let me see what I can do with
him."

Well, after I'd chased the ladies back to the
hotel with instructions to wait hopeful, I hunts

190 THE HOUSE OF TOKCHY

up Top Sergeant Quigley. Had quite a re-
vealin' chat with him, too. Come to look at
him close after he'd washed up, he's rather
decent appearin'. Face seems sort of familiar,
too.

"Didn't you play first base for the Ford-
hams?" I asks.

"Oh, that was back in '14," says he.

"As I remember," says I, "you was some
star on the bag, though. Now, about young
Bliss. Case of mommer's pet, you know."

"He had that tag all over him," says Quig
ley. "But we're knockin' a lot of that out of
him. He's comin' on."

"Good!" says I. "Would it stop the process
to let him off for an evenin' with the folks —
dinner and so on?"

"Why, no; I guess not," says Quigley.
"Might do him good. But he must apply
himself. Send him along."

So a half hour later I sat on a cot in the
cow-barn and watched Wilfred, fresh from the
shower bath, get into his army uniform.

"Say," he remarks, strugglin' through his
khaki shirt, "I didn't think old Quig would
do it."

"Seemed glad to," says I. "Said you was
comin' on fine."

AT THE TURN WITH WILFRED 191

'" He did? "gasps Wilfred. "Quigley? Well,
what do you know!"

Not such a bad imitation of a soldier, Wil
fred, when he'd laced up the leggins and got
the snappy-cut coat buttoned tight. He's some
different from what he was when sister first
discovered him. And we had quite a gay din
ner together.

First off mother was for campin' right down
there indefinitely, where she could see her dar-
lin' boy every day; but between Wilfred and
me we persuaded her different. I expect the
hotel quarters had something to do with it, too.
Anyway, after Wilfred had promised to try
for a couple of days off soon, for a visit home,
she consents to start back in the mornin'.

"What I dread most, Wilfred," says she,
"is leaving you at the mercy of that horrid
sergeant." /

"Oh, I'll get along with him somehow," says
Wilfred. "I'm goin' to try, anyway."

And right there, as I understand it, Wilfred
Stanton Bliss started to be a man and a sol
dier. He had a long way to go, though, it
seemed to me.

So here the other day, only a couple of weeks
since we made our trip, I'm some surprised to
see who it is givin' me the zippy salute on the

192 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

station platform out home. Yes, it's Wilfred.
And say, he's got his shoulders squared, he's
carryin' his chin up, and he's wearin' his uni
form like it grew on him.

"Well, well!" says I. "Got your furlough,
eh?"

"Yes, sir," says he. "Seventy-two hours.
Had a whale of a time, too. You can't guess
who I brought home with me, I'll bet."

I couldn't.

"Our top sergeant — Quigley," says he.
"Say, he's all right. He's had us transferred
to the best barracks in camp. Guess we de
serve it, too, for we 're on the way to bein ' the
crackerjack section of them all. You ought to
see us drill. Some class! And it's all due to
Quigley. Do you know what he thinks! That
we're slated among the next lot to go over.
How about that, sir? Won't that be great?"

4 * Huh ! ' ' says I. l ' How long ago was it you
signed up, Wilfred?"

"Just six weeks, sir," says he.

"Whiffo!" says I, gawpin' at him. "If we
had about a hundred thousand Quigleys!"

CHAPTER XII

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP

"BUT listen, Vee," says I. "If Hoover
can't pnll it off, with all the backin' he's got,
what's the use of a few of you women mixin'
in?"

"At least we can try," says Vee. "The
prices this Belcher person is charging are
something outrageous. Eggs ninety cents!"

"We should worry," says I. "Ain't we
got nearly a hundred hens on the job?"

"But others haven't," says Vee. "Those
people in that row of little cottages down by
the station. The Walters, for instance. He
can't get more than twenty-five or thirty dol
lars a week, can he?"

"There's so many cases you can't figure
out," says I. "Maybe he scrubs along on small
steaks or fried chicken."

"It's no joking matter," protests Vee. "Of
course there are plenty of people worse off
then the Walters. That Mrs. Burke, whose two
boys are in the Sixty-ninth. She must do her

193

194 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

marketing at Belcher's, too. Think of her
having to pay those awful prices!"

"I would," says I, "if workin' up a case of
glooms was any use; but I can't see "

"We can see enough," breaks in Vee. "The
new Belcher limousine, the additions to their
hideous big house. All made, too, out of food
profiteering right here. It's got to stop, that's
all."

Which is where I should have shouted
"Kamerad" and come runnin' out with my
hands up, but I tried to show her that Belcher
was only playin' the game like everyone else
was playin' it.

"He ain't springin' anything new," says I.
"He's just followin' the mob. They're all
doin' it, from the Steel Trust down to the
push-cart men. And when you come to inter-
ferin' with business — well, that's serious."

"Humph!" says Vee. "When it comes to
taking advantage of poor people and depriv
ing them of enough to eat, I call it plain pi
racy. And you ought to be ashamed of your
self, Torchy, standing up for such things."

So you see I was about as convincin' as a
jazz band tryin' to imitate the Metropolitan
orchestra doin' the overture to "Lucia." If I
hadn't finally had sense enough to switch the

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 195

subject a little, there might have been a poutin'
scene and maybe a double case of sulks. But
when I got to askin' where she'd collected all
this grouch against our local meat and pro
vision octopus, she cheers up again.

Seems she'd been to a Bed Cross meetin'
that afternoon, where a lot of the ladies was
swappin' tales of woe about their kitchen ex
pense accounts. Some of 'em had been keep-
in' track of prices in the city markets and was
able to shoot the deadly parallel at Belcher..
Anyway, they ditched the sweater-knittin ' and
bandage-rollin' for the time bein', and pro
ceeded to organize the Woman's Economic
League on the spot.

''Sounds impressive," says I. "And what
then? Did you try Belcher for treason, find
him guilty, and sentence him to be shot at sun
rise?"

Vee proves that she's good-natured again
by runnin' her tongue out at me.

"We did not, Smarty," says she. "But we
passed a resolution condemning such extortion
severely. ' '

"How rough of you!" says I. "Any thing-
else?"

"Yes," says Vee. "We appointed a com
mittee to tell him he'd better stop."

196 THE HOUSE OP TORCHY

"Fine!" says I. "I expect he'll have every
thing marked down about forty per cent, by
to-morrow night."

Somehow, it didn't work out just that way.
Next report I got from Vee was that the com
mittee had interviewed Belcher, but there was
nothing doin'. He'd been awfully nice to 'em,
even if he had talked through his cigar part
of the time.

Belcher says he feels just as bad as they
about havin' to soak on such stiff prices. But
how can he help it? The cold-storage people
are boostin' their schedules every day. They
ain't to blame, either. They're bein' held up
by the farmers out West who are havin' their
hair cut too often. Besides, all the hens in the
country have quit layin' and joined the I. W.
W., and every kind of meat is scarce on ac
count of Pershing's men developin' such big
appetites. He's sorry, but he's doin' his best,
considerin' the war and everything. If peo
ple would only get the habit of usin' corn meal
for their pie crusts, everything would be lovely
once more.

"An alibi on every count," says I. "I ex
pect the committee apologized."

"Very nearly that," says Vee. "The sillies!

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 197

I just wish I'd been there. I don't believe
half of what he said is true."

"That's one thing," says I, "but provin*
it on him would be another. And there's
where Belcher's got you."

Course, I like to watch Vee in action, for she
sure is a humdinger when she gets started,
As a rule, too, I don't believe in tryin' to-
block her off in any of her little enterprises.

But here was once where it seemed to me she
was up against a hopeless proposition. So I
goes on to point out, sort of gentle and sooth-
in', how war prices couldn't be helped, any
more'n you could stop the tide from comin' in.

Oh, I'm some smooth suggester, I am, when
you get into fireside diplomacy. Anyway, the
price of eggs wasn't mentioned again that eve-
nin'. As a matter of fact, Vee ain't troubled
much with marketm' details, for Madame Bat-
tou, wife of the little old Frenchman who does
the cheffing for us so artistic, attends to lay-
in' in the supplies. And, believe me, when she
sails forth with her market basket you can be
sure she's goin' to get sixteen ounces to the
pound and the rock bottom price on every
thing. No 'phone orders for her. I don't be
lieve Vee knew what the inside of Belcher's
store looks like. I'm sure I didn't.

198 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

So I thought the big drive on the roast beef
and canned goods sector had been called off.
About that time, too, I got another inspection
detail handed me, — and I didn't see my happy
home until another week-end.

I lands back on Broadway at 9 A.M. Havin'
reported at the Corrugated general offices and
found Old Hickory out of town, I declares a
special holiday and beats it out to the part of
Long Island I'm beginnin' to know best.
Struck me Professor Battou held his face kind
of funny when he saw me blow in ; and as I
asks for Vee, him and the madam swaps
glances. He say she's out.

"Oh," says I. "Mornin' call up at the
Ellinses', eh? I'll stroll up that way, myself,
then."

Leon hesitates a minute, like he was chokin'
over something, and then remarks: "But no,
M'sieur. Madame, I think, is in the village."

"Why," says I, "I just came from the sta
tion. I didn't see the car around. How long
has she been gone?"

Another exchange of looks, and then Battou
answers :

"She goes at seven."

"Whaddye mean goes?" says I. "It ain't
a habit of hers, is it?"

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 199

Leon nods.

"All this week," says he. "She goes to the
meat and grocery establishment, I under
stand."

"Belcher's?" says I. "But what— what's
the idea?"

"I think it would be best if M'sieur asked
Madame," says he.

"That's right, too," says I.

You can guess I was some puzzled. Was
Vee doin' the spy act on Belcher, watchin'
him open the store and spendin' the forenoon
concealed in a crockery crate or something!
No, that didn't sound reasonable. But what
the — Meanwhile I was leggin' it down
towards the village.

It's a busy place, Belcher's, specially on
Saturday forenoon. Out front three or four
delivery trucks was bein' loaded up, and inside
a lot of clerks was jumpin' round. Among
the customers was two Jap butlers, three or
four Swedish maids, and some of the women
from the village. But no Vee anywhere in
sight.

Loomin' prominent in the midst of all this
active tradin' is Belcher himself, a thick-
necked, ruddy-cheeked party, with bristly black
hair cut shoe-brush style and growing down.

200 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

to a point in front. His big, bulgy eyes are
cold and fishy, but they seem to take in every
thing that's goin' on. I hadn't been standin'
around more'n half a minute before he snaps
his finger, and a clerk comes hustlin' over to
ask what I'll have.

"Box of ginger-snaps," says I offhand;
and a minute later I'm bein' shunted
towards a wire-cage with a cash slip in
my hand.

I'd dug up a quarter, and was waitin' for
the change to be passed out through the little
window, when I hears a familiar snicker.
Then I glances in to see who's presidin' at
the cash register. And say, of all the sudden
jolts I ever got! It's Vee.

"Well, for the love of soup !" I gasps.

"Twelve out — thirteen. That's right, isn't
it? Thank you so much, sir," says she, her
gray eyes twinklin'.

"Quit the kiddin'," says I, "and sketch out
the plot of the piece."

"Can't now," says Vee. "So run along.
Please!"

"But how long does this act of yours last!"
I insists.

"Until about noon, I think," says she. "It's
such fun. You can't imagine."

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 201

1 ' What's it for, though?" says I. "Are you
pullin' a sleuth stunt on-^

"S-s-s-sh!" warns Vee. "He's coming.
Pretend to be getting a bill changed or some
thing."

It's while I'm fishin' out a ten that this
little dialogue at the meat counter begins to
get conspicuous : A thin, stoop-shouldered fe
male with gray streaks in her hair is puttin'
up a howl at the price of corned beef. She'd
asked for the cheapest piece they had, and it
had been weighed for her, but still she wasn't
satisfied.

"It wasn't as high last Saturday," she ob
jects.

"No, ma'am," says the clerk. "It's gone
up since."

"Worse luck," says she, pokin' the piece
with her finger. "And this is nearly all bone
and fat. Now couldn't you "

"I'll ask the boss, ma'am," says the clerk.
"Here he is."

Belcher has come over and is listenin', glar-
in' hostile at the woman.

"It's Mrs. Burke, the one whose sons are
in the army," whispers Vee.

"Well?" demands Belcher.

202 THE HOUSE OP TORCHY

"It's so much to pay for meat like that,"
says Mrs. Burke. "If you could—

"Take it or leave it," snaps Belcher.

"Sure now," says she, "you know I can't
afford to give "

"Then get out!" orders Belcher.

At which Vee swings open the door of the
cage, brushes past me, and faces him with her
eyes snappin'.

"Pig!" says she explosive.

"Wha-a-a-at!" gasps Belcher, gawpin* at
her.

"I — I beg pardon," says Vee. "I shouldn't
have said that, even if it was so."

"You — you're discharged, you!" roars Bel
cher.

"Isn't that nice?" says Vee, reachin' for
her hat and coat. "Then I can go home with
my husband, I suppose. And if I have earned
any of that princely salary — five dollars a
week, it was to be, wasn't it? — well, you may
credit it to my account: Mrs. Richard Tabor
Ballard, you know. Come, Torchy."

Say, I always did suspect there was mighty
few things Vee was afraid of, but I never
thought she had so much clear grit stowed
away in her system. For to sail past Belcher
the way he looked then took a heap of nerve,

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 203

believe me. But before he can get that thick
tongue of his limbered up we're outside, with
Vee snuggled up mufflin' the giggles against
my coat sleeve.

1 'Oh, it's been such a lark, Torchy!" says
she. "I've passed as Miss Hemmingway for
six days, and I don't believe more than three
or four persons have suspected. Thank good
ness, Belcher wasn't one of them. For I've
learned — oh, such a lot!"

"Let's start at the beginning," says I.
"Why did you do it at all?"

"Because the committee was so ready to
believe the whoppers he told," says Vee.
"And they wanted to disband the League, espe
cially that Mrs. Norton Plummer, whose hus
band is a lawyer. She was almost disagree
able about it. Truly. 'But, my dear,' she said
to me, 'one can't act merely on rumor and
prejudice. If we had a few facts or figures
it might be different.' And you know that
sour smile of hers. Well! That's why I did
it. I asked them to give me ten days. And
now "

Vee finishes by squeezin' my arm.

"But how'd you come to break in so
prompt!" I asks. "Did you mesmerize Bel
cher?"

204 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"I bought up his cashier — paid her to re
port that she was ill," says Vee. "Then I
smoothed back my hair, put on this old black
dress, and went begging for the job. That's
when I began to know Mr. Belcher. He's quite
a different person when he is hiring a cashier
from the one you see talking to customers.
Keally, I've never been looked at that way
before — as if I were some sort of insect. But
when he found I would work cheap, and
could get Mrs. Robert Ellins to go on
my bond if I should turn out a thief, he
took me on.

"Getting up so early was a bit hard, and
eating a cold luncheon harder still ; but worst
of all was having to hear him growl and snap
at the clerks. Oh, he's perfectly horrid. I
don't see how they stand it. Of course, I had
my share. 'Miss Blockhead' was his pet name
for me."

"Huh!" says I, grittin' my teeth.

"Meaning that you'd like to tell Belcher a
few things yourself?" asks Vee. "Well, you
needn't. I'd no right to be there, for one
thing. And, for another, this is my own par
ticular affair. I know what I am going to do
to Mr. Belcher; at least, what I'm going to
try to do. Anyway, I shall have some figures

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 205

to put before our committee Monday. Then
we shall see."

Yep, she had the goods on him. I helped
her straighten out the evidence : copies of com
mission-house bills showin' what he had paid
for stuff, and duplicates of sales-slips givin'
the retail prices he got. And say, all he was
stickin' on was from thirty to sixty per cent,
profit.

He didn't always wait for the wholesaler to
start the boosting either. Vee points out where
he has jacked up the price three times on
the same shipment — just as the spell took him.
He'd be readin' away in his MOT gen Blather
skite, and all of a sudden he'd jump out of his
chair. I'm no expert on provision prices, but
some of them items had me bug-eyed.

"Why," says I, "it looks like this Belcher
party meant to discourage eatin' altogether.
Couldn't do better if he was runnin' a dinin'-
car."

"It's robbery, that's what it is," says Vee.
"And when you think that his chief victims
are such helpless people as the Burkes and the
Walters — well, it's little less than criminal."

"It's a rough deal," I admits, "but one
that's bein' pulled in the best circles. War
profits are what everybody seems to be out

206 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

after these days, and I don't see how you're
going to stop it."

"I mean to try to stop Belcher, anyway,"
says Vee, tossin' her chin up.

"You ain't got much show," says I; "but
go to it."

Just how much fight there was in Vee,
though, I didn't have any idea of until I saw
her Monday evenin' after another meetin' of
the League. It seems she'd met this Mrs.
Norton Plummer on her own ground and had
smeared her all over the map.

"What do you suppose she wanted to do!"
demands Vee. "Pass more resolutions! Well,
I told her just what I thought of that. As
well pin a 'Please-keep-out' notice on your
door to scare away burglars as to send reso
lutions to Belcher. And when I showed her
what profits he was making, item by item, she
hadn't another word to say. Then I proposed
my plan."

"EM" says I. "What's it like?"

"We are going to start a store of our own,"
says Vee — just like that, offhand and casual.

"You are?" says I. "But — but who's goin'
to run it?"

"They made me chairman of the sub-com
mittee," says Vee. "And then I made them

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 207

subscribe to a campaign fund. Five thou
sand. We raised it in as many minutes. And
now — well, I suppose I'm in for it."

" Listens that way to me," says I.

"Then I may as well begin," says she.

And say, there's nothin' draggy about Vee
when she really goes over the top. While
I'm dressin' for dinner she calls up a real
estate dealer and leases a vacant store in the
other end of the block from Belcher's. Be
tween the roast and salad she uses the 'phone
some more and drafts half a dozen young
ladies from the Country Club set to act as
relay clerks. Later on in the evenin' she
rounds up Major Percy Thomson, who's been
invalided home from the Quartermaster's De
partment on account of a game knee, and gets
him to serve as buyin' agent for a week or so.
Her next move is to charter a couple of three-
ton motor-trucks to haul supplies out from
town ; and when I went to sleep she was still
jottin' things down on a pad to be attended
to in the mornin'.

For two or three days nothin' much seemed
to happen. The windows of that vacant store
was whitened mysterious, carpenters were
hammerin' away inside, and now and then a
truck backed up and was unloaded. But no

208 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

word was given out as to what was goin'
to be sprung. Not until Friday mornin'.
Then the commuters on the 8.03 was hit bang
in the eye by a whalin' big red, white, and
blue sign announcin' that the W. E. L. Supply
Company was open for business.

Course, it was kind of crude compared to
Belcher's. No fancy counters or showcases or
window displays of cracker-boxes. And the
stock was limited to staples that could be
handled easy. But the price bulletins posted
up outside was what made some of them gents
who'd been doin' the fam'ly marketin' stop
and stare. A few of 'em turned halfway
to the station and dashed back to leave their
orders. Goin' into town they spread the
news through the train. The story of that
latest bag of U-boats, which the mornin' papers
all carried screamers about, was almost thrown
into the discard. If I hadn't been due for
a ten o'clock committee meetin' at the Corru
gated, I'd have stayed out and watched the
openin'. Havin' told Old Hickory about it,
though, I was on hand next mornin' with a
whole day's furlough.

"It ought to be our big day," says Vee.

It was. For one thing, everybody was stock-
in' up for over Sunday, and with the backin'

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 209

of the League the Supply Company could
count on about fifty good customers as a
starter. Most of the ladies came themselves,
rollin' up in limousines or tourin' cars and
cartin' home their own stuff. Also the cottage
people, who'd got wind of the big mark-down
bargains, begun to come in bunches, every
woman with a basket.

But they didn't swamp Vee. She'd already
added to her force of young lady clerks a
squad of hand-picked Boy Scouts, and it was
my job to manage the youngsters.

I'd worked out the system the night before.
Each one had typed price lists in his pocket,
and besides that I'd put 'em through an hour's
drill on weights and measures before the show
started.

I don't know when it was Belcher begun to
get wise and start his counter-attack; but the
first time I had a chance to slip out and take
a squint his way, I saw this whackin' big sign
in front of his place: "Potatoes, 40 cents per
peck." Which I promptly reports to Vee.

"Very well," says she; "we'll make ours
thirty-five. ' '

Inside of ten minutes we had a bulletin out
twice as big as his.

"Now I guess he'll be good," says I.

210 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

But he had a scrap or two left in him, it
seems. Pretty soon he cuts the price to thirty.

"We'll make it twenty-five," says Vee.

And by eleven o'clock Belcher has countered
with potatoes at twenty cents.

"Why," gasps Vee, "that's far less than they
cost at wholesale. But we can't let him beat
us. Make ours twenty, too."

"Excuse me, ma'am," puts in one of the
Scouts, salutin', "but we've run out of pota
toes."

"Oh, boy! " says I. "Where do we go from
here?"

Vee hesitates only long enough to draw a
deep breath.

"Torchy," says she, "I have it. Form your
boys into a basket brigade, and buy out Bel
cher below the market."

Talk about your frenzied finance! Wasn't
that puttin' it over on him! For two hours,
there, we went long on Belcher's potatoes at
twenty, until his supply ran out too. Then
he switched to sugar and butter. Quotations
went off as fast as when the bottom drops
out of a bull market. All we had to do to
hammer down the prices of anything in the
food line, whether we had it or not, was to
stick out a cut-rate sign — Belcher was sure to

VEE GOES OVEE THE TOP 211

go it one better; and when Vee got it far
enough below cost, she started her buyin' corps,
workin' in customers, clerks, and anybody that
was handy. And by night if every fam'ly
within five miles hadn't stocked up on bar
gain provisions it was their own fault; for
if they didn't have cash of their own
Vee was right there with the long-distance
credit.

"I'll bet you've got old Belcher frothin'
through his ears," says I.

"I hope so," says Vee.

The followin' Monday, though, he comes back
at her with his big push. He had the whole
front of his store plastered with below-cost
bulletins.

"Pooh!" says Vee. "I can have signs like
that painted, too."

And she did. It didn't bother her a bit if
her stock ran out. She kept up on the cut-
rate game, and when people asked for things
she didn't have she just sent 'em to Belcher's.

Maybe you saw what some of the papers
printed. Course, they joshed the ladies more
or less, but also they played up a peppery in
terview with Belcher which got him in bad
with everybody. Vee wasn't so pleased at the
publicity stuff, but she didn't squeal.

212 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

What was worryin' me some was how soon
the grand smash was comin'. I knew that the
campaign fund had been whittled into consider
able, and now that prices had been slashed
there was no chance for profits.

It was botherin' Vee some, too, for she'd
promised not to assess the League members
again unless she could show 'em where they
were comin' out. By the middle of the
week things looked squally. Belcher had
given out word that he meant to bust up
this fool woman's opposition, if it took his
last cent.

Then, here the other night, I comes home to
find Vee wearin' a satisfied grin. As I comes
in she jumps up from her desk and waves a
check at me.

1 'Look!" says she. "Five thousand! I've
got it back, Torchy, every dollar."

"Eh?" says I. "You ain't sold out to Bel
cher?"

"I should say not," says she. "To the
Noonan chain. Mr. Noonan came himself.
He'd read about our fight in the newspapers,
and said he'd be glad to take it off our hands.
He 's been wanting to establish a branch in this
district. Five thousand for stock and good will.
What do you think of that?"

VEE GOES OVER THE TOP 213

"I ain't thinkm'," says I. "I'm just gasp-
in' for breath. Noonan, eh? Then I see where
Belcher gets off. And if you don't mind my
whisperin' in your ear, Vee, you're some
whizz. ' '

CHAPTER XHI

LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT

VEE and I were goin' over some old snap
shots the other night. It 's done now and then,
you know. Not deliberate. I'll admit that's
a pastime you wouldn't get all worked up
over plannin' ahead for. Tuesday mornin',
say, you don't remark breathless: "I'll tell
you : Saturday night at nine-thirty let 's get out
them last year's prints and give 'em the com-
p'ny front."

It don't happen that way — not with our
sketch. What I was grapplin' for in the bot
tom of the window-seat locker was something
different — maybe a marshmallow fork, or a
corn-popper, or a catalogue of bath-room fix
tures. Anyway, it was something we thought
we wanted a lot, when I digs up this album
of views that Vee took durin' that treasure-
huntin' cruise of ours last winter on the old
Agnes, with Auntie and Old Hickory and Cap
tain Rupert Killam and the rest of the bunch.
I was just tossin' the book one side when a

214

LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT 215

picture slips out, and of course I has to take
a squint. Then I chuckles.

"Look!" says I, luggin' it over to where
Vee is curled up on the davenport in front
of the fireplace. " Remember that?"

A giggle from Vee.

" l Auntie enjoying a half -hour eulogy of the
dear departed, by Mrs. Mumford,' should be
the title," says she. "She'd been sound asleep
for twenty minutes."

"Which is what you might call good de
fensive," says I. "But who's this gazin' over
the rail beyond — J. Dudley Simms, or is that a
ventilator?"

"Let's see," says Vee, reachin' for the
readin' glass. "Why, you silly! That's Cap
tain Killam."

"Oh!" says I. "Reckless Rupert, the great
mind-play hero."

"I wonder what has become of him?" puts
in Vee, restin' her chin on the knuckle of her
forefinger and starin' into the fire.

"Him?" says I. "Most likely he's back in
St. Petersburg, Florida, all dolled in white flan
nels, givin' the tin-can tourists a treat. That
would be Rupert's game."

I don't know as you remember; but, in spite
of Killam 's havin' got balled up on the loca-

216 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

tion of this pirate island, and Vee and me bav
in* to find it for him, he came in for his share
of the loot. Must have been quite a nice little
pot for Eupert, too — enough to keep him cos
tumed for bis mysterious hero act for a long
time, providin' he don't overdress the part.

Weird combination — Rupert: about 60 per
cent, camouflage and the rest solemn boob. An
ex-school-teacher from some little flag sta
tion in middle Illinois, who'd drifted down to
the West Coast, and got to be a captain by
ownin' an old cruiser that he took fishin' par
ties out to the grouper banks on. Them was
the real facts in the life story of Rupert.

But the picture he threw on the screen of
himself must have been something else again
— seasoned sailor, hardy adventurer, daredevil
explorer, and who knows what else? Catch
him in one of his silent, starey moods, with
them buttermilk blue eyes of his opened wide
and vacant, and you had the outline. But
that's as far as you'd get. I always thought
Rupert himself was a little vague about it,
but he would insist on takin' himself so seri
ous. That's why we never got along well, I
expect. To me Rupert was a walkin' joke,
except when he got to sleuthin' around Vee and
me and made a nuisance of himself.

LATE KETURNS ON KUPERT 217

"How completely people like that drop out
of sight sometimes," says Vee, shuttin' up the
" album.

"Yes," says I. "Contrary to old ladies who
meet at summer resorts and in department-
stores, it's a sizable world we live in. Thanks
be for that, too."

But you never can tell. It ain't more'n three
days later, as I'm breezin through a cross
street down in the cloak-and-suit and publish-
in' house district, when a taxi rolls up to the
curb just ahead, and out piles a wide-shoul
dered gent with freckles on the back of his
neck. Course, I don't let on I can spot any
body I've ever known just by a sectional
glimpse like that. But this was no common
case of freckles. This was a splotchy, spattery
system of rust marks, like a bird's-eye view
of the enemy's trenches after a week of drum
fire. Besides, there was the pale carroty
hair.

Even then, the braid-bound cutaway and the
biscuit-colored spats had me buffaloed. So I
slows up until I can get a front view of the
party who's almost tripped himself with the
horn-handled walkin '-stick and is havin' a few
last words with someone in the cab. Then I
sees the washed out blue eyes, and I know

218 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

there can't be any mistake. About then, too,
he turns and recognizes me.

"Well, for the love of beans!" says I.
"Kupert!"

The funny part of it is that I gets it off as
cordial as if I was discoverin' an old trench
mate. You know how you will. And, while I
can't say Captain Killam registered any wild
joy in his greeting still he seemed pleased
enough. He gives me a real hearty shake.

"And here is someone else you know," says
he, wavin' to the cab: "Mrs. Mumford."

Blamed if it ain't the cooin' widow. She's
right there with the old familiar purry gush,
too, squeezin' my fingers kittenish and askin'
me how "dear, sweet Verona" is. I was just
noticin' that she'd ditched the half mournin'
for some real zippy raiment when she leans
back so as to exhibit a third party in the taxi
— a young gent with one of these dead-white
faces and a cute little black mustache — reg'lar
lounge-lizard type.

"Oh, and you must meet my dear friend,
Mr. Vinton Bartley," she purrs. "Vinton,
this is the Torchy I've spoken about so
often."

"Ah, ya-a-as," drawls Vinton, blowin' out a
whiff of scented cigarette smoke lazy. "Quite

LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT 219

so. But — er — hadn't we best be getting on,
Lorina?"

"Yes, yes," coos Mrs. Mumford. "By-by,
Captain. Good-by, Torchy."

And off they whirls, leavin' me with my
mouth open and Rupert starin' after 'em
gloomy.

"Lorina, eh!" says I. "How touchin'!"

Killam only grunts, but it struck me he has
tinted up a bit under the eyes.

"Say, Rupert," I goes on, "who's your
languid friend with the cream-of-cabbage com
plexion?"

"Bartley?" says he. "Oh, he's a friend of
Mrs. Mumford; a drama-tist — so he says."

Now, I might have let it ride at that and
gone along about my own affairs, which ain't
so pressin' just then. Yes, I might. But I
don't. Maybe it was hornin' in where there
was no welcome sign on the mat, and then
again perhaps it was only a natural folksy
feelin' for an old friend I hadn't seen for a
long time. Anyway, I'm prompted sudden to
take Rupert by the arm and insist that he must
come and have lunch with me.

"Why — er — thanks," says the Captain; "but
I have a little business to attend to in here."
And he nods to an office buildin'.

220 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"That'll be all right, too," says I. "I'll
wait."

"Will you?" says Rupert, beamin'. "I shall
be pleased."

So in less'n half an hour I have Rupert
planted cozy at a corner table with a mixed
grill in front of him, and I'm givin' him the
cue for openin' any confidential chat he may
have on hand. He's a good deal of a clam,
though, Rupert. And suspicious! He must
have been born lookin' over his shoulder. But
in my own crude way I can sometimes josh
'em along.

"Excuse me for mentionin' it, Rupert," says
I, "but there's lots of class to you these days."

"Eh?" says he. "You mean "

"The whole effect," says I, "from the gait
ers to the new-model lid. Just like you'd
strolled out from some Fifth Avenue club and
was goin' to 'phone your brokers to buy an
other block of Bethlehem at the market. Hon
est!"

He pinks up and shakes his head, but I can
see I've got the range.

"And here Vee and I had it doped out," I
goes on, "how you'd be down on the West
Coast by this time, investin' your pile in
orange groves and corner lots."

LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT 221

4 'No," says Rupert; "I've been here all
the while. You see, I — I've grown rather fond
of New York."

"You needn't apologize," says I. "There's
a few million others with the same weakness,
not countin' the o^es that sleep in New Jersey
but always register from here. Gone into some
kind of business, have you?"

Rupert does some fancy side-steppin' about
then; but all of a sudden he changes his mind,
and, after glancin' around to see that no one
has an ear out, he starts his confession.

"The fact is," says he, "I've been doing a
little literary work."

"Writin' ads," says I, "or solicitm' maga
zine subscriptions'?"

"I am getting out a book of poems," says
Rupert, dignified.

"Wh-a-a-at? " I gasps. "Not — not reg'lar
limerick stuff?"

I can see now that was a bad break. But
Rupert was patient with me. He explains
that these are all poems about sailors and
ships and so on; real salt, tarry stuff. Also,
he points out how it's built the new style way,
with no foolish rhymes at the end, and with
long lines or short, just as they happen to
come. To make it clear, he digs up a roll

222 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

of galley proofs he's just collected from the
publishers. And say, he had the goods. There
it was, yards of it, all printed neat in big fat
type. "Sea Songs" is what he calls 'em, and
each one has a separate tag of its own, such
as "Kittywakes," "Close Hauled," and
"Scuppers Under."

"Looks like the real stuff," says I. "Let's
hear how it listens. Ah, come on! Some of
that last one, about scuppers, now."

With a little more urgin', Rupert reads it to
me. I should call him a good reader, too.
Anyway, he can untie one of them deep, boom-
in' voices, and with that long, serious face of
his helpin' out the general effect — well, it's
kind of impressive. He spiels off two or three
stickfuls and then stops.

"Which way was you readin' that, back
wards or forwards!" says I.

Rupert begins to stiffen up, and I hurries
on with the apology. "My mistake," says I.
1 1 1 thought maybe you might have got mixed at
the start. No offense. But say, Cap'n, what's
the big idea? What does it all mean?"

In some ways Rupert is good-natured. He
was then. He explains how in this brand of
verse you don't try to tell a story or anything
like that. "I am merely giving my impres-

sions," says lie. "That is all. Interpreting
my own feelings, as it were."

"Oh!" says I. "Then there's no goin' be
hind the returns. Who's to say you don't feel
that way? I get you now. But that ain't the
kind of stuff you can wish onto the magazines,
is it?"

Which shows just how far behind the bass-
drum I am. Rupert tells me the different
places where he's unloaded his pieces, most
of 'em for real money. Also, I pumps out of
him how he came to get into the game. Seems
he'd been roomin' down in old Greenwich Vil
lage; just happened to drift in among them
long-haired men and short-haired girls. It
turns out that the book was a little enter
prise that was being backed by Mrs. Mumford.
Yes, it's that kind of a book — so much down
in advance to the Grafter Press. You know,
Mrs. Mumford always did fall for Eupert, and
after she's read one of his sea spasms in a
magazine she don't lose any time huntin' him
out and renewin' their cruise acquaintance.
A real poet! Say, I can just see her playin'
that up among her friends. And when she
finds he's mixin' in with all those dear, delight
ful Bohemians, she insists that Eupert tow
her along too.

224 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

From then on it was a common thing for her
and Rupert to go browsin' around among them
garlic and red-ink joints, defyin' ptomaines
and learnin' to braid spaghetti on a fork.
That was her idea of life. She hires an apart
ment right off Washington Square and moves
in from Montclair for the winter. She begun
to have what she called her " salon evenings,"
when she collected any kind of near-celebrity
she could get.

Mr. Vinton Bartley was generally one of
the favored guests. I didn't need any second
sight, either, to suspect that Vinton was sort
of crowdin* in on this little romance of Ru
pert's. And by eggin' Rupert along judicious
I got the whole tale.

Seems it had been one of Mrs. Mumford's
ambitions to spring Rupert on an unsuspectin'
public. Her idea is to have Rupert called on,
some night at the Purple Pup, to step up to the
head of the long table and give one of his sea
songs. She'd picked Vinton to do the callin'.
And Vinton had balked.

"But say,'* says I, "is this Vinton gent the
only one of her friends that's got a voice?
Why not pick another announcer?"

"I'm sure I don't know," says Rupert.

LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT 225

"She — she hasn't mentioned the subject re
cently. ' '

"Oh!" says I. "Too busy listenin' to the
voice of the viper, eh?"

Rupert nods and stares sad into his empty
demi-tasse. And, say, when Rupert gets that
way he's an appealin' cuss.

"See here, Rupert," says I; "if you got a
call of that kind, would you come to the front
and make a noise like a real poet?"

"Why," says he, "I suppose I ought to. It
would help the sale of the book, and per
haps "

"One alibi is enough," I breaks in. "Now,
another thing: How'd you like to have me
stage-manage this debut of yours!"

"Oh, would you?" says he, beamin'.

"Providin' you'll follow directions," says I.

"Why, certainly," says Rupert. "Any sug
gestions that you may make "

"Then we'll begin right now," says I.
"You are to ditch that flossy floor-walker
outfit of yours from this on."

"You mean," says Rupert, "that I am not
to wear these clothes?"

"Just that," says I. "When you get to
givin' mornin' readin's at the Plaza for the
benefit of the Red Cross, you can dig 'em out

226 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

again; but for the Purple Pup you got to be
costumed different. Who ever heard of a
goulash poet in a braid-bound cutaway and
spats? Say, it's a wonder they let you live
south of the Arch.'*

"But — but what ought I to wear?" asks
Eupert.

"Foolish question!" says I. "Who are you,
anyway? Answer: the Sailor Poet. There
you are! Sea captain's togs for you — double-
breasted blue coat, baggy-kneed blue trousers,
and a yachtin' cap."

"Very well," says Eupert. "But about my
being asked to read. Just how '

"Leave it to me, Eupert," says I. "Leave
everything to me."

Which was a lot simpler than tellin' him I
didn't know.

You should have seen Vee's face when I tells
her about Eupert 's new line.

"Captain Killam a poet!" says she. "Oh,
really now, Torchy!"

"Uh-huh!" says I. "He's done enough for
a book. Eead me some of it, too."

"But— but what is it like?" asks Vee.
"How does it sound?"

"Why," says I, "it sounds batty to me—
like a record made by a sailor who was simple

LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT 227

in the head and talked a lot in his sleep.
Course, I'm no judge. What's the difference,
though? Rupert wants to spout it in public.'*

1 'But the people in the restaurant," pro
tests Vee. ''Suppose they should laugh, or
do something worse?"

"That's where Rupert is takin' a chance,"
says I. "Personally, I think he'll be lucky if
they don't throw plates at him. But we ain't
underwritin' any accident policy; we're just
bookin' him for a part he claims he can play.
Are you on?"

Vee gets that eye twinkle of hers workin'.
' ' I think it will be perfectly lovely. ' '

I got to admit, too, that she's quite a help.

"We must be sure Mrs. Mumford and that
Bartley person are both there," says she.
"And we ought to have as many of Captain
Killam's friends as possible. I'll tell you.
Let's give a dinner-party."

"Must we?" says I. "You know we ain't
introducin' any London success. This is Ru
pert's first stab, remember."

We set the date for the day the book was
to be out, which gives Rupert an excuse for
celebratin'. He'd invited Mrs. Mumford and
Vinton to be his guests, and they'd promised
to be on hand. As for us, we'd rounded up

228 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

Mr. and Mrs. Robert Ellins and J. Dudley
Simms.

Well, everybody showed up. And as it hap
pens, it's one of the big nights at the Purple
Pup. The long center table is surrounded by
a gay bunch of assorted artists who are bein'
financed by an out-of-town buyer who seems to
be openin' Chianti reckless. We were over in
one corner, as far away from the ukulele tor
turers as we could get, while at the other end
of the room is Rupert with his two. I
thought he looked kind of pallid, but it might
have been only on account of the cigarette
smoke.

"Is it time yet, Torchyf" asks Mr. Robert,
when we gets through to the striped ice cream
and chicory essence.

"Let's hold off," says I, "and see if some
one else don't pull a curtain-raiser."

Sure enough, they did. A bald-headed, red-
faced old boy with a Liberty Bond button in
his coat-lapel insists on everybody's drinkin'
to our boys at the front. Followin' that, some
one leads a slim, big-eyed young female to the
piano and announces that she will do a couple
of Serbian folk-songs. Maybe she did. I hope
the Serbs forgive her.

"If they can take that without squirmin',"

LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT 229

says I, "I guess they can stand for Rupert.
Go on, Mr. Robert. Shoot."

Course, he's no spellbinder, but he can say
what he wants to in a few words and make
himself heard. And then, bein' in naval uni
form helped.

"I think we have with us to-night," says
he, " Captain Rupert Killam, the sailor poet. I
should like, if it pleases the company, to ask
Captain Killam to read for us some of his
popular verses. Does anyone second the mo
tion I"

"Killam! Killam!" roars out the sporty
wine-opener.

Others took up the chorus, and in Ihe midst
of it I dashes over to drag Rupert from his
chair if necessary.

But I wasn't needed. As a matter of fact,
he beat me to it. Before I could get half
way to him, he is standin' at the end of the
long table, his eyes dropped modest, and a
brand-new volume of "Sea Songs" held con
spicuous over his chest.

"This is indeed an unexpected honor," says
Rupert, lyin' fluent. "I am a plain sailor-
man, as you know, but if you insist "

And, before they could hedge, he has squared
his shoulders, thrown his head well back, and

230 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

has cut loose with that boomin' voice of his.
Does he put it over? Say, honest, I finds my
self listenin' with my mouth open, just as
though I understood every word. And the
first thing I know he's carryin' the house with
him. Even some of the Hungarian waiters
stopped to see what it's all about.

Tides!

Little, rushing, hurrying tides

Along the sloping deck.

And the bobstay smashing the big blue deep,

While under my hand

The kicking tiller groans

Its oaken soul out in a gray despair.

That's part of it I copied down afterward.
Yet that crowd just lapped it up.

''Wow!" Brava! Brava!" "What's the
matter with Killam?" they yells. "More!"

Rupert was flushin' clear up the back of his
neck now. Also he was fumblin' with the
book, hesitatin' what to give 'em next, when
I pushes in and begins pumpin' his hand.

"Shall— shall I " he starts to ask.

"No, you boob," I whispers. "Quit while
the quittin's good. You got 'em buffaloed,
all right. Let it ride."

And I fairly shoves him over to his table,

LATE RETURNS ON RUPERT 231

where Sister Mumford has already split out a
new pair of gloves and is beamin' joyous, while
Vinton is sittin' there with his chin on his
necktie, lookin' like someone had beaned him
with a bung-starter.

But we wasn't wise just how strong Ru
pert had scored until we saw the half page
Whitey Weeks had gotten out of it for the
Sunday paper. "New Poet Captures Green
wich Village" is the top headline, and there's
a three-column cut showin' Rupert spoutin'
his ' ' Sea Songs ' ' through the cigarette smoke.
Also, I gather from a casual remark Rupert
let drop yesterday that the prospects of him
and Mrs. Mumford enterin' the mixed doubles
class soon are good. And, with her ownin' a
big retail coal business over in Jersey, I ex
pect Rupert can go on writin' his pomes as
free as he likes.

CHAPTER XIV

FOESYTHE AT THE FINISH

I EXPECT I wouldn't have noticed For sy the
particular if it hadn't been for Mrs. Robert.
It takes all kinds, you know, to make up a
week-end house-party bunch ; and in these days,
when specimens of the razor-usin' sex are so
scarce — well, that's when half portions like this
T. Forsythe Hurd get by as full orders.

Besides, Mrs. Robert had meant well. Her
idea was to make the Captain's 48-hour shore
leave as gay and lively as possible. She'd
had a hard time roundin' up any of his friends,
too. Hence Forsythe. One of these slim, fine-
haired, well manicured parlor Pomeranians,
Forsythe is — the kind who raves over the sand
wiches and whispers perfectly killin' things
to the ladies as he flits about at afternoon teas.

We were up at the Ellinses', Vee and me,
fillin' out at Saturday luncheon, when Mr.
Robert drifts in, about an hour behind sched
ule. You know, he's commandin' one of these
coast patrol boats. Some of 'em are con-

232

FOESYTHE AT THE FINISH 233

verted steam yachts, some are sea-goin' tugs,
and then again some are just old menhaden
fish-boats painted gray with a few three-inch
guns stuck around on 'em casual. And this
last is the sort of craft Mr. Robert had had
wished on him.

Seems there 'd been some weather off the
Hook for the last few days, and, with a fresh
U-boat scare on, him and his reformed glue
barge had been havin' anything but a merry
time. I don't know how the old fish-boat stood
it, but Mr. Robert showed that he'd been on
more or less active service. He had a three
days' growth of stubble on his face, his navy
uniform was wrinkled and brine-stained, and
the knuckles on one hand were all barked up.

"Why, Robert!" says young Mrs. Ellins, as
she wriggles out of the clinch and gives him
the once-over. "You're a sight."

"Sorry, my dear," says Mr. Robert; "but
the beauty parlor on the Narcissus wasn't
working when I left. But if you can give me
half an hour to "

He got it. And when he shows up again in
dry togs and with his face mowed he's almost
fit to mingle with the guests. It was about
then that T. Forsythe was pullin' his star act
at the salad bowl. Course, when you have

234 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

only ordinary people around, you let the
kitchen help do such things. But when For-
sythe is present he's asked to mix the salad
dressin'.

So there is For sy the, wearin' a jade-green
tie to match the color of the salad bowl, sur
rounded by cruets and pepper grinders and
paprika bottles, and manipulatin ' his own
special olivewood spoon and fork as dainty and
graceful as if he was conductin' an orchestra.

1 'Oh, I say, Jevons," says he, signalin' the
Ellinses' butler, "have someone conduct a
clove of garlic to the back veranda, slice it,
and gently rub it on a crust of fresh bread.
Then bring me the bread. And do you mind
very much, Mrs. Ellins, if I have those Papa
Gontier roses removed? They clash with an
otherwise perfect color scheme, and you've no
idea how sensitive I am to such jarring notes.
Besides, their perfume is so beastly obtrusive.
At times I've been made quite ill by them.
Really."

"Take them away, Jevons," says Mr. Rob
ert, smotherin' a sarcastic smile.

"Huh!" grumbles Mr. Robert. "What a
rotter you are, Forsythe. If I could only get
you aboard the Narcissus for a ten-day cruise !
I'd introduce you to perfumes, the sort you

FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH 235

could lean up against. You know, when a boat
has carried mature fish for "

"Please, Bob!" protests Forsythe. "We
admit you're a hero, and that you've been
saving the country, but don't let's have the
disgusting details ; at least, not when the salad
dressing is at its most critical stage."

Havin' said which, Forsythe proceeds to
finish what was for him a hard day's work.

Discussin' his likes and dislikes was For
sythe 's strong hold, and, if you could believe
him, he had more finicky notions than a sana
torium full of nervous wrecks. He positively
couldn't bear the sight of this, the touch of
that, and the sound of the other thing. The
rustle of a newspaper made him so fidgety
he could hardly sit still. The smell of boiled
cabbage made him faint. Someone had sent
him a plaid necktie for Christmas. He had
ordered his man to pick it up with the fire-
tongs and throw it in the ash-can. Things like
that.

All through luncheon we listened while For
sythe described the awful agonies he'd gone
through. We had to listen. You can guess
what a joy it was. And, all the time, I
could watch Mr. Robert gettin' sorer and
sorer.

236 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Entertainin' party, eh?" I remarks on the
side, as we escapes from the dmin'-room.

"Forsythe," says Mr. Robert, "is one of
those persons you're always wanting to kick
and never do. I could generally avoid him at
the club, but here "

Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. Then he
adds:

"I say, Torchy, you have clever ideas now
and then."

"Who, me!" says I. "Someone's been kid-
din' you."

"Perhaps," says he; "but if anything should
occur to you that might help toward putting
Forsythe in a position where real work and
genuine discomfort couldn't be dodged — well, I
should be deeply grateful."

"What a cruel thought!" says I. "Still, if
a miracle like that could be pulled, it would be
entertainin' to watch. Eh?"

"Especially if it had to do with handling
cold, slippery things," chuckles Mr. Robert,
"like iced eels or pickles."

Then we both grins. I was tryin' to pic
ture Forsythe servin' a sentence as helper in
a fish market or assistant stirrer in a soap fac-
t'ry. Not that anything like that could hap
pen through me. Who was I to interfere

FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH 237

with a brilliant drawin'-room performer like
him? Honest, with Forsythe scintillatin'
around, I felt like a Bolsheviki of the third
class. And yet, the longer I watched him, the
more I mulled over that hint Mr. Robert had
thrown out.

I was still wonderin' if I was all hollow
above the eyes, when our placid afternoon
gatherin' is busted complete by a big cream-
colored limousine rollin' through the porte-
cochere and a new arrival breezin' in. From
the way Jevons swells his chest out as he
helps her shed the mink-lined motor coat, I
guessed she must be somebody important.

"Why, it's Miss Gorman!" whispers Vee.

"Not the Miss Gorman — Miss Jane?" I says.

Vee nods, and I stretches my neck out an
other kink. Who wouldn't? Not just because
she's a society head-liner, or the richest old
maid in the country, but because she's such
a wonder at gettin' things done. You know,
I expect — Red Cross work, suffrage campaign-
in', Polish relief. Say, I'll bet if she could be
turned loose in Mexico or Russia for a couple
of months, she'd have things runnin' as smooth
as a directors' meetin' of the Standard Oil.

Look at the things she's put through, since
the war started, just by crashin' right in and

238 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

stayin' on the job. They say she keeps four
secretaries with their suitcases packed, ready
to jump into their travelin' clothes and slide
down the pole when she pushes the buzzer
button.

And now she's makin' straight for Mr.
Robert.

"What luck!" says she. "I wasn't at all
sure of finding you. How much leave have
you? Only until Monday morning? Oh, you
overworked naval officers ! But you must find
some men for me, Robert ; two, at least. I need
them at once."

"Might I ask, Miss Jane," says he, "if any
particular qualifications are '

"What I would like," breaks in Miss Gor
man, "would be two active, intelligent young
men with some initiative and executive ability.
You see, I am giving a going away dinner for
some soldiers of the Rainbow Division who
are about to be sent to the transports. It's
an official secret, of course. No one is sup
posed to know that they are going to sail soon,
but everyone does know. None of their friends
or relatives are to be allowed to be there to
wish them God-speed or anything like that, and
they need cheering up just now. So I arrange
one of these dinners when I can. My plans

FORSYTES AT THE FINISH 239

for this one, however, have been terribly
rushed. ' '

"I see," says Mr. Robert. "And it's per
fectly bully of you, Miss Jane. Splendid! I
suppose there'll be a hundred or so."

"Six eighty," says she, never battin' an
eye. "We are not including the officers — only
privates. And we don't want one of them to
lift a finger for it. They've had enough fatigue
duty. This time they're to be guests — honored
guests. I have permission from the Brigadier
in command. We are to have one of the mess
halls for a whole day. The chef and waiters
have been engaged, too. And an orchestra.
But there'll be so many to manage — the tell
ing of who to go where, and seeing that the
entertainers don't get lost, and that the little
dinner favors are put around, and all those
details. So I must have help."

I could see Mr. Robert rollin' his eyes
around for me, so I steps up. Just from hear-
in' her talk a couple of minutes I'd caught the
fever. That's a way she has, I understand.
So the next thing I knew I'd been patted on
the shoulder and taken on as a volunteer.

"Precisely the sort of assistant I was hop
ing for," says Miss Gorman. "I can tell by
his hair. I know just what I shall ask him to

240 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

do. But there '11 be so much more ; decorating
the tables, and "

Here I nudges Mr. Robert. "How about
Forsythe!" I suggests.

1 ' Eh ? " says he. ' ' Why— why- By Jove,
though! Why not? Oh, I say, Forsythe!
Just a moment."

Maybe the same thought struck him as had
come to me, which is that helpin' Miss Jane
give a blowout to near seven hundred soldiers
wouldn't be any rest-cure stunt. She's rated
at about ninety horse-power herself, when she's
speeded up, and anybody that happens to be on
her staff has got to keep movin' in high.
They'd have to be ready to tackle anything
that turned up, too.

But, to hear Mr. Robert explain it to For
sythe, you'd think it was just that his fame
as an arranger of floral center-pieces had
spread until Miss Gorman has decided nobody
else would do.

"Although, heaven knows, I never suspected
you could be really useful, Forsythe," says Mr.
Robert. "But if Miss Jane thinks you'd be a
help "

"Oh, I am sure Mr. Hurd would be the
very one," puts in Miss Gorman.

"At last!" says Forsythe, strikin' a pose.

FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH 241

"My virtues are about to be discovered. I
shall be delighted to assist you, Miss Gorman,
in any way."

"Tut, tut, Forsythe!" says Mr. Robert.
"Don't be too reckless. Miss Jane might take
you at your word."

"Go on. Slander me," says Forsythe. "Say
that, when enlisted in a noble cause, I am a
miserable shirker."

"Indeed, I shouldn't believe a word of it,
even if I had time to listen to him," declares
Miss Jane. "And I must be at the camp within
an hour. I shall need one of you young men
now. Let me see. Suppose I take this one —
Torchy, isn't it? Get your coat. I'll not prom
ise to have you back for dinner, but I'll try.
Thank you so much, Robert."

And then it was a case of goin' on from
there. Whew! I've sort of had the notion
now and then, when I've been operatin' with
Old Hickory Ellins at the Corrugated Trust
on busy days, that I was some rapid private
sec. But say, havin' followed Miss Jane Gor
man through them dinner preliminaries, I know
better.

While that French chauffeur of hers is rollin'
us down Long Island at from forty to fifty
miles per hour, she has her note-book out and

242 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

is pumpin' me full of things I'm expected to
remember — what train the chef's gang is corn-
in' on, how the supplies are to be carted over,
who to see about knockin' up a stage for the
cabaret talent, and where the buntin' has been
ordered. I borrows a pad and pencil, and
wishes I knew shorthand.

By the time we lands at the camp, though, I
have a fair idea of the job she's tackled; and
while she's havin' an interview with the C. 0.
I starts explorin' the scene of the banquet.
First off I finds that the mess-hall seats less
than five hundred, the way they got the tables
fixed; that there's no room for a stage without
breakin' through one end and tackin' it on; and
that the camp cooks will have the range ovens
full of bread and the tops covered with oat
meal in double boilers as usual. Outside of
that and a few other things, the arrangements
was lovely.

Miss Jane ain't a bit disturbed when I makes
my report.

''There!" says she. ''Didn't I say you were
just the assistant I needed? Now, please tell
all those things to the Brigadier. He will know
exactly what to do. Then you'd best be out
here early Monday morning to see that they're
done properly. And T think, Torchy, I shall

make you my general manager for this occa
sion. Yes, I'll do it. Everyone will report
first to you, and you will tell them exactly
where to go and what to do."

"You — you mean," says I, gaspin' a bit,
"all the hired help?"

"And the volunteers too," says Miss Jane.
' ' Everyone. ' '

Maybe I grinned. I didn't know just how it
was goin' to work out, but I could feel some
thing comin'. Forsythe was goin' to get his.
He stood to get it good, too. Not all on ac
count of what I owed Mr. Robert for the
friendly turns he'd done me. Some of it would
be on my own hook, to pay up for the yawny
half hours I'd had to sit through listenin' while
Forsythe discoursed about himself. You should
have seen the satisfied look on Mr. Robert's
face when I hinted how Forsythe might be in
line for new sensations.

"If I could only be there to watch!" says
he. "You must tell me all about it after
wards. They'll enjoy hearing of it at the
club."

But, at that, Forsythe wasn't the one to walk
right into trouble. He's a shifty party, and
he ain't been duckin' work all these years
without gettin' expert at it. Accordin' to

244 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

schedule he was to show up at the camp about
nine- thirty Monday morning; but it's nearer
noon when he rolls up in his car. And I don't
hesitate a bit about givin' him the call.

"You know it's this week, not next," says I,
"that this dinner is comin' off. And there's
four bolts of buntin' waitin' to be hung up."

"Quite so," says For sy the. "We must get
to work right away. ' '

I had to chase down to the station again
then, to see that the chef's outfit was bein'
loaded on the trucks; but I was cheered up by
the thought of Forsythe balanced on top of a
tall step-ladder with his mouth full of tacks
and his collar gettin' wilty.

It's near an hour before I gets back, though.
Do I find Forsythe in his shirt-sleeves climbin'
around on the rafters? I do not. He's sittin'
comfortable in a camp-chair on a fur motor
robe, smokin' a cigarette calm, and surrounded
by half a dozen classy young ladies that he's
rounded up by 'phone from the nearest coun
try club. The girls and three or four chauf
feurs are doin' the work, while Forsythe is
doin' the heavy directin'.

He'd sketched out his decoratin' scheme on
the back of an envelop, and now he was tellin'
'em how to carry it out. The worst of it is,

FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH 245

too, that he's gettin' some stunnin' effects and
is bein' congratulated enthusiastic by the girls.

It's the same way with fixin' up the tables
with ferns and flowers. For sy the plans it out
with a pencil, and his crew do the hustlin'
around.

Course, I had to let it ride. Besides, there
was a dozen other things for me to look after.
But I'm good at a waitin' game. I kept my
eye on Forsythe, to see that he didn't slip
away. He was still there at two-thirty, bav
in' organized a picnic luncheon with the young
ladies, when Miss Jane blew in. And blamed
if she don't fall for Forsythe's stuff, too.

"Why, you've done wonders, Mr. Hurd,"
says she. "What a versatile genius you are?"

"Oh, that!" says he, wavin' a sandwich
careless. "But it's an inspiration to be doing
anything at all for you, Miss Gorman."

And here he hasn't so much as shed his
overcoat.

It must have been half an hour later when
Sig. Zaretti, the head chef, comes huntin' me
out with a desperate look in his eyes. I was
consultin' Miss Jane about borrowin' a piano
from the Y. M. C. A. tent, but he kicks right in.

"Ah, I am distract," says he, puffin' out
his cheeks. "Eet — eet ees too mooch!"

246 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Go on," says I. "Shoot the tragedy.
What's too much?"

"That Pedro and that Salvatore," says he.
"They have become lost, the worthless ones.
They disappear on me. And in three hours I
am to serve, in this crude place, a dinner of
six courses to seven hundred men. They
abandon me at such a time, with so much to
be done."

"Well, that's up to you," says I. "Can't
some of your crowd double in brass? What
about workin* in some of your waiters?"

"But they are all employed," says Zaretti.
"Besides, the union does not permit. If you
could assist me with two men, even one. I im
plore."

"There ain't a cook in sight," says I.
"Sorry, but "

"Eet ees not for cook," he protests. "No;
only to help make the peel from those so many
potatoes. One who could make the peel.
Please!"

"Oh!" says I. "Peelin' potatoes? Why,
'most anybody could help out at that, I guess.
I would myself if "

"No," breaks in Miss Jane. "You cannot
be spared. And I'm sure I don't know who
could."

FORSYTHE AT THE FINISH 247

"Unless," I puts in, "Mr. Hurd is all
through with his decoratin'."

"Why, to be sure," says she. "Just tell
him, will you?"

"Suppose I send him over to you, Miss Gor
man," says I, "while I hustle along that
piano?"

She nods, and I lose no time trailin' down
Forsythe.

"Emergency call for you from Miss Jane,"
says I, edgin' in among his admirers and tap-
pin' him on the shoulder. "She's waitin' over
by headquarters."

"Oh, certainly," says Forsythe, startin' off
brisk.

"And say," I calls after him, "I hope it
won't be anything that'll make you faint."

"Please don't worry about me," says he.

Well, I tried not to. In fact, I tried so hard
that some folks might have thought I'd heard
good news from home. But I'd had a peek or
two into the camp kitchen since Zaretti's food
construction squad had moved in, and, believe
me, it was no place for an artistic tempera
ment, subject to creeps up the back. There was
about a ton of cold-storage turkeys bein' un
packed, bushels of onions goin' through the
shuckin' process, buckets of soup stock stand-

248 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

in' around, and half a dozen murderous-lookin'
assistant chefs was sharpenin' long knives and
jabberin' excited in four languages.

Oh, yes; Forsythe was goin' to need all the
inspiration he'd collected, if he lasted through.

I kind of wanted to stick around and cheer
him up with friendly words while he was fishin'
potatoes out of the cold water and learnin' to
use a peelin '-knife, but my job wouldn't let
me. After I'd seen the piano landed on the
new stage, there were chairs to be placed for
the orchestra, and then other things. So it was
some little time before I got around to the
kitchen wing again, pretendin' to be lookin'
for Zaretti. But nowhere in that steamin',
hustlin', garlic-smellin ' bunch could I see For
sythe.

"Hey, chef!" I sings out. "Where's that
expert potato-peeler I sent you?"

"Ah!" says he, rubbin' his hands enthusi
astic. "The signor with the yellow gloves!
In the tent there you will find heem."

So I steps over to the door of a sort of can
vas annex and peers in. And say, it was a
rude shock. Forsythe is there, all right. He's
snuggled up cozy next to an oil heater, holdin'
a watch in one hand and a cigarette in the
other, while around him is grouped his faith-

FOKSYTHE AT THE FINISH 249

ful fluff body-guard, each with a pan in her
lap and the potato-peelm's comin' off rapid.
Forsythe? Oh, he seems to be speedin' 'em
up and keepin' tally.

I'd just let out my second gasp when I feels
somebody at my elbow, and glances round to
find it's Miss Jane.

"Look!" says I, indicatin' Forsythe and his
busy bees.

"What a picture!" says Miss Jane.

"Yes," says I, "illustratin' the manly art
of lettin' the women do it."

Miss Jane laughs easy.

"It has been that way for ages," says she.
"Mr. Hurd is only running true to type. But
see! The potatoes are nearly all peeled and
our dinner is going to be served on time.
What splendid assistants you've both been!"

At that, though, if there 'd been a medal to
be passed out, I guess it would have been
pinned on Forsythe.

CHAPTER XV

THE HOUSE OF TOUCHY

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 wal
lows out at daybreak and gives the Hun that
chilly feelin' down his spine.

Accordin' to my credentials, I was supposed
to be inspectin' 'em for weak spots in the
armor or punk work on the gears. And I can
tell you now, on the side, that it was 90 per
cent, bluff. What the Ordnance Department
really wanted to know was whether the work
was bein' speeded up proper, how many men
on the shifts, and was the steel comin' through
from the rollin' mills all right. Get me? Sleuth
stuff.

I'd been knockin' around there for four
days, bein' towed about by the reserve major,
who had a face on him like a stuffed owl, a
nut full of decimal fractions, and a rubber-
stamp mind. Oh, he was on the job, all right.
So was everybody else in sight. I could see

250

THE HOUSE OF TORCHY 251

that after the first day. In fact, I coded in my
O. K. the second noon and was plannin' to
slip back home.

But when I hinted as much to the Major
he nearly threw a cat-fit. Why, he'd arranged
a demonstration at 10 A.M. Thursday, for my
special benefit. And there were the tests —
horse-power, gun-ranges, resistance, and I
don't know what all; technical junk that I sav
vied 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 do-
in' it. For there was just one spot on the map
where I was anxious to be for the next few
days. That was at home. It was one of the

times when I ought to be there too, for

Well, I'll get to that later.

Besides, this fact'ry joint where they were
buildin' the tanks wasn't any allurin' spot. I
can't advertise just where it was, either; the
government wouldn't like it. But if there's
any part of Connecticut that's less interestin'
to loaf around in, I never got stranded there.
You run a spur track out into the bare hills

252 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

for fifteen miles from nowhere, slap up a row
of cement barracks, and a few acres of ma
chine 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 dif
ferent 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 his
t'ry. One chapter had a corkin' good Indian
scalpin' story in it, about a Mrs. Hannah Dus-
tin; 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 secre
tary, 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.

THE HOUSE OF TOBCHY 253

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 compli
cated 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 — sad
dled with the task of caring for another human
being, of keeping him in good health, of mold-

254 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

ing his character, of planning and directing his
whole career, from boyhood on."

"Some are girls, though," I suggests.

He shudders. "So much the worse," says
he. "Girl babies are such delicate creatures;
all babies are, in fact. Do you know the
average rate of infant mortality in this coun
try! Just think of the hundreds of thousands
who do not survive the teething period. Imag
ine 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 I Think
of the number of weak-minded children there
are in the world; of perverts, criminally in
clined. It is staggering. But if you escape
all that, if your children are well and nor
mal, as some are, then you must consider
this : Suppose anything should happen to either
or both of the parents f 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.

THE HOUSE OF TOECHY 255

"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 Slo-
cum 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 big
ger and bigger, and next I knew, it starts wal-
lowin' right at us. It keeps comin' and com-
in', 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.

256 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"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'."

THE HOUSE OF TORCHY 257

" 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 expectin'. 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. Be
sides, this ain't any ordinary call. It's a do
mestic S. 0. S. that I've been sort of lookin'
for."

* ' I understand, ' ' says he. ' ' The — the first ! ' '

I nods. Then I asks: "What's the quickest
way across to Long Island?"

"There isn't any quick way," says he,
"unless you have wings. You can't even catch
the branch line local that connects with the

258 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

New York express now. There'll be one down
at 8 : 36 to-morrow morning, though. ' '

"Wha-a-at!" says I, gawpin' at him. ''How
about gettin' a machine and shootin' down to
the junction?"

"My car is the only one here," says he,
"and that is out of commission to-day — valves
being ground."

"But look," says I; "you got three or four
of those motor-cycles with a bath-tub tacked
on the side. Couldn't you let one of your ser
geants "

"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 argu
ments 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 Con
necticut and commandin' a regiment in the
front-line trenches. Besides, he didn't approve

THE HOUSE OF TOBCHY 259

of junior officers bein' married. Not durin'
war-time, anyway.

And the worst of it was, I couldn't tell him
just the particular kind of ossified old pinhead
I thought he was. All I could do was grind
my teeth, say "Yes, sir," and salute respect
ful.

Also there was that undertaker-faced sec
retary standin' by with his ear out. The
prospect of sittin' around watchin' him for
the rest of the day wasn't fascinatin'. No;
I'd had about all of Barnes I could stand. A
few more of his cheerin' observations, and I'd
want to jam his head into his typewriter and
then tread on the keys. Nor I wasn't goin'
to be fed on any more cog-wheel statistics by
the Major, either.

All I could keep on my mind then was this
one thing: How could I get home? Looked
like I was up against it, too. The nearest
town was twelve miles off, and the main-line
junction was some thirty-odd miles beyond
that. Too far for an afternoon hike. But I
couldn't just sit around and wait, or pace up
and down inside the barbed-wire fence like an
enemy alien that had been pastured out. So I
wanders through the gate and down a road.
I didn't know where it led, or care. Maybe I

260 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

had a vague idea a car would come along.
But none did.

I must have been trampin' near an hour,
with my chin down and my fists jammed into
my overcoat pockets, when I catches a glimpse,
out of the tail of my eye, of something yellow
dodgin' behind a clump of cedars at one side
of the road. First off I thought it might be
a cow, as there was a farm-house a little ways
ahead. Then it struck me no cow would move
as quick as that, or have such a bright yellow
hide. So I turns and makes straight for the
cedars.

It was a thick, bushy clump. I climbed the
stone wall and walked all the way round.
Nothin' in sight. Seemed as if I could see
branches movin' in there, though, and hear a
sound like heavy breathin'. Course, it might
be a deer, or a fox. Then I remembered I
ha'd half a bag of peanuts somewhere about
me. Maybe I could toll the thing out with 'em.
I was just fishin' in my pockets when from
the middle of the cedars comes this disgusted
protest.

"Oh, I say, old man," says a voice. "No
shooting, please."

And with that out steps a clean-cut, cheerful-
faced young gent in a leather coat, goggled

THE HOUSE OF TORCHY 261

helmet, and spiral puttees. No wonder I
stood starin'. Not that I hadn't seen plenty
like him before, but I didn't know the woods
was so full of 'em.

"You were out looking for me, I suppose ?"
he goes on.

"Depends on who you are," says I.

"Oh, we might as well come down to cases, "
says he. "I'm the enemy."

"You don't look it," says I, grinnin'.

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Fact, old man," says he. "I'm the one
you were sent to watch for — Lieutenant Don
ald Allen, 26th Flying Corps Division, Squad
ron 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. 0. But really, now, what are you going
to do when your observer insists that he's dy
ing! I couldn't tell. Perhaps he was. Eight
in the middle of a perfect flight, too, the
chump I Motor working sweet, air as smooth as
silk, and no cross currents to speak of. But,,

262 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

with him howling about this awful pain in his
tummy, what else could I do1? Had to come

down and Well, here we are. I'm behind

the lines, I suppose, and you'll report my sur
render."

"Then what?" I asks.

"Oh," says Allen, "as soon as I persuade
this trolley-car aviator, Martin, that he isn't
dead, I shall load him into the old bus and
cart him back to Mineola."

"Wha-a-t!" says I. "You — you're goin'
back to Mineola — to-night?"

"If Martin can forget his tummy," says
he. "How I'll be guyed! Go to the foot
of the eligible list too, and probably miss
out on being sent over with my division.
Oh, well!"

I was beginning to dope out the mystery.
More'n that, I had my fingers on the tail
feathers of a hunch.

"Why not leave Martin here?" I suggests.
"Couldn't you show up in time?"

"It wouldn't count," says the Lieutenant.
"You must have an observer all the way."

"How about me subbin' in?" says I.

"You?" says he. "Why, you're on the other
side."

"That's where you're mixed," says I. "I'm

THE HOUSE OF TOBCHY 263

on the wrong side of Long Island Sound, that's
all."

"Why," says he, "weren't you sent out

"No," I breaks in; "I'm no spotter. I'm
on special detail from the Ordnance Depart
ment. 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 pas
senger 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 every
thing.

"By George!" says he. "You're all right,
Lieutenant — er ' '

"Ah, between friends, Donald," says I, "it's
Torchy."

At which we links arms chummy and goes
marchin' close order down to the farm-house

264 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

to see how this Martin party was gettin' on.
We finds him rolled up in quilts on an old
sofa that the folks had shoved up in front of
the stove — a slim, nervous-lookin' young gink
with sandy hair and a peaked no&e.

"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 let
ting 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.

THE HOUSE OF TORCHY 265

"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 pro
duce 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 out
fit. Then we poked Martin up long enough for
him to sign it.

"Fine work!" says Donald. "That earns

266 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

you a hop, all right. Now buckle yourself
into that cloud costume and I'll show you how
a 110-horse-power crow would go from here to
the middle of Long Island if he was in a
hurry. ' '

"You can't make it any too speedy for me,"
says I, slippin' into the sheepskin jacket.

"Ever been up before?" he asks.

"Only once — in a hydro," says I; "but I
ain't missed any chances."

"That's the spirit!" says he. "Come along.
The old bus is anchored down the field a
ways."

I couldn't hardly believe I was actually goin'
to pull it off until he'd got the motor started
and we went skimmin' along the ground. But
as soon as we shook off the State of Connecti
cut and began climbin' up over a strip of
woods, I settles back in the little cockpit, but
tons 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'.

THE HOUSE OF TOECHY 267

Later lie 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 some
thing about Observer Martin wantin' to report
sick. Then he steers me off toward the bar
racks, 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?"

268 THE HOUSE OF TOUCHY

"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 ac
counts 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, thro win' up
his hands and starin' at me bug-eyed. "Mon
sieur ! ' '

THE HOUSE OF TORCHY 269

"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 Bother. "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.

270 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"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 con
gratulations."

"Then you don't feel," says I, "that bein'
a parent is kind of a sad and solemn
business?"

"Sad!" says he. "Non, non! It is the
grand joy of life. It is when you have the
best right to be proud and glad, for to you
has come la bonne chance. Yes, la bonne
chance!"

And say, there's no mistakin' that Leon
means every word of it, French and all.

"Thanks, Leon," says I. "You ought to
know. You've been through it yourself. I'll
bet you wouldn't even feel bad at being a grand
father. No? Well, I guess I'll follow through

THE HOUSE OF TOECHY 271

on that line. Maybe I don't deserve so much
luck, but I'm takin' it just as though I did.
And say, Leon, let's us go out in the back yard
and give three cheers for the son and heir of
the house of Torchy."

CHAPTER XVI

TOEOHY GETS THE THUMB GBIP

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 popula
tion of Long Island. Something like that. She
don't have to work up to it. Seems to come

272

TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP 273

natural. Why, say, she'd sit by and listen
without crackin' a smile to these regular gush
ers 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 any
thing to do with any tendency of the ego to
stick its elbows out. Yet, when it comes to
listenin' to flatterin' remarks about our son
and heir — well, no Broadway star readin' over
what his press-agent had smuggled into the
dramatic notes had anything on her. She
couldn't have it handed to her too strong.

As for me, I guess I was in sort of a daze
there for a week or so. Gettin' to be a parent
had been sprung on me so sudden that it was

274 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

sort of confusin'. I couldn't let on to be a
judge of babies myself. I don't know as I'd
ever examined one real near to before, any
way — 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 cas
ual. Such a small party to have so much fuss
made over! Why, one of his hands wasn't
much bigger 'n a cat's paw. And his face was
so red and little and the nose so sketchy that
it didn't seem likely he'd ever amount to
much. Here he'd had more'n a week to grow
in, and I couldn't notice any change at all.

Not that I was nutty enough to report any
such thoughts. Hardly. I felt kind of guilty
at just havin' 'em in my head. How was it,
I asked myself, that I couldn't stand around
with my hands clasped and my eyes dimmed
up, as a perfectly good parent should when
he gazes at his first and only chee-ild? Wasn't
I human?

All the alibi I can put up is that I wasn't
used to bein' a father. Ain't there something

TOECHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP 275

in that? Just think, now. Why, I'd hardly
got used to bein' married. Here, only a little
over a year ago, I was floatin' around free and
careless. And then, first thing I know, with
out any special coachin' in the act, I finds my
self 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 mem
ber of the fam'ly for a long time, and hide
any embarrassin' feelin's I might have by ad-
dressin' him loud and joshin'. I expect it was
kind of a poor performance, at that. But I
seemed to be gettin' away with it, so I stuck
to that line. Vee appears to take it all right,
and, as nobody else gave me the call, I almost
got to believe it was the real thing myself.

So this particular afternoon, when I came
breezin' in from town, I chases right up to

276 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

the nursery, where I knew I'd find Vee, gives
her the usual hail just behind the ear, and then
turns hasty to the crib to show I haven't for
got 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, try-
in* 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 dis
covers 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,"

TOECHY GETS THE THUMB GEIP 277

breaks in Auntie, "I am sure he has an aston
ishing way of showing parental affection. Call
ing the child an 'old scout,' a 'young rough-
houser'i 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 some
thing noisy at the wrong time. Or I'd jolt her
some other way.

But she held in until, one night after dinner,
when the baby had indulged in too much day
sleepin' and was carryin' on a bit, I takes a

278 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

notion to soothe him with a few humorous
antics while Auntie is safe downstairs. You
see, I'd never been able to get him to take any
notice of me before; but this time, after I'd
done a swell imitation of a Fred Stone dance,
I had him cooin' approving the nurse smother-
in ' a smile, and Vee snickerin'.

Naturally, I has to follow it up with some
thing else. I was down on my hands and
knees doin' a buckin' bronco act across the
floor, when there comes this gasp from the
doorway. It seems Auntie was passin' by, and
peeked in. Her eyebrows go up, her mouth
corners come down, and she stiffens like she'd
grabbed a high-voltage feed wire. I saw it
comin', but the best I can do is steady myself
on my fingers and toes and wish I had cotton
in my ears.

" Really!" says she. "Are you never to
realize, young man, that you are now supposed
to be a husband and a father!"

And, before I can shoot back a word, she's
sailed on, her chin in the air and her mouth
about as smilin' as a crack in a vinegar bottle.
But she'd said it. She'd pushed it home, too.
And the worst of it was, I couldn't deny that
she had the goods on me. I might pass as a
husband, if you didn't expect too much. But

pq „

TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP 279

as for the rest — well, I knew I wasn't meetin'
the specifications.

The only model I could think of was them
fond parent groups you see in the movie close-
ups — mother on the right, father at the left,
and Little Bright Eyes squeezed in between
and bein' mauled affectionate. Had we ever
indulged in any such family clinch? Not up
to date. Why? Was it because I was a fail
ure 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, con
gratulations, Tlorchy. You have frequently
surprised me by rising to the occasion. Per
haps you will in this also."

280 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Thanks, Mr. Ellins," says I. "It's nice
of you to cheer me up that way."

Piddle, of course, said the right and elegant
think, 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.

"Haw-haw!" roars Whitey, usin' the steam

TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP 281

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 look-
in' 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 thank-

282 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

in' 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 con
crete. Stiff! Them stone lions in front of the
Public Lib'ry was frolicsome lambs compared
to me. And I was wearin' the same happy

TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP 283

look on my face as if I was havin' a tooth
plugged.

Course that had to be just the time when Mr.
Robert Ellins happened in for his first private
view. Mrs. Robert had towed him down spe
cial. He's a reg'lar friend, though, Mr. Rob
ert 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, Torohy!" says he. "A son and
heir, eh? I salute you."

1 'Same to you and many of 'em," says I,
grinnin' simple.

It was the first thing that came into my
head, but I guess I'd better not have let it out.
Mrs. Robert pinks up, Vee snickers, and they
both hurries into the next room.

" Thank you, Torchy," says Mr. Robert.
" Within certain limitations, I trust your wish
comes true. But I say — how does it feel, being
a father?"

" Just plain foolish," says I.

"Eh?" says he.

" Honest, Mr. Robert," says I, "I never felt
so much like a ham sandwich at a Chamber of
Commerce banquet as I do right now. I'm

284 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

beginnin' to suspect I've been miscast for the
part. ' '

"Nonsense!" says he soothin'. "You ap
pear 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.

TORCHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP 285

See, he is looking up at you! Yes, I believe
he is. Do you see Daddy? Do you, precious?"

4 '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 advan
tage?" 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 dis
covers I can wiggle my toes occasionally with
out 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 hope
less 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 inter
ested. First off they sort of wandered around
the room aimless; but after a while they
steadies down into gazin' at me sort of curi
ous 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 '11 be as red as
mine? Don't you care. There's worse things

286 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

in life than bein' bright on top. Eh? Think
you'd like to get your fingers in it? Might
burny-burn. Well, try it once, if you like."
And I ducks my head so he can reach that
wavin' forelock of mine.

" Googly-goo ! " remarks Sonny, indicatin'
'most anything you're a mind to call it.

Anyway, he seems to be entertained. We
was gettin' acquainted fast. Pretty soon he
pulls a smile on me. Say, it's the real thing
in the smile line, too — confidential and chummy.
I has to smile back.

1 1 That 's the trick, Buster ! ' ' says I. ' ' Friendly
face motions is what wins."

" Goo-oogly-goo ! " says he.

1 1 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 wav
in' one of his hands around, and the first thing
I know them soft little pink fingers has circled
about my thumb.

Say, that turned the trick — just that. Ever
had a baby grip you that way? Your own, I
mean? If you have, I expect you'll know what
I'm drivin' at. And if you ain't — well, you
got something comin' to you. It's a thing I
couldn't tell you about. It's a gentle sort of

TOECHY GETS THE THUMB GRIP 287

thrill, that spreads and spreads until it gets
'way inside of you — under your vest, on the
left side.

When Vee finally comes in to see how we're
gettin' along, he's snoozin' calm and peaceful,
with a sketchy smile kind of flickerin' on and
off that rosebud mouth of his, like he was
indulgin' in pleasant dreams. Also, them little
pink fingers was still wrapped around my
thumb.

"Well, if you aren't a picture, you two!"
says Vee, bendin' over and whisperin' in my
ear.

"This ain't a pose," says I. "It's the real
thing."

"You mean " begins Vee.

"I mean I've qualified," says I. "Maybe I
didn't show up so strong durin' the initiation,
but I squeaked through. I'm a reg'lar daddy
now. See! He's givin' me the inside brother
grip — on my thumb. You can call Auntie in,
if you like."

CHAPTER XVII

A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY

WHAT I like about livin' out in the forty-
minute-if -you 're-lucky sector is that, once you
get here, it's so nice and quiet. You don't
have to worry, when you turn in at night,
about manhole covers bein' blown through
your front windows, or whether the basement
floor will drop into the subway, or if some
gun gang is going to use your street for a
shootin' gallery. All you do is douse the lights
and feel sure nothin's going to happen until
breakfast.

We were talkin' something along this line
the other evenin', Vee and me, sayin' how rest
ful and soothin' these spring nights in the
country was — you know, sort of handin' it to
ourselves. And it couldn't have been more'n
two hours later that I'm routed rude out of the
downy by the 'phone bell. It's buzzin' away
frantic. I scrambles out and fits the receiver
to my ear just in time to get the full benefit
of the last half of a long ring.

288

A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY 289

uAh, take your thumb off," I sings out to
the night operator. "Who you think you're
callin' — the fire house or some doctor?"

"Here's your party," I hears her remark
cheerful, and then this other voice comes in.

Well, it's Norton Plummer, that fussy little
lawyer neighbor of ours who lives about half
a mile the other side of the railroad. Since
he's been made chairman of the local Council
of Defense and put me on as head of one of his
committees, he's rung me up frequent, gener
ally at dinner-time, to ask if I have anything
to report. Seems to think, just because I'm
a reserve lieutenant on special detail, that I
ought to be discoverin' spies and diggin' out
plots every few minutes.

"Yes, yes," says I. "This is me. What
then?"

"Did you read about that German naval
officer who escaped from an internment camp
last week?" he asks.

"But that was 'way down in North Caro
lina or somewhere, wasn't it?" says I.

"Perhaps," says Plummer. "But he isn't
there now. He's here."

"Eh?" says I. "Where?"

"Prowling around my house," says Plum
mer. "That is, he was a few moments ago.

290 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

My chauffeur saw him. So did I. He's on
his way down towards the trolley line now."

"Why didn't you nab him?" I asks.

"Me?" says Plummer. "Why, he's a huge
fellow, and no doubt a desperate man. I
presume he was after me: I don't know."

"But how'd you come to spot him as a Hun
officer?" says I.

"By the description I read," says he. "It
fits perfectly. There's no telling what he's up
to around here. And listen : I have telephoned
to the Secret Service headquarters in town for
them to send some men out in a machine. But
they'll be nearly an hour on the road, at best.
Meanwhile, what we must do is to prevent him
from catching that last trolley car, which goes
in about twelve-fifteen. We must stop him,
you see."

"Oh, must we?" says I. "Listens to me like
some he-sized job."

"That's why I called you up," says Plum
mer. "You know where the line crosses the
railroad? Well, he'll probably try to get on
there. Hurry down and prevent him."

1 ' Is that all I have to do I " say s I. " What 's
the scheme — do I trip him up and sit on his
head?"

"No, no!" says Plummer. "Don't attempt

violence. He's a powerful man. Why, my
chauffeur saw him break the chain on our back
gate as if it had been nothing but twine. Just
gave it a push — and snap it went. Oh, he's
strong as a bull. Ill-tempered, too."

"Huh!" says I. "And I'm to go down

and Say, where do you come in on

this!"

"I'll be there with John just as soon as we
can quiet Mrs. Plummer and the maids," says
he. "They're almost in hysterics. In the
meantime, though, if you could get there

and Well, use strategy of some kind.

Anything to keep him from catching that car.
You understand!"

"I get you," says I. "And it don't sound
enticin' at all. But I'll see what I can do. If
you find me smeared all over the road, though,
you'll know I didn't pull it off. Also, I'd
suggest that you make that soothin' act of
yours speedy."

Course this wakes Vee up, and she wants to
know what it's all about.

"Oh, a little private panic that Norton
Plummer is indulgin' in," says I. "Nothin'
to get fidgety over. I'll be back soon."

"But — but you won't be reckless, will you,.
Torchy?" she asks.

292 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Who, me?" says I. "How foolish. Why,
I invented that ' Safety First' motto, and side-
steppin' trouble is the easiest thing I do.
Trust me."

I expect she was some nervous, at that.
But she's a good sport, Vee.

"If you're needed," says she, "of course I
want you to go. But do be careful."

I didn't need any coaxin'. Somehow, I
never could get used to roamin' around in the
country after dark. Always seemed sort of
spooky. Bein' brought up in the city, I expect,
where the scenery is illuminated constant, ac
counts for that. So, as I slips out the front
gate and down towards the station, I keeps
in the middle of the road and glances sus
picious at the tree shadows.

Not that I was takin' Plummer's Hun scare
real serious. He'd had a bad case of spy
fever recent. Why, only last week he got all
stirred up over what he announced was a
private wireless outfit that he'd discovered
somewhere in the outskirts of Flushing; and
when they came to trail it down it turns out to
be some new wire clothes-line strung up back
of a flat buildin'.

Besides, what would an escaped German
naval officer be doin' up this way? He'd be

A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY 293

more apt to strike for Mexico, wouldn't he?
Still, long as I'd let Plummer put me on the
committee, it was up to me to answer any
calls. Might be entertainin' to see who he'd
mistaken for an enemy alien this time. And
if all I was expected to do was spill a little
impromptu strategy — well, maybe I could, and
then again maybe I couldn't. I'd take a look,
anyway.

It was seem' a light in Danny Shea's little
cottage, back on a side lane, that gave me my
original hunch. Danny is one of the impor
tant officials of the Long Island Railroad, if
you let him tell it. He's the flagman down
where the highway and trolley line cross the
tracks at grade, and when his rheumatism ain't
makin' him grouchy he's more or less amusin'
to chin with.

Danny had pestered the section boss until
he'd got him to build a little square coop for
him, there by the crossin' — a place where he
could crawl in between trains, smoke his pipe,
and toast himself over a sheet-iron stove about
as big as a picnic coffee-pot.

And that sentry-box effect was the pride
of Danny's heart. Most of his spare time and
all the money he could bone out of the com
muters he spent in improvin' and decora tin'

294 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

it. He'd cut a couple of round windows, like
port-holes, and fitted 'em with swing-in' sashes.
Then he'd tacked on some flower-boxes under
neath and filled 'em with geraniums.

When he wasn't waterin' his flowers or coax-
in' along his little grass-plot or addin' another
shelf inside, he was paintin' the outside. Dan
ny's idea of a swell color scheme seemed to
be to get on as many different shades as pos
sible. The roof was red, the sides a bright
blue. But where he spread himself was on
the trim. All you had to do to get on the
right side of Danny was to lug him out a half-
pound can of paint different from any he'd
applied so far. He'd use it somehow.

So the window-sashes was picked out in yel
low, the side battens loomed up prominent as
black lines, and the door-panels was a pale pink.
Nearly all the commuters had been touched by
Danny for something or other that could be
added to the shack. Only a week or so before,
I'd got in strong with him by contributin' a
new padlock for the door — a vivid red one,
like they have on the village jail in vaudeville
plays.

And it struck me now that if I had the key
to that little box of Danny's it would ma£e a
perfectly good listenin'-post for any midnight

A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY 295

sleuthin' I had to do. Most likely he was up
dosin' himself or bathin' his joints.

Well, he was. He didn't seem any too en
thusiastic about lettin' me have the key, though.

"I dunno," says he. " 'Tis railroad prop
erty, y' understand, and I'd be afther riskin'
me job if any thin' should "

i i

'I know, Danny," says I. ''But you tell
'em it was commandeered by the U. S. Army,
which is me; and if that don't square you I'll
have Mr. Baker come on and tell the section
boss where he gets off."

"Verra well," says Danny. And in less than
five minutes more I'm down there at the cross-
in', all snug and cozy, peekin' out of them
round windows into No Man's Land.

For a while it was kind of excitin'; but after
that it got sort of monotonous. There was
about half of an old moon in the sky, and
only a few clouds, so you could see fairly
well — if there 'd been anything to see. But
nothing seemed to be stirrin', up or down the
road.

What a nut that Norton Plummer was, any
way, feedin' me up with his wild tales in the
middle of the night! And why didn't he show
up? Finally I got restless, and walked out
where I could rubber up the trolley track.

296 THE HOUSE OF TOUCHY

No sign or sound of a car. Then I looks at
my watch again, and figures out it ain't due
for twenty minutes or so. Next I strolls across
the railroad to look for Plummer. And, just
as I'm passin' a big maple tree, out steps this
huge party with the whiskers. I nearly jumped
out of my puttees.

I 'Eh?" says I gaspy.

II Gotta match?" says he.
"I — I guess so," says I.

I reached as far as I could when I hands
him the box, too. He's a whale of a man, tall
and bulky. And his whiskers are the bristly
kind — straw-colored, I should say. He's wear-
in' a double-breasted blue coat and a sort of
yachtin' cap. Uh-huh! Plummer must have
been right. If this gink wasn't a Hun naval
officer, then what was he? The ayes had it.

He produces a pipe and starts to light up.
One match broke, the second had no strikin'
head on it, the third just fizzed.

"Gr-r-r-r!" says he.

Then he starts for the crossin', me trailin'
along. I saw he had his eye on Danny's
sentry-box, meanin' to get in the lee of it.
Even then I didn't have any bright little idea.

"Waitin' for the trolley?" I throws out.

"What of it?" he growls.

A LOW TACKLE BY TOECHY 297

"Oh, no offense," says I hasty. "Maybe
there are others."

He just lets out another grunt, and tries one
more match with his face up against the side
of the shanty. And then, all in a jump, my
bean got into gear.

"You might have better luck inside," says
I, swingin' open the door invitin'.

He don't even say thank you. He ain't one
of that kind. For a second or so I thought
he wasn't goin' to take any notice; but after
one more failure he steps around, inspects the
inside of the shanty, and then squeezes him
self through the door. At that, he wasn't all
the way in, but by the time he had a match
goin' I'd got my nerve back.

"Ah, take the limit, Cap'n," says I.

With that I plants one foot impulsive right
where he was widest, gives a quick shove,
slams the door shut behind him, and snaps the
big padlock through the hasp.

"Hey!" he sings out startled. "What
the "

"Now, don't get messy, Cap'n," says I.
"You're in, ain't you1? Smoke up and be
happy."

"You — you loafer!" he gurgles throaty.
"What do you mean!"

298 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Just a playful little prank, Cap," says I.
"Don't get excited. You're perfectly safe."

Maybe he was. But some folks don't appre
ciate little attentions like that. The Cap'n
starts in bumpin' and thrashin' violent in
there, like a pup that's crawled into a drain
pipe and got himself stuck. He hammers on
the walls with his fists, throws his weight
against the door, and tries to kick his way out.

But the section boss must have used rail
spikes and reinforced the studdin' with fish
plates when he built that coop for Danny, or
else the big Hun was too tight a fit to get full
play for his strength. Anyway, all he did was
make the little house rock until you'd thought
Long Island was enjoyin' a young earthquake.
Meanwhile I stands by, ready to do a sprint
if he should break loose, and offers more or
less cheerin' advice.

"Easy with your elbows in there, Cap," says
I. "You're assaultin' railroad property, you
know, and if you do any damage you can be
pinched for malicious mischief."

"You — you better let me out of here quick!"
he roars. "I gotta get back."

"Oh, you'll get to town all right," says I.
"I'll promise you that."

"Loafer!" he snorts.

A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY 299

"Say, how do you know I ain't sensitive on
that point?" says I. "You might hurt my
feelin's."

"Gr-r-r!" says he. "I would wring your
neck. ' '

"Such a disposition!" says I.

Oh, yes, we swapped quite a little repartee,
me and the Cap'n, or whatever he was. But,
instead of his bein' soothed by it he gets more
strenuous every minute. He had that shack
rockin' like a boat.

Next thing I saw was one of his big feet
stickin' out under the bottom sill. Then I
remembers that the sentry-box has only a
dirt floor — on account of the stove, I expect.
Course Danny has banked the outside up with
sod for five or six inches, but that ain't enough
to hold it down with a human tornado cuttin'
loose inside. A minute more and another foot
appears on the other side, and the next I knew
the whole shootin' match begins to rise, wabbly
but sure, until he's lifted it almost to his
knees.

Looked like the Cap'n was goin' to shed the
coop over his head, as you'd shuck a shirt,
and I was edgin' away prepared to make a
run for it. But right there the elevatin' proc
ess stops, and after some violent squirms there

300 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

comes an outburst of language that would
only get the delete sign if I should give it. I
could dope out what had happened. That
plank seat across one side had caught the
Cap'n about where he buckles his belt, and he
couldn't budge it any further.

1 'Want a shoe-horn, Cap'n?" I asks. "Say,
next time you try wearin' a kiosk as a slip-on
sweater you'd better train down for the act."

"Gr-r-r-r!" says he. "I — I will teach you
to play your jokes on me, young whipper-
snap."

He does some more writhin', and pretty
soon manages to swing open one of the port
holes. With his face up to that, like a deep-
sea diver peekin' out o' his copper bonnet, he
starts for me, kickin' over the little stove as he
gets under way, and tearin' the whole thing
loose from the foundation.

Course he's some handicapped by the hobble-
skirt effect around his knees, and the weight
above his shoulders makes him a bit topheavy;
but, at that, he can get over the ground as
fast as I can walk backwards.

Must have been kind of a weird sight, there
in the moonlight — me bein' pursued up the road
by this shack with legs under it, the little tin
smoke-pipe wavin' jaunty about nine feet in

A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY 301

the air, and the geraniums in the flower-boxes
noddin' jerky.

"Say, what do you think you are?" I calls
out. "A wooden tank goin' over the top!'7

I was sort of wonderin' how long he could
keep this up, and what would be the finish,
when from behind me I hears this spluttery
line of exclamations indicatin' rage. It's
Danny, who's got anxious about lettin' me
have the use of his coop and has come down
to see what's happenin' to it. Well, he saw.

"Hey! Stop him, stop him!" he yells.

"Stop him yourself, Danny," says I.

"But he's runnin' away with me little flag-
house, thief of the worruld!" howls Danny.
"It's breakin' and enterin' and carryin' away
th' property of the Long Island Eailroad that
he's guilty of."

"Yes; I've explained all that to him," says I.

"Go back and come out of that, ye thievin7
Dutchman!" orders Danny, rushin' up and
bangin' on the door with his fists.

"Just let me out, you Irish shrimp!" snarls
the Cap'n.

"Can't be done — not yet, Danny," says I.

"But — but he's destroyin' me flowers and
runnin' off with me little house," protested
Danny. "I'll have the law on him, so I will."

302 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

out, Irisher, or I'll fall on you," warns
the Cap'n.

And right in the midst of this debate I sees
Norton Plummer and his chauffeur hurryin'
up from across the tracks. I skips back to
meet 'em.

"Well," says Plummer, "have you seen any
thing of the escaped prisoner?"

"That's him," says I, pointin' to the wab-
blin' shack.

"Whaddye mean?" says Plummer, starin'
puzzled.

"He's inside," says I. "You said use strat
egy, didn't you? Well, that's the best I had
in stock. I got him boxed, all right, but he
won't stay put. He insists on playin' the hu
man turtle. What '11 we do with him now?
Come see."

"My word!" says Plummer, as he gets a
view of the Cap'n's legs and the big whiskered
face at the little window. "So there you are,
eh, you runaway Hun?"

"Bah!" says the Cap'n. "Why do you call
me Hun?"

"Because I've identified you as an escaped
German naval officer," says Plummer. "Do
you deny it?"

"Me?" says the Cap'n. "Bah!"

"Who do you claim to be, then?" says I.
"A tourist Eskimo or an out-of-town buyer
from Patagonia?"

"I'm Nels Petersen, that's who I am," says
he, "and I'm chief engineer of a ferry-boat
that's due to make her first run at five-thirty-
three. ' '

"What!" says Plummer. "Are you the
Swede engineer who has been writing love let
ters to— Say, what is the name of Mrs.
Plummer 's maid?"

"Selma," says the Cap'n.

"By George!" says Plummer. "I believe
the man's right. But see here: what were you
doing prowling around my back yard to-night?
Why didn't you go to the servants' entrance
and ask the cook for Selma, if you're as much
in love with her as you've written that you
are?"

"What do you know about it?" demands
Petersen.

"Good Lord!" gasps Plummer. "Haven't I
had to puzzle out all those wretched scrawls
of yours and read 'em to her? Such mushy
letters, too! Come, if you're the man, why
didn't you call Selma out and tell her all
that to her face?"

304 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

Nothing but heavy breathing from inside the
shack.

"You don't mean to say you were too bash
ful?" goes on Plummer. "A great big fellow
like you!"

If it hadn't been for the whiskers I believe
we could have seen him blush.

"Look here," says Plummer. "You may be
what you say you are, and then again you may
not. Perhaps you just guessed at the girl's
name. We can't afford to take any chances.
The only way to settle it is to send for
Selma."

"No, no!" pleads the big gink. "Please!
Not like this."

"Yes, just like that," insists Plummer.
"Only, if you'd rather, you can carry your
house back where it belongs and sit down.
John, run home and bring Selma here."

Well, we had our man nicely tamed now.
With Selma liable to show up, he was ready to
do as he was told. Just why, we couldn't make
out. Anyway, he hobbles back to the crossin'
and eases the shack down where he found it.
Also, he slumps inside on the bench and waits,
durin' which proceedin' the last trolley goes
boomin' past.

Inside of ten minutes John is back with

A LOW TACKLE BY TORCHY 305

the maid. Kind of a slim, classy-lookin' girl
she is, too. And when Selma sees that big
face at the round window there's no doubt
about his being the chosen one.

"Oh, Nels, Nels!" she wails out. "Vy you
don'd coom by the house yet?"

"I was scart, Selma," says Nels, "for fear
you'd tell me to go away."

"But— but I don'd, Nels," says Selma.

"Shall I let him out for the fade-away
scene?" says I.

Plummer nods. And we had to turn our
backs as they go to the fond clinch.

Accordin' to Plummer, Selma had been wait-
in' for Nels to say the word for more'n a year,
and for the last two months she'd been so
absent-minded and moody that she hadn't been
of much use around the house. But him get-
tin' himself boxed up as an escaped Hun had
sort of broken the ice.

"There, now!" says Plummer. "You two
go back to the house and talk it over. You
may have until three-fifteen to settle all details,
and then I'll have John drive Petersen down
to his ferry-boat. Be sure and fix the day,
though. I don't want to go through another
night like this."

"But what about me little lawn," demands

306 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

Danny, "that's tore up entirely! And who's
to mend me stove-pipe and all?"

"Oh, here's something that will cover all
that, Danny," says Plummer, slippin' him a
ten-spot. "And I've no doubt Petersen will
contribute something, too."

"Sure!" says Nels, fishin' in his pockets.

"Two bits!" says Danny, pickin' up the
quarter scornful. "Thim Swedes are the tight
wads! And if ever I find this wan kidnap-
pin' me little house again "

At which Danny breaks off and shakes his
fist menacin'.

When I gets back home I tiptoes upstairs;
but Vee is only dozin', and wakes up with a
jump.

"Is that you, Torchy!" says she. "Has
—has anything dreadful happened?"

"Yes," says I. "I had to pull a low tackle,
and Danny Shea's declared war on Sweden."

CHAPTER XVHI

TAG DAY AT TORCHY*S

COUESE, in a way, it was our fault, I expect.
We never should have let on that there was
any hitch about what we was goin' to name
the baby. Blessed if I know now just how it
got around. I remember Vee and I bavin' one
or two little talks on the subject, but I don't
think we'd tackled the proposition real serious.

You see, at first we were too busy sort of
gettin' used to bavin' him around and framin'
up a line on this parent act we was supposed
to put over. Anyway, I was. And for three
or four weeks, there, I called him anything that
came handy, from Young Sport to Old Snoodle-
kins. Vee she sticks to Baby. Uh-huh — just
plain Baby. But the way she says it, breath-
in' it out kind of soft and gentle, sounded per
fectly all right to me.

And the youngster didn't seem to have any
kick comin'. He was gettin' so he'd look up
and coo real intelligent when she speaks to him

307

308 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

in that fashion. You couldn't blame him, for
it was easy to listen to.

As for the different things I called him —
well, he didn't mind them, either. No matter
what it was, — Old Pink Toes or Wiggle-heels, —
he'd generally pass it off with a smile, provid-
in' he wasn't too busy with his bottle or tryin'
to get hold of his foot with both of his hands.

Then one day Auntie, who's been listenin'
disapprovin' all the while, just can't hold in
any longer.

"Isn't it high time," says she, "that you
addressed the child properly by his right
name!"

"Eh I" says I, gawpin'. "Which one?"

"You don't mean to say," she goes on, "that
you have not yet decided on his baptismal
name ! ' '

"I didn't know he was a Baptist," says I
feeble.

"We hadn't quite settled what to call him,"
says Vee.

"Besides," I adds, "I don't see the use
bein' in a rush about it. Maybe were 're savin'
that up."

"Saving!" says Auntie. "For what rea
son!"

"Oh, general conservation," says I. "Got

TAG DAY AT TORCH Y'S 309

the habit. We've had heatless Mondays and
wheatless Wednesdays and f ryless Fridays and
sunless Sundays, so why not nameless babies?"

Auntie sniffs and goes off with her nose in
the air, as she always does whenever I spring
any of my punk persiflage on her.

But then Vee takes it up, and says Auntie is
right and that we really ought to decide on a
name and begin using it.

"Oh, very well," says I. "I'll be thinking
one up."

Seemed simple enough. Course, I'd never
named any babies before, but I had an idea I
could dig out half a dozen good, serviceable
monickers between then and dinner-time.

Somehow, though, I couldn't seem to hit on
anything that I was willing to wish on to the
youngster offhand. When I got right up
against the problem, it seemed kind of serious.

Why, here was something he'd have to live
with all his life; us, too. We'd have to say
it over maybe a hundred times a day. And
if he grew up and amounted to anything, as
we was sure he would, it would mean that this
front name of his that I had to pick out might
be displayed more or less prominent It would
be on his office door, on his letterheads, on his
cards. He'd sign it to checks.

310 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

Maybe it would be printed in the news
papers, used in headlines, or painted on cam
paign banners. Might be displayed on bill
boards. Who could tell?

And the deeper I got into the thing the
more I wabbled about from one name to an
other, until I wondered how people had the
nerve to give their children some of the tags
you hear — Percy, Isadore, Lulu, Reginald, and
so on. And do it so casual, too. Why, I
knew of a couple who named their three
girls after parlor-cars; and a gink in Brook
lyn who called one of his boys Prospect,
after the park. Think of loadin' a help
less youngster with anything freaky like
that!

Besides, how were you going to know that
even the best name you could pick wouldn't
turn out to be a misfit? About the only Percy
I ever knew in real life was a great two-fisted
husk who was foreman of a stereotypin' room;
and here in the Corrugated Building if you'll
come in some night after five, I can show you
a wide built scrub lady, with hair redder 'n
mine and a voice like a huckster — her front
name is Violet. Yet I expect, when them two
was babies, both those names sounded kind of
cute. I could see where it would be easy

TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S 311

enough for me to make a mistake that it would
take a court order to straighten out.

So, when Vee asks if I've made any choice
yet I had to admit that I'm worse muddled
up on the subject than when I started in. All
I can do is hand over a list I've copied down
on the back of an envelop with every one of
'em checked off as no good.

" Let's see," says Vee, glancin' 'em over
curious. " Lester. "Why, I'm sure that is ra
ther a nice name for a boy."

"Yes," says I; "but after I put it down I
remembered a Lester I knew once. He was a
simp that wore pink neckties and used to write
love-letters to Mary Pickford."

"What about Earl?" she asks.

"Too flossy," says I. "Sounds like you was
tryin' to let on he belonged to the aristoc
racy."

"Well, Donald, then," says she. "That's a
good, sensible name."

"But we ain't Scotch," I objects.

"What's the matter with Philip? " says Vee.

"I can never remember whether it has one
I and two p's or the other way round."

"But you haven't considered any of the com
mon ones," goes on Vee, "such as John or
William or Thomas or James or Arthur."

312 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

"Because that would mean he'd be called
Bill or Tom or Art," says I. "Besides, I
kind of thought he ought to have something
out of the usual run — one you wouldn't for
get as soon as you heard it."

"If I may suggest," breaks in Auntie, "the
custom of giving the eldest son the family
name of his mother is rather a good one. Had
you considered Hemmingway?"

I just gasps and glances at Vee. What if
she should fall for anything like that! Think
of smotherin' a baby under most of the alpha
bet all at one swoop! And imagine a boy
strugglin' through schooldays and vacations
with all that tied to him.

Hemmingway! Why, he'd grow up round-
shouldered and knock-kneed, and most likely
turn out to be a floor-walker in the white goods
department, or the manager of a gift-shop tea
room. Hemmingway !

Just the thought of it made me dizzy; and
I begun breathin' easier when I saw Vee shake
her head.

"He's such a little fellow, Auntie," says
she. "Wouldn't that be — well, rather top-
heavy!"

Which disposes of Auntie. She admits
maybe it would. But from then on, as the

TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S 313

news seems to spread that we was havin' a
kind of deadlock with the namin' process, the
volunteers got busy. Old Leon Battou, our
butler-cook, hinted that his choice would be
Emil.

"For six generations," says he, "Emil has
been the name of the first-born son in our
family. ' '

"That's stickin' to tradition," says I. "It
sounds perfectly swell, too, when you know
how to pronounce it. But, you see, we're
foundin' a new dynasty."

Mr. Robert don't say so outright, but he
suggests that Ellins Ballard wouldn't be such
a bad combination.

"True," he adds, "the governor and I de
serve no such distinction; but I'm sure we
would both be immensely flattered. And there 's
no telling how reckless we might be when it
come to presenting christening cups and that
sort of thing."

"That's worth rememberin ', " says I. "And
I expect you wouldn't mind, in case you had a
boy to name later on, callin' him Torchy, eh?"

Mr. Robert grins. "Entry withdrawn,"
says he.

How this Amelia Gaston Leroy got the call
to crash in on our little family affair, though,

314 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

I couldn't quite dope out. We never suspected
before that she was such an intimate friend of
ours. Course, since we'd been livin' out in
the Piping Rock section we had seen more or
less of her — more, as a rule. She was built
that way.

Oh, yes. Amelia was one of the kind that
could bounce in among three or four people
in a thirty by forty-five living-room and make
the place seem crowded. Mr. Robert's favor
ite description of her was that one half of
Amelia didn't know how the other half lived.
To state it plain, Amelia was some whale of
a girl. One look at her, and you did no
more guessin' as to what caused the food
shortage.

I got the shock of my life, too, when they
told me she was the one that wrote so much of
this mushy magazine poetry you see printed.
For all the lady poetesses I'd ever seen had
been thin, shingled-chested parties with mud-
colored hair and soulful eyes.

There was nothing thin about Amelia. Her
eyes might have been soulful enough at times,
but mostly I'd seen 'em fixed on a tray of
sandwiches or a plate of layer cake.

They'd had her up at the Ellinses' once or
twice when they were givin' one of their musi-

TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S 315

cal evenin's, and she'd spouted some of her
stuff.

Her first call on us, though, was when she
blew in last Sunday afternoon and announced
that she'd come to see "that dear, darling man
child" of ours. And for a girl of her size
Amelia is some breeze, take it from me. Hon
est, for the first ten minutes or so there I felt
like our happy little home had been hit by a
young tornado.

"Where is he?" she demands. "Please take
me at once into the regal presence of his youth
ful majesty."

I noticed Vee sizin' her up panicky, and I
knew she was thinkin' of what might happen
to them spindle-legged white chairs in the
nursery.

"How nice of you to want to see him!" says
Vee. "But let me have Baby brought down
here. Just a moment."

And she steers her towards a solid built
davenport that we'd been meanin' to have re-
upholstered anyway. Then we was treated to
a line of high-brow gush as Amelia inspects
the youngster through her shell lorgnette and
tries to tell us in impromptu blank verse how
wonderful he is.

"Ah, he is one of the sun children, loved of

316 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

the high gods," says she, rollin' her eyes.
"He comes to you wearing the tints of dawn
and trailing clouds of glory. You remember
how Wordsworth puts it?"

As she fires this straight at me, I has to
say something.

"Does he?" I asks.

"I am always impressed," she gurgles on,
"by the calm serenity in the eyes of these lit
tle ones. It is as if they "

But just then Snoodlekins begins screwin*
up his face. He's never been mauled around
by a lady poetess before, or maybe it was just
because there was so much of her. Anyway,
he tears loose with a fine large howl and the
serenity stuff is all off. It takes Vee four or
five minutes to soothe him.

Meanwhile Miss Leroy gets around to stat
in' the real reason why we're bein' honored.

"I understand," says she, "that you have
not as yet chosen a name for him. So I am
going to help you. I adore it. I have always
wanted to name a baby, and I've never been
allowed. Think of that! My brother has five
children, too ; but he would not listen to any of
my suggestions.

"So I am aunt to a Walter who should have
been called Clifford, and a Margaret whom

TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S 317

I wanted to name Beryl, and so on. Even my
laundress preferred to select names for her
twins from some she had seen on a circus
poster rather than let me do it for her.

"But I am sure you are rational young
people, and recognize that I have some natural
talent in that direction. Names ! Why, I have
made a study of them. I must, you see, in my
writing. And this dear little fellow deserves
something fitting. Now let me see. Ah, I have
it! He shall be Cedric — after Cedric the Red,
you know."

Accordin' to her, it was all settled. She
heaves herself up off the davenport, straight
ens her hat, and prepares to leave, smilin'
satisfied, like an expert who's been called in
and has finished the job.

"We — we will consider Cedric," says Vee.
"Thank you so much."

"Oh, not at all," says Amelia. "Of course,
if I should happen to think of anything better
within the next few days I will let you know
at once." And out she floats.

Vee gazes after her and sighs.

"I suppose Cedric is rather a good name,"
says she, "but somehow I don't feel like
using one that a stranger has picked out for
us. Do you, Torchy?"

318 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

" You've said it," says I. "I'd sooner let
her buy my neckties, or tell me how I should
have my eggs cooked for breakfast."

'And yet," says Vee, "unless we can think

t i

of something better '

"We will," says I. "I'm goin' through
them pages in the back of the big dictionary."

In less'n half an hour there's a knock at the
door, and here's a chauffeur come with a note
from Amelia. On the way home she's had
another hunch.

"After all," she writes, "Cedric seems ra
ther too harsh, too rough-shod. So I have
decided on Lucian."

"Huh!" says I. "She's decided, has she?
Say, whose tag day is this, anyway — ours or
hers!"

Vee shrugs her shoulders.

"I'm not sure that we should like calling
him Lucian; it's so — so

"I know," says I, "so perfectly sweet. Say,
can't we block Amelia off somehow? Suppose
I send back word that a rich step-uncle has
promised to leave him a ton of coal if we call
the baby Ebenezer after him?"

Vee chuckles.

"Oh, no doubt she'll forget all about it by
morning," says she.

TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S 319

Seems we'd just begun hearin' from the out
side districts, though, or else they'd been sav
in' up their ideas for this particular afternoon
and evenin ' ; for between then and nine o 'clock
no less'n half a dozen different parties dropped
in, every last one of 'em with a name to regis
ter. And their contributions ranged all the
way from Aaron to Xury. There were two
rooters for Woodrow and one for Pershing.

Some of the neighbors were real serious
about it. They told us what a time they'd had
namin' some of their children, brought up cases
where families had been busted up over such
discussions, and showed us where their choice
couldn't be beat. One merry bunch from the
Country Club thought they was pullin' some
thing mighty humorous when they stopped in
to tell us how they'd held a votin' contest on
the subject, and that the winnin' combination
wras Paul Roger.

" After something you read on a cork, eh?"
says I. "Much obliged. And I hope nobody
strained his intellect."

"The idea!" says Vee, after they've rolled
off. "Voting on such a thing at a club! Just
as if Baby was a battleship, or a — a new mov
ing-picture place. I think that's perfectly
horrid of them."

320 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

1 'It was fresh, all right," says I. "But I
expect we got to stand for such guff until we
can give out that we've found a name that
suits us. Lemme tackle that list again. Now,
how would Eussell do? Russell Ballard? No;
too many Z's and r's. Here's Chester. And
I expect the boys would call him Chesty. Then
there's Clyde. But there's a steamship line
by that name. What about Stanley? Oh, yes;
he was an explorer."

I admit I was .gettin' desperate about then.
I was flounderin' around in a whole ocean of
names, long ones and short ones, fancy and
plain, yet I couldn't quite make up my mind.
I'd mussed my hair, shed my collar, and scrib
bled over sheets and sheets of paper, without
gettin' anywhere at all. And when I gave up
and turned in about eleven-thirty, my head was
so muddled I wouldn't have had the nerve to
have named a pet kitten.

I must have just dozed off to sleep when I
hears this bell ringin' somewhere. I couldn't
quite make out whether it was a fire alarm,
or the z's in the back of the dictionary go-
in' off, when Vee calls out that it's the
'phone.

I tumbles out and paws around for the ex
tension.

TAG DAY AT TOBCHY'S 321

"Wha-what?" says I. "What the blazes!
Ye-uh. This is me. Wha-wha's matter?"

And then comes this gurgly voice at the
other end of the wire. It's our old friend
Amelia.

"Do you know," says she, "I have just
thought of the loveliest name for your dear
baby."

"Oh, have you?" says I, sort of crisp.

"Yes," says she, "and I simply couldn't
wait until morning to tell you. Now listen —
it's Ethelbert."

"Ethel-Bert!" says I, gaspy. "Say, you
know he's no mixed foursome."

"No, no," says she. Ethelbert — one name,
after the old Saxon king. Ethelbert Ballard.
Isn't that just perfect? And I am so glad it
came to me."

I couldn't agree with her real enthusiastic,
so it's lucky she hung up just as she did.

"Huh!" I remarks to Vee. "Why not
Maryjim or Daisybill? Say, I think our
friend Amelia must have gone off her
hinge. ' '

But Vee only yawns and advises me to go to
sleep and forget it. Well, I tried. You know
how it is, though, when you've been jolted out
of the feathers just as you're halfway through

322 THE HOUSE OF TOECHY

the first reel of the slumber stuff. I couldn't
get back, to save me.

I counted sheep jumpin' over a wall, I tried
lookin' down a railroad track until I could
seen the rails meet, and I spelled Constanti
nople backwards. Nothing doing in the Mor
pheus act.

I was wider awake then than a new taxi
driver makin' his first trip up Broadway. I
could think of swell names for seashore cot
tages, for new surburban additions, and for
other people's babies. I invented an explo
sive pretzel that would win the war. I thought
of bills I ought to pay next week sure, and of
what I meant to tell the laundryman if he kept
on making hash of my pet shirts.

Then I got to wonderin' about this old-
maid poetess. Was she through for the night,
or did she work double shifts? If she wasn't
any nearer sleep than I was she might think
up half a dozen substitutes for Ethelbert be
fore mornin'. Would she insist on springin'
each one on me as they hit her?

Maybe she was gettin' ready to call me
again now. Should I pretend not to hear and
let her ring, or would it be better to answer
and let on that this was Police Headquarters!

Honest, I got so fidgety waitin' for that

TAG DAY AT TORCHY'S 323

buzzer to go off that I could almost hear the
night operator pluggin' in on our wire.

And then a thought struck me that wouldn't
let go. So, slippin' out easy and thro win' on
a bath-robe, I sneaked downstairs to the back
hall 'phone, turned on the light, and hunted
up Miss Leroy's number in the book.

1 ' Give her a good strong ring, please," says
I to Exchange, ' ' and keep it up until you rouse
somebody."

"Leave it to me," says the operator. And
in a minute or so I gets this throaty "Hello!"

"Miss Leroy?" says I.

"Yes," says she. "Who is calling?"

"Ballard," says I. "I'm the fond parent of
the nameless baby. And say, do you still stick
to Ethelbert?"

"Why," says she, "I— er "

"I just wanted to tell you," I goes on,
"that this guessin' contest closes at 3 A.M., and
if you want to make any more entries you got
only forty minutes to get 'em in. Nighty-
night."

And I rings off just as she begins sputterin'
indignant.

That seems to help a lot, and inside of five
minutes I'm snoozin' peaceful.

It was next mornin' at breakfast that Vee

324 THE HOUSE OF TORCHY

observes offhand, as though the subject hadn't
been mentioned before :

"About naming the baby, now."

"Ye-e-es?" says I, smotherin' a groan.

"Why couldn't we call him after you!" she
asks.

"Not — not Richard Junior?" says I.

"Well, after both of us, then," says she.
"Richard Hemmingway. It — it is what I've
wanted to name him all along."

"You have?" says I. "Well, for the love
of "

"You didn't ask me, that's why," says she.

"Why — why, so I didn't," says I. "And
say, Vee, I don't know who's got a better
right. As for my part of the name, I've used
it so little it's almost as good as new. Richard
Hemmingway Ballard it shall be."

"Oh, I'm so glad," says she. "Of course,
I did want you to be the one to pick it out ; but

if you're satisfied with "

-"Satisfied!" says I. "Why, I'm tickled to
pieces. And here you had that up your sleeve
all the while!"

Vee smiles and nods.

"We must have the christening very soon,"
.says she, "so everyone will know."

"You bet!" says I. "And I've a good no-

TAG DAY AT TORCH Y'S 325

tion to put it on the train bulletin down at the
station, too. First off, though, we'd better tell
young Eichard himself and see how he likes it.
I expect, though, unless his next crop of hair
comes out a different tint from this one, that
he'll have to answer to 'Young Torchy' for a
good many years."

"Oh, yes," says Vee; ''but I'm sure he
won't mind that in the least."

"Good girl!" says I, movin' round where I
can express my feelin's better.

"Don't!" says Vee. "You'll spill the
coffee."

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

Los Angeles
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.

Form L9-50m-9,'60(B3610&4)444

uc soy_

000923302 4

PS
3511

F756hcr