[Frontispiece: "Well if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" saysVee. ]

ON WITH TORCHY

BY

SEWELL FORD

AUTHOR OF

TORCHY, TRYING OUT TORCHY, ODD NUMBERS, ETC. , ETC. 

ILLUSTRATIONS BY

FOSTER LINCOLN

NEW YORK

GROSSET & DUNLAP

PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1913, 1914, by

Sewell Ford

Copyright, 1914, by

Edward J. Clode

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. CHANCING IT FOR VEE II. PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT III. WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP IV. TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM V. BREEZING BY WITH PEGGY VI. GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS VII. TORCHY IN ON THE DRAW VIII. GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL IX. LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER X. MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT XI. THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY XII. THE GLAD HAIL FOR TORCHY XIII. AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE XIV. CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS XV. BEING SICCED ON PERCEY XVI. HOW WHITY GUNKED THE PLOT XVII. TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE

ILLUSTRATIONS

"WELL, IF I EVER! LOOK WHERE YOUR SHOULDERS COME!" . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_

"BY GORRY!" EXPLODES IRA AS HE GETS HIS FIRST GLIMPSE

SISTER HAS LANDED A SMACK ON HIS JAW

BELIEVE ME, IT WAS SOME ARTISTIC MAKEUP!

"AH, FLUTTER BY, IDLE ONE!" SAYS I

THEN MY ARM MUST HAVE SLIPPED--AND THE SIDE CLINCH WA'N'T DISTURBED

WE WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDST OF PRACTISIN' THE SIDEWISE DIP, WHEN WHO SHOULD SHOW UP BUT THE HAPPY BRIDEGROOM!

WE WAS RIGHT IN THE MIDST Of THE SCRIMMAGE WHEN IN WALKS VEE

ON WITH TORCHY

CHAPTER I

CHANGING IT FOR VEE

Say, what's next to knowin' when you're well off? Why, thinkin' youare. 

Which is a little nugget of wisdom I panned out durin' a chat I had notlong ago with Mr. Quinn, that I used to work under when I was on thedoor of the Sunday sheet, three or four years back. 

"Hail, Torchy!" says he, as we meets accidental on Broadway. "Stillcarrying the burning bush under your hat, aren't you?"

I grins good-natured at his old josh, just as I used to about twice aweek regular, and admits that I am. 

"You wa'n't lookin' for me to fade to an ash blond, was you?" says I. 

"Ah!" says he. "I see the brilliance is not all on the outside. Well, what use are you putting it to? Who are you with now?"

"Same concern, " says I. "Corrugated Trust. "

"As First, or Second Vice President?" says he, cockin' his head on oneside humorous. 

"Add 'em together and multiply by three, " says I, "then you'll be warm. "

"I don't quite get the result, " says he. 

"Ever hear of an office-boy-de-luxe?" says I. "They don't print it onthe letter-heads yet, or paint it on the ground-glass, but that's myreal label. I'm the only one in New York, too. "

Mr. Quinn chuckles and goes off shakin' his head. I expect he'sdisappointed that I've stuck so long in one shop without climbin'further up the ladder. That's what he was always preachin' at me, thisladder-climbin' advice. But say, hod carriers do that. Me for anexpress elevator when the time comes. 

But meanwhile, with a couple of bosses like Old Hickory Ellins and Mr. Robert, it ain't so worse sittin' behind the brass rail. That's onereason I ain't changed. Also there's that little mine enterprise meand Mr. Robert's mixed up in, which ain't come to a head yet. 

Then--well, then, there's Vee. Go on--hand me the jolly! And if youpush me to it I'll admit I ain't any speedy performer at this "Oh, you!" game. Mr. Robert he thinks it's comic, when he has the kiddin'fit on, to remark chuckly, "Oh, I say, Torchy, have you seen Miss Veelately?"

There's others too, that seems to get a lot of satisfaction shootin'the same thing at me, and they sort of snicker when I get pink in theears. But, say, there's a heap of difference between pickin' peachesfrom an easy chair under the tree, and when you have to shin the gardenwall and reach through the barbed wire ornament on top. 

Course, I ain't comparin' anything--but there's Aunty. Dear old girl!Square as a brick, and about as yieldin'; good as gold too, but worthmore per ounce than any coined at the mint; and as foxy in the mind asa corporation lawyer arguin' before the Rapid Transit Commission. AlsoI'm as welcome to Aunty's eyesight as Eugene V. Debs would be at theUnion League Club--just about. That ain't any idle rumor, either, norsomething that was hinted to me casual. It's first-hand information, hot off the bat. 

"Boy, " says she, glarin' at me through her gold lorgnette like I wassome kind of insect specimen, "do I understand that you come here tosee my niece?"

"Well, " says I, "there's you and her--guess!"

"Humph!" she snorts indignant. "Then I wish you to know that yourvisits are most unwelcome. Is that quite clear?"

"I get the outline, " says I. "But, you see----"

"No qualifications, absolutely none!" says she. "Good afternoon, youngman. I shall not expect you to return. "

"Oh, well, in that case, " says I, sidlin' off, "why--I--I think I'll begoin'. "

It was a smear, that's all. I felt about as thick through as aSaratoga chip, and not half so crisp. Encouragin' finish for anafternoon call that I'd been bracin' myself up to for weeks, wa'n't it?And from all I can gather from a couple of sketchy notes Vee gets aboutthe same line of advice handed her. So there was a debate between herand Aunty. For I expect nobody can lay the law down flat to Veewithout strikin' a few sparks from them big gray eyes. 

But of course Aunty wins out in the end. It's a cinch, with everythingon her side. Anyway, the next thing I knows about their plans is whenI finds their names in the sailin' list, bound for the Big Ditch, withmost everyone else that could get away. And I makes my discovery aboutthree hours after the boat has left. 

But that was in January. And I expect it was a fine thing for Vee, seein' the canal before it revised the geography, and dodgin' all kindsof grip weather, and meetin' a lot of new people. And if it's worthall that bother to Aunty just so anybody can forget a party no moreimportant than me--why, I expect that's all right too. 

But it's just like some folks to remember what they're ordered toforget. Anyway, I got bulletins now and then, and I was fairly wellposted as to when Aunty landed back in New York, and where she unpackedher trunks. That helped some; but it didn't cut the barbed wireexactly. 

And, say, I was gettin' some anxious to see Vee once more. Nearly twoweeks she'd been home, and not so much as a glimpse of her! I'd dopedout all kinds of brilliant schemes; but somehow they didn't work. Nolucky breaks seemed to be comin' my way, either. 

And then, here last Sunday after dinner, I just hauls out that churchweddin' costume I'd collected once, brushes most of the kinks out of myred hair, sets my jaw solid, and starts to take a sportin' chance. Onthe way up I sketches out a scenario, which runs something like this:

A maid answers the ring. I ask if Miss Vee is in. The maid goes tosee, when the voice of Aunty is heard in the distance, "What! A younggentleman asking for Verona? No card? Then get his name, Hortense. "Me to the maid, "Messenger from Mr. Westlake, and would Miss Vee careto take a short motor spin. Waiting below. " Then more confab withAunty, and five minutes later out comes Vee. Finale: Me and Veeclimbin' to the top of one of them Riverside Drive busses, while Auntydreams that she's out with Sappy Westlake, the chosen one. 

Some strategy to that--what? And, sure enough, the piece opens a gooddeal as I'd planned; only instead of me bein' alone when I pushes thebutton, hanged if two young chappies that had come up in the elevatorwith me don't drift along to the same apartment door. We swap sort offoolish grins, and when Hortense fin'ly shows up everyone of us does abashful sidestep to let the others go first. So Hortense opens on whatlooks like a revolvin' wedge. But that don't trouble her at all. 

"Oh, yes, " says she, swingin' the door wide and askin' no questions. "This way, please. "

Looked like we was expected; so there's no ducking and while we'redrapin' our hats on the hall rack I'm busy picturin' the look onAunty's face when she singles me out of the trio. They was panickythoughts, them. 

But a minute later the plot is still further mixed by the suddenswishy, swirly entrance of an entire stranger, --a tall, thin femalewith vivid pink cheeks, a chemical auburn tint to her raven tresses, and long jet danglers in her ears. She's draped in what looks like ablack silk umbrella cover with rows of fringe and a train tacked to it, and she wears a red, red rose coquettish over one ear. As she swoopsdown on us from the drawin' room she cuts loose with the vivaciouschatter. 

"Ah, there you are, you dear, darling boys!" says she. "And thePrincess Charming is holding court to-day. Ah, Reggy, you scamp! Butyou did come, didn't you? And dear Theodore too! Brave, Sir Knights!That's what you all shall be, --Knights come to woo the Princess!"

Honest, for awhile there, as this bughouse monologue was bein' putover, I figured I've made a mistake in the floor, and had been let intoa private ward. But as soon as I gets next to the Georgia accent Isuspects that it ain't any case of squirrels in the attic; but just asample of sweet Southern gush. 

Next I gets a peek through the draperies at some straw-colored hairwith a shell-pink ear peepin' from underneath, and I know that whateverelse is wrong don't matter; for over there on the windowseat, surrounded by half a dozen young gents, is somebody very particular andspecial. Followin' this I does a hasty piece of scout work and draws adeep breath. No Aunty looms on the horizon--not yet, anyway. 

With the arrival of the new delegates the admirin' semicircle has tobreak up, and the three of us are towed to the bay window by VivaciousVivian. 

"Princess, " says she, makin' a low duck, "three other Knights who woulddo homage. Allow me first to present Mr. Reginald St. Claire Smith. Here Reggy. Also Mr. Theodore Braden. And next Mr. --Mr. --er----"

She's got to me. I expect her first guess was that I'd been dragged inby one of the other two; but as neither of 'em makes any sign she turnsthem black, dark-ringed lamps inquirin' on me and asks, "Oh, I'm sure Ibeg pardon, but--but you are----"

Now who the blazes was I, anyway? It all depended on how well postedshe was, whether I should admit I was Torchy the Banished, or invent analias on the spot. 

"Why, " says I, draggin' it out to gain time, "you see I'm a--that is, I'm a--a----"

"Oh, hello!" breaks in Vee, jumpin' up and holdin' out both hands justin the nick of time. "Why, of course, Cousin Eulalia! This is afriend of mine, an old friend. "

"Really!" says Cousin Eulalia. "And I may call him----"

"Claude, " I puts in, winkin' at Vee. "Call me just Claude. "

"Perfectly lovely!" gushes Eulalia. "An unknown knight. 'Deed and youshall be called Claude--Sir Claude of the Golden Crest. Gentlemen, Ipresent him to you. "

We looks at each other sort of sheepish, and most of us grins. All butone, in fact. The blond string bean over in the corner, with thebuttermilk blue eyes and the white eyebrows, he don't seem amused. Forit's Sappy Westlake, the one I run on a siding once at a dance. Thinkof keepin' a peeve on ice all that time!

It's quite a likely lookin' assortment on the whole, though, allcostumed elegant and showin' signs of bein' fairly well parlor broke. 

"What's the occasion?" says I on the side to Miss Vee. "Reunion ofsomebody's Sunday school class?"

She gives me a punch and smothers a snicker, "Don't let Cousin Eulaliahear you say such a thing, " says she. 

We only had a minute; but from what she manages to whisper durin' thegeneral chatter I makes out that this is a little scheme Eulalia'dplanned to sort of launch Vee into the younger set. She's fromAtlanta, Cousin Eulalia is, one of the best fam'lies, and kind of aperennial society belle that's tinkled through quite some seasons, butrefuses to quit. Just now she's spendin' a month with Fifth-ave. Friends, and has just discovered that Vee and her are close connectedthrough a step-uncle marryin' a half-sister of Eulalia'sbrother-in-law, or something like that. Anyhow, she insists on thecousin racket, and has started right in to rush Vee to the front. 

She's some rasher, Eulalia is, too. No twenty-minutes-to-or-aftersilences while she's conductin' affairs. Course, it's kind of frothystuff to pass for conversation; but it bubbles out constant, and sheblows it around impartial. Her idea of giving Cousin Vee a perfectlygood time seems to be to have us all grouped around that windowseat andtake turns shootin' over puffs of hot air; sort of a taffy-throwin'competition, you know, with Vee as the mark. 

But Vee don't seem tickled to death over it. She ain't fussed exactly, as Eulalia rounds us up in a half-circle; but she colors up a littleand acts kind of bored. She's some picture, though. M-m-m-m! And itwas worth while bein' one of a mob, just to stand there watchin' her. 

I expect the young college hicks felt a good deal the same about it asme, even if they was havin' hard work diggin' up appropriate remarkswhen Eulalia swings the arrow so it points to them. Anyway, they doestheir best to come up with the polite jolly, and nobody makes a breakto quit. 

It's durin' the tea and sandwich scramble, though, that Cousin Eulaliagets her happy hunch. Seems that Sappy Westlake has come forward withan invite to a box party just as Vee is tryin' to make up her mindwhether she'll go with Teddy Braden to some cotillion capers, or accepta dinner dance bid from one of the other young gents. 

"And all for Wednesday night!" says she. "How stupid of you, with theweek so long!"

"But I'd planned this box party especially for you, " protests Sappy. 

"Oh, give someone else a chance, Westlake, " cuts in Reggy. "That's thenight of our frat dance, and I want to ask Miss Vee if----"

"What's this all about?" demands Eulalia, dancin' kittenish into thelimelight. "Rivalry among our gallant knights? Then the PrincessCharming must decide. "

"Oh, don't, Cousin Eulalia, " says Vee, wrinklin' her nose the leastbit. "Please!"

"Don't what?" says Eulalia, raisin' her long arms flutterin'. "Mydear, I don't understand. "

"Ah, she's hintin' for you to ditch the Princess stuff, " I puts in. "Ain't that it?" and Vee nods emphatic. 

Eulalia lets on that she don't know. "Ditch the--why, what can he meanby that?" says she. "And you are a Princess Charming; isn't she, boys?"

Course the bunch admits that she is. 

"There, you see?" goes on Eulalia. "Your faithful knights acclaim you. Who says that the age of chivalry has passed? Why, here they are, everyone of them ready to do your lightest bidding. Now, aren't you, Sir Knights?"

It's kind of a weak chorus; but the ayes seem to have it. What otheranswer could there be, with Vee gazin' flushed and pouty at 'em overthe tea urn?

"Really, Eulalia, I wish you wouldn't be so absurd, " says Vee. 

"My dear Cousin Verona, " coos Eulalia, glidin' up and huggin' herimpetuous, "how could anyone keep their heads straight before suchabsolutely distracting beauty? See, you have inspired them all withthe spirit of chivalry. And now you must put them to the test. Namesome heroic deed for each to perform. Begin with Reggy. Now whatshall it be?"

"Fudge!" says Vee, tossin' her head. "I'll do nothing so perfectlymushy. "

But Cousin Eulalia wa'n't to be squelched, nor have her grand schemesidetracked. "Then I declare myself Mistress of the Lists, " says she, "and I shall open the tournament for you. Ho, Trumpeter, summon thechallengers! And--oh, I have it. Each of you Sir Knights must choosehis own task, whatever he deems will best please our Princess Charming. What say you to that?"

There's a murmur of "Good business!" "Bully dope!" and the young gentsbegin to prick up their ears. 

"Then this is how it stands, " goes on Eulalia, beamin' delighted. "Between now and eight o'clock this evening each knight must do hisvalorous best to win the approval of our Princess. Hers it shall be todecide, the prize her gracious company for next Wednesday night. Comenow, who enters the lists?"

There's some snickerin' and hangin' back; but fin'ly they're all in. 

"All save the Unknown Knight, " pipes up Eulalia, spottin' me in therear. "How now, you of the Crimson Crest? Not showing the whitefeather, are you?"

"Me?" says I. "Well, I don't quite get the drift of the game; but ifit'll make you feel any better, you can count me in. "

"Good!" says she, clappin' her hands. "And while you are afield I mustleave too--another tea, you know. But we all meet here again at eightsharp, with proof or plunder. Teddy, have you decided what to attempt?"

"Sure, " says he. "Me to find the biggest box of candy that can bebought in New York Sunday evening. "

"Oh, splendid!" gurgles Eulalia. "And you, Mr. Westlake?"

"Orchids, " says Sappy. "Grandmother has dandy ones at her place up inWestchester, and I can make there and back in my roadster if I'm notpinched for speeding. I'm going to have a try, and maybe I'll have tosteal the flowers too. "

"There!" says Eulalia, pattin' him on the back. "That's a knightlyspirit. But what of Crimson Crest? What will you do?"

"The game is to spring something on Miss Vee better'n what the othersput over, is it?" says I. 

"Precisely, " says Eulalia, allowin' two of the young gents to help heron with her wraps. "Have you thought what your offering is to be?"

"Not yet, " says I. "I may take a chance on something fresh. "

They was all pilin' out eager by that time, each one anxious to getstarted on his own special fool stunt, so, while I was mixed up in thegen'ral push, with my hat in my hand and my coat over my arm, it didn'tstrike me how I could bolt the programme until I'm half crowded behindthe open hall door. Then I gets a swift thought. Seein' I wouldn't bemissed, and that Vee has her back to me, I simply squeezes in out ofsight and waits while she says by-by to the last one; so, when shefin'ly shuts the door, there I am. 

"Why, Torchy!" says she. "I thought you had gone. "

"But it wa'n't a wish, was it?" says I. 

"Humph!" says she, flashin' a teasin' glance. "Suppose I don't tellthat?"

"My nerve is strong today, " says I, chuckin' my hat back on the rack;"so I'll take the benefit of the doubt. "

"But all the others have gone to--to do things that will please me, "she adds. 

"That's why I'm takin' a chance, " says I, "that if I stick around Imight--well, I'm shy of grandmothers to steal orchids from, anyway. "

Vee chuckles at that. "Isn't Cousin Eulalia too absurd?" says she. "And since you're still here--why--well, let's not stand in the hall. Come in. "

"One minute, " says I. "Where's Aunty?"

"Out, " says she. 

"What a pity!" says I, takin' Vee by the arm. "Tell her how much Imissed her. "

"But how did you happen to come up today?" asks Vee. 

"There wa'n't any happenin' to it, " says I. "I'd got to my limit, that's all. Honest, Vee, I just had to come. I'd have come if there'dbeen forty Aunties, each armed with a spiked club. It's been months, you know, since I've had a look at you. "

"Yes, I know, " says she, gazin' at the rug. "You--you've grown, haven't you?"

"Think so?" says I. "Maybe it's the cut-away coat. "

"No, " says she; "although that helps. But as we walked in I thoughtyou seemed taller than I. Let's measure, here by the pier glass. Now, back to back. Well, if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!"

"No more than an inch or so, " says I, gazin' sideways at the mirror;and then I lets slip, half under my breath, a sort of gaspy "Gee!"

"Why the 'Gee'?" says she, glancin' over her shoulder into the glass. 

"Oh, I don't know, " says I; "only I don't mind bein' grouped like this, not a bit. "

"Pooh!" says she, but still holdin' the pose. 

"Seems to me, " says I, "that Cousin Eulalia is a slick describer. ThatPrincess Charming business ain't so wide. "

"Silly!" says she. "Come and sit down. "

She was steerin' for the windowseat; but I picks out a cozy littlehigh-backed davenport and, reachin' for one of her hands, swings herinto that. "Just room for two here, " says I. 

"But you needn't keep my hand, " says she. 

"No trouble, " says I. "Besides, I thought I'd inspect what kind of amanicure you take of. M-m-m-m! Pretty fair, no hangnails, all thehalf-moons showin' proper, an----" I broke off sudden at that and satstarin' blank. 

"Well, anything else?" says she. 

"I--I guess not, " says I, lettin' her hand slip. "You've chucked it, eh?"

"Chucked what?" says she. 

"Nothing much, " says I. "But for awhile there, you know, just for funyou was wearin' something of mine. "

"Oh!" she flashes back. "Then at last you've missed it, have you?"

"With so much else worth lookin' at, " says I, "is it a wonder?"

"Blarney!" says she, stickin' out her tongue. 

"Did Aunty capture it?" says I. 

Vee shakes her head. 

"Maybe you lost it?" I goes on. "It wa'n't much. "

"Then you wouldn't care if I had?" says she. 

"I wanted you to keep it, " says I; "but of course, after all the rowAunty raised over it, I knew you couldn't. "

"Couldn't I, though?" says she, and with that she fishes up the end ofa little gold neck chain from under some lace--and hanged if thereain't the ring!

"Vee!" says I, sort of tingly all over as I gazes at her. "Say, you'rea corker, though! Why, I thought sure you'd----"

"Silly boy!" says she. "I'll just have to pay you for that. You willthink horrid things of me, will you? There!"

She does things in a flash when she cuts loose too. Next I knew shehas her fingers in what Eulalia calls my crimson crest and is rumplin'up all them curls I'd been so careful to slick back. I grabbed herwrists, and it was more or less of a rough-house scene we was indulgin'in, when all of a sudden the draperies are brushed back, and in stalksAunty, with Cousin Eulalia trailin' behind. 

"Ver-ona!" Talk about havin' a pitcher of cracked ice slipped downyour back! Say, there was more chills in that one word than ever blewdown from Medicine Hat. "What, " goes on Aunty, "does this mean?"

"It--it's a new game, " says I, grinnin' foolish. 

"As old as Satan, I should say!" raps out Aunty. 

"Why, " squeals Cousin Eulalia gushy, "here is our Unknown Knight, thefirst to come back with his tribute! Let's see, what was it you saidyou were going to do? Oh, I know--take a chance on something fresh, wasn't it? Well?"

"Ye-e-es, " says I. "And I guess I did. "

"Trust him for that!" snorts Aunty. "Young man, at our last interviewI thought I made it quite clear that I should not expect you to return?"

"That's right, " says I, edgin' around her towards the door. "And youwa'n't, was you?"

Some glance she shot over; but it didn't prove fatal. And as I ridesdown I couldn't help swappin' a wink with the elevator boy. 

"Feelin' frisky, eh?" says he. "So was them other young guys. One of'em tipped me a half. "

"That kind would, " says I. "They're comin' back. I'm escapin'. "

But, say, who do you guess wins out for Wednesday night? Ah, rattle'em again! Eulalia fixed it up. Said it was Vee's decision, and shewas bound to stick by the rules of the game, even if they did have tothrow a bluff to Aunty. Uh-huh! I've got three orchestra seats rightin my pocket, and a table engaged for supper afterwards. Oh, I don'tknow. Eulalia ain't so batty, after all. 

CHAPTER II

PULLING A SLEUTH STUNT

Trust Piddie for workin' up wild suspicions. Say, he can't find astray sheet of scribblin' paper on the floor without pouncin' sleuthyon it and tryin' to puzzle out the hidden meanin'. 

So when I get the buzzer call to Old Hickory's private office and findshim and the main stem waitin' in solemn conclave there, I guesses rightoff that Piddie's dug up a new one that he hopes to nail me with. Justnow he's holdin' a little bunch of wilted field flowers in one hand, and as I range up by the desk he shoots over the accusin' glance. 

"Boy, " says he, "do you know anything about these?"

"Why, sure, " says I. "They're pickled pigs' feet, ain't they?"

"No impudence, now!" says he. "Where did they come from?"

"Off'm Grant's Tomb, if I must guess, " says I. "Anyway, I wouldn'tthink they was picked in the Subway. "

And at this Old Hickory sniffs impatient. "That is quite enough comicdiversion, young man!" he puts in. "Do you or don't you know anythingabout how those things happened to get on my desk?"

"Me?" says I. "Why, I never saw 'em before! What's the dope?"

"Huh!" he grunts. "I didn't think this was any of your nonsense: tootame. And I suppose you might as well know what's afoot. Tell him, Mr. Piddie. "

Did you ever see a pinhead but what just dotes on springin' asensation? Piddie fairly gloats over unloadin' it. "This, " says he, holdin' up the wilted bunch, "is the unaccountable. For the fourthtime flowers of this description have been mysteriously left on Mr. Ellins' desk. It is not done after hours, or during the night; but inbroad day, sometimes when Mr. Ellins is sitting just where he is now, and by a hand unseen. Watch has been kept, yet no one has beendetected; and, as you know, only a few persons have free access here. Still the thing continues. At regular periods these absurd bouquetsappear on this desk, seemingly from nowhere at all. Hence thisinquiry. "

I'd heard Piddie spout a good many times before, but never quite soeloquent, and I expect I was gawpin' at him some dazed and admirin'. 

"Well, " says Old Hickory, squintin' sharp at me from under his bushyeyebrows, "what have you to offer?"

"It's by me, " says I, shruggin' my shoulders. 

"Oh, come now!" he goes on. "With that high tension brain of yours, surely you can advance some idea. "

"Why, " says I, "offhand I should say that some of them mushy ladytypists out there might be smugglin' in floral tributes to you, Sir. "

Old Hickory grins sarcastic. "Without going into the question ofmotive, " says he, "that suggestion may be worth considering. What say, Mr. Piddie?"

"It might be that Miss Smicks, " says Piddie. "She's quite sentimental, Sir, and I've thought at times she----"

"Stop!" roars Old Hickory, almost workin' up a blush. "Mr. Piddie, Iam a fat, cross-grained old man, about as attractive personally as ahippopotamus. Great stuttering tadpoles! Can't you think of anythingbut sappy romance? More likely someone wants a raise. "

"Very true, Sir; I hadn't thought of that, " chimes in Piddie. "Shallwe call them all in, one at a time, Sir, and----"

"And what?" snaps Old Hickory. "Think I'm going to ask all those youngwomen if they've been leaving flowers on my desk?"

"Couldn't you fake up some job for each one, " says I, "and when theycame in be wearin' the flowers conspicuous, and watch if they----"

"Bah!" breaks in Old Hickory. "What driveling tommyrot! Besides, Idon't believe any of them had a hand in this. How could they? Why, Itell you, there wasn't a soul in this room between noon and twelveforty-five to-day; and yet, with me facing that door, these thingsappear right at my elbow. It--it's getting on my nerves, and, by theseven sizzling sisters, I want to know what it all means!"

"We could have in the detectives, " suggests Piddie. 

"If it was a bomb or an infernal machine, I might, " says Mr. Ellinsscornful; "but to trace a few dad-blistered flowers--no, thank you!It's foolish enough as it stands. "

"But there is something behind all this, I'm sure, " insists Piddie, "and if you will allow me to do it, I shall send at once for Dr. Rudolph Bingstetter. "

"Who's he?" demands Old Hickory. 

"A distinguished scientist who is a friend and neighbor of mine, " saysPiddie, swellin' up important. "He was formerly a dentist, I believe;but now he devotes himself to research and literature. He writesmagazine articles on psychological phenomena, crime mysteries, and soon. Dr. Bingstetter has a wonderful mind, and is often called on tounravel baffling cases. It was only a few months ago that hesuccessfully investigated a haunted house out our way and found----"

"But I'm not accusing ghosts of this, " says Old Hickory. 

"Of course not, Sir, " says Piddie; "but I'm sure Dr. Bingstetter couldfind out just how those flowers come here. He's an extremely brilliantman, Sir, and I'm quite positive he could----"

"Well, well, send for him, then, " says Old Hickory. "Only see that youkeep still about it outside there, both of you. I don't care to havethe whole office force chattering and snickering over this affair. Understand?"

You bet we did; for when the boss gets real peevish about anything it'snot safe to get your signals mixed! I stands guard on the 'phone boothwhile Piddie was sendin' the message, and for once we plots awaytogether real chummy. 

"He's coming right over this afternoon, " whispers Piddie, as he slidesout of the booth. "You're to take him directly into Mr. Ellins'office, --a large, impressive looking man, you know, with a full roundface and wearing eye-glasses. "

Piddie forgets to mention the shiny frock coat and the forty-four-inchwaist line; but for all that I spots him the minute he hits the brassgate, which he does about ten minutes before closin' time. 

"Dr. Bingstetter?" says I cautious. 

"I am he, " is the answer. 

"S-s-s-s-sh!" says I, puttin' a forefinger to my lips warnin'. 

"S-s-s-s-sh!" echoes the Doc, tiptoein' through the gate. 

Then up comes Piddie, walkin' on his toes too, and the three of us doesa footpad sneak into Old Hickory's office. There wa'n't any wild callfor me to stay as I knows of; but as long as no one threw me out Ithought I'd stick around. 

I must say too the Doc looked and acted the part. First off he sitsthere blinkin' wise behind his glasses, and not a sign on his big, heavy face as he listens to all Piddie and Mr. Ellins can tell himabout the case. Also when he starts askin' questions on his own hookhe makes a noise like a mighty intellect changin' gears. 

"M-m-m-m!" says he, pursin' up his lips and studyin' the bouquetthoughtful. "Six ox-eyed daisies, four sprays of goldenrod, and threemarshmallow blooms, --thirteen in all. And this is the fourth bunch. Now, the others, Mr. Ellins, they were not precisely like this one, were they?"

"Blessed if I know!" says Old Hickory. "No, come to think of it, theywere all different. "

"Ah, I thought so!" says the Doc, sort of suckin' in his breathsatisfied. "Now, just what flowers did the first one contain, I shouldlike to know. "

"Why, hang it all, man, I can't remember!" says Old Hickory. "I threwthe things into the waste basket. "

"Ah, that was careless, very careless, " says the Doc. "It would havehelped. One ought to cultivate, Mr. Ellins, the habit of accuratelyobserving small details. However, we shall see what can be done withthis, " and once more he puckers his lips, furrows up his noble brow, and gazes steady at floral exhibit No. 4, turnin' it round slow betweenhis fat fingers and almost goin' into a trance over it. 

"Hadn't you better take a look around the offices, " suggests OldHickory, "examine the doors, and so on?"

"No, no!" says Bingstetter, wavin' away the interruption. "No bypaths. The trained mind rejects everything contributory, subordinate. Itrefuses to be led off into a maze of unsupported conjecture. It seeksonly the vital, primogenitive fact, the hidden truth at the heart ofthings. And that is all here--here!"

Piddie leans forward for another look at the flowers, and wags his headsolemn, I edges around for a closer view myself, and Old Hickory starespuzzled. 

"You don't mean to say, " says he, "that just by gazing at a few flowersyou can----"

"S-s-s-sh!" breaks in the Doc, holdin' up a warnin' hand. "It iscoming. I am working outward from the primal fact toward theobjective. It is evolving, taking on definite proportions, assumingshape. "

"Well, what's the result?" demands the boss, hitchin' restless in hischair. 

"Patience, my dear Sir, patience, " says the Doc soothin'. "Theintrodeductive method cannot be hurried. It is an exact process, requiring utmost concentration, until in the fullness of the moment----Ah, I have it!"

"Eh?" says Old Hickory. 

"One moment, " says the Doc. "A trifling detail is still missing, --theday of the week. To-day is Wednesday, is it not? Now, on what day oflast week did you receive a--er--similar token?"

Old Hickory finally reckons up that it must have been last Wednesday. 

"And the week before?" goes on the Doc. "The bunch of flowers appearedthen on Wednesday, did it not?"

Yes, he was pretty sure it did. 

"Ah!" says Bingstetter, settlin' back in his chair like it was allover, "then the cumulative character is established. And such exactrecurrence cannot be due to chance. No, it has all been nicelycalculated, carried out with relentless precision. Four Wednesdays, four floral threats!"

"Threats?" says Mr. Ellins, sittin' up prompt. 

"You failed to read them, " says the Doc. "That is what comes ofneglecting minor details. But fortunately I came in time to decipherthis one. Observe the fateful number, --thirteen. Note the colorshere, --brown, golden, pink. The pink of the mallow means youth, thegoldenrod stands for hoarded wealth, the brown for age. And all arebound together by wire grass, which is the tightening snare. Amenacing missive! There will come another on Wednesday next. "

"Think so?" says Old Hickory. 

"I am positive, " says the Doc. "One more. We will allude to it forthe present, if you choose, as the fifth bouquet. And this fifth tokenwill be red, blood red! Mr. Ellins, you are a marked man!"

"The blazes you say!" snorts Old Hickory. "Well, it won't be the firsttime. Who's after me now, though?"

"Five desperate men, " says the Doc, countin' 'em off on his fingers. "Four have given evidence of their subtle daring. The fifth is yet toappear. He will come on Wednesday next, and then--he will find thathis coming has been anticipated. I shall be here in person. Now, letme see--there is a room connecting with this? Ah, very well. Havethree policemen in readiness there. I think it can be arranged so thatour man will walk in among them of his own accord. That is all. Giveyourself no uneasiness, Mr. Ellins. For a week you will beundisturbed. Until then, Sir, au revoir. "

With that he bows dignified and motions Piddie to lead the way out. Islides out too, leavin' Old Hickory sittin' there starin' sort ofpuzzled and worried at the wall. And, honest, whether you took anystock in the Doc's yellow forecast or not, it listens kind of creepy. Course, with him usin' all that highbrow language, I couldn't exactlyfollow how he gets to it; but there's no denyin' that it sounds mightyconvincin'. 

And yet--well, I can't say just what there was about Bingstetter thatgot me leery; but somehow he reminds me of a street faker or a museumlecturer. And it does seem sort of fishy that, just by gazin' at abunch of flowers, he could dope out all this wild tale about fivedesp'rate men. Still, there was no gettin' away from the fact that hehad hit it right about the bouquets appearin' reg'lar every Wednesday. That must mean something. But why Wednesdays? Now, what was therethat happens on Wednesday that don't----

Say, you know how you'll get a fool hunch sometimes, that'll seem sucha nutty proposition first off that you'll almost laugh at yourself forhavin' it; and yet how it'll rattle around in your bean persistent, until you quit tryin' to get rid of it? Well, this one of mine strikesme about as I'm snugglin' down into the hay that night, and there wasno gettin' away from it for hours. 

I expect I did tear off a few chunks of slumber between times; but Iwas wide awake long before my regular hour for rollin' out, and aftermakin' three or four stabs at a second nap I gives it up, slips downfor an early breakfast, and before eight A. M. I'm down in the basementof the Corrugated Buildin' interviewin' the assistant superintendent inhis little coop of an office. I comes out whistlin' and lookin' wise. And that night after I'd made a trip over to Long Island across theQueensboro Bridge I looks wiser still. Nothin' to do until nextWednesday. 

And when it comes it sure opens up like it's goin' to be a big day, allright! At first Old Hickory announces that he ain't goin' to have anycops campin' around in the directors' room. It was all blitheringnonsense! Hadn't he lived through all sorts of warnin's before? Andhe'd be eternally blim-scuttled if he was goin' to get cold feet over afew faded flowers!

There was Piddie, though, with his say. His idea is to have thereserves from two precincts scattered all over the shop, and he lugsaround such a serious face and talks so panicky that at last the bosscompromises on havin' two of the buildin' specials detailed for thejob. We smuggles 'em into the big room at eleven o'clock, and tells'em to lay low until they gets the word. Next comes Bingstetter, blinkin' mysterious, and has himself concealed behind a screen in theprivate office. By that time Old Hickory is almost as nervous asanybody. 

"Fine state of affairs, things are at now, " he growls, "when a manisn't safe unless he has a bodyguard! That's what comes of all thispolitical agitation!"

"Have no fear, " says the Doc; "you will not receive the fifth bouquet. Boy, leave that door into the next room slightly ajar. He will try toescape that way. "

"Ajar she is, " says I, proppin' it open with a 'phone directory. 

"'Tis well, " says the Doc. "Now leave us. "

I was goin' to, anyway; for at exactly noon I had a date somewhereelse. There was a window openin' off the bondroom that was screened bya pile of cases, and out from that was an iron fire escape runnin'along the whole court side on our floor. I'd picked that window out asbein' a good place to scout from. And I couldn't have been betterplaced; for I saw just who I was expectin' the minute he heaves insight. I'd like to have had one glimpse, though, of Old Hickory andthe Doc and Piddie while they was watchin' and listenin' and holdin'their breath inside there. But I'm near enough when the time comes, tohear that chorus of gasps that's let loose at twelve-twenty-six exact. 

"Ha!" says the Doc. "As I told you--a red rose!"

"Well, I'll be slam-whizzled!" explodes Old Hickory. 

"But--but where did it come from?" pants Piddie. "Who--who couldhave----"

And that's just when little Willie, after creepin' cautious along thefire escape, gives his unsuspectin' victim the snappy elbow tackle frombehind and shoves him into view. 

"Here's your desperado!" says I, givin' my man the persuadin' knee inthe small of his back. "Ah, scramble in there, Old Top! You ain'tgoin' to be hurt. In with you now!"

"Look out!" squeals Piddie. "Police, police!"

"Ah, can that!" I sings out, helpin' my prisoner through the window andfollowin' after. "Police nothin'! Shoo 'em back, will you? He's asharmless as a kitten. "

"Torchy, " calls Old Hickory, recoverin' his nerve a little, "what isthe meaning of this, and who have you there?"

"This, " says I, straightenin' my man up with a shoulder slap, "is thebearer of the fifth bouquet--also the fourth, and the third, and so on. This is Mr. Cubbins of the Consolidated Window Cleanin' Company. Ain'tthat right, eh, old sport?"

"'Enery Cubbins, Sir, " says he, scrapin' his foot polite and jerkin'off his old cap. 

"And was it you who just threw this thing on my desk?" demands OldHickory, pointin' to the red rose. 

"Meanin' no 'arm at all, Sir, no 'arm at all, " says Cubbins. 

"And do I understand that you brought those other flowers in the sameway?" goes on Mr. Ellins. 

"Not thinkin' you'd mind, Sir, " says Cubbins; "but if there's hennyhoffense given, I asks pardon, Sir. "

And there couldn't be any mistakin' the genuine tremble in that weak, pipin' voice, or the meek look in them watery old eyes. For Cubbins ismore or less of a human wreck, when you come to size him up close, --athin, bent-shouldered, faded lookin' old party, with wispy, whitishhair, a peaked red nose, and a peculiar, whimsical quirk to his mouthcorners. Old Hickory looks him over curious for a minute or so. 

"Huh!" he grunts at last. "So you're the one, eh? But why theblue-belted blazes did you do it?"

All Cubbins does, though, is to finger his cap bashful. 

"Well, Torchy, " says Mr. Ellins, "you seem to be running this show. Perhaps you'll tell us. "

"That's further'n I've got, " says I. "You see, when I traced thisfloral tribute business down to a window washer, I----"

"In the name of all that's brilliant, " breaks in Old Hickory, "how didyou ever do that?"'

"Why, I got to thinkin' about it, " says I, "and it struck me that wehad our glass cleaned every Wednesday, and if there was no way ofanyone smugglin' flowers in through the doors, the windows was allthere was left, wa'n't it? Also who's most likely to be monkeyin'around outside, fifteen stories up, but a window washer?"

"Ha!" says Old Hickory through his teeth. "And did you do that by theintrodeductive process, may I ask?"

"No such bunk as that, " says I. "Just used my bean, that's all. ThenI got Mac, the assistant buildin' super, to put me wise as to who hadthe windows on our floor, and by throwin' a bluff over the 'phone Imade the Consolidated people locate Mr. Cubbins for me. Found himputterin' round in his garden over in Astoria, and pumped more or lessout of him; but when it come to gettin' him to explain why it was he'dpicked you out, Mr. Ellins, as a mark for his bouquets, I fell downcomplete. Mr. Cubbins is English, as maybe you noticed by his talk, and he used to be a house painter before his health got so bad. Now helives with his son-in-law, who tells me that the old gent----"

"'E's a bit of a liar, my son-in-law is, " pipes up Cubbins; "a ballySocialist, Sir, and I'm ashymed to s'y 'as 'ow 'e's fond of abusin' 'isbetters. Thet's 'ow it all come abaht, Sir. Alw'ys tykin' on over therich, 'e is; and 'e's most fond of s'yin' wrong things abaht youspecial, Sir; callin' you a bloodsucking predatory person, Sir, andhimpolite nimes like thet. 'Ah, stow thet, Jimmy!!' says I. 'Allbloomin' lies, they are. There ayn't a finer man lives than Mr. Ellins, ' says I. ''Ow do you know?' says 'e. ''Ow?' says I. 'Don't Iwash 'is hoffice windows?' But 'e keeps at it of evenin's, s'yin' as'ow you do this and that, an' 'e fair talks me down, Jimmy does. But Iknow w'at I knows; so to relieve my feelin's a bit I've been bringin'you the flowers on the sly, Sir; meanin', as I says before, no 'arm atall, Sir. "

"Well, I'll be dashed!" says Old Hickory, squintin' at Cubbinshumorous. "So you think I'm a good man, eh?"

"I'm quite sure of it, Sir, " says he. "As I was tellin' Jimmy onlylast night, 'W'y, at 'ome 'e'd be a Lord!' And so you would, Sir. But, as I sees it, you're just as much 'ere, Sir. You build things up, and keep things goin', --big things, such as the likes of me and Jimmymykes our livin' from. And it ayn't just your money mykes you a gryteman; it's your brains and your big 'eart. I know w'at I knows, Sir, an' I 'opes as 'ow you'll tyke no hoffense at the flowers, Sir. "

"Not a bit, Cubbins, " says Old Hickory, smilin' grim. "In fact, that'sa first rate idea of yours. We ought to have some sort of flowers hereall the time. Got many left in your garden, have you, Cubbins?"

"Plenty, Sir, " says Cubbins. "The roses'll be gone soon now, Sir; butthere's golden glow, and hasters comin' on, and zinnias, and----"

"Then you're engaged, Cubbins, " says Old Hickory, "to supply the officewith fresh ones every day. When yours give out we'll have to buy some, I suppose. And you'll give up this window cleaning job at once. It'stoo dangerous. I can't afford to have the only man in the UnitedStates who holds a good opinion of me risking his neck like that. "

"Thankee kindly, Sir, " says Cubbins, beamin' grateful. "And we'll seew'at Jimmy 'as to s'y to that, so we will!"

"Report that in full, " says Old Hickory. "And, Mr. Piddie, see thatMr. Cubbins' name goes on the payroll from today. But, by the way, where is your distinguished friend, the scientific investigator?"

"Why--er--why----" says Piddie, flushin' up and swallowin' hard, "Dr. Bingstetter left a moment ago. "

"Did, eh?" grunts Old Hickory. "He should have stayed awhile andallowed Torchy to give him a few pointers on evolving things fromprimal facts. "

"Ye-e-e-es, Sir, " says Piddie, his face all tinted up lovely. 

Which winds up, as you might say, the Mystery of the Fifth Bouquet. But, believe me, there ain't any tamer party around the shop these daysthan this same J. Hemmingway Piddie. And if the old habits get tocroppin' out any time, all I got to do is shut one eye, put my fingerto my lips, and whisper easy, "Ah, go tell that to Doc Bungstarter!"That gets him behavin'. 

And Cubbins, why--he's blossomed out in a new fall suit, and he stopsat the desk every few days to tell me how he put it all over Jimmy thenight before. So that was some stroke, what?

CHAPTER III

WHEN IRA SHOWED SOME PEP

It was good domework of Mr. Robert's to tip me off about this Higginsparty, or there's no knowin' how hard a time he might have had gettin'through the brass gate. As it is, the minute I spots the watch chainand the round cuffs and the neck freckles, I sizes him up as theexpected delegate from the fresh mackerel and blueberry pie district. One of these long, lanky specimens, he is, with a little stoop to hisshoulders, ginger-colored hair and mustache, and a pair of calm, sea-blue eyes that look deep and serious. 

I finds him pacin' deliberate up and down the waitin' room ateight-fifty-three A. M. , which is two minutes ahead of my schedule foropenin' the Corrugated for gen'ral business. His overcoat and acrumpled mornin' paper are on the bench; so I figures he's been therequite some time. Course, it might have been a stray Rube of most anyname; but I thinks I'll take a chance. 

"Mornin', Ira, " says I. 

"Howdy, " says he, as natural as if this was a reg'lar habit of ours. Which puts it up to me to find out if I'm right, after all. 

"Mr. Higgins, ain't it?" says I. 

He nods. 

"When did you get in?" says I. 

"About six, " says he. 

"Come down by train or boat?" says I. 

"Train, " says he. 

"You've had breakfast, I suppose?" I goes on. 

Another nod. Oh, yes, for an economical converser, he was about themost consistent breath saver I ever tackled. You could easy go hoarsehavin' a little chat with him. You'd need lots of time too; for afterevery one of my bright little sallies Ira looks me over in that quiet, thoughtful way of his, then counts fifty to himself, and fin'llydecides whether it'll be a grunt or just a nod. Gettin' informationout of him was like liftin' a trunk upstairs one step at a time. Imanages to drag out, though, that he'd been hangin' around ever sincethe buildin' was opened by the day watchman at seven o'clock. 

"Well, " says I, "Mr. Robert was lookin' for you to blow in today; butnot quite so early. It'll be near ten before he shows up. Better comeinside and have a comf'table chair. "

He takes that proposition up with himself, fin'lly passin' on itfavorable; and from then on he sits there, with never a move or ablink, watchin' solemn all the maneuvers that a battery of lady typistshas to go through before settlin' down for a forenoon's work. I'll bethe could tell you too, a month from now, just how many started withgum, and which ones renewed their facial scenery with dabs from thechamois. 

So you can see why I was some relieved when Mr. Robert arrives andtakes him off my hands. I knew from what he'd said the day before thathe'd planned to have about a half-hour interview with Mr. Higgins; butwhen the noon hour struck: Ira was still there. At one-fifteen theygoes out to lunch together, and at two-thirty they comes back. It'safter four when Mr. Robert fin'lly comes out to the gate with his browwrinkled up. 

"Torchy, " says he, "how is your bump of diplomacy today?"

"It's a dimple, I expect, " says I. 

"You're entirely too modest, " says he. "Now, I remember severaloccasions when you have----"

"Oh, I gen'rally have my nerve with me, if that's what you mean, " saysI. 

"But I don't mean that, " says he. "Perhaps finesse is the better word. "

"It's all the same to me, " says I. "If I've got it in stock, it'syours. What do I work it on?"

"Mr. Higgins, " says he. 

"Then score up a goose egg in advance, " says I. "It would take astrong-arm hypnotizer to put the spell on Ira. "

Mr. Robert grins. "Then you have already tested Mr. Higgins'conversational powers?" says he. 

"Almost lost my voice gettin' him to say good mornin', " says I. "Say, you'd think he'd done all his talkin' by cable, at a dollar a word. Where'd he drift in from, anyway?"

"Boothbay Harbor, " says Mr. Robert. 

"Is that a foreign country, " says I, "or a nickname for some flagstation?"

"It's quite a lively little seaport, I believe, " says Mr. Robert, "upon the coast of Maine. "

"Oh, Maine!" says I. "Up there they're willin' to call a town anythingthat'll get a laugh. But what's the rest of the scandal?"

It wasn't any thrillin' tale, though. Seems Mr. Robert had gone intothe yachtin' regattas as usual this last summer; but, instead ofliftin' the mugs, as he'd been in the habit of doin', he'd been beatout by a new entry, --beat bad too. But he wouldn't be an Ellins if helet it go at that. Not much! His first move is to find out who builtthe Stingaree, and his next is to wire in an order to the same firm toturn out a sixty-footer that'll go her just one better. Not gettin'any straight answer to that, he sends word for the head of the yachtworks to come on at his expense. Mr. Higgins is the result. 

"But the deuce of it is, " says Mr. Robert, "that, while I'm convincedhe is the cleverest designer of racing yawls that we have in the wholecountry, and while he admits quite cheerfully that he can improve onthis year's model, I can't get him to say positively that he will buildsuch a boat for me. "

"Yes, I should expect that would be more'n he'd let go of all in oneday, " says I. 

"But, confound it all!" says Mr. Robert, "I want to know now. All Ican get out of him, though, is that he can't decide for a while. Seemsto have something or other on his mind. Now, if I knew what wasbothering him, you see, I might--well, you get the point, Torchy. I'mgoing to leave it to you to find out. "

"Me!" says I. "Gee! I ain't any thought extractor, Mr. Robert. "

"But you have rather a knack of getting to the bottom of things, " heinsists, "and if I should explain to Mr. Higgins my regret at beingunable to take him out to dinner, and should present you as mysubstitute for the evening--why, you might get some hint, you see. Atleast, I wish you'd try it. "

"Bring him on, then, " says I; "but it's like playin' a 30 to 1 shot. Oh, sure, a couple of tens'll be more'n enough for all the expenseaccount we can cook up. "

And you should have seen me towin' this Down East sphinx around town, showin' him the sights, and tryin' to locate his chummy streak. It wasmost like makin' a long distance call over a fuzzy wire; me strainin'my vocal chords bein' chatty, and gettin' back only now and then adistant murmur. It was Ira's first trip to a real Guntown, where wehave salaried crooks and light up our Main-st. With whisky signs; buthe ain't got any questions to ask or any comments to pass. He justallows them calm eyes of his to wander placid here and there over thepassersby, almost like he was expectin' to see someone he knew, andtakin' mighty little notice of anything in partic'lar. 

"That's the Metropolitan tower over there, Mr. Higgins, " says I. "Seethe big clock?"

Ira takes one glance and nods his head. 

"And here comes one of them new double-decker Broadway cars they'retryin' out, " I goes on. "How's that?"

But no enthus'm from Ira. Must be a hot town, that Boothbay joint!Along about six-thirty I suggests that it's time for the big eats, andtries to sound him on his partic'lar fancy in the food line. 

"Plate of fish chowder would suit me, " says Ira after due contemplation. 

"Fish what?" says I. "'Fraid we don't grow anything like that onBroadway. Nix on the shore dinner! You trust it to me, Mr. Higgins, and I'll steer you up against some appetite teasers that'll make youforget all the home cookin' you ever met. "

With that I leads him to the flossiest French cafe I knew of, got himplanted comf'table under an illuminated grape arbor, signalsFrançois-with-the-gold-chain-around-his-neck to stand by, and remarkscasual, "Wine list for this gentleman. Cut loose, Mr. Higgins. Thisis on the boss, you know. "

"What say?" says he, runnin' his eye over the book that the waiterholds out. "Rum? No, Sir!"

"Flit then, François, " says I. "We're two dry ones. "

And my hope of gettin' a tongue loosener into Ira goes glimmerin'. When it comes to tacklin' strange dishes, though, he was no quitter, followin' me from bouillabaisse to café parfait without battin' aneyelash, and me orderin' reckless from the card just to see what thethings looked like. 

I don't know whether it was the fancy rations, or the sporty crowdaround us, or the jiggly music, or a combination of all three; but bythe time I've induced Mr. Higgins to tackle a demitasse and light up aseven-inch Havana he mellows enough so that he's almost on the point ofmakin' a remark all by himself. 

"Well, " says I encouragin', "why not let it come?"

And it does. "By gorry!!" says he. "It's most eight o'clock. Whattime do the shows begin?"

"I was just go in' to mention that, " says I. "Plenty of time, though. Anything special you'd like to see?"

"Why, yes, " says he. And then, glancin' around cautious, he leansacross the table and asks mysterious, "Say, where's Maizie Latouractin'?"

Honest, it comes out so unexpected he had me gaspin'. "Oh, youBoothbay ringer!" says I. "Maizie, eh? Now, who would have thoughtit? And you only landed this mornin'! Maizie--er--what was thatagain?"

"Latour, " says he, flushin' up some and tryin' not to notice my josh. 

"It's by me, " says I. "Sounds like musical comedy, though. Is she ashowgirl, or one of the chicken ballet?"

Ira shakes his head puzzled. "All I know, " says he, "is that she'sactin' somewhere in New York, and--and I'd like to find out where. I--I got to!" he adds emphatic. 

"Then you ought to have said that before, " says I, "and Mr. Robertwould have put one of his chappy friends on the job. Sorry, but whenit comes to chorus girls, I ain't----"

"Hold on!" he breaks in. "You're sort of jumpin' at things, Son. Thefact is I--well, I guess I might's well tell you as anyone. I--I gotto tell someone. "

"Help!" thinks I. "The dam's goin' to give way. "

"You see, " he goes on, "it's like this: Nellie's an old friend of mine, and----"

"Nellie!" says I. "You just said Maizie. "

"That's what I hear she goes by on the stage, " says he. "She wasNellie Mason up to the Harbor. "

"You don't mean it?" says I. "What was she doin' there?"

"She was table girl at the Mansion House, " says he. 

"Which?" says I. "Oh, dish juggler, eh? And now she's on the stage?Some jump for Nellie! But, honest now, Higgins, you don't mean tospring one of them mossy 'Way Down East drammers on me as the truedope? Come now, don't tell me you and she used to go to schooltogether, and all that!"

No, it wa'n't quite on that line. She was only one of Boothbay'sfairest daughters by adoption, havin' drifted in from some milltown--Biddeford, I think it was--where a weaver's strike had thrown herout of a job. She was half Irish and half French-Canadian, and, accordin' to Ira's description, she was some ornamental. 

Anyway, she had the boys all goin' in no time at all. Ira was mealin'at the Mansion House just then, though; so he was in on the groundfloor from the start. Even at that, how he managed to keep the railwith so much competition is more'n I can say; but there's somethingsort of clean and wholesome lookin' about him, and I expect them calm, sea-blue eyes helped along. Anyway, him and Nellie kept comp'ny there, I take it, for three or four months quite steady, and Ira admits thathe was plumb gone on her. 

"Well, what was the hitch?" says I. "Wouldn't she be Mrs. Higgins?"

"Guess she would if I had asked her, " says he; "but I didn't get aroundto it quick enough. Fact is, I'd just bought out the boat shop, and Ihad fifteen or twenty men to work for me, with four new keels laid downat once, and--well, I was mighty rushed with work just then and----"

"I get you, " says I. "While you was makin' up your mind what to say, some wholesale drug drummer with a black mustache won her away. "

It's more complicated than that, though. One of the chambermaids had acousin who was assistant property man with a Klaw & Erlanger comp'ny, and he'd sent on the tip how some enterprisin' manager was lookin' forfifty new faces for a Broadway production; and so, if Cousin Maggiewanted to shake the hotel business, here was her chance. Maggie wantedto, all right; but she lacked the nerve to try it alone. Now, ifNellie would only go along too--why----

And it happens this was one night when Ira had overlooked a date he hadwith Nellie, and that while he was doin' overtime at the boatworksNellie was waitin' lonesome on the corner all dressed to go over toSouth Bristol to a dance. So this bulletin from the great city findsher in a state of mind. 

"Course, " says Maggie, "you got a feller, and all that. "

"Humph!" says Nellie. 

"And there's no tellin', " Maggie goes on, glancin' at her critical, "ifyour figure would suit. "

"If they can stand for yours, " says Nellie, "I guess I'll take a chancetoo. Come on. We'll take the early morning boat. "

And they did. Ira didn't get the details until about a month later, when who should drift back to the Mansion House but Maggie. Along withtwo or three hundred other brunettes and imitation blondes, she'd beenshuffled into the discard. But Nellie had been signed up first rattleout of the box, and accordin' to the one postcard that had come backfrom her since she was now flaggin' as Maizie Latour. But no word atall had come to Ira. 

"If I'd only bought that ring sooner!" he sighs. "I've got it now, though. Bought it in Portland on my way down. See?" and he snaps opena white satin box, disclosin' a cute little pearl set in a circle ofchip diamonds. 

"That's real dainty and classy, " says I. 

"Ought to be, " says Ira. "It cost me seventeen-fifty. But there's soblamed much to this place that I don't see just how I'm goin' to findher, after all. "

"Ah, cheer up, Ira!" says I. "You've got me int'rested, you have, and, while I ain't any theatrical directory, I expect I could think up someway to---- Why, sure! There's a Tyson stand up here a few blocks, where they have all the casts and programmes. Let's go have a look. "

It wa'n't a long hunt, either. The third one we looked at was "Whoops, Angelina!" and halfway down the list of characters we finds this item:"Sunflower Girls--Tessie Trelawney, Mae Collins, Maizie Latour----"

"Here we are!" says I. "And there's just time to get in for the firstcurtain. "

Say, I expect you've seen this "Whoops, Angelina!" thing. Just punkenough to run a year on Broadway, ain't if? And do you remember therealong towards the end of the first spasm where they ring in that "FieldFlowers Fair" song, with a deep stage and a diff'rent chorus for eachverse? Well, as the Sunflowers come on, did you notice special thesecond one from the right end? That's Maizie. 

And, believe me, she's some queen! Course, it's a bunch of swelllookers all around, or they wouldn't be havin' the S. R. O. Sign out sooften; but got up the way she was, with all them yellow petals makin' asort of frame for her, and them big dark eyes rollin' bold and sassy, this ex-table girl from the Mansion House stands out some prominent. 

"By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse. And from thenon he sits with his eyes glued on her as long as she's on the stage. 

[Illustration: "By gorry!" explodes Ira, as he gets his first glimpse. ]

He had a good view too; for comin' late all I could get was upper boxseats at three a throw, and I shoves Ira close up to the rail. Thatone remark is all he has to unload durin' the whole performance, andsomehow I didn't have the heart to break in with any comments. Yousee, I wa'n't sure how he might be takin' it; so I waits until thefinal curtain, and then nudges him out of his dream. 

"Well, how about it?" says I. "Ready to scratch your entry now, areyou?"

"Eh?" says he, rousin' up. "Pull out? No, Sir! I--I'm going to giveher a chance to take that ring. "

"You are?" says I. "Well, well! Right there with the pep, ain't you?But how you goin' to manage it?"

"Why, I--I don't know, " says he, lookin' blank. "Say, Son, can't youfix it for me some way? I--I want Nellie to go back with me. If Icould only see her for a minute, and explain how it was I couldn't----"

"You win, Ira!" says I. "Hanged if there ain't Tucky Moller down therein an usher's uniform. He's an old friend of mine. We'll see what hecan do. "

Tucky was willin' enough too; but the best he can promise is to smugglea note into the dressin' rooms. We waits in the lobby for the answer, and inside of five minutes we has it. 

"Ain't they the limit, these spotlight chasers?" says Tucky. "Shetells me to chuck it in the basket with the others, and says she'llread it to-morrow. Huh! And only a quarter tip after the second actwhen I lugs her in a bid to a cabaret supper!"

"Tonight?" says I. "Where at, Tucky?"

"Looey's, " says he, "with a broker guy that's been buyin' B-10 everynight for a week. "

But when I leads Ira outside and tries to explain how the case stands, and breaks it to him gentle that his stock has taken a sudden slump, itdevelops that he's one of these gents who don't know when they'recrossed off. 

"I've got to see her tonight, that's all, " says he. "What's the matterwith our going to the same place?"

"For one thing, " says I, "they wouldn't let us in without ouropen-faced clothes on. Got yours with you?"

"Full evenin' dress?" says Ira, with his eyes bugged. "Why, I neverhad any. "

"Then it's by-by, Maizie, " says I. 

"Dog-goned if it is!" says he. "Guess I can wait around outside, can'tI?"

"Well, you have got sportin' blood, Ira, " says I. "Sure, there'snothin' to stop your waitin' if you don't block the traffic. But maybeit'll be an hour or more. "

"I don't care, " says he. "And--and let's go and have a glass of sodafirst. "

Course, I couldn't go away and leave things all up in the air likethat; so after Ira'd blown himself we wanders up to the cabaret jointand I helps him stick around. 

It's some lively scene in front of Looey's at that time of night too;with all the taxis comin' and goin' and the kalsomined complexionsdriftin' in and out, and the head waiters coppin' out the five-spotsdexterous. And every little while there's something extra doin'; likea couple of college hicks bein' led out by the strong-arm squad fordisputin' a bill, or a perfect gent all ablaze havin' a debate with hislady-love, or a bunch of out-of-town buyers discoverin' the evenin'dress rule for the first time and gettin' peeved over it. 

But nothin' can drag Ira's gaze from that revolvin' exit door formore'n half a minute. There he stands, watchin' eager every couplethat comes out; not excited or fidgety, you understand, but calm and indead earnest. It got to be midnight, then half past, then quarter toone; and then all of a sudden there comes a ripplin', high-pitchedlaugh, and out trips a giddy-dressed fairy in a gilt and rhinestoneturban effect with a tall plume stickin' straight up from the front ofit. She's one of these big, full-curved, golden brunettes, with longjet danglers in her ears and all the haughty airs of a grand operastar. I didn't dream it was the one we was lookin' for until I seesIra straighten up and step out to meet her. 

"Nellie, " says he, sort of choky and pleadin'. 

It's a misfire, though; for just then she's turned to finish someremark to a fat old sport with flat ears and bags under his eyes that'sfollowin' close behind. So it ain't until she's within a few feet ofHiggins that she sees him at all. Then she stares at him sort ofdoubtful, like she could hardly believe her eyes. 

"Nellie, " he begins again, "I've been wanting to tell you how it wasthat----"

"You!" she breaks in. And with that she throws her head back andlaughs. It wa'n't what you might call a pleasant laugh, either. Itsounds cold and hard and bitter. 

That's the extent of the reunion too. She's still laughin' as shebrushes by him and lets the old sport help her into the taxi; and asecond later we're left standin' there at the edge of the curb withanother taxi rollin' up in front of us. I notices that Ira's holdin'something in his hand that he's starin' at foolish. It's the satin boxwith the seventeen-fifty ring in it. 

"Well, " says I, as we steps back, "returns all in, ain't they?"

"Not by a long shot!" says Ira. "Dinged if I don't know someonethat'll be glad to take a ring from me, and that's Maggie!"

"Whew!" says I. "Well, that's some quick shift. Then you ain't goin'to linger round with a busted heart?"

"Not much!" says Ira. "Guess I've played fool about long enough. I'mgoin' home. "

"That's gen'rally a safe bet too, " says I. "But how about buildin'that boat for Mr. Robert?"

"I'll build it, " says he; "that is, soon as I can fix it up withMaggie. "

"Then it's a cinch, " says I; "for you look to me, Ira, like one of thekind that can come back strong. "

So, you see, I had somethin' definite to report next mornin'. 

"He will, eh? Bully!" says Mr. Robert. "But why couldn't he have saidas much to me yesterday? What was the trouble?"

"Case of moth chasin', " says I, "from the kerosene circuit to the whitelights. But, say, I didn't know before that Broadway had so manyrecruitin' stations. They ought to put Boothbay Harbor on the map forthis. "

CHAPTER IV

TORCHY BUGS THE SYSTEM

Guess I ain't mentioned Mortimer before. Didn't seem hardly worthwhile. You know--there are parties like that, too triflin' to do anybeefin' about. But, honest, for awhile there first off this youngshrimp that was just makin' his debut as one of Miller's subslaves inthe bondroom did get on my nerves more or less. He's a slim, fine-haired, fair-lookin' young gent, with quick, nervous ways and ahabit of holdin' his chin well up. No boob, you understand. He was alive one, all right. 

And it wa'n't his havin' his monogram embroidered on his shirt sleevesor his wearin' a walkin' stick down to work that got me sore. But youdon't look for the raw rebuff from one of these twelve-dollar filejugglers. That's what he slips me, though, and me only tryin' to putacross the cheery greetin'!

"Well, Percy, " says I, seein' him wanderin' around lonesome durin'lunch hour, "is it you for the Folies today, or are you takin' a chanceon one of them new automatic grub factories with me?"

"Beg pardon?" says he, givin' me that frigid, distant look. 

"Ah, can the hauteur!" says I. "We're on the same payroll. Maybe youdidn't notice me before, though. Well, I'm the guardian of the gate, and I'm offerin' to tow you to a new sandwich works that's quitepopular with the staff. "

"Thanks, " says he. "I am lunching at my club. " And with that he doesa careless heel-spin, leavin' me stunned and gawpin'. 

"Slap!" thinks I. "You will go doin' the little ray of sunshine act, will you? Lunchin' at his club! Now there's a classy comeback foryou! Guess I'll spring that myself sometime. Score up for Percy!"

But I wa'n't closin' the incident at that, and, while in my position itwouldn't have been hardly the thing for me to get out the war club andcamp on his trail, --him only a four-flushin' bond clerk, --I was holdin'myself ready for the next openin'. It comes only a few mornin's laterwhen he strolls in casual about nine-thirty and starts to pike by intothe cloakroom. But I had my toe against the brass gate. 

"What name?" says I. 

"Why, " says he, flushin' up, "I--er--I work here. "

"Excuse, " says I, drawin' back the foot. "Mistook you for AlfyVanderbilt come to buy us out. "

"Puppy!" says he explosive through his front teeth. 

"Meanin' me?" says I. "Why, Algernon! How rough of you!"

He just glares hack over his shoulder and passes on for his sessionwith Miller. I'll bet he got it too; for here in the Corrugated wedon't stand for any of that nine-thirty dope except from Mr. Robert. 

It's only the next week, though, that Mortimer pulls a couple moredelayed entrances in succession, and I sure was lookin' to see him comeout with a fresh-air pass in his hand. But it didn't happen. Instead, as I'm in Old Hickory's office a few days later, allowin' him to giveme a few fool directions about an errand, in breaks Miller all glowin'under the collar. 

"Mr. Ellins, " says he, "I can't stand that young Upton. He's got togo!"

"That's too bad, " says Old Hickory, shiftin' his cigar to port. "I'dpromised his father to give the boy a three months' trial at least. One of our big stockholders, Colonel Upton is, you know. But if yousay you can't----"

"Oh, I suppose I can, Sir, in that case, " says Miller; "but he's worsethan useless in the department, and if there's no way of getting him toobserve office hours it's going to be bad for discipline. "

"Try docking him, Miller, " suggests Mr. Ellins. "Dock him heavy. Andpile on the work. Keep him on the jump. "

"Yes, Sir, " says Miller, grinnin' at me' as he goes out. 

And of course this throws a brighter light on Mortimer'scase, --pampered son takin' his first whirl at honest toil, and allthat. Then later in the day I gets a little private illumination. Mother arrives. Rather a gushy, talky party she is, with big, snappyeyes like Mortimer's, and the same haughty airs. Just now, though, she's a little puffy from excitement and deep emotion. 

Seems Mother and Sister Janice are on their way to the steamer, billedto spend the winter abroad. Also it develops that stern Father, standin' grim and bored in the background, has ruled that Son mustn'tquit business for any farewell lallygaggin' at the pier. Hence thefam'ly call. As the touchin' scene all takes place in the receptionroom, just across the brass rail from my desk, I'm almost one of theparty. 

"Oh, my darling boy!" wails Ma, pushin' back her veils and wrappin' himin the fond clinch. 

"Aw, Mother!" protests Mortimer. 

"But we are to be so far apart, " she goes on, "and with your father inCalifornia you are to be all alone! And I just know you'll be forlornand lonesome in that dreadful boarding house! Oh, it is perfectlyawful!"

"Oh, quit it, Mother. I'll be all right, " says Mortimer. 

"But the work here, " comes back Mother. "Does it come so hard? Howare you to stand it? Oh, if you had only kept on at college, then allthis wouldn't have been necessary. "

"Well, I didn't, that's all, " says Mortimer; "so what's the use?"

"I shall worry about you all the time, " insists Mother. "And you areso careless about writing! How am I to know that you are not ill, orin trouble? Now promise me, if you should break down under the strain, that you will cable me at once. "

"Oh, sure!" says Mortimer. "But time's up, Mother. I must be gettingback. Good-by. "

I had to turn my shoulder on the final break-away, and I thought thewhole push had cleared out, when I hears a rustle at the gate, andhere's Mother once more, with her eyes fixed investigatin' on me. 

"Boy, " says she, "are you employed here regularly?"

"I'm one of the fixtures, Ma'am, " says I. 

"Very well, " says she. "I am glad to hear it. And you have rather anintelligent appearance. "

"Mostly bluff, though, " says I. "You mustn't bank too much on looks. "

"Ah, but I can tell!" says she, noddin' her head and squintin' shrewd. "You have a kind face too. "

"Ye-e-es?" says I. "But what's this cue for?"

"I will tell you, Boy, " says she, comin' up confidential. "You see, Imust trust someone in this matter. And you will be right here, whereyou can see him every day, won't you--my son Mortimer, I mean?"

"I expect I'll have to, " says I, "if he sticks. "

"Then you must do this for me, " she goes on. "Keep close to him. Makeyourself his friend. "

"Me?" says I. "Well, there might be some trouble about that. "

"I understand, " says she. "It will be difficult, under thecircumstances. And Mortimer has such a proud, reserved nature! He hasalways been that way. But now that he is thrown upon his ownresources, and if you could once gain his confidence, he might allowyou to--well, you'll try, won't you? And then I shall depend upon youto send word to me once every week as to how he looks, if he seemshappy, how he is getting on in business, and so on. Come, do youpromise?"

"Is this a case of philanthropy, or what?" says I. 

"Oh, I shall see that you are well repaid, " says she. 

"That listens well, " says I; "but it's kind of vague. Any figures, now?"

"Why--er--yes, " says she, hesitatin'. "Suppose I should send you, say, five dollars for every satisfactory report?"

"Then I'm on the job, " says I. 

And in two minutes more she's left me the address of her Londonbankers, patted me condescendin' on the shoulder, and has flitted. Sohere I am with a brand new side line, --an assignment to be friendly atso much per. Can you beat that?

It wa'n't until afterwards, either, when I'm busy throwin' on thescreen pictures of how that extra five'll fat up the Saturday payenvelope, that I remembers the exact wordin' of the contract. Five forevery satisfactory report. Gee! that's different! Then here's where Igot to see that Mortimer behaves, or else I lose out. And I don'twaste any time plannin' the campaign. I tackles him as he strolls outthirty seconds ahead of the twelve o'clock whistle. 

"After another one of them clubby lunches?" says I. 

"What's that to you?" he growls. 

"I'm interested, that's all, " says I. 

"Oh, no, you're not, " says he; "you're just fresh. "

"Ah, come now, Morty, " says I. "This ain't no reg'lar feud we'reindulgin' in, you know. Ditch the rude retort and lemme tow you to ajoint where for----"

"Thanks, " says Mortimer. "I prefer my own company. "

"Gee! what poor taste!" says I. 

And it looked like I'd gone and bugged any five-spot prospects with myfirst try. 

So I lets Mortimer simmer for a few days, not makin' any more cracks, friendly or otherwise. I was about to hand in a blank report too, whenone noon he sort of hesitates as he passes the desk, and then stops. 

"I say, " he begins, "show me that cheap luncheon place you spoke of, will you?"

It's more of an order than anything else; but that only makes thissudden shift of his more amusin'. "Why, sure, " says I. "Soured on theclub, have you?"

"Not exactly, " says he; "but--well, the fact is, Father must haveforgotten to send a check for last month's bill, and I'm on theboard--posted, you know. "

"Then that wa'n't any funny dream of yours, eh, " says I, "this clubbusiness? Which is it, Lotos or the Union League?"

"It's my frat club, of course, " says Mortimer. "And I don't mindsaying that it's a deucedly expensive place for me to go, even when Ican sign checks for my meals. I'm always being dragged into billiards, dollar a corner, and that sort of thing. It counts up, and I--I'mrunning rather close to the wind just now. "

"What! And you gettin' twelve?" says I. "Why, say, some supportsfam'lies on that. Takes managin', though. But I'll steer you round toMax's, where for a quarter you can----"

"A quarter!" breaks in Mortimer. "But--but that's more than I haveleft. "

"And this only Wednesday!" says I. "Gee! but you have been goin' thepace, ain't you? What is the sum total of the reserve, anyway?"

Mortimer scoops into his trousers pockets, fishin' up a silver knife, agold cigar clipper, and seventeen cents cash. 

"Well, well!" says I. "That is gettin' down to hardpan! It's breakin'one of my business rules, but I see where I underwrite your lunchticket for the next few days. "

"You mean you're going to stake me?" says he. "But why?"

"Well, it ain't on account of your winnin' ways, " says I. 

"Humph!" says he. "Here! You may have this stickpin as security. "

"Gwan!" says I. "I ain't no loan shark. Maybe I'm just makin' aninvestment in you. Come on to Max's. "

I could see Mortimer's nose begin to turn up as we crowds in at a tablewhere a couple of packers from the china store next door was doin' thesword swallowin' act. "What a noisy, messy place!" says he. 

"The service ain't quite up to Louis Martin's, that's a fact, " says I;"but then, there's no extra charge for the butter and toothpicks. "

We tried the dairy lunch next time; but he don't like that much better. Pushin' up to the coffee urn with the mob, and havin' a tongue sandwichslammed down in front of him by a grub hustler that hadn't been to amanicure lately was only a couple of the details Mortimer shies at. 

"Ah, you'll soon get to overlook little things like that, " says I. 

Mortimer shakes his head positive. "It's the disgusting crowd one hasto mingle with, " says he. "Such a cheap lot of--of roughnecks!"

"Huh!" says I. "Lots of 'em are pullin' down more'n you or me. Someof 'em are almost human too. "

"I don't care, " says he. "I dislike to mix with them. It's bad enoughat the boarding house. "

"None of the aristocracy there, either?" says I. 

"They're freaks, all of them, " says he. "What do you think--one fellowwears an outing shirt in to dinner! Then there's an old person withgray whiskers who--well, I can't bear to watch him. The others arealmost as bad. "

"When you get to know the bunch you won't mind, " says I. 

"But I don't care to know them, " says Mortimer. "I haven't spoken to asoul, and don't intend to. They're not my kind, you see. "

"Are you boastin', or complainin'?" says I. "Anyway, you're in for alonesome time. What do you do evenin's?"

"Walk around until I'm tired, that's all, " says he. 

"That's excitin'--I don't think, " says I. 

Next he branches off on Miller, and starts tellin' me what a deep andlastin' grouch he'd accumulated against his boss. But I ain'tencouragin' any hammer play of that kind. 

"Stow it, Morty, " says I. "I'm wise to all that. Besides, you oughtto know you can't hold a job and come floatin' in at any old hour. Nowonder you got in Dutch with him! Say, is this your first stab at realwork?"

He admits that it is, and when I gets him to describe how he's beenkillin' time when he wa'n't in college it develops that one of hisprincipal playthings has been a six-cylinder roadster, --mile-a-minutebrand, mostly engine and gastank, with just space enough left for thedriver to snuggle in among the levers on the small of his back. 

"I've had her up to sixty-five an hour on some of those Rhode Islandoiled stretches, " says Mortimer. 

"I expect, " says I. "And what was it you hit last?"

"Eh?" says he. "Oh, I see! A milk wagon. Rather stiff damages theygot out of us, with the hospital and doctor's bills and all that. Butit was more the way I was roasted by the blamed newspapers that madeFather so sore. Then my being canned from college soon after--well, that finished it. So he sends Mother and Sis off to Europe, goes on abusiness trip to California himself, closes the house, and chucks meinto this job. "

"Kind of poor trainin' for it, I'll admit, " says I. "But buck up, Morty; we'll do our best. "

"We?" says he, liftin' his eyebrows. 

"Uh-huh, " says I. "Me and you. "

"What's it got to do with you? I'd like to know!" he demands. 

"I've been retained, " says I. "Never you mind how, but I'm here topass out the friendly shove, coach you along, see that you make good. "

"Well, I like your nerve!" says he, stoppin' short as we're crossin'Broadway. "A young mucker like you help me make good! Say, that'srich, that is! Huh! But why don't you? Come ahead with it, now, ifyou're such an expert!"

It was a dare, all right. And for a minute there we looked each otherover scornful, until I decides that I'll carry on the friend act if Ihave to risk gettin' my head punched. 

"First off, Mortimer, " says I, "forgettin' what a great man you are solong as Father's payin' the bills, let's figure on just what yourstandin' is now. You're a bum bond clerk, on the ragged edge of bein'fired, ain't you?"

He winces some at that; but he still has a comeback. "If it wasn't forthat bonehead Miller, I'd get on, " he growls. 

"Bah!" says I. "He's only layin' down the rules of the game; so it'sup to you to follow 'em. "

"But he's unreasonable, " whines Mortimer. "He snoops around after me, finds fault with everything I do, and fines me for being a little latemornings. "

I takes a long breath and swallows hard. Next I tries to strike thesaintly pose, and then I unreels the copybook dope just like I believedit myself. 

"He does, eh?" says I. "Then beat him to it. Don't be late. Show upat eight-thirty instead of nine. That extra half-hour ain't goin' tokill you. Be the last to quit too. Play up to Miller. Do things theway he wants 'em done, even if you have to do 'em over a dozen times. And use your bean. "

"But it's petty, insignificant work, " says Mortimer. 

"All the worse for you if you can't swing it, " says I. "See here, now--how are you goin' to feel afterwards if you've always got to lookback on the fact that you begun by fallin' down on a twelve-dollar job?"

Must have got Mortimer in the short ribs, that last shot; for he walksall the rest of the way back to the Corrugated without sayin' a word. Then, just as we gets into the elevator, he unloosens. 

"I don't believe it will do any good to try, " says he; "but I've a mindto give it a whirl. "

I didn't say so, but that was the first thing we'd agreed on that day. So that night I has to send off a report which reads like this:

Mortimer's health O. K. ; disposition ragged; business prospects punk. 

Hoping you are the same, TORCHY. 

It's a wonder Mortimer didn't have mental indigestion, with all thatload of gilt-edged advice on his mind, and I wa'n't lookin' for him tolug it much further'n the door; but, if you'll believe me, he seems totake it serious. Every mornin' after that I finds his hat on the hookwhen I come in, and whenever I gets a glimpse of him durin' the day hehas his coat off and is makin' a noise like the busy bee. At this ittakes some time before he makes an impression on Miller; but fin'llyMorty comes out to me with a bulletin that seems to tickle him all over. 

"What do you know?" says he. "When Miller was looking over some of mywork to-day he breaks out with, 'Very good, Upton. Keep it up. '"

"Well, I expect you told him to chase himself, eh?" says I. 

"No, " says Mortimer. "I sprung that new scheme of mine for filing theback records, and perhaps he's going to adopt it. "

"Think of that!" says I. "Say, you keep on, and you'll be presentedwith that job for life. But, honest, you don't find Miller such afish, do you?"

"Oh, I guess he's all right in his way, " says Mortimer. 

"Then brace yourself, Morty, " says I, "while I slip you some moregolden words. Tackle that boardin' house bunch of yours. Ah, holdyour breath while you're doin' it, if you want to, and spray yourselfafterwards with disinfectant, but see if you can't learn to mix in. "

"But why?" says he. "I can't see the use. "

"Say, for the love of Pete, " says I, "ain't it hard enough for me topress out all this wise dope without drawin' diagrams? I don't knowwhy, only you should. Go on now, take it from me. "

Maybe it was followin' my hunch, or maybe there wa'n't anything elsefor him to do, but blamed if this didn't work too. Inside of two weekshe gives me the whole tale, one day as we're sittin' in the armchairsat the dairy lunch. 

"Remember my telling you about the fellow who wore the outing shirt?"says he. "Well, say, he's quite a chap, you know. He's from somelittle town out in Wyoming, and he's on here trying to be acartoonist--runs a hoisting engine day times and goes to an art schoolevenings. How's that, eh?"

"Sounds batty, " says I. "There's most as many would-be cartoonists asthere are nutty ones tryin' to write plays for Belasco. "

"But this Blake's going to get there, " says Mortimer. "I was up in hisroom Sunday, and he showed me some of his work. Clever stuff, a lot ofit. He's landed a couple of things already. Then there's old manMcQuade, the one with the whiskers. Say, he's been all over theworld, --Siberia, Africa, Japan, South America. Used to be sellingagent for a mill supply firm. He has all his savings invested in anEgyptian cotton plantation that hasn't begun to pay yet, but he thinksit will soon. You ought to hear the yarns he can spin, though!"

"So-o-o?" says I. 

"But Aronwitz is the fellow I'm traveling' around with most just now, "goes on Mortimer enthusiastic. "Say, he's a wonder! Been over herefrom Hungary only six years, worked his way through Columbia, coppingan A. M. And an A. B. , and sending back money to his old mother rightalong. He's a Socialist, or something, and writes for one of thoseEast Side papers. Then evenings he teaches manual training in a slumsettlement house. He took me over with him the other night and got meto help him with his boys. My, but they're a bright lot ofyoungsters--right off the street too! I've promised to take a classmyself. "

"In what, " says I, "table etiquette?"

"I'm going to start by explaining to them how a gasolene engine works, "says Mortimer. "They're crazy to learn anything like that. It will begreat sport. "

"Mortimer, " says I, "a little more of that, and I'll believe you're theguy that put the seed in succeed. Anyone wouldn't guess you was doin'penance. "

"I feel that I'm really living at last, " says he in earnest. 

So in that next report to Mother, after I'd thanked her for the lastcheck and filled in the usual health chart and so on, I proceeds tothrow in a few extras about how Son was makin' the great discovery thatmost folks was more or less human, after all. Oh, I spread myself onthat part of it, givin' full details!

"And if that don't charm an extra five out of the old girl, " thinks I, "I miss my guess. "

Does it? Well, say, that happy thought stays with me for about tendays. At times I figured the bonus might be as high as a fifty. Andthen one mornin' here comes a ruddy-faced old party that I spots asColonel Upton. He calls for Mortimer, and the two of 'em has aten-minute chat in the corridor. Afterwards Morty interviews Miller, and when he comes out next he has his hat and overcoat with him. 

"So long, Torchy, " says he. "I'm leaving. "

"Not for good!" says I. "What's wrong?"

"Mother, " says he. "In some way she's found out about the sort ofpeople I've been going around with, and she's kicked up a great row, got Father on the cable, and--well, it's all off. I'm to travel abroadfor a year or so to get it out of my system. "

"Gee!" says I as he goes out to join the Colonel. "Talk about boobinga swell proposition! But that was too good to last, anyway. And, believe me, if I'm ever asked again to be friendly on a salary, I bet Idon't overdo the thing. "

CHAPTER V

BREEZING BY WITH PEGGY

He's a great old scout, Mr. Ellins. But he always knows where he wantsto get off, all right. He don't whisper his ideas on the subject, either. 

"Boy, " says he the other mornin' as I answers the buzzer, "I amexpecting two young persons to call this forenoon, two young wards ofmine. Huh! Wards! As though I wasn't busy enough with my own affairswithout---- But never mind. Chandler is the name. "

"Yes, Sir, " says I. "Chandler. Rush 'em right in, shall I?"

"No!" snorts Old Hickory. "What I want you to do is to use a littlesense, if you have any. Now, here! I have a committee meeting at ten;those K. & T. People will be here at ten-forty-five; and after that Ican't say whether I'll be free or not. Of course I must see the youngnuisances; but meantime I want to forget 'em. I am trusting to you towork 'em in when they'll be the least bother. "

"Got you, " says I. "Chink in with Chandlers. Yes, Sir. Anythingmore?"

"No. Get out!" he snaps. 

Fair imitation of a grouch, eh? But you got to get used to OldHickory. Besides, there was some excuse for his bein' peeved, havin' apair of kids camp down on him this way. Course I was wise to the otherdetails. Didn't I take their 'phone message to Mr. Robert only the daybefore, and send back the answer for 'em to come on?

Seems this was a case of a second cousin, or something like that, anutty college professor, who'd gone and left a will makin' Mr. Ellins aguardian without so much as askin' by your leave. There was a Mrs. Chandler; but she don't figure in the guardianship. The youngsters hadbeen in school somewhere near Boston; but, this bein' the holidays, what do they do but turn up in New York and express a wild desire tosee dear old Guardy. 

"Gee!" thinks I. "They don't know when they're well off. "

For Old Hickory ain't got a lot of use for the average young person. I've heard him express his sentiments on that point. "Impudent, ill-mannered, selfish, spoiled young barbarians, the boys, " says he, "and the girls aren't much better, --silly, giggling young chatterboxes!"

And the way I has it framed up, this was rather a foxy move of theyoung Chandlers, discoverin' their swell New York relations just as theholiday season was openin'. So I don't figure that the situation callsfor any open-arm motions on my part. No, nothin' like that. I'm hereto give 'em their first touch of frost. 

So about eleven-fifteen, as I glances across the brass rail and seesthis pair advancin' sort of uncertain, I'm all prepared to cause a dropin the mercury. They wa'n't exactly the type I had in mind, though. What I'd expected was a brace of high school cutups. But these two areolder than that. 

The young fellow was one of these big-boned, wide-shouldered chaps, with a heavy, serious look to his face, almost dull. I couldn't tellat first look whether he was a live wire or not. No such suspicionsabout the girl. She ain't what you'd call a queen, exactly. She's tootall and her face is too long for that. Kind of a cute sort of face, though, with rather a wide mouth that she can twist into a weird, one-sided smile. But after one look at them lively blue eyes you knewshe wasn't walkin' in her sleep. It's my cue, though, to let 'em guesswhat nuisances they were. 

"May I see Mr. Ellins?" says the young chap. 

"Cards, " says I. 

He produces the pasteboards. 

"Oh, yes!" I goes on. "The wards, eh? Marjorie Chandler, DudleyWinthrop Chandler. Well, you've picked out a busy day, you know. "

"Oh, have we?" says Marjorie. "There, Dud! I was afraid we might. Perhaps we'd better not call, after all. "

"Good!" says Dudley. "I didn't want to, anyway. We can just send inour cards and leave word that we----"

"Ah, can it!" says I. "Mr. Ellins is expectin' you; only he ain't aman you can walk in on casual. "

"But really, " puts in Marjorie, "it's just as well if we don't see him. "

"Yes, and get me fired for not carryin' out instructions, " says I. "Myorders are to work you in when there's a chance. "

"Oh, in that case, " says Marjorie, "perhaps we had better wait. Wedon't wish to cause trouble for anyone, especially such a bright, charming young----"

"Nix on the josh, " says I. "And have a seat while I skirmish. "

"Very well, then, " says she, screwin' her face up cunnin' and handin'me one of them crooked smiles. 

Say, she pretty near had me goin' right from the start. And as Itiptoes into the boss's room I sees he ain't doin' anything moreimportant than signin' letters. 

"They're here, " says I, "the wards. Is it all right to run 'em in now?"

He grunts, nods his head, and keeps on writin'. So I strolls back tothe reception room. 

"All right, " says I. "I've fixed it up for you. "

"Now, wasn't that sweet in you?" gurgles Marjorie, glancin' sideways atBrother. I couldn't swear it was a wink, either; but it's one of themknowin' fam'ly looks, and she follows it up with a ripply sort of agiggle. 

"That's right!" says I. "Have all the fun you want with me; but I'dwarn you to ditch the mirth stuff while you're on the carpet. Mr. Ellins don't like it. "

"How interesting!" says Marjorie. "Dudley, I hope you understand. Wemust ditch the mirth stuff. "

They swaps another grin at that, and I have a suspicion I'm bein'kidded. Just for that too I decides to stick around while they'regettin' theirs from Old Hickory. 

"This way, " says I cold and haughty, as I tows 'em into the privateoffice. 

Mr. Ellins lets 'em stand there a minute or so without sayin' a word, and then he turns and looks 'em over deliberate. "Humph!" he grunts. "Thought you were younger. "

"Yes, Sir, " says Marjorie, "we--er--we were at one time. "

Old Hickory shoots a quizzin' glance at her; but there ain't the ghostof a smile on her face. 

"Huh!" says he. "I've no doubt. And I presume that in due courseyou'll be older. Having agreed on that, perhaps you will tell me whatyou're doing in New York?"

Marjorie starts in to give him the answer to that; but Dudley shakeshis head at her and takes the floor himself. "You see, Sir, " says hereal respectful, "Mother's abroad this winter, and when we were askedto visit friends on Long Island we thought----"

"Amy abroad, is she?" breaks in Mr. Ellins. "How does that happen?"

"The Adamses took her with them to Egypt, " says Dudley. "They are oldfriends of ours. "

"Humph!" says Old Hickory. "Your mother must be rather popular?"

"Oh, everyone likes Mama, " put in Marjorie. "She's asked aroundeverywhere. "

"Yes, yes, I've no doubt, " says he. "As I remember her, she was rathera--but we won't go into that. Did you come to consult me aboutanything in particular?"

"No indeed, " says Marjorie. "But you've been so good to bother aboutour affairs, and you've done such wonders with the little property poorDad left, that we thought, as we were so near, we ought to----"

"We wanted, " breaks in Dudley, "to call and thank you personally foryour kindness. You have been awfully kind, Sir. "

"Think so, do you?" says Mr. Ellins. "Well, is that all?"

"Yes, " says Marjorie; "only--only--oh, Dud, I'm going to do it!" Andwith that she makes a rush, lets out a giggle or two, grabs Old Hickoryin a perfectly good hug, and kisses him twice on his bald spot. 

He don't even have a chance to struggle, and before he can get out aword it's all over and she has backed off, givin' him the full benefitof one of them twisty smiles. I was lookin' for him to blow up forfair at that. He don't though. 

"There, there!" says he. "Not in the least necessary, you know. Butif it was something you had to get out of your system, all right. Soyou've been visiting, eh? Now, what?"

"Why, Marjorie's going back to her school, Sir, " says Dudley, "and I tocollege. "

"Before the holidays are over?" says Mr. Ellins. 

"Oh, we don't mind, " says Marjorie. "We don't want to go home and openup the house; for we should miss Mother so much. "

"Suppose you finish out your vacation with us, then?" suggests OldHickory. 

"Oh, thank you, Sir, " says Dudley; "but we----"

"Mother wrote us, you see, " breaks in Marjorie, "that we mustn't thinkof bothering you another bit. "

"Who says you're a bother?" he demands. "At this time of year I liketo have young folks around--if they're the right kind. "

"But I'm not sure we are the right kind, " says Marjorie. "I--I'm notvery serious, you know; and Dud's apt to be noisy. He thinks he cansing. "

At which Dudley gets fussed and Old Hickory chuckles. 

"I'll take a chance, " says Mr. Ellins. "If I'm to be your guardian, Iought to know you better. So you two trot right up to the house andprepare to stay the week out. Here, Torchy! 'Phone for the limousine. No, not a word, young woman! I haven't time to discuss it. Clear out, both of you! See you at dinner. "

"There!" says Marjorie as a partin' shot. "I just knew you were an olddear!"

"Stuff!" protests Mr. Ellins. "'Old bear, ' is more like it. "

And me, I picks up a new cue. I escorts 'em out to the gen'ral officewith all the honors. "I'll have that car down in a jiffy, Miss, " saysI. 

"Oh, thank you, " says Marjorie. "And if you think of anything we oughtto ditch in the meantime--"

"Ah, what's the use rubbin' it in on me, " says I, "after the way youput it over Mr. Ellins? I don't count. Besides, anybody that fieldstheir position like you do has got me wearin' their button for keeps. "

"Really?" says she. "I shall remember that, you know; and there's notelling what dreadful thing I may do before I go. Is there, Dud?"

"Oh, quit it, Peggy!" says he. "Behave, can't you?"

"Certainly, Brother dear, " says she, runnin' her tongue out at him. Ever see anyone who could make a cute play of that? Well, Marjoriecould, believe me!

Funny, though, the sudden hit them two seemed to make with Old Hickory. Honest, the few days they was around the house his disposition clearsup like coffee does when you stir in the egg. I heard him talkin' toMr. Robert about 'em, how well brought up and mannerly they was. Heeven unloads some of it on me, by way of suggestin' 'em as models. You'd most think he'd trained 'em himself. 

Bein' chased up to the house on so many errands, I had a chance to getthe benefit of some of this improvin' influence. And it was kind ofgood, I admit, to watch how prompt Dudley hops up every time any olderparty comes into the room; and how sweet Marjorie is to everybody, eventhe butler. They was just as nice to each other too, --Brother helpin'Sister on with her wraps, and gettin' down on his knees to put on herrubbers; while Marjorie never forgets to thank him proper, and pat himchummy on the cheek. 

"Gee!" thinks I. "A sister like that wouldn't be so bad to havearound. "

Course, I knew this was comp'ny manners, exhibition stuff; but all thesame it was kind of inspirin' to see. It's catchin' too. I even findsmyself speakin' gentle to Piddie, and offerin' to help Mr. Ellins withhis overcoat. 

All of which lasts until here one afternoon, as I'm waitin' in theEllins' lib'ry for some presents I'm to deliver, when the spell isshattered. I'd heard 'em out in the hall, talkin' low and earnest, andnext thing I know they've drifted in where I am and have opened up alively debate. 

"Pooh!" says Marjorie. "You can't stop me. "

"See here, Peggy!" comes back Dudley. "Didn't Mother say I was to lookafter you?"

"She didn't tell you to be so everlasting bossy, " says Sister. 

"I'm not bossy, " comes back Dudley. 

"You are so!" says she. "Old fuss budget! Stewcat!"

"Rattlehead!" says Dudley. 

"Don't mind me, " I breaks in. "I'm havin' my manners improved. "

All that brings out, though, is a glance and a shoulder shrug, and theyproceed with the squabble. 

"Dud Chandler, " says Marjorie determined, "I am going to drive the cartoday! You did yesterday for an hour. "

"That's entirely different, " says Dudley. "I'm used to it, and Henrysaid I might. "

"And Henry says I may too--so there!" says Marjorie. "And you know I'mjust crazy to try it on Fifth Avenue. "

"You'd look nice, wouldn't you?" says Brother scornful. "A limousine!"

"But Bud Adams let me drive theirs; in Boston too, " protests Marjorie. 

"Bud Adams is a bonehead, then, " says Dudley. 

"Dudley Chandler, " snaps Sister, her eyes throwin' off sparks, "don'tyou dare talk that way about my friends!"

"Huh!" says Brother. "If there ever was a boob, that Bud Adams is----"

Say, there's only a flash and a squeal before Sister has landed a smackon his jaw and has both hands in his hair. Looked like a realrough-house session, right there in the lib'ry, when there comes a callfor me down the stairs from Mrs. Ellins. She wants to know if I'mready. 

[Illustration: Sister has landed a smack on his jaw. ]

"Waitin' here, Ma'am, " says I, steppin' out into the hall. 

"And Marjorie and Dudley?" says she. "Are the dear young folks readytoo?"

"I'll ask 'em, " says I. And with that I dodges hack where they'restandin' glarin' at each other. "Well, " says I, "is it to be a go to afinish, or----"

"Come, Marjorie, " says Dudley, "be decent. "

"I--am going to do it!" announces Marjorie. 

"Mule!" hisses Dudley. 

And that's the status quo between these two models when we starts forthe car. Marjorie makes a quick break and plants herself in front bythe chauffeur, leavin' Brother to climb inside with me and the bundles. He grits his teeth and murmurs a few remarks under his breath. 

"Some pep to that sister of yours, eh?" says I. 

"She's an obstinate little fool!" says Dudley. "Look at that, now! Iknew she would!"

Yep, she had. We're no sooner under way than the obligin' Henry slidesout of his seat and lets Miss Marjorie slip in behind the wheel. Shecan drive a car all right too. You ought to see her throw in the highand go beatin' it down the avenue, takin' signals from the traffic copsat crossing, skinnin' around motor busses, and crowdin' out a freshtaxi driver that tried to hog a corner on her. Nothin' timid oramateurish either about the way she handled that ten-thousand-dollargas wagon of Old Hickory's. Where I'd be jammin' on both brakes andcallin' for help, she just breezes along like she had the street all toherself. 

Meantime Brother is sittin' with both feet braced and one hand on thedoor, now and then sighin' relieved as we scrape through a tight place. But we'd been down quite a ways and was part way back, headed forRiverside Drive, and was rollin' along merry too, when all of a suddena fruit faker's wagon looms up out of a side street unexpected, there'sa bump and a crash, and there we are, with a spokeless wooden wheeldraped jaunty over one mud guard, the asphalt strewed with oranges, andint'rested spectators gatherin' gleeful from all quarters. 

Looks like a bad mess too. The old plug of a horse is down, kickin'the stuffin' out of the harness, and a few feet off is the huckster, huddled up in a heap like a bag of meal. Course, there's a cop on thespot. He pushes in where Dudley is tryin' to help the wagon driver up, takes one look at the wreck, and then flashes his little notebook. Heputs down our license number, calls for the owner's name, prods thewagon man without result, tells us we're all pinched, and steps over toa convenient signal box to ring up an ambulance. Inside of threeminutes we're the storm center of a small mob, and there's two othercops lookin' us over disapprovin'. 

"Take 'em all to the station house, " says one, who happens to be aroundsman. 

That didn't listen good to me; so I kind of sidles off from our group. It just struck me that it might be handy to have someone on the outsidelookin' in. But at that I got to the station house almost as soon asthey did. The trio was lined up before the desk Sergeant. MissMarjorie's kind of white, but keepin' a stiff lip over it; while Dudleyis holdin' one hand and pattin' it comfortin'. 

"Well, who was driving?" is the first thing the Sergeant wants to know. 

"If you please, Sir, " speaks up Dudley, "I was. "

"Why, Dudley!" says Peggy, openin' her eyes wide. "You know----"

"Hush up!" whispers Brother. 

"Sha'nt!" says Marjorie. "I was driving, Mr. Officer. "

"Rot!" says Dudley. "Pay no attention to her, Sergeant. "

"Suit yourself, " says the Sergeant. "I'd just as soon lock up two asone. Then we'll be sure. "

"There! You see!" says Brother. "You aren't helping any. Now keepout, will you?"

"But, Dudley----" protests Marjorie. 

"That'll do, " says the Sergeant. "You'll have plenty of time to talkit over afterwards. Hospital case, eh? Then we can't take bail. Names, now!"

And it's while their names are bein' put on the blotter that I slidesout, hunts up a pay station, and gets Mr. Robert on the 'phone. "Better lug along a good-sized roll, " says I, after I've explained thecase, "and start a lawyer or two this way. You'll need 'em. "

"I will, " says Mr. Robert. "And you'll meet me at the station, willyou?"

"Later on, " says I. "I want to try a little sleuthin' first. "

You see, I'd spotted the faker's name on the wagon license, and itoccurs to me that before any of them damage-suit shysters get to him itwould be a good scheme to discover just how bad he was bunged up. Somy bluff is that it's an uncle of mine that's been hurt. By pushin' itgood and hard too, and insistin' that I'd got to see him, I gets clearinto the cot without bein' held up. And there's the victim, snoozin'peaceful. 

"Gee!" says I to the nurse, sniffin' the atmosphere. "Had to brace himup with a drink, did you?"

She smiles at that. "Hardly, " says she. "He had attended to that, orhe wouldn't be in here. This is the alcoholic ward, you know. "

"Huh!" says I. "Pickled, was he? But is he hurt bad?"

"Not at all, " says she. "He will be all right as soon as he's sober. "

Did I smoke it back to the station house? Well, some! And Mr. Robertwas there, talkin' to two volunteer witnesses who was ready to swearthe faker was drivin' on the wrong side of the street and not lookin'where he was goin'. 

"How could he, " says I, "when he was soused to the ears?"

Course, it took some time to convince the Sergeant; but after he'd hadword from the hospital he concludes to accept a hundred cash, letDudley go until mornin', and scratch Marjorie's name off the book. Goin' back to the house we four rides inside, with Henry at the wheel. 

"I'm awfully sorry, Dud, " says Marjorie, snugglin' up to Brother, "but--but it was almost worth it. I didn't know you could be so--sosplendid!"

"Stow it, Peggy, " says Dudley. "You're a regular brick!"

"No, I'm not, " says she. "And think what Mr. Ellins will say!

"There, there!" says Mr. Robert soothin'. "You were not to blame. Iwill have someone see the fellow in the morning and settle the damage, however. There's no need to trouble Father about it, none in theleast. "

"Besides, Peggy, " adds Dudley, "I'm the one the charge is made against. So butt out. "

Looked like it was all settled that way too, and that Old Hickory'sfaith in his model wards wa'n't to be disturbed. But when we pulls upat the house there he is, just goin' up the front steps. 

"Ah!" says he, beamin'. "There you are, eh? And how has my littlePeggy been enjoying herself today?"

"Mr. Ellins, " says she, lookin' him square in the eye, "you mustn'tcall me your Peggy any more. I've just hit a man. He's in thehospital. "

"You--you hit someone!" gasps Old Hickory, starin' puzzled at her. "What with?"

"Why, with the car, " says she. "I was driving. Dudley tried to stopme; but I was horrid about it. We had a regular fight over it. Then Icoaxed Henry to let me, and--and this happened. Don't listen toDudley. It was all my fault. "

"Wow!" I whispers to Mr. Robert. "Now she's spilled the beans!"

Did she? Say, I wa'n't in on the fam'ly conference that follows, but Igets the result from Mr. Robert next day, after he's been to court andseen Dudley's case dismissed. 

"No, the young folks haven't been sent away, " says he. "In fact, Father thinks more of them than ever. He's going to take 'em bothabroad with him next summer. "

Wouldn't that smear you, though? Say, I wish someone would turn meloose with a limousine!

CHAPTER VI

GLOOM SHUNTING FOR THE BOSS

Trouble? Say, it was comin' seven diff'rent ways there forawhile, --our stocks on the slump, a quarterly bein' passed, Congressactin' up, a lot of gloom rumors floatin' around about what was goin'to happen to the tariff on steel, and the I Won't Workers pullin' off abig strike at one of our busiest plants. But all these things was sideissues compared to this scrap that develops between Old Hickory andPeter K. Groff. 

Maybe you don't know about Peter K. ? Well, he's the Mesaba agent ofCorrugated affairs, the big noise at the dirt end of the dividends. It's Groff handles the ore proposition, you understand, and it's hiscompany that does the inter-locking act between the ore mines and usand the railroads. 

Course, I can't give you all the details without pullin' down asubpoena from the Attorney-General's office, and I ain't anxious tocrowd Willie Rockefeller, or anybody like that, out of the witnesschair. But I can go as far as to state that, as near as I could dopeit out, Peter K. Was only standin' on his rights, and if only him andMr. Ellins could have got together for half an hour peaceable-likethings could have been squared all around. We needed Groff every tickof the clock, and just because he ain't always polite in statin' hisviews over the wire wa'n't any first-class reason for us extendin' himan official invitation to go sew his head in a bag. 

Uh-huh, them was Old Hickory's very words. I stood by while he writesthe message. Then I takes it out and shows it to Piddie and grins. You should have seen Piddie's face. He turns the color of green peasoup and gasps. He's got all the fightin' qualities of a pet rabbit inhim, Piddie has. 

"But--but that is a flat insult, " says he, "and Mr. Groff is a veryirascible person!"

"A which?" says I. "Never mind, though. If he's got anything on OldHickory when it comes to pep in the disposition, he's the real TabascoTommy. "

"But I still contend, " says Piddie, "that this reply should not besent. "

"Course it shouldn't, " says I. "But who's goin' to point that out tothe boss? You?"

Piddie shudders. I'll bet he went home that night and told Wifey toprepare for the end of the world. Course, I knew it meant a muss. Butwhen Old Hickory's been limpin' around with a gouty toe for two weeks, and his digestion's gone on the fritz, and things in gen'ral has beenbreakin' bad--well, it's a case of low barometer in our shop, andwaitin' to see where the lightnin' strikes first. Might's well bepointed at Peter K. , thinks I, as at some Wall Street magnate or me. Course, Groff goes up in the air a mile, threatens to resign from theboard, and starts stirrin' up a minority move that's liable to end mostanywhere. 

Then, right in the midst of it, Old Hickory accumulates his annual caseof grip, runs up a temperature that ain't got anything to do with hisdisposition, and his doctor gives orders for him not to move out of thehouse for a week. 

So that throws the whole thing onto me and Mr. Robert. I was takin' itcalm enough too; but with Mr. Robert it's different. He has his coatoff that mornin', and his hair mussed up, and he's smokin' longbrunette cigars instead of his usual cigarettes. He was pawin' overthings panicky. 

"Hang it all!" he explodes. "Some of these papers must go up to theGovernor for his indorsement. Perhaps you'd better take them, Torchy. But you're not likely to find him in a very agreeable mood, you know. "

"Oh, I can dodge, " says I, gatherin' up the stuff. "And what's thedope? Do I dump these on the bed and make a slide for life, or so Itake out accident insurance and then stick around for orders?"

"You may--er--stick around, " says Mr. Robert. "In fact, my chiefreason for sending you up to the house is the fact that at times youare apt to have a cheering effect on the Governor. So stay as long asyou find any excuse. 

"Gee!" says I. "I don't know whether this is a special holiday, or asentence to sudden death. But I'll take a chance, and if the worsthappens, Mr. Robert, see that Piddie wears a black armband for me. "

He indulges in the first grin he's had on for a week, and I makes myexit on that. The science of bein' fresh is to know where to quit. 

But, say, that wa'n't all guff we was exchangin' about Old Hickory. Idon't find him tucked away under the down comf'tables, like he ought tobe. Marston, the butler, whispers the boss is in the lib'ry, and sortof shunts me in without appearin' himself. A wise guy, Marston. 

For here's Mr. Ellins, wearin' a padded silk dressin' gown and oldslippers, pacin' back and forth limpy and lettin' out grunts and growlsat every turn. Talk about your double-distilled grouches! He lookslike he'd been on a diet of mixed pickles and scrap iron for a month, and hated the whole human race. 

"Well?" he snaps as he sees me edgin' in cautious. 

"Papers for your O. K, " says I, holdin' the bunch out at arm's length. 

"My O. K. ?" he snarls. "Bah! Now what the zebra-striped Zacharias dothey send those things to me for? What good am I, anyway, except as acommon carrier for all the blinkety blinked aches and pains that everexisted? A shivery, shaky old lump of clay streaked with cussedness, that's all I am!"

"Yes, Sir, " says I, from force of habit. 

"Eh?" says he, whirlin' and snappin' his jaws. 

"N-n-no, Sir, " says I, sidesteppin' behind a chair. 

"That's right, " says he. "Dodge and squirm as if I was a wild animal. That's what they all do. What are you afraid of, Boy?"

"Me?" says I. "Why, I'm havin' the time of my life. I don't mind. Itonly sounds natural and homelike. And it's mostly bluff, ain't it, Mr. Ellins?"

"Discovered!" says he. "Ah, the merciless perspicacity of youth! Butdon't tell the others. And put those papers on my desk. "

"Yes, Sir, " says I, and after I've spread 'em out I backs into the baywindow and sits down. 

"Well, what are you doing there?" says he. 

"Waiting orders, " says I. "Any errands, Mr. Ellins?"

"Errands?" says he. Then, after thinkin' a second, he raps out, "Yes. Do you see that collection of bottles and pills and glasses on thetable? Enough to stock a young drugstore! And I've been pouring thattruck into my system by wholesale, --the pink tablets on the half-hour, the white ones on the quarter, a spoonful of that purple liquid on theeven hour, two of the greenish mixtures on the odd, and getting worseevery day. Bah! I haven't the courage to do it myself, but by theblue-belted blazes if---- See here, Boy! You're waiting orders, yousay?"

"Uh-huh!" says I. 

"Then open that window and throw the whole lot into the areaway, " sayshe. 

"Do you mean it, Mr. Ellins?" says I. 

"Do I--yah, don't I speak plain English?" he growls. "Can't youunderstand a simple----"

"I got you, " I breaks in. "Out it goes!" I don't drop any of itgentle, either. I slams bottles and glasses down on the flaggin' andchucks the pills into the next yard. I makes a clean sweep. 

"Thanks, Torchy, " says he. "The doctor will be here soon. I'll tellhim you did it. "

"Go as far as you like, " says I. "Anything else, Sir?"

"Yes, " says he. "Provide me with a temporary occupation. "

"Come again, " says I. 

"I want something to do, " says he. "Here I've been shut up in thisconfounded house for four mortal days! I can't read, can't eat, can'tsleep. I just prowl around like a bear with a sore ear. I wantsomething that will make me forget what a wretched, futile old fool Iam. Do you know of anything that will fill the bill?"

"No, sir, " says I. 

"Then think, " says he. "Come, where is that quick-firing, automaticintellect of yours? Think, Boy! What would you do if you were shut uplike this?"

"Why, " says I, "I--I might dig up some kind of games, I guess. "

"Games!" says he. "That's worth considering. Well, here's some money. Go get 'em. "

"But what kind, Sir?" says I. 

"How the slithering Sisyphus should I know what kind?" he snaps. "Whose idea is this, anyway? You suggested games. Go get 'em, I tellyou! I'll give you half an hour, while I'm looking over this stufffrom the office. Just half an hour. Get out!"

It's a perfectly cute proposition, ain't it? Games for a heavy-poddedold sinner like him, who's about as frivolous in his habits as one ofthem stone lions in front of the new city lib'ry! But here I was on myway with a yellow-backed twenty in one hand; so it's up to me toproduce. I pikes straight down the avenue to a joint where they've gotthree floors filled with nothin' but juvenile joy junk, blows in thereon the jump, nails a clerk that looks like he had more or less bean, waves the twenty at him, and remarks casual:

"Gimme the worth of that in things that'll amuse a fifty-eight-year-oldkid who's sick abed and walkin' around the house. "

Did I say clerk? I take it back. He was a salesman, that young gentwas. Never raised an eyebrow, but proceeded to haul out samples, pass'em up to me for inspection, and pile in a heap what I gives him thenod on. If I established a record for reckless buyin', he nevermentions it. Inside of twenty minutes I'm on my way back, followed bya porter with both arms full. 

"The doctor has come, " says Marston. "He's in with Mr. Ellins now, Sir. "

"Ob, is he?" says I. "Makes it very nice, don't it?" And, bein' ashow I was Old Hickory's alibi, as you might say, I pikes right to thefront. 

"Here he is now, " says Mr. Ellins. 

And the Doc, who's a chesty, short-legged gent with a dome half underglass, --you know, sort of a skinned diamond with turf outfieldeffect, --he whirls on me accusin'. "Young man, " says he, "do Iunderstand that you had the impudence to----"

"Well, well!" breaks in Old Hickory, gettin' a glimpse of what theporter's unloading "What have we here? Look, Hirshway, --Torchy's drugsubstitute!"

"Eh?" says the Doc, starin' puzzled. 

"Games, " says Mr. Ellins, startin' to paw over the bundles. "Toys fora weary toiler. Let's inspect his selection. Now what's this in thebox, Torchy?"

"Cut-up picture puzzle, " says I. "Two hundred pieces. You fit 'emtogether. "

"Fine!" says Old Hickory. "And this?"

"Ring toss, " says I. "You try to throw them rope rings over the peg. "

"I see, " says he. "Excellent! That will be very amusing andinstructive. Here's an airgun too. "

"Ellins, " says Doc Hirshway, "do you mean to say that at your age youare going to play with such childish things?"

"Why not?" says Old Hickory. "You forbid business. I must employmyself in some way, and Torchy recommends these. "

"Bah!" says the Doc disgusted. "If I didn't know you so well, I shouldthink your mind was affected. "

"Think what you blamed please, you bald-headed old pill peddler!" rapsback the boss, pokin' him playful in the ribs. "I'll bet you a fiver Ican put more of these rings over than you can. "

"Humph!" says the Doc. "I've no time to waste on silly games. " And hestands by watchin' disapprovin' while Old Hickory makes an awkward stabat the peg. The nearest he comes to it is when he chucks one throughthe glass door of a curio cabinet, with a smash that brings the butlertiptoein' in. 

"Did you ring, Sir?" says Marston. 

"Not a blamed one!" says Mr. Ellins. 

"Take it away, Marston. And then unwrap that large package. There!Now what the tessellated teacups is that!"

It's something I didn't know anything about myself; but the young gentat the store had been strong for puttin' it in, so I'd let it slide. It's a tin affair, painted bright green, with half a dozen little brasscups sunk in it. Some rubber balls and a kind of croquet mallet goeswith it. 

"Indoor golf!" says Old Hickory, readin' the instruction pamphlet. "Oh, I see! A putting green. Set it there on the rug, Marston. Now, let's see if I've forgotten how to putt. "

We all gathers around while he tries to roll the balls into the cups. Out of six tries he lands just one. Next time he don't get any at all. 

"Pooh!" says the Doc edgin' up int'rested. "Wretched putting form, Ellins, wretched! Don't tap it that way: sweep it along---followthrough, with your right elbow out. Here, let me show you!"

But Hirshway don't do much better. He manages to get two in; but onewas a rank scratch. 

"Ho-ho!" cackles Old Hickory. "Isn't so easy as it looks, eh, Hirshway? Now it's my turn again, and I'm betting ten I beat you. "

"I take you, " says the Doc. 

And blamed if Old Hickory don't pull down the money!

Well, that's what started things. Next I knew they'd laid out aregular golf course, drivin' off from the rug in front of the desk, through the double doors into the drawin' room, then across the hallinto the music room, around the grand piano to the left, through theback hall, into the lib'ry once more, and onto the tin green. 

Marston is sent to dig out a couple sets of old golf clubs from theattic, and he is put to caddyin' for the Doc, while I carries the bagfor the boss. Course they was usin' putters mostly, except for fancyloftin' strokes over bunkers that they'd built out of books and sofapillows. And as the balls was softer than the regulation golf kind, with more bounce to 'em, all sorts of carom strokes was ruled in. 

"No moving the chairs, " announces Old Hickory. "All pieces offurniture are natural hazards. "

"Agreed, " says the Doc. "Playing stimies too, I suppose?"

"Stimies go, " says the boss. 

Say, maybe that wa'n't some batty performance, with them two oldduffers golfin' all over the first floor of a Fifth-ave. House, disputin' about strokes, pokin' balls out from under tables and sofas, and me and Marston followin' along with the bags. They got as excitedover it as if they'd been playin' for the International Championship, and when Old Hickory loses four strokes by gettin' his ball wedged in acorner he cuts loose with the real golfy language. 

We was just finishin' the first round, with the score standin' fourteento seventeen in favor of the Doc, when the front doorbell rings and amaid comes towin' in Piddie. Maybe his eyes don't stick out some too, as he takes in the scene, But Mr. Ellins is preparin' to make a shotfor position in front of the green and he don't pay any attention. 

"It's Mr. Piddie, Sir, " says I. 

"Hang Mr. Piddie!" says Old Hickory. "I can't see him now. "

"But it's very important, " says Piddie. "There's someone at the officewho----"

"No, no, not now!" snaps the boss impatient. 

And I gives Piddie the back-out signal. But you know how much sensehe's got. 

"I assure you, Mr. Ellins, " he goes on, "that this is----"

"S-s-s-st!" says I. "Boom-boom! Outside!" and I jerks my thumbtowards the door. 

That settles Piddie. He fades. 

A minute later Old Hickory gets a lucky carom off a chair leg and holesout in nineteen, with the Doc playin' twenty-one. 

"Ha, ha!" chuckled the boss. "What's the matter with my form now, Hirshway? I'll go you another hole for the same stake. "

The Doc was sore and eager to get back. They wa'n't much more'n fairlystarted, though, before there's other arrivals, that turns out to be noless than two of our directors, lookin' serious and worried. 

"Mr. Rawson and Mr. Dunham, " announces the maid. 

"Here, Boy!" says the boss, catchin' me by the elbow. "What was thatyou said to Mr. Piddie, --that 'Boom-boom!' greeting?"

I gives it to him and the Doc in a stage whisper. 

"Good!" says he. "Get that, Hirshway? Now let's spring it on 'em. All together now--S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!"

Say, it makes a hit with the directors, all right. First off theydidn't seem to know whether they'd strayed into a bughouse, or werejust bein' cheered; but when they sees Old Hickory's mouth corners theyconcludes to take it as a josh. It turns out that both of 'em are golfcranks too, and inside of three minutes they've forgot whatever it wasthey'd come for, they've shed their coats, and have been rung into afoursome. 

Honest, of all the nutty performances! For there was no tellin' wherethem balls would roll to, and wherever they went the giddy old boys hadto follow. I remember one of 'em was stretched out full length on histummy in the front hall, tryin' to make a billiard shot from under alow hall seat, when there's another ring at the bell, and Marston, witha golf bag still slung over his shoulder, lets in a square-jawed, heavy-set old gent who glares around like he was lookin' for troubleand would be disappointed if he didn't find it. 

"Mr. Peter K. Groff, " announces Marston. 

"Good night!" says I to myself. "The enemy is in our midst. "

But Old Hickory never turns a hair. He stands there in his shirtsleeves gazin' calm at this grizzly old minin' plute, and then I sees akind of cut-up twinkle flash in them deep-set eyes of his as he summonshis foursome to gather around. I didn't know what was coming either, until they cuts loose with it. And for havin' had no practice theyrips it out strong. 

"S-s-s-st! Boom-boom! Outside!" comes the chorus. 

It gets Peter K. 's goat too. His jaw comes open and his eyes pop. Next he swallows bard and flushes red behind the ears. "Ellins, " sayshe, "I've come fifteen hundred miles to ask what you mean by tellingme----"

"Oh, that you, Groff?" breaks in the boss. "Well, don't interrupt ourgame. Fore! You, I mean. Fore, there! Now go ahead, Rawson. Playing eleven, aren't you?"

And Rawson's just poked his ball out, makin' a neat carom into themusic room, when the hall clock strikes five. 

"By Jove, gentlemen!" exclaims Doc Hirshway. "Sorry, but I must quit. Should have been in my office an hour ago. I really must go. "

"Quitter!" says Mr. Ellins. "But all right. Trot along. Here, Groff, you're a golfer, aren't you?"

"Why--er--yes, " says Peter K. , actin' sort of dazed; "but I----"

"That's enough, " says Old Hickory. "You take Hirshway's place. Dunham's your partner. We're playing Nassau, ten a corner. But I'lltell you, --just to make it interesting, I'll play you on the side tosee whether or not we accept that proposition of yours. Is it a go?"

"But see here, Ellins, " conies back Peter K. "I want you to understandthat you or any other man can't tell me to sew my head in a bagwithout----"

"Oh, drop that!" says Old Hickory. "I withdraw it--mostly gout, anyway. You ought to know that. And if you can beat me at this gameI'll agree to let you have your own way out there. Are you on, or areyou too much of a dub to try it?"

"Maybe I am a dub, Hickory Ellins, " says Peter K. , peelin' off hiscoat, "but any game that you can play--er---- Which is my ball?"

Well, it was some warm contest, believe me, with them two joshin' backand forth, and at the game time usin' as much foxy strategy as if theywas stealin' railroads away from each other! They must have been at itfor near half an hour when a maid slips in and whispers how Mr. Robertis callin' for me on the wire. So I puts her on to sub for me with thebag while I slides into the 'phone booth. 

"Sure, Mr. Robert, " says I, "I'm still on the job. "

"But what is happening?" says he. "Didn't Groff come up?"

"Yep, " says I. "He's here yet. "

"You don't say!" says Mr. Robert. "Whe-e-ew! He and the governorhaving it hot and heavy, I suppose?"

"And then some, " says I. "Peter K. Took first round 12-17, he tied thesecond, and now he's trapped in the fireplace on a bad ten. "

"Wha-a-at?" gasps Mr. Robert. 

"Uh-huh, " says I. "Mr. Ellins is layin' under the piano, --only seven, but stimied for an approach. "

"In Heaven's name, Torchy, " says Mr. Robert, "what do you mean? Mr. Groff trapped in the fireplace, father lying under the piano--why----"

"Ah, didn't Piddie tell you? The boob!" says I. "It's just golf, that's all--indoor kind--a batty variation that they made upthemselves. But don't fret. Everything's all lovely, and I guess theCorrugated is saved. Come up and look 'em over. "

Yep! Peter K. Got the decision by slipping over a smear in the fourth, after which him and Old Hickory leans up against each other and laughsuntil their eyes leak. Then Marston wheels in the tea wagon full ofdecanters and club soda, and when I left they was clinkin' glasses realchummy. 

"Son, " says Old Hickory, as he pads into the office about noon nextday, "I believe I forgot the usual caddie fee. There you are. "

"Z-z-z-zing!" says I, starin' after him. Cute little strips ofTreasury kale, them with the C's in the corners, aren't they? Well, Ishould worry!

CHAPTER VII

COMING IN ON THE DRAW

Nothin' like bein' a handy man around the shop. Here at the CorrugatedI'm worked in for almost any old thing, from seein' that Mr. Ellinstakes his gout tablets regular, to arrangin' the directors' room forthe annual meeting and when it comes to subbin' for Mr. Robert--say, what do you guess is the latest act he bills me for? Art expert! Yep, A-r-t, with a big A!

Sounds foolish, don't it? But at that it wa'n't such a bad hunch onhis part. He's a rash promiser, Mr. Robert is; but a shiftyproposition when you try to push a programme on him, for the firstthing you know he's slid from under. I suspicioned some play like thatwas comin' here the other afternoon when Sister Marjorie shows up atthe general offices and asks pouty, "Where's Robert?"

"On the job, " says I. "Session of the general sales agents today, youknow. "

"But he was to meet me at the Broadway entrance half an hour ago, " saysshe, "and I've been sitting in the car waiting for him. Call him out, won't you, Torchy?"

"Won't do any good, " says I. "He's booked up for the rest of the day. "

"The idea!" says Marjorie. "And he promised faithfully he would go upwith me to see those pictures! You just tell him I'm here, that's all. "

There's more or less light of battle in them bright brown eyes ofMarjorie's, and that Ellins chin of hers is set some solid. So when Itiptoes in where they're dividin' the map of the world into sellin'areas, and whispers in Mr. Robert's ear that Sister Marjorie is waitin'outside, I adds a word of warnin'. 

"It's a case of pictures, you remember, " says I. 

"Oh, the deuce!" says Mr. Robert. "Hang Brooks Bladen and hispaintings! I can't go, positively. Just explain, will you, Torchy?"

"Sure; but I'd go hoarse over it, " says I. "You know Marjorie, and ifyou don't want the meetin' broke up I expect you'd better come out andface the music. "

"Oh, well, then I suppose I must, " says he, leadin' the way. 

And Marjorie wa'n't in the mood to stand for any smooth excuses. Shedidn't care if he had forgotten, and she guessed his old businessaffairs could be put off an hour or so. Besides, this meant so much topoor Brooks. His very first exhibit, too. Ferdy couldn't go, either. Another one of his sick headaches. But he had promised to buy apicture, and Marjorie had hoped that Robert would like one of them wellenough to----

"Oh, if that's all, " puts in Mr. Robert, "then tell him I'll take one, too. "

"But you can't buy pictures without seeing them, " protests Marjorie. "Brooks is too sensitive. He wants appreciation, encouragement, yousee. "

"A lot I could give him, " says Mr. Robert. "Why, I know no more aboutthat sort of thing than--well, than----" And just here his eye lightson me. "Oh, I say, though, " he goes on, "it would be all right, wouldn't it, if I sent a--er--a commissioner?"

"I suppose that would do, " says Marjorie. 

"Good!" says Mr. Robert. "Torchy, go with Marjorie and look at thatlot. If they're any good, buy one for me. "

"Wha-a-at!" says I. "Me buy a picture?"

"Full power, " says he, startin' back towards the meetin'. "Pick outthe best, and tell Bladen to send me the bill. "

And there we're left, Marjorie and me, lookin' foolish at each other. 

"Well, he's done a duck, " says I. 

"If you mean he's got himself out of buying a picture, you'remistaken, " says she. "Come along. "

She insists on callin' the bluff, too. Course, I tries to show her, all the way up in the limousine, how punk a performer I'd be at a gamelike that, and how they'd spot me for a bush leaguer the first stab Imade. 

"Not at all, " says Marjorie, "if you do as I tell you. "

With that she proceeds to coach me in the art critic business. Thelines wa'n't hard to get, anyway. 

"For some of them, " she goes on, "you merely go 'Um-m-m!' under yourbreath, you know, or 'Ah-h-h-h!' to yourself. Then when I give you anudge you may exclaim, 'Fine feeling!' or 'Very daring!' or 'Wonderfultechnic, wonderful!'"

"Yes; but when must I say which?" says I. 

"It doesn't matter in the least, " says Marjorie. 

"And you think just them few remarks, " says I, "will pull me through. "

"Enough for an entire exhibit at the National Academy, " says she. "Andwhen you decide which you like best, just point it out to Mr. Bladen. "

"Gee!" says I. "Suppose I pick a lemon?"

"Robert won't know the difference, " says she, "and it will serve himright. Besides, poor Brooks needs the encouragement. "

"Kind of a dub beginner with no backing is he?" says I. 

Marjorie describes him different. Accordin' to her, he's a classycomer in the art line, with all kinds of talent up his sleeve and Famebusy just around the corner on a laurel wreath exactly his size. SeemsBrooks was from a good fam'ly that had dropped their bundle somewherealong the road; so this art racket that he'd taken up as a time killerhe'd had to turn into a steady job. He wa'n't paintin' just to keephis brushes soft. He was out to win the kale. 

Between the lines I gathers enough to guess that before she hooked upwith Ferdy, the head-achy one, Marjorie had been some mushy over Brooksboy herself. He'd done a full length of her, it appears, and wasworkin' up quite a portrait trade, when all of a sudden he ups andmarries someone else, a rank outsider. 

"Too bad!" sighs Marjorie. "It has sadly interfered with his career, I'm afraid. "

"Ain't drivin' him to sign work, is it?" says I. 

"Goodness, no!" says Marjorie. "Just the opposite. Of course, Edithwas a poor girl; but her Uncle Jeff is ever so rich. They live withhim, you know. That's the trouble--Uncle Jeff. "

She's a little vague about this Uncle Jeff business; but it helpsexplain why we roll up to a perfectly good marble front detached housejust off Riverside Drive, instead of stoppin' at one of them studiorookeries over on Columbus-ave. And even I'm wise to the fact thatstrugglin' young artists don't have a butler on the door unless there'ssomething like an Uncle Jeff in the fam'ly. 

From the dozen or more cars and taxis hung up along the block I judgethis must be a regular card affair, with tea and sandwich trimmin's. It's a good guess. A maid tows us up two flights, though, before we'reasked to shed anything; and before we lands Marjorie is gaspin' some, for she ain't lost any weight since she collected Ferdy. Quite astudio effect they'd made too, by throwin' a couple of servants' roomsinto one and addin' a big skylight. There was the regulation fishnetdraped around, and some pieces of tin armor and plaster casts, whichproves as well as a court affidavit that here's where the real, sure-fire skookum creative genius holds forth. 

It's a giddy bunch of lady gushers that's got together there too, andthe soulful chatter is bein' put over so fast it sounds likeintermission at a cabaret show. I'm introduced proper to Brooks boyand Wifey; but I'd picked 'em both out at first glimpse. No mistakin'him. He's got on the kind of costume that goes with the fishnet andbrass tea machine, --flowin' tie, velvet coat, baggy trousers, and all, even to the Vandyke beard. It's kind of a pale, mud-colored set offace alfalfa; but, then, Brooks boy is sort of that kind himself--thatis, all but his eyes. They're a wide-set, dreamy, baby-blue pair oflamps, that beams mild and good-natured on everyone. 

But Mrs. Brooks Bladen is got up even more arty than Hubby. Maybe itwa'n't sugar sackin' or furniture burlap, but that's what the stufflooked like. It's gathered jaunty just under her armpits and hangs inlong folds to the floor, with a thick rope of yellow silk knottedcareless at one side with the tassels danglin' below her knee, whilearound her head is a band of tinsel decoration that might have beenpinched off from a Christmas tree. She's a tall, willowy young woman, who waves her bare arms around vivacious when she talks and has lots ofsparkle to her eyes. 

"You dear child!" is her greetin' to Marjorie. "So sweet of you toattempt all those dreadful stairs! No, don't try to talk yet. Weunderstand, don't we, Brooks? Nice you're not sensitive about it, too. "

I caught the glare Marjorie shoots over, and for a minute I figured howthe picture buyin' deal had been queered at the start; but the nextthing I knew Brooks boy is holdin' Marjorie's hand and beamin' gentleon her, and she is showin' all her dimples once more. Say, they'reworth watchin', some of these fluff encounters. 

My act? Ah, say, most of that good dope is all wasted. Nobody seemsexcited over the fact that I've arrived, even Brooks Bladen. As asalesman he ain't a great success, I judge. Don't tout up his stuffany, or try to shove off any seconds or shopworn pieces. He just tellsme to look around, and half apologizes for his line in advance. 

Well, for real hand-painted stuff it was kind of tame. None of thissnowy-mountain-peak or mirror-lake business, such as you see in thedepartment stores. It's just North River scenes; some clear, somesmoky, some lookin' up, some lookin' down, and some just across. Inone he'd done a Port Lee ferryboat pretty fair; but there's anotherthat strikes me harder. It shows a curve in the drive, with one ofthem green motor busses goin' by, the top loaded, and off in thebackground to one side the Palisades loomin' up against a fair-weathersunset, while in the middle you can see clear up to Yonkers. Honest, it's almost as good as some of them things on the insurance calendars, and I'm standin' gawpin' at it when Brooks Bladen and Marjorie driftsalong. 

"Well?" says he, sort of inquirin'. 

"That must be one of the Albany night boats goin' up, " says I. "She'llbe turnin' her lights on pretty quick. And it's goin' to be a corkin'evenin' for a river trip. You can tell that by----"

But just here Marjorie gives me a jab with her elbow. 

"Ow, yes!" says I, rememberin' my lines. "Um-m-m-m-m! Fine feelin'. Very darin' too, very! And when it comes to the tech stuff--why, it'sthere in clusters. Much obliged--er--that is, I guess you can sendthis one. Mr. Robert Ellins. That's right. Charge and send. "

Maybe he wasn't used to makin' such quick sales; for he stares at mesort of puzzled, and when I turns to Marjorie she's all pinked up likea strawberry sundae and is smotherin' a giggle with her mesh purse. Idon't know why, either. Strikes me I'd put it over kind of smooth; butas there seems to be a slip somewhere it's me for the rapid back-away. 

"Thanks, that'll be all to-day, " I goes on, "and--and I'll be waitin'downstairs, Marjorie. "

She don't stop me; so I pushes through the mob at the tea table, collects my coat and lid, and slips down to the first floor, where Iwanders into the drawin' room. No arty decorations here. Instead ofpictures and plaster casts, the walls are hung with all kinds ofmounted heads and horns, and the floor is covered with odd-lookin' skinrugs, --tigers, lions, and such. 

I'd been waitin' there sometime, inspectin' the still life menagerie, when all of a sudden in from the hall rolls one of these invalidwheeled chairs with a funny little old bald-headed gent manipulatin'levers. What hair he has left is real white, and most of his face iscovered with a thin growth of close-cropped white whiskers; but underthe frosty shrubb'ry, as well as over all the bare space, he's coloredup as bright as a bottle of maraschino cherries. It's the sort ofsunburn a sandy complexion gets on; but not in a month or a year. Youknow? One of these blond Eskimo tints, that seems to go clear throughthe skin. How he could get it in a wheel chair, though, I couldn'tfigure out. Anyway, there wasn't time. Quick as he sees me he throwsin his reverse gear and comes to a stop between the portières. 

"Well, young man, " he raps out sharp and snappy, "who the particularblazes are you?"

But, say, I've met too many peevish old parties to let a little jablike that tie up my tongue. 

"Me?" says I, settin' back easy in the armchair. "Oh, I'm a buyerrepresentin' a private collector. "

"Buyer of what?" says he. 

"Art, " says I. "Just picked up a small lot, --that one with the Albanynight boat in it, you know. "

He stares like he thought I was batty, and then rolls his chair overcloser. "Do I understand, " says he, "that you have been buying apicture--here?"

"Sure, " says I. "Say, ain't you on yet, and you right in the house?Well, you ought to get next. "

"I mean to, " says he. "Bladen's stuff, I suppose?"

"Uh-huh, " says I. "And, believe me, Brooksy is some paint slinger;that is, fine feelin', darin' technic, all that sort of dope. "

"I see, " says he, noddin' his head. "Holding a sale, is he? On one ofthe upper floors?"

"Top, " says I. "Quite a classy little studio joint he's made up there. "

"Oh, he has, has he?" says the old boy, snappin' his eyes. "Well, ofall the confounded--er--young man, ring that bell!"

Say, how was I goin' to know? I was beginnin' to suspect that thischatty streak of mine wa'n't goin' to turn out lucky for someone; butit's gone too far to hedge. I pushes the button, and in comes thebutler. 

"Tupper, " says the old man, glarin' at him shrewd, "you know where thetop-floor studio is, don't you?"

"Ye-e-es, Sir, " says Tapper, almost chokin' over it. 

"You'll find Mr. And Mrs. Bladen there, " goes on old Grouchy. "Askthem to step down here for a moment at once. "

Listened sort of mussy from where I sat, and I wa'n't findin' thearmchair quite so comf'table. "Guess I'll be loafin' along, " says I, casual. 

"You'll stay just where you are for the present!" says he, wheelin'himself across the door-way. 

"Oh, well, if you insist, " says I. 

He did. And for two minutes there I listens to the clock tick andwatches the old sport's white whiskers grow bristly. Then comes theBladens. He waves 'em to a parade rest opposite me. 

"What is it, Uncle Jeff?" says Mrs. Bladen, sort of anxious. And withthat I begins to piece out the puzzle. This was Uncle Jeff, eh, theone with the bank account?

"So, " he explodes, like openin' a bottle of root beer, "you've goneback to your paint daubing, have you? And you're actually trying tosell your namby-pamby stuff on my top floor? Come now, Edith, let'shear you squirm out of that!"

Considerable fussed, Edith is. No wonder! After one glance at me sheflushes up and begins twistin' the yellow silk cord nervous; butnothin' in the way of a not guilty plea seems to occur to her. As forHubby, he blinks them mild eyes of his a couple of times, and thenstands there placid with both hands in the pockets of his velvet coat, showin' no deep emotion at all. 

"It's so, isn't it?" demands Uncle. 

"Ye-e-es, Uncle Jeff, " admits Edith. "But poor Brooks could do nothingelse, you know. If he'd taken a studio outside, you would have wantedto know where he was. And those rooms were not in use. Really, whatelse could he do?"

"Mean to tell me he couldn't get along without puttering around withthose fool paints and brushes?" snorts Uncle Jeff. 

"It--it's his life work, Uncle Jeff, " says Mrs. Bladen. 

"Rubbish!" says the old boy. "In the first place, it isn't work. Might be for a woman, maybe, but not for an able-bodied man. You knowmy sentiments on that point well enough. In the second place, when Iasked you two to come and live with me, there was no longer any needfor him to do that sort of thing. And you understood that too. "

Edith sighs and nods her head. 

"But still he goes on with his sissy paint daubing!" says Uncle. 

"They're not daubs!" flashes back Edith. "Brooks has been doing someperfectly splendid work. Everyone says so. "

"Humph!" says Uncle Jeff. "That's what your silly friends tell you. But it doesn't matter. I won't have him doing it in my house. Youthought, just because I was crippled and couldn't get around or out ofthese confounded four rooms, that you could fool me. But you can't, you see. And now I'm going to give you and Brooks your choice, --eitherhe stops painting, or out you both go. Now which will it be?"

"Why, Sir, " says Brooks, speakin' up prompt but pleasant, "if that isthe way you feel about it, we shall go. "

"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, squintin' hard at him. "Do you mean it? Wantto leave all this for--for the one mean little room I found you in!"

"Under your conditions, most certainly, Sir, " says Brooks. "I thinkEdith feels as I do. Don't you, Edith?"

"Ye-e-es, of course, " says Mrs. Bladen. Then, turnin' on Uncle Jeff, "Only I think you are a mean, hard-hearted old man, even if you are myuncle! Oh, you don't know how often I've wanted to tell you sotoo, --always prying into this, asking questions about that, findingfault, forever cross and snappish and suspicious. A waspish, crabbedold wretch, that's what you are! I just hate you! So there!"

Uncle Jeff winces a little at these last jabs; but he only turns toBrooks and asks quiet, "And I suppose those are your sentiments too?"

"Edith is a little overwrought, " says Brooks. "It's true enough thatyou're not quite an agreeable person to live with. Still, I hardlyfeel that I have treated you just right in this matter. I shouldn'thave deceived you about the studio. When I found that I couldn't bearto give up my work and live like a loafer on your money, I should havetold you so outright. I haven't liked it, Sir, all this dodging andtwisting of the truth. I'm glad it's over. Would you prefer to haveus go tonight or in the morning?"

"Come now, that's not the point, " says Uncle Jeff. "You hate me, too, don't you?"

"No, " says Brooks, "and I'm sure Edith doesn't either. "

"Yes I do, Brooks, " breaks in Edith. 

Brooks shrugs his shoulders sort of hopeless. 

"In that case, " says he, "we shall leave at once--now. I will sendaround for our traps later. You have been very generous, and I'mafraid I've shown myself up for an ungrateful ass, if not worse. Goodby, Sir. "

He stands there holdin' out his hand, with the old gent starin' hard athim and not movin'. Fin'lly Uncle Jeff breaks the spell. 

"Well, I'll be hanged!" says he. "Bladen, I didn't think it was inyou. I took you for one of the milksop kind; which shows just how biga fool an old fool can be. And Edith is right. I'm a crazy, quarrelsome old wretch. It isn't all rheumatism, either. Some of itis disposition. And don't you go away thinking I've been generous, trying to tie you two young people down this way. It was rankselfishness. But you don't know how hard it comes, being shut up likethis and able only to move around on wheels--after the life I've ledtoo! I suppose I ought to be satisfied. I've had my share--nearlythirty years on the go, in jungle, forest, mountains, all over theglobe. I've hunted big game in every--but you know all about that. And now I suppose I'm worn out, useless. I was trying to get used toit, and having you young folks around has helped a lot. But it hasn'tbeen fair to you--not fair. "

He sort of chokes up at the end, and his lower lip trembles some; butonly for a second. He straightens up once more in his chair. "Youmust try to make allowances, Edith, " he goes on. "Don't--don't hatethe old wretch too hard!"

That got to her, all right. She' wa'n't gush all the way through, anymore'n Uncle Jeff was all crust. Next thing he knew she was givin' himthe fond tackle and sobbin' against his vest. 

"There, there!" says he, pattin' her soothin'. "We all make ourmistakes, old and young; only us old fellows ought to know better. "

"But--but they aren't daubs!" sobs out Edith. "And--and you said theywere, without even seeing them. "

"Just like me, " says he. "And I'm no judge, anyway. But perhaps I'dbetter take a look at some of them. How would that be, eh? Couldn'tTupper bring a couple of them down now?"

"Oh, may he?" says Edith, brightenin' up and turnin' off the sprayer. "I have wished that you could see them, you know. "

So Tupper is sent for a couple of paintings, and Brooks chases along tobring down two more. They ranges 'em on chairs, and wheels Uncle Jeffinto a good position. He squints at 'em earnest and tries hard to workup some enthusiasm. 

"Ferryboats, sugar refineries, and the North River, " says he. "Alllooks natural enough. I suppose they're well done too; but--but seehere, young man, couldn't you find anything better to paint?"

"Where?" says Brooks. "You see, I was able to get out onlyoccasionally without----"

"I see, " says Uncle Jeff. "Tied to a cranky old man in a wheel chair. But, by George! I could take you to places worth wasting your painton. Ever heard of Yangarook? There's a pink mountain there that risesup out of a lake, and on still mornings--well, you ought to see it! Ipitched my camp there once for a fortnight. I could find it again. You go in from Boola Bay, up the Zambesi, and through the jungle. Thenthere's the Khula Klaht valley. That's in the Himalayas. Pictures?Why, you could get 'em there!"

"I've no doubt I could, Sir, " says Brooks. "I've dreamed of doingsomething like that some day, too. But what's the use?"

"Eh?" says Uncle Jeff, almost standin' up in his excitement. "Why not, my boy? I could take you there, chair or no chair. Didn't I go in alitter once, halfway across Africa, when a clumsy Zulu beater let adying rhino gore me in the hip? Yes, and bossed a caravan of sixtymen, and me flat on my back! I'm better able to move now than I wasthen, too. And I'm ready to try it. Another year of this, and I'd beunder the ground. I'm sick of being cooped up. I'm hungry for abreath of mountain air, for a glimpse of the old trails. No use takingmy guns; but you could lug along your painting kit, and Edith couldtake care of both of us. We could start within a week. What do yousay, you two?"

Brooks he looks over at Edith. "Oh, Uncle Jeff!" says she, her eyessparklin'. "I should just love it!"

"I could ask for nothing better, " says Brooks. 

"Then it's settled, " says Uncle Jeff, reachin' out a hand to each of'em. "Hurrah for the long trail! We're off!"

"Me too, " says I, "if that's all. "

"Ah!" says Uncle Jeff. "Our young friend who's at the bottom of thewhole of this. Here, Sir! I'm going to teach you a lesson that willmake you cautious about gossiping with strange old men. Pick up thatleopard skin at your feet. "

"Yes, Sir, " says I, holdin' it out to him. 

"No, examine it carefully, " says he. "That came from a beast I shot onthe shores of Lake Tanganyika. It's the finest specimen of the kind inmy whole collection. Throw it over your arm, you young scamp, and getalong with you!"

And they're all grinnin' amiable as I backs out with my mouth open. 

"What the deuce!" says Mr. Robert after lunch next day, as he gazesfirst at a big package a special messenger has just left, and then at anote which comes with it. "'The Palisades at Dusk'--five hundreddollars?"

"Gee!" I gasps. "Did he sting you that hard?"

"But it's receipted, " says he, "with the compliments of Brooks Bladen. What does that mean?"

"Means I'm some buyer, I guess, " says I. "Souvenir of a little fam'lyreunion I started, that's all. But you ain't the only one. Wait tillyou see what I drew from Uncle Jeff. "

CHAPTER VIII

GLADYS IN A DOUBLE BILL

He meant well, Mr. Robert did; but, say, between you and me, he comeblamed near spillin' the beans. Course, I could see by the squint tohis eyelids that he's about to make what passes with him for a comicopenin'. 

"I hate to do it, Torchy, " says he, "especially on such a fineafternoon as this. "

"Go on, " says I, "throw the harpoon! Got your yachtin' cap on, ain'tyou? Well, have I got to sub for you at a directors' meeting or what?"

"Worse than that, " says he. "You see, Marjorie and Ferdy are having averanda tea this afternoon, up at their country house. "

"Help!" says I. "But you ain't billin' me for any such----"

"Oh, not exactly that, " says he. "They can get along very well withoutme, and I shall merely 'phone out that Tubby Van Orden has asked me tohelp try out his new forty-footer. But there remains little Gladys. I'd promised to bring her out with me when I came. "

"Ye-e-e-es?" says I doubtful. "She's a little joker, eh?"

"Why, not at all, " says he. "Merely a young school friend ofMarjorie's. Used to be in the kindergarten class when Marjorie was asenior, and took a great fancy to her, as little girls sometimes do toolder ones, you know. "

Also it seems little Gladys had been spendin' a night or so withanother young friend in town, and someone had to round her up anddeliver her at the tea, where her folks would be waitin' for her. 

"So I'm to take her by the hand and tow her up by train, am I?" says I. 

"I had planned, " says Mr. Robert, shakin' his head solemn, "to have yougo up in the machine with her, as Marjorie wants to send someone backin it--Miss Vee, by the way. Sure it wouldn't bore you?"

"Z-z-z-ing!" says I. "Say, if it does you'll never hear about it, believe me!"

Mr. Robert chuckles. "Then take good care of little Gladys, " says he. 

"Won't I, though!" says I. "I'll tell her fairy tales and feed herstick candy all the way up. "

Honest, I did blow in a quarter on fancy pink gumdrops as I'm passin'through the arcade; but when I strolls out to the limousine Martintouches his hat so respectful that I gives him a dip into the first bag. 

"Got your sailin' orders, ain't you, Martin?" says I. "You know wecollect a kid first. "

"Oh, yes, Sir, " says he. "Madison avenue. I have the number, Sir. "Just like that you know. "I have the number, Sir"--and more businesswith the cap brim. Awful bore, ain't it, specially right there onBroadway with so many folks to hear?

"Very well, " says I, languid. Then it's me lollin' back on thelimousine cushions and starin' haughty at the poor dubs we graze by asthey try to cross the street. Gee, but it's some different when you'reinside gazin' out, than when you're outside gawpin' in! And even ifyou don't have the habit reg'lar, but are only there just for the timebein', you're bound to get that chesty feelin' more or less. I alwaysdo. About the third block I can look slant-eyed at the cheap skatesridin' in hired taxis and curl the lip of scorn. 

I've noticed, though, that when I work up feelin's like that there'sbound to be a bump comin' to me soon. But I wasn't lookin' for thisone until it landed. Martin pulls up at the curb, and I hops out, rushes up the steps, and rings the bell. 

"Little Miss Gladys ready?" says I to the maid. 

She sort of humps her eyebrows and remarks that she'll see. With thatshe waves me into the reception hall, and pretty soon comes back toreport that Miss Gladys will be down in a few minutes. She had thereal skirt notion of time, that maid. For more'n a solid half-hour Isquirms around on a chair wonderin' what could be happenin' up in thenursery. Then all of a sudden a chatter of goodbys comes from theupper hall, a maid trots down and hands me a suitcase, and then appearsthis languishin' vision in the zippy French lid and the draped silkwrap. 

It's one of these dinky brimless affairs, with skyrocket trimmin' onthe back, and it fits down over her face like a mush bowl over BabyBrother; but under the rim you could detect some chemical blonde hairand a pair of pink ears ornamented with pearl pendants the size offruit knife handles. She has a complexion to match, one of the kindthat's laid on in layers, with the drugstore red only showing throughthe whitewash in spots, and the lips touched up brilliant. Believe me, it was some artistic makeup!

[Illustration: Believe me, it was some artistic makeup!]

Course, I frames this up for the friend; so I asks innocent, "Excuseme, but when is little Miss Gladys comin'?"

"Why, I'm Gladys!" comes from between the carmine streaks. 

I gawps at her, then at the maid, and then back at the Ziegfeld visionagain. "But, see here!" I goes on. "Mr. Robert he says how----"

"Yes, I know, " she breaks in. "He 'phoned. The stupid old thingcouldn't come himself, and he's sent one of his young men. That's muchnicer. Torchy, didn't he say? How odd! But come along. Don't standthere staring. Good-by, Marie. You must do my hair this way againsometime. "

And next thing I know I'm helpin' her into the car, while Martin triesto smother a grin. "There you are!" says I, chuckin' her suitcase inafter her. "I--I guess I'll ride in front. "

"What!" says she. "And leave me to take that long ride all alone?I'll not do it. Come in here at once, or I'll not go a step! Come!"

No shrinking violet about Gladys, and as I climbs in I shakes loose thelast of that kindergarten dope I'd been primed with. I'll admit I wassome fussed for awhile too, and I expect I does the dummy act, sittin'there gazin' into the limousine mirror where she's reflected vivid. Iwas tryin' to size her up and decide whether she really was one of thechicken ballet, or only a high school imitation. I'm so busy at itthat I overlooks the fact that she has the same chance of watchin' me. 

"Well?" says she, as we swings into Central Park. "I trust youapprove?"

"Eh?" says I, comin' out of the trance. "Oh, I get you now. You'rewaitin' for the applause. Let's see, are you on at the Winter Garden, or is it the Casino roof?"

"Now don't be rude, " says she. "Whatever made you think I'd been onthe stage?"

"I was only judgin' by the get-up, " says I. "It's fancy, all right. "

"Pooh!" says she. "I've merely had my hair done the new way. I thinkit's perfectly dear too. There's just one little touch, though, thatMarie didn't quite get. I wonder if I couldn't--you'll not care if Itry, will you?"

"Oh, don't mind me, " says I. 

She didn't. She'd already yanked out three or four hatpins and haspried off the zippy lid. 

"There, hold that, will you?" says she, crowdin' over into the middleof the seat so's to get a good view in the mirror, and beginnin' torevise the scenic effect on her head. Near as I can make out, the hairdon't come near enough to meetin' her eyebrows in front or to coverin'her ears on the side. 

Meanwhile she goes on chatty, "I suppose Mother'll be wild again whenshe sees me like this. She always does make such a row if I doanything different. There was an awful scene the first time I had myhair touched up. Fancy!"

"I was wonderin' if that was the natural tint?" says I. 

"Goodness, no!" says Gladys. "It was a horrid brown. And when I usedto go to the seminary they made me wear it braided down my back, with abow on top. I was a sight! The seminary was a stupid place, though. I was always breaking some of their silly rules; so Mummah sent me tothe convent. That was better. Such a jolly lot of girls there, somewhose mothers were great actresses. And just think--two of my bestchums have gone on the stage since! One of them was married anddivorced the very first season too. Now wasn't that thrilling? Motheris furious because she still writes to me. How absurd! And some ofthe others she won't allow me to invite to the house. But we meet nowand then, just the same. There were two in our box party last night, and we had such a ripping lark afterward!"

Gladys was runnin' on as confidential as if she'd known me all herlife, interruptin' the flow only when she makes a jab with thepowder-puff and uses the eyebrow pencil. And bein' as how I'd beencast for a thinkin' part I sneaks out the bag of gumdrops and tucks oneinto the off side of my face. The move don't escape her, though. 

"Candy?" says she, sniffin'. 

"Sorry I can't offer you a cigarette, " says I, holdin' out the bag. 

"Humph!" says she. "I have smoked them, though. M-m-m-m! Gumdrops!You dear boy!"

Yes, Gladys and me had a real chummy time of it durin' that hour'sdrive, and I notice she put away her share of the candy just asenthusiastic as if she'd been a kid in short dresses. As a matter offact, she acts and talks like any gushy sixteen-year-old. That's aboutwhat she is, I discovers; though I wouldn't have guessed it if shehadn't let it out herself. 

But, say, she's some wise for her years, little Gladys is, or elseshe's a good bluffer! She had me holdin' my breath more'n once, as sheopens up various lines of chatter. She'd seen all the ripe problemplays, was posted on the doin's of the Reno colony, and read the RobertChambers stuff as fast as it came out. 

And all the time she talks she's goin' through target practice with hereyes, usin' me as the mark. A lively pair of lamps Gladys has too, thebig, innocent, baby-blue kind that sort of opens up wide and kind ofinvites you to gaze into the depths until you get dizzy. Them and thelittle, openin' rosebud mouth makes a strong combination, and if ithadn't been for the mural decorations I might have fallen hard forGladys; but ever since I leaned up against a shiny letterbox once I'vebeen shy of fresh paint. So I proceeds to hand out the defensive josh. 

"Roll 'em away, Sis, " says I, "roll 'em the other way!"

"Pooh!" says she. "Can't a person even look at you?"

"You're only wastin' ammunition, " says I. "You can't put any spell onme, you know. "

"Oh, really!" says she, rakin' me with a quick broadside. "Do you meanthat you don't like me at all?"

"Since you've called for it, " says I, "I'll admit I ain't strong forthese spotlight color schemes, specially on kids. "

"Kids!" she sputters. "I think you're perfectly horrid, so there!"

"Stick to it, " says I. "Makes me feel better satisfied with myself. "

"Redhead!" says she, runnin' her tongue out. 

"Yes, clear to the roots, " says I, "and the tint didn't come out of abottle, either. "

"I don't care, " says she. "All the girls do it. "

"Your bunch, maybe, " says I; "but there's a few that don't. "

"Old sticks, yes, " says she. "I'm glad you like that kind. You're asbad as Mummah. "

"Is that the worst you can say of me?" says I. "How that would pleaseMother!"

Oh, sure, quite a homelike little spat we had, passin' the left handersback and forth--and inside of five minutes she has made it all up againand is holdin' out her hand for the last gumdrop. 

"You're silly; but you're rather nice, after all, " says she, poutin'her lips at me. 

"Now quit that, " says I. "I got my fingers crossed. "

"'Fraid cat!" says she. "But here's the house, and we're frightfullyearly. Now don't act as though you thought I might bite you. I'mgoing to take your arm. "

She does too, and cuddles up kittenish as we lands at the portecochère. I gets the idea of this move. She's caught a glimpse of alittle group over by the front door, and she wants to make a showyentrance. 

And who do you guess it is we finds arrangin' the flower vases? Oh, only Marjorie and Miss Vee. Here I am too, with giddy Gladys, theimitation front row girl, clingin' tight to my right wing. You shouldhave seen Vee's eyebrows go up, also Marjorie's stare. It's a minuteor so before she recognizes our little friend, and stands there lookin'puzzled at us. Talk about your embarrassin' stage waits! I could feelmy face pinkin' up and my ears tinglin'. 

"Ah, say, " I breaks out, "don't tell me I've gone and collected thewrong one!"

At that there comes a giggle from under the zippy lid. 

"Why, it's Gladys!" says Marjorie. "Well, I never!"

"Of course, you dear old goose!" says Gladys, and rushes to a clinch. 

"But--but, Gladys!" says Marjorie, holdin' her off for anotherinspection. "How you have--er--grown up! Why, your mother never toldme a word!"

"Oh, Mummah!" says she, indicatin' deep scorn. "Besides, she hasn'tseen me for nearly two days, and--well, I suppose she will fuss, asusual, about the way I'm dressed. But I've had a perfectly gloriousvisit, and coming up in the car with dear Torchy was such sport. Wasn't it, now?" With which she turns to me. 

"Was it?" says I, and I notices both Vee and Marjorie gazin' at meint'rested. 

"Of course, " says Gladys, prattlin' on, "we quarreled all the way up;but it was all his fault, and he--oh, phsaw! Here come my dearparents. "

Takin' Gladys as a sample, you'd never guessed it; for Mother is aquiet, modest appearin' little party, with her wavy brown hair partedin the middle and brushed back low. She's wearin' her own complexiontoo, and, while she's dressed more or less neat and stylish, she don'tsport ear danglers, or anything like that. With Father in thebackground she comes sailin' up smilin', and it ain't until she gets apeek under the mush-bowl lid that her expression changes. 

"Why, Gladys!" she gasps. 

"Now, Mummah!" protests Gladys peevish. "For goodness sake don'tbegin--anyway, not here!"

"But--but, my dear!" goes on Mother, starin' at her shocked. "That--that hat! And your hair! And--and your face!"

"Oh, bother!" says Gladys, stampin' her high-heeled pump. "You'd liketo have me dress like Cousin Tilly, I suppose?"

"But you know I asked you not to--to have that done to your hairagain, " says Mother. 

"And I said I would, so there!" says Gladys emphatic. 

Mother sighs and turns to Father, who is makin' his inspection with aweary look on his face. He's just an average, stout-built, good-natured lookin' duck, Father is, a little bald in front, and justnow he's rubbin' the bald spot sort of aimless. 

"You see, Arthur, " says Mother. "Can't you do something?"

First Father scowls, and then he flushes up. "Why--er--ah--oh, blastit all, Sallie, don't put it up to me!" says he. Then he pulls out along black cigar, bites the end off savage, and beats it around thecorner. 

That was a brilliant move of his; for Mother turns out to be one of theweepy kind, and in a minute more she's slumped into a chair and issobbin' away. She's sure she don't know why Gladys should do suchthings. Hadn't she forbid her to use so much rouge and powder? Hadn'tshe asked her not to wear those hideous ear jewels? And so on and soon, with Gladys standin' back poutin' defiant. But, say, when they gettoo big to spank, what else can Father and Mother do?

Fin'lly Vee seems to have an idea. She whispers it into Marjorie'sear, slips into the house, and comes back with a hand mirror and a dampwashcloth, which she proceeds to offer to Gladys, suggestin' that sheuse it. 

"Indeed I sha'n't!" says Gladys, her big eyes flashin' scrappy. "Ishall stay just as I am, and if Mother wants to be foolish she can getover it, that's all!" And Gladys switches over to a porch chair andslams herself into it. 

Vee looks at her a minute, and then bites her upper lip like she waskeepin' back some remarks. Next she whispers again to Marjorie, whopasses it on to Mother, and then the three of 'em disappears in thehouse, leavin' Gladys poutin' on one side of the front door, and me ina porch swing on the other waitin' for the next act. 

Must have been ten minutes or more before the two plotters appearsagain, chattin' away merry with Mother, who's between 'em. And, say, you should have seen Mother! Talk about your startlin' changes!They'd been busy with the make-up box, them two had, and now Mother'sgot on just as much war paint as Daughter--maybe a little more. Alsothey've dug up a blond transformation somewhere, which covers up allthe brown hair, and they've fitted her out with long jet earrings, andtouched up her eyebrows--and, believe me, with all that yellow hairdown over her eyes, and the rouged lips, she looks just like she'dstrayed in from the White Light district!

You wouldn't think just a little store hair and face calcimine couldmake such a change in anybody. Honest, when I tumbles to the fact thatthis sporty lookin' female is only Mother fixed up I almost falls outof the swing! That's nothin' to the jolt that gets to Gladys. 

"Mother!" she gasps. "Wha--what have you been doing?"

"Why, I've been getting ready for the tea, Gladys, " says she. 

"But--but, Mother, " says Gladys, "you're never going to let people seeyou like that, are you?"

"Why not, my dear?" says Mother. 

"But your face--ugh!" says Gladys. 

"Oh, bother!" says Mother. "I suppose you'd like to have me look likeAunt Martha?"

Gladys stares at her for awhile with her eyes wide and set, like shewas watchin' somethin' horrible that she couldn't turn away from, andthen she goes to pieces in a weepin' fit of her own. Nobodyinterferes, and right in the midst of it she breaks off, marches overto a wicker porch table where the mirror and washcloth had been left, props the glass up against a vase, and goes to work. First off shesheds the pearl earrings. 

At that Mother sits down opposite and follows suit with her jetdanglers. 

Next Gladys mops off the scenic effect. 

Marjorie produces another washcloth, and Mother makes a clean sweep too. 

Gladys snatches out a handful of gold hairpins, destroys the turbantwist that Marie had spent so much time buildin' up, and knots 'er hairsimple in the back. 

Mother caps this by liftin' off the blond transformation. 

And as I left for a stroll around the grounds they'd both got back tolookin' more or less nice and natural. They had gone to a close clinchand was sobbin' affectionate on each other's shoulders. 

Later the tea got under way and went on as such things generally do, with folks comin' and goin', and a buzz of chin music that you couldhear clear out to the gate, where I was waitin' with Martin until weshould get the signal to start back. 

I didn't know just how it would be, but I suspected I might be invitedto ride in front on the home trip. I'd made up my mind to start there, anyway. But, say, when the time comes and Vee trips out to thelimousine, where I'm holdin' the door open and lookin' sheepish, Itakes a chance on a glance into them gray eyes of hers. I got a chilltoo. It's only for a second, though. She was doing her best to lookcold and distant; but behind that I could spot a smile. So I changesthe programme. 

"Say, " says I, followin' her in and shuttin' the door, "wa'n't that kidGladys the limit, though?"

"Why, " says she, givin' me the quizzin' stare, "I thought you had justloads of fun coming up. "

"Hearing which cruel words, " says I, "our hero strode moodily into hiscastle. "

Vee snickers at that. "And locked the haughty maiden out in the cold, I suppose?" says she. 

"If it was you, " says I, "I'd take the gate off the hinges. "

"Silly!" says she. "Do you know, Gladys looked real sweet afterward. "

"I'll bet the reform don't last, though, " says I. "But that was agreat scheme of yours for persuadin' her to scrub off the stencil work. There's so many of that kind nowadays, maybe the idea would be worthcopyrightin'. What do you think, Vee?"

Never mind the rest, though. We had a perfectly good ride back, and upto date Aunty ain't wise to it. 

Of course by next mornin' too Mr. Robert has forgot all about theafternoon before, and he seems surprised when I puts in an expense billof twenty-five cents. 

"What's this for?" says he. 

"Gumdrops for little Gladys, " says I, and as he forks over a quarter Inever cracks a smile. 

Wait until he hears the returns from Marjorie, though! I'll give himsome string to pay up for that kindergarten steer of his. Watch me!

CHAPTER IX

LATE RETURNS ON POPOVER

"Well?" says I, keepin' my feet up on the desk and glancin' casual overthe brass rail. "What's your complaint, Spaghetti?"

It's a wrong guess, to begin with; but I wa'n't even takin' the troubleto place him accurate. He's some kind of a foreigner, and that'senough. Besides, from the fidgety way he's grippin' his hat in bothhands, and the hesitating sidlin' style he has of makin' his approach, I figured he must be a stray that had got the wrong number. 

"If--if you please, Sir, " says he, bowin' elaborate and humble, "Mr. Robert Ellins. "

"Gwan!" says I. "You read that on the floor directory. You don't knowMr. Robert. "

"But--but if you please, Sir, " he goes on, "I wish to speak with him. "

"You do, eh?" says I. "Now, ain't that cute of you? Think you canpick out any name on the board and drift in for a chat, do you? Comenow, what you peddlin'--dollar safety-razors, bullpups, or what?"

He ain't a real live wire, this heavy-faced, wide-shouldered, squatty-built party with the bumper crop of curly black hair. Heblinks his big, full eyes kind of solemn, starin' at me puzzled, andabout as intelligent as a cow gazin' over a fence. An odd lookin' ginkhe was, sort of a cross between a dressed up bartender on his day offand a longshoreman havin' his picture taken. 

"Excuse, " says he, rousin' a little, "but--but it is not to peddle. Iwould wish to speak with Mr. Robert Ellins. "

"Well, then, you can't, " says I, wavin' towards the door; "so beat it!"

This don't make any more impression than as if I'd tried to push himover with one finger. "I would wish, " he begins again, "to speakwith----"

"Say, that's all on the record, " says I, "and the motion's been denied. "

"But I----" he starts in once more, "I have----"

Just then Piddie comes turkeyin' over pompous and demands to know whatall the debate is about. 

"Look what wants to see Mr. Robert!" says I. 

"Impossible!" says Piddie, takin' one look. "Send him away at once!"

"Hear that?" says I to Curlylocks. "Not a chance! Fade, Spaghetti, fade!"

The full force of that decision seems to penetrate his nut; for hegulps hard once or twice, the muscles on his thick throat swells uprigid, and next a big round tear leaks out of his off eye and tricklesdown over his cheek. Maybe it don't look some absurd too, seein' signsof such deep emotion on a face like that. 

"Now, none of that, my man!" puts in Piddie, who's as chicken heartedas he is peevish. "Torchy, you--you attend to him. "

"What'll I do, " says I, "call in a plumber to stop the leak?"

"Find out who he is and what he wants, " says he, "and then pack himoff. I am very busy. "

"Well, " says I, turnin' to the thick guy, "what's the name?"

"Me?" says he. "I--I am Zandra Popokoulis. "

"Help!" says I. "Popo--here, write it on the pad. " But even when he'sdone that I can't do more than make a wild stab at sayin' it. "Oh yes, thanks, " I goes on. "Popover for short, eh? Think Mr. Robert wouldrecognise you by that?"

"Excuse, Sir, " says he, "but at the club he would speak to me as Mike. "

"Oh, at the club, eh?" says I. "Say, I'm beginnin' to get a glimmer. Been workin' at one of Mr. Robert's clubs, have you?"

"I am his waiter for long time, Sir, " says Popover. 

Course, the rest was simple. He'd quit two or three months ago to takea trip back home, havin' been promised by the head steward that hecould have his place again any time inside of a year. But imagine thebase perfidy! A second cousin of the meat chef has drifted inmeanwhile, been set to work at Popover's old tables, and the result isthat when Mike reports to claim his job he gets the cold, heartlesschuck. 

"Why not rustle another, then?" says I. 

You'd thought, though, to see the gloomy way he shakes his head, thatthis was the last chance he had left. I gather too that club jobs arefairly well paid, steadier than most kinds of work, and harder to pickup. 

"Also, " he adds, sort of shy, "there is Armina. "

"Oh, always!" says I. "Bunch of millinery in the offing. It neverfails. You're her steady, eh?"

Popover smiles grateful and pours out details. Armina was a fine girl, likewise rich--oh, yes. Her father had a flower jobbin' business onWest 28th-st. --very grand. For Armina he had ideas. Any would-beson-in-law must be in business too. Yet there was a way. He wouldtake in a partner with two hundred and fifty dollars cash. And Mr. Popokoulis had saved up nearly that much when he'd got this fool notionof goin' back home into his head. Now here he was flat broke andcarryin' the banner. It was not only a case of goin' hungry, but oflosin' out on the fair Armina. Hence the eye moisture. 

"Yes, yes, " says I. "But the weeps won't help any. And, even if Mr. Robert would listen to all this sad tale, it's ten to one he wouldn'tbutt in at the club. I might get a chance to put it up to him, though. Suppose you drop in to-morrow sometime, and I'll let you know. "

"But I would wish, " says Popover, "to speak with----"

"Ah, ditch it!" I breaks in weary. "Say, you must have been takin'militant lessons from Maud Malone. Look here! If you're bound tostick around and take a long chance, camp there on the bench. Mr. Robert's busy inside, now; but if he should get through beforelunch--well, we'll see. But don't go bankin' on anything. "

And it was a lovely sample of arrested mental anguish that I has beforeme for the next hour or so, --this Popokoulis gent, with his great, doughy face frozen into a blank stare, about as expressive as ahalf-baked squash pie, his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, and onlynow and then a spasm in his throat showin' that he was still thinkin'an occasional thought. 

Course, Piddie discovers him after a while and demands pettish, "Thatperson still here! Who is he?"

"Club waiter with a mislaid job, " says I. 

"What!" says Piddie. "A waiter? Just a common waiter?"

I couldn't begin to put in all the deep disgust that Piddie expresses;for, along with his fondness for gettin' next to swell people, he seemsto have a horror of mixin' at all with the common herd. "Waiters!" hesniffs. "The scum of mankind. If they had a spark of courage, or agleam of self respect, or a teaspoonful of brains, they wouldn't bewaiters. Bah!"

"Also I expect, " says I, "if they was all noble specimens of manhoodlike us, Sherry's and Rector's would have to be turned into automaticfood dispensaries, eh?"

"No fear!" says Piddie. "The lower classes will always produce enoughspineless beings to wear aprons and carry trays. Look at that onethere! I suppose he never has a thought or an ambition above----"

Bz-z-z-zt! goes the buzzer over my desk, and I'm off on the jump forMr. Robert's room. I wa'n't missin' any of his calls that mornin'; fora partic'lar friend of mine was in there--Skid Mallory. Remember Skid, the young college hick that I helped find his footin' when he first hitthe Corrugated? You know he married a Senator's daughter, and gotboosted into an assistant general manager's berth. And Skid's beenmaking good ever since. He'd just come back from a little trip abroad, sort of a delayed weddin' tour, and you can't guess what he'd pulledoff. 

I'd only heard it sketched out so far, but it seems while him and youngMrs. Mallory was over there in Athens, or some such outlandish place, this late muss with the Turks was just breakin' loose. Skid he leavesWifey at the hotel one mornin' while he goes out for a little stroll;drifts down their Newspaper Row, where the red ink war extras are sothick the street looks like a raspberry patch; follows the drum musicup as far as City Hall, where the recruits are bein' reviewed by theKing; listens to the Greek substitute for "Buh-ruh-ruh! Soak 'em!" andthe next thing he knows he's wavin' his lid and yellin' with the bestof 'em. 

It must have stirred up some of that old football fightin' blood ofhis; for he'd organized a regular cheerin' section, right thereopposite to the royal stand, and was whoopin' things up like it wasfourth down and two to go on the five-yard line, when all of a suddenover pikes a Colonel or something from the King's staff and beginspoundin' Skid on the back gleeful. 

It's a young Greek that used to be in his engineerin' class, back inthe dear old college days. He says Skid's just the man he wants tocome help him patch up the railroad that the Turks have been puttin' onthe blink as they dropped back towards headquarters. Would he? Why, him bein' railroad construction expert of the Corrugated, this wasright in his line! Sure he would!

And when Mrs. Mallory sees him again at lunchtime he's all costumed asa Major in the Greek army, and is about to start for the scene ofatrocities. That's Skid, all over. He wasn't breathin' out any idlegusts, either. He not only rebuilds their bloomin' old line better'nnew, so they can rush soldiers and supplies to the front; but after themuss is all over he springs his order book on the gover'ment and landssuch a whackin' big contract for steel rails and girders that OldHickory decides to work day and night shifts in two more rollin' mills. 

Course, since it was Mr. Robert who helped me root for Skid in thefirst place, he's tickled to death, and he tells me confidential howthey're goin' to get the directors together at a big banquet thatevenin' and have a reg'lar lovefeast, with Skid at the head of thetable. 

Just now I finds Mr. Robert pumpin' him for some of the details of hisexperience over there, and after I lugs in an atlas they sent me outfor, so Skid can point out something on the map, I just naturally hangsaround with my ear stretched. 

"Ah, that's the place, " says Skid, puttin' his finger on a dot, "Mustapha! Well, it was about six miles east from there that we hadour worst job. Talk about messes! Those Turks may not know how tobuild a decent railroad, but believe me they're stars at wrecking aline thoroughly! At Mustapha they'd ripped up the rails, burned theties, and blown great holes in the roadbed with dynamite. But I soonhad a dozen grading gangs at work on that stretch, and new bridgesstarted, and then I pushed on alone to see what was next. 

"That was when I got nearest to the big noise. Off across the hillsthe Turks were pounding away with their heavy guns, and I was anxiousfor a look. I kept going and going; but couldn't find any of ourpeople. Night was shutting in too, and the first thing I knew I wasn'tanywhere in particular, with nothing in sight but an old sheep pen. Itried bunking there; but it wasn't restful, and before daylight I wentwandering on again. I wanted to locate our advance and get a cup ofcoffee. 

"I must have gone a couple of miles farther, and it was getting light, when a most infernal racket broke loose not one hundred yards ahead. Really, you know, I thought I'd blundered into the midst of a battle. Then in a minute the noise let up, and the smoke blew away, and there, squatting behind a machine gun up on the side of a hill, was one loneGreek soldier. Not another soul in sight, mind you; just this absurd, dirty, smoke-stained person, calmly feeding another belt of cartridgesinto his gun!

"'Hello!' says I. 'What the deuce are you doing here?'--'Holding thehill, Sir, ' says he, in good United States. 'Not all alone?' says I. He shrugs his shoulders at that. 'The others were killed or hurt, 'says he. 'The Red Cross people took them all away lastnight, --Lieutenant, Sergeant, everyone. But our battery must keep thehill. ' 'Where's the rest of the advance, though?' says I. 'I don'tknow, ' says he. 'And you mean to say, ' says I, 'you've been here allnight with the Turkish artillery hammering away at you?' 'They are badshots, those Turks, very bad, ' says he. 'Also they send infantry todrive me away, many times. See! There come some more. Down there!Ah-r-r-r! You will, will you?' And with that he turns loose his bigpepperbox on a squad that had just started to dash out of a ravine andrush him. They were coming our way on the jump. Scared? Say, ifthere'd been anything to have crawled into, I'd have been in it! Asthere wasn't, I just flattened myself on the ground and waited until itwas all over. 

"Oh, he crumpled 'em up, all right! He hadn't ground out one belt ofcartridges before he had 'em on the run. But I want to tell you Ididn't linger around to see how the next affair would turn out. Ilegged it back where I'd come from, and by nine o'clock I was behindour own lines, trying to find out what sort of campaign this was thatleft one machine gun to stave off the whole Turkish army. Of course noone knew anything very definite. The best guess was that our advancehad been swung off for a flank movement, and that this particularone-man battery had been overlooked. I don't even know whether he waspicked up again, or whether the Turks finally got him; but let me tellyou, talk as much about your gallant Bulgarians as you like, some ofthose little Greeks were good fighters too. Anyway, I'll take off myhat any day to that one on the hill. "

"Gee!" I breaks out. "Some scrapper, what?"

At which Mr. Robert swings around and gives me a look. "Ah!" says he. "I hadn't realized, Torchy, that we still had the pleasure of yourcompany. "

"Don't mention it, " says I. "I was just goin' to--er--by the way, Mr. Robert, there's a poor scrub waitin' outside for a word with you, anold club waiter. Says you knew him as Mike. "

"Mike?" says he, looking blank. 

"His real name sounds like Popover, " says I. "It's a case ofretrievin' a lost job. "

"Oh, very well, " says Mr. Robert. "Perhaps I'll see him later. Notnow. And close the door after you, please. "

So I'm shunted back to the front office, so excited over that war storythat I has to hunt up Piddie and pass it on to him. It gets him too. Anything in the hero line always does, and this noble young Greek doin'the come-one-come-all act was a picture that even a two-by-fourimagination like Piddie's couldn't fail to grasp. 

"By Jove, though!" says he. "The spirit of old Thermopylae all overagain! I wish I could have seen that!"

"As close as Skid did?" says I. "Ah, you'd have turned so green they'dtaken you for a pickled string bean. "

"Oh, I don't pretend to be a daredevil, " admits Piddie, with a suddenrush of modesty. "Still, it is a pity Mr. Mallory did not stay longenough to find out the name of this unknown hero, and give it to theworld. "

"The moral of which is, " says I, "that all heroes ought to carry theirown press agents with 'em. "

We'd threshed it all out, Piddie and me, and I'd gone back to my desksome reluctant, for this jobless waiter was still sheddin' his gloomaround the reception room, and I was just thinkin' how it would be toput a screen in front of him, when Mr. Robert and Skid comes out arm inarm, swappin' josh about that banquet that was to be pulled off. 

"Of course you'll come. " Mr. Robert is insistin'. "Only a fewdirectors, you know. No, no set speeches, or anything like that. Butthey'll want to hear how you came to get that big order, and about someof the interesting things you saw over there, just as you've told me. "

I had hopped up and was holdin' the gate wide open, givin' Skid all thehonors, and Mr. Robert was escortin' him out to the elevator, when Inotices that this Popover party has got his eye on the boss and isstandin' right where he's blockin' the way. 

"Hey, Poppy!" says I in a stage whisper. "Back out! Reverse yourself!Take a sneak!" But of all the muleheads! There he stands, grippin'his hat, and thinkin' only of that lost job. 

"All right, " Skid is saying; "but remember now, no floral tributes, orgushy introductions, or sitting in the spotlight for me atthis--er--er---- Well, as I'm a living mortal!" He gets this last outafter a gasp or two, and then stops stock still, starin' straight infront of him. 

"What is it?" says Mr. Robert. "What's up?" And we sees that SkidMallory has his eyes glued to this waiter shrimp. 

"In the name of all that's good, " says he, "where did you come from?"

You can't jar Popover, though, by any little thing like that. When hegets an idea in his dome it's a fixture there. "I would wish tospeak, " says he, "with Mr. Ellins. "

"Yes, yes, another time, " says Mr. Robert hasty. 

"But see here!" says Skid, still gazin' steady. "Don't you rememberme? Take a good look now. "

Popover gives him a glance and shakes his head. "Maybe I serve you atthe club, Sir, " says he. 

"Club be blowed!" says Skid. "The last time I saw you you were servinga machine gun, six miles east of Mustapha. Isn't that so?"

"Oh, Mustapha!" says Popover, his eyes lightin' up a little. "On thehill just beyond where the bridge was blown up? You came at thenight's end. Oh, yes!"

"I knew it!" exclaims Skid. "I'd have bet a thousand--same curly hair, same shoulders, same eyes. Ellins, here's that lone hero I was tellingyou about. Here!"

"But--hut that's only Mike, " says Mr. Robert, gazin' from one to theother. "Used to be a waiter at the club, you know. "

"I don't care what he used to be, " says Skid, "or what he is now, Iwant to shake hands with him. "

Popover he pinks up and acts foolish about swappin' grips; but Skidinsists. 

"So you beat 'em out in the end, did you?" Skid goes on. "Justnaturally put it all over that whole bunch of Turks, didn't you? Buthow did it happen?"

"I don't know, " says Popover, fingerin' his hat nervous. "I am verybusy all the time, and--and I have nothing to eat all night. You see, all other Greek soldiers was hurt; and me, I must stay to keep theTurks from the hill. Very busy time, Sir. And I am not much forfight, anyway. "

"Great Scott!" says Skid. "He says he's not much for--but see here, how did it end?"

Popover gives a shoulder shrug. "Once more they run at me after yougo, " says he, "and then come our brave Greek General with big army andchase Turks away. And the Captain say why am I such big fool as tostay behind. That is all I know. Three weeks ago I am discharged frombeing soldier. Now I come back here, and I have no more my good job. I am much sorry. "

"Think of that!" breaks out Skid. "Talk about the ingratitude ofRepublics! Why, England would have given him the Victoria Cross forthat! But can't something or other be done about this job of his?"

"Why, certainly, " says Mr. Robert. "Here, let's go back into myoffice. "

"Hey, Popover, " says I, steerin' him respectful through the gate. "Don't forget to tell them about Armina too. "

And as the three of 'em streams in, with the waiter in the middle, Iturns to find Piddie gazin' at the sight button-eyed. 

"Wa'n't you sayin' how much you'd like to see the lone hero of thehill?" says I. "Well, take a good look. That's him, the squatty one. Uh-huh. Mike, alias Popover, who quit bein' a waiter to fight for hiscountry, and after he'd licked all the Turks in sight comes pikin' backhere to hunt around for his tray again. Say, all of 'em ain't suchscum, are they?"

It was a great old banquet too; for Skid insists that if they must havea conquerin' hero to drink to Mr. Popokoulis is the only real thing insight. Mike wouldn't stand for a seat at the table, though; so theycompromised by havin' him act as head waiter. Skid tells the storyjust the same, and makes him stand out where they can all see him. There was some cheerin' done too. Mr. Robert was tellin' me about itonly this mornin'. 

"And you've got him his old place at the club, eh?" says I. 

"No, " says he. "I've arranged to buy out a half interest in aflorist's shop for Mr. Popokoulis. "

"Oh!" says I. "Backin' him for the Armina handicap, eh? It ought tobe a cinch. Some chap, that Popover, even if he was a waiter, eh?It's tough on Piddie, though. This thing has tied all his ideas indouble bow-knots. "

CHAPTER X

MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT

Somehow I sensed it as a kind of a batty excursion at the start. Yousee, he'd asked me offhand would I come, and I'd said "Sure, Bo, "careless like, not thinkin' any more about it until here Saturdayafternoon I finds myself on the way to spend the week-end with J. Meredith Stidler. 

Sounds imposing don't it? But his name's the weightiest part of J. Meredith. Course, around the Corrugated offices we call him Merry, andsome of the bond clerks even get it Miss Mary; which ain't hardly fair, for while he's no husky, rough-neck specimen, there's no sissy streakin him, either. Just one of these neat, finicky featherweights, J. Meredith is; a well finished two-by-four, with more polish than punch. You know the kind, --fussy about his clothes, gen'rally has a pink orsomething in his coat lapel, hair always just so, and carries a vestpocket mirror. We ain't got a classier dresser in the shop. Notnoisy, you understand: quiet grays, as a rule; but made for him specialand fittin' snug around the collar. 

Near thirty, I should guess Merry was, and single, of course. No headof a fam'ly would be sportin' custom-made shoes and sleeve monograms, or havin' his nails manicured reg'lar twice a week. I'd often wonderedhow he could do it too, on seventy-five dollars a month. 

For J. Meredith wa'n't even boss of his department. He just holds downone of the stools in the audit branch, where he has about as much showof gettin' a raise as a pavin' block has of bein' blown up Broadway ona windy day. We got a lot of material like that in theCorrugated, --just plain, simple cogs in a big dividend-producin'machine, grindin' along steady and patient, and their places easyfilled when one wears out. A caster off one of the rolltop desks wouldbe missed more. 

Yet J. Meredith takes it cheerful. Always has a smile as he pushesthrough the brass gate, comin' or goin', and stands all the joshin'that's handed out to him without gettin' peevish. So when he springsthis over-Sunday invite I don't feel like turnin' it down. Course, I'mwise that it's sort of a charity contribution on his part. He puts itwell, though. 

"It may be rather a dull way for you to pass the day, " says he; "butI'd like to have you come. "

"Let's see, " says I. "Vincent won't be expectin' me up to Newportuntil later in the season, the Bradley Martins are still abroad, I'vecut the Reggy Vanderbilts, and--well, you're on, Merry. Call it thelast of the month, eh?"

"The fourth Saturday, then, " says he. "Good!"

I was blamed near lettin' the date get past me too, when he stops me asI'm pikin' for the dairy lunch Friday noon. "Oh, I say, Torchy, " sayshe, "ah--er--about tomorrow. Hope you don't mind my mentioning it, butthere will be two other guests--ladies--at dinner tomorrow night. "

He seemed some fussed at gettin' it out; so I catches the cue quick. "That's easy, " says I. "Count me out until another time. "

"Oh, not at all, " says he. "In fact, you're expected. I merely wishedto suggest, you know, that--er--well, if you cared to do so, you mightbring along a suit of dark clothes. "

"I get you, " says I. "Swell comp'ny. Trust me. "

I winks mysterious, and chuckles to myself, "Here's where I slip one onJ. Meredith. " And when I packs my suitcase I puts in that full evenin'regalia that I wins off'm Son-in-Law Ferdy, you remember, in that realestate deal. Some Cinderella act, I judged that would be, when Merrydiscovers the meek and lowly office boy arrayed like a night-bloomin'head waiter. "That ought to hold him for a spell, " thinks I. 

But, say, you should see the joint we fetches up at out on the southshore of Long Island that afternoon. Figurin' on a basis ofseventy-five per, I was expectin' some private boardin' house whereMerry has the second floor front, maybe, with use of the bath. Butlisten, --a clipped privet hedge, bluestone drive, flower gardens, and aperfectly good double-breasted mansion standin' back among the trees. It's a little out of date so far as the lines go, --slate roof, jigsawwork on the dormers, and a cupola, --but it's more or less of a pluteshack, after all. Then there's a real live butler standin' at thecarriage entrance to open the hack door and take my bag. 

"Gee!" says I. "Say, Merry, who belongs to all this?"

"Oh! Hadn't I told you?" says he. "You see, I live with my aunt. Sheis--er--somewhat peculiar; but----"

"I should worry!" I breaks in. "Believe me, with a joint like this inher own name, I wouldn't kick if she had her loft full of hummin'birds. Who's next in line for it?"

"Why, I suppose I am, " says J. Meredith, "under certain conditions. "

"Z-z-zin'!" says I. "And you hangin' onto a cheap skate job at theCorrugated!"

Well, while he's showin' me around the grounds I pumps out the rest ofthe sketch. Seems butlers and all that was no new thing to Merry. He'd been brought up on 'em. He'd lived abroad too. Studied musicthere. Not that he ever meant to work at it, but just because he likedit. You see, about that time the fam'ly income was rollin' in reg'larevery month from the mills back in Pawtucket, or Fall River, orsomewhere. 

Then all of a sudden things begin to happen, --strikes, panics, stockgrabbin' by the trusts. Father's weak heart couldn't stand the strain. Meredith's mother followed soon after. And one rainy mornin' he wakesup in Baden Baden, or Monte Carlo, or wherever it was, to find thathe's a double orphan at the age of twenty-two, with no home, no cash, and no trade. All he could do was to write an S. O. S. Message back toAunt Emma Jane. If she hadn't produced, he'd been there yet. 

But Aunty got him out of pawn. Panics and so on hadn't cleaned out hershare of the Stidler estate--not so you'd notice it! She'd been on thespot, Aunt Emma had, watchin' the market. Long before the jinx hitWall Street she'd cashed in her mill stock for gold ballast, and whenproperty prices started tumblin' she dug up a lard pail from under thesyringa bush and begun investin' in bargain counter real estate. Nowshe owns business blocks, villa plots, and shore frontage in bigchunks, and spends her time collectin' rents, makin' new deals, andswearin' off her taxes. 

You'd most thought, with a perfectly good nephew to blow in some of hersurplus on, she'd made a fam'ly pet of J. Meredith. But not her. Petswasn't in her line. Her prescription for him was work, somethingreg'lar and constant, so he wouldn't get into mischief. She didn'tcare what it brought in, so long as he kept himself in clothes andspendin' money. And that was about Merry's measure. He could add up acolumn of figures and put the sum down neat at the bottom of the page. So he fitted into our audit department like a nickel into a slotmachine. And there he stuck. 

"But after sportin' around Europe so long, " says I, "don't punchin' thetime clock come kind of tough?"

"It's a horrible, dull grind, " says he. "Like being caught in atreadmill. But I suppose I deserve nothing better. I'm one of theuseless sort, you know. I've no liking, no ability, for business; butI'm in the mill, and I can't see any way out. "

For a second J. Meredith's voice sounds hopeless. One look ahead hastaken out of him what little pep he had. But the next minute he bracesup, smiles weary, and remarks, "Oh, well! What's the use?"

Not knowin' the answer to that I shifts the subject by tryin' to get aline on the other comp'ny that's expected for dinner. 

"They're our next-door neighbors, " says he, "the Misses Hibbs. "

"Queens?" says I. 

He pinks up a little at that. "I presume you would call them oldmaids, " says he. "They are about my age, and--er--the truth is, theyare rather large. But really they're quite nice, --refined, cultured, all that sort of thing. "

"Specially which one?" says I, givin' him the wink. 

"Now, now!" says he, shakin' his head. "You're as bad as Aunt Emma. Besides, they're her guests. She asks them over quite often. You see, they own almost as much property around here as she does, and--well, common interests, you know. "

"Sure that's all?" says I, noticin' Merry flushin' up more. 

"Why, of course, " says he. "That is--er--well, I suppose I may as welladmit that Aunt Emma thinks she is trying her hand at match-making. Absurd, of course. "

"Oh-ho!" says I. "Wants you to annex the adjoinin' real estate, doesshe?"

"It--it isn't exactly that, " says he. "I've no doubt she has decidedthat either Pansy or Violet would make a good wife for me. "

"Pansy and Violet!" says I. "Listens well. "

"Perhaps their names are hardly appropriate; but they are nice, sensible, rather attractive young women, both of them, " insists Merry. 

"Then why not?" says I. "What's the matter with the Hymen proposition?"

"Oh, it's out of the question, " protests J. Meredith, blushin' deep. "Really I--I've never thought of marrying anyone. Why, how could I?And besides I shouldn't know how to go about it, --proposing, and allthat. Oh, I couldn't! You--you can't understand. I'm such a dufferat most things. "

There's no fake about him bein' modest. You could tell that by the wayhe colored up, even talkin' to me. Odd sort of a gink he was, with alot of queer streaks in him that didn't show on the outside. It wasmore or less entertainin', followin' up the plot of the piece; but allof a sudden Merry gets over his confidential spasm and shuts up like aclam. 

"Almost time to dress for dinner, " says he. "We'd best be going in. "

And of course my appearin' in the banquet uniform don't give him anyserious jolt. 

"Well, well, Torchy!" says he, as I strolls into the parlor aboutsix-thirty, tryin' to forget the points of my dress collar. "Howsplendid you look!"

"I had some battle with the tie, " says I. "Ain't the bow lopsided?"

"A mere trifle, " says he. "Allow me. There! Really, I'm quite proudof you. Aunty'll be pleased too; for, while she dresses very plainlyherself, she likes this sort of thing. You'll see. "

I didn't notice any wild enthusiasm on Aunty's part, though, when sheshows up. A lean, wiry old girl, Aunty is, with her white hair bobbedup careless and a big shell comb stickin' up bristly, like a picketfence, on top. There's nothin' soft about her chin, or the square-cutmouth, and after she'd give me one glance out of them shrewd, squintyeyes I felt like she'd taken my number, --pedigree, past performances, and cost mark complete. 

"Howdo, young man?" says she, and with out wastin' any more breath onme she pikes out to the front door to scout down the drive for theother guests. 

They arrives on the tick of six-forty-five, and inside of three minutesAunty has shooed us into the dinin' room. And, say, the first goodlook I had at Pansy and Violet I nearly passed away. "Rather large, "Merry had described 'em. Yes, and then some! They wa'n't justordinary fat women; they was a pair of whales, --big all over, tall andwide and hefty. They had their weight pretty well placed at that; notlumpy or bulgy, you know, but with them expanses of shoulder, and theirbig, heavy faces--well, the picture of slim, narrow-chested MerryStidler sittin' wedged in between the two, like the ham in a lunchcounter sandwich, was most too much for me. I swallows a drink ofwater and chokes over it. 

I expect Merry caught on too. I'd never seen him so fussed before. He's makin' a brave stab at bein' chatty; but I can tell he's doin' itall on his nerve. He glances first to the right, and then turns quickto the left; but on both sides he's hemmed in by them two humanmountains. 

They wa'n't such bad lookers, either. They has good complexions, kindof pleasant eyes, and calm, comf'table ways. But there was so much of'em! Honest, when they both leans toward him at once I held my breath, expectin' to see him squeezed out like a piece of lead pipe run througha rollin' machine. 

Nothin' tragic like that happens, though. They don't even crowd himinto the soup. But it's an odd sort of a meal, with J. Meredith andthe Hibbs sisters doin' a draggy three-handed dialogue, while me andAunty holds down the side lines. And nothin' that's said or done getsaway from them narrow-set eyes, believe me!

Looked like something wa'n't goin' just like she'd planned; for theglances she shoots across the table get sharper and sourer, andfinally, when the roast is brought in, she whispers to the butler, andthe next thing J. Meredith knows, as he glances up from his carvin', hesees James uncorkin' a bottle of fizz. Merry almost drops his fork andgawps at Aunty sort of dazed. 

"Meredith, " says she, snappy, "go on with your carving! Young man, Isuppose you don't take wine?"

"N-n-no, Ma'am, " says I, watchin' her turn my glass down. I might havechanced a sip or two, at that; but Aunty has different ideas. 

I notice that J. Meredith seems to shy at the bubbly stuff, as if hewas lettin' on he hated it. He makes a bluff or two; but all he doesis wet his lips. At that Aunty gives a snort. 

"Meredith, " says she, hoistin' her hollow-stemmed glass sporty, "to ourguests!"

"Ah, to be sure, " says Merry, and puts his nose into the sparkles indead earnest. 

Somehow the table chat livens up a lot soon after that. It was one ofthe Miss Hibbs askin' him something about life abroad that starts Merryoff. He begins tellin' about Budapest and Vienna and a lot more ofthem guidebook spots, and how comf'table you can live there, and themusic, and the cafes, and the sights, gettin' real enthusiastic overit, until one of the sisters breaks in with:

"Think of that, Pansy! If we could only do such things!"

"But why not?" says Merry. 

"Two women alone?" says a Miss Hibbs. 

"True, " says J. Meredith. "One needs an escort. "

"Ah-h-h-h, yes!" sighs Violet. 

"Ah-h-h, yes!" echoes Pansy. 

"James, " puts in Aunty just then, "fill Mr. Stidler's glass. "

Merry wa'n't shyin' it any more. He insists on clickin' rims with theHibbs sisters, and they does it real kittenish. Merry stops in themiddle of his salad to unload that old one about the Irishman that thedoctor tried to throw a scare into by tellin' him if he didn't quit thebooze he'd go blind within three months. You know--when Mike comesback with, "Well, I'm an old man, and I'm thinkin' I've seen mosteverything worth while. " Pansy and Violet shook until their chairscreaked, and one of 'em near swallows her napkin tryin' to stop thechuckles. 

In all the time I've known J. Meredith I'd never heard him try tospring anything comic before; but havin' made such a hit with this onehe follows with others, robbin' the almanac regardless. 

"Oh, you deliciously funny man!" gasps Pansy, tappin' him playful onthe shoulder. 

Course, it wa'n't any cabaret high jinks, you understand. Meredith wasjust limbered up a little. In the parlor afterwards while we washavin' coffee he strings off quite a fancy line of repartee, fin'llyallowin' himself to be pushed up to the piano, where he ripples througha few things from Bach and Beethoven and Percy Moore. It's near eleveno'clock when the Hibbs sisters get their wraps on and Merry starts towalk home with 'em. 

"You might wait for me, Torchy, " says he, pausin' at the door. 

"Nonsense!" says Aunt Emma Jane. 

"Time young people were in bed. Good night, young man. "

There don't seem to be any chance for a debate on the subject; so Igoes up to my room. But it's a peach of a night, warm and moony; soafter I turns out the light I camps down on the windowseat and gazesout over the shrubby towards the water. I could see the top of theHibbs house and a little wharf down on the shore. 

I don't know whether it was the moonlight or the coffee; but I didn'tfeel any more like bed than I did like breakfast. Pretty soon I hearsMerry come tiptoein' in and open his door, which was next to mine. Iwas goin' to hail him and give him a little josh about disposin' of thesisters so quick; but I didn't hear him stirrin' around any more untila few minutes later, when it sounds as if he'd tiptoed downstairsagain. But I wasn't sure. Nothin' doin' for some time after that. And you know how quiet the country can be on a still, moonshiny night. 

I was gettin' dopy from it, and was startin' to shed my collar and tie, when off from a distance, somewhere out in the night, music breaksloose. I couldn't tell whether it was a cornet or a trombone; but it'ssomething like that. Seems to come from down along the waterfront. And, say, it sounds kind of weird, hearin' it at night that way. Tookme sometime to place the tune; but I fin'lly makes it out as that goodold mush favorite, "O Promise Me. " It was bein' well done too, withlong quavers on the high notes and the low ones comin' out round anddeep. Honest, that was some playin'. I was wide awake once more, leanin' out over the sill and takin' it all in, when a window on thefloor below goes up and out bobs a white head. It's Aunty. She looksup and spots me too. 

"Quite some concert, eh?" says I. 

"Is that you, young man?" says she. 

"Uh-huh, " says I. "Just takin' in the music. "

"Humph!" says she. "I believe it's that fool nephew of mine. "

"Not Merry?" says I. 

"It must be, " says she. "And goodness knows why he's out making anidiot of himself at this time of night! He'll arouse the wholeneighbourhood. "

"Why, I was just thinkin' how classy it was, " says I. 

"Bah!" says Aunty. "A lot you know about it. Are you dressed, youngman?"

I admits that I am. 

"Then I wish you'd go down there and see if it is Merry, " says she. "If it is, tell him I say to come home and go to bed. "

"And if it ain't?" says I. 

"Go along and see, " says she. 

I begun to be sorry for Merry. I'd rather pay board than live with adisposition like that. Down I pikes, out the front door and backthrough the shrubby. Meantime the musician has finished "Promise Me"and has switched to "Annie Laurie. " It's easy enough to get thegen'ral direction the sound comes from; but I couldn't place it exact. First off I thought it must be from a little summer house down by theshore; but it wa'n't. I couldn't see anyone around the grounds. Outon the far end of the Hibbs's wharf, though, there was somethin' dark. And a swell time I had too, buttin' my way through a five-foot hedgeand landin' in a veg'table garden. But I wades through tomatoes andlettuce until I strikes a gravel path, and in a couple of minutes I'mout on the dock just as the soloist is hittin' up "Believe Me, if AllThose Endearing Young Charms. " Aunty had the correct dope. It'sMerry, all right. The first glimpse he gets of me he starts guilty andtries to hide the cornet under the tails of his dress coat. 

"No use, Merry, " says I. "You're pinched with the poultry. "

"Wha-a-at!" says he. "Oh, it's you, is it, Torchy? Please--pleasedon't mention this to my aunt. "

"She beat me to it, " says I. "It was her sent me out after you with astop order. She says for you to chop the nocturne and go back to thehay. "

"But how did she---- Oh, dear!" he sighs. "It was all her fault, anyway. "

"I don't follow you, " says I. "But what was it, a serenade?"

"Goodness, no!" gasps J. Meredith. "Who suggested that?"

"Why, it has all the earmarks of one, " says I. "What else would you bedoin', out playin' the cornet by moonlight on the dock, if you wa'n'tserenadin' someone?"

"But I wasn't, truly, " he protests. "It--it was the champagne, youknow. "

"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean to say you got stewed? Not on a coupleof glasses!"

"Well, not exactly, " says he. "But I can't take wine. I hardly everdo. It--it goes to my head always. And tonight--well, I couldn'tdecline. You saw. Then afterward--oh, I felt so buoyant, so full oflife, that I couldn't go to sleep. I simply had to do something to letoff steam. I wanted to play the cornet. So I came out here, as faraway from anyone as I could get. "

"Too thin, Merry, " says I. "That might pass with me; but withstrangers you'd get the laugh. "

"But it's true, " he goes on. "And I didn't dream anyone could hear mefrom here. "

"Why, you boob, " says I, "they could hear you a mile off!"

"Really?" says he. "But you don't suppose Vio--I mean, the MissesHibbs could hear, do you?"

"Unless it's their habit to putty up their ears at night, " says I. 

"But--but what will they think?" he gasps breathless. 

"That they're bein' serenaded by some admirin' friend, " says I. "What's your guess?"

"Oh--oh!" says Merry, slumpin' down on a settee. "I--I had not thoughtof that. "

"Ah, buck up!" say I. "Maybe you can fake an alibi in the mornin'. Anyway, you can't spend the night here. You got to report to Aunty. "

He lets out another groan, and then gets on his feet. "There's a paththrough the bushes along here somewhere, " says he. 

"No more cross country work in full dress clothes for me, " says I. "We'll sneak down the Hibbs's drive where the goin's easy. "

We was doin' it real sleuthy too, keepin' on the lawn and dodgin' fromshadow to shadow, when just as we're passin' the house Merry has tostub his toe and drop his blamed cornet with a bang. 

Then out from a second story window floats a voice: "Who is that, please?"

Merry nudges me in the ribs. "Tell them it's you, " he whispers. 

"Why, it's--it's me--Torchy, " says I reluctant. 

"Oh! Ah!" says a couple of voices in chorus. Then one of 'em goes on, "The young man who is visiting dear Meredith?"

"Yep, " says I. "Same one. "

"But it wasn't you playing the cornet so beautifully, was it?" comescoaxin' from the window. 

"Tell them yes, " whispers Merry, nudgin' violent. 

"Gwan!" I whispers back. "I'm in bad enough as it is. " With that Ispeaks up before he can stop me, "Not much!" says I. "That was dearMeredith himself. "

"Oh-oh!" says the voices together. Then there's whisperin' between'em. One seems urgin' the other on to something, and at last it comesout. "Young man, " says the voice, smooth and persuadin', "please tellus who--that is--which one of us was the serenade intended for?"

This brings the deepest groan of all from J. Meredith. 

"Come on, now, " says I, hoarse and low in his ear. "It's up to you. Which?"

"Oh, really, " he whispers back, "I--I can't!"

"You got to, and quick, " says I. "Come now, was it Pansy?"

"No, no!" says he, gaspy. 

"Huh!" says I. "Then Violet gets the decision. " And I holds him offby main strength while I calls out, "Why, ain't you on yet? It was forViolet, of course. "

"Ah-h-h-h! Thank you. Good night, " comes a voice--no chorus thistime: just one--and the window is shut. 

"There you are, Merry, " says I. "It's all over. You're as good asbooked for life. "

He was game about it, though, Merry was. He squares it with Auntybefore goin' to bed, and right after breakfast next mornin' he marchesover to the Hibbses real business-like. Half an hour later I saw himstrollin' out on the wharf with one of the big sisters, and I knew itmust be Violet. It was his busy day; so I says nothin' to anybody, butfades. 

And you should have seen the jaunty, beamin' J. Meredith that swingsinto the Corrugated Monday mornin'. He stops at the gate to give me afraternal grip. 

"It's all right, Torchy, " says he. "She--she'll have me--Violet, youknow. And we are to live abroad. We sail in less than a month. "

"But what about Pansy?" says I. 

"Oh, she's coming with us, of course, " says he. "Really, they're bothcharming girls. "

"Huh!" says I. "That's where you were when I found you. You're pastthat point, remember. "

"Yes, I know, " says he. "It was you helped me too, and I wish in someway I could show my----"

"You can, " says I. "Leave me the cornet. I might need it some daymyself. "

CHAPTER XI

THE PASSING BY OF BUNNY

It's a shame the way some of these popular clubmen is bothered withbusiness. Here was Mr. Robert, only the other day, with an importantfour-cue match to be played off between four-thirty and dinnertime; andwhat does the manager of our Chicago branch have to do but go and mussup the schedule by wirin' in that he might have to call forheadquarters' advice on that Burlington order maybe after closin' time. 

"Oh, pshaw!" remarks Mr. Robert, after he's read the message. 

"The simp!" says I. "Guess he thinks the Corrugated gen'ral officesruns night and day shifts, don't he?"

"Very well put, " says Mr. Robert. "Still, it means rather a bigcontract. But, you see, the fellows are counting on me for this match, and if I should---- Oh, but I say, Torchy, " he breaks off sudden, "perhaps you have no very important engagement for the early evening?"

"Me?" says I. "Nothing I couldn't scratch. I can shoot a little pooltoo; but when it comes to balk line billiards I expect I'd be a dubamong your crowd. "

"Refreshing modesty!" says Mr. Robert. "What I had in mind, however, was that you might wait here for the message from Nixon, while I attendto the match. "

"Oh, any way you choose, " says I. "Sure I'll stay. "

"Thanks, " says he. "You needn't wait longer than seven, and if itcomes in you can get me on the 'phone and---- No, it will be in code;so you'd best bring it over. "

And it wa'n't so much of a wait, after all, not more'n an hour; for atsix-fifteen I've been over to the club, had Mr. Robert called from thebilliard room, got him to fix up his answer, and am pikin' out thefront door with it when he holds me up to add just one more word. Maybe we was some conspicuous from Fifth-ave. , him bein' still in hisshirt sleeves and the steps bein' more or less brilliant. 

Anyway, I'd made another start and was just gettin' well under way, when alongside scuffs this hollow-eyed object with the mangy whiskersand the mixed-ale breath. 

"Excuse me, young feller, " says he, "but----"

"Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I. "I'm no soup ticket. "

[Illustration: "Ah, flutter by, idle one!" says I. ]

"But just a word, my friend, " he insists. 

"Save your breath, " says I, "and have it redistilled. It's worth it. "

"Thanks, " he puffs out as he shuffles along at my elbow; "but--butwasn't that Bob Ellins you were just talking to?"

"Eh?" says I, glancin' at him some astonished; for a seedier specimenyou couldn't find up and down the avenue. "What do you know about him, if it was?"

"More than his name, " says the wreck. "He--he's an old friend of mine. "

"Oh, of course, " says I. "Anyone could tell that at a glimpse. Iexpect you used to belong to the same club too?"

"Is old Barney still on the door?" says he. 

And, say, he had the right dope on that. Not three minutes before I'dheard Mr. Robert call the old gink by name. But that hardly proved thecase. 

"Clever work, " says I. "What was it you used to do there, take out theashes. "

"I don't wonder you think so, " says he; "but it's a fact that Bob and Iare old friends. "

"Why don't you tackle him, then, " says I, "instead of botherin' a busyman like me? Go back and call him out. "

"I haven't the face, " says he. "Look at me!"

"I have, " says I, "and, if you ask me, you look like something the catbrought in. "

He winces a little at that. "Don't tell Bob how bad it was, then, "says he. "Just say you let me have a fiver for him. "

"Five bucks!" says I. "Say, I'm Mr. Robert's office boy, not his bankaccount. "

"Two, then?" he goes on. 

"My, but I must have the boob mark on me plain!" says I. 

"Couldn't you spare a half, " he urges, "just a half, to get me a littlesomething to eat, and a drink, and pay for a bed?"

"Oh, sure!" says I. "I carry a pocketful of halves to shove out to allthe bums that presents their business cards. "

"But Bob would give it back to you, " he pleads. "I swear he would!Just tell him you gave it to--to----"

"Well?" says I. "Algernon who?"

"Tell him it was for Melville Slater, " says he. "He'll know. "

"Melly Slater, eh?" says I. "Sounds all aright. But I'd have to chewit over first, even for a half. I have chances of gettin' stung likethis about four times a day, Melly. And, anyway, I got to file amessage first, over at the next corner. "

"I'll wait outside, " says he. 

"That's nice of you, " says I. "It ain't any cinch you'll connect, though. "

But as I dashes into a hotel where there's a blue sign out he leans upagainst a window gratin', sort of limp and exhausted, and it looks likehe means to take a sportin' chance. 

How you goin' to tell, anyway? Most of 'em say they've been thrown outof work by the trusts, but that they've heard of a job in Newark, orBridgeport, or somewhere, which they could get if they could onlyrustle enough coin to pay the fare. And they'll add interestin'details about havin' a sick wife, or maybe four hungry kids, and so on. 

But this rusty bunch of works has a new variation. He's an old friendof the boss. Maybe it was partly so too. If it was--well, I got tothinkin' that over while the operator was countin' the words, and sothe next thing I does is to walk over to the telephone queen and haveher call up Mr. Robert. 

"Well?" says he, impatient. 

"It's Torchy again, " says I. "I've filed the message, all right. But, say, there's a piece of human junk that I collected from in front ofthe club who's tryin' to panhandle me for a half on the strength ofbein' an old chum of yours. He says his name's Melville Slater. "

"Wha-a-at!" gasps Mr. Robert. "Melly Slater, trying to borrow half adollar from you?"

"There's no doubt about his needin' it, " says I. "My guess is that ahalf would be a life saver to him just now. "

"Why, it doesn't seem possible!!" says Mr. Robert. "Of course, Ihaven't seen Melly recently; but I can't imagine how---- Did you sayhe was still there?"

"Hung up on the rail outside, if the cop ain't shooed him off, " says I. 

"Then keep him there until I come, " says Mr. Robert. "If it's Melly, Imust come. I'll be right over. But don't say a word to him until Iget there. "

"Got you, " says I. "Hold Melly and keep mum. "

I could pipe him off through the swing door vestibule; and, honest, from the lifeless way he's propped up there, one arm hangin' loose, hishead to one side, and that white, pasty look to his nose andforehead--well, I didn't know but he'd croaked on the spot. So I slipsthrough the cafe exit and chases along the side street until I meetsMr. Robert, who's pikin' over full tilt. 

"You're sure it's Melly Slater, are you?" says he. 

"I'm only sure that's what he said, " says I. "But you can settle thatsoon enough. There he is, over there by the window. "

"Why!" says Mr. Robert. "That can never be Melly; that is, unless he'schanged wonderfully. " With that he marches up and taps the object onthe shoulder. "I say, " says he, "you're not really Melly Slater, areyou?"

There's a quick shiver runs through the man against the rail, and helifts his eyes up cringin', like he expected to be hit with a club. Mr. Robert takes one look, and it almost staggers him. Next he reachesout, gets a firm grip on the gent's collar, and drags him out into abetter light, twistin' the whiskered face up for a close inspection. 

"Blashford!" says he, hissin' it out unpleasant. "Bunny Blashford!"

"No, no!" says the gent, tryin' to squirm away. "You--you've made amistake. "

"Not much!" says Mr. Robert. "I know those sneaking eyes of yours toowell. "

"All right, " says he; "but--but don't hit me, Bob. Don't. "

"You--you cur!" says Mr. Robert, holding him at arm's length andglarin' at him hostile. 

"A ringer, eh?" says I. 

"Worse than that, " says Mr. Robert, "a sneaking, contemptible hound!Trying to pass yourself off for Melly, were you?" he goes on. "Of allmen, Melly! What for?"

"I--I didn't want you to know I was back, " whines Bunny. "And I had toget money somehow, Bob--honest, I did. "

"Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "You--you----"

But he ain't got any such vocabulary as old Hickory Ellins has; sohere, when he needs it most, all he can do is express his deep disgustby shakin' this Bunny party like a new hired girl dustin' a rug. Hejerks him this way and that so reckless that I was afraid he'd rattlehim apart, and when he fin'lly lets loose Bunny goes all in a heap onthe sidewalk. I'd never seen Mr. Robert get real wrathy before; butit's all over in a minute, and he glances around like he was ashamed. 

"Hang it all!" says he, gazin' at the wreck. "I didn't mean to lay myhands on him. "

"He's in punk condition, " says I. "What's to be done, call anambulance?"

That jars Mr. Robert a lot. I expect he was so worked up he didn'tknow how rough he was handlin' him, and my suggestin' that he'squalified Bunny for a cot sobers him down in a minute. Next thing Iknows he's kneelin' over the Blashford gent and liftin' his head up. 

"Here, what's the matter with you?" says Mr. Robert. 

"Don't! Don't strike me again, " moans Bunny, cringin'. 

"No, no, I'm not going to, " says Mr. Robert. "And I apologize forshaking you. But what ails you?"

"I--I'm all in, " says Bunny, beginnin' to sniffle. "Don't--don't beatme! I--I'm going to die; but--but not here, like--like this. I--Idon't want to live; but--but I don't want to finish this way, like arat. Help me, Bob, to--to finish decent. I know I don't deserve itfrom you; but--but you wouldn't want to see me go like this--dirty andragged? I--I want to die clean and--and well dressed. Please, Bob, for old time's sake?"

"Nonsense, man!" says Mr. Robert. "You're not going to die now. "

"Yes, I am, Bob, " says Bunny. "I--I can tell. I want to, anyway. I--I'm no good. And I'm in rotten shape. Drink, you know, and I've abad heart. I'm near starved too. It's been days since I've eatenanything--days!"

"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Then you must have something to eat. Here, let me help you up. Torchy, you take the other side. Steady, now! I didn't know you were in such a condition; really, I didn't. And we'll get you filled up right away. "

"I--I couldn't eat, " says Bunny. "I don't want anything. I just wantto quit--only--not like this; but clean, Bob, clean and dressed decentonce more. "

Say, maybe you can guess about how cheerin' it was, hearin' him saythat over and over in that whiny, tremblin' voice of his, watchin' themshifty, deep-set eyes glisten glassy under the light. About ascomfortin' a sight, he was, as a sick dog in a corner. And of all therummy ideas to get in his nut--that about bein' dressed up to die! Buthe keeps harpin' away on it until fin'ly Mr. Robert takes notice. 

"Yes, yes!" says the boss. "We'll attend to that, old man. But youneed some nourishment in you first. "

So we drags him over to the opposite corner, where there's a drugstore, and got a glass of hot milk under his vest. Then I calls a taxi, andwe all starts for the nearest Turkish bath joint. 

"That's all, Torchy, " says Mr. Robert. "I won't bother you any morewith this wretched business. You'd best go now. "

"Suppose something happens to him?" says I. "You'll need a witness, won't you?"

"I hadn't thought of that, " says he. 

"There's no tellin', " says I. "Them coroners deputies are mostlyboneheads. I'd better stay on the job. "

"I know of no one I'd rather have, Torchy, " says he. 

Course, he was stretchin' it there. But we fixes it up that whileBunny is bein' soaked out I'll have time to pluck some eats. MeanwhileMr. Robert will 'phone his man to dig out one of his old dress suits, with fixin's, which I'm to collect and have waitin' for Blashford. 

"Better have him barbered some too, hadn't I?" says I. 

"A lot, " says Mr. Robert, slippin' me a couple of tens for expenses. "And when he's all ready call me at the club. "

So, take it all around, I has quite some busy evenin'. I stayed longenough to see Bunny wrapped in a sheet and helped into the steam-room, and then I hustles out for a late dinner. It's near nine-thirty beforeI rings Mr. Robert up again, and reports that Bunny would pass a Boardof Health inspection now that he's had the face herbage removed, thathe's costumed proper and correct, and that he's decided not to dieimmediate. 

"Very well, " says Mr. Robert. "What does he want to do now?"

"He wants to talk to you, " says I. 

"The deuce he does!" says Mr. Robert. "Well, I suppose we might aswell have it out; so bring him up here. "

That's how it happens I'm rung in on this little club corner chat; forMr. Robert explains that whatever passes between 'em it might be aswell to have someone else hear. 

And, say, what a diff'rence a little outside upholstery can make, eh?The steamin' out had helped some, I expect, and a couple more glassesof hot milk had braced him up too; but blamed if I'd expect just ashave and a few open-face clothes could change a human ruin into such aperky lookin' gent as this that leans back graceful against the leathercushions and lights up one of Mr. Robert's imported cigarettes. Course, the eye hollows hadn't been filled in, nor the face wrinklesironed out; but somehow they only gives him a sort of a distinguishedlook. And now that his shoulders ain't slumped, and he's holdin' hischin up once more, he's almost ornamental. He don't even seemembarrassed at meetin' Mr. Robert again. If anyone was fussed, it wasthe boss. 

"Well?" says he, as we gets settled in the cozy corner. 

"Seems natural as life here; eh, Bob?" says Bunny, glancin' aroundapprovin'. "And it's nearly four years since I--er----"

"Since you were kicked out, " adds Mr. Robert. "See here, Bunny--justbecause I've helped you out of the gutter when I thought you were halfdead, don't run away with the idea that I've either forgotten orforgiven!"

"Oh, quite so, " says he. "I'm not asking that. "

"Then you've no excuse, " goes on Mr. Robert, "for the sneaking, cowardly way in which you left little Sally Slater waiting in herbridal gown, the house full of wedding guests, while you ran off withthat unspeakable DeBrett person?"

"No, " says Bunny, flippin' his cigarette ashes off jaunty, "no excuseworthy of the name. "

"Cad!" says Mr. Robert. 

Bunny shrugs his shoulders. "Precisely, " says he. "But you are notmaking the discovery for the first time, are you? You knew Sally wasfar too good for me. Everyone did, even Brother Melly. It couldn'thave been much of a secret to either of you how deep I was with theDeBrett too. Yet you wanted me to go on with Sally. Why? Because thegovernor hadn't chucked me overboard then, because I could still keepup a front?"

"You might have taken a brace, " says Mr. Robert. 

"Not I!" says Bunny. "Anyway, not after Trixie DeBrett got hold of me. The trouble was, Bob, you didn't half appreciate her. She had beauty, brains, wit, a thousand fascinations, and no more soul than a she boaconstrictor. I was just a rabbit to her, a meal. She thought thegovernor would buy her off, say, for a couple hundred thousand or so. I suppose he would too, if it hadn't been for the Sally complication. He thought a lot of little Sally. And the way it happened was too raw. I don't blame him, mind you, nor any of you. I don't even blameTrixie. That was her game. And, by Jove! she was a star at it. I'dgo back to her now if she'd let me. "

"You're a fool!" snorts Mr. Robert. 

"Always was, my dear Bob, " says Bunny placid. "You often told me asmuch. "

"But I didn't think, " goes on Mr. Robert, "you'd get as low as--astonight--begging!"

"Quite respectable for me, I assure you, " says Bunny. "Why, my dearfellow, during the last few years there's been hardly a crime on thecalendar I shouldn't have committed for a dollar--barring murder, ofcourse. That requires nerve. How long do you suppose the fewthousands I got from Aunt Eunice lasted? Barely six months. I thoughtI knew how to live rather luxuriously myself. But Trixie! Well, shetaught me. And we were in Paris, you know. I didn't cable thegovernor until I was down to my last hundred-franc note. His reply wassomething of a stinger. I showed it to Trixie. She just laughed andwent out for a drive. She didn't come back. I hear she picked up abrewer's son at Monte Carlo. Lucky devil, he was!

"And I? What would you expect? In less than two weeks I was astowaway on a French liner. They routed me out and set me to stoking. I couldn't stand that, of course; so they put me to work in thekitchens, cleaning pots, dumping garbage, waiting on the crew. I hadto make the round trip too. Then I jumped the stinking craft, only toget a worse berth on a P. & O. Liner. I worked with Chinese, Lascars, coolies, the scum of the earth; worked and ate and slept and foughtwith them. I crawled ashore and deserted in strange ports. I think itwas at Aden where I came nearest to starving the first time. And Iremember the docks at Alexandria. Sometimes the tourists threw downcoppers for the Arab and Berber boys to scrabble for. It's a pleasantcustom. I was there, in that scrabbling, cursing, clawing rabble. Andwhen I'd had a good day I spent my coppers royally in a nativedance-hall which even guides don't dare show to the trippers. 

"Respectability, my dear Bob, is all a matter of comparison. Iacquired a lot of new standards. As a second cabin steward on a Brazosliner I became quite haughty. Poverty! You don't know what it meansuntil you've rubbed elbows with it in the Far East and the Far South. Here you have the Bowery Mission bread line. That's a fair sample, Bob, of our American opulence. Free bread!"

"So you've been in that, have you?" asks Mr. Robert. 

"Have I?" says Bunny. "I've pals down there tonight who will wonderwhat has become of me. "

Mr. Robert shudders. And, say, it made me feel chilly along the spinetoo. 

"Well, what now?" says Mr. Robert. "I suppose you expect me to findyou some sort of work?"

"Not at all, " says Bunny. "Another of those cigarettes, if you don'tmind. Excellent brand. Thanks. But work? How inconsiderate, Bob! Iwasn't born to be useful. You know that well enough. No, work doesn'tappeal to me. "

Mr. Robert flushes up at that. "Then, " says he, pointin' stern, "there's the door. "

"Oh, what's the hurry?" says Bunny. "This is heaven to me, allthis, --the old club, you know, and good tobacco, and--say, Bob, if Imight suggest, a pint of that '85 vintage would add just the finishingtouch. Come, I haven't tasted a glass of fizz since--well, I'veforgotten. Just for auld lang syne!"

Mr. Robert gasps, hesitates a second, and then pushes the button. Bunny inspects the label critical when it's brought in, waves gracefulto Mr. Robert, and slides the bottle back tender into the cooler. 

"Ah-h-h!" says he. "And doesn't Henri have any more of those daintylittle caviar canapes on hand? They go well with fizz. "

"Canapes, " says Mr. Robert to the waiter. "And another box of thosegold-tipped Russians. "

"_À vous_!" says Bunny, raisin' a glassful of bubbles and salutin'. "I'm as thirsty as a camel driver. "

"But what I'd like to know, " says Mr. Robert, "is what you proposedoing. "

"You, my dear fellow, " says Bunny, settin' down the glass. 

"Truly enterprising!" says Mr. Robert. "But you're going to bedisappointed. In just ten minutes I mean to escort you to thesidewalk, and then wash my hands of you for good. "

Bunny laughs. "Impossible!" says he. "In the first place, youcouldn't sleep tonight, if you did. Secondly, I should hunt you uptomorrow and make a nuisance of myself. "

"You'd be thrown out by a porter, " says Mr. Robert. 

"Perhaps, " says he; "but it wouldn't look nice. I'd be in eveningclothes, you see. The crowd would know at once that I was a gentleman. Reporters would come. I should tell a most harrowing tale. You'd denyit, of course; but half the people would believe me. No, no, Bob!Three hours ago, in my old rags, you might have kicked me into thegutter, and no one would have made any fuss at all. But now! Why, itwould be absurd! I should make a mighty row over it. "

"You threaten blackmail?" says Mr. Robert, leanin' towards him savage. 

"That is one of my more reputable accomplishments, " says Bunny. "Butwhy force me to that? I have quite a reasonable proposal to submit. "

"If it has anything to do with getting you so far away from New Yorkthat you'll never come back, I'll listen to it, " says Mr. Robert. 

"You state the case exactly, " says Bunny. "In Paris I got to know achap by the name of Dick Langdon; English, you know, and a younger son. His uncle's a Sir Something or Other. Dick was going the pace. He'dannexed some funds that he'd found lying around loose. Purely a familyaffair; no prosecution. A nice youth, Langdon. We were quitecongenial. 

"A year or so ago I ran across him again, down in Santa Marta. He waswearing a sun helmet and a white linen suit. He said he'd been shippeddown there as superintendent of a banana plantation about twenty milesback from the port. He had half a hundred blacks and as many EastIndian coolies under him. There was no one else within miles. Once amonth he got down to see the steamer load and watch the white faceshungrily. I was only a cabin steward leaning over the rail; but he wasso tickled to see me that he begged me to quit and go back to theplantation with him. He said he'd make me assistant superintendent, orpermanent guest, or anything. But I was crazy to see New York oncemore. I wouldn't listen. Well, I've seen New York, seen enough of itto last a lifetime. What do you say?"

"When could you get a steamer?" asks Mr. Robert. 

"The Arapequa sails at ten in the morning, " says Bunny eager. "Fareforty-eight dollars one way. I could go aboard now. Dick would hailme as a man and a brother. I'm his kind. He'd see that I never hadmoney enough to get away. I think I might possibly earn my keepbossing coolies too. And the pulque down there helps you to forgetyour troubles. "

"Torchy, " says Mr. Robert, "ask Barney to call a cab. "

"And, by the way, " Bunny is sayin' as I come back, "you might chuck ina business suit and a few white flannels into a grip, Bob. Youwouldn't want me to arrive in South America dressed like this, wouldyou?"

"Very well, " says Mr. Robert. "But what I'm most concerned about isthat you do arrive there. "

"But how do you know, Mr. Robert, " says I next mornin', "that he will?"

"Because I locked him in his stateroom myself, " says he, "and bribed asteward not to let him out until he could see Barnegat light over thestern. "

"Gee!" says I. "That's one way of losin' a better days' proposition. And in case any others like him turns up, Mr. Robert, have you got anymore old dress suits?"

"If I have, " says he, "I shall burn them. "

CHAPTER XII

THE GLAD HAIL FOR TORCHY

I'll say this for Aunty: She's doin' her best. About all she's omittedis lockin' Vee in a safety deposit vault and forgettin' the combination. 

Say, you'd most think I was as catchin' as a case of measles. I wishit was so; for once in awhile, in spite of Aunty, Vee gets exposed. That's all the good it does, though. What's a few minutes' chat withthe only girl that ever was? It's a wonder we don't have to beintroduced all over again. That would be the case with some girls. But Vee! Say, lemme put you wise--Vee's different! Uh-huh! I foundthat out all by myself. I don't know just where it comes in, or how, but she is. 

All of which makes it just so much worse when she and Aunty does thesummer flit. Course, I saw it comin' 'way back early in June, and thenthe first thing I know they're gone. I gets a bulletin now andthen, --Lenox, the Pier, Newport, and so on, --sometimes from Vee, sometimes by readin' the society notes. Must be great to have thepapers keep track of you, the way they do of Aunty. And it's socomfortin' to me, strayin' lonesome into a Broadway movie show of a hotevening to know that "among the debutantes at a tea dance given in theCasino by Mrs. Percy Bonehead yesterday afternoon was Miss VeronaHemmingway. " Oh, sure! Say, how many moves am I from a tea dance--mehere behind the brass rail at the Corrugated, with Piddie gettin'fussy, and Old Hickory jabbin' the buzzer?

And then, just when I'm peevish enough to be canned and served withlamb chops, here comes this glad word out of the State of Maine. "It'snice up here, " says she; "but awfully stupid. VEE. " That's all--justa picture postcard. But, say, I'd have put it in a solid gold frame ifthere'd been one handy. 

As it is, I sticks the card up on the desk in front of me and gazeslongin'. Some shack, I should judge by the picture, --one of these low, wide affairs, all built of cobblestones, with a red tile roof andyellow awnin's. Right on the water too. You can see the wavesfrothin' almost up to the front steps. Roarin' Rocks, Maine, is thename of the place printed underneath. 

"Nice, but stupid, eh?" says I confidential to myself. "That's toobad. Wonder if I'd be bored to death with a week or so up there? Iwonder what she'd say if----"

B-r-r-r-r! B-r-r-r-r-r! That's always the way! I just get started onsome rosy dream, and I'm sailin' aloft miles and miles away, when offgoes that blamed buzzer, and back I flop into this same old chairbehind the same old brass rail! All for what? Why, Mr. Robert wants atub of desk pins. I gets 'em from Piddie, trots in, and slams 'em downsnappy at Mr. Robert's elbow. 

"Eh?" says he, glancin' up startled. 

"Said pins, dintcher?" says I. 

"Why--er--yes, " says he, "I believe I did. Thank you. "

"Huh!" says I, turnin' on my heel. 

"Oh--er--Torchy, " he adds. 

"Well?" says I over my shoulder. 

"Might one inquire, " says he, "is it distress, or only disposition?"

"It ain't the effect of too much fresh air, anyway, " says I. 

"Ah!" says he, sort of reflective. "Feeling the need of a halfholiday, are you?"

"Humph!" says I. "What's the good of an afternoon off?"

He'd just come back from a two weeks' cruise, Mr. Robert had, lookin'tanned and husky, and a little later on he was goin' off on anotherjaunt. Course, that's all right, too. I'd take 'em oftener if I washim. But hanged if I'd sit there starin' puzzled at any one else whocouldn't, the way he was doin' at me!

"Mr. Robert, " says I, spunkin' up sudden, "what's the matter with metakin' a vacation?"

"Why, " says he, "I--I presume it might be arranged. When would youwish to go?"

"When?" says I. "Why, now--tonight. Say, honest, if I try to stickout the week I'll get to be a grouch nurser, like Piddie. I'm sick ofthe shop, sick of answerin' buzzers, sick of everything!"

It wasn't what you might call a smooth openin', and from most bosses Iexpect it would have won me a free pass to all outdoors. But I guessMr. Robert knows what these balky moods are himself. He only humps hiseyebrows humorous and chuckles. 

"That's rather abrupt, isn't it?" says he. "But perhaps--er--justwhere is she now, Torchy?"

I grins back sheepish. "Coast of Maine, " says I. 

"Well, well!" says he. "Then you'll need a two weeks' advance, atleast. There! Present this to the cashier. And there is a goodexpress, I believe, at eight o'clock tonight. Luck to you!"

"Mr. Robert, " says I, choky, "you--you're I-double-It with me. Thanks. "

"My best regards to Kennebunk, Cape Neddick, and Eggemoggen Reach, "says he as we swaps grips. 

Say, there's some boss for you, eh? But how he could dope out thesymptoms so accurate is what gets me. Anyhow, he had the answer; for Idon't stop to consult any vacation guidebook or summer tours pamphlet. I beats it for the Grand Central, pushes up to the ticket window, andcalls for a round trip to Roaring Rocks. 

"Nothing doing, " says the guy. "Give you Bass Rocks, Seal Rocks, orsix varieties of Spouting Rocks; but no Roaring ones on the list. Anychoice?"

"Gwan, you fresh Mellen seed!" says I. "You got to have 'em. It saysso on the card, " and I shoves the postal at him. 

"Ah, yes, my young ruddy duck, " says he. "Postmarked Boothbay Harbor, isn't it? Bath for yours. Change there for steamer. Upper's the bestI can do for you--drawing rooms all gone. "

"Seein' how my private car's bein' reupholstered, I'll chance anupper, " says I. "Only don't put any nose trombone artist underneath. "

Yes, I was feelin' some gayer than a few hours before. What did I careif the old town was warmin' up as we pulls out until it felt like aTurkish bath? I was bound north on the map, with my new Norfolk suitand three outing shirts in my bag, a fair-sized wad of spendin' kalebuttoned into my back pocket, and that card of Vee's stowed awaycareful. Say, I should worry! And don't they do some breezin' alongon that Bar Harbor express while you sleep, though?

"What cute little village is this?" says I to Rastus in the washroomnext mornin' about six-thirty A. M. 

"Pohtland, Suh, " says he. "Breakfast stop, Suh. "

"Me for it, then, " says I. "When in Maine be a maniac. " So I tacklesa plate of pork-and on its native heath; also a hunk of pie. M-m-m-m!They sure can build pie up there!

It's quite some State, Maine. Bath is several jumps on, and that nextjoint---- Say, it wa'n't until I'd changed to the steamer and waslookin' over my ticket that I sees anything familiar about the name. Boothbay! Why, wa'n't that the Rube spot this Ira Higgins hailed from?Maybe you remember, --Ira, who'd come on to see Mr. Robert aboutbuildin' a new racin' yacht, the tall, freckled gink with a love affairon his mind? Why, sure, this was Ira's Harbor I was headed for. And, say, I didn't feel half so strange about explorin' the State afterthat. For Ira, you know, is a friend of mine. Havin' settled thatwith myself, I throws out my chest and roams around the decks, climbin'every flight of stairs I came to, until I gets to a comfy little coopon the very top where a long guy wearin' white suspenders over a blueflannel shirt is jugglin' the steerin' wheel. 

"Hello, Cap!" says I. "How's she headin'?"

He ain't one of the sociable kind, though. You'd most thought, fromthe reprovin' stare he gives me, that he didn't appreciate good comp'ny. 

"Can't you read?" says he. 

"Ah, you mean the Keep-Out sign? Sure, Pete, " says I; "but I can't seeit from in here. "

"Then git out where you can see it plainer, " says he. 

"Ah, quit your kiddin'!" says I. "That's for the common herd, ain'tit? Now, I---- Say, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll tell youwho I am. "

"Say it quick then, " says he. "Are you Woodrow Wilson, or only theSecretary of the Navy?"

"You're warm, " says I. "I'm a friend of Ira Higgins of BoothbayHarbor. "

"Sho!" says he, removin' his pipe and beginnin' to act human. 

"Happen to know Ira?" says I. 

"Ought to, " says he. "First cousins. You from Boston?"

"Why, Cap!" says I. "What have I ever done to you? Now, honest, do Ilook like I--but I'll forgive you this time. New York, Cap: notBrooklyn, or Staten Island or the Bronx, you know, but straight NewYork, West 17th-st. And I've come all this way just to see Mr. Higgins. "

"Gosh!" says he. "Ira always did have all the luck. "

Next crack he calls me Sorrel Top, and inside of five minutes we wasjoshin' away chummy, me up on a tall stool alongside, and him pointin'out all the sights. And, believe me, the State of Maine's got somescenery scattered along the wet edge of it! Honest, it's nothin' butscenery, --rocks and trees and water, and water and trees and rocks, andthen a few more rocks. 

"How about when you hit one of them sharp ones?" says I. 

"Government files a new edge on it, " says he. "They keep a gang thatdoes nothin' else. "

"Think of that!" says I. "I don't see any lobsters floatin' around, though. "

"Too late in the day, " says he. "'Fraid of gittin' sunburned. Youwant to watch for 'em about daybreak. Millions then. Travel inflocks. "

"Ye-e-es?" says I. "All hangin' onto a string, I expect. But why thepainted posts stickin' up out of the water?"

"Hitchin' posts, " says he, "for sea hosses. "

Oh, I got a bunch of valuable marine information from him, and when thesecond mate came up he added a lot more. If I hadn't thought to tell'em how there was always snow on the Singer and Woolworth towers, andhow the East Side gunmen was on strike to raise the homicide price tothree dollars and seventy-five cents, they'd had me well Sweeneyed. Asit was, I guess we split about even. 

Him findin' Boothbay Harbor among all that snarl of islands andchannels wasn't any bluff, though. That was the real sleight of hand. As we're comin' up to the dock he points out Ira's boatworks, just onthe edge of the town. Half an hour later I've left my baggage at thehotel and am interviewin' Mr. Higgins. 

He's the same old Ira; only he's wearin' blue overalls and a boiledshirt with the sleeves rolled up. 

"Roarin' Rocks, eh?" says he. "Why, that's the Hollister place onCunner Point, about three miles up. "

"Can I get a trolley?" says I. 

"Trolley!" says he. "Why, Son, there ain't any 'lectric cars nearer'nBath. "

"Gee, what a jay burg!" says I. "How about a ferry, then?"

Ira shakes his head. Seems Roarin' Rocks is a private joint, thesummer place of this Mr. Hollister who's described by Ira as "richer'nCroesus"--whatever that might mean. Anyway, they're exclusive partiesthat don't encourage callers; for the only way of gettin' there is overa private road around the head of the bay, or by hirin' a launch totake you up. 

"Generally, " says Ira, "they send one of their boats down to meetcompany. Now, if they was expectin' you----"

"That's just it, " I breaks in, "they ain't. Fact is, Ira, there's ayoung lady visitin' there with her aunt, and--and--well, Aunty and meain't so chummy as we might be. "

"Just so, " says Ira, noddin' wise. 

"Now my plan was to go up there and kind of stick around, you know, "says I, "sort of in the shade, until the young lady strolled out. "

Ira shakes his head discouragin'. "They're mighty uppish folks, " sayshe. "Got 'No Trespass' signs all over the place--dogs too. "

"Hellup!" says I. "What am I up against? Why don't Aunty travel witha bunch of gumshoe guards and be done with it?"

"Tell you what, " says Ira, struck by a stray thought, "if lookin' theplace over'll do any good, you might go out with Eb Westcott thisafternoon when he baits. He's got pots all around the point. "

That don't mean such a lot to me; but my middle name is Brodie. "Showme Eb, " says I. 

He wa'n't any thrillin' sight, Eb; mostly rubber hip boots, flannelshirt, and whiskers. He could have been cleaner. So could his old tubof a lobster boat; but not while he stuck to that partic'lar line ofbusiness, I guess. And, say, I know now what baitin' is. It's haulin'up lobster pots from the bottom of the ocean and decoratin' 'em insidewith fish--ripe fish, at that. The scheme is to lure the lobsters intothe pot. Seems to work too; but I guess a lobster ain't got any senseof smell. 

"Better put on some old clothes fust, " advised Eb, and as I always liketo dress the part I borrows a moldy suit of oilskins from Ira, includin' one of these yellow sea bonnets, and climbs aboard. 

It's a one-lunger putt-putt--and take it from me the combination ofgasolene and last Tuesday's fish ain't anything like _Eau d'Espagne_!Quite different! Also I don't care for that jumpy up and down motionone of these little boats gets on, specially after pie and beans forbreakfast. Then Eb hands me the steerin' ropes while he whittles somepressed oakum off the end of a brunette plug and loads his pipe. Moreperfume comin' my way!

"Ever try smokin' formaldehyde?" says I. 

"Gosh, no!" says Eb. "What's it like?"

"You couldn't tell the difference, " says I. 

"We git tin tags off'm Sailor's Pride, " says Eb. "Save up fifty, andyou git a premium. "

"You ought to, " says I, "and a pension for life. "

"Huh!" says Eb. "It's good eatin' too, Ever chaw any?" and he holdsout the plug invitin'. 

"Don't tempt me, " says I. "I promised my dear old grandmother Iwouldn't. "

"Lookin' a little peaked, ain't you!" says he. "Most city chaps dowhen they fust come; but after 'bout a month of this----"

"Chop it, Eb!" says I. "I'm feelin' unhappy enough as it is. A monthof this? Ah, say!"

After awhile we begun stoppin' to bait. Eb would shut off the engine, run up to a float, haul in a lot of clothesline, and fin'lly pull up anaffair that's a cross between a small crockery crate and an openworkhen-coop. Next he'd grab a big needle and string a dozen or so of thegooey fish on a cord. I watched once. After that I turned my back. By way of bein' obligin', Eb showed me how to roll the flywheel andstart the engine. He said I was a heap stronger in the arms than Ilooked, and he didn't mind lettin' me do it right along. Friendly oldyap, Eb was. I kept on rollin' the wheel. 

So about three P. M. , as we was workin' our way along the shore, Eblooks up and remarks, "Here's the Hollister place, Roarin' Rocks. "

Sure enough there it was, almost like the postcard picture, only notcolored quite so vivid. 

"Folks are out airin' themselves too, " he goes on. 

They were. I could see three or four people movin' about on theveranda; for we wa'n't more'n half a block away. First off I spotsAunty. She's paradin' up and down, stiff and stately, and along withher waddles a wide, dumpy female in pink. And next, all in white, andlookin' as slim and graceful as an Easter lily, I makes out Vee; also ayoung gent in white flannels and a striped tennis blazer. He's smokin'a cigarette and swingin' a racket jaunty. I could even hear Vee'slaugh ripple out across the water. You remember how she put it too, "nice, but awfully stupid. " Seems she was makin' the best of it, though. 

And here I was, in Ira's baggy oilskins, my feet in six inches of oilybrine, squattin' on the edge of a smelly fish box tryin' to hold down apiece of custard pie! No, that wa'n't exactly the rosy picture I threwon the screen back in the Corrugated gen'ral offices only yesterday. Nothing like that! I don't do any hoo-hooin', or wave any privatesignals. I pulls the sticky sou'wester further down over my eyes andsquats lower in the boat. 

"Look kind o' gay and festive, don't they?" says Eb, straightenin' upand wipin' his hands on his corduroys. 

"Who's the party in the tennis outfit?" says I. 

"Him?" says Eb, gawpin' ashore. "Must be young Hollister, that ownsthe mahogany speed boat. Stuck up young dude, I guess. Wall, fivemore traps to haul, and we're through, Son. "

"Let's go haul 'em, then, " says I, grabbin' the flywheel. 

Great excursion, that was! Once more on land, I sneaked soggy footedup to the hotel and piked for my room. I shied supper and went to thefeathers early, trustin' that if I could get stretched out level withmy eyes shut things would stop wavin' and bobbin' around. That wasgood dope too. 

I rolled out next mornin' feelin' fine and silky; but not so cocky byhalf. Somehow, I wa'n't gettin' any of the lucky breaks I'd looked for. 

My total programme for the day was just to bat around Boothbay. And, say, of all the lonesome places for city clothes and a straw lid!Honest, I never saw so many yachty rigs in my life, --young chaps inwhite ducks and sneakers and canvas shoes, girls in middie blouses, oldguys in white flannels and yachtin' caps, even old ladies dressedsporty and comf'table--and more square feet of sunburn than would coverUnion Square. I felt like a blond Eskimo at a colored camp meetin'. 

As everyone was either comin' from or goin' to the docks, I wandersdown there too, and loafs around watchin' the steamers arrive, and thebig sailin' yachts anchored off in the harbor, and the little boatsdodgin' around in the choppy water. There's a crisp, salty breezethat's makin' the flags snap, the sun's shinin' bright, and take italtogether it's some brilliant scene. Only I'm on the outside peekin'in. 

"What's the use?" thinks I. "I'm off my beat up here. "

Fin'lly I drifts down to the Yacht Club float, where the launches wascomin' in thick. I must have been there near an hour, swappin' never aword with anybody, and gettin' lonesomer by the minute, when in fromthe harbor dashes a long, low, dark-colored boat and comes rushin' atthe float like it meant to make a hydroplane jump. At the wheel I getssight of a young chap who has sort of a worried, scared look on hisface. Also he's wearin' a striped blazer. 

"Young Hollister, maybe, " thinks I. "And he's in for a smash. "

Just then he manages to throw in his reverse; but it's a little late, for he's got a lot of headway. Honest, I didn't think it out. And Iwas achin' to butt into something. I jumped quick, grabbed the bow asit came in reach, shoved it off vigorous, and brought him alongside thefenders without even scratchin' the varnish. 

"Thanks, old chap, " says he. "Saved me a bad bump there. I--I'mgreatly obliged. "

"You're welcome, " says I. "You was steamin' in a little strong. "

"I haven't handled the Vixen much myself, " says he. "You see, ourboatman's laid up, --sprained ankle, --and I had to come down from theRocks for some gasolene. "

"Oh! Roarin' Rocks?" says I. 

"Yes, " says he. "Where's that fool float tender?"

"Just gone into the clubhouse, " says I. "Maybe I could keep her frombumpin' while you're gone. "

"By Jove! would you?" says he, handin' over a boathook. 

Even then I wasn't layin' any scheme. I helps when they puts the gasin, and makes myself generally useful. Also I'm polite and respectful, which seems to make a hit with him. 

"Deuced bother, " says he, "not having any man. I had a picnic plannedfor today too. "

"That so?" says I. "Well, I'm no marine engineer, but I'm just killin'time around here, and if I could help any way----"

"Oh, I say, but that's jolly of you, " says he, "I wonder if you would, for a day or so? My name's Hollister, Payne Hollister. "

He wasn't Payne to me. He was Joy. Easy? Why, he fairly pushes meinto it! Digs a white jumper out of a locker for me, and a littleround canvas hat with "Vixen" on the front, and trots back uptown tobuy me a swell pair of rubber-soled deck shoes. Business of quickchange for yours truly. Then look! Say, here I am, just about theyachtiest thing in sight, leanin' back on the steerin' seat cushions ofa classy speed boat that's headed towards Vee at a twenty-mile clip. 

CHAPTER XIII

AUNTY FLAGS A ROSY ONE

Lemme see, I was headed out of Boothbay Harbor, Maine, bound forRoarin' Rocks, wa'n't I? Hold the picture, --me in a white jumper andlittle round canvas hat with "Vixen" printed across the front, whiteshoes too, and altogether as yachty as they come. Don't forget youngMr. Payne Hollister at the wheel, either; although whether I'dkidnapped him, or he'd kidnapped me, is open for debate. 

Anyway, here I was, subbin' incog for the reg'lar crew, who was laid upwith a sprained ankle. All that because I'd got the happy hail fromVee on a postcard. It wa'n't any time for unpleasant thoughts then;but I couldn't help wonderin' how soon Aunty would loom on the horizonand spoil it all. 

"So there's a picnic on the slate, eh?" I suggests. 

Young Mr. Hollister nods. "I'd promised some of the folks at thehouse, " says he. "Guests, you know. "

"Oh, yes, " says I, feelin' a little shiver flicker down my spine. 

I knew. Vee was a guest there. So was Aunty. The picnic prospectsmight have been more allurin'. But I'd butted in, and this was no timeto back out. Besides, I was more or less interested in sizin' up PayneHollister. Tall, slim, young gent; dark, serious eyes; nose a littleprominent; and his way of speakin' and actin' a bit pompous, --one ofthem impatient, quick-motioned kind that wants to do everything in aminute. He keeps gettin' up and starin' ahead, like he wa'n't quitesure where he was goin', and then leanin' over to squint at the enginerestless. 

"Just see if those forward oil cups are full, will you?" says he. 

I climbs over and inspects. Everything seems to be O. K. ; althoughwhat I don't know about a six-cylinder marine engine is amazin'. 

"We're slidin' through the water slick, " says I. 

"She can turn up much faster than this, " says he; "only I don't dareopen her wide. "

I was satisfied. I could use a minute or so about then to plot out afew scenarios dealin' with how a certain party would act in case ofmakin' a sudden discovery. But I hadn't got past picturin' the coldstorage stare before the Hollister place shows up ahead, Paynethrottles the Vixen down cautious, shoots her in between a couple ofrocky points, and fetches her up alongside a rope-padded private float. There's some steps leadin' up to the top of the rocks. 

"Do you mind running up and asking if they're ready?" says Payne. 

"Why, no, " says I; "but--but who do I ask?"

"That's so, " says he. "And they'll not know who you are, either. I'llgo. Just hold her off. "

Me with a boathook, posin' back to for the next ten minutes, not evendarin' to rubber over my shoulder. Then voices, "Have you the coffeebottles?"--"Don't forget the steamer rugs. "--"I put the olives on thetop of the sandwiches. "--"Be careful when you land, Mabel dear. "--"Oh, we'll be all right. " This last from Vee. 

Another minute and they're down on the float, with Payne Hollisterexplainin', "Oh, I forgot. This is someone who is helping me with theboat while Tucker's disabled. " I touches my hat respectful; but I'mtoo busy to face around--much too busy!

"Now, Cousin Mabel, " says young Hollister, "right in the middle of thatseat! Easy, now!"

A squeal from Mabel. No wonder! I gets a glimpse of her as she stepsdown, and, believe me, if I had Mabel's shape and weight you couldn'ttease me out on the water in anything smaller'n the Mauretania! Allthe graceful lines of a dumplin', Mabel had; about five feet up anddown, and 'most as much around. Vee is on one side, Payne on theother, both lowerin' away careful; but as she makes the final plungebefore floppin' onto the seat she reaches out one paw and annexes myright arm. Course that swings me around sudden, and I finds myselfgazin' at Vee over Payne Hollister's shoulders, not three feet away. 

"Oh!" says she, startled, and you couldn't blame her. I just has tolay one finger on my lips and shake my head mysterious. 

"All right!" sings out Payne, straightenin' up. "Always more or lessexciting getting Cousin Mabel aboard; but it's been accomplished. Now, Verona!"

As he gives her a hand she floats in as light as a bird landin' in atreetop. I could feel her watchin' me curious and puzzled as I passesthe picnic junk down for Hollister to stow away. Course, it wa'n't anyleadin'-heavy, spotlight entrance I was makin' at Roarin' Rocks; butit's a lot better, thinks I, than not bein' there at all. 

"Oh, dear, " sighs Mabel, "what a narrow, uncomfortable seat!"

"Is it, really?" asks Vee. "Can't it be fixed someway, Payne?"

"Lemme have a try?" says I. With that I stuffs extra cushions aroundher, folds up a life preserver to rest her feet on, and drapes her witha steamer rug. 

"Thanks, " says she, sighin' grateful and rewardin' me with a display ofdimples. "What is your name, young man?"

"Why, " says I, with a glance at Vee, "you can just call me Bill. "

"Nonsense!" says Mabel. "Your name is William. "

"William goes, Miss, " says I; and as she snuggles down I chances a winkVee's way. No response, though. Vee ain't sure yet whether she oughtto grin or give me the call-down. 

"Cast off!" says Payne, and out between the rocks we shoot, with Auntyand Mrs. Hollister wavin' from the veranda. Anyway, that was somerelief. This wa'n't Aunty's day for picnickin'. 

She didn't know what she was missin', I expect; for, say, that's goodbreathin' air up off Boothbay. There's some life and pep to it, andrushin' through it that way you can't help pumpin' your lungs full. Makes you glow and tingle inside and out. Makes you want to holler. That, and the sunshine dancin' on the water, and the feel of the boatslicin' through the waves, the engine purrin' away a sort of rag-timetune, and the pennants whippin', and all that scenery shiftin' aroundto new angles, not to mention the fact that Vee's along--well, I wasenjoyin' life about then. Kind of got into my blood. Everything waslovely, and I didn't care what happened next. 

Me bein' the crew, I expect I should have been fussin' around up front, coilin' ropes, or groomin' the machinery. But I can't make my eyesbehave. I has to turn around every now and then and grin. Mabel don'tseem to mind. 

"William, " says she, signalin' me, "see if you can't find a box ofcandy in that basket. "

I hops over the steerin' seat back into the standin' room and digs itout. Also I lingers around while Mabel feeds in a few pieces. 

"Have some?" says she. "You're so good-natured looking. "

"That's my long suit, " says I. 

Then I see Vee's mouth corners twitching and she takes her turn. "Youlive around here, I suppose, William?" says she. 

"No such luck, " says I. "I come up special to get this job. "

"But, " puts in Mabel, holdin' a fat chocolate cream in the air, "Tuckerwasn't hurt until yesterday. "

"That's when I landed, " says I. 

"Someone must have sent you word then, " says Vee, impish. 

"Uh-huh, " says I. "Someone mighty special too. Sweet of her, wa'n'tit?"

"Oh! A girl?" asks Mabel, perkin' up. 

"_The_ girl, " says I. 

"Tee-hee!" snickers Mabel, nudgin' Vee delighted. "Is--is she verynice, William? Tell us about her, won't you?"

"Oh, do!" says Vee, sarcastic. 

"Well, " says I, lookin' at Vee, "she's about your height and build. "

"How interesting!" says Mabel, with another nudge. "Go on. What kindof hair?"

"Never was any like it, " says I. 

"But her complexion, " insists Mabel, "dark or fair?"

"Pink roses in the mornin', with the dew on, " says I. 

"Bravo!" says Mabel, clappin' her hands. "And her eyes?"

"Why, " says I, "maybe you've looked down into deep sea water on astill, gray day? That's it. "

"She must be a beauty, " says Mabel. 

"Nothing but, " says I. 

"I hope she has a nice disposition too, " says she. 

"Nope, " says I, shakin' my head solemn. 

"Humph! What's the matter with that?" says Vee. 

"Jumpy, " says I. "Red pepper and powdered sugar; sometimes all sugar, sometimes all pepper, then again a mixture. You never can tell. "

"Then I'd throw her over, " says Vee. 

"Honest, would you?" says I, lookin' her square in the eye. 

"If I didn't like her disposition, I would, " says she. 

"But that's the best part of her to me, " says I. "Adds variety, youknow, and--well, I expect it's about the only way I'm like her. Mineis apt to be that way too. "

"Why, of course, " comes in Mabel. "If she was as pretty as all that, and angelic too----"

"You got the idea, " says I. "She'd be in a stained glass windowsomewhere, eh?"

"You're a silly boy!" says Vee. 

"That sounds natural, " says I. "I often get that from her. "

"And is she living up here?" asks Mabel. "Visiting, " says I. "She'swith her----"

"William, " breaks in Vee, "I think Mr. Hollister wants you. "

I'd most forgot about Payne; for, while he's only a few feet off, he'sas much out of the group as if he was ashore. You know how it is inone of them high-powered launches with the engine runnin'. You can'thear a word unless you're right close to. And Payne's twistin' aroundrestless. 

"Yes, Sir?" says I, goin' up and reportin'. 

"Ask Miss Verona if she doesn't want to come up here, " says he. "I--Ithink it will trim the boat better. "

"Sure, " says I. But when I passes the word to Vee I translates. "Mr. Hollister's lonesome, " says I, "and there's room for another. "

"I've been wondering if I couldn't, " says Vee. 

"You can, " says I. "Lemme help you over. "

Gives me a chance for a little hand squeeze and another close glimpseinto them gray eyes. I don't make out anything definite, though. Butas she passes forward she puckers her lips saucy and whispers, "Pepper!" in my ear. I guess, after all, when you're doin'confidential description you don't want to stick too close to facts. Makin' it all stained glass window stuff is safer. 

I goes back to Mabel and lets her demand more details. She's just fullof romance, Mabel is; not so full, though, that it interferes with herabsorbin' a few eats now and then. Between answerin' questions I'mkept busy handin' out crackers, oranges, and doughnuts, openin' theolive bottle, and gettin' her drinks of water. Reg'lar Consumers'League, Mabel. I never run a sausage stuffin' machine; but I think Icould now. 

"You're such a handy young man to have around, " says Mabel, after I'vesplit a Boston cracker and lined it with strawb'ry jam for her; "somuch better than Tucker. "

"That's my aim, " says I, "to make you forget Tucker. "

Yes, I was gettin' some popular with Mabel, even if I was in wrong withVee. They seems to be havin' quite a chatty time of it, Payne showin'her how to steer, and lettin' her salute passin' launches, andexplainin' how the engine worked. As far as them two went, Mabel andme was only so much excess baggage. 

"Why, we're clear out beyond Squirrel!" exclaims Mabel at last. "AskPayne where we're going to stop for our picnic. I'm getting hungry. "

"Oh, yes, " says Payne, "we must be thinking about landing. I hadplanned to run out to Damariscove; but that looks like a fog bankhanging off there. Perhaps we'd better go back to Fisherman's Island, after all. Tell her Fisherman's. "

I couldn't see what the fog bank had to do with it--not then, anyway. Why, it was a peach of a day, --all blue sky, not a sign of a cloudanywhere, and looked like it would stay that way for a week. He keepsthe Vixen headed out to sea for awhile longer, and then all of a suddenhe circles short and starts back. 

"Fog!" he shouts over his shoulder to Mabel. 

"Oh, bother!" says Mabel. "I hate fog. And it is coming in too. "

Yes, that bank did seem to be workin' its way toward us, like a big, gray curtain that's bein' shoved from the back drop to the front of thestage. You couldn't see it move, though; but as I watched blamed if itdon't creep up on an island, a mile or so out, and swallow it complete, same as a picture fades off a movie screen when the lights go wrong. Just like that. Then a few wisps of thin mist floats by, makin' thingsa bit hazy ahead. Squirrel Island, off to the left, disappears like ithad gone to the bottom. The mainland shore grows vague and blurred, and the first thing we know we ain't anywhere at all, the scenery's allsmudged out, and nothin' in sight but this pearl-gray mist. It ain'tvery thick, you know, and only a little damp. Rummy article, thisState of Maine fog!

Young Hollister is standin' up now, tryin' to keep his bearin's anddoin' his best to look through the haze. He slows the engine downuntil we're only just chuggin' along. 

"Let's see, " says he, "wasn't Squirrel off there a moment ago?"

"Why, no, " says Vee. "I thought it was more to the left. "

"By Jove!" says he. "And there are rocks somewhere around here too!"

Funny how quick you can get turned around that way. Inside of threeminutes I couldn't have told where we were at, any more'n if I'd beenblindfolded in a cellar. And I guess young Hollister got to thatcondition soon after. 

"We ought to be making the south end of Fisherman's soon, " he observes. 

But we didn't. He has me climb out on the bow to sing out if I seeanything. But, say, there was less to see than any spot I was ever in. I watched and watched, and Payne kept on gettin' nervous. And still wekeeps chuggin' and chuggin', steerin' first one way and then the other. It seemed hours we'd been gropin' around that way when----

"Rocks ahead!" I sings out as something dark looms up. Payne turns herquick; but before she can swing clear bang goes the bow againstsomething solid and slides up with a gratin' sound. He tries backin'off; but she don't budge. 

"Hang it all!" says Payne, shuttin' off the engine. "I guess we'restuck. "

"Then why not have the picnic right here?" pipes up Mabel. 

"Here!" snaps Payne. "But I don't know where we are. "

"Oh, what's the difference?" says Mabel. "Besides, I'm hungry. "

"I want to get out of this, though, " says Payne. "I mean to keep goinguntil I know where I am. "

"Oh, fudge!" says Mabel. "This is good enough. And if we stay hereand have a nice luncheon perhaps the fog will go away. What's thesense in drifting around when you're hungry?"

That didn't seem such bad dope, either. Vee sides with Mabel, andwhile Payne don't like the idea he gives in. We seem to have landedsomewhere. So we carts the baskets and things ashore, finds a flatplace up on the rocks, and then the three of us tackles the job ofhoistin' Mabel onto dry land. And it was some enterprise, believe me!

"Goodness!" pants Mabel, after we'd got her planted safe. "I don'tknow how I'm ever going to get back. "

We didn't, either; but after we'd spread out five kinds of sandwicheswithin her reach, poured hot coffee out of the patent bottles, openedthe sardines and pickles, set out the cake and doughnuts, Mabel ceasesto worry. 

Payne don't, though. He swallows one sandwich, and then goes back toinspect the boat. He announces that the tide is comin' in and sheought to float soon; also that when she does he wants to start back. 

"Now, Payne!" protests Mabel. "Just when I'm comfortable!"

"And there isn't any hurry, is there?" asks Vee. 

I wa'n't so stuck on buttin' around in the fog myself; so when he asksme to go down and see if the launch is afloat yet, and I finds that shecan be pushed off easy, I don't hurry about tellin' him so. Instead Iclimbs aboard and develops an idea. You see, when I was out with EbWestcott in his lobster boat the day before I'd noticed him stop theengine just by jerkin' a little wire off the spark plug. Here was awhole bunch of wires, though. Wouldn't do to unhitch 'em all. Butalong the inside of the boat is a little box affair that they all leadinto, with one big wire leadin' out. Looked kind of businesslike, thatone did. I unhitches it gentle and drapes it over a nearby screwhead. Then I strolls back and reports that she's afloat. 

"Good!" says Payne. "I'll just start the engine and be tuning her upwhile the girls finish luncheon. "

Well, maybe you can guess. I could hear him windin' away at thecrankin' wheel, windin' and windin', and then stoppin' to cuss a littleunder his breath. 

"What's the matter?" sings out Mabel. 

She was one of the kind that's strong on foolish questions. 

"How the blazes should I know?" raps back young Hollister. "I can'tstart the blasted thing. "

"Never mind, " says Mabel cheerful. "We haven't finished the sandwichesyet. "

Next time I takes a peek Payne has his tool kit spread out and is busytakin' things apart. He's getting' himself all smeared up with greaseand oil too. Pity; for he'd started out lookin' so neat and nifty. Meanwhile we'd fed Mabel to the limit, got her propped up withcushions, and she's noddin' contented. 

"Guess I'll do some exploring" says I. 

"But I've been wanting to do that this half-hour, " says Vee. 

"Well, let's then, " says I. 

"Go on, " says Mabel, "and tell me about it afterward. "

Oh, yes, we explores. Say, I'm a bear for that too! You have to gohand in hand over the rocks, to keep from slippin'. And the fog makesit all the nicer. We didn't go far before we came to the edge. Thenwe cross in another direction, and comes to more edge. 

"Why, we're on a little island!" says Vee. 

"Big enough for us, " says I. "Here's a good place to sit down too. "We settles ourselves in a snug little corner that gives us a fine viewof the fog. 

"How silly of you to come away up here, " says Vee, "just because--well, just because. "

"It's the only wise move I was ever guilty of, " says I. "I feel like Ihad Solomon in the grammar grade. "

"But how did you happen to get here--with Payne?" says she. 

"Hypnotized him, " says I. "That part was a cinch. "

"And until to-day you didn't know where we were, or anything, " says she. 

"I scouted around a bit yesterday afternoon, " says I. "Saw you too. "

"Yesterday!" says she. "Why, no one came near all the afternoon; thatis, only a couple of lobstermen in a horrid, smelly old boat. "

"Uh-huh, " says I. "One was me, in disguise. "

"Torchy!" says she, gaspin'. And somehow she snuggles up a littlecloser after that. "I didn't think when I wrote, " she goes on, "thatyou would be so absurd. "

"Maybe I was, " says I. "But I took it straight, that part about itbein' stupid up here. I was figurin' on liftin' the gloom. I hadn'tcounted on Payne. "

"Well, what then?" says she, tossin' her chin up. 

"Nothin', " says I. "Guess you were right, too. "

"He only came the other day, " says Vee; "but he's nice. "

"Aunty thinks so too, don't she?" says I. 

"Why, yes, " admits Vee. 

"Another chosen one, is he?" says I. 

Vee flushes. "I don't care!" says she. "He is rather nice. "

"Correct, " says I. "I found him that way too; but ain't he--well, justa little stiff in the neck?"

That brings out a giggle. "Poor Payne!" says Vee. "He is something ofa stick, you know. "

"We'll forgive him for that, " says I. "We'll forgive Mabel. We'llforgive the fog. Eh?" Then my arm must have slipped. 

"Why, Torchy!" says she. 

"Oh!" says I. "Thought you were too near the edge. " And the sideclinch wa'n't disturbed. 

[Illustration: Then my arm must have slipped--and the side clinchwa'n't disturbed. ]

Some chat too! I don't know when we've had a chance for any such agood long talk as that, and we both seemed to have a lot ofconversation stored up. Then we chucked pebbles into the water, andVee pulls some seaweed and decorates my round hat. You know? It'seasy killin' time when you're paired off right. And the first thing weknows the fog begins to lighten and the sun almost breaks through. Wehurries back to where Mabel's just rousin' from a doze. 

"Well?" says she. 

"It's a tiny little island we're on, " says Vee. 

"Nice little island, though, " says I. 

"Hey!" sings out Payne, pokin' his head up over the rocks. "I've beencalling and calling. "

"We've been explorin', " says I. "Got her fixed yet?"

"Hang it, no!" growls Payne, scrubbin' cotton waste over his forehead. "And the fog's beginning to lift. Why, there's the shore, and--and--well, what do you think of that? We're on Grampus Ledges, not a mile from home!"

Sure enough, there was Roarin' Rocks just showin' up. 

"Now if I could only start this confounded engine!" says he, starin'down at it puzzled. 

By this time Vee and Mabel appears, and of course Mabel wants to knowwhat's the matter. 

"I'm sure I can't tell, " says Payne, sighin' hopeless. 

"Wirin' all right, is it?" says I, climbin' in and lookin' scientific. And--would you believe it?--I only paws around a minute or so before Ifinds a loose magneto connection, hooks it up proper, and remarkscasual, "Now let's try her. "

Pur-r-r-r-r! Off she goes. "There!" exclaims Mabel. "I shall nevergo out again unless William is along. He's so handy!"

Say, she stuck to it. Four days I was chief engineer of theVixen--and, take it from me, they was perfectly good days. No morefog. No rain. Just shoolin' around in fair weather, makin' excursionshere and there, with Vee trippin' down to the dock every day in afresher and newer yachtin' costume, and lookin' pinker and sweeterevery trip. 

Course, as regards a certain other party, it was a case of artisticdodgin' for me between times. You got to admit, though, that it wa'n'ta fair test for Aunty. I had her off her guard. Might have beendiff'rent too, if she'd cared for motorboatin'. So maybe I gotcareless. I remember once passin' Aunty right in the path, as I'mluggin' some things up to the house, and all I does is to hoist thebasket up on my shoulder between me and her and push right along. 

Then here the last morning just as we got under way for a run toDamariscotta, she and Mrs. Hollister was up on the cliff seein' us off. All the rest was wavin'; so just for sport I takes off my hat and wavestoo, grinnin' humorous at Vee as I makes the play. But, say, next timeI looks back she's up on the veranda with the fieldglasses trained onus. I keeps my hat on after that. My kind of red hair is prominentenough to the naked eye at almost any distance--but with fieldglasses!Good night!

It was a day for forgettin' things, though. Ever sailed up the ScottyRiver on a perfect August day, with the sun on the green hills, a seabreeze tryin' to follow the tide in, and the white gulls swingin' lazyoverhead? It's worth doin'. Then back again, roundin' Ocean Pointabout sunset, with the White Islands all tinted up pink off there, andthe old Atlantic as smooth as a skatin' rink as far out as you can see, and streaked with more colors than a crazy cubist can sling, --somepeaceful picture. 

But what a jar to find Aunty, grim and forbidding waitin' on the dock. She never says a word until we'd landed and everyone but me had startedfor the house. Then I got mine. 

"Boy, " says she icy, "take off that hat!"

I does it reluctant. 

"Humph!" says she. "William! I thought so. " That's all; but she saysit mighty expressive. 

The programme for the followin' day included a ten o'clock start, andI'd been down to the boat ever since breakfast, tidyin' things up andsort of wonderin'. About nine-fifteen, though, young Hollister comeswanderin' down by his lonesome. 

"It's all off, " says he. "Miss Verona and her aunt have gone. "

"Eh?" says I, gawpin'. "Gone?"

"Early this morning, " says he. "I don't quite understand why;something about Verona's being out on the water so much, I believe. Gone to the mountains. And--er--by the way, Tucker is around again. Here he comes now. "

"He gets the jumper, then, " says I, peelin' it off. "I guess I'm dueback on Broadway. "

"It's mighty good of you to help out, " says Payne, "and I--I want to dothe right thing in the way of----"

"You have, " says I. "You've helped me have the time of my life. Putup the kale, Hollister. If you'll land me at the Harbor, I'll call itsquare. "

He don't want to let it stand that way; but I insists. As I climbs outon the Yacht Club float, where he'd picked me up, he puts out his handfriendly. 

"And, say, " says I, "how about Miss Vee?"

"Why, " says he, "I'm very sorry she couldn't stay longer. "

"Me too, " says I. "Some girl, eh?"

Payne nods hearty, and we swaps a final grip. 

Well, it was great! My one miscue was not wearin' a wig. 

CHAPTER XIV

CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS

We thought it was all over too. That's the way it is in plays andbooks, where they don't gen'rally take 'em beyond the final clinch, leavin' you to fill in the bliss _ad lib_. But here we'd seen 'emclear through the let-no-man-put-asunder stage, even watched 'em dodgethe rice and confetti in their dash to the limousine. 

"Thank goodness that's through with!" remarks Mother, without makin'any bones of it. 

Course, her reg'lar cue was to fall on Father's neck and weep; but, then, I expect Mrs. Cheyne Ballard's one of the kind you can't writeany form sheet for. She's a lively, bunchy little party, all jump andgo and jingle, who looks like she might have been married herself onlyday before yesterday. 

"I hope Robbie knows where she put those trunk checks, " says Father, atthe same time sighin' sort of relieved. 

From where I stood, though, the guy who was pushin' overboard thebiggest chunk of worry was this I-wilt boy, Mr. Nicholas Talbot. He'dgot her at last! But, z-z-z-zingo! it had been some lively gettin'. Not that I was all through the campaign with him; but I'd had glimpseshere and there. 

You see, Robbie's almost one of the fam'ly; for Mr. Robert's an oldfriend of the Ballards, and was bottle holder or something at thechristenin'. As a matter of fact, she was named Roberta after him. Then he'd watched her grow up, and always remembered her birthdays, andkept her latest picture on his desk. So why shouldn't he figure moreor less when so many others was tryin' to straighten out her loveaffairs? They was some tangled there for awhile too. 

Robbie's one of the kind, you know, that would have Cupid cross-eyed inone season. A queen? Well, take it from me! Say, the way her cheekswas tinted up natural would have a gold medal rose lookin' like it comeoff a twenty-nine-cent roll of wall paper. Then them pansy-coloredeyes! Yes, Miss Roberta Ballard was more or less ornamental. Thatwa'n't all, of course. She could say more cute things, and cut loosewith more unexpected pranks, than a roomful of Billie Burkes. Ascunnin' as a kitten, she was. 

No wonder Nick Talbot fell for her the first time he was exposed!Course, he was half engaged to that stunnin' Miss Marian Marlowe at thetime; but wa'n't Robbie waverin' between three young chaps that allseemed to be in the runnin' before Nick showed up?

Anyway, Miss Marlowe should have known better than to lug in her steadywhen she was visitin'. She'd been chummy with Robbie at boardin'school, and should have known how dangerous she was. But young Mr. Talbot had only two looks before he's as strong for Robbie as though ithad been comin' on for years back. Impetuous young gent that way hewas too; and, bein' handicapped by no job, and long on time and money, he does some spirited rushin'. 

Seems Robbie Ballard didn't mind. Excitement was her middle name, novelty was her strong suit, and among Nick's other attractions he wasbrand new. Besides, wa'n't he a swell one-stepper, a shark at tennis, and couldn't he sing any ragtime song that she could drum out? Theninety-horse striped racin' car that he came callin' in helped alongsome; for one of Robbie's fads was for travelin' fast. Course, she'dbeen brought up in limousines; but the mile in fifty seconds gave her agenuine thrill. 

When it come to holdin' out her finger for the big solitaire that Nickflashed on her about the third week, though, she hung back. The otherscarried about the same line of jew'lry around in their vest pockets, waitin' for a chance to decorate her third finger. One had theloveliest gray eyes too. Then there was another entry, with thedearest little mustache, who was a bear at doin' the fish-walk tangowith her; not to mention the young civil engineer she'd met last winterat Palm Beach. But he didn't actually count, not bein' on the scene. 

Anyway, three was enough to keep guessin' at once. Robbie was realmodest that way. But she sure did have 'em all busy. If it was asixty-mile drive with Nick before luncheon, it was apt to be anafternoon romp in the surf with the gray-eyed one, and a toss up as towhich of the trio took her to the Casino dance in the evenin'. Motherused to laugh over it all with Mr. Robert, who remarked that those kidswere absurd. Nobody seemed to take it serious; for Robbie was only afew months over nineteen. 

But young Mr. Talbot had it bad. Besides, he'd always got about whathe wanted before, and this time he was in dead earnest. So the firstthing Mother and Father knew they were bein' interviewed. Robbie hadhalf said she might if there was no kick from her dear parents, and hewanted to know how about it. Mr. Cheyne Ballard supplied theinformation prompt. He called Nick an impudent young puppy, at whichMother wept and took the young gent's part. Robbie blew in just thenand giggled through the rest of the act, until Father quit disgustedand put it square up to her. Then she pouted and locked herself in herroom. That's when Mr. Robert was sent for; but she wouldn't give himany decision, either. 

So for a week there things was in a mess, with Robbie balkin', Motherhavin' a case of nerves, Father nursin' a grouch, and Nick Talbotmopin' around doleful. Then some girl friend suggested to Robbie thatif she did take Nick they could have a moonlight lawn weddin', with theflower gardens all lit up by electric bulbs, which would be too dearfor anything. Robbie perked up and asked for details. Inside of anhour she was plannin' what she would wear. Late in the afternoon Nickheard the glad news himself, through a third party. 

First off the date was set for early next spring, when she'd be twenty. That was Father's dope; although Mother was willin' it should be pulledoff around Christmas time. Nick, he stuck out for the first ofOctober; but Robbie says:

"Oh, pshaw! There won't be any flowers then, and we'll be back intown. Why not week after next?"

So that's the compromise fin'lly agreed on. The moonlight stunt had tobe scratched; but the outdoor part was stuck to--and believe me it wassome classy hitchin' bee!

They'd been gone about two weeks, I guess, with everybody contentedexcept maybe the three losers, and all hands countin' the incidentclosed; when one forenoon Mother shows up at the general offices, has along talk with Mr. Robert, and goes away moppin' her eyes. Thenthere's a call for Mr. Cheyne Ballard's downtown number, and Mr. Roberthas a confab with him over the 'phone. Next comes three lively ringsfor me on the buzzer, and I chases into the private office. Mr. Robertis sittin' scowlin', makin' savage' jabs with a paper knife at theblotter pad. 

"Torchy, " says he, "I find myself in a deucedly awkward fix. "

"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I. 

"No, no!" says he. "This is a personal affair, and--well, it'sembarrassing, to say the least. "

"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I. 

"It's about Roberta, " says he. 

"What--again?" says I. "But I thought they was travelin' abroad?"

"I wish they were, " says he; "but they're not. At the last moment, itseems, Robbie decided she didn't care for a foreign trip, --too late inthe season, and she didn't want to be going over just when everyone wascoming back, you know. So they went up to Thundercaps instead. "

"Sounds stormy, " says I. 

"You're quite right, " says he. "But it's a little gem of a place thatyoung Talbot's father built up in the Adirondacks. I was there once. It's right on top of a mountain. And that's where they are now, milesfrom anywhere or anybody. "

"And spoony as two mush ladles, I expect, " says I. 

"Humph!" says he, tossin' the brass paper knife reckless onto thepolished mahogany desk top. "They ought to be, I will admit; but--oh, hang it all, if you're to be of any use in this beastly affair, Isuppose you must be told the humiliating, ugly truth! They are notspooning. Robbie is very unhappy. She--she's being abused. "

"Well, what do you know!" says I. "You don't mean he's begun draggin'her around by the hair, or----"

"Don't!" says Mr. Robert, bunchin' his fists nervous. "I can't tell. Robbie hasn't gone into that. But she has written her mother that sheis utterly wretched, and that this precious Nick Talbot of hers isunbearable. The young whelp! If I could only get my hands on him forfive minutes! But, blast it all! that's just what I mustn't dountil--until I'm sure. I can't trust myself to go. That is why I mustsend you, young man. "

"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Me? Ah, say, Mr. Robert, I wouldn't stand anyshow at all mixin' it with a young husk like him. Why, after the firstpoke I'd be----"

"You misunderstand, " says he. "That poke part I can attend to verywell myself. But I want to know the worst before I start in, and if Ishould go up there now, feeling as I do, I--well, I might not be a verypatient investigator. You see, don't you?"

"Might blow a gasket, eh?" says I. "And you want me to go up and scoutaround. But what if I'm caught at it--am I peddlin' soap, or what?"

"A plausible errand is just what I've been trying to invent, " says he. "Can you suggest anything?"

"Why, " says I, "I might go disguised as a lone bandit who'd robbed atrain and was----"

"Too theatrical, " objects Mr. Robert. 

"Or a guy come to test the gas meter, " I goes on. 

"Nonsense!" says he. "No gas meters up there. Forget the disguise. They both know you, remember. "

"Oh, well, " says I, "if I can't wear a wig, then I expect I'll have togo as special messenger sent up with some nutty present or other, --afive-pound box of candy, or flowers, or----"

"That's it--orchids!" breaks in Mr. Robert. "Robbie expects a bunchfrom me about every so often. The very thing!"

So less'n an hour later I'm on my way, with fifty dollars' worth offreak posies in a box, and instructions to stick around Thundercaps aslong as I can, with my eyes wide open and my ears stretched. Mr. Robert figures I'll land there too late for the night train back, anyway, and after that I'm to use my bean. If I finds the casedesp'rate, I'm to beat it for the nearest telegraph office and wire in. 

"Poor little girl!" is Mr. Robert's closin' remark. "Poor littleRobbie!"

Cheerful sort of an errand, wa'n't it, bein' sent to butt in on a Kenocurtain raiser? Easy enough workin' up sympathy for the abused bride. Why, she wa'n't much more'n a kid, and one who'd been coddled andpetted all her life, at that! And here she ups and marries offhandthis two-fisted young hick who turns out to be bad inside. Youwouldn't have guessed it, either; for, barrin' a kind of heavy jaw anddeep-set eyes, he had all the points of a perfectly nice young gent. Good fam'ly too. Mr. Robert knew two of his brothers well, and durin'the coo campaign he'd rooted for Nick. Then he had to show a streaklike this!

"But wait!" thinks I. "If I can get anything on him, he sure will haveit handed to him hot when Mr. Robert arrives. I want to see it donetoo. "

You don't get to places like Thundercaps in a minute, though. It's themiddle of the afternoon before I jumps the way train at a littlemountain station, and then I has to hunt up a jay with a buckboard andtake a ten-mile drive over a course like a roller coaster. They oughtto smooth that Adirondack scenery down some. Crude stuff, I call it. 

But, say, the minute we got inside Thundercaps' gates it'sdiff'rent--smooth green lawns, lots of flowerbeds, a goldfishpool, --almost like a chunk of Central Park. In the middle is awhite-sided, red-tiled shack, with pink and white awnings, and oddwindows, and wide, cozy verandas, --just the spot where you'd think aperfectly good honeymoon might be pulled off. 

I'm just unloadin' my bag and the flowerbox when around a corner of thecottage trips a cerise-tinted vision in an all lace dress and abutterfly wrap. Course, it's Robbie. She's heard the sound of wheels, and has come a runnin'. 

"Oh!" says she, stoppin' sudden and puckerin' her baby mouth into apout. "I thought someone was arriving, you know. " Which was a sadjolt to give a rescuer, wa'n't it?

"Sorry, " says I; "but I'm all there is. "

"You're the boy from Uncle Robert's office--Torchy, isn't it?" says she. 

"It is, " says I. "Fired up with flowers and Mr. Robert's compliments. "

"The old dear!" says she, grabbin' the box, slippin' off the string anddivin' into the tissue paper. "Orchids, too! Oh, goody! But theydon't go with my coat. Pooh! I don't need it, anyway. " With thatshe, sheds the butterfly arrangement, chuckin' it casual on the steps, and jams the whole of that fifty dollars' worth under her sash. "There, how does that look, Mr. Torchy?" says she, takin' a few fancysteps back and forth. 

"All right, I guess, " says I. 

"Stupid!" says she, stampin' her double A-1 pump peevish. "Is that theprettiest you can say it? Come, now--aren't they nice on me?"

"Nice don't cover it, " says I. "I was only wonderin' whether orchidswas invented for you, or you for orchids. "

This brings out a frilly little laugh, like jinglin' a string of silverbells, and she shows both dimples. "That's better, " says she. "Almostas good as some of the things Bud Chandler can say. Dear old Bud!He's such fun!"

"He was the gray-eyed one, wa'n't he?" says I. 

"Why, yes, " says she. "He was a dear. So was Oggie Holcomb. I wishNick would ask them both up. "

"Eh?" says I. "The also rans? Here?"

"Pooh!" says she. "Why not? It's frightfully dull, being all alone. But Nick won't do it, the old bear!"

Which reminds me that I ought to be scoutin' for black eyes, or wristbruises, or finger marks on her neck. Nothin' of the kind shows up, though. 

"Been kind of rough about it, has he?" says I. 

"He's been perfectly awful!" says she. "Sulking around as though I'ddone something terrible! But I'll pay him up. Come, you're not goingback tonight, are you?"

"Can't, " says I. "No train. "

"Then you must play with me, " says she, grabbin' my hand kittenish andstartin' to run me across the yard. 

"But, see here, " says I, followin' her on the jump. "Where's Hubby?"

"Oh, I don't know, " says she. "Off tramping through the woods with hisdog, I suppose. He's sulking, as usual. And all because I insisted onwriting to Oggie! Then there was something about the servants. Idon't know, only things went wrong at breakfast, and some of them havethreatened to leave. Who cares? Yesterday it was about the tenniscourt. What if he did telegraph to have it laid out? I couldn't playwhen I found I hadn't brought any tennis shoes, could I? Besides, there's no fun playing against Nick, he's such a shark. He didn't likeit, either, because I wouldn't use the baby golf course. But I willwith you. Come on. "

"I never did much putting, " says I. 

"Nor I, " says she; "but we can try. "

Three or four holes was enough for her, though, and then she has a newidea. "You rag, don't you?" says she. 

"Only a few tango steps, " says I. "My feet stutter. "

"Then I'll show you how, " says she. "We have some dandy records, andthe veranda's just right. "

So what does she do but tow me back to the house, ring up a couple ofmaids to clear away all the rugs and chairs, and push the music machineup to the open window. 

"Put on that 'Too Much Mustard, ' Annette, " says she, "and keep itgoing. "

Must have surprised Annette some, as I hadn't been accounted for; but alittle thing like that don't bother Robbie. She gives me the propergrip for the onestep, --which is some close clinch, believe me!--cuddlesher fluffy head down on my necktie, and off we goes. 

"No, don't try to trot, " says she. "Just balance and keep time, andswing two or three times at the turn. Keep your feet apart, you know. Now back me. Swing! There, you're getting it. Keep on!"

Some spieler, Robbie; and whether or not that was just a josh aboutorchids bein' invented for her, there's no doubt but what ragtime was. Yes, yes, that's where she lives. And me? Well, I can't say I hatedit. With her coachin' me, and that snappy music goin', I caught theidea quick enough, and first I knew we was workin' in new variationsthat she'd suggest, doin' the slow toe pivot, the kitchen sink, and alot more. 

We stopped long enough to have tea and cakes served, and then Robbieinsists on tryin' some new stunts. There's a sidewise dip, where youtwist your partner around like you was tryin' to break her back over achair, and we was right in the midst of practisin' that when who shouldshow up but the happy bridegroom. And someway I've seen 'em look morepleased. 

[Illustration: We was right in the midst of practisin' the sidewisedip, when who should show up but the happy bridegroom!]

"Oh, that you, old Grumpy?" says young Mrs. Talbot, stoppin' for aminute. "You remember Torchy, from Uncle Robert's office, don't you?He came up with some orchids. We're having such fun too. "

"Looks so, " says Nick. "Can't I cut in?"

"Oh, bother!" says Robbie. "No, I'm tired now. "

"Just one dance!" pleads Nick. 

"Oh, afterward, perhaps, " says she. "There! Just look at those sillyorchids! Aren't they sights?" With that she snakes 'em out and tossesthe wilted bunch careless over the veranda rail. "And now, " she adds, "I must dress for dinner. "

"You've nearly two hours, Pet, " protests Nick. "Come to the outlookwith me and watch the sunset. "

"It's too lonesome, " says Robbie, and off she goes. 

It should have happened then, if ever. I was standin' by, waitin' forhim to cut loose with the cruel words, and maybe introduce a littlehair-draggin' scene. But Nick Talbot just stands there gazin' afterher kind of sad and mushy, not even grindin' his teeth. Next he sighs, drops his chin, and slumps into a chair. Honest, that got me; for itwas real woe showin' on his face, and he seems to be strugglin' with itman fashion. Somehow it seemed up to me to come across with a fewsoothin' remarks. 

"Sorry I butted in, " says I; "but Mr. Robert sent me up with theflowers. "

"Oh, that's all right, " says he. "Glad you came. I--I suppose sheneeded someone else to--to talk to. "

"But you wouldn't stand for invite the leftovers on your honeymoon, eh?" I suggests. 

"No, hang it all!" says he. "That was too much. She--she mentionedit, did she?"

"Just casual, " says I. "I take it things ain't been goin' smoothgen'rally?"

He nods gloomy. "You were bound to notice it, " says he. "Anyonewould. I haven't been able to humor all her whims. Of course, she'sbeen used to having so much going on around her that this must seemrather tame; but I thought, you know, that when we were married--well, she doesn't seem to realize. And I've offered to take heranywhere, --to Newport, to Lenox, to the White Mountains, or touring. Three times this week we've packed to go to different places, and thenshe's changed her mind. But I can't take her back to Long Island, toher mother's, so soon, or ask a lot of her friends up here. It wouldbe absurd. But things can't go on this way, either. It--it's awful!"

I leaves him with his chin propped up in his hands, starin' gloomy atthe floor, while I wanders out and pipes off the sun dodgin' behind thehills. 

Later on Robbie insists on draggin' me in for dinner with 'em. She'ssome dream too, the way she's got herself up, and lighted up by thepink candleshades, with them big pansy eyes sparkling and the colorcomin' and goin' in her cheeks--say, it most made me dizzy to look. Then to hear her rattle on in her cute, kittenish way was better'n acabaret show. Mostly, though, it's aimed at me; while Nick Talbot isleft to play a thinkin' part. He sits watchin' her with sort of adumb, hungry look, like a big dog. 

And it was a punk dinner in other ways. The soup was scorchedsomethin' fierce; but Robbie don't seem to notice it. The roast lambhadn't had the red cooked out of it; but Robbie only asks what kind ofmeat it is and remarks that it tastes queer. She has a reg'lar fit, though, because the dessert is peach ice-cream with fresh fruitflavorin'. 

"And Cook ought to know that I like strawberry better, " says she. 

"But it's too late for strawberries, " explains Nick. 

"I don't care!" pouts Robbie. "I don't like this, and I'm going tosend it all back to the kitchen. " She does it too, and the maid grinsimpudent as she lugs it out. 

That was a sample of the way Robbie behaved for the rest of theevenin', --chatterin' and laughin' one minute, almost weepin' the next;until fin'lly she slams down the piano cover and flounces off to herroom. Nick Talbot sits bitin' his lips and lookin' desp'rate. 

"I'm sure I don't know what to do, " says he half to himself. 

At that I can't hold it any longer. "Say, Talbot, " says I, "before weget any further I got to own up that I'm a ringer. "

"A--a what!" says he, starin' puzzled. 

"I'm supposed to be here just as a special messenger, " says I; "but, onthe level, I was sent up here to sleuth for brutal acts. Uh-huh!That's what the folks at home think, from the letters she's beenwritin'. Mr. Robert was dead sure of it. But I see now they had thewrong dope. I guess I've got the idea. What you're up against issimply a spoiled kid proposition, and if you don't mind my mixin' inI'd like to state what I think I'd do if it was me. "

"Well, what?" says he. 

"I'd whittle a handle on a good thick shingle, " says I, "and use it. "

He stiffens a little at that first off, and then looks at me curious. Next he chuckles. "By Jove, though!" says he after awhile. 

Yes, we had a long talk, chummy and confidential, and before we turnsin Nick has plotted out a substitute for the shingle programme that hepromises to try on first thing next morning I didn't expect to be in onit; but we happens to be sittin' on the veranda waitin' for breakfast, when out comes Robbie in a pink mornin' gown with a cute boudoir cap onher head. 

"Why haven't they sent up my coffee and rolls?" she demands. 

"Did you order them, Robbie?" says Nick. 

"Why no, " says she. "Didn't you?"

"No, " says Nick. "I'm not going to, either. You're mistress of thehouse, you know, Robbie, and from now on you are in full charge. "

"But--but I thought Mrs. Parkins, the housekeeper, was to manage allthose things, " says she. 

"You said yesterday you couldn't bear Mrs. Parkins, " says Nick; "so I'msending her back to town. She's packing her things now. There arefour servants left, though, which is enough. But they needstraightening out. They are squabbling over their work, and neglectingit. You will have to settle all that. "

"But--but, Nick, " protests Robbie, "I'm sure I know nothing at allabout it. "

"As my wife you are supposed to, " says Nick. "You must learn. Anyway, I've told them they needn't do another stroke until they get ordersfrom you. And I wish you'd begin. I'd rather like breakfast. "

He's real calm and pleasant about it; but there's somethin' solid aboutthe way his jaw is set. Robbie eyes him a minute hesitatin' anddoubtful, like a schoolgirl that's bein' scolded. Then all of a suddenthere's a change. The pout comes off her lips, her chin stopstrembling and she squares her shoulders. 

"I'm--I'm sorry, Nicholas, " says she. "I--I'll do my best. " And offshe marches to the kitchen. 

And, say, half an hour later we were all sittin' down to as good a hamomelet as I ever tasted. When I left with Nick to catch the forenoonexpress, young Mrs. Talbot was chewin' the end of a lead pencil, withthem pansy eyes of hers glued on a pad where she was dopin' out herfirst dinner order. She would break away from it only long enough togive Hubby a little bird peck on the cheek; but he seems tickled todeath with that. 

So it wa'n't any long report I has to hand in to Mr. Robert that night. 

"All bunk!" says I. "Just a case of a honeymoon that rose a littlelate. It's shinin' steady now, though. But, say, I hope I'm neverbatty enough to fall for one of the butterfly kind. If I do--goodnight!"

CHAPTER XV

BEING SICCED ON PERCEY

Maybe it ain't figured in the headlines, or been noised around enoughfor the common stockholders to get panicky over it, but, believe me, itwas some battle! Uh-huh! What else could you expect with Old HickoryEllins on one side and George Wesley Jones on the other? And me? Say, as it happens, I was right on the firin' line. Talk about your drummerboys of '61--I guess the office boy of this A. M. Ain't such a dead one!

Course I knew when Piddie begins tiptoein' around important, and Mr. Robert cuts his lunchtime down to an hour, that there's something inthe air besides humidity. 

"Boy, " says Old Hickory, shootin' his words out past the stub of athick black cigar, "I'm expecting a Mr. Jones sometime this afternoon. "

"Yes, Sir, " says I. "Any particular Jones, Sir?"

"That, " says he, "is a detail with which you need not burden your mind. I am not anticipating a convention of Joneses. "

"Oh!" says I. "I was only thinkin' that in case some other guy by thesame names should----"

"Yes, I understand, " he breaks in; "but in that remote contingency Iwill do my best to handle the situation alone. And when Mr. Jonescomes show him in at once. After that I am engaged for the remainderof the day. Is that quite clear?"

"I'm next, " says I. "Pass a Jones, and then set the block. "

If he thought he could mesmerize me by any such simple motions as thathe had another guess. Why, even if it had been my first day on thejob, I'd have been hep that it wa'n't any common weekday Jones he wasexpectin' to stray in accidental. Besides, the minute I spots thatlong, thin nose, the close-cropped, grizzly mustache, and the tiredgray eyes with the heavy bags underneath, I knew it was George Wesleyhimself. Ain't his pictures been printed often enough lately?

He looks the part too, and no wonder! If I'd been hammered the way hehas, with seventeen varieties of Rube Legislatures shootin' my pastcareer as full of holes as a Swiss cheese, grand juries handin' downnew indictments every week end, four thousand grouchy share-holdershowlin' about pared dividends, and twice as many editorial pensproddin' 'em along----well, take it from me, I'd be on my way towardsthe tall trees with my tongue hangin' out!

Here he is, though, with his shoulders back and a sketchy, sarcasticsmile flickerin' in his mouth corners as he shows up for a hand-to-handset-to with Old Hickory Ellins. Course it's news to me that theCorrugated interests and the P. , B. & R. Road are mixed up anywherealong the line; but it ain't surprisin'. 

Besides mines and rollin' mills, we do a wholesale grocery business, run a few banks, own a lot of steam freighters, and have all kinds ofqueer ginks on our payroll, from welfare workers to would-be statesmen. We're always ready to slip one of our directors onto a railroad boardtoo; so I takes it that the way P. , B. & R. Has been juggled lately wasa game that touches us somewhere on the raw. Must be some kind of awar on the slate, or Old Hickory'd never called for a topliner likeGeorge Wesley Jones to come on the carpet. If it had been a case ofpassin' the peace pipe, Mr. Ellins would be goin' out to Chicago to seehim. 

"Mr. Jones, Sir, " says I, throwin' the private office door wide open soit would take me longer to shut it. 

But Old Hickory don't intend to give me any chance to pipe off thegreetin'. He just glances casual at Mr. Jones, then fixes themrock-drill eyes of his on me, jerks his thumb impatient over hisshoulder, and waits until there's three inches of fireproof materialbetween me and the scene of the conflict. 

So I strolls back to my chair behind the brass rail and winksmysterious at the lady typists. Two of 'em giggles nervous. Say, theygot more curiosity, them flossy key pounders! Not one of the bunch butwhat knew things was doin'; but what it was all about would have takenme a week to explain to 'em, even if I'd known myself. 

And I expect I wouldn't have had more'n a vague glimmer, either, if ithadn't been for Piddie. You might know he'd play the boob somehow ifanything important was on. Say, if he'd trotted in there once durin'the forenoon he'd been in a dozen times; seein' that the inkwells wasfilled, puttin' on new desk blotters, and such fool things as that. Yet about three-fifteen, right in the middle of the bout, he has toanswer a ring, and it turns out he's forgotten some important papers. 

"Here, Boy, " says he, comin' out peevish, "this must go to Mr. Ellinsat once. "

"Huh!" says I, glancin' at the file title. "Copy of charter of thePalisades Electric! At once is good. Ought to have been on Mr. Ellins's desk hours ago. "

"Boy!" he explodes threatenin'. 

"Ah, ditch the hysterics, Peddie!" says I. "It's all right now I'm onthe job, " and with a grin to comfort him I slips through Mr. Robert'sroom and taps on the door of the boss's private office before blowin'in. 

And, say, it looks like I've arrived almost in time for the finalclinch. Old Hickory is leanin' forward earnest, his jaw shoved out, his eyes narrowed to slits, and he's poundin' the chair arm with hisbig ham fist. 

"What I want to know, Jones, " he's sayin', "is simply this: Are yourfolks going to drop that Palisades road scheme, or aren't you?"

Course, I can't break into a dialogue at a point like that; so I closesthe door gentle behind me and backs against the knob, watchin' GeorgeWesley, who's sittin' there with his chin down and his eyes on the rug. 

"Really, Ellins, " says he, "I can't give you an answer to that. I--er--I must refer you to our Mr. Sturgis. "

"Eh?" snaps old Hickory. "Sturgis! Who the syncopated sculping isSturgis?"

"Why, " says Mr. Jones, "Percey J. Sturgis. He is my personal agent inall such matters, and this--well, this happens to be his petenterprise. "

"But it would parallel our proposed West Point line, " says Mr. Ellins. 

"I know, " says G. Wesley, sighin' weary. "But he secured his charterfor this two years ago, and I promised to back him. He insists onpushing it through too. I can't very well call him off, you see. "

"Can't, eh?" raps out Old Hickory. "Then let me try. Send for him. "

"No use, " says Mr. Jones. "He understands your attitude. He wouldn'tcome. I should advise, if you have any proposal to make, that you senda representative to him. "

"I go to him, " snorts Mr. Ellins, "to this understrapper of yours, thisMr. Percey--er----"

"Sturgis, " puts in George Wesley. "He has offices in our building. And, really, it's the only way. "

Old Hickory glares and puffs like he was goin' to blow a cylinder head. But that's just what Hickory Ellins don't do at a time like this. Whenyou think he's nearest to goin' up with a bang, that's the time whenhe's apt to calm down sudden and shift tactics. He does now. Motionin' me to come to the front, he takes the envelope I hands over, glances at it thoughtful a second, and then remarks casual:

"Very well, Jones. I'll send a representative to your Mr. Sturgis. I'll send Torchy, here. "

I don't know which of us gasped louder, me or George Wesley. Got himin the short ribs, that proposition did. But, say, he's a game oldsport, even if the papers are callin' him everything from highwayrobber to yellow dog. He shrugs his shoulders and bows polite. 

"As you choose, Ellins, " says he. 

Maybe he thinks it's a bluff; but it's nothing like that. 

"Boy, " says Old Hickory, handin' back the envelope, "go find Mr. PerceyJ. Sturgis, explain to him that the president of the P. , B. & R. Isbound under a personal agreement not to parallel any lines in which theCorrugated holds a one-third interest. Tell him I demand that he quiton this Palisades route. If he won't, offer to buy his blastedcharter. Bid up to one hundred thousand, then 'phone me. Got allthat?"

"I could say it backwards, " says I. "Shake the club first; then wavethe kale at him. Do I take a flyin' start?"

"Go now, " says Old Hickory. "We will wait here until five. If hewants to know who you are, tell him you're my office boy. "

Wa'n't that rubbin' in the salt, though? But it ain't safe to stir upHickory Ellins unless you got him tied to a post, and even then youwant to use a long stick. As I sails out and grabs my new fall derbyoff the peg Piddie asks breathless:

"What's the matter now, and where are you off to?"

"Outside business for the boss, " says I. "Buyin' up a railroad forhim, that's all. "

I left him purple in the face, dashes across to the Subway, and insideof fifteen minutes I'm listenin' fidgety while a private secretaryexplains how Mr. Sturgis is just leavin' town on important business andcan't possibly see me today. 

"Deah-uh me!" says I. "How distressin'! Say, you watch me flag him onthe jump. "

"But I've just told you, " insists the secretary, "that Mr. Sturgiscannot----"

"Ah, mooshwaw!" says I. "This is a case of must--see? If you put meout I'll lay for him on the way to the elevator. "

Course with some parties that might be a risky tackle; but anyone witha front name like Percey I'm takin' a chance on. Percey! Listens likeone of the silky-haired kind that wears heliotrope silk socks, don'tit? But, say, what finally shows up is a wide, heavy built gent with abig, homespun sort of face, crispy brown hair a little long over theears, and the steadiest pair of bright brown eyes I ever saw. Nothingfancy or frail about Percey J. Sturgis. He's solid and substantial, from his wide-soled No. 10's up to the crown of his seven three-quarterhat. He has a raincoat thrown careless over one arm, and he's smokin'a cigar as big and black as any of Old Hickory's. 

"Well, what is it, Son?" says he in one of them deep barytones that youfeel all the way through to your backbone. 

And this is what I've been sent out either to scare off or buy up!Still, you can't die but once. 

"I'm from Mr. Ellins of the Corrugated Trust, " says I. 

"Ah!" says he, smilin' easy. 

Well, considerin' how my knees was wabblin', I expect I put theproposition over fairly strong. 

"You may tell Mr. Ellins for me, " says he, "that I don't intend toquit. "

"Then it's a case of buy, " says I. "What's the charter worth, spotcash?"

"Sorry, " says he, "but I'm too busy to talk about that just now. I'mjust starting for North Jersey. "

"Suppose I trail along a ways then?" says I. "Mr. Ellins is waitin'for an answer. "

"Is he?" says Percey J. "Then come, if you wish. " And what does he dobut tow me down to a big tourin' car and wave me into one of the backseats with him. Listens quiet to all I've got to say too, while we'retearin' uptown, noddin' his head now and then, with them wide-set browneyes of his watchin' me amused and curious. But the scare I'm tryin'to throw into him don't seem to take effect at all. 

"Let's see, " says he, as we rolls onto the Fort Lee ferry, "just whatis your official position with the Corrugated?"

I'd planned to shoot it at him bold and crushin'. But somehow it don'thappen that way. 

"Head office boy, " says I, blushin' apologizin'; "but Mr. Ellins sentme out himself. "

"Indeed?" says he. "Another of his original ideas. A brilliant man, Mr. Ellins. "

"He's some stayer in a scrap, believe me!" says I. "And he's got theharpoon out for this Palisades road. "

"So have a good many others, " says Mr. Sturgis, chucklin'. "In fact, Idon't mind admitting that I am as near to being beaten on thisenterprise as I've ever been on anything in any life. But if I ambeaten, it will not be by Mr. Ellins. It will be by a hard-headed oldScotch farmer who owns sixty acres of scrubby land which I must crossin order to complete my right of way. He won't sell a foot. I've beentrying for six months to get in touch with him; but he's as stubborn asa cedar stump. And if I don't run a car over rails before next June mycharter lapses. So I'm going up now to try a personal interview. If Ifail, my charter isn't worth a postage stamp. But, win or lose, itisn't for sale to Hickory Ellins. "

He wa'n't ugly about it. He just states the case calm andconversational; but somehow you was dead sure he meant it. 

"All right, " says I. "Then maybe when I see how you come out I'll havesomething definite to report. "

"You should, " says he. 

That's where we dropped the subject. It's some swell ride we had upalong the top of the Palisades, and on and on until we're well acrossthe State line into New York. Along about four-thirty he says we'remost there. We was rollin' through a jay four corners, where thepostoffice occupies one window of the gen'ral store, with the MasonicLodge overhead, when alongside the road we comes across a littletow-headed girl, maybe eight or nine, pawin' around in the grass andsobbin' doleful. 

"Hold up, Martin, " sings out Mr. Sturgis to the chauffeur, and Martinjams on his emergency so the brake drums squeal. 

What do you guess? Why Percey J. Climbs out, asks the kid gentle whatall the woe is about, and discovers that she's lost a whole nickel thatDaddy has given her to buy lolly-pops with on account of its bein' herbirthday. 

"Now that's too bad, isn't it, little one?" says Mr. Sturgis. "But Iguess we can fix that. Come on. Martin, take us back to the store. "

Took out his handkerchief, Percey did, and swabbed off the tear stains, all the while talkin' low and soothin' to the kid, until he got hercalmed down. And when they came out of the store she was carryin' apound box of choc'late creams tied up flossy with a pink ribbon. Withher eyes bugged and so tickled she can't say a word, she lets go of hishand and dashes back up the road, most likely bent on showin' the folksat home the results of the miracle that's happened to her. 

That's the kind of a guy Percey J. Sturgis is, even when he has worriesof his own. You'd most thought he was due for a run of luck after akind act like that. But someone must have had their fingers crossed;for as Martin backs up to turn around he connects a rear tire with abroken ginger ale bottle and--s-s-s-sh! out goes eighty-five pounds'pressure to the square inch. No remark from Mr. Sturgis. He lights afresh cigar and for twenty-five minutes by the dash clock Martin isbusy shiftin' that husky shoe. 

So we're some behind schedule when we pulls up under the horse chestnuttrees a quarter of a mile beyond in front of a barny, weather-beatenold farmhouse where there's a sour-faced, square-jawed old piratesittin' in a home made barrel chair smokin' his pipe and scowlin'gloomy at the world in gen'ral. It's Ross himself. Percey J. Don'twaste any hot air tryin' to melt him. He tells the old guy plain andsimple who he is and what he's after. 

"Dinna talk to me, Mon, " says Ross. "I'm no sellin' the farm. "

"May I ask your reasons?" says Mr. Sturgis. 

Ross frowns at him a minute without sayin' a word. Then he pries thestubby pipe out from the bristly whiskers and points a crooked fingertoward a little bunch of old apple trees on a low knoll. 

"Yon's my reason, Mon, " says he solemn. "Yon wee white stone. Threebairns and the good wife lay under it. I'm no sae youthful mysel'. And when it's time for me to go I'd be sleepin' peaceful, with none o'your rattlin' trolley cars comin' near. That's why, Mon. "

"Thank you, Mr. Ross, " says Percey J. "I can appreciate yoursentiments. However, our line would run through the opposite side ofyour farm, away over there. All we ask is a fifty-foot strip acrossyour----"

"You canna have it, " says Ross decided, insertin' the pipe once more. 

Which is where most of us would have weakened, I expect. Not Mr. Sturgis. 

"Just a moment, Friend Ross, " says he. "I suppose you know I have theP. , B. & R. Back of me, and it's more than likely that your neighborshave said things about us. There is some ground for prejudice too. Our recent stock deals look rather bad from the outside. There havebeen other circumstances that are not in our favor. But I want toassure you that this enterprise is a genuine, honest attempt to benefityou and your community. It is my own. It is part of the generalpolicy of the road for which I am quite willing to be held largelyresponsible. Why, I've had this project for a Palisades trolley roadin mind ever since I came on here a poor boy, twenty-odd years ago, andtook my first trip down the Hudson. This ought to be a rich, prosperous country here. It isn't. A good electric line, such as Ipropose to build, equipped with heavy passenger cars and running acheap freight service, would develop this section. It would open tothe public a hundred-mile trip that for scenic grandeur could beequaled nowhere in this country. Are you going to stand in the way, Mr. Ross, of an enterprise such as that?"

Yep, he was. He puffs away just as mulish as ever. 

"Of course, " goes on Percey, "it's nothing to you; but the one ambitionof my life has been to build this road. I want to do for this districtwhat some of our great railroad builders did for the big West. I'm nota city-bred theorist, nor a Wall Street stock manipulator. I was bornin a one-story log house on a Minnesota farm, and when I was a boy wehauled our corn and potatoes thirty miles to a river steamboat. Thenthe railroad came through. Now my brothers sack their crops almostwithin sight of a grain elevator. They live in comfortable houses, send their children to good schools. So do their neighbors. Therailroad has turned a wilderness into a civilized community. On asmaller scale here is a like opportunity. If you will let us have thatfifty-foot strip----"

"Na, Mon, not an inch!" breaks in Ross. 

How he could stick to it against that smooth line of talk I couldn'tsee. Why, say, it was the most convincin', heart-throbby stuff I'dever listened to, and if it had been me I'd made Percey J. A present ofthe whole shootin' match. 

"But see here, Mr. Ross, " goes on Sturgis, "I would like to show youjust what we----"

"Daddy! Daddy!" comes a pipin' hail from somewhere inside, and outdances a barefooted youngster in a faded blue and white dress. It'sthe little heroine of the lost nickel. For a second she gawps at ussort of scared, and almost decides to scuttle back into the house. Then she gets another look at Percey J. , smiles shy, and sticks onefinger in her mouth. Percey he smiles back encouragin' and holds out abig, friendly hand. That wins her. 

"Oh, Daddy!" says she, puttin' her little fist in Percey'sconfidential. "It's the mans what gimme the candy in the pitty box!"

As for Daddy Ross, he stares like he couldn't believe his eyes. Butthere's the youngster cuddled up against Percey J. 's knee and glancin'up at him admirin'. 

"Is ut so, Mon?" demands Ross husky, "Was it you give the lass thesweeties?"

"Why, yes, " admitted Sturgis. 

"Then you shall be knowin', " goes on Ross, "that yon lassie is all Ihave left in the world that I care a bawbee for. You've done it, Mon. Tak' as much of the farm as you like at your own price. "

Well, that's the way Percey J. Sturgis won out. A lucky stroke, eh?Take it from me, there was more'n that in it. Hardly a word he saysdurin' the run back; for he's as quiet and easy when he's on top aswhen he's the under dog. We shakes hands friendly as he drops meuptown long after dark. 

I had all night to think it over; but when I starts for Old Hickory'soffice next mornin' I hadn't doped out how I was goin' to put it. 

"Well, what about Percey?" says he. 

"He's the goods, " says I. 

"Couldn't scare him, eh?" says Old Hickory. 

"Not if I'd been a mile high, " says I. "He won't sell, either. Andsay, Mr. Ellins, you want to get next to Percey J. The way I look atit, this George Wesley Jones stiff ain't the man behind him; Percey isthe man behind Jones. "

"H-m-m-m-m!" says Old Hickory. "I knew there was someone; but Icouldn't trace him. So it's Sturgis, eh? That being so, we need himwith us. "

"But ain't he tied up with Jones?" says I. 

"Jones is a dead dog, " says Old Hickory. "At least, he will be insideof a week. "

That was some prophecy, eh? Read in the papers, didn't you, how G. Wesley cables over his resignation from Baden Two Times? Couldn'tstand the strain. The directors are still squabblin' over who to putin as head of the P. , B. & R. ; but if you want to play a straightinside tip put your money on Percey J. Uh-huh! Him and Old Hickoryhave been confabbin' in there over an hour now, and if he hadn'tflopped to our side would Mr. Ellins be tellin' him funny stories?Anyway, we're backin' that Palisades line now, and it's goin' throughwith a whoop. 

Which is earnin' some int'rest on a pound of choc'lates and a smile. What?

CHAPTER XVI

HOW WHITY GUNKED THE PLOT

I knew something or other outside of business was puttin' hectic spotsin Old Hickory's disposition these last few days; but not until lateyesterday did I guess it was Cousin Inez. 

I expect the Ellins family wasn't any too proud of Cousin Inez, tostart with; for among other things she's got a matrimonial record. Three hubbies so far, I understand, two safe in a neat kept plot out inLos Angeles; one in the discards--and she's just been celebratin' thedecree by travelin' abroad. They hadn't seen much of her for years;but durin' this New York stopover visit she seemed to be makin' up forlost time. 

About four foot eight Cousin Inez was in her French heels, and fairlythick through. Maybe it was the way she dressed, but from just belowher double chin she looked the same size all the way down. Tie aBulgarian sash on a sack of bran, and you've got the model. Inez was abear for sashes too. Another thing she was strong on was hair. Course, the store blond part didn't quite match the sandy gray thatgrew underneath, and the near-auburn frontispiece was another tintstill; but all that added variety and quantity--and what more could youask?

Her bein' some pop-eyed helped you to remember Inez the second time. About the size of hard-boiled eggs, peeled, them eyes of hers was, andmost the same color. They say she's a wise old girl though, --carrieson three diff'rent business propositions left by her late string ofhusbands, goes in deep for classical music, and is some kind of a highpriestess in the theosophy game. A bit faddy, I judged, with maybe afew bats in her belfry. 

But when it comes to investin' some of her surplus funds in Corrugatedpreferred she has to have a good look at the books first, and makesCousin Hickory Ellins explain some items in the annual report. Threeor four times she was down to the gen'ral offices before the deal wentthrough. 

This last visit of hers was something diff'rent, though. 

I took the message down to Martin, the chauffeur myself. It was astraight call on the carpet. "Tell Cousin Inez the boss wants to seeher before she goes out this afternoon, " says I, "and wait with thelimousine until she comes. "

Old Hickory was pacin' his private office, scowlin' and grouchy, as hesends the word, and it didn't take any second sight to guess he waspeeved about something. I has to snicker too when Cousin Inez floatsin, smilin' mushy as usual. 

She wa'n't smilin' any when she drifts out half an hour later. She'ssome flushed behind the ears, and her complexion was a little streakedunder the eyes. She holds her chin up defiant, though, and slams thebrass gate behind her. She'd hardly caught the elevator before therecomes a snappy call for me on the buzzer. 

"Boy, " says Old Hickory, glarin' at me savage, "who is this T. VirgilBunn?"

Almost had me tongue-tied for a minute, he shoots it at me so sudden. "Eh?" says I. "T. Virgil? Why, he's the sculptor poet. "

"So I gather from this thing, " says he, wavin' a thin book bound inbaby blue and gold. "But what in the name of Sardanapalus and Xenophonis a sculptor poet, anyway?"

"Why, it's--it's--well, that's the way the papers always give it, " saysI. "Beyond that I pass. "

"Humph!" grunts Old Hickory. "Then perhaps you'll tell me if this ispoetry. Listen!

 "'Like necklaces of diamonds hung About my lady sweet, So do we string our votive area All up and down each street. They shine upon the young and old, The fair, the sad, the grim, the gay; Who gather here from far and near To worship in our Great White Way. '

"Now what's your honest opinion of that, Son? Is it poetry?

"Listens something like it, " says I; "but I wouldn't want to say forsure. "

"Nor I, " says Mr. Ellins. "All I'm certain of is that it isn'tsculpture, and that if I should read any more of it I'd be seasick. But in T. Virgil Bunn himself I have an active and personal interest. Anything to offer?"

"Not a glimmer, " says I. 

"And I suppose you could find nothing out?" he goes on. 

"I could make a stab, " says I. 

"Make a deep one, then, " says he, slippin' over a couple of tens for anexpense fund. 

And, say, I knew when Old Hickory begins by unbeltin' so reckless thathe don't mean any casual skimmin' through club annuals for a report. 

"What's the idea?" says I. "Is it for a financial rating or a regulardragnet of past performances?"

"Everything you can discover without taking him apart, " says OldHickory. "In short, I want to know the kind of person who can cause afifty-five-year-old widow with grown sons to make a blinkety blinkedfool of herself. "

"He's a charmer, eh?" says I. 

"Evidently, " says Mr. Ellins. "Behold this inscription here, 'To dearInez, My Lady of the Unfettered Soul--from Virgie. ' Get the point, Son? 'To dear Inez'! Bah! Is he color blind, or what ails him? Ofcourse it's her money he's after, and for the sake of her boys I'mgoing to block him. There! You see what I want?"

"Sure!" says I. "You got to have details about Virgie before you canditch him. Well, I'll see what I can dig up. "

Maybe it strikes you as a chesty bluff for a juvenile party like me tostart with no more clew than that to round up in a few hours what ahigh-priced sleuth agency would take a week for. But, say, I didn'tstand guard on the Sunday editor's door two years with my eyes and earsshut. Course, there's always the city and 'phone directories to startwith. Next you turn to the Who book if you suspect he's ever done anypublic stunt. But, say, swallow that Who dope cautious. They let 'emwrite their own tickets in that, you know, and you got to makeallowances for the size of the hat-band. 

I'd got that far, discovered that Virgie owned up to bein' thirty-fiveand a bachelor, that he was born in Schoharie, son of Telemachus J. AndMatilda Smith Bunn, and that he'd once been president of the villageliterary club, when I remembers the clippin' files we used to have backon Newspaper Row. So down I hikes--and who should I stack up against, driftin' gloomy through the lower lobby, but Whity Meeks, that used tobe the star man on the Sunday sheet. Course, it wa'n't any miracle;for Whity's almost as much of a fixture there as Old Gluefoot, thelibrarian, or the finger marks on the iron pillars in the press-room. 

A sad example of blighted ambitions, Whity is. When I first knew himhe had a fresh one every Monday mornin', and they ranged all the wayfrom him plannin' to be a second Dicky Davis to a scheme he had forhookin' up with Tammany and bein' sent to Congress. Clever boy too. He could dash off ponies that was almost good enough to print, dope outthe first two acts of a play that was bound to make his fortune if hecould ever finish it, and fake speeches that he'd never heard a word of. 

When he got to doin' Wall Street news, though, and absorbed the ideathat he could stack his little thirty per against the system and breakthe bucketshops--well, that was his finish. Two killings that he madeby chance, and he was as good as chained to the ticker for life. Nomore new rosy dreams for him: always the same one, --of the day when hewas goin' to show Sully how a cotton corner really ought to be pulledoff, a day when the closin' gong would find him with the City Bank inone fist and the Subtreasury in the other. You've met that kind, maybe. Only Whity always tried to dress the part, in a sporty shepherdplaid, with a checked hat and checked silk socks to match. He has thesame regalia on now, with a carnation in his buttonhole. 

"Well, mounting margins!" says he, as I swings him round by the arm. "Torchy! Whither away? Come down to buy publicity space for theCorrugated, have you?"

"Not in a rag like yours, Whity, " says I, "when we own stock in tworeal papers. I'm out on a little private gumshoe work for the boss. "

"Sounds thrilling, " says he. "Any copy in it?"

"I'd be chatterin' it to you, wouldn't I?" says I. "Nix! Just plainfam'ly scrap over whether Cousin Inez shall marry again or not. My jobis to get something on the guy. Don't happen to have any special dopeon T. Virgil Bunn, the sculptor poet, do you?"

Whity stares at me. "Do I?" says he. 

"Say!" Then he leads me over between the 'phone booth and the cigarstand, flashes an assignment pad, and remarks, "Gaze on that seconditem, my boy. "

"Woof! That's him, all right, " says I. "But what's a bouillabaissetea?"

"Heaven and Virgil Bunn only know, " says Whity. "But that doesn'tmatter. Think of the subtle irony of Fate that sends me up to make acolumn story out of Virgie Bunn! Me, of all persons!"

"Well, why not you?" says I. 

"Why?" says Whity. "Because I made the fellow. He--why, he is myjoke, the biggest scream I ever put over--my joke, understand? And nowthis adumbrated ass of a Quigley, who's been sent on here from St. Louis to take the city desk, he falls for Virgie as a genuinepersonage. Not only that, but picks me out to cover this phony tea ofhis. And the stinging part is, if I don't I get canned, that's all. "

"Ain't he the goods, then?" says I. "What about this sculptor poetbusiness?"

"Bunk, " says Whity, "nothing but bunk. Of course, he does putteraround with modeling clay a bit, and writes the sort of club-footedverse they put in high school monthlies. "

"Gets it printed in a book, though, " says I. "I've seen one. "

"Why not?" says Whity. "Anyone can who has the three hundred to payfor plates and binding. 'Sonnets of the City, ' wasn't it? Didn't Iget my commission from the Easy Mark Press for steering him in? Why, Ieven scratched off some of those things to help him pad out the bookwith. But, say, Torchy, you ought to remember him. You were on thedoor then, --tall, wide-shouldered freak, with aureole hair, and a closecropped Vandyke?"

"Not the one who wore the Wild West lid and talked like he had amouthful of hot oatmeal?" says I. 

"Your description of Virgie's English accent is perfect, " says Whity. 

"Well, well!" says I. "The mushbag, we used to call him. "

"Charmingly accurate again!" says Whity. "Verily beside him thequivering jellyfish of the salt sea was as the armored armadillo of thedesert. Soft? You could poke a finger through him anywhere. "

"But what was his game?" says I. 

"It wasn't a game, my son, " says Whity. "It was a mission in life, --toget things printed about himself. Had no more modesty about it, youknow, than a circus press agent. Perfectly frank and ingenuous, Virgiewas. He'd just come and ask you to put it in that he was a greatman--just like that! The chief used to froth at the mouth on sight ofhim. But Virgie looked funny to me in those days. I used to jolly himalong, smoke his Coronas, let him take me out to swell feeds. Thenwhen they gave Merrow charge of the Sunday side, just for a josh I dida half-page special about Virgie, called him the sculptor poet, threwin some views of him in his studio, and quoted some of his verse thatI'd fixed up. It got by. Virgie was so pleased he wanted to give abanquet for me; but I got him to go in on a little winter wheat flierinstead. He didn't drop much. After that I'd slip in a paragraphabout him now and then, always calling him the sculptor poet. The tagstuck. Other papers began to use it; until, first thing I knew, Virgiewas getting away with it. Honest, I just invented him. And now hepasses for the real thing!"

"Where you boobed, then, was in not filin' copyright papers, " says I. "But how does he make it pay?"

"He doesn't, " says Whity. "Listen, Son, and I will divulge the hiddenmystery in the life of T. Virgil Bunn. Cheese factories! Half a dozenor more of 'em, up Schoharie way. Left to him, you know, by Pa Bunn; acoarse, rough person, I am told, who drank whey out of a five-galloncan, but was cute enough to import Camembert labels and make his ownboxes. He passed on a dozen years ago; but left the cheese factoriesworking night shifts. Virgie draws his share quarterly. He tried ayear or two at some Rube college, and then went abroad to loiter. While there he exposed himself to the sculptor's art; but it didn'ttake very hard. However, Virgie came back and acquired the studiohabit. And you can't live for long in a studio, you know, withoutgetting the itch to see yourself in print. That's what brought Virgieto me. And now! Well, now I have to go to Virgie. "

"Ain't as chummy with him as you was, I take it?" says I. 

Whity shrugs his shoulders disgusted. "The saphead!" says he. "Justbecause we slipped up on a few stock deals he got cold feet. I haven'tseen him for a year. I wonder how he'll take it? But you mentioned aCousin Inez, didn't you?"

I gives Whity a hasty sketch of the piece, mentionin' no more names, but suggestin' that Virgie stood to connect with an overgrown widow'smite if there wa'n't any sudden interference. 

"Ha!" says Whity, speakin' tragic through his teeth. "An idea! He'sput the spell on a rich widow, has he? Now if I could only manage toqueer this autumn leaf romance it would even up for the laceration ofpride that I see coming my way tonight. Describe the fair one. "

"I could point her out if you could smuggle me in, " I suggests. 

"A cinch!" says he. "You're Barry of the City Press. Here, stick somecopy paper in your pocket. Take a few notes, that's all. "

"It's a fierce disguise to put on, " says I; "but I guess I can stand itfor an evenin'. "

So about eight-thirty we meets again, and' proceeds to hunt up thisstudio buildin' over in the East 30's. It ain't any bum Bohemianranch, either, but a ten-story elevator joint, with clipped bay treeson each side of the front door. Virgie's is a top floor suite, with aboy in buttons outside and a French maid to take your things. 

"Gee!" I whispers to Whity as we pushes in. "There's some swell mobcollectin', eh?"

Whity is speechless, though, and when he gets his breath again all hecan do is mumble husky, "Teddy Van Alstyne! Mrs. Cromer Paige! TheBertie Gardiners!"

They acted like a mixed crowd, though, gazin' around at each othercurious, groupin' into little knots, and chattin' under their breath. Bein' gents of the press, we edges into a corner behind a palm andwaits to see what happens. 

"There comes Cousin Inez!" says I, nudgin' Whity. "See? The squattydame with the pearl ropes over her hair. "

"Sainted Billikens, what a make-up!" says Whity. 

And, believe me, Cousin Inez was dolled for fair. She'd peeled for thefray, as you might say. And if the dinky shoulder straps held it wasall right; but if one of 'em broke there'd sure be some hurry call forfour yards of burlap to do her up in. She seems smilin' and happy, though, and keeps glancin' expectant at the red velvet draperies in theback of the room. 

Sure enough, exactly on the tick of nine, the curtains part, and insteps the hero of the evenin'. Dress suit? Say, you don't knowVirgie. He's wearin' a reg'lar monk's outfit, of some coarse brownstuff belted in with a thick rope and open wide at the neck. 

"For the love of beans, look at his feet!" I whispers. 

"Sandals, " says Whity, "and no socks! Blessed if Virgie isn't goingthe limit!"

There's a chorus of "Ah-h-h-h's!" as he steps out, and then comes abuzz of whispers which might have been compliments, and might not. Butit don't faze Virgie. He goes bowin' and handshakin' through the mob, smilin' mushy on all and several, and actin' as pleased with himself asif he'd taken the prize at a fancy dress ball. You should have seenCousin Inez when he gets to her!

"Oh, you utterly clever man!" she gushes. "What a genuine genius youare!"

"Dear, sweet lady!" says he. "It is indeed gracious of you to say so. "

"Help!" groans Whity, like he had a pain. 

"Ah, buck up!" says I. "It'll be your turn soon. "

I was wonderin' how Virgie was goin' to simmer down enough to passWhity the chilly greetin'; for he's just bubblin' over with kind wordsand comic little quips. But, say, he don't even try to shade it. 

"Ah, Whity, my boy!" says he, extendin' the cordial paw. "Charming ofyou to look me up once more, perfectly charming!"

"Rot!" growls Whity. "You know I was sent up here to do this bloomingspread of yours. What sort of fake is it, anyway?"

"Ha, ha! Same old Whity!" says Virgil, poundin' him hearty on theshoulder. "But you're always welcome, my boy. As for the tea--well, one of my little affairs, you know, --just a few friends droppingin--feast of reason, flow of wit, all that sort of thing. You know howto put it. Don't forget my costume--picked it up at a Trappistmonastery in the Pyrenees. I must give you some photos I've had takenin it. Ah, another knight of the pencil?" and he glances inquirin' atme. 

"City Press, " says Whity. 

"Fine!" says Virgie, beamin'. "Well, you boys make yourselves quite athome. I'll send Marie over with cigars and cigarettes. She'll helpyou to describe any of the ladies' costumes you may care to mention. Here's a list of the invited guests too. Now I must be stirring about. _Au revoir_. "

"Ass!" snarls Whity under his breath. "If I don't give him a roast, though, --one of the veiled sarcastic kind that will get past! And wemust find some way of queering him with that rich widow. "

"Goin' to be some contract, Whity, believe me!" says I. "Look howshe's taggin' him around!"

And, say, Cousin Inez sure had the scoopnet out for him! Every move hemakes she's right on his heels, gigglin' and simperin' at all his sappyspeeches and hangin' onto his arm part of the time. Folks was nudgin'each other and pointin' her out gleeful, and I could easy frame up thesort of reports that had set Old Hickory's teeth on edge. 

T. Virgil, though, seems to be havin' the time of his life. Heexhibits some clay models, either dancin' girls or a squad of mountedcops, I couldn't make out which, and he lets himself be persuaded toread two or three chunks out of his sonnets, very dramatic. CousinInez leads the applause. Then, strikin' a pose, he claps his hands, the velvet curtains are slid one side, and in comes a French chefluggin' a tray with a whackin' big casserole on it. 

"_Voilà_!" sings out Virgie. "The bouillabaisse!"

Marie gets busy passin' around bowls and spoons, and the programmeseems to be for the guests to line up while Virgie gives each a helpin'out of a long-handled silver ladle. It smells mighty good; so I pushesin with my bowl. What do you guess I drew? A portion of the tastiestfish soup you ever met, with a lobster claw and a couple of clams init. M-m-m-m!

"He may be a punk poet, " says I to Whity; "but he's a good provider. "

"Huh!" growls Whity, who seems to be sore on account of the hitVirgie's makin'. 

Next thing I knew along drifts Cousin Inez, who has sort of beencrowded away from her hero, and camps down on the other side of Whity. 

"Isn't this just too unique for words?" she gushes. "And is not dearVirgil perfectly charming tonight?"

"Oh, he's a bear at this sort of thing, all right, " says Whity, "thisand making cheese. "

"Cheese!" echoes Cousin Inez. 

"Sure!" says Whity. "Hasn't he told you about his cheese factories?Ask him. "

"But--but I understood that--that he was a poet, " says she, "a sculptorpoet. "

"Bah!" says Whity. "He couldn't make his salt at either. All just apose!"

"Why, I can hardly believe it, " says Cousin Inez. "I don't believe it, either. "

"Then read his poetry and look at his so called groups, " goes on Whity. 

"But he's such a talented, interesting man, " insists Inez. 

"With such an interesting family too, " says Whity, winkin'. 

"Family!" gasps Cousin Inez. 

"Wife and six children, " says Whity, lyin' easy. 

"Oh--oh!" squeals Inez in that shrill, raspy voice of hers. 

"They say he beats his wife, though, " adds Whity. 

"Oh!--oh!" squeals Inez, again, higher and shriller than ever. Iexpect she'd been more or less keyed up before; but this adds thefinishin' touch. And she lets 'em out reckless. 

Course, everyone stops chatterin' and looks her way. No wonder! You'dthought she was havin' a fit. Over rushes Virgil, ladle in hand. 

"My dear Inez!" says he. "What is it? A fishbone?"

"Monster!" she bowls. "Deceiver! Leave me, never let me see your faceagain! Oh--oh! Cheese! Six children! Oh--oh!" With that shetumbles over on Whity and turns purple in the face. 

Say, it was some sensation we had there for a few minutes; but afterthey'd sprinkled her face, and rubbed her wrists, and poured a coupleof fingers of brandy into her, she revives. And the first thing shecatches sight of is Virgie, standin' there lookin' puzzled, stillholdin' the soup ladle. 

"Monster!" she hisses at him. "I know all--all! And I quit youforever!"

With that she dashes for the cloakroom, grabs her opera wrap, and beatsit for the elevator. Course, that busts up the show, and inside ofhalf an hour everybody but us has left, and most of 'em went outsnickerin'. 

"I--I don't understand it at all, " says Virgie, rubbin' his eyes dazed. "She was talking with you, wasn't she, Friend Whity? Was it somethingyou said about me?"

"Possibly, " says Whity, "I may have mentioned your cheese factories;and I'm not sure but what I didn't invent a family for you. Just as ajoke, of course. You don't mind, I hope?"

And at that I was dead sure someone was goin' to be slapped on thewrist. But, say, all Virgie does is swallow hard a couple of times;and then, as the full scheme of the plot seems to sink in, he beamsmushy. 

"Mind? Why, my dear boy, " says he, "you are my deliverer! I owe youmore than I can ever express. Really, you know, that ridiculous oldperson has been the bane of my existence for the last three weeks. Shehas fairly haunted me, spoiled all my receptions, and--disturbed megreatly. Ever since I met her in Rome last winter she has been at it. Of course I have tried to be nice to her, as I am to everyonewho--er--who might help. But I almost fancy she had the idea that Iwould--ah--marry her. Really, I believe she did. Thank you a thousandtimes, Whity, for your joke! If she comes back, tell her I have twowives, a dozen. And have some cigars--oh, fill your pockets, my boy. And here--the photos showing me in my monk's costume. Be sure to dropin at my next tea. I'll send you word. Good night, and bless you!"

He didn't push us out. He just held the door open and patted us on theback as we went through. And the next thing we knew we was down on thesidewalk. 

"Double crossed!" groans Whity. "Smothered in mush!"

"As a plotter, Whity, " says I, "you're a dub. But if you gunked it oneway, you drew a consolation the other. At this stage of the game Iguess I'm commissioned by a certain party to hand over to you a smalltoken of his esteem. "

"Eh?" says Whity. "Twenty? What for?"

"Ah, go bull the market with it, and don't ask fool questions!" says I. 

Say, it was a perfectly swell story about Virgie's bouillabaissefunction on today's society page, double-column half-tone cut and all. I had to grin when I shows it to Mr. Ellins. 

"Were you there, young man?" says he, eyin' me suspicious. 

"Yep!" says I. 

"I thought so, " says he, "when Cousin Inez came home and began packingher trunks. I take it that affair of hers with the sculptor poet isall off??'

"Blew up with a bang about ten-thirty P. M. , " says I. "Your twotenspots went with it. "

"Huh!" he snorts. "That's as far as I care to inquire. Some day I'mgoing to send you out with a thousand and let you wreck theadministration. "

CHAPTER XVII

TORCHY GETS A THROUGH WIRE

First off, when I pipes the party in the pale green lid and the fuzzyEnglish topcoat, I thought it was some stray from the House of Lords;but as it drifts nearer to the brass rail and I gets a glimpse of themild blue eyes behind the thick, shell-rimmed glasses, I discovers thatit's only Son-in-law Ferdy; you know, hubby to Marjorie Ellins that was. 

"Wat ho!" says I. "Just in from Lunnon?"

"Why, no, " says Ferdy, gawpin' foolish. "Whatever made you think that?"

"Then it's a disguise, is it?" says I, eyin' the costume critical. 

"Oh, bother!" says Ferdy peevish. "I told Marjorie I should be staredat. And I just despise being conspicuous, you know! Where's Robert?"

"Mr. Robert ain't due back for an hour yet, " says I. "You could catchhim at the club, I expect. "

"No, no, " protests Ferdy hasty. "I--I wouldn't go to the club lookinglike this. I--I couldn't stand the chaff I'd get from the fellows. I'll wait. "

"Suit yourself, " says I, towin' him into Mr. Robert's private office. "You can shed the heather wrap in here, if you like. "

"I--I wish I could, " says he. 

"Wha-a-at!" says I. "She ain't sewed you into it, has she? Anyhow, you don't have to keep it buttoned tight under your chin with all thissteam heat on. "

"I know, " says Ferdy, sighin'. "I nearly roasted, coming down in thetrain. But, you see, it--it hides the tie. "

"Eh?" says I. "Something else Marjorie picked out? Let's have a peek. "

Ferdy blushes painful. "It's awful, " he groans, "perfectly awful!"

"Not one of these nutty Futurist designs, like a scrambled rainbow shotfull of pink polliwogs?" says I. 

"Worse than that, " says Ferdy, unbuttonin' the overcoat reluctant. "Look!"

"Zowie! A plush one!" says I. 

Course, they ain't so new. I'd seen 'em in the zippy haberdashers'windows early in the fall; but I don't remember havin' met one out ofcaptivity before. And this is about the plushiest affair you couldimagine; bright orange and black, and half an inch thick. 

"Whiffo!" says I. "That is something to have wished onto you! Lookslike a caterpillar in a dream. "

"That's right, " says Ferdy. "It's been a perfect nightmare to me eversince Marjorie bought it. But I can't hurt her feelings by refusing towear it. And this silly hat too--a scarf instead of a band!"

It's almost pathetic the way Ferdy holds the lid off at arm's lengthand gazes indignant at it. 

"Draped real sweet, ain't it?" says I. "But most of the smart chappiesare wearin' 'em that way, you know. "

"Not this sickly green shade, though, " says Ferdy plaintive. "I wishMarjorie wouldn't get such things for me. I--I've always been ratherparticular about my hats and ties. I like them quiet, you understand. "

"You would get married, though, " says I. "But, say, can't you do aduck by changing after you leave home?"

Seems the idea hadn't occurred to Ferdy. "But how? Where?" says he, brightenin' up. 

"In the limousine as you're drivin' down to the station, " says I. "Youcould keep an extra outfit in the car. "

"By Jove!" says Ferdy. "Then I could change again on the way home, couldn't I? And if Marjorie didn't know, she wouldn't----"

"You've surrounded the plot of the piece, " says I. "Now go to it. There's a gents' furnisher down in the arcade. "

He's halfway out to the elevator before it occurs to him that he ain'tresponded with any grateful remarks; so back he comes to tell how muchobliged he is. 

"And, Torchy, " he adds, "you know you haven't been out to see baby yet. Why, you must see little Ferdinand!"

"Ye-e-es, I been meanin' to, " says I, maybe not wildly enthusiastic. "I expect he's quite a kid by this time. "

"Eleven months lacking four days, " says Ferdy, his face beamin'. "Wait! I want to show you his latest picture. Really wonderfulyoungster, I tell you. "

So I has to inspect a snapshot that Ferdy produces from his pocketbook;and, while it looks about as insignificant as most of 'em, I pumps upsome gushy remarks which seem to make a hit with Ferdy. 

"Couldn't you come out Sunday?" says he. 

"'Fraid not, " says I. "In fact, I'm booked up for quite a spell. "

"Too bad, " says Ferdy, "for we're almost alone now, --only Peggy andJane--my little nieces, you know--and Miss Hemmingway, who----"

"Vee?" says I, comin' straight up on my toes. "Say, Ferdy, I think Ican break away Sunday, after all. Ought to see that youngster ofyours, hadn't I? Must be mighty cute by now. "

"Oh, he is, " says Ferdy; "but if you can't come this week----"

"Got to, " says I. "'Leven months, and me never so much as chucked himunder the chin once! Gee! how careless of me!"

"All right, Sunday next, " says Ferdy. "We shall look for you. "

That was throwin' in reverse a little sudden, I admit; but my chancesof gettin' within hailin' distance of Vee ain't so many that I canafford to overlook any bets. Besides, up at Marjorie's is about theonly place where I don't have to run the gauntlet goin' in, or do aslide for life comin' out. She'll shinny on my side every trip, Marjorie will--and believe me I need it all!

Looked like a special dispensation too, this bid of Ferdy's; for Iwanted half an hour's private chat with Vee the worst way just then, toclear up a few things. For instance, my last two letters had come backwith "Refused" scratched across the face, and I didn't know whether itwas some of Aunty's fine work, or what. Anyway, it's been a couple ofmonths now that the wires have been down between us, and I was more orless anxious to trace the break. 

So Sunday afternoon don't find me missin' any suburban local. Course, Ferdy's mighty intellect ain't suggested to him anything about askin'me out for a meal; so I has to take a chance on what time to landthere. But I strikes the mat about two-thirty P. M. , and the first oneto show up is Marjorie, lookin' as plump and bloomin' a corn-fed Venusas ever. 

"Why, Torchy!" says she, with business of surprise. 

"Uh-huh, " says I. "Special invite of Ferdy's to come see the heirapparent. Didn't he mention it?"

"Humph! Ferdy!" says Marjorie. "Did you ever know of him rememberinganything worth while?"

"Oh, ho!" says I. "In disgrace, is he?"

"He is, " says Marjorie, sniffin' scornful. "But it's nice of you towant to see baby. The dear little fellow is just taking his afternoonnap. He wakes up about four, though. "

"Oh, I don't mind waitin' a bit, " says I. "You know, I'm crazy to seethat kid. "

"Really!" says Marjorie, beamin' delighted. "Then you shall go rightup now, while he is----"

"No, " says I, holdin' up one hand. "I might sneeze, or something. I'll just stick around until he wakes up. "

"It's too bad, " says Marjorie; "but Verona is dressing and----"

"What!" says I. "Vee here?"

"Just going, " says Marjorie. "Her aunty is to call for her in about anhour. "

Say, then was no time for wastin' fleetin' moments on any bluff. "Say, Marjorie, " says I, "couldn't you get her to speed up the toilet motionsa bit and shoo her downstairs? Don't say who; but just hint thatsomeone wants to see her mighty special for a few moments. There's agood girl!"

Marjorie giggles and shows her dimples. "I might try, " says she. "Suppose you wait in the library, where there's a nice log fire. "

So it's me for an easy chair in the corner, where I can watch for theentrance. Five minutes by the clock on the mantel, and nothinghappens. Ten minutes, and no Vee. Then I hears a smothered snickeroff to the left. I'd got my face all set for the cheerful greetin'too, when I discovers two pairs of brown eyes inspectin' me roguish, through the parted portières. And neither pair was any I'd ever seenbefore. 

"Huh!" thinks I. "Nice way to treat guests!" and I pretends not tonotice. I've picked up a magazine and am readin' the picturesindustrious, when there's more snickers. I scowls, fidgets aroundsome, and fin'lly takes another glance. The brown eyes are twinklin'mischievous, all four of 'em. 

"Well, " says I, "what's the joke? Shoot it!"

At that into the room bounces a couple of girls, somewhere around tenand twelve, I should judge; tall, long-legged kids, but cute lookin', and genuine live wires, from their toes up. They're fairly wigglin'with some kind of excitement. 

"We know who you are!" singsongs one, pointin' the accusin' finger. 

"You're Torchy!" says the other. 

"Then I'm discovered, " says I. "How'd you dope it out?"

"By your hair!" comes in chorus, and then they goes to a panicky clinchand giggles down each other's necks. 

"Hey, cut out the comic relief, " says I, "and give me a turn. Whichone of you is Peggy?"

"Why, who told you that?" demands the one with the red ribbon. 

"Oh, I'm some guesser myself, " says I. "It's you. "

"Pooh! I bet it was Uncle Ferdinand, " says she. 

"Good sleuth work!" says I. "He's the guy. But I didn't know he hadsuch a cunnin' set of nieces. Most as tall as he is, ain't you, Peggy?"

But that don't happen to be the line of dialogue they're burnin' tofollow out. Exchangin' a look, they advance mysterious until there'sone on each side of me, and then Peggy whispers dramatic:

"You came to see Miss Vee, didn't you?"

"Vee?" says I, lookin' puzzled. "Vee which?"

"Oh, you know, now!" protests Jane, tappin' me playful. 

"Sorry, " says I, "but this is a baby visit I'm payin'. Ask UncleFerdinand if it ain't. "

"Humph!" says Peggy. "Anyone can fool Uncle Ferdy. "

"Besides, " says Jane, "we saw a picture on Vee's dressing table, andwhen we asked who it was she hid it. So there!"

"Not a picture of me, though, " says I. "Couldn't be. "

"Yes, it was, " insists Jane. 

"A snapshot of you, " says Peggy, "taken in a boat. "

I won't deny that was some cheerful bulletin; but somehow I had a hunchit might be best not to let on too much. Course, I could locate thetime and place. I must have got on the film durin' my stay up atRoarin' Rocks last summer. 

"In a boat!" says I. "Of all things!"

"And Vee doesn't want anyone to know about it, " adds Jane, "speciallyher aunty. "

"Why not?" comes in Peggy, lookin' me straight in the eye. 

"Very curious!" says I, shakin' my head. "What else did Vee have tosay about me?"

"M-m-m-m!" says Peggy. "We can't tell. "

"We promised not to, " says Jane. 

"You're a fine pair of promisers!" says I. "I expect you hold secretslike a wire basket holds water. "

"We never said a word, did we, Peggy?" demands Jane. 

"Nope!" says Peggy. "Maybe he's the one Vee's aunty doesn't like. "

"Are you?" says Jane, clawin' my shoulder excited. 

"How utterly thrillin'!" says I. "Say, you're gettin' me all titteredup. Think it's me Aunty has the war club out for, do you?"

"It's someone with hair just like yours, anyway, " says Peggy. 

"Think of that!" says I. "Does red hair throw Aunty into convulsions, or what?"

"Aunt Marjorie says it's because you--that is, because the one shemeant isn't anybody, " says Jane. "He's poor, and all that. Are youpoor?"

"Me?" says I. "Why--say, what is this you're tryin' to pull off on me, impeachment proceedings? Come now, don't you guess your AuntMarjorie'll be wantin' you?"

"No, " says Peggy. "She told us for goodness sake to run off and bequiet. "

"What about this Miss Vee party, then?" says I. "Don't she need you tohelp her hook up?"

"We just came from her room, " says Peggy. 

"She pushed us out and locked the door, " adds Jane. 

"Great strategy!" says I. "Show me a door with a key in it. "

"Pooh!" says Peggy. "You couldn't put us both out at once. "

"Couldn't I?" says I. "Let's see. "

With that I grabs one under each arm, and with the pair of 'emstrugglin' and squealin' and rough housin' me for all they was worth, Istarts towards the livin' room. We was right in the midst of thescrimmage when in walks Vee, with her hat and furs all on, lookin' someclassy, take it from me. But the encouragin' part of it is that shesmiles friendly, and I smiles back. 

[Illustration: We was right in the midst of the scrimmage when in walksVee. ]

"Well, you found someone, didn't you, girls?" says she. 

"Oh, Vee, Vee!" sings out Peggy gleeful. "Isn't this Torchy?"

"Your Torchy?" demands Jane. 

I tips Vee the signal for general denial and winks knowin'. But, say, you can't get by with anything crude on a pair of open-eyed kids likethat. 

"Oh, I saw!" announces Jane. "And you do know him, don't you, Vee?"

"Why, I suppose we have met before?" says she, laughin' ripply. "Haven't we, Torchy?"

"Now that you mention it, " says I, "I remember. " And we shakes handsformal. 

"Came to see the baby, I hear, " says Vee. 

"Oh, sure!" says I. "Maybe you could tell me about him first, though, if we could find a quiet corner. "

"Oh, we'll tell you, " chimes in Peggy. "We know all about Baby. Hehas a tooth!"

"Say, " says I, wigglin' away from the pair, "couldn't you go load upsomeone else with information, just for ten minutes or so?"

"What for?" says Jane, eyin' me suspicious. 

"We'd rather stay here, " says Peggy decided. 

I catches a humorous twinkle in Vee's gray eyes as she holds out herhands to the girls. "Listen, " says she confidential. "You know thosehermit cookies you're so fond of? Well, Cook made a whole jarfulyesterday. They're in the pantry. "

"I know, " says Jane. "We found 'em last night. "

"The Glue Sisters!" says I. "Now see here, Kids, I've just thought ofa message I ought to give to Miss Vee. "

"Who from?" demands Peggy. 

"From a young chap I know who thinks a lot of her, " says I. "It'sstrictly private too. "

"What's it about?" says Jane. 

Which was when my tactics gave out. "Say, you two human questionmarks, " says I, "beat it, won't you?"

No, they just wouldn't. The best they would do for me was to back offto the other side of the room, eyes and ears wide open, and there theystood. 

"Go on!" whispers Vee. "What was it he wanted to say?"

"It was about a couple of notes he wrote, " says I. 

"Yes?" says Vee. "What happened?"

"They came back, " says I, "without being opened. "

"Oh, " says Vee, "those must have been the ones that----"

"Vee, Vee!" breaks in Peggy from over near the window. "Here comesyour aunty. "

"Good night, nurse!" says I. 

"Tell him it's all right, " says Vee hasty. "He might send the nextones in care of Marjorie; then I'll be sure of getting them. By-by, Peggy. Don't squeeze so hard, Jane. No, please don't come out, Torchy. Goodby. "

And in another minute I'm left to the mercy of the near-twins oncemore. I camps down in the easy chair again, with one on each side, andthe cross examination proceeds. Say, they're a great pair too. 

"Didn't Vee want you to go out 'cause her aunty would see you?" asksPeggy. 

"There!" says I. "I wonder?"

"I'm glad she isn't my aunty, " says Jane. "She looks too cross. "

"If I was Vee's aunty, " puts in Peggy, "I wouldn't be mad if she didhave your picture in a silver frame. "

"Honest?" says I. "How's that?"

"'Cause I don't think you're so awful horrid, even if you aren'tanybody, " says Peggy. "Do you, Jane?"

"I like him, " says Jane. "I think his hair's nice too. "

"Well, well!" says I. "Guess I got some gallery with me, anyway. Andhow does Vee stand with you?"

"Oh, she's just a dear!" says Peggy, clappin' her hands. 

"M-m-m-m!" echoes Jane. "She's going to take us to see Maude Adamsnext Wednesday too. "

"Huh!" says I, indicatin' deep thought. "So you'll see her again soon?"

"I wish it was tomorrow, " says Jane. 

"Mr. Torchy, " says Peggy, grabbin' me impulsive by one ear and swingin'my face around, "truly now, aren't you awfully in love with Vee?"

Say, where do they pick it up, youngsters of that age? Her big browneyes are as round and serious as if she knew all about it; and on theother side is Jane, fairly holdin' her breath. 

"Whisper!" says I. "Could you two keep a secret?"

"Oh, yes!" comes in chorus. 

"Well, then, " says I, "I'm going to hand you one. I think Vee is thebest that ever happened. "

"Oh, goody!" exclaims Peggy. "Then you do love her awfully! But whydon't you----"

"Wait!" says I. "When I get to be a little older, and some bigger, andafter I've made heaps and heaps of money, and have a big, blackautomobile----"

"And a big, black mustache, " adds Peggy. 

"No, " says I. "Cut out the miracles. Call it when I'm in business formyself. Then, if somebody'll only choke off Aunty long enough, Imay--well, some fine moonlight night I may tell her all about it. "

"Oh!" gasps Jane. "Mayn't we be there to hear you do it?"

"Not if I can bar you out, " says I. 

"Please!" says Peggy. "We would sit just as still and not---- Oh, here's Aunt Marjorie. Aunty, what do you think? Mr. Torchy's beentelling us a secret. "

"There, there, Peggy, " says Marjorie, "don't be silly. Torchy iswaiting to see Baby. Come! He's awake now. "

Yep, I had to do the inspection act, after all. And I must say thatmost of these infant wonders look a good deal alike; only Ferdinand, Jr. , has a cute way of tryin' out his new tooth on your thumb. 

Goin' back towards the station I meets Ferdy, himself, trampin' inlonesome from a long walk, and lookin' mighty glum. 

"Of all the gloom carriers!" says I. "What was it let you in bad thistime?"

"You ought to know, " says he. 

"For why?" says I. 

"Oh, fudge!" says he. "I suppose you didn't put me up to that sillybusiness of changing neckties!"

"Chinked it, did you?" says I. "But how?"

"If you must know, " says he, "I forgot to change back on my way home, and Marjorie's still furious. She simply won't let me explain, refusesto listen to a word. So what can I do?"

"A cinch!" says I. "You got a pair of livin' dictaphones in the house, ain't you? Work it off on Peggy and Jane as a secret, and you'll haveyour defense on record inside of half an hour. Cheer up, Ferdy. Ishkabibble!"