Sewell Ford - On With Torchy
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Sewell Ford >> On With Torchy
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15 [Frontispiece: "Well if I ever! Look where your shoulders come!" says
Vee.]
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' you
are.
Which is a little nugget of wisdom I panned out durin' a chat I had not
long ago with Mr. Quinn, that I used to work under when I was on the
door of the Sunday sheet, three or four years back.
"Hail, Torchy!" says he, as we meets accidental on Broadway. "Still
carrying the burning bush under your hat, aren't you?"
I grins good-natured at his old josh, just as I used to about twice a
week 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 one
side 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 on
the letter-heads yet, or paint it on the ground-glass, but that's my
real label. I'm the only one in New York, too."
Mr. Quinn chuckles and goes off shakin' his head. I expect he's
disappointed that I've stuck so long in one shop without climbin'
further up the ladder. That's what he was always preachin' at me, this
ladder-climbin' advice. But say, hod carriers do that. Me for an
express 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 one
reason I ain't changed. Also there's that little mine enterprise me
and 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 you
push 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 Vee
lately?"
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 the
ears. But, say, there's a heap of difference between pickin' peaches
from an easy chair under the tree, and when you have to shin the garden
wall 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 worth
more per ounce than any coined at the mint; and as foxy in the mind as
a corporation lawyer arguin' before the Rapid Transit Commission. Also
I'm as welcome to Aunty's eyesight as Eugene V. Debs would be at the
Union League Club--just about. That ain't any idle rumor, either, nor
something 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 was
some kind of insect specimen, "do I understand that you come here to
see my niece?"
"Well," says I, "there's you and her--guess!"
"Humph!" she snorts indignant. "Then I wish you to know that your
visits are most unwelcome. Is that quite clear?"
"I get the outline," says I. "But, you see----"
"No qualifications, absolutely none!" says she. "Good afternoon, young
man. I shall not expect you to return."
"Oh, well, in that case," says I, sidlin' off, "why--I--I think I'll be
goin'."
It was a smear, that's all. I felt about as thick through as a
Saratoga chip, and not half so crisp. Encouragin' finish for an
afternoon 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 about
the same line of advice handed her. So there was a debate between her
and Aunty. For I expect nobody can lay the law down flat to Vee
without strikin' a few sparks from them big gray eyes.
But of course Aunty wins out in the end. It's a cinch, with everything
on her side. Anyway, the next thing I knows about their plans is when
I finds their names in the sailin' list, bound for the Big Ditch, with
most everyone else that could get away. And I makes my discovery about
three 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 kinds
of grip weather, and meetin' a lot of new people. And if it's worth
all that bother to Aunty just so anybody can forget a party no more
important than me--why, I expect that's all right too.
But it's just like some folks to remember what they're ordered to
forget. Anyway, I got bulletins now and then, and I was fairly well
posted as to when Aunty landed back in New York, and where she unpacked
her trunks. That helped some; but it didn't cut the barbed wire
exactly.
And, say, I was gettin' some anxious to see Vee once more. Nearly two
weeks she'd been home, and not so much as a glimpse of her! I'd doped
out all kinds of brilliant schemes; but somehow they didn't work. No
lucky breaks seemed to be comin' my way, either.
And then, here last Sunday after dinner, I just hauls out that church
weddin' costume I'd collected once, brushes most of the kinks out of my
red hair, sets my jaw solid, and starts to take a sportin' chance. On
the 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 to
see, when the voice of Aunty is heard in the distance, "What! A young
gentleman asking for Verona? No card? Then get his name, Hortense."
Me to the maid, "Messenger from Mr. Westlake, and would Miss Vee care
to take a short motor spin. Waiting below." Then more confab with
Aunty, and five minutes later out comes Vee. Finale: Me and Vee
climbin' to the top of one of them Riverside Drive busses, while Aunty
dreams that she's out with Sappy Westlake, the chosen one.
Some strategy to that--what? And, sure enough, the piece opens a good
deal as I'd planned; only instead of me bein' alone when I pushes the
button, hanged if two young chappies that had come up in the elevator
with me don't drift along to the same apartment door. We swap sort of
foolish grins, and when Hortense fin'ly shows up everyone of us does a
bashful sidestep to let the others go first. So Hortense opens on what
looks 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're
drapin' our hats on the hall rack I'm busy picturin' the look on
Aunty's face when she singles me out of the trio. They was panicky
thoughts, them.
But a minute later the plot is still further mixed by the sudden
swishy, swirly entrance of an entire stranger,--a tall, thin female
with 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 a
black 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 swoops
down on us from the drawin' room she cuts loose with the vivacious
chatter.
"Ah, there you are, you dear, darling boys!" says she. "And the
Princess Charming is holding court to-day. Ah, Reggy, you scamp! But
you 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' put
over, I figured I've made a mistake in the floor, and had been let into
a private ward. But as soon as I gets next to the Georgia accent I
suspects that it ain't any case of squirrels in the attic; but just a
sample of sweet Southern gush.
Next I gets a peek through the draperies at some straw-colored hair
with a shell-pink ear peepin' from underneath, and I know that whatever
else is wrong don't matter; for over there on the windowseat,
surrounded by half a dozen young gents, is somebody very particular and
special. Followin' this I does a hasty piece of scout work and draws a
deep breath. No Aunty looms on the horizon--not yet, anyway.
With the arrival of the new delegates the admirin' semicircle has to
break up, and the three of us are towed to the bay window by Vivacious
Vivian.
"Princess," says she, makin' a low duck, "three other Knights who would
do 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 in
by one of the other two; but as neither of 'em makes any sign she turns
them black, dark-ringed lamps inquirin' on me and asks, "Oh, I'm sure I
beg pardon, but--but you are----"
Now who the blazes was I, anyway? It all depended on how well posted
she was, whether I should admit I was Torchy the Banished, or invent an
alias 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 just
in the nick of time. "Why, of course, Cousin Eulalia! This is a
friend 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 you
shall be called Claude--Sir Claude of the Golden Crest. Gentlemen, I
present him to you."
We looks at each other sort of sheepish, and most of us grins. All but
one, in fact. The blond string bean over in the corner, with the
buttermilk blue eyes and the white eyebrows, he don't seem amused. For
it's Sappy Westlake, the one I run on a siding once at a dance. Think
of keepin' a peeve on ice all that time!
It's quite a likely lookin' assortment on the whole, though, all
costumed elegant and showin' signs of bein' fairly well parlor broke.
"What's the occasion?" says I on the side to Miss Vee. "Reunion of
somebody's Sunday school class?"
She gives me a punch and smothers a snicker, "Don't let Cousin Eulalia
hear you say such a thing," says she.
We only had a minute; but from what she manages to whisper durin' the
general chatter I makes out that this is a little scheme Eulalia'd
planned to sort of launch Vee into the younger set. She's from
Atlanta, Cousin Eulalia is, one of the best fam'lies, and kind of a
perennial society belle that's tinkled through quite some seasons, but
refuses to quit. Just now she's spendin' a month with Fifth-ave.
friends, and has just discovered that Vee and her are close connected
through a step-uncle marryin' a half-sister of Eulalia's
brother-in-law, or something like that. Anyhow, she insists on the
cousin racket, and has started right in to rush Vee to the front.
She's some rasher, Eulalia is, too. No twenty-minutes-to-or-after
silences while she's conductin' affairs. Course, it's kind of frothy
stuff to pass for conversation; but it bubbles out constant, and she
blows it around impartial. Her idea of giving Cousin Vee a perfectly
good time seems to be to have us all grouped around that windowseat and
take 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 little
and acts kind of bored. She's some picture, though. M-m-m-m! And it
was 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 as
me, even if they was havin' hard work diggin' up appropriate remarks
when Eulalia swings the arrow so it points to them. Anyway, they does
their best to come up with the polite jolly, and nobody makes a break
to quit.
It's durin' the tea and sandwich scramble, though, that Cousin Eulalia
gets her happy hunch. Seems that Sappy Westlake has come forward with
an invite to a box party just as Vee is tryin' to make up her mind
whether she'll go with Teddy Braden to some cotillion capers, or accept
a dinner dance bid from one of the other young gents.
"And all for Wednesday night!" says she. "How stupid of you, with the
week 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 the
night of our frat dance, and I want to ask Miss Vee if----"
"What's this all about?" demands Eulalia, dancin' kittenish into the
limelight. "Rivalry among our gallant knights? Then the Princess
Charming must decide."
"Oh, don't, Cousin Eulalia," says Vee, wrinklin' her nose the least
bit. "Please!"
"Don't what?" says Eulalia, raisin' her long arms flutterin'. "My
dear, 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 mean
by 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 other
answer could there be, with Vee gazin' flushed and pouty at 'em over
the tea urn?
"Really, Eulalia, I wish you wouldn't be so absurd," says Vee.
"My dear Cousin Verona," coos Eulalia, glidin' up and huggin' her
impetuous, "how could anyone keep their heads straight before such
absolutely distracting beauty? See, you have inspired them all with
the spirit of chivalry. And now you must put them to the test. Name
some heroic deed for each to perform. Begin with Reggy. Now what
shall it be?"
"Fudge!" says Vee, tossin' her head. "I'll do nothing so perfectly
mushy."
But Cousin Eulalia wa'n't to be squelched, nor have her grand scheme
sidetracked. "Then I declare myself Mistress of the Lists," says she,
"and I shall open the tournament for you. Ho, Trumpeter, summon the
challengers! And--oh, I have it. Each of you Sir Knights must choose
his 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 gents
begin 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 his
valorous best to win the approval of our Princess. Hers it shall be to
decide, the prize her gracious company for next Wednesday night. Come
now, 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 the
rear. "How now, you of the Crimson Crest? Not showing the white
feather, are you?"
"Me?" says I. "Well, I don't quite get the drift of the game; but if
it'll make you feel any better, you can count me in."
"Good!" says she, clappin' her hands. "And while you are afield I must
leave too--another tea, you know. But we all meet here again at eight
sharp, with proof or plunder. Teddy, have you decided what to attempt?"
"Sure," says he. "Me to find the biggest box of candy that can be
bought in New York Sunday evening."
"Oh, splendid!" gurgles Eulalia. "And you, Mr. Westlake?"
"Orchids," says Sappy. "Grandmother has dandy ones at her place up in
Westchester, and I can make there and back in my roadster if I'm not
pinched for speeding. I'm going to have a try, and maybe I'll have to
steal the flowers too."
"There!" says Eulalia, pattin' him on the back. "That's a knightly
spirit. But what of Crimson Crest? What will you do?"
"The game is to spring something on Miss Vee better'n what the others
put over, is it?" says I.
"Precisely," says Eulalia, allowin' two of the young gents to help her
on 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 get
started on his own special fool stunt, so, while I was mixed up in the
gen'ral push, with my hat in my hand and my coat over my arm, it didn't
strike me how I could bolt the programme until I'm half crowded behind
the open hall door. Then I gets a swift thought. Seein' I wouldn't be
missed, and that Vee has her back to me, I simply squeezes in out of
sight and waits while she says by-by to the last one; so, when she
fin'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 tell
that?"
"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 I
might--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 I
missed 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'd
been 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 thought
you 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. That
Princess 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 little
high-backed davenport and, reachin' for one of her hands, swings her
into 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 a
manicure you take of. M-m-m-m! Pretty fair, no hangnails, all the
half-moons showin' proper, an----" I broke off sudden at that and sat
starin' 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 fun
you 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 row
Aunty raised over it, I knew you couldn't."
"Couldn't I, though?" says she, and with that she fishes up the end of
a little gold neck chain from under some lace--and hanged if there
ain't the ring!
"Vee!" says I, sort of tingly all over as I gazes at her. "Say, you're
a corker, though! Why, I thought sure you'd----"
"Silly boy!" says she. "I'll just have to pay you for that. You will
think horrid things of me, will you? There!"
She does things in a flash when she cuts loose too. Next I knew she
has 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 her
wrists, 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 stalks
Aunty, with Cousin Eulalia trailin' behind.
"Ver-ona!" Talk about havin' a pitcher of cracked ice slipped down
your back! Say, there was more chills in that one word than ever blew
down 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, the
first to come back with his tribute! Let's see, what was it you said
you 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 interview
I 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 you
wa'n't, was you?"
Some glance she shot over; but it didn't prove fatal. And as I rides
down 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 she
was bound to stick by the rules of the game, even if they did have to
throw a bluff to Aunty. Uh-huh! I've got three orchestra seats right
in my pocket, and a table engaged for supper afterwards. Oh, I don't
know. 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 a
stray sheet of scribblin' paper on the floor without pouncin' sleuthy
on it and tryin' to puzzle out the hidden meanin'.
So when I get the buzzer call to Old Hickory's private office and finds
him and the main stem waitin' in solemn conclave there, I guesses right
off that Piddie's dug up a new one that he hopes to nail me with. Just
now 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't
think they was picked in the Subway."
And at this Old Hickory sniffs impatient. "That is quite enough comic
diversion, young man!" he puts in. "Do you or don't you know anything
about 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: too
tame. 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' a
sensation? Piddie fairly gloats over unloadin' it. "This," says he,
holdin' up the wilted bunch, "is the unaccountable. For the fourth
time flowers of this description have been mysteriously left on Mr.
Ellins' desk. It is not done after hours, or during the night; but in
broad 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 been
detected; and, as you know, only a few persons have free access here.
Still the thing continues. At regular periods these absurd bouquets
appear on this desk, seemingly from nowhere at all. Hence this
inquiry."
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